Apparently when the plastic soldiers figured he'd be better off of the technologically enhanced sort - they decided to play their own little game of castrate-the-Big Bad as well. Sent him into the unwelcoming arms of his mortal enemy, his balls dangling uselessly as he begged to be invited in. Had 'em cut off completely when he resorted to bargaining with the Slayer for help. Were now a shadowed reminder of what he once was as he lay, chained down, in a sodding tub. Stuck in a bathroom in a house full of bloody annoying humans, none of whom he could bite. None of which he could even think about biting without feeling the twinge of an oncoming brain-fry if he didn't direct the course of his thoughts to things a little less appealing and a bit more... nancy.

There was no way he could be any more pathetic.

Well, 'less of course he was a big block of hair gel and eternal-brood and had been cursed a soul that's one loophole was getting a happy... an honest to God happy. Set up the white picket fences, saddle the Poof with 2.5 brats, throw the Slayer into the mix, and you've let loose the demon within!

What a ponce.

And - what the bloody hell did these boorish people expect him to do all day, aside from listen in on their every conversation? Spike couldn't tell you what exactly it was that'd come over him when he willingly decided to take refuge with the Slayer and her lot - but he had picked up a thing or two with eavesdropping... Like the fact that the Whelp and his demon girl had no objections to getting in a good shag when the Watcher was out and they were on "Baby-sitting Evil Undead" duty, as the Whelp so cutely coined it. And he was using the term "good" lightly, if the minute or so of one-sided moans and grunts were any indication.

They'd set him up with a telly. 'Course it was conveniently perched out of reach, but it was there. And don't think the Slayer didn't go off about that. The Watcher had hooked it up for him, and the entire time he was doing so, they'd been subjected to the whinges and protests by the Slayer. He'd gotten the glares, her thin-lipped declarations of hatred, the empty threats that were continually getting on his every nerve - and all of it over a sodding hunk of trash that didn't even belong to her.

Spike sighed. One week he'd been in this hellhole -- and he could genuinely call it a hellhole, given that he'd spent a fair amount of time on literal hellholes, and this place was takin' the cake at bein' the worst of the bunch. One week he'd been chained to the tub, slowly feeling himself slip further into a state of growing agitation that surpassed even the levels of irritation Harmony had inspired. 'Course, though - he hadn't spent the entire week chained up. There was that fun intermission where he'd been engaged to the Slayer. Betrothed... with the bitch. Was actually pretty amusing, now that he looked back on it. Oh, he'd snap Red's neck if she tried something like that on him again, chip or not - but seein' the Slayer's face when she realized who it was she was kissin' as the spell came to an end was something he liked to replay over in his mind when she was bein' particularly catty. God, how he loved to remind her of that. Didn't bother him a bit, the kissin' her part, but it got the Slayer all rattled and swearin' retribution.

Speaking of her Bitchiness - it was her voice that was loudly heard through the walls tonight. The Slayer and her accompanying group of do-gooders had dropped by about an hour ago, in the hopeful sake of purifying the world of evil. Or some rot like that. It was the typical Scooby drama he'd come to learn the past week. Insert your choice of s'posed Big Bad, hustle the unit over to the Watcher's house, pull out a few dusty books, and... you get the general idea. There was research goin' on, and personally - he found the whole thing to just be another notch of boring on the ever-growing list of Useless Things The Scoobies Did. Apparently the Slayer shared his sentiment, because it was her sighs that followed his own every so often.

The sodding Slayer. It was her who stomped her way into the bathroom forty-some minutes ago to turn off the telly. And for no bloody reason. He'd been watching some show of sort, minding his own business, and apparently the chuckle or two he'd let out disrupted her entirely. So much to the point that the only solution was to resort to her natural state and be a complete bitch. He'd felt her before he saw her, before he even heard her deliberately hard steps carrying her towards the bathroom. Knew who it was as the door flew open with a dramatic bang, and had to curb his amusement when two beady eyes met his with that ever-present glare. Was all fun and laughs 'til those steps brought her over to the side of the bathtub and she clicked the telly off with a definitive flick of her wrist. Was her own smirk he saw before the twirl of her heels had her turned and bouncing out the door again, it slamming shut behind her before he could even think to protest what it was she'd just done. His frustrated yell was met with a chorus of 'Shut up, Spike!' from the other room, and it only further annoyed him as he pulled against the chains with renewed effort to free himself.

She didn't say one word to him when she came in. All silent implicated death threats and mutual hatred as she stood to his side, looking down at him with those hazel eyes sparkling with contempt and that lower lip stuck out in its perpetual pout. Standing there with her hands thrown across her chest, 'case he was as stupid as she was and hadn't picked up on the aggravation she was so blatantly showcasing. 'Course all that did was shift his attention to said chest, giving himself a rather nice view from below. Was probably the intentional staring he was doing at her flattened breasts pushed together under her arms that served as the distraction that had him not noticing what it was she was doing to the telly. And it might've been his staring at her ass as it swayed out of view that kept him distracted, 'least 'til the door had banged shut with a slam. Only then did he recognize the quiet he was met with for what it was, his head snapping to the telly and being met with a black screen.

She left him frustrated. And bored out of his bloody mind. Frustrated and bored and left to entertain himself, the telly no longer an option.

And entertain himself he would. Bitch was forgetting who it was she was messin' with. He'd spent months stuck in a sodding wheelchair, listenin' to the sounds of Dru and Angelus' and their happy shaggin' ways. And unlike the Slayer and her one-time poke with Wonder Gel - Dru's shags didn't invoke the power of a Romanian curse and flip Angelus' soul to the 'on' button. He'd had a lot of bloody time to twiddle his thumbs and keep himself busy. So, this - chained to a bathtub with the Scoobies prattle as a constant soundtrack? Was nothing. Was fine. Informative, really. When he did finally get the chip out -- and he would, eventually, it being only a matter of time before he tracked down the half-wits suicidal enough to mess with him-- he'd know their weaknesses in and out like they were his own. And he'd use them to kill each and every one of 'em. The Whelp and his sodding pet names first. The bitch last. Maybe make her watch...

Spike sighed again, letting his head fall back against the hard tub as he blinked lazily up at the ceiling. Fuck, he was bored.

Well, no time like the present time to get in a good wank. That was a good filler for the boredom, so he'd come to learn. And there was that extra added air to it... 'bout maybe bein' caught. He chuckled outloud at the visual of that. Would probably be a bit funny. Plus, you know... entertaining. Oh, fuck -honestly? He just wanted to wank off. Slayer came breezing in, smelling all fancy with her vanilla and various fruit scents, hair all blowing-in-the-wind like. Perky little breasts, round little ass... he knew how they felt under the touch of his fingers. Red's spell might've pissed him off, but it did provide him with enough skin-to-skin contact with the Slayer to keep him happily self-satisfied for the rest of his existence. Not that he cared for the Slayer... but there was no denying the fact that she was beautiful. In every annoying way that equally frustrated and interested him, and always left him both pissed off and turned on.

Spike felt his cock stir to life, and figured that - what the cock wanted, the cock got. Wanted to come out and play, no way he was stopping it from doing so. Flooded with a sense of impending pleasure, he scooted down into a laying position. Or... down 'bout as far as he could go, letting his back slide against the cool porcelain. Got himself all comfortable-like before taking to the task of unzipping his pants. He closed his eyes at that, trying to decide on a wank-worthy image to help himself along. Could always go with the ever-dependable vision of Drusilla. His black beauty, with her lily white skin... thin-limbed and gorgeous... always so eager to play. Or Harmony. Bint's voice always managed to pull him out of the mood, but the pleasantry of doin' this himself, without her actual presence, was that he didn't have to hear her talk. Could just make with the visuals... just imagine it was her mouth where his hands were, like so many times before.

With a groan, Spike pulled himself out, thickening further as his cold hands came into contact with his engorged flesh. His thoughts swirled deliciously of both Dru and Harmony, replaying nights he'd spent shagging the unlife out of them as they moaned and bucked beneath him, calling out his name as he pounded into 'em.

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"Is it just me," Xander piped up from the center of Giles' living room. "Or has the sound coming from the bathroom dwindled down to a level of freakish quietness?" He closed the book in front of him he'd been paging through, pushing it off to the side that marked its uselessness. "Usually by now we've all told Spike to shut up atleast ten times. I've only said it the once, and the lack of other nine times has left me feeling all... I don't know... incomplete."

Buffy looked up from her own stack of books. "Incomplete?" she asked back, her brows raised questioningly. "Personally, it's left me feeling a whole lot of complete. Accompolished, even."

"Yeah," Willow agreed. "It's like when you went in there earlier, you really showed him his stuff. Like Sergeant Buffy, quieting the unruly English patient." She paused, realizing that it had been a while since they'd heard anything from Spike. And Spike didn't usually let them get ten minutes of continual silence in during their research parties, let alone the forty or so it'd been since they last heard him. "Uh... what exactly did you do to keep him quiet?"

"Yeah, Buff," Xander agreed. "Impart your Slayer-ly knowledge onto us. Did you threaten to familiarize him with Mr. Pointy? Because I've found that my use of that warning gets a grand response of an eyeroll... and a bunch of British words."

Buffy smiled cheerfully. "I just turned off the TV." The silence and glances thrown her way surprised her completely. "What?!" she asked, feeling the heat of three heads swiveled in her direction, none of them sharing her amusement.

"You turned off the TV?" Willow asked slowly.

"...Yeah."

"Ouch, Buffy." Xander smacked his lips as he shot a sympathetic look towards the hallway leading to Giles' bathroom. "You turned off the guys one source of entertainment. Makes me feel almost kinda bad for him, knowing that you took away the pleasures of daytime television."

"Why?" Buffy blinked. "Hello, guys - it's Spike. He who once kidnapped and tried to kill you both." She turned back towards her Watcher, looking for him to side with her. "Giles, tell them I did a good thing. Gold stars for Buffy, right?"

He frowned. "Well, uh... I had found that keeping him... ah... entertained... did result in him being more cooperative."

Buffy couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You guys... he's evil. He doesn't need to be 'entertained' to be cooperative. He needs to be not entertained. What's next - do you plan on giving him a pillow and blanket to make his stay even more comfortable? Maybe a mint to go with it?"

"Of course not," Giles responded briskly. "But there are times when I do enjoy a bit of silence."

"And there are times when I could just stake him and give you all the silence a Watcher could ask for."

"You know it's not that simple," he told her evenly, not even cracking a small smile at her generous offer. He took off his glasses, placing them on the desk in front of him as he too closed the book he'd been reading. "Spike has information that we need. He's the only one whom we know of that's been inside the Initiative labs and managed to escape. Suffice to say, he can be useful." It was the same old argument, and Buffy figured he was about as tired of giving it as she was of hearing it.

"He hasn't said one useful thing yet," she pointed out. "He's been completely unhelpful."

"Well perhaps that's because you haven't given him an incentive to cooperate."

"An incentive?!" Okay, now he was talking the talk of the illogical. She tossed her book to the ground beside Xander and stood up. Stepping around the couch she walked over to Giles, disbelief written all over her face. "Giles - he's a vampire. I don't... incent vampires... I stake them. Stake, heart, poof. That's about as 'incentive' as I get."

"Yes, but we are not trying to stake Spike. We're trying to get information out of him."

"He doesn't know anything! He's informationless. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he's lying about the whole thing, anyways."

