All About Spike

Chapter: 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12  13  14  15

Actions Past
By dutchbuffy2305

Timeline: Season 2 (up until Becoming) and later in season 7

Rating: R

Spoilers: AU from Beneath You (7.2). In this universe, Buffy took Spike home

Disclaimer: All ME


Love me true (14)

Both Spike and Buffy had had to call upon their considerable powers of persuasion when Giles expressed a desire to accompany them the next time the Slayer Spirit was tested in battle. Buffy planned to make good use of whatever the Slayer had to offer her, and Giles’ presence might just get in the way. She prepared in the middle of an empty graveyard (well, full of dead people of course, but not the kind that was walking around, right now). Buffy took a solid, centered stance, and closed her eyes, very much aware of Spike’s presence a few feet away.

She summoned the Slayer Spirit, and successfully kept both the Spirit and herself inside her body. Her perception of the night changed. The wind brought many smells, and with these, information. The terrain unfolded itself to her as cover, dangerous openness, good running, possible trap. Immediately she sensed the presence of vampire prey far off, and Spike loomed large on her inner radar screen. Close, ominous, and very, very alluring. Her body told her what to do with him, fuck, immobilize, kill. She tried to push the presence down, to overlay her own personality on the worldview of the First Slayer, and slowly the urgency receded, while keeping the extra information at her fingertips.

She turned to speak to Spike, and was again overcome by a wave of lust and at the same time, the aching desire to kill him. She ground her teeth and pushed hard at the First Slayer, and she knelt down, grumbling, in the dirt at the bottom of Buffy’s mind.

It took several tries to get the words out. “Let’s go, baby. A group of baddies in that direction.”

Spike’s eyes were glazed and he gargled a little instead of speaking, but he motioned her to go on. Slower than usual, they made their way over to their prey. When Spike accidentally swung his hand against Buffy’s hip, it set off a chain reaction of tiny electric shocks all over her body. It took all her willpower not to take him right then and there. They kept some distance from each other after that.

The first vampire they spotted was female. Buffy felt relieved for a few seconds, but as her body continued giving off exactly the same signals as before, she had to reconsider about the relief. How would the Slayer Spirit…? Her eyes fell on the stake in her hand. Eww! Not going there! She quickly staked the helplessly mesmerized fledgling, and promised herself a long talk about some stuff to Willow. Just in case. She caught Spike’s eye, saw the evil grin on his face, and there was an intermission in the hunting.

After the intermission, which proceeded without staking incidents, the hunters were feeling quite refreshed and ready for a good fight.

“Spike?” Buffy asked as they trotted on to the next cemetery, arms around each other.

“Hmm?” He nuzzled her ear.

“If you can learn to resist the Slayer Aroma, do you think you’ll still be interested in me?”

Spike was astounded by this display of uncertainty. “Buffy-- of course! Always. I love you, you know that. What makes you think I wouldn’t be?”

“Well- if you are only attracted to me because I am the slayer, wouldn’t the attraction go away if you can shut your reaction off?”

Spike squeezed her shoulder more firmly. “It won't make any bloody difference, love. We’re not robots, or trained animals, triggered by a simple stimulus- we’re people, complex beings, with layers and layers of stuff beyond hunger and thirst and sex. What does it matter if the Slayer Effect is the root of our attraction? I know exactly what I’m bloody well feeling and nothing will change that!”

Buffy was silent again, but Spike sensed by her pensive face and slow pace that there was more coming.

“Do you miss Buffy from the past?”

“Um, no, why should I?” Oh bugger, not the jealousy thing again?

“’Coz you seemed pals, all the time…Well, I didn’t see it, of course, but the way you always sat on couches together?”

“Yeah, she was all right, you know, for a girl Dawn’s age; bit clueless though.”

“Clueless? It was me, you know!” He was never going to come out of this a winner.

“Well, yeah, but ages before I fell in love with you!” Spike imagined he might even be sweating right now. This was the kind of stuff a fellow never got used to, like having to answer a ‘does this make me look big?’ question.

“Didn’t you think I was hot before that?” Like he could say no and live?

“’Course, you were very pretty, shaking you bum in those tight clothes and short skirts. And you were the Slayer! I was interested alright, just not like later.”

