– Perchance to Dream –





The air was hot and heavy with the sounds and the smells of any normal night club. Lights flashed and faux smoke whirled about the dance floor, rising to splash mystically in the faces of the sweaty youths that graced its base. The music was loud, and few could hear or truly detect the truth that this was not a normal night club.



A vampire sat, cloaked almost fully in darkness, the flashing lights bouncing occasionally over his sharp features, adding only further to the air of the supernatural that surrounded him.



His senses bounced around the room, absently picking up the joy, the lust, the desire, the death and the magic that encased this not-so-average hole in the wall.



Long, cool fingers raised the cheap, second-rate American beer bottle to his lips and he took an unneeded swallow of the beverage. A single, scarred eyebrow rose as his heightened senses picked up on the tasty morsel that was following his every move.



At any other time he would have followed the temptation, brought her back to Dru; had a party. But something had changed.



And it pissed him off that he knew what, and when….



Just not why.



Or not any ‘why’ that he was willing to accept.



With a low growl he pushed off the wall, absently dropping the half empty bottle into some yuppy’s lap. Not even the boy’s yelp of surprise and anger could broil his Demon. Oh, no – his Demon was angry enough…but it was a much different prey that would satisfy it now.



Pity the bitch wasn’t here.



Spike slipped up the winding stair case that led to the balcony overlooking the dance floor.



Three days.



Three whole fucking days.



And four fucking nights.



Or should that be, four nights fucking?



Every way, every how…hour after hour the dreams haunted him; feeling so true that he no longer knew what was real and what was not.



His days were spent organising the clan; showing them who was Master – in case torching the annoying one hadn’t been enough. He was building an uprising to destroy the Slayer, reclaim the Hell Mouth and obliterate the idyllic town that was Sunnydale.



His nights…



Oh, his nights were spent in worship; measureless time passed sinking over and over into heaven…softness, purity and light.



His nights, they were bewitched.



He growled suddenly as a familiar scent reared his senses.



Dru.



But the scent was gone as quickly as it had come, and he thought he must just have imagined it; his mind must just have conjured it up to remind him of where his loyalties should lie.



A few blocks away a scream was heard.



Someone was having themselves a good time.



Which was exactly what he should be having.



Purpose in mind, he allowed his eyes to unglaze and scour the dance floor, the bar, the shadows for a bite to eat.



His gaze had just located the perfect snack when from behind him, came a querying voice.



“Found someone?”



He spun round, game face just held in check, and faced the questioning source.



“What did you say?” His voice was low, menacing; a tone he knew had terrified the fiercest of vampires and demons.



The old woman smiled, and repeated her question in her soft and lilting tones. “Found someone?”



She didn’t seem to expect an answer as she spoke again, “Would you like to join me?”



When he didn’t move, she smiled again and spoke with mirth: “I don’t bite.”



Spike returned the grin unintentionally; he liked her, she had spunk. With a low chuckle he sat down in the seat opposite her, ever the semblance of relaxation though his body was coiled, his senses automatically heightened further, ready for a fight.



“I do.” He rejoined, and watched as she lifted a cigarette to her lips. It was one of those that ladies had been so fond of in the twenties. She winked at him, and the paper and tobacco lit up without being touched.



“So,” He finally spoke, ignoring, for the time being, the magic-play. “What’s a pretty young thing doing in a place like this?”



She laughed, totally relaxed, even in her old skin. She was reclined against the plush bench in a seductive pose, her legs crossed demurely, while her elbows rested up on the headrest, either side of her face. Her hands dangled weightlessly from either arm, from the right, her cigarette



“I’m seventy-eight.”



Spike smirked. “I’m two hundred and five.” He shrugged carelessly, about to light his cigarette when suddenly it was done for him.



The old witch winked, “But who’s counting right?”



With an incline of his head he conceded her point, taking a long drag of the white stick. He knew he should be wary of her, but felt nothing but calm in her presence…



…it only made him more suspicious.



“So, pet, we gonna sit here all night, or are you gonna tell me what you want?”



