Nekid spike numbers challenge! updated 030509!!!!!


Title I Wonder
Author Devylish
Fandom BTVS
Pairing Spike/Willow-ish
Rating R?
Words 2065
Warnings Some slash reference/sex
Spoilers and AN Basically takes place shortly after Oz leaves. But I'm confused about when Spike actually becomes a crypt dweller, so that part may be AU. I might have taken some liberties with the voyeurism… but the leather, willow, and spike are all there.

I glance around a little nervously. I didn't hear him anywhere near, but, then again, I probably wouldn't since he was a vampire…, and all with the sneaky creature-of-the-nightedness.

I know I shouldn't even really be here, but strangely enough, he was the first one I'd thought of…. Maybe it was because of that visit he made to me after Oz left. I think that it was then that I realized that despite his being all fangy, he was also still… well… human.

Some (Xander) might find it odd that I have so willingly attached the word 'human' to someone who kills for a living. But,my best friend is Buffy, and she's a slayer… and that's what Buffy does too…. Kill for a living I mean. And she's human.

Sort of.

Anyway, here I am… wandering around in this little cold hovel that Spike calls 'home'. Only, it's not so little. And, I glance at the plethora of candles filling the marble and cement room, it's not so cold. I can only think that the marble keeps in heat as much as it keeps in coolness. Cautiously trailing my way around the grey room, I take in the ramshackle TV, the broken in/down chair, and the small table beside it.

'All the comforts of home', I muse.

And then I notice, next to the table, on the floor closest to the far wall, are 2 small stacks of books.

My geek heart fluttering happily, I glance around again, and still seeing neither hide nor hair of Spike, I sit on the edge of his threadbare chair.

Leaning over the arm of the chair and staring at the books, I take in their smell. Leather and smoke… much like their owner.

…Not that I've noticed Spike's scent.



Nope…! Not me!


Okay, so I've noticed his scent. Hard NOT to when he's always swishing by with that leather coat of his. All long and supple, and beautiful.

The coat I mean. Not Spike. Although, since I'm being honest, yeah, he's…, he's kind of beautiful.

What?! I'm a girl. A woman even! Am I not suppose to notice blue eyes, chiseled cheeks, a wicked smile, toned arms, and hands… hands that looked like they could…. Well, umm, you get the idea.

Erh, not that I've looked at him much. Really. I… I just…, okay, I'm looking at the books now.

Lightly fingering the top of one book, I lift the cover. To my sweet, naughty boy, something to keep you entertained while I'm in Italy, your Dark Plum.

I almost close the book in surprise, but, well, there's my curiosity cloying at me,… so, instead, I pick it up, and looking around the room one more time, I schooch back in the surprisingly soft chair and reopen the tome, flipping randomly to a page in the center.

And I nearly drop the book at what I see. Sketch after sketch lined the pages of the book. Sketches of blood and violence, but also of sex and lust. A woman lying spread eagle on a bed, her hands tied to the corners of the barely drawn bed, her eyes blindfolded and a man bent over her side, his fingers curved between her legs – between the dark curls that cover her sex.

And on the next page, a drawing of two men having, well…, I blush feverishly; one was on top of the other, his hands in the other ones hair, his chest against the other ones back, and his… his... umm, wow.

I feel a pool of heat settle in my stomach, and I continue to turn the pages.

As I skim through the book, I realize that I should be disgusted by the pictures. Disgusted by the bondage and the actions being depicted. I definitely should be disgusted by the bite marks, and the blood illustrated on the thin sheaths of paper, but… I'm not. I'm not disgusted, I'm not sickened. Something small in me stirs and responds to these drawings.

And then I realize something else. The man… the man depicted in most of these pictures, is Spike. I stop on a still-life of him -- alone, naked, lying against pillows, his lips stained with blood, a trail of the dark liquid on his chin and chest…. And did I mention that he was naked? I stare at the picture, my eyes locked on the prize.

I'd seen Oz naked. And he was nothing to sneeze at. At least, he hadn't seemed like anything to sneeze at, but, I gulp as I stare at Spike's figure.

Whoever had drawn these pictures had to be exaggerating. They had to be. Didn't they?

"Well hullo Red, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

I slam the book shut with an audible 'eeep' and look up at Spike. He's standing in the doorway of his home, a bag labeled Sunny's Liquor Emporium in one hand, a cigarette in the other. He looked… he looked… Umm, have you ever seen a naked picture of someone, and then seen the real person shortly thereafter? It's disconcerting. And it's darn hard to keep your mind from picturing them WITHOUT clothes again.

So, yeah, flashing through my mind was a picture of Spike, cigarette in mouth, bag in hand, sans jeans. It was a nice picture. But definitely not the right thing to be imagining when within a 10 foot radius of him.

I saw him sniff slightly then lean his head to the side. Before I could frame an excuse for my being in his home, he grinned. A dark delicious grin. He sauntered past me and dropped the bag of liquor onto a marble slab.

