The Thousand Natural Shocks
by Icemink

Disclaimer: I own none of these characters, nor do I make any profits. It all belong to Mutant Enemy.

written for Spikesdeb
I lost my beta at the last minute, so only the first three chapters were betaed. Sorry about that too. Oh, and the requirements for the story are posted at the end.
 

Chapter 1: To Sleep: Perchance to Dream

Buffy lay awake in her bed, concentrating on her breathing, hoping that some of her meditation techniques would put her to sleep. It seemed to become harder and harder to sleep every night.

There was the fact that her friends had resurrected her, and ripped her out of heaven without so much as bothering to dig up her body, which left her with the irrational fear that she would wake up in a coffin.

There were also all of the bills she had somehow gathered while she was dead. Money was becoming more and more a problem, and the fact that her house seemed to be falling apart on her wasn't helping.

A new mystery had presented itself today as well. Just before she had died, her father had stopped sending child support. She'd been too busy worrying about keeping her sister alive and away from Glory to bother about it.

But today in the mail a check had come for the entire amount he owed. Buffy had eagerly opened the letter with her fathers name and address on it. She hadn't thought about the fact that the handwriting wasn't his. She had assumed it meant a secretary had mailed it. As soon as she looked at the check, she knew it wasn't from her father. It was signed Hank Summers, but it wasn't his signature. She'd forged it enough times on absentee slips when she still lived in L.A. to know.

Also, even though the address on the envelope was his address in L.A, the address on the check was a P.O. Box in Sunnydale. She had meant to ask Willow to see if she could find out anything about the P.O. Box, but she hadn't had the chance yet.

But the main thoughts that kept her up tonight, were darker thoughts. Fantasies that haunted her and wouldn't let go.

In some sense she'd had these fantasies since she was sixteen. Since a sexy vampire, who didn't run around in his game face all the time, had stepped out of the shadows of the alley behind the Bronze and told her with absolute confidence that he was going to kill her on Saturday night.

She'd always been attracted to Spike, and always been disgusted by her attraction. But it was that very first time she saw him that the fantasies started.

He throws her against a wall and his fist crashes into her face. She tries to swing at him, but he catches her fist and pins her against the wall with his body. That's when she feels it, hard between her legs.

She struggles against him and he laughs at her.

"That's right, baby. Fight me. God I love it when they fight."

One hand holds both of hers above her head, and the other slips up underneath the hem of her skirt. He rips off her panties, and thrusts two cool fingers inside of her.

"No, please. Just kill me. I'm still. . ." she begs with him. He can't do this to her, she's still a virgin. She's saving herself for Angel.

"Don't tell me your still a virgin? What Angel cant' get it up to stick it in you?" He smiles his most wicked smile and licks his lips. "I'm going to enjoy this. You're prettier than the other Slayer's I killed. So sexy."

Then he pulls his fingers out of her, and she can hear his zipper. He's inside her, fucking her hard against the wall. She screams and pleads with him even as her legs come up around his waist.

"So good," he moans in her ear. "You feel so good. Fucking Slayer. Love it when you fight me, baby. So good. So fucking good."

When he's done using her for his pleasure, he lets go of her and watches as she falls helplessly to the ground.

"Not going to kill you, Slayer. You're too good a fuck. But I'll be back for you. That's a promise."

And he leaves her bleeding in the alley, feeling broken and ashamed for enjoying it so much, and hoping he comes back soon.

She'd read somewhere, either one of her textbooks from Dr. Walsh's class, or maybe it was an issue of Cosmo, that rape fantasies were common among women. They were a way for a woman to fantasize about sexual acts they felt were forbidden. Buffy supposed it made sense, nothing in her life was more forbidden than sex with Spike. But it bothered her, made her feel ashamed, and foolish for how much she enjoyed being fucked by him in her mind.

The fantasies had changed a little over the years. They'd been fed by her own experience after she lost her virginity and also the experiences of Willow's 'will be done' spell.

That had disturbed Buffy so deeply because as much as she wanted to pretend that she had only wanted Spike because of a spell, the fact was she had wanted him long before. Okay, so she never would have considered marrying him, but she could still remember the feel of his cool hands under her shirt and over her bra.

And his kisses. Wow, was Spike a good kisser. Kissing had become part of her fantasies from that point.

Then there was a second night in the alley behind the Bronze. The night when she had asked him to tell her about the other Slayers he had killed. There had been a moment when she thought he was going to kiss her. She'd pulled away, and been really mean to him, but mostly because she'd wished she'd stayed still and let him kiss her.

At the time she'd thought it was a crazy idea. Why would Spike kiss her? Spike hated her. Then she'd learned about his obsession and realized that he really was going to kiss her that night.

She never believed he loved her then, but the knowledge of his obsession fed her fantasies.

She wakes in the middle of the night to find Spike tying her wrists to the top of her bed with silken scarves. She starts to speak, to tell him to get lost, but he puts a finger to her lips and shushed her.

"Quiet now, pet. Don't want to wake your mom or the bit," he says as he ties the last knot.

That's when she realizes that he's naked. His clothes are folded neatly on the chair by her desk. He's been there for a while. Watching her sleep.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered. "You can't be here."

"Didn't I tell you to be quiet? Maybe I should gag you?"

He kisses her, sending shivers down her body. She tests her bonds, but finds that although she could break them, she can't do it without making a lot of noise. She'd be sure to wake up her mom or Dawn, and how could she possibly explain why a naked Spike had tied her to her bed?

"This is how it's going to work, Slayer," he whispers in her ear. "You be quiet, I have my fun, and no one ever has to know. But if you make a fuss. . ." he shrugs as if anything that happens after that point wouldn't be his fault but hers.

Then he starts to undress her. Undoing the buttons on her pajamas one by one. Kissing each bit of skin as it's exposed.

Finally he parts the top exposing her breasts to the cool night air. He looks at them with hungry eyes, before he takes one in each hand and begins to fondle them. Then he bends down and begins to suck on her nipple.

