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The Games We Play
By Mezz

Rating: NC-17 :)
Summary: The sexual adventures of Spike and Buffy
Timeline: This takes place after the handcuff scene and before the Bronze and the alley in DT
Disclaimer: Yep. I own it all, and if you believe that, then I have a bridge I can sell you.
Feedback: Please!
A/N: Many thanks to Moose!
A/N2: Don't worry. I have plans for those scarves. I'm just warming up :)

Chapter 1

"Do you want to play a game?"

I had been lying on my back, staring at the ceiling above me, gathering my wits, so I could, how did he say it? 'Kick him in the head and run out, virtue fluttering.' But first I had to get my strength back. His voice seductively cut through my post coital daze. I was annoyed to say the least.

I shifted my head to look at him. "A what?"

He smirked and I wanted to hit him. "A game love."

"What kind of game?" I spoke quietly, as if whispering would make this less real. He gave me a look that was pure sexual predator. He has a million looks and all but a few of them can reduce me to a puddle of goo within minutes.

He ran his fingertips from my shoulder to the back of my hand. A light touch. Barely caressing my skin. An involuntary shiver ran through me.

"Our kind of game." His voice had become deeper, rougher. It's a voice I find hard to resist.

"We have a kind of game?"

He smiled and leaned in to kiss my shoulder. Another shiver. "Oh yes love. And I guarantee that you'll enjoy it." I was sure I would, but…a part of me thought I should leave. We'd already patrolled and engaged in a round of 'post patrol relaxation.' I had an angry, hormonal sister and a magically addicted friend waiting for me at home. They wanted my time; they wanted to lean on me. They wanted me to make it all better. Putting it that way, why would I ever want to leave. "Alright." I whispered. "We can play a game."

He offered me a genuine smile and it made my chest tighten. I was proud that I could make him look like that, but it frightened me at the same time. That smile told me more than I was willing to admit. I was about to change my mind when he kissed me again. Ok, I would stay. "That's my girl." I decided to let that one pass, as I didn't think I could speak, even if the world depended on it.

He got out of bed and began rummaging around in some boxes. I tried not to look. Honestly. It's funny; I have no inhibitions during sex. I've let him handcuff me. Hell, I've even handcuffed him. But to watch him walking around, it seems too intimate. That's something you do with a boyfriend, not a…what was he anyway? Lover, sex partner, shag buddy? I wasn't sure, but I knew we weren't at that stage yet. Not that we'd ever reach that stage. At least I never would. To be honest, I don't know if he realizes the significance. He just has no modesty at all. I suppose if I were a man and had a body like his, I wouldn't mind showing it off either.

"A ha!" His exclamation startled me and I averted my eyes before he caught me. "Buffy." He sing songed my name, so I looked back at him. He was doing that bed crawl thing that melts me every time. I saw that he had something fisted in his hand. He noticed my inquisitive look and with one of his smirks, he lifted his arm and let the contents fall.

At first all I saw was black, but then I caught one in my hand and I realized it was a scarf. Several scarves actually. I ran it through my fingers. It was real silk, not the cheap, polyester blend. I wondered how he could have afforded these. Duh? Sometimes even I think I am a natural blond.

I surreptitiously looked for a label. If we are going to use scarves as foreplay, or whatever, then I would like to at least know which designer I will have to bow my head in shame in front of in the future. No label. I couldn't even see where one had been cut. Perhaps these were from when labels weren't put on things. This brought an ugly thought to mind. "These are new aren't they? I mean you haven't, umm, used these on, before?"

"No love. These are all for you."

"Why so many?" He smiled mysteriously and told me I'd find out. I wasn't sure if I should be pleased or not.

He lifted one from the pile and ran it through his fingers. When I did that, it was, well, running a scarf through my fingers. But when he did it, it was as if he were memorizing every fiber. Like the way when his hands run over my body, exploring every crevice and line. He is blind and I am his Braille text.

I was so absorbed in what he was doing I missed most of what he said. Not that that is necessarily a bad thing. Half the time I prefer not to hear what he has to say. He sighed. It wasn't one of the pleasant ones either.

His lips tightened and his eyes narrowed. I could feel his mood change. He's like that, so mercurial. His moods were like forks in the road. He could start off in one direction, and then switch to another, usually a less pleasant one. I'm afraid my inattention may have moved us off course. I fixed my eyes on him and slowly blinked. His face and shoulders softened immediately. I smiled inwardly; it works every time.

His fingers were still caressing the silk. His expression turned thoughtful. "Did you know that silk is one of the toughest natural fibers?" He gave me his patented seductive look. "It takes a lot to tear through it."

At least I now knew what he meant to do. I wasn't nervous. Hell, I'd let him use metal handcuffs on me. Silk was nothing to Slayer strength, right?

I watched him tie one end of a scarf to the middle of another. Huh? I was hoping that this wasn't going to be one of his complicated plans because we all know how well those usually turn out.

He told me to kneel, face him and hold out my hands. Sometimes I think my free will checked itself at the entrance to his crypt. Perhaps that would explain why I offered not a single question or protest.

He wrapped the scarf in a figure eight around my wrists. I hypnotically watched him. The shape reminded me of when I used to skate. I wondered what the younger, more innocent version of myself would have said if I told her that the only figure eights in her future were the ones that were part of sexual games.

He finished at last and my wrists were tied facing each other. The silk ensured that my bones don't press together. It's the little details like these that disturb me. It reminds me that he has a century of practice. Not that I mind the practice, because, well, it means good things for me. What bothers me is all the women he has done this with before. How do I compare to them? Let's be honest, my experience is not all that great. Insecurity, thy name is Buffy.

He must have sensed my discomfort because he made soothing noises and ran his hand along my hair and down my back. After I calmed, he picked up the trailing end of the scarf and pulled me towards the foot of the bed. I walked, waddled, scooted? Whatever it was, it wasn't graceful. I felt my skin reddening in embarrassment. He didn't say anything, which was good, because tied hands or no, I could still wallop him. Perhaps he realized this.

By the time he got me situated, I was facing one of the end bedposts. He tied the trailing scarf to it. The knot was secure, yet he could slide it up and down to better position me. I didn't know how this would fit in later, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to know. In the end, he left my hands parallel to the bed.

From my vantage point, I could see where the cavern led off to the tunnels. The candlelight didn't reach that far so it was all shadows. For some reason that made me nervous. Anything could come at us and I would be unable to do anything about it.

Spike had moved behind me and was running his fingers through my hair. It should have felt nice, but it didn't. Wondering if something was going to attack at us reminded me that a killer was at my back. I shouldn't have been scared; we had done this before, or something like it. But I was. He could so easily sink his fangs into my neck like he did the first one. Or he could snap my neck like the second.

What was I doing? I could feel the panic beating its wings in my chest. How could I let him put me in a position like this? I began to tug on the scarves and to my utter horror, nothing happened. There was no reassuring sound of silk tearing. Where was my fabled slayer strength now?

He was shhing me and running his hands up and down my back. I continued to struggle and began to hyperventilate. He whispered platitudes in my ear. It reminded me of that movie with Robert Redford where he was trying to calm the rabid horse. When I first saw the movie, I thought it was neat. Now seeing it from the point of view of the horse, it wasn't nearly as nice.

