*hanging head in shame* Yeah, yeah, I know.  I've been very bad for not posting in sooooo long.  In my defense, I have been writing!  I've written five chapters!!!! *hanging head lower and now whispering* just not in this story.  *back to full voice* Ahem...Please don't despair, gentle viewers.   I've whipped my muse into submission to get into the mind set to write for Link.  Thus far, the muse is behaving.  Big thanks to my beta, Sanityfair.  Love ya lady!
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When we’ve last left our story…Buffy was all aflutter with the lusties and bolted from the library.  The Scooby’s are on a mission to find out what’s wrong with her, and the forever broody Angel has Spike tied to a chair, and unfortunately, I wasn’t invited…

 

 

Spike woke with a start by a loud hissing, followed by the recognizable rolling whoomp of something setting alight.  Instantly, Spike tugged at his bindings, but despite his strength and determination, not a one budged. 

Guess Peaches’ Kinbaku techniques aren’t slacking after all.

After several more unsuccessful jerks, he realized this was useless and tried another way.  Grabbing the arms of the chair, he pushed up, using both his feet and hips.  At last, with each ungraceful but effective hop, he was that much closer to his goal of turning around.
 
He was half way there and still going strong until he raised his hips too far to the left causing the chair to tip to the side.  It momentarily balanced on two legs, and with a muffled “Bloody hell!” he landed on the ground with a heavy thud.
 
In tandem, Spike hurriedly worked the gag out of his mouth and wrestled again with his bindings.  Successfully, at least in one way, he spat out the cloth.  Then forgoing fighting with clearly unmovable ropes, he craned his neck over his shoulder trying to see what he was up against.

He scanned the room and only relaxed after realizing it was Angel perched at the top of a twenty-foot ladder, welding one of the two lengths of chain suspended from the rafters.
  
“Oi!  With your piss poor wake up call, at the very least you could turn me about.  It’d be a bloody shame missing the light show.” 

With the turn of a knob, Angel extinguished the flame, shifted, and looked down at Spike.  Even with the darkened lens of Angel’s welding goggles, Spike knew he was clearly being eyed in annoyance.

“What?  You’re just one spark away from your very own bonfire of the vanities, and I for one surely don’t wanna miss a minute of it.”

Not responding to Spike’s goading, Angel stood, balanced on a single rung and laid the welding torch down.  He then gathered the two chains, nimbly shifted his body, and was now hanging by the lengths.  Hand under hand, he lowered himself to the floor.  On touchdown, he gave an extra tug to each prior to appearing satisfied with the solidity of the weld. 

Then with one fluid motion, Angel removed his goggles, amazingly, not a single hair moved, and approached Spike.
 
“You’ve gotta be kidding me!”
 
Without a word from his grandsire, Spike fully understood his intentions and also knew full well that in this state he couldn’t stop it.  In defeat, Spike dropped his head to the floor.

With skill spanning over centuries and unlimited practice, Angel trussed up Spike in the iron manacles in no time at all.  Now, a leather-clad marionette, Spike’s hate-filled glare bored holes in his captor.

“This is getting a tad bit ridiculous, don’t ya think?”  To elaborate, Spike lifted one arm, shaking his metal encircled wrist.
 
Blatantly ignoring his increasingly annoyed childe, Angel experimentally tugged once more on each chain, before leaving the mansion in a swirl of brood and stoicism.
 
“Bloody drama queen,” Spike seethed and attempted to release himself from his new binds.

 

“So Giles, what are we looking for exactly?”  Xander tilted back and forth a vile of newt eyes, watching them with childlike delight, bobbing up and down in their home of clear fluid.
  
“Do be careful with that, Xander.  As for what we are looking for exactly, I unfortunately do not know.  However, I do know our answer will be found here.”  Giles continued perusing the dozens of glass containers housing ingredients lining the shelves.
 
“Um, guys, I don’t remember this being here before.  This might be something.”  Willow stood near a makeshift altar littered with three toppled over candles, a few broken bottles, and in the center, a cracked sea-blue glass bowl.

