She'd never felt this before, this electricity racing over her skin, blood blooming to the surface all over her body, hot and heady. Her head spun, trying to hold onto the implications of his admission, as Spike touched his mouth to her skin, still locked into the moment where there was nothing at all but skin and lips and trembling limbs. He dreamed it, too? Just a moment, and then she felt his mouth begin to open, and her brain finally, finally lurched out of stasis to shout at her:

Vampirevampirevampirevampire!

She raised her hands to finally push him, push him away from her throat, and felt him stiffen above her, hovering near her ear, his face buried in her hair. Waiting. What was he waiting for?

***
God, she felt like liquid fire, flushed and slick, igniting a terrible craving within him. Not for blood, though as he bent to press his lips against her throat, he could smell it, intoxicating and arousing. He couldn't think, for a moment wasn't sure it wasn't still a dream, opening his mouth to taste her, tongue running smoothly along her skin, nothing real except his desire, his need. Her hair flowed against his face, cornsilk-fine, full of fragrance. A spark of recognition finally penetrated the fog; he realized that her hair carried an older scent, not oranges or flowers, not sweat or desire. Darker, familiar somehow; it made his hackles rise, and pulled the beginnings of a growl from his chest. Angelus. She smelled of Angelus. His hands tightened against her. Goddamn it! He'd not have it, not again. Dru was his, and he didn't have to come second after mister-high-and-fucking-mighty Angelus any more.

Dru.

Oh, fuck. Dru. What the hell was he doing? He stiffened, suddenly, and realized with a start that the Slayer's hands had moved from his body, waiting. What was she waiting for?

Moving slowly, he raised his head, eyes still glazed, looking for the stake, finding only her empty hands, raised in a warding gesture. No death for me, he thought, wildly.

They stared at each other, frozen in shock, bodies still tight together, each waiting for the killing blow. Buffy groped for words, could only shake her head, desperately.

"Don't," Spike managed. "I – don't – " His face twisted with some strong emotion; Buffy couldn't tell what. Hatred? Lust? Need? She took a deep breath and said "Spike –"

What could they possibly say to each other? thought Buffy. "This isn't -" she licked her lips, staring into his eyes. "This shouldn't - we shouldn't".

"You think that fact's escaped me, Slayer?" His voice was strained, thick with emotion. "You don't think that I've grasped how incredibly perverse this is?" His body vibrated with tension, voice low and urgent. "Fuck, Slayer, I'm dreaming about you. Not about killing you, mind, not about - " He rested his forehead against hers, spoke softly. "Dreamed about burying my face between your legs, about sucking those perfect, sweet little tits of yours till you beg me to fuck you." She gasped, though whether from his language or the pictures her mind drew of his desire, he didn't know. He pressed his erection against her, drew back, eyes intent on hers. "This is what I've been dreaming, Slayer. You. I want you. God, you smell..." He closed his eyes, breathed her in, oranges and flowers and even the scent of Angelus overwhelmed by her musk. His hands itched from the remembered feel of her skin.

"You know," he said. "You dreamed it too, didn't you?"

He almost missed her whispered reply. "Yes," she said, and her body shook against his.

"What did you you dream? Tell me." He dropped one hand to her thigh, felt it give as he gently pushed it aside, pressing his thumb along the inside, rubbing circles on her flesh, feeling her muscles jump beneath his hand. So soft. "God," he groaned, "your skin..." The scent of her desire overwhelmed everything, moving in waves with the rhythm of his fingers along her thigh. How could it feel better than his dream? Smooth and sweat-cooled, and opening even further to him, inviting him in.

"Tell me," he whispered into her ear. "What did you dream?"

Soft lips plucked at her earlobe. "Tell me," he pleaded, silkily.

"This - oh, god - this." Her voice was lost to her own ears, swept under her roaring heartbeat. "Dreamed - I dreamed - kissing you, touching - Oh, Spike." She twisted, suddenly clutching his shoulders, pulling him against her. Spike lifted his head, sliding his lips over hers, sighing against her open mouth. "Like this, pet? Did I kiss you like this? Or..." He grabbed her face and kissed her, hard, tongue shoving roughly between her lips, till she shuddered, and broke free, gasping for breath. "Or more like that?" he asked. She couldn't answer, could only watch with half-lidded eyes as he smiled. "How did I touch you? Like this?" He slid one hand down, brushed it softly over her breast, though his second hand never left her thigh, moving in slow, upward circles, in time with the throbbing of her blood.

She gasped into his mouth, and Spike felt himself slip, knew the instant he lost it, lost control. He was drowning, the Slayer, no, the girl strong and vibrant and real, touching him, kissing him, surging against him as his mouth slid over her neck, her jaw.

"Did I touch you like this?" He shoved up her shirt, following his urgent caresses with soft, moving kisses, making her twist against him. Slid his other hand inside her pajama bottoms, startled when his skimming fingers encountered not cotton, or silk, but her - soft and wet and ripe-to-bursting. He groaned, thrust a finger inside her, so warm and soft, and oh, all he wanted to do was bury himself inside her. He bent his head to her breasts, suckling desperately at her, each pull of his mouth and brush of his fingers drowning her in wave after wave of sensation. It stole her thoughts, her voice, made her legs tremble with its rhythm.

