Disclaimer: Joss & Mutant Enemy own all, but I have to do something to make up for no BtVS on TV and no deleted scenes on the DVDs! Songs lyrics by Martin L. Gore of Depeche Mode’s album “Ultra,” published by EMI Music Publishing.
Feedback: Yes, please—It feeds the muse! But please be kind—This is my first fanfic.



Buffy recoiled in horror from that beautiful alabaster skin she had beaten and bloodied. Her eyes went wide as she stifled a cry with her hand over her mouth. Her actions had repulsed her so—He was only trying to save her from herself, yet again. But she ran from him and into the Police Station, as she had originally intended. Later that night, she had repeated those words to Xander and Anya that filled her with shame—“You only hurt the ones you love.”


As she lay in her bed the following night, staring at her ceiling, she recalled every word he had said to her the previous night in that alley behind the Police Station, as well as every hateful thing she had spat back at him. Her face began to flush with embarrassment. Why was it so difficult to be with Spike? She knew Spike would do anything for her, as he comforted her every time she was willing to open herself up to him. But self-loathing is a funny thing.


She had refused his words of love again last night, refusing to believe that he was capable of love, because she was too shut down to love anyone right now, including herself. After all, if Spike was capable of loving her without a soul, then why would Angel have treated her the way he did after their one night together? And if Spike really loved her, then that would mean she was worthy of love. But most of all, she knew that Spike loved her, even though she called him an “evil, soulless thing” time and time again, and even though she had said there was nothing good or clean in him. In reality, she knew she was the monster, and she had been talking about herself the entire time she was pummeling Spike into the pavement. She kept hitting him through her tears, even though his Vamp face had receded, replaced by his beautiful human form. He didn’t even attempt to block her bone-crushing blows, allowing her to vent her frustration, pain, and self-loathing onto him. He took it all, and she wasn’t worthy of that kind of love and devotion. It was so real, that it frightened her. And she didn’t think she could offer Spike anything other than his “crumb” in return.


She took a deep sigh and tried to force the guilt and shame down, back into the land of denial and repression, where she had spent so much of her life. She made up her mind in that instant—It was time to seek out Spike and try to do a little damage control. Of course, she couldn’t actually say she was sorry, just like she had only thanked him once in his entire un-life. But she’d make it up to him. She got an evil gleam in her eye as she thought of the delicious ways she could make Spike understand how horribly she felt about hurting him, without saying a word at all. She threw back the covers from her bed, as she realized she wouldn’t be getting any rest tonight until she had settled her conscience. She put on his favorite color—black, and headed out of her window toward the cemetery.


Buffy took Mr. Pointy with her just in case, but she was relieved that no demon or vamp would deter her from her destination. The Slayer began getting the tinglies as she approached Spike’s crypt; she loved that combination of sensing he was near and anticipation of the evening’s activities. She heard a low, thumping base of music being played in his crypt.


Spike sprawled on the chair in the upper chamber of his crypt, with his leg draped over one arm of the chair. Propped up on his elbow, he rested his head on his hand so he could apply the ice-pack to his still very swollen shiner. He was so tired of trying to chase his beautiful girl—So tired of trying to convince her that there was nothing wrong with them being together. He had been playing on her fears of being a demon so that she would willingly leave her friends and be with him. He knew it was selfish, but he saw how trying to be “alright” for her friends was exhausting her. He hated to see that fake smile plastered on her face so that Red and the Whelp would leave her alone. He hated taking the brunt of her anger and pain—Playing another round of “kick the Spike” was getting old, fast. “Sod it,” he muttered, but he knew that was a lie. He would take the abuse again and again, if it meant he could be with her, even if for a little while. The blood and whiskey would deaden the pain while she was gone, and his heart would sing like the nancy-boy poet he really when she was with him. He had this love-hate relationship with the Slayer from the moment he saw her luscious hips undulating at the Bronze four years ago, so he was used to the merry-go-round by now, even though it wasn’t getting him anywhere. His bleedin’ head hurt, so he decided not to think anymore. He took a drag off the cigarette that had slowly been burning in his other hand, and just concentrated on the low-tones of the music he had playing in the background. He bit out a harsh laugh as the words of the song cut to his quick—

