Spike waited in silence, lying there on the bed on his back, his hands locked above his head to the headboard. He knew he had surprised her with his actions, thrown her off her game a bit with the unexpected display of trust – and given himself a decided advantage in the situation, if only for a moment.

The next move was undeniably Buffy’s.

But only silence met his actions.

After a moment, he could hear the soft rustling sound of Buffy moving about the room, though she did not say a word. He heard a drawer open now and again, the soft shifting thumping sounds of objects being picked up and set down.

But still, the Slayer did not say a word.

“So,” he began, a bit cautiously, though his tone was teasing. The silence was getting to him, and he wanted to try to lighten the mood a bit. “Just how bad have I…”

His words were cut off in an instant, as the Slayer suddenly made her presence known, very near to him at the head of the bed, with her hand pressed forcefully over his mouth, holding his head back hard against the pillow beneath it and effectively silencing him for the moment.

The feeling of utter helplessness was alarming – and exciting.

Her voice near his ear spoke in a low, hushed warning. “Too bad to be allowed to open that smart mouth of yours,” she informed him, removing her hand from his mouth to trace the line of his jaw with the backs of her fingertips, as she went on in a voice that was more playful, less threatening – but still unmistakably sincere, “You keep quiet unless I tell you otherwise – or I’ll just have to punish you more.”

Spike relished the little shiver of arousal and fear that went down his spine at the words. He considered for a moment, before coming to a decision. The Slayer wanted so badly to make him believe that she could really hurt him? To prove that he did not trust her?

Why not call her bluff?

“Well, what if I *want* to be punished?” he countered cheekily, his tongue darting out between his teeth momentarily in a gesture of mockery and suggestive intent that never failed to get a reaction out of her, whether good or bad.

The Slayer did not miss a beat, as he suddenly felt her sharp fingernails close a bit too tightly around his right nipple, and he gasped in pleasurable pain as she pinched him sharply.

“Then I guess you’re on the right track – aren’t you, Baby?” she replied, and he could hear the smirk in her voice, as she twisted slightly, drawing a reluctant groan from the vampire’s throat.

The sound turned into a soft whimper of protest when she released him, and he twisted against the bonds that held him, his body arching upward toward her hand that had abandoned him – but he did not say a word.

It was quite possible that he was not actually capable of speech at the moment.

He heard the soft sound of Buffy’s footsteps, moving away from the bed, and then back again, though she did not say another word for a few moments.

“Buffy,” he said in a breathless, petulant voice bordering on a whine. “I’ve been a lot worse than that, pet…need lots more punishing, I swear…”

There it was again, that low, dark little laugh in her throat, as he heard her nearing him, heard the soft thud of something heavy being set down on the small nightstand beside the bed, followed by several smaller somethings – and then, a new sound – different in this setting, but recognizable clearly enough to send a little chill of apprehension down his spine.

The soft scratch and hiss of a match being struck.

“Of course you do,” Buffy agreed, her voice soft, mild, conciliatory – and suddenly a bit frightening. “I completely agree. Don’t worry, Baby. I haven’t even started yet.”

He swallowed reflexively as he heard her blow out a soft breath, the quiet little *whoosh* as the flame she had struck went out, and the acrid, woody smell of the burnt match filled the air around him. A small tremor of mingled relief and apprehension went through him. She had blown out the match she had struck…

…but why had she struck it in the first place?

“W-what are you doing, pet?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm, light – but unable to keep a slight waver from it as he felt the mattress sink slightly beside him.

In the next moment, he felt the pressure of her weight across his stomach, as the Slayer straddled him, the soft, slightly rough folds of her skirt pressed between her body and his, the silky feel of her thighs on either side of him driving him mad with renewed desire, that was nevertheless given quite the competition for control by his rising apprehension.

“Practicing,” she replied cryptically, her tone light and unconcerned.

She leaned forward across him, reaching for something on the nightstand beside his head, and he could not help but tense slightly at the increased nearness, and the anticipation, not knowing what it was she was reaching for. Instinctively, unconsciously, his hands pulled against the handcuffs that bound him, his breath accelerating just slightly.

He cursed his weakness when the Slayer went still above him, still leaning forward so that her face was near his.

