Title: Together, at Last in the Same Black Hole (1/1)
Author: sinecure
Character/Pairing: Spike/Willow
Rating: Adult
Genre: Smut, angst, hurt/comfort
Spoilers: Takes place after Wrecked.
Summary: Spike isn't as disapproving of magick as the rest of Willow's friends.
Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
Thanks: to Nonlinearmusing for the beta.

"Bad bit of business, that." Spike squinted into the distance, watching a squirrel dash across a branch, shaking the leaves as the furry little rodent climbed higher into the tree. He was seeing monsters where there were none now in his desperate search to find some.

Thing was, he'd been a bit starved for company lately. If they didn't find something soon, Willow would probably scamper off like the squirrel, back to her semi-forgiving friends. She'd leave him alone again, ignored, forced to occupy himself until one of their lot decided they needed to beat him up. Or throw money at him. That was always fun as well as lucrative.

He was nearly out of smokes.

"What?" Lost in her own thoughts, Willow turned dull eyes his way, blinking at him as she tightened her grip on the sword she'd grabbed before they left on this patrol of Buffy-avoidance. Avoiding Buffy, avoiding Dawn, circumstances, situations... life.

"The other night," he clarified, nodding at her, squinting through the smoke from his cigarette. "Rack. Car accident. Demon."

Her eyes returned to the surrounding darkness of the cemetery, one shoulder rising in a shrug. "Yeah." Her voice was just as dull as her eyes, lifeless and boring since giving up the mojo. Losing not just her bird, but all her friends' respect and trust and whatnot.

Straining for sounds of nearby demon activity, he glanced her way again. "They think you've gone evil and all that, Buffy and the Bit. But I figure you were just finding your true self. The real Willow. The one you were meant to be."

Her gaze darted to him, mouth dropping open. "No. That--"

"Scared 'em a bit. Showed 'em some real power. Buffy's afraid of the darkness in..." rolling his eyes, he quickened his pace, "people."

She ran after him, boots crunching on fallen leaves and dead flowers, alerting everything within a mile radius that they were there.


Her hands agitatedly played with the sword handle, twisting it this way and that. "But, no. 'Cause, I'm not evil. I just got into magicks that were, you know, a little darker than I should have maybe." Her brows rose with conviction. "And-- and I was addicted, and--"

"Addicted." He snorted scornfully, tossing a glance at her over his shoulder. "That wasn't addiction. You can't be addicted to magick any more than you can be addicted to life, or breathing." Turned more fully toward her, he threw his cigarette to the ground. "Also, never said you were evil. You've just got a bit of darkness in you, is all. Everyone does. You just went about finding it the wrong way." He shrugged, ears perking up at the sound of something big moving through the trees. Looked like he'd be able to work out some aggression after all. "Demon."

Her hand shot out, grabbing his arm. "Wait. I'm not a demon. I'm-- I'm not. So, what, a little darkness in me and suddenly I'm a--"

"Demon," he shouted, shoving her out of the way. She yelped as a red-skinned body slammed into him, knocking him backward. He and the demon hit the ground with enough force to momentarily stun Spike. His eyes landed on Willow, who was safely on the ground a few yards away, leaning against a tombstone. Feeling adrenaline pump through him, ready and eager and itching for a fight, he shook his head with a grin and swung his fist, catching the edge of a red jaw.

"Bloody hell!" It was like punching a rock covered in a steel shell.

The demon's fingers grasped Spike's coat, dragging him up. "Orior."

"Whatever, mate." Shrugging free of its grip, Spike tackled the long-eared bloke. His foot caught on something on the ground--a branch or stick or something--and they both went flying again. Grunting, he landed atop the demon. It was fast, faster than him, and it quickly spun them around, roaring at him with a mouthful of teeth that put his own fangs to shame.

"Orior!" It leant down, and Spike wasn't sure exactly what it intended to do, but he wasn't about to give it the opportunity to do whatever it was.

Shoving his hand in the demon's face, he pushed hard, trying to dislodge its grasp, but its red-arse wouldn't budge. Its hands surrounded Spike's throat and squeezed.

Spike smirked, ignoring the fact that he'd done the same to Drusilla. And for some reason it'd worked. "Brilliant. Choke the vampire that doesn't need to breathe." Swinging his fist, he caught the demon in the eye, snapping its head back a ways.

Fetid, foul breath burst over Spike's face. "Orior."

"Yeah, yeah," he snarled, coughing just a bit. Bucking his legs up, he managed to dislodge the demon a little. But it clung tight, squeezing harder and leaning forward, something weird going on with its tongue that made Spike think of Chimonne demons that impregnated humans with their spawn.

He wasn't gonna be any demon's bitch.

Bending his legs, he shoved at the demon's chest and swung his fists, pummeling through the pain, but the fucker wasn't budging. "Get off me!"

