The Games We Play

A Headache, The Hellfire, Handcuffs and A Phone Call

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The impotence curse worked too well.

Spike was certain of that as he sat trying to focus on anything but the incredible pain in head and the girl curled up on the sofa cradling a huge cushion while she ranted about how Xander no longer cared for her. With every anguished word that escaped Anya's mouth Spike was assaulted with the visual of ripping out her tongue to silence her, beating her to a bloody pulp and dumping her on Xander's doorstep. It was those very images his demon reveled in that caused him so much pain. The chip, in all its magnificent wonder, was fully operational and causing him absolute agony...hours upon unending hours of blinding torture.

"Shut up," he muttered ineffectively. Anya hadn't even heard him as she continued her tirade about Xander and his flaccid member. Just as she hadn't heard any of his previous protests or demands that she leave. No, she just sat there, clutching at the cushion, moaning that all men were evil, that being human sucked, and that Xander should be able to get it up.

Staring blankly at the floor, Spike wondered why. Why had he been so bloody eager for Willow to do the curse in the first place? Yeah sure, it was great when she'd agreed to doing the curse before she left for her afternoon lecture and it was equally great when Anya had shown up forty minutes later, bright red and in tears. It was all joy and happiness, he had a front row seat to someone else's suffering and trauma...then it had all gone horribly wrong. After ten minutes the joy had faded and the pain in his head had started, slowly increasing until hours later he sat in sheer agony, unable to move or even do more than mutter. Closing his eyes, he tried to think of something other than a long, gory and torturous death for the ex-demon sitting on the sofa. Through the pain, he was vaguely aware of a question being repeated.

"Do you find me attractive?" It had been the first thing Anya had screamed at him from the doorstep before pushing her way inside, taking over one of the massive blue sofa's in the downstairs entertainment area and sprouting the incredibly lurid details of Xander's impotence. It was really something that Spike wished she hadn't shared.

"Umm, well not personally. But that doesn't mean you aren't, it's just that I don't find you attractive...that's just me. I mean Xander definitely finds you attractive and I'm sure there are many, many people..."

Spike's eyes flew open at the sound of his savior's voice and filled with tears of pure relief as he launched himself at Willow. His arms tightened around her waist and he buried his face against her neck.

"Willow, make it stop," it was a hoarse and desperate whisper as he clung to her like a man drowning.

"Well then why can't he perform?" asked Anya, pouting and tightening her death grip on the cushion. "I mean, I know about these things."

"Things?" panic tinged Willow's voice as she pushed Spike away, causing him to drop to his knees, arms still tightly wrapped about her while she stared at Anya. The last thing she needed was an ex vengeance demon finding out that she'd put a curse on Xander as a joke.

"These things, men things, impotence things," Anya spat out, rolling her eyes at the very stupidity of Willow's question. Looking blankly at a spot beyond the couple she sniffled again. "He's healthy, he's young and yet...yet he fails to get an erection. What if it is me? What if he doesn't find me attractive anymore? I mean we were happily copulating. Okay, so it was missionary and I don't particularly enjoy that ~ Xander is far too heavy ~ but it was going well. I needed a little more so I just maneuvered us so I could be on top and said 'oh Xander' and bang! He went flat. Limp. Flaccid," she took in a deep shuddering breath. "It went down and nothing I did would make it work. And believe me, I tried anything and everything..."

"Not again," murmured Spike, banging his head lightly against Willow's stomach. "Reverse it, make her stop!"

"You know," Willow put a comforting hand on Spike's head, hoping he wouldn't say something they'd both regret. "It might be a bug."

"A bug?" Anya shot a repulsed and questioning look at Willow. She considered it for a moment, her nose wrinkling in disgust. "Like worms or something?"

"No, an illness, like the flu...which is going around at the moment. Those sort of things sometimes have surprising side effects," Willow offered, smiling reassuringly and shrugging. "Give it a few hours and he might be back to normal."

"The flu would make him impotent?" Anya asked skeptically. "He had syphilis and who knows what else and he could still manage to get an erection. How could the flu possibly make him flaccid?"

"No, she's right," stated Spike, the blinding pain in his head easing enough to let him stand and continue Willow's argument. "Those twenty-four hour things will definitely put a bloke off his stroke."

"Twenty-four hours?" Anya questioned, her voice filled with disappointment.

