A/N: I'm a bad, bad girl-I know it, I really do, but I had to write this. The thought came after I was listening to Nine Inch Nails, and being the crude, on and off writer that I am, I wanted to go back a little to the good ol' days where Spike was a kick ass vamp we all loved and Buffy was a quipping Queen not as serious and depressed as she is now.

So comes forth Animalistic, springing from Nine Inch Nail's song, Closer, though I doubt many of you would find it appropriate-not yet anyhow :P.

Summary: Spuffy Set in S3, after the episode Faith, Hope and Trick when Faith is introduced and kills Kakistos. Also during the time when Buffy comes back to Sunnydale after Angel's "death". Spike comes back to town as well with a little gift from Whistler.
Disclaimer: If I owned anything I wouldn't be creating fan fiction I'd be creating tv shows. Think about it…:P

Animalistic

"Bottom line is, even if you see 'em coming, you're not ready for the big moments.

No one asks for their life to change, not really. But it does.

So what are we, helpless?

Puppets? No. The big moments are gonna come.

You can't help that. It's what you do afterwards that counts. That's when you find out who you are.

You'll see what I mean."

-Whistler, from Becoming

What a cold town.

She was surprised by Faith's sudden mood. The girl was usually a go-getter right down to the go, her sudden lack of enthusiasm seemed ominous; the withdrawn eyes that had not dared to look up at her as she'd declined a friendly offer to patrol seemed all too distant…

All too knowing…

Wearily she tapped her stake against the palm of her hand, her head cocked to the side, her ears searched for any sign of peril or footsteps, her breaths were slow and nonexistent-her body tense with the need for a battle…

She knew she wasn't going to get one for the day, and something about that seemed to disappoint her, make the sad itch in her fingers bleed and the swiftness in her steps beyond predatory.

The job of a Slayer had become more than just a routine job, it had become an extracurricular activity, a place to beat the living (figuratively speaking) crap out of someone and pour out her frustrations and anguish in a blaze of kicks and punches-this was a battlefield she could deal with.

Not that she would ever tell anyone she enjoyed it, or loved the feel of bleeding flesh and aggrieved wounds. The darkness that pulsated within her was small and extraneous, but it was there nonetheless, and she gloried in it when no one was there, she lavished in its forceful embrace when all eyes turned away. She only wished she could do so now…

Something whispered without a sound and she turned, spinning supernaturally and perfectly balanced on her black pumps, her golden honey hair caught the moonlight as it sprayed the sky and then fell down upon small shoulders covered with a burgundy leather jacket and black spaghetti top.

"Whoever it is show you'd better show your ugly face before I get real cranky!" She snapped, her jaw clenched in anticipation and her eyes danced over the dark cemetery.

"Feisty," Came the smooth reply, and she gasped as she realized it had been breathed on her neck.

She spun around angrily, not liking the idea of someone playing with her, but found that no one was there, just the gray pavement and the fresh, wet soil of the graves.

"Over here, luv."

She turned once more and this time with a kick. There was a loud, satisfying thwack and she chuckled at the curse that was let out.

It was Spike of course, though how he suddenly seemed ever swifter and faster than her all of a sudden was confusing.

So was his sudden change of attire.

His hair was no longer platinum blonde, except for at the tips, and they were not as bright and obnoxiously present as usual, instead, a golden brown curled up from the roots in messy waves she could only assume were entirely natural, and were pulled back roguishly into a horsetail.

The sharp cheekbones were accentuated by this change in hairstyle; they seemed more prominent, more infallibly induced-as if God had decided to make this one a sculpture to outshine all others. Full lips were pressed into a sexy smirk, the teeth like shined pearls were still somehow sharp even though he was not in game face.

The dark blue eyes reverberated with an unseen power of beguile, and something else fluttered within their depths: emotion and determination, stirred with purpose.

His wiry, slender frame was propped up against an old oak tree, the tight, blue sweater (the same color as his gorgeous eyes) showed every little curve in his chest and forearms. Dark black, denim Levis clung tightly to his hips and nonexistent waist, the way they seemed to jut forward screamed sex.

Actually, everything about him suddenly screamed sex.

"Why'd you go and hit me like that, luv?" He tugged at the black duster he had brushed away from his body so that it no longer clung to him as usual and kept his frame from sight.

"Because I felt like it, bastard. Why're you here anyway? Especially here in front of me? Weren't you and Ms. Princess of the Puffalumps and Fairy Brothel supposed to be eating little happy meals far away from my turf?"

He chuckled unperturbed and somehow produced a cigarette between his fingertips. He brought it sensually to his lips, watching her deliberately as he did so, and rolled it casually from one side of his mouth to the other before lighting it.

"Oh, Slayer, if it wasn't for that fact that you look like I'm about to be a Happy Ol' Dust Bunny, I'd say you missed me."

"You'd be lying," She retorted.

"Yes, but it'd be fun. So…how'd the whole suck you into hell thing go?"

She closed her eyes, memories of Angel's dark eyes and loving face surfaced and she felt a burn against her eyelids. Her nails almost bit into her palms as she struggled to answer:

"I-I had to do what I had to do, Spike." She said it more for her benefit than his, and from the sincere nod and compassionate smile it seemed as if he realized it too.

"Say no more, pet. Love is the most beautiful of dreams and the worst of nightmares," He spoke softly, almost with a humble sincerity, and she looked at him, really looked at him, her eyes reflecting her confusion.

