Not trusting Spike to stay within his assigned limits, Buffy kept her body taut even as her mind clouded with memories of her one and only night with Angel, and of recent stolen kisses that left her aching for more.
It was just her luck that she could never again be with the man she loved, but she could be with this, his polar opposite; a man-shaped nuisance she despised, one who returned her hate with equal intensity. Lots and lots of intensity...
Soon, all images of Angel were bumped out by unwelcome Spikes: replays of brutal fights; his hand running suggestively down his torso; the innuendo he always managed to point her way; his jaw tightening in determination; his hurried, careful thrusts...
It didn't help that Spike was breathing like he was enjoying this. She knew he didn't need to breathe, that it had to be based on recollection or habit, but she liked it.
She did hate Spike, really a lot, but she didn't so much mind that he was gazing at her like she was the only woman he ever wanted. Was this just his style, or did he actually want her?
Bigger question: did she want him?
As he slid in and out of her, watching her subtle facial reactions, telling him something inside of her was fully transitioning hate to lust, he couldn't help but go just a fraction deeper with each thrust. It wasn't his fault -- her ever-increasing wetness was practically sucking him in. Yeah, Slayer, let me in like you let me in your life. Reluctantly, subtly, undeniably. Let me in.
Forcing herself to look away -- Here, oh, good arms, and whoa, never noticed that chest -- she relaxed a bit, spreading her knees wider. Giving him better access.
Spike willed his hand to stay where it was, despite the growing desire to use it for other things. Wanted to use his mouth, too...
Enraptured by her new discovery, she tentatively brought her hands to his chest, feeling his muscles bulge and contract through the fabric of his t-shirt.
"Want me to take it off?" he whispered.
No, say no. "Okay."
With a quick smile, he disengaged for a moment to tug his shirt over his head. Watched her cover up her girlish swoon and commence the bare-chested fondling.
He yanked down his jeans and eased up the hem of her dress before realizing he needed permission. "Okay if I..."
She nodded quickly.
Pushed it up a bit more, exposing a triangle of neatly trimmed, light brown hair over glistening lips he wished he could kiss.
He took hold of his erection and guided it in again. When she didn't object to his former positioning, he nudged in a bit farther.
"Unh!" She grabbed his shoulders. "Too far!"
"Sorry, baby." He eased back and re-established a quick rhythm.
Comfort zone set, Buffy relaxed. She considered calling him on the 'baby' slip but let it go. As long as he didn't notice she liked it, everything was fine. Yeah. Just fine...
Spike could feel her desire mirroring his now. All he needed was a little physical response -- a hip shimmy, anything. Knew she had it in her. Just had to put away those pesky inhibitions.
There's an idea... He closed his eyes, kept them shut.
Gradually, he felt her ever so slightly begin to move beneath him, with him. That's it, baby, that's it...
Did she know he could go all night if he wanted to? And did she really want this over with right away? How much time did they have, anyway?
When she pinched his nipples, he ceased to care. He quickened the pace, arched and bowed, dipping just three inches of his cock in and out of her welling, suctioning entry, again and again...
She let her knees touch his hips, brought one foot down the back of his pantleg. "Mm..."
"Slayer," he whispered, opening his eyes to see her roll her head back on the pillow, sliding her tongue over her lips. "So fucking beautiful."
Panting, eyes wide, she pulled him down by the nape of his neck and surged against him, taking him all the way in.
He gasped. She gasped louder.
Their eyes locked.
"Buffy?" Giles called from the living room.
Her voice cracked when she yelled, "Fine, Giles!"
Spike reared back slightly and buried his cock to the hilt. Light burst behind his eyes. Nothing slicker, tighter... better in all the world. No one better suited for his bed either, because suddenly she was present, right there with him, undulating against him, craving him as he craved her.
"Slayer," he said possessively.
"Buffy," she corrected.
"Buffy, fuck," he whispered, and yanked her dress up to her breasts, tearing the fabric on the way. She tried pulling it further but it wouldn't budge -- so he ripped it in two, finally free to clasp his mouth over her nipple.
Moaning as quietly as she could, she wrapped her legs around his back, ran her feet up and down his thighs, sliding his jeans off with each downward motion. All the while, she pitched up to meet his pelvis, listening to the sound of their flesh meeting, the bed squeaking; feeling his tongue lash at her nipple, his cock filling her, his body enveloping hers, letting him take her, have her, right there, who cared...
He lifted his head to press his cheek against hers. "Buffy, Buffy, Buffy," he chanted, driving into her wildly, cupping a hand under her ass.