"Maybe..." Spike shrugged and frowned, grasping at anything that may get Anya out of the mansion. "Less."

"In fact a lot less," Willow offered. "You know, I bet he's at home right now, wondering what to do with it because you aren't there," as soon as she said it Willow grimaced at the very image her words conjured.

"No," Anya stated with a large sniff. "I can't go back. I'll just stay here."

"Well you can't," stated Spike, earning a look of surprise from both the girls. "We won't be here."

"Oh, oh," Willow stuttered, turning to Spike and entwining her hand with his. "That's right we have to...um, to...go...to..."

Silently, Spike cursed Willow's inability to supply a half decent escape from the mansion, so he offered the first thing he could think of. "Go to LA."

"LA?" Anya raised an eyebrow at the couple. "Why?"

"Well, you see...um," Willow paused again, squeezed Spike's hand and smiled widely at Anya. "You see it's..."

"The Hellfire," Spike interjected, suddenly liking the general direction the conversation was taking, his mind already putting forward several devious suggestions and possibilities.

"The Hellfire?" whispered Willow, glaring at the blond.

"You're going to The Hellfire?" once more Anya's voice was full of skepticism.

"Yeah," Spike grinned down at Willow and pulled her in close. "Remember, love? You said I could dress you and everything."

"I did, didn't I?" Willow forced a grin at him; she was going to turn him into a rat. Still, it was either let him dress her and make a hasty exit or have Anya as a guest for an unknown time. "I wonder how I could have possibly forgotten that?"

"Don't know," Spike purred in her ear before dropping his mouth down to nuzzle her neck. "Especially when I told you I was planning on that black leather mini and matching corset," he dragged his tongue back up to her ear and nipped the lobe.

"Fine, I can stay here by myself," sniffled Anya with no intentions of leaving the comfort of the blue sofa. She might as well not have spoken aloud for Spike had already dragged Willow to the stairs, hastily picking her up and taking them two at a time, his mind filled with visions of Willow and leather.

"I am not wearing that, Spike," Willow hissed as soon as they reached the safety of their room. Spike merely grinned and set her down on her feet, abandoning her to stalk over to the walk-in-closet to fetch the outfit. He'd bought it ages ago and had to admit that she rarely wore it for more than a few minutes at a time in the privacy of the mansion. Well parts of it anyway...

"You don't have a choice, love," Spike smirked and casually swaggered back to the bed, tossing down the clothes and dropping the knee-high lace up boots beside it. Rubbing his hands together, he walked towards the fuming redhead. "If you don't go down stairs wearing exactly what I said, demon girl will get suss."

"I think she already is suspicious," Willow huffed, glaring at the blond as he pulled her to him, his thumbs caressing her hips. "Why didn't you reverse the curse when she first became a pain?"

"I tried, pet," Spike began patiently. It was true, he'd dashed up to Willow's room intending to reverse the curse only to slam into the barrier that was growing each time she cast. Normally Spike wouldn't have minded, it was a comfort to think that should any vamps get into the mansion she'd be safe in her room if she stayed there, but the book was open and sitting in the middle of her casting circle. "You'd left the book in your room."

"Oh," mumbled Willow, giving him a sheepish grin. Sighing she ran her hands over his chest. "I'll have to write a note so you are always invited. Are we really going to the Hellfire?"

"Yep," Spike stated, slipping his hands beneath her shirt, pulling it up slightly.

"Why?"

"Special anniversary, love," he stated, quickly divesting her of the top.

"Really?" she frowned and bit her lip, dates were her thing and for the life of her she couldn't think of any anniversary. "I can't remember anything special happening."

"You wouldn't," Spike stated with a smirk. Narrowing her eyes, she slapped his hands away and stepped back.

"Then what's the anniversary?" she crossed her arms and Spike let out a chortle of laughter. Running his fingers through her hair he kissed her gently, letting his tongue distract her while he moved in closer. Breaking the kiss, he smiled and dragged his fingers down her neck, the tips lightly brushing across the scar on her neck from his bite.

"First time I wanked off at Giles thinking about you and that night at the Hellfire," he admitted, his hand sneaking down to work on the button of her skirt as he nipped at her neck.

"I don't know," Willow frowned, tilting her head and baring her neck even more. "If that's a sweet thing or if it's gross...no, it's gross."

