Almost Final Fantasy
Disclaimer: Now lets think logically about this: if I actually owned these characters, I would be exploiting them to their 
full use, not pining away for want of Whedon's initiative.
Author's notes: I am a new convert to the Spike/Buffy fan club. *pauses to bow* Thank you, and it's great to be here. 
I said new, and I mean it, like, this week. I was figuratively rocked back on my heels (and literally on the couch) when I 
saw that evil little fantasy of Spike's (Out of my Mind). And I wanted more. So my twisted mind came up with this to occupy 
it until next week. Forgive me if I did not get the dialogue right; I only saw it once, and was listening through a cheer 
squad that was practicing in the room at the same time. I welcome corrections! That said, let's get on with it already! Oh, 
and rated NC-17, in case it wasn't obvious.

        The door to the crypt smashed open, and Buffy stalked through the battered frame. 	
        "I should have known it was you," Spike commented, rising from his beat up armchair and turning from the beat-up 
television that was sending flickers of static across the screen. "It's been six hours." 
        She sneered. "Well, it would've been less if I wasn't busy cleaning up your mess."
	"My mess? I just borrowed the doc. The mess is yours, Slayer. Yours and the boy's."
	Buffy pulled a stake from behind her waistband and marched up to stand barely three inches from him, her close 
proximity forcing her to tilt her head back to look him in the eye. "I'm done. Spike. You're a killer. And I'm going to do 
something I should have done years ago." Her fingers tightened around the stake she held in her hand.
	A tense silence. "You know what? Just bloody do it," Spike spat.
	Buffy blinked. "What?"
	"End ... my ... torment. Seeing you, every day, everywhere I go, every time I turn around. Take me ... out of a 
world ... that has you in it!" Spike got out through clenched teeth. "Just kill me!" He tore his black t-shirt off, exposing 
his pale, sculptured chest. With his shirt off, his chest seemed bigger somehow, like the black fabric had pulled him into 
the background so much as to hide his beautiful physique.
	Buffy's eyes ran quickly down and back up his torso as Spike stepped towards her, offering his chest to the hungry 
wood she held. She moved, and Spike flinched, but she halted, the point a bare inch from his flesh. He dragged in air, and 
his jaw clenched before he grabbed Buffy. He yanked her to him, forced his mouth upon hers, as if mere physical contact 
could meld the two of them. He rolled his head frantically, kissing her as if he were a starving man and she a feast.
	She broke away and stumbled back a step, eyes wide in shock and disbelief, her hand covering her mouth, fingers 
testing the sensations Spike's touch had aroused. He saw her eyes darken, and prepared to be dusted. 
        To his incredulity, she reached out, grabbed the back of his head and forced it back upon hers, kissing him with 
just as much pent-up passion as he had kissed her. She broke to breathe, but grabbed his bare arms to keep him to her. As 
if he would have left. Holy water, crosses and the threat of dawn couldn't have kept him from moving down her throat, 
open-mouthed and hungry for her taste. "Spike, I want you," Buffy whispered.
	"Buffy," he moaned, "I love you. God, I love you so much."
	Buffy moaned as his teeth scraped over the juncture of her shoulder and neck then shoved Spike back. He fell back, 
a sinking feeling gathering; sure he had pushed the Slayer too far this time. But she pursued his backwards track, causing 
him to stagger away, knocking his television to the floor with a crash as the screen shattered. But then Buffy was shoving 
him against the wall, her hands grasping and kneading his shoulders, lips entangled with his. Spike worried her bottom lip 
between his teeth, before pushing her away and looking Buffy in the eye. "You made me break my new telly," he growled. 
	She glanced back over her shoulder to regard the mess of exposed wires, cathodes and glass that was all that was 
left of Spike's companion. "Sorry," she offered dazedly, her attention already back on his mouth as she let herself fall 
toward him.
	Spike groaned, but pushed her away again. Grasping her head in his hands, he stroked her hair down and back until 
her was cradling the back of her neck. "Oh, you're going to be more than sorry, pet," he said roughly.
	"Promise?" Buffy licked her lips expectantly.
	Spike paused. "Luv-"
	"Hmmm?" Buffy's focus was on the beautiful face in front of her.
