Spike dug in his heels, even though there wasn’t much point. Much as he hated to admit it, Slayer was stronger than him and could drag him about as much as she liked. Not like I can even fight back, he thought bitterly. He was faster and had more experience, but none of that mattered. Bloody chip.
“Damn it, Spike,” Buffy snapped, glaring at him as she tugged at the chains wrapped about him, “I don’t want to do this any more than you do, but we don’t have a choice.”
He glared right back. Bloody slayer. She could protest all she liked, but she wasn’t fooling him. Was something in her voice, in her stance, gave it all away. She wanted him. His thoughts flashed back to the feel of her, all warm and cuddly in his lap from the witch’s spell. Part of her had wanted him even before that, but that spell, just a few weeks past now, it had woken something in her. In him, too, if he was honest with himself.
No! He snarled at her, fangs coming out as he fought the only way he could. He leaned back, putting all his weight into resisting, even though part of him wanted desperately to submit. What would it hurt? It wasn’t like it would be the first time he’d helped her save the bloody world. But that had been to get Dru back. This, though…. The end of the world was nigh, unless a vampire and a slayer coupled on this specific night, opening the doors that would give her the power to stop the apocalypse.
Let it sodding well come, he thought. He’d lost Dru, and with the thing in his head, he couldn’t hunt. Couldn’t kill. Couldn’t be what he was. He lost hold of his vampire visage as the depression washed over him. Let the world burn. He’d laugh and dance in the ashes even as he burnt up along with it. He’d…. The bloody bitch let go of the chains, sending him flat on his arse as he overbalanced.
“Oops, sorry,” she chirped with a smirk as he shot her a murderous glare. “I guess having to have end of the world sex makes me clumsy.” The false cheer was replaced by a grim glower as she grabbed him by the wrists and hauled him to his feet. She pivoted on one foot, lashing out with the other to kick open the warehouse door. Then she flung him inside. “Let’s just get this over with so I can save the world, have about a million showers, and forget it ever happened.”
Spike stumbled and tried to catch himself, but it was impossible with his arms bound. He went down, crashing into a stack of wooden boxes on the way.
“It doesn’t matter what either one of us wants,” Buffy said, unbuckling her belt as she stalked towards him. Her boots were kicked off once she reached him, followed by her shimmying out of her jeans.
Then she bent and picked up a piece of broken box, holding it against his chest. Fear and excitement buzzed through him, making his body react. Bloody traitor. The slayer stared down at the bulge in his pants, a peculiar look in her eyes like she couldn’t decide whether to be disgusted or amused. Or like she was constipated.
“This is going to happen. It’s up to you if you come out of it in one piece or in a bunch of dust particles. Your choice.”
He glowered at her, but didn’t try to get away as she put the piece of wood down and reached for his belt. He just shifted to get a little more comfortable, which proved to be a mistake. A piece of wood jabbed at his back, probably harmless, but if things got rougher…. “Petunia,” he blurted out.
Buffy froze above him as he wiggled to the side, farther away from all the bits of wood. “Right then, if we’re going to do this, don’t want me dusting before the big event, now do we?”
A myriad of feelings crossed the slayer’s face, followed by her wrinkling her nose at him. “Petunia? What the hell was that all about?”
He just shrugged. “Got you to stop, didn’t it?”
Did he want to do more to make her stop? Part of him wanted the world to end, but was a part of him fiercely opposed, wanting to hang on to everything the world had to offer. And another part… that part wanted. Wanted to be buried inside of the slayer as she rode him. Wanted to feel her power as she held him down and used his body for her own needs. Wanted —
“Why the hell are you complaining so much? It’s just sex, not the end of the world.” She scowled down at him as she spoke. “Actually, no, it is, so just shut up and put out.”
Within a moment, his belt was off, and she’d a hold of his jeans, unzipping and pulling them down his thighs. Not much one for foreplay, apparently. Though, really, that makeshift stake against his chest…. He shivered at the memory. He’d always thought her beautiful, especially when she was riled and ready to do him in. The strength of her, the fierce power and aura of danger. It drew him like a moth to the flame, even more enticing than the bouncy golden hair, perky tits, and shapely bum.
