SUMMARY: Spike gets a new toy he wasn't expecting, and Willow finds out that life--and Gods--can sometimes throw humans for a loop.
TITLE: Order Now
AUTHOR: sinecure
PAIRING: W/S (1/?)
RATED: R
DISCLAIMER: Joss and ME own BtVS, I don't, and the way these past seasons are going, I'm glad I don't.
DEDICATED: To Claudia, because, not only is she the best beta ever, but she's also quite the friend. She kicks ass on grammar--just call her the Hyphen Queen, I do--spelling, characterization, plot. She makes my job a whole hell of a lot easier... even when she's killing my poor little defenseless plot-babies. ;)
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PART 1
Spike stared at the robot in front of him, then past her to Warren. No trace of what he was feeling was showing on his face, which was a good thing, otherwise Warren would probably be running for his life right now. "Some say it's better'n the real thing," he told Warren.
Warren nodded nervously. "Better than the real thing."
Spike's eyes turned gold as they shot once more to the robot girl. His hands fisted at his sides, teeth grinding together. He could feel a muscle in his jaw ticking. All he wanted to do was jump on Warren and rip his head from his shoulders, then stick a straw in his neck and suck the bastard dry. "You know what's even better though?" he asked softly, his eyes lifting to Warren.
Warren's eyes widened and he gulped loudly, stepping back a foot, and then another. A single glance behind him confirmed that he was trapped between Spike and the wall. "Um, wh-- what's that?"
"The right... girl!"
Warren gulped again, gesturing to the robot. "She's just like you told me to make her." He grabbed some pictures from his back pocket and unfolded them. "See? There she is. Looks just like her." He held the photos out, pointing to the girl with a shaking hand. "Just-- just like her."
Spike nodded, putting a hand to his chin as he walked around the robot, looking her up and down. A pair of red tennis shoes covered the feet of the robot. Her legs were encased in black jeans, her top-- Spike chuckled darkly, remembering the pink fuzzy sweater with the lilacs on it. Biteable, he'd told her. Well, the real her, not the robot her. And even now she looked entirely biteable, but she wasn't who he wanted. Her red hair, cut just as it had been that night, was brushing against her shoulders.
He reached out a hand, smoothing it down the strands. Felt like real hair. Just as he remembered hers feeling that night. He inhaled deeply. Smelled a bit the same too. But something was off... and what the hell did he care?
"Destroy her and do it over." He spun around to face Warren, the bot no longer between them. "I wanted Buffy, not Willow. I gave you pictures of Buffy. Her sweater, a blonde wig, how the hell did you come up with me wanting Willow?"
Warren frowned down at the pictures crumpled tightly in his hands. He held them out again, gesturing to Willow, the lone occupant of the pictures. "It was a red wig. With her pictures. There wasn't any bl-- blonde..." he trailed off at Spike's glare, looking over at the box of things he'd made Willow from. "The stuff you brought me is over there."
Spike circled around to look into Willow's face. It was... eerie. Kind of creepy. Her eyes, green he assumed, were closed, her head held high. She stood with her hands by her side, unresponsive to everything around her. It was the most still he'd ever seen her. He chuckled, liking her this way. She talked way too much at times. Reaching up with his right hand, he fingered her hair by her face. She didn't flinch this time, like she had in the warehouse, didn't pull back and tell him there'd be no having with her.
This robot had no spunk in her. No life. But Spike found himself more than a little curious to see what she'd be like once turned on. Besides, maybe they could learn from their mistakes with this one, use Willow as a learning tool. Whatever she did wrong, he'd have Warren fix on the new bot he made. And he would be making another one.
Glancing at Warren in irritation, he strode over to the box. Looking down, he saw a red wig, and photos of Willow and the others. Mostly there were pictures of Willow, drawings of her, jewelry that he didn't recognize. The blue sweater was gone. He looked over his shoulder at the pink sweater Willow was wearing.
"This isn't my stuff. Is this a joke? Did they put you up to this?" he demanded, throwing the box and its contents to the floor. Items he didn't recognize fell out, along with pictures he did recognize, but instead of Willow and Xander being folded back, it was Buffy and Xander. "What the hell is going on here? Did they do this?" Had they found out about his plans and thought to teach him a lesson by... by what? Giving him his very own lesbian witch?
"Who-- who's they? I don't... no. You're the only one who's been here." Warren stepped forward, closer to the Willow-Bot. "You don't like her? She's, uh, she's pretty, huh?"
"Oh yeah," Spike said, getting to his feet and stalking over to the Willow-Bot. "She looks good, just great. But she's not the girl I wanted." He stared at Willow, hating her for ruining his perfect fantasy. He'd been so close to having Buffy, to finally having Buffy... but she'd ruined it. Maybe he'd keep her around to torture. Beat on her a bit... he shrugged, turning back to Warren. "You're making me another, twerp. The girl I want is the blonde. Buffy! Make me a Buffy!"
Warren nodded his head hastily, shoving the pictures back into his pocket. "O-- okay. All right. I'll..." he trailed off, heading back to the box to sift through the pictures there. "The blonde, right?"
"Yes," Spike said absently, trailing a hand down Willow's cheek. It was soft, like silk. Did the real Willow's skin feel like this? He closed his eyes, trying to remember, but came up with a blank. "Turn her on," he told Warren, "I want to see her in action."
Warren picked up the box, dropping it onto the side table to look fearfully at Spike. "Why? I-- I thought she was the wrong one..."
Spike raised an eyebrow at him, letting his eyes go gold again. "Just do it."
"Okay. Um, hold on a second..."
"A little walk, a little talk..." Spike mused, wondering how exactly he could use this to his advantage. The possibilities were endless really. And to have one of Buffy as well... he was getting all excited just thinking about it. He'd keep Willow around for fun, turn her on all her friends or something equally as neat as that. But Buffy, he'd have her around for other things. "Make her do things... show me what Buffy will be able to do... perhaps a zippy cartwheel..."
Warren moved forward, gesturing to Willow. "Hey, she's, uh, great. You'll be real happy, I swear, she's got everything you asked for. All the extra programming, tons of real-world knowledge, the profiles you gave me about her family and friends." He ran a hand over her stomach, lifting up the fuzzy pink sweater and pressing on the flesh.