	"What's happening here?"
	"You mean it's not obvious? Guess I'll have to do better then," straining for his lips as she murmured. 
	Spike held her back. "Seriously, Slayer."
	Buffy sighed and pouted. "Spike. You have a thing. I have a thing, though of a different kind. We can work out our 
things together, or go without and throw off more heat than an Arizona desert highway on a cloudless day, thereby annoying 
my friends, distracting my Watcher, and making me frustrated enough to maybe fail at kicking some undead butt..."
	Spike silenced her with a hasty kiss. "No, Buffy. Not you. Never you. I've known Slayers, and you are the best."
	She grimaced. "You make it sound like a career choice.  Slayer 101 applications this way."
	He pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her, trying to imprint her on his preserved flesh as if to carry 
her with him. Something inside howled when he contemplated her death, protesting the inevitably short life span of the 
Slayer. He tightened his grip possessively. He wouldn't her die. Not on his time, not in his lifetime. She protested and 
wiggled until he loosened his grasp. She rested her head on his shoulder and distractedly brought her hand up to smooth 
down his ribs. "So what now?" she whispered.
	Spike growled and brought his lips to her forehead, her cheek, her chin before trailing down to her throat. Buffy 
stiffened and Spike froze in awareness of what he was doing and just whom he was doing it to.
	"It's all right, Slayer," he murmured against her warm and vulnerable flesh. "Just trust me. If only for now. 
Please trust me." He kept talking, soothing her with soft kisses along her collarbone, pleading, "Buffy, trust me, trust me."
	He felt her shake a little, obviously fighting off her heightened senses demanding she remove herself from this 
threat (him), and then dust it into next week. Klaxons must be going off in her head, he thought. Then she sighed, gave a 
little shake, and relaxed in his arms, even bringing a hand up to tentatively stroke his hair.
	Spike thrilled at this, and rewarded her with more soft kisses, playful and light, not letting her think for a 
second about the fact of what he was and what damage he could do to that pretty neck of hers. Spike held on to his Vampiric 
visage easily, as he had no wish to inflict blinding pain on himself at the thought of sinking into her ambrosial blood.
	Buffy endured this teasing for a time, then hauled Spike's head up to look him in the eye. "Are we gonna move any 
faster than this?" 
        Spike grinned. She was whining.
	In answer, he jerked her hips to his, grinding against her as he worshiped her mouth. Those shimmery, kissably 
moist lips were pressed against him now, those arms that delivered so strong a punch wrapped around his waist, her strong 
Slayer muscles effectively trapping him.
	He wanted more. And he wanted it now. He pulled back, panting, just far enough for him to stroke a hand down over 
her chest and abdomen. Buffy's head fell back, pushing into the fleeting caress. Her eyes met his briefly, then he was 
lifting the shirt up and off her, skimming her arms on the way. She closed her eyes and smiled at the tickling caress, 
Spike's hungry attention soaking up that detail and storing it for later use. But then it was all he could do to stand 
slack-jawed as his eyes fell to her chest. While he had been around long enough to experience everything from the nearly 
breast-baring styles of the late 1800s, to the no bra/ no shirt/no problem days of Woodstock, he had never seen anything as 
erotic as Buffy in peach satin half-cups that lovingly molded to her curves. 
	Spike hauled Buffy up into his arms, making her start and gasp. "Wha-?" she started, but never got to finish, 
because she was dropped into the armchair, her legs forced open to make room so Spike could kneel between them and let his 
mouth fall on that skin a scant shade darker than the cloth covering her.
	"Oh, God, Spike!" She squirmed as he licked a cool trail across the tops of her left breast, down into the shadow 
between, and back up over the right breast. Then he switched directions. And again. Buffy's hands grasped at his head, but 
he anticipated her move and caught her wrists, watching her struggle in his grasp.
        "Now, now, love," he chortled, "it's not nice to interrupt." And slowly, gazing into her eyes, he pushed her arms 
back and laced her fingers behind her neck, the new position arching her up, thrusting her tightening nipples against the 
thin cloth. Spike bent his head again, Buffy's moan in his ears, knowing the delicious torment he was about to visit on her.