She has to bite her lip to keep from crying out as he gently bites her nipple with his human teeth. Seeing her distress, he strokes her face, kisses her again, and gags her. Then he returns to her breasts. He buries his face between them, and lavishes each one in turn with the attentions of his tongue and teeth.

His hands remain to fondle her breasts as his head begins to move lower. Trailing fiery kisses down her stomach till he comes to the elastic of her pajama bottoms.

"I bet you have the prettiest pussy," he says softly. "Let's find out shall we?"

She begins to struggle again, she can't allow Spike to do this to her, but the only way to stop him would be to kick him off the bed. Then he'd crash into her closet and wake everyone up.

Cool fingers slide down her legs, as he removes her pants. Then strong hands force her legs apart until she lays there open to his probing eyes.

"Oh, Buffy," he says with quiet awe. "So beautiful."

Then he leans down once more and his head is between her legs as he begins to kiss her most intimate areas. His tongue tastes her in ways no one ever has before, as his fingers pump in and out of her.

She fights him, tries to find a way to get free, because she can't let him do this to her. Can't let her mortal enemy make her feel this good. She refuses to enjoy it, but she does all the same.

But he doesn't let her come. After all he is evil. Instead, just as she feels the orgasm building in her womb he stops, and pulls himself up so he is lying on top of her, and the faces are even.

"Do you like that? Does the big bad make you hot? Poor little Slayer needs a vampire to get her off? But I'm not here for you, luv. I'm here for me."

Then he's inside her. He grabs her hips and slams into her over and over. He's brutal with her, using his full vampire strength to create as much friction as possible. But every time he slams into her he bumps her clit and only the gag keeps her from screaming his name.

He says things to her. Horrible things. Dirty things. He uses words that she should hit him for saying in front of her, and are worse because he says them about her. He tells her how tight she is, and how she has the best 'see you next tuesday' (Buffy refuses to even think the word) he's ever felt.

And when he's done, when he's filled her with his cold dead seed, he tells her that she's the best little fuck he's ever had. He gets dressed while she's still tied to the bed. He doesn't even cover her up, just leers at her half naked form sweaty and sprawled on the bed while he buckles his jeans. All the time whispering about how good she felt and how he's going to come back every night and fuck her over and over and over again.

Finally, once he's put his duster back on, he releases one of her hands, leaving her to finish untying herself.

Then the real Spike had to go and screw up her fantasies, by proving he really did love her when he didn't reveal that Dawn was the Key when Glory tortured him.

That had killed all her fantasies. And the look in his eyes when she'd kissed his cheek, when he realized it was her and not the 'bot proved his love all over again. You couldn't be raped by a guy who loves you, and Buffy refused to think about sex with a Spike who loved her. That was too creepy.

But things had changed yet again when her friends brought her back. Spike had become her confidant. The only person she could trust and talk to. He hadn't been part of the scheme to bring her back from the dead, and because she owed him nothing, because he wasn't her friend she could burden him with the things she would never tell her friends.

Ironically that had made Spike her best friend and he was rapidly becoming more a part of her life than she was quite comfortable with.

Now her fantasies about Spike were back. Only they had changed, become darker.

It's been a rough day, and Buffy finds comfort in the only place left to her. Spike's crypt. He's waiting for her. He's always waiting for her, and she cries on his shoulder. She tells him how horrible it is. How she can't stand the world ever since she was brought back.

He wraps his strong arms around her and tells her it's going to be okay. He'll take care of it all.

"You can't," she tells him. "Nothing can make it better."

"I can," he assures her.

Then he lifts her up into his arms and carries her down into the lower level of his crypt. He lays her down on his bed and kneels over her.

"Spike, I can't. . ."

He smiles sadly at her, "I know, it's not that."

But even so he lies down on top of her, and he kisses her. She becomes lost in his kiss. The gentleness of his lips. His strong violent hands moving tenderly over her skin.

Finally he lets her breath again, though she almost wishes he wouldn't. It would be so nice to be strangled by his kisses. Those expressive blue eyes of his look sadly at her, and she can see the tears forming.

"Love you so much," he tells her.

She wishes he wouldn't. She hates this. Hates the way he feels, hates how it complicates what should be simple.

"So I'm going to take all your pain away," he promises.

She nearly laughs at him. There's just too much. No one can take it all away. It will never go away. Pain is all she is now. Pain is all she breathes.

He tilts her head to one side, and suddenly she realizes that he is right. He can make it all go away.

"Promise me," she stops him. He looks at her questioningly. "You won't let them bury me."

"I promise," he says softly and sadly. "I'm going to miss you Summers."

And then sad blue eyes become angry and gold.

She cries out as his fangs rip into her throat. But it only hurts for a moment. She remembers that. And then a spark goes from her neck to her womb. Like one of the fuses they have in cartoons.

She wraps her legs around him, and he's rubbing his erection against her, practically fucking her, and they both need it. They're both desperate for more friction as they share the pleasure of her death.

He pulls her blood from her veins causing her to writhe beneath him. Every instinct tells her to fight him, but she can't. She doesn't have the will, not when this feels better, more right than anything has felt in so long.

His fingers reach down and he thrusts his fingers inside her and begins to fuck her with his hand. His thumb runs over her clit and she screams and bucks against him. Nothing ever felt this good. Even when Angel bit her it wasn't this good, this pure.

Spike's fingers, still probing her are the last thing she feels as the peace and sleepiness overwhelms her.

She hates them. Wishes they would go away. Is that what she really wants? To die? She spent so long fighting against her short life span that she can't imagine just giving in like that. Except that she does imagine it, night after night dreams of death keep her awake.

And that's when she notices that she's not alone. Her eyes are closed, and she's trying to breathe evenly to help her fall asleep, but there's that tingle that tells her that a vampire is near. And not just any vampire, Spike.

Buffy can't help but wonder if her dreams are about to come true.


Chapter 2: The Pangs of Dispriz'd Love

Spike entered the Summers' home, careful not to make any noise or wake anyone up. Normally that wouldn't be too difficult a task, they had a tendency to forget to lock the front door. After all, human crime wasn't much of a problem in Sunnydale, vampires were kept out by mystical forces, and demons were just likely to bash the door in if they wanted to enter.

