by
Lisa Y. Drexel

"You know, sometimes it just doesn't pay to get up in the mornings," Buffy muttered to herself as she pulled herself into a sitting position.

All her clothes stunk of demon-goo.

Her right ankle was throbbing—probably sprung, maybe fractured.

Her left shoulder was dislocated.

And she was defenseless in the middle of the cemetery and her backup was no where to be found.

Not that she really wanted him to see her like this.

Groaning, she fell backwards and silently wondered how the hell did her life get so pathetic.

It started with Angel leaving.

But everything in her life during the past three years seemed to circle around Angel—whether he was the demon from hell, Angelus, or the repentant cryptic vamp, Angel or that strange combination of both that he seemed to be since he returned from Hell—dark, angry and remorseful.

Then Xander left on his road trip and Cordellia followed Angel to LA, leaving Willow, Oz, Giles and her to hold down the fort.

Which really shouldn't have been a big deal, considering for the past two summers, Buffy had been persona non grata, leaving the slayerettes to guard the Hellmouth without the help of the slayer.

And they did a pretty good job too.

But, that was before.

Somehow, Demon Central's rumor control spread the news through out their particular circles that the mayor's ascension had failed and not only was Sunnydale open for grabs, but the Hellmouth was as well. Every vampire, demon and general nasty seemed to descend onto the Hellmouth, determined to take out the Slayer, her band of helpers and claim the Hellmouth as his own.

She had been going on two to three hours of sleep nightly since graduation, with no downtime whatsoever.

Things had gotten so bad, that Giles even managed to track down Ethan Rayne and blackmail him into coming back to Sunnydale so he could de-rat Amy Madison, giving the Slayerettes another helping hand.

Both Giles and Willow and later, Amy, had buried themselves in various magical tomes, learning spells of protection and strength with an alarming velocity—all to protect Buffy nightly as she patrolled the town.

And with Angel gone, there seemed to be no relief anywhere.

That was until Spike showed up.

He was timely; she had to give him that.

It had been during a particularly ugly fight. She had been ambushed by a dozen or so power-seeking vamps, about a block from the Bronze and unfortunately for her; some of them were more seasoned fighters.

In other words, she was getting her ass kicked.

They had figured out something that most vamps die never knowing—the way to beat the slayer is to have all of them gang up on her at the same time.

Even if she ended up dusting half of them—the sheer strength of their attack would weaken her responses—wear her down.

And that's what was happening.

She had been so beaten, so tired, that at first, it hadn't even dawned on her that her opponents were disappearing into clouds of dust, until she had her stake up and was about to do the same to her savior.

That was until he kicked the stake out of her hand, the sheer force of the impact, knocking her down.

He caught her before she hit the pavement.

"Angel?" she whispered as she tried to lift her hand up to touch his face. Her eyes had swollen shut—both of them would be black before the night finished.

"Nah luv, Peaches is still in LA."

Her eyebrows creased in consternation as she tried to placing the voice. "Spike?"

She felt his chest rumble as he chuckled at her surprise. "Got it in two, Slayer."

She tried wiggling out of his hold, but it seemed as if all her slayer strength had left her. Weeks of living on junk food and fast food with only a few hours of sleep nightly were finally taking a toll on her super-enhanced body. "Shit. So, where are you taking me?"

"Your house, where else? Your mum home?"

She nodded. "Yeah, but I don't want her to see me like this."

"How 'bout your Watcher's house then? I need to have a chat with him anyway."

She yawned. "Yeah, sounds good. And Spike, thanks, for whatever reason."

"I owe you, luv, for telling me to duck."

She chuckled softly and felt herself her drift off.

She woke up an hour later, to the sounds of a whispered, but heated discussion in the kitchen.

She tried opening her eyes, but soon realized that she had an ice bag resting on her face, and decided against it. Instead she eavesdropped on her watcher and Spike, seeing if she could glean any information as to why he helped her.

"Yes Spike, he called me and told me you were coming. But how do I know that you aren't going to break your word? What guarantees do I have that you are going to help us?"

She heard a low growl of frustration, a lighter being flicked on and soon the smell of cigarette smoke tickled her senses. The sounds of pacing echoed throughout Giles' townhouse. "Bloody hell, mate, wake the slayer. She'd know that I'm telling the truth."