Spike watched him curiously. "*All* the extra programming, right?" Hmm, perhaps he could test them on Willow, and they could be fine-tuned for Buffy.
Warren's hand opened a door on Willow's stomach, revealing wires and chips, little lights and all sorts of things running behind the skin. "Ah, the, the stuff that you wanted, the, uh, scenario responses, you know, the, uh, uh, special... skills..." he paused, laughing nervously, glancing at Spike as he pressed a button then shut the door, smoothing the sweater back into place. "Her plug's in here too, um, just recharge her once a week or so... she won't remember it. I programmed her to think she's sleeping. She even has dreams."
"Great. And the extras?" Spike repeated, making sure they were all there.
"All of it," Warren told him, nodding hastily. "You sure you don't want just her?"
Spike rolled his eyes. "I'm sure." He touched Willow's cheek again, then pressed a finger into the simulated skin. It had give, much like human skin did, but there was something a little off about it. He'd have to have Warren fix that for Buffy. "She looks a little shiny to me, you know, uh... touch of plasticine..."
Willow's eyes opened--more brown than green, he noticed--startling him slightly, causing him to jump in a very unmanly way.
"Spike?" she queried, smiling widely. "Oh, Spike!" She hurried over to him, put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him, then pulled back, still smiling.
Spike jerked back, startled. "Definitely make sure to put this programming into the other one," he told Warren approvingly, looking over Willow's shoulder.
Warren nodded nervously. "Uh-huh, I can do that. Um, but it'll take me a few weeks again." He straightened up, nodding to the box on the table. "I have the stuff though. I can get started right away." He looked pointedly at the two of them, waiting for Spike to take Willow and go.
"Right," Spike sighed, glancing at Willow with a frown. She was still standing there, right in front of him, smiling and waiting for... "What's she waiting for?" he asked Warren.
"Instructions," Warren said absently, hefting the box and starting out of the room.
"Right," Spike said again. "I'll be back, so get crackin' on it, hmm?" Stepping away from Willow, he headed out the door. "Come on, Willow."
"Yes, Spike," she agreed, following him out the door with a smile.
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"Stop that," Spike snapped in irritation, taking a drag off of his cigarette.
"Stop what, Spike?" Willow asked, her mile-wide grin still firmly in place. She blinked at him innocently a few times, looking extremely interested in what he had to say.
He rolled his eyes at her through the gray and white cloud of smoke floating between them. The dark interior of his crypt held no lights, but he knew she could see him just as well as he could see her. Possibly even better. "Stop staring at me."
She nodded pleasantly, dropping her hands from under her chin to turn her head to the side. "Okay, Spike."
He frowned at her and, realizing he was being petty, snapped again. "Stop that too."
She kept her head turned to the side, glancing his way only with her eyes. "Stop what?"
"Quit calling me 'Spike'," he answered, standing up. Dropping his cigarette to the floor, he stomped on it with another irritated look tossed her way. Heading to the door, he yanked it open.
"What would you like me to call you?" she inquired politely. "The Big Bad? Snuggle Bunny? My Blonde God? Lover?"
Spike snorted with derision. "We're not lovers, pet. Not even friends. And if you call me any of those names, I'll have to deactivate you." He fixed his eyes on her, raising an eyebrow. "Permanently."
"Ooo," she practically purred. "You're very sexy when you do that." She frowned momentarily, turning her head fully his way. "We're not lovers?" She tilted her head in confusion, and then smiled slightly. "Yes, we are."
Spike sighed, ignoring the small amount of satisfaction her empty compliment gave him. "No, we're not. We're not lovers, we're not friends..." he tossed her an annoyed look as he closed the door, "I don't even like you much."
She frowned even more deeply, watching him curiously. "Then why do you make sweet, sweet love to me?" A grin split her face as she rose to her feet. "In many positions?"
"Uh, many positions, huh?" he repeated, looking at her with a little more interest. She looked about ready to pounce on him. He was the predator, and yet, he felt like the prey all of a sudden. "What, uh, what sorts of positions, love?" Realizing what he'd said, he shook his head. "I mean, didn't happen."
"I have memories of you shagging me. Sexing me up. Boning me. We bumped uglies." There was suddenly a whole heck of a lot of desire on her face. She moved closer, her eyes fixed on him. "You make me scream in ecstasy. I get hot when I look at you. I love you, Spike."
"Scream, huh?" he muttered, his eyes dropping to her pink and purple covered chest. It rose and fell in a parody of breathing, pressing her breasts tight against the fuzzy fabric. It was soft; he remembered that much from his drunken musings that night. And her smell was definitely intoxicating. Sweet with a hint of spice, something like cinnamon.
He loved Buffy, but it'd be a few more weeks before Warren would have her ready. If he could use Harmony to satisfy a few of his urges, why not Willow? A robotic version of Willow. He didn't need to like the chit.
She was annoying. Beautiful, yes, but almost as annoying as Harm. He briefly contemplated waiting for his Buffy robot, but shook his head decisively. "What else do you remember, love?"
She stared at the wall behind him for a few seconds, and then her eyes cleared and she focused on him once more. "I remember your hands touching me." She ran her own hands along her sides. "Your mouth pressing soft, but firm kisses on my hot, yielding flesh."
Spike hopped up on his bed casually, trying to pretend he wasn't affected. Scoffing at himself for being turned on by a few words and actions by a woman he wasn't even really attracted to, he shrugged nonchalantly, mentally reminding himself that she wasn't real.
She licked her lips seductively. "Your fingers were inside me. So was your cold, hard male member." Her breathing was slightly more erratic now, mimicking humanity. "I screamed for you as you thrust your cold, hard love muscle inside me and--"
"Okay," he interrupted loudly, shifting a little on the sarcophagus. "That's enough. I get the picture." It made more and more sense to use her to slake his desires. She was willing. He wasn't currently hooked with anyone real and the woman he loved wanted nothing to do with him. Buffy. God, sometimes he really despised her.
Yet still wanted her so much he ached.
"Poor Spike," she whispered softly. "What's the matter? Are you nervous?"
"Uh, no," he answered, frowning as she moved directly in front of him, stopping right between his legs. She settled her hands on his legs, moving her thumbs up and down along the inside of his thighs. "I'm fine. Could you... back off a little?"