That was actually the current problem. The front door was being held together only by Xander's ingenuity, until a new one could be purchased. Earlier that day a M'Fashnik demon had smashed it in.

Spike moved past the ruins of the door and quietly crept past the Watcher sleeping on the couch. He moved to the desk that sat against the living room wall. He bent down, and slowly, quietly picked the lock on the drawer. Luckily the lock was pretty simple because Spike wasn't really that good at lock picking. He soon had the drawer open.

He removed a white envelope from the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out two twenty dollar bills. He carefully moved the papers in the drawer, until he found the small stash of cash Buffy kept there. He slipped the twenties in among the other bills, then did his best to put the papers back the way he'd found them and shut the drawer.

Then he moved to the closet and began searching the pockets of the coats and purses inside. Whenever he found cash, he would slip in an extra ten, or maybe a five and several ones. He slipped some extra money into several of Buffy's coats, figuring since she'd been dead for several months, she wouldn't remember if she'd had money in them or not.

Then he moved upstairs. He waited outside the main bedroom, to make sure it's occupants were asleep then quietly opened the door. He stashed more money in and among the witches things, hoping that he wasn't leaving so much that they would get suspicious.

He hesitated outside of Dawn's room. She didn't help pay the bills or anything, but he finally decided that she probably needed money for whatever girly things she needed.

There was only one bedroom left. Hers. Spike took an unneeded breath, and without thinking held it as he moved towards her room. He listened outside the door. Her breathing was deep and even so he entered.

He was doubly cautious near her. After all she was the Slayer, he didn't know if her instincts would tell her there was a vampire near her sleeping form.

He smiled as he looked at her sleeping form. Her golden hair was spread out on the pillow, and she looked peaceful. The scent of her arousal in the air told him that she was having a good dream and he was glad that she wasn't plagued by nightmares tonight. Vainly he hoped that she was dreaming about him.

His fingers ached to reach out and touch her, to simply brush away a stray lock of hair from her face. But he didn't dare risk waking her.

He could have stayed there all night, simply watching her sleep, but he had come here for a purpose and the longer he stayed the more likely he was to be caught.

He moved towards her vanity and carefully sat in the chair. Smiling pictures of her and her friends stared out at him from the frame of her mirror. There was something sad about those pictures, the people in them were so happy, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Buffy or her friends smile.

He opened the top drawer and pulled out her wallet. Just as he was about to open it, a voice from behind him whispered angrily, "What are you doing?!"

Startled he looked up into the mirror which showed an angry Slayer sitting up in her bed. She got up and stormed over to him.

"Oh my god! Are you. . stealing from me?"

"What?" he whispered back. "Course not. Why would I. . . Look," he shoved the envelope of money into her hand. "There, that's for you, I'll just be going now."

He tried to get up and leave but she yanked his arm, swung him around and pined him to the wall next to the door. There was a thump as his back hit the wall.

He gave her an angry look. "Hush! Don't want to wake everyone up now do we?"

"What the hell are you doing? What is this?" she said waving around the envelope.

"It's money, all right. I thought, I thought you could use it."

"I can't take money from you," she insisted shoving the envelope back in his hand without looking. "And why would you break into my house to leave money?" she asked.

He shook his head, "Because I knew you wouldn't take money from me."

"And you would be right, I can't take the money you stole from you victims." She pushed the envelope back into his hands.

"I didn't steal it, and the only victims I've had the last few years have been demons and vampires, you know that. The money's honest, take it," he said thrusting the envelope back at her.

"How could you come by 'honest' money. You're expecting me to believe that you didn't lie or cheat or steal or do something dishonest to get this?"

By this point they were both trying to push the now crumpled envelope into the other's hands.

"Alright. So maybe I did lie a little, but that's only because I can't go around telling people I'm a vampire now can I. Not like I have a bloody social security number. Look, will you just take it?"

"See, you admit you lied." Her voice had started to get louder. He shushed her, and she glared at him, but then she resumed whispering, "If you lied to get it, how do I know your not lying about not getting it through. . . evil means."

"Oh for god's sake. Why won't you take it?" he begged her.

"Why won't you tell me where you got it from?"

They just stared at each other for several minutes, there was no way he could tell her where he gotten the money from. Not only would she not believe him, but she was bound to tell her friends and he'd never live it down. He was the Big Bad, he had a certain image to maintain and he'd gone to great lengths to hide what he'd been up to. In retrospect that had been rather easy since the Scoobies had been busy keeping there own secrets.

It was Buffy who broke the silence first. "Besides, you'd start, I don't know expecting. . . stuff."

At that moment, it took all of Spike's self control to not hit her. If it hadn't been for the chip and years of not hitting people when he wanted to, he probably would have. He clenched his jaw and ground his teeth.

"I. . . don't . . buy. . . women," he told her through gritted teeth. "Besides," he continued once he felt calmer. "Money's not for you, it's for the Nibblet. You're just the one who pays the bills."

It was actually more or less the truth. He'd begun his plan to get money while Buffy was still dead. He had realized that neither of the witches had an actual income and since the Buffy Bot couldn't be trusted to get a job, sooner or later someone was going to have to support Dawn, or she'd have to go back to her father.

Since none of Buffy's friends seemed to be doing anything about it, Spike figured it was up to him to find a way to make some money, and he had.

"Well, I can't let Dawn have your. . . illicit money either," Buffy insisted.

"IT'S NOT," he realized that he'd risen his voice, and they both froze, listening for any signs that he'd woken anyone up. After several moments of complete silence he continued in a whisper. "It's not illicit, and I'm tired of this."

He dropped the envelope on the floor. Buffy just stared at it for a moment, then reached down to pick it up and thrust it back at him. The moment she did so, he made a break for it, pushing past her, and dashing for her window.

He'd startled her enough, that he was able to open the window enough to slip through it. He leapt out the window, rolling down the eaves, and landing hard on the ground below. He grunted as he hit the ground, and figured that he'd probably broken something, but with a bit of blood he should be good by tomorrow night, and there was nothing he could do about it now.