She heard Giles' sigh. "Spike, I have a hard time believing that you can love—"

That's it, Buffy thought. Giles doesn't need to find himself at the wrong end of a pissed off Spike. "Giles! Don't!"

"Buffy, you're awake!"

"Duh."

"Hey Slayer! Have a good nap?"

"Peachy."

"Slayer, tell him! What do you think I'd do if Dru's demon was threatened?"

"What do you mean?" She asked, pulling off the icepack.

"Buffy don't. Not if you don't want to be sporting two black eyes in the morning."

"Whistler's got that bloody curse and threatened me that if I didn't come and help you out, that he would curse Druscilla."

She yawned, inwardly thanking the little demon. As much as Spike grated on her nerves, she needed the help. She wasn't too proud to admit it.

"Giles, he's telling the truth."

"But Buffy, every record we have—"

"Giles," she interrupted quietly. "Everything Spike's done in the past hundred years has been because of that batty 'ho!"

"Slayer," she heard Spike's voice take a low, threatening tone.

"Well, it's true, Spike. You're whipped! You admitted as much the last time you were here. 'I may be love's bitch, but at least I'm man enough to admit it!'" she repeated in a terrible parody of the vampire's British accent.

He growled in her ear.

"Damnit, quit it! You can't save me and then torment me when I can't even see to fight back, asshole."

"Slayer, that is one thing you can be sure of. If I have to help you and your merry band of idiots, then you'll be damn sure that I'm gonna torment you every step of the way! I have to get my kicks someway," he said underneath his breath.

"Well, we'll see about that, fang-face. I'm sure I can find ways of driving you up the wall as well. Maybe I'll call Angel and have him come and visit you—have that father-son talk that's about 200 years overdue. Or better yet, have my mother withhold her hot chocolate with those 'cute little marshmallows' until you learn to treat me better!"

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Try me!"

"Enough!" Giles yelled over the bickering duo. "Spike, thank you for bringing Buffy to me—and saving her, right Buffy?"

She growled, almost proud of how threatening it sounded, considering it was coming from a human female all of eighteen years and injured to boot

.

"Buffy!"

"Oh, all right. Thanks Spike."

"See that wasn't that hard, was it, Slayer? A little humility can go a long way—"

"What the hell are you talking about? I already thanked you in the alley, asshole!"

"Well—uh."

"Senility! I knew it! Or was it a hundred years living—"

"Slayer, don't make me wish I left you in the alley, Dru be damned."

Giles cleared his throat, interrupting the two for the second time that evening. He's had to do that a lot since Spike joined our team, she reminded herself, instantly seeing at least a half-dozen other times flashing through her mind.

"Do you have a number where you can be reached or will you be staying at the mansion?"

She heard a piece of paper being exchanged. "That's my cell phone number. I've got a room at one of those motel's by the docks."

She felt someone walk passed her, then stop and bend down. It had to be Spike. "See ya, Cutie," he whispered in her ear.

She groaned, swatting indiscriminately in the air at him.

She heard chuckling as the front door opened and closed and the lock being turned. "Well, that was sure interesting."

Yeah, it sure was, she thought to herself as she spotted the bleached-blond head of her partner bobbing through the graveyard. Two months later, and her and Spike still hadn't learned how to get along.

But, she had to admit, she was having fun. She loved to fight with him as well as beside him. He kept her on her toes, never letting anything slide by him. And he kept her in shape. Between the training sessions and the impromptu sparring they engaged in, she was in better shape now than she had ever been in.

And not nearly as angry.

Funny what a little violence can do—as long as it's directed at a soulless vamp and not innocent humans.

Suddenly he broke into a run towards her. Must've smelled the blood, she thought to herself.

"Slayer! What the hell happened to you?" He asked, kneeling down beside her.

She chuckled lightly. "One thing Giles didn't find out—apparently Ugly over there," she said pointing to what was left of the demon about five feet from where she was laying, "wasn't 'impervious' to sunlight, like most demons.

"He ambushed me on the way home."

"You always detour through cemeteries as you're going home, pet?"

