***A/N: My original plan was to simply fill in seven days' worth of carnal pleasures, but then Britta showed up. And then that hot guy that owns the Fitness Factory. So it just had to go on. In the meantime, this little work has been nominated at the Fang Fetish Awards for Best WIP and Best Sex. (Blushes) There are some really fabulous authors nom'd there, so please visit! (http://www.athenewolfe.com/fangfetish) Thanks for the reviews and feedback and all the love, and especially the nominations!***


“What time is it?” Buffy fumbled for her cell phone, before remembering that she was seriously subterranean. Curled on her side, she poked Spike with her foot.

“Hm?”

“The time, Spike!”

He woke up enough to fumble for his bedside table, “Probably about six, pet.” An antique pocket watch snapped open and confirmed his guess. “Quarter past six.”

“I spent the night!”

“So it seems.”

“Dawn – I should get home to Dawn.”

“I thought Willow was back.”

“She is. But she’s not making with the acceptance just yet.”

“So?”

“So, I should … ooooooooh!” Spike had curled around her, kissing down her spine, from between her shoulder blades to the base.

“Stay, love. No point in rushing off. All you’ll do is argue as she’s on her way out with a bookpack and a sack lunch.”

“Yeah … yeah. She probably won’t even notice. And I don’t have to be at work until four.”

“Nine hours and forty-five minutes, then. What should we do first?” He eased her to her back, gently opened her thighs and buried his mouth in her folds.

He was gentle this time, impossibly gentle. Her climax mirrored his technique. If his attention usually sent her soaring, this morning she was floating. And Spike? She couldn’t believe it, but he’d dropped back into the pillows and dozed off again.

“Sex as sedative,” she murmured. If he was out, and the house was empty, maybe she really should be heading back. She had that one-page application for community college that wouldn’t take long to complete. But it did mean calling UC Sunnydale for a transcript. And admitting that she probably wasn’t going back … she wouldn’t stay long, she promised herself as she snuggled up against Spike.

***

Dawn did have her backpack slung over her shoulder and was rummaging through the refrigerator when Willow finally turned up.

She glowered.

“Hey, Dawnie, what’s that for?”

It didn’t help that the refrigerator held a half dozen containers of low fat yogurt set to expire yesterday, skim milk that went bad sometime in the distant past and a random assortment of Chinese take-out containers and DMP leftovers. Dawn grabbed a Dannon and turned to storm out of the house.

Then she saw Willow’s eyes – crackling black and inhuman.

“Where were you?”

“Out,” she shrugged. “What? You should’ve stayed.”

“Stayed? In that … den? With those creepy guys? How could you leave me there?”

“What? You’re okay.”

“Yeah, lucky. I was alone all night, Willow.”

“Relax, Dawnie. I thought you were all big and independent now.”

“Are you drunk?”

Willow giggled. “I don’t drink, Dawnie. Not since … well, there was this one time…”

“Whatever,” she pushed past. “I’m gonna be late for school.”

“Maybe I could just zap you there!”

Dawn shot her a final disgusted look before slamming the back door.

***

Spike was still asleep when Buffy woke the second time. And this time she knew she’d slept too long. Fumbling for the pocket watch, she snapped it open and confirmed her fears – almost 2 already. She’d have to rush home, shower and muppet-up quickly to make it to the DMP by 4. Reporting to work today was strangely exhilarating – today, after all, she got to quit.

In the guttering candlelight, an inscription caught her eye. William Mayhew Pratt. Was that Spike’s name? Buffy stared at the watch, tilting it to catch the light. Unmistakable. A date inscribed beneath it was worn beyond recognition, and the first flourish on the W was fading, but otherwise, the words could’ve been inscribed yesterday.

A hand snaked over her hip and closed on the pocket watch. “See something interesting, pet?”

“So that’s your name?”

“Once upon a time.”

“William Pratt?”

“William Pratt.”