“Want me to let you up?” Her voice was gentle, understanding, without a trace of mockery or derision. She was sincerely asking.

Somehow – that made his decision easy.

He shook his head, drawing in a slightly shaky breath. “No,” he whispered. “No, love…I’m fine…”

Her tone changed, light, wickedly playful, as she smirked, “Okay…let’s see if we can change that!”

Her hands apparently found what they were reaching for on the nightstand, because he heard soft sounds of contact as she did something, though he had no idea what, and then she leaned back again, straddling him low over his hips, her knees on the bed on either side of him. The heady scent of her arousal carried easily to him in this position, and he felt his erection swelling behind her, pressing up against her backside.

He could hear her moving slightly, and her tone was a bit distracted as she focused on whatever it was she held in her hands, as she mused in a thoughtful tone, “Someone once told me…in no uncertain terms…that I didn’t have the first idea about…certain types of foreplay…”

Spike let out a surprised yelp of pain and shock as a sudden drop of searing moisture fell against his bare skin, just a bit to the left of his navel.

“…candles, for example…” the Slayer explained coyly. As she spoke, she reached down and idly scraped the already hardened bit of wax from his skin with one perfectly manicured fingernail. “Hmm…pretty,” she remarked with a quiet glee that was both child-like and chilling.

As soon as she spoke, he recognized the sounds he had heard, the rhythm of her motions a few moments before. He had played these sorts of games enough to know that the heavy object was mostly likely a large candle, which she had lit with the match, and had used to light one of several smaller ones – which she was now casually allowing to drip all over his exposed, sensitive skin.

“Bloody hell!” Spike gasped, his voice a bit ragged. “Slayer – y-you gotta remember, love…no body heat, here…it’s a bit more…extreme, for me, than it’d be for you, pet…so…so you might wanna -- *bloody hell*!”

He let out a moan as another drip of hot wax landed on his chest, near his right nipple. Against his room temperature skin, it cooled and hardened rather quickly, but the heat was intense, sending a searing jolt of pain through him that oddly translated to pleasure, increasing his desire for her.

Buffy leaned forward slightly, her hand fisting in his hair and jerking him closer to her for a moment as she replied in a wicked voice of amusement, “I know – hence the word ‘punishment’, Spike…which you’re only earning more of every time you open that sexy mouth of yours, Baby…”

She released him, straightening back up again, giggling quietly in surprise when she felt his burgeoning erection against her backside.

The hand that had gripped his hair reached behind her to swirl a torturously light finger around the head of it slowly.

“Somebody wants to play…gonna have to wait his turn, though…”

The suggestion in her words was both thrilling and terrifying to him. Surely she wouldn’t actually…*gah!*

Another searing drop of wax landed on the pale skin of his ribcage, and he released a pleading moan at the sensation, his back arching as he strained uselessly against the handcuffs, and felt his need for her increasing, wondering *very* distractedly if she could feel the increased pressure against her bum.

Her musical little laugh of amusement told him that she could.

He was never going to get out of this if his over-eager member didn’t stop nudging its encouragement of her actions against her rear.

“Okay, okay,” she teasingly relented, reaching behind her to gift his manhood with a single, infuriatingly gentle upward stroke. “Fine. Impatient,” she muttered good-naturedly as she got up off the bed.

*Bloody buggering hell.*

“Buffy,” Spike began in a desperate, trembling voice. “wait…don’t…”

“Don’t?” she echoed, stopping and turning slightly to face him. Her pointed tone was very clear.

He swallowed reflexively, desperately wanting to give in to her ploy. The thought of what she appeared poised to do was pretty soddin’ scary…and yet…if he refused…he would lose her challenge.

No bleedin’ way.

“N-no,” he recanted quickly, shaking his head. “Not ‘don’t’…I just meant…” He hesitated, but was unable to hold back the anxious whisper, “…be careful, love…”

“Whatsa matter, Baby?” Buffy teased him as she moved around to the foot of the bed and climbed up slowly between his legs, spreading them further apart as she did, increasing his sensation of helplessness, the utter lack of any control over the situation.

“Dontcha trust me?”

“Either I do or I’ve got a death wish, pet…” he muttered through clenched teeth, his body already tensing in anticipation, rueing the blindfold that prevented him from having a bloody clue what to expect from her next.

