Sore
by Angela

Buffy was surprised at the number of vamps out and about that night. She had taken care of two behind the Bronze and another that tried to pick a fight with her on a dimly lit street. Now she made her way towards the cemetery, wanting to kill even more. Deep within the recesses of her subconscious, she knew that Spike was right�she got off on it.

She arrived at the cemetery just in time to admire Spike�s skill in dusting a pesky vamp. She was startled when he spoke before even turning to see her. �Looks like you�re late for work,� he smirked.

The Slayer was perplexed. �I�ve been working all night,� she protested. �It�s not like I�d let you have all the fun.� She paused. �How�d you know it was me?�

Lighting up a cigarette, he took a drag before shrugging, �Smelled you coming.�

�You smelled me?� she asked, not knowing quite how to take the comment.

�Well, yeah,� he said. �You know, the whole vampire senses bit.�

�Well � uh, what do I smell like?� she wondered out loud, trying to sound casual but actually quite curious about it.

He came closer to her now, looking her over. �Let�s see�a little bit of leather,� he gestured to her pants, �some kind of floral soap and unscented deodorant��

�Unscented?� she called at the small oxymoron.

He continued, only smiling at her comment. �A little bit of fabric softener, some kind of girly perfume maybe, and�� he pulled her to him now, wrapping one arm around her waist and entwining the fingers of his other hand in her hair, which he now sniffed, �lilacs.�

Buffy�s breath caught from his touch, and she was acutely aware of the gentleness with which he was touching her. It was too tender; too romantic. She was not his lover, she thought distantly. Though that was certainly not something beyond the reaches of her imagination. He removed his hand from her hair now, and ran his fingers slowly down her neck. He did not say it, but she knew what he was thinking of�the one scent he had not included in his description of her: blood.

He lowered his mouth to her neck now, and she almost expected to feel his fangs piercing her flesh, but it was only a kiss, delicate and sweet. He moved to her lips now, kissing her more eagerly, and she damned herself for responding to his touch with the same fervor. They had both been killing, she thought to herself, the only excuse she could come up with for their actions. Killing was invigorating, and they were both desperate to work off the energy.

Spike tensed now and pulled away, and she opened her eyes to see a vampire standing behind him and at least three in her line of vision. Now her heart beat wildly as she realized that the vamp behind Spike had put a stake into his shoulder, barely missing his heart. The said vampire moved to strike again, but Buffy shoved Spike to the ground before any more damage was done to him. Now she found herself as the stake�s victim; it pierced her flesh just above her left breast. Not even paying attention to the pain, she grabbed her own stake and made quick work of the vamp that had hurt both her and Spike, who was now struggling with the others. In a painful blur they were all dust, and she collapsed to the ground, confused and injured.

Spike rushed to her side. �Are you alright love?� he asked, genuine concern in his voice and his eyes.

Buffy nodded as he helped her to her feet. �I guess you really do get what you pay for, don�t you?� she asked.

Spike examined her bloody shirt carefully. �Guess we got a little carried away there,� he almost smiled. Perhaps he would have blushed if his skin had the color to do so.

They made their way to the Summer�s home, and upon reaching it, hastily removed their shoes as they ascended the stairs to Buffy�s room. Buffy collapsed onto her bed as Spike searched the bathroom for medical supplies. Upon their retrieval, he too joined Buffy on her bed, and despite their wounds, both were extremely aware of the fact that they were in bed together and had begun something in the graveyard that they were beyond eager to finish. Breaking the silence, Buffy offered to tend to Spike�s wound, but he insisted that he treat her first. After all, she was only mortal. His injury was but a scratch compared to hers, for his posed no real threat to his health where as hers could become quite serious.

She removed her shirt for him and laid herself back onto the bed. Studying Spike�s expression intently, she was aroused to see the hunger in his eyes, and wished desperately that she was not hurt and that she had not removed her shirt so that he could inspect a bloody hole. Carefully he positioned himself on top of her now, trying to keep minimal contact but hardly succeeding. He knew what she wanted, and it was not medical attention.

He made quick work of dressing her wound, trying his damnedest to keep his hands from her breasts that he so longed to caress. The sooner he got off her, the better. He was frantic to break the contact before he could no longer restrain himself.

Finally finishing with her, it was his turn now. Warily he removed his shirt, and wondered wildly why Buffy had not donned her shirt again. Good God, she was straddling him now. What was she trying to do, seduce him? Not that he needed seducing. A simple �I want you� would have been more than enough for him to eagerly shag her until the cows came home. Now she looked carefully at a chest wound, a battle scar that she had not seen him receive. It must have happened while he was struggling with the vamps, and she regretted that she had not done a better job of protecting him. As she looked him over, Spike swore that she was touching more than she needed to.

