Disclaimer: I wish I owned 'em! Nope, they belong to Joss Whedon. Some of the lines in here (the ones in bold) belong to the writers as well. The rest is mine.
Pairing: It's B/S but it's not the mushy kind. It deals with their relationship as it is now. Set after Older And Far Away.
Rating: R - it's S/B...do you expect anything else?
Feedback: Yes please!

Fumbling Towards Ecstasy

Part One: Done Wrong

When you don't wanna feel, death can seem like a dream. But seeing death, really seeing it, makes dreaming about it fucking ridiculous. Maybe there's a moment growing up when something peels back. Maybe…maybe…maybe we look for secrets because we can't believe our minds.

-- Girl, Interrupted. 

The fire flickered mercilessly over his shoulder as she slept on the pillow beside him on his bed. The small candle was rapidly becoming a pile of soft wax and the wick was holding onto the flame for life, clinging desperately, fighting ferociously and waiting anxiously for finality. Then it went out. Buffy closed her eyes and listened to the silence that filled the crypt, hoping to drown out the noisy thoughts in her own mind. But they screamed to be heard, to be analyzed and to be dealt with.

She had to focus on something else. Her eyes flickered open and she saw his face. Innocent and peaceful in sleep, his eyelids and long lashes hiding those intense blue eyes. If eyes were the windows to the soul, how was she supposed to look into his and figure out what he was and what he felt? How was she supposed to know that a soulless vampire felt anything at all?

He was a walking contradiction. Soft, pale, marble white skin that stretched over dark, dead organs. A sinewy body that was sleek and powerful. Long, sleek fingers that felt good and soft against her own tanned skin but powerful hands that remorselessly snapped thousands of necks. And then there were those lips that curled into a smile or a sneer depending on his mood. A soft, full mouth that molded against her own sending waves of pleasure through her yet in demon form had fed off thousands of helpless humans - a mouth that tasted like cigarettes, bourbon, blood and death.

It's blood. It's what I do.

Yes, it was what he did. What he could do if not for the nifty chip planted in his brain. And she had no assurance that he wouldn't do it again. No assurance, that if the chip was gone, he'd return to his psychopathic evil ways.

Something's happening to me. I can't stop thinking about you. And if that means turning my back on the whole evil –

She hadn't let him finish then and she wasn't going to dwell on it now. He had no clue as to what he was saying, what he was declaring and what was at stake. He couldn't turn his back on evil – it was what he was. Just like she couldn't turn her back on her slayer duties. Giving up something like that should be for someone you love. He didn't love her. He couldn't.

No, look at me. I love you. You're all I bloody think about... dream about. You're in my gut... in my throat... I'm drowning in ya Summers, drowning.

Obsession. Insanity. Vampire for crying out loud!

I'm in love with you.

You're in love with pain.

Wasn't love pain? Didn't they go hand in hand? Love was giving your heart to someone who could break and it and it could destroy you. Love means you have to trust the person not to break your heart. Love was anticipating that they'd do it anyway.

She thought of Angel. With thoughts of Spike came thoughts of Angel. And vice versa. Because they were both vampires. The comparison was inevitable. Her friends would be the first to point it out, if they knew. Angel had a soul, Angel was a champion and Angel was good. And they would be right. Falling in love with Angel had been easy. She hadn't even realized it until it was too late. Their relationship was the problem.

Angel + sex = Angelus.

Everything after that was a blur. Druscilla, Angelus, Acathala, Jenny Calendar, Kendra, the alliance with Spike, sending Angel to Hell – a series of events that still caused too much pain to think about.

But Angel had come back and they had tried to be friends.

You're not friends. You'll never be friends. You'll be in love till it kills you both. You'll fight, and you'll shag, and you'll hate each other till it makes you quiver, but you'll never be friends.

Of course, Spike was right. He was always right.

She sighed, closed her eyes and shook her head to get rid of 'past uglies'. When she opened them again, she thought about how those words applied to the vampire that slept beside her now. They had crossed the line, even if it had been just sex, they had gone too far. If she broke it off, things would never be the same.

They would never be friends.

She frowned. It was his fault. He should've stayed away. He shouldn't have come back to Sunnydale and he shouldn't have tried to kill her again. And when she died, he should have left. He had nothing left in Sunnydale to hang around for.

I'm counting on you to protect her.

'Till the end of the world. Even if it happens to be tonight.

Great, just what she needed - a vampire with a sense of duty.

He had hung around after she had jumped, he had fought demons beside her friends and he had taken care of Dawn. Like he had promised to.

She stared at his sleeping face, looking puzzled.

Every night I save you.

He was trying to be a hero. If she weren't touched by it and so grateful to him for it, she would have laughed. William The Bloody, killer of her kind, trying to save and protect a vampire slayer.

She had heard him talk about killing slayers – she was the one who had asked. And he had talked about them as if they were great accomplishments. To him they were. That night, she had seen a part of herself that had scared her so much that she had bottled it up. And he had shown it to her. As if he knew her.

