“So, Slayer – what *are* you going to do with me?” Spike’s voice was low and husky with desire, sending a shiver down her spine at the suggestive note it held. “Since I’m all yours for the night?”

“ ‘For the night’?” she echoed, and he could hear the smirk in her voice as her fingertips traced random patterns over the straining denim that covered his desperate member, consuming him with an ever-rising, unbearable need.

“God, Buffy,” he groaned, thrusting slowly forward into her hand without even realizing he was doing it. “*Forever*!”

She leaned in close, her hand closing around him tightly through the fabric of his jeans, suddenly pulling him closer to her in a bold, possessive gesture that brought him into contact with the heat he could feel radiating from her equally needy body – and nearly sent him over the edge right then, as she leaned in to whisper with a satisfied smirk, “That’s what I thought!”

Spike felt a little thrill go through him that had nothing to do with the physical sensations running rampant through his body, at her possessive words of desire. Did she really *want* him to be hers, for more than just a night at a time – whenever she took the notion to have him? He hardly dared to hope that she might actually mean the words, as more than a ploy for whatever sexual game she was slowly building up to.

But he *did* dare – just barely, although he knew it was foolish to do so.

“So – all mine, huh?” she asked in a teasingly skeptical voice, without releasing her hold on his aching shaft.

“Yes!” he gasped, desperate for some sort of movement, friction, needing the continued sensation of the caresses she had been giving him. He tried to thrust up toward her again – but she was unyielding, holding him back against the wall with the firm grip of her hand on his erection.

“You’ll do whatever I want?” Her tone was speculative, calculating now.

It drove him wild with need, with wondering what she might choose to do with such a concession.

“Anything, love,” he vowed, a pleading note to his low, hoarse voice.

“Hmm,” she mused. “Blind obedience. That *does* take a lot of trust.” Her soft, light tone took on a slight edge of warning that sent a shiver down his spine, as she whispered the question, “You trust me that much? Enough to do *anything* I tell you to do?”

He hesitated for just a moment, aware that if he accepted this part of her challenge, he would have no choice but to follow through, or fail her test.

Of course, if he did *not* accept it – he would fail the test anyway.

He nodded slowly. “Anything. Whatever you tell me, love. I’m yours to command.” He paused, his mouth turning up in a smirk as he added dryly, with a smirk, “Just don’t ask me to laugh at your bloody ‘blind obedience’ joke – because honestly, Slayer, your quips are slipping a bit. That was just bloody awful!”

The words had barely left his lips when her hand was suddenly back in motion, her fingers tracing torturously around the covered head of his erection – reducing his mocking smirk to an expression of shocked pleasure, as he leaned his head back against the wall and drew in a sharp, shaky breath at the overwhelming sensation.

The fingertips of her other hand found his trembling, gasping lips, tracing lightly over them in an affectionate way as she pointed out in a soft, seductive tone that held a teasing note as well, “You know – for someone who’s mine to command – you’re awfully mouthy, aren’t you? You ought to be careful what you say to me. You never know what I might decide to make you do.”

*I’ll show her ‘mouthy’,* he thought with a secret smile, surprising her with a quick motion of his head, capturing her fingertips gently between his teeth, nipping lightly at her before gently sucking the sensitive digits for a moment.

She did not pull away for a moment, and he heard a soft gasp of her own at the unexpected sensation that his suggestive action, and the physical sensation, created in her. As she slowly withdrew her fingers from his mouth to lightly caress his cheek, he turned his face to kiss her palm tenderly.

The simple gesture was almost too much for Buffy to bear. She felt a sudden rush of emotion flood her heart, indefinable emotions that swept over her and left her with a deep, aching sense of sadness for what she was about to do.

Why did she have to end this again? she wondered desperately. Right – because Spike was an evil vampire – an evil vampire who showed her more love and devotion than anyone in her life ever had – who somehow seemed to know her better than anyone else ever had, despite her best efforts to shut him out – who somehow managed to touch not only her body but her heart and mind in ways she had never known were possible.

But – it was wrong. She was the Slayer; she wasn’t supposed to even allow his existence, let alone give herself to him, even in the limited way in which she did.

God, why did everything have to be so hard?

