Spike stared at Buffy for a long moment, not quite believing what she had just done. He looked down slowly at the chains in his hands, then back up to her face, his eyes wide and questioning.

She was smiling, a wicked, teasingly seducive little smirk, as she slipped the spaghetti straps of the slinky little nightgown she was wearing down over her shoulders and wriggled out of it, baring herself to him boldly, her eyes never leaving his the whole time.

"Buffy," he whispered, shaking his head slightly, even as he could feel his desire for her rising at the sight of her, and the way she was so willingly surrendering herself to him. "Are -- are you sure this is what you want?"

She walked slowly to him, not the least bit self-conscious of her naked body -- and why should she be? he thought...she was bloody perfect! -- and wrapped her arms lightly around his neck, pulling him in for a tender but sensuous kiss.

She pulled back from him slowly, gazing into his eyes, her own slightly glazed with her desire for him. "Yes," she whispered. "I'm sure."

She pulled away from him, very deliberately, holding her wrists out in front of her invitingly.

"You trust me that much?" he asked her, in spite of the arousal she was causing in him, his eyes still serious, seeking.

She nodded, her smile fading a bit into a solemn expression. "Yes," she assured him.

He frowned slightly, even as he moved toward her. "You shouldn't," he said softly, but there was a slightly challenging note in his voice. "I -- I could be lying. Me and you -- these past few days -- this could all be an elaborate trick. I could be deceiving you -- I could be Faith's partner, like -- like Angelus says..." His eyes searched hers deeply, his expression troubled.

She wrinkled her nose in distaste as she said in a lightly reproving tone, "Eww. Don't mention him." Her expression became more serious as she added, "And you're not." Her voice was soft and reassuring.

"Once you're chained up -- you'd be helpless. And last week -- you and I were mortal enemies, pet. That doesn't bother you?"

She smiled, her piercing eyes seeing through his words to the fears and insecurities beneath them. "No. It doesn't."

He stared at her for a moment, the challenge in his eyes fading away, revealing a vulnerability and uncertainty that few ever saw in him. "Why not?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She moved in again, capturing his mouth in another kiss, thorough and intense, an attempt to express to him all the things that neither of them could find words for. When she pulled back this time, she met his eyes and replied softly, "Because this isn't last week." She smiled. "I trust you, Spike."

He wanted her, desperately. She could see it in his eyes, could feel it in his touch as his hands ran slowly up and down her arms, unconsciously pulling her closer to him -- but his expression was still troubled. "You shouldn't. Trust like that could get you killed, pet."

"Only if it's in the wrong person," she pointed out.

"What if it is?" he shot back.

"Let's find out." She reached between them and held up the chains, her eyebrows raised in a question and an invitation. Seeing the need that remained in him, she leaned in close, her face barely an inch from his, and whispered slowly, firmly, "I trust you, Spike."

He held her gaze for a moment before looking down at the chains she was holding, and reaching to slowly take them from her hands. Suddenly, he tossed them behind him onto the bed, turning back to grip her in a fierce embrace, yanking her naked body against him and capturing her mouth in a kiss of almost violent intensity.

She returned it with a desperate yearning, his aggression heightening her arousal as she had only imagined that it would, her hands sliding around his waist, tugging him closer, longing for more contact.

Suddenly, his hands hardened on her arms, pushing her back at arm's length for a moment, and the wild, almost feral need in his eyes took her breath away -- and made her arousal that much more intense. Without warning he swung her around and threw her down on the bed on her back, pouncing on her in the next instant, his hands gripping her wrists and pinning her to the bed.

Buffy felt a little thrill of mingled fear and arousal at the sudden loss of control, and the reckless desire in Spike’s eyes as they met hers with a wicked smile. She pressed up against his hands as if trying to get away, but she was returning his smile – and she wasn’t really trying very hard to break his grip. Spike knew very well that if she was trying, she could easily throw him off of her.

Bloody hell, if she was *trying*, she could throw him through the soddin’ wall and into next Tuesday!

But Buffy was willingly placing herself under his power, relinquishing control of the situation – and herself – to Spike. The realization gave him a feeling that was somewhere between disbelieving awe – and the overwhelming desire to utterly ravish her right then and there. But he kept the impulse under control – for the moment.

He intended to take his time with her tonight.

