Buffy felt her weary muscles tingling in anticipation of the touch of Spike’s expert hands. Over the past few months, she had learned that the vampire had an uncanny sense for where she needed to be touched and how, and not only in the bedroom – or rather, on the floor of his crypt, as the case usually was.

This was not the first much-needed massage he had given her after an exhausting shift or two at the Doublemeat Palace.

The first touch of his cool, firm hands against the back of her neck sent a delightful shiver down her spine, and Buffy drew in a shaky breath, letting it out slowly as she tried to relax. It was probably an instinctive Slayer thing, the warning alarms that screamed danger at the feel of the vampire’s fingers so close to her vulnerable throat. In spite of it, however, in spite of all her confusion, there was one thing of which she was sure.

Spike would not hurt her.

At least, not unless she gave him a good reason.

He was leaning over her from the side, his hands, slowly warming from the contact with her heated skin, just sliding down to caress her shoulders when Buffy’s hand slipped from the bed. He didn’t notice its blind seeking…not until it found what it sought, firmly cupping his bound erection through the leather shorts he wore.

Spike let out a muffled yelp of surprise from behind the gag in his mouth, one hand instinctively leaving her shoulder and following her hand to his groin, though whether to catch it and stop its progress, or aid it in its pursuits, even he was not sure.

“No.” Her tone was sharp, warning, and Spike’s hand froze before reaching hers, his stomach dropping at the subtle threat in her voice…and his need for her intensifying. “I said no touching, remember? You’re supposed to be relaxing me.”

She shrugged without raising her head or shoulders from the bed where she lay, looking considerably more comfortable and at ease as her fingers began to slowly move up and down across the smooth, taut leather. Spike drew in a sharp breath through his nose, stifling a groan of mingled pleasure and frustration, struggling for the control he needed to calmly continue her massage.

“The sooner I get all soothed and refreshed,” Buffy reminded him with a wicked smirk, “the sooner we’ll take of all your little…frustrations.”

As she spoke, she brought her thumb down to stroke under the bulge in the leather firmly, and the vampire jumped with a muffled little cry, his trembling fingers resting on her shoulders, but not yet moving again. Buffy frowned, catching his eye with one eyebrow raised, as she pointedly drew her hand back, ceasing the contact that was both soothing and tormenting at the same time.

“If you can’t stay focused, Spike, I’ll stop. But that’s *not* what I want. I *want* to get a nice, relaxing massage…*and* to play with my nice new Christmas present. It is mine, isn’t it?”

Spike nodded, almost frantically, almost beyond rational thought at this point, and utterly confused as to whether it made things better or worse for her to be touching him at the moment.

“Can you give me what I want, Spike?” Buffy asked, her voice dangerously soft, sending a pleasant little thrill through him at the sound. “Can you give me both at once?”

Spike hesitated just a moment, before nodding hurriedly, his hands becoming firm on her shoulders once more as he prepared to continue her massage. A few moments after he had begun once more kneading her sore, tender flesh, expertly working out the tension of her day, her insistent fingers once more found his needy member.

This time, however, Spike was at least somewhat better prepared.

He jerked slightly at the intimate contact, but did not cease his ministrations to her needs, reminding himself that this was all part of the plan, really…proving to her that he was willing to sacrifice his own desires, his own pleasure, to fulfill her needs.

And if what she needed in that moment was to dominate him…well, he was going to let her.

Buffy’s soft little sigh of pleasure as she shifted slightly, getting more comfortable on the bed even as she deliberately increased his discomfort, did little to ease his situation. His bound erection strained painfully against its taut leather confines as he worked his way slowly, thoroughly down from her shoulders to her back, trembling yet strong fingers finding the points of tension and working them out of her one by one.

The Slayer rolled her shoulders, arching her back slightly as she let a moan of pleasure and satisfaction slip from her lips, even as she deliberately stroked her fingertips over the leather, beneath the place where it bulged so desperately, where she knew his sensitive sac would be.

Spike stifled a strangled moan of need and desperation, fighting to keep his hands moving slowly and surely over her body, giving her what she needed, even as the feel of her silken skin beneath his hands contributed to his own rising desire, which was rapidly becoming more than desire – rapidly shifting to a point of need and pain so intense that he wasn’t sure he would be able to carry out her request.

*But that’s the point of this whole soddin’ exercise, in’nit?* he reminded himself firmly. *Showin’ her that I can love her unselfishly…give her everything. ‘S not about me, what I need…’s all about her…*

He drew in a sharp gasp, his eyes rolling back as a helpless shudder rocked him at the touch of her expert hand, which knew just how to touch him to make him need her more than ever.

