Counterplay
A/N: Rated M for language, sex, and violence. The theme: violence; pillage/plunder; extortion.
If Spike had a calendar, he'd have put three heavy rings around the date. He'd want it to leap out, to flash every time he saw it.
But Spike doesn't keep appointments, so he just remembers it as the day Faye stopped trying.
He watches Faye intently, marking the little differences that shout that she's not his. She positively flirts with Jet; it ain't new, but now she's doing it all the time, not even having the good taste to pretend it's because she wants money.
She even goes on a date (how dare she!) with some guy who picks her up in a club. She doesn't come back till morning, his dark glasses on, smelling like smoke and sex. The worst part- it isn't a scam, or a swindle, or even in search of a lead. She just does what she wants, and damn the consequences.
And worst of all, she's nice, damned nice to him. Doesn't fight him, doesn't argue, doesn't give him that "I hate you because you make me want you" face even one time. And little by little, it starts to eat him up.
Nobody ever accused Spike of being a good man. Nobody, except perhaps Julia, who half the time he's wishing would just die (the other half, he's wishing he would), who always was a little crazy anyway. And if he's anything, he's one jealous bastard, and right about now, he doesn't care who knows.
In a desperation born out of can't-have-her-no-one-will rage and half a fifth of liquid courage, he finds her in a godforsaken corner of the ship. Spike slams her into the wall, one unrelenting hand on her chest, kissing her so hard it's even hurting him. She doesn't make a sound, both arms groping out to find the seams in the bulkhead, trying to hang on for dear life.
Then she just dissolves, sinking a good inch as her knees give. And in that instant, she's not thinking about the sharp pain in her back or that prick she fucked or his whiskey breath. All she's thinking is please, more, don't, can't, won't stop, and Spike knows she's his for good.
He leaves her lips and sucks at her neck hard, too hard, past pleasure and on into pain, and she just wants more, as if she needs one more fucked up association to him. Faye's practically shoving her breasts into his vicious hands as if it's the only thing keeping her from falling- aside from his knee grinding too hard into her groin, it probably is.
The whispered, frantic moaning coming from her mouth reverberates around the corridor, coming back to his ears in weird snatches, and to his power-drunken ears, it sounds like a hymn. He could lose himself to this, he realizes, and that's what makes him pull away suddenly.
Spike just leaves her there- dizzy, wet, breathless- and stalks off. It's her move, but it doesn't matter. The only way to win is not to play the game.