Buffy sighed wearily as she unlocked the front door of her house and stepped inside, closing it again and leaning against it for a moment. She closed her eyes, simultaneously enjoying the peaceful silence that greeted her, and feeling sorry for herself that she was, once again, alone.

Dawn was spending the night at Tara’s new apartment, and Willow had said that she was spending the night at Amy’s…which Buffy was fairly certain equated to her and Amy going out and magically painting the town red – maybe literally.

At any rate, she had the house to herself for the evening.

Bone tired, she flung her jacket carelessly onto the couch and headed for the stairs, and a nice hot shower to wash away the layer of Doublemeat grease and grime that seemed to constantly accompany her these days. She glanced without much pleasure at the twinkling lights on the rather small, scrawny Christmas tree Dawn had insisted on putting up, irritated with herself as the thought crossed her mind that she should go over and turn off the lights.

*All that electricity…*

*No,* she thought with angry defiance. *Dawn’s not gonna have much of a Christmas as it is; the least I can do is leave her the lights.*

She stopped at the foot of the stairs, looking dubiously up and thinking that they had never seemed so high and intimidating.

Resigning herself to what seemed like an impossible trek on her sore, aching feet and legs, Buffy trudged up the stairs, lured by the call of the hot, steaming water that would wash away the hated Doublemeat sludge, and if she was lucky, a little bit of the full-body soreness and exhaustion.

She lingered under the steaming hot water until it became lukewarm, before reluctantly turning it off and shrugging into her soft, baby blue terry robe. The mirror was covered with a haze of steam, and therefore useless to her, so Buffy grabbed her comb and an extra towel for her hair and headed toward her bedroom.

She stopped with her hand on the doorknob, as a familiar tingling sensation at the back of her neck alerted her to danger. She frowned, her heart rate accelerating as her senses told her something terrible had happened. It seemed impossible, short of the unlikely possibility of Willow or Dawn accidentally inviting a stranger into the house, but her Slayer senses were never wrong.

There was a vampire in her bedroom.

Actually…that made perfect sense after all.

“Spike,” she sighed, rolling her eyes as she swung the door open. “What are you doing in my…”

Her voice trailed off and her eyes went wide as her gaze fell on the blond vampire, standing in the middle of her bedroom waiting expectantly for her. The comb fell from her hand to the floor with a loud clatter, and her other hand dropped from the doorknob to hang limply at her side in utter shock.

“…bedroom?” she finished weakly, swallowing in an attempt at moistening her suddenly very dry mouth.

“Waiting for you,” Spike replied, his voice low and soft in the utter silence that had filled the room between them. “Merry Christmas.”

Buffy could not bring herself to tell him to go…or to respond…or even to look as far up as his eyes, for that matter. Her own eyes trailed slowly up and down, taking in his barely covered body and the leather that…well, barely covered it.

He was dressed all in black leather…if one could call his state “dressed”.

He was wearing a black leather collar about an inch wide on his throat, tight against his pale skin, and Buffy found that her eyes were drawn to the slight movement of his bound throat as he spoke. She tore her gaze from that mesmerizing sight, but looking downward did not help.

Across his chest was a harness of sorts, black leather straps criss-crossing his chest and back, adorned with various metal loops in seemingly random places, clearly for use in games of bondage. Buffy swallowed hard again, trying to suppress the flood of arousal that filled her at the thought of the games she had already played with Spike in his crypt, and all the new ones that they could discover with him in that harness.

*No! Bad games…bad thoughts…bad Buffy! There will be no more games of any kind with Spike! The only thing I’m going to do is throw him out, right now…just as soon as I…check out…the rest…*

In spite of her better judgment throwing a fit in her mind and demanding that she make Spike leave, *now*, Buffy found that she could not tear her eyes away as she drifted lower down his chiseled, flawless form, to the impossibly tight black leather briefs he was wearing, nothing more than a pair of short shorts, but much, much sexier.

*Don’t even think about it, Buffy,* her better judgment warned her. *Don’t look…don’t…*

Spike had wide black leather cuffs on his wrists and ankles, each equipped with a hook and eye type of latch so that they could be connected to restrain him. Buffy felt a pleasant little shiver low in her stomach at the sudden unbidden mental image of Spike, bound and laid out on her bed, helpless and waiting for her to do as she would with him…

A slow, delighted smile lit up the vampire’s face as he watched her closely. “See something you like, love?” he asked in a teasing, inviting tone of voice. “Whatever you see…’s all yours.”