Buffy wasn’t sure if he was embarrassed by her discovery, but he was watching her closely. “And Mayhew?”

“Middle name. Believe you have one of those yourself.”

“It’s a funny name.”

“My grandmother was a Mayhew. It’s in the family.”

“Oh. So you’ve had that … a long time?”

“Since I finished at St. Paul’s.”

“You were a priest?”

“It’s a school, Buffy. Like Eton.”

“You went to boarding school?”

“No. It’s in the city. In London. Has been since 1509. Still is.”

“You get the alumni newsletter?”

“Not these days.”

“Oh. I’m going to be late for work.”

“Alright then.”

She’d scrambled up the to the main level and was out the front door, halfway to the gates and past a family placing flowers on a fresh gravesite … hopefully not a newbie vamp, but she made a mental note to check it out later anyway … when it struck her that she’d been sleeping with a guy for a week and just found out his last name five minutes ago.

Another clear signal that she was waaaay too in touch with her inner-hotron and needed to break this thing off before it got weirder.

***

Willow was skipping her lit class again. Even though she’d entered UC Sunnydale with enough credits to finish a year early, at the rate she was going, now she’d barely manage to finish on schedule.

But she was reading. A non-spell book, an actual work of fiction, a mystery-whodunnit with serious literary overtones and a touch of history, too. In fact, she’d read Margaret Atwood in her women’s lit class last semester, so reading The Blind Assassin while curled up under an afghan and unshowered at 2 in the afternoon wasn’t really that indulgent.

She planned to ignore the telephone until she heard Giles’ voice on the answering machine. “Yes, I just thought I’d call and say a quick hello …”

“Giles?”

“Willow. How nice to hear your voice.”

“How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you. And you?”

“Oh, you know me. I’m all kinds of okay. So how’re you?”

“Fine. Willow, is there something … I … had the impression that there might be trouble.”

“Trouble? Um, no.” Willow paused, picking at the lint on her fuzzy cardigan. “Giles … is something going on?”

It was his turn to pause. “No. No, I don’t believe so. I’ve just … been away too long. And the quiet here is a bit too quiet after a time. You’ll tell me if anything seems to be more than she can … than you can handle?”

“We’ve got it all under control, Giles.”

“No rise in vampire activity?”

“There was a thing – whole bunch of vampires at the Bronze the other night. But they’re gone now. Well, knowing the Bronze’s less-than-stellar cleaning crew, their dust is part of that sludge at the edges of the dance floor, but …”

“Nothing unusual?”

“No.”

After a long pause, he cleared his throat. “I’m always just a phone call away.”

“Yeah.”

As they hung up, Willow felt an unmistakable tingle in her spine. Maybe she should’ve mentioned the girl vamp? There had been something weird there … she’d talked about slayers as if … as if she’d been one. Was that possible?

Willow’s mind raced. She’d promised to steer clear of the Magic Box for a few weeks, but there was no way around it. If she wanted an answer, she’d have to risk temptation.

***

“Let me see that!”

“No!”

“You’re reading the specs wrong!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

“Hey, kids – don’t make me turn this ray gun around,” Warren grabbed the gun from Jonathan’s hands, leaving Andrew to sink into the worn plaid couch with a huff.

“Why won’t it work?” Andrew asked, tearing the blueprint off the wall.

“It worked just fine on Barney Fife last week. Dammit!” Warren tossed the gun back on to the workbench. “We need a better plan. The Slayer’s not afraid of us.”

“I’m not even sure Buffy knows we exist,” Jonathan added.

“Right! That’s what I’m saying. She needs to be trembling with fear. Ready to turn tail and flee this one Starbucks town.”

“So we can be the ruling triumvirate of this one Starbucks town?”

“Shut up, Jonathan. Warren’s right. We’re supposed to be like Seizer, Octus and Legonis.”

“Before or after Megatron kicked their mechanical asses to the curb?”

