Chapter 1

Johnny had just started crawling on the floor towards Baby, who was mouthing "come here, loverboy", when the phone rang. Buffy sighed and muted the TV.

"Hello?"

"Buffy? Are you all right?" It was Giles, sounding stressed.

"I’m missing the dirty dancing," she told him sadly.

"What?"

"Yes, I’m all right. What’s up?"

"I’ve received some rather disturbing news. I just got off the phone with Willy. He had some information to sell me. It seems that a Dakchar demon was in the bar earlier tonight, asking about you. Where you lived, who your friends were, that kind of thing."

"Not that disturbing," said Buffy. "Get a couple of drinks into a demon, and every one of them is ‘the Slayer this’ and ‘the Slayer that’."

"I would usually agree with you, except for a phone call I received from an old friend a few weeks ago, from St. Petersburg. He has connections with the Russian demon underground, and he’d heard from a reliable source that the Vuoto Vaco had been found."

"And that’s bad?" Johnny, caught in the act, pretended to be giving Baby a dance lesson.
"It’s considerably more than bad. Do you even know what the Vuoto Vaco is?"

"Race car?" guessed Buffy.

"Do you remember even one word of anything I’ve ever taught you?"

Chapter 1

Johnny had just started crawling on the floor towards Baby, who was mouthing "come here, loverboy", when the phone rang. Buffy sighed and muted the TV.

"Hello?"

"Buffy? Are you all right?" It was Giles, sounding stressed.

"I’m missing the dirty dancing," she told him sadly.

"What?"

"Yes, I’m all right. What’s up?"

"I’ve received some rather disturbing news. I just got off the phone with Willy. He had some information to sell me. It seems that a Dakchar demon was in the bar earlier tonight, asking about you. Where you lived, who your friends were, that kind of thing."

"Not that disturbing," said Buffy. "Get a couple of drinks into a demon, and every one of them is ‘the Slayer this’ and ‘the Slayer that’."

"I would usually agree with you, except for a phone call I received from an old friend a few weeks ago, from St. Petersburg. He has connections with the Russian demon underground, and he’d heard from a reliable source that the Vuoto Vaco had been found."

"And that’s bad?" Johnny, caught in the act, pretended to be giving Baby a dance lesson.
"It’s considerably more than bad. Do you even know what the Vuoto Vaco is?"

"Race car?" guessed Buffy.

"Do you remember even one word of anything I’ve ever taught you?"

"Stake. I remember that word," Buffy assured him.

"The Vuoto Vaco is a ring, Buffy. Thought to be forged in Southern Italy some time around the eighteenth century. The ring’s name translates to "empty vessel." It’s said that the ring has the ability to enslave the person wearing it, and that person will follow any order he or she is given. Furthermore, once the ring is removed the victim is stripped of all memories of what happened while wearing the ring, making it next to impossible to bring the perpetrator to justice."

"Wow. Sounds serious. But what’s the connection?"

"I’m getting to that. The ring had been smuggled into Russia just before the Bolshevik Revolution, where it was used by Rasputin to control the Czar and his family."

"Wait, you mean rah, rah, Rasputin, lover of the Russian Queen?"

Silence. Then, "Yes, that one. Stop talking now, please."

"Sorry."

"After Rasputin was murdered, the ring dropped out of sight, assumed to be lost in the river in which Rasputin was drowned. My friend’s source said that he had actually spoken to the finder of the ring – a Dakchar demon, recently released from a gulag near that very river. It had bragged that it planned to use the ring on the Slayer, so it can exact revenge against its jailors. I didn’t really believe it, until now."

"Well, if it shows up, my plan is to kick that Dakchar’s butt and return the ring to…Rasputin’s grandkids."

"It’s not that simple, Buffy. The ring is charmed. It is almost impossible to resist taking it if it’s offered to you. And I suppose you should also know that the ring can be a bit of a trickster, that it has been known to twist the orders received. Whatever the case, the ring can, and has, wreaked havoc, so don’t underestimate your danger. Is Dawn…?"

"Sleeping over at a friend’s. What should I do?"

"You can’t stay there. I’m sure your home will be the first place the Dakchar looks for you."

"Should I come over to your place?"

"No, nor Willow and Tara’s either. It will be on the hunt for you. You have to stay on the move."

"I could patrol."

"That’s not a bad idea. I think I’ll go to the bar and poke around. I’ll call your cell phone as soon as I find out something."

"Roger. I’ll talk to you soon."

"Oh, and just so you know, the Dakchar’s quite large even by demon standards, and looks very much like a tadpole with fangs. Do be careful Buffy."

"And nothing but," said Buffy, hanging up. She stood and turned off the TV.

Some of us will be having the time of our lives tonight, thought Buffy, but it won’t be me.

~~

Buffy was bored and depressed. She had been patrolling for over two hours, and as far as she could tell, there wasn’t one damned vampire out and about in all of Sunnydale, never mind demons bent on revenge. That left way too much time for her to think, the one thing she didn’t want to do.