“Always to business, William?” She enquired, magically floating her word, leather bag to the centre of the table as she spoke.



“Life’s too short.” He said, dead-pan, his eyes fixed on her, his caution fixed on the bag.



The handbag opened, and from within levitated a long silver feather. It rose slowly, pausing above the bag, beyond its reach as it was clasped shut.



“What is it?”



“A present.” She murmured in reply.



Spike smiled coyly, a sarcastic girlish tone to his voice, though he was doubly concerned by this turn of events. “For me? And it’s not even my birthday.”



His eyes hardened, his voice harsh when she said nothing more, “What is it?”



“A key.”



“To what?” Spike growled, his patience more than tried.



A ghost of a smile graced her lips. “Your dreams.” She answered cryptically, and was gone.



Leaving naught but the feather in her wake.



---



Your dreams…



He couldn’t get it out of his head.



Hours had passed by; he had returned, as he knew he must, to the lair…and to Dru. She had been silent when he arrived, her damaged brain caught in a child-like stupor as he lay her down to sleep.



Cool arms had pulled him down, and he had wrapped his own carefully around her frail body, all the while praying for sleep…for guidance…for clarity against feelings that he should not have.



He had tried to sleep. Had lain in their cold, voluptuous bed, holding a cold, skeletal body for hour upon hour. But try as he might, he could not sleep. His eyes, they would close, but his body was awake and unable to relax.



Because something was missing.



So he rose, covered his one-time Vampire lover unnecessarily and left the room, the lair….and simply walked.



The feather was in his pocket. Risky, he knew, but there was something honest about it that he could not leave behind. The old woman’s promise of more; of a key to his dreams.



Which dreams could she mean?



He was an old, old vampire. He’d had hundreds of thousands of dreams.



Dreams of death, of destruction….of violence.



Of love.



A part of him, some distant, far a way part knew. But to accept this knowledge would be tantamount to denouncing everything that he was, everything that he stood for.



And so, it remained silent. And he remained frustrated, in the dark.



He looked up, and then internally groaned when he saw where his feet had carried him.



One of the minions, Devon – some Vampire hanger-on-er – had told him that he’d known the Slayer when he was alive…and knew where she lived. And the stoner twerp had obligingly told the new Master to garner good favour.



Pity Spike didn’t like suck-ups.



Dust in the wind was all Devon was now, but the information that he had imparted still remained, potent – screaming – inside Spike’s brain.



“Fuck…” He breathed into the warm nights’ air, the cool expiration from his lungs just visible as it met the hotter, external gas.



Barely aware of his actions, he scaled the old, worn tree outside the Slayer’s bedroom – easily located by her discernable scent. Standing on the ledge outside her closed window he gazed into the room and across at the beauty that lay sprawled across the bed.



God, she was gorgeous.



Pouting lips; full, youthful breasts straining against the thin sheet covering her. She moved, slightly encumbered by the heat, sinuously shifting her shapely limbs against each other.



A soft moan was torn from her lungs, and Spike groaned at the erotic yet somehow innocent sound.



Shaking hands reached out, and careful not to be caught by the mystical barrier, slowly slid the window open, allowing the breeze that had been tapping at the window entrance to the forbidden room.



He groaned again, his hands tingling with the need to touch her, the need to run his hands over her body, over every dip, mould against every curve. His mouth watered; the desire to taste her skin, trail her rivulets of sweat…lap up her pleasure almost overriding every other sensation in his body.



Spike leant heavily against the barrier, hot eyes burning a path down her body and his sex hardened as a coo of delight was uttered from her rouge lips.



He growled, low and dangerous in his throat. Frustration roared through him; he had to get in there, had to be near her...had to feel her skin on his, her mouth against his lips, her taste on his tongue.



Inside his pocket, the feather began to glow, shooting tingles down his leg and up his side.



Tearing his gaze away from the siren that was calling him to what surely would be his downfall; he reached into his pocket, pulling the feather out.