She realized suddenly that he had grasped her hand, pressing it to his straining erection, molding her fingers against him, grinding against her. Came back to press his soft, soft lips on hers again. In between kisses, she heard him begging - Spike, begging, in a voice that shook with desperation. "For God's sake, Slayer, touch me. Need you, need your skin, god, please."

Still kissing him, unable to stop kissing him, she opened his jeans, running her hands along his taut belly, then trailing her fingers slowly down, till he grabbed her hand roughly, and shoved his prick into it, moving her hand in his, his tongue in her mouth, his fingers inside her, and she could hear him talking, words spilling from his lips to hers as he moved faster and faster against her. "Oh, like that, harder, god, you're so wet, want to fuck you, wanted you so long, needed, oh, love, so beautiful, you - you - oh, fuck, Buffy!"

Her name. Said her name, moaning it into her mouth, pumping harder and harder against her, so unbearably sexy, and then - she couldn't breathe, felt sharp arcs of pleasure radiating out from every inch of her body, jerked with it, returned his cries. Her hand tightened convulsively, and he cried out, thrust once more, hard, and came, spilling out over her hands and her girlish pajamas, as he collapsed against her.

"Spike?" Her heart was still pounding, limbs still shaking.

"Shh." He lifted a finger to her lips, kissed her throat softly. "Not finished yet."

"But - " She looked down where her hands still cradled his limp penis.

"Shh." He looked up at her, his eyes shining in the dim light, and her breath caught as he lifted her shirt once more, covering her with kisses, dropped to his knees. He reached trembling hands to steady her legs, lowered her pajama bottoms, gazing with wonder at her. "I want to taste you. Dreamed about it. You said I wanted to eat you up." He traced her sex with a finger. "You were right."

"Spike, no - we're - somebody might see us!"

"It's three in the morning, Slayer. Nobody's here." He leaned closer, curling his hands over her hips, and laid his face on her belly. "Let me taste you." His tongue slowly traced its way downward, till he reached her curls, smiling, and surrendered to her.

***

Angel had only just passed the cemetery gate when he heard voices. Buffy! He took off at a run, ready to throw himself into the fight. Saw the flash of blonde hair before he heard the voice. Spike had Buffy pinned? He opened his mouth to shout, to give Buffy encouragement, distract Spike - and stopped. Spike was - Buffy was -

He stood, staring in disbelief. Couldn't be, he had to be seeing it wrong. But as he watched, Spike dropped to his knees, pulled down Buffy's shorts, and began to - oh, god. Buffy was letting him? She wasn't fighting back? As he watched, Buffy tilted her hips to give Spike better access, his hands slipping under her legs to steady her, his mouth working furiously against her. Her head thrown back, mouth open in abandon, moaning, legs splayed out for him.

Can vampires change, she asked. He felt ill. A terrible, gnawing anger began to grow in Angel's gut, his demon no longer whispering but shouting. How dare he touch what's mine? That stupid, worthless boy - what does he think he's doing even looking her? His fists clenched, helplessly. No. Not now. He wouldn't let Buffy see. He'd take care of it. And then fuck the little whore stupid, like he should have done before. So much for your blushing virgin.

***

Even before her orgasm had subsided, Spike felt him. Forced himself not to turn and look. That would spoil things, and he didn't want them spoiled, not yet. Let Angelus enjoy the show.

Buffy's legs had apparently stopped working, and she slumped to the ground. Wow. She'd never - well, that one guy at Hemery, but this was so much better, it was - oh, god, this was wrong. Spike pulled her against him, laid a gentle kiss on her lips, fingers trailing over her hips. "You taste so sweet, Slayer. I can't wait to fuck you."

"How-?" she tried.

"Any way you want, Slayer, my god - "

"No." She pulled back to look into his eyes. "I don't - I've never." Her face flushed with shame. "I mean, how could I do this to Angel?" Quietly, she began to cry. "I love him, what if he finds out? He'll hate me."

Too many years of living with Dru; Spike's reaction was instinctive. He gathered her close, stroking her hair, talking in a soothing voice. "Shush, now. There's no reason to cry. Felt good, didn't it? Then that's all right. I love Dru. You love Angel. This was just..." he paused, ignoring the thrill of guilt he felt. "...we just needed to get it out of our systems. Nobody needs to know but us two. Angel won't find out unless you tell him."

He drew back, kissed her again, hands wandering over her breasts. Couldn't stop touching her, drawn to her soft, sweet skin.

"You'll go home, take a shower. He won't find out, Slayer. I swear. Not gonna let Dru find out, either." He stared, thoughtfully, out towards the distance, then sat up and reached for her saturated pajama bottoms. "Here, now, kitten. Put these on. Time to head back home for tonight." She dressed in silence, tears still staining her cheeks. Standing, he wiped her cheeks, and bent for another lingering kiss. "Need an escort?" he asked with a smirk.

She opened her mouth as if to speak, looking anywhere but at him - in that instant he saw not the Slayer, but a confused girl. Some unfamiliar pain shot through him, startling and sudden, and he lifted his hand to stroke her face. "What is it?" he asked.

Her voice was low and uncertain. "I just - " she sounded on the verge of tears again. "I thought - I thought you wanted...."

"To fuck you?" His voice was dark and sultry; she flinched away. He bent closer, nuzzled her, skin to skin. "Later," he promised.

"No," she said. "Thought you wanted to....kill me."

"So did I." He shrugged. "Wasn't this more fun?"

Her mouth twisted downward. "Fun?"

"Yeah, Slayer, fun. You might have heard of it?"

