Spike was no fool. He knew that she was trying to manipulate him.

He may have been on the brink of losing all control and being driven to a point of mad desire where he simply didn’t care – but at least he bloody well *knew* it!

He wanted so badly to give in to her. Buffy knew just how to touch him, just what to do to him to make him desperate for her; and now, faced with her obvious desire for him, there was a part of him that wanted nothing more than to simply give in – to lose himself in her, and prove that he knew how to get her at *his* mercy, too – to make her moan and scream his name and beg for more.

He could do it. He had, many times before, and in this helpless situation he was in, there was nothing he would have liked more than to prove to Buffy beyond all doubt that he still had the power to affect her in ways that no one else ever had, to make her feel things that no one else could. He knew he could do it – and he wanted to.

But – something was off.

The Slayer’s agenda was becoming clearer to him with every flawed step of her little plan. She wanted for him to back down – to admit that he did not trust her – or perhaps to make him see that she had the will and ability to hurt him more than his love for her was willing to bear. She wanted him to run from her, so that she could stop running, and yet not have to face her fears.

What the Slayer did not understand, but was becoming clearer to Spike with every moment, even in the midst of this overwhelming encounter, was that love and trust did *not* always have to go hand in hand, as Buffy thought – and that sometimes, love *did* hurt – terribly.

But that did not mean it stopped.

Buffy did not seem to understand that – but she would, before the night was through. Spike did not mean to let it end until she did.

“Well, Spike?” Buffy murmured, moving closer to him, her fist tangling in his hair and tugging his head back slightly as she ran her other hand up her own thigh, pushing the thin, flowy skirt she was wearing up her leg as she did, in a tempting manner. “What do you want?”

His swollen, aching member protested its current state of neglect, as her words, her inviting actions, stirred him to deeper desire. He had to hand it to her, the little chit knew exactly what she was doing.

Fortunately, so did he.

"I think the better question, pet,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and breathless with need, as his penetrating sapphire eyes found hers, and held them with an arresting gaze, “is what do *you* want? Do you even know?”

He felt a little thrill of satisfaction as he recognized the emotions that swept through her darkened eyes at his words – a startled fear at his perception – followed by a defensive anger – and then, just as quickly, her feelings seemed to be closed off to him, as she gave him a predatory smirk.

“I think it’s pretty clear what I want,” she countered in a soft, dangerous voice. “And I’m thinking maybe you should give it to me, Spike -- *now*!”

The commanding tone, made less convincing by the slight tremor of need, nearly broke Spike’s control right then. But he forced himself to stay strong for just a few minutes more. It was difficult to even think clearly, when faced with such a powerful temptation – but inspiration had struck, and he knew what he had to do, no matter how difficult it was.

Spike looked the Slayer in the eyes with an impudent grin as he spoke calmly and certainly.

“No.”

The little double take that Buffy did at that made his smile widen, as her eyes grew large with shocked disbelief at the thought that Spike would ever refuse her.

*Bloody hell. Have I really become that soddin’ pathetic?*

“No?” Buffy echoed incredulously, her seductive movements stilled completely as she tried to process the word that she had rarely heard from the vampire’s lips – at least in recent months.

His smile became a mocking smirk as he asked her lightly, “You *do* know what the word means, don’t you, Slayer?”

He might have been imagining it, reading too much into her expression, but he thought he saw a flash of hurt in her eyes at the use of her title instead of her name, and the mocking tone of his voice.

It took all his strength not to tell her he was sorry, not to back down.

Buffy quickly recovered, however, donning her own smirk as she shot back, “Yeah. Just didn’t think you knew how to use it.”

He knew that the hurt showed in his eyes, in the instant before he quickly looked away.

*And we’re back to the whole ‘nothin’ but her soddin’ whore’ routine,* he thought bitterly. *Bollocks. I *am* really that pathetic.*

The pain in his eyes had a softening effect on the Slayer, who was suddenly kneeling in front of him, her hand releasing his hair to touch his cheek gently and turn his face back toward her.

