The original plan for the evening, for Buffy and Spike to patrol as soon as darkness fell, was abandoned completely as the Scoobies ended up spending the evening planning and catching up with Giles on all that had happened in his absence.

Buffy was relieved that Spike seemed to see the wisdom of…well…shutting up. Every word out of his mouth so far had only served to provoke her friends to greater hostility toward him, and for a minute there she had been afraid that another violent confrontation might take place.

Spike had come to her for protection from Faith, but she found that she was spending most of her effort protecting him from her friends.

“Well, guys, this has been fun,” Willow said with a yawn, sounding more pleasant and cheerful than he had in a very long time. “But I think I’m going to go ahead and turn in for the night. I have a lot of research to do, and an early day tomorrow.”

The others took their cue to follow suit. Spike rose from the couch to allow Buffy to begin to make up a place for Giles to sleep. Almost immediately, Xander volunteered to take the spot on the couch instead, leaving his bed free for the older man.

Amidst the bustle of preparations, Willow quietly slipped past where Spike stood at the bottom of the stairs. “Good night,” she said quietly, in what might have been mistaken for a genuine attempt at getting along – had he not known better. Then she added with a little smirk, “Sleep well.”

*Vicious little bint,* he thought resentfully, suppressing a shudder that suddenly ran through him. *She knows full well there’s not a bloody chance of that now, thanks to her!*

Finally, much to his relief, once Giles had headed up the stairs to go to bed, and Xander was settling down on the couch, Buffy gestured for him to follow her up the stairs to her room.

That in itself was a good sign, he thought, surprised that she had trusted him even enough to turn her back on him at all. But then, he reminded himself with cynical realization, why should she not feel perfectly safe? She was the only thing standing between him and the many terrible fates that Faith, or Buffy’s friends, could imagine for him. The Slayer knew very well that he would not touch her – well, not in that way, he amended with a little grimace.

He made himself look away from the enticing view of the Slayer’s rear end as they reached the top of the stairs, knowing that to be caught looking would mean a quick, dusty end to all his problems.

Buffy was beginning to be a little unsettled by Spike’s unusual silence. It had seemed like a good idea while her friends were around, for him to keep his mouth shut. Buffy was convinced that whenever Spike *did* finally run out of luck and end up dust in the wind – it would be because of his mouth. But now that they were alone, the silence bothered her. It seemed – unnatural, and was a little on the disturbing side; she wished he would just say something.

She did not have long to wait.

The moment the bedroom door was closed, he quickly walked around to face her, his mouth set in a line of grim determination.

“Slayer – we need to talk.”

Buffy arched her perfectly shaped eyebrows speculatively at his words. “ ‘We’ do?”

He ignored her sarcastic tone, not reacting at all as he pressed on. “I’m not gonna be much help to you if your friends dust me before we can stop Faith, am I, Slayer?” he pointed out, an angry edge to his voice that surprised her.

She rolled her eyes, pushing past him to go to her dresser and get out her pajamas. “That’s not going to…”

Her words were stopped short when he suddenly gripped her arm and spun her forcefully around to face him, his blue eyes flashing amber for a moment as he snarled, “*Don’t* bloody *do* that!”

She jerked free of his bruising grip, her own anger rising. It did not matter to her that technically, she had pushed him first. She could not believe that he had actually dared to retaliate. “Don’t touch me!” she snapped.

And so did Spike.

Eyes blazing, he grabbed both of her arms tightly and slammed her back against the wall, hard “Why not?” he demanded in a low, intense voice, barely controlling the rage that was welling up inside him. “You don’t seem to have any bloody qualms about laying your hands all over *me* whenever you bloody well feel like it, do you, pet?”

She knew that she could break his grip in a heartbeat, knew that she was stronger than he was, especially now, when she was at the top of her game and he was still recovering from the results of several brutal beatings over the course of only a couple days. A part of her was furious that he had dared to attack her like this, tossing her around like a rag doll, and that same part of her wanted to throw him off of her and show him just what a bad idea touching her had been.

But he was speaking to her in that low, mesmerizing voice, a strange, haunting music that sent shivers down her spine…and his strong hands, on her arms, unsettlingly cool, reminding her of just what he was…

Why did that thought, which should have repulsed her, only make her heartbeat quicken with a feeling that she dared not name – though it was definitely not fear. What was he saying, anyway? she wondered distractedly, trying hard to focus on his words rather than his rich, enticing voice.