	He breathed her in. Vampiric senses being what they were, he could smell the vanilla perfume she wore combined with 
the scent that was just hers, a result of her sweat, her skin, and - he breathed in again and growled against her. Yes. Her 
arousal. He nipped at the inner curve of her breast, then soothed his tongue over the spot. Buffy's breathing was loud in 
his ears, rising in volume and intensity as he pushed the fabric away and nuzzled her softness.
	A warm surge rushed though Buffy's body, starting where Spike was suckling her breast and ending in her hot center. 
It was a web of sensation, winding over and around her body, making her tingle. She wriggled against him, bringing her arms 
down to cradle his head. He pulled on her tight nipple, lashes slowly rising so he could watch her face. She was panting as 
she watched him right back, her eyes glittering and glazed.
	Spike whispered against her. "God, but you're gorgeous, pet." He flipped open the front clasp of her bra, pulling 
her to him so he could brush it off her arms. 
        She clung to him, pressing her hot breasts to his cooler chest, seeking his mouth. "Kiss me, Spike."
	He complied, kissing her with an aching passion, slow and hot, until she couldn't breathe, but she didn't care, 
all that mattered was that Spike never stop. When she finally had to let go, she rested her forehead against her and 
listened to the pounding of her heart. Spike's hands were on her waist, his thumbs stroking back and forth, just on this 
side of ticklish. The pleasure was so great it was making her vibrate. No, Spike was. Spike was shaking.
	She leaned back, putting a hand under his chin to lift his gaze to hers. Yes, he was shaking. "Spike?" she asked, 
letting her confusion color her voice.
	He gave a small smile. "Just too unbelievable, Slayer," he replied. "I watched you, I've fought you, I've hated 
you. And I've wanted you until I thought if I couldn't touch you I'd die. Of course," he admitted, " the touching consisted 
of me getting my arse kicked."
	"Come on." Buffy tossed her hair and draped her arms about his neck. "You wouldn't have liked it if I let you win."
	A blond eyebrow went up. "Let me win? Oh, Slayer, that's the second naughty thing you've done tonight."
	"So what happens when I get to three? I'm out?" She smiled.
	"No." He rose and crushed her against him, loving her gasp when her overheated breasts hit his cold chest. "Then 
you're in. And you're mine."
	A secretive smile crossed her lips and Buffy's eyes drifted closed. When she opened them, the green of her irises 
flared with need. "Show me."
	Spike's head dipped and he attached his mouth to hers, bending to scoop her into his arms, and turning to sit down 
in the chair she had just vacated. He pulled her into his lap and toyed with her belly. She squirmed against him. "That 
tickles," she mumbled into his mouth.
	He grunted, too distracted with kissing her to bother with articulation. He could spend the next century just 
kissing her, and still not get enough. He nipped her lips, ran his tongue along her palate, and stroked her tongue with his 
own. But Buffy was tiring of this.
	She gave a little moan and pulled back for some air. She was heaving in his arms, and Spike's attention was drawn 
back down to her breasts. He yanked, and she fell across his lap, draped over the chair.
	Buffy half-laughed, half-moaned when Spike bent to her breasts again. His kisses alone had her wild, but this 
attention...she yelped as he bit carefully into the soft swells, grabbing his head and sighing dreamily. This was really 
good.  This was feeling incredibly good. But she was going mad.
	She tried pulling in his head, but he only growled against her and fastened himself to her like a limpet. She 
yanked at his hair, but muffled grunts and harder bites were her only reward. She beat at his shoulders, scratched down his 
arms and back.... nothing. Buffy was groaning in her arousal, when her eyes fell to his neck. She grinned evilly, and 
brushed her lips against the tendons...before biting down hard.
	Spike's head shot up and slammed into the back of the chair. Buffy's released her hold on his neck, drawing back 
and licking the red tooth-marks in his pale flesh. One hand shot up to hold the back of her head. Tilting it back, Buffy 
looked into Spike's eyes and saw the hunger and eroticism of how her bite had affected him. "Please..." he wheezed hoarsely.
	Flushing, Buffy let herself be guided back to Spike's neck, and sought a new spot before slowly closing her teeth 
around him. He bucked up against her and they both moaned.