She didn’t want to think about Riley and what part she had played in his departure. She didn’t want to think about her mom. She didn’t want to think about college. She didn’t want to think about the train wreck that passed for her life. So she tried to walk without thinking at all, and the next time she looked up, she realized she had walked all the way to the cemetery that housed Spike’s crypt.

This wasn’t totally crazy on her part. He might have heard something about the ring guy. He was usually up on all the latest demon gossip.

More importantly, she knew Spike wouldn’t look at her with pity eyes, like everyone else did these days. Lovey-dovey eyes, maybe. Murderous eyes, probably. But pity eyes, never.

She threaded her way through the headstones, as she had done a hundred times before. Suddenly, from her left, she sensed something. She swiveled around, ready for Dakchar shenanigans. Maybe she should have worn mittens.

There was someone in the shadows. The moon was a sliver in the night sky, so she didn’t have much light to work with, but he was obviously not a Dakchar demon. He was leaning against one of the headstones, head down, back to her. Here we go, some action at last, thought Buffy, and flipped Mr. Pointy business-end out.

The figure didn’t respond to her approaching footsteps, even though she made no attempt to be quiet. Something wasn’t right about this.

"Hey, pal, don’t you know it’s not safe after dark?" she asked him. It was the perfect question, because if he turned out to be human, she wouldn’t look as dorky as if she’d accused him of being a creature of the night or something.

He didn’t move. Now she was getting annoyed. She covered the last few yards between them in short order. "You should learn to speak when spoken to," she said, and spun him around by the shoulder.

It was Spike. "You idiot! I just about staked you!" Buffy snapped.

Spike didn’t respond. There was something about the way he stood silently, hands limp at his sides, that creeped her out. She finally noticed that he was bloody and battered, and his black T-shirt had been badly torn.

"What happened?" she asked him. His eyes slowly turned her way, but he didn’t answer. His expression changed from blank to…hopeful. He said, "What would you have me do?"

Do? Normalize would be nice. He sure could… Then Buffy got it. Her eyes darted around, ready for anything. She glanced at Spike’s crypt – the door was kicked in.

"Stay here," she ordered him, and crept into the crypt, prepared for battle. Spike’s furniture and crap were strewn everywhere. The battle had obviously already been fought.

She found the Dakchar demon sprawled by the overturned TV. Its tadpole head was half torn off its neck.

So it had made a pit stop at Spike’s place. But why? Information? Help? Maybe it had planned on using Spike, who was (arguably) strong enough, and could get close enough, to kill her. Not a bad plan. Except for the ripped-off head part. Guess Spike wasn’t quite the pushover the Dakchar demon had hoped.

Buffy reappeared in the cemetery. Spike hadn’t moved, but he did watch her with interest as she neared. "Okay, Spike, let’s see what we’ve got here," she told him. She took hold of his hands and examined them. Sure enough, there on his right index finger was a jewel-encrusted ring. The Voto Oh-oh.

Well, well. It looked like Spike was finally tamed. She glanced up from the ring, right into Spike’s expectant blue eyes.

Buffy felt a shock of adrenaline. Suddenly, she was acutely aware of the glimpses of Spike’s skin between the scraps of T-shirt, his hands touching hers, his mouth just inches away. She yanked her hands away and hastily smoothed the front of her pink silk blouse.

"Okay, well," she said in a rush, "I guess we’d better get that ring off you, huh? Because as long as you’re wearing it, you’ll do whatever I tell you. Ha! Ha! And that would be bad, right?"

Spike made a move to take the ring off, and Buffy’s hand whipped out to stop him. "And you may not know this, but once the ring is removed, you won’t remember anything you did when you had it on. You’d be stripped of those memories, Giles said."

The word "stripped" lay hot and strange on her tongue. Of course, whatever she was thinking was wrong. VERY WRONG. She actually shook her head, trying to knock those very wrong thoughts out.

That was better. No, she would simply take the ring off his finger. Then everything would be back to normal, and Spike would say something snotty to her, and she’d punch him in the face. And then she’d go home to her cold, empty bed, having forever lost the one chance she’d have to get Spike under her thumb, repercussion-free.

She didn’t move. Spike watched her with those eyes. So trusting. So ready. So…willing.

She took him to a Motel 6 on the edge of town. To add insult to injury, she paid the smirking motel clerk with money she found in Spike’s jeans pocket. She led him to room 4b, and unlocked the door with a shaky hand. Funny how she could stake a vampire without even elevating her blood pressure.

Buffy shut the door behind them, flicked on a light, and locked the dead bolt. She took a step in, then turned back and slid the chain into place. She though of pushing a dresser in front of the door, but decided it wouldn’t be necessary.The room was decorated in faded shades of green and gold. And purple and brown and orange. Buffy sat on the edge of the bed, and Spike copied her. The bed bounced invitingly under them. She took her cell phone from her back pocket, turned it off, then put it and her stake on the desk beside the TV. She’d phone Giles in the morning. After it was all over. As for what "it" was going to be…

Now what? She was running hot and cold, and her mouth was dry as cotton. It felt like she was waiting in line at the scariest midway ride in the world. That is, if the ride was in a magical stupor and had seven percent body fat. "What would you have me do?" Spike asked again. Anxious for his orders, she supposed.

