Children! Begone from this chapter! And if you ignore my warning – please note that you will not get the same results if you attempt to act out this scene with your steady in real life. Especially in the back seat of a car! Some friendly advice.

Also, just a caution that Spike is mean to Buffy in this chapter. So if you don't like it when Spike is mean to Buffy, then don't read any further, because you'll just feel bad and be all, "Vampires are such jerks."

If, on the other hand, the idea of Spike being mean to Buffy makes you feel drunk…read on, MacDuff, and damn'd be him that first cries, "Hold, enough!"

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Buffy had drawn her legs into her chest in a classic defensive position. It was far too late for that. He took her by her stiletto heels and pried her open. He knew that if he'd wanted to, he could have pushed her knees right to the window behind her. Whatever unnatural demands he made of her body, Buffy always stepped up to the plate.

Spike took turns undoing the zippers of her boots, all 24 inches of them. He pulled the boots off her feet like he did it every night. She was wearing black stockings underneath. Nice. They could stay. He tossed the boots on top of his jacket. He dropped her stake on top of the boots, in case of emergencies.

He hooked his thumbs under the waistband of her panties next, and eased them down as her hips rose to accommodate him. Spike tried to prepare himself for the sight of what was under those panties. He knew nothing could prepare him for the exhilaration when her scent hit the open air. He decided against any rough stuff, though - he didn't want to tear his last souvenir.

After he had peeled the panties off, Buffy watched him as he folded them in thirds, then stuffed them in his pants pocket. "You always have to..." she began in a quavering voice.

He pressed a finger against her lips. Shut up, Buffy. When he was sure she wasn't going to say anything else, the finger moved leisurely off her mouth, over her chin, down her neck, between her breasts, over her belly. It finally came to rest at the hem of her dress, which was now the only thing between what Buffy wanted and what Spike had to give.

She stared at him. Her tongue ran over her lips.

Spike put his finger in his mouth and sucked on it for a moment. Then he pulled it out, wet and glistening, and showed it to her.

Buffy started to whimper low in her throat. A strand of hair caught on the edge of her moistened mouth as she strained against the tie binding her wrists. She was breathing in great big gasps now.

He hadn't even touched her yet.

Spike noticed with amusement that only Buffy's side of the car had steamed up. He leaned past her and drew a smiley face in the foggy window beside her head. Buffy moaned. Her patience was wearing thin. He put his hands on her knees and pulled them apart.

"Wait!" she said sharply.

He waited. Let the bleating commence.

"I felt...I think there's someone out there."

Spike felt it now, too. He blotted out his smiley face drawing so he could see outside. A vampire, who just happened to be staggering past them in a drunken attempt to find his own car, noticed the movement and came to a wobbly stop. He peered through the window and took in the scene. He looked at Buffy, trussed, her dress hiked up out of the way. He looked at Spike's hand on her knee. He looked at Spike. Spike looked at Buffy.

Buffy was trying her best to turn her head to see, but her arm was blocking the view. "I'm not kidding! There's someone watching us!"

Spike reached over and slid a finger between Buffy's legs. Her hips lurched like she'd been electrocuted. She tried to get away from him, her stocking feet slipping and sliding on the leather seat as they looked for a firm purchase. He edged closer. There was nowhere for her to go. "Oh!" she said. "Oh!"

Spike winked at the vampire standing outside the car, who gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up and continued on his way. Spike turned back to the task at hand. "Here's the thing," he said.

"Oh!" said Buffy.

"You know what's wrong with you, Buffy? Your life is suffocating in drama. Endless fighting and weeping and gnashing of teeth. I think you've acquired a taste for it. See, that's why you don't want me to be a nice boyfriend taking care of you. Otherwise, well, I'd be Riley, wouldn't I? And that's just too boring. You want me to be bad, because it feels so good." She opened her mouth to protest, but a flick of his wrist took care of that. "So this time I think it best if we cut to the chase and make you cry right now instead of afterwards."

Maybe it was better when he wasn't talking. "But I don't want to cry," she gasped. "I want to be happy."

"No you don't! You can't be happy unless you're miserable. And I'm here to please." His finger explored her by degrees. He wasn't in any hurry. Buffy's head fell back against the window.

"Spike..."

He was practically on top of her, his left arm braced against the glass. His voice was cold steel. "You listen to me. You asked for this, and now you're going to fucking take it. Tonight you'll do as I tell you, and Slayer, I'm telling you to cry."

"I'm not going to cry! I want this! I want you!"

"You still don't get the rules of this game, do you? If I don't get what I want, then you don't get what you want." She didn't understand at first, because he continued to run his finger over her, until her body was as stiff and quivering as a bow string pulled taut. Then he stopped.

