Save the Last Dance for Me

By: Passion4Spike

Chapter 36: Uhhh, Spike?

Chapter Summary:

Their night takes a turn from whispers to screams.

Bonus points for finding the small 'crossover' with 'The Dresden Files' in this chapter. Tell me if you spot it!

Later that night.

Buffy stretched languidly, arching her back and lifting her arms overhead, pressing her body against Spike as she woke from a strange, but oddly happy dream some time later.

"Sleep well, pet?" Spike asked, trailing the back of his fingers down her side from under her arm to her hip as she stretched like a contented feline.

Buffy moaned a dreamy affirmative, blinking her eyes open to look at him. He lay on his side on the bed next to her, his head propped up in one hand, watching her.

"I dreamed aliens abducted us and took us far away to another Earth," she recounted sleepily, turning on her side to face him like a mirror. "It looked just like this one, except the sun was different, and it wouldn't turn you into dust motes. There were humans and demons living there in peace; somehow they'd found a way to get along," she continued.

"Did they? Where did that leave you hero-types, then?" he wondered.

Buffy smiled. "We hero-types," she explained, emphasizing the 'we', "were brought in to be the law, like in those old westerns. Even though everyone mostly got along, there were still bad people, and bad demons. We were like … Marshall Dillon and Festus, keeping the peace in Dodge City."

Spike quirked a brow at her. "You're Festus," he insisted.

Buffy laughed, and leaned forward, touching a soft kiss to his lips. "Be careful or I'll make you Miss Kitty," she warned, pulling back from him, her eyes sparkling with humor.

"Not sure red's my best color, luv," he countered. "Would clash with my delicate complexion."

Buffy laughed again, flopping over onto her back right next to him. "Well, I'm sure we'll work something out, but you know you'll always be the eye-candy sidekick, right?"

Spike raised a brow, looking down at her. "Will I, then?"

"Yup," Buffy confirmed. "Robin to my Batman, Tonto to my Lone Ranger, Clark Kent to my Superman—"

"You do know that Clark Kent is Superman, yeah?" Spike wondered patiently, cutting her off.

Buffy waved a dismissive hand. "The point is, I'll be all hero-y, and you'll be there looking pretty, shirtless, wearing tight jeans, making all the onlookers swoon. Then, I'll capture the bad guy, you'll kiss me, and I'll pinch your sweet ass, and everyone will cheer and sweep us away to buy us drinks at the saloon."

"Got it all figured out, have you?"

"Uh-huh," she confirmed. "How else am I gonna get to pinch your sweet ass?"

Spike turned his head, casting his gaze back over his shoulder at the subject of conversation, then looked back at Buffy. "Could just ask, I reckon," he suggested casually. "'Course, there's always a quid pro quo."

Buffy raised her brows. "Yeah, Dr. Lecter, and what would be the quo? … The quid? Or is it the pro? Which comes first?"

Spike smirked at her. "Whichever you want, pet."

Spike rolled away from her, turning onto his stomach, and reached down off the edge of the bed to the floor. Rolling back over to face her, he held up two sets of gleaming, silver handcuffs and matching manacles. They hung loosely from his thumb by their chains, clinking together almost musically and shining in the glow of the candles.

"Do you trust me, Slayer?"

Buffy bit her bottom lip, her eyes growing wide, but then gave him the slightest of nods.

Spike's demeanor changed like the flipping of a switch as he fastened the last handcuff with a soft 'click' of locking metal. A wicked gleam surfaced in his eyes as he surveyed his handiwork – the Slayer, nude and defenseless, spread-eagle in his bed, and not a single annoying Scooby would come lookin' for her for hours, perhaps days.

"Spike?" Buffy asked hesitantly, seeing the sudden change in him.

The vampire gave her a malevolent grin. "Been waitin' a long time for this," he admitted. "Don't worry, Slayer, I'll take my time, make sure ya scream real good before it ends for you."

"Spike?" Buffy asked again, tugging on the chains, her trepidation growing.

Spike stalked around to the other side of the bed and began removing candles from the top of a wooden trunk. "No need to fight, pet. I assure you, my bed is already Slayer-proof… as are those chains. Special-made by the Svartalves, yeah? Just fer you."

Buffy hmphed, disbelieving, tugging on them with all her considerable strength to absolutely no effect.

"What's in there?" Buffy asked nervously, giving up momentarily on her struggles and lifting her head up to see what he was doing.

Spike chuckled, deep and wicked. "You got your toy chest, I got mine," he explained, lifting the lid.

"Mine's a weapons' chest," Buffy corrected.

Spike shrugged. "You say to-may-to, I say to-mah-to."