Ignoring his attempts to remove her hands, she smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of you, Love Bunny." She dropped her head back, closing her eyes.
"Don't ever call me th-- what are you doing?"
Her chest rose and fell as she panted and moaned. A fine sheen of sweat formed on her face and neck. Her hands, still on his thighs, tightened, balling up the material of his jeans. "Take me, Spike. Yes, Spike... faster..." she moaned. "Oh, God, Spike, yes... yes!"
Spike's eyes widened and his own breathing... well, that he was breathing at all was a testimony in and of itself.
All he could think was: Is that what she looked like during sex? Would she lock her arms around him and hold him to her? Wrap her legs around his waist as he moved inside her? Pant her need and desire for him into his ear? Whisper her love to him, kiss him as he thrust-- bloody hell, he needed a woman.
It'd been too long. Harmony had left him for the last time a few months back and he'd been alone since then. Forced to take matters into his own hands... quite literally.
And here was Willow, right in front of him, waiting for him to take her into his arms. She was beautiful and willing and there. Three things he looked for in a woman.
She thought she loved him. Well, she was programmed to love him.
She was so unlike Buffy. All the Slayer had going for her was the beautiful part of the equation. He glanced down into Willow's face, wondering what it'd be like to use her for a little tension reduction. She was Buffy's best friend. And gay. It was almost like forbidden fruit. So tempting.
She was watching him with a smile, her eyes steady on his face. "Don't you want me, Spike?" Her hand slid up his thigh into his crotch, cupping the hardening bulge there. "You do want me." Her smile turned into one of satisfaction, her eyes glittering in the moonlight coming through the window. "I can please you, Spike. I need you." She leaned into him, letting her lips hover in front of his mouth. "Take me. Take me to places I've never been before."
His eyes, fixed on her mouth, just inches from his own, shot up to hers with amusement. "Warren didn't happen to add a few bodice rippers into your programming, did he?"
"Bodice rippers..." she pulled back a little ways, dropping her eyes to his chest. "Romance novels." Sliding her hand along his chest, she smiled at him. "Do you wish me to heave my breasts and toss my flowing red locks over my shoulder as you pick me up in your well-muscled arms? Will you carry me to your soft, but firm, bed, and seduce me with a few well-placed touches of your hands?"
Spike chuckled, resting his forehead against hers. "Sure. Heave away."
"Okay, Spike," she agreed, sliding her hands back down to his thighs. She took one step back and stood before him. Lowering her head to stare at her chest, she breathed in deeply, then out. After a third time, she raised her hand and moved back to where she'd been. "Did that please you, Spike?"
He lifted amused eyes to her face. "Not as much as other things will."
She rested her hands on his thighs once more, looking at him enquiringly. "May I touch you now?"
He tilted his head to the side. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't, love."
"See, you do love me." Her hands pushed him back and she climbed up on the sarcophagus with him, straddling his legs. She settled on his lap, lowering herself onto his jean-covered erection with a moan.
He rested his hands on her hips lightly, holding her still against him for a few seconds, just enjoying the feeling of another body so close to his again after so long. "God, that feels good." His voice was low, but she heard him and rubbed herself back and forth a few times.
"You make me feel good too." She leaned forward, settling her hands on his chest as she rocked against him. "Can we take our clothes off, Spike? I want to feel your smooth, hard flesh and taste your salty, manly skin."
He lifted his head, opening his eyes to glance at her. "We're gonna have to work on your vocabulary."
When she only blinked back at him, he sighed. For the moment, he was fine with their current position, but he did want to feel more skin. See what she tasted like. He wanted her, fully and completely, wanted to be inside a woman again. So, he nodded, lifting her up, helping her crawl off of his lap. She knelt on the coffin as he jumped to the floor and yanked his shirt off.
Tossing it to the floor, he turned to watch her, his hands pausing on the buckle of his belt as he caught sight of her naked back. The white of her bra was the only thing breaking up the pale expanse of her flesh, the skin pulling taut as she moved. Her hands slid around behind her, unhooking the bra and shrugging out of it.
"Do I please you?" she asked, looking over her shoulder, catching his eyes on her. She turned toward him, dropping her arms to her sides. Her breasts were perfect perky mounds of flesh, tipped by hardening nipples. They puckered and tightened as he watched, and he wondered at that. Was she programmed to respond to him? Would a touch make her moan? A kiss?
"You're perfect," he told her, turning back to his belt. That she was a robot did bother him a little. That she was programmed to say and do things in response to him was a little unnerving. But he still wanted her. "I'll have to thank Warren."
"Why will you thank him for how I look?" she asked, pausing in her own undressing.
She didn't know she was a robot? She actually thought she was Willow? "No, uh, no reason. Don't worry about it."
She nodded pleasantly, throwing her tennis shoes to the floor and shimmying out of her jeans. Underwear went next, and again, she was perfect. Not a flaw on her anywhere. Did the real Willow have scars? Or freckles? Maybe a birthmark? The smooth flesh of the robot in front of him was sexy, most definitely, but a little too perfect. He'd have to tell Warren to give Buffy a few scars and freckles. A mole here and there.
He finished stripping off his jeans and crooked his finger at her. "Come down here, pet."
She sat down and jumped off the coffin, striding right up to him. Her naked body was perfect; the stomach taut, breasts perky, thighs toned. Everything about her was... perfect.
He grabbed the blanket off of his chair and spread it out on the floor. "Lay down."
She smiled and did so, lying on her back, propping herself up on her elbows, watching him. One leg lifted up, bent at the knee. Her eyes sparkled at him, her smile turning seductive. Changing to suit his mood.
He knelt at her feet, glancing between her legs briefly as he crawled toward her. She held her breath, her chest rising in anticipation of his touch. Sliding one hand up her calf, he had to reassess his opinion of the feel of her skin. It didn't feel at all fake; it felt quite real in fact. Just like a human's.
She gasped as his hand trailed along her leg, up to her thigh. "Please touch me, Spike." Her head dropped back, her eyes falling shut. Her breath left her on a sigh.
"All in good time, baby," he muttered, watching his hand as he slid it up to her abdomen. His other hand rested on the curve of her hip.
