*****

He was beyond it all now. Beyond the anticipation and the pain and the thrill, beyond moaning and writhing and pleading, beyond feeling the brick wall against his head or the weight of the body straddling him or the cum gluing his boxers to his skin, beyond the stench from the open dumpster a few feet away, beyond the mouth fastened to the open wound at the side of his throat, beyond thinking about what had brought him to this. Beyond the ache in his mind and the ache in his cock and the ache in his heart. And soon, soon, he would be beyond the infernal beating of that heart. He was almost beyond the steady pull of his blood rushing through and out of him, the last simple fact of his existence. He was almost beyond the here and now. Yes, he was almost beyond the pull. And then he would be beyond memories. And then he would be perfect.

He felt his heart slow almost to the stopping point. He didn't know if he was conscious, or if this was a dreamstate, or if this was death. Because he couldn't even feel the pull anymore. Now all there was, was his name. Almost like someone calling his name. His eyelids fluttered open, and if he could have, he would have smiled. Because the face that had driven and haunted him seemed to hover above him.

And then Riley Finn was beyond everything.

*****
Part 1:

I want you to notice
When I'm not around
You're so fucking special
I wish I was special

Riley Finn loved Buffy Summers. He loved her, and it didn't really matter that she didn't love him. Being appreciated by her was enough.

There were many "hows" and ways to his love for her. He loved to take her face in his hands, kiss her forehead, her eyelids, her nose, her lips. He loved to run his fingers through her silky golden hair. He loved to undo her shirt, button by button, and watch her clothing fall away from her deceptively slight, amazingly powerful, completely beautiful body. Loved to explore every inch of her body, loved to touch her everywhere with his fingers, the palms of his hands, his lips, his tongue, his teeth. Loved the way she smelled and tasted. Loved the look in her eyes just before she came. With each reciprocated kiss, each sigh, each shuddering orgasm, she could appreciate him for that.

Riley Finn loved Buffy Summers, and he didn't care who knew it. No, that wasn't quite it: He loved her and he wanted the whole world to know it.

He loved her like a ten year old with his first case of puppy love. (And why did people always denigrate puppy love, as if puppies felt less joy or pain than big dogs?) Loved her with a compulsion to carve "Riley 'n' Buffy 4-ever" into tree trunks and park benches and wet cement wherever they went. And with a laugh, she could appreciate him for that.

Riley Finn loved Buffy Summers like he'd never loved anyone before, and never hoped to love anyone after.

He loved her the way you do when someone is everything to you, and you want to be everything to them. To be with them all the time, through everything. And "everything" means taking the bad with the good. Being the one who is there when her life starts to fall apart around her, her world beyond her control for once. The one to help pick up the pieces and hold her together. Just to hold her, when all she needed was to be held. When she couldn't be the strong one. When she needed *someone*.

But that, she could not appreciate. Could not accept. Could not allow.

Riley Finn loved Buffy Summers, and it didn't really matter that she didn't love him.

At least, not at first.

Riley Finn loved Buffy Summers, but sometimes love is not enough.

It had been enough for him for awhile. He accepted the distance she maintained, the wall she had up to keep him out. He didn't take it personally; she was The Slayer, and she had to be careful. But she was also Buffy, and he felt certain that one day Buffy would let him in. He waited patiently for that day.

And then her mother was diagnosed with a brain tumor. Her world must have spun at double-speed and slammed to a halt - but she barely let it show. He could see the pain in her eyes, hear the strain in her voice, feel the tension in her body when she let him hug her... but she didn't let him in. He ached for her, but when he reached for her she brushed him off every time. She would never let him in. She didn't even see him.

The more he longed for her, the more he watched and learned about her, the more his doubts took hold. Those doubts had a name. A few names, in fact: Angel. Dracula. And now, he suspected, Hostile 17. She was undeniably drawn to them, as they were to her. What did they have that he didn't? What did they give her that he couldn't? Was there a bond beyond the intricate, shifting dance of predator and prey? There was the obvious, of course, but there had to be more.

Or did there?

Was a vampire's bite really all that?

Against his training, against his judgement, against his instinct, but in love with a woman he was desperate to understand, Riley decided to find out.

