A/N - here's the end of this little smutlet *grin*. Many thanks for your kind reviews, and I hope you enjoy the ending.

Chapter 2




There'd been a minor scuffle in the foyer of the multiplex due to Spike wanting to sneak in and Buffy being horrified at the thought. Further arguing ensued when Spike admitted he didn't have any money on him and therefore Buffy would have to pay for him if they were going in the traditional way. Buffy beamed at him, waving the dollars in front of his nose as she asked for two tickets.




“Here you go, honey. My treat. I’ll even pay for the popcorn.” She was laughing, having fun and more relaxed than she'd been in ages. It suited her.




“I wouldn’t say no to a nibble,” Spike smirked and whipped the ticket from her fingers; secretly chuffed that he'd brought a smile to her lips.




“In your dreams!” she retorted, slapping at his hand.




“Don't push it, Slayer” he growled. “Forking out for tickets to some action flick doesn’t buy you… any… real… action.” He punctuated his words with a crotch grab and pelvic thrust. Buffy squeaked, bundling him in front of her through the doors to avoid anybody seeing.




“Stop that! Spike, you come out with me, you behave. Okay?”




“Maybe. If you're good. Will you be good , Slayer?”




Buffy blushed, thankful his back was to her, plus it was dark. Her pulse was racing again at the thoughts flashing through her brain. Oh, she'd be good – could guarantee it, in fact. In her dreams he was always begging for more… couldn’t get enough of her.




There were plenty of empty seats so she groped along to the nearest row and pushed him ahead of her. “Sit. Shut up. Watch.”




She plopped down beside him with a humph, eyes fixed forward and hand dipping in and out of the megatub of popcorn on her lap. Spike settled back in the seat, legs splayed and arms leaning on the plush armrests, his elbow invading Buffy's personal space and earning him a few nudges until they reached an elbow understanding that suited them both. The trailers were just about finished, and the screen darkened in preparation for the main feature.




Buffy stiffened as she felt the pressure of a hand dipping into her popcorn bucket, but forced herself to relax. She was just so tense being this close to him, over-reacting to everything. She'd no idea what had prompted her to push him into going on a 'date' instead of smacking him in the head and running home, probably she just hadn't wanted to leave him. She'd figure it out later, maybe watching some action on screen would block out the jitters in her brain.




Spike grabbed a handful of popcorn and started munching noisily, Buffy tutted and shushed him before shoving the bucket across to him to forestall any cocky response. He took another handful and slipped further down in his seat, one leg now crossed against the other and resting on his thigh. The film started and they were both soon comfortably engrossed in Bruce Willis’s heroics and his increasingly dirty vest.




Reality returned with a bang when the classic popcorn accident happened; the whole thing tipped on the floor though when they both reached in at the same time and ended up holding hands. Time ticked by as they gazed at each other in the flickering light of the screen, neither of them making a move – now the initial shock was over – to pull away.




It was the husky “Buffy” that did it. The look in his eyes, soft and tender and raw; the way he bit his bottom lip nervously, his fingers gripping onto hers and refusing to let go.




Buffy kicked the bucket out of the way and turned fully in her seat, bringing her free hand to cup his cheek. He leaned into her touch and dragged her across and onto his lap, ignoring the uncomfortable tip up seat and the armrests digging into his legs. He concentrated instead on the perfect weight of her as she settled up against him, the heat of her skin and her hot breath as she moved even closer. Incredibly, it was even better than his memories.




A little niggling thought at the back of Buffy's mind reminded her that one, she was the slayer and he was a vampire and two, she was about to do the dirty on Riley – but she squashed it quickly, deciding that she must be suffering from some sort of delusion, given her continuing dream activities. Maybe a little heavy petting would see an end to her problem.




She kissed him.




Their surroundings ceased to exist for them as they got hot and heavy in the next to back row. The instant their lips touched, Buffy was consumed with a desperate need to be closer to him, her fingers scrabbling at the soft leather of his duster as she tugged at it wildly. Spike shrugged his shoulders, lifting himself from the seat with Buffy astride him as he tried to make room for her to get her hands under his clothes. He held her close with one hand spanning her back just above her ass as he wriggled out of the sleeves and sat back down.




She drew back with a gasp, panting for breath, eyes bright and wide in the dim light. What was she doing? She was living the dream, that was what. Taking heed of Faith's words: WANT . TAKE. HAVE.




One or two curious filmgoers looked around, quickly turning back round as Spike growled and flashed them a fang. He wasn't about to let them spook the Slayer now, not when she was hot and wet against him. And bold though she was, he doubted she was ready for a voyeuristic shag just yet.