"Yes," Giles agreed dryly. "He's only made up an elaborate story about having a chip in his head, voluntarily locked himself in the tub of his mortal enemy, all in the sake of - what is it you suppose?" He looked at her to fill him in, the sarcasm having its intended result as it watered down her argument.

"He's probably just plotting to kill us..." she pouted. Having Giles, Willow, and Xander team up against her - in defense of Spike! - was even less fun than research.

"I'm sure he is," he agreed, still letting the sarcasm drip from his words. There was a brief pause before Giles reached forward and picked up his glasses, putting them back on. "You should go see if you can get him to cooperate. Perhaps be a bit more incentive this time."

"And you expect me to be incentive how?"

"Turn the TV back on," Xander inserted helpfully.

"He does like Passions," Willow agreed.

"Yea, and see... I'm not getting why," Xander mused. "Because personally, I'm seeing a lack of appeal with that show."

"Oh, I don't know. It's fun."

"Fun as in well-there's-an-hour-I'll-never-get-back? I've had to watch that show a grand spanking total of two times during my Baby-sitting Evil Undead time, and there was none of this 'fun' you speak so loyally of. And lemme just tell you that Spike practically zones out when that shows on. It's like he goes into some Passions-induced coma."

Willow grinned. "I know. It's like me dangling a box of Krispy Kremes in your face."

Buffy stood in silence. They were having a conversation about Spike. Without the mention of stakes and his inevitable dust-y death. She turned to Giles, knowing that this had to be freaky even for him, believer-of-Spike's-usefulness or not.

"Buffy," he said, frowning at her as he again looked up from his book. "There's no need to be childish about it. He's retaining information, you're merely trying to obtain it. Now, I don't see why you two can't act civil around each other long enough to do so."

Childish? She was being childish now?! Hello, vampire Slayer! She doesn't sit down for a cozy little chat to try and obtain information from them... there's killing and staking, and... and someone had forgotten their duty as a Watcher! With a huff, she stormed off towards the bathroom. Ohh, she'd obtain him alright. Obtain him with the pointy side of her stake.

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Don't ask him how, but the thoughts he'd started off with had somehow changed. Shifted from black hair and dark eyes, into blonde hair and hazel eyes. The cold hands he'd envisioned wrapped around his cock slowly warmed into smaller, more powerful ones. The woman he'd imagined in front of him had shifted from his dark Princess, to the blonde Slayer. And god did it feel good. His strokes and tugs were perfectly matched with his thrusts as he let the thoughts of his mortal enemy consume him. Perfectly visualized the Slayer kneeled between his legs, her fingers wrapped around him. Saw that golden hair fall across her face as she leaned forward to take him in her mouth. Could feel the tickling of those blonde strands against his thighs, the hot air of her heavy breaths against him as she inched closer. Could feel her fingers tighten around him as her mouth widened...

"Oh, god."

Oh, hell. Spike's eyes flew open and instantly located the shocked pair belonging to the girl momentarily fueling his arousal, standing in the doorway. "Slayer," he said in a rushed voice, painfully aware of the fact that his own hand was wrapped firmly around his cock. Her eyes lowered to his hand, widening as they did, and it went and sent a new wave of pleasure throbbing throughout him. "Stand there, or come in," he half-moaned, half-threatened. "Either way - shut the bloody door." Being stared at by one member of the Morality Brigade was one thing - but he'd rather not have the whole lot catching a free peek at his dangly bits.

"Oh, god," she said again, her face flushed as her gaze jumped back up to meet his. She quieted, her eyes widening and her mouth snapping shut as the realization of what he'd been doing and what she was seeing fully hit her. Remove your bloody hand off your sodding dick! a helpful voice screamed inside him, and he did so abruptly, flinching as the cold air hit a particularly sensitive bit of flesh. Buffy gasped at that action, and before he could say something in response, the door had been jerked shut and Buffy had skittered away, leaving him... still painfully aroused, and confused as hell. Being caught wanking off by the Slayer only slightly lessened his erection, but knowin' that any second she would come tearing back through with a stake held high had him moving to cover back up. With an unsatisfied groan, he tucked himself back in and zipped up. He winced as he slid back into a sitting position, pushing back against the curve of the tub, and waited.

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Oh, god. Ohgodohgod.

She was scarred for life. She was...

No... he was. In Giles bathroom, with the... and the... and his...

Oh, god.

Feeling like she was about to be sick, Buffy stared at the closed door of the bathroom with her hand covering her mouth. Spike was in there, doing... she couldn't even say the word. Couldn't even think the word.

She'd opened the door the same way she always did. No knock. Just opened it like any other day. And instead of meeting the annoyed face of the bane of her existence, ohhh look - half-naked Spike with his pants unzipped and his hand around his...

Oh god.

"Buffy?"

Giles concerned voice met her ears, filtering down the hallway towards her. That sent another wave of 'Oh god' panic over her. What the hell was she supposed to say to him? 'Hi, Giles - sorry I can't exactly get the information out of Spike right now like you wanted. He's a bit busy masturbating - give him a few more minutes to finish and then I'll see what I can do!'

With her embarrassment partially composed, and the nauseous feeling lessening, she hurried back to the living room. "Spike's... busy," she announced, dodging the looks she was getting from all three people in the room. She felt her face redden as she plopped back down onto the couch. "Okay, so we're researching, right? Bad guys and demons, and this is what we do. Research. Lots and lots of research. Xander, hand me a book?"

Her attempt at complete casualness had the exact opposite effect she was looking for. No one bought it. Not even a little bit. Xander didn't even bother to hand her a book to help her along. Some friend he was.

"Buffy?"

"Yes?" She smiled brightly at her Watcher.

"Is there some reason why you're, ah... back? So soon?"

Uhhh, yea. Spike was getting himself off in your freakin' bathtub. "No reason in particular," she lied.

"You weren't gone very long."

"Yea, what's up with that?" Xander agreed. "You were gone for like a total of two minutes... Unless I spaced out and it was actually a lot more. Which, given the oh-so-not-interesting factor of this book... that's a possibility."

"He's busy," she repeated, this time letting her smile falter a bit. Busy with the touchy feely. In Giles' bathroom! There was so much wrong in that, it invented new levels of wrong. Spike now had his very own category of 'wrong'.

"Busy?" Giles frowned. He wasn't at all buying this. "Buffy, he can't have been very busy - he's chained to my bathtub. There's nothing in there for him to do, except listen in on our conversations."

That caught Xander's attention. "Listen in on what? He can do that? Like... through the walls?"

"He's a vampire, Xander. He has heightened senses, one of which is hearing."

Xander gulped. "Huh. Interesting. And this very informative bit of news has just been given to us now, why?"

Giles sighed. "I've explained it to you all before. Do any of you actually listen when I talk?"

"I do," Willow pointed out.

"Right. One attentive one out of three. Statistics to be proud of, I'm sure."

"Hey, I listen!" Xander was quick to retort. "It's just that you do this thing with your voice, where it's all British and -- there might be an occassion or two where it causes me to tune out a bit, but... I mean, that's just during the stuff that's not that important!"

"Right, as if anything I could possibly be telling you would be important. Just the general drivel or two about keeping yourself alive..."

"Okay, research anyone?" Willow inserted helpfully, all bright smiles and peppy attitude as she held a book up.

Giles sighed, focusing again on Buffy. "Buffy, did you even talk to Spike?"

"There were some words exchanged," she told him carefully, keeping her gaze locked intently on the book in front of her.

"And?"

She shrugged.

She saw him out of the corner of her eye as he took off his glasses, and knew that he was getting frustrated. Frustrated Giles equals extra Slayer-related work for her. Longer training. More books. Long, boring speeches about duties.

"Buffy. I know you and Spike... don't necessarily get along. But I would appreciate it if you went back in there and attempted to get something useful out of him."

Crap! Why was it that the one time she was willingly offering to research, he was making her do something she so did not want to do. There was no way she could go back in there. "Really? Because I'm thinking if we hold out on questioning him - he'll give in eventually and tell us willingly. Would be pain-free on our part, and ohh - helpful!"

"I think you're underestimating the amount of time Spike's willing to spend chained to my bathtub," Giles retorted dryly. "And as shocking as it may seem, I would like to have my house back sometime soon. Vampire free."

"So, then you should probably go talk to him!" she suggested. "He answers your questions."

"Spike?" Giles chuckled dryly at that. "Spike ignores me as if I wasn't even in the room. You're the only one he's given any amount of information to."

"He hasn't given me information," she retorted defensively. The look Giles threw her had her conceding. "Okay, some. But I really think he'll listen to you if you go in there now."

"Buffy," Giles sighed again, and she knew he was getting to the point where her protests had no effect on him. "Do be a bit more mature in the matter. You arguing with him is only prolonging the entire situation."

"Fine," she muttered, standing back up off the couch. "But if I go back in there, and he's still... I'm staking him."

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Predictably enough, he felt Buffy nearing. His whole body tensed as he sensed her pausing outside the bathroom door, and he waited for the inevitable. He knew it was only eventual before the Slayer stopped with the empty threats and pulled out an actual stake with all intent to use it - but to be dusted over a completely useless wank? How anticlimatic.

There was a soft knock on the door that went and startled him completely. He frowned, staring hard at where the source of the noise had come from. The Slayer was knocking? No dramatic entrance, no cinematic-like declarations of his dusty ending as she came storming through, bearing weaponry? A sodding knock? ....Speaking of anticlimatic.

"Slayer?" he called out hesitantly. Best to approach this casually then, he figured.

The door creaked open and Buffy slipped through, closing it carefully behind her. Spike watched her with growing confusion as she made her way to the opposite side of the bathroom, her gaze kept intently on things that weren't him. She sat down on a box of sort and kept up with the game of ignoring his presence as she stared down at her hands.

"Slay--"

"Do not say a word."

And things just kept getting more interesting. Spike watched her every moment, his confusion shifting to curiosity. He glanced around cautiously, trying to see if he could catch a glimpse of any weapons of the sharp-and-fatal variety. Seein' nothing but balled up fists, his frown deepened. That's when it hit him - the accelerated heartbeat pounding deliciously in his own ears.

Someone was flustered, and it wasn't him.

"What the hell were you doing?!"

Her hissed voice caught him a bit offguard, and he jerked his head upwards to look at her. His eyes meeting hers had her face immediately reddening, and he couldn't help but chuckle at that. "If I have to explain to you what it was I was doin'--"

"I didn't mean that," she cut him off quickly, still speaking in a whisper that was made dangerous with an edge of a threat to it. The red of her cheeks deepened, her blood inching its way to the surface in an especially pleasant way that only further reminded him of the ache in his pants. "What the hell were you doing, here - in Giles' bathroom?!"

Slayer's pissed over that? Best not to tell her of the other dozen or so times he'd done it, then. "Got bored," he answered flatly, keeping to the matter-of-fact tone and the couldn't-give-a-piss-you-caught-me attitude he knew was steadily brassing her off. "You turned the bloody telly off - had to entertain myself somehow." And all of a sudden, he'd managed to lay the blame entirely on her. God, he was brilliant.

She stared at him for a few stretched seconds, disgust blanketing those Slayer features in typical fashion. "You're a pig,Spike."

