“Looks like I’m going to have to punish you.”

Spike felt an odd combination of fear and excitement shudder through him at the Slayer’s dangerously suggestive words – and although it had only been about a minute since her bite had sent him soaring into ecstasy and brought about his climax, he could feel his manhood slowly stirring to life again as she spoke.

“Guess so, Baby,” he smirked, cocky in spite of his incredibly vulnerable position – a position that no master vampire in his right mind would ever allow himself to be placed in – and yet, a position he had willingly, even eagerly, submitted to. “Told you I’ve always been bad.”

*Yeah, mate…bad poet…bad luck with the women…bad judgment…*

If his current situation in life – and in the current moment – was any indication.

“Yeah, you did, didn’t you?”

Buffy laughed softly, and Spike was surprised by the reluctant sound of affection he heard in her voice at the memory he knew she was recalling, the same one that filled his mind, of a conversation nearly a year ago over a plate of chicken wings and a game of pool and grandiose stories of his past that were only partially true.

“To tell you the truth,” Buffy confessed softly, her voice drawing him back to the present, a slight mocking lilt to it as she went on, “I really didn’t believe you at the time.”

*Probably because it was a bleedin’ pack of lies for the most part,* he thought, suppressing his own slightly bitter laughter at the memory of the way he had embellished the story of his early years, toughening up his image in an effort to disguise the softness, the weakness, that had once been his nature – only to have his lies designed to impress her earn only her disgust and repulsion.

“But you know,” she went on slowly, calculatingly, “I think you’ve just about got me convinced.”

He gasped in surprise at the sudden sharp sting as she pulled his head back, hard, by the fist still tangled in his hair, a strange contrast to the tenderness that followed as she leaned in to kiss his throat, very slowly, sensually, before raising her lips to just behind his ear to whisper in a low voice that was half menace, half seduction.

“You know what I do to bad vampires?”

Spike’s lip curled up in a lascivious sneer as he replied, “Of course, love… *intimately*…”

He could hear the reluctance in Buffy’s soft laugh, knew that she was probably shaking her head, wishing that she could keep the amusement from her voice, but unable to.

“*Besides* using their bodies as my personal playthings and screwing them senseless every night,” she corrected flatly, and he was a bit surprised at the honesty and self-mockery in her voice.

“Well – yeah,” he replied with a smirk, to his credit, not missing a beat, despite the strong reaction of his body to her words. “But something tells me you’re not planning on staking me, love. Not yet, anyway. Seems to me you want me too much to be rid of me just yet.”

The smug, self-satisfied grin on the vampire’s face reminded Buffy that although he was blinded at the moment, Spike was still in possession of supernatural senses that betrayed her arousal to him.

“Awfully sure of yourself,” she commented dryly. “For someone who’s tied up and at the mercy of his mortal enemy.”

“Not so much sure of *myself*,” Spike corrected in a quiet, even voice that was suddenly very serious, and infuriating to Buffy in its calmness and control, “as I am sure of *you*. Sure you won’t dish out anything you know I can’t handle.” He paused before adding slowly, emphatically, “I…*trust*…you, pet.”

He was silent for a long moment, allowing the words to sink in for her once more – hoping that this time she would get the idea through her head, accept it as truth.

And then, maybe he could work on convincing *himself*.

He went on with a poor attempt at a careless shrug, made very difficult by the awkward position of his arms under his body, nearly numb by now. “And anyway – ‘s not like this particular scenario really proves anything either way, love. I mean – it’s fun and all – but – trust you or not – if you decide you feel like hurting me, there’s not a lot I can do about it. ‘S not like I have a bloody choice at this point.”

“Oh, but you do,” Buffy countered immediately, with a dark, cunning note to her voice that sent an odd little quiver of mingled desire and apprehension through Spike at the sound. The calm, self-assured tone of her voice told him that she had expected him to bring up that point, and had been prepared for it.

“You *always* have a choice, Spike.”

He tensed without meaning to, when she took his arm and gently helped him to sit up on the bed, silently cursing the unconscious reaction of his body that would serve to reveal to her the fact that she was getting to him – a little.

All right. More than a little.

He felt himself being pulled off balance for a moment, the mattress behind him pressed down slightly as Buffy slowly climbed onto the bed, on her knees behind him.

Her hands held onto his arms for a moment, steadying them both on the bed, before they began to trail slowly up and down his arms, drawing him closer to her in a subtlely possessive way.

Spike did not mind a bit.

Unresisting, he leaned back against her, resting his head on her shoulder behind him.

“You had a choice to accept this challenge or not.”