The first time was in an alley. It had been a physical thrill, but he'd dusted her anyway. When the craving kicked in a few nights later, he wasn't sure what to do, didn't know how many times he could pull a suck-n-dust before word got around. Then he learned of the vampires nest and started going there. Started not only letting the demons puncture his skin and suck his blood - but started paying for it with cold hard cash. (And maybe, paying for it with something more than cash... but Riley preferred not to think on that.) Night after night, the ripples of thrill would surge through him, just knowing he would be going there. And when there was actually a cold mouth suckling at his arm (after that first time, he only ever let them do his arms), sending ripples of pleasure through his body, he would get so turned on he'd imagine it was Buffy. Sometimes he didn't have to imagine her there, so lost was he in the physical sensations. And sometimes, he could even convince himself it felt like love. He knew it wasn't real, but what they did made him feel beyond alive. And the way the little vamps looked at him, not only wanting but *needing* him, was equally addictive.

He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that it *was* an addiction. A dangerous addiction. One that had to stop. But he kept going, a couple of times a week. Cradled a cold body to his own, let that body take what it needed from him. It made him feel powerfully and vulnerably *human*, in a way he'd never felt before. Was that how the others made Buffy feel?

Then Buffy's mom recovered, and her nightmare was over. Suddenly, just like that, she was his girlfriend again. So Riley swore to himself he'd quit. Didn't matter what his body craved; he knew he just wanted Buffy. Their lovemaking that night was extraordinary, for her as well as for him, of that Riley had little doubt. But finding out that during her mom's illness Buffy *had* cried, *had* broken down completely - but had *not* come to him, and moreover had hid it from him as she would from her little sister... that had knocked him for a loop. Buffy slumbered at his side contentedly. But Riley was restless, insomniac. He knew he had to go just one more time. Had to feel special just one more time.

And that really was the last time. Because as he held the vamp to him, urging her to suck harder, he heard a gasp. He looked up, and at first couldn't believe it. But yes, Buffy was standing in the doorway, staring at him as if she'd never seen him before. (And maybe she hadn't....) She turned and fled. And he didn't really know why he hesitated - yet he let the vamp at his arm take another tug or two before he pushed her away and tried to follow. But Buffy was gone.

As he made his way home, Riley remembered the other figure he'd seen in the doorway, the one he was sure had led Buffy there. Hostile 17. Spike.

+++

Whatever makes you happy
Whatever you want
You're so fucking special
I wish I was special...

Riley entered Spike's crypt unannounced, yet expected. Oh, the platinum-haired vampire had been waiting for him, alright. And maybe he had known Riley would throw him up against the pillar like that. But he hadn't been prepared to be staked - even if it was only a plastic, wood-grain stake. Riley got some satisfaction out of that. But as soon as he realized he hadn't turned to dust, Spike started taunting him again. He even admitted to having a thing for Buffy.

"But that's not your problem." Spike was practically gloating as he continued, "Even if I wasn't in the picture, you're never gonna be able to hold onto her."

Vampires don't have souls, but they have bodies. And Riley wanted Spike to feel what he was feeling, so he stuck his fingers in the wound from the stake and twisted. Spike yelled in agony, but he wouldn't stop.

"Come on! You're not the long-haul guy, and you know it." Riley told him to shut up, but Spike was undeterred. "You *know* it. Or else you wouldn't be getting suckjobs from two-bit vampire trawls." Riley just stared at him for a second, then released him in frustration. "The girl needs some monster in her man. And that's not in your nature." He pushed himself off the wall and crossed the room to sit down. He glanced at Riley before making his point: "No matter how low you try to go." He reached for the wine bottle by his chair.

Riley had no comeback. He couldn't be good enough, or *bad* enough, for Buffy - is that what Spike was saying? But he knew it was, and he didn't want to hear it spelled out by his arrogant rival. So instead he warned Spike to stay away from Buffy, and in competitive alpha-male tradition, they exchanged mutual threats over her.

"Ain't love grand," Spike offered sardonically, tossing the bottle to Riley. Riley uncorked it automatically, but paced and gave Spike a sharp look before sitting himself and taking a swig. "Sometimes I envy you so much it chokes me. And sometimes I think I got the better deal. To be that close to her and *not* have her. To be all alone, even when you're holding her. Feeling," Spike almost smothered the word. He seemed entranced by his thoughts, unaware of his surroundings or Riley's presence. "Feeling her beneath you. Surrounding you. The scent..." And then he snapped himself out of his reverie. "No," he concluded, "you got the better deal."

Riley had almost been entranced himself, listening to the awful truth spill out of Spike. He felt a lump in his throat and took another swig from the bottle to help him swallow it. "I'm the lucky guy," he said. He shook his head, bitter and resigned. "Yeah," he said, tossing the bottle back to Spike, "I'm the guy."