Spike shifted in the bathtub, rolling his eyes in response. His hands were clasped casually over the still hard bulge causing a good amount of discomfort that, in the sake of self-preservation, he was hoping the Slayer wouldn't pick up on. Ignoring her attempt to piss him off with the same lame comeback, he zeroed in on the more interesting matter. Like why the bloody hell the Slayer was back after she'd flounced away a few minutes earlier, purity fluttering away with her. "Here to catch another peek, are you?"

The blush that he was met with was too predictable to fully be appreciated, but he smirked all the same.

"Don't flatter yourself."

"Don't have to," he agreed lightly. "Not when you could do it for me."

Her eyes narrowed even further as she clenched her jaw tight. "God, you're disgusting."

Spike shrugged indifferently at that. "So you're here, then...?" he trailed off, raising his eyebrows pointedly.

"Giles made me," she muttered bitterly, dropping his gaze and staring at her hands again.

"The Watcher?" Spike's thoughtful frown curled upwards into a smirk. "Kinda kinky."

That snapped her attention back towards him. "He didn't know about that," she spat.

His grin softened a bit as he realized he was treading on stake-worthy waters here. Just because there was nothing of the wooden sort out in open view, it didn't mean there wasn't a stake tucked securely in the waistband of her tight little jeans. "So... you left the first time--"

"And decided that, 'Hey - guess what Spike was doing in your bathtub!' wasn't a conversation I wanted to have."

His grin deepened. "And so..."

"And so he saw me trying to bail and sent me back in here to 'do be a bit more mature'," she mimicked in an admittedly bad British accent.

Well, that was interesting. Or, not, - but atleast it gave the Slayer something to cling to in the obvious state of denial she was in. Her heartbeat still skipped about wildly, and it wasn't the smell of her embarrassment that was flooding his every sense. "With the intention to do what?" he asked carefully, openly appraising her for any weapons, just to get that out there. If she was gonna stake him, he'd rather not be subjected to the displeasure of her company beforehand and wanted instead to just have her go through with it.

She rolled her eyes, and with it he felt the awkwardness easing between them. "I'm not gonna stake you."

That had him settling back into a more comfortable, less defensive position. "Right." He turned away then, staring at the polished nails of his hands still doing their best to keep the slowly softening bulge out of the Slayer's sight. "Well... good," he muttered, feelin' like it was necessary to say something in response to her admission. And - since when did he care about saying something 'necessary'? Bloody chip. Sodding soldiers! No doubt they programmed a set of manners into him. Had to have. Otherwise right about now he'd have been telling the Slayer to go join her little Scooby mates and let him properly finish wanking off, instead of just casually accepting her company.

"I'm supposed to be getting information out of you," she answered his earlier question after a brief silence.

Figured - what bloody else? He should be getting paid for this, atleast. Something more out of it than a few bags of pigs blood and a sorry excuse for room and board. "Toy soldier type information?"

"That would be the one."

He waited a few seconds, and when she didn't bother to make with the start of the same boring brand of pointless questions, he looked back over at her. "So...?"

"So, I'd really rather just sit here and ignore you. And hope that Willow is up for a Forgetting Spell later."

"Ahh, right. You and the Forgetting Spells. Real problem solvers, yea? So, you get your teen pal Sabrina to give you one after her last incident, or..." he mock-gasped, narrowing his eyes at her. "You probably don't remember that, do you?"

She glared right back at him. "I remember. Unfortunately."

"Yea, poor, unfortunate Slayer - betrothed to the bad, evil vampire. What would all the other super heroes think?!"

Her glare hardened, and he smirked back satisfiedly. Such a touchy little bint, all dainty and easily annoyed. When she caught the way he was grinning at her, her glare softened a bit. "I can't believe you were in here..." she trailed off, and he saw a bit of humor in her eyes.

"Sod off," he muttered. "Told you - I was bored."

"And so boredom equals, 'Hey, let me unzip my pants and pull out my...'" she trailed off with an endearing sort of blush that quickly had him hardening again. All that blood pumping so close under her skin.

"Ohh, the blushing virgin routine is it now?" he mocked. "Can't even say the bloody words."

"I can," she retorted, lifting her chin up defiantly. The flicker of humor he'd seen in her eyes just a few seconds before had deepened into disgust. "It just physically pains me to say them in relation to you."

Spike snorted. "Is that right? Funny, cause pain isn't what I'm picking up on right about now."

She huffed. "That's because I'm not saying the words."

"Thinkin' 'em though."

"Okay - ego, much?"

Spike shrugged indifferently. "Just sayin', Slayer. Know what's goin' on in that pretty little head of yours."

If possible, her eyes darkened with annoyance even further. "Enlighten me then, Spike," she bit back harshly. "What's 'goin' on'?"

He smiled. Prissy little bint. "You want me."

Her eyes widened, her face reddened - and then she laughed. Loud and in a way that immediately offended him. "Okay," she said, dramatically pulling in a deep breath. "You're egotisitical, and delusional."

"Yea, go ahead and laugh," he told her flatly, stomping down on the hurt that came with her words. "But I know you want me."

"Please, I think it's the other way around."

"Well, well, well," he drawled, suddenly feeling less offended and more amused. "Looks like I'm not the only one with an ego."

She blushed again, and Spike felt the familiar pull across his pants. "I heard you..." she told him. "When you were... you said my name."

He said what? "I what?" he asked back loudly. He said her bloody name? As in out loud? As in openly? Christ. Might as well poof his hair up and filter in the Manilow and get the Angel-transformation over with. He said her name... It was one thing to willingly picture her above him as he got himself off - but saying her name out loud? Something told him it hadn't come out in a threatening way.

"I'm not repeating what I just said," she huffed out, drawing him out of his shock. "Catching your freak show was bad enough, having to hear my name..."

Bitch. Yea, she caught the freak show and came back for seconds. And whose heart was it that still skittered about? Wasn't his. Wasn't just him that was turned on either. Little chit liked to think she was playin' it casual with her glares and tightly pressed knees, but he knew better. Slayer liked what she saw. Slayer liked what she heard. "Ahhh," he drawled, glancing back towards her with newly felt humor. "And suddenly it all makes sense."

On cue, her face hardened. "What makes sense?"

Spike shrugged. "Nothin'."

Predictably enough, she rose from her seat. Her eyes were zeroed in on his as she came stomping towards him. "What makes sense, Spike?" she asked again, standing to his side with her hands on her hips.

"Gettin' a bit feisty now, are we?"

He watched her jaw flex as she bit back the urge to no doubt reach out and hit him. "I so don't have to listen to this." And yet she was. Like even her Watcher tellin' her to come back in here would've had her doing so if she hadn't have wanted to. She was here willingly, and they both knew it. Slowly she kneeled down to his side, and he tensed at that. He moved a bit, trying to shift into a more comfortable, less noticeable posistion. "You know, Spike," she was saying in that sarcastically soft tone, leaning in close to him. "I've got a stake picked out just for you. A blunt tip so that when I do use it against you, it'll be nice.... and slow. Let you feel yourself as you explode into a pile of dust, and let the last thing you ever see is me, smiling."

That was the drivel she'd felt the need to come over and tell him? "Please," he snorted, unimpressed. "That threat is about as empty as the last ten ones you've used against me. You won't stake me. I know it, you know it - song and dance is all it is."

She pulled back, annoyed that her tactic hadn't worked. "How do you know I don't have a stake on me right now?"

"Oh, I know you have a stake on you," he agreed. "Just know that you won't use it on me."

"Hey!" she cried out sarcastically, her eyes blazing. "And look - Spike gets a little more delusional!"

"Yea, real ironic comin' out of your mouth."

The sarcastic humor fizzled from her eyes as her mouth snapped shut. "Shut up."

"No, think I won't. The way I see it - you don't stake me because you don't want me dust." He sat up, enjoying as his movement caused her to fall back a little. "I think you like havin' me around. You like havin' your own little toy to beat up when life gets a bit rough, isn't that right? And you like to hit me."

"Do you even hear yourself?"

"Yeh, loud and clear. And you do, too, Slayer. Admit it - you like fighting with me. Gets your rocks off, gets you hot--"

"Gets me sick," she retorted.

"You say that, but you know it's not true." He leaned even closer, leering as he curled his tongue around his teeth. "Wanna know how I know?"

"What I want is for you tell me what we need to know about the Initiative. What I want is you gone. Out of Sunnydale, and out of my life."

Spike smirked. "Can smell it," he told her, ignoring everything she'd just said.

That went and shut her pretty little mouth. "You can..."

"Smell it. All over you. Hits me everytime we fight. During Red's spell, with the 'til-dust-do-us-part - you, on my lap, whisperin' all sorts of naughties in my ear."

"You're wrong."

"Am I? Funny, cause I don't feel wrong."

"You are," she vehemently insisted. "I would never... there would never..."

"'Cept for the fun little fact that there is." He sat up even farther, leaning even closer to her, and this time she didn't pull back. "Look at you now, Slayer" he continued, staring at her with eyes quickly darkening with lust. "Face all flushed... skin glowing. Can practically feel the tightness of it myself." He breathed out heavily as his eyes dropped down to her lips. Bottom one sticking out, just beggin' to be tasted. Watched her swallow, saw her throat tightening. "Your heart's pitter patterin' away in your chest, all scared and nervous-like. Your blood... it's dancin' in your veins... rushin' to the surface. Breath's comin' out in sharp little pants." He looked back up at her, seeing her eyes staring back at him, all glossy and wide. His voice dropped lower, coming out more thick as he felt his chest start to rise and fall to match hers. "Bet your delicates are bein' flooded now, aren't they? All wet and sticky between your legs, and you're just itchin'... just beggin' to feel any sort of friction--"

She cut him off with a hard shake of her head. She swallowed hard, setting her jaw. "You're disgusting."

"And you like it," he responded tightly, annoyed with her redundancy. "You can't tell me you don't. I can smell it, Slayer. I'm bloody drowning in it here. So thick and heavy--"

"No," she cut him off again more forcefully.

"Yes," he insisted. "Just admit it... would do us both a world of good."

"Admit what?" she asked back roughly. "There's nothing to admit."

"I want you... you want me..."

Her head lifted upwards in defiance. "Say it's true, Spike. Say I did want you. I would never be with you. Never."

Old rejections were playing in his head, messin' with his insides. "And why's that?"

"Aside from the incredible wrongess?"

"Well, yea."

"You're a vampire."

That's what this was about? Gettin' the 'it's wrong' speech over the fact that he was of the undead sort? "Angel was a--"

"Who had a soul, and who I loved."

"Who said anything about love?" He stared hard at her, wonderin' where the hell that came from. Love. Love was for people too bloody stupid to realize that nothin' ever lasted. You spend a hundred plus years with someone, and eventually they leave you for a sodding horned wanker. "I'm talking about you and me doin' something so rough, so primal - gonna be satisfied for weeks afterwards." He paused, watching her reaction. Waiting for something. Hadn't she usually punched him about now? "C'mon, Slayer. You know you wanna. All them nasties you whispered in my ear... ways you wanted me to make you feel... ways you wanted me to touch you, taste you..."

Buffy swallowed hard. "That was the spell," she defended, her voice lacking any conviction that she even believed it.

"So?" he countered. "Doesn't deny the fact that you want it. Who's it gonna hurt?"

That sparked something inside her. Her head jumped to the door, suddenly rememberin' where they were. "My friends--"

"Are in the other bloody room. Your Watcher, too. Can hear them in there spouting off some drivel about some demon of sort. Point is - they're distracted. It's just you and me, Slayer."