“You and your little slay groupies, you’re all the same. You think because I’m in a bit of a spot here, can’t do much against you at the moment, you can threaten me and push me around. Well, sod that, pet! I swear if any one of your little friends touches me again, I’ll rip their bloody throats out, and take on Faith myself. You think I *need* you to…”

He suddenly stopped his rant, his eyes widening in surprise as he stared at her, and she felt her face flaming with embarrassment as a slow, knowing smirk began to spread across his face, and she knew that he had once again caught the unmistakable proof of her desire for him.

“Well, well,” he remarked, his low voice taking on a seductive quality which in no way helped her situation. “Our little Slayer seems to have a fetish for vampires, yeah?”

The words “vampire” and “fetish” brought back the image that had popped into her head earlier when she had insisted so strongly to her friends that Spike’s being chained to her bed was not a “kinky vampire bondage fetish” thing.

Again – a memory that was not particularly helpful to her attempts to control her arousal.

“I do not!” she snapped at Spike, finally finding the strength to break his grip on her arms and push him back a few steps. But her body refused to agree with the lie her mouth was telling. “I do *not* have a vampire fetish!”

Spike’s smug smile widened, and he moved toward her again. “That doesn’t exactly seem to be true, love,” he pointed out, his cool fingers once again finding her arms and trailing slowly upward to her shoulders.

She knew that she should pull away again, should not let him touch her like this, but the light brush of his cool fingertips over her hot, flushed skin was sending delicious little tingles from where he touched, all through her body.

Some part of her mind was still stunned at his nerve – but that part was silenced when his thumb brushed lightly over the side of her breast in a move that could have been accidental, although she was sure that it was not, in the part of her mind that was still capable of coherent thought. Before she could stop herself, she gasped at the pleasurable contact.

Spike smiled, and repeated the touch, a little harder, as his hands continued to move on her arms. “Shall we test it? See just what sort of fetish you *do* have, love?” he murmured in her ear, his cool breath sending a shiver down her spine.

So strange, she thought, for his breath to be so cool, as her eyes drifted closed and she began to lose herself in his touch. Suddenly her eyes snapped open again, as the thought reminded her of just exactly what it was that she was doing.

Her hands rose to rest on his arms, as she appeared to be still allowing herself to enjoy what he was doing to her, her hands trailing slowly up to circle his wrists. Suddenly, she jerked his hands off of her, spinning around to reverse their positions and slamming *his* back into the wall, pressing close to him, pinning him there, her hands still holding his wrists between them.

His wide blue eyes stared at her in surprise as she turned her own gaze, darkened with mingled anger and lust, on him, and spoke in a low, dangerous voice, “I said don’t… touch…me.”

To her great frustration – and greater arousal – he was not the least bit intimidated by her words. He smiled wickedly at her and replied in a low, dangerous tone to match hers, “Is *that* what you said? ‘S not what I heard, love.”

As he spoke, he took advantage of their close contact to swivel his hips slowly toward her, grinding the hardening bulge at the front of his jeans against her, hard enough to make her gasp in pleasure and shock. Encouraged by that response, his hand pressed between them found its way to her breast again, his thumb stroking a slow circle over the soft cotton of her t-shirt, and she bit back a soft moan, struggling not to lose control.

*Stop him, Buffy!* she ordered herself sternly. *Stop him – stop – stop – don’t – stop – oh, don’t stop!*

She was caught off guard, surprised to find that his hands were suddenly free again, and he took her arm and swung them around, so that her back was to the wall again. He then returned his hand to continue his expert caress, his other hand drifting down to lightly stroke over the front of her jeans.

Gazing intently into her eyes, searching for some sign of acceptance, invitation, he finally lowered his mouth to hers boldly. Her lips were slightly parted already in a gasp of pleasure at his touch, anticipation of the kiss, and he kissed her firmly, thoroughly, possessing her with his lips, his tongue, before finally pulling back to allow her to breathe.

“See, it’s okay, love,” he whispered, gazing into her eyes, his own wide expressive blue eyes revealing how close he was to losing control of the game that he had started. He sounded more than a little breathless himself, and he did not even *have* to breathe!

“Nothing wrong with having a thing for vamps,” he assured her softly. His low voice took on a suggestively teasing note as he added, “I’ve clearly got a thing for Slayers, now haven’t I?”

