She sat at the window with a cigarette dangling from her hand. It wasn’t lit, but the intent was there. She had that taste in her mouth from too many coffees, and the feeling in her stomach from too much nothing. Each coffee she drank was a substitute for something, for sleep, for food, for conversation. Her black eye didn’t hurt, but her elbow was another story; each time she flexed her arm a twinge of pain would almost knock her out. She quite liked the feeling though, it reminded her she was real, she could be hurt. She could die, and she could kill. Demons, monsters, vampires, she can’t even remember what it was that had hurt her earlier that night, she’s pretty sure she killed it, but her memories for the last…week…month even…had blurred into one, and it’s all she can do now to remember who’s bad and who’s good. She isn’t even sure is she’s still good. Came back wrong. She knows, has known all along, that something isn’t quite right, deep inside, but she’s damned if she’ll agree with him. Him. How dare he see that far inside her, past the bottom of her soul and say something so casually that hurts so much. Does it hurt because it’s true, or because of who said it? Because he’s the only one left who really has a fucking clue about her? Everyone else might think they’ve got her wrapped up now – Just give her some time, a bit of space, it’s only natural after what she’s gone through – but only he knows that all the space in the world won’t make a damn bit of difference.

All she does nowadays is think. Shall I light this disgusting cigarette? Will this make it better? No, of course not. But will it make me feel better for a second? Because I’m willing to try anything right now. Will each polluted breath in and out make me concentrate on something other than me, him, and me and him? No, because nothing would right now. Why am I standing at the window? Why don’t I just pull the blinds and have a bath and go downstairs and talk to my friends? What am I waiting for? These are stupid questions, I am a stupid person.

Buffy lit the cigarette. Raised it to her mouth. Spent a few seconds breathing in the smell of the smoke. Watched the end fizzle and glow red and turn to ash. She had absolutely no intention of ever actually inhaling it, but there was something vaguely therapeutic in watching it turn to ash and fall to the ground. After a few seconds she threw it out the window, feeling stupid.

A noise somewhere outside broke her from her reverie. Despite herself, she found her defences up automatically, ready for a fight, even though she could see exactly what had made the noise. She had known he was there all along; known he was watching her. He was as regular as clockwork, every night after all the other lights had gone out in the house - First Dawn's, then the kitchen light, and then finally Willow's. He would always wait out of view, but she always knew he was there. Every night she stood there, silently daring him to come closer, pretending she didn't care if he did or not, knowing all the while that if he turned on his heel and walked away, she'd be begging him on her knees before he reached the end of the road.

Spike caught her gaze and stared right back. This was all part of the game. He could watch her for hours, always could, but recently it was all different. The rules had changed now, and she could pretend all she wanted that he was nothing to her because he knew better now. He had seen the look of total need and want in her eyes that had never been there before. It was there every time he was, and it was all he could do to not collapse on the spot when she looked at him with that much longing. And that much heartbreak. The first moment he’d seen her when she was…back…he’d known something wasn’t right, there was no joy in her, no feeling, no emotion and how no-one else had seen it was beyond him. The only time he’d seen anything in those dead eyes of her was when she was with him, and she knew that as well as he did. But she’d never admit that to him.

He made her feel alive again, he made her feel like nothing she’d ever known, she could get lost in him and forget everything bad that had ever happened to her, but why did it have to be him? She couldn’t bear to look at him in front of anyone else, couldn’t bring herself to admit the truth; that Spike was the only thing she ever wanted again. And she needed him now, it had been too long since last night, it felt like lifetimes.

Buffy wasn’t really sure when she had gone from standing at the window staring at him to tumbling onto the bed with him, but she didn’t care. This was what she wanted; what she had waited for all day, all her life. She kissed him with a ferocity that took him by surprise, she didn’t want gentle caresses or slow lingering kisses, she wanted everything about him, now. Fingers became tangled together as they fought to get each others clothes off, every second taking too long as Spike gave up with her buttons and ripped her shirt apart, as desperate as she was for skin on skin. She forced herself to come up from air, gasping from lack of oxygen, and with desire. He saw fire in her eyes as she pulled him down on top of her, breathless and flushed and beautiful in the halflight, and he couldn’t stand it any longer; he had to have her now and always.