"Doesn't matter," he growled softly, his eyes lighting up with mischief as he let her skirt drop, his hands moving to cup her ass, pulling her in hard against him. "Means we're going to LA, to the Hellfire and we are going to have fun."

It was close to midnight when the Desoto driver's door opened and Spike stepped out. Lighting up a cigarette, he glanced about the empty alleyway and wandered over to the passenger door. He'd parked in exactly the same spot as before only a few meters away from the back entry to the club. The main reason for the time delay had been the way Willow was dressed...it kept distracting Spike and that was generally before he had wrapped her up in leather. Or, Spike mused as he opened the passenger door and held out his hand, a vampire's wet dream.

"I'm not getting out." It was a protest that Willow had kept repeating all the way to LA. She'd sat next to him in the car, fidgeting and pulling at the tight leather outfit, desperately trying to stretch the unyielding material to cover more flesh. Of course it didn't work.

"Come on, love," Spike took her hand and pulled lightly, smirking at the total lack of resistance. Wrapping his arm about her waist, he slammed the door shut and started to lead her away. "You look as pretty as a picture."

"Yeah, if you happen to be browsing through a catalogue from 'Dominatrix~R~Us'," muttered Willow, still pulling at the binding leather. Beside her Spike grinned and gave her waist a squeeze, taking a drag on his cigarette.

"Stop fidgeting."

"I can't help it! If you haven't noticed I'm practically naked here," Willow turned to face him and hissed as she overbalanced in the high heel boots, grabbing at him to stop from falling over, although his hold on her waist ensured she was safe. "Stupid boots!"

"You aren't naked, there are parts of you covered..." Spike's gaze dropped down to the flesh that bulged over the top of the binding leather.

"Covered? Ha! I feel like I'm going to fall out of this thing," stated Willow following Spike's gaze and once more tugged uselessly at the leather. Spike frowned momentarily, shrugging as he firmly held her upper arms.

"Hang on then," smirked Spike and shook her, never taking his eyes off her breasts and making sure his cigarette didn't ash on her bare skin. "Nah, nothing worked loose...pity."

"Spike," Willow closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath...well, as deep as the corset would allow. "I don't want to go in there wearing this. I just, I don't like it. All those guys staring..."

That was the only thing Spike heard, the guys staring. It was the one thing in this grand scheme that he hadn't considered. If it had been a demon-only club not a problem, he'd beat the living shit out of them. However, this club also contained sleazy and intoxicated humans, with roving eyes and undoubtedly roving hands. And he was chipped.

"Fuck," swore Spike turning away to glance up the empty alleyway. It was natural for him to want to show Willow off, it was the 'nah, nah, look what I've got' factor that was found in most males. However, if some inebriated mortal decided to challenge him or make a pass at her, he could do nothing. Just sit back and watch. It was time to cover up the goods. Tossing the cigarette stub away, he shrugged off his duster and turned back to Willow, holding it open for her. "Any bastard lays a hand on you, knee him in the gonads."

"Gonads?" asked Willow as she settled into the duster, a triumphant smile gracing her lips briefly before she turned and wrapped her arms around the glowering blond's waist.

"You bloody well know what I mean," Spike snarled, his expression softening as he caught her big ingenuous eyes and pouty lips. "And none of that..."

"None of what?" asked Willow, struggling to keep the innocent expression on her face. With a soft giggle, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him. His hands wrapped about her upper arms and pushed her backwards, holding her upright as they moved together. She gasped as the Desoto stopped their movement and Spike tilted his head to the side, his eyes darkening.

"You," he growled, his thumbs caressing her arms through the leather duster as she lowered her head only to look up at him with wide eyes and sweet whisper of a smile on her lips. Her hands tangled in the front of the black silk shirt he wore over his t-shirt and she pulled him closer to her. "Are being a cock tease."

"No I'm not," she giggled against his lips, pulling back as he tried to kiss her. "I'm fully planning on following through...so how can I be a cock tease?"

A growl was the only answer she received as Spike lunged and caught her lips. Giggling, she opened her mouth, her tongue flicking out but being denied access. With another soft growl, Spike pulled back and Willow frowned. His hands released their hold on her only to sneak under the duster and encircle her waist. Smiling, he leant in and kissed her upper lip softly before dropping down to catch the lower pouty one. Only when she whimpered and snuck her hands under his shirt did he claim her mouth, caressing her tongue with his own until the whimpers became silky moans of pleasure. Laughing, he pulled away and caught one of her hands.