He ran down Revello Drive, leaving an angry Slayer glaring at him from her window.
 


 
Chapter 3: Puzzles the Will

Buffy had taken up a position behind a tree, looking at the back of Spike's crypt. Hopefully from the position she'd be able to see him leave without him seeing her. She just had to hope that the wind didn't change so that he wouldn't smell her.

Spike was up to something, and she was going to figure out what it was. However he was getting money couldn't be good and she would catch him doing whatever it was, so that she could justify her refusal to spend his money.

That's why she was in a graveyard before the sun had gone down. She just had to hope that whatever he was doing, he was doing it at night, and not going by sewer. But there was no way she could hide from him in the sewers.

"Hey Buff, what's happening?"

Buffy nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of Xander's voice. He and Anya had come up behind her.

"Don't you know not to sneak up on people in graveyards?" she asked him.

"Sorry," he apologized. "But it's not even dark yet. So what's the what? Big evil afoot?"

Buffy cast a furtive glance towards Spike's crypt, the sun would be down soon, and if she was lucky, Spike would emerge.

"Sort of. It's Spike, he's up to something."

"Really?" Anya asked. "Spike hasn't done anything evil in quite a while. It seems doubtful that he would start now."

"Well, he is," Buffy argued. "Look, um, could you guys maybe. . . It's just I need to follow Spike, without him knowing."

"Ah yes. Stealth," said Xander. "But if Spike's up to his old tricks, are you sure that you don't need help?"

"No, I'm on it guys, really, thanks."

Buffy was desperate to get rid of them. The sun was already setting, Spike could appear any moment.

"It still seems rather odd to me that Spike would be doing evil things. Have you done something to make him evil, Buffy?" Anya asked.

"What?" Buffy asked confused. "No. What do I have to do with this?"

"Well," Anya explained. "Spike started acting good around the time he fell in love with you. It stand's to reason that if he's doing evil again it's because Buffy has broken his heart, or done something to force him to return to his evil ways."

"Ahn, that's ridiculous," Xander countered. "Spike doesn't need an excuse to be evil. He's a vampire. Sure he's helped us out of a few scraps, dusted a vampire or two, but it's only natural for him to follow his nature."

"Perhaps, but I have often found that love, or rather thwarted love is what leads most people to evil. Certainly it's the cause of most of the vengeance in the world."

"Vengeance? You don't think Spike's up to some sort of revenge do you?" Xander asked alarmed.

"Revenge for what?" Buffy asked.

"Well," Xander shrugged. "He was kind of upset with Willow, Tara, Anya and I for not including him in the resurrection plan."

This was one of those moments where it was hard for Buffy to be nice to her friends. Why did they keep having to bring up the fact that they brought her back from the dead? Of course they still thought they'd saved her from a hell dimension but still. She couldn't help thinking that if you were going to raise the dead, the living dead would be a good resource. Spike would have known to dig up her grave for starters.

She shivered as the memories of waking up in her coffin overtook her. They did that less and less, but still, she thought that that was one horrible experience she would never be fully rid of.

"Hey, Buffy. Are you cold?" Xander asked seeing her shiver. Before she could protest he'd taken off his jacket and put it over her shoulders.

"No, I'm fine. Look, do you guys mind maybe leaving?" she asked as politely as she could. The sun was down now, and she'd been so caught up in her conversation with Xander and Anya that she hadn't been paying attention to Spike's crypt. "I really need to do, you know, the stealth thing."

"Oh, right. Well, if you need back up just call," Xander said, a little hurt.

Finally they retreated, and Buffy could resume her stakeout.

She hid in the shadows for what seemed an eternity, waiting for Spike to appear. She started to feel sure that she'd missed him while talking to Xander and Anya. She checked her watch, and saw to her dismay that it was only fifteen minutes past sunset. She never had been good at that waiting part of slaying.

Then to her relief, she saw a familiar platinum head move through the darkness. Slowly, carefully she followed after him.

Tailing Spike was not an easy task. Several times he stopped and she was sure he'd realized she was there. But he always started up again after a few minutes. Luckily Buffy had followed a fair share of vampires in her day. There were a thousand potential nests in Sunnydale, and no way of her to keep track of which were occupied at any one time. So she often followed vampires until they led her back to their lairs.

Spike was smarter than the typical Sunnydale vampire, however. And she was twice as careful following him as she would have been with any other vampire. After all, if the others vampires discovered her following them, it simply meant they fought a battle to the death, their death. If Spike discovered her, she would have little hope of finding out where his new found wealth was coming from.

And she was sure that he was one his way to do whatever it was he did to get money, because he was carrying a beat-up brown leather briefcase. The kind that had buckles that held a large flap shut. It was so un-Spike like an accessory that she was sure he would lead her to whatever he was doing.

To her surprise Spike went, not only to the UC Sunnydale campus, but he went directly to the gym. Buffy was so startled by this, that he had disappeared into the building before she could quite believe what had happened. Following him out in the open was one thing, but following him through a building would be much harder, especially now that he no doubt turned down a hallways, or gone up or down stairs or into a room.

So she crouched in the bushes, trying to figure out what she should do next. She could try using her Slayer sense to track him through the building, but that was tricky.

As she sat there debating what to do, a grad student exited the building. At least she first thought it was a grad student. It was only after a moment she realized to her shock it was Spike. If it wasn't that his hair was still bleached blond, and that he was carrying the same briefcase she never would have recognized him.

He'd changed his clothes. No longer was he wearing his traditional black on black, now he wore a white button down shirt with this blue vertical strips and a light blue tie. His jeans had been replaced with slacks, and he was wearing glasses. His hair was parted in the middle in a style that screamed 'nerd'. Well, except for the color.

Buffy was stunned. It was like she'd suddenly fallen into bizarro world. Why on earth would Spike dress like that, and what could he possibly be doing?

Buffy quickly followed after him and watched him cross the campus. He stopped outside the humanities building and met two women who were on the patio in front smoking.

Buffy didn't dare get close enough that she could hear what they were saying, but it was obvious the two women knew him. As soon as he arrived, he bummed a cigarette off one of the women and began talking to them.