"You just say the word love and we'll stop." He was using that soothing tone of voice that he used when I first came back and couldn't deal.

"B…but we didn't decide on a word." I let him tie me up and we hadn't decided on a safe word. How could I have done this? I tugged frantically on the bonds, but they weren't giving at all. Why couldn't I get free?

"Name it love and we'll use it."

Huh? What was he talking about? I think I tried to say that but it came out as a squeak.

His hands were still roaming over my back and shoulders. "A safety word love. All you need to do is choose one." He had moved to my side and was looking at me with his large eyes, his hand still on my back. When I didn't answer, he moved towards the bedpost, reaching to untie me. It was the concern I saw in his gaze and the willingness to untie me that finally cut through my panic. This was Spike. My Spike. He would never hurt me. We had built an uneasy truce with our bodies and I feared that if I let him untie me, something between us would be fractured. I didn't know why it bothered me, nor did I care to know why it mattered. All I knew was that I had to stop him. I blurted the first thing that came to mind.

"Armageddon." He looked at me quizzically. "The word is Armageddon."

He chuckled and I relaxed even more. "Armageddon it is. Shall we continue?" Should we? Why did he have to give me so many outs? Perhaps I should just tell him to untie me. Did I really want to travel down this road? Why should I care if it ruined our relationship since we really didn't really have one anyway? He had asked me the other day if I trusted him. I told him no. That was a lie. I trusted him more than anyone else right now. He should know that.

I nodded and he began feathering light kisses on the back of my neck. My arousal, which I had thought was dead, began to seep languorously through my body.

"Are you really, really sure?" He re-asked the question against my neck. His lips felt like butterfly wings on my skin. I shuddered involuntarily and made up my mind. I nodded again. I felt his lips transform into a smile. "Good girl,' he said.

His hands, which had been caressing my back, began to roam into other areas. They moved down my arms to my silk clad wrists, they caressed my sides, the front of my thighs, the back of my thighs. He, I imagine, deliberately avoided every erogenous zone, but it didn't matter. The slight touches felt so good that my muscles relaxed even more under his ministrations.

That was when he started talking. Oh, when he spoke, his words could be snarky, rude and offensive. I often wanted to hit him. But here, when our defenses were down, and we were naked, his words wrapped around me, they lulled me. Was it the words themselves, his accent or his voice? I didn't know, and honestly, I didn't care. All I knew for certain was that when he spoke, here, like this, he created magic.

"Have I ever told you how much I love your body? When we're outside, you're all muscle and strength, but here, you're soft." His fingertips trailed down my chest between my breasts and along my abdomen. My muscles clenched, willing his hands to move lower, but he circled up my sides and along the sensitive underside of my arms. "But I can still feel the real you. All this coiled strength. You're like an untamed tiger, ready to strike anytime, and only I can quiet you. "

My mouth opened to make some sarcastic remark but his palms grazed my nipples and all that came out was a gasp. I think he did that on purpose. His hands left my breasts. Bastard. I moaned and thrust out my chest, hoping he would get the message. He did. His hands caressed the underside of my breasts.

"I love your tits," he murmured in my ear. I shuddered. I wasn't entirely comfortable with his wordplay. The word tits seemed so vulgar, yet it suited him. The way he said it, his voice roughened with desire, excited a part of me. "They're so lovely. Like ripe peaches. And your nipples, like ripened berries." Ok, not very original, but with him, it's all in the inflection. He moved his hands back to my nipples, his palms moving light circles. He could say anything he wanted as long as he didn't stop.

"I love to watch you fight when you're wearing one of those little strappy tops. Your tits jiggle and your nipples harden." I thrust my chest out again hoping for more contact. His palms were driving me mad. "I just want to throw myself on you and suckle you til you scream." I moaned and pushed my back against his erection. I was gratified by the catch in his breath. "Sometimes I wonder if I can make you come by touching your breasts alone." He pinched my nipples between his fingers and the feeling was so intense that I screamed.

"Oh God Oh God." It was a litany from my mouth. "Oh please more. More. I need more." His fingers tugged on my nipples and unbelievably, I could feel it starting. The tension moved from my fingers and toes towards my center. How could this be happening? He hadn't even really touched me yet. Maybe it was the residual adrenaline from earlier. Maybe. But really I didn't care. All that mattered now was that I was on the verge. I writhed, rubbing my ass against him. He pulsed against me. He was breathing, panting, matching my own rapid breaths. "Can you feel it baby?" His voice was rough in my ear and his fingers, oh his magic fingers, were plucking and pinching at my nipples. The pleasure was pain, yet not. "Come for me love. Come for me like this. Just my hands on your luscious tits. I want to hear you scream." His mouth moved to my neck, sucking the skin between blunt teeth and his fingers gave my nipples a vicious twist. It was enough. I fell off the edge, the pressure releasing on a long moan.

I was boneless, my dead weight pulling at the bonds. His arms, still around me, were the only things holding me up. That was…wow. I never knew. It was just incredible. I was suddenly very happy I'd stayed.

"You liked that did you?" I made a noise that sounded a lot like a purr. I could still feel his erection at my back. I pressed back and smiled when he tightened his arms around me. "My tigress, my kitty." I couldn't help it; I giggled. He made a humming noise against my back and caressed my stomach with his hands. I let my head fall back against his shoulder. I twisted towards him and smiled contentedly. He leaned in and kissed me lightly.

"That was so nice." It was an understatement, but how could I tell him? How could I explain the effect his hands and voice had on me. How quickly I lost control. It had never been like that before.

"Nice?" His voice was sardonic. "I was trying for something a bit more spectacular." He sighed dramatically. "I guess we'll have to work on that."

I was intrigued. "There's more?"

"Oh my little kitty." His hands moved to my hips and pulled me against him. "We haven't even begun."

Chapter 2

She is still lying boneless in my arms. It's moments like these that I want to store away forever. I have the Slayer, my Slayer tied to my bed and she's happy. When she runs, and I know she will, I want to be able to pull this memory out and savor it.

"Mmhmm." I've rendered her speechless. For someone who has an opinion, usually one that is at odds with mine, it is a real coup that I've made her incapable of coherent speech. I am good.

There is so much that I want to teach her. I can see her desire shimmering beneath her skin. She wants to learn, but she's still afraid. Tonight was a perfect example. Of all the reactions, this was the one I least expected. She had been understandably nervous when I first proposed the handcuffs, but she took to it like a cat to cream. So her reaction had thrown me tonight.

The depth of her fear frightened me. I wasn't sure if it was me or something else. I hope it wasn't me. I know I've spent several years trying to instill fear in her. But now, I just want her to know that being in my arms is the one truly safe place for her. My mum always said that you reap what you sow. I just hope that this won't turn around on me one day.

But now, at this moment, she's happy. She's relaxed and languid. I think it's time. "So are you ready for more?"

"What did you have in mind?" Her voice is almost coy. It makes me smile.

I reached back and grabbed another scarf. I rolled it up and held it in front of her. "I want to blindfold you." I nuzzle the skin beneath her ear. "I promise you'll enjoy it."