“Hm. She has never tried coming back, since we did the trance thing with her. Why do you think she did it?”

“What?” Spike was dumbfounded. “What makes you think she caused this? She may have made the original wish to a Justice demon, but you were the one with the sick aura, you needed healing!”

“No way! I was not sick! There was nothing wrong with me!’

“You weren’t depressed? Suicidal, even? Getting it off with soulless demons?” The moment the words left his mouth, he knew it would go badly. Will you never learn to think before you speak, you pillock, he admonished himself.

To his surprise, she stayed silent for a long time instead of getting mad and doing a runner.

“I guess,” she said slowly, “that you guys saw the beginning of that? Her aura turning brown?”

“Yeah, that’s what we reckoned…That all the stuff with Peaches made her, made you, close up…” He checked her face. She was chewing on her lip, showing no sign of getting angry at all.

“For a long time I thought that was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, you know. Killing my lover. Or the fear of having to do that again. It made me very…careful of letting people in.”

Spike made a slight sound of encouragement, not wanting to interrupt this rare flow of words.

But," and she took a deep breath, "after the whole resurrection thing, I realized that feeling nothing at all is way, way worse. Just getting through another minute back then was excruciating. And the funny thing is, I convinced myself I was getting better. That things were finally alright again. Then two months later, it would hit me that I was still in numb-land, and that I had a long way to go before I could get back to normal.  Even now, when I look back on the last month I can tell I've gotten looser, you know...less afraid that everything's going to spin out of control.

When she stayed silent this time, he ventured an answer.

“I get that. I’ve been there myself.” He glanced at her, and saw that she was still looking at him, waiting for him to go on, wanting to hear what he was going to say. It gave him an incredible rush. Buffy was actually listening to him!

“Thought I’d be completely happy and healed when you asked me to live with you.” Buffy looked slightly hurt. “I didn’t realize that struggling with the soul, and what happened between us last year, on both sides, couldn’t be forgotten, or put out of my mind so quickly and easily. Or be made well with a kiss and a hug.”

Spike saw Buffy color up, and squeezed her shoulder in reassurance.

“And even then! I’m a vampire trying to live a human society, with human bloody rules. You can’t relearn that in a few weeks or months.” He shrugged. “But I’ll adapt.”

“Yeah,” she said softly, and they walked on.


Spike woke up. The ways he woke up nowadays could be divided into three categories. The first was delirious happiness. He would wake up with his nose in Buffy’s neck or fragrant hair, surrounded by the soft glow of daylight that filtered through the curtains. He would lie completely still, and just breathe in and out very slowly, softly stirring the little hairs on her bronzed, silky nape, or feast his eyes on the different shades of her many-colored hair. Not moving, just feeling her body in all its hardnesses and softnesses and warmth lying against him, a shoulder blade in his chest, curvy bum against his cock, a calf or a foot sole against his knee. He’d revel in her nearness, and try to draw out these golden moments as long as he could, wanting to make them timeless by not looking at the clock, or gauging the time the sun was already up. Inevitably it would be ended, by the alarm, or Dawn noisily showering, or just Buffy’s internal rhythm making her stir and move in his arms.

Spike’s own body would betray him then, by reacting to the accelerating rhythms of hers, blood pumping faster, temperature rising, heartbeat speeding up. His cock would stir, his skin start zinging and tingling, and he wouldn’t be able to keep still and pretend sleep, and they would have sex. Glorious, intense, endlessly repeating sex, as often as she would let them or her body could bear, but it was the silent intimate moments that he treasured, that he would try to draw out, that he didn’t know how to create at any other time of day.

The second way Spike could wake up was guilty. He would be swimming up out of a nightmare-filled sleep, nightmares that seemed to have gone on all night, gasping for breath, as if his body forgot it was a vampire in dreams. But how could it have forgotten, because all the dreams were about the things a vampire did: stalk, frighten, rape, kill, maim, ravage, destroy? He had done all of those things, and gloried in it. He’d shrugged off the bonds of narrow-minded mortal morality and thrown himself into the antithesis of everything he could remember holding dear. Or that’s how he’d thought of it then.