Death is your art. You make it with your hands day after day. That final gasp, that look of peace. And part of you is desperate to know: What's it like? Where does it lead you? And now you see, that's the secret. Not the punch you didn't throw or the kicks you didn't land. She really wanted it. Every Slayer has a death wish. Even you.

He was right again. She had a death wish. She had seen what it was like. Where death lead her. What her duty meant. Who she was and why she had become the Chosen One.

Death is your gift.

Yeah, her gift. She had delivered and they had thrown it back in her face.

She shifted under the covers on his bed, letting the soft cotton fall off her back as she lay on her stomach. The crypt was still silent, nothing but her breathing could be heard. She let out a soft sigh, knowing that she wouldn't be able to sleep. Not beside him, not with so many thoughts and problems waiting to be resolved.

She thought of her friends. What would they say when they found out? Spike had protected them all summer, he had done some good and they asked him for help when they needed it. But would they be able to look at her after knowing what she had done with him? Was he right? Did she belong to the darkness?

She hadn't come back wrong. She wasn't a demon or an animal. And yet she found herself drawn to him, found herself enjoying what he did to her and it scared her. She had begged Tara to re-check the spell that brought her back and she desperately wanted to cling on to the fact that what she was doing with Spike was something that was completely out of her control.

But it wasn't. She had nothing to blame. She wanted Spike. She wanted a creature that represented blood, evil and death.

Death is on your heels, baby. And sooner or later, it's gonna catch you.

Was this the side of being the slayer Faith has alluded to? Was this the side that had pulled the dark-haired girl into the other side and tortured her so much? Was she turning into Faith?

She didn't belong there. She deserved something else.

You deserve more. You deserve something outside of demons and darkness. You should be with someone who can take you into the light. Someone who can make love to you.

But if she couldn't be with Angel and if she couldn't make it work with Riley then where did that leave her? Angel didn't understand that she couldn't have a normal life; Riley could never deal with her abnormal one, as much as he tried and they had both left her. It was as if she were doomed to fail at every relationship she had ever had.

Whatever this was with Spike could only lead to disaster. And heartbreak for her. Because he would hurt her. They always did.

You always hurt the ones you love, pet.

But that was what their foreplay was based on wasn't it? Violence and sex. Possession, heat…passion. Nothing about them being together was sweet or tender or loving. But he could be. She had seen him love Druscilla, she had seen him fiercely protect her and Dawn. She had seen this brutal murderer love.

Because Buffy – the other not so pleasant Buffy, if anything were to happen to Dawn it would destroy her. I couldn't live seeing her in so much pain. I'd rather let Glory kill me first. She nearly bloody did.

She thought of the abandoned house that they had brought down when the first time they had had sex. And where they had fought.

I could have danced all night with that one.

You think we're dancing?

That's all we've ever done.

Dancing equaled sex, it had been said. So it was quite fitting that they fought, they danced and they fucked.

She couldn't kill him; he couldn't kill her. Why would he want to anyway?

I knew that the only thing better than killing a slayer was fucking one.

Her eyes darted to the stolen alarm clock at Spike's bedside and her eyes widened as she read the time. It was almost sunrise. She quickly pushed the sheets off of her body and started to look for her clothes.

"You're still here, pet?" his voice drawled from behind her. She froze in her place as his voice sent delicious tingles through her system, but didn't look back. Closing her eyes, she gave herself a mental shake. "Slayer?"

"I have to go."

"Of course you do," he replied and she couldn't tell if he was amused or angry. Or both.

"Dawn spent the night at a friends' and I want to be back before she gets home and - "

"Wonders where you were and what you were doing," he cut her off and without having to turn around, she knew that he had that knowing smile on his face. "Or who." The rustling of the sheets finally had her turning to look at him. She didn't meet his eyes and he slid over to her side, his cool body coming in contact with hers. He bent his head and kissed her bare shoulder. "What about Red? Isn't she going to ask?"

She closed her eyes as his lips trailed up the column of her neck. Her voice came out in a breathless whisper. "I'll deal with Willow."

He lifted his head and whispered in her ear. "I don't doubt you will. But how long can you keep this up, love? How long until one of your friends or li'l sis finds out what's happening between us?"

That snapped Buffy out of her haze and she quickly pushed off the bed and started to dress. "I'm leaving, Spike."

He fell back on the bed, hands folded under his head as he watched her scamper around the room, collecting her clothes from the night before. As she reached the ladder to climb to the top floor, he called out to her again. "So I'll see you tonight then, love?"

"I have to work overtime, tonight. Xander and Anya said they'd patrol until I get there. I was wondering if you could keep an eye on them." She hated for even asking.

"No problem," he answered after a minute. She looked over at him one last time to see him smiling at her, in that sneering way of his. "So then, I'll see you tonight."

She quickly climbed to the top and made her way out of the crypt. She was wrong. He was wrong. She didn't belong there. She stepped out of the crypt just as the sun rose leaving him behind with the shadows, the night and death.

Death is your art.

And part of you wants it. Not only to stop the fear and uncertainty, but because you're just a little bit in love with it.