"That sound's familiar…a quote?" She asked softly as well.

This new version of Spike she had never before seen spoke with sincerity in his voice that bristled with compassion. It was strange once she realized his compassion was so readily and freely lavished upon her.

"William Shakespeare…I had a thing for him once, he was my idol." He said it humorously and with a shy, coy look towards the ground and then back up at her with a cheeky grin.

"I though Billy Idol was your idol." She joked back.

"Bloody hell no! I'd've gutted the bugger if I'd've gotten the chance to. He stole my look and never even asked! I was just walkin' by when the wanker goes 'Hey, nice getup' I was going to snap his neck for calling it a getup, but I was in a good mood and he'd complimented me so I just took a little taste and knocked him out just for the 'ell of it."

He blabbered on in a meaningless tangent, his face wielded his trademark smirk.

Buffy snorted and then she became hesitant. This camaraderie had come unexpectedly, especially when she'd wanted to stab him multiple times with blunt objects until it went through and turned him to dust before stomping all over his deathly particles and-whatever, she had wanted to kill him a few minutes before…but now he seemed entirely too…

Human.

"Spike, you should leave before I have to stake you."

He smiled warmly, as if she'd said the cutest thing, and cocked his head with adoration.

"I love it when you threaten me, pet."

Her anger burned on her cheeks.

"I mean it, Spike!"

"Did you ever once-want something you couldn't have?" He whispered.

Her anger faltered as she puzzled over the words.

She didn't notice the slow steps he took forward, or the passionate look in his eyes-all she noticed were how smoothly the lips were moving, how each word was dripped with honey and came forth like a cat's purr.

"I really don't care about you and Drusilla, Spike."

"I want something I can't have. But, the question lately has been more or less…is it really that impossible? I've been thinking…"

"I bad hobby which can only result in things of the bad for you," Buffy intercepted, she was beginning to notice how close they were, with him just close enough to reach out and touch her if he wanted.

"You're right, Buffy, that's pretty much all I can come up with-bad, wicked things. After all, I'm a bad, rude man."

She couldn't have stopped him as his hands lashed out with a speed so mind boggling she thought it was wind. His fingers dug into her shoulders and his arms lifted her up to his face, pressing her body against him and her lips against his.

The result was immediate heat that curled up within their stomachs and lingered like an insatiable hunger. Roaming fingers drifted over bare skin, her lips gave way to the pressures of his tongue and he made her moan for the pleasure of opening up to him-nipping at her bottom lips and sucking her tongue in between his teeth.

She should have expected him to know what he was doing, after all he had been around the block more times than she would ever be without hitting a dead end, and he probably knew a trick or two, or three…

"Warm, precious, beautiful…dreamt about this." His mouth had broke away from hers and showered her neck with kisses, latching onto her earlobe and drawing it into his mouth insatiably.

"You don't even understand what you do to me do you? I want you so bad I can practically taste your skin every day. I see you everywhere, in my dreams, in when I'm awake, I've dreamt of nothing more than this…"

A hand drifted under her top, she gasped audibly as he squeezed her breast and rolled a thumb over the tip. Chuckling he sucked at her jugular, biting the skin with dull teeth. With an animalistic grunt his other hand slipped behind her and cupped her ass in one hand, slamming her body smack against him so it was almost impossible to breath.

"Feel that Slayer? That's what you fucking did to me, that's what you're fucking doing to me everyday…" Her eyes widened at the bulge shoved in between her thighs, but her shock fell away as he nipped at her chin.

"This is wrong, bloody hell it's soddin' wrong but it's fucking perfect," He growled and his eyes flashed yellow, the demon pushed its way onto the surface, "I can't take this, I want you right here-fuck!" His hips began a slow thrust against her and she moaned at the feeling, his curses and promises intermingled in one searing kiss.

The light that brimmed forth was incandescent and oscillating against their skin. Startled Buffy tried to pull back but found her body was suck against him. The light burst upwards, into the pale light of the moon and past the winking stars, strings of life sprung forth from its core and enveloped them both, wrapping around every limb like a serpent or crazed vine.

Both of them felt the raging power that coursed forth from their veins as the white light turned red and flung them apart into opposite directions.

The other's pain ricocheted through them simultaneously, and for some reason it was more horrifically painful than their own.

They stood up in union, wiping the dirt off their clothes with the same precise flick of the wrist and shake and then look up to check the injuries of the other, though, on some strangely new scale they already knew.

Buffy's eyes met Spike's and they shared a gasp.

His were devoid of irises or pupils, black holes burned chillingly where they should have been, and gloriously beautiful flickers of gold, red and green intermingled and danced stunningly within them.

Hers were just as devoid of iris and pupil, but the whites of her eyes had take over and her stare was accentuated with lines of gold, blue and green, they shined with an opal's spark and a pearl's clarity.

Unseen and unnoticed, the demon in human form figure, known to them only as the Whistler, watched with hinted amusement. His black eyes stared up at the sky as if he expected a smile to be arranged from the stars.

"Well," He spoke in a quite whisper, "what do you think of yer old boy's handiwork?"

As if in response the gray clouds moved.

A/N: You must review! For the sake of my muse please review! She loves them and she gets motivated to write more when they just happen to occur! So please! Donate your thoughts.

(To all those interested my muse is also an ex-convict and has no problem with brutally forcing comments, thank you for your hospitality) :P