She held herself still for a moment, and then relaxed against me. "You told me I'd like what we just did and you were right. I'll give it a try."

I released a breath I didn't know I was holding. I was afraid she'd say no. She's always surprising me. I held the scarf to her eyes and tied it snugly. She was tense at first, accustoming herself to her loss of sight.

I gently bit her earlobe. "You'll find that your other senses come alive when you can't see."

"And you know this how?" she asked archly.

"Hush pet. There's only you and me here."

I dance my fingers across her skin, soft teasing touches. Her head drops back and she whimpers softly.

I know I'm a pathetic excuse for a demon. I know the other nasties out there ridicule me, but if they could see what I see, they'd understand. Angel understands. There's not much that I'm thankful for, but the happiness clause tops my list.

I reach for another scarf and let it spill through my fingers. I drag it across her shoulders and neck and down her arms. "Your skin is like this scarf, so soft yet resilient." Her breath catches. A beautiful sound. I caused it. Smugness fills me.

It is this combination that draws me. So much strength and softness combined in such a small and seemingly vulnerable form. There are days that I lie awake, wondering what sort of disaster could befall her. Car accident, especially the way she drives. Apocalypse. Natural disease. Someone or something finally having that one good day. I hate that I can't stand between her and the world. And I know if I were to try, she would not be here with me now.

Is it worth it? This pleasure that will end all too soon. She is mortal. She is a slayer. Like she says, she has an expiration date. I lived through her death once. I don't want to repeat the experience, but chances are I will.

Shakespeare once said that it was better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. I'm still not certain if I agree with him.

I let the scarf fall over her chest, allowing it to brush lightly over her nipples. She lifts her head and releases another small cry. I put my arms on either side of her and pull the scarf taut. I rub it horizontally across her nipples. They harden even more.

She's moaning now, pushing her chest forward for more friction. "Spike, please." I am nothing if not a gentleman, so I rub harder. Her head is swaying back and forth. The blindfold is freeing her. I thought it would.

I let one end of the scarf fall, trailing it lightly across her quim. She stills in anticipation. I reach between her legs and grab the loose end. I pull it slowly and softly through her legs, the silk gliding against her skin. She moans even louder. I pull it tauter and increase the friction. Her head falls back.

I touch her through the silk. I stroke front to back, back to front. She is so wet, so swollen. Her body is begging me to touch her. I tell her this and she squirms and wriggles and pushes down on my hand.

Her moans have changed in quality. They've risen an octave and they're more breathy. I love listening to her. She is a symphony of noises. I touch her in one place, and she groans. In another, she purrs. I wonder if this is how Beethoven felt every time he stood before his piano, knowing that his fingers would elicit such beautiful music. She is my instrument, her skin my keyboard, her voice my song. She is my ninth, my ode to joy.

Of course, half the time she opens her mouth, it is to disagree with me. But at moments like this, it's bliss.

I press harder. Her body is begging me for release. I can feel her muscles tense in anticipation of her orgasm. I find it amazing that I have grown so close to her that I can recognize this. It is a dream, one that I never thought would see reality. But we are here now, and I am touching her, caressing her. And she is responding to me. The pleasure is sublime.

But at heart, I am still a demon. I pull the scarf and my hand away. "No Spike. Please don't stop." She is begging, pleading with me to give her pleasure. It is a fantastically unreal dream and I wish to never wake up.

I bring the scarf to her nose. "Smell love. This is how you smell to me. So beautiful. So ripe and luscious." I see her nostrils flare. I take in a deep breath that she can hear.

"Mmm. Some say wine is the nectar of the gods. For others, it's beer. For me, it's you. I could lap and drink you forever and never feel sated."

My words are having an effect on her. Her ass is pushing at me and I am pushing back. I want in her so badly. I wanted to draw this out further, but I don't think I can. I need to feel her around me, surrounding me.

"Please Spike."

"Please what love?"

"I need you inside me?" She says it tentatively, more of a question than a statement.

My beautiful kitty has read my mind and perhaps I can push for a bit more. "Inside you where love?"

She squirms against me. "You know where." I knew. Of course I knew. But I needed her to say it. If we are to move forward, then I need to break down all of her inhibitions.

"The way I see it pet, there are three places where I can put it. I need to know which one."

I could see the blush rising through her skin. My poor kitty. No one but me has done right by her. She's trying to speak, trying to make the words come out, but she's having difficulty. I decide to help her.

I run my finger down her spine, to the rosy aperture of her ass. "Do you want me here?" She shakes her head no. I move my hand lower and capture a bit of juice on my finger. I bring it to her closed lips. I trace them with my finger. I can tell she doesn't want to let me in, but I gently pry her lips apart. Her tongue darts out to lick my finger. One little lick, then another. Soon she is sucking on the entire length of my finger. It's almost too much for me. I grind against her and she moans. "Do you want me there?" Again she shakes her head no.

My hand moves down, across one nipple, down the length of her torso, through her pubic hair and into her quim. A strangled noise emerges from her. "Is this where you want me?" She nods her head vigorously. "You still have to tell me." I can sense her struggling. The blush still hasn't faded. "You can say it love. Say it for me."

"I don't…" her voice tapered off and she groaned, this time in frustration.

"You don't know what to call it?" She nods. My beautiful slayer. At times she seems more Victorian than I ever was. "You can call it anything you want. Quim, pussy, cunt, box, anything at all."

"My quim." It's whispered, almost as if it is a bad word.

"Good kitty." I kiss her neck. She's ultra sensitive there. "Now tell me. What do you want in your quim?"

Another mewl of frustration. "You. I want you in my quim." Her voice is louder, more strident.

"Which part of me do you want? " She pulls in anger at her bonds and I laugh. "There are so many parts love.” I lower my voice to a seductive purr. “Tell me my kitty. Which part of me do you want in your quim? My tongue?” I lick the back of her neck. She shudders. “Or maybe my hand." I pinch her clit. She gasps. “Or perhaps it’s my cock you want.” I thrust against her. Her head falls back and she groans.

"I want your cock in my quim now!"

"Ask and you shall receive." I lean forward and push her arms lower along the post. It's an uncomfortable position for her, but at this point I really don't care. She grabs onto the post for balance. I tilt her hips back towards me, and run my cock along the outer edges, barely brushing her clit. She pushes back, trying to envelop me.

I've reached my limit. I can't take anymore. I need to be in her now. I grab her hips and shove into her hard. She screams. God I love to hear her scream, knowing I'm the cause. I hold myself still, fearful that if I move, I'll lose it and we still have a ways to go. She is squirming, her inner muscles flexing around my cock. Thank god for slayer muscles.

I pull out slowly. Almost all the way out. Then in again, hard, harder than before. I hold myself still again.

"Please Spike."

"Please what love?"

"Fast. Fuck me faster."

I love this girl. I start moving, in and out. My pace grows faster, more erratic. She is so hot. Her warmth explodes around me. I feel myself losing control. I want to fuck her. Fuck her into the bed, the floor, through the earth, all the way through to fucking China.

She's moaning and wriggling. But I can see she's not quite there yet. "Do you want me to touch you anywhere else?"

She nods. "Please my br…my tits." What a woman! I reach a hand around her and squeeze her tit. She shoves back at me.