A shadow passed over the moon as the wind whipped up leaves and dead flower petals, surrounding them in a fall of death. Suddenly, the demon grunted and arched its back, straightening up. Its hands loosened, nails clawing desperately at the skin of Spike's neck, sending needles of pain tingling along his flesh.

Glancing up, he spotted the reason the demon'd suddenly gone all silent movie on him; there was a sword point sticking out of its chest, just above where its heart would be housed if it had one.

Willow stood behind the demon, eyes black, hair whipping lightly about, hands fisted at her sides. Had she used magick to kill the demon, or stuck the blade in herself?

Feeling the air crackle around him, he knew she'd used magick.

He could feel it simmering in her, brushing against his skin, tickling along his flesh with light, teasing touches. She raised her hands and stepped forward to push the demon from him, but it disappeared in streams of swirling black and pink light. Caught off balance, she fell forward, landing on him with an oomph as her sword dropped to the ground beside them.

"Ow." Her hair and eyes returned to normal, but the magick stayed with her, swirling between and around them.

Collapsing to the hard ground, he flicked his eyes to hers. "Thanks for the save." Adrenaline pumped through him and his nerve endings began to vibrate under the assault of so much mystical energy.

She smelt good.

"See?" She held her hands up and flipped them over like a magician to her audience. "Not evil." A sudden, heavy breath left her and he was pleasantly surprised when she didn't climb off of him as quickly as possible and run away.

She felt good.

"You know, I've had a lot of women landing on top of me lately." He shifted beneath her just the smallest bit, wondering why she didn't seem to be as disgusted as Buffy that she was touching him.

Willow blinked down at him. "Oh! Sorry. I didn't realize--"

"I'm not complaining, love." Folding his hands behind his head, he stared up at the star-filled sky, hoping she wouldn't jump off of him just yet or roll away with a sneer. He liked the warm, feminine feel of her body on his.

She tossed him an absent, lopsided smile and rolled to the side, settling on the grass beside him, not a sneer in sight. "They all look at me like I am."

Trying not to feel disappointed at the loss of her, he raised a brow, confusion lacing his voice. "How's that?"

"Evil," she clarified, shrugging her white-clad shoulders. "Dawn especially. God, I don't know how I'm ever going to make it up to her." She sighed and closed her eyes. "She holds grudges."

Spike observed Willow, looking at her--really looking at her--for the first time in what felt like years. The magick and adrenaline bubbled in him, just beneath his skin, which was humming in contentment. She was a... beautiful girl.

No. Woman.

She was a woman now, just like Buffy. Ripe and firm and soft; begging to be touched. Rich, red hair, soft and feminine.

"I mean, she once held a grudge against Janice for a whole month over something really small and petty." She rolled her head toward him and held her finger and thumb up, centimeters apart. "So small and petty I've forgotten what it was about."

Running his eyes over her neck--force of habit--then lower, he took in the freckled skin of her chest showing above the lightweight white blouse she wore. "Yeah. Petty. Likes grudges, our Dawn." Willow's mouth curled up in the most fascinating way when she smiled. He used to know that about her. Used to know a lot about all of them before he became so obsessed with Buffy.

Willow's voice drifted to him on the cool night air, soft and curious, filled with questions. "You're staring."

Questions he didn't have answers to. Nodding, he closed his eyes and stared sightlessly up at the stars. "Yeah. Sorry." Quite the brilliant reply, right up there with effulgent.

"Trying to spot the evil darkness in me?" she joked, though her voice held no amusement.

He felt the air on his right side brush against him, disturbed by her moving and shifting around. Away from him? Fearful, now that the demon wasn't playing by rules she understood? He did, he knew them well, and he was grateful for them even as he despised this side of himself. She was attractive and her power drew him to her as much as Buffy's did. He was the proverbial moth flitting at the proverbial flame.

But how far would he--could he--take it? How far did he want to take it?

Turning his head, he opened his eyes, finding her watching him. Did she know? That vampires, though they could be monogamous, were actually rather fickle with the lovers in their lives?

Dru knew.

He'd fought it for a century, but he thought he might understand now, how he could love one person and still want another. Dru, though, she'd just been a bit on the easy side. Also, insane. "Actually," he admitted, watching Willow quietly, wondering why he was trying to complicate his life, but coming up with no answers, "I was thinking about kissing you."

Eyes and mouth widening, she gaped at him. "What? Why? There's-- there's Buffy! And-- and-- and I'm gay?" She pushed up, bracing herself with her hands, frowning his way. "And Tara--" she cut herself off quickly, snapping her mouth shut. "No Tara." Sitting up more fully, she slid her eyes to the ground, pulling at the grass with her fingers. "Not anymore."

Ignoring Tara for the moment... well, no, actually for good. "There's Buffy, yeah. Doesn't mean I can't want someone else." He shrugged, feeling something dark pulsing in him, making him shudder. His hands fisted at his sides as he fought the desire to grab her and shag her senseless. He imagined himself tearing her neck open and drinking her blood while shagging her hard and fast. Imagined taunting Buffy with that knowledge.