"Spike--"

"C'mon," he groaned, growing impatient. "Don't make me beg, not when we both want it. 'Sides - the thrill of gettin' caught'll make it all the better."

"Even if I wanted... which I don't." She glared at him through her narrow little eyes, before dropping the put-on. "You're chained up."

He grinned. "Yea, kinda kinky. Creates a sort of bond... makes it funner..." He caught her look, and quickly amended. "It'll make you feel safe, too. And... the chip," he pointed out. "Know I can't hurt you. Can only make you feel good, Slayer. I'll make you feel so good."

"I feel good already," she argued weakly.

He could see her faltering, could hear her heart picking back up again. "Could make you feel better."

"I don't want to feel better."

"Yea, you do, and the sooner you admit it, the better off we'll both be."

She swallowed, and he watched her eyes travel down to his lips. He groaned with aniticipation, aroused to the point that he was sure he couldn't get any harder. Her eyes flew back up to meet his. "I...I can't." She pulled back quickly, standing fast. He tensed and watched her as she began to back up, away from him.

"Slayer," he called out desperately. "One time, one sodding time. Don't you ever wonder - you and me? It's wrong," he told her. "So deliciously wrong. Mortal enemies. I hate you, you hate me... Our dance, Slayer. Always so perfectly matched. Fist against fist, skin on skin, bruising...." His head fell back against the tub with a disappointed thud. "Christ, Slayer - you're killing me," he groaned. She wasn't moving any further, and he took full of advantage of that as he sat up again, pushing towards her. "You know the second you walk out that door, my pants are coming off - sod the integrity of the Scoobies in the next room."

Buffy took a few steps backwards, her eyes locked with his.

"Stay, Slayer," he pleaded. "Have a little fun. Give in. Your precious friends'll be none-the-wiser. Supposed to be pumping me anyways, remember?"

He watched her turn around, knowing that she wasn't staying. Watched her hand reach for the doorknob and wanted to yell out in frustration. Bloody bitch! Cocktease, comin' in here with her smells and her hair, and - she wanted him! He knew she did.

"Slayer."

Watched her wrist turn, and heard the lock click. She turned back around, her heart pounding in his ears as she stepped towards him.

"One time."

the end

AN: This is my first time writing smut. Ever. Uh... *cringe*? Oh, and also? Let's just assume, for the sake of my story, Spike's chains have been loosened some ;) Heh.

Also? Big huge thanks to deathisyourart for beta-ing and looking over this. I wouldn't have felt comfortable posting it if she hadn't have encouraged me to. *smooshes*

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The Slayer was staying.

That thought alone sent a flow of blood rushing to Spike's more manly parts, hardening him to to the point that pain had surpassed pleasure. Well, not entirely... the pain only added to the pleasure. That's beside the point, though. The Slayer was staying, and walking towards him with her eyes studiously avoiding his. While that normally would've annoyed him - he was too shocked that she wasn't leaving to care. The Slayer was staying. He felt his jaw clench in anticipation as she inched herself closer, and it took every bit of control he had to not reach out and pull her to him.

Well, that and the fact that he was still chained to the tub.

Her nervousness was rolling off of her in delicious waves that went straight to his fangs. He could sense her doubt just as strongly as he could hear her heart, could smell her arousal. So thick, and so overwhelming. Consuming his senses, enticing and arousing, and - bloody hell, could she walk any slower?

"The slow-and-sultry routine is cute, Slayer, but if you don't get over here soon - the fun's gonna end before it starts."

Her eyes - finally meeting his - widened at his voice, and her mouth snapped shut. He could see her thoughts playing out behind her eyes, and knew there was some internal struggle of right vs. wrong going on. That do-gooder type thing, what with her having a conscience and all. Some sort of justification she was trying to make for agreeing to this. Surprised him, it had. Her staying. The Slayer, with her whole "Chosen" disposition. She who took pleasure in killing his kind. And apparently had a knack for shagging 'em, too.

She breathed out sharply. "Spike--"

He cut off the words he knew were coming with a derisive snort. "Ohh, I get it," he drawled, falling back into the curve of the bathtub. This time he didn't bother to hide the bulge he was sporting. Proud of it, anyways. "Changed your mind, have you?"

His sarcastic tone sparked a bit of defiance in her eyes. He watched her own jaw twitch, saw her angry pulls of air.

Right. Entirely wrong tactic, then, and one that would only end with him alone and painfully hard. "Now, when I touch you," he continued softly, motivated by the fact that her steps were still of the forward variety. "you're not gonna do anything rash, like breakin' out the wooden weaponry, are you?"

She stopped in her path, a foot or two away from him, and he wanted to cry out in frustration. Was she trying to purposely piss him off? Because the stop-and-go act was getting on his last nerve. He took in a few deep breathes to call himself, trying to ease away his annoyance. What he didn't need was to open his mouth (again) and say something that'd send her flouncing away. After a few seconds, in which the point of her stopping was apparently just to further aggravate him, she finally started up again. She looked down at him nervously. "What are you going to do?"

Spike suppressed a chuckle at that. So innocent. So annoying. "Need for me to make a list?" he suggested dryly, shifting against the back of the tub to ease some discomfort. Like that was possible. "'Cause I can give you a run-down of the things to expect. Maybe check 'em off as we go? Be all proper-like."

Her instant anger at his words dissolved just as soon as it'd come (and speaking of, he'd like to, any bloody day now) and she let out a self-degrading little chuckle. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

He sat up quickly at that, wondering if it meant she was gonna back out of their whole arrangement. Already, and before they'd even done anything. His hands went to the sides of the tub as he pulled himself closer to her, cursing the chains as they restricted his movement. "Insultin' my manhood, Slayer?" he joked, trying to lighten the mood and silently urge her on. And - 'lighten the mood'? Bloody hell, could he be any more desperate?

She sighed. Mood not effectively lightened. But with the expel of her breath, it sent her closer. Close enough to grab, matter of fact, and he did just that. Before her deflated 'poor-me' sigh had fully left her lips, he'd caught her by the wrists and pulled her forward, sending her toppling over the edge of the tub and conveniently onto him. The move lacked grace, to put it kindly. Was entirely clumsy as she fell onto him, her elbows jutting out as she fought the sudden motion. Got him in the ribs and nose a few times before she'd finally wrenched out of his grasp and climbed into a sitting position, roughly shoving his chains out of the way in the process.

"What the hell--"

"You were takin' all bloody day!"

"You... I can't believe... have you gone completely insane?!" she huffed out in an angry little hiss.

"Don't get your knickers all in a twist," he told her defensively, scowling as he did. "Someone had to make the first move, or were you plannin' on climbin' in here yourself?" He raised his eyebrow upwards, knowing that he'd made a point she couldn't argue.

Didn't stop her from doing so. "So you had to grab me? God, caveman much? Spike want, Spike take?"

He couldn't help but chuckle, and with it, gone went his annoyance. "You know, I like the way you think, Slayer." Still grinning, his eyes took to looking her over. He already knew her body inch by inch, limb to limb. Knew where the lines ended and curves began. It was the body that saw to his ass kicking a pathetic number of times before, he'd had to have known something about it. But being this close again... not since Red's spell the other day. He'd worshipped it then. Spell's fault for that, but he did. She'd sat on his lap, and he couldn't keep his hands off of her. He'd had to touch her, had to feel first hand her warmth.

With the Slayer on top of him now, he found himself reverting back to that state of mind. Tan skin... perfect skin, completely flawless minus a few scars. And the scars only added to the perfection, in his personal opinion. They were battle scars, a reminder of the power that she had. His hands reached out on their own accord, needing to feel her. He couldn't have stopped himself even if he'd have wanted to, not with her body so dangerously close, not with her blood so temptingly near, pulsing in rhythm to the blood flowing to his cock. She pulled away from his touch immediately though, and all that spark of defiance did was remind him of the hard-on he was currently (and going on damned near forever) boasting as her cute little bum rubbed against him.

The touching was a no-go, atleast for now, he conceded. Fine. He didn't want to do that poncey stuff anyways. He noticed then that her legs were craddled up against her side, and he chuckled softly at the awkwardness of that. She noticed, too, and blushed. He hardened. Same ol' cycle as her blood called out to him, arousing both the demon and man within. He ignored it though, and instead gripped her knees, pulling them apart so she could properly sit across him.

Would've done so, too, except for that fact that she smacked his hands away with all the delicacy of a bratty four year old. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

His jaw twitched as he bit back a retort. Seemed pretty obvious as to what he was doing, or - wait. That was giving her too much credit. "Helpin' you," he explained shortly, keeping his voice low as he pushed away his irritation. "Want to be comfortable, don't you?"

She met his eyes with her own, sparkling dangerously with the unvoiced threat of a dusty ending. "I don't need your help."

Touchy little bint. With a dramatic show, Spike lifted his hands off of her and pulled away, leaning comfortably back against the tub. His body arched up into hers with his exaggerated movement, and he took immense satisfcation in the way her eyes widened at the contact. She caught his smug look and glared. He rolled his eyes in response. Would maybe be a bit more effective if she spiced her glares up a bit. Maybe widened her eyes instead of narrowing 'em. He was gonna suggest that to her, but then she started to move against him again as she let her knees drop to his sides, straddling him, and it immediately cut off that train of thought.

The moan that slipped out of his mouth was completely involuntary, as was the way he snapped back up into a sitting position. He was smirking though, and he tried to hide it before she noticed. The Slayer was on his lap. The Slayer had her knobby little knees parted, and it was him in between 'em. It made him giddy. And, yeah - giddy. The Slayer was straddling him. God, if the big Poof could just see them now. Oh, the things he'd have to brood about. Bet it'd probably depress him. Propel him into a state of 'poor me and my heavy, weighted with guilt soul'. And - Spike remembered saying something to the Slayer about her willingness to spread apart these very dimpled knees a few weeks back - and just look at her now. Instead of bringing up the irony in that amusing bit of nostalgic information, and no doubt pissing her off, he let it go. Controlled the urge to burst out laughing and instead leaned forward, into her. More important things to do now, anyways. His clasped hands snuck their way around her back and dipped into the waistband of her jeans.

"Spike, what do you--"

His grin deepened as he felt what he was looking for. "Knew you had one of these on you," he told her smugly, pulling away from her with her stake in hand. He held it up for her to see, knowing that that was the last of her defenses. Threats would be made empty (or, you know, even more so) without that bit of protection. She stared at the stake with wide eyes, knowing of the metaphorical importance of it. Slayer would be all defenseless and weak against him. Or, not... seeing as he was currently chained, housebroken, and chipped - but whatever. Figuratively she would, and they both knew it. So, and with great intent, he raised his hand (plural, actually - sodding chains!) over the edge of the bathtub, and dropped the stake. It rolled away, he knew, but neither of them took their eyes off each other to watch. She didn't lash out in a spot of that ever-dependable violence in response, so that was good. He looked skeptically up at her, then. "And what's with the dainty act?" he continued, picking up where he'd left off like there wasn't that bit of silence in between. "You are aware that you're sitting in my lap, Slayer?"

Her eyes narrowed even further.

Yeah. Real impressive response. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but couldn't bite back on the sarcasm. "Ohhh, right... heat of the moment decision? Nasty little second thoughts kickin' in right about now?"

"And third and fourth," she agreed in a perky voice, smiling sarcastically.

He snorted. "Is that right?"