"Come on, pet," he said, leading her towards the club door. "Time for some fun."

"And you say I'm a tease," muttered Willow, totally missing the lascivious smirk on Spike's face.

The sole security guard at the back door let them in without question and Willow wrapped herself about Spike's arm as they wandered amongst the other patrons. Their entwined hands rested against the front her skirt and she pressed herself against his arm, her free hand firmly wrapped about the upper part as she watched the various acts and people over his shoulder. Although they were watching basically the same sadomasochistic acts as the last time, there was something decidedly different about the club. It was less crowded.

And that fact alone struck Spike as odd. Friday night and most of the patrons were human, giggling and high on any number of drugs and alcoholic beverages easily obtainable, both illegally and legally, from the bartenders. A few of the tables were empty and there was even a free pool table, something he had never seen during his various visits to the club. Still, there were dancers on the floor and security on the stairs leading up to the more exclusive part of the club. Shrugging it off as a quiet night, Spike led Willow through the maze of acts, from stage to stage until he grew tired of the monotony of it all. Squeezing her hand, he led her toward the stairs, morphing momentarily into the demon before the bouncers stood aside and let them through.

If downstairs was quiet, upstairs was as dead as a doornail. Frowning, Spike glanced about the shadowy area, apart from the stage act and the bar tender, the place was deserted. No other patrons, no club girls hanging in the shadows and he doubted it was because they were otherwise engaged. Depositing Willow in the corner of a leather couch, Spike wandered over to the bar and ordered drinks. He couldn't help but smirk as the club performer approached Willow. It was the same wanker as last time, stereotypical blond gorgeous male wrapped up in leather and a smile that would probably glow in the dark. Willow's reaction was mildly amusing, she crossed her legs, pulled the duster tight about her, crossing her arms in the process, and shrank down in the corner of the couch, her face nearly as red as her hair. Spike's smirk grew as her resolve face fell into place and she shook her head at whatever proposition the guy was putting forward. No doubt it involved the usual Hellfire crap about pleasure and pain, 'can I tie you up and whip you into a frenzy?' stuff.

Picking up the drinks Spike sauntered over to the pair and sat down. There was no way in hell that he was going to let anyone do that now ~ if he couldn't do it to her, then nobody could. With casual ease, he handed one drink to Willow and scooped her legs up, draping them over his thigh to rest between his spread legs. Caressing her knee with his fingers he sipped his drink and turned his attention to the hovering performer.

"Piss off," snarled Spike, a look of pure malevolence gracing his features. Without a word, the toothpaste ad turned around, walked back to the small stage and proceeded with his act.

"Thanks," whispered Willow, bending one leg back under her to sit slightly higher and closer. With a satisfied sigh, she snuck an arm about his neck and rested her head against his shoulder to watch the performance. It was nothing special, a girl tied spread eagle to the A frame, wearing a costume of tiny leather shorts and thigh high leather boots. She was being 'tortured' with hot wax, she moaned and fought against her bonds. "If he's hurting her, why doesn't she just say her safety word to make him stop?"

"They're just playing, love," Spike murmured, dropping a kiss on her forehead. "He's not hurting her."

"How can you say that? It's hot wax, it's gotta hurt," Willow stated.

"Watch him. See how high he's holding the candle? By the time the wax hits her skin it's cooled, won't even leave a mark. It's all an act, her struggling, it's what they're paid for," he could tell she didn't believe him even before she lifted her head to give him a skeptical look. "Really look at her, Willow. Can you see any marks on her back?"

She watched carefully, through the wavering light of various candles that surrounded the two. The candle was abandoned and the wax peeled from the girls back, accompanied by her moans. There was no burn marks, no redness, just pale healthy skin. The moans turned to wails as a handful of ice was applied, rubbed over the flesh and dropped down into the waistband of her shorts. Willow winced as the guy turned and selected a small whip from the supplies neatly hung from a stage horse. Even as he swung it forward, cracking it against the bare pale back, Willow could only watch, fascinated.

"Now that's got to hurt," she whispered, her fingers idly caressing Spike's hair.

