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Drive it Home by ClawofCat
A/N: This ficlet was written for the delightful DreamsofSpike’s birthday based on a plot!bunny of her choice. Now, for a limited time only, see ClawofCat write dom!Buffy, sub!Spike and ’lil bit of torture. Doing this was definitely different, but I hope it pleases.

This was a tricky beast for me, so many thanks to my wonderful beta, Eowyn315.

Disclaimer: The characters are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. No profit is gained from my writerly endeavors and no copyright infringement is intended.


It was gone. Just like that, a snap of her fingers, a few murmured Latin phrases, and the access he had to her home was gone. She hadn’t revoked his invitation after their confrontation with Angelus, or even after he came at her with the shotgun earlier that year. But when he confessed his love for her, she had, the bloody bitch.

Now, hanging slightly suspended off the ground, Spike considered that perhaps pursuing her up to the landing outside her bedroom to continue his entreaties hadn’t been the wisest choice after all. His eyes fluttered opened as he regained his footing to see Buffy’s retreating form moving toward the ladder that led to the crypt upstairs. He glanced up at the chains that held his arms and internally grinned.

“Looks like someone wants to play after all,” Spike said, calling after her. “Would have come willingly. All you had to do was ask.”

Buffy paused and stiffly turned around to face him. Apparently, hurling her curling iron at his temple, followed by his fall to the yard below, had not been enough to dissuade him.

“I was really hoping you’d be out long enough so that I could make a hasty retreat,” she said. “Most people would get the picture that they’re not wanted.”

Not wanted. She knew something about that. She fleetingly thought of Riley’s betrayal, his rapid departure from her life. Her feelings of inadequacy had been thoroughly stirred when faced with the reality that she hadn’t been enough, hadn’t given enough. Looking at Spike now, all leers and cocky swagger, anger reddened her cheeks. How could he love her? How could he unrelentingly pursue her? What about her attracted vamps, but drove the nice guys away?

“Gonna leave me all strung up and by my lonesome, then?” Spike asked with a chuckle of amusement. “Been a while, but I always did have a lot of staying power.”

Buffy gaped at him, at his insinuation that the chains meant to keep him away from her were a form of kinky flirtation.

“Is everything one big innuendo to you, Spike? What was that line you fed me about being a ‘changed’ man?”

Spike’s face softened at that, and he moved toward her slightly. “I am, Buffy. I love - ”

Her hand shot up to stop him before he was even able to finish. “Don’t even say it. Don’t you get – no, you don’t. Let me spell it out for you. I. Will. Never. Care. About. You.”

“Right,” he said soberly. “That why you keep letting me in, Slayer?”

“Letting you – what is your damage!?”

With growing interest, Spike watched her incredulity mount. She was so worked up it looked like she would burst at any moment, and he wanted to be there for that bit of excitement.

“Haven’t you ever thought about it once?” he asked, his tone conspiratorial. “All the fightin’ we do, bit of rough and tumble getting us in close proximity? Driftin’ hands…”

“You can stop,” she said with rising irritation, but he kept pushing.

“Feelin’ all that power rippling off us. God, the dreams I’ve had about you. You’re like fire. Bet you’ve got quite the little - ”

Buffy shot forward, and fisted the material of his shirt in her hands.

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

He smiled and dramatically took in a deep breath before continuing, but she interrupted him before he could take the conversation to a whole new world of wrong.

“I’ve never met anyone as delusional as you, Spike. You know, even in high school the boys tended to get that I wasn’t interested and backed the fuck off. But clearly, you and I are not speaking the same language.”

Her voice was like ice, and his demon raced below the surface sending out a silent warning.

“What kind of pervert does something like this?” she asked, waving her hand over his destroyed shrine with contempt, disgusted by the purloined images.

Spike quirked his head at her and eyed the photographs and artfully drawn sketches. “Wasn’t meant for you, Slayer. You telling me you didn’t have a New Kids on the Block shrine when you were a girl? ’S personal.”

“Personal…” Buffy repeated. She circled him slowly, her arms crossed over her chest. “Was it personal when you knocked me unconscious and chained me up? You were just, what? Trying to prove a point? Show me you care?”

“Buffy, that - ”

She grabbed him by the throat, stifling his response.

Spike wasn’t prepared for the crushing blow of her fist as she drew back and pummeled his nose, causing blood to spurt from it in sickening gushes that ran down his throat and chest.

“Bloody hell!” he howled. He tried to hold his nose, but the manacles held him fast.

As fury and repressed frustration bubbled up in her, her eyes raced along his body, searching for a weakness, a way to make him see. They had made a fool of her – Angel, Parker, Riley – all of them. The butt of a joke, discarded like some trash. But not Spike. He wouldn’t best her. She had the power here.

“What the hell are you doing?” he growled, but she ignored him and fished in his pocket for his lighter. As she tore his shirt down the center, she flipped the top of the lighter up and sparked the flame. Kicking his feet out from under him, Buffy backhanded him and pressed the open flame against his abdomen. He stared at her incredulously, and moaned as the fire licked at his skin, raising raw, red burns. He could feel his flesh blistering and sucked in a breath as he took a step away from her. The air buzzed with a dangerous resonance, and gooseflesh broke out on him at her proximity.