Buffy shook herself, eyes clearing. "Spike. I'm - " She stood without speaking for a moment, lip trembling, then turned and ran from the cemetery, leaving only her lingering scent behind.

***

Spike smiled as heard the larger man moving out of the woods behind him. "Enjoy the show did you, Peaches?"

"Spike." Spike didn't even have to turn to know what self-righteous expression Angel wore. "Turn around, boy."

Spike's smile grew broader, and he turned, making a great show of tucking himself back into his jeans.

"You filthy bastard, how dare you touch her."

"I do what I please, Angelus. Maybe if you'd been satisfying her, she wouldn't be dreaming of fucking me every night." He smiled, nastily. "Of course, tonight, she won't have to."

For a long moment, tension hummed between them, Angel glowering and Spike smiling maliciously. Deliberately, Spike turned his back and began to walk away - and Angel threw himself at Spike.

For a split second, Spike's smile grew even wider, as he waited. He felt the rush of air just before Angel connected, stepped to the side, and let fly a backwards blow that knocked Angel to the ground. Spike turned and kicked him, hard, once, twice, grinning at the satisfying whump!

"What's the matter, Peaches?" he taunted. "Not man enough for her, anymore? At all?" He forgot the rule about gloating. Well, he never was one for rules - but this time he hovered a second too long, a millimeter too near, long enough, close enough for Angel to grab hold of his leg and yank him to the ground. Shit, he thought. He'd forgotten just how bloody strong Angelus was. A hundred years of ensoulment hadn't diminished that at all. Leverage, he needed leverage. He writhed underneath the larger man, desperate to keep Angel's fangs from his throat - if he managed to slash him, Spike would bleed out , and he'd not be able to do fuck-all about whatever else Angel decided to dish out. As his body twisted, searching for purchase, he thrust a hand up to push back Angel's head - and saw the look of horror, then rage as he smelled the lingering scent of Buffy's arousal. There. Leverage. He took advantage of the moment, gouged Angel's eye, and leapt up, slipping a hand in his pocket. Still there. The stub end of a pool cue, picked up at that biker bar, one end smooth, one jagged. Just the right size for a bit of dirty fighting. But first, he had to be closer. Needed more....a sly smile crossed his face. "She doesn't smell half as sweet as she tastes, Angel." He slipped a finger in his mouth, sucked for a moment. "Mmmmm, delicious. But then, you wouldn't know, would you?" He saw the other man's face darken, eyes narrow. His fingers curled tightly around the stake. "She's so....hot, isn't she? God, I thought my head would explode. If that's how her hand jobs feel, I can't wait to see what it's like to fuck her."

Angel exploded, closing the gap between them in an eyeblink, slamming Spike up against a tree, his arm at the smaller man's throat. "You listen to me, boy," he growled. "If you touch her again, I'll kill you."

"You'll try," sneered Spike. "Reckon what the Slayer would think if she could see you now, eh? Reckon what she'd think about you watching her have it off - or trying to tell her what she can and can't do. Guess I know why she's looking elsewhere."

Angel stopped and looked, really looked, at Spike. "Are you threatening me?" An evil smile curled the edges of his mouth. "You're trying to threaten me." He laughed. "What makes you think Buffy would believe anything you have to say?"

Spike relaxed, smirking. "I just spent the better part of an hour with some part or another of me up her quim. What makes you think she doesn't trust me?"

He grunted as Angel pushed harder against his throat. "I wonder what Drusilla would think if she knew you were here - screwing around on her with the Slayer, of all people. Can't imagine she'd be happy about that, Spike."

Spike's mouth thinned to an angry, bloodless line. "You don't fucking talk about Dru."

"I think she deserves to know, Spike, don't you? Only fair to the poor girl."

"Shut your hole! You don't talk to Drusilla! Ever!" Rage bubbled up again, blinding and pure. He grabbed the stake tight, jerking it from his pocket as Angel released him, laughing. "See you 'round, Spike. Only, I'll see Dru first." He turned to walk away, and Spike suddenly saw the end of everything, moving away from him.

"You ruin everything," he said, and slammed the stake down.

God, that felt good, he thought, as the wind carried Angel's dust away. Too bad he didn't get to see the look on the bastard's face, but you couldn't have everything. He stood for a moment, uncertain. It was time to head for home, but he couldn't show up smelling like this. Drusilla would kill him. He could hole up in a cave somewhere, claim he got caught by the sun. But he didn't fancy spending the day in the sewers. Those were his choices.

No, there's someplace else. He looked at the sky, just beginning to lighten. Dru was probably asleep by now, no need to hurry home. Smiling, he lit a cigarette, and turned to follow the Slayer.

***

Wasn't too hard to find her house. She left a trail of scent wafting behind her that anyone could have followed. The convenient tree beneath her window was easy enough to climb, though knocking was a bit tenuous. She flung open the curtains with a hollow eyed stare.

"Slayer. Let me in," he called.

"I let you in a long time ago," she said, mournfully.

What the hell was that supposed to mean? She'd never invited him into her house. "Slayer! Let me in!"

She seemed, then, to come to herself. Really focused on him, "Why are you here?" she whispered, fiercely.

"Why do you think?" Stupid bint. "We're not finished."

"We are all kinds of finished, Spike," she spat. "You think I'm just going to invite you in so you can kill me?"