“Like a cat dragged in from rain, who goes straight back out to do it all over again, I’ll be back for more. It’s something that is out of our hands; something we will never understand. It’s a hidden law—The apple falls, destiny calls, I follow you. Like a pawn on the eternal board, who’s never quite sure what he’s moved towards, I walk blindly on. And heaven is in front of me; your heaven beckons me enticingly. When I arrive, it’s gone. The river flows, the wise man knows, I follow you. I’m yearning, I’m burning, I feel love’s wheels turning…”


Just then, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. The corner of his mouth crooked up in a wicked smile when he sensed his Slayer approaching. He thought about meeting her at the door, but he didn’t want to rush over like the git he really was. ‘No,’ he thought, ‘let her come to me.’ Just then, he could hear the door to the crypt slowly squeaking open—not the usual approach for the Slayer who so often had kicked open his crypt door and boldly sashayed into his living quarters. No, tonight she seemed more respectful, more… penitent. Against the more rational part of his brain, his betraying body slowly stood and turned to look at her. She was a vision in black with a tight-fitting, low-cut, long-sleeved top, leather pants, boots, with flushed cheeks and eyes hazed over with lust. He could smell her desire from across the room, and the words of the song that continued to play in the background spurred him on and propelled his feet toward her—“Like a moth on love’s bright light, I will get burned each and every night—I’m dying to. The sun will shine, the bottom line, I follow you.”


By the end of the song, he was standing in front of her. She had frozen in the doorway with her lips parted slightly; her deep, ragged breathing making her chest rise and fall quickly to match the increased beating of her heart. He knew instantly she wanted him, but as always, he would wait for her to make the first move. He tried to read the look in her eyes—the big green eyes that had looked so lost and cold for the last several months since Red brought her back was replaced by a sheen of unshed tears. His eyes followed the hard lines of her jaw to her luscious, full lips, down the elegant curve of her neck, to her beautiful chest as it rose and fell in expectation.


She reached out a trembling hand to lightly touch his swollen eye. He couldn’t help but wince a little from the pain, and her eyes immediately found something very interesting to look at on floor of the crypt. Spike put his index finger under her chin and forced Buffy to return his gaze. He softly spoke to her, “Luv, you have nothing to…”


“Shhh,” she said as she softly put her finger to his lips. “No words tonight. Just let me…” and with that, she gently cupped his cheek and guided his lips to hers. It was the barest whisper of a kiss. Their lips tingled as they ghosted over each other, slowly parting to deepen the kiss. Buffy felt her nipples stiffen under the soft fabric of her shirt, and she began to feel even more aroused. Spike instantly hardened—‘Love’s bitch, alright,’ he thought to himself. ‘One kiss from her, and I’m worse than bloody Pavlov’s dog!’ Buffy softly broke away from the kiss, but held his intense gaze. He looked at her in wonder, but he never knew if they’d be fighting or shagging next. ‘Probably both before the night’s through,’ he thought, somewhat bitterly.


Buffy placed both of her hands on Spike’s forearms and gently urged him to walk backwards toward the couch. With Spike’s leg between hers, they scissor-stepped the entire way, not wanting to lose that contact. When he felt the couch at the backs of his knees, he sat down, and grabbed her by the hips to straddle his lap. Buffy proceeded to slowly brush soft kisses over his face—first the scarred eyebrow, and then the other, followed by his cheekbones, and his nose. When she placed the lightest kiss on his swollen and bruised eye, Spike willed himself not to wince in pain. He knew she was trying to make things right with him, and he didn’t want to add any guilt to the fire that had been fueling Buffy for the last several months. She again approached his mouth, and the kisses became more intense, more passionate and needy. Their tongues caressed each other and then explored lips and teeth, making Buffy moan as she ground her pelvis against Spike’s very hard, denim-clad erection. Spike moved his hands to grab at her ass, encouraging her to grind herself against him again. Without breaking the kiss, Buffy’s fingers fumbled to open all of Spike’s shirt buttons. She caressed the smooth, hard planes of his chest, and she felt his kisses become even more intense. He was so turned on that he began taking unneeded gasps of air.


