CHAPTER 3

No Turning Back Now

Spike opened his fridge and took out a beer. He checked the other bottles on the shelves; hmm, running low. Lately she'd been stopping by at night, sometimes to drink, sometimes to talk. Sometimes both. He snapped the top off his beer and put it to his lips.

Suddenly he knew she was close. A thought affirmed when she kicked open the door.

"Slayer," he greeted her nonchalantly. He settled himself in his chair. "'Fraid there's not much whisky left --"

She stood in front of him, hands on her hips. "Why do I come here, Spike?"

He was as much startled by her interruption as by the question itself, and didn't answer.

"I mean, it's not like I don't have other things to do," she said, wondering out loud. She started pacing. "Demons to slay and all. Vamps like yourself to hunt down and kill. Never mind the fact that said demons are still scarce and I am about to tear my hair out for lack of purpose. I shouldn't be coming here every other night to get drunk with you." She stopped pacing. "But I do." He realized before she did that her eyes were tearing. "Why?"

"Luv, I don't know," he said helplessly. "Been wondering that myself, in fact." His eyes widened as she slowly came closer and closer to him. "Uh, Buffy, what are you doing?"

She stood right in front of his chair, swaying. Then she dropped down to his lap, straddling him. "I don't know," she said. Her eyes were blank and empty. "Trying to figure it out."

Her mouth descended upon his and he stopped caring. His hands slid up her sides. She could already feel his erection straining against his jeans. She flicked her tongue into his mouth, bit his lip. He moaned against her.

This what you want, Spike? Her thoughts came hazy, from far away, as she pulled back and lifted her shirt over her head. No bra. Let's see if it's what I want too.

He couldn't take his eyes off of her. Not that there was anything else remotely intersting in the room to draw his attention anyway. Perfect, she was perfect ...

She kissed him again, hard, in charge. He was really hard now, it was starting to get painful. Her hand drifted down to his waist and started undoing his belt buckle.

"Slayer," he rasped desperately, "what are you doing?"

"You asked that already, Spike." Belt was off, now for the pants. "Don't tell me you don't want it."

"No -- Buffy --" he started, but she stopped his mouth with another harsh kiss. His pants were open, his cock bobbing up to attention. She took it in her hands and started pumping him, slowly. He gasped as he felt her hot little hands on him. Bloody -- fucking --

His hands clenched on her skin, where he was holding her shoulders. She glanced at them, already feeling the bruises forming. She felt him heaving breaths out of his dead lungs beneath her. Funny, that, how he still breathed sometimes. She wondered if it was something done with a conscious effort on his part.

"Buffy --" he forced out, "I can't -- can't hold it -- oh fuck --"

She took her hands away. She stepped off of him and shed her jeans and panties. She stood for a second, completely naked in front of him, before descending on him once more.

Spike gasped as his cock touched her slick entryway. She rubbed herself against him a few times, and his eyes rolled back into his head. Then with a swift movement she plunged down, hissing as she took him all the way in. She ripped open his shirt so she could scratch his nails down his chest. He knew this wasn't right, this wasn't how it should be happening, but in spite of himself he held her hips as she slowly moved up and down. He couldn't believe how good she felt.

Buffy closed her eyes and rolled her head back, losing herself in their combined motions. Now this, she thought, this was feeling.

She grabbed his hand, roughly, and directed it to her clit. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, but circled the small mound with his finger until she mewled with pleasure.

Buffy started panting, her skin flushed and starting to sweat in the chill of the crypt. "Oh god -- oh god, Spike -- mmm, like that, yes --"

Bloody hell, Spike wanted to scream. Could this really be her? This, right here in his arms, his Slayer?

She felt her body tensing, readying for the explosion. Her inner muscles started to clench around his cock as she rocked herself back and forth on him. "Ohhh I'm gonna --"

Spike was going to burst, but he wanted her to come first. He started thrusting in earnest, rubbing her clit almost frantically.

She arched her back and let out a scream as her orgasm overtook her. Hearing her, Spike finally let himself go, and came roaring to his own climax.

He fell back, and she collapsed onto him. They lay panting for a few seconds until Buffy pulled herself up, sliding him out of her. She found her clothes and put them on, taking her time, in no hurry whatsoever. She took a second to run her fingers through her hair, trying to make herself look just a little less like she'd just had a mind-blowing orgasm.

Spike didn't even move; he just watched her, his mouth slightly open. What exaclty had just happened? He couldn't believe she was just going to walk out.

Fully dressed now, she turned around once more to look at him. She studied his face, his open mouth, the confusion and hurt in his cerulean eyes, the pale of his no-longer-heaving chest -- and he thought he saw something, in her eyes, yes, there had to be something --

"Be seeing you then," she said. Mocking. She was always mocking him. Without another glance she walked out, not even slamming the door but closing it perfectly civilly. And he was left sitting there, couldn't even make himself move to fasten his jeans back up, couldn't see anything but her bottomless eyes and the spark that had flared in them when she came, couldn't hear anything but her piercing cry of pleasure and her bitter, mocking last words. There were tears in his eyes, and he hated himself for it.