A/N: The song is Dangerous Game from "Jekyll and Hyde."

Chapter 7: Dangerous Game

Spike sensed her before he saw her.

He was in the upper level of his crypt with the refrigerator door open, his head bent to inspect its contents, when he felt the tingle go down his spine. The tingle that could only mean her. He let the packet of blood in his hand drop back onto the shelf as he straightened, closing the refrigerator door.

As if on cue, the door to the crypt burst open, and her scent wafted towards him. “Knew you couldn’t stay away,” Spike said, smirking to himself without looking at her.

“Shut up.”

Buffy closed the door and took a few tentative steps towards the vampire. “I didn’t come here for –” She stopped abruptly, and he finally turned to face her, a knowing look on his face. Spike was wearing a black button-down shirt that he’d been too lazy to button, and he ran one hand slowly down his bare chest, watching her eyes follow the path down to the bulge in his jeans.

Her gaze lingered there for a moment, then flickered angrily back to his face. “Shut up!” she said again, even though he hadn’t spoken. “I came to ask you a question.” She pulled out a stake. “And if I don’t get the right answer…”

Spike held up his hands in a protest of innocence. “No need for that, pet. What d’you wanna know?”

“The chip isn’t working, is it?”

“The…” His head tilted with curiosity, and he squinted at her. “What are you –”

With one hand on his chest, she slammed him back into the wall, her other arm raised threateningly, stake aimed at his heart. “It’s not working. It can’t be. The things we did last night…”

Buffy couldn’t believe that it had taken her this long to realize it. He had touched her and her brain had just… shut down. Had stopped processing everything except the feel of his fingers and his lips, and the beautiful pleasure they were coaxing out of her. Afterwards, she’d had so many things on her mind – including the “why” of the sleeping with Spike – that she’d neglected the “how.” But the things she’d let him do to her…

Her hands, held above her head, pinned to the pillow by his painfully tight grip on her wrists…

His cock, ramming into her over and over with such force it made her cry out, his fingers digging into her shoulders as he came, leaving bruises and crescent shaped nail marks on her skin…

Her clit, throbbing as he bit down on it with blunt human teeth, making her spasm uncontrollably against his relentless hand, coated in her juices…

His hand, fisted in her hair, yanking it roughly as she brought him off, forcing his length down her throat…

His fingers, then his cock, working into her unbearably tight asshole, as she screamed and cried and begged him for more…

“Baby likes it rough.” Spike licked his lips and glanced down at her hand resting on his chest, where his milky skin was littered with nail scratches and bruises from their rough play.

Recovering herself, Buffy shoved him harder against the wall, scraping his shoulders against the stone. “There’s no way the chip wouldn’t have gone off.”

Spike smirked at her, his tongue sticking out between his teeth. “Only one way to find out, pet.”

He suddenly vamped out, throwing her off of him and sending her into the ratty chair in front of his TV. Buffy rolled over it and landed on the floor with a thud, her stake coming to a stop a few feet away. “Guess you’re right, Slayer,” he said with a grin, looking decidedly not in pain, and seeming like the old Spike – the one who’d tried to kill her – more than ever. “It doesn’t work.”

They both lunged for the stake, but Spike got to it first and caught Buffy by the wrist. “Ah, ah, ah, love. Let’s not be hasty now.”

She tore her arm from his grasp, her eyes glaring daggers at him. He just shrugged and moved past her, tossing the stake into the pile of weapons already in the corner. “For all we know, it could just be you,” he said, returning to his human face. “Maybe you came back wrong or something.”

Spike walked casually around the crypt, radiating confidence and utterly unconcerned about the potential danger. He knew the Slayer wouldn’t kill him, not after last night. She’d been so hot for him, begging him to make it hurt. Hell, considering what they’d done, a little fight to the death was just foreplay.

She spun in place as he paced, trying to keep her eyes on him. “There’s nothing wrong with me!”

“Oh, so you wantin’ to kill yourself, that’s nothing to worry about?”

“That was – that’s different.”

“Could do it for you, I suppose, now the chip’s no problem.” He grabbed her suddenly by her upper arms and pulled her in close. “Do you want me to, Slayer?” He wouldn’t, of course – those days were long past – but now he knew the violence turned her on as much as it did him.

Her mouth went dry, and her words were barely above a whisper. “I – I want you…”

He could hear her heart going a mile a minute, could smell the arousal she felt with his body pressed against hers. He smirked. “Do you now, Slayer?” He dipped his head, running his tongue along the pulsing vein in her throat.

Jerking herself free, Buffy snapped, “Stop it! I told you, this isn’t about –”

With preternatural speed, Spike was behind her, and her protest died on her lips as his hand came to rest on her shoulder. The weight of it was heavy yet gentle – no longer threatening, but beckoning. She stilled, stiffening under the suddenly sensual touch, as he slowly slid his hand along her collarbone and up her neck, sending tingles coursing through her entire body.