Spike didn't know what to say to that. There was nothing to say to that, and so they drank in silence for awhile. Each became lost in his own thoughts, and hardly noticed the mutual company or passing time. Then standing to open another bottle, Spike held it aloft.

"To the Slayer," he grandly pronounced. It seemed an ironic yet fine - and innocent enough - toast in the present company, but suddenly Spike found himself pushed against the wall again. "Hey now, watch the head! I've got a good buzz going-"

"Don't call her that!" Riley ordered. Uncomprehending, Spike just looked at him.

"What?"

"'The Slayer.' Don't call her that."

"But that's who she is."

"No," Riley countered heatedly. "That's *what* she is. *Who* she is, is Buffy." Was he the only one who understood that?

A smirk crept onto Spike's face as he leaned in to study Riley.

"You really don't get it, do you?" Spike laughed, tilting his head back to gaze at the ceiling briefly before returning his stare to Riley's eyes. "No wonder you can't have her the way you want her. It's not that she's shutting you out," Spike sneered. "It's that you don't know the way in." He narrowed his eyes and leaned in again, closer this time, until his face was only an inch or two from the human. His voice low, Spike enunciated each word carefully so the boy wouldn't miss a thing: "You. Just. Don't. Get. *Her*."

With physical force the only thing left in his arsenal, Riley jammed his forearm under Spike's chin, forcing his head back all the way. Spike made a move to wriggle away, but Riley quickly flipped him around to face the wall, hooking his arms under Spike's and clasping his hands against the back of the vampire's neck. He moved in, pressing his body against the other, leaving Spike no room to maneuver. Spike went completely still beneath him. After a long moment, he tried to turn his head.

"Don't fucking move," Riley warned. "Don't even try it."

He knew Spike couldn't be comfortable like that, but he was surprised to feel the vampire trembling against him. He was confused and angry, but he didn't intend to kill Spike. Surely Spike knew that...

Then Spike spoke, so softly Riley almost didn't hear him: "You smell of her." Taken aback, Riley released his hold. Spike turned to face him, and though Riley couldn't see the tremors, he knew the vampire was feeling them. He knew, because with the predator so near him, Riley could feel the current of desire, too. Without taking his eyes off Spike's face, Riley slowly pushed up his sleeve. He held his arm out to Spike, who glanced from Riley's eyes to the offered arm back to Riley's eyes without a word.

"Do it," Riley said.

Spike knocked the offering aside. "What are you playing at?" he asked suspiciously. Riley swallowed hard.

"Do it," he said, holding out his arm again. "Just close your eyes, and pretend I'm her." He tried not to think about what he was really saying, saturated with anticipation of the fix his body so badly wanted.

"Nice try, Soldier Boy," Spike drawled, walking over to the ledge under his window and hopping up. He was safe enough in the moonlight now streaming through, and he wanted to be as far from the temptation of that scent as possible. "But even if you're into pain, I'm not," he said, tapping the chip in his head.

Riley followed him over and leaned against the stonework. "I think, I think it will be okay. I mean, you won't be attacking me. I won't struggle or fight you in any way. You can, you know, we can just try it." He inched closer to Spike, keeping his eyes on the ground. "And if, if you feel the slightest twinge in your head, you can just," he gave a little shrug, his right arm falling gracefully into Spike's lap. "Stop then."

Spike grasped Riley's chin, forcing the boy's head up to meet his gaze. He studied Riley, looked hard and deep into those eyes, past the haze of alcohol, to the awakened beast of need lurking just inside. ~You're a long way down, little boy,~ he thought, ~and you've miles to go.~ Once released, Riley turned his face down again. But his hand remained resting on Spike's thigh. So Spike picked it up, pushed the sleeve up farther, and turning the wrist towards him, pressed his lips to the exposed flesh for a moment.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Spike teased him. "I mean, what would *Buffy* think? Aren't you going to go swear to her that you've quit, that you'll never do it again?"

"This is the last time," Riley mumbled.

"Oh! The 'last time'!" Spike repeated loudly. "Then this won't do at all." He dropped Riley's arm. "Come here," he said, pointing at the space directly in front of him, between his legs. Riley looked a little nervous, but obeyed. "Good boy!" Spike smirked. "Now, get it off." When Riley just looked at him, puzzled, Spike clarified: "Your shirt. Off with it." He whipped off his own shirt as if to demonstrate.