"Anywhere else?" My voice is a rough whisper.

She nods again. "Yes. I want you to touch my…my clit."

"Lovely, lovely kitty," I murmur over and over. My other hand reaches between her legs and I clasp her clit between my thumb and forefinger. Her cries go up an octave. I can feel her muscles tensing. She's so close. I'm even closer. I thrust harder. Harder and faster. Thank god for vampiric flexibility, endurance and balance.

A stream of words comes from her mouth. "Yesyespleaseohgodyesmore." I'm pretty much the same. "Yesbabysqueezemeyesmydarlingmykittymylove."

At last, oh thank god, at last she comes, screaming my name, her muscles convulsing around my cock. I shove into her once, twice, and then I'm coming. "Buffy!" The orgasm rips through me in seemingly never ending spasms. My muscles twitch, my cock continues to jump. She's gasping, pulling ragged breaths into her lungs. So am I.

"Oh my God." She whispers it like a curse or a prayer. I'm not sure which. I pull out of her gently, her muscles reflexively clutching at me. Aftershocks of pleasure reverberate throughout my body.

I sit back on my heels, stunned into immobility. That was fucking incredible. I honestly don't think I've ever come that hard in my life. And that's saying a lot after a century of fucking.

"Umm, Spike." I look down at her. She's still clutching the post for support. A part of me wishes that I could leave her there forever so that I could take my pleasure of her anytime. The more rational part of my brain reminds me that she would eventually break free and that if I ever want a repeat performance anytime soon, I'd better untie her now.

I run my hands along her back, up through her hair, and I tug the blindfold loose. I move the hair from the back of her neck and kiss her gently. "My lovely kitty. You are incredible." Another kiss. "Lovely." Yet another. "Perfect."

I crawl to her side and untie the scarf from the post. I gather her hands in mine. She looks away. Her blush is back. I'm too content to mind.

I untie the scarf at her wrists and gently rub the redness away. I can sense her withdrawing from me. She's pulling away from me, back into her Buffy shell. A part of me is bothered by this. Another reminds me that this is all new to her and that I shouldn't expect too much too soon. I hate that voice.

I press a kiss into each palm. Startled, she looks directly at me. "Spike," her voice falters. "That was…was…" She's struggling for words. I lean in and kiss her. She relaxes into my kiss and then pulls away.

"I should really go. It's late. And Dawn…"

"Shhh." I kiss her again. "I know."

I pull her off the bed and she is standing there as if lost. I begin gathering her clothes and hand them to her. She stares at them, as if wondering what they are and what their purpose is. Just as I believe I am going to have to dress her, she pulls the garments on, piece by piece. I slip into my jeans and a shirt.

"I'll walk you home love."

She shakes her head. "Not necessary Spike." Her voice is still subdued. I want to argue. I want to get every last minute that I can out of her. But her face has hardened and I know that any argument will be futile.

I smile. "Let me at least walk you to the door." I want to tease her out of her silence, but she just nods mutely. We make our way to the upper level and to the door. I kiss her again. I want to fall to my knees and beg her to stay. Instead I run the back of my hand along her cheek. "Be careful love." She nods again and heads out the door. I watch until the night swallows her and she disappears.

Rating: NC-17 :)

Summary: This is my interpretation of the famous Bronze scene in DT

Disclaimer: Yep. I own it all, and if you believe that, then I have a bridge I can sell you.

Feedback: Please!

A/N: Many effusive thanks to my betas: Chris, Ellen and p2. Their assistance was invaluable.

Chapter 3

It’s funny, but the words ‘perverse’ and ‘degrading’ now have different meanings for me. When I first said them, I was referring to that night in the abandoned building. The one we brought down. That night has nothing on what we have done since.

My room was once my refuge, but as I lie in my bed, I realize this room belongs to someone who has long since disappeared. With its candy colored pastels and photographs of happy times, it belongs to the girl who was buried last summer.

Or does it go farther back than that? I haven’t made any major changes since I first moved in when I was sixteen. Was this an unconscious decision on my part? Have I been trying to enshrine my innocence? Trying to remember what I had before I was chosen?

I press my fingers to my temples. My head hurts. I’m tired of thinking. I’ve always preferred action to philosophy.

I run the black scarf through my fingers. Spike must have slipped it in my pocket before I left. I almost hate him for sending me home with a reminder. Perhaps he knew I would try to discard the memories of what we had done when I got home. If I didn’t have the scarf with me, is that what I would have done?

Life used to be so simple. Before…before all the slayer stuff it was shop and look good. Then I was chosen and it became even simpler. I slay, and then I die. Now I don’t have even that.


I can still smell her. Her essence surrounds me. I wonder if her scent would linger on if she were to stop coming here? Or would it eventually fade to a memory? I hope I never have to find out, but I imagine I will. Too pessimistic? I doubt it. Can't imagine she'll stay much longer.

When I am in her, time stretches to infinity and there is no end or beginning to us. But at all other times, there is a feeling of futility. Like we are running out of time. Is it us as a couple or is it her as a mortal?

I pour myself another glass of whiskey. I know I shouldn’t be drinking. After one of our trysts, I become melancholy and philosophical. My inner poet emerges. Drinking doesn’t help, but I need something to focus on besides her. Anything, really, to help me through the long days.


My life officially sucks.

After a restless sleep, filled with images of Spike, I worked all day in Doublemeat Hell. I come home, thinking to indulge in some quiet time. Maybe do some sisterly bonding, but my sister can’t stand to be in my presence. It hurts. I sacrificed myself for her and she would prefer to spend her nights away, with another family. My friends, trying to help, unknowingly make things worse. What had Xander said? “Slinging the doublemeat and pounding the big evil.” If he only knew.

And if he only knew that his words inspired longing rather than shame. What does it say about me that I would rather be with an evil, soulless vampire?

So here we are at the Bronze, trying to recapture what we’ve lost. The indomitable Scooby gang is imploding. We’re all pretending that we’re happy, that we’re all having a good time. Willow is unnaturally bright, hiding behind a happy façade. The cheeriness of Xander and Anya seems off. Almost forced. I wonder if there is trouble brewing there? And me? I am hiding more than the others. We are fracturing, and at this point I really don’t care.


She’s here with her ‘friends’. They remind me of the mimes in New York. The ones who stand perfectly sill, only changing positions when someone puts money in their hats. When they think no one is looking at them, they turn to stone. Their faces only become animated when others are looking. It’s creepy. It’s also a sad state of affairs when I am more alive than them.

But Buffy can break through. I’ve seen her do it. When she is with me, life pulses through her. It rises and crests within her. She is gloriously alive in my arms.

It humbles and excites me that I am the only one who can bring her back to life. Me, a vampire. A man, a thing, who lives in the shadows and never in the sunshine. I bring the light out in her.


Thank god they’re all dancing. I thought I would scream if I had to hear Xander and Anya talk about the wedding one more time or hear Willow lay another subtle guilt trip on me. Why can’t she take care of herself? Why do I have to do it?

I can’t do this. I hate this life.

