*~*

Buffy knew there was something not quite right about this, but whenever she tried to concentrate on it, the notion flitted away like a hummingbird, or a butterfly, or something equally quick and flittery.  It was almost as if she was forgetting something important, something about herself, maybe, but nobody else seemed to notice anything and laughed it off when she mentioned it.  Maybe they were right, and she was just being silly.  With Jonathan around, why would anybody need Buffy?

Still, she couldn’t get rid of the irritating itch of annoyance in her chest after failing to help Jonathan with anything, let alone taking out the vampires threatening a group of teenagers.  They were just vampires, so one would think a vampire slayer ought to be able to handle them, but apparently not.  Thank God Jonathan was there.  Thank Jonathan Jonathan was there, really, since Buffy didn’t think God had anything to do with it.

Buffy pulled her jacket tight against the chill of the spring night and carried on through the cemetery.  She hoped she didn’t encounter any more vampires.   There was a stake in her coat, of course, but without Jonathan...

This was ludicrous.  She was a vampire slayer.  Shouldn’t that count for something?  Nobody else thought so.  And there was that idea again, that sense that things were just a little bit off.  Elusive as ever.  Gone before she could grab onto it.  With a scowl, she kept moving, trudging past the headstones and mausoleums and wondering where this feeling of resentment was coming from.

Buffy was so focused on her predicament, imagined or otherwise, that she didn’t notice for several minutes she was being followed.  When she finally registered the prickle at the back of her neck for what it was, a surge of adrenaline poured into her chest, starting her heart beating faster.  She fought the urge to break into a run, instead forcing herself to be calm.

What would Jonathan do?

The familiar question popped into her head before she could stop herself, and her annoyance swelled up even higher than the flight reflex.

Buffy stopped and spun around.  “I am so not in the mood for this.”

Spike stepped out from behind a tree, smirking his usual smirk around the cigarette in his mouth.  “What are you in the mood for?”

“Not you,” she said, glaring at him.  She crossed her arms in front of her chest and tried to look confident.

Which she so was.  She could handle Spike.  He was possibly the only one around who was more useless than her.

He took a few, swaggering steps in her direction, as though she didn’t know he couldn’t bite her. 

“Why?” he asked, tossing the cigarette away, feigning a look of interest that she wished she could wipe off his face.  “It’s not like you’ve got something more useful to do, is it?”

Figures he would tug on her rawest nerve.  Buffy’s fists clenched and she gritted her teeth together.  “Don’t push me.”

He laughed a gleeful chuckle that had no business coming from a vampire with a chip in his head.  “Or what?  You’ll call Jonathan?  In case you haven’t noticed, Betty, your hero ain’t here.”

Buffy scoffed, but the adrenaline was pumping away again, worming into her chest along with a hint of worry.  What if—what if this idea, this thing she couldn’t quite figure out was completely wrong?  Spike maybe couldn’t hurt her, but she was out here on her own...

“You think I can’t handle you?” she said, burying her fears as best she could.

He was even closer now.  If he reached out he’d be able to touch her, but he didn’t, just stood there at the cusp of close enough and too close, ogling her as though he would eat her if he could.

Which, vampire, so he probably did want to eat her.  But that was neither here nor there, whatever that meant.

“Mmmm.”  The sound rumbled out of Spike like a cat’s purr as he took another step toward her, eyes hooded and quite possibly full of hunger.  “I’d love to see how you could handle me.”

Buffy gulped, her eyes flying wide open from the full-body shiver that accompanied his words.  If he took another step closer, she was going to—except, he already did, and she hadn’t moved except to let her arms drop down to her sides.  This wouldn’t do.

She shoved him backward as hard as she could, which was actually not as feebly as she imagined.  He stumbled but didn’t fall, and just laughed at her while she seethed back at him.

“Come, on, Buffy,” Spike said, and she was momentarily flattered that he remembered her name until she realized that was ridiculous.  “Take a walk on the dark side.  What’ve you got to lose?”

Buffy felt that there should be a great many things to say in response to that, but the dominant thought was that if she were to do what Spike suggested—which she would not, thank you very much—Jonathan would be at the least angry, at the most disappointed, and she didn’t know if she could live with that.