She took a deep breath as the ride started. "I want you to…" She trailed off. I want you to make me feel good. "I want you to play a game with me. I want us to play pretend."

"Right!" said Spike with a fair amount of enthusiasm.

"Pretend you…need me." Her voice quivered. "Pretend you can’t live without me."

Spike started sobbing and dropped to his knees in front of her. "Please, won’t you do me the honor of accepting my hand in…"

"Okay, no!" yelped Buffy as she yanked him back on the bed. She broke out in a cold sweat. This was harder than it looked.

She didn’t want to have to bark out orders all night. In fact, she wanted as little personal responsibility as possible for what she hoped would happen in this room. But she didn’t want to just tell him to be Spike, either. Spike was too close to real life. When he looked at her, he saw too much. When he spoke to her, he cut too close to the bone. She needed him to be someone else for this. But who could possibly embody Spike’s bad boy sexuality, minus fangs? Hmm. "You’re a rock star. The biggest rock star in the world. And I’m your groupie." She paused to see how that went over.

Spike’s shoulders arched back and he sneered, "C’mon, love, give us a bit of suck then," He grabbed her by the neck and pushed her head toward his crotch.

"Ew! Ew!" she screamed and stood up. "Hold on! You’re a rock star – but I’m not your groupie. I don’t want anything to do with you. You really want me. It’s your job to talk me into it." That was better.

Spike the rock star looked at Buffy somewhat befuddledly. "You," he slurred, "are the prettiest fucking bird I have ever seen."

He fumbled his way toward her, which was alarming enough that Buffy hustled back on the bed out of his reach.

"I…where’d you go?" He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Apparently, rock star Spike was more Ozzy than Bono.

"C’mere, baby. You know how I feel about you – what was your name again?" he asked.

Her name? Uh…"Courtney." Whatever.

"Courtney, you…you…do you know where my smokes are?"

Buffy could only shake her head in disbelief. Now she knew why Rasputin went crazy. Even still, she hoped she could pull this one out of the fire.

"Okay, listen to me. You are not stoned or drunk," she told him, hoping that would straighten him out.

"No, of course, you’re right. But what a party it was while it lasted! It was all sex and drugs and ROCK AND ROLL!"

Buffy should have known this would be a complete disaster. Why did she even think for a second that this could have worked? She pulled Spike by his ear until it threatened to tear off. "Oi! Ow!" he said, "What the hell was that?"

"That was me, getting your attention," said Buffy. She climbed on top of him and forced her arm across his throat. "Now, Spike, if you’re in there, you better listen up. I am about one second from leaving. These are your orders: All you care about is me. All you think about is me. All you want is me."

Rock star Spike gaped at her. "Oh. Ohhh." he said. He rolled her off of him. "Why didn’t you just say so? If it’s loving you want, it’s loving you’ll get."

He got off the bed. Buffy allowed him to pull her by her ankles until her bum was at the edge of the bed with her legs hanging over. He kneeled on the floor in front of her. He grinned. "Let’s see what I can’t do for you, Courtney honey."

Buffy was massively skeptical about what exactly he couldn’t do for her, but she still started to shake with anticipation. He undid her zipper and deftly peeled off her jeans. She kept her eyes on the blank white ceiling as he removed her panties. She feared her heart was going to explode like an overheated Pizza Pocket.

Rock star Spike reached for her, then paused as he noticed the ring on his finger. It was very nice, but all those sharp jewels would not do on Courtney’s most tender spots. He’d have to remember to wear it at his next concert. He pulled the ring off and tossed it over his shoulder.

Buffy waited for Spikes’s touch. And waited. The silence stretched out until it snapped. "So," she finally said, "I assume you’re going for the whole building the anticipation thing?"

"Uh, I can’t quite remember what’s going on," Spike said from the foot of the bed.

Well, that was just great. Did even his short-term memories have a slow leak? "You’re a rock star, remember?" sighed Buffy.

"I see," said Spike.

"I’m Courtney, and you’re really hot for me, and I’m playing hard to get, and you’re right in the middle of seducing me." Maybe she should write it down for him.

"I see," said Spike again. "Just give me a second, will you?" Buffy closed her eyes, her body throbbing with disappointment and relief.

Spike’s head was reeling. The last thing he remembered was putting some ring on, and the next thing he knew he was half-undressed on a motel room floor next to the half-undressed Slayer, who’s knees were bookending his shoulders at that very moment. Obviously, the ring had transported him to some parallel universe where Buffy was a horny nympho.

