Night falls, I'm cast beneath her spell
Daylight comes, our heaven turns to hell
I'm left to burn
And burn eternally
She's a mystery to me
-U2
Her body moved beneath his, her golden skin and heat a contrast
to his pale coolness.
Small moans came from the back of her throat as his hands ran
over her skin, his palms brushing her peaked nipples. He stroked
her breasts, feeling the heat and loving it. His hands moved
lower as he kissed her, her mouth pressing against his in passion
and need.
Fingernails lightly scratched his back, leaving trails of fire on
the ice of his skin. Every time with her, he feared he would
combust from the heat. And every time he survived, shaken by the
encounter and thrilled at her love. He no longer questioned how
they had gotten to this point, he simply accepted it. He knew
just as much as she did that it wasn't right, and he didn't care.
He had never listened to rules before in his life; he wasn't
going to start now.
Her tongue pushed its way into his mouth, stroking against his.
He smiled against her lips and returned the favor, his tongue
fighting hers. They dueled, neither one wanting to give up
control. In the end, he tore his mouth away from hers, choosing
instead to explore her body. He could feel the pulse in her
throat as he worked his way lower. He tugged at one nipple,
lightly scraping it on his teeth, then soothing it with his
tongue. She arched, calling his name and begging for more.
He grinned wickedly. If she wanted more, then she was going to
get it...
With just the tip of his tongue he traced a line down her
stomach, the light pressure driving her crazy like he knew it
would. He kissed her navel and continued his descent, hovering
above her sex. He could smell her arousal, could feel her need as
it pounded in her veins. One hand traced circular patterns on her
flat stomach, while the other stroked the soft inside of her
thigh. He turned his head to kiss the back of her knee, and she
squirmed, a sound that was half laughter and half squeal escaping
her throat. He continued to kiss his way up her thigh, continued
to stroke her stomach.
As he neared her upper thigh, he shifted positions and started
working his way down her other leg. Her threat to stake him was
spoken through clenched teeth, and he decided not to brass her
off further.
His tongue lapped at her center, her throaty moan making him
shiver with desire. *All in good time,* he thought to himself as
he moved up, tasting her arousal. *Much, much better than blood.*
He laughed inwardly, as she whimpered again. His lips closed
around her swollen bud and she jerked, thrashing against the
black satin sheets.
Sheets she had made fun of the first time she saw them, calling
him 'Hugh Heffner'; that was, until she felt them against her
naked body. Then she complimented them, and him for his great
taste.
Her breathing grew even heavier, her hand running through his
platinum blonde hair. She was so close now, her whimpering and
mewling driving him crazy. He needed her, needed to be inside her
and surrounded by her. Her hand tightened its grip in his hair,
and he felt himself being pulled upward.
Knowing what she wanted, he shifted his hips. Her legs wrapped
around his waist, pulling him closer until his hard shaft was
inside her. Slowly at first, he began to pump, knowing that the
slow friction was tormenting her. It was tormenting him too, but
he had years of experience...
She whispered his name, and he knew the time for gentleness was
over. He slammed roughly into her tight passage, her heat and
wetness driving him crazy. Driving the demon out.
She was used to it, used to his game face coming out. And yet,
never once had he fed on her, or even tried. She often wondered
why. Angel had let her know that vampires usually drank from
their mates, but Spike had never once expressed any interest. And
only a tiny, curious part of her did.
That part, however, was coming to the surface tonight. With each
delicious thrust, her desire for him to feed off her was
increasing. *Just once,* she told herself, *just to know what
it's like.*
She pulled him in with her legs, stilling his pistoning motion.
"What is it," he asked, game face fading. She ran her
hand over the now smooth forehead, his cheekbones...god, those
cheekbones! They were the first thing she had noticed about him,
after she had really, truly looked at him for the first time as
not just another enemy.
The second thing she had noticed were his eyes. She had always
thought they were a dark brown. How shocked she had been to
discover that they were, in fact, blue. She was even more shocked
to notice that it wasn't bloodlust that shone through them, but
desire. For her.
She looked at his face now, pale and handsome in the dim light.
He was looking at her with bemusement, the tiniest of smiles
playing on his lips.
"What, luv?" he repeated, nibbling on her ear.
She squirmed under his ministrations, then pushed him away and
looked at him seriously. "I want you to feed on me. I want
you to know that I trust you."
His brow furrowed. "I know that already."
