a/n – Again, kudos to the BtVS writers and their brilliance in the dialogue I **cough** borrowed from Who Are You?  No characters were harmed during the writing of this fic (at least, I don’t think they were) so, please don’t sue.
Thanks to Megan and Gail for Beta-ing this chapter.  Hope you enjoy.

**hugs** sfg

Who Am I?
 
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Chapter 4 – Gobsmacked

“Spike? Spike!”  The Slayer’s grin was wicked and Spike hadn’t wanted to hit her so bad since…well, since the last time he saw her.  Visions of her, beaten and bloody and at the mercy of his fangs flashed through his mind, making his demon vibrate and his jeans too tight.  It was a quality fantasy, all blood and pain and death. 

Until she glided toward him, her hips swaying seductively. 

Then the fantasy became all blood and pain and sex . 

Uncertainty washed through him and he unconsciously retreated two steps before he regained his composure and stopped himself.  Chip or no chip, he was still the Big Bad.  He wasn’t about to be walked into a corner by a slip of a girl with an evil glint in her eye, even if she was the soddin’ Slayer.  His indignation lasted right up until her hands slid slowly down the lapels of his duster in a blatant caress.  “William the Bloody, with a chip in his head. I kinda love this town!”

What the hell was she playin’ at?

Spike didn’t deal well with confusion.  It made him feel too much like that ponce William, and that made him angry.  But, anger?  Anger, he could handle, so he let it flow free.  It wasn’t enough she showed up at The Bronze after weeks of avoiding him - forget that he half hoped she would.  It wasn’t enough she was wearing an outfit that painted every muscled curve – like he could forget the feel of those curves under his hands.   It wasn’t enough she reeked of vanilla bath oil and sweat and lust with some vague, yet unsettling undertone – just like she had when Willow worked her mojo and they had snogged for hours.

No, she had to press her sweat-slicked body against him – okay, so she slammed into him on accident.  But, bloody hell, there was body contact!   And, now, with the bizarre hot and cold routine, it was more than he could take.

He’d just let into her, damn it, see how chuffed she’d be then.

“You know why I really hate you, Summers?” 

“Cause I’m a stuck up tight ass with no sense of fun?”

Spike was completely gobsmacked.  “Well…yeah…that…covers a lot of it—”  He tried to suss out what she was on about and guess how it would turn around and bite him on the arse, but she wasn’t done.

“’Cause I can do anything I want but I choose to pout and whine and feel the burden of slayerness?”  She gave an elegant shrug of her shoulders and he waited for her to sprout another head.  Maybe horns.  Or, possibly, for her chest to explode and a little, teeth gnashing alien to emerge.  “I mean, I could be rich.  I could be famous.  I could have anything.  Anyone .  Even you, Spike.”

Holy Christ on a crutch!  Who the hell was this person, cause she sure as shit wasn’t his Slayer.

Oh, but when she pressed her dance-flushed body against his, burning him with her heat and not even flinching when she came in contact with the bulge in his jeans, he wanted it to be.  He stared, mesmerized by her red glossed lips, his stiffy pressing painfully against his zipper, as wicked words were breathed, warm and moist, across his chin.

“I could ride you at a gallop until your legs buckled and your eyes rolled up.”  Holy shit!   “I’ve got muscles you’ve never even dreamed of.”  You might be surprised what I’ve dreamt of, Slayer.   “I could squeeze you till you popped like warm champagne and you begged me to hurt you just a little bit more.”  Oh, yes, please!   “And you know why I don’t?”

Spike couldn’t have formed a response even if she had bothered to wait.  His mind just wouldn’t work, and his spit had turned to dust.  He couldn’t even work up enough presence of mind to shake his head, but she went on anyway.

“Because it would be wrong .”

Son of a BITCH!  And they call ME evil!

Her laughter, as she peeled herself off him grated, stinging like salt on an open wound and rage welled up within him.  The muscles in his jaw clenched and unclenched as he fought to keep the demon in check.  Before she could move too far away, he forced out a promise. 

“I get this chip out, you and me are gonna have a confrontation.”  And it wasn’t going to be a simple matter of him baggin’ his third Slayer, either.  No.  He would totally annihilate her for this.  For making him want her so bad it hurt to stand up straight.

“Count on it,” she said.  Then she turned her back on him for the second time that night.

If it weren’t for the fucking chip he could tear her apart.  He could bathe in her blood.  He could reach out, wrap his fingers around her neck and snap it like a fucking twig.  Every bloody, vicious thought should have sent a warning tingle through his brain as the chip analyzed intent and adjusted to possibilities. 

But it didn’t. 

Because none of those images flashed across Spike’s mind, even if he could have done them.  No, Spike’s demon was too busy flooding his mind with other images. 

The Slayer, naked and writhing beneath him while he pounded into her.  Nails biting deep as she used them to create a bloody map of painful pleasure across his pale flesh, marking him as hers.  Fangs returning the favor, the aroma of Slayer’s blood rich in the air, excruciatingly sweet on his tongue.  And all the while the Slayer chanted, “Spike, Spike, Spike.”

“Argh! ” His beer bottle exploded against the far wall, flung so hard that nothing larger than a tiny splinter remained. 

He spun toward the door, pushing a college boy carelessly out of his way until the chip fired, shocking him back to caution, but not back to calm.

He needed to kill something.  Right, the fuck, NOW!

tbc