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "No, I don't always detour through cemeteries on the way home.' I forgot my history book last night," she said pointing to her ruined textbook. "Damnit, that cost me fifty bucks."

Shaking his head in mock sympathy, he studied her body. "Well luv, you're bleeding. What else is wrong?"

"My shoulder's dislocated and I may've fractured my ankle—if not, it’s sprung. And he gouged me good with his claws on my side. That's the blood you're smelling."

Spike stood up and walked behind her. "Luv, this is going to hurt. I'm going to pop your shoulder back in."

"Go ahead," she whispered, clutching her stake in both hands.

She felt his hands touch her arm and shoulder causing a shot of pain to race down her arm. She inhaled deeply, clasping the stake tightly in her hands.

Then he popped it back in.

Fuck! She screamed in her mind as she bit down hard on her bottom lip and broke the stake in half. For just a moment, her mind almost went white in pain, but it soon died down to a manageable throb.

"Okay?"

She nodded, slowly lifting her teeth from her lip, as tears ran silently down her face.

He scooted over and peered over her shoulder. "Bloody hell, luv. You're bleeding again."

She closed her eyes, suddenly just wanting to cry. The last four months had been so hard and she felt so tired. She had wanted to take a nap before going out on patrol—but after class, there was a research session, then a quick dinner at Sunnydale's Pizzeria and then it was eight o'clock at night, still light, and she gets ambushed in the cemetery.

She felt a cool finger brush against her lip, causing her eyes to snap open in time to catch Spike sucking on his finger.

Her heart sped up as her stomach did an excited roll. Why was it always so erotic to watch him do that? she asked herself. This hadn't been the first time and she knew it wouldn’t be the last—but every time he did it, she felt her insides turn to mush as the heat rushed down to her sex.

Maybe it was because, unlike Angel, Spike wasn't ashamed of what he was. In the two years that Angel and her were together, the dark-haired vampire had only tasted her that one time after he had been poisoned by Faith.

And that was only because Buffy had forced his hand by provoking his demon.

Although it had been painful, it had also been one of the most erotic experiences of her short life.

But before that, he had always used restraint when around her. Whether he was afraid of provoking her Slayer instincts or his demon, she never knew.

But Spike wasn't afraid.

And for some sick reason, that turned her on.

Was she forever damned to be attracted to vampires because her first was one?

Even after more than a dozen dates with Riley Finn, nothing he did ever affected her like Spike's casual touch.

And she knew her errant partner knew that. Just as she knew every time they fought, it wasn't just his hard body that she felt pushed against her. But out of all the things they teased and tormented each other about—they left this alone—an unspoken mutual consent kinda thing.

Neither of them wanted to admit how much they wanted each other.

But something was different now, she thought to herself as their eyes met. His seemed to darken even more from their usual stormy dark blue shade and hers widened in response.

He touched her lip again, this time with more than one finger. The pain of her bite seemed to disappear into the cloud of arousal. She sucked in her breath as his cool fingers caressed her lip and when he stopped to clean his finger off, she whimpered in protest.

His tongue slipped out in between his lips and wrapped itself around his finger, cleaning it off as she watched him, suddenly breathless.

It wasn't until their faces were only inches apart, did she realize that they both seemed drawn to one another; unconsciously seeking each other's touch.

He lifted his hand and cupped her face. His thumb gently caressing her cheek as he leaned in further until their lips finally touched.

Her whole body quivered in response as she felt his tongue lick her lips, lapping up her blood, taking in her essence. Opening her mouth, she used her tongue to touch his, tasting her blood and him as well.

As their tongues dueled, their bodies inched closer to one another. She was seeking his familiar coolness while he was reveling in her warmth.

Finally, she pulled away, needing to breathe. Leaning against his forehead, she laughed quietly in between deep breaths. "I guess that was a long time coming," she whispered.

He gently pulled her into his lap and hugged her as his chest rumbled with laughter. "Yeah luv, I'd say about two years."

Slipping his hands underneath his legs, he stood up while she wrapped her arms around his neck. He kissed the top of her head as her eyes closed and began walking, soon leaving the cemetery behind.

As she lay there, in his arms, she wondered when she had begun to trust him so much. Was it that first night when he saved her in the alley? Or had it been a culmination of incidents, each like a pick that tore down the wall she had built around her heart after Angel had broken it?