Except—what the hell was wrong with her?  She struggled to remember why Jonathan was, well, Jonathan, but couldn’t come up with anything more concrete than the knowledge that he just was.

In the meantime, Spike had wandered back into her personal space and was rapidly backing her up against the wall of a nearby crypt.  His, Buffy realized as her back hit the stone.  She recognized the foliage from earlier.

“Thinking pretty hard in there,” he said, standing only an inch or so away from her.  His finger travelled the same path as it had a few hours ago, trailing down from her neck and along her sternum, stopping well below the neck of her blouse.

Buffy gulped again and thought she really ought to be trying to get away, only her legs didn’t seem to be getting the message.  “S-stop it,” she said shakily.

Spike only chuckled.  “Poor Buffy,” he said, pulling his hands away from her but leaning in even closer.  “All alone with the big bad vampire, and can’t do a thing about it.”

And why is that?

“I-I mean it, Spike,” she said, willing her arms to listen and failing miserably.

He smirked, his face only an inch from hers.  “No you don’t.”

Didn’t she?  She wasn’t certain anymore, and not just about this.  Nothing felt real right now, least of all the vampire in front of her who she knew now was hungry for something other than blood.

“Think about it,” Spike said, leaning to the right to whisper his velvet words into her ear.  “With Jonathan, you’re nobody.  With me...imagine the possibilities.”

Buffy tried very hard not to do that, and she was successful.  Mostly.  The way Spike hovered, the way his voice rippled through her body like warm honey, made it impossible not to imagine some of what he had in mind.  Her chest heaved with a deep, shaking breath, and Spike pressed in closer, his hands wrapping around her arms to pin her to the wall and his cock hard and pressing eagerly into her belly.

“That’s it, Slayer,” he said, and something about the word stirred that part of herself she couldn’t quite reach.

Out of her control, she tipped her head back, baring her throat to Spike.  He attacked and she tensed, but soft lips met her tender flesh instead of deadly teeth, and very quickly her muscles melted into helpless piles of goo.  He flicked his tongue over her pulse point, nipped at it with blunt teeth, and the resulting surge of electricity rocketed straight to her clit.

This was rapidly spiralling out of control—not that she’d had any to begin with.  Her breath was coming in quick pants and of their own volition her fingers curled into the lapels of his duster and tugged him even closer.

Another rumbling purr rolled through him, vibrating from his chest into hers, and he pulled away from her neck to capture her lips in a kiss that was as fiery as it was vital.  She tightened her arms around his neck, drove her tongue past his lips, and wrapped her legs around him when he lifted her up and away from the wall.  His erection pressed into her, bumping against her clit with each step he took, and she groaned into his mouth, breaking the kiss to grab a breath before he bit her lip and pulled her back under.

They must have moved into the crypt, because through the fog of arousal Buffy heard a door slam shut.  Spike’s boots thudded on the stone floor and he spun, setting down on something solid with Buffy seated in his lap.

His hands threaded through her hair and Buffy moaned into his mouth, pressing harder against his rigid cock.  Spike growled and bit her lip and all but tore her jacket from her body with one violent tug.  Cool air hit her bare shoulders, a sharp contrast to the fire raging in her belly.  She tugged at his duster, and he broke the kiss long enough to shrug it off and tear his shirt in half trying to remove it.  Buffy pulled her shirt over her head and it onto the dusty floor.

Buffy’s chest heaved and Spike dove in, lips closing around the stiff peak of her nipple beneath her white lace bra.  She grabbed his hair, fingers breaking loose the helmet of gel to hold him to her chest.  Spike pressed forward, pushing her down until her back met the stone sarcophagus.  She reached between them, tugged at his belt, pulled it free and tore the button clean off his jeans.

Spike switched to the other breast, biting down and making Buffy groan and arch her back.  Somehow, Spike’s jeans were gone, and he slid his hands slid up her thighs and gripped the waistband of her pants.  He pulled, tugged, ripped them away and her panties with them, and his naked cock glided against slick flesh as she wrapped her legs around him once again.