"If I wanted to kill you, I had a really good chance about a half-hour back. You think I'd come all this way for that?" He crept closer, leaning as far as he could towards her, whispered urgently. "Let me in."

"Shut up!" she whispered, "My mom will hear you!"

She leaned forward, clearing the sill by centimeters, but it was enough. He grabbed her top, yanked her forward to where his lips met hers, clutching her to him not only from passion, but in a desperate attempt to stay balanced. "Slayer - let me in, or both of us are going to fall out of this tree. Think that will wake your mum good? We could find out." She glared, and struggled, causing them to wobble dangerously. Finally, she gasped out, "Fine! Come in, Spike."

She had a particularly girly room; it looked as if a child still lived there. Hmn. He supposed she was, still, if you wanted to be technical about it. She was still dressed in the pajamas from before, and her face was streaked with tears. "You all right, Slayer?"

She sniffled loudly, wiping at her eyes, but didn't answer him. "What do you want, Spike?"

"Told you, we're not finished. And anyway, I need someplace to clean up. Can't go back to Dru like this; she'd kill me."

"Like what?" She looked confused. "You're fine - I'm the one that needs showering."

He sighed. For a Slayer, this girl could be incredibly stupid. "Your smell, Slayer. I have it all over me. My hands, my mouth, my prick - any idiot in ten feet would know what I've been doing - and who I've been doing it with." He shrugged. "Your house was close; figured I could use your shower."

"Why would you think I'd let you do that?" Her voice sounded angry, indignant, and his own anger began to surface.

"Might have something to do with what all you let me do before," he smirked.

"Fine." She turned her back to him, pointedly. He heard her breath hitch, was she crying again? "Just do it and get out."

He stared at her for a moment, her shoulders shaking imperceptibly, the moonlight bathing her in a silvery glow. She was so....beautiful. He wished again that he were a good poet. Just have to settle for being a bad man. He smiled, moving towards her, winding his hands around her.

"What- what are you doing?" she gasped.

"You know, Slayer," he said, dryly, "there is such a thing as being too virginal."

"You said you wanted to clean up." She turned to face him, moved backwards, stopped when she reached the wall, unable to escape the press of his body, his hands sliding over her arms.

"So I do. No point in doing that before we're finished." He raised her hand to his lips, kissing each fingertip, slowly. "Otherwise, we'd just have to do it all over again."

"We are finished. This...." She hissed as he slowly drew a fingertip into his mouth, tongue flicking over it. "N-no," she stuttered. "This is over."

He smiled. That might have been more convincing if she wasn't still unconsciously arched like a cat against him.

"I don't think so. Told you what I wanted. Don't have it yet." He leaned in close to kiss her, body pressed even tighter against her.

"No!" It was almost a shout, quickly shushed with his own mouth.

"Thought you didn't want to wake mother? Best be quiet, love, unless you fancy explaining what I'm doing here with my hands up your shirt." Spike whispered. She was trembling visibly, now. "What's the matter?" He trailed a finger along her face, kissed her again. "Scared, kitten? Oh, of course. Still a blushing virgin and all, aren't you?" He smiled, predatory and charming all at once, dripping honeyed whispers into her ear. "Never been anyone's first before. Shh, love, we'll go slow. Be so gentle, take our time."

His fingers played over her skin, insinuated themselves under her pajamas, light and gentle. "Can't stop touching you," he whispered. "It's what I remembered most from the dreams; how soft you were, underneath all that power." He nuzzled closer, lips brushing her throat. "Come on, Slayer. You have no idea how good this can feel, how good I can make you feel. Stop fighting it. Let yourself have a bit of fun."

"Fun?" Her voice sounded pained, as she shoved him away, wrapped her arms tight around herself. "Is that all this is to you? Fun?"

"What else would you want it to be, Slayer? You said it - you love Angel. I love Dru. That's not gonna change, is it? What, you gonna decide you love me now I've had my hand down your knickers? Please. You want to tidy it up, make it neat, make it safe. Well, it's not safe." He gestured between them. "This is messy, and dangerous, and -"

"It's wrong." Her voice shook.

He leaned in close, spoke the words against her skin, making her shiver. "Forbidden, is what this is, love. Not supposed to have it. Not supposed to want it. All sorts of dire consequences if you get caught." He dipped a finger down, tracing her nipples where they showed through the thin fabric, and slipped an arm about her waist, pulling her close. "It's the danger that makes it hot, love. Everybody wants what they shouldn't have. Even me."

He could feel her wavering, on the edge, body vibrating with need and her mind a whirl of confusion. He kissed her again, soft and gentle, her lips warm against his. "Come on, Slayer, you know you want to. You've wanted it for a long time, haven't you?"

"Stop calling me that." Buffy jerked out of his grasp, made another pointless retreat, a few inches, a bit of distance to try and get hold of her spiraling arousal.

"What, 'Slayer'? What's wrong with it? Oh, want to pretend, do you? That we're not who we are, what we are? Don't be stupid."

"I have a name, Spike. You'd think that after - that you could at least use it." Warming up to indignation, now, her voice was clear and strong, even if she was still shaking. "You make - you make it sound like you just want to....doesn't have anything to do with me, does it? It's just because I'm a Slayer." The weight of the past few days fell in on her, and she gave way, tears spilling from her eyes. Knees gave way, and she collapsed, hard, onto the carpet, her face in her hands, hoarse sobs forcing their way out. She couldn't have stopped if she'd wanted to.