�Spike,� she said, trying to hide the emotion in her voice. �You�re really lucky. This is a little to close to your heart for comfort. �

�Yeah right,� he said, trying to remain cool and calm. �They weren�t any match for me.�

�Maybe not,� she said, �but you should really be more careful.�

�Hmm, look who�s talking,� he scoffed, reaching up to touch her wound. Big mistake. Never touch the girl when you�re already fighting off the urge to shag her rotten, he thought to himself. He snaked his arm around her back now, pulling her down to him so that her body was flush with his.

�Spike�� she whispered breathlessly, as he ravaged her body with kisses. She hated herself for wanting him and for wanting this. It was wrong. It had to be. But it didn�t feel wrong. It felt wonderful. Somewhere inside her, the adage kept repeating: If it feels good, do it. She had never believed it before. Such a saying was merely an excuse for the weak-willed. But as he showered her with kisses and let his hands roam over her body, she wanted desperately to believe it.

With almost impossible self-control, she removed herself from his arms and got up from the bed. Dizzy with desire, loss of blood, and the nagging voice that told she should pry herself away from this situation, she tried to reach the door, her exit and escape, but found herself on the floor instead, vaguely aware of the fact that she had pulled some of the covers off her bed with her and that Spike was at her side now, asking if she was alright. Again she tried to move, this time finding herself closer towards her goal of reaching the door. If only she could exit the room, she would be alright, she was sure.

She managed to stand, but only found herself hugging the wall, still within the confines of her bedroom. Suddenly Spike�s hands were on her waist again, and he had turned her to face him. He was saying something, but his words did not register because her head was echoing another phrase now. Resistance is futile. What was that from? A movie, she thought. It was fruitless to attempt escape. And now she realized that she did not want to escape. Screw the voice that said it was wrong. If it were wrong, it would feel wrong.

So she surprised him now, kissing him fiercely, and clawing frantically at his pants. Before he even realized what was happening, they had hit the floor, and, almost unconsciously, he stepped out of them.

�Buffy, what are you doing?� he asked in pure disbelief, and then kicked himself for asking dumb questions. Who the hell cared what she was doing? If it involved the removal of their pants, it couldn�t be bad.

�I want you, Spike,� came her smothered answer, and he absorbed the words that he had ached to hear since he first laid eyes on her.

As if it were his cue, the vampire practically tore her remaining attire from her body and picked her up off the ground, her legs wrapping around him naturally, almost instinctively. With an extraordinary force that represented only a fraction of his complete power, he slammed her against the wall, a part of her now, not just physically, but on some deeper plane. Whether she liked it or not, this was something that she would never be able to erase from her mind, he was sure of that. The wall creaked against the strain, crying out in protest against the abuse, much as Buffy did. But he held nothing back for her. He�d always refused to use kid gloves with her, and now was certainly no time to be gentle. He wanted to make her sore.

Buffy thought she might cry from the raw force of his motions, but she did not wish for it to stop. She understood somehow that his intent was not really to hurt her � that though in some sick way he liked to torture her, to abuse her mercilessly, that this was different. His was not an angry force. It was one of true and simple rapture, something that she had never truly known. This was real passion. Passion in a way that she had never experienced it. It was not pretty and tender. It was raw and hard, insanely fierce, yet strangely loving in its severity. For the first time, the Slayer felt really and truly adored. Loved completely by someone who was not afraid to give himself fully to her, holding nothing back.

They came together with a wild, delicious force, almost impossible to describe or imagine. So this was what it was like when you broke down fences and tore down walls. It was something that neither had ever experienced. Everything bled together, sensations and emotions blurred into a wanton mirage of color and feeling. In a strange way it was both frightening and inviting, a virgin journey into uncharted waters. Really, that was all their relationship was � an expedition to some gray country, one that both were at the same time reluctant and eager to embark on.

The two collapsed in a wet, exhausted heap onto the bed. She snuggled against him, and he held her close, almost protectively. He�s afraid of loosing me, she thought, and realized that the feeling was mutual. There was no awkward talk of how much the other enjoyed the experience � that much was obvious. The intensity of the experience made it glaringly obvious that both had been swept away with the power of it.

He studied her intently now, wanting to memorize her every curve, not knowing when he would ever see her like this again, though he felt sure that they would both come running back for more sooner or later. Once you started, you could never stop � but he didn�t want to. All he wanted was Buffy.

Vaguely as she dozed off to sleep, she realized that they had done it standing up�neither one completely in control, just as it had always been. Yes, dancing was all they had ever done � as much as she hated it, he had power over her, and that knowledge was invigorating and frightening at the same time. He had taken her as his equal, and for once in her life she was not the ultimate authority, yet she didn�t care. Two equal halves that came together made something larger, something more significant and beautiful than either could imagine by themselves. And for the first time in her life, Buffy Summers was finally whole.

The End

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