Pressing his palm against the nape of her neck, Spike circled around until he was facing her. “Buffy,” he murmured, in a voice that urged her to give in to all her wicked desires.

She began to sing in a mournful tone, her voice tentative, the lack of accompaniment making every inflection stand out against the silence.

“I feel your fingers
Cold on my shoulder
Your chilling touch
As it runs down my spine”

A harp arpeggio faded in, and Spike slid his hand up to tangle in Buffy’s hair, locking his eyes on hers as she sang to him.

“Watching your eyes
As they invade my soul
Forbidden pleasures
I'm afraid to make mine”

Hand still fisted in her hair, Spike pulled her towards him. His other arm wrapped around her waist, sliding down to her ass to press her lower body forcefully against his. The kiss was firm and passionate – but brief, as Buffy broke out of his embrace, whirling into a half-dancing spin that sent her across the crypt. When she picked up the melody again, there was a note of desperation in her voice.

“At the touch of your hand
At the sound of your voice
At the moment your eyes meet mine
I am out of my mind
I am out of control
Full of feelings I can't define!”

Spike followed her with measured predatory strides, as she backed away from him in a slow motion game of cat and mouse. “It's a sin with no name,” he sang.

“Like a hand in a flame,” Buffy continued.

“And our senses proclaim…”

As he reached her, they sang in unison, “It's a dangerous game.”

Spike circled around Buffy possessively, letting his fingertips brush down her bare arms, causing goose bumps to break out across her skin. She shivered as his voice growled in her ear.

“A darker dream
That has no ending
That's so unreal
You believe that it's true”

Standing behind her once more, Spike gripped Buffy’s upper arms, hard enough to leave bruises. She tilted her head back and to the side, unconsciously exposing her neck to his hungry gaze.

“A dance of death
Out of a mystery tale
The little Slayer
Doesn't know what to do”

He released her with force, spinning her around, and they began to circle each other with graceful steps, their dance mimicking so many of their battles. Their eyes fixed warily on one another, but burned with an unfulfilled passion as Spike continued to taunt her, Buffy’s anguished responses overlapping with his.

“Will the ghosts go away?”
“No…”
“Will she will them to stay?”
“No…”
“Either way, there's no way to win!”
“No…”

She charged forward then, slamming into his chest with both hands, as their vocals reversed roles.

“All I know is I'm lost.”
“Oh…”
“And I'm counting the cost.”
“Oh…”
“My emotions are in a spin.”
“Oh…”
“I don't know who to blame.”

“It's a crime and a shame,” Spike returned, pulling her roughly into his arms.

Buffy inclined her head, her forehead nearly touching his. “But it's true all the same…”

“It's a dangerous game,” they sang together. Spike brushed a strand of hair out of the Slayer’s face, following the line of her jaw and trailing down her neck. At her shoulder, his grasp became strong again, forcing her backwards against the wall. Her arousal at the dominating gesture flooded his senses.

“No one speaks,” they continued in unison, their eyes never leaving the other’s face. “Not one word.”

He lifted her slightly, pinning her between his body and the wall. Buffy responded by wrapping her legs around his waist, as her arms locked around his neck. “But what words are in our eyes.”

Spike’s hands made their way up her thighs, creeping under her skirt and fumbling with his own jeans as Buffy sang and he echoed her words back to her in alternating rhythm.

“Silence speaks
Loud and clear
All the words we (don't) want to hear!”

Even as Buffy added the “don’t,” a nominal protest, she was sliding down, letting Spike’s waiting erection pry apart her damp folds, impaling her as he plunged his cock impatiently into her, filling her up with a jolt of delicious pain. He pressed the full length of his torso against hers, fucking her hard into the wall, slamming her body roughly into the stone with every thrust.

“At the touch of your hand
At the sound of your voice
At the moment your eyes meet mine
I am losing my mind
I am losing control
Fighting feelings I can't define”

Buffy clutched at him – his shoulders, his hair, whatever she could get her hands on – in a frantic scramble to hang on before the impending fire consumed her. “It's a sin with no name,” she panted, nearly in tears from the overwhelming sensations.

“No remorse and no shame,” Spike returned, twisting his hips slightly to strike something deep inside her that made her burn with unquenchable desire. “Fire, fury and flame.”

“’Cause the devil's to blame.” Buffy’s voice hit an urgent peak.

“And the angels proclaim,” they finished together, voices soaring. Shifting to game face, Spike sank his fangs into her pulsing throat. Buffy threw her head back, the orgasm hitting her with the force of a freight train, her spasming channel coaxing Spike to a violent final thrust as he came inside her. He took only a quick pull at her blood, more to mark her than anything else, then let his forehead fall against the stone next to her face.

Their bodies stilled, held up by the wall and Spike’s rapidly weakening knees, as they whispered, “It's a dangerous game.”