*No, Buffy,* she berated herself suddenly. *Stop thinking this way – you’ve got to get things back on track, *now*!*

Spike sensed the sudden difference in her demeanor when she quickly, unexpectedly, pulled her hand back from his face, at the same time removing her hand from his body, both hands suddenly gripping his wrists and pinning him to the wall again.

He let out an involuntary little moan of protest at the sudden loss of contact, his hips thrusting forward in a vain attempt to regain her touch. Further adding to his torment, Buffy raised one leg slightly, pressing against his thighs, just below the one place he *wanted* her to touch, and holding him back against the wall, not allowing him any movement at all.

He felt the warmth of her breath against his skin as she whispered softly, “You’re sure you wanna do this my way? Because if you’re not – we can call this off any time…”

“No!” he said emphatically – or as emphatically as it was possible for him to speak in a voice that was trembling, breaking with his need for her. “I – I trust you, Buffy…I’m not backing out…”

There was a moment of silence that seemed to go on forever, and he knew that his response had surprised her. It shouldn’t have; he had allowed things to go on this far – how could she think that he would back down *now*?

She really did not know him at all.

“All right,” the Slayer conceded softly, her hands slowly releasing their grip on his wrists, as she moved away from him, allowing him to move away from the wall. “Come on.” Her small hand took one of his, and he followed as she led him toward the stairs.

He knew her house well enough to know that much.

She was surprised at how easily they made it up the stairs, even with Spike blindfolded and unable to see where he was going. He didn’t seem to have any trouble – as if he was used to navigating these stairs, and could do it without even thinking about it.

She wondered suddenly with a little pang of guilt, how many times Spike had come up these stairs in the months following her jump from Glory’s tower – how many times he had offered comfort to her grieving little sister.

*He doesn’t deserve this,* she thought suddenly – but that thought was followed immediately by another, ironically justifying her actions again.

*Just the fact that you can think about doing this to him proves that he deserves *better* than you – you have to do this – you have to make him let you go…*

Spike knew when they walked into the Slayer’s bedroom; her scent surrounded him, sweet and heavy and covering nearly everything in the room. He froze for a moment, stunned and a bit awed that she had brought him here. He had longed for her to allow him to be with her here – to accept him that much – but had never thought that it would be possible.

Of course – in his fantasies, they were making sweet love in her bed, not playing a kinky sex game. He shrugged.

He could adjust.

Buffy stopped him suddenly, breaking him out of his reverie, her hands holding his arms for a moment and stilling him, before releasing him and stepping back a couple of steps.

When he felt her heat moving slowly away from him, he frowned slightly, and took a hesitant step forward. “Buffy…?” he began hesitantly, unsure of what he was supposed to do.

“Just – stay right there. Don’t move.” There was a subtle note of command to her voice that he could tell was put on, just Buffy trying to act tough, to go along with the game.

Didn’t make it any less hot.

He froze in place, still, silent – waiting.

“So,” she spoke softly after a long moment, and he could sense that she was in front of him, a few yards away – and sitting down, judging by the sound of her voice. “You’re gonna do whatever I tell you to do?”

The thoughtful speculation in her voice was tinged with a hint of amusement – and he felt a rush of arousal at the thought of her. He could picture her – sitting there in the chair across from her bed, watching him, probably with her legs crossed and one swinging slowly – thinking up dirty, nasty little things to do with him.

Again – the thought should have been frightening. She was the Slayer – any vampire in their right mind would have known better than to give her this much power over him – would have run as fast as he could in the opposite direction.

But Spike – well, it just made him hot.

“Anything, love,” he replied, his voice calm and even. After a moment’s silence, he asked expectantly, “So – what do you want me to do?”

The Slayer was silent for a moment, considering. Then, she spoke – a low, husky sound of dangerous desire in her voice that sent a rush of blood straight to his groin as she gave him her first order.

“Take off your shirt.”

He smiled, a bit self-satisfied. So the Slayer wanted a show, did she? He’d bloody well *give* her a show!

Slowly, taking his time, he slid the black t-shirt he wore up and over his head, running his hands suggestively over the smooth, pale flesh of his chest as he did so. He was careful to stretch the neck of the shirt when he pulled it over his head, so as not to accidentally remove the blindfold and forfeit the game.

