Author's Note: Originally (in my head) this was full-out smut, but I was so
embarrassed writing it and felt so trashy that I decided some things are
best left to the imagination. Enjoy this tamer version. ;)
Disclaimers: These character's aren't mine; I'm just borrowing them.
----------------
She came to him, looking for assistance and naturally expecting that he would give her whatever she wanted. She had gotten so used to him doing her bidding, what she received instead was a rude awakening.
"Spike, I need your help," she said as she entered his crypt. She looked around and did not see him, and wondered where he could be. Perhaps he was asleep. What did he wear to bed, anyway? Surely he didn't own pajamas. That must mean he slept naked. Goosebumps crawled up her skin at the thought. Maybe she could go take a peek…
She crept as silently as she could to where she knew his bed was and her face fell to find it empty. "Damn," she said to herself, and turned to leave. She screamed, startled to say the least when she ran directly into Spike.
"Spike," she said, flustered, "what the hell do you think you're doing, sneaking up on me like that?"
He eyed her curiously. "What the hell do you think **you're** doing, sneaking around my crypt?"
She sighed. Busted. Hopefully he wouldn't ask any more questions. "I need your help."
"Yeah?" he said, leading her back into what could perhaps be described as his living room. It was as close to a living room as you could get in a crypt, she supposed -- a chair and the "tele" as he called it. "What is it this time?"
"Rumor has it that there's a new bad guy in town," she began. "We haven't figured out who yet, but we thought we could probably use your help in fighting it."
Spike laughed out loud. Oh, she didn't know the half of it.
"What's so funny?" she demanded. He continued to laugh. "What are you laughing about?" she gave him a light punch in his chest that seemed to sufficiently shut him up.
Suddenly and inexplicably, he pulled her to him and kissed her roughly. Taken completely off guard, it took a moment for Buffy to even realize what was happening, and to shamefully find that she was responding to him with fever. She pulled back, shocked at both him and herself, and slapped him hard across the face. She almost regretted it upon seeing the pain on his face as he reached a pale hand up to touch his stinging cheek. Still, she demanded: "What the hell was that?" She pulled her stake from her coat and rammed it against his chest. She repeated herself, as he had yet to answer her question: "I said, what the hell was that?"
He shoved her away from him forcefully, much to Buffy's surprise -- how could he do that without suffering the side effects? But she had little time to think as he advanced on her until he had her backed against the wall of his crypt. In one swift motion he knocked the stake from her hand and said, "I could ask you the same thing. You think you're gonna kill me?" He wagged his eyebrows at her, taunting her. "You know you couldn't do it." And with that he pinned her little wrists to the wall and repeated his earlier actions, kissing her fiercely. This time she returned the gesture, but bit down hard on his lower lip. She could tell that it excited and hurt him at the same time, and he pulled away, confused. He looked at her quizzically and she watched as his tongue darted out and tasted the blood on his lip. Something like anger flashed in his eyes, and he said "Is that how you wanna play, Slayer? You want blood?" His voice rose. "I'll give you blood!" And with that he ripped her from her spot on the wall and threw her to the floor.
She bounced back to her feet as quickly as she had been thrown off of him, her thoughts racing. Spike wasn't hurting. Well, he wasn't hurting himself…but he was doing one hell of a job of hurting her. She wasn't used to this. When was the last time she'd fought Spike? It'd been too long. Too long for her to even remember what he's fists felt like in her face, what it felt like to be pinned beneath his strong, cold body…
She received an excellent reminder as Spike's fist effortlessly collided with her stomach. "What happened to the chip?" she demanded as she landed a good kick that sent him to the floor. Immediately she was on top of him, and landed a few solid punches to his face before he captured her hands in his and squeezed until she thought her fingers might break.
"The new big bad you heard about it's me, pet. The chip's long gone," he said with a knee to her stomach that sent her flying against the wall. "Thing is, you never pay enough attention to me to notice a pesky little detail like that, now do you?"
