If I be so inclined to climb up beside you,

Would you tell me that the time just isn't right

And if I ever find the key you hide so well,

Will you tell me that I can spend the night?

Leavin' your smell on my coat, leavin your taste on my shoulder

I still fail to understand what it is about this woman

Helplessly melting as I stand next to the sun

As she burns me, I am screaming out for more

Drink every drop of liquid, heap that I've become

Pop me open spoon me out on to the floor

Leavin' your smell on my coat, leavin your taste on my shoulder

I still fail to understand what it is about this woman

Woman-Maroon 5

He yanked her to him by the arms and crushed her body to his and he felt something in him shiver and reveled. His muscles sang and tightened as he felt her curves and heated skin pressed to his. He leaned down and smothered her suprise gasp with his mouth.

The kiss was hard, hot and possesive, his right hand snaked to her waist, tangled with the ropes then slid to naked skin. His hand had a strong grip of her right arm that would leave bruises in the morning. His hand at her back pressed on warm skin to bring her closer to him.

Lips brushed and rubbed against eachother.

Spike angled his head and sunk into her.

Her lips were soft and warm and pliant against his, like her body that molded and moved against his. He didn't bother to bite, to nibble, he merely absorbed.

Faye felt her blood boiled, her brain flashed, as he gulp her down, slow. His lips were hard and unrelenting, his hands coarsed and strong around her, against her, over her. She let out a low sound of need.

The taste of her burst in his mouth and he tangled his tongue in it, lapped it all up greedily, selfishly. His breath was coming out fast and hot, his blood was heating up and the way she was curved all over him didn't help either. He ran his hands up her waist, her bare arms, the curve of her shoulder and tangled it in her hair, fisted. His fingers crushed the flowers in her hair, the scent of it vivid and tangible against them.

His need for her was like a rushing tide, overwhelming and sudden, intense. He knew he shouldn't be doing is, touching her like this, he knew he should've held back, he should've turn his back and leave. But he didn't. He couldn't. The need for her was already consuming him, torturing him.

This aching need was new to him, oh, he had wanted Julia and other woman that had come his way. Whatever else he was, a monk was not one of it.

Julia, he had wanted her with every single breath in his body. The act itself was always hot and heated, fast tangled limbs and gleeful laughs in the night. It was more of a symbol of freedom for them, what they had between them was a thing far away from syndicate, from vicious, from the darkness that they had lived in. It was their way of keeping the darkness at bay. Their love was the thing that had kept them sane, their attempt of normalcy, a connection to the ordinary world.

He had needed Julia and with the pain of needing her, having but also not having her came also a sweet echoing pleasure.

His need for Faye was something else entirely. She was not even close to his type but he wanted her anyway. She was the bane of his existence, cocky and reckless, greedy and shameless. She had all the qualities that he hated in a woman, but when she wasn't there, he found that he missed her crude words and whiny voice. He missed seeing the arrogant smirk, hearing the sound of her heels, staring at the burst of heat in her eyes whenever she was angry at him. He missed arguing with her over hot water, over bounties, over her gambling pursuits. He had even missed his annoyance of finding his last stash of cigarettes missing which he found just so disturbing.

What was more disturbing than that was the slow clench of lust that swirled low in his belly when he had first saw her dancing, in front of him. For him.

And the quick twist of need the first time he had saw her face. Annoyed and confused with it, he tried to explain it as surprise or some shit like that, but than that night had happen, and he didn't fight it anymore.

The need to touch her was a fierce tangle in him, it clawed and scratched its way through. The scent and taste of her choked and filled his senses, blocked the sanity and reason that had tried to push it back.

More. More. I want more. I need..I need..More

The chant was repeated in his head, he slid his lips to the curve of her jaw, to the long line of her neck. He pressed his lips to the pulsing vein in her neck, and bit.

He swallowed her surprised gasp as he ravished her mouth once again. His hands worked on her back, tangled with the ropes that held the dress together and pulled. The ropes snapped and the dress loosened around her.

Desperation was an emotion Faye was familiar with. An emotion that clung to her like her very own skin. It grew in stages. At first, it was desperation for food, than for life, than for money, for power, for survival, for freedom than for a sense of safety. Than a desperation for warmth, for heat, for love.

It grew and tangled its roots in her, and with every beat of her heart, it grew bigger and bigger.

And today it consumed.

When Spike cornered her that night, that night when those suffocating emotions that was churning inside of her, those emotions that were for him, that night when those emotions were bubbling too close to the suface, he touched more than just skin, touched more than just 'the Faye' that she had made herself in to. The Faye that for two years had moved from planet to planet, the Faye that did nothing else but collect bounties, bought shoes and try to live a day at a time.

He had touched the old Faye, the Faye that hoped for friends. The Faye who lived with her own set of honorable codes. The Faye that had craved for a small family of her own. The Faye with her delusions and dreams.

The Faye that had looked at him, and allowed herself to dream.

The Faye that had cared for him and loved him even a little bit. As much as she knew how, with a heart that was torn and tattered.

He had touched that Faye, and that Faye had blossomed, had broken out of the prison of reason, and reveled in freedom. And in freedom, demanded, wanted.

And as before, it wanted Spike.

Now she would allow herself this night, this moment of weakness in hope that it would atleast ease the burning inside of her. Fill the empty void that she had deep inside at the day of his leaving.

One night, just this one night.

Her skin was damp and slithered with sweat, heat swirled around them, in them, thickened the air. It was getting harder and harder to breathe. Fingers tangled in clothes, curled in hair, clawed on skin.

His arms were strong around her, she felt his muscles shifted, strained. And when his mouth worked on her neck, her knees wobbled.