	Their eyes met and together, they leaped out of the chair and dashed toward the stairs. Five steps from it, though, 
Spike stopped and hauled her up against a pillar pressing his length against her.
	He smashed his entire length against her, kissing her like mad, hands fumbling over her bare back. Buffy tried to 
crawl up his length, and Spike obligingly grasped her under a thigh and hoisted, bringing them eye-to-eye.
	"What...*kiss* ...happened to...*gasp*.... the whole...oh god...taking this to a...ahhhh.... bed?" Buffy moaned.
	Spike snarled as he rubbed against her, and Buffy sobbed. She wanted him, and she wanted him now, but she couldn't 
handle the position. She wanted to lie back and feel him over her, pressing her into a mattress, roll around in soft sheets. 
She disentangled her arms from her they were wound around his neck and shoved ineffectually. Spike's fingers might as well 
have been cemented into her flesh; he was holding her so hard.
	Buffy did the only thing she could: she drew back her fist and putting the whole of her strength behind it, punched 
his face. He fell back with a shout, landing harshly on his back on the cold floor. He shot to his feet immediately, and 
Buffy backed to the hole in the floor, her eyes on his changed face and glowing yellow eyes. "Spike, I'm sorry," she 
offered lamely. He said nothing, just continued to stalk her. She backed until she felt the top of the ladder hit the back 
of her calf, and she looked down momentarily. That's all the time it took.
	With a bellow, Spike leapt and fell with her into the hole. The air was knocked out of Buffy by the force with 
which she landed, adding to that, the dead weight of Spike. "Spike, get off," she wheezed. "Air...becoming an issue..."
	He leaned over her and growled, and she froze, looking up into the face of a demon, the likes of which she had 
killed every night since she was fifteen, no time off for good behavior. She held very still as he smiled nastily, showing 
off his large, pointy teeth. 'Run away!' Monty Python screamed in her head. He bent to her ear, and just barely blowing the 
wispy hairs on her neck, whispered, "Three."
	He savored the wide-eyed look she gave him before he scrambled off her and threw her onto the bed. She fell deep 
into the cushions thrown haphazardly about it and struggled to regain her balance. Spike stalked slowly to stare down at 
her, his ridged face receding back into its typical human folds. Making sure he had all her attention, Spke smiled wickedly 
and touched his tongue to his upper lip. "Now, how should  we go about this?" he mused aloud, sitting down beside her. 
Buffy rolled and tried to creep away on hands and knees, but Spike's hand came down hard on the small of her back, followed 
quickly by the rest of him. "Mmmm," he nosed her hair, and bent to blow across her ear, " Now this has possibilities."
	She blushed hotly, and quivered when her abdomen clenched hard with hunger. Spike felt her quiver, and gloated, 
before bending to swipe his tongue across a shoulder blade. He moved to the side, leaving a leg weighted over her lower 
body, and cupped her rear with anticipation. Buffy hissed and arched back into him, allowing him to slip an arm around to 
her front and with a hand over her soft belly, hold her close to his hardness. 
	Buffy's head was spinning, and they weren't any farther along than they had been before. She whimpered with 
frustration and threw an arm back to where Spike was licking and giving tiny bites to her shoulder. She curled her fingers 
into his hair and moaned, long and drawn out. That did the trick. He raised his head and she was able to roll slightly and 
look him in the eye. "Spike, not that you're not great with the foreplay, I mean you're really - " the rest of her sentence 
was lost in a great wheezing inhale of air when Spike's hand did away with the fastening of her jeans and nimbly slid down 
her front to cup her close in his palm.
	He wriggled his fingers and grinned down at her upturned face, her eyes closed in bliss. "Yes, pet?"
	"Yes? Oh my god...yes...ahhh....yes what?"
	"Were you saying something?"
	"Something..." she repeated dimly, moving against his hand.
	He paused in his ministrations and Buffy was able to take a deep breath and open her eyes. "Yeah...well, I was 
going to say something along the lines of that this is great and all but we can get on to the main show..." her eyes 
drifted closed again and she stretched restlessly, "but really, feel free to ignore me and carry on."