White Magic

She promised him that it would never happen again – that from that point on, she would accept his "no" as final when he gave it – that she would not again abuse the trust he placed in her, every time he lay down for her and allowed her to bind him to the bed. 

And she didn't – for a while. 

Her ultimate power and his desperation and helplessness that night seemed to have opened something up inside the Slayer – something dark and primal and sinister – and now, although she mostly held to the promise she had made, she continuously played around the edges of it.  

She would hesitate, when he voiced his objection to something she was doing, or wanted to do – waiting just long enough, meeting his gaze with that predatory, challenging gleam in her eyes, to make him wonder whether or not she was going to keep her promise.

Then, just when he was firmly, despairingly convinced that she was going to have her own way, regardless of what he wanted – she would relent. 

"You know I won't do anything you don't want me to, Baby," she would purr in a soft, consoling voice that was not the least bit reassuring – not when he was still chained to the bed, and utterly at her mercy. 

She usually seemed satisfied just to have made her point – that she *could* do to him whatever she chose to do. 

And in those moments when she slammed her way into his crypt – in a smaller, subtler way, yet again demonstrating her power – Spike began to feel an odd unsettled, apprehensive feeling, combining deep in his stomach with the arousal that he always felt at her arrival – until he wasn't sure whether he wanted more: for her to stay, or to go. 

One night about three weeks after the violation she had committed, and her promise never to do it again – Spike once again saw that dark, predatory glow in her eyes as she threw open his door and stalked across the room to him, gripping his wrists in her hands and shoving him back against the wall beside his refrigerator, as the bag of blood he had been taking from it fell to the floor with a wet, breaking splash. 

Her lips fell on his, hungrily, as if she would devour him completely – and Spike was not completely sure that she had not devoured him already. 

As usual, she guided their actions, leading him to the bed and pushing him down on it under her – but when she reached for the chains, now permanently attached to his bedposts...something in Spike broke with a feeling of panic, as if some part of him recognized the danger that lay in giving her so much control tonight. 

Tonight – something was different. 

"Wait," he whispered, pushing up against her, and though she did not release her restraining grip on his wrist, the hand reaching for the chain froze, as she looked down at him with an impatient question in her expectant eyes.  

A nervous, uncertain smile on his lips, Spike continued softly, "Why don't we -- *not* use those tonight, love? I mean – why don't you just – let me make love to you, Buffy? No toys – no games...just...me and you..." There was an earnestness, a longing in his voice that surprised even him, as he voiced honestly what he wanted from her – what he had *always* wanted from her. 

The Slayer studied his expression for a long moment in amused surprise, before she laughed softly. "Now where's the fun in that, Baby?" she murmured against his throat, her teeth closing lightly over the marks of his turning, causing his body to arch under her, as his erection leapt against her stomach.

She giggled low in her throat as she reached up for the chains again. 

The sense of warning bordering on panic grew stronger, dampening Spike's desire, as he tried to pull his wrist away from her, protesting more insistently, "*No*!" 

The Slayer looked at him with a wide-eyed expression of innocent surprise – though she smiled slightly with amusement as his position on his back, and lack of leverage, made his struggles ineffectual. 

"No, Buffy," he repeated, softer, going still and holding her gaze, willing her to see how much he meant what he was saying. "Not tonight. I don't want that," he stated firmly. 

The amusement left her eyes, and the slight hint of derisive disgust he saw in them made him look away. 

"Okay." 

He looked back up again, surprised by the light acceptance in her voice – and was surprised to see that she was smiling. 

"Okay?" he echoed uncertainly. 

"Okay," she affirmed, nodding before leaning down to kiss his lips, slowly, thoroughly. As she pulled back, she leaned in to whisper against his ear, "We won't do anything you don't want to do, Baby. All you have to do is tell me if you want me to stop – you know that..." 

There was a steadily growing part of him that really did *not* know that. 

And it was about to be proven right. 

Buffy's hand left the shackle she had been reaching for, instead trailing down his abdomen, between their bodies, to close firmly around his aching member. Soon, she had him so lost in the sensations she was creating in him, that he did not even notice when her hand left his wrist – did not notice as she raised up slightly over him... 