So many people. I can’t breathe. I have to get out of here. I need to escape. But to where? Is anywhere safe anymore? An unbidden image of Spike’s crypt comes to mind. I push it away. I could have chosen earlier tonight to demur, but I didn’t. I agreed to come to the Bronze, so here I will stay. But not here at the table. I don’t want them to come back. I don’t want to have to make more small talk. And I hate that I don’t want to be with my friends.


My poor little kitten is all alone at the table. Her friends have once again run off. I watch her from the shadows. I want to go to her. I want to erase that vacant look from her face.

Should I go to her? She probably wouldn’t appreciate being seen with me, but how can I leave her? I want to hold her. I want to make it all better. I want her to be alive again.

She’s up and moving now. Perhaps she’s heading out. I can meet her there. No, she’s on the way to the bar. And she walks away again which is good, as I really don’t want to deal with a drunken slayer tonight.


Where to go? It seems everywhere I turn, there are people. The bar is too crowded. The bathrooms are out. They’re cramped and after a busy night, they’re dirty. I look around. I smile. I know where to go.


She’s looking around as if she is lost. She’s so beautiful. My poor little lost kitten.

Her face haunts me even as she smiles. She’s moving again. This time with purpose.

I watch as she approaches the stairs that lead to the catwalk. Her movements are unconsciously sensual. The black lace skirt conforms itself to her every curve as her hips sway. The silky white sleeveless shirt hugs her body, emphasizing her breasts. There is something black around her neck. Is it the scarf? No, I don’t think so. But it’s close enough that it couldn’t have been a coincidence. Was she thinking about me when she dressed for tonight?

Anyone watching her would see a small, fragile woman. But they don't know her like I do. Beneath the vulnerability is strength. I watch the way her calves flex with every step. I can see the muscles beneath the smooth skin. She is dangerous. She is a hunter.

I look up at the catwalk. It’s virtually deserted tonight, which is odd. Perhaps the fates are on our side for once. She’s pulling herself away from the herd. Is she up there to lure unsuspecting vamps to her? Or is she waiting for me? Does she sense me the way I sense her? Does she know I am here? Does she know I am watching her?

Should I follow? Of course I will. I, too, am a predator.


Ah freedom. Breathing space. I lean over the railing. It all looks surreal up from up here. The bodies gyrating on the dance floor, the strobe lights. I feel like I am a solitary creature looking at it from a distance…but I am not alone.

“You see? You try to be with them. But you always end up in the dark. With me.”

“Spike.” The name leaves my lips on an exhalation of breath. He’s standing behind me. I sensed his presence here earlier. I could feel his eyes on me, following my every movement.

Did I want him to follow me? I don’t know. What I do know is that my body is clenching in anticipation, yet I feel the most relaxed I’ve been this evening.

He stands close, but he’s not touching me. He says my name. His breath tickles my ear and raises goose bumps on my arm. I want to step back into his embrace. I want this so badly it frightens me. So I don’t move, except to clutch at the railing.

He raises his arm to my shoulder, trailing his hands lightly down my arm—so lightly that I can barely feel it. I suck in a breath. I shouldn’t want him, but god help me, I do.

I stare at my friends on the dance floor. They are oblivious to what is happening up here. He notices where my gaze is.

“What would they think of you? If they found out all the things you've done.” His hand moves from my waist to the front of my thigh, fingers sweeping upwards. “If they knew who you really were...”

His fingers are a hairsbreadth from my center. They feel so good. I don’t want him to ever stop, but we’re at the Bronze. We’re on the catwalk in plain view. We can’t do this here. “Don’t.” The word comes out much less forcefully than I intended.

His fingers brush my mound and I gasp. He presses his body against mine and whispers, “Stop me.”

His hand slowly travels up my body, lightly skimming my torso, my breast, my collarbone. His hand comes to rest at my neck. He fingers the necklace. “I like this. It reminds me of the scarf I gave you. Did you wear this for me?”

His voice, his beautiful voice, a rough whisper, sends shivers throughout me. “Did you? Did you wear this for me, kitten?”

That one word, ‘kitten’, brings me back to last night in his crypt. The feel of his body as he surrounded me, caressed me, filled me. I want him. I want those feelings back. I press against him, feeling his erection at my back.

“Yes. I wore it for you.”


She wore this for me. This entire outfit, not just the necklace, is for me. Me! I have found my eden on the catwalk of the Bronze. I had thought to arouse her with some foreplay, entice her to come back to my crypt with me, but I don’t think I can wait that long.

“My lovely girl.” My hands are at her shoulders again. She likes it when I run my fingers along her arms. “You look so beautiful. I could just eat you up.” I can tell my words are having an effect on her as both her breath and her heartbeat quicken.

My lips move to the back of her neck. Another sensitive spot. “Do you like this? Do you like the way I make you feel?” My hands move from her shoulders to her breasts. Her breath catches as I lightly caress her nipples. I can feel them pressing against the fabric of her top. She’s not wearing a bra. My naughty Slayer. “Do you want me to stop?”

She pauses, and then thrusts herself forward into my hands. “Don’t stop.” She swallows a moan as I pinch her nipples and rub against her.

If anyone looks up, they will see my hands on her breasts. I almost wish someone would. I want them to see me possessing her. I want them to see the look of ecstasy that is on her face when I touch her.

My hands move lower, over her abdomen and to the apex of her thighs. I caress her through her skirt. Another soft moan. She’s moving, pressing into my hands and then back into me. I tighten my hands and pull her hips to me. She gasps my name.

“What do you want, love? Do you want me to continue? Do you want me to stop?”

One of her hands reaches between us and grasps my erection through my jeans. “Don’t you dare stop.”

I groan. I can’t help it. The feel of her hand on me is driving me crazy. I can’t wait any longer.

I move my hands around to her back and reach under her skirt. Even in the dim lighting, I can see the blush that rises to the surface when I discover she’s not wearing any underwear. “My wicked Slayer,” I whisper as with one hand, I caress her ass, and with the other I reach between her legs. She is so wet for me. Soft mewling noises emerge from the back of her throat as I run my fingers along her. She’s moving against my hand. I am so hard at this point that I *really* can’t wait any longer.

“Undo my pants.” My voice comes out as a harsh whisper, an echo of how it usually sounds. The hand that had been clutching the railing reaches behind her to join her other hand. She quickly unbuttons my pants. She pushes them down a bit so that I spring free. I growl as she takes me in her hands.

“Now. It has to be now.” She nods in mute assent. “Lean forward, love, and tilt your hips back.” I hate the absence of her hands on me as she reaches for the railing again, but I am assuaged by the fact that I will be in her any second now.

With one hand, I hold her hip, while with the other I guide myself into her. I lose any semblance of control as soon as I feel my tip entering her wetness. I thrust all the way into her in one hard stroke. We both pause. The pleasure is so intense that I’m afraid that I am going to come right then and there if I move.


Oh god. He feels so good. But he’s not moving. I need him to move. A whimper escapes me as I press back onto him. He groans and flexes.

“Please Spike. Don’t stop.”

“No, love. I won’t ever stop.”

He begins thrusting in shallow movements. I arch back against him. His hands reach forward and caress my breasts.

My head falls forward. My eyes, which have been closed, open. They slowly focus on the crowd below us. Oh god! I’m at the Bronze. My friends are still dancing and I’m up here, with Spike inside me. I stiffen. I can’t believe I’m doing this. This isn’t me, is it?