He couldn’t wait to have her again. She had run from him last night. After his self-satisfied smirk, she bolted from the crypt’s door before even coming in. He had felt the intensity of her longing for him through the door—had known she was on the other side warring with herself, but she had left before either of them could be satisfied. Then she had been ungrateful—no, make that hateful, when he had tried to take care of that terrible accident. He pushed those thoughts aside. No sense in being a ponce, focusing on hurt feelings. ‘Specially not when there was the Slayer’s hot, tight little body writhing on him like a bitch in heat. For a moment, he could hear the lyrics of the music that was still playing in the background through the haze of lust that was clouding his mind—

“Sister of night, when the hunger descends, and your body’s a fire, an inferno that never ends. An eternal flame that burns in desire’s name. Sister of night, when the longing returns, giving voice to the flame, calling you through flesh that burns, breaking down your will to move in for the kill. Oh sister, come for me, embrace me, assure me. Hey sister, I feel it too. Sweet sister, just feel me—I’m trembling, you heal me. Hey sister, I feel it too.”


He couldn’t take it anymore. Oh, yeah, she had gotten her fire back—there was no doubt about that. Spike had to feel that velvety heat that only she could give him. He started to lift her to remove the clothes from her leather-clad bottom, but she had stilled his hands and had broken away from the kiss.


“No,” she said huskily. Before the hurt and confusion could fully register in his eyes, she continued sweetly, “It’s my turn to show you...” With that, she extricated herself from astride his lap, and kneeled down on the floor in front of him. Her hands finished unbuttoning his shirt, and she stroked his chest with feather-soft touches that sent his skin buzzing with excitement. She unbuttoned all five buttons on his Levis, and his beautiful erection finally sprung free from its denim prison. Spike gasped quietly in relief and anticipation. Buffy gingerly took his cock in her hands and slowly stroked it ever so lightly. Spike sucked in an unneeded breath. Then Buffy slowly licked the tip of his rigid shaft. Her tongue circled the head and flicked over the underside of the sheath, making his hips jerk a little. If he wasn’t careful, he could lose it quickly in her soft, warm, wet mouth. ‘Specially with the wicked things her cute little pink tongue was playing at.


“Mmmmm…” Buffy moaned, and the vibration around his cock made Spike continue to take large gulps of air as he fought for his control under Buffy’s ministrations. While one hand held the base of his rigid shaft, her other hand softly caressed his balls and tickled the underside of his sac. She licked him up and down, swirling her tongue around the head when she reached the top of his member. Buffy couldn’t believe how turned on she became while pleasuring Spike. As her arousal grew, she began to rake her teeth lightly over his cock as she took him deeper into her mouth. Automatically, Spike snaked a hand into Buffy’s hair, grabbing at her possessively. “Fuck, Buffy. You’ll be the death of me if you keep this up, luv.” She kept her hands firmly on him, but drew her mouth away from his cock to quirk her eyebrow and gave him a lascivious half-grin. He loved that smoldering look in her eye that spoke of things to come.


Spike grabbed Buffy under her arms and bodily hauled her up so they were face to face again on the couch. He crushed his lips to hers in a demanding kiss, trying to convey his fierce passion for her that nearly consumed him. “Need you,” he said in that delicious, bedroom voice of his that oozed sexual prowess.

********
More Spuffy lovin’ a-comin’! I promise!!!