He was unsure what instinct, or magic, pushed him to stroke the silver gift against the barrier before him, but as he did a green light shone brightly from its tip and encased the whole house for just a moment, and then it was gone.



So was the barrier.



The feather dropped back into his pocket without his notice, its purpose completed for this night, at least.



Reaching forward, he dipped his hand passed the window and across the threshold. Reverently, he entered the room, almost groaning once more at the glorious trespass he was making.



For a moment he watched her, writhing softly under the bed sheets, a small smile on her face. Unable to help himself, he moved in further and sat on the bed.



Beneath him, he felt the bed depress and it was as if he had no power of his actions. Carefully, he moved to lie behind her. Blood pounded through his brain and his arm lifted to softly skim the beauty before him. He smiled as her eyes squeezed shut, his senses registering her fear, or excitement, as her breath hitched.



Spike let his cool hand trail up her thigh above the sheet, resting momentarily on her hip before sliding round to cup her stomach, drawing her back against his hard body with a low, possessive growl that he doubted she heard.



He nuzzled her shoulder, nudging away the hair that covered her neck, savouring her gasp as he did so. Once his path was clear he ducked his head, inhaling her heady scent as his fingers tightened around her body. Spike groaned. God, she smelt good. Her scent was a mixture of youth, sex and power…the vanilla body wash that she had used in her shower rose off her skin, surrounding her skin, and mixing deliciously with her own, unique.



Good enough to eat.



He moaned at the thought.



Sweeping back in, his lips caressed her smooth, warm skin, and with a wet tongue, he dipped and circled every nuance of her sensitive jugular. His blood soared, and his Demon screamed at him to claim her, to make her his for all eternity. But he held off….some far away part of him knowing that it would be worth it. He felt her jump as his blunt teeth nipped at her skin, her whole body freezing as he spoke directly into her ear.



“Hello, cutie.” He growled, his hold tightening even more possessively around her.



“Spike?!” Disbelief infused her tone and she tried to get up, kick him out – scream – but he was faster. Quickly rolling her beneath him, he successfully pinned her petite body under his, relishing the feel of her hot, tight little body beneath his. “What they hell are you doing?! How the hell did you get in?!”



“Sshhh….” He quietened her, brushing his full lips over her flushed ones, the action stunning her into silence.



“Spike?” Her voice was subdued, soft…wary. “What are you…”



Her question was cut off as he dipped his head to her neck and he felt her tense, and begin to struggle. Something inside of him hurt at the thought that she was afraid of him, that being close to him brought her fear.



Doing all he could to calm her, but never once letting her go, his careful lips teased her skin once again in a leisurely, unhurried fashion – trying to show her, without words, that she had to reason to fear him.



“Spike.” She whispered again. But he noticed the change in tone, the change in her scent. Beneath him her body began to relax, almost arching into his ministrations.



His hips rubbed down into hers and she gasped as the pleasure coursed through her young, inexperienced body. Her body reacted unconsciously, thrusting back towards the source of her delight. Above her Spike chuckled, lifting his head so that he could taste her lips.



A harsh growl, that sent shivers through her body, was torn from his throat as her taste, and scent overwhelmed him. Her inexperienced, but perfectly delicious, kiss was sending him to places he had never been before. This woman-child was making him feel things he hadn’t felt before…



Hell, she was making him feel.



When his hands reached for the sheet around her breasts, desperate to feel more of her, she pulled back her fingers clutching the covers around her.



“Spike…” It had meant to come out as an admonishment but it left her lips as a wavery sigh as he pressed a heated kiss to the very top of her cleavage that peaked out from the top of the sheet, delighting in her shiver as he did so.



“We shouldn’t….” She whispered even as she felt her hands begin to loosen. Spike noticed it too, pressing another kiss to her skin as more was revealed to his hungry gaze.



“Shhh….” He hushed her softly.



“Don’t think…” Another kiss, a little further down. “Just feel…”



“Yes…” She whispered exaltedly after a moments pause, and his heart soared as her tight grip on the sheet was released.