Their eyes locked and he counted the beats of her heart, terrified in case she'd come to her senses and would run. But she didn't.




A small, warm hand tugged at his snug black t-shirt, sneaking beneath to stroke deliciously across his cool skin. His abs clenched as she ran her palm down, her fingers lingering a moment before she seemed to make a decision and they slowly inched down towards his groin. He tried to stifle the groan of pleasure, biting down on his lower lip and closing his eyes, his dick throbbing inside the tight denim of his jeans as he struggled to keep control.




The sound of his zipper being lowered rasped loud in his ears, but thankfully the gun battle on screen drowned it out of everybody else's hearing. The only thing louder was her heartbeat, and that was beating up a storm. Her fingers moved even lower, the wiry curls at his groin bending and wrapping her fingers as they neared his cock.




And then she had her fist encircling him and squeezing and he keened deep in his throat at the feel of her sliding her hand up and down his length. With a groan he shifted slightly, leaning forward and stilling her with a hand over hers. Too much. Too soon. He wanted it so badly that it would all be over before it had really begun if she carried on.




She looked at him from beneath lowered lashes, her uncertainty and insecurity plain to see. As she began to withdraw her hand from his fly, he quickly slid his own beneath her top and roughly cupped her breast, his thumb rubbing over her nipple until it hardened. Her head slipped back, her throat enticingly close to his mouth, the scent of her skin, her arousal, filling his nostrils and causing him to harden even more. He worked his free hand round to the front and unbuttoned her jeans, delighted when she leaned into his touch and arched her back, making him swallow hard.




Fuck was she wet! And hot, so very hot. He'd rarely felt warm, female flesh apart from very briefly as his prey died in his arms; this heat might just be enough to kill him.




Buffy stifled the urge to shove him backwards and just take what she wanted. He was driving her crazy, his cool fingers trailing across her heated mound and stopping just short of her aching clit. Touch me dammit! She clenched her teeth to stop from screaming out.




Nothing could stop the groan when he parted her folds and slid a finger along her slickness, not stopping until he'd buried one, then two fingers, deep inside her pussy. She rocked against him, her hips moving of their own volition as she sought relief from the aching need building in her.




Aching for him.




Only for him.




Just this merest touch was sending chills along her flesh and she spared a thought as to why it felt so good, so right, and why nobody else had ever gotten her so aroused. Then he added a third finger and she lost all capacity for thought...




She clutched at his shoulders as she came, grinding against his hand to ride out her orgasm, but still wanting more. She fluttered her eyes open and looked at him through the haze of lust, her pulse thundering in her ears.




“Spike...?” Her husky tones rocketed to his dick and he tugged at her jeans, sliding them down with her help until they were part way down her thighs, Buffy tugging and bending to free one leg... He shimmied his own down a little, his cock springing free and hard, a pearly drop of precum shining in the light of the movie playing on the screen. Buffy reached out a finger and gathered the liquid, surprising herself – and Spike – when she brought it to her lips and licked it clean, flicking her tongue to collect every single drop.




That was it; game over. He was only unhuman after all; he couldn't take any more foreplay. He growled her name ominously and gripped her hips, Buffy stilling with her finger sucked between her lips. Her heart thudded in her chest.




This was it. The moment she'd played out so often in her dreams, waking wet and weary with unresolved lust; now she was going to see if real Spike could get it done where dream Spike left her wanting. She pulled the finger from her mouth with a pop, bending it and beckoning him to her.




Her upper body jerked back with the force of him pulling her towards him across his lap and sinking his cock deep inside her slick channel. She gasped, his girth filling her and cooling her and sending her frantic with want. She wrapped her arms around his neck, gripping him tightly and smashing her lips on his, biting and licking and tasting him desperately.




The fixed seating creaked as Spike thrust up into her; he knew that half the scattered audience had turned to see what the rhythmic sound was and were now watching the back row rather than the big screen, but he didn't care. Buffy had her back to them anyway, and he couldn’t no more stop even if the house lights went on. Her warm pussy gloved him tightly, squeezing his cock and sending his eyes rolling. He couldn't last much longer, the Slayer's moans and whimpers sending him crazy, her teeth nipping at his lips. She was drawing blood and he couldn't...




His brow ridges emerged, his fangs descending as he lost control of the demon and bit down hard on her lip. Buffy squealed with pain, but it didn't stop her bucking, grinding down harder against him. The taste of her blood mingling with his sent him over the edge and his fingers bit deeper into the flesh of her hips as he lifted her, slamming her back down over and over again as he filled her with his semen.