And then that particular part of her was on him as she straddled his thighs. He thought at first that she was just going to have a go at him, sit and ride to get things over with. Instead, she stared down like she’d never seen a penis before, her hand reaching out to hesitantly touch.
Oh. Oh god. Her fingers trailed along the length of him, making him twitch and swell. Feather light teasing, her entire being focused on that one part of him like a curious kit that had discovered a new sort of bug and was about to strike. Terror and arousal crashed through him, the former only feeding the latter, because he’d always been a bit of a kinky bastard, hadn’t he?
“We’re going to do this,” Buffy said, her voice thick and unsteady with desire.
She shifted, and he couldn’t help a moan as the warm fur between her legs brushed against him. She was wet and ready for him. Ready for….
“Screw the world,” he growled, managing a pathetic struggle for freedom. He didn’t want to be free. He wanted to be hers. Her captive. Her slave. Whatever she wanted of him. “Let the whole bloody thing go to hell. It can— Aaah!” Her hand was a cage around him, squeezing just enough to dance along the line between pleasure and pain. “God, you, you bloody bitch,” he panted out. “Just do it. Just bloody do it already!”
Then she was on him, and he couldn’t stop from crying out at the… strange. Strange and new feel of her. So warm when all he’d known before was the cool embrace of Drusilla and bloody Harmony.
Buffy’s hands pressed down on his shoulders as her head went back, her entire body arching as she bucked against him, her braless tits rubbing against the tight material of her t-shirt with the movement. He was pretty sure she’d lost the thread of things. He searched for something to say or do to keep it going, but then her muscles clenched, thighs gripping at his hips with bruising force while her slick walls rhythmically pulsed around him.
He gave it up. Let it all go and surrendered himself to the pleasure. He bucked and arched, matching her thrust for thrust, hips twitching and rocking just right to give her what she needed. Submissive, but not passive, their bodies locked in joyful battle even though she’d already won.
Slow, deep breaths. Spike lay there on the warehouse floor with his eyes closed, basking in the afterglow while also pulling himself back together. He’d started losing the thread, but he’d still been there in that head space, bitter and caged by the bit of plastic and wiring in his head. Soulless. That had been him just as much as the him he was now, but he’d become both less and more since then. Less bitter. A bit more mature with a little more depth. He let go of what he didn’t need and settled back into what he’d claimed for himself.
“Spike?” Buffy murmured from beside him. She was cuddled close with her hand under his shirt to stroke his chest. Her fingers ghosted over to one of his nipples and started to absently play with it. “You okay?”
He smiled and opened his eyes. “Yeah, just fine.” Especially if she kept up what she was doing with her hand. Mmm.
A moment of silence. Then, “Did… did I do it right?” So adorably shy, despite all her strength and all they’d been through. In the months since they’d reconnected in L.A. for Angel’s bloody apocalypse, they’d been exploring their relationship and pushing their boundaries. Testing themselves and each other to see what they could handle.
“You were bloody brilliant, love,” he assured her. Then he grinned and kissed her on the forehead. “Thought you’d lose it when I used the safe word, but you rolled with it perfectly.”
She grinned back, then sat up, pulling her hand out of his shirt as she glared at the wooden boxes strewn about the Council warehouse. “Next time, though, maybe we should pick a safer place.”
“Next time,” he agreed, wiggling up into a sitting position. His silly little slayer. They’d lost the thread and had finished one go ‘round of “what if,” but that didn’t mean the game was over. “For now, though….” He snapped the chains binding his arms and lunged at her.
Buffy gave a satisfying squeal as he pinned her down beneath him and nipped at her neck with blunt human teeth. “Not done playing yet, Slayer-mine. Your boy Finn just had his heart operation, but the doc got the chip out for real.”
She gazed up at him, hazel eyes dark with excitement and desire. “Darn your sinister attraction,” she breathed, giving a token struggle.
God, he loved her. He kissed her, deep and hungry. And then they continued to play.
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