The words could have been mockery, but they weren’t. They were far too tender and affectionate for that.

Buffy would have preferred mockery.

Whatever mesmerizing spell he had her under was immediately broken with his words, and Buffy finally met his eyes, her own blazing with anger as she squared her shoulders and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Spike, whatever sick game you’re trying to get me into, I’m not playing. Get out.”

“Now just wait a second, love,” Spike protested, moving toward her, one hand reached out to touch her. “Hear me out…”

“I don’t need to hear you out,” Buffy cut him off, pulling back before he could make contact with her. She was having a hard enough time resisting the terrible allure of the temptation before her *without* the added effect of Spike’s expert touch to contribute to the saturating heat spreading swiftly through her body. “What I need is for you to get out of my bedroom and let me get some sleep.”

“Now, love,” Spike cajoled softly, edging in nearer to her though he lowered his hand, “you an’ me both know that whether I leave or not, you won’t be going to sleep for a bloody long while, now will you?”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed in anger at his knowing words, and her voice hardened as she repeated, “Get. Out.”

“Know what you’re thinking, Buffy, and you’re wrong,” Spike hurried to explain, making no effort to obey her command. “This isn’t just about new an’ excitin’ ways to get your jollies. That’s not why I’m doing this.”

“No,” Buffy agreed with false sincerity, her eyes wide and innocent as she shook her head. “You just showed up in my bedroom dressed like a *sex slave* so that we could sit and have hours of meaningful conversation.”

*Mmmm…Spike as my sex slave…*No*! Bad Buffy!*

Spike drew in a hurried breath as if to argue her point, but then held it a moment before sighing, “Well, no. But there’s a bit more to it than you’re thinking, love. I did this to prove a point to you, and… I’m not leaving ‘til it’s good and well proven.”

Buffy stared at him for a moment, mentally debating, before she sighed and raised a single brow in a silent question, waiting, dutifully trying to focus on what he was saying between the dual distractions of her own irritation, and her increasing desire for what was on such enticing display.

“I love you, Buffy. I’m yours. And I’m never gonna run out on you, love.”

Indignant at the fact that Spike had hit so close to her current abandonment issues, Buffy opened her mouth to argue, but Spike hurriedly went on before she could.

“Whatever you need, Buffy, that’s what I’m here for. This soddin’ outfit…just to illustrate the point, love. Told you once that I’m your willin’ slave…that wasn’t just words. Meant every one of ‘em, Buffy, and I’m here to show you that I am *yours*…do what you will with me, pet.”

Buffy’s lips turned upward in a tight, false smile. “Okay. Just let me get my stake.”

“Hey, now.” Spike frowned, reaching out again impatiently to touch her arm as she moved as if to leave the room. “None of that, love. I’m bein’ serious, here. I *love* you, Buffy…”

“No, you don’t,” Buffy snapped, losing patience.

“I do,” Spike insisted, “and this time I’m not leaving ‘til you know it.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed in response to the perceived challenge in Spike’s stubborn words, and she stood up straighter, taking what she hoped was a menacing step closer to him.

“Wanna bet?”

“You think I don’t get love…can’t understand it ‘cause I’m a soulless monster,” Spike continued, ignoring her none-too-subtle threat. “Well…yeah,” he conceded. “I am a monster; I know it. But that doesn’t mean I can’t love, and I do. *You*.”

“You don’t even know what the word means,” Buffy sneered, her voice trembling with the irrational anger that rose up within her at Spike’s words of devotion.

“Yes, I bloody well do!” Spike shot back, raising his voice in outrage. “Don’t know where you got the bleedin’ rot that demons can’t love, but it’s not true, Buffy! We can, an’ I know just as well as you what the bloody word means! It’s thinking of the other person before yourself…putting them first, doing for them even when sometimes you don’t want to.”

Buffy was quiet for a moment, irritated to find that she had no contradiction for his words, and reluctantly surprised at the accuracy of his definition.