As Buffy eagerly pulled him down for another kiss, thinking that she had had more than enough time for breathing – time for more kissing now – a part of her mind thought absently that his comment did not exactly make sense. After all, he had *been* with Faith, but he had not really wanted to be. *She* was the only Slayer he had ever really wanted…

Unbidden, a memory invaded her thoughts, flashing through her mind, words spoken by her Watcher long ago…

*William the Bloody…fought two Slayers…killed them both…*

With a shock she drew back sharply from the kiss, her eyes wide with a stunned suspicion as she stared at him in disbelief. He gave her a puzzled, wondering look for a moment, confused and a bit alarmed.

Why had she…?

The next moment, his thoughts were interrupted by the force of a powerful blow across his face. “You – you *pig*!” Buffy snarled, and he was surprised to hear an almost hurt sound behind the anger in her voice. “You – you disgusting…”

He was rubbing his sore jaw, when she raised her hand for another blow, but he caught her wrist quickly, gripping her other arm with his free hand and shaking her slightly. “What the bloody hell is wrong with you, woman?” he demanded, furious. “Why’d you do that?”

“I’m just like those other Slayers, is that it, Spike? Just another conquest, like the ones you killed?” Her voice was trembling with anger and pain, and he was stunned…and softened…by the tears that filled her shining green eyes.

He stared at her for a long moment, dumbfounded, his eyes slowly widening in understanding of just exactly what it was that had upset her so.

*Bloody git,* he chided himself. *Always gotta say the wrong thing.*

“No,” he said, shaking his head, his tone gentle. “No, love. Not at all.”

She was trembling with indignant, wounded rage, as he cautiously approached her again. He reached for her, but she shook his hands off again as he went on, persisting and reaching out to take her arms firmly, searching for her eyes.

“Then what did you mean by that?” she demanded angrily, but she did not pull away from him again.

He was silent for a moment, gazing down at her, the Slayer that had fascinated him from the moment he had first seen her – and amazingly, even to himself, he actually told her the truth.

“It’s not the challenge – not the hunt – that draws me to you, love. It’s…your strength. Your beauty. It’s – it’s *you*, love.” Instinctively he pulled her nearer to him, feeling the pull he spoke of even as he described it her, finding it a struggle not to lose himself in her eyes. “There’s…something about you that – that *calls* to me. That keeps me coming back here, no matter what the cost. Because of you, Buffy. I want you,” he said softly, leaning in slowly as if to attempt another kiss.

Buffy had heard enough; he could not have said any better words to convince her at that moment. A part of her was still warning her away from what she wanted to do – what she knew already that she was *going* to do – but her desire for him was overwhelming by this point – intensified by his revelation of his desire for her.

Before he could move forward to kiss her, she had taken the step herself, plunging forward and covering his mouth with hers, her hands on his shoulders pushing him back against the wall again, with an intensity but without violence this time, kissing him hungrily, desperately.

He could feel his body responding to her urgent advances, and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her nearer. This was the stuff of his fantasies…his dreams…from the moment he had seen her, though he had not been able to admit it to himself until recently. His anxious, seeking hands clutched at her waist and pulled her in tighter to his aching need.

She gasped in pleasure at the contact, and he felt his own desire deepen at the sweet sound. He needed her! He wanted her so badly!

Suddenly, unexpectedly, she pulled away from the kiss. He tried to follow, to pull her back, but she firmly removed his hands from her and stepped away without a word.

*What the bleedin’…*

“What the bleedin’ hell do you think you’re doing, Slayer?” he demanded breathlessly, his eyes wide with disbelief as she walked calmly across the room to the other side of the bed.

She did not respond, just reached down and begin fiddling with the chains that had bound him the night before, testing their strength in her hands.

“Oh, I don’t bloody think so, pet!” he declared, his voice trembling with anger and frustration as he stalked indignantly toward her. “You can’t mean to say that you’re gonna take things this far, get a bloke all worked up and desperate and then just stop… just go back to chaining me up on the floor again, after what just happened between us! I don’t bloody…”

His voice trailed off and he frowned in confusion when he noticed what she was doing. She had taken the chains and wound them tightly around a few bars in the middle of the headboard, tugging them tight with a smile of satisfaction, leaving the manacles that had bound his wrists hanging down onto the top of the mattress.

When she turned slowly to face him, the seductive, teasing light in her shimmering green eyes stole his breath away, and his eyes widened in realization, a moment before she spoke, her voice soft and both dangerous and inviting.

“Who said anything about the floor?”