Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. They own me.

Rating: M for smut

Setting: During 'Fool for love'

Summary: When a Slayer hears the story of one life and two deaths from a vampire she hates, things spiral out of control completely.

A/N: The title is mostly due to the fact that I'm this close to having a story for all the letters of the alphabet. The story (or lack of it), however is something I've been wanting to write for ages, because 'Fool for love' is probably the episode I've seen most and I just can't get over the fact that Spike obviously isn't the only one turned on when he leans in to kiss her. Please excuse the overuse of hyperbole. In order to avoid spoilers, my further rantings can be found below. Enjoy and please review!

Just a little death wish

"Here endeth the lesson. I just wonder if you'll like it as much as she did."

Buffy was shaking. She might not show it that much on the outside, but everything inside of her was in turmoil. She had just listened to a vampire's tale of how he had killed two Slayers. More so, she had listened to the story of how he had liked it.

"Get out of my sight Spike. Now."

"Ooh… Did I scare you? You're the Slayer, do something about it. Hit me. Come on. One good swing, you know you want to."

It didn't escape her notice that he was slowly inching towards her, with steps that couldn't seem to decide between hesitant and predatory.

"I mean it."

He was so close now she could feel his breath on her skin, sending shivers down her spine and her blood racing even more. And his eyes... God, she had never hated eyes like those before.

"So do I. Give it me good, Buffy. Do it."

And why shouldn't she again? Of course she wouldn't stop at one punch. On the other hand, it would be so easy and he deserved it so much. Right here, where he had told her about murdering with such relish, just one good thrashing. Possibly with a pointy ending.


It was a warning. One that was resolutely ignored, because the next thing he did was lean in to-… Wait, what?

She leapt backwards, partly out of shock, partly because if she hadn't leapt backwards, she might have leapt forward. Her face was scrunched up in confusion, in revulsion, in-…

"What the hell are you doing?", she managed to force out, words coming easier now that there was genuine shock in them.

Spike's eyes flickered unmistakably to her lips until he met her eyes again. She could almost sense his next move before it happened, but she was still too late. He had grabbed her upper arms before she could get away from him, his grip firm even as she struggled against it.

He was completely out of control.

She was dimly aware of the fact that this shouldn't evoke quite the reaction it did. Should it make her angry? Yes. Should it make her feel disgusted? Yes. Should it shoot arousal through her? Absolutely not.

"Come on. I can feel it, Slayer."

In this moment, Buffy hated Spike like she had never hated anyone. She had come to his crypt to get easy answers. Instead, she had been stuck with him on an absurdly date-like event, listening to him give anything but easy answers. And just then, here, outside, he had done much more than tell an illuminating tale about William the Bloody and the death of two Slayers, he had made the moves on her, was making the moves on her. And it was working.

"You know you want to dance."

The worst thing was that he might be right.

He was way too close now, breathing as heavily as she was from the intensity of the moment and for a second, she couldn't even tell if that intensity came from the personal nature of what he'd just told her, the entrancing use of his voice or his obvious hard-on.

She should be disgusted. She was disgusted.

She had never wanted anybody more.

The half-way rational part of her brain remaining told her there were only two ways to make it all go away, the pure seduction that was his bluer than possible eyes, the sensuality of the curve of his full lips, those cheekbones no immortal creature should be allowed to possess, that infuriatingly sexy scar interrupting his dark eyebrow. She could feel her control slipping in that manner that somehow only happened when he was around to annoy her and she knew she could either stake him right now or she could-…

She didn't know who had moved first – probably him, probably her - but what could that possibly matter when soft cold lips slammed against hers and took her breath away? She gasped at the feel of pure passion crackling like electricity between every inch of skin that wasn't touching – and there were many inches of skin that weren't touching. Just lips on lips, bruising, harsh, fucking beautiful… And the parts that were touching were on fire, just absolutely on fire, burning holes into her, making her crave-…

And then they were touching more and it had to have been only moments before his hand grabbed her waist and pulled her towards him and his other palm was cradling her head in a tenderness that belied the violent motions of their mouths. Hers had opened readily – had it really just been seconds since this had begun? – and he hadn't wasted any time in slipping his tongue into it to dance against hers, fighting hers, grip on her waist tightening just enough to drive her crazy with those perfect, perfect hands…

Her arms were around his neck – when had they gotten there? – and without thinking – how could she even try to think right now? – her fingertips were playing with the soft hairs at his nape and her body was grinding against his in an ancient dance.

It wasn't until she felt her back hit the cold, hard surface a little more brutally than she would have admitted to liking that she realized he'd somehow backed her up into the stone wall of the alley.

Dimly, she tried to remember that she was just outside the Bronze, that people could see, that even her friends could catch her, that there was the chattering and the music of a roaring night at the club somewhere in the fog of her mind. But all that really mattered were the strangled noises he made when she rubbed against his body, his perfect, muscled body underneath the stimulating material of his black jeans and the shirt she could so easily pull him in with. All that unnecessary breath flowing out of him and into her while she nibbled on his lower lip.

God, he was hot when he was speechless.

His hands were frantically searching for a way to open her coat. It spoke very highly of how far gone she was that she immediately pulled the zipper down and pushed him back just enough to shrug out of it. She wouldn't exactly be cold.

For a second he just stared, almost missing out on checking out her body in favor of being astonished by the challenging look in her eyes. Then he stepped closer again and she shivered at his mere presence. His fingers, just calloused enough for her taste, reached out to tuck her hair out of the way, not just pushing it over her shoulder, but doing so almost reverently, though not without haste. She could tell he had wanted to do this for a long time in the way he handled her hair.