But there was a chip... and no real desire to kill Willow.

Eyes sliding back to the sky, he sighed. "Doesn't mean I don't want someone else."

She nodded absently, barely listening to him. Her mind was elsewhere, on else-people, probably Tara-shaped people

Brushing his hands off, he sat up, deciding it'd be best not to give in. He shouldn't, not now. Buffy might come around and he didn't want her thinking him a bad sort-- well, a worse sort than she already thought him. "Demon's dead. We should go before something else finds us."

Willow turned toward him, eyes dark and black, magick simmering just beneath the surface. She got to her knees, pressing a hand to his chest, pushing him to the ground.

Well, now.

Tongue playing at the back of his teeth, smirk climbing up his lips, he watched her move forward, the knees of her red skirt turning brown and green from the grass. He liked the heat he felt coming from her; it burned him inside just enough to electrify his nerves in anticipation.

She pulled her skirt up around her thighs, showing him hints of pale, freckled skin that he wouldn't mind touching and tasting.

Always had wondered what she'd taste like.

Straddling his waist, she shifted around a bit, making herself right comfy. He knew she could feel his cock beneath her. He was already beginning to harden even after just that little bit of encouragement. His skin continued to hum, all that power--dark and light, flowing beneath her skin and swimming in her veins--battered at him, assaulting him.

It was alive in her and calling out to him, and he wanted to answer.

Bloody hell, did he.

Buffy was avoiding him lately, pretending nothing had happened between them. Pretending they hadn't shagged all night, bringing the house down around them. Well, bugger her!

Willow was right here in front of him, on him, surrounding him. She leant forward, bracing her hands on his chest, rocking her hips, making him harden even more. Lips by his ear, she breathed out, "Doesn't mean I can't want someone else either."

There was no question of giving in anymore. "Bloody right." Hands shoving under Willow's blouse, he grabbed her by the waist and rolled them over. Her body, so full and flush beneath his, made him tingle. His skin vibrated in tune with hers. She was soft and warm and he wanted her.

Wanted to shag her hard and take everything he could from her. Lap her up like a kitten with a bowl full of milk, or tear into her like a dog with a piece of meat.

She arched up, breasts pressing against his chest, letting her mouth hover under his for a few seconds. "You want me, Spike?"

Eyes dropping to her lips, he nodded, smirk climbing higher. "Think I do, pet."

Her mouth curved up in delight and she exhaled a breath of amusement before shifting again. No, not shifting this time, she was definitely rocking. Her legs squeezed his, warm flesh--detectable even through her knickers--pressing down on his cock, stimulating and arousing. "Think I want you too." Her eyes, teasing and light, swept over him. "Gonna do something about that?"

"Bloody right I am," he growled, eyes fastening on her teeth as they nipped her lower lip.

They both closed the distance between them at the same time.

Mouth moving hard on hers, teeth replacing hers on her lower lip, he didn't waste time with soft touches and gentle caresses. Neither did she. She clawed at his chest, sending delicious rivulets of blossoming pain throughout his body. Sliding his hands inside her blouse, he cupped her breasts, shoving her bra aside to roughly squeeze her warm flesh. Pinching her nipples with a small twist, he studied her face, watching her reactions

She gasped into his mouth, arching into his hand. "That's definitely a good start."

Smirking, he pressed his mouth to hers again and again, devouring her in the only way he could anymore. Drawing her to him, he sat back, plastering her against him. A cool breeze whipped up, blowing her hair around his fingers as he threaded them through the strands and pulled her head back, staring down into her face. "Just wait until the finish."

Shuddering, she stared up at him, breath bursting over his face as a ghost of a smile appeared. Her chest rose and fell sharply, his mirroring hers, a sign of how much he was affected.

She scraped her nails down his abdomen, a smirk growing on her lips. "Are you sure it's me you want, Spike?"

Frowning, he stared into her dark eyes, still rimmed in magick. Her cheeks and shoulders were covered in freckles. Willow was different. She tasted of fruit and clean things, but there was something underneath all that, something that reminded him of Buffy.

Buffy tasted of darkness and power, of death.

Knowing it might be a deal breaker, he couldn't help but ask, "Could you... be her?" Frowning at how pathetic he sounded, he realized then that he was so much more of a pansy than Angel. This was just as bad as the Buffy-Bot, something he'd come to... well, not feel ashamed of so much as regret.

"Would it make it easier?" she asked, dark eyes swirling.

Blinking in the moonlight, he watched as Willow's red hair grew longer, the ends turning blonde, then the rest of it as well. Her eyes shifted to something between blue and green, though he could still detect some black lining them. Would it make it easier? Yeah, definitely would at that.

But for her, or for him?