Didn't notice anything, in fact – until he felt the shackle on the left bedpost closing around his right wrist. 

His eyes flew open wide, as he looked up at her in shocked disbelief. "Buffy..." 

"Shhh," she whispered with a teasing smirk, placing her finger against his lips as she leaned over the side of the bed, reaching for something underneath it. 

He pulled away from her hand at his mouth, intent on being heard. "No, Buffy, listen to me! I told you..." 

His words were suddenly cut off as she shoved something into his mouth, holding it there firmly even as he struggled to pull away from it. The Slayer's expression lost its amusement, becoming darkly intent and determined, as she placed one of her knees on his free arm, rendering it useless, while her other knee rested on his chest, and her hands were busy strapping the offending item – a ball gag, he recognized now, and when exactly had she managed to get it under his bed? – on tightly, fastening it behind his head. 

Even as he tossed his head wildly in an attempt to dislodge it, and writhed against the bonds that already held him, Buffy took his flailing arm in both of her hands, and fastened it to the other bedpost with the other shackle. 

"Now, Baby," she murmured in a falsely soothing voice, as she lowered herself back down the bed to meet his wide, panicked eyes. "Don't worry so much. You can trust me..." 

Something in her eyes, combined with the way she had so callously, utterly disregarded his wishes, made Spike's heart sink inside him with fear of what she might have planned for this evening. 

Buffy's smirk returned as she leaned down to whisper in his ear, "...if you want me to stop...all you have to do, is..." Her fingertips lightly traced the smooth, flat outside of the gag, as she finished in a soft breath of veiled menace, "...tell me."

 She slowly raised up over him, her knees now straddling his chest, as she smirked down at him for a moment, before getting up completely. 

Although he knew by now that she was not going to let him up – not until she had gained whatever satisfaction she was seeking from this frightening encounter – Spike still struggled to voice his protest around the thick, round object in his mouth. 

She ignored him as she knelt beside the bed, taking out, to his surprise, a small, black briefcase which he had never seen before. As she laid it down on the bed beside his waist, she looked up at him with a secretive smile. 

"You didn't even know this was here, did you?" she teased him, giving him a sly wink as she opened the case.  

He watched in rising apprehension as she dug around in the case for a few moments, out of his view, before looking up to meet his eyes with a cold smile of amusement – and his heart sank at the sound of her suggestive words. 

"You were saying something about – toys?" 

*********************************** 

"Spike? *Spike*!" 

The obviously very distracted blond vampire shook his head, shaking himself out of his grim thoughts, and looked over at where the Watcher sat at the table, across from where he was standing in the doorway – a bit awkwardly, and a lot uncomfortably. 

He wasn't sure if there was a single part of his body that was not sore today. 

"What?" he asked with none of his usual snark, still sounding very distracted. "Sorry, Watcher – wasn't listenin'." 

"Big surprise there," Xander remarked under his breath, rolling his eyes. "Why is he even here, anyway?" 

It wasn't any more than he was used to hearing from the boy, or the rest of the Scoobies for that matter – but at the moment, it was too much. 

It wasn't as if he *wanted* to be there! 

He wanted to be at home, in his crypt, sleeping the day away and allowing his body to heal from the abuse it had taken the night before – allowing his wounded dignity to come to terms with what had happened – but Buffy had told him to be at this meeting today, because Giles had some questions about the local demonic activity of late. 

So here he was. 

The confusion and depression that Spike had been experiencing ever since Buffy had left his crypt the night before suddenly turned to angry irritation, at the boy's derisive remarks, and he stood up straighter in the doorway – barely concealing a wince at the movement – and took a step toward Xander. 

"Got something to say, Whelp, you'd best say it out loud – so I *know* why I'm kicking your arse!" he growled. 

Xander's eyebrows rose in a challenge, and he laughed, though the sound was admittedly a bit high and nervous. "Please! As long as you've got that chip in your head, you can't touch me!" 

