A/N: My first ever Spuffy fic! The first of a few missing scenes and drabbles to come. Leave me a review and let me know what you think? Enjoy!

If she kept telling herself there wasn't anything wrong with this, perhaps she'd start to believe it. It didn't help that he knew it was wrong too, and he revelled in it, whispering it to her on every other ragged breath. Buffy rolled her hips again, clenching every muscle in her body just to watch his pale eyes grow wide before they rolled back. When he let her take control she knew it wasn't for her benefit, though she wasn't complaining. This was a man with out agenda, after all. Who preferred to channel his energy in whichever direction his woman commanded, and he loved following her commands, just as much as he loved giving her what she needed. She could only be so selfish, she could never love him, but she wanted to please him all the same.

Spike watched her move over him, her hair catching the candle light in golden ribbons. From under her he could see the scars that interrupted the smooth honey of her skin, the way the paler flesh caught the light. William's eyes find the white crescent on her throat, and he felt a surge of anger. Digging his hands into her hips he caught her on an upswing and held her still as he bucked up into her, watching her face contort in pleasure and surprise from underneath.

Beneath her... Beneath... Another welling up of frustration and he's flipped their positions completely, slammed her into the stone slab they'd made their bed for the evening, drilling into her like he had something to prove.

When his face shifted, canines elongating as her throat was revealed to him, her eyes opened to meet his. The demon growled at her, and he was filled with the memories of other girls, who felt small and breakable like this, looking at their lover to find he'd been replaced by a monster. She didn't scream like them, and that bothered part of him. He liked the scream, he liked the intoxicating blend of terror and arousal as he drove into them, he liked to sink his teeth in when they came. The blood was spiked with their climax that way, with all the chemicals it had released into her bloodstream.

She wasn't scared by him, if anything her eyes were shining with fascination as she brought a hand round from the back of his neck to run her fingers over the demonic ridges that had formed on his face.
"Slayer." The vampire snarled, picking up the pace as he leant down to bury his face in her slender neck. He could feel her pulse thrumming against his lips, smell rich iron through her thin skin. Funny that it had taken his death to appreciate all the thrills possessed by a living human. His lips parted a little, tongue seeking salt, and his teeth brushing flesh they didn't dare find purchase on.
"Don't, Spike, don't." He didn't need her breathless warnings, as much as he wanted to break the skin and drain her he knew it would be the end for them both. A world without her was a world without worth. He'd find the nearest church with a ford and douse himself with the water, skin sizzling as he walked out the doors to let it dry in the sun.
William's hands cupped her backside, lifting her hips off the stone and pulling her up to meet his thrusts. The nails on her right hand made little half-moons down his arm, as her left collected the gel from his hair beneath them. He sat back on his heels, holding her onto him as he improved his angle and gave his nimble fingers access to her clit. Her cry made him grin, those monstrous teeth exposed and hungrier than the rest of him.

"Come for me, Slayer. Give in to it, pet."

As she came he followed suit, unable to hold out as she tightened around his length, imagining curbing both his hungers and breaking her skin as he did so, picturing rich red life flowing free and filling his mouth. Slayer blood, slayer love, slayer... He had fallen for his own death wish.


When he told her how it worked, all those human systems that seemed sustained despite his eternal death, she should've cut and run. They lay together in the semi darkness, recovering from one another, when she asked the nagging question that had been haunting her since she discovered just how capable vamps are at getting it on.

He'd tried not to look too guilty when he told her his passions were highest after a kill, or as it is after a slurpie cup full of microwaved O negative, because his body had used the new blood in an attempt to replace his own long stilled supply. Everything about them was stolen, they were the kind of beast that thrived off the life of others, because the moment their own was snuffed out they ached for it's return. The demon wearing a dead man's face couldn't possess a body that didn't crave life like it craved blood. What made him hard wasn't just her, it was someone else's blood rushing through his veins, pushed by some supernatural force that couldn't be comprehended in this dimension, or the next. Passion, perhaps, pulled the red through his body and forced a few hard pumps from the frozen lump of muscle that was once a human heart.

He grabbed the discarded silk coverlet from beside them on the floor, shaking the dust off before he threw it over them. His slayer curled up against him, shivering a little as the only warmth he could offer was a reflection of her own. Buffy's heavy lids had already closed, head lolling against his chest. She was so small beside him, he considered her as he pushed a lock of damp hair out of her face, it was hard to believe she was his greatest predator. Then again, he shifted onto his side to wrap himself around her, unlike other creatures of the night he was hers, too.