Her freckles turned to smooth, pale skin that he ached to touch. Sliding his hand up from her breast, he moved his palm to her heart, feeling it beat beneath her skin, feeling it pound with a rhythm that was just a bit off from Buffy's. The off-rhythm vibrated in his bones, sending tiny shockwaves of wrongness through him, but it wasn't altogether unpleasant. "Buffy," he whispered, watching in awe as Willow became thinner, shorter, and more muscular. When she was done, she was all Buffy, watching him in a way the real Buffy never had.

Never would.

Watching him, waiting for his next move.

Her scent was wrong, her taste was wrong, and her wrappings were wrong, but for now, she was just right enough for him.

She licked her lips and cupped her breasts, watching him hungrily. "I want you, Spike. Want you so much." Lips hovering near his, she breathed softly, making a tiny noise in the back of her throat as she shifted on his cock. "Fuck me hard."

Kissing her fiercely, he shoved her skirt up, moving it higher with eager, shaking fingers, scraping her thighs with his nails. She was so soft and firm, just like Buffy.

Tearing her mouth from his, she tipped her head back, arching under his hands. He moved them higher, higher, pressing against her damp knickers, satisfaction pouring through him at having made her so wet. She gasped out a sound filled with lust, murmuring over and over again, "Be her, be her, be her."

He had no idea if she saw Tara when she looked at him, didn't know how that would work if she did, nor did he care. She was as close to Buffy as he'd get tonight. Maybe forever. Yanking her knickers free, with a little wriggling help from her, he shoved them into his coat pocket, then slid his hand back between her thighs, slipping his fingers into her wet folds.

"Oh, god," she gasped, drawing in a few short breaths with effort. He slid his fingers out of her, hesitated, then thrust back in. Her nails clung to his shoulders, tightening in the black leather of his coat. Marking it.

Pressing her open, loving the feel of her moving on his hand, he used his thumb to rub her clit, watching her face, watching her gasp and moan. Watching her head drop back, baring her neck to him, hair cascading down her back in waves of silky soft strands. "Beautiful."

Wasn't quite the same as the real Buffy; it was still Willow beneath all that glamour. She was still reacting the way Willow would react, not holding herself back like Buffy had... but it was intoxicating.

Her hair flowed around her shoulders and back, shimmering in the moonlight. He loved her hair.

Fingers tearing at his belt, she moved faster on him, grunting and whimpering out little sounds that he'd never heard from Buffy before. He liked them. Liked the way she raised and lowered on his fingers, rubbing herself on the heel of his hand with a low moan. Loved the warm scent wafting up to him, tickling his senses. Loved the silky smooth feel of her folds squeezing his fingers, trying to keep them inside her.

Liked every response he was eking from her.

Opening her eyes, she dropped her head down, staring at him, lips moving. A breeze cropped up, caressing them, stirring her hair, and he thought it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. If Buffy had all that magick flowing in her, she'd be... a goddess.

One of her hands loosened from his coat and grabbed his jaw, holding his face still. "Fuck me," she ordered, hand tearing at his shirt, yanking it from his jeans. Her fingers clawed desperately at his stomach, shoving the thin t-shirt up to scrape his chest. "Fuck me hard, Spike. I want your cock inside me. Make me... make me stop feeling like I'm-- like I'm bad."

The words, in Buffy's voice, with her lips shaping them, were too close-- too Buffy. Was this to be his lot in life? Shag the humans to make them feel?

Did he care?

Not just now, no. He slid his fingers deeper inside her, twisting them on every thrust, feeling her warmth seep into his own skin, feeling it heat him and make him harder. Thrusting quicker, he lowered his other hand to his belt, scraping against the leather, trying to finish the job she'd started. It was too hard to do it one-handed while she fucked his hand, so he slid his fingers free of her, sucking on them quickly before--

Oh, bloody hell!

Gasping as her magick swam through him, he rode out the bucking of his hips as his cock sought friction. She was full of it, every taste and lick and nip of his fingers coated in her flavor infused him with her power, making his head spin and his skin crackle. His back arched like a cat seeking touch as his eyes slid shut, hands dropping to the grass. She whimpered in need and he felt her disappointment as his own.

Tearing at his belt in sudden urgency, needing to feel Willow's flesh surrounding him, he snapped his eyes open.

Watching her.

She was beautiful as Buffy. But.

Shame shot through him as he watched her raise her blouse and bra, then toss them to the ground beside them. Buffy's hands rose up, cupping her breasts as her hips rocked into him, giving him the delicious friction he so desperately needed from her. She was fire and ashes, burning him and simmering under his skin, making him want more of... Willow.

Ripping his jeans open, he freed his cock, belt buckle jingling in the still night air, filled with nothing but their harsh breathing. Her eyes lowered, eagerness and desire pooling in the swirling mass of black. He wanted green, he just wasn't sure which shade.

Grabbing her hips, he shoved her skirt up to her waist and pushed her back to the grass. His fingers slid down her thighs, and he shuddered at the feel of smooth skin he'd only felt for one night. Spreading her legs, he lowered over her, flicking a nipple with his tongue and scraping it with his teeth before biting down, forgetting this wasn't Buffy. Wasn't the Slayer.