Buffy went on, her voice soft, hushed and mesmerizing, as her hands continued down his arms to close momentarily around his bound wrists. She then brought them up to rest on his hips for a moment, her thumbs sliding slowly inward, just an inch or two down the line on each side, leading to his manhood – which was by now aching for her touch all over again.

“You had the choice to do as I said – or not – and you didn’t,” she reminded him in a voice that was an odd combination of gentle reproof, laced with a wickedly teasing note of menace.

“Which brings us to the whole ‘punishment’ thing,” she concluded, sliding her silky warm hands back up his hips, behind him, back to his wrists, resting against his back, at the very base of his spine.

She caught him off guard, eliciting a shocked little gasp of mingled pain and pleasure, when her hand left his wrist to come down sharply in a stinging slap to his bare backside, an unexpected touch that sent a rush of heated sensation straight through to his cock, which instantly and obviously hardened at the feeling.

Buffy let out a low, throaty giggle at his reaction, her fingertips lightly teasing over the spot she had just struck, in a mockery of soothing the sting, before she slid a single finger inward to trace slowly up the line of pale flesh leading to his tailbone and the base of his spine.

She relished the little shudder of shock and desire that went through the vampire at her provocatively bold, intensely intimate touch. A soft, strangled cry left his throat, as he pulled forward away from her touch – not because he did not want her to touch him, but simply in a reflexive reaction to the intensity of the sensation, of the feeling of vulnerability it brought on.

She immediately reacted, putting her other arm around his waist, jerking him back into close contact with her in a dominating, aggressive gesture that served to increase his arousal – but also to birth a cold knot of apprehension in the pit of his stomach, as he began to wonder, not for the first time…

*Just how far is she actually willing to *take* this little game?*

“You chose to agree to this, Spike,” she reminded him a soft, dangerously calm voice that made him wonder if she had somehow guessed his thoughts. “You chose to put yourself in my hands – at my mercy. And now,” she went on, trailing her fingertips slowly up his spine, intensifying the tingling sensation created by her words, “I can do – whatever…I…
want…”

As she finished speaking, her slowly progressing hand, in a sudden motion both exciting and frightening, fastened high around his throat -- not too tightly, but firmly enough to dispel any notion he might have had of his ability to break her grip if necessary – pressing his head back against her shoulder and exposing his neck to her in an unmistakable position of vulnerability.

Which she, ironically, used only to caress his throat with soft, feather-light kisses -- for now, anyway.

Anyone walking in on the scene would have thought that *she* was the vampire, and he was her helpless victim, about to be consumed by her.

Which was only half untrue.

*Yep. You’ve got yourself into it, this time, mate. She’s right. Your bleedin’ unlife’s in her hands.*

Again echoing the thoughts in his head, Buffy whispered in his ear, her breath hot against his cool yet somehow fevered skin, “Don’t you wish you’d given this a little more thought before you decided to place your total trust in me? I *am* the Slayer, Spike. It’s in my very nature to destroy you…and I *can*…” Her voice lowered even further, mesmerizing, terrifying, utterly hypnotic, as her arm around his waist slid down the front of his body, her hand tracing lightly, torturously up the length of his throbbing erection.

Instinctively he bucked up against her hand – and he was not sure if his own reaction was one of impending panic, an attempt to escape her -- or desperate desire, seeking deeper contact than the feather-light, teasing touches she was allowing him at the moment.

He was utterly consumed with both.

The Slayer’s awesome power was demonstrated in her reaction, as she closed her hand firmly around the base of his erection, both that hand and the one at his throat yanking him warningly nearer to her – holding him in an unbreakable, yet painless grip of iron – silently making her point very clear.

If she did not want him to move – he wasn’t going anywhere.

His mind raced with conflicting thoughts, as he struggled to maintain some semblance of control.

*Buffy wouldn’t really hurt me – wouldn’t take advantage of this – nothing to be…*

*Bloody soddin’ hell, mate, are you daft? Of *course* she’d take advantage of this situation! There’s *everything* to be scared of, she’s got you right where she bloody wants you!*

*No! I do trust her! I do! She wouldn’t!...would she?*

*You are So. *Beyond*. Buggered.*

“*Whatever* I want, Spike,” Buffy reiterated in a low, lustful voice of desire, and her racing pulse, the potent, musky scent of her arousal, told him just how exciting the thought was to her. “I could make you do *anything*.”

She just held him against her like that for a moment longer, her hands on his body and throat firm and restricting, reinforcing the message of her words: *she* was in control. And then, slowly, she eased her grip, releasing him.

He did not want her to see how she had managed to disconcert him – how uneasy he *still* was – so he did not move away from her. He remained as he was, his head relaxed back on her shoulder, not moving – silent.

