Author's Notes:

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Joss Whedon and I play with them for fun not profit.

Buffy's head pounded and her mouth tasted like it was full of cotton. She felt as though she was trying to drag herself up a long, dark tunnel. When she finally worked her eyes open, she was greeted with the sight of Spike fast asleep on the bed across from her.

He'd pulled the curtains shut, but not so tight that they didn't let in a beam of sunlight, enough for Buffy to ascertain both that it had to be late morning and that Spike slept naked. The covers had been pushed to the side, and he was sprawled across the bed on his back, head resting on one crooked arm, the thin corner of a dingy white sheet barely covering his middle.

Not, Buffy supposed, that it mattered much. She'd already been treated to that sight yesterday.

After a brief struggle, it became clear that he'd tied her down so completely that she couldn't even turn her head. She was on her stomach, arms beneath her, head turned to the side that faced Spike, sheets and ropes pinning her to the bed. Her muscles immediately began to cramp and scream in protest, aware that she could do nothing about it. Maybe meditating would help. She closed her eyes and tried flexing and relaxing each muscle group while slowing her breathing, just as Giles had taught her to do.

The last time she had been drugged with Cruciamentum drugs.

Still, it helped to quell the rising panic. Giles. She wondered if he knew what had happened to her. She had no idea if Spike had killed Xander or not, but she desperately hoped not, for her friend's sake as well as her own. Xander would at least know that Spike had her, and if he was still alive, then so would Giles. There was nothing more she could do than hope they were coming up with a plan to rescue her.

Because damn it all to hell, much as it pained her to admit it, Buffy needed rescuing. Between being drugged and hogtied, she was helpless.

She reminded herself that there was sure to be an opportunity to save herself, if she were just patient. Spike intended to drag her across the country, and he was guaranteed to slip up at some point. His plans were never very well thought out.

With nothing else to do, Buffy figured she may as well take the time to study him. Maybe she'd be able to observe something that would help her. After several minutes of staring at him, she hadn't learned much beyond, one: the term 'slept like the dead' applied to him, what with his lack of breathing or movement and all, and two: he was, objectively speaking, incredibly beautiful. He was thin, but well-muscled, not scrawny like she'd assumed. His body bulged and rippled in all the right places, especially his abs and arms. His skin was perfect, pale but not pasty. His face was angelic in sleep, and she already knew just how pretty his eyes were, even though they were closed right now. Why are the cute ones always evil? she pouted to herself.

Her eyes were drawn back to what the thin sheet covered. Memories of what he'd done and what he'd suggested he would do to her flooded her mind, and any smidgen of attraction she felt for him turned back into raging disgust. In that instant, his beauty turned ugly, marred by the evil he was.

And unfortunately, the only thing in her current line of sight was his naked form.

She needed something else to stare at. Buffy found that she could move her head slightly, and so she tried to look around, but beyond your typical bland and dreary motel interior there was nothing of interest to see. She attempted to amuse herself by imagining all the various ways she could turn the objects in her line of vision into weapons, but that didn't last nearly long enough.

Eventually, her bladder started cramping along with the rest of her muscles. She'd have to wake Spike up, but he appeared to still be out cold. The observation gave her a new game to play. She'd see just what it took to wake him up. It would be good to know how soundly he slept, in case he didn't secure her quite so well next time.

She was up to yelling his name before he stirred, suddenly sitting bolt upright in bed with a wild-eyed look of panic. One glance around the room though, and he calmed down. "Give it a rest, would you? Let a bloke sleep".

"I have to go to the bathroom," Buffy ground out. She was desperate by this time. He'd taken forever to wake up.

"Bloody hell, again? Can't you hold it or something"

"Sorry. I'm only human, and I've been holding it for hours. If I don't go right now, I'll end up going in my pants, and then you'll have to smell it the whole time you keep me, since I don't have any other clothes".

Spike blinked slowly, taking this in. "Humans are disgusting".

"Uh-huh, because being evil is a fair trade for not needing to use the toilet. Now!" she finished with a tinge of desperation.

