Disclaimer: BtVS is owned by Joss Whedon and the Powers That Be. No intention to infringe copyright should be inferred.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far, it really helps both in motivation and in improving the story. Huge thanks to Diabola for the beta on this chapter!

Chapter 5

"Not a white hat. Never gonna be a sodding white hat. I'm the Big Bad," Spike muttered, slumping in his seat.

'So having dragged your sorry arse all this way to be a hero, as soon as you're offered a chance you're just going to walk away? Priceless, you total git,' the rational part of Spike sneered in disgust. He struggled to think of a suitable response. Ah yes. It was William that wanted to be the hero, William that wanted to save the day, not him, not Spike. Spike wanted destruction, not salvation, wanted to ravish, not romance. There was his argument. And he was Spike, not William. Not any more.

'You'll always be William. Spike's just your excuse,' his subconscious was getting to be a real pain in the arse. Spike wondered how much whiskey he'd need to drown it out.

'Oh I'm not going anywhere. Think how much worse this introspection would be with a hangover.' Spike groaned. He was finally going mad. All that time with Drusilla had taken its toll, now he was arguing with himself.

'Just can't get past your stubborn childish streak is all. You've got the opportunity to do something right for once in your miserable existence and you're gonna throw it all away because you can't handle the responsibility. Yeah, just go ahead and carry on being the Big Bad. What was so Big and Bad about you anyway? Killed two slayers, only 'cause they were tryin' to kill you; killed people, well bugger it, even humans do that just for scratching the paintwork on their tacky Japanese cars. Let's face it, hanging around your girlfriend for a hundred years and getting into scraps really isn't that villainous, mate.'

Spike thought about that. It's true that when he was in a temper he could be vicious, but he'd never been callous or cruel. Well, not often. Maybe he was more Moriarty than Jack the Ripper, the heist mastermind rather than the psychopath. Unbidden, his mind's eye conjured scenes from some of the evening parties he and Drusilla had held. No, he couldn't delude himself into thinking he was better than a savage beast, delighting in the terror and pain of his victims as surely as he relished the taste of their blood on his tongue.

'This is your chance. You can prove you're better than just Angelus' mongrel offspring. Keep your word to Joyce, and maybe save the world into the bargain. You never know, perhaps wicked could be just as much fun as evil. End of the day, what do you really have to lose?'

'Only your self respect and your reputation', his demon bristled. Just look at his own attitude towards the sulking forehead, for instance. A legend among the denizens of the demon community, Angelus had inspired fear, hate and downright envy for decades; now he was viewed with contempt across the globe by even the slimiest Fyarl demon. Until Angel had turned up in Sunnydale it had been widely assumed he'd walked out into the dawn, and while his involvement in the Master's death had caused ripples of unease among his peers he wasn't perceived as a threat, only an object of pity. Spike was damned if he'd end up like the poofter.

'The poofter didn't have any problem getting together with the Slayer though,' his libido weighed in with the first good thought he'd had tonight.

He couldn't deny the effect the Slayer's kiss had wrought, the brief taste he'd enjoyed enough to make his blood boil and leave him craving more. Left him wanting to find out what other tricks she had up her sleeve, or should that be 'down her cleavage'? The idea of finding out stirred his cock for the third time that night, and suddenly his inner turmoil resolved itself into one goal. He was going to rescue Buffy from herself. He was just going to do it his way and in his own good time.

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The club was finally cleaned and shut down for the night, and Buffy was pleased to wrap up and hit the fresh air. Spike's appearance that night at the club had been unexpected, a shock, but not an unpleasant one. She ran a hand across her collarbone and felt the tightening in her stomach. Not unpleasant at all, she reflected, recalling the feel of his cool silken skin taut over his mouth-wateringly hard muscles, the taste of him against her tongue. A frisson of arousal lashed through her body, making her sigh. She'd always wondered what Spike would be like to kiss, and her first meeting with the charismatic monster played before her mind's eye.