Whatever the hell was going on, it obviously wasn’t business as usual. Even if this was just a dream or some other such unreality, it was his darkest dream come true, and he didn’t want to screw it up. The last thing he wanted was for Willing Buffy to turn into Get Out or I’ll Stake You Buffy.

He wasn’t supposed to be himself, that much he got. Okay, if she wanted to be to be seduced by a rock star (!!), he was the right vampire for the job. He went back up on his knees and got an eyeful of what was between Buffy’s legs. He ducked down again, unnerved to the nth degree. Guess he missed the foreplay.

It had been much easier to be cocky with Buffy when he knew he didn’t stand a chance with her. Finding out that she wanted him, too – well, the pressure was on, wasn’t it?

Hey, was that Buffy’s panties? He picked them up and sniffed them appreciatively.

Spike felt something touch his arm. It was Buffy’s foot. She was waiting for him. Asking for him. That’s right, you wanker, you.

He was as ready as he was going to be. He sat on the bed, careful to avoid looking at her bottom half. She sat up. Now what was he up to?

Spike studied Buffy’s face. Her ever-confident Slayer facade had slipped badly. She was obviously scared to death, which made him feel much more like his old evil self. You know, this might be fun.

Spike put a hand on her thigh. Buffy’s legs snapped shut. Spike tried to push them apart, but they might as well have been a sprung bear trap.

"This is wrong," she said. "It is so wrong. I can’t do it."

Spike withdrew his hand. He was not, however, about to give up. "Look," he said, "you’re scared, and we both know it. But Courtney, you’re here. Some part of you wants to be with me, or you’d be home right now watching TV. I know you don’t like me much." Buffy gave him a look, which made him grin. "Or maybe you even hate me. But I get the impression that you want me. And lo and behold, here we are, all alone. I could be your dirty little secret if you want, I don’t mind."

He tried to pry her legs open again. No go.

Spike shrugged. "Fine. You’re in charge. I just can’t figure this out. Do you want to kiss me?"

"No," she said.

"How about touch me?"

"No."

"Do you want to leave?"

No answer.

He nodded. "Ah, yes, the old mixed messages."

"I don’t know what you mean," said Buffy.

"Well, do you feel guilty for being here?’

"Yes."

"Would you die of embarrassment if anyone found us together?"

"Yes."

"Do you want me to leave?"

No answer.

"Your silence is speaking volumes."

"It is not! It’s speaking…with the volume off."

"Maybe I’m just not asking the right questions."

"Maybe not."

"Oh ho, maybe not." He rubbed his hands together. "That sounds like a challenge. Okay, you tell me when I ask the right question. Do you want to go on a date?"

"No."

"Would you like to get spanked?"

Silence.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought." He advanced toward her. She scrambled back on the bed. He followed. "And do you just need a little push to get you going?"

He didn’t bother waiting for a reply. He pushed her by the shoulders and she landed on her back. He lowered himself slowly on top of her.

His voice was low, teasing. "And would you like to hear me beg? Would you like it if I said please, please, one kiss, just one? Please let me kiss your mouth. I’m begging you."

"Yes," breathed Buffy, "yes, yes, yes." Now, this was the Spike she wanted. Finally.

She closed her eyes and surrendered. He kissed her. Oh, she thought. Ohhh. So many things about Spike were hard: the muscles in his arms, tensing and releasing under her fingers, his hand at the small of her back, urging her towards him. But his mouth was so soft. Her lips parted as his tongue pushed its way into her mouth, and it was like an electric current directly between her legs. Buffy began to see stars.

Spike pulled away and ran his tongue down her neck. That worried her. Could he vamp out if he was Spike the rock star? She told him, "I don’t think that’s a good…"

He interrupted her by biting her neck. Oh. My. God. Her legs opened without her permission and he pressed his thigh between them.

She was making out with Spike! And it felt better than the dirtiest of dancing. She pulled at the remains of his shirt, which pretty much fell off all by itself. Her hands slid over the body she had abused so many times in the past. He was as firm and cool as chiseled marble.

Spike untangled his legs from hers and sat up. He looked shell-shocked, but his voice was more confident than ever.

"Well, Courtney," he said, "I think we’re overdressed for this occasion. My jeans or your top. Which is going next?"

Buffy gulped. Spike enjoyed watching it. "I don’t know. You decide," she said quickly.

"Oh, no, no, pet. I serve at your pleasure." He smiled slyly.

Buffy moaned. Spike’s jeans tightened noticeably. At least, Buffy noticed it, and squeaked, "My top first!"

Spike nodded, reached over, and slowly undid the buttons on her pretty pink blouse. Pop, pop, pop. Her chest was heaving against his hand. He pulled the blouse off, then undid her bra clasp, which was handily in the front. Her perfect tiny breasts slipped out, and it was Spike’s turn to moan. She lay completely naked in front of him. Now he looked everywhere, soaking it in.

Buffy was so excited she felt drunk. Suddenly, she got it. She was his master. He was her slave. Nobody except her would ever know what they did here. If she was going to go all the way, she might as well go all the way. She got up, pushed Spike down, and undid his belt.