She darted across the room for her stake, but it was so far away…all the way across the room. She didn't have a spare. Damn. That meant he had the upper hand.
He grabbed her as she tried to move past him, pulling her to him and stopping her dead in her tracks. One arms snaked around her upper body and the other around her waist. "You don't know how much I've missed this," he purred into her ear.
She dug the nails of both hands into his lower arm as hard as she could, and though she could feel the blood pooling around the gashes she'd made, he didn't even flinch. Desperately she tried to kick his knees out and send him to the floor, but she was at an awkward angle and her attempt only seemed to further anger him. He released her, but it was only to he could spin and send a punch directly to her face. She reeled backwards and clutched the wound, but she wasn't ready to give up. Not yet.
A chain had appeared in his hand. What the hell was he trying to do? Memories flooded her mind -- memories of being chained in his basement, completely helpless. She was the Slayer, but even she couldn't break chains.
He slapped it across her face, leaving three semi-circle cuts that smarted horribly. Taking advantage of her shock, he picked her up and threw her as far as he could, landing her on his makeshift bed. Real fear coursed through her. What if -- no, he wouldn't, would he? It was hard to tell with Spike.
She stood up on the bed, savoring a small pause in the action. He stood at the foot, chain still in hand, twirling it slowly as if contemplating his next moves. Why didn't she just pounce on him now? She desperately wanted to, but it felt as if her feet were glued where she stood.
Well, not anymore. Spike yanked the sheets out from under her feet and sent her flat on her back. He had jumped onto the bed with her, shaking the soft mattress beneath them as he landed. She struggled to her feet and attempted a roundhouse kick that, if landed, would have successfully knocked him off the bed, but he caught her leg in the air and landed her on the bed again. "Don't fight it love," he said as he swiftly bound her wrists together and then secured the chain onto a pole of the headboard with a lock that he produced from his pocket. It all happened so fast; she didn't even have time to react. In a blink, she'd become his prisoner.
She kicked up with both legs and sent him flying off the bed. But he only laughed as he pounced on top of her once more, pinning her legs beneath his so that any movement was impossible.
Tears streamed down her face now, and her chest heaved with the sobs of defeat.
"Buffy…Buffy, what's wrong?" he begged her, suddenly gentle, and when she opened her eyes to look at him he seemed truly confused.
"What wrong?" she screamed through her tears. "What's **wrong?** I'm chained to your bed and bleeding onto your sheets from wounds that you gave me!"
He stroked her hair gently. "Don't cry," he pleaded. "It's just a few bruises. Nothing you'll feel in the morning."
She was suddenly angry. Did he honestly think that he hadn't done some real damage to her? She pulled her legs out from under him, and wrapped them around his waist, fully intending to throw him off of her like that. But she felt a warm bulge on her thigh now that stopped her dead in her tracks and actually made her gasp. Realization hit. Of course…this wasn't about violence for him. It was just some twisted sex game. She didn't know if she should be comforted by this realization or terrified.
He purred into her neck now. "Do you feel that, love?" His lips brushed over her skin in small kisses that made her shiver. "I know you want it." He'd reached her jawline now and trailed kisses down it, finally meeting her lips. "Tell me what you want," he said with a kiss, "and I'll give it to you."
He pulled away, searching her eyes for her answer. Anger that she had previously seen in his face had shifted to a peaceful and strangely comforting gaze of true affection. It made her feel warm but very afraid.
She tore her eyes away from his. "I'm bleeding," she said. "Can you clean me up?"
"I can do that," he breathed, and suddenly she felt his lips on her face. He was kissing her blood away, licking it away gently, and Buffy shuddered at the touch. She felt like she was in some kind of twisted porno movie. But she didn't care. Hell, she wanted to be the star.
Buffy woke with a start, panting and sweaty. She couldn't count the number of nights she'd had this dream, often in much more explicit detail. She sighed, rolling over and readjusting her covers to go back to sleep, forever a prisoner of her own subconcious. She could shut him out of her life...out of her house and out of her days, but there was one place where she would never be rid of him: her dreams.