“Stay with me love.” Spike of course notices my reaction.

“Spike, we’re…”

“Yes,” he whispers in my ear. “We’re up here. We’re away from them all. We’re above them.” His mouth nibbles on the skin on my neck. “We are the strong ones. Day after day you work to save them all. Isn’t it time you were rewarded?”

“Yes,” I whisper helplessly.

“And I’m your reward, right?”

Is he? Is he my reward? I give them my all. I work tirelessly to save them. I’ve sacrificed myself for them. Isn’t it time I got something back? He thrusts harder into me. The pleasure is intense. “Yes, Spike.”

“Yes what love?”

“Yes, you’re my reward.”

He groans and pinches my nipples. I want to scream, but I can’t. People would notice, my friends would notice. I swallow the scream and close my eyes.

“No. Don't close your eyes.” His voice is seductive, his breath cool against my neck. “Look at them. That's not your world. You belong in the shadows... with me. Look at your friends... and tell me you don't love getting away with this right under their noses.”

I watch my friends. They are oblivious. Not only tonight, but for several weeks now. They have no idea that I find pleasure -- screaming, mind- blowing -- pleasure with a vampire.

“Yes, oh yes,” I hiss. And I realize I do.

One of his hands moves from my breast and slips beneath the front of my skirt. His finger rubs against me in time with his thrusts and I forget all about my friends.

“Come for me baby. I want to feel you come for me.” His thrusts grow harder, shorter. I am so close. I want this so badly. I press against him and I explode.


I feel her muscles clench around me as she reaches her peak. Her orgasm sets off my own, and suddenly I’m falling. I can feel it clear through to my bones. It seems that every time I’m with her I come harder and longer than ever before. Tonight is no exception.

We both shudder and gasp as we come to rest. I’m leaning heavily on her, and I don’t want to move. Her breathing and heartbeat slow, and I relax with her. Slowly and gently I pull. I right myself and smooth her skirt back in place. She is still leaning heavily on the rail, and her body shudders as I run my hands over her.

She looks up at me, her eyes wide. I wrap my arms around her, holding her tightly. She shivers in my embrace, but she doesn’t push me away. I don’t want this night to end. And perhaps neither does she.

“Come home with me.”


“Come home with me.”

The words are enticing. They lull me. I want to go with him, but I know I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be doing any of this. It’s all wrong. What has happened to my life? Why is it that the rough whisper of a vampire makes the most sense to me?

I watch my friends as they dance frenetically on the floor below. They haven’t noticed I’ve been gone. The lyrics of a song came to mind. ‘Some dance to remember, some dance to forget.’ All of them were dancing to forget. What gives them the right to seek solace when I can’t?

I want to forget too. I’ve had enough of pain. I want it gone, if only for a while. If they can forget for a while, why can’t I? Does it really matter what form my dance takes?

I’ve made my decision. I look up at Spike and whisper, “Yes.”

A/N: Many, many thanks to my wonderful betas: Moose, Ellen and Alanna!

Chapter 4, Part 1 - Chocolate

The wait seems interminable. I agreed to meet her outside so she could tell her friends she was leaving, but it's already been fifteen minutes and she still hasn't come out. Perhaps her friends have talked her into staying, or more likely she's changed her mind.

Five ciggies in fifteen minutes.

Maybe a few more minutes before I leave. Or should I stay and wait? Great, she's making me sound like a bad cover of The Clash. I have such plans for us if she would only show up.


Why won't they accept that I'm tired and I want to go home? Ok, that's a lie, but they don't know that. To them, I've been working all day, and I had a bad emotional moment with my sister. So why wouldn't I want to go home?

Of course, if they knew that I'd just had sex with a member of the undead and am planning on going back to his crypt for a lot more sex, then I could understand them complaining. But they don't know that.

"Look guys. I'm beat, and you all are having a great time. I don't want to bring you down."

Willow immediately jumped into the breach, trying to placate me. "You're not bringing us down. We're all here making with the merry! See, I have on my happy face!"

"I know, Will. But, see, I'm wearing my tired face. And I don't see it turning merry any time soon."

God, would this conversation ever be over? Why do I have to explain my every action? I just want to go home. Well, go home with Spike.

We continue to talk around the issue except Anya though. She really doesn't care one way or the other. Sometimes I like her more than my best friends. I finally convince them that I really am tired, and no, I don't mind going home alone, and I will see them tomorrow.



One more cigarette and then I'm definitely leaving. Obviously she's not going to -

"You're here." Trying for relaxed nonchalance, and probably failing. I know my limitations.

With advent of the instamatic camera, in the early seventies, Dru and I spent many happy hours taking pictures of each other. She loved to capture my different facial expressions and it gave me a chance to see which ones worked and which didn't. And now Buffy stands before me, and her smirk is eerily reminiscent of mine. "You didn't think I was going to show, did you?"

Oh ho. Two can play at this game. Extending my arms out from my side and turning in a circle, I say, "Would you miss out on this? I don't think so."

She snorts, which is never a pretty sound, but I soon forget to care as she pushes me against the alley wall, her mouth attacking mine. The kiss is voracious. The desire, which had abated slightly, has returns in full force. I want to slam her against this wall and have her here, listening to her screaming her pleasure to anyone within hearing distance.

She pulls away, tugging on my hand. "Crypt. Now."

No complaints here. Hand in hand, we race across Sunnydale, black and white figures streaking through the night. There is freedom here, and laughter and joy. These are the things I want from her.

We reach my crypt and as soon as we cross the threshold, she is in my arms; her legs wrapped tightly around my hips, her hands tugging at my hair and her lips kissing mine. I try to move us across the room, but furniture and columns keep getting in my way. I had wanted to take her down to my bed, but here is as good a place as any.


I can't get enough of him. I want to dive deeper, embracing my freedom. Dawn is at a friend's house, so no worries there. I don't have to be a sister or a friend tonight. I can throw off the shackles of responsibility and just have fun!

He moans as I draw back and set my feet on the ground. I walk away from him, my hips swaying. I feel saucy and seductive. Looking at him over my shoulder, I say, "I thought we might use the bed tonight." His eyes light up, and he is by my side before I can blink.

"Whatever you want, kitten." A voice filled with erotic promise. I climb down the ladder in what I hope is a graceful and seductive manner. He doesn't bother with it, simply jumping down to the lower level. He lands in front of me and walks me back towards the bed. "What does my lady desire tonight?"

Biting my lip, and peering at him through my eyelashes, I think about his question. What do I want? Hmm. "What do I want?" Suddenly I know. Throwing my arms in the air, laughing, I allow myself to fall back on the bed. "I want smut, smut, smut!"

A wide, happy smile covers his face. "Smut I can definitely do." A startled yelp escapes me as he pounces on me. He peppers my face with small kisses, which elicit a joy I haven't felt in ages. It forms in my stomach and bubbles forth, pouring out of my mouth as laughter.

He rolls off me and rummages around in the corner.

"Aha!" he exclaims, as he pulls a box out and sets it on the bed.

Curious, I peer into the box. I sit back stunned. "Umm. Wow. That's, ah, quite a collection you have there."