When he tried to help, she slapped his face. He sucked a breath in, shocked. "That’s okay," she said sweetly, "you won’t remember that in the morning."

Buffy turned her attention back to his jeans, which were bulging spectacularly. She yanked them off, and, since Spike had an aversion to wearing underwear, his cock sprang to attention right in front of her, big as life. She couldn’t pull her eyes away from it.

That is, until Spike backhanded her, straddled her and pinned her arms above her head. The chip was knifing into his brain, but he didn’t let go. "How’s that then, you little bitch?"

They glared at each other. Buffy’s lip had split, and she had time to think, what kind of slave are you? Then his mouth was on hers, and he kissed her desperately. He could taste the blood, Slayer blood, and it was so fucking hot. He let go of her wrists as he struggled not to vamp out, but she didn’t move, except to arch her hips against his.

Spike was dizzy with desire, but he tried to stay calm. Events were already spiraling out of control, as usual. He hadn’t even kissed Buffy’s breasts yet, or massaged her feet, and here he was on top of her. Even though she didn’t know he knew she wanted this – he did. Okay, that was confusing. He knew this was a once-in-an-afterlifetime opportunity, and he wanted to do it right.

He gave her one last kiss and began to push up off of her, to slow down. He trembled for a moment like an inexperienced school boy, and his cock brushed between her legs. She was so wet he slipped into her, just a little wee bit.

"Oh my God, Buffy!" he gasped. Then bit his tongue. He shouldn’t have said that. Should he fake a coughing fit and then say, "Courtney"? Shit, shit, shit!

Their eyes locked as his mistake registered. Buffy’s mouth rounded into a perfect "O" of understanding. Really, what else could he do except drive into her as hard and deep as he could? She responded with a satisfying scream that he hoped indicated all was forgiven. Just to be sure, he did it again, and again. Buffy’s body exploded with a pleasure so intense, all thoughts were chased out of her head.

"That’s right, Buffy," he snarled, deciding the best defense was a good offense, "it’s me, Spike." He had more to say, but the look on her face shut him up. Her eyes were closed, but her mouth was open. Her tongue slipped across her lips. One of her hands raked through her hair. The other hand had a death grip on his bicep, her nails digging into his arm until they left little bloody crescents in his skin. She was so beautiful. And she was all his. Christ.

Spike pulled himself to his knees, then yanked Buffy’s legs up until her feet rested on his shoulders. He pushed her legs straight into the air, and held them there. That left her nicely splayed. Then he fucked her in earnest.

He pounded her so hard no regular woman could have taken it, but he figured that a Slayer could take a beating every which way.

Buffy had stopped thinking. Forget rings and demons and friends and family. Her world had narrowed to eight merciless inches. She tucked her fists under her ass and angled herself off the bed, because every little bit deeper counted. She had always been shy about being too vocal in bed, but she was half out of her head right now, and she moaned so loudly the guy in the next room was jealous.

Buffy was teetering on the edge, even though they had only been going at it for a couple of minutes. She kicked her legs off his shoulders, grabbed a handful of that perfect platinum hair and pulled him forward. "Fuck me!" she panted, "Oh, Spike, don’t stop!"

He stopped.

She couldn’t believe it, and actually punched his shoulder to get him started again, like he might have fallen asleep or something.

Spike knew she was close to coming, and could not resist using this to his advantage.

"Say it, Buffy," he demanded. She looked at him blankly. "Say it, or I swear I’ll stop for good."

She was crazy with disappointment. She didn’t know what the hell he meant, so she guessed. "I’m sorry?" she told him with as much sincerity as she could muster as she ground herself against him.

"No, not that," he said. "You know what I want to hear."

He was right; she did know. And it was the one thing she couldn’t say. It would only cheapen what she had had with…oh, don’t think about him in the same sentence as Spike.

Leave it to Spike to make this all about him. "Spike, please don’t…"

He pulled out of her, which made her gasp with frustration. "You don’t have to mean it. But you will say it. Or I’m walking." He wasn’t smiling. When she didn’t respond, he made as if to get out of bed.

She grabbed him by the arms so hard, a bone threatened to crack under her fingers. "No! Don’t go!"

Spike grabbed her right back and pulled her against him, his mouth at her ear, her heart banging against his chest. "Say it."

She started to cry. He had drawn a line in the sand, and she hated him for it. She hated what he was. She hated that she was here. And she hated that she would do whatever it took to make him finish what he had started. Buffy stepped over the line.

"I love you Spike," she whispered into his neck. Rather than making her feel cheap, the words made her feel…tingly. Spike was right. It didn’t matter if she didn’t mean it. It was all a part of this moment of pretense and bodily fluids.

"I love you too, Buffy," he said smugly. He kissed the tears off her cheeks, then flipped her over like a flapjack. She responded by scooching up onto her hands and knees and wiggling her ass in his general direction. All shreds of pride long gone, she wanted him inside her again, now.

