“I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry, Spike.”

The soft, tender words left Buffy’s lips before she could stop them. And then, she realized that she didn’t *want* to stop them. Her hand rose from Spike’s chest to gently caress his cheek, and her heart swelled, aching with emotion, when he leaned into the tender touch with an obvious thirst for her affection.

He did not say anything, did not attempt to deny that she had hurt him, as she had half-expected – or tell her that it was all right, as she had not dared to hope. He just nodded slightly, and swallowed hard, and she could tell that he was trying very hard to control the flood of painful emotions she had caused him.

She could not remember the last time she had felt so guilty.

“Spike,” she whispered, raising up on one arm, her hand moving to the blindfold that covered his eyes. “Baby…” This time there was no malice, no mockery or ulterior motives, in her use of the tender endearment.

She was surprised when he flinched away from her hand, jerking against the restraints that bound him in an apparent effort to get away. Buffy drew her hand back immediately, aghast at the thought that she had somehow managed to frighten him that badly.

“Please don’t, Buffy,” he whispered, his voice low and hoarse with tears. “Please – leave it.”

She froze when she realized that his reaction was not out of fear that she was going to hurt him – but out of fear that she was going to remove the blindfold – and therefore reveal how much she had hurt him already. That tiny scrap of fabric was the only thing that was even partially shielding his hurt and vulnerability from the Slayer’s eyes.

Tears welled up in Buffy’s own eyes as she gently put her arms around him again, laying her head on his chest and whispering, “I’m so sorry, Spike. God, I’m so sorry!”

He did not say a word for a very long moment. Then, he lowered his head to softly, almost reverently place a tender kiss amidst the tangled riot of her blonde hair.

“Don’t cry, love,” he murmured soothingly. “Not worth it.”

She slowly raised her head, staring at him in disbelief. *He* was trying to comfort and reassure *her* -- after the things she had said to him! And – “not worth it”? She did not know if he meant that her apology, or his feelings, were not worth her tears – until she looked at his face.

The sad, self-deprecating little smile he gave her was answer enough.

*Yes, you *are* worth it,* she wanted to tell him, wanted to throw away the handcuffs and the blindfold and just hold him and tell him everything she had wanted to tell him, before the ill-fated kiss she had initiated that had destroyed their fledgling friendship. All about her confusion, her fears, the loss and hurt of being ripped out of heaven – the painful emotions that kept her constantly hiding, defensive, and terrified of allowing herself to love anyone again – the resentment she held toward him, for loving her, when she herself knew that she was so utterly unworthy of it.

But she did not say any of that.

She raised her hand again to gently brush through his sweat-dampened, disheveled blonde curls. “Why do you let me do it? Why do you let me do this to you, Spike?” she asked softly, an aching sorrow in her voice.

A soft, sarcastic smile came over the vampire’s lips as he replied in a quiet, teasing tone, “Not much ‘let’ about it, pet. I’m handcuffed to your soddin’ bed!” His tone was as light as he could manage, and she knew that he was trying to ease the situation back to more comfortable territory.

Trying to let her off easy for her cruel offense.

She reached for the handcuffs around his wrists, ready to let him loose and end this cruel charade she had started. She had hurt him more than enough for one eternity already, she thought bitterly.

“No,” he objected sharply, pulling away from her as much as he could, and she froze.

“What?”

“Leave them, Buffy,” he insisted softly. “Until you’re convinced. You set out to prove something tonight – well, so did I! And I don’t want the bloody hell out of this until you’re bloody well certain.” He paused before adding in a soft, sure voice full of conviction and emotion. “I love you. And I trust you, too, pet. You *have* to see it.”

Buffy stared at him, absolutely stunned by his words.

Even now – he still claimed to trust her?

“H-how?” she asked in a broken whisper. “How *can* you? After…everything…”

Spike was silent for a long, weighted moment, and Buffy knew that he was carefully considering how best to respond to her question.

Finally, he took a deep breath and replied quietly, “Because I know you love me, Buffy. I know it. Like I know that I need blood to survive, or that Harris will always be a bloody wanker.” He smirked disarmingly as he gave a slight shrug and declared, “Bloody law of nature’s what it is.”