She barely registered the hands that lifted her up, stroking her hair, holding her. Finally, her tears began to slow, and she realized that it was Spike who held her in his lap, gently rocking back and forth on the edge of the bed. Under his breath, he hummed some tuneless song, one hand resting lightly on her hip.

"What was that all about, Slayer?" he asked.

She sniffled, wiping her eyes. "My name is Buffy." Her voice was tremulous, but it held a familiar challenge. "I - sorry. It's just been a freaky weekend, and I don't - "

He chuckled, brushed her hair, softly, her head still fitted beneath his chin. "Not been a picnic on this side of the fence, either." She had the presence of mind to be startled by how gentle his hands were, holding and comforting. She pulled her head away to stare at him, puzzled.

"Why?" she asked.

"Why what, Slayer?"

"Buffy."

"Fine," he said, through gritted teeth. "Buffy."

"Why don't you want to kill me?"

"I do," he started to say, but something in her face stopped him. He stared at her, her cheek still shining with tears, then ran a finger down the line of her jaw. "I don't know," he said, quietly. "Been dreaming about you - your scent, your skin. I want you." He bent to kiss her, slowly, lingering against her lips "Same reason you don't want to kill me, I imagine," he smiled.

She blushed, then, her skin blooming hot against his. So fucking sexy. His hands began to roam over her, slipping easily underneath her pajama top, brushing her nipples, touching every inch of skin. "How long have you been dreaming?" Spike asked. He kissed her again, drawing a sweet little sigh out of her mouth. "How long have you wanted me to touch you?"

"Since Saturday." Her breathing was coming more rapidly now, and it was harder to focus; every thrill of pleasure threatening to rob her of the power of speech. "Since I saw...." She blushed again, and he grinned with purely masculine pride. "What about you?"

"Been dreaming....just a couple of days. But I've wanted you for months now. Since I saw you dancing." He shrugged. "Didn't really think about it till just a day or two ago. Since you came to the factory. You smelled so.....and then, the dreams, they just kept it fresh in my mind."

"Spike. What does it mean?" Her face was troubled.

"Means we fancy each other, that's all. Here, lift your arms." He peeled her top from her, dropping it to the floor, and followed it with his own. Pulled her closer. "Lean against me."

The shock of his bare skin against hers was electric; it traveled straight down between her legs, and she shifted, anxiously. Spike pressed himself against her, nearly moaning from the sheer silky feel of it. He hooked his fingers through the waistband of her bottoms, began to tug. "Stand up," he whispered.

"I don't - " she began, only to find herself shushed. "Slayer. Buffy. Just stand up." He pushed them down her legs, marking her belly with kisses as he worked, and then unbuttoned his jeans, slowly, watching her with hungry eyes.

"Spike, no." Her voice sounded unsure, and pleading.

"No?" He finished unzipping, and now she could see his dick, peeking out, hard and pale. "Your body says otherwise," he said, running a finger down through her curls, feeling the moisture that welled up as he passed. "You want me, like I want you." He slid his jeans down, stepping easily out them, his eyes never leaving her face. He watched her shift from fascination to embarrassment, and back again, as she looked, really looked, for the first time.

Spike sidled up against her, kissing slow and sweet. She jumped with the shock of their bodies meeting one another, from the touch of his pale lips against hers, from the weight of the fantasies she'd spun for days and days now. His hands moved over her skin, not just groping, the way her clumsy teenage dates had done, but caressing. Not just her breasts, between her legs, but all over, tracing the edge of her collarbone, trailing down her arms, pressing his thumbs into the hollow of her hips as he moved them slowly backwards towards the bed. Buffy registered the edge of the bed against her legs, and pulled away to protest, "Spike, no, I can't, I - "

"Shh," he whispered into her mouth. "Don't be scared. I'll be so gentle, pet. It'll feel so good, we'll feel so good." His hands were more insistent, now, gentle tugs at her nipples sent shock waves through her body, and when Spike's thumb pressed the length of her clitoris, she nearly cried out. She felt his hand in the small of her back, urging her downwards to the bed, his mouth traveling over her heated skin, lips and tongue leaving a path of sensation that threatened to overwhelm her. He laid her down, and knelt between her legs, looking at her. She felt flushed, and vulnerable, and confused, and why, oh god, was she doing this? Angel. She felt a sob begin in her throat, opened her mouth to say - no, stop, we shouldn't, and then Spike touched her, bending to lay gentle kisses down the length of her thigh, wordlessly pressing her leg to the side. His other hand slid up her side...till he found her hand, tangling their fingers together, squeezing gently. The closer his mouth moved towards her, the fewer words her brain could manage. She lay, trembling and unsure, stomach doing flip-flops as Spike kissed his way up her body, pausing slightly at her hips, nuzzling his smooth face against her belly, holding her hand tight in his.

He gazed up at her, traced the curve of her abdomen with a light hand. "You're so soft," he breathed. He leaned forward, touching the wet tip of his tongue to her skin. "Taste so good." His words tickled, and she squirmed underneath his mouth. Spike had been hard for her for days, now, so eager that he misread her movements, and, smiling, began to shift over her till she felt the silky skin of his penis along her thigh. Then he was pressing her legs apart, and moving forward till she felt the tip of him graze her labia, moving forward to - "No!"

