Fic, "Mind Fuck", 1/1 (Buffy/Dru, Buffy/Spike, Angelus)

[loveslashangst]

Okay, so here's the dealio...

I usually write for the Torchwood/Doctor Who fandoms, but anyone who knows me will tell you that Spike was among my first true loves. And every so often a plot bunny so delectable and unrelenting will gnaw on me until I can't resist anymore.

In other words, emeryboard started the inspiration for this. But in the end ophymirage (who also loves William the Bloody) gets the blame (or the credit.)

Also, much of Dru's dialogue is O's. I'm admittedly a bit rusty on writing her kind of crazy.

Story: Mind F**k
Author: Love! Slash! Angst! loveslashangst
Beta: the patiently supportive ophymirage
Characters: Spike, Buffy Summers, Angelus (Evil!Angel), Drusilla
Rated: Adult for fem!slash, mature content, language, bondage, mild blood-play, Dub-Con, masturbation, and a bit of darker kink than I usually write. No rape, though -- there are places even I won't go.
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, 'cause if I did Dru/Buffy/Spike would be canon, though the crack-tastic angst would prolly kill us all.
Spoilers: Takes place during season 2, probably in or around "Innocence". If you're worried about spoilers, you probably should never read my work.
Summary: Buffy/Drusilla. Angelus/Drusilla. Spike/Drusilla (implied), Buffy/Spike. Spike is still recovering from a broken back. Buffy is trying to save Angelus from himself. Drusilla is enjoying a tasty treat. Both boys encourage her. Hilarity and dark smut!fic ensue.


On with the show...



Blood. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Nothing to wake a bloke up from a recuperative midnight nap like the smell of fresh blood. And fear. And - a hint of anger? Seems they're serving up human -- the "Oh God please don't kill me" scent is thick in his nostrils. Spike's not surprised to feel his game face already on, teeth sliding in their comfortable grooves. Mmmmmmmmm. Lovely.

He knows better than to tempt Angelus's wrath by arriving unannounced, though. Whatever sobbing excuse for dinner Angelus and Dru've cornered won't be long for this world. Either they'll invite him to the banquet or he'll be forced to scrounge something on his own.

But there's always the possibility of leftovers, so it's not all bad. They might even still be lukewarm by the time he gets them.

Dru's delighted laugh wends its way up the hallway to where he sits, half a man in a pathetic excuse for a wheelchair, biding his time and waiting for his chance to rip the throats out of his back-stabbing Sires.

But until then, best to stick to the "Tiny Tim on Wheels" routine.

A defiant scream. Not Dru. Grating. Shrill. Familiar. He's tasted this particular flavour of fear and rage before.

Buffy. His Slayer.

If he were living, his pulse would race loud in his ears. His heart would pound. As it is, he quashes any outward trace of emotion. Angelus and Dru have both turned on him. Angelus and Dru have taken to torturing him in just about every sense of the word. Angelus and Dru have his Slayer. That means that if he has any hope of saving Buffy so he can do a proper job of killing her, he'll have to play this very carefully.

"Spiiiiiiiiiike." Dru again. Crazy bint's voice carries through the mansion like nothing else, even without the augmented hearing of a vampire.

Another muffled scream. Pain. Blood. And why oh why does Buffy have to smell so damned appetizing when she's in trouble?

"Spiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiike," Dru croons. "Jam tomorrow and jam today."

"It's 'Jam tomorrow and jam yesterday, but never jam today,'" he calls, annoyed at the misquote. "And what d'you want, darling?"

Several grunts, like the Slayer is trying not to cry out at several blows. Blood again, stronger than before.

"Spike!" Angelus sounds like he's in even more of a snit than usual. "Get your ass in here."

No choice but to wheel his sorry arse in and see what Pinky and the Not-Much-Brain are up to.

They have Buffy chained to a nice circular frame. (Must-have for any self-respecting Villain -- that kind of décor hasn't gone out of style for Torture since the fourteenth century.) He fancies this must be one of those fold-up-and-stow-in-the-corner types, as he'll be damned if he remembers seeing it when they ran for safety to this nicely apportioned Den of Sin and Iniquity. (Though he'll admit to being very tired of their Sin and his Iniquity.)