His expression became serious as he went on, “You’d die without air. The sun rises in the east. I’ll dust the moment anything ever happens to you again…” He paused, before stating the last “law of nature according to Spike” in a low, intense voice, “And you love me. You’re just afraid to let yourself see it.”

His honest, simple words struck her with breathtaking force, as a part of her had no choice but to acknowledge the truth of what he had said. She was not sure about love – but she knew that she cared much more than she wanted to admit for the frighteningly perceptive, incredibly sensitive, absolutely gorgeous blonde vampire.

She knew that it was wrong – knew that allowing herself to love another vampire could only lead to heartbreak and devastation of the worst kind – but could not seem to quell the feelings that overwhelmed her, the incredible desire and affection that drew her back to Spike’s door, again and again, no matter how many times she told herself that it could never, *ever* happen again.

Yes, a part of her had to admit that Spike was right.

And that admission put the rest of her immediately on the defensive, her guilt and heartache hiding behind a shield of anger and indignance.

“You sure about that?” she snapped, pulling away from him and sitting up on the bed beside him. “You so sure that I’m just afraid to admit it? What if there’s just nothing to admit?”

“Then I wouldn’t be here,” Spike answered immediately. “I’d be dust long ago.”

There was a simple but profound truth to his words. She knew it was true.

Still, she denied it.

“Maybe I’m just being generous,” she suggested, though it was obvious even to her own ears that she was grasping at straws. “After all – you’re helpless.”

“Not anymore,” he reminded her, his voice taking on a slightly sharper edge. He was determined to make her face the truth this time. “Remember? I could kill you anytime I wanted to now. And yet – I’m still undead.”

“You could try,” Buffy corrected him in an angrily trembling voice, rising slightly with her defenses. “But you couldn’t kill me – and you can’t hurt anyone else…”

“But there’s still a lot of things I *could* do, Buffy,” he reminded her. “I’ve been master of this town before – and I could do it again. There’s dozens of vamps out there just looking for someone strong enough to tell ‘em what to do, who’d be more than willing to do whatever I bloody tell them to. I could have someone else do you and yours in if I wanted to…”

“Maybe before,” Buffy scoffed derisively, standing up. Even blindfolded, the vampire saw far too much. She needed a little distance; she needed *not* to be touching him. “Now,” she snapped, aware as she spoke that the words were cruel, but too desperate to stop, “you’re nothing but a pathetic joke. Every vamp in this town knows that you can’t even feed anymore! That chip in your head…”

“Could stop working,” he interrupted, his own anger rising at her deliberately hurtful words. “Could wear out and leave me free, and you none the wiser. Or I could find a way to get it out completely…”

“God, Spike, are you *trying* to get yourself staked?” Buffy demanded, a threatening note creeping into her voice. “Are you just trying to convince me to stake you, because you’re doing a hell of a job!”

“Couldn’t convince you if I tried, pet,” Spike shot back, unable to keep the note of triumph from his voice. “That’s my bloody point! You just can’t do it!”

The Slayer in the girl could not let the master vampire’s challenge pass unanswered. She stalked back to the side of the bed, reaching under the pillow beneath Spike’s head, for the stake that she always kept there.

“You sure about that, Spikey?” she sneered. “Let’s find out!”

She raised the stake and brought it down swiftly toward the vampire’s exposed, vulnerable chest.

No vampire could have missed the sound as the weapon sliced through the air with a deadly rush of speed. She knew he would flinch, cry out, in some way betray a genuine fear that she might actually stake him. But Spike did not move, even when the tip of the stake came into contact with his chest, inches above his heart, pressing into his skin without quite breaking it.

He did not flinch – did not even make a sound.

In fact – he was smiling.

“You can’t do it,” he whispered, shaking his head slightly. “You can’t do it, Buffy. And there’s a reason why.”

Buffy froze, staring at the weapon in her clenched fist, the slight indentation its tip made in the pale, flawless flesh – and a sense of horror began to steal over her. She tossed the stake aside forcefully, sending it clattering loudly into her dresser, as she took a backward step away from the vampire on the bed, shaking her head in denial.

*God – what did I almost do…?* she wondered, horrified.

“Buffy?” Spike’s voice was uncertain, concerned. “You okay, love?”