Hands outstretched, Buffy scuttled out from under Spike, away from his persuading hands and smooth skin. Rolled to the side, clutching her knees, eyes squeezed shut and words tumbling out so quickly. "I can't, Spike - I don't, don't want to do this, please - I just - "

"Shhh." Spike settled himself next to her, drew her resisting head to his chest. "It's all right, pet. Shh. Just lie here with me." Slowly, she relaxed, the stillness of his chest and his gentle hands moving over back oddly comforting. She still trembled like a nervous colt, wild-eyed and ready to bolt, but Spike could smell her desire, could still feel her blood thrumming, her heart pounding.

She could be coaxed.

Just took a light touch. Spike was good at this, he'd years of practice with -- he shied away from that thought. Not going to bring Dru into it. He wanted the Slayer, he'd have her - bleed this sickness out. Then he could go home.

Carefully, so carefully, he moved his hand along her back in a soothing gesture. Pressed a kiss into her hair, murmured to her "It's all right, kitten. We don't have to do anything you don't want." A smile curled his lips. He'd make her want it. He felt her relax completely into him, her panic subsiding. Good. Spike slipped a finger under her chin, and tipped her face upward for a kiss. "Little snogging suit you?"

Her brow furrowed. "What?"

"Kissing, Sl - Buffy. All right if I kiss you?"

"That's ok." The words weren't out of her mouth before he was kissing her, not soft and sweet, but hard, passionate, driving the breath from her with long slides of his tongue against hers. He smiled when he heard the first little gasp that told him she was ready for more. His touch remained gentle, but began to flutter along her side, over her arms, her hips, the luscious curve of her buttocks. He heard the quick stutter of her heart as his fingertips grazed her breast, moved down her arm, and back again. He pulled back slightly from her mouth, fingers tickling at her, oh, so gently. "Little touching ok, pet?" he asked, punctuating his words with tiny caresses.

Buffy reluctantly opened glazed eyes, her lips shining wet. "W-what?"

"Do you want only kissing, sweet? Or would you like...." He closed his hand over her breast, ran the flat of his thumb across her nipple, smiling with satisfaction as he felt her jump under his hand. She drew back from his chest, baring both breasts to him, her eyes shut tight again.

"You didn't answer me, Buffy. This what you want?"

For answer, her chest arched into his hand, her lips parted in hopes of more kisses. Spike dipped his head to taste her, lips and throat and shoulders, his hands pressing and kneading her breasts, rolling her nipples in his fingers, then slid down to follow it with his mouth. Heard her naked gasp as his lips brushed her nipple, and he opened his mouth to trace it with his tongue. Closed his lips over it, gave one good suck - and felt her pelvis leave the bed, arching towards him. He smiled to himself. So easy, this was. He moved his head back to her ear, murmuring to her. "Does that feel good, sweet? Or do you want me to stop?" He briefly stilled his hands. "Buffy. Do you want me to stop?"

She didn't trust her voice, simply shook her head and thrust her chest upwards toward his hands. Spike chuckled. "Patience, love. Slow is better. Let me show you." He began once more kissing his way downward, touching lips, throat, jaw, maddeningly slow. Paused at her mouth for kiss after kiss, tender and slow and deep. Moved further down, tracing between her breasts, fingers dancing over her skin, leaving a tingling trail in their wake. He shifted slightly, pressed himself against her leg while he suckled at her, moving in a slow rhythm, skin to skin. Shifted again, further, over her, to reach the other nipple, and now she could feel the length of him along her thigh, hard and silky smooth.

Her mind seemed to be shifting and sliding in and out of ordinary consciousness, her common sense disappearing in a fog of pleasure. She should, oh, god, be objecting. Spike in her bed, and her mother just down the hall - Spike, who tried to (fuck her) kill her, who was dead and a vampire, and oh, sexy, and beautiful, and whose mouth was doing evil, evil things to her brain. She didn't even realize when her hips began lifting to grind against him, but he did. Suddenly moved away from her breasts, moving lower, sliding his hands beneath her thighs, fingers curved over to press her open. He glanced up at her, panting, flushed, her rosy little pussy held open like a flower to him. Fuck, he wanted her. Needed it, needed it now. The light was changing, though she couldn't yet see it, not too many hours left till dawn. Had to be soon.

He ran his tongue lightly over her, watching, listening to her breaths, before sucking in earnest, his hands rubbing her inner thighs, brushing each stroke against her, humming to buzz lightly against her as he worked. He could feel each tiny contraction of her muscles, couldn't hear anything but her rushing blood; she was close.

In a flash he had surged upwards to kiss her again, startling her a little. He moved so fast. She could taste herself on his tongue, wasn't sure she liked it, but he left her no chance to object, just kept kissing her, deep and forceful. She could feel his erection pressed along her stomach, and then he lifted himself up, gently, and laid the tip of it along her clitoris. She gasped, both in pleasure and alarm, and he pulled his mouth from hers to whisper, "Shh. Not unless you want it, Buffy." He moved so softly, rubbing against her, soft skin leaving what felt like a shower of sparks. "This feel all right?"

Numbly, she nodded. More than all right. Good. Too good. God, she'd never thought...wanted it, she wanted, didn't know what she wanted, so long as he wouldn't stop, fingers not stop touching, mouth not stop kissing. She closed her eyes, his caresses pulling her down, further and further from reason, trying hard not to drown.

Slowly, so slowly, Spike moved against her, slipping down between her legs, rubbing the length of her swollen vulva, brushing just there. Jesus, her whole body was vibrating like a bowstring, and she was so, so ready....he realized suddenly that he knew exactly what would tip her over the edge.