Her nostrils flared, and her entire body tensed on top of him. Wrong thing to say, his brain immediately enlightened him. Too late to take it back, she started to push against him irritably. "Let me up, Spike."

His first reaction was to point out the fact that - she was willingly on top of him, thank you very much. His hands were resting on her thighs, but she wasn't being held there. Not by him atleast. Could point that out, but she'd just skurry off of him with a blush and would immediately bolt (virtue shot to hell, so he'd probably get the "stake you good and proper" brand of threats before she flounced away). Instead, he purposefully took hold of her legs, deciding that, yeah - she was right. He should be holding onto her. "Now, why would I do that," he drawled lowly, pressing his fingers into her jean-covered thighs. "When we haven't even had any fun yet?"

"You're sick," she spat, big emphasis on just how much she thought so with the disgust in her voice. She stopped her efforts to free herself, but didn't bother to remove his hands. Big bloody surprise, right? "Do you even know what you're saying? This isn't fun, it's a mistake. A huge, wrong, disgusting mistake."

You know - if 'redundancy' was literal, wooden, and aimed at his heart? He'd be dust a dozen times over. As it was, these tirades of hers were getting old. It was one thing to say 'em the first time around, hell - he'd give her the second and third times, too. But going on with the same ol' comebacks in the same ol' fashion was just getting boring. Was he supposed to cower in hurt at the mean ol' Slayer's words, when they were the same bloody words she'd been barking at him since the first sodding day he'd accosted her?

"It's the 'wrong' that makes it fun," he murmered, tightening his grasp on her. When she didn't fight him off, he pulled back to look at her, squinting his eyes skeptically. "You can't tell me you've never wondered about us."

Ohh. Not what she wanted to hear, if the thin lips were any indication. "There is no 'us'!" she all but screeched. If she kept it up, her mates would come knocking soon, stakes no doubt held high. "There's me, and a very demented you."

He smiled softly at her denial, lowering his voice as his gaze dropped to her lips. "I've wondered 'bout you, of course. You know, I wanted you... the first second I saw you." He released his grip on her thighs, and his hands drifted upwards, brushing softly against the fabric of her jeans, slowing when he felt the smooth skin of her arms under them. His eyes lowered further, staring at her throat. Watched the vein on the side of her neck pulse with life. "You were dancin'... wearin' this tight little number, showin' off all your pretty little bits to the boys you knew you were too good for." He started to stroke her arm with his right hand, and he dropped his head. He watched his own hand sweep over her skin, the warmth sending waves of pleasure throughout him, starting from the tips of his fingers and making its way up his arm, into his shoulder, and down throughout his chest. "Knew it the first time I laid eyes on you... you were different."

"So, what?" she asked sarcastically, the flat tone of her voice doing it's best to hide the the effect he knew he was having on her. "The warm tinglies kicked in and you figured you'd take the long and painful route and annoy me to death? Gee, I'm touched."

He chuckled obligingly. "Interestin' choice of words... warm tinglies?" He slowed his hands so that the up and down strokes were more of a soft graze as he lightly raked his fingers against her. "You felt somethin', too."

"Yeah, the warm tinglies of you being a vampire."

"Maybe," he agreed, looking back up at her. "At first. But there's somethin' here between us."

She stared defiantly into his eyes. "They're called chains, Spike, and they're on you for a reason."

"Was talking more metaphor..." he told her playfully. He dropped the smile and stilled his arms, frowning. "Why won't you admit it?"

"Because there's nothing to admit."

"You sittin' on my lap says otherwise."

"You grabbed me and pulled me onto you!"

"Yeah, after you agreed--"

"Unggh," she cried out in frustration, roughly pushing his hands off of her. She started to struggle, and he tensed as her weight shifted against him. "Let me up!" she barked again, squirming on top of him as she tried to pull free her knees that were now (conventiently, if you asked Spike) lodged tightly between him and the sides of the tub.

All that motion was doing was causing her to move against him in a way that instantly dissolved all logical thought. He grabbed both of her arms tightly, stilling her. "Slayer," he groaned, closing his eyes as he regained control of his thoughts, willing his blood to flow to less southernly regions. "Really don't think that's havin' your desired effect." And... he'd said that, why? Right. Loss of logical thoughts, on account of having Buffy wiggling up against his manly bits. Check.

"Why am I here?" she called out suddenly, eyes skyward. "Why the hell did I agree to this? I must've been insane. Temporary insane Buffy, insanely agreeing to this insane--"

He effectively quieted her rant by slamming his lips into hers, the last of her words muffled into his mouth. Hell if he knew where it came from, but all of a sudden, her lips needed to be on his. And shutting her up was the perfect excuse. She protested for the shortest of seconds before giving in. Had this been a few days ago, he'd have been undone at the wrongess of this action alone. Kissing the Slayer. Kissing this Slayer. But Red's spell watered this down for him. It was wrong, oh god was it wrong, but it felt so bloody good, so who was he to give a fuck about right and wrong? It was familiar now, and he craved the taste of her mouth like he craved a vein to drink from.

She let out a moan, and he used that as the entrance he was waiting for, slipping his tongue around hers and into her mouth. His fingers curled into her arms at her sides, easily wrapping around her, and he knew it'd leave a mark. Bugger if he cared. She pushed back with her own tongue, exploring the inside of his mouth. He fought for a bit, battling with her, but gave in and let her do as she liked - he was a gentleman (snort) afterall. A few heated seconds later, she pulled away, her mouth open and eyes glazed over as she sucked in deep breaths of air. Bloody right she was gasping from that. He'd have been too, had he needed to breathe. As it was, he took satisfaction in watching her, knowing that he was the cause for it.

"You... kissed me," she finally said, her eyes looking a bit less glossy as she blinked dumbly.

"Yeah, I did," he agreed lightly. "For starters." The opening act was over with, time to move onto the main show. He let go of her and went to unzip his pants. He was so painfully hard, he could hardly move. Minding the aching (impressive) bulge, he pulled at the top button of his jeans, tugging the thing to pop it open. She immediately stopped him, grabbing a hold of his wrists. Tightly. Fuck, she had a strong grasp when she'd wanted to be all stern and commanding.

"Whoa," she oh-so-eloquently breathed out, catching the last of her breath. "What are you doing?"

"It'll be a bit more effective if I have my pants off, love."

"No!" she cried out sharply, before slamming her mouth shut from embarassment. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "No pants off -- pants on! There will be no... effective anything! And don't call me 'love'!"

He couldn't help but smile. Were it not so frustrating, it'd almost be endearing. "The blushing virgin routine again?" he asked in amusement, prying his hands free from her death grip. "It's almost kinda cute. In a repetitive type way." He straightened then, in show that her words were doing nothing but boring him, and leaned back so that his back was resting against porcelain again. He ignored the pull of the chains, making his move less nonchalant than he'd have liked. "But you and I both know for a fact that it's just an act. Not exactly a virgin, are you?"

Her eyes lit up with outrage. "You're such a pig."

"Oh, and you, what? Expected me to wax poetic lines about your overwhelming beauty? Bask in the generosity that is you? Consider myself a lucky bloke for bein' able to touch such a thing of your self-involved greatness? Please."

She shook her head in disgust, and immediately started to struggle against him again. "You're an asshole, Spike. A delusional, insane jerk of an asshole!"

He smirked at her supposed attempts at offending him, and quieted her with a good roll of his hips. She stopped almost immediately, crying out sharply when Bulge of Spike: A brushed up against Heat of Buffy: B. He couldn't help but smile at how easy it was to still her. Just a little subtle arch of his back, and poof - instant immobilizer.

"Shhh," he murmured after a few seconds, moving in close for another taste of her lips. "Quiet now." His eyes landed hungrily on her mouth as he fell forward, and he leaned his forehead against hers. "Don't want your friends to get suspicious, now do we?" He ducked his head down, and lifted his chin upwards, grabbing her bottom lip between his teeth before kissing her fully. She melted into him instantly, her hands wrapping around his neck as she pressed just as eagerly into him. His hips grinding into hers on their own accord (well, mostly), and that only made her deepen their kiss. Her tongue slipped between their mouths, tasting him and feeling him, teasing him - and then she stopped. Pulled away with a shocked gasp and leaned far back, distancing herself from him.

She stared at him for a few quiet seconds, calming herself. It took everything in him to not laugh. He didn't even let out a little chuckle. But seeing her get so worked up over a bloody kiss... it was hilarious. And not worked up in the "need you, right bloody now" way, cause, hello - he was right there with her. But worked up in the 'must justify now! In the sake of puppies and apocalypses!' sense. Her eyes narrowed, and he groaned inwardly at the implication: question/talk time.

"Why are you doing this?" she demanded, looking at him expectantly. Her face softened a bit, and she shrugged slightly, matter-of-factly. "Because... I hate you... you hate me..."

"Yeah," he agreed loosely, holding onto her hips lightly as he leaned forward again. The Slayer's lips were soft, and god did he want them on him again. Not to mention that tongue of hers, making its way into his mouth. Her eyebrows shot up, reminding him that it was Interrogation Time, and he'd had to prove his honorable intentions beforehand. And so forth. He pulled away a bit, sighing dramatically, and humored her. "Well, I figure, on account of us bein' such good friends lately--"

"Nuh-uh," she cut him off quickly, pushing him farther back. Huh. Wrong answer, then. "Spike, why are you doing this?"

Oh, bloody hell. With another, deeper sigh, he fell back against the tub. Figures she'd make this as painful as possible. They were supposed to be shagging right now. Loudly, violently, and not minding Watchers and the Teen Avengers in the next room over. But, were they? Ohhh, no. Answers first. Spell out the reason in simple words for her to understand, so as not to confuse her.

"Seems to me, I can't bloody help it." Well, hell. Here it goes. Let the cat out of the bag, spill the embarassing news. Might as well, there was no way he could possibly get any lower than where he was at now. "Did you know, accordin' to some people, I'm covered in you? An' I figured the best way to get rid of you, is to get you out of my system. An' I know for a fact you don't have a problem with the shag-and-bail, so what's the matter?"

She stared at him, shocked, and he felt a twinge of guilt at the bluntness of his words. Actually, no. He didn't feel guilty. Just pissed because they caused her to start to struggle again as she tried to stand up. With a reluctant breath, he stopped her, a-bloody-gain (minus the thrust of his hips this time - cheers for adjustment). He calmed her, holding her gently by her upperarms, and continued softly, with more conviction. "All I know... is that you're everywhere. Everywhere I go, everything I do." That was almost literally painful to admit. The only thing that kept him from taking it back, from joking or saying something hurtful instead that he knew would piss her off, was the look in her eyes. An honest, open look.

Still, it didn't give him a reason to get soft. He glared to make up for it, and he hardened his voice. "Dru... You're the reason she left me, did you know? Seems our truce of sort didn't go over too well with her. Go figure." He broke her gaze then, lost in the memory of Dru's words and that night that she had left him. For a bloody Chaos Demon, of all the wankers in the underworld. It was all... dripping antlers, and flaking skin, and he knew for a fact that those things weren't as well-off as he was, if you caught the size of what he was saying. He sighed, shaking his head slowly. "I did it for her. I did everything for her. An' one night, she just up an' leaves me-- in the middle of sodding Brazil! And you know why?" he asked her tightly, staring again at her. "Because of you. You, Slayer. Your truce, and because of your poke with the great Souled One, and your sodding need to come swoopin' in every bleeding try of mine to overtake this bloody city!"