Disclaimers: These character's aren't mine; I'm just borrowing them.
----------------
She came to him, looking for assistance and naturally expecting that he would give her whatever she wanted. She had gotten so used to him doing her bidding, what she received instead was a rude awakening.
"Spike, I need your help," she said as she entered his crypt. She looked around and did not see him, and wondered where he could be. Perhaps he was asleep. What did he wear to bed, anyway? Surely he didn't own pajamas. That must mean he slept naked. Goosebumps crawled up her skin at the thought. Maybe she could go take a peek…
She crept as silently as she could to where she knew his bed was and her face fell to find it empty. "Damn," she said to herself, and turned to leave. She screamed, startled to say the least when she ran directly into Spike.
"Spike," she said, flustered, "what the hell do you think you're doing, sneaking up on me like that?"
He eyed her curiously. "What the hell do you think **you're** doing, sneaking around my crypt?"
She sighed. Busted. Hopefully he wouldn't ask any more questions. "I need your help."
"Yeah?" he said, leading her back into what could perhaps be described as his living room. It was as close to a living room as you could get in a crypt, she supposed -- a chair and the "tele" as he called it. "What is it this time?"
"Rumor has it that there's a new bad guy in town," she began. "We haven't figured out who yet, but we thought we could probably use your help in fighting it."
Spike laughed out loud. Oh, she didn't know the half of it.
"What's so funny?" she demanded. He continued to laugh. "What are you laughing about?" she gave him a light punch in his chest that seemed to sufficiently shut him up.
Suddenly and inexplicably, he pulled her to him and kissed her roughly. Taken completely off guard, it took a moment for Buffy to even realize what was happening, and to shamefully find that she was responding to him with fever. She pulled back, shocked at both him and herself, and slapped him hard across the face. She almost regretted it upon seeing the pain on his face as he reached a pale hand up to touch his stinging cheek. Still, she demanded: "What the hell was that?" She pulled her stake from her coat and rammed it against his chest. She repeated herself, as he had yet to answer her question: "I said, what the hell was that?"
He shoved her away from him forcefully, much to Buffy's surprise -- how could he do that without suffering the side effects? But she had little time to think as he advanced on her until he had her backed against the wall of his crypt. In one swift motion he knocked the stake from her hand and said, "I could ask you the same thing. You think you're gonna kill me?" He wagged his eyebrows at her, taunting her. "You know you couldn't do it." And with that he pinned her little wrists to the wall and repeated his earlier actions, kissing her fiercely. This time she returned the gesture, but bit down hard on his lower lip. She could tell that it excited and hurt him at the same time, and he pulled away, confused. He looked at her quizzically and she watched as his tongue darted out and tasted the blood on his lip. Something like anger flashed in his eyes, and he said "Is that how you wanna play, Slayer? You want blood?" His voice rose. "I'll give you blood!" And with that he ripped her from her spot on the wall and threw her to the floor.
She bounced back to her feet as quickly as she had been thrown off of him, her thoughts racing. Spike wasn't hurting. Well, he wasn't hurting himself…but he was doing one hell of a job of hurting her. She wasn't used to this. When was the last time she'd fought Spike? It'd been too long. Too long for her to even remember what he's fists felt like in her face, what it felt like to be pinned beneath his strong, cold body…
She received an excellent reminder as Spike's fist effortlessly collided with her stomach. "What happened to the chip?" she demanded as she landed a good kick that sent him to the floor. Immediately she was on top of him, and landed a few solid punches to his face before he captured her hands in his and squeezed until she thought her fingers might break.
"The new big bad you heard about it's me, pet. The chip's long gone," he said with a knee to her stomach that sent her flying against the wall. "Thing is, you never pay enough attention to me to notice a pesky little detail like that, now do you?"
She darted across the room for her stake, but it was so far away…all the way across the room. She didn't have a spare. Damn. That meant he had the upper hand.
