AN: written for prompts using Metal songs. Fic is inspired by the lyrics below. Set during S6 sexytimes. I'm definitely pushing the T rating here, so I'm sorry if I offend anyone.

He'll be the love in your eyes/He'll be the blood between your thighs/And then have you Crying for more/He'll put strength to the test/He'll put the thrill back in bed/Sure you've heard it all before/He'll be the risk in the kiss/Might be anger on your lips/Might run scared for the door

He's got her pressed against a wall with her legs around his waist; while he breathes vulgar words in her ear and she's so turned on it feels like a sin. His tongue darts out to trace the place where her ear meets her jaw and in the absence of anything to hold on to, she bites down hard on his collarbone. He tenses and the filth on his lips turns into a breathless utterance of her name.

Her head snaps back and his hand is there just in time to stop her from cracking her skull on the concrete. His fingers knot in her hair, and he stops moving. She shakes a little as his eyes lock on hers, wide and shining and impossibly human. Something inside that she thought hadn't made it's way out of the grave with her, cracks open and the next thing she knows, she's drawn up her legs and kicked him across the room.

He swears loudly and demands an explanation. She doesn't reply, just stands by the wall and tries to catch her breath not look terrified. Because what ever it was she'd just felt wasn't what this was about. This was about oblivion. About forgetting her life and her death and her duty in the arms of something just as wretched and fucked up as she was. This wasn't flowers and poetry. It was scars and track marks. How dare he look at her like he was human? Like she was?


"Excuse me?"

"Change. I want the demon."

He wouldn't. And when she got close enough, he flipped her to the ground and pinned her, one arm across her sternum and the other across her hips. Slid between her legs and stayed there, hard against the slick flesh of her thighs.


His eyes flashed, and too late she remembered that he was dangerous when he was angry.

"Beg for it."

So that's how he wanted to play the game. Well he'd be waiting a long time. She's the Slayer, and slayers don't beg. Not for life, not for death, and certainly not for this.

"Buffy." He whispered against her mouth, nipping at her lips and sending a jolt to the tender, cracked spaces inside her. She squeezes her eyes shut.


When she opens them again his face is twisted and demonic, and she feels the cracks close up again.