He was surprised at the regret, the sadness, he saw in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, leaning in to follow her words with a slow, tender kiss.

It was hardly enough.

He was as unresponsive as she had ever seen him be to her, submitting to her kiss, but not actively returning it. She withdrew her mouth from his, slowly, a frown of concern forming on her face, as she took in the firm set of his jaw, the way he leaned slightly away from her, keeping his eyes averted – everything in his stance speaking of hurt and anger.

Buffy froze, a cold feeling akin to dread building in her chest. Was this it? Had she finally succeeded in hurting him badly enough that he would walk away from her? It was what she had wanted – wasn’t it?

Then why was the thought so terrifying to her?

“Can you forgive me?” she whispered, unconsciously holding her breath in anticipation of his answer. For a long, excruciating moment, he did not move, did not look up, as she waited for him to speak.

When his eyes finally rose to meet hers, wide and honest and glistening with tears, her breath was stolen away from her again, as he whispered, shaking his head slowly, a sad, ironic, yet beautiful smile on his full, slightly trembling lips.

“Buffy – Buffy, love – how can you even ask me?”

The tone of his voice made his answer clear – so full of love and devotion, even after everything. Her chest ached with a deep sorrow as she thought about the exercise in torment and pain that had been her treatment of Spike over the past few months. He gave her absolutely everything he had to give, submitting his very life into her hands – and she gave him nothing but punishment and pain in return.

She knew by now that her words could hurt him much worse than her fists ever could – so of course, that was what she dealt him. Harsh, demeaning comments designed to belittle him and crush his spirit.

And yet he loved her.

Was there *nothing* that he would not forgive her?

As she gazed into those open, expressive blue eyes, unable to tear her own away, she knew that she could not abandon her plan, now more than ever. He loved her -- *really* loved her. And regardless of her feelings for him, her confused, mixed-up desires and dreams and longings for how it might be – she was irreversibly, hopelessly screwed up beyond any help.

She would only ever end up hurting him.

She had to break it off – had to *make* him move on, so that in time, he could find someone else, someone who would love him like he loved her, completely, holding nothing back, and without the crippling fear that always left her more confused and conflicted – and Spike broken and wounded.

She did not know if she loved him, but she felt strongly that she did not love him *enough* -- couldn’t – if she always ended up hurting him so badly. But she knew that she *did* care enough to stop herself from using him, from hurting him, again.

And she cared enough – or was selfish enough – to give them this one last night.

She held his gaze for a moment longer, before leaning in for another kiss, her hand gently cupping the back of his head, caressing tenderly, where before she had been hard and forceful. This time, Spike responded to her kiss, with a desperation, a thirst that made her heart ache with the power of its intensity.

When she finally broke the kiss to draw breath, she looked into his wide, stunned eyes, surely mirroring the expression in her own, as she whispered intently, earnestly, “What do *you* want, Spike? Please – let me – let me give you – what do you want?”

Their faces were mere inches apart, and she could clearly see the surprise, the doubt and disbelief, in his startled eyes, in the moment before he leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers, still breathing hard with the intensity of the moment as he gave her his soft, heartfelt response.

“You, Buffy…just you.”

She could not respond. There were no words. She swallowed back a sob, closing her eyes against the tears that rose there, as she raised her hands to gently cup his face, without lifting her head from his.

*God, it’s too much…it’s too…I can’t…*

“I love you, Buffy,” Spike went on, his voice quiet but trembling with passion and intensity. “You’re all I want, Buffy…just you…just…you and me…and no…no games…”

He shook his head slowly, and she felt his tears fall onto her bare leg, pulled up under her. Her own tears slipped down her cheeks as she lowered her arms to gently wrap around him, and he struggled to go on.

“No – no posturing and mind games and trying to out-brave each other…just…just you and me, and you…you…letting me love you.” His voice broke slightly over his last words, and as she pulled him closer to her instinctively, he lowered his head to her shoulder and let out a gasp that was almost a sob.

“I – I don’t expect…I mean…” he fought to get the words out in a dangerously shaking voice. “I understand if you can’t…but…God, Buffy…why won’t you just let me *love* you?”