Buffy saw gleaming metal blades and chains and other things that she didn't even want to know the names of inside the trunk. She watched as the vampire picked out two rusty railroad spikes and set them down almost lovingly on the bedside table.

"Not yet, my precious, soon," he murmured to them, turning his attention back to the chest.

Spike pulled a small, twin-edged dagger from the chest and held it up, considering it. He touched the sharp tip to the end of his finger and blood immediately welled up around the gleaming blade. Spike sucked his finger between his lips and sighed in pleasure.

"Still tastes like you," he breathed blissfully, looking back at Buffy. "'Course, I got an all-you-can-eat Slayer buffet now, don't I? Wonder how long I can keep you alive to sup on?"

"Spiiike, this isn't funny now … or cute or BDSM-y or whatever you think—"

Buffy's words were cut off by the blade being pressed against her throat, not quite hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make her stop moving.

"Not tryin' to be anything but what I am. You've heard o' me, yeah? William the Bloody? Slayer o' Slayers?" he growled against her ear.

Buffy swallowed hard, but otherwise didn't move, her heart racing, the sound of it pounding in her ears in a deafening staccato rhythm.

"Now be a good little Slayer – struggle, scream, bleed, cry – but don't yammer on like a scared little bint," he advised her, pulling back and returning to the chest.

"Remember what Finn said?" Buffy continued, not taking his advice. "He'll come after you if you spill one drop of human blood," Buffy reminded him, warningly.

Spike grinned deviously. "Can't bloody wait," he purred. "Look forward t' ripping his intestines out with my bare hands and stuffing them down his sanctimonious throat.

"Hope he brings the little trollop, too. Show her what a real man is before I drain 'er … Very. Slowly."

Buffy growled, pulling and yanking against the restraints in earnest.

"Oh, I'm sorry, pet. Did ya want t' watch the deed? Should'a said so before.

"She gets as wet as you when she's fighting, did ya know? Could've had those long, lean legs wrapped around my hot, tight, little body that night in the Magic Box. You really should've said, Buffy," he told her with a cloying tone of mock concern.

Buffy shrieked in frustration, still pulling against the chains, but she was doing nothing more than raising bruises on her wrists and ankles. They were not giving, and neither was the bed.

The next element of torture Spike pulled from the chest made Buffy's eyes go wide in pure, heart-wrenching horror.

"No … no, no … Spi—William, William, listen to me. You don't want to do this. I know you, and you don't want—"

Spike chuckled, low and melodious. Buffy wasn't sure she ever heard anything more frightening.

"William's not here, is he? Gone off t' write a poem 'bout a lark, I reckon. Hidin' in the corner like a nancy-boy," Spike informed her, stalking closer, his instrument of torture held up for her to see in all its glory.

"Spike, baby, remember 'eternity', and till the end of the world', and … and 'I love you'?" Buffy cajoled, pulling frantically at her bonds. They didn't give an inch.

Spike's alabaster skin glowed in the candlelight, the pink wound on his abdomen still visible. His muscles rippled and quivered with pleasure in anticipation of what was to come as he felt the fear surge off her body in waves. His cock stood at full attention, tightly pressed against his lower stomach, apparently also quite enthusiastic about having the Slayer at his complete and utter mercy.

"Spike, please, this isn't you," Buffy tried again, still tugging at her bonds, trying to get free.

"That's where you're wrong, pet. This is me. This is Spike. Vampire, remember? Evil," he reminded her as the hand holding the long, thin torture device hovered dangerously over her torso, deciding just where to begin.

Without further warning, he struck, dropping it to her flushed skin, and drawing an excruciating line down her middle, from her breasts to her pubic bone.

Buffy's anguished shriek filled the chamber and tears sprang to her eyes unbidden. She writhed and struggled beneath him, her body arching in a bow as she tried in vain to escape.

Spike closed his eyes and breathed in deeply as she trembled and writhed on the bed, soaking in the utter nirvana of her struggles and screams.

"Now that's bloody heaven," he groaned in rapture, his eyes still closed, soaking in the bliss of fear rolling off her.

"Smells like … terror," he told her, looking back down at her as she struggled to get free.

"Scream for me, Slayer … scream," he hissed, mercilessly bringing the feather down again.

She did.

**END NOTES**

Has Spike gone all Angelus on her … with a feather?

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you're still enjoying the story. Please stop in and let me know, I'd seriously love to hear from you! Lots more to come.

Thanks also to my wonderful friend, PaganBaby, for sharing her talents with me. Her beta skillz are the bees knees - any mistakes here are mine because I just can't stop fiddling!

Her banner-making skillz are equally spectacular! I can't thank her enough for doing them for me! Love them! She totally rocks it!