The latter, she decided. Trust wasn't an easy commodity with her—especially with Spike. Even after she believed he really would watch her back, she found other things to strengthen that distrust.

Emily, for instance.

The sorceress had wanted to destroy Buffy for Jenny Calendar's death and for awhile, had made her life pretty miserable.

And yet, Spike was attracted to her and began to go out with her.

The more time he spent with Emily, the more Buffy dated Riley.

Now, looking back, she wondered why either of them bothered. Riley was a nice, interesting guy, but he never ignited her passions like Spike did and had always done.

Even when they were enemies.

When the comforting movement stopped, Buffy opened her eyes, expecting to see Giles' front door.

Spike had surprised her.

Instead they were standing in front of a small bungalow. She looked over his shoulder and instantly recognizing the street as one of the older streets in Sunnydale. Frowning, she tugged on his sleeve.

"Where are we?"

"My house," he said as he began walking up the stairs towards the door.

"Since when did you get a house?"

"Last month."

She felt her body tense at the implications. "How—"

"Not what you think, luv, although under the circumstances I could see why."

"So, fill me in."

He dug out a key and tossed it onto her lap. She picked it up and unlocked the door, and closed her hand tightly around it.

"Whistler," he said as he stepped inside and shut the door behind him. "I told the pillock that if he didn't supply me with a house, that I was going to have to get it the 'vampire' way—blackmail or not. He seemed to think that this was a good idea."

She squinted her eyes, willing them to adjust the dark, but without even a sliver of moonlight, she quickly discovered that it was useless.

"Would you have?"

They were moving upstairs.

"What do you think, Slayer?"

"That maybe I don't want to know the answer."

He turned left and they entered a room. Seconds later, he placed her on top of what felt like a bed. A light switched on.

She shut her eyes instantly, and slowly opened them, allowing them to adjust to the brightness.

The first thing she noted was she was sitting on huge, four-poster bed in what seemed to be Spike's bedroom.

And it was nothing like she had imagined. Instead of the black, gothic look, it was tastefully decorated in forest green, cream and burgundy. Although she would never admit it out loud, she had found herself late at night, wondering what her partner's likes and dislikes were—just a curiosity thing she repeatedly told herself.

Buffy had lying to herself down to a science for nearly a year. She'd gotten pretty good at it.

Interrupting her musings, Spike came back with an armload of first aid supplies. "Scoot over," he told her as he dumped the first aid kit, gauze, ankle wrap and clean towels on the bed. "Luv, let's first take care of your side."

Nodding, she pulled the back of her shirt up and over her head, hugging it to her chest, in order to cover her breasts.

She felt a cool finger touch her side and stop suddenly.

"Luv—this is a nasty cut. Some of it's still bleeding. I'll bet the bloke had some sort of poison in his claws."

"And?"

She turned to watch his blond head lift and meet her eyes. "I need to find out if it's clean or not, alright?"

She frowned, wondering what that meant as she nodded slowly. Hell, all she had to remember was that demon she killed last spring that infected her with telepathy to make her wary of demon's blood and its possible poisonous after affects.

At least that's what she told herself until she felt a cool tongue lap her wound.

Her whole body seemed to quiver in response.

She cleared her throat, ignoring the hot flash that enveloped her body. "Well?" she asked, nearly jumping at the way her voice sounded--so breathy and low. Was that me?

One of his hands moved upwards on her back, stopping at her bra strap while the other glided over to her stomach, its coolness lightly caressing her skin. "I think it had an anti-collegent in it—you know, luv, that keeps blood from clotting. It should be okay now."

His eyes met hers—pinning her.

"Oh okay."

He removed his hands and picked up some gauze and placed a huge section over the long gash. "Can you hold it in place, luv?"

Nodding dumbly, she held the cotton onto her side lightly, while she felt the tape wrap around her torso and being pressed against her skin. With her eyes closed, she began to take the while taking deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart and hormones.

The damn vampire was going to be the death of her yet.

She just knew it.

Suddenly there was tugging on her shirt and her eyes snapped open to see him slowly pulling her shirt down her arms, all the while his cool fingers danced lightly against her skin.