"Oh God....no..." He waited until she started to writhe, then he was right back at it.

Spike brought her to the edge four times before Buffy stopped counting. Until all that was left was his hand moving on her, and the shock of it when it wasn't. She tried to fool him, to keep quiet, to hold her breath. Nothing worked. He was very patient.

"Come on, love," he said softly, "give it to me. Boo hoo hoo."

She wasn't going to give it to him! What the hell was going on here? Who died and made Spike king? Other than her. And him. God damn it! She was so close. So close. Her nerve endings were singing. His touch was ruthless. So...close.

His hand stalled. Again. "I've got all night," he said.

Buffy gave it to him. She bit her lip, hoping at least not to make any noises. Her shoulders started to shake. As the hot tears spilled down her cheeks, she squeezed her eyes shut tight and tipped her legs wide open.

"That's my girl," Spike said approvingly.

This time, he switched to the heel of his palm. And this time, he didn't stop.

Neither did her tears.

Buffy arched off the seat and sobbed and thrust against his hand. Spike watched her face for a while. She was shining with sweat, her mascara mingling with the tears running into her hair. He was so excited he felt weak. When he couldn't stand it another moment, he leaned in and said, "So have you talked to Angel lately?"

Buffy came, her shame making it all the more delicious for the both of them. Spike wondered absently if she was going to pull the grab bar right out by its screws. Like shooting fish in a barrel, he thought.

She wasn't quite ready for more, but he wasn't willing to wait. He put his hands under her bottom and abruptly angled her upwards. Fully accessible. The tie went slack. She clutched the grab bar like it was a life preserver.

"Want to go for a ride?" he asked her.

She couldn't speak. She moved her head a little. It might have been a nod.

"Then beg me." He was having such a good time.

She made a noise, small and desperate. He was tearing her down, piece by piece. She finally croaked, "I don't want it to be like this."

He closed her knees like she was a good book he was reading, and he'd just remembered a more pressing job on his to-do list.

It was so much easier this time around. "Please!" she said at once. "Please do it! Is that what you want, you son of a bitch? Oh, Jesus! Please!"

Yes, actually, it was. He spread her legs open again and lowered his head between them. Buffy cried harder.

She knew what was coming next, of course. She understood what he was about to do. But when Spike's tongue pushed its way in, Buffy still screamed right out loud.

Spike couldn't decide at that moment if he loved Buffy or hated her. Her guilt and her fists and her pussy and her soul. He'd had too much of all of them. But what choice did he have? Who else was there for him? Her mix of humanity and strength was like nothing he'd ever experienced - not even his time with Dru could match it. He didn't know if he could ever go back to how he was before he met Buffy. Or if he even wanted to.

But he had to stop pondering it all, because Buffy was coming against his tongue, and he didn't want to miss it.

It was everything he knew it would be. And even then he didn't stop. He liked how her body jerked and shuddered under his mouth. It was too much for Buffy, though. She pressed her knees against the front of his shoulders, trying to shove him away from her. That annoyed him, and he forced his tongue in deeper. Now she started to struggle, kicking at him, the sensations between her legs overwhelming her.

Spike pulled his hands out from under her and grasped her hips, holding her firmly in place. He was going to stop when he was bloody well ready to stop! She bucked against him, her Slayer strength now a real factor in this power struggle. He dug his thumbs into her thighs and fucked her harder. This was turning into a metaphor for their entire relationship, and this time he wasn't going to back down.

Buffy feared she was going to faint. She had to decide if she was going to force him off of her. Because if she didn't, if she lost control of this situation, then...then that would mean... Suddenly, and perhaps in a moment of perfect clarity, she stopped fighting. For once, she gave herself completely over to him. Do what you will. Then she was coming again. He rode her until her broke her.

She would discover the purple bruises on the insides of her thighs in the shower the next day. And she would compulsively touch them over and over as they faded to green, then yellow, then gone. But by the time Spike finally had his fill that night, Buffy couldn't really feel much from the waist down.

He eventually sat up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Their eyes met. Buffy looked like she'd just been run over by the orgasm bus. They didn't speak. He reached above her head to release her hands, only to find that the tie had already come loose at some point during the festivities. He smiled. She let go of the grab bar.

Spike turned to open the car door. She kicked his hand away from the handle, much harder than necessary. "Where do you think you're going?" she asked him.

"I'm going home. I gave you what you asked for, Slayer. I'm done." He reached for the handle again, ready to block her foot if it came to that.

But this time she kicked him in the face, dazing him just long enough for Buffy to drag him away from the door and straddle him. "Guess again, you bastard," she said as she grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the seat. "Now it's your turn."