He grabbed her as she tried to move past him, pulling her to him and stopping her dead in her tracks. One arms snaked around her upper body and the other around her waist. "You don't know how much I've missed this," he purred into her ear.
She dug the nails of both hands into his lower arm as hard as she could, and though she could feel the blood pooling around the gashes she'd made, he didn't even flinch. Desperately she tried to kick his knees out and send him to the floor, but she was at an awkward angle and her attempt only seemed to further anger him. He released her, but it was only to he could spin and send a punch directly to her face. She reeled backwards and clutched the wound, but she wasn't ready to give up. Not yet.
A chain had appeared in his hand. What the hell was he trying to do? Memories flooded her mind -- memories of being chained in his basement, completely helpless. She was the Slayer, but even she couldn't break chains.
He slapped it across her face, leaving three semi-circle cuts that smarted horribly. Taking advantage of her shock, he picked her up and threw her as far as he could, landing her on his makeshift bed. Real fear coursed through her. What if -- no, he wouldn't, would he? It was hard to tell with Spike.
She stood up on the bed, savoring a small pause in the action. He stood at the foot, chain still in hand, twirling it slowly as if contemplating his next moves. Why didn't she just pounce on him now? She desperately wanted to, but it felt as if her feet were glued where she stood.
Well, not anymore. Spike yanked the sheets out from under her feet and sent her flat on her back. He had jumped onto the bed with her, shaking the soft mattress beneath them as he landed. She struggled to her feet and attempted a roundhouse kick that, if landed, would have successfully knocked him off the bed, but he caught her leg in the air and landed her on the bed again. "Don't fight it love," he said as he swiftly bound her wrists together and then secured the chain onto a pole of the headboard with a lock that he produced from his pocket. It all happened so fast; she didn't even have time to react. In a blink, she'd become his prisoner.
She kicked up with both legs and sent him flying off the bed. But he only laughed as he pounced on top of her once more, pinning her legs beneath his so that any movement was impossible.
Tears streamed down her face now, and her chest heaved with the sobs of defeat.
"Buffy…Buffy, what's wrong?" he begged her, suddenly gentle, and when she opened her eyes to look at him he seemed truly confused.
"What wrong?" she screamed through her tears. "What's **wrong?** I'm chained to your bed and bleeding onto your sheets from wounds that you gave me!"
He stroked her hair gently. "Don't cry," he pleaded. "It's just a few bruises. Nothing you'll feel in the morning."
She was suddenly angry. Did he honestly think that he hadn't done some real damage to her? She pulled her legs out from under him, and wrapped them around his waist, fully intending to throw him off of her like that. But she felt a warm bulge on her thigh now that stopped her dead in her tracks and actually made her gasp. Realization hit. Of course…this wasn't about violence for him. It was just some twisted sex game. She didn't know if she should be comforted by this realization or terrified.
He purred into her neck now. "Do you feel that, love?" His lips brushed over her skin in small kisses that made her shiver. "I know you want it." He'd reached her jawline now and trailed kisses down it, finally meeting her lips. "Tell me what you want," he said with a kiss, "and I'll give it to you."
He pulled away, searching her eyes for her answer. Anger that she had previously seen in his face had shifted to a peaceful and strangely comforting gaze of true affection. It made her feel warm but very afraid.
She tore her eyes away from his. "I'm bleeding," she said. "Can you clean me up?"
"I can do that," he breathed, and suddenly she felt his lips on her face. He was kissing her blood away, licking it away gently, and Buffy shuddered at the touch. She felt like she was in some kind of twisted porno movie. But she didn't care. Hell, she wanted to be the star.
Buffy woke with a start, panting and sweaty. She couldn't count the number of nights she'd had this dream, often in much more explicit detail. She sighed, rolling over and readjusting her covers to go back to sleep, forever a prisoner of her own subconcious. She could shut him out of her life...out of her house and out of her days, but there was one place where she would never be rid of him: her dreams.