Buffy felt her heart ripped out with the raw pain of his words, and just held him, allowing her own tears to roll down her cheeks and fall in her own hair and on his pale skin, as she just embraced him gently, wanting to utter words of comfort – having no words to offer. As the vampire quietly broke down, revealing once again the tender, loving nature that she had tried to deny so many times, it became real to her just how terribly she had hurt him.

After a few moments, she gently pushed him back. She watched as he swallowed reflexively, his jaw setting as he steeled himself for another rejection – because that was what he had assumed she was doing, when she ceased the warm embrace she had held him in.

But with a softly spoken Latin word, Buffy reached behind him and gently took off the handcuffs she had used to bind him, dropping them to the floor – and slowly took both of his hands in hers, pulling them around in front of him and holding them between them, still clasped in her own.

Spike stared down at their joined hands in front of him for a long moment, a frown of confusion forming on his tear-drenched face, before he slowly looked up at her, a tentative, apprehensive question in his eyes.

“Buffy…what…?” he whispered, shaking his head slightly – his words falling away in wonder as she shook her head, drawing one hand up close to lay a feather-light, tender kiss in his palm as she turned it toward her, holding his gaze as she gently pressed his hand to her cheek.

She stared at him for a long moment, a solemn, sorrowful look in her shimmering emerald eyes, as she shook her head slightly and whispered, “I’ve been so blind…”

His eyes widened, as he tried to process her words, tried to think what they might mean. It seemed far too good to be true that she might be offering him what it sounded as if she was offering him.

He had to know.

“Buffy – what – what is this?” he whispered, swallowing back his apprehension, desperately wanting to yield to his hope.

She released his hands, shifting her body nearer to him, so that their folded knees were touching each other, as she put one hand around his waist to rest gently on his back, her other hand rising to lie at the back of his neck, as she gazed into his eyes.

“This is me…and you…without the games,” she whispered, a new certainty in her voice, as she raised her lips slowly to his, holding his gaze until the last possible second. “Just us,” she affirmed, as she kissed him…

He had never felt anything to rival the power of that kiss.

It was tender, and intimate, as she allowed herself to yield to him in a way she never had before, her arms sliding around him and pulling him close to her as she gently caressed his mouth with her tongue, taking her time, thoroughly, lovingly, cherishing every second, until the kiss ended, all too soon.

She pulled away from him without a word, standing slowly to her feet – and he watched her closely in wonder, the fearful question still in his eyes. She did not look at him as she picked up the handcuffs, then moved a few feet away to pick up the blindfold, and walked to her nightstand, putting them in the tiny drawer beside her bed and shutting it firmly, deliberately.

She turned to face him, a soft, serious expression of affection on her face as she met his eyes. Never breaking eye contact with him, she began to step slowly toward him, as she did, slowly unbuttoning her blouse, and shrugging it off her shoulders, allowing it to slip to the floor.

Spike’s eyes widened, and he swallowed hard, feeling the erection that had weakened under the pain of her cruel words, slowly swelling to life again.

The hint of a smile – soft, tender, not the least bit mocking – began on Buffy’s lips, a flash of something tentative and perhaps a bit insecure in her emerald eyes, as her bra went the way of her shirt – and there were only a few short feet separating them.

A feeling of apprehension came over the vampire, and by the time the skirt fell to the floor, his eyes were focused on hers again, missing the show entirely – searching her eyes for some sign of her intent.

If this was just another game…just the cruelest one yet…

“Buffy…” he whispered, his voice hoarse and thick with emotion. “…what are you…what…”

His voice trailed off as her hand rose to tenderly stroke the back of her fingers down the side of his anxious, uncertain face.

“Giving you me,” she whispered, her eyes solemn and sincere as she returned his gaze, trying to reassure him with the warmth and tenderness in her smile and in her voice. “Like you wanted…like *I* want…”

His unnecessary breath was stolen away with the next words she uttered, in a low whisper of love and desire.

“Make love to me, Spike.”