Spike took it slow, just in case her declaration of love had dried her out a bit.

He needn’t have worried. She was sloppy wet, and he started in again with renewed enthusiasm, grabbing her slim hips so he slammed more precisely into her. It didn’t take long before Buffy found herself pushed right up against the headboard. She grabbed onto it, effectively giving herself nowhere to go but against him. She wasn’t moaning anymore. She was beyond that, and could only mew a little. That’s when she found out Spike was a talker.

"That’s right, Slayer. You show me how much you want it," he said through clenched teeth. "Because I’m not going to stop until I wear you out. What will it take to wear you out? Let’s find out shall we, sweetheart?"

Buffy lowered her head into a pillow and let her pulsing blood rush to it. She had thought the bitchy banter she and Spike usually engaged in was sexy, but she didn’t know what sexy was until Spike was talking dirty in her ear. From behind.

Spike felt the same way, and his thrusts quickened to an inhuman pace. He couldn’t help himself: he ran his hand across her bottom and pressed his thumb into the one hole he could still access. Buffy might have, in other circumstances, wrinkled her nose and slapped his hand away, but this night she bucked against him and helplessly came in wave after wave of pure sensation.

The smell of sex and blood was overpowering. He slipped into vamp mode. He knew she couldn’t see him, and that made it all the more exciting. Spike stared at the milky white skin of her exposed neck and succumbed to the best climax he had ever had. He slowed to a shuddering halt. By that time, he was pretty again.

He pulled out of her and they both collapsed on their backs. They didn’t look at one another.

"It was the ring that did this, yeah?" he finally asked.

"Um, yeah," she said as she crossed her arms over her breasts, overcome with post-coital modesty. "It erased your memory and made you all slave-o-rama. I guess you took it off at some point?"

"I guess. Last thing I remember, some ugly git of a Dakchar paid me a visit. He wanted to get the ring on me."

"I’m thinking he was going to tell you to kill me. But you didn’t want to put the ring on?"

"No, strangely enough, I thought putting it on was a pretty good idea."

"Then how…?"

"Well, I’m not stupid. I killed him first. Then I put it on. I take it the ring was giving me the old ‘come hither’?"

"That’s right, Frodo," said Buffy, "and there wasn’t much you could do to stop it. That’s what this ring does. If it wants a victim, it gets a victim. "

Spike considered this. "So, that Dakchar was going to use me."

"Yes."

"But I killed it before it could."

"Right."

"And then you found me."

Oh-oh.

Spike turned to her. "I get it! I’m a victim all right! Of yours, not the fucking ring! Who came along to take advantage of the situation but Buffy Pure-and-Good Summers?" He was positively aglow with righteous indignation. "You treated me with nothing but bloody contempt, until you got the chance to use me for your own dirty purposes!"

"Hello? Does Buffybot ring a bell?" she reminded him. If she wanted to beat herself up over this, that was one thing, but there was no way she was taking any crap from Spike.

"That’s different! It wasn’t you, was it? It was no different than if I’d used a blow-up doll. Okay, that sounded pathetic even to me."

Buffy smiled ruefully. "I guess we’re just a couple of pervs, huh?"

Spike gave her a look. "Well, with me it’s to be expected, but you were a bit of a surprise."

She blushed. "I was just so lonely, and I didn’t want anything complicated. And there you were with those cheekbones! And all abs of steel! And you were much more attractive when you weren’t talking, believe me. I thought I could do something we both wanted without anyone getting hurt."

He reached over and pushed a strand of hair away from her face. "Well, did it hurt?"

She answered by leaning in and kissing him slowly and thoroughly. When she pulled away, he asked, "How long have we been here, anyway? Wherever ‘here’ is."

Buffy looked at the clock radio on the table beside them. "Not long. You ruined my perfectly good plan in less than an hour. God, it’s already 2:30. You have about four more hours until sunrise." She suddenly made a decision. The right decision. "I…guess I should get ready to go." Without another word she was out of the bed and into the bathroom.

Spike heard the shower start. Fuck! He flung a pillow onto the floor, then followed her.

Chapter 4

Buffy ignored him as he entered the bathroom and shut the door behind him. He saw that she had collected all the little bottles and soaps from the counter and arranged them neatly on the edge of the bathtub.

"I don’t want you to go," he told her, making sure the panic stayed out of his voice.

"This was a mistake," she said flatly.

"Yeah, yeah," sighed Spike, "and I’m sure you’ll spend many, many hours regretfully replaying every minute of it in your head. Buffy, have you ever heard the expression ‘in for a penny, in for a pound’?"

"Maybe. Why?"

"It means that it’s too late to undo what we did. Whatever you do for the rest of the night, you’ve already been caught."

She mulled that over. He had a point. It sort of made warped sense that if you know you’re going to get punished, you might as well enjoy the sin. Maybe more than one.

Buffy pulled the shower curtain open and looked at him, naked, shameless, leaning against the door. Here comes the ‘get out or I’ll stake you’, thought Spike.

