He’d had a busy night. Tucked his sore bits back into the trousers and headed out on the motorbike. Thing about being a vampire of any advanced age was that one tended to become noticeable. Didn’t matter if you meant to be – which Spike usually did – or were trying to blend in. Your movements became more fluid, your manner more commanding. It was a rare vamp that could pull off helpless like Darla. An undead Oscar winner, that one, he thought, as he headed for the shop outside Sunnydale city limits.

Being remembered wasn’t a tragedy, necessarily. It just made it difficult to steal.

And Spike had a longer than usual shopping list tonight.

He’d pulled into Adult World just after three. The clerk looked bored, and fortunately had enough of a clientele kept him busy. Spike drew appreciative stares from a few of his fellow shoppers. But he wasn’t about to linger and risk racing the sunrise back to his crypt.

Besides, he’d seen it all before. Whips, harnesses, slings, clamps, vibes. Wander the earth for more than a century and kink ceased to be shocking.

Didn’t mean that this was easy, he cautioned himself. The trick was to find toys that would please his Slayer without making her feel like a freak. It took a few minutes, then a bit longer to make sure that he’d secreted away the merchandise properly. As he strolled casually towards the front door, he realized he’d probably gone overboard. No matter – a burly biker chick was complaining about a faulty video booth, causing more than enough distraction for a vampire to slip out, pockets full of dildos.

He made it back to Sunnydale in plenty of time to deliver a package to Buffy’s door, stash the cycle and get underground well before sunrise. Now he just had to wait.

***

She had lunch rush duty at the Doublemeat today. The worst of both worlds – couldn’t quite sleep in, couldn’t have the afternoon to yourself. Actually, she could sleep for another hour or two, at least until Dawn and Willow cleared out for classes. But something drew her out of bed this morning and she found herself heating water for tea and going to retrieve the Sunnydale Times.

“Huh?” The plain brown paper bag next to the newspaper held a box. Was it a gift? She looked inside the bag. Eyes wide, she stifled an “eep!” and hurried back to her bedroom.

Spike! It had to be him. Stupid vampire, leaving sex toys on the front porch where her teenage sister could find them. When she saw him, she would …

How did this thing work anyway?

Stroke your petals with this wearable vibrating blossom! Slide into the adjustable elastic straps and plant the pretty posy over your clitoris. The bullet vibe at the flower's center provides fabulous varied vibration. Press the button for four distinctive speeds and pulses, and let your pleasure bloom! Takes four AA batteries. Insertable portion is 2" long and 1" wide, flower is 4 1/2" across.

***

Buffy forgot about her tea.

After a minute’s indecision, she’d snuck upstairs to stash the toy. But once back inside her cozy little room, bed still unmade, it seemed like a shame to not at least unpack the contraption. Just to see what she was so annoyed about. After all, Spike deserved a talking to for this. Least she could do was understand precisely what he’d gifted her.

So, naturally, she unboxed the vibrator. Just to see.

And slipped into straps, positioning the plastic petal over her sex. Just to understand how it worked, so she knew what it was she was yelling about later.

Having gone this far, it seemed only reasonable to push the button and … ooooh!

Without thinking, she fell back into her messy bed, clutching the remote. A quick adjustment of the flower and she was sighing, experimenting with the speeds and pulses. Buffy finally settled on a steady, gentle rhythm and let herself slowly be brought to a soft climax.

When she finally opened her eyes, the digital display read 9:28. Damn! She was due at the Palace in thirty minutes and it was a twenty-minute walk. She tossed the petal aside, jumped into the shower and pulled on her uniform in record time.

She’d just tied up her sneakers and was about to race out of the house when she realized the vibrator was still lying on her comforter.

Her regulation orange polyester slacks were ridiculously baggy, she thought. No one would know if …

With an impatient huff, she rejected the idea and stashed her sex toy in the back of the closet, tucking it into a shoebox. “Must stop thinking about sex,” she mumbled as she hurried away from Revello Drive.

“Must stop thinking awful, perverted thoughts about sex …” she told herself as she rushed down the street, passing the postman who gave her a strange look.

Blushing, Buffy shut her mouth and headed towards six hours of fast food hell.

***

Couldn’t believe he still needed this, after the touch she’d been giving him. But it was more than six hours ‘til dusk and odds were against Buffy invading his sanctuary any time soon. And there were only so many random daytime strolls he could take. One of these days, he knew, he’d get more than a bit singed and wouldn’t that be a fitting ending for love’s bitch?

Instead, he sat propped up against pillows, stroking his cock in a steady rhythm, looking at the photos of Buffy splayed out all around him.