He stood up, and the sheet fell aside. Buffy squeezed her eyes shut as he came towards her, realizing that he wasn't going to bother covering up. "Pants?" she squeaked.

"Thought you were desperate, Slayer, no time to wait," he grumbled, loosening her bonds. "'Sides, may as well get used to it. I've nothing to be ashamed of, and I don't intend to change my habits to protect your precious innocence. Think things with dear Parker made protecting your innocence a moot point anyhow," he snickered.

"Could you be any more of a pig?" she snapped.

She wasn't tied to the bed anymore, but tape still encircled her wrists and ankles. He yanked her upright, so her face was level with his crotch. She whipped her eyes up to his, away from the bobbing thing in her face. Eyes were hooded, pupils darkened with anger, he grabbed her hair and pulled her forward while thrusting his hips toward her. Something hard, something she didn't want to think about, rammed her in cheek with enough force to bruise. She gasped.

"Yeah, I think I could," he chuckled lowly, but then he hauled her to her feet and marched her to the bathroom without any further ado.

Once there, he wrapped a towel around his waist, plucked the knife off the counter, and cut her bindings away. "Look, do your thing, then have a bit of a wash-up in the shower, okay? It'll make you feel better. Smell better too". He tossed the knife out of the bathroom, far away from her reach.

His mood changes threw her for a loop, especially when he was almost a decent… well, not human being, but decent. Not that she was going to complain. She used the toilet gratefully, not caring this time that he was watching her. "Is this some kind of kink for you, watching me pee?"

He snorted. "Not bloody likely. Told you pet, I've learned I can't be too careful around you". She sat there, fidgeting. "Come on, into the shower with you. I'll be seeing the goodies sooner or later, so may as well get it over with".

The fact that he said it clinically, without a trace of a leer, made up her mind. She quickly stood and turned her back to him, then stripped and jumped into the shower, pulling the aged curtain closed. When she had the temperature right, she stepped into the spray. Any thoughts that she might have a little privacy were dashed when Spike stepped into the shower behind her.

Buffy turned her back to him. "You've got to be kidding. What am I going to do in here besides get wet?" Spike choked. "God, you're disgusting". She thought about punching him, but in her weakened state, she knew she'd be doing little more than making a token protest. No, better to lull him into thinking she would play nice, that he had nothing to fear from her, and have her shower. Despite her attempts at cleaning last night, she was still crusty with… well, she didn't want to think about that. A shower was an outright necessity at the moment.

"Hand me the shampoo?" she asked as politely as she could manage. She heard the snick of the cap, and a moment later felt his hands in her hair. She froze, tense, but he did nothing more than lather her hair, and quite well at that, she had to admit. If it wasn't for the fact of who he was, what he was, she'd probably be making porno-worthy sounds right now. "Ooookay," she said hesitatingly.

"Have to admit, now this is a kink," Spike rumbled, brushing up against her to show her how much. Buffy pulled away as far as she could, and Spike let her, only touching her hair and scalp. "Love your hair, love the way it bounces when we fight," he breathed. "Loved seeing it glowing in the sunlight, so golden and shining, like an angel's halo".

She didn't know what to say. From anybody else, she'd take it as a compliment. From the vampire with a raging hard-on behind her, it was only creepy and disturbing. She didn't want to encourage him, but on the other hand, she didn't want to upset him either. He'd threatened force often enough, and she was completely vulnerable right now. She settled for standing as still as possible, giving him the cold shoulder without actively antagonizing him.

"Rinse off then pet, and we'll do the conditioner". She complied with as little movement as possible, and heard another snick, followed by the feel of Spike working the conditioner in.

"Shove over while that sets, so I can have a go in the water, alright?" His hands were on her hips, guiding her movements as he pulled her out of the way and slipped past her into the spray. His body brushed against hers, slippery wet and as warm as any human from the heat of the shower. Repressing a shudder at the touch, Buffy tried to turn away so she didn't have to look at him, despite the fact that he now held her upper arm with one hand, preventing her from turning around completely. With the water streaming down his body, his enormous penis jutting upwards, she had to admit he really didn't have anything to be ashamed of. Still, she didn't want to see it, didn't want to admire him at all.