Buffy's orgasm followed, its intensity jolting through her like lightning. She couldn't help it: she drew away from his bloody mouth and screamed her pleasure, not caring that every eye in the theatre was now gawping open-mouthed at the surprise main feature.




She panted, dizzy and disorientated, but still holding on to him like her life depended on it. As her pulse slowed, she took a deep breath and opened the eyes she'd screwed tight shut. He was staring at her, blue eyes wide and limpid, lips bruised with a trickle of blood at the corner.




She'd done that. Oh god, she'd done that – bitten him, tasted his blood. Had let him taste hers.




In light of the fact that she was presently astride him with his softening cock still inside her, the rest of the moviegoers no doubt outraged at the hussy in the back, what did it say about her that the blood swapping shocked her the most?




Said she was the Slayer, that's what – and that Spike was a vampire.




There was a smattering of applause and attention returned to the film. She made to get off him, restrained by iron fingers that gripped tight before she could slink off. Spike knew exactly what she wanted to do now; she wanted to disappear into the night, forget this ever happened, and deny it both to herself and to him.




But that was not going to happen. She would acknowledge him, let him into her life, or she could stake him. It was clear to him now that his obsession with her had reached such a pitch that he had to have completion of one sort or another.




And after tonight, he couldn't ever go back to just being someone she tolerated because he might prove useful.




Buffy wriggled in his grasp, grabbing his arms and pushing him away. “Get off me! Let go!”




His voice was deep, hard; he held her tight as he forced her to meet his eyes and spoke deliberately.




“No. Not happenin', Slayer. 'm not a toy you can pack away now, and you are not a little girl. You felt something tonight; I know it because I felt it too. Just admit to yourself that this was the best you've ever had. Just say it and I'll let you go.”




Buffy was breathing heavily, fighting the urge to latch on to his full, sensuous mouth. She hated him for it, but he was right. Her dreams had been a weak imitation of the feelings he'd awoken in her. Hell, just look where she was – half naked in the movies, reeking of sex and in full view of who knew how many leering onlookers. Normal Buffy would rather die than find herself in that situation, but the new, Spike-obsessed Buffy was getting off on it.




She couldn't handle it. Before he could react, she backhanded him across the face, splitting his lip further and shocking him into dislodging his grip. She vaulted backwards, leaping over the row of seats and dragging on her jeans. Spike leapt up, his vampiric countenance terrifying in the shadowed auditorium, his feral growl pushing her slayer buttons and forcing her to ready for fight or flight. He tucked himself away quickly, fastening his pants and lunging at her in almost one movement. But she was too quick, and headed for the exit. She had to get away from the audience so that she could do...whatever it was she was going to do...




As she ran outside, she pondered on that thought. What was she going to do? Stake him? Kiss him? Rip off his clothes and jump him on the street? She instinctively quickened her pace and headed back to the cemetery, drawing him away from people. Because he would follow her, of that she was sure. She was counting on it.




The skin on the back of her neck prickled and she knew he was behind her, gaining on her. She didn't speed up, deliberately holding back until she could hear the flap of his duster as it billowed out behind him.




“Slayer!” he bellowed; he was not happy. She ignored him, carried on running, the cemetery walls now in sight.




“SLAYER!” The venom in his voice shocked her and she stumbled, righting herself and making it to the cemetery gates just as he grabbed her shoulder and yanked her to a halt. “Hey! Don't ignore me, bitch!”




Buffy turned, eyes hurt despite the fact that it was her actions that had him snarling and pissed. She opened her mouth to retort, but couldn't round the lump she found in her throat. Swallowing hard she managed to speak, softly.




“Let go of me, Spike. I can't do this, I'm sorry. I just...I shouldn't have...I'm sorry.”




Spike tightened his grip on her but his tone softened at her obvious distress. It hurt him that she was hurting, but he wasn't going to be her dirty little fuck fix. Not if he could help it. “No. You will listen to me. You want to run away from this, Buffy – from me – but you're gonna hear me out. Come on.”




Spike dragged her towards his crypt, and after some token resistance Buffy let him. He was right; they had to sort this out. The taste of him was supposed to slake her thirst for vampire temperature skin and kisses; it disturbed her that it had had the opposite effect -- she wanted to drown in him.




It had to stop.




They'd reached Spike's crypt, Buffy being hustled through the door and roughly released to stumble to a halt by the scruffy armchair.




“Sit.”




She opened her mouth to protest, the words dying on her lips as she watched him pacing, muttering to himself under his breath. She sat.