Golden thighs – soft little breasts – that mouth, turned up in a surprisingly mischievous grin. Her peach of an ass, spread by those powerful little hands. And her sex – wet, glistening, perfect. Bloody gates to heaven, that was. Impossible to believe he’d had her, except that here was evidence of the most damning sort. Her whole body, bare to his gaze whenever he desired.

His imagination raced.

Now it wasn’t just photographs, but the Slayer herself, trussed up in delicate golden chains. He unlocked her just enough to lead her to the bed. “You’re mine, Buffy.”

“I’m yours, Spike,” she repeated obediently.

“I’m going to chain you to the bed now,” he explained to Dream Buffy, who immediately assumed the proper position, allowing him to spread eagle her, ankle cuffs to left and right posts at the foot of the bed; wrist cuffs to left and right posts at the top.

“Comfy, love?”

She nodded, a lovely flush in her cheeks.

“I’m gonna bury my cock in you now, pet. Ready for me?”

“Always ready for you.”

“Wet enough?” He slid a finger in.

“Drenched.”

He slipped between her thighs with a groan. “So good. Tell me how it feels for you, Buffy.”

“You fill me up. Stretch me, remake me so I’m no good for anybody but you, Spike.”

“Is that right, love?”

“You’re so hard. Like … like steel, like stone.”

“But I don’t hurt you, do I?”

“Oh, noooo …” she moaned. “Never hurt me, make me feel so good!”

Spike came with a groan, spilling onto his belly.

It was useless – the fantasy of a compliant Buffy in chains lingered and he felt his cock harden before he’d completely lost his earlier erection.

“Okay, then. Plan B.” Still sticky, he reached for a bottle of Jack and took a deep swig. And another. “I’ll just drown you, Summers.” He drained half the bottle in his next gulp, enough to send him falling back into the pillows.

***

Vampires might be exempt from gray hair and wrinkles, but hangovers were still a problem for any creature fool enough to suck down a half dozen bottles of the hard stuff in as many hours.

It was well after midnight when he’d awoke; another hour or more until he’d cleaned up enough to consider traversing Sunnydale. Then there were the three burly vamps he had to take out en route to Revello – Slayer must’ve done a hasty patrol to miss Manny, Moe & Jack. Or maybe she was just avoiding Restfield again.

Instead, he found her parked on the front porch’s white wicker settee, hair still damp from the shower, wearing a little tank top and running shorts.

“Spike.”

“Expecting me, love?”

She shrugged.

“Long day in the universe?”

“Yeah.”

“Here,” he said, nudging her aside.

“I didn’t say you could …”

“Shhh …” he kneaded her shoulders, working at the knots of tension.

A little sigh escaped her lips and she relaxed into his touch.

“What was it? Face off with a big ugly on patrol?”

“I wish.”

“Then what’s all this for?” He pressed a tender spot.

“Ouch! No, don’t stop.”

Spike returned to his ministrations, waiting for her to spill.

“It’s nothing. Just … work.”

“By work, you mean the paycheck generating kind, not the sacred calling kind.”

“Yeah. Grease traps and meat grinders and polyester pants.”

“Not exactly glamorous, then?”

“No.”

“Cuts into the rest of living, does it?”

“Living? Dawn’s sleeping over at Janice’s, again. At least, I hope that’s where she is. And Willow and Amy are out painting the town red. Leaving good ole’ Buff with a sink full of dishes, a week’s worth of laundry and a stack of bills that my subsistence wage employment won’t begin to cover. In fact, I’m going to spend my day off tomorrow choosing between groceries and electricity, so I … oh, never mind.”

“S’okay, pet. Feels good to let it out, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“So, you’re alone. In the house.”

She pulled away abruptly. “No, Spike. I didn’t just tell you … no!”

“Not taking advantage, pet. Just thought you could use some attention, s’all.”

“Attention?”

“Come on, your back aches and I’ll bet your calf muscles are on fire.”

Buffy huffed.

“Promise you’ll … y’know, behave.”

“Won’t do anything you don’t ask, Slayer.”

After a silent moment she stood. “Thanks,” and walked to the door. For a heartbeat he thought he’d lost her, until she turned to face him. “Aren’t you coming inside?”

Spike grabbed his black tote bag and hurried in the door after her.

***

He coached himself to take it slow, not press her farther than she was willing. After all, just being allowed inside 1630 Revello without an impending apocalypse was a novelty. Being admitted to her bed? That would rate up there with the visits of lesser-seen comets and rains of toads.

But the rare happened without prelude. Instead of heading for the kitchen with its nice, safe mugs of tea or even the living room with its tempting sofa but neutralizing television, Buffy headed straight up the staircase. When he paused, uncertain, she’d turned back towards him with a look that bordered on flirtatious. “I thought once you crossed the threshold you could go where you pleased.”

“Sorry, love?”

“Didn’t know you needed an invitation to come upstairs.”