"I can't believe you," she justified thinly. "Your ho of a girlfriend dumps you, and it's my fault?"

"You're bloody right it is!" he yelled, not caring anymore about the Scoobies in the next room.

"Who came to who for that truce?!" she countered immediately, glaring at him pointedly. "You came to me, Spike. That was all your idea, so don't go blaming it on me. And who showed up in Sunnydale? I didn't invite you back here-- twice."

His anger softened, and he shook his head, defeated. "You don't understand. The things Dru was sayin'... She may be out of her mind, but she's never wrong. Not about these sort of things."

She shook herself out of his grasp and folded her arms tightly across her chest. "And what 'sort of things' is your crazy ex-girlfriend right about?"

"I can't stop thinkin' about you," he admitted quietly, then felt something stir within. This was getting too ponce-like. Shag, fight, get out. That was supposed to be the plan, not 'gee, pet - let's contemplate the status of our relationship'. He growled, feeling his annoyance come creeping back in. "You think I like this? Think I like bein' chained up in your Watcher's tub, wankin' off to the thought of you above me? I kill your kind. Sought you out and make you mine. Enlighten your entire world view about things you've never dreamed of, things you'd never thought yourself capable of, just before I end it. I don't make with the casual conversation, exchangin' pleasantries and bargainin' information over a warm cup of sodding pig's blood." He glared at her, suddenly pissed off. "An' I hate you! God, I hate you. Hate everything about you, from the tips of your fancy shampoo hair, to the do-gooder soul within. But it doesn't bloody matter, 'cause all I can think about is you. An' everything in me knows it's wrong." He paused, letting out a frustrated breath. "I can't help it. Everytime I see you, I wanna rip your throat out. I wanna drain you dry or snap your neck or tear off your limbs--"

"That sentence can end with an emphatic stake to your heart, you know."

"An' I can't. I can't do it, Slayer."

"You have a chip in your head, Spike. One that kinda literally prevents that sort of thing."

"No," he insisted forcefully. "Not just that. How many times have we tried to kill each other? Before the chip - how many times have we faced off, stakes and fangs brandished? And we couldn't."

"God, you are so twisted," she huffed out, her hands falling to her sides in exasperation. "So because of a few fights that didn't end with one of us dead, that means, what? We should..." She gestured down between them disgustedly, the tiniest hint of a blush on her cheecks. "this?"

"I don't know what it means," he admitted wearily, frowning at her. "Don't want to know what it means. But it means somethin'." Suddenly, he leaned into her, grabbing her and tugging at her arms as he pulled her to him. Tired of that nancy boy talk. Tired of admitting things he didn't want to admit, things that he still hadn't admitted to himself, so sod confessing them to her and her 'just-gimme-a-reason-to-bitch' self.

Desperately, his lips met her mouth again, startling her he knew, but it didn't stop him. He sucked on her bottom lip, frustrated and annoyed with himself -- annoyed with her, tired of the games she was playing, of the ways she was making him feel. He released his grip on her arms just as soon as she responded, as immediately as she relaxed and leaned into him, and his hands started moving down her body fast and absentmindedly, skimming past exposed skin just begging to be touched, and made a straight line to the top of her pants. He fumbled at the waistband, his brain sort of preoccupied with the "mmm, lips" thoughts, and he got about as far as undoing the top button of her jeans before she came to her senses and shoved him off of her. Violently, mind you.

"Don't," she threatened, her voice slightly breaking.

He ignored the threat in her words, ignored his anger, and fell back with a laugh. He dropped the grin to pout, jutting his lower lip out. "So, what? You agree to this... one time deal of sorts... you're sittin' on my lap, an' I'm not allowed to touch you?"

She took a second to properly control her anger, and shook her head once, tightly in agreement. "Don't kiss me."

"Ohh, right." he snorted, slightly offended. "Wouldn't want to sully your precious virtues."

"Spike," she blew out tiredly. She took a deep breath, letting it out with a warm puff of air that hit him somewhere between his chin and collarbone. "This is wrong."

With those three muttered words, his eyes slammed shut. He threw his head back and slowly cracked his neck, his jaw clenched and his muscles wound tight. Hitting her would set off the chip, he mentally reminded himself. Beating the redundancy out of her pretty little head would probably fry his brain into a state of melted mush that even his vampire self wouldn't heal from.

Slowly, he dropped his head back down. He opened his eyes carefully, unlocked his jaw. Relaxed his throat, and gave her the most falsely sweet smile he could muster, given his current annoyance. "So?" he demanded flatly, his anger officially suppressed. "Who cares? Just once, step outside of your black and white world." His smile turned into a smirk, his lips curling upwards as he leered at her. Were he capable of doing so, his thumbs would've been hooked in his beltloops, fingers framing his irrestible bits. As it was, there was a Slayer on his lap and chains around his wrists to prevent it. "I know you like a little 'bad' to swallow with your daily dose of goody-good. You're a Slayer. You crave this. It's inside you, that darkness, just screamin' to be released. Just beggin' to be let out, for you to just give in. To be somethin' that'd scare the piss out of your Scooby mates if they saw who you really were. An' that's where I come in." With a pointed thud, he fell back into the curve of the tub, getting as comfortable as the position allowed. He grinned widely. "Have your wicked way with me."
"Have your wicked way with me."

Instead of doing so (and - the hard-on that had become increasingly less hard during all that namby-pamby emotion sharing had jumped back to life again at the prospect of the Slayer inflicting all sorts of wickedness onto him, by the way), Buffy tensed. Typical enough. "You're wrong," she insisted, though the small tone of her voice told him he was cracking that self-righteous shell of hers.

"Interestin', 'cause the tip tap of your heart says I'm not." His eyes gleamed as he searched her over. "That little rosey hint to your cheeks - you, bein' all flustered, makes me feel sorta right."

"I'm not that way," she forcefully denied. "What you said... I don't feel those things."

"Yeah, real believable," he agreed sarcastically. "'Cept for the fact that we both know it's not true. It's why you're here. It's why you haven't got up and left. You want me as much as I want you, knowin''just as well as I do that it's wrong."

"I don't," she denied through clenched teeth.

He nodded, dropping his hands back to her knees. "Yes, you do." He smirked, leered - gave her his best sexy smile he knew penetrated even her prim and proper ways. "Last poke with your frat boy, what's-his-line - wasn't too fulfilling, was it? Seein' as it lasted the once before he moved onto greener, wider pastures." He paused, mockingly reflective. "Well... maybe not wider." Her glare had him continuing, dropping the smirk just a bit so as to ensure his safety when she did finally get up and leave. "You can't tell me that was good for you-- he was good for you. Bet you had to play nice, didn't you? Maybe hold back a bit, not wantin' to break the boy. Kept those Slayer muscles perfectly in check as he wriggled about on top of you? An' don't get me started on your goodbye shag with the Poof. First time, all nice and slow as the Ponce gave you the most romantic two minutes of your ideal little life."

She put on her brave face as she shook her head, flinging a few strands of hair behind her shoulder (they were getting in the way of talking, apparently). "Are you trying to get me to stake you? Because this whole seduction thing you're working? Severely lacking."

Spike's eyebrow shot upwards at her suggestion. "Seduction?" he purred. Hmm. Good point. Playfully, his fingers walked their way up her thigh, and he watched them as he did so. He bypassed the part of her he was aching to touch the most, and went to her waist. Pushing his bound hands under the thin fabric of her top, he continued his movement beneath it. Up and up, his fingers grazed her warm skin, propelled by the way her heart started thumping in his ears, faster and louder. When his fingers brushed against her bra, his eyes jumped up to her face. She was looking down at him, eyes wide. Scared, looking ready to bolt any second. He gave her a reassuring smile as he continued up and over. His two chained hands molded to her breasts, the feel of his palm on her seperated only by the bra she wore. Gently, he squeezed, and her entire body shuddered on top of him. He nearly lost it there, impressed with her response. He tried it again, for experimental sake, and her eyes snapped shut as she let out a low moan, encouraging him on.

Contrary to her body's reaction, she breathed out his name in an attempt to get him to stop.

"Nah uh-uh, pet," he told her. "Line's already been crossed. No goin' back, so why stop now?"

With a forced swallow, she nodded her head, opening her eyes again. They were glossy, and looking all sorts of dazed. When he made no effort to continue, she groaned. "More," she begged, arching her back into his touch.

He couldn't help but grin. From bitch, to bitch in heat - in two bloody seconds. Amazing. Still though, he had other things planned. He leaned in close, his hands releasing their hold on her, falling back down her body. He pulled them out from under her shirt, grinning inwardly at her whimper of protest. "Turn around," he murmured.

"W-what?"

"Turn. Around." The look she shot him let him know she knew what he said, she just wanted an explanation. He obliged, speaking softly. "Gonna get you out of them pants."

The 'deer caught in the headlights' look was back as she tensed on top of him. "No," she whispered frantically. "No taking off my pants!"

He smiled patiently, starting his fingers up again, taking the same path from her thighs to her waist, this time with more intent. "You sure about that?" he asked, his voice low and dripping of sensuality. "Know I can't hurt you. Got this chip in my head, and a migraine isn't exactly what I had in mind right about now."

Her eyes fluttered shut as he explored the taut skin of her stomach, her heart picking up in speed as his fingers teased. After a few seconds, they flickered back open, and she pushed his hands away from her. "I hate you," she told him stubbornly. "I really, really hate you." She pulled her legs free with a grunt, paused to glare at him, and then turned herself around.

His immediate response was to thrust up into her like some horny, pimply teenager getting his first peek at a naked girl, but he resisted, keeping his hips still. Doing that would result in no amount of good, except for maybe the bit of pleasure he'd get out of it as he rubbed himself up against her. Wouldn't be worth it in the long run, seeing as he'd rather have all of her than a cheap feel. Okay, in a perfect world, he'd like to have both, but - technicalities and all that rot.

When she'd fully turned around and stopped on top of him, obviously uncomfortable and amusingly embarrassed, he pulled her to him so that her back touched his chest. She protested (of bloody course) his movement, but stilled all the same when she realized what it was he was doing. Her legs stretched out on top of his, and he groaned at the feel of it. The Slayer was on top of him. Directly. Bum perched over his groin, warm legs covering his. His mortal enemy. The bane of his existence. The voice in the back of his head that hadn't stopped sreaming, whispering, and groaning her name since the first day he'd sought her out.

And she was on top of him. Willingly. And to shag.

The Powers that Be, whoever and whatever the fuck they were, had a truly sick sense of humor. One that he could openly appreciate, but sick all the same.

Once he'd spent enough time reveling in what had to be equally the most amusing and arousing moment of his unlife, he lifted his clasped hands from behind her back, brought them up over her head, and lowered them slowly around her. He was careful not to get the chains caught in her hair (and he had to stop for a second, because the visual of that was pretty hilarious) as he brought them down over her face. He kept his hands off of her, never touching her, as they slid lower. She was motionless under him, her entire body tight with her hands clasped in her lap. He ignored all that, moving his hands down the length of her until they floated mere inches above her stomach. When he finally brought them down onto her, chains and all, she let out a sharp breath, and pressed her body into his. Again, he ignored the overwhelming urge to thrust. Leaning forward, he peered over her shoulder. He couldn't help but take in a deep breath through his nose, inhaling the scent of her hair, of the sweat starting to form along her skin.