Dru digs her nails into the Slayer's cheek. (Blood on the girl's bare shoulders. Slashes in her cami. Soaking stains spreading on the thighs of her jeans. Dru hasn't wasted any time.) Buffy grunts, the muscles of her jaw clenched against the pain. But her eyes are defiant, and she glares her cheerleader best at Dru, even as the vampire slowly rends fresh scratches into her cheek, sending new rivulets of blood down the Slayer's face.

His stomach growls.

Angelus chuckles toothily. "Couldn't have said it better myself."

"Mice are playing, love," says Dru. "Mice and rats and..." As so often, she loses the train of thought in whatever snippets of past or present or future she senses. She finishes the rend with a jerk of her hand that snaps Buffy's head to the side and sends a spray of blood across the room. Giggling, Dru licks her fingers. Does a little twirl. "Painting pretty girls in pretty dresses. I want to be Rose Red."

"I am so going to dust you," says Buffy. She's healing already, but can't match a vampire for quick recovery.

Dru ignores her. Angelus chuckles again from his chair. (What is it with that sod and thrones? God complex? Compensation? Column A, column B...)

"Once I get out of this," Buffy adds.

Dru sways suddenly, eyes intense as they always are when she's Seeing something. She moves toward Spike with languid steps and liquid grace that make his mouth water in other, even more primal ways.

"Spoiling Christmas again...," says Dru. "And I haven't even unwrapped my present."

He shields his thoughts from her, just enough to keep out what he's really thinking, but not so much that she'll call him on ulterior motives. "I could never refuse you anything, pet," he says. "You know that."

"What is it, Dru?" Angelus is watching him with uncomfortable scrutiny.

"Rip the wrapping right off," says Dru. "Watch it fall to the floor in tatters." To his relief, she grins hugely with girlish delight. "Oh, Daddy! He has the most wonderful ideas!"

She turns back to Buffy, who tenses instinctively. (Always loved that hunter instinct, even if it's hard to take seriously from a girl who looks like the covergirl from the kind of magazines that feature the latest fashions for prom and advice on when to go "all the way".)

Dru rips the torn and bloody camisole off Buffy. The chains lashing the Slayer to the Catharine wheel-frame rattle. Dru slices her nails along Buffy's ribs. Blood wells afresh.

His demon slavers. Takes him a minute to will it back down so he can think straight.

To her credit, the Slayer bites her lip hard. Takes a deep breath in. Focuses on some point across the room so she won't cry out.

It's wrong. Much as he's dreamt of having her like this, bound and helpless (and half-naked isn't half-bad either), this... this is just wrong. Not morally "oh God forgive me my sins" say-a-hundred-Hail-Marys wrong. Just...

"What's wrong, Spike?" says Angelus, mocking as always. (The prick.) "Thought you'd be overjoyed to see we finally caught the Slayer."

"Caught?" He affects his best "bored shitless" face. Digs a fag out of his pocket to buy himself time to think. Lights it leisurely, glancing down so he won't flinch when Dru razors another chunk out of Buffy. (And goddammit the sweet scent of Slayer blood is making him mad with hunger.) "Doubt it."

Angelus stiffens in his chair. (Yup, he's hit a nerve.) "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means bollocks." He takes a deep drag on the fag, savouring again the way the toxic smoke curls in his lungs. (Sometimes you need a good smoke to remember what it was like to breathe.) "If you actually caught her, I'm the Queen bloody Mum."

He avoids looking at the Slayer -- Dru's singing her lullabies under her breath, no doubt making pretty patterns by cutting Buffy in places -- and concentrates on the Weakest Link in this particular party. "No, Angelus old man, I think what happened here is our little guest had an attack of 'oh no, my twue wuv went and lost himself a soul and it's all my fault! Whatever shall I do?' And she got herself good and worked up until she was angsty enough to come into the den of a vampire -- after dark, by the way, Slayer, you really do have a death wish--"

"Shut up--" Buffy gasps for breath. "Spike."

He almost smiles to hear that the fight's still in her. "AND," he continues, "she tried to talk sense and reason and a soul back into you. At which point you and Dru bound her to that thing with accessories by Home Despot and started wasting all that tasty Slayer haemoglobin." He glances at Buffy long enough to catch her gaze. "How'm I doing?"

