The Slayer was panting beneath him, Spike’s name and her pleas broken up by heavy breathing and moans. He ignored her requests to let go of her hands, instead changing the angle of his thrusts into her sweet, hot body, trying to make her forget whatever she wanted to do with them. He didn’t want to know if she would have pushed him away or forced him closer. Judging by the way her legs were locked around his waist and how she was using the leverage to accompany each of his movements, he doubted it would have been the former.

Still, he enjoyed having her at his mercy like this; she wouldn’t come until he was ready to let her and any pleading she did until then, any begging word or honeyed promise she uttered, was just a bonus.

Without ever changing the pace of his slow thrusts, he leaned down until his chest was brushing against her pebbled nipples. She hissed softly at the contact. He had paid close attention to the rosy nubs earlier, torturing them with fingers, tongue and a hint of teeth until she had been all but sobbing for him to stop and give her more in the same breath.

His face only an inch above hers, he looked closely at her. Her eyes were wide, the pupils dilated and shiny. Small beads of sweat on her forehead reminded Spike of how long he had been moving between her golden thighs. He would need to give her—and himself—release soon, or else she would still be sore when time came for round two. Lowering his mouth to hers, he evaded the kiss she offered and instead flicked his tongue at the small scar that ran across her lips. It was rough beneath his tongue, in sharp contrast to her satin skin. He loved the edge it gave her; even more he loved that he had left this mark on her.

He alternated small kisses and gentle bites down her jaw and neck until he reached the other mark he given her, and again ran his tongue against it. She bucked under him at the touch, driving his cock deeper into her as they both groaned at the sensation.

“Naughty, naughty Slayer,” he murmured, touching his lips to the two puckered scars. “You like me deep inside, don’t you?”

She let out a trembling breath but did not answer; rebellious even now.

“I know you do,” he continued on the same tone. “You love my cock inside your cunt and you’ve been begging for more. Want my fangs inside you too? You’ll have to tell me, luv. If that’s what you want, you’ll have to ask nicely.”

He scraped his human teeth against the bite mark before pulling back to look at her face. She was biting down on her lower lip, probably to stop herself from saying a word. Spike’s lips curved into his nastiest smile even as he increased his pace, more forceful, demanding her attention. When she gasped and released her lip, the imprint of her teeth scored it, as well as a trace of blood. Leaning down once more, Spike captured that lovely lip between his own and sucked hard, relishing the faint taste of blood tainted with denied pleasure. When he let go again, his features had shifted to his game face and the Slayer shivered at the sight of golden eyes looking right through her and to her very soul.

“Do…do it,” she whispered, her voice so low Spike thought he had imagined it until she repeated the shaky words.

Without hesitating, he lunged at her neck and bit down hard next to the earlier marks. The Slayer cried his name as he pulled on her blood and finally freed her arms to loop them around his neck. He forced himself to stop after only three mouthfuls, even if she was the most delicious treat he had ever tasted.

“God, Buffy,” he whispered raggedly against her neck, holding back his own orgasm until he could bring forth her own. “So beautiful, so good, so…”

In a blinding flash of light, she was gone and Spike was left to stand, naked and hard, in a graveyard that seemed oddly familiar. Only when Dru stepped out from behind a tree did he recognize it. This was where the Slayer had killed Drusilla. Part of him supplied the next tidbit of information instantly—this was a dream, all of it had been nothing more than a dream. He growled in irritation.

“Is she sweeter than me?” Drusilla asked, and Spike thought he would bleed from the shards of ice in her voice. “Is her blood any better? Her cunt any tighter? Does her touch make you want to scream and kill and come forever?”

Spike ran a hand through his hair in a frustrated gesture. He knew it wasn’t really his Princess flinging those words at him. His Princess was ashes, had been ashes for weeks, and maybe it was better than her seeing how low he had sunk after all. But she had known, hadn’t she? Wasn’t that why she had gone after the Slayer herself?

“I knew you’d forget me when you got her,” she continued, her tone still as cutting as she echoed his thoughts. “I knew you’d betray me.”

“I wouldn’t have,” he protested half-heartedly. “If you hadn’t died, I’d never have looked at her like that. I’d never have felt anything but hatred for her. I know I’m sick to want her, but it’s not like she’s going to fall in my bed anyway.”

His objections were weak, the pity in Drusilla’s eyes said as much, and it was with the bitterness of shame still on his tongue that he slipped out of the dream.


With a groan, Spike turned onto his stomach and winced when his still half-hard cock became trapped uncomfortably beneath him. Shifting back onto his side, he wrapped his hand around it and tried to work himself back to a full erection, but the images of the Slayer he was trying to call to him, the taste of her blood were replaced instead by Drusilla’s contempt and his cock wilted completely.