“Wanna see what’s yours, do you, pet?” he said in a low, seductive voice, his hands trailing back down over his own body, pausing to circle slowly around his nipples before coming to hover an inch or two from his zipper, in anticipation of her next command.

“Mmm-hmm,” she murmured, a light, teasing note to her voice. “I see – and I like…”

“Quite a bit more to the package, love,” he smirked, and she could imagine the cocky glint that would show in his sapphire eyes, if she had allowed him to reveal them.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she shot back, her voice hardening slightly – and he felt his cock jump slightly in response to the sound. “Take off your pants.”

His hands froze on the button of his fly when she suddenly added, as an afterthought, “And don’t you *dare* touch yourself! You put yourself in my hands for the night -- *I’ll* decide when you get off!” The hard note suddenly faded from her voice as she added sweetly, teasingly, “Okay?”

His breath was coming harder now, his desire driven higher by her possessive, demanding tones. He knew that she was playing a game – but she was certainly getting into it. And the more into her part she became, the more her arousal seemed to fill the room – and the more desperate his own need became.

He nodded, replying in a harsh whisper, “Right, love,” as his hands slowly unfastened the button of his jeans, and tugged the zipper down, careful not to come into contact with his throbbing, weeping erection, before moving to his hips to slide the jeans slowly off of his body, stepping out of them and kicking them a few feet away…

Baring himself to her completely. The little thrill he felt was a combination of desperate arousal, pride at sensing her silent reaction to the sight of his body – and apprehension, though he never would have admitted it to her. He was standing here, blindfolded and naked in the Slayer’s bedroom – waiting for her to decide what to do about it.

“You are so…freakin’…*hot*.”

The low, lusty whisper that came from the Slayer’s lips sent another rush through him, and his hand moved automatically toward his needy member – freezing after going only an inch or two, as he remembered her command. He heard her soft footsteps as she rose and moved slowly toward him; he could wait.

He would much rather *her* hands touch him anyway.

He felt the heat radiating off of her still-clothed body, as she moved in close to him, walking slowly behind him. He did not move, did not speak – just waited to see what she would do.

The next moment, he felt her soft, hot hands on his arms, running down to his wrists and pulling his hands down to his sides. He felt the soft cotton of her loose, flowy skirt falling, shifting slightly, against his butt and thighs, as she moved in very near behind him, her hands sliding around him to rest on his stomach.

“Don’t move,” she whispered in his ear, her voice almost tender – but not quite. The dominant emotion in her voice was most definitely still sheer lust.

Her hands slowly slid up his stomach, taking her time and feeling over his rock-hard, perfectly built abs, moving up to his chest, where she traced slow circles with her fingertips, moving gradually inward to the more sensitive skin around his nipples.

He moaned softly, pleadingly, his hands at his sides trembling, aching with the desire to touch her – or himself, for that matter – to do *anything* but the nothing that she was allowing them to do. His manhood throbbed with need for contact, his erection swelling to a point of desperation – but she did not touch him there.

When she pinched his nipples lightly, her lips falling to kiss his throat gently, he gasped out, “Buffy – Buffy, please…”

“Shhh…” she whispered, her lips on his throat quirking up in a little smile, before she lifted her head – and pulled back away from him, moving a little ways across the room behind him.

He could not help the low whimper that rose in his throat when she stopped touching him, though he didn’t say a word. He wasn’t sure if she would count it, but he certainly wasn’t going to fail her challenge over not obeying such a simple command as the one she had just given him to be quiet.

He heard her low, throaty chuckle of self-satisfaction at the effect she was having on him, and could tell by her voice that she was turned slightly away from him. He heard the quiet sound of a drawer opening and closing again, and then with relief, realized that she was returning to stand behind him again – her steps slow, unhurried – drawing out the torture of waiting.

He shuddered with relief, as he felt her press in against him again, one arm wrapping gently around his body – and then the other.

And in the other, was a familiar metal object, cool against his chest where it fell, as she dangled it slightly, teasingly, in her hand in front of him. He wondered for an instant how and when she had managed to slip the handcuffs out of his crypt – or if perhaps she had gone to the trouble of picking up her own pair…

Then he stopped thinking completely for a moment, as the Slayer repeated the question of the hour, rising up on her toes to whisper seductively in his ear.

“Do you trust me?”