She'd run outside the Bronze just in time to stake a goon vamp attacking some unfortunate girl, and felt a chill running through her when she'd heard mocking claps behind her. Her body had been trembling from the joy of the kill, the endorphin high thrumming in every muscle, a subconscious arousal peaking when she whirled to face the new threat. Everything about the blond vampire screamed dangerous, from the look of frank interest in his deep blue eyes, to the arrogant smile gracing his lips, the gorgeous high cheekbones. Oh, and the leather. Mustn't forget that. And she couldn't deny the pure, basic attraction she'd felt like a kick in the stomach. He was everything a good girl like her shouldn't want, but even the Slayer wasn't immune to the temptation of the forbidden.

The single-mindedness with which he'd hunted her had only increased the fascination, each encounter building the tense connection between the two of them, culminating in the fight in the church where she'd thrilled to hear his confession that he would rather fight with her.

Being honest with herself, while saving Angel had been her priority that day, at the back of her mind was the realisation that with Drusilla healed there would be nothing to hold Spike in Sunnydale. That knowledge had been accompanied with relief; if Spike was gone she'd be able to stop thinking about him and all the ideas that his innuendos caused to flourish in the dark corners of her imagination.

Pressing one hand to her forehead as she walked, the Slayer firmly refused to follow her mind's journey down memory lane to its full conclusion. It had taken a while but she had left the pain behind her, which was where it was going to stay.

She wondered where Spike and Drusilla were hiding out; after all, there was never one without the other, in her experience. Buffy owed Drusilla some payback on the man stealing front, and in her mind, that would be two birds with one stone. She'd finally indulge her curiosity about William the Bloody, and Drusilla would know how it felt to watch a lover wrapping themselves around someone else. His lust tonight had been apparent, and she knew that her offhand dismissal of him would only increase his determination to force himself into her new life. He'd always been an attention seeker.

'I'll give him so much attention he'll be begging for mercy,' she smiled to herself. Lost in her plans for the blonde vampire she nearly missed the jewel in one of her bracelets glowing a deep crimson.

"Oh crap. Just what I need right now," Buffy scowled, muttering under her breath. Using her left hand, she traced a sigil in front of her, the air a smoldering trail behind her fingertip, and then the alley was empty.

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Spike ambled back to the extremely downmarket motel he'd holed up in, plans and strategies buzzing in his head. He'd sated his hunger for blood, waylaying a cute twenty-something and kissing her so soundly she was oblivious when his fangs finally broke her skin.

He'd not drained the girl to death, reasoning that even if Buffy hadn't staked him that night, even if everything Whistler had told him was true, and Spike was sceptical to say the least,; he wasn't about to give the Slayer a reason to resize him to fit into an ashtray should she be of a mind to do so. He could take the blood he needed without killing, and while sometimes the fear of a victim was fun, seduction often suited him so much better. Maybe that was the attraction of the Summers girl, he mused. Violence and sex in one tantalising package.

He keyed open his room and shrugged out of his duster, the borrowed white t-shirt following in short order. Perching on the end of the bed Spike pulled off his boots and socks, then he lay back, feet on the floor, enjoying the comfort of the mattress after so many days of travelling and tracking.

Spike was about to move to the shower when his hand brushed over the slightly sticky spot on his chest and brought the sensations of the night rushing back, causing an instant reaction in his groin. He closed his eyes and groaned, summoning a full recall of the incredible episode as he unsnapped the fastening on his jeans and freed his swollen cock.

In his imagination, after the first kiss, his hands trailed over the Slayer's body, fingertips brushing over her skin and raising goosebumps in their wake. Instead of the demon seizing control, he ran his tongue down the side of her neck, reaching her shoulder and nibbling, restraining his need to sink first his teeth and then his sharper fangs into her soft fragrant flesh.

Her head tipped back, long hair tickling his knuckles where his hand was massaging the curve of her ass though her skirt. A moaning sigh leaving her throat as she pressed herself to him, one delicate hand balanced on his shoulder; the other snaked lower, gliding over his muscles and causing them to contract at the gentle stimulation. Her hot fingers slid lower, pausing at the waistband of his jeans only long enough to open the fly before continuing their downward journey. He hissed in pleasure at the first touch, her firm grasp around the base of his cock making him leap in her hand.