She stretched her arms up above her head, fingers touching the headboard.
He bent to lick and pinch and suck her other nipple.
"Oh, god, Spike!" So amazing... Amazingly amazing... The most... best... "Mm... mm, mm," she hummed as she... she was gonna... ohgod...
He felt her inner walls constrict, felt her nails dig into his back, her body tense up...
He covered her mouth to muffle her scream. The good kind. She bit into his hand.
A groan caught in his throat. The Slayer was biting him. Oh, fuck yes...
Emitting short, tethered moans of release, her body shook to its climax, her pussy wringing and strangling his cock, each expansion bringing with it more sweet come...
Even after she was spent, Spike could feel her exquisite little aftershocks.
My turn now. He wrapped his arms around her back, lifted her up off the bed and proceeded to fuck the hell out of her.
"Hunh! Hunh! Hunh!"
God, that sound, that body... this girl. He whispered feverishly, "Buffy! Buffy! Buffy! Fuck!" Finally, he jerked her close, holding her hips tightly as he let loose a primal roar.
Through her post-orgasmic haze, Buffy saw a bright light. She looked down her stomach at Spike -- it was emanating from the amulet.
Was it bad that she'd forgotten all about this part?
Just then, Spike began to contort, twist and scream -- not in ecstasy. In agony.
"Spike!" she gasped, trying to break free, make it stop.
It was no use -- they were stuck until the spell decided to unstick them.
A brilliant amber glow spiraled up her torso, lighting her from the inside out.
"You tricked me!" he wailed, falling out of her and off the bed.
That's when a searing pain grabbed her by the skull -- and all she could do was scream.
* * *
"Buffy!" Giles shook her awake.
She opened her eyes.
"Good lord," he said.
"Your eyes... they're, they're glowing."
"It worked?" she asked, holding the sheet Giles must have draped over her.
"Uh... it appears to have worked, yes."
She sat up and saw him on the floor, seizuring. Flinging the sheet aside, she ran to him to find that his eyes were sunken in, staring blankly, his body bluish-white and waif-thin. "Spike? Spike! Are you..."
"I don't think he can hear you, Buffy."
"Oh god," she stood up, quivering, hand over her mouth. Why do terrible things happen to every man I have sex with? "You didn't tell me this would happen! Why didn't you tell me this would happen?"
"I -- I didn't know. Honestly. But I suppose one must always assume that when there's a transfer of power, the donor is enervated--"
She grabbed him by his collar. "But it reverses, right? Tell me it reverses when I kill that Monolith motherfucker."
"Buffy, I fail to see the--"
"Dammit!" she stamped her foot. "Will it go away when I kill Grosh?"
"I'm not... quite sure." He looked frightened.
Stupid idiot. She wanted to wring his neck.
"Are you all right, Buffy?"
"All right? Oh, I'm great. This was the best idea ever." She released her hold on him.
"Buffy," he fingered his neck, "We need to get you to Grosh immediately. I don't like what this is doing to you."
"Because glowy eyes equals demon, right?"
"Well, that... and the fact that you've stomped a hole in my floor."
She looked down, and stumbled back. There was a depression in the rug where her foot had impacted.
He was right. Something was happening to her, changing in her. She wanted to destroy things. And not just the floor. "Giles? Let's go. Now."
* * *
"Ya big loser," Buffy eulogized, watching Grosh collapse into a dead heap.
As she wiped the remains of his heart from her hands, her body shook, her legs gave way, and she fell to the floor.
"Buffy!" Giles came running, watching amber light fly out of her body and up through the altar ceiling.
"I'm okay," she said. "Little nauseous."
He helped her up. "Ah, green."
"What?" she touched her face.
"Oh," she nodded. "I don't think glowy's really my color. I'm sorry, Giles, about the--"
He shook his head. "I'm proud of you, Buffy. You managed to avert an apocalypse without succumbing to the darkness that blasted spell obviously wrought."
"What was that, anyway?"
"I believe you were infused with the lifeforce of the demon. Not only Spike's demon, but its entire power source."
"Nifty. Book didn't mention that either, huh?"
He shook his head and smiled. "Ancients do enjoy being vague."
"Stupid ancients." She looked at him. "Giles? Please don't get the wrong idea, but I... I need to go back and--"
"See if Spike is all right."
* * *
Buffy ran up the steps and into Giles' bedroom. "Spike?"
No Spike. No clothes of Spike. Nothing but that obnoxious amulet on the bed.
He was gone.