Even if she couldn't hear them she could tell by their body language that the two women were flirting outrageously with him. What was worse, Spike was flirting back.

After a few minutes they all put out their cigarettes and headed inside. Spike made a great show of holding the door open for the two women to pass though.

It was all getting to be too much for Buffy. She had to know what was going on, and she had to know now. So this time she didn't even think twice about following him into the building. She quickly moved upstairs to the second floor, and she could hear voices coming from a class room door that was propped open.

"I'm sure you gave us all A's, Mr. Summers," she heard a woman say.

"Well, only because you deserved them. And how many times must I tell you to call me Henry, Rebecca?" a British man's voice replied.

It took Buffy a moment to identify the voice. Or rather to convince herself that she'd heard it correctly. The accent was similar to Giles' refined accent, but the voice was clearly Spike's.

A/N: Italics are used for Buffy's thoughts.

Chapter 4: Must Give us Pause

Buffy wasn't sure what it was that propelled her feet forward, but before she knew what she was doing she had walked into the classroom and taken a seat.

"Um, can I help you miss?" Spike asked her nervously.

She smiled and said, "Oh, I was thinking of taking this class next semester, and they told me I could sit in and see what it's like."

"Uh, yes, well alright," he said, nervously pushing his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose with one finger.

Buffy wondered how much of it was an act, and how much was real nervousness on Spike's part. He handed back the last few papers that were still in his hand. A few students must not have been there, because he returned a few papers to his briefcase, and pulled out a thin paperback book.

"Let's see now, I do believe we were at Act III Scene i. So tell me, what did you all think of Polonius's plan?"

The class then launched into a discussion Buffy didn't understand. She did figure out that they were talking about Hamlet, because they mentioned both his name and Shakespeare several times. Unfortunately, Buffy didn't know the first thing about Hamlet. She'd never really liked Shakespeare.

Of course she'd read Romeo and Juliet in high school, but the whole star crossed lovers thing had hit a little too close to home. They'd also been forced to read The Merchant of Venice but that seemed to be about people marrying to get rich, and being mean to Jews, and one really mean Jew. She'd never really gotten it.

So she really had no idea what they were going on about. A lot of it seemed to do with whether this Hamlet guy was crazy, or just in love, or both.

After maybe half an hour of discussion, Spike stopped the class and said, "Well, I do hope you will all indulge me now, and not laugh too hard. As we all know, those who can't do, teach." The class laughed good naturedly at that. It was obvious they liked him. "And these are, after all, the most famous words in the English language."

He cleared his throat and began, "To be, or not to be: that is the question:

To be or not to be what? That's so stupid, and it's from Hamlet?

Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them?. . .

Arms against I sea of troubles? Sounds like my life.

. . . To die: . . .

Oh! To be or not to be alive, I get it now. Why didn't he just say that in the first place?

. . . to sleep;
No more; and, by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, . . .

God, yes. Why does everything have to be so hard and sharp?

. . . ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: . . .

Yes, to be warm and soft and loved and safe.

. . . ay, there’s the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. . .

Unless you've died twice and you know what it's like. God, why couldn't they just leave me there? Why did I have to come back, again?

. . . There’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of dispriz’d love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin?

Does he mean suicide? But I couldn't do that, everyone depends on me. Why can't they take care of themselves? I was done, they should have been able to go on without me. And what's a bodkin anyway?

. . . who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

I'm just so tired, all the time.

But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover’d country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?

But I do know. Even if I don't remember so well. It was good. But if I killed myself, would I go back there, or would they send me somewhere else?

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember’d."

Buffy almost jumped when Spike was done speaking. She had been entranced by his words, lost in a dark meditation. His voice had been sweet and soothing, and the silence came after startled and unsettled her.

She didn't like the direction her mind had been going in. It was so against everything she stood for and had fought for all these years. She'd been running from early death for so long, she couldn't grasp the idea of running to it.

The class began again. This time she could better follow the discussion, having just heard the monologue they were talking about. She concentrated hard on their debate, hoping to block out her own thoughts with undergraduate literary theories.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I'm telling you I don't like it. We ought to do something?" Xander said.

"Do you really think Spike's up to something evil?" Tara asked.

"It's not exactly out of character for him, sweetie," Willow said placing her hand over Tara's. "He really was one of Buffy's worst enemies a few years back. Although I can't see why he'd be up to evil now."

"Cause he's Spike," Xander insisted. "And I'm telling you Buffy said he's up to something. Why would she say that if she didn't have some sort of proof?"

"Xander's right about that," Anya agreed. "She was very clear that she thought Spike was up to no good. But I don't see what we can do about it. We don't know where to find Spike, and it's a little too late to help Buffy follow him."

"Oh!" Willow waved her hands excitedly. "I could do a locator spell." She jumped up and rushed off to gather the ingredients.

"I guess there's no harm in finding out where he is. . ." Tara said dubiously.

"Besides," Anya added. "It was Xander's turn to pick the movies, so if he wants to spend his movie night chasing after Spike, I say, 'Let's go!' It's better than watching Full Metal Jacket again."

 

A/N: No deconstructionists were hurt in the writing of this chapter. Quote from the last stanza of T.S. Eliot's Portrait of a Lady

Chapter 5: The Proud Man's Contumely

"Right then, let's have it," Spike said, starring down Buffy who was the last one left in the room. He was back to his old accent now that the last of the students had cleared the classroom.

"I don't even know where to begin," Buffy said. Realizing she was still sitting in a desk, and that Spike was standing in front of the blackboard looking very authoritative she quickly got up to even their positions. "You're impersonating my father, and pretending to know about Shakespeare, and who knows what else?"

Spike actually relaxed, as if he'd been expecting a much worse reaction. He straitened up again suddenly and stared at her in a challenging manner.

"What do you mean pretending? Just because I don't go in for that French deconstructionist crap that's all the rage now doesn't mean you can find a single hole in my literary theory."

Buffy just blinked at him in confusion. When Spike realized she had no idea what he'd just said he snorted and muttered, "Not like you'd know Derrida if he bit you on the derrière." He looked down at his feet for a moment, then looked up at her through his lashes, "So will you take the money now?"

