I was bored and felt like writing and this is what came out. Set during S5 after the death of Buffy's mom. Buffy needs something to help her cope and only Spike can give it to her, he is more than willing to help. (not beta'd)

I don't own any of these characters, but I wish I did (especially Spike, Grrrrr...)


The sound of the large door of the crypt swinging open on it's hinges and crashing into the wall got Spike on his feet. He whipped around from the TV screen and was not at all surprised to see the petite blond young woman standing in the entryway.

"Slayer." He said. It was his usual way of greeting the girl, word wise, but the inflection was all off. It wasn't dripping with venom and menace. It was gentle, questioning.

He saw the fierce look in her eyes, the tension in her small body. He had a pretty good idea of what it was that brought her here. Pain. She was in it. She needed to inflict it. He understood that. She needed an outlet for her aggression and she saw Spike as the perfect object. Fine. He'll be her punching bag, for now, if that's what she needs. Hell, he'd probably even enjoy it a little.

Buffy stalked toward him slowly, wordlessly. Spike spread his stance wide, bracing himself for the blow that was sure to be coming. His fist clenched and unclenched at his sides. His teeth were gritted.

Then she was before him, fire flashing in her kaleidoscope eyes, green and amber flames. She grabbed him roughly by the collar of his shirt and threw him into the supporting pillar of the crypt as she had so many times. He stared down at her, ready to accept the punch from the tiny fist with the massive power behind it. But it didn't come. Instead Buffy pulled the shirt she was still clutching bringing Spike's mouth crashing down hard against hers.

Spike was shocked, unable to react for all of two seconds before wrapping his arms around her small waist and hauling her body roughly to his. He pulled her up and she instinctively wrapped her legs around him. He carried her across the room and laid her down on the flat surface of the sarcophagus. They both quickly ripped away the barrier their clothes created between them. They consumed each other passionately all night long and when the sun came up, she was gone.

Spike didn't fool himself into thinking the act had been anything more than it was. He knew the girl was grieving and just needed something, anything to clutch to. And that thing, for now, happened to be him, he was more than fine with that, he would be her cold comfort if that's what she needed, for now.