“It’s sacrifice, Buffy. It’s bein’ willing to lay down your life…and I don’t just mean by dyin’…for the person you love.” Spike’s voice was quiet, earnest, and he moved closer to her, his piercing blue eyes locking onto hers as he reached out cautiously to take her arms in his hands. “Willing to give up anything…*everything*…and I am, Buffy. For you.”

Buffy’s eyes widened and her cool smile faded as she gazed into those deep blue eyes, astonished as she realized that he was completely sincere. Her heartbeat quickened as he shifted closer, and she felt her body responding to his nearness, the scent and feeling of him so near to her, in ways that had become far too familiar to her of late.

Ways that should have been forbidden.

Spike’s voice was low, hushed, and enticing as his hands moved slowly up and down her arms, and he leaned in closer to add softly, “Has *anyone* ever loved you like that, Buffy? Ever?”

As so often happened, Spike had managed to find the worst possible thing to say.

Suddenly feeling incredibly vulnerable and defensive, Buffy angrily shoved Spike’s hands off her before shoving him forcefully away from her. The vampire stumbled a step or two backward as Buffy moved forward into his space.

“You think you know me so well, Spike? You don’t know anything about me!” she snarled, furious. “What could you possibly have to offer me?”

“*Everything*,” Spike insisted, not backing up as she moved forward, not striking back at her, simply allowing her to move in close until mere inches separated them. His voice was low, controlled, but trembling slightly with the intensity of his emotions as he continued, “That’s the whole point, love. Whatever you want from me…I’ll do it…be it. I’m *yours*, Buffy, whether you want me or not. Whatever you want to do to me, love.” His voice was barely a whisper by now. “Whatever you want me to do…”

Unable to stand the tenderness, the love in his voice – gifts he offered, but she knew she could never accept – for another moment, Buffy struck out, slamming her fist down across his face with vicious force, knocking him a few steps backward into the wall. She stood there in silence, trembling with her fists clenched at her sides as she struggled to bring her tumultuous, confused emotions under control.

Spike just stood there with his back to the wall, his head turned slightly from the force of the blow she had delivered…still not striking out at her with a return blow, not even voicing any objection to the violence that even she already realized had been completely undeserved.

For some reason, that was infuriating, too.

Buffy slowly advanced on him, her fists still clenched at her sides, struggling to control her anger and frustration. “What is your problem, Spike?” She bit off the words through clenched teeth. “You just gonna stand there? You can fight back now…so why don’t you?”

“Told you, love,” Spike replied without hesitation, raising his eyes to hers and holding her gaze without backing down. “ ‘M yours, yeah? That means all the way. Do what you will. Use me, shag me…hit me…whatever you need, love. I’m giving it all to you. Anything.”

Buffy’s eyes widened in shock at his words, as understanding filled her, as well as a tremendous sense of guilt. It was unbelievable that Spike would be willing to give that much to her…and even if he was, she knew that she could not deserve that kind of love and sacrifice. She looked away, unable to hold his gaze any longer, and found her eyes unconsciously focusing on Spike’s well-built and attractively bound torso.

She quickly looked away again, turning her eyes toward the floor.

“Go,” she said softly, her voice barely over a whisper, as she withdrew out of Spike’s personal space, one arm crossed defensively over her chest, her hand running self-consciously up and down her other arm. “Just…just go.”

She could feel Spike’s eyes on her for a long, intense moment, before he let out a heavy sigh of disappointment, and headed toward the door – just as he had said, doing exactly what she wanted.

*But…it’s *not* what I want…*

*You can’t always have what you want, Buffy. What you want is not always good…*

*But I *want* it!*

*Let him go. Just…let him go…*

Spike’s steps were slow and reluctant as he made his way toward the closed bedroom door, opening it with resignation as he prepared to concede the failure of his attempt and walk away.

Abruptly, the door was pushed out of his hand and firmly shut by Buffy’s hand, and Spike felt the Slayer’s warm body pressed against his from behind. Unsure of her motives at the moment, he turned to face her, studying her face warily. His expression softened with relief and desire as he saw the reluctant tenderness in her eyes, the desire in her trembling, parted lips as she slowly looked him up and down, taking in with obvious pleasure the outfit he had donned for her benefit, before raising her eyes to meet his again in a hazy, desirous question.

“Anything…huh?”