He was behind me now, and while I'm obviously not a vampire, my senses were suddenly hyper-sensitive, I could hear him sliding out of his jacket, reaching into his pocket, and pulling out his lighter and cigarettes. I could even hear him, seconds later, blowing a puff of smoke out. So I wasn't – very – surprised when I suddenly felt him right behind me, leaning over the back of the chair, his lips against my ear as he whispered.

"Ne'er answered my question, Pet. What're you doin' in my home? Other than leaving a delightful scent of arousal in it?"

I 'eeep' again. Arousal? I'm leaving a…? He can tell…? Oh. Craaapppp. I feel a flush of heat and blood sliding over my skin in embarrassment.

A rumble emits from Spike's chest. He traces a finger down my neck, "It's not a good idea to walk uninvited into a vampire's home… nor is it a particularly good idea to walk in a vampire's home smelling quite so enticing."

His finger is moving in a slow pattern up and down the length of the vein that I swear is not just pumping blood, but is singing with sudden desire.

"And it's definitely, definitely not wise to let a vampire see how the blood rushes so beautifully just below the surface of your skin… through your veins." He leans in even closer, "Whatever has you here in this state little Red?"

"I-I just wanted to…I mean, a couple of weeks ago, when you… so… I thought…, and then when I got here you weren't…, but I didn't feel like… and I still wanted to talk…. So, so, and then I saw your books, and I…" I loosely hold up the book before letting it drop back into my lap. "I didn't know it… or I wouldn't have… I don't think I would have at least… I mean, no… no I wouldn't have… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry." I finished my 'explanation' with an honest, if somewhat lame apology.

Spike whistled softly. Understanding laced his voice. "Even for a vampire, pet, that explanation was a marvel of breath control." Reaching his hand down my body he grasped the book and flipped the cover open. His fingers traced the words written by Drusilla, years and years ago. "One of the few things she ever gave me; rare moment of true, clear feeling for me. It was a beautiful day all around. She was lucid… clear as a bell; and Angelus was off in some other town with great grandma-ma. I had Dru all to myself that week. She was nearly always better when she was with me. Alone."

He was silent as he turned the thin leaf pages.

I am trying my hardest to control my breathing, to control my heartbeat as he glances at the book, using me as a human table.

"This one is my favorite." He stops on a sketch that spans two pages. "She was a redhead like you, Kitten. Name was…" He dug through a file of memories, "Lily. Pretty girl. Although," I feel his eyes leave the book and turn to burn into me. "she wasn't as pretty as you, and," his lips were on the shell of my ear, "she didn't have your spirit."

I can't look at him. And I don't want to look at the book anymore. But my eyes are locked on the drawing of a slender woman, lying in Spike's embrace, her back to his chest, one leg over his thighs, his cock buried deep between her folds. One of his hands rested on her clit while the other tortured her nipple. Her head was thrown back, not in fear or disgust, but in ecstasy. It was visible, even in pen and charcoal that she was feeling something akin to bliss.

Bliss even with a vampire's fangs pulling at her blood as if it were an elixir.

"Di-did you kill her?" My voice is soft.

His tongue is cool as it teases the soft skin of my ear, "Yes."

I know I shouldn't respond to his admission of murder; I shouldn't respond with lust, or desire.

But I do.

"She was asleep when I took the last of her life. But," his tongue was now sliding down along the same path his finger had earlier traveled. "If it helps you any, pet, she died with a smile on her face." His voice was dark and husky. Sweet like honey.

I wondered, as I stared at the picture, how he could make even death sound sexy.

When he closed the book and removed it from my lap, I knew it was now or never; that I needed to get up and pull away, and pretend that his sense of smell was faulty or broken or something. I open my mouth to make some excuse; to make my get away, but he beat me to it.

"I could show you what it's like Luv."

My heartbeat spins out of control. I don't want to die, no matter what my deluded libido might be suggesting.

"Not talking about the killin' part, Red. I know you, and I like you; wouldn't want to take your life."

The thought ran through my mind that not that many months ago he would have wanted exactly that. My death.

"I wouldn't want to kill you now. I know you now. I didn't know you before… other than as the Watson to my Nemesis."

"Yeah, umm, that's me. Buffy Holmes' Watson. Reliable, bumbling… Watson." I start to edge out of the chair.

Then he touches me again. He lifts my arm slowly, "Intelligent, beautiful, enticing… Watson." He kisses my wrist. His lips lingering on my pulse point. "I could make you feel what Lily felt, Pet. I could make you feel special; as special as you are."

His tongue is back on my skin again… cool and insistent and honey filled…. Pure magic.

He's reading my mind or something -- perhaps he has me in thrall – because the next thing I know, he's in front of me, pulling me to my feet.

How I am managing to stand on my jelly filled legs, I don't know, but I don't have long to wonder about it before he swings me up into his arms. Arms made of steel. And my head is now buried in his neck, and I'm breathing in his scent. The scent of liquor, and smoke, and faded leather. I breathe it in as he carries me to the hole in the floor in the corner of his little home.

As I descend with him into the darkness, I wonder if I will have the strength to tell him 'no' when he asks to bite me. To taste me.

I wonder if he'll have the strength… the desire… to stop taking my blood when I give in and give it to him.

I wonder.