 He could still remember exactly the taste of the whole range of emotions he’d felt while being a vampire, all colored by the sight and scent of blood, and in his gut the reaction to that was still all good, but in his head and his emotions, catching up a second later, it was all bad. And the discrepancy would make him gag on those wonderful memories, slowly changing them into black and tainted pictures, all hundred and twenty years worth of them. Moreover, the slow blackening of this memory scape took with it all the good moments, moments of love, of dancing and fun, the joys of poetry, literature and the first movie and the first airplane. It all became black and dark and foul and the blood was rotting in the corpses in the fields of his memory, and the swollen sulfurous yellow sun that hung above it would take on the features of Buffy.

The third way Spike could wake up was from anger. Anger so bad it choked him with its yellow bile, futile anger at all the things Buffy had said to him, all the thwartings and defeats over the years, culminating in beating him to a pulp in that alley, throwing him over for the tin soldier, making him believe black was white and love was hate and pleasure was pain. And the anger filled him with shame, because hadn’t he been a foul evil thing, that had deserved everything Buffy had thrown at it? And shame fueled anger again. He hadn't asked to be made a vampire! In that state, hadn’t he been as innocent as any predator of the finer points of morality of its prey? Is the lion foul because it eats the lamb? Hadn’t shame and guilt made him get his soul, and hadn’t that experience been even worse than anything Buffy had ever done to him? Had it even been necessary? He had already been trying so hard to be better, to become again what he was not anymore, and to remember what was right and wrong.

And so happiness and guilt and anger turned all three into sorrow. Happiness wasn’t perfect, because Buffy didn’t love him. Because she would leave him eventually, by death or other ways. Guilt turned into sorrow because there was no way to atone for so many trespasses. Anger turned into sorrow because anger at things past was futile, and he loved the object of his anger.

And so Spike kept silent, going against his own dearest principles, because there was no way he could talk to Buffy about this. He could only love her and hold her as a shield against all that threatened his sanity and will to live, and hope for proof of love returned.

Going down and watching his two girls have breakfast helped. He loved their silliness, babbling about clothes and hair and shampoo and calories, it made Buffy seem relaxed and sweet and just like a real girl. When they left his enemy, loneliness, would visit, and the truce he had made with it in the long years alone in his crypt could not be remade. Not when mementos of their company, in the scent and sight of every object in the house, met him at every turn.

Buffy and he would meet briefly in a coffee bar before he went to work, and she had just gotten off. A few moments of Buffy in the real world, so he could go to work strengthened by the image of her, sitting there, a little tired in her office clothes, stirring her coffee, sometimes willing to hold his hand under the table. Work made life bearable, he had gotten addicted to its monotony to make time seem nonexistent.

After work, his real life started up again. Slaying with his love was the highpoint of his day, when they were truly one, truly equals, communicating as if by magic. Sex after slaying was nearly as good, but resulted always in her leaving him in sleep, so that he was lonely again. In the long nightly hours his vampire physiology kept him awake, and even if it were dear hours in which he could stare his fill at her, Spike resented them.

Buffy and he would meet briefly in a coffee bar before he went to work, and she had just gotten off. A few moments of Buffy in the real world, so he could go to work strengthened by the image of her, sitting there, a little tired in her office clothes, stirring her coffee, sometimes willing to hold his hand under the table. Work made life bearable, he had gotten addicted to its monotony to make time seem nonexistent.

How could he have so much and still feel it wasn’t enough? The voice of his mother sounded in his head, naughty, greedy boy, bad boy, wants it all. Beggars can’t be choosers. So. In truth, he sometimes thought he did not have that much more than before, only things that did not matter. Dawn’s and Willow’s acceptance, that had been mostly his already; Rupert’s tentative friendship? Rupert had offered that and his help long ago, and he’d scoffed at it, used words as weapons to drive the intolerable thought of goodness as far away from him as he could. Sex with Buffy? He’d had that. So he went too far, had thought a soul the only way to ever return to her, and now what? Sex with Buffy, again. What was the difference really? He couldn’t feel it. True sharing, true love seemed as elusive as ever. But he couldn’t let on. That would be so ungrateful. They all seemed to think he should be in heaven, being graciously allowed to share Buffy’s bed and board, and being the official boyfriend. He thought that if he could have her love, he would as lief be her backdoor lover again, sneak around, hide, as long as he could have her heart.