It’s not like I’m actually fucking her, he repeated to himself the feeble argument he had thrown at Drusilla—at his own guilt—but it didn’t help. He wasn’t fucking the Slayer, at least not yet, but he would if he ever got a chance. And until then…

He opened an eye to discover blonde hair on the pillow next to him. The girl’s face—at least, he thought it was a girl—was turned away, and through what remained of a heavy hangover Spike tried to remember what her name had been. Had he even asked? It didn’t seem like he would ever know now, because the girl’s heart wasn’t beating. A shame to fuck and kill and not remember a thing, though.

A little nagging voice that sounded too much like Dru for comfort asked if that was what he would do to the Slayer once he caught her, and Spike frowned as he sat up, assaulted by a terrible doubt. What if the dream hadn’t been one, and…

He sighed when he could see the girl’s face. Not the Slayer, then. Not even human, he soon discovered as her eyes fluttered open and she yawned widely, flashing her game face and fangs.

“’llo baby,” she murmured, turning her face toward him. “You ready for more? I don’t know what got into you last night but it was… wow!”

And with her high-pitched voice, flashes of the night came back to Spike. The bar, and the slightly excessive amount of alcohol he had ingested. The glint of golden hair. Chatting up a girl who had soon reveled to be pathetically boring but blonde hair had kept Spike’s attention. Falling into bed with her, and asking her to be quiet, even squinting so that he could lose himself in the illusion.

Rolling onto his back, Spike covered his face with his arm and groaned. He was pathetic. Picking up a girl because her hair looked like the Slayer’s? What else would he do next? Could he even sink any lower?

“What’s wrong baby?” the girl cooed, her hand sliding over to him to cover his cock. It remained thoroughly uninterested, which added to Spike’s irritation.

“Get out of my bed,” he growled, flashing amber eyes at her to show he wasn’t joking. “As a matter of fact, get out of here.”

The girl snatched her hand back as she sat up and tossed her hair over her shoulder with practiced ease. Spike’s eyes were attracted to the blondness for a second before he caught himself.

“It’s my bed,” she said haughtily. “And it’s my place. If you’re going to be so grumpy, you can show yourself out. I haven’t done anything to deserve this.”

She slipped out of the bed and stepped into what had to be a bathroom, judging by the sound of running water coming from behind the door. Sitting up in confusion, Spike looked around him. Fluffy white comforter on the bed, vanity dresser against the wall covered in dozens of perfume bottles and make-up products, a large and not particularly good painting of roses in a vase… This definitely wasn’t the abandoned building he had been crashing in for the past couple of weeks. He really had had too much to drink if he had thought it was even for one second. Then again, he had been drinking more alcohol than blood for ten nights now, ever since he had let the Slayer go without killing her when she had been at his mercy.

Picking up his clothes on the floor, he slipped them on and sighed in relief when he found cigarettes in his duster’s pocket. He lit one as he gave the apartment a last look—way too girly for his taste, but it had the comforts that Spike’s own digs didn’t have—and found his way toward the door. The sun hadn’t set yet, but his instincts were assuring him that it was late enough to risk coming out now. And if he fried, at least he wouldn’t have to think about the Slayer again.

It would have been a pity to die without seeing her again, though. As he evaluated the distance between the shadowed front step and his car on the side of the road, he idly wondered if she was still in town. He had deliberately stayed out of the way until now, unwilling to see her again before he had strengthened his resolve to kill her, but he might as well admit that it wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Was she even still in Sunnydale, or had she run off away from him, where she’d be safe?

It was time to find out.

He drove to the motel where she had been staying, but the lack of tingles soon made it clear that she was nowhere around. Annoyed, with her and himself, Spike drove back to the graveyard where they had fought and parked there to wait for sundown. He wasn’t one for regrets, had never been, but maybe his drinking binge had not been the most inspired thing he had ever done. If she had left town, she had a lead of up to ten days on him, and he didn’t have the beginning of a clue on where she might have run off to. Cleveland, maybe? Or anywhere else in the country for all he knew.

He thought about it until nightfall. The Watcher in Sunnydale might be a good source of information, and if he wasn’t the one in Cleveland might talk. One of them had to know something.

Before getting to that though, Spike wanted to make sure the Slayer had really left. Maybe she had just moved to a different motel. Maybe she was still in town and hunting for him; that was something he thought she might do.

And maybe finding her would be as easy as catching her scent on the wind as soon as he stepped out of the car.