“Both of you just – just zip it! Just stop arguing. I’ve gotta think. Think … Megatron … that’s our problem,” Warren snapped his fingers, picked up the gun and broke off the tip. “We’re into all this gear, but what’s it gonna do, really, huh? What’s a freeze ray gonna do? We freeze the Slayer, great. And then what? Auction her off to the highest bidder?”

Jonathan and Andrew both shrugged nervously.

“Actually, that’s not a bad plan. But it IS a bad plan because there’s too much to get fucked up between the freeze and the sale.”

“Like, for starters, that our freeze ray doesn’t work?” Jonathan asked.

“No. Well, yeah, but that’s not it. We’re doing Fisher Price’s My First Evil here. We need to be ambitious – to think of a big, hairy, audacious goal. First we get the Slayer out of the way, right. Then what? What’s the vision?”

“Well, you go back and finish your MBA at Dutton Tech, while Andrew and me figure out how to make this freeze ray work.”

“See, that’s your problem, Levinson. Always thinking small. You wanna work on this tiny little problem. That’s not what we need. We need big picture here. And we need something explosive. Something that’s gonna rock the Slayer’s world.”

“Waaarren!”

“Mom! I told you not to interrupt us. We’re doing important stuff.”

“There’s a young lady here to see you.”

From the light behind Mrs. Mears’ ample figure, the three could make out dark red hair – not the Slayer – and visibly relaxed. “Um, okay. Send her down.”

The girl didn’t speak until Mrs. Mears closed the door behind her.

“Good evening, gentlemen. I understand that you’re a powerful group here in our charming little Sunnydale.”

“Yeah. Getting to be. Yes. Yes we are.”

“You’re Warren, then? The leader?”

“That’s right,” he fidgeted, trying to play it cool but thrown by the girl’s flashing green eyes. “And who might you be?”

“I’m the solution to your Slayer problem.”

***

Anya glanced up at the familiar sound of the bells. “Willow – I thought you were going to be places that weren’t here for a while.”

“I know. It’s just that I need the history books – Giles’ stuff.”

The curtain parted and a familiar face emerged, carrying a carton of dried chicken feet. “Hi Willow.”

“Amy?”

“Meet my new part-time clerk.”

“You’re working in the Magic Box?”

“Well, business is picking up and with the online sales, I need someone to staff the floor while I conduct business via the internet.”

“I tried other places, but, y’know, they were weird about the lack of diploma and lost years. I told the Espresso Pump I’d been in a convent but …”

“Okay. Anyway, I just need to use Giles’ stuff – do you mind?”

Anya shrugged. “Go ahead.”

Willow nodded and headed up the ladder to the balcony. She couldn’t help inhaling the familiar scent of dozens of herbs. It wasn’t a garden smell – no, this was an earthier scent, more elemental. Focus, she whispered to herself as she grabbed the first likely volume from the shelf.

Twenty minutes later, frustration mounted. Amy and Anya got along just fine, and chatted happily about wedding arrangements and honeymoon destinations – Xander had specifically requested a locale where Anya had never eviscerated someone, a tall order – as Willow toiled above.

Two hours later, she slammed shut another volume.

Just one little spell won’t hurt … not one to help keep Buffy safe, she told herself. Whispering an incantation, she reached out with her mind. A heavy leather-bound volume responded, inching forward on the shelf until it fell to the floor with a thud.

“Willow? You okay up there?”

“Yeah, Anya, just … just dropped one of these big books.”

“Okay. Don’t trash the place or anything.”

Willow shook her head and turned her attention to the book.

Optiva Tabularium, the fading gilt letters proclaimed. With another whisper, Willow translated the volume into English.

The Chosen One: An Annotated History

“This’ll do,” she murmured, tucking the book under her jacket.

***

She’d barely been home all day, and she hadn’t set eyes on Dawn – just a note that she’d finished her paper and had to work on a science project with Janice and she’d get a ride back, don’t worry. If she’d been just another wage slave, she’d be free to tackle the dirty dishes and maybe take a long, hot shower.