"Well? Are you getting in or what?" asked Buffy. And she took a step back.

He didn’t have to be asked twice. He stepped in and pulled the shower curtain tight against the wall. Steam billowed around him. She looked at him expectantly, but it took him a second to realize that she had moved over to make room for him under the spray of water. The surrealism of having a shower with Buffy caught up with him, and he laughed.

She responded by shoving him rudely into the far wall of the shower and holding him there. "You will never speak of what I’m about to do. Do you understand me? I’ll cut out your tongue if you do. That’s not a figure of speech, either. I’ll get a pair of scissors and cut it out, Spike."

Good God, what perversion was she going to inflict upon him? His erection was already making a comeback. Buffy pushed him towards the water and looked at him sternly. "Turn around," she commanded. He did.

Much to his astonishment, Buffy shampooed and conditioned his hair, then scrubbed the dirt off his face, and tenderly washed his various cuts and scrapes. She finally lathered up his naughty bits and matter-of-factly cleaned them, too. She did not comment on his raging hard-on, although she did say, "I guess this is proof positive you’re not a real blonde."

Spike was left punch-drunk by these gestures. Slaps and sarcasm he could handle, but kindness? It might as well have been heroin. "Thank you," he told her sincerely.

"Oh, don’t thank me yet," she said, and kissed him. He could feel the smile on her lips. Apparently, and probably momentarily, she had come to terms with being here. "I’m thinking I’ll kiss every part of you I’ve ever hit," she said as she kissed his neck, his collarbone, his chest.

"We don’t have that much time," he said, which made her laugh. She wandered down his stomach, following the rivulets of water. She marveled at Spike’s gorgeous body. Her tongue slid over each of his rock-hard abdominal muscles. Mmm. And those hips – they were as sharp as his cheekbones. Man, there wasn’t much of him, but what there was, was choice.

Buffy finally kneeled and glanced up at him. Now she was looking pretty damn serious. "In for a penny, in for a pound," she said. Spike looked down at the Slayer…nude…on her knees…in front of him…in the shower. Bloody hell. He put a hand on the wall to steady himself.

She ran her tongue up one side of him and down the other, taking him for a test drive. And then he was in her mouth, and it was warm and eager. He knew she couldn’t have had a whole lot of experience in this department, but her enthusiasm was impressive. She worked him over pretty well, and he didn’t last long. It was just too thrilling with her sucking in front and the water pounding on his back. "Uhhh!" he groaned as his body stiffened. He wasn’t much of a talker now, she noted.

Buffy chickened out and pulled her head away at the last second, but it didn’t lessen Spike’s overall enjoyment of Buffy’s blowjob in the shower. He liked the sound of that so much he said it again. Buffy. Blowjob. Shower. Who could have guessed that this would be how he’d spend his evening?

They finished cleaning up and got out of the shower. Spike closed the toilet lid and sat on it. He motioned her over, and toweled her down as she faced him.

"Spike?"

"Mmm?"

"Do that thing with your tongue," she asked him.

"What thing?"

"You know, that thing your tongue does when you’re being a jerk."

"What, this?" He tilted his head and curled his tongue onto the roof of his mouth, making sure she got a good view of it. As an added bonus, he then flicked it out at her. Buffy’s stomach did a flip.

"Or do you mean this?" Spike turned her around and leaned her over the bathroom counter.

Buffy caught a glimpse of herself in the foggy mirror. She was shocked to see how happy she looked. Her cheeks were prettily flushed, her wet hair slicked back. She had a big stupid grin plastered on her face.

She couldn’t understand why she kept smiling. The situation, after all, had gone from bad to worse. Spike knew what she had done, and yet she was still allowing him to perform whatever despicable act he pleased.

Hey, she thought, let’s do a little "What Kind of Girl is Buffy?" Quiz:

For Buffy to agree to have sex, the man involved must: A) be alive, B) have agreed to the sex acts in advance, C) not be a murdering demon, or D) none of the above.

Ho much, Buffy? She knew she was going to have the world’s worst guilt hangover tomorrow.

Just around then, Spike shoved his tongue into her and fucked her with it. It was as strong as the rest of him, and she started to understand what relentless felt like. Buffy stopped thinking about tomorrow.

As it turned out, Buffy really, really liked having sex with Spike’s tongue, which was probably rated fairly high on the despicable act list. She responded so enthusiastically, Spike had to brace himself against the toilet tank so she didn’t push him into the bathtub. And when she came, he had to cover her mouth because he was afraid someone was going to call the cops.

He hadn’t had this much fun in decades.

Chapter 5

"Let’s get you back to bed," said Spike when he was finished with her.

"I don’t think I can walk." Buffy put her arms around his neck to hold herself up.

Spike had never been more proud of himself. He happily picked her up and carried her into the other room. She fit very nicely in his arms.

He set her on the bed, where she burrowed under the blankets and waited for him.