There would be no teasing her tonight, no slow movement of his fingers in and out of her until she nearly explodes; no licking and sucking her juices until she begs him to make her come, until she begs him to take her. No. tonight is all about the fucking, the screwing, the pounding. She didn’t want foreplay tonight, nothing soft. Fingers and tongues and tension building and the awkward transitions between giving and taking. This was about coming as fast and as hard as possible, it was about pounding the crap out of each other until muscles burnt and breathing was difficult.

Buffy pulled him on top of her, taking hold of his cock and guiding it inside her, her muscles shifting deliciously to accommodate him. A tiny moan escaped her as Spike began to thrust in and out of her slowly at first, then harder and harder till they found their perfect rhythm, pounding and pushing against each other. She was desperate all the time to have every inch of him inside her and lifted her leg over his shoulder, manoeuvring herself to get the deepest penetration she could, but even then its not quite enough. She tried to reach down and touch her clit, but couldn’t make it work without slowing down, and slow won’t do it tonight.

So fast, he didn’t even realise what had happened, Spike was on his back with Buffy riding him like a thing possessed. He watched her hand stray between her legs and start rubbing, touching her clit ever so gently, just enough to provide her with the friction she’d been craving. He couldn’t believe he was there, that she was fucking him like this, that he was the one making her moan and bite her lip and all that wetness, all because of him. The look on her face could have made him come right then, along with the incredible things she was doing to him with her vaginal muscles, tensing them around him each time she thrust herself downwards, little sounds escaping her mouth that he would always remember. He regained some semblance of self control, and reached forwards to replace her hand with his own, rubbing little circles around her clit, using his other hand to caress the rest of her, squeezing her breasts, pinching and twisting the nipples in turn, enjoying the look of bliss that came over her face as he manipulated her.

She leant backwards, enjoying the sensation of having so much of her touched so pleasurably. So much stimulation at once got the better of her, and she felt her orgasm explode out of her, her whole body electric with the feeling.

Spike felt her start to shake as he continued to massage her clit, his fingers slippy with the moisture that was leaking out of her and knew she was about to come. Her muscles tightened as the wave of her orgasm went through her, and he knew he was helpless now. His own climax hit him as she clenched his cock inside her and it was all he do not to scream out her name in ecstasy.

Buffy fell forwards and lay on top of Spike, her face in the crook of his shoulder, still holding him inside her. That was what being alive was about, that was feeling. They both lay there, Buffy breathing heavily, Spike not even moving beneath her. His complete lack of heartbeat and breath was oddly reassuring, it made her feel all the more alive to feel her pulse racing as she lay there.

He had to fight from putting his arms around her, hugging her into his chest, never letting her go, because that wasn’t what this was about. This wasn’t romance, this was sex, as simple and as dirty as that, and if he dared do something so intimate, he’d be kicked out the window in two seconds flat. He was amazed she was still there, lying on him. The last couple of times has been so perfunctory, she’d been dressed and out the door before he’d even blinked. But now, she just lay there. It was amazing how such a small thing on her part could make him feel so…alive. He could hear her heart pounding; practically smell the blood coursing through her veins. And then she was gone, stood on the other side of the room pulling on a T-shirt, the moment gone forever.

She stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do now. There were glances, bitten back words, neither really knowing what to say to each other in private. There was nothing to say that hadn’t just been said. Buffy had heard something in psych class once. Only 20% of communication is verbal. She watched him stand, as awkwardly as her and dress. Part of her longed to say something, ask him not to go, to hold her tonight, but she couldn’t find her voice. Didn’t want to maybe. Maybe it was best if they stayed like this, being civil in public, saving their secrets for the darkness.

They stood opposite each other at the window for a moment. His eyes burned into her, seeing nothing there except his reflection, and so much anger directed at the world. He thought of saying something to her, of asking her to come with him, anywhere away from here., but couldn’t find his voice, so started to climb out the window instead. As he did, he felt a small touch on his arm. She had no idea what compelled her to do it, she just had to touch him one last time, make sure he was real. It felt like an electric shock to both of them, and lasted for a only a second, yet felt like a year to Spike. He doubted she knew what that tiny gesture meant to him.

And as suddenly as he had arrived in her room, he was gone, a lingering smell of sex and cigarettes and a crumpled bed the only clues he’d ever been there. She slowly walked to the window, to the empty space where he had just been, and stood there, watching the night again, wondering why her elbow hurt so much.