“You just might,” she shot back with a slightly warning tone. “You’re still talking.”

He bit his lip with a little grimace, reminding himself to just shut the bloody hell up.

A moment later, he frowned in confused apprehension, at the feeling of a round, heavy weight placed low on his hard, flat stomach. His stomach did an odd little flip a moment later when he realized that it was the weight of the large, round pillar candle, now rested on his stomach, as her own personal table.

“Knew those perfect abs were good for more than just looking dead sexy,” Buffy murmured in a low, playfully seductive voice, taking advantage of having both of her hands free, to run them slowly, leisurely up his thighs to the juncture where his legs met his groin, easing his legs slightly further apart.

He felt the candle on his stomach shift slightly with the movement, and could not hold back the gasp of fear that rose in his throat.

“Oh, yeah,” Buffy said casually, as an afterthought. “Try not to move. Might not feel too good if you manage to spill hot wax, straight from the candle, all over yourself. Or tip the candle over and set my bed on fire. That could be bad.”

She paused before adding with a smirk, “I *like* these sheets.”

“Buffy,” he whispered, pulling slightly against the handcuffs, as much as he dared, struggling against the impulse to yield to her, to tell her he’d had enough, and ask her to let him up. “Buffy…”

“Yes?” she asked softly, expectantly – an almost hopeful note in her voice.

And suddenly – he knew that he could not give in. Not now. The tone of her voice had unconsciously given her away.

She did not want to hurt him – not really. With any luck, he guessed, she was probably nearly as close to breaking as he was.

“Nothing, pet,” he whispered, shaking his head slightly, trying his best to keep perfectly still.

“Hmm,” she mused. “Pretty expensive nothing.”

He did not have time to wonder what she meant, before he felt a searing, unusually large drop of wax land on the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh. He jumped, without meaning to, cringing in expectation of greater pain when the wax from the candle on his stomach spilled from his movement.

But it did not – and he let out a shaky breath of relief, struggling to still the tremor that went through his body of mingled fear and relief.

What he could not know, was that the candle resting upon him, the Slayer’s silent warning to stillness, was the type that burned down in the center, while leaving the outer edge intact, round and broad, and burned down much too far to allow any wax to actually spill, unless he *completely* lost it and tipped the whole thing over entirely.

He also missed Buffy’s little gasp and tensing at his movement, and the way her eyes – and hand – shot to the candle instantly, wanting to be sure it was steady and did not actually hurt him.

What he *did* hear was the soft little hiss of her sucking her teeth, followed by a little clucking sound of disapproval, as she remarked in a casually observant tone, “That was close…you might wanna be more careful, Sweetie.”

Spike bit his lip and forced himself not to respond. At this point, it was probably best just to do his best to do as she said and get through it as quickly as possible, with as little actual damage as possible.

Which, of course, really depended on how much damage the Slayer intended to do.

One soft hand, not really seeming terribly damage-bound at the moment, began tracing a slow circle around the base of his erection, slowly working her way upward toward its weeping head, ending with a light but firm pinch about an inch from the tip, that elicited a low moan of pleasure from the vampire’s lips.

“Wow. You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” she remarked in a taunting tone, trailing her finger back down, retracing the spiraling path it had taken up his member. “Getting off on being my helpless sex toy?” she went on, her voice low and suggestive, and entirely too stimulating to his already over-aroused member.

His cock jumped slightly when she employed her nail an inch from the base of his erection, as she continued, “All tied up and exposed for me to have my way with – all laid out for me like Christmas morning…”

When her hand left him, he let out a soft, strangled cry, aching for her touch, unspeakably aroused by her words, and the lustful sound of her voice.

“Just enough helplessness and pain and degradation to get you off, huh, Baby?” she smirked, a harder, bitter edge to her voice, nudging her knees in closer to his erection, spreading his legs slightly further to emphasize her point.

Her voice lowered to a whisper as she applied another generous dose of the wax, an inch or so above the base of his erection. “Sick little slut,” she said in a voice of mocking accusation. “Only one thing you’re good for – but we already knew that, didn’t we?”

Buffy herself didn’t even know where she was getting this stuff. It seemed to fit with the game she was playing – and apparently, was having quite an effect on her bound, helpless vampire.

