Spike finished lighting the candles all around his dark and somewhat dank lair. It was underground, nice and sheltered from the sun. The candles were not necessary, since his eyes were well accustomed to seeing in the dark, but he liked them. They made the place look more presentable; just because he was an evil vampire didn’t mean he wanted to live in squalor. Okay, so maybe he did most of the time. This was different though. He had company. He was nothing if not a welcoming host.

He glanced over at the Slayer, hanging from the ceiling by the chains his hired-help had attached to her wrists. He’d removed her shoes and jacket, had thought about removing more but decided he’d wait for her to be awake for that.

Yeah, he knew how to show a lady a good time.

Still, it provided him with a unique opportunity to watch the Slayer when she was defenceless. He was used to her defiant glare, her ice-maiden persona. Now, though, she was completely at his mercy. That was just the sweetest thing imaginable. Not that he had an abundance of mercy. He fully intended to kill her. After he had had some fun, though.

There were plenty of things Spike wanted to do to her. She had humiliated him in the past; beaten him, laughed at him. He wanted to claw out her heart. He wanted to drink from her delectable neck before he snapped it. He wanted to fuck her.

Maybe even in that order. He hadn’t decided yet. The night was, after all, still young.

As he was contemplating further games to play, Buffy began to stir. She let out a whimper, a pained one that made him smile. Her arms had to be aching; he had made sure they had got the chains just the right length and tightness to make it feel like her arms were being pulled from their sockets. Of course, the pain she was feeling might have been down to the chain that had been wrapped oh-so-lovingly around her slender neck. She still wore the indentation of it against her skin, like the phantom of some ornate necklace.

Whatever the cause of her pain was, Spike was just glad it was there. Bitch deserved it. He was looking forward to inflicting more of it.

Buffy’s eyes flickered open, took a few moment to adjust to the semi-darkness, and then fixed upon him.

“Ah, nice of you to join me, sleepyhead” Spike smiled cheerily, stepping into the pool of light created by a cluster of candles “Was worried I’d have to wake you up. I mean, the evening wouldn’t be very much fun if you were unconscious. No screaming, then”

The patented Buffy Summers’ glare was her only reply.

It made him chuckle “I think tonight will be good for our relationship. Bring us closer together as people. Help us grow and whatnot”

“Firstly, you’re not people” Buffy said coolly, voice raspy “Secondly, I don’t think you’ll ever grow a pair, Spike”

His eyebrows rose as he pretended to look distraught “So, you have still got some fire in you, Slayer. I’m glad. It’ll be much more fun to make you snivel and beg”

“Like you once said – I’m not the begging type”

“We’ll see”

Spike lit a cigarette and took a long drag as he watched her test the weight and strength of her bindings.

He began to pace, showboating “Guess what, Slayer? I’ve come to a realisation. You and me – we’re destined to kill each other. It’d be bloody and messy and soddin’ glorious. Problem is I don’t intend on ever letting you shove the pointy end of a stake in me. So, I have to off you before you off me. It’s a shame but there it is. You understand?”

Buffy was silent a moment “Trust me, Spike, if you keep on talking you won’t have anything to worry about. I’ll kill myself”

“I like it,” He nodded “You’re gettin’ it back. The attitude. The heat. I must be a good influence on you, love”

She snorted. Spike took another hit from his cigarette and walked slowly towards her. Bathed in the soft glow of the candles she looked like something out of one of those masterpieces – something painted by Da Vinci, or Michelangelo. Her skin was paler these days, nearly as pale as his, her hair like spun gold against the milky white. Bit too skinny, though. From what he could tell under the baggy clothes. Hadn’t been eating well, this one. Maybe even starving herself. A Vampire Slayer with an eating disorder?

That was just perfect.

He’d wondered briefly about the clothes when he had seen her at the Bronze. Spike was used to her dressing in all sorts of skimpy outfits. If you could even call half the stuff she’d worn outfits. Nothing more than scraps of material, some of them. She had known what to wear to get a man – and a vampire’s – juices going. Now, though, she seemed to lack the zest she’d had the last couple of years. Dressed in unflattering clothes, nothing fancy done with her hair. She was starting to look more and more like a Slayer and less and less like Buffy Summers.

Spike frowned to himself. He shouldn’t have cared about what fashion direction the Slayer was going for these days. Yet, for some reason, it bothered him that she’d let herself go. He shrugged to himself and continued towards her.

She watched him closely, like a predator. She had yet to realise she was the prey.

The Slayer kicked her legs out at him as soon as he was in striking distance. Spike caught one leg and knocked the other back down. He held her leg up at a painful angle, making sure she couldn’t kick up with her other leg again. “Such dainty little feet,” Spike mused, studying her foot “for a killing machine.”

Quickly, he flicked his tongue out against her big toe. He didn’t know why, he just felt the desire to do it and she was at his disposal now. So, he could do whatever he wanted. Buffy let out a sound and tried to jerk away from him. Spike held on tight, looked her in the eyes and grinned.

“Get the hell off of me,” Buffy warned, eyes narrowed “You ever touch me like that again and I’ll –”

He kept his eyes on hers as he slowly drew her toe into his mouth. Buffy started thrashing around wildly, rattling her chains like a spook. Her eyes held anger, confusion and discomfort but there was something else there too.

Strangely, she didn’t say anything. He expected another scathing comment; in fact he was quite looking forward to one. He tilted his head away, releasing his lips hold on her, and smiled arrogantly “Enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

Buffy’s scowl quickly returned and she tried to kick him in the face again. He released her foot and took a step backwards, out of range.

“But, you know the deal, don’t you?” Spike stepped back into the shadows.

She strained her eyes trying to keep sight of him in the darkness. He stooped down, picked up his fallen cigarette and stuck it between his lips. The glowing tip alerted her to where he was.

Spike watched her, the Slayer all trussed up in his home sweet home. It was a beautiful sight. A Kodak moment. He snickered at that. Maybe there would be Polaroid’s later. Could make one of the lackeys go and nick one. He had all the time in the world.

Shame she didn’t.

After one last drag he threw the fag to the floor and ground it out with his boot. He stepped back into the light “Deal is – you get pleasure, you got to have pain. Little something Dru and Angelus taught me” Spike withdrew the knife from behind his back. Her eyes fixed on it. “So, tell me, baby – where do you want to hurt?”