Forgetting Willow didn't have Buffy's tolerance for pain.

"Spike," she gasped, arching into his mouth, hands rising to thread through his hair and hold him to her breast. "Harder. Please."

He kept his eyes on her as he bit harder on the pebbled flesh, feeling her squirm and writhe beneath him. Feeling her breath leave her in a shudder and her fingers tighten in his hair. Knowing she wanted him to hurt her and not liking the reasoning. "Willow."

"No." Releasing him so suddenly that he fell forward, she threaded her hands through her own--Buffy's--hair. Tossing it about, drawing his attention, making him watch her, making him feel her.

And it worked.

Stroking his cock a few times, he settled over her, lining himself up. She watched him eagerly, breathlessly, waiting.

When he hesitated a moment too long, she thrust her hips forward, slipping him inside her... just an inch, but enough to make him suck in a breath at the feel of her surrounding him.

Grabbing fistfuls of grass on either side of her, he thrust all the way into her, sucking in another breath through his teeth, not stopping to make her comfortable, not stopping when she cried out--in pain or pleasure?--not stopping when her muscles tightened around him; he just pushed into her as deeply as he could. Couldn't stop. Not now. God, no. Shuddering over her, he slid out, then thrust back in again, hard. Deep. Filling both of them with pleasure.

She didn't feel like Buffy, there were monumental differences in the feel of the two of them. Tighter, slicker, smoother, firmer. He couldn't say just then who was which, but he didn't care.

"Fuck," he mumbled against her chest as pleasure overwhelmed him and magick seeped deeper into his bones, flowing through him and wrapping around him.

Magick didn't do that on its own, she was doing it to him. Feeding it to him.

"Willow." His voice was low, gasping, barely reaching his own ears as he raised his head and stared down at her. She was still Buffy, and he didn't like that anymore. "Don't be--" was all he got out as she squeezed her muscles around him, thrusting her hips up, urging him to move.

Urging him to fuck her properly. And god did he want to.

Her voice sounded in his head, echoing with sensuality, slipping through his thoughts. "I want you, Spike... please. God, please."

He pulled out, ready to thrust into her without mercy, without being careful of her human body. Wanting to take her hard, as she'd begged. But her face was still Buffy's and he didn't want it to be anymore. He wanted her to be Willow.

Instead of doing as his body needed--bloody hell, was so eager to do that he was shaking above her--he settled his weight on one arm and cupped her cheek with the other. "Stop being her."

Shaking her head, she wrapped her legs around him, grinding her pelvic bone against his, hands lifting again to caress her breasts. "But this is what you want. Isn't it? I mean, it's-- it's the perfect package. Buffy begging you." She leant forward, face intense. "Wanting you." Lying back down, exhaling shakily, she clawed at his waist, trying to get him to move again. "She's everything you want."

She was right; this was everything he wanted. There was a sudden humming in his ears that made his skin prickle as magick pushed into him more forcefully. His hips bucked harder into hers before he pulled out and began to thrust again, over and over, rhythmically, taking her. Using her just as Buffy had used him.

Just as Willow was using him now.

"No," he grunted, arms braced above her as he pounded into her, eyes fixed on Buffy's face, wanting to see it even as he denied it. "Take it off. Be Willow again." His hand dropped to her cheek again, his movements becoming unsteady. "Be you."

She dipped her chin down and dropped her eyes to stare over his shoulder. "But I thought--"

"Please," he whispered agonizingly softly, pleading with her yet again. Pleading. He was always pleading with these humans. Begging them! Anger pulsed in him and he dropped down, sniffing her neck, inhaling her scent, closing his eyes as the scent of her blood pulsed in him. Drowning him. If she wanted to give him what he wanted, then why wasn't she sharing her blood?

Snarling, he thrust harder, pushing her backward on the lumpy ground, wishing he could take her blood as easily as he was her body. No thought to it, just a simple want. Open his mouth, tear into her neck, and--

"Bite," she whispered, the sound of her voice echoing through his thoughts again, startling him. "Take it." She ran her finger over the top of her breast and he came to a halt, staring at the flesh, which was freckled again. She was offering her blood to him. Was this a joke? Play the leashed vampire, tease him with everything he wanted and then kill him?

Was that what this was? Fuck!

Pounding into her, harder than he should, his eyes fixed on her hair as it turned red again, fanning out on the grass, moving with every thrust. Her breasts jiggled as she offered them to him along with her blood. He turned his head away. "Can't."

Her nails scraped up his back to his neck and then higher, to thread through his hair again and push him down, so close to her blood, her essence. Too dangerously close to being tempted by her offer.

"Spike. I want you to--" she inhaled sharply, eyes sliding shut for a moment before snapping back open as her hips slammed up against his, "--bite me." Licking her lips, she slid her eyes from his. "I want you to bite me, please. Just take it."