"There's no force behind the blow, the leather's cracking against itself, not the skin," Spike patiently explained, leaning back into her caress, his eyes fixed on the stage. "Because he iced her up, her back's numb ~ probably wouldn't be more than a tickle."

"Really?"

"You've just got to know the tricks of the trade, love," Spike stated. "They're a couple, he's not going to really hurt her unless she wants it."

"Oh," said Willow, watching his face as he scrutinized the performance. Smiling, she glanced back at the whipping then turned back to the blond she was draped across. Licking the curve of his ear she let her hand drop down lower, suppressing a giggle as the muscles tightened under her fingers and he grunted slightly. "Spike?"

"Mmm?"

"Would you do it?" she whispered in his ear. "Be whipped, I mean."

"Nah, love. Not my scene," he replied flatly. There was no way in hell that he was going to let some little Hellfire prick pansy-ass around him. Of course he had no idea that he was in hell and the girl wrapped about him was the sovereign.

"Not even for me?"

As soon as he heard the pout in her voice he knew he should've kept his eyes fixed on the act and pooh-pahed the idea. Hindsight's a bitch. Of course he didn't and he was caught in the green depths, filled with curiosity and a hint of lust.

"Oh bloody hell," he swore, rolling his eyes. Then she went in for the kill, her booted calf rubbed against his groin and her hand twisted in the front on his shirt. With a soft grunt, he grabbed the booted leg, tightening the contact.

"Please," she pouted at him and he knew he was doomed.

Spike had to turn away, look about the club, if he'd kept contact with her eyes and sulky pout he would've been begging to be whipped. There was no doubt in his mind that he was going to say no, even though the place was empty, no demons, no one who knew him, he couldn't get up and submit to some pretty-boy mortal. Then he looked back at Willow and he was lost. Swearing to himself, he disentangled their limbs and stood up, walking over to the small stage and attracting the toothpaste ad's attention. They spoke briefly before he returned to his leather nymph, who was grinning wider than the Cheshire cat, her hands clasped together under her chin. Casually, he leant across and traced the lines of her face, his fingers momentarily caressing her lips and he closed his eyes in pleasure as she sucked on the tip of his index finger. Dragging his fingers away, he bent and caught her lips, teasing them open with his tongue and leaving their softness to explore her warm mouth. Their tongues tangled and hands roamed eagerly over flesh. Reluctantly, Spike broke the kiss, his lips dragging across her jaw line, following it up to her ear.

"You have no idea what you've asked of me, pet," he murmured, nipping the fleshy lobe as he stood up and turned back to the stage. The female performer was nowhere to be seen and heavy chains replaced the soft silken cords. Shaking his head, Spike walked up the few steps and stripped off his shirts. He was going to blame it all on the chip, he wasn't doing this just because his girl had turned big puppy dog eyes on him...hell no, it had to be the chip, it was affecting his brain. Growling, he spread himself out on the A frame, biting the flesh of his cheek harder as each of his limbs were chained down. When the performer started on with the usual safety word crap, Spike rolled his eyes.

"Just get on with it, wanker," he snarled, twisting his head slightly. The first blow was nothing, just a light lash of leather accompanied by a gasp from Willow. Shaking his head, Spike smirked to himself ~ bloody paid club professionals, they were all hopeless. "Come on, mate! Put your back into it."

He wasn't expecting that the damn blond actually had any strength, so the quick cuts that followed were a surprise. They were hard and fast, the long flayed lengths of leather curling about his back and torso, cutting deep into the exposed flesh, and Spike tangled his hands in the confining chains. The blows continued and as the smell of his own blood assaulted him, the demon screamed in condemnation and anger, wanting nothing more than death of the insolent mortal that was thrashing him. However, outwardly he was silent, the only signs of distress at his subordinate position was his eyes staring blindly at an invisible spot in the dark shadows and the tightening of his hold on the chains.

"Stop," it was a demand filled with pain and anger as Willow grabbed the performers arm before he could strike again. Hauling the bloodied whip from his hand she tossed it away, her face pale as she addressed the young guy. "You can go."

Spike tilted his head, his body was tense, primed for a fight, the demon struggling for dominance after having been put in such a position. He could hear her voice, wavering higher than normal, angry and confused. Worse than that was the prickling of his skin as she moved closer, the warmth of her body rolling over him like waves, the gashes on his back throbbing in time to the pounding of her heart, a persistent reminder that the blood in her veins would make everything better. Then her fingers dragged over the lashes and he shivered.