"Demon blood," he explained, his face the perfect picture of innocence, as he tossed it onto the floor.

She nibbled on her bottom lip, ignoring its tenderness, as she felt her blood begin to dance underneath her skin—craving his contact.

"Now, now, Slayer—quit that," he whispered as he leaned forward, just inches from their lips touching. "If anyone is going to gnaw on your lip, it's going to be me." His tongue slipped out and ran over her lip.

Buffy could only whimper.

The asshole was seducing her and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.

"What about your ankle? Can you move it?"

Grimacing, she turned it slowly back and forth, and suddenly smiled back at him. "Just a spring. Thank God. I could just see me slaying in a cast."

"Good, just let me wrap it then," he said as he kneeled down on the floor in front of her. He untied her tennis shoes and carefully pulled her shoe off, making sure not to harm it any more.

The sock followed.

Then she felt his cool fingers as they slide underneath her heel and lifted her foot up and prop it against his jeans-clad thigh. He looked up and nodded at the wrap. "Get that for me, luv, will ya?"

She reached over and picked up the wrap. She held out her hand in front of him and when his fingers picked up the wrap, they caressed her palm.

Her stomach tightened pleasantly.

While she was trying to slow down the racing pace of her beating heart, Spike slowly and methodically wrapped her ankle.

Unfortunately, it wasn't slow enough for her to find her common sense.

And she hadn't even realized he took off her other shoe and sock until he lifted her feet and placed them back onto the bed, turning her whole body in the process.

Now she was lying horizontally on his bed.

This was so not good, the practical, logical part of Buffy snapped to herself.

He then gathered the first aid supplies into his arms that had been dumped beside her on the bed and disappeared out of the room, leaving her shirtless, lying on his bed.

How did that happen? she asked herself as she stared at her crumbled shirt on the floor. It was like he put me under a spell.

Well, no longer, she thought to herself as she sat up and carefully swung her legs around to the side of the bed. As she leaned down to pick her shirt up, she began muttering under her breath. "I'm the Slayer, not some lovesick school girl that can be seduced by a demon! A demon for gods sake!" She pulled the shirt over her head, tugging it downwards when her fingers got caught in the rip.

"Damnit" She pulled it back off and threw it across the room. "I'll just wear one of his shirts—I have to get out of here—" She stopped her rambling and shut her eyes, trying to calm herself.

She opened them about a minute later to see a bare, alabaster chest in front of her. Not just any chest, but tight and hard—with six-pack abs screaming for her to run her fingers over them.

Nope—not just any chest, it was Spike's.

Oh shit.

"Who're you running from, pet? Me or yourself?"

She lifted her head and met his deep, blue gray eyes that seemed to darken even more as his nostrils flared, inhaling her arousal.

She opened her mouth to protest but stopped as he moved in closer to her. Now all she had to do was lift her hand and she would be able to touch him.

His long, beautiful fingers reached out and picked up a strand of hair, twirling it around his fingers. His other hand skimmed down her face, stopping at the slope of her neck as he squatted down so they would be facing one another.

She nearly kicked herself when she heard the breathy moan that slipped out of her mouth.

He dropped his hold on her hair, moving downwards to her face, its coolness calling her—just as Angel's had done so long ago.

He moved his other hand up to the other side of her face. Once holding her head still, he leaned forward until they were a breath's way from kissing.

She sucked on her bottom lip as their eyes locked. Her slayer-side finally shut up long enough for her to know that for some unfathomable reason, she wanted Spike.

She wanted to feel those lips touch her.

Those beautiful elegant hands caress her.

That lean, hard body press down on her.

She wanted it all.

Leaning forward enough so their lips touched, she grinned. "So, are you gonna kiss me or what?"

"Just making sure we're both on the same page, pet," he whispered against his lips. He made the final move and their lips met.

Later on, when she would look back on that evening, she realized it was the second kiss that did it. Although at the time, she would've adamantly disagreed. She had blamed everything on the first kiss in the cemetery—it's what prompted Spike to take her to his house and not to Giles'. It's what tantalized her passion—feelings she thought had died with Angel losing his soul.

But she was wrong.

It was that second kiss—strong, forceful and needful. As his cool lips smashed down onto hers, she responded just as forcefully, sliding across the bed as she tried melding her hot body into his cool embrace.