Some people thought he was stupid, he knew that. Because he reacted on instinct and jumped into the fray when the odds were stacked against him. They thought--Angelus and Darla... even Buffy and her lot--they all thought he was too rash, too guided by his desires and needs, which made him act when others stood back and planned. He wasn't one for planning; he preferred action.

But he wasn't stupid, and he knew Willow was using him to punish herself.

Lowering over her, he grabbed her wrists. "You wanna self-flagellate, do it when I'm not shagging you."

Narrowed eyes shooting to his, she lifted her hips, watching him with a smirk. "I know you want to hurt me." Her voice faded in the air, growing louder in his head. "I know you do. You're a demon, it's what you do. You hurt people."

"No," he denied, though they both knew it was a lie. He wanted to hurt her, but he didn't want her to use him to do it. It was tiring being used.

"Yes." Her mouth no longer moved with words, her voice was only in his head now as she darted forward and bit his shoulder. Her teeth clamped down on his flesh, then drew the skin into her mouth before drawing free again. "Do it," she panted, whimpering with need and something else, something darker. "Take my blood." She shuddered, hands sliding into his jeans, slipping around to grab his arse, squeezing tightly with her nails as she sucked on the flesh of his shoulder again.

Was it just punishment that she wanted? She was genuinely turned on by the thought of him hurting her. But was it real, or just what she thought she deserved?

Letting his face change, he pushed her away, shoving her to the ground, staring down at her. Watching her. Hoping for her fear. Wanting to be able to drink in the taste of it, to stop her from using him to hurt her. But, she merely frowned briefly before baring her neck to him, then squeezed her muscles around his cock when he hesitated.

"Please," she whispered, completely Willow now. That was her red hair, her freckles, her breasts, her lips begging him to bite her. Her neck bared to him, looking so soft and luscious... so--

Shuddering, he darted his head down, and, with a snarling growl, bit her hard, deciding at the last millisecond to actually do it, and to make it hurt as much as possible. His teeth tore through the flesh of her neck, the soft, warm feel of it soothing something deep inside him. The fresh taste of her blood flooded his mouth for only a moment before pain shot through his brain. He reared back with a shout, hand going to his forehead, cock jerking inside her, making them both gasp in pleasure.

He stared down at the wound, flesh torn, blood dripping in several different directions as her chest rose and fell. "That what you wanted?"

"God, yes." Hand on the back of his head, eyes steady on his, she pushed him back down, forcing him to inhale the scent of her blood, which was wafting toward him. Forcing him to taste it again. To draw it into his mouth with greedy lips and tongue.

He couldn't resist any longer.

Keeping his teeth to himself, he felt a few warning twinges in his head, spider webbing throughout his brain as he agitated the bite. But she was there, in his mind; he could feel and hear her as he breathed her essence into his thoughts and feelings.

And he knew she was enjoying the pain.

As he sucked and lapped at her blood, her body bucked under his, nails digging into his back. He fancied he could feel scratches forming on his skin even through his coat and two shirts. She cried out loudly, screaming his name, her hot folds clenching around him as she grasped him more tightly to her, forcing his mouth from the bite wound. "Harder."

Shuddering over her, he raised his eyes, watching her breath leave her in quivering pants, feeling her chest heave beneath his mouth. It sent the firm flesh of her neck further into his mouth.

He opened his mouth wider, sucking harder, taking more of her. Slowly. Not to kill her, but to drink her.

Pulse speeding up instead of slowing down, it got faster and faster, climbing higher and higher. He could taste magick in her blood. It simmered in him, livelier than before, soaring through his veins along with her borrowed life force.

Feeling her body let go--in orgasm, not in death--he slipped a hand under her back and drew her closer, feeling and riding out every little shudder and buck of her beneath him in a parody of the death throes.

After a moment, she went still, then arched up, sending his cock deeper into her. The taste and feel of her blood in his mouth, the magick flowing through him and her voice screaming out her pleasure, both inside his head and out, made his body all the harder.

Losing control, he thrust into her with short, quick strokes, rearing back--not in pain this time, but pleasure--licking his lips, staring down at her. Dark red dripped down her neck into rich red strands, which shimmered in the moonlight. Her mouth was open wide, eyes squeezed shut, legs still wrapped around him while her body reacted to his with the occasional shudder.

He was close now. So bloody close.

His body tightened, balls drawing up. Body moving faster, he pounded into her, shoving her back with each thrust. Her hair, the perfect shade of red, fanned out all around her head. Her pale body glowed in the moonlight, breasts jiggling as she began to relax underneath him.

Eyes black.

Lips moving.

Whispering voices.

Something tickled his head and he wanted to scratch at it. As it grew, he moved faster still, feeling it. Needing it. Bloody hell... fuck, had to have it now. Now.


Thrusting deep inside her, he held himself still, gasping for control.

The feeling in his head intensified for a few seconds and he couldn't stop himself any longer. He began to thrust again, his pace uneven and uncontrolled. Willow watched him, her eyes deep and black, blinking only occasionally, a small smirk playing on her lips.