"I can't. . . what happens when you get caught anyhow?"

"I'm not going to get caught. And so what if I do? I'll find another way to make some money for you. Truth is my first idea was to make a quick trip to Vegas, but the Scoobies needed my help keeping the vampire population down, and looking after the Nibblet when. . . Can we get out of here? I need to get out of these clothes."

Buffy smiled and nodded. Although she personally thought Spike could use more color in his wardrobe, this look just wasn't him. It was sort of cute, in a fixer-upper kind of way, but it was hard to have a serious conversation when Spike looked like he should have been in Revenge of the Punk Nerds.

She wondered how anyone could have bought his disguise, although maybe it was more to keep demons from recognizing him, than to fool humans into thinking he was a real collage professor.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, back in the direction of the gym. Suddenly Spike stopped. Buffy walked a couple more steps before she realized he wasn't next to her anymore. When she turned to look at him, his whole posture spoke of nervousness.

"Are we. . ?" he started, then stopped again. "What I mean is. . . Look, it's just. . . what are we?"

"Me Slayer, you vampire?" she answered unsure of his question.

"No, I mean, yeah, there is that. But even without the chip, I couldn't kill you, and you haven't tried to slay me in a long time. What I'm asking is. . ." His voice got very quiet. "Are we friends?"

She considered his question, really considered it. It was a lop sided question. They both knew he was in love with her, so the real question was, did she consider him at least a friend? Which kind of begged the question, what did she mean by the word friend.

Only a week ago she had clearly separated him from her friends when she had confessed to him what her afterlife had really been like, and told him that he could never tell her friends. And yet that confession had brought them closer together. She had trusted Spike with her most precious secret, and even before her death, she'd trusted Spike with her mother's and her sister's life.

She took a step towards him and looked him in the eye, "Impersonations of my father aside, you're the person I trust most right now, so yeah, I guess we're friends."

His face lit up with a goofy smile, and she hated him for it. Hated him for loving her. Hated him for letting such a little gesture effect him so much. It would have been different maybe, if he hadn't loved her until she came back from the dead, that would have meant that he saw how wrong she was and loved her for that. But he was really as bad as all the others, holding onto the belief that she was still Buffy, just like she'd been before she'd died.

He took a hesitant step towards her, "So if we're friends, then, you'll take the money. Because," he stopped her before she could interrupt. "I'm just trying to help out a friend, no strings attached."

There was so much hope, so much expectation in his eyes, that Buffy couldn't quite bring herself to say no to him, even if she could quite say yes either.

"I'll think about it, okay?"

He smiled and nodded, and they resumed their journey to the gym. Buffy waited outside while he went back in to change. As she leaned against the cool brick wall, she tried to process everything that had happened so far that night, but she wasn't doing a very good job of it. Especially since one odd little detail kept niggling at her mind.

After a few minutes, Spike reemerged, looking like Spike once more.

"So, um, as a friend," Buffy started to ask. "How come you never told me you wanted to be an actor?" It was a ridiculous question, there was no reason Spike would have ever told her anything like that, but it was the only way she could think of to broach the subject.

"What?" Spike asked genuinely confused.

"That bit about 'Those who can't do, teach.' I thought you actually sounded good."

He laughed. "Please, never wanted to be an actor. You'd have to be crazy to go in for that. Nah I was-" he stopped himself. Buffy could almost swear he was blushing.

"You were what?" she asked intrigued.

"Um, nothing," he said hoping she'd let it go.

She was far too interested in this chink she had found in the Big Bad's tough guy image. She was obviously going to have to dig a little.

She spun around and stopped in front of him, forcing him to stop walking. She moved in very close to him, and stroked the leather lapel of his duster with her thumb and forefinger. She smiled sweetly and looked up at him through her lashes.

"But I thought we were friends?" she pouted.

She knew it was wrong. Alarms were going off in her head telling her she had no right to play with Spike like this, but she couldn't seem to help herself.

"Um, well, I. . ." Spike licked his lips and swallowed, it was obvious she was having and effect on him. "Promise you won't tell?" he asked weakly.

"Promise," she said solemnly.

"I was a. . . poet. A bad one," he added hurriedly, as if that were better than being a good one.

"Really?" she asked. His only answer was an exasperated look. "Tell me a poem," she demanded.

"What? No!" He pushed past her as roughly as he dared without setting the chip off, and started to walk away.

"Why not?" she asked. "I like poetry," she added, hoping it would induce him to share.

"I told you I'm a bad poet."

"Am? You still write stuff?" Judging by the alarm in his eyes, and the fact that he started to walk faster, Buffy knew he still did. "Did you ever write anything about me?"

Despite the fact that she hated Spike's being in love with her, there was still enough girl in her to like the idea of someone writing poetry about her. She imagined him sitting in his crypt, writing by candlelight, with one of those big white feathers for a pen. Admittedly, Spike probably had something as unromantic as a bic, but at least she knew the candle light had to be authentic since he didn't have any electric lights.

When he refused to answer, or even look at her, she grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop.

"Please," she begged. "Just one poem?"

He took a deep unneeded breath and exhaled loudly. "No. Not even. . ." he said when he saw she was going to interrupt him. "If you. . . blow me."

It was typical Spike, but for some reason it hurt Buffy deeply. Of course Spike did that from time to time, although usually when he did so, he was trying to hurt her. She needed to get away from him, and without thinking, she ran toward her old dorm, not realizing that running would only ensure that Spike would follow her.

She hadn't gotten far, when she felt his hand on her arm, and he was pulling her to a stop. When he saw tears running down her cheeks, he slowly put his arms around her, giving her plenty of chance to resist. Instead she crumpled against his chest burying her face against his cotton t-shirt, and breathing in his smell: leather, and cigarettes, and Spike. It was strangely comforting.

"I'm sorry. Didn't mean anything by it," he murmured as he ran his fingers through her hair.