Face averted, she groused, "Doesn't that thing ever go away?"

Spike chuckled, and said sultrily, "'M all man, sweetheart. Just think of the time I could show you. I'd have you screaming, I promise". She glanced at him involuntarily. His eyes promised untold pleasure, and the way his tongue flexed and curled gave an indication of the uses he would put it to.

"In disgust," Buffy muttered, but she still couldn't help the little shiver than ran through her. He was pure sensuality, and her own body responded just enough that she was thoroughly mortified with herself.

Spike knew he was playing with fire, teasing her like this when she was unbound and could conceivably strike back, but he was having too much fun to care. He could smell a hint of the arousal she was fighting, and her face had shown just the slightest flicker of interest, enough to convince him that he'd be able to take her willingly if he were patient enough. He'd shag her senseless either which way, but decided it would be sweeter if she came to him. Asked him for it. It would be easy enough to force her, so it didn't hold as much interest as getting her to capitulate. He'd have truly dominated the Slayer then, not just her body, but also her mind and soul. What better way to take revenge on her?

He wondered how her blood would taste as she wriggled beneath him in pleasure, golden hair fanned out, begging him with that perfect little mouth. Yeah, that was the way to kill her. The picture in his mind was an acute contrast to the way she was now, half turned away, hunched and miserable.

Even so, she was still a heady sight. The spray of the water had her warm and wet and glistening, and her scent was strong in the humid enclosed space. He finished washing himself one-handed, then used his free hand to stroke himself, the other one still preventing the Slayer from turning away. He traded places with her again, never letting go with either hand.

When she hesitated, then reached her hands up to lift her wet locks and rinse the conditioner out despite the picture she knew she'd present to him, he groaned and tugged harder. Thanks to his hand encircling her arm, she accidentally pulled him closer as she raised her arms, and she stood stock still, eyes screwed shut, face panicked, breasts heaving. Spike could hear her heart fluttering away, like a little bird.

He almost took her right then, fantasy be damned. With a massive effort of self-control, he released her and stepped back, still stroking. "It's ok, luv. Won't touch you till you ask me for it. Have your rinse". She shuddered in relief, tears streaming down her face, mixing with the spray from the shower as she quickly finished rinsing.

When she was done, he handed her the motel soap, wrinkling his nose at the cheap fragrance. Turning completely away from him, she washed herself quickly.

The sight was too much, and his release came, washing away down the drain. Convenient. As his spunk swirled away, so did his sense of equanimity.

"Turn the water off," he growled, unsure of why he'd settled for a wank instead just taking what he wanted. His plans for shagging a willing Slayer to her death sounded satisfying, but Spike had no sodding clue why he was suddenly fixated on the idea. A human's consent or desire had never much mattered to him before.

Even more disturbing were the poncy, love-struck words he'd spoken while washing her hair. These were the sorts of things he should only say to Drusilla. Not the way he wanted to talk to the sodding Slayer. Even now, he wanted to dry and brush her hair for her, feel it trailing through his fingers. Get a bleeding grip, mate.

He roughly handed her a towel, all civility gone in the face of his disquiet. "Get done quickly, or I'll tie you up bare-assed, got it?" he snapped, wrapping a towel around himself.

Soon as she was done, he seized her angrily and hauled her back to the main room, her legs tangling as she tried to keep up. The moment he turned his head to the side, looking for where he'd dropped the length of rope, Buffy yanked free from his grip and flung herself onto the bed where the knife had come to rest, sliding across the comforter and ending in a crouch on the opposite side from him.

"Bloody bitch!" he snarled, furious at himself for having lost his grip on her so easily. "You know you can't kill me with that little sticker, Slayer. All you're gonna do is make me angry. S'not like you're gonna be able to get away from me".