She stoked his chin, his chest. Sliding her hands down to his
waist, she whispered, "I want you to feel what I feel. I
want you to claim me as yours."
He wanted to protest again, but he knew it to be impossible. Not
only was she the most stubborn woman, but he was excited at the
notion. He had always wanted to; for two hundred years bloodlust
had been his primal urge. He was a demon.
A demon that for some reason was capable of love, but a demon
nonetheless. And the 'claiming,' as she called it, was usually
commonplace with vampires, even those with human lovers.
She kissed him again, her teeth nibbling on his lower lip. He
sighed, exhaling unneeded breath. She always knew how to get what
she wanted.
"You, Slayer, are one wicked woman." He thrust his hips
ever so slightly, teasing her. She moaned, forgetting her
seduction.
"That's...why...you...love me," she whispered, her
words interspersed by his thrusts.
Her voice trailed off as she felt his teeth nibbling at her neck,
then two small, sharp points of pain. It burned for a second,
then all she felt was ecstasy.
She cried out, grabbing him and crushing him to her with her
strength. He fought to keep his human face on, he fought to keep
his control. As he plunged in and out, her
vocal encouragement ringing in his ears, he began to panic.
He had tasted blood before, but hers...it was amazing. It was
indescribable and irresistable, flowing like the sweetest of
nectars over his tongue, against the roof of his mouth. It was
seducing him.
He knew he had to pull away. But the demon wanted more, and he
was the demon. He had no soul to fight the urgings, to be a
safeguard. He had nothing but his love for her; and though it was
powerful, it was not comparable to a demon.
He heard her strangled cry beneath him, his name coming from deep
in her throat as she climaxed. He could feel her tightening
around him, could feel the orgasm in her blood as it flowed down
his throat, hot and delicious. He thrust into her several times,
feeling the intensity grow until it reached a blinding fury. He
could feel the ridges in his face, feel the change as it took
over.
He fought himself, knowing he had to let go of her. But the
intensity of his climax overwhelmed him, until he fell next to
her, spent. He struggled to rise, panic engulfing him...she had
to be okay. She *had* to be. Why the hell had he ever done this?
He looked at her, and his worst fears wound themselves through
every fiber in his being.
Her face was pale, her eyes at half-mast. "Slayer," he
choked out, voice cracking. He shook her, and her eyes opened
further. He stared into the blue-green depths.
He was a vampire. A demon. He had been so for two hundred years.
He knew what a person looked like before they died.
"Buffy!" he called out, finding his voice better this
time, using the name he rarely called her by. "Stay with me,
Slayer...stay with me." His mind was racing, searching for
the right words that would keep her with him. The magic words
that would bring her back.
He knew what they were. The words that she knew, but had never
heard from his lips.
He shook his face, demon retreating. A red-tinged drop fell on
her face, and he realized it was from his own blood-tears.
"I love you," he said desperately, yet meaning it
completely.
She nodded feebly, and her lip twitched slightly...she was trying
to smile. Her lips parted, and for that moment, her eyes were
lucid and clear. He watched as her lips formed his name, her
voice not even loud enough to be a whisper.
But he heard it. He had always heard everything she said. He had
always listened.
"Buffy," he moaned, seeing the forgiveness in her eyes
as she closed them for the last time.
He watched in horror as the golden skin became pallored; he had
done this to her. He had failed her. She had trusted him
implicitly, and he had failed her.
He called her name over and over, irrationally hoping it would
bring her back. He kissed her forehead, her cheek. "I'm so
sorry," he whispered raggedly.
He pulled the black satin sheets up to her shoulders and stepped
out onto his balcony. The cold night air hit him, tingling his
face where the tears had run their course.
He felt physically sick. He could feel *it*, could feel her blood
flowing in him, adding to his guilt. From the recesses of his
memory came the night they had first changed their relationship.
He had known the fine line between hate and love all too well,
for he had crossed it a long time before when it came to her.
In even his wildest dreams, he had never expected her to do the
same. But she had. And he had tried to warn her. He told her he
was dangerous; he reminded her that he was a demon.
She had merely shrugged her shoulders and smiled that small, sad
smile. What she had said next was branded into his memory
forever.
He looked at the feeble light on the horizon, her words echoing
in his mind.
*If I'm going to die young, I want it to be in your arms.*
He had laughed, and brought her to him, crushing her mouth for
the first time with his cold lips. At the time, it was nothing
but an overblown romantic statement.
And now, it was the horrible truth.
-the end-