*Always has been…*

As his hands left her back, leaving formerly taut, aching muscles soft and limp, utterly relaxed, Spike turned his attention to her thighs, noting with what would have been a smirk if not for the gag that they were trembling, an unwitting betrayal of her own desire. A wicked gleam in his eyes, he slyly shifted down the bed slightly, moving himself just barely out of her reach, as if he had to do so in order to reach the next area he was to massage.

Buffy’s hand grasped blindly at air for a moment, her eyes narrowing in irritation as he oh-so-innocently turned his back to her, focusing his attention intently on the soft flesh he was kneading with his fingers, working slow circles into the backs of her shaking legs. She only allowed it for a few moments before her Slayer speed came into play, and she had flipped over and was sitting up on the bed, giving him an accusing look that was half-angry, half-amused.

He gave her a wide-eyed, questioning look over his shoulder, without turning to fully face her, his crystal blue eyes sparkling with mischievous mirth.

He had already decided to give her whatever she wanted tonight…but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun, too.

Without warning her hand reached out and snatched the back of the collar he wore, yanking him backward as she rose to her feet, holding his head back against her shoulder as her free hand slipped around him to boldly splay her palm across his leather-bound groin. Spike moaned, biting down reflexively on the gag in his mouth as her touch became more intimate, more possessive, tracing the muted outlines of his covered flesh with firmly pressing fingers.

Suddenly, he *had* to touch her…had to feel her hot skin beneath his cool fingertips, had to take part in the slow, torturous process she had initiated. He raised his hands instinctively, reaching toward hers.

A low, warning command stilled his hands, however, before they could reach their goal.

“*Don’t*.”

Spike froze for a moment, swallowing hard, before dropping his hands to his sides again in submission. He felt Buffy’s smile behind him, heard it in her voice as she stroked him firmly, whispering in his ear in a voice of soft, taunting amusement.

“I thought you said you were mine, Spike. Thought you were gonna let me do whatever I wanted. So what’s with the pulling away?”

Spike shook his head rapidly, at the same time thrusting forward slightly into her hand, to make it perfectly clear that he would not resist her, not again. He *was* hers, as he had promised. Buffy’s low, throaty laugh behind him sent a shock of pleasure and arousal through him, and his head fell back against her shoulder with a muffled moan as she traced small circles in the smooth leather that bound him.

“That’s better,” the Slayer crooned, releasing her grip on his hair, but continuing her slow, enticing manipulations of his body. “Except…there’s one little problem, Spikey. I was supposed to be all relaxed, and it worked…for a little while. But I’m not feeling so relaxed anymore. I’m feeling more…worked up. Think you can help me with that little problem, too?”

Spike could not help but smile around the gag in his mouth, pleased with the success of his own efforts, as he nodded his acceptance of her request. As he did, his hands slipped cautiously backward to rest on her hips, one of them holding on in a steadying way as the other edged slowly inward, toward the source of the arousal he could feel, smell all over her.

He felt her hips thrust forward for just a moment, before firm hands caught his wrists, pushing them in front of him again, crossing them and pulling them back to his sides so that his arms were crossed tightly across his torso. Buffy rose up on her toes to whisper teasingly in his ear.

“I don’t think so. I didn’t say you could use your hands for this one, did I?”

Spike shook his head again, speechless with or without the gag from the way Buffy was taking so quickly to the whole dominatrix routine. There was something surprisingly arousing about the feel of her small, powerful hands, restraining him, manipulating him in whatever manner she chose. His throbbing, aching manhood, though uncomfortably covered, felt strangely exposed, bereft of her stimulating touch, and he found himself thrusting mindlessly forward into nothing, desperate for the completion she was thus far withholding from him.

“No, no, Spikey.” Buffy smirked. “Not yet. First, you see about *me*.”

She released his arms and pushed him forward against the bed, a hand at the back of his neck pushing him down so that his face was to the mattress. Without giving him a chance to react, or even to adjust to the swift changes in his circumstances, Buffy pulled his wrists behind his back and fastened the leather cuffs together, before hauling him back up to his feet by his collar.

At the pressure of the gag across his throat, Spike choked slightly, his eyes widening as he struggled instinctively to draw breath he didn’t need.

Buffy did not seem sympathetic to his plight.

“Now,” she continued in a commanding voice as she turned him around to face her and sat down on the edge of the bed. Her eyes narrowed over a predatory smile as she ordered coldly, “On your knees.”

Spike’s eyes widened again as Buffy slowly, enticingly, spread her legs, arching her back slightly to give him an unhindered view of her bare body. His throat felt hot and dry, despite his lack of body heat, and he swallowed hard in an attempt to moisten it as he sank obediently to his knees in front of the seated Slayer.