Her eyes stayed glued on him, calculating. "I don't know Spikey. I'm thinking I might be able to get some damage in before you take it away, and that would be ok with me. Being a meek prisoner isn't really agreeing with me". She adjusted her position as he moved towards her. "You do realize that I survived the Cruciamentum, right? I don't need super-strength to kill you".

He snorted, "Can't kill me, you moron. Gem on my finger makes it impossible".

"I'll settle for fucking you up then," she snarled and launched herself at him, knife headed straight for his eye.

"Bloody buggering FUCK!" he screamed as it penetrated, the Slayer's full weight knocking him down and driving the knife in up to hilt. He felt the blade pulling back out with a wet sucking motion, but as it withdrew, the wound healed up right behind. He had perfect stereovision of the bitch's shocked face.

"You'll pay for that, you cunt!" he roared, launching her across the room. She hit the wall with a thud and crumpled in a heap, unmoving. Watching her warily, he raised his hand to his eye, prodding gently, then kissed the ring in gratitude. Bleeding brilliant.

When Buffy awoke this time, she knew she'd made a grave error. Not only was she trussed tighter than a Christmas goose, but he'd tied her up so as to make it hurt. Her arms were wrenched behind her back, the ropes cutting off circulation. Her feet were tied together, and then bent backwards, touching her ass, and worse, held in place by a rope than ran from her ankles to around her neck. Any movement tightened the rope around her neck, threatening to crush her windpipe. Arching her back killed, but relieved the pressure, allowing her to breathe more freely.

She sensed rather than saw Spike approach her. He cocked his head and observed her, blue eyes glittering malevolently. "Now, little girl, I warned you. I appreciate your determination. Even admire it. But this is my show". He stalked closer, moving like the predator he was, and bonelessly melted down so his face was inches from hers. "You have a choice. You're going to die, no choice about that. But before you do…" he trailed the knife in his hand down her cheek, and she flinched as it cut into her. "You can fight me, and spend your days being tied up and tortured. Can't say as I mind that choice". Spike leaned forward and licked the blood that was welling on her cheek like it was a delicacy. "Or you can behave, and though you'll still be tied up," he leaned back, "we can at least make it… pleasurable," he finished seductively, eyes hooded.

"I'm going to make choice number three – no tying, no dying".

Spike shrugged, then gagged her and moved away as a knock sounded at the door. "I'll let you think about it". Opening it, he motioned entrance to the knocker. "Please, come in while I fetch my wallet". He turned to Buffy. "Darling, dinner's here!"

The delivery boy who had entered gasped as he saw Buffy and tried to back out, but Spike had already shut the door, blocking his escape. The boy didn't even have time to scream before the vampire had sunk his fangs into him, sucking him dry.

Buffy glared at him ineffectually, her gaze murderous. She hated being helpless. Smirking, Spike let the body fall to the floor, then casually wiped the blood off his mouth with the back of his hand. "Not as tasty as you, luv, but he'll do".

He picked up the bag of food the boy had dropped and walked to her, setting it on the bed by her head. "I had planned on feeding you, but I think it'll be better to wait, hmmm? Don't want to reward your bad behavior," he tutted.

Despite her condition, the smell of the food reminded her that she had barely eaten in the last 24 hours. Her stomach grumbled loudly, but she refused to make a sound. Spike grinned widely, then settled himself on the other bed. He turned the TV on and ignored her completely, flipping the channels until he found something he liked.

About an hour later, he turned it back off. Buffy had closed her eyes while she waited, and she opened them again at the sudden lack of noise. Spike picked up a syringe, flicked it, and brought it to her. After a moment's consideration, he plunged it into a vein on her wrist. More Cruciamentum drugs. He subsequently looked her over critically, shook his head, and stood.

Without a word he rifled through the dead boy's pockets, emptied the cash out of his wallet and his work pouch, then took his keys and left.

A few minutes later, he was back, triumphantly brandishing an antique looking hairbrush with a silver handle. "Thought I had one of these in the trunk," he said mildly. "Now, let's get you fixed up. You don't want to go out looking like that do you?"