She hitched in a breath, wriggling around on the peach comforter. "You're teasing me," she accused, grinning happily.
He pulled her legs down and crawled up to straddle her waist. Almost as soon as he sat down, Willow looked down at him, her eyes widening.
"You're so very big, Spike," she said approvingly. "Take me now with your manly--"
He held a finger to her lips, pressing lightly to keep her quiet. "Don't... don't talk. All right?"
She nodded, darting her tongue out to lick his finger and suck it into her mouth. His body tightened in response, hardening even more if that was possible.
He took his finger out of her mouth and rolled them over, settling her on him, carefully maneuvering her around his erection. She placed her knees on either side of his thighs and pressed her hands flat against his chest.
"Can--" she darted a look down at him, asking for permission to speak.
He lifted a hand to cup her cheek. Drawing her closer, he pressed his lips to hers, kissing her softly before nodding.
"Mmm," she moaned, licking her lips. "You taste good. Can I touch you?" Her eager eyes dropped to his lap, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
Leaning on his forearms, he inhaled deeply, closing his eyes with a nod. If he concentrated hard enough, could he make himself believe it was Buffy there instead of Willow? It'd never worked long with Harmony. She always ended up ruining the fantasy with her whining voice.
Willow's hands slid up to his shoulders, then down again, continuing all the way. He drew in a deep breath as her hand wrapped around the base of his length. She stroked him, tightening gradually as she moved up, running her thumb along the tip. All of this was done with extreme skill, way more skill than Willow probably had.
An emotionless, uncaring robot, programmed to respond to him was giving him a handjob. That took a bit of the fun out of things. As good as it felt to have her hand wrapped around him and stroking him, he wished it was Buffy and, barring that, at least the real Willow.
"Should I heave my breasts again?" she asked, biting her lip in a mockery of the real Willow. Her wide, innocent eyes looked up at him from under her lashes, the hazel orbs widening with desire. Her dark lashes brushed lightly against her skin as she blinked, waiting for his answer.
He dropped back with a groan, watching her watch him. "Heave, thrust, throb all you want," he told her. She was beginning to ruin the fantasy. Every time she opened her mouth, he lost a little more of his ardor for her. Wanting to get it over with before she completely ruined things, he lifted her up in the middle of a particularly large heave of her chest, to position her over himself.
She grinned widely, nodding as she sucked her lip into her mouth. "You want me to ride you. Like I did when you were chained up in the bathtub."
"What?" Just as he started to sit up, she settled herself over him, sliding along his length with extreme slowness. "Oh God," he moaned, clenching his hands on her hips. The sensations she was creating as she tightened on him were strong and overpowering. Reminded him a bit of Dru.
She stayed sitting on him, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes. Her fingers spread out on his chest, clenching and unclenching as she wiggled on his lap. "Does this feel good, Spike?"
He nodded, raising her up a bit. "Faster, love."
She lifted herself, tightening her muscles every inch of the way. When he was almost pulled completely free of her, she slammed down on him. He thrust up at the same time, making them both moan. A rhythmic pace was set up, quick and pleasant. Suiting him just fine.
She threw her head back, just as she had earlier, panting and moaning as she lifted herself on him, clenching her muscles so tightly it was almost painful. A sheen of sweat covered her body and face. She raised her hands, threading them through her hair as she moved on him, licking her lips and panting.
His hands moved from her waist to her back, drawing her down to him. She opened her eyes, focusing on his face as she lowered herself to kiss him. Her tongue thrust forcefully into his mouth, playing along his teeth and sliding across the roof of his mouth.
He pulled back a ways, frowning at her. "Slow down-- oh God," he moaned, closing his eyes as she bit and sucked on his neck. One of her hands slid behind his neck, holding him still while she sucked on his skin, the other slipped between their bodies, resting on his hip.
She rolled them over, drawing away from his neck as she did so. Baring her own neck to him. He wanted to bite her, more than anything in the world, but he couldn't do it. He'd probably get a mouthful of motor oil or something equally as disgusting. Instead, he thrust into her, reaching around behind him to encourage her to wrap her legs around his waist.
She did so, gasping and panting as he moved inside her. "Oh, Spike," she moaned. "You really are the Big Bad." Her nails scraped down his back so forcefully that he arched into her trying to escape her hands, but rolled his shoulders back for more of the delicious pain.
Reaching a hand up to cup her face, he kissed her thoroughly, then pulled back, threading his hands through her hair. "That's right, baby. I am the Big Bad." Grinning down at her, he quickened his pace, caressing her breasts, which were swaying so enticingly in front of his face. The nipples tightened even more, puckering into perfect buds. He leaned down, taking one into his mouth, biting the flesh lightly.
She squealed in delight, tightening around him. "Yes, Spike... oh, yes," she screamed, arching into him.
He halted for a moment, watching her face. Her eyes were closed tightly, her mouth open, gasping for air. Her skin was flushed red, and slicked with sweat. The hair by her temples was damp, slicked back from him running his fingers through it.
As he watched, she relaxed, still panting, though the muscles underneath him went soft. He began moving again, speeding up his pace to find his own release. Resting his weight on his arms, he slid into her with long, sure strokes. She kept her legs wrapped around him, stroking his back softly as he moved, running her hands over the muscles moving underneath his skin.
"I love you, Spike," she said contentedly, sliding one hand down along his arm.
Hearing the words, even though they didn't come from the woman he wanted them to come from, sent him over the edge. He thrust into her once more and then again, his whole body stiffening as he came. His hips bucked against hers, but her legs, still around his waist, held him still.
He collapsed on top of her with a groan. She continued to smooth her hand down his back and arm.
He laid on her, enjoying the feeling of a woman underneath him, the softness of her breasts and stomach. The curve of her legs entwined with his. Her chest rose up and down, lifting him as she breathed. Something--oil?--moved beneath her skin in a parody of blood in her veins. He lifted himself up, rolling to the side with a sigh.
"Do you want me to start the program over?" she asked pleasantly.
Spike frowned at her, running his hand down her stomach. "Don't say that. Just... be Willow." The muscles under his hand bunched and tightened as he touched her, but they weren't muscles. They were wires and tubes. And she wasn't human. Wasn't even alive.
He removed his hand from her stomach and dropped his arm over his eyes. He'd just had sex with a robot version of Buffy's best friend.