The first few months with Spike, Buffy awoke most mornings in the stifling clutch of a hundred and fifty-five pounds of panicky vampire, trying to keep her immobile. Bleakness, despair, elation and other grueling heights and lows of emotions would take turns on his face. She was helpless before their onslaught. He’d battle them silently, and bury himself desperately in her arms. It seemed to her that by giving her pleasure he was trying to stave off the demons of his past, or the demon within, she could never be sure.

The beautiful sexy language of seduction was no more. He was cast in hopelessness every night when she left him for sleep, and every morning when she left him for work, and it seemed to rob him of speech. She mourned the absent poet, feeling no little guilt for his disappearance. She could only hang on to him, be there physically, offer her body as solace. His mind was inaccessible to her now, when once he’d strewn every thought and whim into the air around him, carelessly scattering pearls and dross alike.

Some nights, rarely, Spike would sleep, and she could avoid his incessant yearning gaze and feast her eyes on his beauty. The long relaxed lines of that sculpted body belied the turmoil within. He lay prone, one knee drawn up, his arms flung wide, one hand just brushing her thigh. His skin was a perfect ivory against her pale blue sheets (no flowers or patterns for him). Buffy’s eyes went up and down the line of his strongly defined spine, the two faint hollows just above his buttocks, the trapezoid muscle tapering into his neck, the sweet short curls there.

Her hand hovered just above his skin. She ached to touch its velvet quietly, to learn its secrets again, to feel the hardness underneath, the muscles so close under the thin skin. She wasn’t done looking though, and didn’t want to wake him up yet. Silently she crept out of bed and went around to the other side, to look at his face. So vulnerable and worn in sleep, bruised eyelids covering his eyes, that could be so dark or so blue. His mouth pink and soft, almost pouting in relaxation. This was the way she sought her private joy, for the rest of the time she worked so hard to glue back together the man she had broken, or sometimes just hold the cracks together with her small hands, in fear his very life would spill out. She was often afraid the pieces were put back together wrong, for it gave him such anguish all the time, although he tried to hide it.

And then, one morning, when spring returned, so did her Spike. He woke her up with a playful nip in her neck, relentlessly tickling her until she could no longer pretend to sleep. He teased her into a breathless state of giggling and arousal, and then made wild silly puppy love to her, so much playfulness and joy shining out of his eyes that Buffy hardly knew what was up and down anymore, he made her so happy. Spike had put himself back together again.


Once again, the Scoobies were gathered in the living room on Revello drive. New drapes were hung, the furniture seemed placed slightly differently, but there was really nothing to distinguish it from many such meetings.

"Yo Buff, you kill a lot of them vampires with the mighty power of the Buffy-smell?" Xander asked jovially, as he entered with his designated contribution of donuts.

"Xander! “ Buffy squeaked indignantly. ”They are so not killed by my delightfully fragrant body-odor! I simply lure them with my irresistible emanations and then kill them! They just stand there waiting for it, there really is no challenge any more in vampire kills."

"Buffy, you sound almost sorry that your life has become easier! Aren't you happy that you could cut down on the slaying?" Willow sounded put out.

"Willow, slaying is my calling, slaying is fun! What else is there to do for fun around here in Sunnydale? Not as if you would be happy to be rid of the magic?"

"I guess not," Willow conceded. "It’s just that, you know, you used to complain all the time about your lack of social life and not being normal, or meeting suitable boys…Not that Spike isn’t very, very suitable," she added hastily.

Spike stood smirking at her, leaning against the mantelpiece. "No need to backpedal, witch. Not the suitable type, nor ever will be, and that’s how it suits me."

"If you could make a wish and become human, would you do it?" Willow asked curiously.

"Human? No way! Didn’t like being human the first time round, not going to try a second time. Besides, Buffy wouldn’t have me."

This sank in slowly and with difficulty. "Oh. Oh! Sure, the First Slayer needs the Vampire, sure, I knew that, sure."

Giles entered and with a cough centered their attention on him.