*And why couldn’t I do it?* was Buffy’s next thought, as she continued slowly backing away from the vampire, trying to process what was happening here, how her carefully thought out plan had spun so quickly and completely out of her control.

*I can’t do this! I can’t lose him! But – I shouldn’t need him! This is wrong! He’s evil! I’m the Slayer! I should be able tot stake him…but…*why*? He hasn’t hurt anyone in so long – he loves me – he wouldn’t – oh, *God*, I almost…*

The breakdown that overcame the Slayer in that moment was in no way soft or gradual. It came upon her all at once, leaving her sobbing, great, wracking sobs that stole her breath and left her choking, gasping – stole her strength and left her collapsed, half-sitting, half-kneeling on the floor, her fist pressed hard against her mouth as she fought uselessly to suppress the sound – the unmistakable sign of her weakness.

“*Buffy*!”

She had no idea how Spike had gotten free of the handcuffs, but an instant later, she was enveloped in cool, strong arms that pressed her closer, holding her together so that she could allow herself to fall apart in his embrace.

“Shhh,” he whispered soothingly. “Buffy – Buffy, love – what is it? What’s the matter, pet?”

Buffy could not yet speak, too overwhelmed by the intensity of her emotions – so she just clung to him and cried. She knew she should be pushing him away – should not be allowing herself to become so vulnerable in his eyes.

At the moment, it did not matter to her. She needed him – and through the pain of her emotions that shook her so completely, an accusing thought surfaced.

*Yeah – that’s it, Buffy. *You* need him. So just use him again, when you know it can never be anything more than that. You know you don’t love him. You tried to break his heart and make him leave you – couldn’t even do *that* right! So you’ll just use him again until you’re over it for the moment, and then push him away until the next time you’re ready to use him again!*

“Buffy? Pet?”

She finally forced herself to look up, into wide sapphire eyes full of concern and affection, as he held her gently by the arms and asked again, “What’s all this, pet? You all right?”

She forced a tremulous smile and nodded hesitantly. “I just – wow – I could have – I almost – yeah. I’m fine.”

Spike laughed at the sardonic tone of her last few words, but the sound was not harsh or mocking, rather soft and full of sympathy and understanding.

“I almost staked you, Spike,” Buffy stated dubiously, searching his eyes. How could he be so concerned with her, and so unconcerned with the fact that she had nearly taken his life only moments before?

He just shrugged calmly. “No, you didn’t, love. Didn’t even come close.” He paused, smiling as she disentangled herself slowly from his embrace and climbed to her feet. He stayed on the floor for a moment longer, looking up at her with a smile that was brilliant and breathtaking, if a bit sad, and guileless blue eyes full of undisguised adoration.

“I knew you couldn’t do it,” he said softly.

Buffy just stared at him for a long moment, amazed. In spite of herself, she reached down to touch his cheek, a smile of reluctant affection coming over her face, as he gazed up at her, unflinching, unbothered by the fact that he was on the floor at her feet, utterly naked and vulnerable, moments after she had just tried to stake him.

“Is there *anything* that scares you?” she asked softly, unable to keep the admiration from her voice.

To her surprise, he looked away suddenly, his smile faltering, as he moved away from her hand and climbed to his feet as well. Seeing his discomfort, Buffy found herself attempting to steer the conversation toward safer territory, though her curiosity was piqued by his unexpected reaction to the rhetorical question.

“How’d you get out of my magic handcuffs, anyway?” she asked him mildly, as she made her way to the bed and sat down on the side, her fingers running idly over the metal he had cast aside in coming to her rescue. “I’m gonna have to ask Will for a refund on this gift – get my non-existent money back.”

“No,” Spike shrugged, his back turned to her as he faced her dresser, apparently finding her collection of various knick-knacks incredibly interesting. “They work just like you said they did.” He turned slightly for a moment to give her a sly smirk. “Only the one who *put them on* can take them off.”

Her eyes widened as she remembered how he had taken the handcuffs and chained himself to her bed. A slow smile of disbelief and amusement slid over her face as she looked up at him through new eyes, impressed. His back was turned to her again, and he was absently toying with random items on her dresser – still apparently oblivious to the fact that he was doing it completely naked.