"Batting a-- shit-- fucking thousand," she hisses.

Still conscious enough to focus. Good. Have to keep her angry and Angelus off-kilter.

Angelus shifts in his seat as if he senses that he's been reduced to the cool factor of the average kitten-sucking slime-demon. "Yeah, well, she's the Slayer. And we caught her. And now we get to torture her."

He raises his eyebrow as far as it'll go. Takes another insolent drag on his cigarette. Releases the bluish smoke in a slow stream.

It's all he can do not to grin -- Angelus looks like he's just discovered the punch's been spiked with cough syrup and not ecstasy.

"What?" his Sire demands.

"That--" he uses his fag to gesture in Buffy's direction. "--is not torture; that's playing with your food."

Angelus's game face flares -- Spike's brassed him off good and proper. "I suppose you could do better?"

"'Course I could." He jams the cigarette back in his mouth. Rocks back just enough so the wheelchair teeters back and raises his feet in the air. He lets the rig clatter back down again. "But situations being what they are..."

"Pet fell down and broke his crown," intones Dru. She grabs a fistful of Buffy's hair. Pulls her head back at what looks like a painful angle.

To her credit, the Slayer's eyes only flick briefly to Dru, then focus on a point on the ceiling. "Yup. Going to dust you bye-bye."

Dru bends close to her prey's ear. "She wants Daddy to be all better... He showed me all the stars. I can still hear them screaming to me."

Angelus crosses his arms. Raises an equally insolent eyebrow back at him.

Spike rolls his eyes. Mocks him with applause. "Oh, bravo, mon capitain. I could never have the courage to let my crazy-arse bird slash up a bound and helpless girl while I sit and wank." He blows another cloud of smoke at Angelus. "Way I see it, there are only three reasons to torture someone." He ticks them off on his fingers. "One, you're hungry and a little fear gives the blood flavour. Won't work for shit with the Slayer -- she's not shaking in her shoes going 'Oh please don't eat me, fearsome hell-beasts' -- she's just plotting more ways to drive a stake through your heart. Keep it up and maybe she'll throw in a beheading while she's at it."

For the first time, Buffy's eyes meet his with something other than rage. A brief glint of humour flashes there and is gone.

Dru licks the blood from Buffy's collarbone, a pornographic swipe of tongue that would make his thoughts stutter if he weren't a stronger man.

"Very pretty, kitten," he says. "Two, you want information. The only information the Slayer might have is the whereabouts of the Scoobies or her ridiculous poof-with-the-books. And considering that said information can be gleaned from... say... the PHONE BOOK, I'd say you're wasting your time there too."

A final leisurely drag and he flicks the rest of the fag away. "Three -- and this might be the one you want to pay attention to -- this is an appetiser, a wind-up for the main course, in which case you're wasting half the meal on her wardrobe and the other half down that admittedly edible skin." He catches the Slayer's eyes and gives her as encouraging a look as he dares. "Blood looks good on you, by the way."

"Screw you, Spike." Well. There's gratitude for you.

Angelus considers Spike's assessment for a moment. "Are you trying to manipulate us into not eating her?"

(This is embarrassingly easy -- Angelus should skip the mind fuck and stick to the literal ones.) "Not at all," Spike assures him. "Eat away. Lap all you like. Suck her dry if it floats your boat, but for God's sake don't just fucking WASTE it like that."

Ever the suspicious one, Angelus crosses the room in four quick strides and seizes Buffy in a ruthless chokehold. "So if I snapped her neck right now...?"

"The world would be down one more Slayer." He gives a graceless shrug to hide the flinch. Buffy is going to stake him for this, but if it buys her a bit more time until he can kill her right and proper, fair and square, mano e mano, then it's worth dodging a few more pointy things. "And here I thought it was a show you were after."

Angelus looks confused, which for him isn't hard. He releases the chokehold on Buffy, who gasps for breath and glares.

"So, oh lord and master of railroad spikes--" says Angelus.

"Oh yeah." He chuckles at the memories. "Good times." He sobers. "But that was just for starters. If I weren't the old grey fucking mare over here, I could--"

"-- what kind of torture would YOU recommend?" Angelus finishes.