His hands caressed her, fingers moving, and hips moving, and his lips moving against her, whispering softly:

"You are the goddess of the sea, terrible, demanding beauty,

I lick the salt spray from your skin, you taste of warmth.

The wet tip of his tongue dipped down, tracing a path along her throat, back to her ear, where he murmured again:

She felt him press against her, begging entrance, his hips moving within her thighs, his lips still spilling poetry.

Let me adore your flesh, let me offer my mouth, each kiss a litany of joy."

She quivered beneath him, breath held and eyes fixed beyond him, listening with her body, hearing nothing but his voice. Her moisture coated him, slipping against her, and he was riding the edge of his control, wanted, wanted, wanted inside her, now. "Fuck, Buffy, you're so wet. I need you. Let me in." His soft, persuading voice sent shivers along her skin . "Please, love. Let me in, I'll be so gentle. Let me make love to you, let me worship you, Buffy, please."

He kissed her once more, soft and sweet, murmuring into her mouth, pleas and promises and please, Buffy, yes, yes, yes. And then, she said it. Low and soft, spoken shakily back against his lips, "Yes. Oh, yes."

At last! Slow, slow, he reminded himself. Don't spook her. He kissed her again, clasped her to him, no longer persuading, but simply holding. "We'll go slow, all right?" She nodded, her eyes bright. Spike angled himself a little better, waiting, just gently rubbing against her, keeping her ready. "There's going to be a bit of pain, love. I'll be gentle as I can, but it'll hurt, just for a minute." He nuzzled against her skin, near her mouth, sliding over to kiss her again. "Then it'll feel so good. Just relax. Ready?"

She nodded, half afraid to speak, heart pounding, mind racing, little voice inside her faintly shrieking, what are you doing, your mom will hear you, he's a vampire, what if, what if.... That voice growing ever fainter, drowned in the slow slide of flesh against flesh, drowned out by his smooth, low voice in her ear.

Spike began to move forward, shallow thrusts that felt so incredibly good, she'd never - she wanted more, whimpered in frustration, lifting upwards toward him. Then he was moving deeper in, still kissing her, still talking, still coaxing and praising and dropping sweet, sweet whispers into her ear, along her skin. Further, just a little further...and then he stopped. Pulled back to look at her, waited till her eyes locked with his. "Do you want it, Buffy?" His voice was hoarse, strained, as though he were holding back by the barest thread. "Say it. Tell me you're ready. Tell me you're sure."

"Please." At her whispered word he let out a shuddering breath, and pushed inside her. There was a moment of exquisite pain, sharp and hot, and she went rigid.

So did Spike. He hadn't thought, hadn't planned - when he tore through that tiny membrane, it bled. The smell hit him like an oncoming train, and he buried his face in her hair, fighting for control. Shit, if he went game-faced, he'd blow the entire thing, she'd never let him near her again. And he wasn't finished. Wasn't lying when he said he'd never been anyone's first. Didn't know how sweet and close it would feel. And so warm, fuck, so warm, like the ocean on a summer day. He wasn't going to queer this because she smelled like blood. With a little effort, he shook the rising bloodlust down, kept his human face, and lifted it to kiss her once more. "Are you all right, pet?" he asked in a shaky voice.

"Hurts. I don't...I don't think I - "

"Shh. The worst is over now. Just gets better from here. We'll start in just a minute, let you rest first." He could see her beginning to get her bearings, sobered from the pain; any minute she'd realize what a genuinely fucked up idea this was. Spike kissed her again, hard, tugging at her nipples, trailing fingers along her sides, pulling her to him, possessively. Over and over and over, till, without conscious thought, she began to move against him, a little back-and-forth motion that shook him to the root. Slowly, he began to thrust inside her, wet and tight and she fit so well in his arms and her mouth tasted like ginger ale and no one had been in her bed before, just him, he was first, special. Finally, he got what Angelus wanted instead of the other way 'round. He sought her hand with his, clasped it to his chest as he rocked against her.

The pain had stopped, and Buffy found the world had shrunk to nothing, to where their bodies interlocked, moved together in the half-light. Nothing but the sensation of him sliding within her, against her, his chest brushing her nipples, his mouth cool and wet against her. Oh, he was right, she had no idea. "Spike, god, it feels...." The words tumbled out of her all at once, till words were gone, till speech failed her. She kissed him, instead, her moans and draw-out sighs saying what she couldn't, what she didn't know how to say. She laid her hand along his face, feeling the muscles working beneath his jaw, his smooth, smooth skin. Her eyes flickered open, focusing on his face, eyes tight shut, looking so innocent, so beautiful, almost as though he were fighting tears, holding her hand tight to him as though she were precious, beloved. Her heart cracked wide; she hadn't really hoped before, but....he had changed, hadn't he?

She whispered, questioningly, "Spike?" When he answered her, his voice was unsteady, tremulous. "Never like this - fuck, pet, never this good. You feel... Never been with a live girl - " He corrected himself. "Never been with a human. Oh, Buffy."

His thrusts gradually increased in tempo, his cheek laid soft against hers, and she felt a tension building in her, drawing the breath from her lungs, coalescing at the point of contact. She could hear Spike's breathy words against her skin, moaning, chanting; she had to strain to hear.

"Oh, god, craved you, so good, oh love, love, it's perfect, can't stop, always want you, fuck, so tight, like that, yeah, oh, beautiful, you, love you, all for you, yours, yours, fuck, Buffy!"