She placed her legs on his hips, tugging him closer to her as her body inched even closer to him.

She barely blinked when she slipped off the edge of her bed and landed on his lap.

He must've anticipated her fall, because those same hands that had been holding her face so reverently dropped and caught her at her hips, careful of her injury, and broke her fall.

She could feel his hardness pressed against her jeans-covered mound as she ground herself on him as soft whimpers escaped her lips. Her arms wrapped around his neck and her hands pushed his head even harder against her lips.

It was as if she wanted to him to swallow her—take everything she was into him.

The wound on her lip broke open, bringing his demon to the forefront. She ran her tongue along his elongated teeth, nicking it against their sharpness.

She heard him growl as his hold around her hips tightened even more.

"Slayer…" he moaned her name as a hand surged upwards, cupping one of her breasts.

Her nipples ached to feel his cold touch as she arched her back into his hand. "Spike—I want—"

One of his fingers slipped underneath the satiny cloth that covered her and flicked her nipple.

"What do you want, Slayer?" He asked as he reached around her and undid her bra. Gently, he pulled it off and flung it on the floor near her shirt. "Do you want me to do this?" he asked as he rained kissed over her face to her ear. "Tell me, what do you want?" His tongue slid into her ear, causing her to whimper.

"You—I want it all."

She felt his chest rumble in response. "Good, 'cause I don't think I could stop otherwise. You burn me, pet," he said as stood up with her in his arms. He bent down and gently laid her on top of the bed. "Are you going to stay here, now?" he asked her as he undid the top button on her jeans.

She nodded mutely, running her tongue over her lips.

"Are you sure?" he asked as his hand slipped down and cupped her mound through her jeans, causing her to moan loudly, while lifting up, trying to push herself harder against his hand.

Grinning, he removed the pressure and toyed with the top button. "Because all bloody evening I've been trying to get you here and you keep trying to leave." He looked up, pinning her with his dark gaze.

"Spike! You made your point!" She snapped as she lifted her hips, silently urging him to continue with undressing her.

Wide eyed and innocent—as if he had no idea why she was so frustrated—he reached for her zipper on her jeans and slowly tugged it downwards.

He'd barely touched her and already she felt like she was going to die from the anticipation. Her emotions were spinning—smidgens of past conversations flittering through her mind from the first time they met, to him rescuing her in the alley earlier this year. She had always believed her and Angel was star-crossed lovers—a fate kind of thing—but this, whatever it was between her and Spike—seemed so much more powerful.

A soulless vampire and a slayer—never the twain shall meet, and yet their lives seemed so intricately entwined—from the beginning—that it may just be inevitable.

And as she watched him pull of her jeans, and lay nearly naked in front of him, she realized she had never felt as alive as she had right then.

"Bloody hell," he whispered, unzipping his own jeans and kicking them off, leaving him naked as well.

He was magnificient.

Just as she always imagined it.

She watched him kneel on the bed and then slowly crawl in between her legs. "You're so beautiful." He stopped and kneeled in between her legs. One cool hand softly caressed her bare leg, his touch so light and arousing she began to squirm. He bent his head and ran his tongue upwards inside her thigh. "So good," he whispered against her skin. He gently massaged her other leg, slowly moving upwards to her sex.

She was almost panting as the ache in between her legs screamed for his touch—his mouth—his tongue.

His hands stopped at her panties and he looked up, his eyes flashing yellow as they met hers. Her throat closed as a tendril of fear crawled up her spine—but it was an exciting fear—filled with promise and pleasure. She smiled as he suddenly ripped her panties off and tossing them aside.

Totally vulnerable, she lay there with a demon in between her legs.

She nearly came right there.

He scooted over and lay flat, his face in front of her seeping sex, his eyes yellow once again—pinning her with his hungry gaze—and then ran his tongue long ways down her slit.

She closed hers in pleasure.

"Slayer! Open your eyes. Watch me!" He commanded.

She couldn't help but obey him as she opened them once again and noticed they had changed back to the gray-blue she was more familiar with. So intense was his eyes, she felt herself sinking into them as they called to a dark part of her being.