Riley shifted uncomfortably, and Spike enjoyed every second of the humiliation. "Um, do I have to? I mean, can't I just roll my sleeve up?"

"Now, now. Don't be shy. This is your last time, I want to make it special for you. No arm-job for you this time!" He let his gaze slide from Riley's face to his neck, and curled his lips into the slightest of smiles. "I tell you what - let's pretend that you're Buffy, and I'm - Angel!" Spike continued with a malicious grin. "And if I'm going to pretend you're Buffy, I want to at least feel your nipples erect against me." He laughed inwardly at the obvious discomfort on Riley's face, but an unobtrusive glance down told him that the discomfort was in Riley's mind, not his body. The boy's nipples were not the only things erect! He shifted, aware of his own growing arousal.

Slowly Riley pulled his shirt off over his head and let it fall to the ground. Hesitantly, he moved in and leaned towards Spike. But the vampire leaned back.

"You've got to ask first," he explained. "If we're going to try this, it's got to be really clear that you want it. So you've got to ask first, and you've got to be specific."

Riley closed his eyes, shivering. "I want you to do it to me. To, bite me. To, ah, suck me - suck my, um, blood."

But still Spike didn't move in. He looked at the beautiful boy in front of him - no, the absolutely fucking *gorgeous*** boy in front of him. This goddamn golden boy who was almost shaking in anticipation of Spike's touch. Who no doubt was not aware of how hard he was making Spike, nor of how hard he himself was. Because - and Spike had seen it before - all this boy cared about was the suckjob he was about to get. The boy thought it was good from those cheap, naive fledglings? Oh, Spike was going to give him something he would *never* forget!

"What's the magic word?" he asked, stroking himself through his jeans. Riley's eyes remained closed as he answered, his voice strained and husky with desire.

"Please, Spike. Please."

Spike sighed and put his arms around Riley, pulling the boy against him, warm human flesh quivering and burning against his own cold skin. He wrapped his legs around Riley's waist as he licked and nuzzled his way from Riley's earlobe to the hollow of his throat. Then Riley's whimper turned to a moan as Spike finally sank his fangs into a vein. Riley's entire body went rigid, and then yielded completely, almost as if he wanted to melt into the vampire; his arms pulled Spike tighter, one hand cupped against the back of Spike's head, stroking the short hair in rhythm with the sucking.

When he took the bite, Spike had half-expected the familiar pain from the damnable chip. But nothing came. Nothing but the too-long-denied gratification of warm, rich human blood flooding his mouth, coursing through him, waves of pleasure washing over him. A low, excited growl vibrated in his throat as he held the boy close, rocking them both to his rhythm. On the brink of delirium, Spike was aware of the importance of control, the need to keep his human face - because surely his demon face would set-off the chip. He shifted forward farther, to press his groin against Riley's. Even through their jeans, he could feel the heat coming off of Riley's rock hard cock. Briefly, he wished he had made them both strip down a little more before starting, but he wasn't willing to disengage from the embrace just yet. There would be time enough....

Riley wasn't aware of anything but the sucking. It had never been like this before! He didn't have to tell *this* one to do it harder. This time it wasn't ripples of pleasure, like with the other vamps he'd been with; this time he was awash, a tsunami sweeping over and through him...

Almost before they had really begun, Riley came. Harder than he ever had before in his young life. His mouth still against Riley, Spike laughed in delight and reached down to unzip the boy's jeans. But when he loosened his embrace, Riley staggered back, breaking it completely. His breathing ragged, Riley glanced down at himself, flushed with embarrassment, and then looked up at Spike as if seeing him for the first time since he'd had him against the wall. His hand went up to the torn punctures in his neck, from which blood still streamed. His eyes lingered on Spike's apparent erection before snapping up to the vampire's face.

"Riley," Spike said, holding out his hand in as gentle a manner as he was capable of. But Riley seemed to be in some sort of shock now. He shook his head, taking another step backwards.

"No. Stay away from me."

"Do you mean to tell me you never came with your lady vamps?"

Riley blushed furiously at the question. That wasn't the point!

Spike sat on the coffin, composed, hands in his lap. "It's okay, Riley." !Just come back over here, and I'll *make* it okay!~

"No," Riley shook his head and swallowed, averting his eyes. "It's not okay." ~And it will never be okay again.~ Without a backwards glance and pausing only to retrieve his jacket, he stumbled out into the night.

*****