He unfroze himself and followed her quickly, biting back his shock when she stripped down to her cotton panties and tank top.

“Who are you and what have you done with Buffy?”

She tossed a pillow at him and laid down on her stomach, carefully placing Mr. Gordo on the nightstand.

“I do ache. Back, calves, everywhere.”

With a nod, Spike took off his jacket and boots and went to work on the Slayer’s muscles. “You’re in knots, pet. This isn’t just from regulating the local nightlife.”

She sighed and relaxed into his touch, but didn’t answer.

“No. This is the normal girl stuff interfering, innit? The bills, the house, the job. And I adore the bit, I do, but that gets to be trying in its own way.”

More sighs.

“Thing is, Buffy, you’re not a normal, ordinary girl. Not meant for the workaday world. Not saying you’re better, or above it. Just that you’re … well, yeah, damn it, I am saying that you’re better. Oughta be enough that you save fat assed Sunnydalers from peril night after, it’s obscene that by day you’re plumping them up for the slaughter on that crap that passes for cuisine.”

She flipped onto her back quickly now, tears shining in her eyes. “But that’s what I have to do, Spike. Feed the lambs, hunt the wolves, very poetic. I’ve got to live in this world, at least long enough to pay the gas bill.”

“It’s not fair.”

“You’re like, what, 100 years old, and that’s your answer? Duh.”

Spike bunched the quilt in his hands.

“Look, I get that you can’t help me with the daylight stuff, okay? But if you want to help … just … I want to forget, okay? Just for a while, couple of hours. I want to forget and I want it to be okay, to not unleash some end times prophecy or upset my kid sister. Okay?”

Spike nodded.

Buffy sat up far enough to pull her tank top over her head, revealing full, pert breasts. He’d covered them with his mouth in a second, alternating left and right while his free hand tore at her panties. Her hands grabbed at his shoulders, her legs wrapped around his waist.

And then he remembered. “Wait, love.”

Buffy groaned. “I don’t wanna.”

“Shhh … this is worth it. Lay back.”

Buffy pouted.

“Lay back!”

He reached for the bag, grabbed the first toy that he touched, then pressed her back into the pillows.

“What is that?”

Spike slipped the bright pink plastic ring over his index finger.

“Not much of a fashion statement.”

With a twist of the stone, the tiny gem started to flash and vibrate.

“Oh!”

“Relax, love.” He brought the stone to touch her outer lips, barely making contact with her sensitive flesh. Inching higher, he exerted slightly more pressure, until he hit her clitoris full on with the toy and Buffy yelped in pleasure.

Eyes wide, she raised herself onto her elbows. “What else is in the bag?”

“Why, you minx!”

“You’re like a pervy Santa Claus.”

“Ho ho ho,” he laughed. But he was already reaching into the bag for his next trick.

“Spike-” She pulled away as she realized what he was holding. “Are those for … cause I don’t think …”

“Hush now.” He tugged on her left nipple, feeling it stiffen under his fingertips. As Buffy’s eyes closed in bliss, he clamped the tiny vibrator in place.

“Oooh … oh wow,” she sighed as he secured the second. Her hips arched, insistent. “More … more.”

“Not yet, pet.” He reached into the bag again, pulling out a tube of astroglide and a flared, sparkly lilac dildo.

Buffy’s eyes widened. “Purple plastic? That’s like – the Fisher Price My First Vibrator. It’s so sweet, it’s obscene.” She bit back a giggle, which turned into a sharp gasp as Spike slipped it into her ass.

“That’s true of you, as well, Slayer. Look at you, all wet and open. Begging for me.” He guided her on top of him, cowgirl style. As she sunk down slowly, eyes closing from the pressure, he forced himself to hold still.

“Oh, oh … too much.”

“Hold still a minute. Get used to it.”

She did, and then without further prompting started to move, slowly, tiny strokes.

It was enough. Spike watched as she grew in confidence, increasing her speed as the nipple clamps bobbed with her tits & the plug stretched her ass.

Then he twisted the ring back on & touched her clit.

Buffy exploded into absolute ruin, head thrown back, tears at her eyes.

As she came down enough to collapse on his chest with a breathy sigh, Spike let himself go. He lifted her by the hips & moved her, like a rag doll, as he spasmed three quick times, flooding her until she dripped onto his thighs.

When he let her go, she went limp. He slipped out of bed long enough to clean her up, removing the clamps & the dildo, eyes going heavy at the sight of her stretched-wide asshole and the new bruises on her waist. Wonder if she could handle another go …

“Spike,” she mumbled in her sleep and reached for him, finding a pillow instead.

Without another thought about her naughty bits, he reached for her and pillowed her head on his shoulder. To his amazement, she fell into a deep and contented slumber, boneless and naked against him.