"Willow..." he growled, deep and guttural, his fingers twisting in the chains. "Don't."

"You're bleeding," she stated, her fingers staining with the dark blood as she continued to caress the wounds, stepping in close behind him.

Spike shuddered as her breath brushed across his back, the heat of it like a fire against his skin, the torn flesh tingling under her touch. Moaning, his eyelids fluttered and he bit into the flesh of his cheek, drawing blood as one of her hands reached around to stroke his chest. Her mouth pressed against one of the deeper cuts on his shoulder and her tongue caressed the weeping welt. Closing his eyes, he growled as she leant her leather bound form against him, her hand dropping down from his chest to stroke his cock through the denim of his jeans. Her mouth wandered, following the lash marks on his back, her tongue teasing and caressing.

The growl was constant, a rumbling that never stopped, even as she swung under his bound arm and nipped at the column of his throat, kissing her way down to his chest. Dragging her tongue from one nipple to the other, she bit the flesh above his dead heart hard and dropped down to her knees. The leather duster fanned out around her and for the first time she looked up at his face. Gold eyes stared at her, animalistic and ravenous. Without breaking the gaze, she mouthed at his hard denim covered cock. The growl increased in sound and the ridges of his demon formed. Painstakingly slowly, she pulled at the button, popping it free, and lowered his fly. Pushing and pulling the material away she pulled his cock free and licked her lips, smiling as the growl momentarily turned into a snarl.

As her mouth closed around the tip of his aching cock, Spike involuntarily arched his back, thrusting forward into her hot mouth and throwing his head back, his growl deepening. The chains were the only thing supporting him, cutting into his wrists and fingers as Willow wrapped one hand about the base of his cock, the other moving to massage his balls. Using her tongue, she teased the hard flesh as she started a rhythm, moving up and down on his cock, sucking hard with every upward stroke. It was her fingers that were his undoing, abandoning his balls to slip back and press rhythmically against the sensitive area between his thighs. With a deep thrust of his hips, he slammed into her mouth, roaring as he came.

Then her mouth was on his, her tongue, so talented and warm, delved into his mouth, catching on fangs. Whimpering, he sucked greedily, desperately wanting everything she offered. He followed her mouth as she pulled back, breaking the kiss when the chains halted his movement, and the growling returned.

"Spike," Willow whispered, her fingers caressing the ridges of his demon countenance briefly before she stepped back from him and smiled. "Fuck me."

Spike stared at her, the growling and demon retreating in confusion, as she turned and walked away.

"Willow?" he called out, struggling as he received no reply except for the sound of her footsteps on the stairs. "Fuck it all to hell."

Snarling, he yanked at the chains that held him and the links, weakened from his excessive twisting, popped open, setting him free. Reaching down, he freed his ankles and stepped away from the frame, not even noticing how warped it had become from his struggles. Tucking himself away and partially pulling the fly up on his jeans, he grabbed his shirts, haphazardly putting them on as he headed for the stairs. Of course she wasn't anywhere in the club, not that he was expecting her to be. Bursting through the backdoor and spilling out into the alleyway, he spun to locate the Desoto.

There, sitting on the roof of the car, his duster pulled away to expose her leather garments, was Willow. She was leaning back, her legs crossed, one foot idly swinging in a bored fashion. Silently, she watched as he made his way down the alleyway, slow and deliberate, his eyes fixed on her. With his usual cat like grace he leapt onto the bonnet and with a purely lascivious smile, Willow uncrossed her legs, spreading them slightly. It was all the invitation Spike needed.

His fingers curled about the exposed flesh of her knees and yanked her legs apart, spreading them wider. Holding her gaze, he dragged her forward, dropping one leg to free his hand so he could pull down the zipper on his jeans. His cock was hard, the joys of being a vampire, and really didn't need the few quick pumps he administered before guiding it between her legs, his fingers shoving her soaked flimsy lace thong aside as he pushed into her slightly. Holding that precarious position, his fingers moved up and dragged over her clit, making her gasp and press forward, taking him deeper. Abandoning her clit, his hand moved back to clasp her knee and with a hard and savage thrust he sheaved himself in her depths, rolling his eyes in pleasure. Slowly, he pulled back, gritting his teeth as her muscles clamped down around his withdrawing cock, trying to keep him in her, and repeated the deep thrust. This time it was Willow who rolled her eyes, her hands leaving the roof to grab at his arms and her claves hooking about his thighs.