"It's not you," she said at last. "It's just, I was taking a poetry class my last semester, and I really liked it. And mom really wanted me to go to college so badly, and finish it. And I liked it, I really did, but it's too late to register, and I couldn't pay for it anyway. And you read the Shakespeare really well, I liked listening to you. And. . ." her voice trailed off as she looked for more reasons to explain her breakdown, which she didn't understand herself.

"Really, you liked listening to me?" he asked, shyly.

She looked up at him, and nodded.

He bit his bottom lip as if he was considering something incredibly serious, then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "All right, look. It's not by me, but. . . Well it's better than anything I could ever write."

He took her hands in his, and stepped back from her a bit, so he could more easily look her in the eye. Then he began to speak in his other, softer accent, "Well! and what if she should die some afternoon,
Afternoon grey and smoky, evening yellow and rose;
Should die and leave me sitting pen in hand
With the smoke coming down above the housetops;
Doubtful, for a while
Not knowing what to feel or if I understand
Or whether wise or foolish, tardy or too soon...
Would she not have the advantage, after all?
This music is successful with a “dying fall”
Now that we talk of dying—
And should I have the right to smile?"

Buffy felt trapped by the words, and the emotion in his voice and eyes. Even if he hadn't written it, he felt it. And the intensity of his feeling held her in place. It frightened her, drew her in, and made her feel empty all at once.

She wished she could still feel something as intense as that, but she seemed to be nothing more than a shell since she came back from the dead. And yet Spike's feelings were so intense, they seemed to almost seep into her.

They just stood there in silence for several minutes, holding hands, and gazing into each others eyes. Both of them waiting for the other to break the silence.

Instead it was Xander who did. "Uh, hey guys. What's going on?"

Startled they both pulled back their hands and spun to face Xander, Anya, and Willow.

Chapter 6: That Flesh is Heir to

Spike ran back to his crypt. He was elated. When Buffy had first shown up in his class, he'd been terrified. But all things considered, it had gone amazingly well. She'd been mad, but she hadn't laughed at him. He didn't know what he would have done if she laughed.

Even telling her about his poetic past, hadn't gone to badly. And judging by her embarrassed reaction when the Scoobies showed up, she wasn't going to tell them, so that was all right.

And he had gotten to her, touched her with that bit of Eliot. Maybe even with the Hamlet. Little by little, he was getting close to her. She was letting him in, at the same time she was keeping her friends out. He just wished it wasn't because she was in pain. He'd do anything to take her pain away, if only he knew how.

So Spike ran, enjoying the feeling of the wind on his face, the blur of the world as it passed under his feet, and the general exhilaration of being undead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy was miserable. She lay in her bed, tossing and turning. She hadn't really been tired, but she'd told her friends she was, so that she could escape their questioning eyes. They had obvious been dubious about her hurried explanation for why she was holding Spike's hand, although none of them really suspected it was because she was harboring any nice feelings toward Spike. They were more afraid that he'd cast some sort of love spell over her, or something.

Buffy almost wished she was under some sort of spell. Not a love spell, because she didn't love Spike, but something magical and beyond her control to explain why the first time she'd felt safe since she'd been ripped from the grave was in Spike's arms.

It was beyond wrong, and it didn't make any sense. But it was there, it was undeniable, and it was driving her crazy.

She rolled onto her back, and looked at the celling. It seemed like the walls were moving in on her and she couldn't breathe. She had to get out of there. Without thinking, or pausing, she shoved open her window and crawled outside into the cool night air.

As soon as her feet hit the soft grass of her front lawn, she was moving. Her lungs pulled in the cool night air, and as she ran, she almost felt alive. Or rather, she almost felt she could stand being alive. She didn't even mind the discomfort as feet that were used to wearing shoes, ran bare across the sidewalks of Sunnydale.

Even though she could remember deciding to go there, she wasn't really surprised when she found herself at the door to Spike's crypt. She almost grabbed the door and flung it open, but then she realized she was standing there in nothing but a white cotton tank top, and her blue Power Puff Girl pajama bottoms. Her hair was hanging limply from a scrunchie, and she was sure it was a mess.

She stood there for what seemed like an age trying to decide what to do. Finally she decided that she'd feel sillier going back home without having done anything, than letting Spike see her like this, so hesitantly she knocked on the stone door of the crypt. There was no answer, but then she hadn't knocked very hard.

Deciding she'd been polite enough, she opened the door. As soon as it opened she was bombarded with sound. It was no wonder Spike hadn't heard, her even with vampire hearing. The horrible noise that Spike considered music was blaring through his crypt.

Buffy quickly moved inside, closing the door behind her. She didn't want the noise to draw then attention of anyone else who might be wandering the graveyard at night. She really didn't feel like slaying at the moment, not to mention that she'd left the house without a stake.

Spike was nowhere to be seen, but across the room the floor glowed, where light streamed up from the trap door to the lower level. That was also where the music was coming from.

Not really wanting to go down there, she knelt at the edge of the opening, and was about to yell for Spike, when she froze, and her eyes went wide.

'Spike's ass! Spike's naked ass!' were the only thoughts her mind became capable of. She could see him in the soft glow of candle light. The angle and size of the trap door only allowed her to see him from the middle of his back, down to his mid-calf. But it was enough, especially considering that he seemed to be completely naked.

She felt, rather than heard herself let out a gasp. Luckily with the music so loud there was no way Spike could hear her. She was mesmerized by the strange gyrations of his body, and couldn't for the life of her figure out what he was doing. Then he bent his knees, jumped into the air, and spun around, and it all became clear. He was playing air guitar.

But even as her brain put that together, it completely shut off. Now that he was facing her, she could no longer see his ass. Instead she found herself looking at his erection which was thrusting madly in and out of the empty air.

'Wow he's big,' was Buffy's only coherent thought, as her body began to respond to the display in front of her. She squeezed her legs together as she began to tingle, and her fingers itched to measure the thickness of his cock personally. She unclenched her thighs, and one hand moved to rub herself through the cotton of her pajamas.

Before she could, however, Spike stopped, disappeared from view, and suddenly the music was gone. Buffy froze. In the silence that followed the beating of her heart seemed to thunder in her ears and she had no doubt that Spike now knew she was there.