Dru's been very quiet, which could just mean she's tuned out again, or it could mean she's waiting for him to do something stupid, like let down his guard enough that she can rifle through his thoughts. He ducks his head slightly to catch her eyes. Smiles his best bedroom eyes at her. She smiles back, interested. Licks the last of the blood from her lips.

Angelus follows his gaze. Spike can hear the hard-on even from clear across the room. (Must. Not. Roll. Eyes.)

"I'm waiting," says Angelus.

Now he rolls his eyes, even more than usual. "You have your Slayer ex-girlfriend tied up, bare to the waist, and your vampire lover, who doesn't seem to mind lapping the blood from her naked skin, and all you can think to do is let Dru sharpen her nails? My GOD, man, did Buffy suck your brains out through your cock or were you a eunuch before you shagged her?"

The fury passes quickly as Angelus -- ever slow on the uptake -- finally catches on. "You mean...?"

Spike smiles another alluring smile at Dru. "You love your Daddy, don't you, darling?"

Dru gives Angelus one of those "take me now, subcreature" looks that make Spike want to gag.

"You planted roses in the garden in Vienna," says Dru.

"You'd do anything he asked you to, wouldn't you?" You backstabbing little bitch.

Dru turns her gaze back to him, suddenly sharp-eyed.

He goes bland, letting only thoughts of food and sex and how much he'd like to shag her leak through.

Dru's eyes narrow, but she turns adoring eyes back to their Sire. "They're all going to have cakes and ale at my party. I want honey on mine."

"That means yes," Spike translates. "So... Order her." He settles back into his chair, hands folded loosely to hide the erection he's not supposed to be capable of having. "Give us a show worth watching."

Angelus is hooked all right, judging by how fast he retreats to his throne. "Dru," he says. "Give our guest a kiss."

Dru looks to Spike one more time, measuring.

He smiles at her. "Slayer doesn't think she bends that way, Dru. She doesn't think she wants to play. But everyone wants to play with you. You're the prettiest princess of them all."

"You love me even on the insides," she says, "where you can't see?"

"Eyeballs to entrails, darling." And he's not even lying. If he didn't still adore -- or at least want to shag -- her, it wouldn't hurt so damn much to hear her and Angelus wear out the bedsprings. "Just remember Paris, my love, and you'll have her squirming and ready to play in no time at all."

Dru giggles like a delighted little girl. Sobers. Turns to the Slayer.

Buffy presses her lips together stubbornly, enduring the kiss with her stoic straight-ahead stare. Dru cups her cheek in one hand, pressing harder and harder to try to make her turn her face into the kiss.

"Gently, my love, gently," he urges. "Remember the flies."

"Honey," Dru purrs. "Not vinegar. Honey for cakes."

"That's right, darling," he says.

Dru teases Buffy's lips with hers. Caresses her cheek with the gentle backs of her fingers. Strokes her way down the Slayer's throat. Pauses at the athletic bra. Looks to him.

Grinning, he nods.

Dru uses her fingernails again. Slices the straps. Delicately razors the front of the bra. Laps blood from Buffy's bare skin where it wells up in ribbons.

And he doesn't have to pretend to be watching with rapt attention. (Though he makes sure to keep an eye on Angelus, who should start wanking any minute, from the look of him.)

Buffy's focus impresses him. Even when Dru gently brushes her nipples with soft fingertips, the Slayer's eyes never waver from a fixed point over Dru's shoulder. Her breathing begins to speed, though, air rushing in and out in irregular gulps.

"Run and catch, run and catch," Dru croons. She rolls the Slayer's nipples in her fingers, mouth a hair's breadth from hers, and for the first time Buffy's eyes flicker toward her.

Dru smiles at her. "We can be naughty and nice." Her tongue traces Buffy's lower lip. "Both."

"Gonna..." Buffy says half-heartedly, "... stake..."

Dru leans down. Kisses her way up Buffy's slender throat. And unless Spike is completely wrong, his Slayer arches a little into the soft touches.

"That's it," he purrs. "Give in to it."

Dru pulls back. Buffy darts a glance at her, and it's all Dru needs to pull her into that hypnotic stare.

"In my eyes," Dru murmurs. "Be in me."

Buffy blinks hard, no doubt trying to break the thrall, but Spike knows from experience how hard it is to withstand a determined Dru.

"Be in my eyes," says Dru softly. "There's roses in the garden."