Hands on hips he stopped, inches away from her, his eyes wild and flashing icy blue. She was more scared of him in that moment than she'd ever been. She swallowed, trying to moisten her dry throat. Facing the entire population of the Hellmouth couldn't be as terrifying as listening to what she anticipated spilling from his mouth.




“Christ, Slayer, do you want to tell me what that crap was that you just pulled? Because I know what I feel… 'm drownin' in you, can't get enough of you, can I? Why the buggerin’ fuck do you think I traipse after you night after night like some pathetic whipping boy, helping you white hats when I could be setting myself up to rule the roost. Have you forgotten I'm a master vampire? Just because I’m muzzled doesn't mean I couldn't get minions to do the dirty work.”




He glared at her, as if that alone could make her see. When that didn’t work, and she remained silent, he finished his tirade.




“And you wanna know why I haven’t done that? Because you wouldn't like it; and I'm sick and twisted and love's fucking bitch again. But then tonight...fuck me, Buffy. I never dreamed you'd...well, I did dream but that’s beside the point... in all my years no one has ever made me feel like that. I've tasted you and I can't not taste you again. So if you’re gonna cold-shoulder me you’d better stake me now.”




His arms waving had punctuated his every word, his posture giving away his nervous energy and his sincerity. Her eyes were wide and stunned; she'd expected him to mutter dirty words of lust and 'doing a slayer'. Instead, he'd almost said... he couldn't mean...




Spike dropped to his knees in front of her, rooting through his pockets until he found a stake, which he turned towards his heart and pressed against his skin. He reached for her right hand and wrapped it around the stake, his eyes burning into hers.




Buffy held her breath, her fingers crushed beneath his painfully. With his free hand he moved her hair away from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear, fingers lingering across her skin.




“Buffy; I love you. I know it's wrong, I know you're gonna kick me in the head any minute – but you kissed me , remember. Now, give me a tiny crumb of hope that you at least don't detest me – or if you can't do that, just push. Take me out of this world and be on your way. You owe me that much.”




His eyes closed, head bowed as he awaited his fate. Buffy still felt the chill where his fingers had caressed her cheek, the iron fist that kept hers fastened on the stake. Her mind raced; he loved her? Snippets of memories cascaded around her – frozen moments where he'd stepped in front of her to take a blow meant for her, a carton of juice he'd just happened to be carrying and which happened to be her favourite brand, looking up and always sensing him near just before he came into view.




She remembered how she felt calmer and stronger when he was in the battle with her. She remembered the time when he hadn't showed for two days and she'd found herself in Willy's Place asking nonchalantly after him and only going home when she'd satisfied herself that he'd just drunk himself into a stupor and was gently snoring on the floor of his crypt surrounded by empty bottles. Even in sleep he'd turned his head towards her when she'd creaked open the door.




He loved her.




The enormity of it had her reeling. Okay, that sorted out his feelings for her and yeah – big; but what about her feelings for him? Was it just an itch she needed to scratch, something to do with being the Slayer that had her hot and wet for a room temperature body? Now that she'd tasted him was that it, over and done with. A notch on the Slayer's bedpost?




Spike tugged on her hand, taking her silence to mean that she was disgusted with herself and with him and was just needing a little push to put an end to him. Even now he was helping her. What an asshole!




“No.”




Bitch wouldn't even see him off with a decent staking. Spike started to lean forward onto the point of the stake but Buffy pushed his shoulders back and jerked her hand free, knocking the stake to the floor.




Buffy deliberately knelt down in front of him forcing him to raise his head and look at her. She just let the words bubbling in her head spill from her lips without passing through the censors known as 'right' and 'wrong' and 'my friends wouldn't like it'. Spoke from what she rapidly started to realise was her heart.




Spike listened, stunned, as he heard Buffy tell him about her dreams, how much she'd longed for his touch, the times she'd imagined him holding her instead of Riley. She confessed to being a little off kilter if he didn't show on patrol and she admitted that it was way more fun with him fighting by her side. He couldn't quite believe he was awake, but her warm hands holding his seemed to be real.




“So, what I'm saying Spike is...well, I don't really know, to be honest. I didn't have a plan other than maybe jump you and stake you so you'd never be able to tell. But you were right. You are the best I've ever had. Apparently you knew what you were talking about when you said I needed a bit of monster in my man.”




They remained kneeling on the floor as silence filled up the crypt, Buffy running out of words and Spike not sure what he should say in reply. Poetry mingled with dirty words of lust and passion in his head, warring to be let out; instead he managed a growl.




Buffy grinned. Now that was what she wanted. Raw need. No holding back. An equal.




A mate.




Her answering growl was swallowed by his hungry mouth as it fastened on hers, her body moulding to his and making the two of them one.




THE END