He started speaking before he was even up the ladder. "She something you li-" As soon as he was high enough up the ladder to see her, he stopped. His smug look replaced by one of concern. "Are you all right?"

But she had forgotten about her emotional state, overcome by his physical state. He crawled out of the trap and sat beside her.

"Buffy?" he asked when she didn't respond.

Her body was screaming for her to take him. She knew he was willing and ready. All she had to do was make the first move. But despite the fact that he was the only person she could stand being around right now. Despite the fact that he made things seem not too bad, she had to remind herself that he was an evil vampire. A soulless thing.

Her hand reached out and touched his forehead. "Show me?" she asked him.

He looked at her puzzled, but complied with her request. She could feel the ridges on his forehead emerge beneath her fingertips. Yellow eyes regarded her instead of blue and she could see the sharp edges of his fangs between his lips.

It should have disgusted her, it should have reminded her what he was, that he wasn't just some hot guy, that he wasn't even human. It didn't work.

Instead before she knew what she was doing, she had leaned forward and kissed him. His mouth opened to her, and she thrust her tongue inside, purposely cutting it on his fangs. Hoping to bring out the bloodlust in him.

His arms were around her, and he gently pulled her down until she was lying on the floor. Then he covered her body with his own. She opened her legs, and let him nestle his cock between them and began to rub himself against her.

It wasn't enough for her. She needed him now. Her hands moved down to her waist, and she began trying to push down the pajama bottoms. As soon as he realized what she was doing, his own hands where there to help, as he kissed her even deeper.

Finally she was free of them, and her eager hands found his cock, guiding it to her entrance. Spike pulled back from the kiss to look her in the eye as he thrust inside of her.

Her back arched as his length pushed inside of her, spreading her open. It seemed like it had been forever since she'd had this. At least a lifetime. Or maybe she'd never had this before. She couldn't remember anyone feeling so good inside her.

Once he was fully inside her, she wrapped her legs around him and he paused to let her adjust to him. That's when he noticed the blood on her lips. His features slipped back into the human face he preferred to wear anyway, and there was a look of horror in his blue eyes.

"Oh, god baby. I'm sorry, didn't mean to hurt you," he apologized.

One moment she'd been lost in the forbidden bliss of Spike's body. The next he was apologizing for giving her exactly what she wanted, what she was pretty sure they both wanted. Without thinking she hit him with what should have been enough force to knock him off of her, except he was still buried in her, and she still had her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Instead the force of the blow, knocked his upper body away but forced his lower body even harder against hers, eliciting a moan of pleasure from both of them.

Still, Spike responded much as she had, and without thinking, hit her back. She was about to respond to his violence with a bitter comment, when simultaneously they realized the same thing. The chip hadn't gone off.

They responded at the same moment, she tried to push him off of her, and he tried to pin her arms to the ground. Their position gave him the advantage and he quickly had her arms held down uselessly above her head.

But during the brief struggle their whole bodies had moved against each other, and despite the fact that Buffy was wrestling to get her hands free, her lower body was moving with Spike's in a pleasurable rhythm as he thrust himself in and out of her.

He leaned forward to whisper in her ear, "Shh, don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you. Gonna make this so good."

"Bastard!" she yelled without thinking, even as a moan of pleasure escaped her lips.

With every thrust he bumped her clit, sending spirals of pleasure through her body. It all felt so good, why did he have to be so stupid about it?

"Scream a little more when you say that," he teased her as he drew back to look at her again.

She looked at him defiantly, straight in the eye, and then realized what a mistake that was. In that moment Spike read her, saw right through to the depths of her.

The demon emerged once more. "Is this what you want?" he asked. "Do you want me to hurt you?"

She whimpered as he increased the tempo of his thrusts. It was simply not possible to lie when that much pleasure was coursing through her veins.

"Yes!" she yelled, and she thought she saw sadness in his eyes.

He leaned forward and she felt his fangs scratch her neck. "Is this what you want?" he asked again.

There was no longer any room for thought. For hiding or lying. "Please, yes," she begged him.

Then his fans sank into the tender flesh of her skin. There was pain for a moment, which she greeted gladly. And then wave after wave of pleasure hit her body, as she seemed to explode underneath him.

She could hear him moan against her neck, as the force of her orgasm carried him along with her. Then the world went black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike had never been so happy, or so terrified in his entire life. Gently he pulled the scrunchie from the tangled hair of the sleeping slayer, letting her golden locks spill over her naked shoulders.

She was so beautiful, so perfect, and at this moment, as she slept, so peaceful. But Spike had no illusions about that peace lasting. He wanted to delude himself about what she was here, with him, in his bed, or rather on his floor, but he couldn't. She had made it all to clear what she wanted from him. What he alone could offer her. Death.

He felt foolish for not seeing it before, after all, he was the one who once told her that all slayers have a death wish. He should have known, when she told him that she'd been in heaven, that being alive again was like being in hell, he should have realized that she would look for a way to die again.

And now she hoped she'd found it in him. That if she kept pushing him, one day he would lose control, and she would die in his arms.

He didn't know what to do, how to hold on to her. He thought of telling her friends, but they were the ones responsible for the whole mess in the first place. Besides, he couldn't think of a way to convince them that she was suicidal without betraying her confidence. And if he did that, it would push her away from him. She would shut him out, and she was so alone already, that that might push her to more desperate measures.

That was the funny thing. He didn't have to worry about her telling the others about his chip not working, or even doing anything about it, because she needed him now. That should have made him happy, to be needed by her. But not like this.

He felt so helpless that he could do only one thing. He whispered to her sleeping form, "I'm going to take care of you, baby. Gonna make it all better, luv. Not going to let anything happen to you."

She smiled in her sleep, and turned over in his arms, to snuggle against him.

The End

3. Genre/tone you want, i.e., angst, fluffy, romantic etc. - erm...hot; other than that I don't mind
4. Up to 3 things you would like to see in your fic - biting/claiming, handholding in front of the Scoobies, Spike doing his 'sexy dance'
5. Up to 3 things you don't want to see in your fic - no other pairing but Spuffy other than that anything goes

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