Buffy's eyes flutter closed.

Which, of course, leaves him starving in both the literal and biblical senses of the word. Fortunately, Angelus is likewise enthralled. He rubs his crotch absently with the heel of his hand. Spike represses a smile to see his Sire so interested.

"The hands of the lover," Dru purrs. "Like little clouds, psst psst." Gentle strokes with each hand. Dru's fingers run lightly over Buffy's skin.

But his Slayer doesn't go down without a fight. Her eyes fly open. "No!" She struggles in her bonds. "Spike, you have to--"

"Evil," he reminds her, and lights another fag with a satisfying click-snap of his lighter. "She's going to have her way with you, Slayer," he says. "Might as well enjoy it while you can."

"No." Buffy's breath stutters at Dru's caresses. "No." But she turns her head when Dru moves in to kiss her again. "Nnnn--"

Dru climbs up on the frame. Stands between Buffy's spread feet. Presses her whole body against the Slayer's. Kisses her more and more deeply as Buffy opens to her. The girl's whole body is rigid with refusal, yet she opens her mouth wider and wider with each brush of Dru's tongue.

Angelus rubs the heel of his hand harder and faster against his crotch. (The wanker.) Glances at Spike.

He smiles back. "See? Now THAT's a show worth watching."

Angelus nods. Leans forward in his chair. "Go lower, Dru."

Dru laughs around the kiss. Reaches for the waistband of Buffy's jeans.

As predicted, it breaks the thrall. Buffy's eyes fly open. "No!" She pulls back. "Angel--"

"Angel's not here," Spike reminds her. (Don't play into the anger, Slayer. Not if you want to live.) "Have to leave a message, though it probably won't do you any good now that Angelus is here to stay."

"Daddy," says Dru. "Can I unwrap my present?"

"Yeah." Angelus's voice is hoarse. (Score one for the home team.) "Unwrapping would be good."

Dru catches Buffy's eyes again. The girl struggles. Fights her bonds. Squeezes her eyes shut. Dru catches her chin sharply. Digs fingernails in until Buffy opens her eyes. Smiles as Buffy falls under her influence again.

Buffy's eyes follow Dru like she's the most lovely thing in the world. Smiling, Dru laps the new marks clean. Kisses her way down Buffy's throat, her hands at Buffy's waist.

And this time, his Slayer tips her head back. Presses into the kisses. Hums her need.

Dru, who's getting into this to the point where Spike regrets not bringing home more toys for her to play with, slowly unzips Buffy's jeans. Drags them down as far as she can, displaying charming little satin roses. (Apparently, his Slayer hides a girly kink under that tough façade.)

"Please," Buffy begs.

"Please yes?" he says softly. "Or please no?"

"Please." Buffy swallows hard. Struggles again. Her eyes are bright with tears when she opens them. "Please." She resurrects her glare. "Please get over yourself if you think having Crazy Girl here stick her hand down my pants is going to--" She loses the rest in a gasp as Dru does just that.

He knows from experience how talented Dru's hand can be. Soft fingers. Seeking fingertips. Dru snogs Buffy slowly. Lets her gasp for breath between each snog. The hand in Buffy's knickers moves with gentle grace.

Angelus abandons all pretence and sticks a hand down his own pants.

Spike is winning, and this torture should give Buffy the chance to heal a little more.

"Amazing, isn't she?" he says. "The talent in those fingers. Small wonder for more than a century, I couldn't even look at anyone else."

"No," Buffy whispers. But when Dru kisses her again, his Slayer gives as good as she gets.

He grins. "That's the spirit, Slayer. Bite back. She's a vampire -- we like it rough."

Buffy's hands ball to fists. But this time, she seems more to be fighting to get closer to Dru. And she does bite. Catches Dru's lip hard enough that Dru pulls back in surprise. Touches her mouth, fascinated by the blood. A smouldering look passes between the two birds. Dru focuses her hypnotic stare. Buffy leans forward. Kisses and bites her way up Dru's throat.

Dru strokes Buffy harder. Faster. Buffy gasps for air. Moans. Rattles the chains on the steel frame.

Angelus unzips and wanks like a fifteen-year-old with his first Playboy.