“I have the feeling, Buffy, that we can close our case-file on Past Buffy and the Spirit Slayer."

"We have a case file?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. I still add daily to my Watcher’s Diary."

"Wow. That's what I call discipline,” Xander said, and grabbed two donuts from the platter.

"Yes, I call it discipline too, Xander. I'm pleasantly surprised that you even recognize it when you see it!" Giles said sharply.

Xander's eyes shot from Spike's grin to Giles' disapproving look, his cheeks bulging with donut like a hamster's.

“I have discipline! You think it doesn’t take discipline to lead a company, or a crew! I so have discipline!” he said, still chewing.

"Certainly, Xander, there are many ways to exhibit discipline in one’s life; we have simply chosen different ways to express it."


"A little focus here!” Giles demanded. "Buffy? Can you confirm that there were no time switch occurrences?"

"Roger! And check!"


Everybody shook their heads.

"Good. Spirit Slayer under control?"

"Yeah," Buffy answered, puzzled. ”What's with the military vibe, Giles? You in a hurry?"

"No, of course not! Well, a little perhaps, I have a gig at the Espresso Pump later tonight, I'd like to spend some time rehearsing."

"Rehearse away! We'll manage! As long as we can come in later and do the groupie thing with you?" Willow said. “I mean, scream! And wave lighters, and clap! Not the other groupie thing!”

“Indeed.” Giles rose with alacrity. "Are you sure, Buffy?”

“Absolutely, Giles. We got it under control! Say hi to Anya.”

When Giles left, Buffy stood up and went to stand with her back against Spike, who hadn’t moved from his position near the hearth. Xander saw the big hands come to rest low on Buffy’s hips, fingers splayed, and looked away. Spike put his chin on Buffy’s hair. Willow saw Spike’s eyes close briefly, and his Adam’s apple bob up and down as some emotion washed through him, and she smiled at them.

“Well,” Buffy started. “What exactly are we going to do? There is no threat, Past Buffy hasn’t been seen in weeks, I got the Slayer under control, mostly…We might as well go Bronzing.”

“It still seems kind of weird, Buffy. Most of the time these things happen to you for a reason, ‘cause the big Bad wants to get at you or something. We just gonna let this go?” Xander gestured in frustration and made a grab at the donuts again.

“The Big Bad has gotten to me alright, but I’m kinda okay with it this time…” Buffy said, eyeing the donuts.

She squealed when the Big Bad pinched her.

“Not evil anymore, here,” Spike growled.

Buffy turned to him and offered kisses as penance. And then there was Bronzing.


“Come in, Spike,” Giles said, opening the door widely.

“Nice digs, Rupert,“ Spike said appreciatively.

“Yes, thank God, I was heartily sick of hotel rooms. This way the other bloke and I swap jobs and flats every half year, switching between England and California.”

Giles waved Spike to the couch and threw him a beer. “Here, have a look at this. Remember that council, girl, Lydia? The one that wrote her thesis on you?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell, mate. Should it?” Spike took a long draft of his beer. “ Ah, Heineken, better than that weak American stuff.”

“She seemed quite taken with you the one time you met her, at your crypt? Thought you might remember that!”

“These librarian birds with glasses always go for me, Rupert. Appeal of the bad boy or some such nonsense,” Spike said dismissively, not about to go into this.

“Well, thanks to modern information technology – don’t laugh, Spike – she compiled a list of names for me, and they sent it to me after she died. On it are all men named William who graduated in Oxford and Cambridge between 1870 and 1885. Correct so far?”

Spike nodded, amazed. Imagine old Rupert going to all that trouble for him.

“Don’t say anything, let me guess! Oxford?”

A nod.


“Yes. How did you know?”

“A guess. You didn’t seem the type for Divinity, so…”

“You didn’t know the old me, Rupes, or you wouldn’t have said that!”

“Okay, here’s the list. What college?”

Spike hesitated a very long time. He’d seen in one glance that his name was on it, but he wasn’t at all sure he wanted to give this long-kept secret away.


Spike stalled. “Did you eliminate everyone who died a natural death?”

“I believe so.”

Spike still hesitated. “Don’t think I can do it, Rupert. This is my last secret. What on earth would you do with that bit of info anyway?”