The top button on her pants was still undone from his earlier efforts, and he grinned. Couldn't help it. Feeling all sorts of cocky, he reached for her zipper, ignoring her as she went rigid. As slow as he could, he pushed it down, gradually exposing her to him. White cotton panties. He immediately started to throb, a new rush of blood flowing in the direction that most definitely wasn't his brain. Her heart pitter pattering in her chest echoed in his ears, and he could practically taste the blood creeping to her surface. He inhaled, taking in a deep breath as the scent of just how much she wanted this hit him.

"Mmm," he breathed out. His mouth went to her ear, and he lowered his voice. "You smell good."

"I... it's Herbal Essence," she said distractedly.

He chuckled. Not exactly what he was talking about, but okay. Motivated by the fact that her reactions had nothing to do with A) redundant threats, B) prudish behavior, or C) any bit of defiance in the sake of denial - he gripped the open top of her jeans with both hands. "Lift up."

There was some hesitance before she did so, but not enough to annoy him. Already impatient, and having spent enough time as it was being nice, he roughly pushed her pants down. He could only get them so far, seeing as there was that fun lack-of-movement the chains provided. He'd got them to her knees, before he gave up. Smart little thing that she was, the Slayer got the hint and sat up. There was the obligatory groan on his part as she wiggled on top of him, but she ignored it all the same as she pulled her jeans down.

There was a bit of a struggle that took place before she stopped, straightening. "Uh, shoes," she told him dumbly.

He couldn't help but snort. "And? Take 'em off."

"Right." She ducked away embarassedly, and went to the task of taking them off. "Of course."

His eyebrow quirked upward, and he couldn't help but smile. It was almost kind of... cute. In an evil, I-hate-you, wish-you-were-dead sort of way, of course. Annoyed with that particular thought (cute?), he sighed impatiently. "Difficult task, untying the laces?"

Hunched over, the huff she let out was muffled. "There're no laces. The zipper's stuck."

He could feel the pout in her words, knew that her lower lip was stuck out because of it. "Need for me to help?" he asked, suddenly inspired.

"I think I can handle taking off my own boots, Spike."

Great. Bitchy Buffy was back. Good thing he knew how to get her to disappear. He leaned back and rolled his hips, his own eyes slamming shut at the immediate burst of pleasure that washed over him, nevermind the way she reacted on top of him.

"Spike!" she cried out, snapping him out of his own happy place. He opened his eyes just in time to catch the glare she was tossing him, made considerably less harsh by the red tint on her cheeks.

"Been waitin' for bloody ever here, Slayer. Gonna toss you off and do this myself if you don't hurry up."

Her blush deepened and she quickly twisted back around, tugging at her boots. She pulled them off easily, and then shimmied the rest of the way out of her blue jeans before she started to turn around. Hanging the jeans over the side of the tub, she caught his amused look. "What?" she asked defensively.

His eyebrows shot up, and he eyed the nicely folded jeans intently.

"It's just incase my friends...."

Well that was pretty obvious, now that she mentioned it. His response was cut off as the realization that there was a nearly naked Slayer on top of him hit him. Hit her just about the same time, both of their attention immediately going to the thin bit of material covering her up. His gaze was hungry, hers anything but. Right. So. His pants needed to be off, right bloody now. His clasped hands popped the top button, peeling open his jeans in one fluid (oi, wrong word to use) motion, and he immediately sprang free, sucking in in satisfaction as cold air hit overly-sensitive flesh. If Buffy's face wasn't red before, it was now. He didn't even have to look at her to know. He could feel the blood as it rushed to her face, could hear as her heart picked up in speed, and just knew where her eyes were zeroed in on. Skipping the part where he showed off his manly bits to her, proud as she blushed and sputtered (wrong word, bloody hell), he bucked his hips up and started to push his jeans down.

"Spike..."

Oh, fuck. No. No bloody way, not now. He ignored the reluctance in her voice, his eyes shooting upwards to look at hers. "Slayer?" He froze, fully erect, pants pulled half-way down his bloody hips, the Slayer straddling the lower part of his legs, and waited.

"I can't do this. This is just..." She drew in a deep breath, letting it back out slowly. "Okay, you're naked. Well, sort of. And I'm sitting here... almost, too... and - it's you."

He nodded slowly. "Yeaaah."

"It's you, Spike. This is just--"

"Wrong," he agreed lightly, pushing again at his pants.

"More than wrong," she said emphatically, her words once again stopping him. She quieted her voice, her eyes widening with urgency. "My friends are in the other room, Giles... They all think I'm getting information out of you, and guess what? This? Really kinda not the type of information I'm supposed to be getting."

"An' your friends are never gonna know, not if you keep stallin'. So, what's the problem?"

She sputtered (groan), at a loss for words. "It's you!"

"An' it's you," he said in agreeance. "Now... be a good Slayer and help me out here."

She grimaced, but he could feel her slowly giving in. "I'm breaking rules, I know it. There's gotta be some rule in that Slayer Handbook Giles is always telling me to read about this. Rule Number One, in big, bolded letters: Thou Shall Not Sleep With Mortal Enemies. And I'm breaking it."

He rolled his eyes. "Quit bein' so bloody dramatic. An'..." he paused, frowning. "You've got a handbook?"

She ignored him, instead threw him a pointed glare, and grabbed a hold of his pants. Her eyes immediately darted away from him, and predictably enough, she blushed. "I can't believe I'm doing this," she muttered, pulling on his pants.

He smirked, pleased with her helpfulnes. "So you've said."

She got his pants down to where she sat, before stopping. "Chains," she explained off his look.

He sighed in frustration. Of course. "Right, then." Things got quiet as the seriousness of what was happening set in. Except, right - he was evil and literally couldn't give two fucks about anything other than wanting to shag, right now, and particularly with her, so bugger the big moment of contemplation. "Slayer," he moaned, his eyes closing as he bit down the impulse to grab her and violently pull her up and on to him.

There was another bit of hesitance on her part, and he opened his eyes again, staring at her, silently encouraging her. Slowly, she started to move. She inched her way up his body until she was straddling his waist, the very real, and very hard evidence of his arousal nudged between her thighs. He gasped at the feeling, staring at her with wide eyes as he waited to see what she was gonna do. He wanted her. God, he wanted her. The wrongess of it, of wanting the Slayer, of wanting to do something to the Slayer other than snap her neck and drain her dry, of painting the town red with her blood, only made him throb harder. And hell, if she didn't do something in the next two seconds, he might rethink the death-by-chip option and snap her sodding neck for toying with him.

His bonded hands went to her waist, his fingers curling into her curves, and in return her two strong hands rested against the broad part of his chest. Slowly she started to lift up, her eyes locked with his, and before he could utter a smug word about how she should prepare herself for the feel of a real man (vampire), she'd settled right over him. Right over parts of him that were straining for her touch.

"Slayer," he groaned, his voice thick with need when she made no move to continue. She was gonna be the death of him. Death by sodding cocktease, dust in the wind, end of his bloody story. He realized then that she still had on that tiny scrap of fabric that passed for panties, covering her. Should probably just push 'em aside and pull her down onto him, all nice and proper-like incase one of the Scoobies in the next room came knocking, but 'nice' and 'proper-like' had officially been sod to hell the second she agreed to this tryst of there's. He let go of her waist, his hands skimming her skin as they slid downwards, and he took hold of the thin bit of material between her legs, purposefully brushing his knuckles against her. With a predatory smirk, he gave it a good tug.

The Slayer gasped, looking down in shock at her torn underwear in his hand, before raising her head back up and glaring. Ohh, he was in trouble now. Ripped her pretty little pair of panties, and now she'd have to go commando. That thought immediately sent a wave of imagery over him that all had the Slayer naked in her tight jeans, fighting and wet, sweaty and hot, and - fuck. The panties got tossed to hell knows where, and he grabbed her thighs, muttering outloud in frustration at the little leverage he had thanks to the chains. She got the hint, and, nibbling on that bottom lip of hers, she started to lower herself onto him. He gasped as he felt his tip pressing against her entrance, but despite his own needs, he wasn't quite prepared to give in. She'd prolonged this all night, with the talking and her just generally being a bitch - now it was his turn. He rolled his hips, teasing her, and her eyes slammed shut. He watched her jaw flex and her throat tighten, and it took everything in him to not thrust up into her.

"Dammit, Spike," she muttered, frustration dripping from her voice like her hot, tight little... nah, that was too easy of an innuendo.

He smirked in return, liking very much this annoyed version of the Slayer on top of him. The one that was spawned from sexual frustration and not... well, sexual frustration. But sexual frustration of the desperately-in-need-of-some kind. She wanted him, just as much as he wanted her. "Somethin' you want, pet?"

Her eyes flew open, and the sparks he saw swirling in them only added to his amusement. "You dead?" she asked in a falsely sweet tone.

Denial. Fun! And still making with the quips as she hovered above him. Admirable. "Already dead," he informed her matter-of-factly, leaning in just so. His lips were so close to hers, and he felt himself being pulled towards them. "Besides... you wouldn't like that, now would you? Leave you all... frustrated."

"You wish," she muttered.

The next thing he knew, he was buried. The Slayer dropped down with a moan, and her grip on him tightened painfully. Both of their eyes widened, and her breath exploded into a sharp gasp as she came down all the way, fully sheathing him.

Fuck, was the first coherent thing that came to mind. And then some stream of babble along the lines of bloody fucking hell... so bloody tight... feels so good, followed by a grunt or two.

"Spike," she whimpered, releasing her grip on his chest and moving instead to clutch at his shoulders.

Christ, she was hot. Scalding, and burning, and so bloody tight. He was lost already. Two seconds in, and he was unraveling. Just feeling her around him, wet and soft, the ponce within stirred. Lines of poetry echoed in his head, and praising words like 'velvet' and 'satin' came to mind, things that he rightfully brushed away. He hated this girl with everything in him. Hated her on account of who she was, nevermind the fact that she was a bossy, bitchy, annoying chit. Hated her on pretenses alone. But nevermore had he felt this good, in this position. Not with Dru, never with Harmony. Nothing compared to the heat, to the way he fit her, to the way she held onto him and her weight settled on top of him. It was perfect.

And then she started to move. Oh, fuck. Whatever he said before, whatever poetry she'd inspired, whatever unraveling he'd done and incoherency the feel of her reduced him to - this was a hundred times better. Her eyes were shut, but he couldn't take his off of her, transfixed by the sight of her moving on top of him. She was biting down on her lower lip, looking so focused, and it took the feel of her sliding against him to not start laughing at the sight of it.

Spike knew he wouldn't last long. Not with the way she felt, tightening around him. Not with the way her fingers curled his shirt into her fists, gripping him close and quickly pulling him towards her. He started to rock his hips in time with her, thrusting upwards as she slid down. With a gasp, her eyes flew open, immediately meeting his. Tightening his grip on her, he sat up, and they both groaned at the sudden change in position. He leaned forward, pulling her to him, and his mouth went to her neck. She tensed immediately, but quickly relaxed, groaning in encouragement when she felt his tongue on her skin. Gently, he began sucking on the side of her throat, the pull of his mouth matching the rise and fall of her hips as he tasted her. He kissed a path along her neck, up to her jawline, back below her ear; his lips brushing over her lightly.

"Spike," she hissed when his dull teeth nipped at the bottom of her ear.

He pulled back a little, grinning knowingly. "Like that, don't you?"