He slowly brought her wrists together over her head and pinned them with one hand, then reached up to wrap the chains tightly around the rails of the headboard, as she had done that fateful first night between them. She giggled, quietly mocking him, at his struggles to situate the chains using only one hand.

He responded with a playful warning growl, just as he managed to get the chains as he wanted them, meeting her eyes again as he gave a sharp tug to test their strength. The chains rattled against the rails, and the headboard gave a tremendous creak – but the chains held firm.

Buffy smiled, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “Good thing we’ve got a nice soundproof room,” she commented suggestively. “No need to hold back.”

That thought alone was enough to drive him beyond desire to desperation, but he maintained his cool smile, as his hand suddenly reached down, cool fingers pinching one bare, erect nipple, hard enough to hurt a little, and she yelped in surprise – but a moment later, he knew beyond all doubt that the action had only served to heighten her arousal.

“Shh,” he whispered, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “No talking.”

Buffy frowned. “But no one can hear us. We can be as loud as we want. We don’t have to be quiet.”

“No, *we* don’t,” he conceded pointedly with a smile, and as understanding began to dawn on her, her eyes widened. “*You* do.” He shrugged carelessly, his hands trailing down her sides, as he added with a sly grin, his eyes studying the flawless skin his fingers were caressing, “Unless of course – you fancy being punished.”

As he spoke, one hand slid inward, finding her sodden center, and he smiled as she thrust unconsciously up into his touch. When he finished his statement, he gave another little pinch to the silky, sensitive skin of her inner thigh, and she gasped at the painful pleasure of the contact.

“Spike,” she whimpered, her hands sliding around him instinctively.

“No, no,” he reprimanded her in a soft but stern voice that sent shivers down her spine, his hands capturing hers and raising them above her head again, toward the chains he had prepared for her. “I said no talking.” He locked her wrists into the manacles, then gave her a mischievous wink as he added in a whisper, “Guess you’ll just have to be punished.” He surprised her then by bringing his hand down sharply on the side of her bottom, hard enough to sting.

She let out a soft little moan, closing her eyes and losing herself to the mingled sensations of the stinging blow and the expert ministrations that his other hand had now resumed. The sound, encouraging and pleadingly wordlessly for more, was punished – or rewarded – by another sound smack.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head in amusement, when she let out another little cry. “Seems as if you *want* to be punished, pet,” he smirked, cool fingers closing again around her nipple and giving it a little twist.

He was not surprised when she gasped at the sharp twinge of pain, or when the gasp was accompanied by a rush of liquid surrounding his working fingers. What did surprise him was when it was followed by a mischievous little giggle. He drew back a little, regarding her for a moment with one eyebrow arched dubiously. It was not his experience to have his partner laugh in reaction to his touch, but something told him that might not be a good reaction.

“And what’s so bleedin’ funny, Missy?” he demanded, a slightly defensive note in his voice, though he kept his tone light.

This only brought another girlish giggle from the Slayer beneath him, as she raised her head and opened her eyes to meet his with a teasing smile. “You ask too many questions,” she informed him in a playfully petulant tone. “I’m being very bad, in case you haven’t noticed. Aren’t you going to punish me?”

So *that* was the joke, he realized, his own face breaking into a slow smile.

The Slayer *did* want to be punished.

“Of course,” he replied with a smirk, pausing weightedly before he added, “In time.” With that, he removed his hand from between her legs, raising himself up off her and settling beside her on his side, his elbow on the bed and his head in his hand as he smiled down at her calmly.

“They say it’s better if you let the anticipation build before meting out punishment. More – effective,” he murmured, meeting her eyes with a smile that was both mocking and affectionate, as she squirmed uselessly, trying to get back into contact with him. His fingers moved indulgently to trace light, teasing patterns on her thigh, maddeningly near to the throbbing source of her need he had abandoned.

She moaned softly, whispering, “Spike – please…” gasping for breath.

His smile widened slightly. “Please what, pet?” he asked her, though he clearly knew the answer already.

The Slayer side of her was extremely displeased with being dominated like this, and she released an angry sound that was almost an actual growl, straining against the chains that bound her and causing the headboard to creak dangerously again with her efforts.

Spike only laughed softly at her, shaking his head as he reminded her, “Might not want to do that, pet. No one can here you, right – but you’d have a bloody hard time explaining a splintered headboard to your little friends in the morning.”