“I was thinking of a passport, social security number and so on. Might make your life a little easier. Find a job more suited to your abilities than all the scut work you’ve been doing.”

“You could make up a name for that, Rupert. Why?”

Giles coughed, seeming embarrassed. “Though I’d do you a good turn. Well, think about it, Spike. I’d love to know. And, um, I found you some work. Doesn’t pay well, but…translations from Greek and Coptic. Could you do it?”

“Standing on my head! Well, that was a century ago. Might have to brush up a bit on the old knowledge, but thanks. Makes a nice change from motorcars.”

After a few, well, a lot more beers: “Patrolling tonight, Spike? Take good care of her!”

“Always. Gotta do my duty, right?”

“Is it duty, Spike? Is it penance?”

“Hell no, labor of love. Is it for you?” Giles averted his eyes, and didn’t answer. “I see. You could go back to England, you know. I’d take care of her!”

“I’m supposed to Watch her until she…um, well, forever. Only most Slayers don’t live that long.

I hate California, you know. I don’t want to be her surrogate father anymore. And I’m quite tired of being left to make all these difficult decisions on my own.”

Spike leaned forward eagerly. ”I’d do it, Rupert, like I said. Why not?”

Giles rubbed his chin. “I’m grateful for the offer, Spike, but I think you should give this a bit more consideration. I don’t know that the position of lover and Watcher mesh very well. You’d have to send her into danger, tell her what she was doing wrong, etcetera. Very difficult if you’re emotionally attached to someone, even if it is as a father. And it would be more difficult for Buffy as well. As her lover and second-in-command you don’t have that conflict. My advice would be not to risk what you have right now! Not that I’ve ever seen you take advice…”

Spike looked at him thoughtfully. ‘You might be right, old man. Thanks for the advice. At your own expense, too, I’m touched!”

Giles waved his hand in acknowledgement, but kept staring at his hands. Spike stood up to leave, and awkwardly clapped his hand on Giles’ shoulder.

“I’m off to work. See you around, mate.”

The other man didn’t answer, lost in thought.


Spike and Buffy had just climbed upon the cemetery wall for a short kissing break, when they heard growling, hissing sounds a short distance away, like two huge cats fighting. With a quick exchange of looks, they decided to postpone the break and investigate the disturbance. Two vamps were fighting, a male and a female, clawing and punching and biting, making a lot of noise in the process.

“They fight like sissies,” Buffy said with derision. “Let’s take ‘em, Spike.”

“Not fighting, love,” Spike said with a leer in her direction. Buffy drew up short, realizing with an immediate answering tingle in her gut that Spike was right. This wasn’t fighting, it was vampire love play, although it was hard to tell the difference. And now that she knew, it was making her feel, well, like playing herself.

“Should we leave them be, Spike?”

“Nah! They’re’ still vampires, sweetheart, they’ll go right on with the killing afterwards!”

It was shamefully easy to dust the lust-addled vamps, and it made Buffy feel a little queasy. Spike noticed her unease, and drew a comforting arm around her.

“No need to think they were Romeo and Juliet, love, probably just having a quick one after an exciting kill. That vampires can love, doesn’t mean they all do!”

“Let’s have a quick one ourselves, Spike, you know slaying makes me hot!”

“Let’s just wait, Buffy, ‘til I can make proper love to you in your own bed…”

Buffy ground her teeth. Time for something completely different.

“Let’s play a little game, Spike. You will be Bike, the Vampire Slayer. Bike is brave and practical; he loves to play rough, and likes his sex fast and furious and violent. Then we have Spiffy, that is me, a pretty little vampire, a very romantic type- for a vampire. They meet, they must fight, because they are natural enemies. But the fight excites them both so much that it turns into play, they can’t deny their desire, and they forget their duty and give in to the lure of the forbidden!”

“Buffy,“ Spike groaned, “what kind of trashy novels have you been reading? This is so tacky...”

Buffy jumped onto a tombstone. “Come and get me, boy!” she called out to Spike. “I’m Spiffy, the bad naughty vampire, and I must be punished. You must spank my evil little bottom until it blushes!”