He was lower than low.
TITLE: Order Now
AUTHOR: sinecure
PAIRING: W/S (1/?)
RATED: R
DISCLAIMER: Joss and ME own BtVS, I don't, and the way these past seasons are going, I'm glad I don't.
DEDICATED: To Claudia, because, not only is she the best beta ever, but she's also quite the friend. She kicks ass on grammar--just call her the Hyphen Queen, I do--spelling, characterization, plot. She makes my job a whole hell of a lot easier... even when she's killing my poor little defenseless plot-babies. ;)
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PART 1
Spike stared at the robot in front of him, then past her to Warren. No trace of what he was feeling was showing on his face, which was a good thing, otherwise Warren would probably be running for his life right now. "Some say it's better'n the real thing," he told Warren.
Warren nodded nervously. "Better than the real thing."
Spike's eyes turned gold as they shot once more to the robot girl. His hands fisted at his sides, teeth grinding together. He could feel a muscle in his jaw ticking. All he wanted to do was jump on Warren and rip his head from his shoulders, then stick a straw in his neck and suck the bastard dry. "You know what's even better though?" he asked softly, his eyes lifting to Warren.
Warren's eyes widened and he gulped loudly, stepping back a foot, and then another. A single glance behind him confirmed that he was trapped between Spike and the wall. "Um, wh-- what's that?"
"The right... girl!"
Warren gulped again, gesturing to the robot. "She's just like you told me to make her." He grabbed some pictures from his back pocket and unfolded them. "See? There she is. Looks just like her." He held the photos out, pointing to the girl with a shaking hand. "Just-- just like her."
Spike nodded, putting a hand to his chin as he walked around the robot, looking her up and down. A pair of red tennis shoes covered the feet of the robot. Her legs were encased in black jeans, her top-- Spike chuckled darkly, remembering the pink fuzzy sweater with the lilacs on it. Biteable, he'd told her. Well, the real her, not the robot her. And even now she looked entirely biteable, but she wasn't who he wanted. Her red hair, cut just as it had been that night, was brushing against her shoulders.
He reached out a hand, smoothing it down the strands. Felt like real hair. Just as he remembered hers feeling that night. He inhaled deeply. Smelled a bit the same too. But something was off... and what the hell did he care?
"Destroy her and do it over." He spun around to face Warren, the bot no longer between them. "I wanted Buffy, not Willow. I gave you pictures of Buffy. Her sweater, a blonde wig, how the hell did you come up with me wanting Willow?"
Warren frowned down at the pictures crumpled tightly in his hands. He held them out again, gesturing to Willow, the lone occupant of the pictures. "It was a red wig. With her pictures. There wasn't any bl-- blonde..." he trailed off at Spike's glare, looking over at the box of things he'd made Willow from. "The stuff you brought me is over there."
Spike circled around to look into Willow's face. It was... eerie. Kind of creepy. Her eyes, green he assumed, were closed, her head held high. She stood with her hands by her side, unresponsive to everything around her. It was the most still he'd ever seen her. He chuckled, liking her this way. She talked way too much at times. Reaching up with his right hand, he fingered her hair by her face. She didn't flinch this time, like she had in the warehouse, didn't pull back and tell him there'd be no having with her.
This robot had no spunk in her. No life. But Spike found himself more than a little curious to see what she'd be like once turned on. Besides, maybe they could learn from their mistakes with this one, use Willow as a learning tool. Whatever she did wrong, he'd have Warren fix on the new bot he made. And he would be making another one.
Glancing at Warren in irritation, he strode over to the box. Looking down, he saw a red wig, and photos of Willow and the others. Mostly there were pictures of Willow, drawings of her, jewelry that he didn't recognize. The blue sweater was gone. He looked over his shoulder at the pink sweater Willow was wearing.
"This isn't my stuff. Is this a joke? Did they put you up to this?" he demanded, throwing the box and its contents to the floor. Items he didn't recognize fell out, along with pictures he did recognize, but instead of Willow and Xander being folded back, it was Buffy and Xander. "What the hell is going on here? Did they do this?" Had they found out about his plans and thought to teach him a lesson by... by what? Giving him his very own lesbian witch?
"Who-- who's they? I don't... no. You're the only one who's been here." Warren stepped forward, closer to the Willow-Bot. "You don't like her? She's, uh, she's pretty, huh?"
"Oh yeah," Spike said, getting to his feet and stalking over to the Willow-Bot. "She looks good, just great. But she's not the girl I wanted." He stared at Willow, hating her for ruining his perfect fantasy. He'd been so close to having Buffy, to finally having Buffy... but she'd ruined it. Maybe he'd keep her around to torture. Beat on her a bit... he shrugged, turning back to Warren. "You're making me another, twerp. The girl I want is the blonde. Buffy! Make me a Buffy!"
Warren nodded his head hastily, shoving the pictures back into his pocket. "O-- okay. All right. I'll..." he trailed off, heading back to the box to sift through the pictures there. "The blonde, right?"
"Yes," Spike said absently, trailing a hand down Willow's cheek. It was soft, like silk. Did the real Willow's skin feel like this? He closed his eyes, trying to remember, but came up with a blank. "Turn her on," he told Warren, "I want to see her in action."
Warren picked up the box, dropping it onto the side table to look fearfully at Spike. "Why? I-- I thought she was the wrong one..."
Spike raised an eyebrow at him, letting his eyes go gold again. "Just do it."
"Okay. Um, hold on a second..."
"A little walk, a little talk..." Spike mused, wondering how exactly he could use this to his advantage. The possibilities were endless really. And to have one of Buffy as well... he was getting all excited just thinking about it. He'd keep Willow around for fun, turn her on all her friends or something equally as neat as that. But Buffy, he'd have her around for other things. "Make her do things... show me what Buffy will be able to do... perhaps a zippy cartwheel..."
Warren moved forward, gesturing to Willow. "Hey, she's, uh, great. You'll be real happy, I swear, she's got everything you asked for. All the extra programming, tons of real-world knowledge, the profiles you gave me about her family and friends." He ran a hand over her stomach, lifting up the fuzzy pink sweater and pressing on the flesh.