But the second shift called, so the dishes would have to wait.

At Restfield, she stood over Edna Murphy’s grave. Sure enough, a little old lady vamp was standing on the grass, blinking at her headstone. “There must be some mistake …”

Buffy paused. Newbie vamp confusion was to her advantage, especially if she got them in the few minutes before bloodlust set in. But as Granny Vamp started to cry, Buffy vacillated.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

With her enhanced vamp hearing, Granny heard the whisper and turned to face Buffy, a look of surprise on her face.

And then she was dust and bitsy bits, a light breeze sending them back into the grave.

“Not much of a challenge,” he came out of nowhere, the way he always did.

“That’s been the tune all night. No demons, no vamps. Well, ‘cept for Grandma Moses here.”

“All is still.”

“Yeah.” She fidgeted. It was embarrassing to want this so badly and to be so awkward about initiating it.

Spike wasn’t helping. He stood, still cloaked in the shadows. Watching her. Always watching.

“Shall we, then?”

And with that spare invitation, Buffy began to suspect that maybe this was as new for him as it was for her.

***

“D’you think it would be okay if I slept over?”

“Probably. But you don’t have any stuff with you.”

“I’ll borrow yours.”

Janice rolled her eyes. “Just not my Sevens.”

“Fine.”

“I don’t get it, D. If it was just me and my big sister and all, I’d way rather be at home. My mom is a total bitch.”

“She buys you Sevens.”

“Yeah, ‘cause she’s so guilt-tripped about boyfriend number what-ever spending the night.”

“Your dad still hasn’t called?”

“Nope. Yours?”

“Not since …”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, what do you think of that prissy new librarian?”

“The English chick? Can you believe that get-up? Seriously, who wears tweed in California?”

“Doesn’t everyone in England wear tweed?”

“Not that hot guy that keeps hanging around your house.”

“Spike?” Dawn rolled her eyes.

“No way! That’s his name?”

“Not, like, on his driver’s license. But yeah. That’s what he’s called.”

“Dawnie, that’s waaay phallic. Spike! Why don’t you just call him Big Dick?”

“Ewwww … he’s like, my brother, Janice!”

“Whatever.”

“You’re so wrong. Hey, so about the librarian? Don’t you think she’s a little strange?”

“She’s a teacher. I’ve never met a teacher who wasn’t a little off her normal human axis. Anyhow, who cares?”

“Yeah, right. I was just … dunno. Hey, um, do you have any more of those Peeps Christmas Trees?”

***

Willow’s cell phone rang – again.

“Hey, Ame.”

“Are you avoiding me?”

“No! Why would you think that?”

“First you boogie out of the Box before I can say more than hey, then you screen your calls for, like, two hours. Three?”

“Yeah, no, I’m just … working on something.”

“Something magical? Want some company?”

Willow sighed. She’d like something other than the dusty old book to keep her company. But it didn’t seem exactly right … “Actually, I could get out of here for a while. I think Dawn’s out for the night and Buffy … I don’t know, she probably won’t bother to come back, either.”

“Okay, so where?”

“Well … do you know about this guy Rack?”

***

Buffy had managed to end up under one of the threadbare carpets, and as Spike rolled away from her, she stretched out, using it as a blanket.

“Y’know, this place isn’t bad. For a hole in the ground.”

“Thanks. I ate a decorator once. Guess some of it took.”

“I’ve been thinking about redoing my room. I think the New Kids On the Block posters are starting to date me.”

“I could help, if you want.”

“You’re kind of domestic, huh?”

“Don’t let that get out.”

She paused and Spike bit his tongue, hoping that she would keep talking.

“So should I be worried about her?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Yeah. So far she’s just lurking. And … taunting. Not exactly earth-shattering offenses.”

“What do you think she wants?”

“That’s a Giles question.”

“Must be the Englishman in me,” he smirked, standing and stretching.