He loves me was her last coherent thought, just before she exploded, her orgasm sharp and strong, crowding out her thoughts, wave after wave pulsing inside her, over her, and she heard Spike cry out, heedless of the time, her mother, and she couldn't stop shaking.

She came back to herself with his head pillowed on her breasts, staring in wonder at him. He pulled her to his mouth, kissed her over and over again. Buffy wound her arms 'round him, ran her fingers over his skin, through his hair. She'd never been so....god, she was happy and miserable at the same time. Happy, because, wow. And he was looking at her with eyes all soft and misty, kissing her as though he couldn't bear to leave her skin. Miserable from the sinking realization that she'd cheated on Angel. That she gave it up to a demon. That thought made her feel vaguely ill. No, he said it, said he loved me. It's true, he's changed... It has to be true, she thought, and kissed him again.

Spike had never felt anything like that before, like being swallowed by the sea. It didn't make it better, he realized. It made it worse. He wanted to touch her over and over, wear her like a second skin, spend the day buried inside her, god, how could he leave now? He felt his stomach drop away, he wasn't in control of this. He never had been. He was fucked.

She pulled back from him, then, to search his face for something. What's she looking for, he wondered. Her voice was halting, still shaky from before. "Did- did you mean it? What you said?"

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You know, when..." She blushed, blood standing out pink in her cheeks, god, she was even sexier now. He kissed her again, could feel himself hardening once more. "When what, Buffy?" he asked, tipping his hips towards her, friction helping him along. Again, they had time before sunrise, didn't they? Yeah, do that little shiver again, baby.

"Just before you - you know." She glanced shyly away. "Just before I came inside you, is that it?" She nodded, eyes fixed somewhere around his collarbone. He surged against her again, still furnace-hot, and groaned softly. He didn't care if they had time or not. Oh, right. What he said. What the hell did he say? Probably said she was beautiful, or some such. He never could remember, whatever it was just rolled like water out of his mouth; he could've said anything. Not gonna tell her that, though. "Of course I did." He urged his cock against her, nudged her thighs apart once more. "Let me in, I'll say it a second time."

Buffy caught him to her in a crushing hug, and there was a catch in her voice as she said "Oh, Spike - I knew it. I knew you'd changed." Changed? What the hell? The hair on the back of his neck began to prickle. Something was off, here. What the hell was she talking about? She pulled away to look at him expectantly, tears shining in her eyes, and touched a hand to his face. "Spike, I lov-"

He jerked away from her as though he'd been slapped. "Don't!" he hissed, rolling from the bed to stare down at her. "Don't say it, Buffy. Slayer. " His voice was ragged, shaking. Fuck. She loved him? Oh, god, what the fuck did I say? he thought.

She was crying, now, shock and confusion evident in her face. "You said you meant it. Why don't you want me to say it?"

"You can't be serious. You, you love Angel. You said so. And I love Drusilla. You hear me? I love Dru." He was almost frantic, now, trembling with emotion he couldn't identify, hell, he needed a drink, a smoke, needed to kill somebody, anybody. "You can't - you wouldn't - this is, it's perverted."

"You said -"

"Bloody hell, I know what I said. Said it to get in your trousers. Said it because..."

"Because you'd been dreaming about me, that's what you said. That you wanted to...You said you loved me. "

She was nearly sobbing, now, no longer a terrible goddess, a fearsome slayer, but only a frightened girl. Spike sank to his knees on the floor, fighting the urge to crawl back atop her. "Slayer....I..." Hell, he still wanted her. He reached out and brushed the tears from her face. "This can't end well, pet." She sniffled loudly, and covered his hand with her own. "Yeah, said it because it's true. I wanted you - still want you. Want to fuck you till neither of us can walk anymore." He inched closer to where she sat, the sheet bunched around her waist. "But that's all. That's all we can - " He looked away from her hopeful face. "I love Dru. Always will. You just...." He dropped his hand to cup her breast, where it peeked above the sheets, then pulled away, shaking his head. "It won't end well."

They stared at one another for a moment, silence between them like a weight over everything. The dark had lessened, be daylight soon, and everything lay bare and exposed between them, no comforting blanket of darkness to smooth its imperfections. Buffy's eyes dropped away first, and in a voice still taut with sadness, said "Spike, I - "

"Buffy?" Her mother's voice came through, muffled, on the other side of the door, the doorknob rattling. "Honey, are you all right? I thought I heard you crying."

They both flinched, still staring, till Buffy flung Spike's jeans at him, and shoved him towards the closet. She cracked the door, peered out at her mom standing worriedly in the hallway. "I just had a bad dream, Mom. I don't really feel good - I think I'm going to stay home today. Is that ok?"

Joyce put a hand to Buffy's forehead. "You do feel a little warm. Why don't you go on back to bed, and I'll bring you up some cold water and some aspirin before I go to work, ok?"

Buffy shut the door once more, turning to find Spike dressed, pulling on his coat, face carefully turned away. "I have to go, Slayer. Be light soon." He crossed to the window, looked back at her, standing naked in the predawn light. His throat tightened. She was so fucking beautiful. He wanted....he bit back the words. Didn't matter what he wanted. Dru mattered. That's all. As he turned to go, he heard her whisper, softly. "You said you meant it."

He paused for just a moment at the window. "Maybe I did," he said.