Spike watched him curiously. "*All* the extra programming, right?" Hmm, perhaps he could test them on Willow, and they could be fine-tuned for Buffy.
Warren's hand opened a door on Willow's stomach, revealing wires and chips, little lights and all sorts of things running behind the skin. "Ah, the, the stuff that you wanted, the, uh, scenario responses, you know, the, uh, uh, special... skills..." he paused, laughing nervously, glancing at Spike as he pressed a button then shut the door, smoothing the sweater back into place. "Her plug's in here too, um, just recharge her once a week or so... she won't remember it. I programmed her to think she's sleeping. She even has dreams."
"Great. And the extras?" Spike repeated, making sure they were all there.
"All of it," Warren told him, nodding hastily. "You sure you don't want just her?"
Spike rolled his eyes. "I'm sure." He touched Willow's cheek again, then pressed a finger into the simulated skin. It had give, much like human skin did, but there was something a little off about it. He'd have to have Warren fix that for Buffy. "She looks a little shiny to me, you know, uh... touch of plasticine..."
Willow's eyes opened--more brown than green, he noticed--startling him slightly, causing him to jump in a very unmanly way.
"Spike?" she queried, smiling widely. "Oh, Spike!" She hurried over to him, put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him, then pulled back, still smiling.
Spike jerked back, startled. "Definitely make sure to put this programming into the other one," he told Warren approvingly, looking over Willow's shoulder.
Warren nodded nervously. "Uh-huh, I can do that. Um, but it'll take me a few weeks again." He straightened up, nodding to the box on the table. "I have the stuff though. I can get started right away." He looked pointedly at the two of them, waiting for Spike to take Willow and go.
"Right," Spike sighed, glancing at Willow with a frown. She was still standing there, right in front of him, smiling and waiting for... "What's she waiting for?" he asked Warren.
"Instructions," Warren said absently, hefting the box and starting out of the room.
"Right," Spike said again. "I'll be back, so get crackin' on it, hmm?" Stepping away from Willow, he headed out the door. "Come on, Willow."
"Yes, Spike," she agreed, following him out the door with a smile.
__________________________________________________________________________
"Stop that," Spike snapped in irritation, taking a drag off of his cigarette.
"Stop what, Spike?" Willow asked, her mile-wide grin still firmly in place. She blinked at him innocently a few times, looking extremely interested in what he had to say.
He rolled his eyes at her through the gray and white cloud of smoke floating between them. The dark interior of his crypt held no lights, but he knew she could see him just as well as he could see her. Possibly even better. "Stop staring at me."
She nodded pleasantly, dropping her hands from under her chin to turn her head to the side. "Okay, Spike."
He frowned at her and, realizing he was being petty, snapped again. "Stop that too."
She kept her head turned to the side, glancing his way only with her eyes. "Stop what?"
"Quit calling me 'Spike'," he answered, standing up. Dropping his cigarette to the floor, he stomped on it with another irritated look tossed her way. Heading to the door, he yanked it open.
"What would you like me to call you?" she inquired politely. "The Big Bad? Snuggle Bunny? My Blonde God? Lover?"
Spike snorted with derision. "We're not lovers, pet. Not even friends. And if you call me any of those names, I'll have to deactivate you." He fixed his eyes on her, raising an eyebrow. "Permanently."
"Ooo," she practically purred. "You're very sexy when you do that." She frowned momentarily, turning her head fully his way. "We're not lovers?" She tilted her head in confusion, and then smiled slightly. "Yes, we are."
Spike sighed, ignoring the small amount of satisfaction her empty compliment gave him. "No, we're not. We're not lovers, we're not friends..." he tossed her an annoyed look as he closed the door, "I don't even like you much."
She frowned even more deeply, watching him curiously. "Then why do you make sweet, sweet love to me?" A grin split her face as she rose to her feet. "In many positions?"
"Uh, many positions, huh?" he repeated, looking at her with a little more interest. She looked about ready to pounce on him. He was the predator, and yet, he felt like the prey all of a sudden. "What, uh, what sorts of positions, love?" Realizing what he'd said, he shook his head. "I mean, didn't happen."
"I have memories of you shagging me. Sexing me up. Boning me. We bumped uglies." There was suddenly a whole heck of a lot of desire on her face. She moved closer, her eyes fixed on him. "You make me scream in ecstasy. I get hot when I look at you. I love you, Spike."
"Scream, huh?" he muttered, his eyes dropping to her pink and purple covered chest. It rose and fell in a parody of breathing, pressing her breasts tight against the fuzzy fabric. It was soft; he remembered that much from his drunken musings that night. And her smell was definitely intoxicating. Sweet with a hint of spice, something like cinnamon.
He loved Buffy, but it'd be a few more weeks before Warren would have her ready. If he could use Harmony to satisfy a few of his urges, why not Willow? A robotic version of Willow. He didn't need to like the chit.
She was annoying. Beautiful, yes, but almost as annoying as Harm. He briefly contemplated waiting for his Buffy robot, but shook his head decisively. "What else do you remember, love?"
She stared at the wall behind him for a few seconds, and then her eyes cleared and she focused on him once more. "I remember your hands touching me." She ran her own hands along her sides. "Your mouth pressing soft, but firm kisses on my hot, yielding flesh."
Spike hopped up on his bed casually, trying to pretend he wasn't affected. Scoffing at himself for being turned on by a few words and actions by a woman he wasn't even really attracted to, he shrugged nonchalantly, mentally reminding himself that she wasn't real.
She licked her lips seductively. "Your fingers were inside me. So was your cold, hard male member." Her breathing was slightly more erratic now, mimicking humanity. "I screamed for you as you thrust your cold, hard love muscle inside me and--"
"Okay," he interrupted loudly, shifting a little on the sarcophagus. "That's enough. I get the picture." It made more and more sense to use her to slake his desires. She was willing. He wasn't currently hooked with anyone real and the woman he loved wanted nothing to do with him. Buffy. God, sometimes he really despised her.
Yet still wanted her so much he ached.
"Poor Spike," she whispered softly. "What's the matter? Are you nervous?"
"Uh, no," he answered, frowning as she moved directly in front of him, stopping right between his legs. She settled her hands on his legs, moving her thumbs up and down along the inside of his thighs. "I'm fine. Could you... back off a little?"