That was the biggest clue to the Slayer that her little act had made quite an impression on the master vampire.

*He *doesn’t* trust me,* she thought. *I knew it! He really thought I might hurt him!*

Somehow, instead of triumph – all she felt was a cold, bereft feeling of loss.

*But if I call him on it,* she went on in her mind, trying to push back the painful feelings and focus on her goal, *he’ll just deny it. Stupid vampire! No rapid breathing or sweaty palms or any solid evidence to call him on to give away the fact that he was freakin’ scared out of his mind. I’ve got to make him admit it somehow…*

But despite the lack of physical evidence as to his rising apprehension, his lack of trust – she knew that he was too unsure of her motives by this point to continue to remain under her power – if he was given the choice to refuse.

And he was about to be given just that.

“I told you I was gonna punish you, Spike,” she repeated softly, her hands returning to the handcuffs locked around his wrists. “And I could. I could do anything I wanted right now, whether you like it or not.”

She paused, and he nodded silently, his unnecessary breath coming in soft but ragged gasps, revealing emotion that she suddenly wished she could read in his concealed eyes.

She surprised him completely when she whispered a Latin word – and the handcuffs snapped open.

“But I won’t.”

He did not move for a moment, stunned and still, as he heard the soft rattle as the handcuffs dropped onto the bed. Suddenly, he very much wanted to see her face, to attempt to read the motivations for her strange actions in her eyes, which were much more expressive than she often wished them to be.

Automatically, without conscious thought, his hands rose toward the blindfold.

Gently, she caught his wrists, stopping his hands without pulling them back.

“Now, you really don’t wanna forfeit *that* easy, do you?” Buffy asked, the lighter, teasing note back in her voice.

No. He didn’t.

And he could tell, by the tone of her voice – the Slayer’s front was back in place. If he took off the blindfold now, there would be nothing to see. Her mask was back on.

“No, I’m sure you’ve got a much more interesting method designed of making me forfeit – don’t you, pet?” he replied slowly, his voice low and serious, but his mouth turned up in just the hint of a knowing smile.

“Like I said,” Buffy replied, and he could hear the hint of frustration in her voice that she was trying to suppress. “I’m not going to make you do anything.”

She paused, before going on softly, “It’s up to you. How much do you trust me?”

When she did not say anything else for a moment, Spike admitted quietly, “Not quite sure I follow you, pet.”

“I already told you. I’m going to punish you. But then – that could mean many different things,” Buffy explained quietly, and he could hear the sly smile in her voice. “The question is – what do you think *my* definition of punishment is – and do you think you can handle it?”

He was silent, just trying to understand what she was getting at.

He heard her voice, nearer again, very close behind him, as she added in a near whisper, “Because if you don’t…if you think I’d take it farther than you want to go…if you think I’d hurt you…you can walk out that door right now. I won’t stop you. It’s just a game, after all. I’m not gonna blame you if you wanna stop playing.”

Spike’s head tilted slightly in an unspoken question, as he waited for the catch.

“On the other hand,” she went on in a soft, calculating voice, “if you *trust* me…”

Ah. There it was.

Spike did not need to hear anymore. Without saying a word in response, or waiting for any further explanation, he placed his hands on the mattress, feeling along it until he found the handcuffs she had discarded – clearly not having expected to be using them anymore – and, holding them, moved carefully away from her, to the head of the bed.

She watched in confusion as he felt the headboard, confirming that he was where he meant to be, then quietly lay down on his back, locking his own hands over his head around one of the slats of the headboard.

The complete silence that met his actions told him that he had stunned Buffy speechless.

Well – for all of a good five seconds.

“Spike – w-what…?” The slightly flustered sound of her voice made him feel a slightly vindictive sense of satisfaction – and pride. Even handcuffed and in quite possibly the most vulnerable position of his entire life – he still had the power to effect her in ways she could not understand.

“I’ve told you already. But I’ll keep telling you – and showing you – until you get it, love…” Spike began softly.

“You trust me…” Buffy finished for him, an oddly sad, desolate note to her whispered voice.

“I *love* you,” he corrected her, a quiet intensity in his voice. “I love you, Buffy. And I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it to you. And no – I don’t think that you’re going to hurt me – any more than I like, anyway,” he added with a self-deprecating little smirk. “I *do* trust you. And if this is what it takes to prove it to you, then – so bloody well be it.”

Buffy was silent for a very long moment. Finally, she spoke, in a whisper so soft that a human could not have made it out.

“What if you’re wrong?”

Spike replied immediately, without hesitation, “I’m not.”

There was a long moment of silence before the Slayer spoke again, in a soft whisper of resolve, and an unreadable tumult of confused emotion.

“We’ll see.”