“I don’t know. So far, she doesn’t want anything.”

Spike stretched out on his divan, arms folded behind his head. His cock had slipped out of her, limp, minutes before, but now her eyes were drawn to his growing erection.

“That’s distracting.”

“You don’t say?”

She struggled out from under the rug and crossed the room in two steps.

“Speaking of distracting, love …” he taunted, as she straddled his hips.

Buffy slid down with a patience she rarely felt. “Quiet, Spike!”

“Whatever you say, pet.”

She rode him with slow, deliberate strokes, nearly releasing him before sliding down completely.

Spike’s hands ghosted over her skin, teasing her thighs, caressing her breasts. It was the gentlest of touches. If she closed her eyes, it could be her imagination.

“I love you, Buffy,” he told her, eyes closed and head resting on the cushion, in a deliberately tender voice. “Love you so much.”

Buffy froze, mid-stroke.

“No. You just think you do,” she insisted, grabbing his hands and forcing them over his head. Her pace intensified, quickly growing from gentle to grinding.

“Buffy -”

“Shut up, Spike, shut up,” she smacked him across the face, speeding up her thrusts and pinning his wrists down hard.

His skin burned where she’d smacked him, from both physical pain and humiliation. He couldn’t stop her. Wasn’t even sure what set her off.

And then she was coming, her muscles squeezing up around his cock, signaling a serious orgasm.

Seconds later, she pulled away from his body, his hard-on still raging. “Buffy, what’re you doing?”

“Going home, Spike. To my house. Alone.” She refused to meet his eyes.

“So that’s how it is? I get a tiny bit close and you think you can scamper back to your hiding place? Use me like a punching bag? Like a sex toy? I don’t think so.”

He yanked her arm, hard enough to send her off her feet, lurching back towards the bed. “I bought you a dildo, Slayer. You want to jerk off, have at it! You come to me? Then it’s gonna be good for both of us, yeah?” Spike pushed at her shoulders, hard enough to send her back into the mattress. “I don’t get you. One minute you want to know my life story, the next minute you want to treat me like a mechanical bull.”

She’d gone silent, shooting dark looks at him, but refusing to speak.

“You’re not gonna talk then? Fine. Don’t talk.” He’d flipped her over on her belly, pulling her to her knees. “Don’t say a bloody word, Slayer. Be a nice change, actually.” Rubbing his hands together, he drew back his left palm and thwack!- smacked her on the ass hard enough to leave a red welt. “Queen of the soddin’ universe, aren’t you?” Thwack! “And what’s worse, you’re getting off on this.” He hit her again. “Gettin all worked up over a spanking! You’re a nasty girl, Buffy.”

She blushed furiously, tears gathering in her eyes. She’d fight them, but he couldn’t see them anyhow.

“Maybe you’d like a whip, wouldn’t you, Miss Vanilla and Tea Roses? You’ve liked it all, loved it all, everything dirty little thing we’ve done together! Like everything but the chance that you might get caught fucking me. Might have to admit that you’re flesh and blood underneath that superhero cape.”

With a rough and careless thrust, he buried himself in her, forcing a gasp. His lovemaking set a brutal pace, as harsh as his words.

“You take what you want from me, right? Never do that in the daylight world. You won’t cross a street against the light, much less treat someone like you treat me.”

He grabbed for her hair, pulling back hard. Buffy gulped for air – a sound that nearly stopped him – and then she moaned. “But with me it’s okay, right? You can take everything from me, leave me cold. Cause I’m not anything. Not a man. Just a thing.”

She moaned again, breathing hard now. He slammed against her, grabbing her hips with enough force to break bones.

“Dammitt, Buffy, damn, damn, damn, damn!” Spike knew he was hurting her, knew he’d crossed a line.

And he knew he was too far gone to care.

He came quickly, but there was no pleasure, just release.

By the time his body hit the mattress next to her, she was in tears.

To Spike’s surprise, so was he.