Ignoring his attempts to remove her hands, she smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of you, Love Bunny." She dropped her head back, closing her eyes.
"Don't ever call me th-- what are you doing?"
Her chest rose and fell as she panted and moaned. A fine sheen of sweat formed on her face and neck. Her hands, still on his thighs, tightened, balling up the material of his jeans. "Take me, Spike. Yes, Spike... faster..." she moaned. "Oh, God, Spike, yes... yes!"
Spike's eyes widened and his own breathing... well, that he was breathing at all was a testimony in and of itself.
All he could think was: Is that what she looked like during sex? Would she lock her arms around him and hold him to her? Wrap her legs around his waist as he moved inside her? Pant her need and desire for him into his ear? Whisper her love to him, kiss him as he thrust-- bloody hell, he needed a woman.
It'd been too long. Harmony had left him for the last time a few months back and he'd been alone since then. Forced to take matters into his own hands... quite literally.
And here was Willow, right in front of him, waiting for him to take her into his arms. She was beautiful and willing and there. Three things he looked for in a woman.
She thought she loved him. Well, she was programmed to love him.
She was so unlike Buffy. All the Slayer had going for her was the beautiful part of the equation. He glanced down into Willow's face, wondering what it'd be like to use her for a little tension reduction. She was Buffy's best friend. And gay. It was almost like forbidden fruit. So tempting.
She was watching him with a smile, her eyes steady on his face. "Don't you want me, Spike?" Her hand slid up his thigh into his crotch, cupping the hardening bulge there. "You do want me." Her smile turned into one of satisfaction, her eyes glittering in the moonlight coming through the window. "I can please you, Spike. I need you." She leaned into him, letting her lips hover in front of his mouth. "Take me. Take me to places I've never been before."
His eyes, fixed on her mouth, just inches from his own, shot up to hers with amusement. "Warren didn't happen to add a few bodice rippers into your programming, did he?"
"Bodice rippers..." she pulled back a little ways, dropping her eyes to his chest. "Romance novels." Sliding her hand along his chest, she smiled at him. "Do you wish me to heave my breasts and toss my flowing red locks over my shoulder as you pick me up in your well-muscled arms? Will you carry me to your soft, but firm, bed, and seduce me with a few well-placed touches of your hands?"
Spike chuckled, resting his forehead against hers. "Sure. Heave away."
"Okay, Spike," she agreed, sliding her hands back down to his thighs. She took one step back and stood before him. Lowering her head to stare at her chest, she breathed in deeply, then out. After a third time, she raised her hand and moved back to where she'd been. "Did that please you, Spike?"
He lifted amused eyes to her face. "Not as much as other things will."
She rested her hands on his thighs once more, looking at him enquiringly. "May I touch you now?"
He tilted his head to the side. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't, love."
"See, you do love me." Her hands pushed him back and she climbed up on the sarcophagus with him, straddling his legs. She settled on his lap, lowering herself onto his jean-covered erection with a moan.
He rested his hands on her hips lightly, holding her still against him for a few seconds, just enjoying the feeling of another body so close to his again after so long. "God, that feels good." His voice was low, but she heard him and rubbed herself back and forth a few times.
"You make me feel good too." She leaned forward, settling her hands on his chest as she rocked against him. "Can we take our clothes off, Spike? I want to feel your smooth, hard flesh and taste your salty, manly skin."
He lifted his head, opening his eyes to glance at her. "We're gonna have to work on your vocabulary."
When she only blinked back at him, he sighed. For the moment, he was fine with their current position, but he did want to feel more skin. See what she tasted like. He wanted her, fully and completely, wanted to be inside a woman again. So, he nodded, lifting her up, helping her crawl off of his lap. She knelt on the coffin as he jumped to the floor and yanked his shirt off.
Tossing it to the floor, he turned to watch her, his hands pausing on the buckle of his belt as he caught sight of her naked back. The white of her bra was the only thing breaking up the pale expanse of her flesh, the skin pulling taut as she moved. Her hands slid around behind her, unhooking the bra and shrugging out of it.
"Do I please you?" she asked, looking over her shoulder, catching his eyes on her. She turned toward him, dropping her arms to her sides. Her breasts were perfect perky mounds of flesh, tipped by hardening nipples. They puckered and tightened as he watched, and he wondered at that. Was she programmed to respond to him? Would a touch make her moan? A kiss?
"You're perfect," he told her, turning back to his belt. That she was a robot did bother him a little. That she was programmed to say and do things in response to him was a little unnerving. But he still wanted her. "I'll have to thank Warren."
"Why will you thank him for how I look?" she asked, pausing in her own undressing.
She didn't know she was a robot? She actually thought she was Willow? "No, uh, no reason. Don't worry about it."
She nodded pleasantly, throwing her tennis shoes to the floor and shimmying out of her jeans. Underwear went next, and again, she was perfect. Not a flaw on her anywhere. Did the real Willow have scars? Or freckles? Maybe a birthmark? The smooth flesh of the robot in front of him was sexy, most definitely, but a little too perfect. He'd have to tell Warren to give Buffy a few scars and freckles. A mole here and there.
He finished stripping off his jeans and crooked his finger at her. "Come down here, pet."
She sat down and jumped off the coffin, striding right up to him. Her naked body was perfect; the stomach taut, breasts perky, thighs toned. Everything about her was... perfect.
He grabbed the blanket off of his chair and spread it out on the floor. "Lay down."
She smiled and did so, lying on her back, propping herself up on her elbows, watching him. One leg lifted up, bent at the knee. Her eyes sparkled at him, her smile turning seductive. Changing to suit his mood.
He knelt at her feet, glancing between her legs briefly as he crawled toward her. She held her breath, her chest rising in anticipation of his touch. Sliding one hand up her calf, he had to reassess his opinion of the feel of her skin. It didn't feel at all fake; it felt quite real in fact. Just like a human's.
She gasped as his hand trailed along her leg, up to her thigh. "Please touch me, Spike." Her head dropped back, her eyes falling shut. Her breath left her on a sigh.
"All in good time, baby," he muttered, watching his hand as he slid it up to her abdomen. His other hand rested on the curve of her hip.
She hitched in a breath, wriggling around on the peach comforter. "You're teasing me," she accused, grinning happily.
