Rae's Birthday Gift

It was an old piece of equipment; big and bulky and a tremendous pain in the arse. If only it had earmuffs so he could add deafness to his list of disabilities, then he could remain ignorant to the screams and grunts of ever-loving bliss pouring through the walls of the mansion.

Fucking bitch, sire. Complete fucking wanker of a grandsire. They sucked out all his patience. Made him wallow in his little hell on wheels until the moment he could make the move to prove he wasn't quite yet out of the game.

They'd retired for the night, forgetting to provide him with some satisfying feed. He'd just have to go and find himself something; it was a bit of a chore when you got peckish while restrained in the chair and under their gloating eye.

A small bitter smile curled Spike's lips as he pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. He'd had just about enough of it all. One grand moment had shown him that all women were fickle bitches, good for nothing but the blood they could dribble down his throat. Stuck in a body with weakened legs was beyond bloody extreme, and Spike decided to ignore the dangers known to him if he went a wandering on Slayer turf without the strength to protect himself.

Would almost be a blessing. And there's a plan! Find the annoying little chit with shampoo commercial hair, make a bite at her and he'd be so much dust on the wind. Bloody perfect, it was.

With a far more chipper smile for one committed to allowing his existence to explode into a cloud of dust, he slowly made his way out of the mansion, legs rickety from disuse.

The night was young for all those vamps not yet fed and tucked up with someone else's significant other. The continuing steps added a little zing in the swagger. He was convalescent, yet still had enough Big Bad to scare away any of the younger pups thinking of possibilities of one upmanship. It was no secret in such a disloyal bloody world of evil that he was weakened. A wreck at the hands of the Slayer. Well, Spike was determined to find her and have her finish off the job.

A loud altercation in the first graveyard he came to had him sniffing her out. The blunt thump of fists hitting faces suddenly went silent as a pouf of ash hit the air, and Spike couldn't help but smirk in admiration. She'd been improving; was better even than when he'd last fought her in the church.

A moment of melancholy stayed his movement, sadness that he would be going out at less than his best.

Didn't matter. He shrugged it off and reconciled himself to his end and continued to creep up behind her. He marvelled at her obliviousness as she kept her back to him. He stopped, tilted his head to the side and waited for her to calm and sense him.

Her turn was slow, but finding him within a step behind her had her jump half out of her skin. Instead of fuelling Spike's humour, her sudden rush of fear disappointed him.

"What the hell do you want, Spike?"

He couldn't help the direction of his eyes as he swept her from gorgeous hair to fashionably booted feet. No doubt about it this Slayer was a looker. Fists were still lethal, though. And whether he'd changed his mind or not was too late, his legs far too weak to get him back to the mansion let alone propel him through this fight and remain standing.

Time to take the bull by the balls, he thought as a fist swung and connected with her cheek. Her look of shock confused him enough that he didn't see her kick as it effectively knocked him off his feet and to his back, a lump of warm slayer straddling his belly in the most inconvenient manner. She clung to the stake raised in her fist, poised for the down-stroke that would take him from this world and condemn him to one of continual torment.

He couldn't close his eyes, kept them on her and took her in. The abruptly snubbed nose, the glittering shine of jade-coloured eyes, and the plush plumpness of lips he suddenly thought looked kind of interesting. He wanted to see her at his demise, not focus on the stake that was arrowed toward his heart.

The softening of his facial features as he soaked in her scrutiny stayed her hand. Her knees squeezed his ribs as she lowered her pointy stick and she watched him closely as his eyes glazed at the sight of her mouth.

'What the hell?'

Buffy had been stumped by this vamp before, but now his altered look of hunger was mystifying. His focus hadn't even once drifted to her neck, and for some reason that reassured her of his lack of danger. Not to mention he'd gone down like a...like a...like a vamp with crippled legs! They seemed kind of flimsy right now, and his colour was paler than usual. He looked like he was verging into starved territory and Buffy started to wonder what it would be like to feed him.

It was bad, bad, bad. Slayer as vamp cow, had surely never been done, but he'd come straight to her, willing to go up against her when he obviously hadn't done much therapy outside his wheelchair.

"Slayer?"

His call shocked her back into taking notice of the loosening of her thighs around him. Yet he had made no attempt to throw her off his body, instead had snaked his hands up to her waist and was subtly moving her backwards over the surprise erection he'd sprung under her preoccupied consideration of his face.

What did she see when she looked at him? He felt washed up, used and useless to his own family while they rutted like wilderbeast to a captive audience. But to her? She was the killer of his kind and yet he found himself in such an astounding situation—one that should never have been possible.

She sat fully on him, her heat seeping through her outerwear to scorch him with her brand. He could scent such beautiful surprises from her body, ones that did nothing to cool his confusion.

His hands had spanned her waist and now were heading to her chest, brushing hesitant fingertips against the nipples not quite hidden by the skimpy fabric of her top.

"Sweetheart, I'm thinking that if we aren't going to dance tonight I might need a bit of help getting home."

The unconscious licking of her lips near did him in and his cock twitched against her sodden centre, inflaming him enough to consider discarding sense. An abrupt nod and she was back on her feet, leaving his throbbing body bereft and colder than any undead man should ever have to feel. He sat up and tried to push himself to his feet, but without help it was hopeless, he was left to flounder like a banked snapper.

Before he could say the words that would humiliate him beyond measure she had him in a hold and yanked him back to his feet. An arm wound around his waist as his own settled on her shoulders.

"You're weak and you aren't feeding well. What are those morons doing to you?"

He couldn't help but gawk at her in pleased surprise. Her concern knocked him for six but it brought back that small seep of feeling that had drained when she took her body away from his.

"Yeah, well, can't take time out of our busy shagging schedule to feed the invalid vamp now, can we." His pained gaze caught hers and he felt a momentary sense of shame for bringing up the poof's activities. Her hurt affected him in ways he could never have anticipated and he felt like an arse for doing it. Still, she wiped his mind with her gentle smile.

"Would some top shelf from Willie's help?"

Stunned into immobility, despite the lack of movement as of yet.

His eyes softened; he could feel his own rising affection for her concern and felt a knot in his throat prevent his voice from working. He nodded his consent and they slowly set off into the night—a slayer and her vampire.