Both Giles and Xander headed over to Willow, giving the area around the table a wide berth to not disturb any possibly evidence.

Cautiously, Giles was the first to approach the altar.  He first studied each item alone then them collectively.
 
“Clearly, she was attempting a spell of some sort.  One requiring many elements, which I’m afraid, I’m not well versed in.”  Giles warily eyed the items strewed across the table, before squatting to get a better view of those littering the floor.

“But I am.”  Angel entered the front door and stepped further into the Magic Box.   

 

Buffy had had about enough!  It’s been way too long that she hadn’t felt right in her own skin and this ended tonight!  Originally, she was going to go home for a much needed cold shower and anything chocolate covered, dipped, or flavored.
 
In spite of her initial plan, she now found herself heading down Crawford Street. With each step, her insides roiled faster with a torrent of emotions.
 
When she finally reached the mansion and without her earlier covertness, she stomped down the stone stairs, across the garden, and entered the main room.

“Angel!”
 
Without any given direction, Buffy searched the lower level.  Earlier, while she was held up in Giles’ office, even though she’d been teetering on the proverbial edge, she sensed on the very outskirts of these intense feelings, there was a strange calmness. 

Maybe that was the answer.  Maybe having Angel right there was the only way to cool down the lusties long enough so they could figure out what the hell was going on.
 
Buffy was so fixated on finding Angel; she hadn’t notice Spike until his seething growl interrupted her one-track mind.
 
“Slayer!”
  
Buffy startled, stopped abruptly, and turned toward a clearly pissed off Spike.  He hung from the ceiling in the same shackles that held a feral Angel not too long ago.
 
Before her brain could come up with something witty, like telling him he looked like Pinocchio’s annoying, evil cousin, she was overtaken by her desire to be close.  Now standing only a hairsbreadth away, they each remained motionless.  Until neither was certain who moved first, they met in a passionate clashing of lips and teeth.

In an instant, Buffy felt her body calming.  She no longer felt adrift in her turbulent feelings, yet, at the same time, she felt even more out of control than ever.

Never before had she kissed or had been kissed with this type of unbridled passion, this type of hunger.  It scared the hell out of her, yet thrilled her at the same time.
 
When Spike released her mouth and traveled down her jaw line to her throat, she welcomed his explorations, offering the span of her neck.  Her body shuddered with each flickering and lapping of his tongue, and nipping and scraping of blunt teeth.
 
Her Slayer instincts screaming inside were ignored, overruled by the overwhelming cravings of her body.  When he reached her pulse point, she felt him hungrily laving the area, suckling the flesh raw, and drawing her blood to the surface.
 
So perfect.
 
His whispered reverence echoed in her mind while she tunneled her fingers into his hair, tugging him away from her throat and eagerly directing his lips back to hers.

Need—more.

Her breathy plead sounded so needy.  She was glad she hadn’t spoken her imploring out loud.
 
“Yeah—more.”
 
He growled his response against her mouth, his teeth roughly nipping her bottom lip, enough to draw blood.  The moment the coppery tang hit her taste buds, the Slayer inside burst through the woman’s lusty haze forcing her to abruptly pull away.

As they each tried to digest what had just happened, to and between them, Spike’s tongue laving the smear of blood on his lip and his eyes flashing gold, was all the reality Buffy needed to fully break away and run.
   
Spike.
 
Buffy warring insides were torn between her desire demanding her return, and her mind screaming for her to leave.  Ultimately, the decision was made for her.  When she’d reached the top of the garden staircase and heard Spike’s inhuman roar and the distinctive sound of him thrashing in his chains. 

Without looking back, she ran into the night, almost resembling a timorous prey with only a small head start of its persistent hunter.
 
Actually, if she took a moment to ponder, this wasn’t too far from the truth.     

 

 

Author’s Notes:

Bonfire of the Vanities “refers to the burning of objects that are deemed to be occasions of sin.” The most common happened during 1497, but this was not the only one.  They were regular occurrences during outdoor sermons in the first half of the century.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bonfire_of_the_Vanities