Lips he wanted to taste again. Leaning down, he kissed her hard, desperately. Scraping his teeth lightly along her lower lip, he drew it into his mouth.

Pulling back, watching as she lowered her hands from his arms to her breasts, his eyes eagerly focused on her fingers as they cupped her breasts and pinched her nipples. Pleasure shot through him at the sound of her moans and the little whimpering sounds she made deep in her throat. For him, he knew.

His own voice grunted out sounds more suited for the animal he became while feeding, but she didn't seem to mind.

Her lips parted as she shoved her head back, baring her bloody neck to his gaze. "Don't stop." Fingers clenching on her breasts, she arched up under him, thrusting her hips, slamming them into him.

Loosening her legs from around him, he dropped forward, folding them, shoving them to her chest, changing the angle of penetration. Rocking forward, he braced his hands on the cool grass on either side of her head.

He was bleedin' close.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he put his head down and thrust harder, the slick feel of her warmth squeezing around him sending him there, just there. Tight. Deep. Hard.


With a shout, he threw his head back, thrusting deep inside her, as deep as he could get. His hips bucked against hers as he came, the muscles in his body tightening, tightening, tightening, and then--bloody hell, fuck, yes--letting go. His cock spasmed, spurting deep inside Willow as she continued to squeeze around him, milking him, taking everything he had to offer.

Deep inside Willow.

That thought made him groan in pleasure and bare his teeth with a growl as his hips continued to buck wildly against hers, cock still spurting inside her.

She was Buffy's best friend gone bad.

Trembling over her, he held himself aloft as his hips began to still. Seconds later, he dropped down on her, feeling her sweat-slicked body under his, the soft, pale skin that was all Willow. Different from Buffy. Different from what he'd so briefly had. What he wanted again, still. Buffy was in his heart, there was no denying that. He loved her and he needed her.

But Willow was in his head.

His thoughts were his own now; she was gone. But he missed the weight of her there. His brain still tingled from the feel of her presence inside his mind. Still buzzed, like his skin and bones, with the power of magick.

They were vulnerable out here in the open. Anyone could happen upon them, like Xander and his ex-demon again. He didn't want that, didn't want anyone to know what he'd done with the witch. Buffy'd never believe him again, never want him-- no. She might want him, but she'd fight it even more than usual.

Pushing up, he glanced down at Willow. All traces of her magick were gone. She stared at the sky with green eyes, lips pressed tight, a frown marring her smooth skin.

Bracing himself above her, he pulled free. She winced, making a small sound of discomfort, but said nothing and stayed still.

Fixing her skirt, covering her when she made no move to do so, he rolled to the side, dropping to his back on the hard ground. He knew she was already feeling shame and guilt for shagging him. Knew his own shame and guilt weren't too far behind either, and he hated that. Hated that he had to feel it at all, but this was his life now.

This was what he was reduced to, a chaotic whirl of human emotions and guilts.

Raising his hips, he tucked himself back into his jeans and buttoned them up, buckling his belt. The tension he'd relieved by shagging her was growing again, increasing.

"I really am," he heard her whisper as she rolled away from him, drawing her knees to her chest. "I really am evil."

"Bollocks," he snapped, sitting up to glare at her. Shagging him wasn't a sign of being evil. Why did everyone think that? "You're not evil. 'Bout as far from it as you can get, in fact."

She sat up as well, tears swimming in her eyes, hands clenched into fists in her lap. "I just-- I--" staring past him for a second, she took a deep breath, then returned her eyes to his. "I just fucked the man in love with my best friend. And! And I'm still in love with someone else. That's... well, it's not not-evil." Sniffling, she swiped at her eyes, completely ignoring the fact that she was still topless.

"That's not evil. Bad judgment maybe." Her pale skin, glowing in the moonlight, distracted him. Reaching behind him, he grabbed her blouse and bra, handing one to her, slipping the other into his coat pocket with her knickers. Rubbing her scent off his fingers, he adjusted his coat beneath him. Her smell was just as distracting as her partial nakedness. "We're both adults." Digging through his other coat pocket, he pulled out his cigarettes and shook one out, slipping it between his lips. "Not cheating on anyone." Flipping his lighter open, he lit the tip and squinted through the smoke that rose from the cigarette. "Shouldn't feel guilty," he muttered, wondering why he still did.

"Right," she sniffled, voice on the verge of tears. Slipping her blouse over her head, she slid her arms into it and then pulled her knees up to her chest. "Then why do I?"

Her eyes darted to his briefly before sliding away again.

Inhaling a lungful of smoke, he shrugged. "Dunno. I don't," he lied, tossing his cigarette away when he got no satisfaction from it. It landed on the grass a few yards away, rolling against a tombstone, sending up trails of smoke that widened and spread in the cool breeze blowing around them. Willow's hair blew around a bit, the blood from his bite bared to him through brief gusts of the red strands. "You shouldn't either."