Spike sat up, slowly pulling the covering from her body, watching in avid fascination as more and more of her luscious skin was revealed to his perusal.



A low growl rumbled in his chest before he descended again, his lips devouring hers with an intensity in shocking contrast to the tender actions he’d shown until now.



His tongue dove deep within her mouth, seeking hers out and forcing it to play. There was a low rumble emanating from somewhere low in his body, and she arched against him, trying desperately to draw it out.



Her fingers groped for the buttons on his shirt, tugging and pulling at them, frenziedly trying to remove the offending garment.



Noticing her struggle Spike tried to remove it while still keeping his mouth firmly attached to hers. He loathed for them ever to part; he could stay with her for all eternity…if she’d let him.



It wasn’t meant to be.



“Bloody hell!” He growled, tearing his lips reluctantly from hers as he sat up once more, ripping the shirt and the t-shirt from his back, sending little black buttons and shreds of material everywhere.



The Slayer moaned in appreciation, her unknowing hands unconsciously reaching out to touch him. Her fingers slid over his defined muscles, tracing their contours as a shudder went through both of them at the contact. When her nail scraped his nipple he growled, his eyes flashing amber.



Rather than being afraid, the sight sent a flurry of warmth to her centre. She did it again.



He growled his pleasure, swooping down upon her, letting her know without words the euphoria she was bringing to his dead body.



Buffy groaned as his body covered hers once again before sliding down a little further, rubbing sensually against her as he moved. Amongst the haze a question broken through, demanding to be asked. “How did you get in?” She blurted.



Her hand shot up to her face the moment the words left her lips, worried that she had totally ruined the moment by running off at the mouth. He didn’t want her to feel worried. Even his demon couldn’t stand her fear. He cooed softly at her, nudging her hand away with his nose. She smiled at him, and his whole body lit up.



Spike chuckled, the sound sending ripples of pleasure coursing through her body, easing any worry she had. “Magic.” He whispered mysteriously, before dipping his head, drawing one of her nipples into his mouth.



“O-oh!” Buffy moaned, arching her back up off the bed, her hands digging into the soft sheets below in an attempt not to cry out and alert her mother.



His tongue circled the pouting bud, his blunt teeth elongating in order to barely scrape the surface. Buffy lost her composure and cried out, the pain mingling with the pleasure. Her hands groped wildly for the pillow, quickly pressing it against her mouth to mute the sounds she couldn’t stop spouting from herself.



He sucked the tip into his mouth again, his hand trailing up to circle, but never quite touch, the other, neglected, breast. A small trickle of Slayer-blood slipped into his mouth from the tiny wound he’d made. It closed up almost immediately, but at the taste of her blood his demon surged forward.



Grateful that she still had the pillow over her face, and consequently couldn’t see, he planted kisses across to the other breast, giving it the same amount of attention as he forced his body to calm a little.



It was starting…she could feel it…



She couldn’t believe it…her breasts had never felt this sensitive before. Every where he brushed felt like it was on fire, every place he touched came alive at the feel of him.



His teeth scraped her other nipple and it happened. She felt the pillow being plucked from beneath her fingers and soft lips covering hers, allowing her sounds of pleasure to be lost in his mouth.



With a low moan, Buffy came…



Spike growled, keeping his eyes open even as he kissed her, not wanting to miss a moment of his beautiful goddess’s flight. Her eyes were wide open; her body shuddered and jerked beneath him, trying to apply pressure to her hard clit.



His hands slid lower, as he pulled back from her lips to watch the moment in it’s entirety, searching out her heat, dipping within her, a groan tearing from his throat as he felt how wet she was.



How hot.



How tight.



“Fuck…” He growled just at the thought of her, but she couldn’t hear him.



Even as the last tremors of her first orgasm swept within her, he moved his fingers within her, his thumb gently circling her clit and he felt her fall again. A gush of fluid coated his fingers and he inhaled deeply, groaning at the scent of his young lover. He moaned, lowering his head, knowing that he had to taste her.