Their eyes met.  Buffy froze, her heart thundering behind her rib cage.  Spike’s eyes widened, as though he too was just realizing where they were. 

Then he shifted his hips and thrust deep inside her.

Buffy gasped as he stretched her, filled her up, fuller than she’d ever been.   Spike’s eyes fluttered shut and he moaned, a rasping sound rising up from somewhere deep inside him.   Buffy tightened her muscles around him and they sighed together, and then Spike began moving, rolling his hips with deep, steady thrusts that pressed deeper inside her each time.

“Buffy...” he said, breathing her name into the silence of the crypt.

Buffy ran her hands over Spike’s chiselled chest, surprised she hadn’t noticed before just how much of a hottie he was beneath all that black.  She dug her nails in just a bit, and Spike growled and thrust into her so hard the stone scraped against her back and she nearly saw stars.  

“God, Spike...”

Spike unfastened the front closure of her bra, exposing her breasts for a split second before he covered them with his palms.  Buffy arched into his touch and his mouth found her neck again.  He nipped at her neck and played her nipples with nimble fingers, all the while maintaining the perfect rhythm with his hips.  She knew she was so absolutely wrong about Spike being useless.

Jonathan wouldn’t like this at all, but Buffy didn’t care.  Not when each time Spike slid his cock inside her he struck that tender spot that stole her breath and lit her whole body on fire.  She slid her legs down, caressing the backs of his thighs with her heels.

“Come on,” Spike said, pulling away from her neck to look her square in the eye.

Wow, were they ever blue.  She hadn’t noticed that before either.  “Come—come on, what?”

“Show me,” Spike said, slowly sliding out of her, his hand reaching between them to stroke her clit.  “How the slayer gives it as good as she gets.”

He slammed back into her.  The force of the thrust and the force of his words hit her at the same time, and Buffy cried out as her body was bombarded with ripples of the most intense pleasure, while her mind was pummelled with something else entirely.

Images, flashes of things that never happened, tumbled through her brain like a slideshow on fast forward.  Things that couldn’t have happened.  Pictures of a life where Buffy was the hero, the superstar who saved the world on her lunch break and where Jonathan was just another sorry nerd with delusions of grandeur.   Except, the more she saw, the more she felt that this other life, this one that couldn’t be, was the one that should.  Her body still reeling from its unexpected orgasm, Buffy shoved Spike off her and scrambled to her wobbly feet.

“Bloody hell, woman!” he said, jumping up from the floor of the crypt, still hard and ready though she felt anything but.

“Did you do this?” Buffy asked, balling her fists, more than a little aware of how naked she still was.

Spike threw his hands up.  “You were there, weren’t you?”

“Not this,” Buffy said, indicating the sarcophagus.  “This.  Everything.  Because nothing about this is real.”

Spike’s fingers wrapped around his slick cock and he started slowly stroking himself.  “Oh, it’s real, baby.”

Buffy punched him in the face.  His nose gave a satisfying crack and he fell to the floor again, abandoning the object of his attentions to cover his face.  Spike growled something from behind his hands and glared at her from above his fingers.

Buffy turned and started gathering her clothing, cringing at how much of it was ripped and not wearable.  Spike grabbed her from behind and whirled her back around to face him.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

His eyes were fiery, blazing despite their cool blue colour.  Buffy gulped, fighting the remnants of the intimidation she felt left over from that other Buffy, the one who lived here in this world that wasn’t.  The Buffy who let Spike gain the upper hand and whose stupid, rebellious body wanted to get back on that horse and ride, bad pun totally intended.

His erection hit her in the stomach.  Against her will, her hand wrapped around it and squeezed.

Spike’s eyelids went suddenly heavy.  “That’s more like it,” he said, in a rumbly, groaning voice that threatened to melt her insides into a quivering puddle of need.

This was getting out of hand.  Or rather, in hand, since hers was doing a good job of stroking Spike’s cock.  Who knew vampires breathed when they were horny, and—and, was there something else she was supposed to be doing?  It seemed so important a moment ago that she leave, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember why.   