Her blouse was turning red. There was a round area just above her heart where blood was beginning to soak through.

Tearing his eyes from the flowering stain, he glanced at her face as he adjusted his clothes. Tears ran from her eyes and her breath was beginning to hitch in. She tried to keep it under control, but she was quickly losing all ability to stifle the tears and the sobs.

"Tara," she mumbled, drawing in a few shuddering breaths before gasping them back out again. "I cheated on Tara. I-- I keep doing that. Why do I keep doing that?" Her eyes flew to his as if he had the answers. When he remained silent, she got to her feet. "I-- I have to go. I shouldn't..." another sob escaped her, and her face crumpled as she finally stopped trying to hold back. "We shouldn't... have-- have done this."

Standing slowly, watching her turn the blame on him, he fisted his hands at his sides, wondering how he kept managing to do this. He'd shagged another human who hated him.

"I'm s-- sorry," she sobbed, big, dark green eyes full of tears, lower lip trembling. "I screwed up again. I'm so sorry."

He stared at her. She wasn't actually blaming him? Well, that was... unexpected. Frowning, he took a hesitant step toward her, feeling the need to comfort her, to assure her it wasn't all her fault. There was no fault here, just two adults who'd sought solace in each other. "Wasn't just you. Think I was there too." He shifted uneasily, glancing up at the moon for something to distract him.

Comfort wasn't an alien thing to him. He'd comforted Dru a lot over the past century, most recently after Prague. She'd been defenseless then, unable to feed, unable to take care of herself. His hand itched in remembrance of all the times he'd lain beside her, stroking her hair as she fed off someone he'd brought to her. All the times he'd made her come with those same fingers.

With his mouth.

Seeing Willow so miserable and ashamed, he took another step toward her. "Shouldn't feel guilty," he muttered, resting his hand on her shoulder. As if that was all she'd been waiting for, she turned more fully toward him, clutching his shirt in her fists, sobbing heavily.

"I'm sorry," she dragged out, heaving in deep, wet breaths, shaking against him so hard he was surprised her legs were still supporting her. "I'm so sorry for using you."

Well, there it was, final proof as if he needed it.

At least Willow could apologize for it. Buffy would never-- Buffy wouldn't apologize. Wouldn't lower herself enough to do so. She didn't share anything with him except her hate and disgust. She never let her guard down around him and she never would. Even with her mates, she kept things tight lipped, letting it all out in her fights with demons and vampires and... him.

So, he probably shouldn't feel so offended then. And, yet.

Slowly wrapping his arms around Willow, he comforted her like he had Dru, like he couldn't comfort Buffy. "It's not always about love. Sometimes it's about need. Or comfort."

She took a deep steadying breath and pulled back a little, tucking her hair behind her ears. She looked like she wanted to believe him, but wasn't quite able to do so. "Yeah. I guess."

"Comfort you can't get from just a friend." His lips quirked up in amusement. "Unless you're shag buddies."

A quick chuckle escaped her and her lips turned up in a tremulous smile. Wiping her eyes, she pulled away from him and straightened her blouse, smoothing her hands down her skirt. "Is that what we are now? Shag buddies? Is there a secret handshake?"

Lifting a brow, he smirked at her. "Play your cards right." Raising a hand, he softly caressed the strands of her hair, brushing it back from her eyes. Fingers lingering by the blood on her neck, he darted a glance at her face to see if he disgusted her now.

Her brows rose a bit, but she didn't stop him. "You, uh, want more?"

Moving a step closer to her, he slipped his hand to her cheek, then down to her neck. "More than anything. You taste... like the finest wines and best chocolates." Eyes still on hers, he brushed her hair over her shoulder and leant forward. Her scent tickled his senses and played with his head. "Or one of those flowering onion things," he murmured, closing his eyes as he licked lightly at the blood before settling his mouth over the wound.

Her fingers clutched at his t-shirt, fisting in the material as she drew in a shaky breath. "Really? However have you been able to resist me all this time?" she teased.

Following the blood higher up her neck, he sucked on the flesh, fresh with blood but closed off to him. Drawing the skin into his mouth, he tasted... Willow and magick. Pulling back with a shrug, he scoffed softly. "Blinding pain sort of keeps the blood lust at bay, love. Only your magick made it passable this time."

A few trails of red nirvana ran down her chest and he followed each one with his tongue and lips.

"Oh. Right." One of her hands threaded through the back of his hair, holding him to her. "Need," she whispered, drawing in an unsteady breath, fingers tightening in his hair and t-shirt. "I think I might just have lots of needs that-- oh-- that need satisfying."

Pushing the flimsy white blouse aside to get at the source of her blood, he grasped her arm, tightening his fingers to draw her closer. She drew in a single breath as he fastened his mouth on the bite mark and began to drink.

Magick simmered and grew in him and he reassessed his earlier words; maybe a person could become addicted to magick, because he was beginning to crave Willow like he craved blood.