“I could tell them I needed a stake and I needed it in a hurry,” she shot back in a dark tone, still fighting to free herself for a moment before finally seeming to give up, slumping back down against the mattress in defeat, her body still demanding what she had no power to give it. Finally she looked at him and repeated in a desperate whimper, “Please, Spike – please…”

“Please…what?” he repeated, slowly, deliberately, smiling as his fingers edged tantalizingly nearer to the desperate ache that was consuming her.

“Touch me,” she whispered, gasping sharply at the intensified contact.

“Thought I was touching you, love,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her softly on her neck, the cool brush of his breath on her hot, flushed skin only serving to make her need him more – as he had known it would.

“Spike…I need you,” she whispered. “Please…I need you…”

The raw sound of her voice that told him she was speaking the truth – she *needed* him – caught him off guard, sending the desire that had been steadily building in him to a suddenly new level, and she was no longer the only one in the situation who felt the need for contact.

“Buffy,” he whispered, leaning down so that his chest came into contact with hers, his hand slipping behind her neck to pull her into a slow, intense kiss. “Buffy, love,” he gasped when they parted.

“Spike…please…I want…I…I need…” she gasped, finding it difficult to say the words, to tell him what it was that she wanted from him.

But despite his own heightened arousal, intensified by the renewed contact, he was determined to make her. “What, Buffy? What do you need?” he asked her in a low whisper, thick and trembling with desire.

“You,” she whispered desperately. “I need you, Spike – I need you – inside me…”

The pleading sound of her voice, the knowledge that in that moment she was his – no one else could fulfill the need she was proclaiming – it was *him* that she wanted more than anything else in that moment – it all served to give his control that last little push over the edge.

“Yes,” he whispered softly, rising up to lower himself down again over her. “Buffy, love – want you so much….” As he spoke, he granted her plea, plunging down hard into the solace she offered him.

The Slayer let out a soft, strangled little cry of pleasure and pain, gasping out his name. “Spike! Oh, God…*Spike*!” She writhed against the chains that held her, her frantic movements under him heightening the pleasure for him with every new contact of her soft, hot skin against his cool flesh.

“Buffy…Buffy,” he found himself just repeating her name in a desperate whisper, as they moved together in perfect rhythm, each finding their needs met in the other.

The feeling of giving up control, of leaving her pleasure, her very self, in Spike’s hands, was liberating to the Slayer, who had felt intensely the pressure of responsibility for the safety of her friends, her sister, and the terrible burden of knowledge of the great battle looming before them. It gave her a sense of freedom to, if only for a few moments, place utter and complete control in the hands of the vampire that she had come to trust so fully, just surrendering herself to the sensations only he could give her.

And for Spike, emotionally and psychologically worn down from constantly fighting and running for his very life, surrounded by a dangerous world full of people who had not only the desire but the power to hurt him, the sense of control was empowering. It had been so long since he had felt in control of anything…and the previous night of terror had left him feeling vulnerable and weak. The sensation of total control, wielding the power for once instead of being at someone else’s mercy, was a strength and a relief.

The explosion consumed them both at exactly the same moment, and the Slayer let out a primal cry of passion as pleasure washed over her; above her, Spike cried out her name in the moment of his release, before collapsing on top of her, her own arms slack against the restraints, both exhausted and sated.

After a few moments, Spike raised up slowly, meeting her eyes with a tenderness that was somehow not a contrast to the wild, primal force that had consumed them moments before. He leaned down to kiss her again, and she pulled against the bonds, wanting to put her arms around him, whimpering softly against his lips when she could not.

He pulled back, reaching up to unlock the chains, then wrapped his arms around her, allowing her to relax against him for a few moments, before she reached her arms around him to return his embrace.

She raised up slightly, smiling at him pensively, and he gave her a questioning look.

“What?” he asked in a low, husky whisper, searching her eyes.

“Nothing,” she murmured, smiling into his eyes. “Just thinking.”

“Thinking what?” he pressed, impossibly curious now.

She was silent for a moment before she responded, her hand tangling gently in his disheveled blonde hair in preparation to pull him in for another kiss. “That it looks like I was right.”

“ ‘Bout what?” he whispered, offering little resistance, though he still wanted an answer, as she pulled him down into a long, thorough kiss.

She pulled back, meeting his eyes with her own shining with affection as she replied. “I picked the right person to trust.”