"Now don't be shy, kitten. Take a peek. Pick out what you like. I got them all just for you."

"What I like?" My voice comes out much squeakier that I had wanted. Tentatively, I move closer. With Spike's continuing encouragement, I blindly reach in and grab the first thing. An 'eep' escapes me when I see what I am holding in my hand. I had no idea that there were such things out there.

"Is this what I think it's for?" My voice embarrassingly rises an octave. "Just what do you think it is?" He gives me his standard bad boy look, the one I can't ever seem to resist.

"Um, I think I know where this part goes, but what am I supposed to do with it? I mean you wouldn't, um, want me to do that to you? Would you? I didn't think you were into that kind of thing. You know, with Dru and Harmony, I just figured that." I sit back, unable to form the proper words. Are there people out there who can discuss things like this without stammering and blushing?

"Listen love, there's nothing that I wouldn't want to do with you." Yes, but this? "Why don't you see what else is in there."

"Yeah, I think that's a good idea." Definitely a good idea, I mumble to myself. Of course, he hears me, stupid vamp hearing. His chuckle follows me as I reach into the box again and find myself staring at a.vibrator? "Spike, what do you need one of these for?"

"It's not for me. It's for us. Or more specifically, for you."

"But why would we need it if there are two of us?"

He sighs dramatically. "The guys you've been with really haven't taught you anything, have they?" Wrapping a strand of my hair around his finger, he tugs me closer to him. "Lucky you though. We're going to have a grand old time."


I wish I had had a camera to record her face when she looked into the box. I'm surprised she hasn't asked me where I got all these things. Perhaps once the shock wears off she will. And will I tell her the truth? Will I tell her that I did a little unauthorized, late night browsing at Adam and Eve? Maybe not. But I can at least assure her they're all new and have never been used.

She wants smut? Fun? Playtime? I can give all of those to her. But where to start? The Nexus seems to have shaken her. I need to soothe her, lull her into a feeling of comfort.

I am inherently a hunter, a predator. I watch, perceive weaknesses and then attack. I will have her desires and fears laid bare for me. She will not be able to hide beneath a cloak of indifference.

Bloody hell, I sound like William. My consolation is that he would never have known what to do with a willing woman in his bed.

She's lounging on the sheets, staring up at me. Her lashes veil her eyes, but the look is intense. I forget that she, too, watches and hunts.

I grab the box and put it on the floor, out of her view, deliberately trying to relax her. "I think we'll start somewhere else, love. But first, I do believe that one of us has on too many clothes." I run my finger along the neckline of her shirt. "Why don't we remedy that?"

My hands slide down her torso and grip the hem of her shirt. Slowly I pull the fabric up and off. She arches her back to assist me, which conveniently puts her breasts near my face. She pouts a bit when I don't take advantage of their proximity. I guide her onto her stomach so I can remove her skirt.

I sigh at the expanse of skin before me. Her back is a map of the desert. Her vertebrae are ripples in the sun washed sand, her shoulder blades are dunes. Her muscles undulate when I touch her, causing the landscape to swell and shift. I could get lost here, never missing what I had left behind.

Her skin peeks through as I lower the zipper of her skirt. It is this part of her body, the small of her back, that I love the most. This slight concavity is practically virginal territory. Few have seen it, touched it; most probably never think about it. But I do. And with my lips and tongue, I claim it as my own.

She is gloriously naked as I urge her onto her back again, but she's so still beneath me. At first, I'm afraid that she has pulled inward, disappearing into her silent shell. But it's not that at all. Her mouth is open slightly, her tongue darting out at intervals to moisten her lips. Her breathing is increasingly rapid, her eyes, glassy with desire.

All this and we've barely begun. What a night it's going to be!


He kisses me softly. "Stay here, love. Don't move." Right, like I was going to. I feel exposed lying here on his bed, my arms and legs positioned just so. I once saw a show on Picasso's models, how he would pose and then paint them. The idea sounded so exotic that I wanted to run off to Spain or France and live on wine and bread and cheese. And now here I am in the bed of the undead. He has spent in inordinate amount of time laying my arms out so that my hands are near my head with one leg bent, and the other extended. Did Picasso do the same thing? This is the closest, I think, that I'll ever come to those countries and that carefree life.

He has this look about him. Something's up. Ooh, bad pun, Buffy! He's moved to his microwave and has put something in to heat. It had better not be blood. That is most definitely not the sort of foreplay I'd envisioned.

"What are you doing?"

As the microwave hums, he walks back towards me, hypnotically removing his clothes. I bet he could make a fortune stripping. I know I'd be happy to slip a few dollars into his g-string.

"It's a surprise," he tells me. "You are going to love this, kitten." His voice is husky, full of wordless promises. I believe him.

The microwave finishes its cycle, and he walks over and removes something that looks like a ceramic jar. He dips his finger in it and swirls it around. His finger comes out coated in something dark, but I can't tell what it is. He moves his finger to my lips, rubbing gently, seeking entrance. I open my mouth and his finger slips in. I suck on it and the taste explodes on my tongue. Oh my God! Is that what I think it is?

"Like that, love?"

"Mmm. Chocolate."

"Not just chocolate. Belgian chocolate. Want some more?" I nod my head yes.

With his eyes on me, he dips his finger again, but this time brings it to his own mouth. I am entranced by the way his lips close around his finger. Wait! What about me? I want more. He must have read my mind because he leans over me, placing his mouth on mine, his tongue sliding along mine, coating it in chocolate. I moan in chocolate induced ecstasy. I suck on his tongue, trying to capture every last bit.

Mmm. This gives new meaning to 'chocolate kisses'. Leaning back, he smiles at me. "More?"

"Oh, yes."

Chuckling, he asks, "More of the chocolate or more of me?"

Tough decision. "Can't I have both?"

"Greedy. I like that in a woman. Now I want you to just lie back and think of England."

Huh? "Huh?"

"Sorry love, old saying. Now just lie back and let ol' Spike here take care of you." He lifts what looks like a Chinese calligraphy brush from his nightstand. Huh? He dips it in the chocolate and brings it to his mouth, licking it clean.

"Do you know any Neruda?" he asks me.


"Neruda. Famous poet. Very erotic." The brush is back in the jar and he's swirling it around. "He writes of love and passion."


"I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair," he quotes.

He removes the brush and lowers it to my body. The chocolate is deliciously warm against my skin. I look down and see that he is writing something diagonally across my stomach. I follow the letters and realize that the word 'crave' now decorates my skin. Oh!

"Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets."

His voice is low and seductive as the word 'prowl' is drawn on my inner arm. The soft bristles on the brush play across my skin.

"Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps."

His eyes, filled with such intense desire, burn into mine. He beckons me, calling me forth to join him as he writes 'hunt' across my right breast.

"I hunger for your sleek laugh, your hands the color of a savage harvest"

'Hunger' across my left breast. 'Savage' on my lower stomach right above my pubic bone. I can't help but feel the words are appropriate. My lover is sleek and savage. My lover. The word tumbles in my mind and resonates like the chocolate on my tongue. My lover, not my boyfriend. The term boyfriend implies sweet kisses and happy smiles. Lover, on the other hand, suggests darker desires.