He was about to join her when he spied the mini-bar. "Oh, look," he said as he opened it, "lots of baby bottles of booze."

"I don’t have any money," Buffy told him.

"And yet somehow I don’t care," said Spike as he picked out a rye for himself. "Can I get you something?"

"Water! Please!" begged Buffy.

He kicked his jeans out of the way and returned to the bed with their drinks. He slipped under the covers, and they clinked their bottles in a toast and drank up.

They were both grinning like fools, and when Spike asked, "So…how are you?" they started to laugh and couldn’t stop.

"That was really something," admitted Buffy, gasping for air.

"It was, wasn’t it? Now aren’t you glad you didn’t cut out my tongue with a pair of scissors?" They fell into each other’s arms, helplessly convulsing.

"Did you have to take lessons to learn that, or…?"

It’s a self-taught technique," he told her. "See, it’s all in the parry and thrust." He wiggled his tongue at her to demonstrate.

Buffy, drawn like a moth to a flame, devoured that tongue in a kiss. The taste of rye filled her mouth. Spike’s hand slid down her body. "Mercy, mercy," she begged. "Give me a chance to recover."

"I’ll kiss it better," he promised. He kissed her over and over, savoring it, knowing time was growing short. He kissed his way down her throat and to her breasts. "Buffy," he said softly, but that was all.

Buffy watched him. Spike’s hair, freed of all that gel, lay soft and tousled and golden around his face. He really was beautiful. Buffy ran a finger along his eyebrow, over the scar, across his cheek, down his jaw. Spike slowly stopped what he was doing. He pressed his ear to her chest, and listened to her heartbeat. This act of intimacy made Buffy feel confused and uncomfortable. Much more so than the tongue-action-in-the-bathroom intimacy.

That was enough of that. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

"At this point, I don’t think I can refuse."

She reached down and dug her thumb into his hip bone. "Does this tickle?"

For the first and last time, Buffy made Spike giggle. He sat up and scrambled away from her. "Stop that! Speaking of personal questions, here’s one for you: do you really compare me to a rock star?"

Buffy laughed. "Yeah, I don’t know where that came from. I should probably talk to my therapist about it." She gave him a shove. "Hey, what kind of a rock star are you anyway? You didn’t even sing for me."

"Thank God."

"Please! Please sing me a song? Pretty please?" She batted her eyelashes at him.

"What, so you can make fun of me and call me names?"

"No! No! I promise I’ll be good."

Spike shook his head, but he couldn’t say no to Buffy. "Any requests?"

"No, anything you want. Except disco, punk, rap, or opera."

He thought about it, then sang in a surprisingly good voice, "I’m just a gigolo, and everywhere I go, people know the part I’m playing."

Buffy burst out laughing. "More! More!"

Spike thought again. He lay back down, propped his head on his hand, and sang. "It’s something unpredictable, but in the end is right. I hope you had the time of your life."

Buffy smiled dreamily. Take that, Baby! "Keep going," she said.

He did, but switched to a different song as he gazed into her eyes and ran his fingers up and down her arm. "The world was on fire, no one could save me but you. Strange what desire can make foolish people do. I never dreamed that I’d love somebody like you. And I never dreamed that I’d lose somebody like you."

Buffy remembered too late that this was the real Spike, not a fantasy. Spike, who was just one more reason her life was such a complicated mess.

She sat up and made a big deal of looking for the clock radio so she wouldn’t have to look at him. "It’s almost five. Maybe we better get going." Spike didn’t reply. He was too busy wondering if he could ever, for once, quit while he was ahead. Ever.

She got out of bed and retrieved her clothes from the floor. He watched her put them on in record time.

She tossed him his clothes. Spike held up his destroyed T-shirt and rolled his eyes, but he did slip his jeans on and buckle his belt as Buffy washed her face in the bathroom. They met by the door, the awkwardness growing by the second.

"So…" said Buffy.

"So," said Spike.

"I had a wonderful night, Spike. You’re an amazing man."

"I’m not a man."

Buffy shrugged. Of course, he was going to make this difficult. She took a step toward the door.

Spike put a hand on her arm to stop her. "I had a wonderful night, too. I just want you to know that you don’t have to worry about me telling the Scoobies about this."

She smiled gratefully. "That means a lot."

"Yeah, well, really, I don’t want anyone to know about this either. I mean, with us being enemies and all. I think of you more as my dirty little secret."

Buffy laughed. There were worse things to be. She hugged him tightly, but her mind was already out of this room and back to her real life.

"Just one more thing," said Spike. He took her hands, leaned forward, and whispered, "Guess what I found by the mini-bar?"

And he slipped the Vuoto Vaco on Buffy’s finger.

Chapter 6

Buffy woke up in her own bed thirty-two hours later. She was wearing her Hello Kitty nighty, and her body and still-damp hair were squeaky clean and smelling pretty. She was so sore, the thought crossed her mind that she may have spent the entire thirty-two hours riding a horse.

She never did find her panties.

THE END