Jonathan could handle whatever needed handling, Buffy was certain, no matter how much she wished she could be of help to him.

Spike’s fingers delved into her slick folds, unerringly finding her clit.  Buffy slid her legs apart to give him better access, watching as he looked down at his efforts through hooded eyes.  His full lips were parted and his cool breath fluttered over her face.  Just watching his reaction made her heart flutter erratically, while the sensations created by his talented fingers flooded her body with liquid heat.

“Christ, Buffy,” Spike muttered, his free hand twining into her hair.  “Knew you’d be good at this.”

Buffy’s heart pounded a little harder and she squeezed his cock even tighter.  “Promise me,” she said, moaning because oh, did his fingers feel good.  “Promise—promise me you’ll never—never underestimate me again.”

Spike chuckled.  “Wouldn’t dream of it, Slayer.”

There was that word again, and the weird way it whispered to her that there was something more she should be reaching for.  Now wasn’t the time to figure it out, either.

Spike’s hands left their chosen places to settle at her waist and he guided her to the floor.  He started to cover her with his body, but Buffy pushed him back and straddled him.  His waiting cock nudged at the entrance to her pussy.  Buffy tightened her muscles as she sank down on him and he whispered strangled-sounding gibberish as every inch of his cock was buried inside her.    

Buffy started moving, Spike’s hands finding her hips to guide her.  Each time she came down on him, he pressed so deeply inside her she couldn’t find the will to breathe.  She wasn’t all that sure she wanted to.

“That’s it, baby,” Spike said, thrusting up into her even as she came down.  “Show us how you handle the Big Bad.”

“Not so bad,” Buffy said, around panting breaths, her hair falling forward to frame his face.  “But oh, so big.”

She didn’t so much mind the smug grin now, not when she had put it there for doing something right for once.  Spike caught his lip in his teeth and growled through it, a sound so primal she couldn’t help but answer it with a groaning, growling moan of her own.

Spike’s hips lifted off the floor, meeting her stroke for stroke.  His fingers dug into her hips to pull her down harder on him with each descent, and the force of it drove shards of pleasure deep into her belly, where they pooled into an ocean of rapture that spread out in raging rivers through the rest of her body.

“So close,” she whispered, tossing her head back and shutting her eyes.

“Buffy,” Spike said, her name falling from his lips like a sacrilegious prayer.  “Come for me.”

The invitation was enough, and the rivers of pleasure swirled, swelled, bloomed into a flash flood of ecstasy.  Everything stopped—the world, her breath, the cries of the vampire beneath her as he reached his own release—and she fell, hard, tumbling over the edge of the precipice into a freefalling dive from which she didn’t care if she ever recovered.

When she awoke, Spike had covered them with his duster.  Her head was pillowed on his shoulder and he was gently stroking her hair.  She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing, just let him be gentlemanly and pretended she didn’t notice.

Soon, the chill from the stone seeped into her overheated body and she shivered from the cold.   Spike helped her up, helped her gather what was left of her clothing, wordlessly handing her his jeans when her pants proved too torn to wear home.  It seemed he had no idea what to say, either, and Buffy wondered where the awkward had come from.

Before she left the crypt, Buffy turned to meet his eyes.  Something flickered there, something she recognized with a pang of longing.  He knew it, too, that this wasn’t right.  That something was going on here, something bigger than both of them but part of them, too.  Whatever it was had allowed this to happen even though it shouldn’t, in a million years, have occurred.

And again, the notion flitted away before she could grab hold of it, disappearing into the night like the most elusive of monsters.
Spike nodded, Buffy nodded back, and she left the crypt and the vampire behind.

*~*

One Week Later

Buffy had told Jonathan that the memories from the spell world were almost gone, and that was mostly true.  She had that talk with Riley, and things were okay there for the most part.  She and her friends were getting on with their lives as though the spell had never happened.  Buffy was ready to put the whole thing behind her and again focus on balancing college life with her slaying duties.

Until the night Spike wandered up behind her after watching her dust a dozen vampires in as many seconds, and whispered, “Knew you’d be good at this.”

There were some things about the spell she was never going to forget.

*~*