CHANGE OF SPACE 5

By Annie

Rated: R Summary: Lex has an offer for Spike. Spoilers: General Season 5 of Buffy Disclaimer: Still not mine. :( Feedback: crehnert@ptd.net





5



After I got back to the hotel, I spent the rest of the night tossing and turning. Even the long shower with the vicious flogging of my cock did nothing to satiate me. I had been so, I don't know, expectant, no, sure, that Spike would be more than happy to fall onto my neck with his fangs bared, and now obviously something was rotten in Sunnydale.

I forced myself to wait until two hours after the sun had risen, using the time to make a few international calls and getting the day's business out of my way. I had every intention of spending the rest of the day with Spike, hopefully uninterrupted by the drunken invocation of the Slayer. I was tempted to return to the Magic Box, buy about a thousand dollars worth of junk and set Anya's tongue wagging, but the probable presence of Mr. Giles stopped me. He would never let her tell me a thing. As I thought about it, I knew he had to be the Watcher. Every Slayer had a Watcher, and if the Magic Box was the boardroom, then he was the CEO.

I paused in the middle of the cemetery on my way to Spike's crypt, steeling myself, trying to quell the shakiness I felt inside, the burning need for Spike's physical touch. I hated this. I hated that I wanted this demon to bite my neck and suck my blood. I hated that I wanted him to do things to me, and mostly I hated that I absolutely needed to do things to him. If he accepted my proposition, maybe I could get over this addiction to the unusual I had catered to that night. I closed my eyes and ran my fingers lightly over the almost-invisible scar on my throat. No time like the present, and I vowed I wouldn't leave Sunnydale without my 'acquisition.'

I got a better look around the crypt in the daylight, as I opened the door, finding Spike slouched in front of the television, watching an old Frankenstein movie. The place was a veritable haven for cobwebs and dust, but it was, after all, a home for a dead thing. As I thought that, I wondered in the back of my mind if I was already trying to talk myself out of this. Wouldn't do any good. Just being in his presence made my mouth water, made me swallow, boiled my blood in my veins and hardened my cock.

"Good morning, Spike," I greeted him calmly, as I closed the door firmly behind me and walked toward his chair.

"Bugger off, I'm busy!" he replied, not even looking in my direction. He was pissing me off.

I tried another, more sarcastic tack. "Can we go out for coffee or something? Oh, no, I guess we can't, what with the sunshine and all. We'll have to talk here. How's the hangover?"

He looked at me with something very much like contempt in his eyes. "Dead, remember? I don't get hangovers."

"Big plus there. Anyway, I'm here because I found your note. Intriguing. I want you to tell me what you know." I thought a direct approach might be best. But, apparently not.

He almost snorted. "Just blowing smoke up your ass, Lex," he told me, with some kind of hissing, sardonic emphasis on my name that I didn't understand. Hadn't I been good to him? For him? "I don't know anything. Don't know anything at all, anywhere."

I didn't believe him, but then I never was one to trust easily. I plunged right in, forcing myself not to take another step closer to him.

"I have a proposition for you. Mutually beneficial, of course."

Okay, that lit a spark of interest in his cool blue eyes. The bruises on his face could never hide that piercing color, and as I examined him critically, I noted that he had healed somewhat from the night before. Vampire stuff, I assumed. Maybe, if I hung around long enough, I could see that cut-glass facial structure once more. I got harder looking into those eyes, and I had to refocus my thoughts to hear what he was saying.

"Speak your piece and get out," he advised, standing now and heading across to the refrigerator. He must drink an awful lot, I thought. He really did need better supplies, and vaguely I wondered when the liquor store opened. He brushed against my body as he went by, deliberately I thought, and the cool touch burned, lit my insides on fire, sent my brain reeling so I had to really work to form coherent words. I wanted nothing more than him in me, teeth and cock, if he would, but I was getting failure vibes and I wasn't going to give up lightly. I always get what I want.

I tried not to watch his mouth and hands as he made and poured a drink. "Very simple," I told him, my calm tone belying the furor inside. "I want you to come back to Smallville. You will be acting as my personal assistant, with a negotiable salary and fringe benefits. I want you to do this for one year, after which, I will set up a laboratory in any part of the world you choose, and have my scientists remove your chip. Of course, you will have promised to stay away from me and any of my, for want of a better term, 'loved ones,' and you can go on your merry way from there."

He cocked an eyebrow, tingling my spine. I was itching to put my hands on him. Or better yet, my mouth.

"I get money and what? These fringe benefits. What exactly are we talking about here? Paid holidays? Christmas bonus? All the hot wings I can eat?"

