Disclaimer: Everything BtVS and AtS is owned by Joss, ME, and all them over there. Everything Anita Blake is owned by Laurell K. Hamilton

Shattered Glass

The stench of tequila overwhelmed Willow's senses as she hastened to stand up when Spike entered the room. She tried never to be sitting on the bed when he came in, hoping to avoid giving him ideas. Especially when he was drunk on tequila. She knew her little rituals and safeguards were probably useless, but they made her feel better. The same way people carried a rabbit's foot for luck or avoided walking under ladders. Just some sort of psychological prop to give
her the illusion that she had any hope of keeping the worst at bay.

She swayed unsteadily and realized that hunger had taken a greater toll on her than she had thought. She felt faint and slightly disoriented. It was not a pleasant sensation. She preferred to have her wits about her when dealing with her unpredictable and dangerous captor. But now she was finding it hard to even keep her balance, much less navigate her way through the elaborate psychological chess game that was about to be played, as it was played every day when
Spike returned.

Spike approached her with a different look in his eyes than she had ever seen before. Oh no, she thought. Of all the times for him to change in some way, it had to be tonight. A night when she was not possessed of all her faculties. He approached her quietly, almost� gently. And then he spoke.

"So, pretty Red, did you miss me?" he asked.

Willow, as usual, did not answer. Even in her hunger-addled state, she wasn't deranged enough to answer his question. She knew from hard experience that she couldn't give a correct answer. If she opened her mouth, she'd be beaten for sure. Now, in her weakened state, another beating might kill her. And despite the horror of her daily
existence, Willow wanted to live. She didn't know why. She only knew that an intense, burning desire to stay alive blazed within her heart and mind, even as any good reasons to live faded with each passing day.

Struggling to remain on her feet, Willow tried to conceal her unsteadiness from the drunken vampire in front of her. It would be better, she was certain, if he didn't know the condition she was in. She was sure he would be angry at her for needing food, another sure- fire way to end up a beaten and bloody mess on the bathroom floor. But her efforts were in vain. She stumbled and fell back onto the bed, sitting up as quickly as she could manage. Spike approached and sat next to her as Willow steeled herself as best she could to keep from shrinking from his deceptively caring touch.

"What's the matter, pet?" he said, concern coloring his slightly slurred speech.

Willow still didn't speak. If only she weren't so hungry. She'd be able to figure out what Spike was up to. But now�she was starving, dammit, and it was just too hard to think. Her stomach hurt and her brain was foggy and she could barely make sense of what she was seeing, or even stay focused at all. She wanted food more than she had ever wanted or needed anything in her life and it wasn't there. Wouldn't be there tonight, maybe not tomorrow, and maybe it would
never be there again. And she hated Spike now more than ever. She had suffered through everything he had done to her and done her best to be obedient. Wasn't being his captive for reasons she couldn't even comprehend enough? Did he have to torture her to death by starvation as well?

She felt Spike's hand as it caressed her cheek.

"Shh, pet," Spike said softly. "Let me make it all better."

Willow nodded numbly as she let him lower her back onto the bed. She felt his hands move over her body and made no move to resist. She could taste the tequila as he kissed her, his tongue probing the cavern of her mouth. He moved to unbutton her blouse and somewhere inside herself, where she was still lucid, she cursed herself for wearing a front-hook bra. He unhooked it, pushed it, and her blouse, off her body, and stared at her small, but pert, breasts.

"Perfect. You're perfect, pet," Spike said as he gazed at her, his blue eyes tinged with amber. "My perfect little doll."

He kissed his way down her body, teasing her nipples with his tongue and teeth before moving to her stomach, murmuring endearments with each kiss. He started to unfasten her jeans and Willow got the hint, lifting her hips to allow Spike to remove them and her panties before tossing them to the floor. She watched as he stood and disrobed
quickly, joining her once more on the bed.

If Willow hadn't been so hungry, and Spike was not the vampire who had kidnapped her and held her captive, she might have admired him. Might even have wanted to be in the position in which she now found herself. Naked, on a bed, with a handsome man who had the body of a god. But now�now she was just hoping that it would be over as quickly as possible. Not that even that forlorn hope was reasonable. Not the way that Spike was lingering over each kiss, each caress, touching her as if she were made of porcelain, telling her how beautiful and perfect she was�what a perfect doll she was. And how much fun they were going to have playing together.

Willow couldn't make sense of what he was talking about. Dolls and sex just didn't seem to go together. Maybe if she wasn't so hungry, she could have pieced together some semblance of logic in Spike's fractured ode to her charms. But right now, all she could do was lay back and allow Spike to do what he pleased.

She knew it would have been foolish to hope that this day never came. And at least he was being gentle, even considerate, with her. It could be much worse, she realized. So she resolved to just give in and relaxed as Spike moved between her thighs and began to probe her sex gently with his tongue. After all, she had no choice. She might as well enjoy herself. And maybe if she let Spike have his way with her, she'd finally get some food.


The End

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