"Don't finish her off yet," Spike purrs to Dru. "Draw it out, kitten." He flicks the half-forgotten cigarette aside before it can burn him.

Even as Buffy's moans get more and more urgent, Dru's hand becomes more and more leisurely.

"Not yet," he says.

"Not yet is right." Angelus stands. Fumbles at his jeans. "Time for the main course."

And, because he really is that brilliant, Spike has the presence of mind to make a disappointed noise.

Angelus pauses. "What?"

Spike sighs theatrically. "Well, if you want to play it that way, I suppose you can."

Angelus looks back at the duo, who are snogging like they've forgotten all about him. Dru's hand has slowed to a gentle circling, and Buffy is sobbing with need. (And he's trying not to notice the appetizing wetness that's soaking through her knickers.)

"I suppose you have a better idea?" says Angelus.

"Yeah." He lights another fag. "You leave her here, just as she is." He waves his cigarette hand at Dru, leaving blue-white trails of smoke in the air. "Go off and shag Dru until she's even more incoherent than usual. And -- here's the important part -- leave Buffy panting and half-finished."

Angel's astonishment is so complete he transforms back from vamp. "This is your idea of torture?"

"Better." He takes a long drag on his fag. (This whole scenario's making a chain-smoker out of him.) "This is wounding her in ways she has no defence for."

"Please," Buffy sobs, right on cue.

"She'll get loose," Spike says. "She'll get away. She might even not stake me." He leans forward just enough to punctuate his words. "But she'll be unable to stop THINKING about it. Dru's hands. Dru's mouth. The way you couldn't keep your hands off yourself. How much you wanted her. How much she secretly enjoyed it."

Buffy moans into Dru's mouth.

Angelus still has his cock in his hand. "Still waiting for the torture."

"Torture," he says, enunciating clearly, "is confusion. Unfinished desire. Buffy's torture is having to face her enemy and seeing only the man she loves. The man she wants back."

"Pleeease!" Oh, the Slayer is sweet when she begs. (And he's just man enough to consider how much he'd like to hear Buffy beg him in other contexts.)

He pins Angelus with a significant look. "She still loves that pathetic excuse for a vampire you used to be." He takes one more deep drag, then stubs his cigarette out on the arm of his wheelchair. "Rape her, and she'll remember pain and hate you. Hate makes her strong. Determined. Leave her untouched, and she'll remember desire. Desire makes her slow. Weak. And you'll win. The key is to know how to play the long game."

Angelus looks back at his partner in evil. "Dru?"

"Daddy?" Dru pulls back. Looks Buffy in the eyes. Buffy, mouth kiss-bruised and luscious, looks back, equally hungry.

"Want to finish this upstairs?"

Dru's across the room and in Angelus's arms in two ticks. He scoops her up. Carries her off, no doubt intending to shag her senseless. Considering that Angelus is the three-minute wonder and Dru has the attention span of a sugar-crazed ferret, that doesn't give him much time.

Buffy hangs in her bonds, panting. Moaning. She thrashes a little.

He waits. (Best thing about being immortal is it teaches a man patience.)

Buffy fights, but loss of blood has dulled her strength and Dru's little exhibition has left her as weak and confused as he predicted. "Spike?"

He flicks the stubbed-out fag-end away. "Slayer?"

"God DAMN you, Spike!" she sobs.

"Sticks and stones, pet," he says. "Now ask me nicely so you can get the hell out of here."

Buffy goes still. Dares a look at him. "You... you're not going to--?"

The floor above them starts to creak in a regular rhythm that he's become all too familiar with over the decades.

"Help you?" he finishes. "Yes. Love to. Small problem." He indicates the wheelchair.

"W-h-what, d'you want?" And even though she's not herself, he thrills a little at that moment when she finally SEES him. Sees what he might be. What they might do to each other before he drains her dry or impales her or snaps her neck or finishes her off in some other equally satisfying way.

"Angelus carries the keys to those locks with him," he says. "And I'm not exactly running marathons here."

Her eyes harden. "You want blood."

"No, Slayer," he says. "I NEED blood. Can't break you loose without it."

She radiates suspicion. (And a little need. And the mix of blood and Aroused Slayer touches off every single one of his appetites at once.)

"I happen to like this world," he says. "Remember?" He wheels closer. "And what fun is it without a Slayer who might become my match? Once both of us are back up to fighting trim, that is."