With an annoyed grunt, she pushed him away from her, her fists curling his shirt up even more. He was gonna protest about the fact that - he bloody liked this shirt (and it was the only he'd had, at that), but then she started pulling it up off of him. Spike obliged, lifting his hands from her waist and bringing them up in the air, when the reminder that his hands were chained together hit him. By then the shirt was already over his head and being pulled down his arms by a very intent Buffy. She tugged impatiently at the shirt when it came into contact with the chains and wouldn't come off, and he chuckled, leaning back against the tub, pulling her with him.

"Chains," he reminded her.

"Stupid chains," she muttered, forgetting about the shirt and settling back with her hands on his shoulders again. This time there was no shirt to numb the feel of her holding on. This time it was skin-on-skin, and the feel of it lit something inside the both of them. Her nails dug into him as their movement became more frantic. Faster and faster he pumped, colliding with her, sending them both closer to the edge.

"Harder," she gasped, the word instantly sparking something inside of him.

He willingly obeyed, forgetting about the t-shirt dangling from his arms as he grabbed her waist and helped her along. Seeing her on top of him, naked from the waist down, wearing nothing but that small top of hers, looking all sorts of flushed, quickened his pace.

Her eyes slammed shut as he thrust deeper into her, and immediately he reacted. "No," he told her roughly, clutching at her sides desperately. "Open your eyes." She did so, just as soon as the words left his lips, and he nodded his head slowly, hungrily. "Yeah, that's right. Look at who you're fucking. Not your precious Poof, not your little college boy. It's me you're on top of, Slayer. How does it feel? Do you like it? Like the way I make you feel?" His words came out tight as he continued rocking below her, hitched by unnecessary pulls of air.

She made a big show of swallowing, sucking in a deep breath as her movement slowed some. She didn't answer him, instead kept her gaze locked with his. With a smile that only promised of impending pleasure, she clamped her thighs together and squeezed the hell out of him. He let out a strangled groan of pleasure as his head lolled back against the top of the tub, but still he kept up with the thrusts, increasing in intensity as he pumped into her, despite the feel of her contracting around him. No way the Slayer was gonna come out of this thinking she got the best of him. Was gonna be the other way around, he was bloody well sure of that.

They were making as little noise as possible, and Spike kept his ears open for any sign of Impending Do-Gooders. Honestly, he wouldn't give a piss if the Whelp walked in and saw them. Hell, he wouldn't even stop, maybe speed up a bit and give the boy a good show. But he knew Buffy'd wouldn't react so amiably... to put it mildly. And contrary to her self-imposed belief, he didn't particularly fancy a dusty ending just yet. Especially not now, not when he knew what things could be like between him and Buffy.

Leaning forward, he ducked his head, his mouth immediately latching onto the sweat-coated skin exposed above her top. He sucked and kissed, starting from the small swell of her breasts, and made his way down, teasing as he gently nipped. His mouth glided over the thin fabric of her halter top, and he kept with the wet kisses, knowing that it was driving her wild. Her arms unlocked from around his neck, and one of her hands grabbed his neck and pulled him closer. The other snaked its way up the back of his head as she grabbed hold of his hair. Her heavy breathing burned against his neck, and she started to kiss his jawline. Moaning, he lowered his mouth and bit down on her hardened nipples as she bucked on top of him, forgetting about him as she threw her head back in pleasure.

Yeah, that's right, he grinned inwardly, feeling parts of him (some a bit literally) swell with pride.

His eyes lighting up, he growled. "Buffy."

"Spike," she cried out softly, thrashing on top of him as he bit down again. She started to move faster, wilder, drenching him each time she buried him again. Releasing her grip, her hands slid down his neck and she locked her arms together, drawing him even closer as she pulled him to her. He took her not-so-subtle hint and complied as he nipped and teased her covered breasts. He could feel her start to flutter around him, and knowing she was close pushed him towards his own release. His insides burned and tightened, his muscles starting to clench. He held off, not wanting to be the first one to let go. Still sucking at her chest, he reached his hand between them. His fingers found her her clit, and he started to tease her, twisting and rubbing, until her movements became wild. Knowing that she was close, he pulled away from her, his hips jerking upwards as he pumped faster, harder, not caring that the sound of the chains hitting the sides of the tub could probably be heard through the walls . He cut off the loud cry he knew was coming from her with his mouth, swallowing it with a kiss that lacked any sort of gentleness to it as she whithered on top of him. When he felt her inner muscles clench around him, he knew it was it for him. Hell, he was surprised he'd held out as long as he did. Pulling away from her mouth, he shuddered, thrusting upwards once, twice more before he emptied himself into her with his own cry of pleasure.

Boneless, he fell back against the tub, bringing her with him. They sat there in silence, his hands still holding onto her with his shirt tangled up between them as she lay against him. After a few seconds, her breathing evened out, and almost immediately her embarassment set in.

She sat up a little, slowly, and looked down at their bodies still joined. "Oh, god," she muttered, snapping back as she pushed up and away from him, effectively unjoining them as he slipped out of her. Both groaned at the sensation.

He watched her for a few seconds as her eyes darted around the room. "Lookin' for something?"

She laughed humorlessly. "Yeah, my pants."

He frowned, immediately not liking the implications of that action. She was looking to leave already? She was the Slayer! Her stamina matched his, and he was ready to give it another go. "Stay," he told her playfully, adding a roll of his hips to the offer.

She paused long enough to glare at him. "One time, that was the deal."

He grabbed her arms, then, stroking them with his thumb softly, notching up his proposition. "Stay."

She pulled out of his grasp irritably. "God, will you stop? I'm not staying. Once was... bad enough, there is no--" She shook her head hard, looking disgusted. "--No. Just, no."

Immediately he turned cold, a bit hurt and more than annoyed, and instinctively reverted to sarcasm. "So, what's this make for you, then? Three different times, three different blokes. One time shag. That make it a hat trick?" His face hardened as he sneered. "Congratulations."

Before he even saw the blur of that flawless skin, her fist had shot out, connecting with his face.

"You bloody bitch!" he cried out as he clutched his nose.

She found her pants (the ones that were draped over the tub, exactly where she'd left them) and climbed up and off of him, over the side of the tub, her embarassment temporarily forgotten. Not even the sight of her scampering away, clad in nothing but her top, lessened his anger. She stumbled into a standing postion as she pulled on her pants, glaring at him, that look of mutual and absolute hatred back in her eyes. "Go to hell, Spike."

His hand fell from his face, and he nodded ironically. "I'm chained to a bloody tub, with you playin' warden - think this is hell."

"You're an--" She cut off her own words in annoyance, and gestured towards him. "God, can you pull up your pants already?"

"What'sa matter, Slayer?" he drawled sarcastically. "Can't properly play the self-righteous routine with my dangly bits all out in the open?"

"If you like your dangly bits dangling and not painfully seperated from your body," she warned lowly. "you'll pull your pants up."

He glared at her. Threatening to decastrate the Big Bad, was she? Well too bloody bad - he already was. Been so the first sodding day he came back to this bleeding city. Still though, he'd rather not have it literal. The look in her eyes had him scrambling for his jeans, and he growled as he fought against the sodding chains to pull them back up. Bitch was forgetting she was the reason they were down below his knees in the first place. Pointedly, he thrust his hips upwards, getting a nice bit of satisfaction out of the way she glanced away with that ever-predictable blush, and he tucked himself back in, too pissed off to point out the fact that he was sticky with the combined result of what they'd just done. Ignored the discomfort as he zipped up, all nice and slow-like, carefully re-buttoning them. Lifting his hands up, he easily slid his black t-shirt over his head and back down onto him, unrolling it down his stomach as he lazily fell back against the tub.

"You can stop staring at the toilet now, Slayer."

His words sparked more fury in her, and she whipped her head back towards him. "If you tell anyone-- anyone -- about this, I will stake you."

"Ohh, with the blunt-tipped stake, and you'd make it all slow-like?" he mocked, rolling his eyes. "Sing us another one, Slayer - that threat's gone stale."

She backed away from him, her cold eyes locked with his. "I mean it, Spike. This never happened."

He shifted in the tub uncomfortably, slightly offended and royally pissed off. Placing herself back up on that pedastol of hers already, not two minutes after she'd just scurried naked off of him? Bloody figures. "You don't have to convince me otherwise. Who would I want knowin'?" He tilted his head, his eyes lighting up. "Ohh, aside from Angel. Think I can get in my one phone call now to call him up? Be all complimentary towards you."

"If you ever--"

"Oh, sod off," he muttered. "Like I'm gonna tell him. The Poof'd probably come prancin' back to town on his white horse, an' I'd have to watch your made-for-TV romance play out. Could really do without all that, 'specially seein' as I know from personal experience - it doesn't take much to get you into bed. Little serenade on his part with some Manilow, hair finely gelled, not a strand out of place, and you'd be falling back with open... arms, straight into Cap'n Glower and his oversized rectangular body."

Hurt flashed across her face, but she quickly covered up with disgust. "After this, I want you gone--"

"Bloody unchain me then, you stupid bint!"

"After you tell us what we need to know."

"An' how many bleeding times have I said I've told you all I know?! It's not my fault you lot won't listen."

She took a deep, calming breath. "Spike--"

"Just go. Turn the telly back on and go, alright?" He leaned back then, folding his arms in front of him, and stared intently at the TV.

"Spike--"

"Yeah, let's not. Telly."

She sighed, but gave in and walked over. And he absolutely did not watch her out of the corner of his eye as she neared. She paused beside the tub, grimacing down at it, and he rolled his eyes. Was the poor Slayer now replaying their shagging in her mind? Guilt-inspiring regrets kicking in? Bitch.

She tried one more time. "Spike..."

He straightened, then, staring up at her. "Let's get this straight, Slayer," he said, his tone emotionless. "We shagged, end of bloody story. Hormones, and all that rot. It's what it was, and nothin' more, so stop tryin' to find some deeper meanin'. Do what I'm gonna do and just hope to God that that Watcher of yours is inclined to sharin' his scotch." When she made no effort to click the TV back on, he conceded a bit more and sighed. "I'm not gonna tell your Watcher, alright? Not even gonna write about it in my pretty pink diary. Gonna forget it ever happened, same as you."

"That's... that's good."

He rolled his eyes. "We done?"

She answered by turning on the TV, and he relaxed at that. Ohh, and that show with the lions killing other bloody stupid animals was still on. Good. He hadn't missed much, then. She was backing away slowly, staring at him all guiltily and apologetic, and he suppressed the urge to sigh. Was there a reason she was drawing this out, aside from annoying him? They'd had their heart-to-heart, said all that was needed to be said - and besides, she had a group of Scoobies she'd been away from far too long for them to not send up an emergency flare if they didn't hear from her soon.

"I'm serious, Spike," she finally said with her back against the bathroom door. "If you tell anyone..."

"Told you the first time I wouldn't."

"Good," she said, relieved. "Just... don't."

He ignored her, instead focusing back on the TV. More interesting things to be seen, anyways. He waited until she turned around, until her hand was on the doorknob and she was unlocking the door before he looked back over at her. With the most disinterested tone he could muster, he called out, "Gonna maybe wanna pick up your knickers before you leave." She turned around at that, blushing all a'new. Just once, and subtly mocking, he glanced over at where he'd thrown them. He smirked, his head swiveling back to the TV as she skittered over to collect them.

"Would hate to have had to explain that to your Watcher."


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