Buffy’s eyes went wide as well, and she drew in a sharp breath at the sight of him, kneeling before her. Spike heard her heartbeat quicken, the scent of her arousal intensifying as she reached out a gentle hand to stroke the backs of her fingers down his cheek, her eyes softening with something akin to affection. She smiled almost tenderly, drawing her fingertips across the smooth leather surface of the gag in his mouth, then back up his cheek and through his hair.

He gazed up at her in wonder, well aware of the obvious worship and adoration in his eyes, that it was there, on display for her to see and use as she pleased. He didn’t care; it was a bit late in the game for him to think of salvaging his pride, protecting the depth of his feelings for her.

For the moment, it was enough for him to drink in the fleeting tenderness of the touch, of the brief warmth in her eyes, these days often so cold and empty.

“I guess we’ll need to do something about this, won’t we?” she sighed regretfully as she unfastened the gag and carefully removed it, setting it aside. “And I was starting to enjoy the quiet.”

Spike cleared his throat, flexing his jaw with a slight wince at the soreness from the intrusion of the gag. “I’ll be quiet,” he assured her after a moment, his voice low and husky with his own desire for her, but his eyes solemn and full of devotion. “I’ll do whatever you want, love…already told you that. Anything…”

“And already,” Buffy cut him off softly, her fingertips caressing over his lips in a gently silencing gesture, “you’re not.”

“Oh, right.” Spike paused, clearly just realizing the flaw in his logic. “Sorry, love. Didn’t think that…”

“Spike.”

He stopped, looking up at her expectantly.

“Shhh.” Buffy laid a single finger against his lips, waiting until she was sure he was going to be quiet before removing it. “Less talk. More action. Now.” As she spoke, her hand tangled in his blond hair, grabbing a fistful and tugging him insistently forward. “You know…unless you’d *rather* stay like you are all night.”

Spike needed no further encouragement.

Buffy gasped with a shock of pleasure as his talented mouth set about making her forget all about her games, her back arching further, her breath quickening, as she instinctively clutched his head closer to her, simultaneously thrusting forward. She was not the only one who had gained an intimate knowledge of the other’s body over the past few months, and Spike had become an expert at just the sort of little details that brought her body to its peak of pleasure.

“Spike,” she moaned softly, her head falling back as she drew in her breath sharply, gasping out, “Gah…*Spike*…yes…”

Encouraged by her words, and the rising frenzy of pleasure he was creating in her, Spike found himself drawing out the encounter as long as possible, in spite of his own rather uncomfortable state, using every little trick he had learned over the past few months to withhold her completion as long as possible.

“Spike,” Buffy urgently gasped out. “I need…Spike, please…please…”

He smiled against her skin, a gentle tug with his teeth and a thrust of his tongue pushing her over the edge, her center flooding with her release, her thighs trembling as her orgasm overcame her and she collapsed onto her back on the mattress with no semblance of dignity remaining – no longer the powerful, self-possessed dominatrix, but rather the sated, overwhelmed girl.

Spike sat back on his knees, watching her with a great sense of satisfaction as she slowly recovered. When she finally sat up and looked at him, it was to see a pleased smirk on his lips, a wicked sparkle in his blue eyes. The Slayer could play at power games all she wanted, but Spike knew that when it came down to it, he still knew exactly how to reduce her to warm, melting putty in his hands.

The lazy, satisfied smile on her lips slowly faded, her eyes narrowing, and Spike felt a quiver in the pit of his stomach at the dangerous light he saw in them. “That wasn’t very nice, Spike,” she chided, one eyebrow raised in a warning expression.

“Really,” he drawled, not sounding convinced. “’Cause you seemed to find it very nice a few moments ago.”

“Not nice to make me beg,” Buffy clarified, rising to her feet, once more striking a regal pose over him. “That’s not what I asked for.”

“Yeah,” Spike conceded with a half-shrug and a wicked grin. “But you had a bloody good time, didn’t you?”

Buffy’s smirk matched his own as she admitted, “Yeah.” In a swift motion she gripped his collar and yanked him to his feet, turning to toss him down forcefully onto his back on the bed. “And my good time’s not over yet.”

Spike could not suppress his relief as she straddled him, reaching above him to bind his wrists to the bedposts on either side of the bed, then twisting around to bind his ankles as well. Bound to the bed, unable to move, was a rather helpless position to be in; but it was not exactly a position conducive to his serving her needs, either. It was a fairly good indication that she was about to turn her attention to *his* body, for better or worse.

“My turn, then, yeah?” he rasped as she turned to face him again, still straddling his waist as she leaned forward, grasping his bound wrists and covering his mouth in a fierce, possessive kiss.

“Yeah,” she nodded, a sly smile on her lips as she reached a hand behind her in a torturously light touch on the front of his leather shorts. “Your turn to beg.”