He pulled her legs down and crawled up to straddle her waist. Almost as soon as he sat down, Willow looked down at him, her eyes widening.
"You're so very big, Spike," she said approvingly. "Take me now with your manly--"
He held a finger to her lips, pressing lightly to keep her quiet. "Don't... don't talk. All right?"
She nodded, darting her tongue out to lick his finger and suck it into her mouth. His body tightened in response, hardening even more if that was possible.
He took his finger out of her mouth and rolled them over, settling her on him, carefully maneuvering her around his erection. She placed her knees on either side of his thighs and pressed her hands flat against his chest.
"Can--" she darted a look down at him, asking for permission to speak.
He lifted a hand to cup her cheek. Drawing her closer, he pressed his lips to hers, kissing her softly before nodding.
"Mmm," she moaned, licking her lips. "You taste good. Can I touch you?" Her eager eyes dropped to his lap, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
Leaning on his forearms, he inhaled deeply, closing his eyes with a nod. If he concentrated hard enough, could he make himself believe it was Buffy there instead of Willow? It'd never worked long with Harmony. She always ended up ruining the fantasy with her whining voice.
Willow's hands slid up to his shoulders, then down again, continuing all the way. He drew in a deep breath as her hand wrapped around the base of his length. She stroked him, tightening gradually as she moved up, running her thumb along the tip. All of this was done with extreme skill, way more skill than Willow probably had.
An emotionless, uncaring robot, programmed to respond to him was giving him a handjob. That took a bit of the fun out of things. As good as it felt to have her hand wrapped around him and stroking him, he wished it was Buffy and, barring that, at least the real Willow.
"Should I heave my breasts again?" she asked, biting her lip in a mockery of the real Willow. Her wide, innocent eyes looked up at him from under her lashes, the hazel orbs widening with desire. Her dark lashes brushed lightly against her skin as she blinked, waiting for his answer.
He dropped back with a groan, watching her watch him. "Heave, thrust, throb all you want," he told her. She was beginning to ruin the fantasy. Every time she opened her mouth, he lost a little more of his ardor for her. Wanting to get it over with before she completely ruined things, he lifted her up in the middle of a particularly large heave of her chest, to position her over himself.
She grinned widely, nodding as she sucked her lip into her mouth. "You want me to ride you. Like I did when you were chained up in the bathtub."
"What?" Just as he started to sit up, she settled herself over him, sliding along his length with extreme slowness. "Oh God," he moaned, clenching his hands on her hips. The sensations she was creating as she tightened on him were strong and overpowering. Reminded him a bit of Dru.
She stayed sitting on him, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes. Her fingers spread out on his chest, clenching and unclenching as she wiggled on his lap. "Does this feel good, Spike?"
He nodded, raising her up a bit. "Faster, love."
She lifted herself, tightening her muscles every inch of the way. When he was almost pulled completely free of her, she slammed down on him. He thrust up at the same time, making them both moan. A rhythmic pace was set up, quick and pleasant. Suiting him just fine.
She threw her head back, just as she had earlier, panting and moaning as she lifted herself on him, clenching her muscles so tightly it was almost painful. A sheen of sweat covered her body and face. She raised her hands, threading them through her hair as she moved on him, licking her lips and panting.
His hands moved from her waist to her back, drawing her down to him. She opened her eyes, focusing on his face as she lowered herself to kiss him. Her tongue thrust forcefully into his mouth, playing along his teeth and sliding across the roof of his mouth.
He pulled back a ways, frowning at her. "Slow down-- oh God," he moaned, closing his eyes as she bit and sucked on his neck. One of her hands slid behind his neck, holding him still while she sucked on his skin, the other slipped between their bodies, resting on his hip.
She rolled them over, drawing away from his neck as she did so. Baring her own neck to him. He wanted to bite her, more than anything in the world, but he couldn't do it. He'd probably get a mouthful of motor oil or something equally as disgusting. Instead, he thrust into her, reaching around behind him to encourage her to wrap her legs around his waist.
She did so, gasping and panting as he moved inside her. "Oh, Spike," she moaned. "You really are the Big Bad." Her nails scraped down his back so forcefully that he arched into her trying to escape her hands, but rolled his shoulders back for more of the delicious pain.
Reaching a hand up to cup her face, he kissed her thoroughly, then pulled back, threading his hands through her hair. "That's right, baby. I am the Big Bad." Grinning down at her, he quickened his pace, caressing her breasts, which were swaying so enticingly in front of his face. The nipples tightened even more, puckering into perfect buds. He leaned down, taking one into his mouth, biting the flesh lightly.
She squealed in delight, tightening around him. "Yes, Spike... oh, yes," she screamed, arching into him.
He halted for a moment, watching her face. Her eyes were closed tightly, her mouth open, gasping for air. Her skin was flushed red, and slicked with sweat. The hair by her temples was damp, slicked back from him running his fingers through it.
As he watched, she relaxed, still panting, though the muscles underneath him went soft. He began moving again, speeding up his pace to find his own release. Resting his weight on his arms, he slid into her with long, sure strokes. She kept her legs wrapped around him, stroking his back softly as he moved, running her hands over the muscles moving underneath his skin.
"I love you, Spike," she said contentedly, sliding one hand down along his arm.
Hearing the words, even though they didn't come from the woman he wanted them to come from, sent him over the edge. He thrust into her once more and then again, his whole body stiffening as he came. His hips bucked against hers, but her legs, still around his waist, held him still.
He collapsed on top of her with a groan. She continued to smooth her hand down his back and arm.
He laid on her, enjoying the feeling of a woman underneath him, the softness of her breasts and stomach. The curve of her legs entwined with his. Her chest rose up and down, lifting him as she breathed. Something--oil?--moved beneath her skin in a parody of blood in her veins. He lifted himself up, rolling to the side with a sigh.
"Do you want me to start the program over?" she asked pleasantly.
Spike frowned at her, running his hand down her stomach. "Don't say that. Just... be Willow." The muscles under his hand bunched and tightened as he touched her, but they weren't muscles. They were wires and tubes. And she wasn't human. Wasn't even alive.
He removed his hand from her stomach and dropped his arm over his eyes. He'd just had sex with a robot version of Buffy's best friend.
He was lower than low.