On the bed Spike's hand wrapped tightly round himself and with a long, practiced stroke he fell deeper into his fantasy.

Using his nose and lips to burrow into the cups of her bustier, he licked a long line between the concealed mounds of her breasts while his free hand found the back of her knee and his palm swept up her thigh, fingers pressing into the supple, muscular limb and finding the heated barrier of her panties. A breathless gasp rewarded him when he pressed against the pliant softness of her centre and he felt the fabric become slick under his touch.

Her teasing hand left his trousers and she pushed him back, peeling herself away from his body and mouth, luminous green eyes locked with darkened sapphire and held while the Slayer sank to her knees before him. She parted his fly and revealed him, straight and quiveringly hard; Spike watched as her mouth hovered over him and she breathed on the weeping tip, scorching him. His whole body tensed, fighting to control both his lust and his demon and he growled softly, missing the glint in her eye as she brandished a fresh lime. The first splash of juice sluiced along his length and his strangled curse became a hoarse shout the next second, when her tongue swiftly lapped at the trickle and his skin.

"Gods...Slayer," he groaned in pleasure, his hand tangling in her hair once more.

She responded by sliding her mouth onto his shaft, tongue cradling the underside of him until he nudged the back of the wet, hot cavern and only then closing her lips tightly around his girth with a powerful suck. His hips jerked and Spike knew he wouldn't be able to withstand this assault for very long. Buffy drew back, the suction of her mouth pulling all the way to his spine, turning him to jelly, and flicked her strong tongue around the head of his cock before she plunged down upon him and establishing a rhythm that mimicked her pounding pulse.

He was completely surrounded by her, the radiant heat of her body, the scent of her arousal, and overlaying it all, the sound of her heart pumping a frantic tattoo. Soon, Spike felt the inexorable approach of his orgasm. The kneeling Slayer moaned around him, and the vibration was all it took for him to scream her name in ecstasy and lose himself, his climax pouring into her mouth.

She held him for a moment, each tremor drawing a gasp and a whimper from him, before she rose to her feet, smiling at the spent vampire before her. Smiling, Buffy raised the tequila bottle to her lips and took a small swig, her hands holding his head as she pressed her lips to his. He opened his mouth to her and tasted his salt mixed with the bitterness of the alcohol on her tongue. His arms held her tightly against him while he kissed her, shudders of pleasure rippling through him even when she withdrew to breathe, and they shared the slow, satisfied smile of lovers.

Spike opened his eyes, the cool wetness of release on his stomach and fingers, and inhaled deeply, startled by the ferocity of his lust. He definitely needed that shower.

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Buffy closed the door to her apartment and immediately began to strip out of her boots and clothes. Her new life came with perks, and while she enjoyed them to the full, some of the downsides were a drag. Or sometimes a splatter.

She made her way across the hardwood floor, trailing soiled clothing as she went. One of the perks was this apartment: an uncluttered, spacious loft, with a split level. The upper section was her bedroom, and the utilities were on the lower: kitchen, living area and her favourite - the bathroom. She had used the funds she'd been given by her boss to indulge herself fully and remodelled, which meant she was greeted with a large sunken tub, automatic lighting and a shower big enough to double as a closet when she reached her haven. Sighing happily, she turned the taps on, combing her long dark hair while the bath filled.

The young woman she saw in the mirror was a far cry from the girl who'd routinely battled vampires and the other creatures of darkness that ran rampant in Sunnydale, home of the Hellmouth.

Upon her arrival in LA, she'd had barely enough money to make rent on a grubby one room apartment, let alone visit the hair salon for her regular tinting, and her natural brown began to show. As it grew longer, Buffy had decided she quite liked the look, so she simply found a color to match.

That wasn't really the main difference, however. Her posture was more confident, her walk had become more of a strut and her mouth curled more easily into a sneer than a smile. The change she was proudest of however, was the absence of haunted horror in her clear hazel eyes. Whistler had been so right when he'd said she had one more thing to lose, and she found she didn't miss it at all.