“Oh – oh - GOD!”



Buffy was dying. There was no other explanation. She had had the most powerful orgasms of her young life in the space of twenty seconds, and….oh!



She couldn’t even complete the thought as a cool tongue probed her swollen, heated flesh, lapping up her juices as they slipped from her body. “Spike…” She moaned lustily, then almost screamed it as he brought her whole clit into his mouth, sucking on it.



Her teeth bit down on her hand, drawing blood as she came for the third time, coating Spike’s face in her pleasure.



Spike sat up slowly, licking his lips, looking very much like the Cheshire cat that had eaten the cream. His gaze zeroed in on her bloody hand as she removed it from her mouth, breathing heavily.



“Wow…” She murmured, her eyes glazed over attempting to focus on the room…but it was still spinning. “That was so…wow…”



Spike grinned, sliding his body over hers, reaching for her hurt hand. “Glad I could be of service.” He grinned lasciviously at her, before turning his head into her hand, drawing his tongue over the trails of blood.



She gasped as he sucked her index finger into his mouth, sending tingles back to her centre as he cleaned her.



Spike groaned when she lifted her hand further, offering her blood to him and his demon ached to be let free and claim her. Let the world know exactly what she was.



His.



As he lay back over her, Buffy realised she could feel every part of his body as it moulded to hers. Every. Single. Part.



Oh…and something felt…hungry.



In between her legs, his hard cock nestled in askance against her curls even as Spike continued to kiss her.



Suddenly, reality broke into Buffy’s mind and she tensed up. Spike felt the change in her immediately, pausing above her; the restraint being used causing his body to shake under the pressure, but he held off.



“What is it, baby?” He murmured soothingly, wanting to lean down and kiss her, but also wanting her to tell him what was wrong.



“I…I…” She started hesitantly, blushing furiously as the gravity of what they were doing began to bare down on her conscience.



“What?” He whispered, his voice barely audible, but it was enough to prompt a reply.



She looked away as she spoke, too embarrassed and wary of his response.



“I’ve never…” She couldn’t finish the sentence, but then, she didn’t need to.



“Oh.” His face softened and affection seemed to shine from his eyes. Her words shot through him like an infusion of the strongest, sweetest blood.



Never.



This wonderful, beautiful, sensual being was untouched. Unadulterated.



Utterly and completely, his.



He groaned at the thought, keeping hold of his demon as it begged to be let loose and claim this perfect creature for all eternity, now while they had the chance.



“Oh, baby.” Unable to resist the temptation any longer he pressed his lips to hers, pulling the lower one into his mouth momentarily – just a taste – before leaning back to look in her eyes. “Don’t worry…” He whispered. “I’ll be gentle.”



She smiled shyly, nodding to him as he lowered his body back down upon hers. He pressed his lips to hers, before murmuring against them ruefully, “This might hurt, love….but only for a moment.”



Again, she nodded. And carefully he slid inside her.



The pain…while momentary, was still there, and she tensed even as she indicated to Spike, who had immediately paused at the first sign of discomfort, to keep going.



Spike groaned, feeling immensely guilty that while the beauty below him was in agony his dick felt like he was in heaven.



Her eyes widened, when, after a pause, he began to move in slow sure strokes.



In the beginning he was slow, whispered sweet words of comfort and affection into her ear, but as he felt her begin to meet his thrusts he picked up the pace.



“Fuck, Buffy…” He groaned when she tightened her inner muscles around him, his eyes widening.



She grinned beneath him, and did it again.



With an evil grin of his own he swivelled his hips, lifting her up and watched as she cried out his name as over and over the tip of his cock his her G-spot.



“Spike!”



“Buffy…” He responded, circling his hips against her, hitting her clit every time he entered her. Her heat was over whelming him. “So fucking hot…so tight…so wet…so – fuck!”



She squeezed again and watched him loose control, loving this power she had found over the Master Vampire.



Minutes…hours…days might have passed but neither would have known, so involved they were with the other.



The suddenly, it happened upon them; sneaked up without their knowledge.