Buffy, on the other hand – was anything but oblivious.

She allowed her eyes to slowly savor the sight of Spike’s perfectly formed, absolutely amazing body. She felt her lust for him building up inside her again; she had all but given up on her plan by this point.

Oh, she still intended to put an end to this disastrous affair, and quickly – and yet – he was simply so tempting, so irresistible to her.

How could she possibly let him go?

*You shouldn’t do this, Buffy…you need to break it off. Yeah, you’ve ruined the game. He’ll never believe you don’t care now – but you have to be strong. End it…end it…get over there and end it, now!*

She found that her feet were indeed carrying her across the room, gliding effortlessly toward Spike – but the rest of her body did not seem willing to comply with the other half of her mind’s command.

God, how she wanted him!

He was lost enough in his thoughts at the moment that he did not sense her approach, until she was directly behind him. He gasped in surprise as she put her arms around him, one sliding under his arm to wrap upward around his chest, pulling him back toward her, as the other moved around in front of him to gently squeeze his half-hardened member.

The common figurine he had been so intently studying crashed to the floor, shattering into a thousand jagged pieces, as she began to slowly, firmly, pump his cock with her hand.

“Buffy!” he gasped, his hand falling to rest on her arm, encouraging her actions.

She smiled, relishing the knowledge of how responsive he always was to her touch, how eager and desirous he always was for her.

*Why should I have to give this up?* she wondered desperately. *He wants me – I want him – why should I…*

“Buffy!” Spike moaned, his other hand rising to clasp her hand against his chest, his thumb caressing a slow circle on her palm, as he thrust slowly into her hand, gasping softly, “Buffy – love you, Buffy, so much!”

*That’s why.*

A heavy weight of guilt settled over Buffy’s heart, as she realized anew her reasons for this night in the first place. She could continue these passionate nights with Spike, giving him her body while withholding everything else – and could little by little destroy him.

Because Spike loved her.

She tried to tell herself that he did not – but she knew that he did.

And she could not let herself love him.

She had to end it. No matter how hard it was, she *had* to. Tonight.

“Buffy – need you – I want you, Buffy, so bad…” Spike was still babbling out random words of need and adoration. “Love you, Buffy -- *God* -- feels so good…”

Buffy ran her hand one more time, slowly, sensually, down the length of his throbbing erection, harder than before, making him release a desperate, strangled cry of pleasure at the increased intensity of her touch.

And then – she removed her hand from him completely.

A soft, throaty whimper of protest was all that the vampire could manage, and instinctively his hand moved toward his aching cock.

Buffy’s hand caught his wrist, in one swift motion pulling it and his other wrist behind his back and holding them there.

“Now, Baby,” she said in a teasingly warning voice. “What did I tell you about touching yourself?”

She locked the handcuffs that she had retrieved from the bed around his wrists again, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the knowledge that this time, they would stay on until *she* was ready for them to come off.

She turned him around to face her, flashing him a wicked smile at the slightly bewildered look on his face, as she pushed him gently but firmly to his knees in front of her.

“You know,” she went on in a playful tone, eyes falsely wide and serious. “Some people say it makes you go blind.” She cocked an eyebrow at him suggestively, glancing toward the discarded scarf, where he had left it a few feet away. “Wouldn’t you rather touch *me*, anyway?”

She rested one hand gently on his shoulder, the other tangling firmly but not painfully in his hair to tilt his head back, as she slowly, suggestively, rotated her hips, inches in front of his face. She watched with a smile as he caught the scent of her arousal, and his eyes widened, and then became hazy with desire as he raised them to meet hers. Those incredibly blue eyes were wide and longing, his parted lips trembling with need and anticipation.

God, he was beautiful!

“Not to sound selfish, Sweetheart,” she pouted lightly, lowering her and from his hair to trace gently along the line of his full, luscious lips. “but I’m starting to feel a little neglected here.”

She knew she was starting to think like Anya, but it was the truth. If she was keeping score, he was up two to zero in the orgasm department.

“So what do you think, Baby?” she pressed gently, swiveling her hips toward him again as she let her hand fall from his mouth to rest over her throbbing, longer center, relishing the flash of lust in his eyes as he watched her every move.

“Wanna taste?”