Spike hadn’t expected to react so intensely to the ridiculous little pretense. In fact he was trembling in his boots and rock hard in his jeans. For a moment after Buffy, no, Spiffy, had taken off he stood rooted to the spot, then with a manly yodel Bike took off after the nasty little monster, who deserved everything he was going to do to her.

They chased each other up and down several of Sunnydale’s many graveyards, until Spiffy chose to make a stand in the Orthodox Jewish cemetery, between Mr. Horowitz and Mr. Rosenberg, Sr. She mentally asked Willow for forgiveness.

“Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah!” taunted Spiffy. “You miserable weak human being! So righteous and boring! I’m going to drain you dry, crush your head between my thighs like a grapefruit, and dance on your intestines!”

“Evil bitch!” yelled Bike. “You killed my family, the greengrocer and the neighbors! I’m going to stake you so hard your dust flies to the four corners of the earth! I’m going to break that bumpy nose of yours for the thousandth time, and like it! You dye your hair! Your fangs are blunt and you will never drink my blood!”

In between the taunting, they got in a few exploratory kicks and punches.

“Yeah, hit me, you big manly Slayer!” Spiffy hissed, circling him tirelessly.

“Look at my neck, my sweet white neck, all that blood just pumping away…” Bike said, daring Spiffy to go for it. “I have the sweetest blood you ever tasted, Slayer blood! And you will never ever get to drink from me, because you are evil and soulless and bloodlust is wrong!”

“You don’t know what you are missing, Bike the Vampire Slayer! Us vampires give unlimited ecstasy to the humans we drink from, a high like you have never experienced with these puny human girls!”

They closed in now, grappling and grunting in earnest, trying to tackle the other to the ground. The grappling brought proximity, and Spiffy noticed Bike’s hard-on brushing against her.

“Ha! You Slayers are all the same! Vampires get you hot! Well too bad, Bikey, to me humans are just food!”

“O yeah?” Bike ground his hand in Spiffy’s crotch, noticing her buckling knees and gasps with glee. “What is this that I smell with my enhanced Slayer senses? You desire me as much as I desire you, Spiffy; only you are too stubborn to admit it!”

“Desire is not love, Bike, and a vampire can never love a Slayer!”

They weren’t exactly fighting anymore, rather they were trying to see who could get the other more aroused.

“The touch of your decent upstanding hands disgusts me!” Spiffy cried out, writhing under his touch.

“Your breasts are like the unclean apples that seduced Adam out of paradise!”

Bike managed to wrestle Spiffy to the ground and tore at her skirt, that Spiffy had worn, he supposed, to make hot love in to other demonic creatures all night.

“Don’t you dare put your big purple love banana inside me, Bike!”

“Oh yeah?” Bike said, determined to do his duty, and put it in her evil orifice, making Spiffy squeal in a very un-vampirey way. ”You deserve punishment; I am only going to do things you hate! You are evil! You must be disciplined.” He slid out the love fruit, turned her over, baring her golden bottom to the moon, and slapped her mercilessly.

“O Bike!” Spiffy cried out. “Chastise me! I deserve it! I’m evil! Harder!”

Bike did all he could to discipline the evil creature. He spanked her luscious buns; he pounded her with his mighty slayer instrument and forced his blameless hands on her undead pleasure center. When Spiffy had been castigated sufficiently, so that she was lying on the earth shaking with the aftermath of her satanic lust, Bike allowed himself the reward of the righteous, a mammoth orgasm, well deserved after the grueling sentence he had had to mete out.

“Oh Spiffy, you will suffer in hell for forcing your unnatural hungers on me!”

“O Bike,” Spiffy groaned, undone by her own devilish urgings, “I hate you so much!”

“I hate you too!” Bike panted, exhausted.

Spike knew, at least rationally, exactly what Buffy had been doing, but the emotional impact was still huge. He looked at her in admiration, lying there limp and bedraggled and grass-stained on the muddy ground. Did she know what a gift she’d given him, liberating the demon and the man at the same time? Accepting, no, needing the vampire in all his violence and wildness, as much as she needed William the man? He looked up at the moon happily, then turned to grab the little vampire again, to give her more of what she deserved.

Continued in He’s got high hopes (15)

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