“MINE!” He growled as he came, feeling her strong muscles contract around him in orgasm. His face changed as his demon demanded he claim what was rightfully his.



Burying his face in her neck, unable to help himself he sunk his teeth within her, drawing hungrily upon her blood. For the fifth time that very night, Buffy came again, clawing at Spike’s head, forcing him further down upon her…anything…everything…just to keep that wondrous feeling coming.



He growled against her skin as her actions only further cemented the claim he had finally placed upon her.



Eventually, he removed his fangs from her neck, licking attentively at the wound as he felt her continue to shudder around cock, her soft, melodious voice sighing out his name over and over…



Forcing his face from her neck, he lifted himself up on to his forearms, and gazed down at the creature below him.



Face flushed, lips pouty and his mark on her neck.



His.



She was beautiful.



“Beautiful.” He murmured, momentarily nuzzling against her cheek before rising once again to simply look his fill, cooing softly at her as basked in her heat.



“Open your eyes.” He whispered huskily, his hand reaching up to brush a tendril out of her face.



And she did.



Spike reared back with a yelp, tumbling off the bed in his haste to get away from the cold, dead orbs that stared over at him.



“D-Dru?!” He choked out as the room around him began to come in to focus. No longer in the Slayer’s bedroom, he was still in the mansion. In their room, and in their cold, dark bed.



He hadn’t left, he realised with a sinking feeling as he recognised his scent patterns…he’d been there since his return from the club.



No sleepless night, no midnight stroll…no Slayer.



“Spike?” Her soft, child-like voice brought him out of his stupor and he untangled himself from the bed sheets rising to take her into his arms, offering the comfort he’d always been able to give.



He noticed, with an odd sense of relief that he was still wearing his trousers, and she was still in her slip.



Then he growled.



What the fuck was he thinking?



Since when was he grateful that he hadn’t fucked Dru?



The Slayer meant nothing to him – Dru; everything.



With a snarl he smashed his lips down to hers, his fangs cutting brutally into her soft lips. She bounced in delight against him, smiling as her own blood ran down between them.



His tongue thrust hungrily into her mouth, eager to feel her warmth-



Wait a minute, that didn’t sound right.



Dru wasn’t warm. Neither should she be.



But she didn’t feel right, her kiss held no passion, only violence. Her embrace spoke of possession, but no emotion. Her skin was cold, her scent…dead.



With a growl of displeasure he wrenched away from her, his hands dropping to his sides as he let her fall onto the bed.



She licked her lips, savouring the taste of her own blood, and the savagery the kiss had induced. The vampiress moaned softly as the images came to her, and the words fumbled in her mouth.



Drusilla smiled.



“To sleep, perchance to dream…” She whispered softly against his unmoving lips, and then twirled off the bed, giggling as she went.



He watched as she spun round and round and round, Miss Edith held in a semblance of love in her arms. Suddenly she stopped, and the doll dropped heedlessly to the ground below.



Drusilla turned to face him, her once brilliant eyes dull and empty. “Oh, my Spike…words can not save her now.” She murmured, and collapsed to the floor in a heap.



Darting forward, Spike was just in time to catch her. Carefully, he lifted her into his arms, placing her softly on the bed. As he went about the long practised ritual of tucking her in to bed to ensure that she wouldn’t hurt herself, he felt something sticking into his thigh. Standing straight he retracted the offending object, and then sunk to the floor with a wavery sigh.



The feather.



“What the fuck…?” He murmured haggardly, his mind racing over just what the hell was going on.



Dru’s words floated back into his brain.



Words can not save her now…



But what could save him, he wondered as his eyes slowly closed and the room was left in silence.







TBC ASAP in...Book Two: "First taste...."


A/N: Just wanted to say a big thanks for my lovely reviewers Verda, Bigbird, vladt, jl1980 and Lou!

I hope everyone enjoyed this next part. I'm afraid I'm without internet access for a little while, but as soon as it's back I'll be back with hopefully a swift update!