"Maybe not," Spike shrugged, his eyes flecked with gold as he stalked closer to the table, and Xander in particular. His game face roared forward as he braced his hands on the table and leaned in until his fangs were inches from the boy's face. A mocking smirk came over his face as he sneered, "But I *can* make you piss yourself – and that's right bloody satisfying, too." 

Xander leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes wide with fright, forgetting momentarily his own words seconds earlier about the chip – as the precise reaction that Spike had predicted overcame him. 

Spike hardly had time to enjoy his small victory, before a small but powerful hand locked onto his arm and flung him back away from the table, into the wall next to the door – and he bit back a cry of pain as he felt several wounds on his back re-open at the impact. 

Buffy had just come in from the training room – and she was clearly *not* pleased with what she had walked in on. 

"Let's get one thing straight, Spikey," she sneered, her voice soft, but still audible to the others, an angry light in her eyes of jade as they locked onto his, refusing to let him look away. "You are here *only* because Giles needs information that he thinks you might have..." 

"Right, then, got it, Slayer, just back off," he muttered, trying to push past her, and escape the oppressive nearness – which was at the moment bringing back far too many vivid images from the night before. 

"I'm not *finished*!"  

Buffy seized his arm and slammed him back again, her eyes narrowing in anger as she tightened her grip and leaned in closer to him. Spike struggled not to cry out, wondering if she had deliberately placed her hand on exactly the spot where she had given him a searing holy water burn the night before. 

He was fairly certain that it *was* deliberate. 

A cold, tight smile crossed her face at his barely perceptible wince of pain, as she twisted her hand just slightly on the burn, and went on, "You are not our friend, Spike. You are only alive because you are harmless." Her words were slow, calm, and clear, as if she was addressing a misbehaving two-year-old. "Now, I wouldn't try too hard to convince people that you're *not* harmless – because that just might change my mind about letting you live. Am I making myself perfectly clear?" 

There was a cold, secret triumph in her eyes – a vicious pleasure in his fear and discomfort that was a violation in and of itself – and Spike found that he had to look away. 

The disgust and hatred in her voice, which he was never fully convinced was just a show for her friends, now sounded more genuine than ever – and hurt twice as badly. The shame and hurt and loneliness of being the Slayer's "dirty little secret" was now combined with the fear and uncertainty of the second violation she had committed against his body, his heart – his *trust*. 

It was heartbreaking, knowing that as much as he loved her, the next time she came to him, he would have to turn her away. 

And it was frightening – knowing that he probably would not. 

"Yes," he relented grudgingly, his voice low to disguise a slight tremor that rose up in it against his will. As she released his arm, he jerked away from her in revulsion, adding under his breath, "Just don't bloody touch me!" 

As he went to move past her, Buffy suddenly moved in closer to him, blocking his escape. A lethally strong hand came to rest at his hip, pushing him forcefully back against the wall, and he felt a sharp shock of pain shoot up his spine at the impact to his tailbone – not to mention his bruised and battered rear end. 

The Slayer did not say another word – just stood there staring at him – her expression deadly serious for her friends' benefit...but with just the barest hint of a smirk at the corners, and her eyes were dancing with wicked mirth. 

The unspoken words were perfectly clear to Spike. 

*I'll touch you whenever I want to!* 

He could not hold her gaze for long, and when he looked away, she finally released him, sauntering smugly away from him and sitting down at the table beside her Watcher. 

"Can you just go ahead and ask him your questions already? I'm sick of putting up with him," she said with flippant dismissal. 

Spike felt his face flush with shame – and suddenly, he wanted to be anywhere in the world but here. 

He knew that he was unusually subdued and quiet as he quickly did his best to tell the Watcher what he wanted to know, easily identifying the strange demon the Watcher had seen the night before as one he had fought, but not killed, a few nights prior. He filled Giles in quickly on what it was called, and what he knew of its habits, strengths and weaknesses, before making the fastest exit he could manage. 

He pushed the door open, practically stumbling out into the street in his desperate haste to get away, fiercely rubbing at the stubborn tears that blinded him... 

...completely unaware of the troubled expression on the face of the blonde witch inside, as she watched him leave with a concern that she could not quite dare to show. 

Yet.