Somehow in the span of time from our first kiss to now, I have leapt from childhood to.what? Adulthood? Do other people do this? Are they filled with an all-consuming need as their 'lover' draws words of desire in chocolate on their skin?

"Hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,

I want to eat your skin like a whole almond."

'Eat' is drawn on my other arm. I watch as the brush moves on my skin. My body trembles at the sensation.

"I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,

the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,

I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes."

'Lovely' graces the skin under my breasts. He tugs on his bottom lip as he slowly brushes the word on my skin. I do feel lovely. And cherished under his careful ministrations.

"And I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,

hunting for you, for your hot heart,

Like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue."

'Hungry' is drawn on my left inner thigh, 'hunting' on the right one. The words are no longer just letters put together. They are brands, which sear my skin, seeping through to my blood, altering it. Making it more like his.

He sits back with a satisfied look on his face. "That, my dear, is Neruda."


She swallows and says casually, "Great poet." She lies languorously in my bed, my masterpiece drawn on her body. "Although that whole bit about the eating my skin like an almond. Can I just say 'ewww.'"

Her eyes are lambent and her lips wanting. I can't help myself; I dip my finger into the chocolate and bring it to her mouth. She sucks vigorously. I wonder if I were to coat other parts of my body in chocolate, would she react the same way? Definitely something to try later.

She looks so beautiful and wanton, stretched out on my bed. I would love to take a picture of her like this, to capture the memory of this moment for eternity. But I don't think she'd agree. In fact, I think she would have some very strenuous objections. Oh well, it was just a thought.

I crawl over her, my body a hairsbreadth away from hers. "Now comes the fun part."

"The fun part?"

"Now I get to lick you clean."

Her mouth opens in a silent "O" and I can't resist moving in for a kiss. Our lips meet hungrily, but I draw back as her body arches towards me. Don't want to smear my work. At least not yet.

Our eyes locked, I bring my mouth to her left arm. Her head falls back and she moans as I slowly lick the chocolate off of her. I shift to her other arm, my tongue touches her skin, and she releases my name on a sigh.

Unable to resist, I move back to her mouth and kiss her again. Her tongue rubs against mine, capturing all the last traces of chocolate.

I slide down her body to just below her breasts. Her body hums as my mouth moves against her. I can feel her blood rising to the surface, enhancing the taste of her skin. Such a beautiful combination.

"Please, Spike." Her voice is a whisper and I smile. I love hearing her call my name, begging me for pleasure. My mouth moves to her breast, and I carefully lick every bit of chocolate from her skin, leaving her nipple woefully unattended. A sorrowful whimper reaches my ears.

I say her name and when her eyes meet mine, I extend my tongue, lightly licking her nipple. Her gasp is my reward. I cover the bud with my mouth and suck greedily. She undulates beneath me, her body trying to press against mine. I pull back, knowing that if I give in now, the game will be lost. I will be sunk in the depths of her desire.

Moving to her other breast, I repeat the same process. She cries out 'oh God!' but there is no god here but me. I am in command of her pleasure.

"No, no more." Her head thrashes on the pillow and her voice is plaintive, on the edge of distress. I move up her body, lying on my side, facing her. My fingers stroke the sensitive skin between her breasts, attempting to soothe her.

She looks at me with wide, desire filled eyes. Her pupils are dilated, her color high on her skin, her lips parted and trembling.

"What's wrong, kitten?"

"It''s just." Her hesitant voice squeezes my heart. This is my Slayer. She should be strong, confident, not trembling. Her eyes fill and I capture, with my mouth, a salty tear, that escapes from the corner of her eye. "It's." There is a new catch in her voice, and she presses her lips together to stifle a sob.

"Shh, love." I lay my hand on her forehead, and stroke down her cheek. She turns her head, her lips pressing against my palm.

"It's so much. What I feel, what I want." Her eyes are imploring. "I'm scared." The words are whispered in the tone of a young girl, afraid of the dark. Was she this child once? Did she curl up at night, worrying about the nasties under the bed? Was the confidence and strength I see in her, won on a battlefield of chemically enhanced grass and marble headstones?

I know how hard it was for her to say this. We're both fighters. One moment of weakness, and either of us could lose our edge and our lives. This anguished voice reminds me that she is nearly an innocent. Who among her previous lovers has ever taken the time to teach her to embrace her desires?

What words can I utter to assuage her fears and doubts? If ever there was a time when William the Bloody Poet was needed to make a grand entrance, it is now. What words could he capture from the heavens that would comfort her. Honestly, I don't know. William is not here, only I am.

My hand caresses her forehead, her eyes, her nose, her lips. "Here in this bed, with me, you're free. You can take anything you desire, have everything you want. There are no boundaries for us. We strive, we seek, we find and we do not yield."

Her face is set in a moment of indecision, and then a small smile plays at the edges of her mouth. I relax into my own smile, my mouth teasing hers. The kisses become harder, more frantic, as her desire returns.

My mouth resumes its journey, traversing her skin in wanton kisses. I reach the word 'savage' and begin to lick my work. Her hips arch, unconsciously trying to urge me lower. All in good time.

My head moves between her legs and they fall open, welcoming me. "I hunger for you," I murmur against her inner thigh. Her head thrashes and frantic sounds escape her lips. She freezes as my face brushes her center, and then moans as I continue to her other thigh. The scent of her arousal intoxicates me and all I want to do is drink deeply of her.

"Spike, please." I suck on the tender skin before me, which elicits another moan. "Please, I need you. Don't make me wait any longer." Her litany of words washes over me and I succumb.

I turn my face back to her center and inhale her fragrance. My tongue extends and licks her gently. Another moan and then she is pushing herself against my face, begging for more. Who am I to deny her? Gone is any sense of delicacy. I am feasting on her with lips and tongue. My mouth captures that wonderful little bundle of nerves that has no purpose except to bring her pleasure. Her body arches, her cries reaching a crescendo. She freezes and then she comes against my face, my mouth absorbing every last bit of her. This is far more delicious than the chocolate, even if it is from Belgium.

Her hands are in my hair, tugging me towards her. I rise up and slam into her. I can never seem to enter her slowly. Always by this point, I am frantic with my own need. I am flexing and thrusting within her, my mouth ravaging hers. I swallow her cries, my own falling into her mouth. Her legs tighten around me and I can feel her muscles beginning to spasm around me. My movements grow harder, more erratic. All I can think about is joining her. Her mouth tears away from mine, and she screams my name as she reaches her climax. I rear back, thrusting wildly, various curses escaping my mouth. Yes, yes. At long last, I am here. Her name explodes from my lips as my body finds its release within her.

I collapse on top of her, my harsh pants matching her own. Several 'oh gods' escape me and I laugh, remembering when I declared myself her god. I had it wrong. She is my deity, and I will be happy to worship her forever.

"That was!"

I smile as I cover her face in grateful kisses. "Yes, kitten, it was wow!"

She stretches beneath me and I move off her, leaving my leg and arm to anchor her to my bed and body. Her hand traces my cheeks and lips.

Her voice is a lazy whisper as she asks, "How are we ever going to top this?"

"Don't worry, love," I tell her. "I have plans for us."