"Harder," she whimpered, throwing her head back and exposing her neck.

Releasing her knees, Spike grabbed her hips using the leverage to pull her to him, impaling her harder on his aching cock. Grinning at the sweet sound of pleasure she made, he leant over and claimed her mouth, demanding and gaining a response to match the brutal display of affection she had instigated. Time and time again he repeated the strokes, between hard and fervent kisses, until she was screaming, her hair sweat dampened, her skin glowing in the dark. Then her high heels dug into the back of his knees and her delicate fingers became nothing less than claws on his wounded back as she arched against him, her muscles contracting around his cock and her head rolled back on the roof of the car. Spike lifted off her still writhing body and continued to thrust hard and deep, watching her face as she quickly climbed towards another orgasm. A few more thrusts and he'd be there.

Or then again, maybe not.

"Okay, that's enough," a voice rang out from behind them.

"Sod off, we're busy," hissed Spike, still thrusting away. Unfortunately the voice was enough to bring Willow out of her lust driven haze and she glanced at the source of the voice. Her eyes widened, her face paled and then turned bright as she tried to push Spike away.

"I said that's enough, pal," the voice demanded again.

Spike stopped, rolled his eyes and shook his head. Carefully, he pulled out of Willow, tucking his painful cock into his jeans, while she scrambled to pull the duster about her. Once he was happy that she was safely covered from the prying eyes of the pervert, he slowly turned about.

"Fucking cops, great," muttered Spike, glaring down at the two young guys in uniform. "Why don't you two fuck off?"

"Spike," whispered Willow, reaching out to touch the small of his back, trying to get him to calm down.

"Get off the car, sir," ordered one, trying to keep a calm façade under the constant death stare and fighting stance of the blond.

"What the fuck do you want?" Spike snarled, with no intention of complying.

"Sir, get down off the car," the request was made again in a more authoritive tone.

"Make me," Spike challenged.

Willow reached out again, catching his attention and he turned slightly to see if she was okay. That was his mistake. One of the cops kneecapped him with their baton and Willow screamed as he collapsed, swearing fit to kill, and was physically dragged off the bonnet. Of course instinct kicked in and Spike landed one solid punch before the chip activated and he screamed in agony. The baton, which had been so successfully applied to his kneecaps, was brandished with a well-practiced flare and collided with his temple, adding to the agony of the chip and sending him sprawling to the ground.

"Hey!" screamed Willow, as the cop who had been hit, booted Spike in the ribs, halting the blond's attempts to rise. She watched, horrified as both the officers started to apply their own methods of restraint by beating Spike senseless. Without thinking, she scrambled to the edge of the car, and stumbled in the boots. Careening over the edge, she landed awkwardly, one of her knees taking the full force of her fall, skidding across the road surface and she screamed in pain. Before she could even establish what damage she had done, she found herself forced face down on the ground, her hands roughly pulled back and the sickening sensation of handcuffs being utilized. The cold, hard metal cut into her wrists as she was jerked to her feet and dragged away.

In a blur of lights, sound and pain Willow found herself locked away in a communal cell that was packed and practically overflowing. There were a few things that concerned her at the moment. It was no great comfort to her that the correct police procedure hadn't been followed, she'd not been searched or asked for details, just shoved in with the other female degenerates. Chances were if they hadn't searched her then they hadn't searched any of the others in the cell and god only knows what they had been arrested for. Her main concern, though, was Spike. He'd only been semi conscious by the time they'd gotten back to the station, blood pouring from a large split on his temple, and they'd dragged him away so she had no idea where he was. Which only fuelled her concern about the threat of sunrise, barely a few hours away. Glancing once more about the crowded cell, she did the only thing she was certain would get an officer's attention.

She started screaming hysterically, sprouting every single argument she had ever learnt or read about in regards to the rights of a prisoner. It worked. Within five minutes she was standing in a tiny grubby area near the cells. Biting her bottom lip, she brought the handset of the phone up to her ear and dialed the only LA number she knew.

"Hi, Angel...it's me...Willow."

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