Tilting her head to the side, Buffy watched the pink bloom suffuse Spike’s belly. He swung back slightly in his chains and gritted his teeth against the pain. She smiled at that. Her fingertips danced along the site of the burns and dropped to his hip, pulling him closer. Trailing the lighter downward, she held it over his crotch so that the flame just touched the denim of his pants.

“You know, Spike. Maybe if you thought less with your dick, we would have a better understanding.”

Spike shifted uncomfortably beneath her scrutiny. Having his balls roasted by his own lighter was not exactly at the top of his wish list, but he wasn’t panicking yet. He had survived worse torment by more cunning and sadistic bastards than her, Angelus among them.

“Never took you for much of the torturing type, pet. You don’t have the stones,” he ground out through clenched teeth.

Some dark thing unfurled inside her at his taunt, eager to strike out, to defeat, possess. Her eyes met his with challenge. “Really? I’ll have to fix that.”

She reached into her back pocket and produced a stake. Tapping it against her hand, she smiled wickedly at him. “If you’re so eager to be mine, why should I deny you? Maybe I do need to remind you who owns your ass.”

Getting up in his face, Buffy wrenched his head back and hissed, “This might hurt a little, luv.”


Stake upraised, she thrust it down, but checked her speed at the last moment and pierced the tip of her stake through his left nipple instead. Roaring, his demon sprang to the fore at the sensation, growling and snapping his fangs at the mixture of burning pain and violent arousal as she brought the stake down in an elegant arc. Keeping the tip planted against him, she looked down at her handiwork. Etched into his left side from nipple to hip was a bloody letter S.

Spike panted and quivered, the sort of edge play in which she was unknowingly engaging bringing him to the brink of his control. He could feel himself careening toward the tipping point, instinct driving his desires.

“Someone seeing this might think the S stands for Spike, but you and I both know what it stands for,” Buffy said, tracing the frayed edges of the wound with her finger.

“Slayer…” he growled, his voice deep and dangerous with intent.

Buffy smirked. “That’s right. You’re such a fast learner.”

“Yeah,” he sneered, “a hell of a lot faster than you.”

As she was gloating, he had worked one of the manacles open and swung his fist at her. She ducked, but was side-swiped by his legs, which he brought up to close around her waist. Wrenching the chain from the stone wall, he looped it around his wrist and gave it a few experimental swings.

She came at him fast and sharp, fists and kicks and metal flying in a primal whirlwind of mutual rage. Flicking the chain out, he caught her on the hip with the links, and she faltered, giving him enough time to drive her up against the wall. Hard, bleeding, and panting, he held her down by the throat and arched his hips against hers, rudely prodding the juncture of her thighs with his sex. She gave a grimace of disgust, but when the pressure intensified, she let loose a tiny mewl of pleasure, even as they wrestled to pin down each other’s fists. His demon called to her to start their dance, and in that moment it boiled down to fight and fuck. Faith had said as much years ago, but she had never felt it as acutely as she did now. The need to have, the need to feel.

Nudging in closer, he slowly churned his hips rhythmically along her pelvis, coaxing an answering response from her. The heady scent of her desire was thick in the crypt, the evidence of her need clear when she joined him in a controlled writhe. His hands were at her breasts, cupping the handfuls under her blouse. As he moved with her, the tearing in his side where she carved into him pulled and created a raw ache. The demon whined at the sensory overload of violence, blood, and sex.

“Always knew how het up you get when bringing the pain. Didn’t realize something like this would set you free, though,” he crooned seductively, his thrusts driving her to a frenzy. “Do I get you there, pet?”

But his voice broke the spell. Her eyes shot open, and she frowned with disgust despite the rocketing of her pulse in time with his gyrations.

“Get. Off,” she growled menacingly, and drove her fist into his stomach, sending him several feet back on the ground. Diving for him, they tussled on the floor, kicking up the loose earth of the crypt. A fang slashed her cheek, and the smell of her blood tainted the air. He wanted her more than ever. Bringing his head in for a kiss, he stopped abruptly. Straddling his waist, she held her stake poised over his heart.

“Don’t make me shove this up your ass, Spike,” she warned, her wrist twitching as she panted and quivered.

“Oh, say it again, Slayer. I just might like it.”

A ghost of a smile formed at her lips as she grabbed hold of the chain still attached to his one cuffed wrist and quickly rose to her feet to wrap it around the pole where Drusilla had been tied earlier. Smirking, Spike grabbed her ankle just as she secured the chain and brought her heavily down on top of him. Her blouse was torn and hanging off one shoulder. Ripping the fabric away he pressed her against his face, engulfing one tit in his mouth to suck and nibble at her nipple. She arched against him, holding his head to her, until she felt one fang pierce her breast with a sharp prick.

He winked at her as she whipped her head back in rage. “Gotcha, luv.”