She smirked when his cock twitched in reaction to either the heat of the wax, or her words, pleased in spite of herself that she was able to get such a reaction from him. There was plenty of time before the night was through to get him to back down.

She smiled as she looked up to his face, his mouth open slightly and gasping for breath, his body trembling slightly, revealing his arousal. For now, there was no harm in enjoying the power she had over him, to make him want her, even when she was mercilessly tormenting him, using cruel, biting words that should have hurt, but apparently….

…did.

Her eyes widened with dismay, as she noticed the damp spot, barely visible, on the surface of the blindfold around his eyes. He was probably counting on the blindfold to conceal his emotional reaction – but it had failed him.

Tears.

*God.*

She had brought him to tears.

Buffy froze completely, the world around her seeming to stop, as a cold, sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach.

God, what had she done?

*You’ve been using him for months,* she reminded herself bitterly. *What’s so much worse about saying it out loud?*

She was suddenly stricken with the truth of the thought she had not meant to think – and the reason for the tears Spike thought she could not see. His body reacted instinctively to her expert attentions – but her words had gone too far, and shattered his heart.

Again.

*Okay – I think you’ve had enough…*

Her mind composed the mocking words to end this little scene – because Buffy herself *certainly* had had enough – but she could not make herself speak them, could not make herself carry on the act. Not right now.

Instead, she wordlessly rose up on her knees, removing the large candle from his stomach and shoving the others to the floor, as she moved from her position between the vampire’s legs, rising up so that her center hovered above him.

*Do it…use him again…hard and rough and reminding him that everything you just said is true,* she told herself, fighting to shut out the powerful emotions threatening to engulf her. *It will crush him…and he’ll walk out of here, and never come back. He won’t be able to deny what you’ve been doing to him anymore, and he’ll be done with you.*

But somehow – she just couldn’t do it.

She did descend onto him, lowering her body to take him into her – but it was slow, and gentle, and as affectionate as she ever allowed herself to be with him, as she lay herself down on top of him, her hands, her mouth, her very being treating him with a rare tenderness, bestowing warm, gentle kisses and soft caresses that he longed for – but rarely received.

He quickly, and with unusual silence, reached the climax she had driven him so ruthlessly toward, though she did not, and she rolled to her side beside him, her arm wrapped gently around his chest, lying there quietly, neither speaking a word, the soft sound of Spike’s ragged breathing the only sound that broke the stillness.

Buffy herself felt rather breathless.

*What are you doing, Buffy?* she asked herself. *This is not what you’re supposed to do…*

But somehow, at the moment, she could do nothing else.

When Spike could finally find words again, his voice came out hoarse and thick with emotion, though he was trying for casual. Buffy was not surprised to see that the blindfold was more soaked with tears now than it had been before.

“So, no more punishment, then? I’ve learned my lesson?” He was asking her, not telling her, with a desolate sorrow in his voice that sent a bitter ache through her heart.

*For now,* the smirking, slightly threatening response echoed in her head – what the game would have dictated that she say.

But she could not say those words.

In fact, at the moment, she couldn’t say any words at all. So she passed on words entirely, lowering her mouth to cover his in a slow, tender kiss that was gentle and reassuring and affectionate and all the things she had sworn that she could never be to Spike again.

When she drew away from him to breathe, lowering her forehead to rest against his as she caught her breath, she barely heard the soft, yearning words he spoke – words he had said to her a thousand times, yet this time carrying an ache of loneliness, of pleading, that tore at her emotions with an intensity she thought would consume her utterly.

“I love you, Buffy…I love you…”

*I lo…*No!*…I don’t…I can’t…not him…not…not again…I just…*

Her tumult of confusing thoughts gave way in that moment to a single central fact.

*God, I can’t do this! I can’t!*

“B-Buffy?”

There was a soft, vulnerable question in his voice, and her heart was struck again with remorse as she realized how near she had come to breaking him, not with fear of physical harm – but with words of simple cruelty. She had no excuse, no response, and yet no reassurance to offer him. She had none to offer even to herself. So she did the only thing she could think to do in that moment.

She lowered her mouth to his and kissed him again, as one anguished thought filled her mind.

*Oh, God…what am I going to do?*