Once satisfied with her compliance, he flattened himself down on the bed and moved in, his eyes never leaving hers as he began to nibble on her nether lips. She moaned, lifting her hips, trying to push herself down onto his tongue.

She heard him growl a warning as he held down her legs. Nodding, she held still, as his tongue dipped into her, sucking her juices and fucking her with his tongue. So entranced with his eyes, she hadn't even realized that they, along with the rest of his face, had completed its change until she felt one of his fangs knick her labia.

That was all it took to bring her over the edge as her stomach tightened, and her legs tightened around him and she yelled out his name as her body surged upwards in throes of passion.

As she felt her body come down, she legs loosened and immediately Spike crawled upwards and kissed her, his tongue meeting hers as she tasted both herself and her blood on him. He positioned himself at her entrance and her eyes flew open to see him in his true face.

She lifted her hand up to caress his ridges and smiled when she realized that the demon and Spike were one in the same—true face or not. His eyes, though yellow, were now warm—just as other times they were angry and enraged. She moved her hand around his neck and gently pushed his head down so their lips could meet.

"Make love to me, Spike," she commanded against his lips.

"Certainly."

And in one stroke he was inside her. She ground her teeth as her body fought its size. It had been so long; it was as if she was a virgin all over again. He must've suspected as much for her remained still, watching her as she took a deep breath, forcing herself to relax enough for her to adjust to his girth.

Nearly a minute later, she smiled as she squirmed against him.

He began slowly, moving in and out of her as she wrapped her legs around his waist, angling herself so he would hit her clit. Each time their bodies touched a tendril of pleasure shot through her and as he pulled away, her body would begin to clench—as if begging for him to fill her again.

And once again, their eyes were locked on each other—yellow to hazel.

His face scrunched up in concentration as she moaned for him to go faster.

He finally complied, suddenly going wild, as if that lust that he had been holding in check all evening—all of two years—finally took a hold of him—in and out—faster and harder than Angel ever had done to her.

Her body shook with pleasure as she felt herself spiral upwards. Her vision blurred to where all she saw was the yellow of his eyes.

Plunging into her, he whispered, "Come for me, Buffy. Come for me."

She bit her lip and tasted her blood as she squeezed his arms so hard that if he were human, they would've broke.

His head dipped down and lapped up her blood as he slipped one hand down in between them and pinched her clit.

That was all it took for her second orgasm of the night to overcome her.

"Spike!" She yelled—her eyes finally shut, baring her neck as her legs tugged him roughly down on her. He growled in response and seconds later she felt the sting of his fangs as they slid into her neck and she felt him drink from her.

It was as if he was trying to bury himself inside her while at the same time, pulling her essence into him.

The imagery was what did her in.

Her third orgasm was the most powerful as she held his head down to her neck—his continual growling tickling her skin—and felt his cold semen shoot up inside her.

Minutes later, she felt him retract his fangs and begin lapping at her wound, using those same enzymes from his saliva that cleaned her wound from her side, to sanitize the bite.

Once finished, he lifted himself up with one arm and looked down, human face in place, and smiled at her.

She couldn't help but grin in response.

He kissed her, pulled out and then turned over on to his back, pulling her with him. She laid her head on his chest while skimming his chest with her finger.

Out of nowhere, she began to chuckle.

"What, luv?"

She lifted her head, still laughing and kissed him hard on the lips. "It's just that—this," she said, waving her hands at both of them. "It's nuts—I'm nuts!"

He smirked, squeezing her ass. "Not just you, pet. Me too. But damn, this was a long time coming," he said echoing her sentiments from earlier.

"I know. Since Parent-Teacher night," she said, flashing back when they met in the hallway, her holding an ax, him a metal pole.

"So, do you feel all manly tonight, Spike?"

He laughed out loud as he pulled her up and kissed her soundly on the lips. "Yeah, luv, got my weapon too," he said as he rolled over and slid into her hot, wet hole.

She lifted her hands up and cupped his face. "I think this will work. What about you?"

He stopped and nipped at her lip. "Yeah, luv, so do I."

And as he began to slowly make love to her for the second time that evening, she flashed back to when she was sitting injured in the cemetary—covered with demon-goo; it had turned out to be a much better day than she had ever imagined.

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©1999 Lisa Y. Drexel