I was ready to jump over there and eat him alive by now, and he knew it, was delighting in it. "Me," I told him, with barely a crack in my voice. "We're talking about me." I was determined to stay in control.

He smiled then, darkly, and it chilled me to the bone. I was dealing with a notoriously vicious vampire here, and chip or not, I was starting to be afraid.

He put the glass down then and stalked toward me. I stood my ground, unflinching, until he was standing bare inches from me. I couldn't feel any heat from him, as I knew I would have from any human standing that close to me, almost touching. I didn't care, I was hot enough by then for the two of us.

"You." He repeated, deliberately inhaling, sensing, I knew, my heat, blood and fear. And my arousal. He knew how hard I was, how hot my blood felt running through my veins. "You and your fresh, painless blood. Want that feeling back, do you?" His eyes flashed hungrily at me, and I knew he wanted it, too. "Underestimated my thrall, did you?" He leaned in and inhaled the scent of the blood beneath the skin of my throat, then pulled away sharply.

"Go home," he demanded." There's nothing here for you. I have nothing for you."

My insides dropped sharply at his sudden claim of disinterest. He did want me, I could see it in his eyes, see it in the prominent bulge he was beginning to sport in the front of his jeans.

"You want the chip out, I know this." I watched his face carefully then, gauging his reaction to my next statement. "You want the chip out so you can kill the Slayer, right?"

"I can't.I can't kill the Slayer. There's stuff going on here, you have no idea."

"I have a very good idea. What's with this Hellgod and a robot? What's with you moaning the Slayer's name in your sleep? And where did you get a robot anyway?"

"You'd like to know, wouldn't you?" Spike laughed. "You just never mind about the Hellgod and the sodding robot and especially the Slayer. You stay away from the Slayer."

"I wasn't planning on going anywhere near her. I came here to take you back to the castle with me. One year, Spike, that's all. You're immortal for fuck's sake, what's a year to you?"

He looked at me, trying to measure my intentions. "A little fresh blood and what? I'm supposed to be your lapdog instead of hers? One year," he remarked. "Why one year, in particular? Oh no, wait, let me guess.Farmboy will be legal in a year, right? What if I've drained you as dry as an October cornstalk by then? You wouldn't be much use to him, would you? Does he share your...proclivities, do you think? Or are you planning to convert him? I know he wants to shag that piece of sugar cane behind the counter at the coffee shop..."

It was my turn to move closer to him now. "You leave them out of this." I warned, barely able to speak with the sheer overpowering closeness of him. "Clark is the only human being who treats me like something other than a pariah. He's..."

"Farmboy's not..." Spike started to interrupt, and I could almost see him biting his tongue. Something I would have been more than happy to do for him. But I didn't like him even thinking about Clark, let alone bringing him up in conversation.

"Not what?" I snapped.

"Not your type," he said finally, turning back to his glass.

"Will you just think about it?" I asked, trying to keep the desire out of my voice. "No one loses here."

His back was turned to me, as he finished his drink and set the glass down on the little table a bit harder than necessary. I moved up behind him and put my arms around him, bringing my right arm up to his face, moving my wrist back and forth by his mouth. He was trembling, and I knew he was enjoying the heady scent of my blood, the fact that he could have it without painful recrimination. I pressed myself up against his back, and he moaned, feeling my erection. He reached up and grabbed my arm then, as I ground into him, exasperated by the amount of clothing between us. He licked my wrist, wrenching a groan from me, making me push my wrist against his mouth, tender skin against seeking lips. He nipped lightly, and I could feel the physical exertion he was putting forth to resist breaking the pale skin so willingly offered. He pushed me away abruptly, and I stood, trying to keep my breathing from sounding so desperate and broken. "I can't." He said, and I could see he was torn.

"Yes, you can." I told him insistently. "I read your note. You wanted me to find you. Now I have. All I want is one good reason you won't come with me. One."

He just looked at me, lost in bloodlust but fighting against it for something else. "I can't," he repeated quietly. "We're in the middle of a bloody shit storm here. They need me. She needs me."

"I need you." I admitted, against my better judgment, I might add.

He looked at me, incredulous. "We're fighting a war to save the bloody world, and you just want to get sucked and fucked?"

"And when did it become your job to help the Slayer save the world?"

He didn't answer me. I saw the anger and frustration suddenly growing in his eyes, and unconsciously took a step backward, something I normally never allow myself to do. He strode toward me furiously, and, chip or not, I thought I was a dead man. He grabbed a handful of my shirt and dragged me across the floor, flinging open the crypt door and pushing me out into the sunlight, heedless of his own safety. He pulled back from the brightness quickly, practically slamming the heavy door in my face.

In the history of bad ideas, this was turning out to be the worst. Measures would have to be taken.

I always get what I want.