She swallows hard. "Do it."

"Do what?" Though admittedly it is fun to wind her up by playing thick, he does need to hear the words. "You're bargaining with a vampire, Slayer; be specific about what you want and what you're offering."

And she, clever kitten that she is, gets it in one. "I invite you to take my blood. But only enough to heal. And no killing. Or turning me. Or making me drink your blood. Or other funny stuff."

Her paranoia only makes her that much more adorable. "Done." He stands, ignoring the pain that lances through his lower extremities at every motion.

She looks at him in astonishment. He can hear the beating of her heart speed, a counterpoint to the rhythmic thumping of his Sires upstairs.

"I thought you were--" she puffs a breath up to get the hair out of her eyes "-- all with the wheelchair."

"Oh, I am." Actually, his back is killing him, which mercifully means the erection subsides. "Just overwhelmed by your charms. Bloody miracle from on high. It'll wear off in a minute."

"Oh." For one moment, she's completely vulnerable in ways that have nothing to do with being half-naked and chained.

He leans in.

She arches her neck toward him, ever so slightly.

He brushes his lips along her skin.

Her breath stutters.

"Yes?" he murmurs.

Buffy answers him with a half-choked sob. She swallows hard. Finds her dignity. "Yes. YES! Okay? Yes, you win."

Music to his ears. His lips brush her ear. "And now..."

Buffy is panting again, this time for him.

He slowly slides her jeans up. As soon as the centre seam brushes her, she comes, shuddering. Orgasm leaves her slack-jawed and exquisite. And though his back is still killing him, his cock jumps against his zip.

"Now." His turn to be hoarse as he zips her back into place. "Now you owe me, Slayer."

Buffy blinks, recovering. "What?"

He produces a set of lock-picks. (Funny what a bloke can store in the confines of a wheelchair.)

Buffy's recovering her fury by the minute. "You're not going to bite me?"

He whistles cheerfully to himself as he picks the first lock.

She glares as it clicks open. "You were playing me?"

He grins. "The light dawns."

She wrenches her wrist free as he starts to pick the second lock. "This isn't finished, Spike."

The rhythmic creaking upstairs has reached a fevered pace. (Wouldn't have thought the heartless sod could keep it up this long.)

"No," he agrees. "But they will be soon." He yanks the lock free. She and he untangle her other wrist. His Slayer rips the chains from her ankles. Ignores him when he offers her a gentlemanly hand. Steps down from the frame under her own power. Covers herself with her arms as if she's just noticed she's still half-naked.

He pulls one of Dru's more substantial shawls from a handy chair. Wraps it around her.

"You set me up." Gratitude, thy name is not Buffy.

"I saved your life," he says. "Now get the hell out of here and don't come back until you're ready to do this for real."

Only once the words are out of his mouth does he realize what he's said. Time stretches.

Buffy wavers. Rocks toward him.

He dips his head. Stops with his mouth just above hers. The scent of her (blood, anger, passion, LIFE) is a sweet temptation.

She presses both hands to his chest. He can FEEL her desire. Her need. But she, like any good hunter, doesn't forget herself, even in a moment like this.

He pulls back. "No?"

She shakes her head mutely, though that flush in her cheeks calls her a liar.

"No," he says. "Too bad."

When she turns to go, he catches her wrist.

"But," he says. "I think you'll find that by 'no' you actually mean 'not now'."

Her mouth works, but she can't seem to find any words.

He brings her wrist to his lips. Kisses it, lips parted. "You owe me, Slayer."

He dips his tongue at her pulse point. She SHIVERS in a way he'll remember for months to come.

"And some day..." He returns her hand to her side.

She clutches the shawl around her with both hands. Backs away. "Never."

He eases himself back down into his chair, hurting and hungry and happier than he's been in a long time. "Never's a long time, pet."

She presses the wrist he kissed to her chest as if she can repossess the touch too.

He smiles at her and considers yet another fag.

She runs off lightly, faster than any human should be.

He returns the cigarette, unsmoked, to its pack and to his pocket. Stows his lighter. Rolls the traces of his Slayer's scent on his tongue. Savours the lingering perfume of her pleasure.

"Yes," he says. "Never is a very long time."