Her mouth clenched with anger, she grabbed his erection in her iron grip. “Wrong move,” she growled back.

Flipping him over onto his belly, Buffy tore at his jeans and yanked them down his legs so they pooled just above his ankles. She could see his balls peeking out below his ass.

Craning his head back, Spike grinned and wiggled his ass. “See anything you like, pet? Got something on the other side you might like even more,” he said, as his free hand inched under his body to cup his prick.

Gripping an ass cheek in her hand, Buffy peered at him and held up her stake. “Is it as big as mine?” she asked.

Spike’s smirk faltered, and he looked hesitantly at the stake. “I bloody well hope you don’t mean to –”

But the thought was cut off as he felt the Slayer spit against his ass and work the blunt end of her stake into his hole.

“Urgh!” Spike groaned and tried to buck her off, but she planted herself firmly along his upper thighs and continued with her invasion. He hissed from the intensity of the pain and cried out as she unrelentingly pushed forward. She took in his helplessness, his plaintive, snarling wails. This was power over Spike she had never been able to capture, and she reveled in the slight thrill that came with her ability to control him. He shook and groaned at the tearing of his anus, the chafing of his burns against the ground where her thrusts grated his stomach and rubbed him raw. When he choked on a sob, she let up slightly and waited for his sphincter to relax, eyeing the tension in the muscles of his ass and back.

“This what you did to drive Soldier Boy away, Slayer?” he choked out. “Could see how the bloke might not like the attention.”

Buffy blinked hard at that, and her wrist stilled. She shifted uncomfortably, shaken by his statement. Her hesitation soon morphed to guilt when she carefully looked at the state of him. She was about to pull the stake out when he quietly addressed her.

“Thing is, though, ’m not him,” he said, looking at her intently.

And he wasn’t. His eyes spoke of a gentle hunger, a desire to please that took her aback. She listened to the primal voice that blew though her. It called out to the vampire, naming him pet, property.

Meeting his gaze, Buffy gently slid the stake in further until he groaned and raised his hips to push back on it. She twisted it slightly in him and then pushed downward, unwittingly striking his prostate a glancing blow. He bellowed deeply, his thighs starting to tremor.

“This…” She looked down at his ass hesitantly. “This actually feels good?”

“Lot of things you would never expect feel good,” he murmured, swaying his ass. She ground the stake against him in short, deep strokes and listened to his mewls of pleasure as he writhed beneath her. Feeling like a wrangler who had just caused some wild beast to submit to her, she slowly rose and fell with the movement of his hips and thighs. He pawed the ground lightly, his fingers clenching as the sensation increased.

“Jesus, Slayer…” he moaned and arched up against her, purring deeply from the fuck he was getting. It had been a long time since he had taken it and somewhat regretted that was the case. He had never thought she would be the one to give it to him.

Still keeping a steady pace with the stake, Buffy wormed her other hand into her jeans. Leaning over Spike’s back, she pressed her wet fingers against his lips. He growled at the smell and eagerly sucked her fingers into his mouth, savoring her arousal and whining with need. She relished the sound, sampling the syllables with keen interest at his dependency on her for his pleasure.

“Do you want to come, Spike?” Buffy asked, pressing the stake harshly against his prostate.

He whimpered and nodded. “I do.”

“What are you gonna do for me if I let you come?” she asked, withdrawing the stake slightly and stilling her movements.

Crying out with frustration, Spike turned to her desperately. “What the bloody hell do you want from me, woman? I’m already your sodding lackey, even if you don’t trust me. I do what I can. Help when you need it.” He tried to move back on the stake, but she pressed the small of his back down with her hands.

What did she want from him? She wanted an equal, someone to rely on when things got tough. Spike could be neither, but he was strong, cunning, and convenient; the only one able to fight at her side. She needed him, and that unnerved her. If she was going to win this, she’d have to keep a tight rein on him.

“I need to know that you won’t pull shit like this, Spike. I need to know that you’re going to be in it when Glory finally comes after me. I need to know that you’ll be there to protect Dawn, if… if I can’t.”

Her eyes pierced his, and he quivered with the immense responsibility she was asking him to pledge to her. If that was what she wanted from him, it was hers for the taking.

“I promise, Buffy, with my life. I’ll be at your beck and call,” he moaned deeply when she began to thrust into him again, “whenever you need me.”

Slipping her hand under him to lightly cup his balls, Buffy thrust the stake into him one more time, sending him into a deep orgasm that caused him to cry out and flail beneath her in sharp spasms. His cock erupted where it was pinned between the ground and his belly, so that it slathered jizz all along his stomach and into the S-shaped wound she had inflicted. As she silently rose and dropped the stake into the dirt, he felt her hand fleetingly skim across one of his cheeks.

“Don’t let me down.”

Lying with his cheek pressed against the earth, he watched her retreat up the ladder and into the upper level of his crypt. If he thought he was drowning in her before, he might as well be engulfed now. Eyeing the chain around his wrist, he fingered the S in his side and considered the enormity of what she had asked of him and what he had sworn to her. It wasn’t love, but it was a start.