She stood there, still fixating him. Spike only broke her gaze to follow the course of his index finger. She could feel the back of it along with the chipped polish on the nail trailing down over the side of her neck. Vampires. Figures he would give this part of her anatomy special consideration. Not that she was complaining. By the time his thumb was brushing along her collar bone, she was positively panting. When he made no further move than that, seemingly entranced by what she was allowing him to do, she huffed and grabbed the back of his head again to bring their mouths together once more. It was surprisingly nice to not have to stand on tiptoes and tilt her head upwards to do it.

Of course nice didn't even come close to describing the kiss that followed. Not even in the vicinity of close. His hands skipped underneath her top just enough to quickly roam across her stomach, the small of her back and to brush the sides of her breasts. At the same time, their tongues were battling, teeth softly biting lips, harsh moans exchanged between them. Her hands had found their way underneath his shirt, too and she really, really liked what she found there. Firm muscles underneath taut pale skin, shoulders not as broad as she was used to, height not as intimidating. And so, so responsive.

He broke away from her due to an especially hot gasp, only to shift his attention somewhere else. His tongue rasped over the sensitive skin of her neck without warning and unthinkingly, she tilted her head to give him more access even as she remembered this man was very much capable of giving her something a lot more terrifying than a hickey there.

She almost felt ashamed that the thought of it turned her on. But there was no place for shame here, not now, not like this. There was only bliss and if his lips on her neck in open-mouthed kisses, grazing her with blunt human teeth, made her even wetter than before, then who was she to complain?

He stopped for just one second to whisper in her ear with that erotically rumbling voice of his:

"Think I could if you let me?"

And at that point, she couldn't even pretend to object to the idea. Instead, she whimpered:

"Do it!"

He stilled against her, pulling away to look at her with wide eyes. She would have expected triumph, but he looked-… she couldn't even tell. Definitely not like he had expected her to react quite this way.

His eyes were trained on her neck now and she felt his gaze like long, hot licks right there.

His mouth lowered, opened, teeth hovering over her skin – and her heart was racing, racing, galloping away, teasing his lips, still eluding any tactile sensation…

"Not yet, love."

And she could almost taste his smile against her lips when he kissed her again. She didn't linger on what that meant.

Instead, she focused it all on feeling.

And boy, was there feeling! Spike's hands were on her hips now, taking over again, walking her back against the wall again, grinding his erection into her. Her hands fell flat against his chest at the sensation of the direct stimulation and she threw her head back against the wall, not quite sure whether she got disoriented from the impact of bone on stone or from that of delicious hardness against wet heat, even through layers of clothing between them.

She was so ready to take this to the next level. When she had recovered enough to be able to move with purpose, she reached unmistakably for his belt. She felt his grin against her neck even as he went back to worrying it with his lips and nibbling there just playfully enough to let her know biting was not on his agenda quite yet.

It took her frustratingly long to open that damn thing, but the fact that she managed to reduce him to a whimpering mess with it – effectively wiping that grin off his far-too skilled mouth – by brushing his hard-on more than she had to was more than worth the wait.

"God, pet, you have no idea what you're doing to me…", he breathed against her shoulder and one of his arms sneaked between her back and the wall, holding her in what almost resembled an embrace. Meanwhile, Buffy had opened the button and pulled down the zipper. Of course he wasn't wearing underwear.

Then, to his utter frustration, she left him like he was, hard and leaking against her lower stomach, while she went to pull her own pants and panties down. Too bad she wasn't wearing a skirt. That would have made this a lot easier. This way, she actually shimmied out of the offending articles of clothing.

Ironically, the sudden sight of her half-naked body woke him out of his stupor and the hand that wasn't around her back went to explore, trailing from the bones of her hips to-... Oh yes, right there! He hissed when he found her wet and ready for him, almost dripping against the pad of his fingers running over her, dipping in just slightly. The sound she made when his cool skin came in contact with her flushed skin was hardly dignified. Also, it might have been his name. Also, it might have sounded like a plea.

Thankfully, he complied without any further begging. Buffy's eyes rolled back into her head when long fingers entered her, first one, then two, slow movement in and out, in and out after a moment of adjusting, then thumb against her clit and a spasm went through her. God, the feeling was just-… incredibly didn't come close.

"Well, it's official", Spike gasped when she clenched down on his digits, now moving harshly in and out of her, "you're going to be the death of me, Slayer."

She would never admit that she almost would have replied 'You'll be mine, too'. Instead, she looked down to have a better look at what he was doing. Also, because he was looking at her in a way she couldn't place and that made her feel slightly uneasy even through the pleasure. She got distracted by the sight of his cock, standing long and proud and positively weeping with pre-cum.

God, gorgeous. No guy should be allowed to be that fucking gorgeous.

Well, that certainly decided how she was going to come for the first time. She grasped his wrist – because the finger-fucking he was currently giving her was too insane for her to be able to last much longer – and looked him square in the eyes. How she managed that through the daze, she didn't know, but at least it was assuring he wasn't faring much better.

Spike breathed in deep and pulled out his fingers, using that hand to hoist her up instead. Her legs wrapped themselves around his waist, underneath his coat, heels digging into his ass. She quickly put her hands on his shoulders to pull herself further up, only to sink down

The sensation was everything, everything she wanted. The slight burn of being stretched too tightly, the wave of pleasure as his cock hit her in all the right places, the look of complete and utter awe on his face.

They stayed like that for a long moment, him sheathed inside of her, looking at each other through heavy eyelids in the dim light of the moon and a distant street lantern.

She stopped being able to think anything at all the very moment she realized why he'd put his arm around her so awkwardly. Spike was moving in her, finally, a quick, short thrust at first that had him buried in balls deep. He changed his angle slightly, then looked at her – and she wondered how she looked, wide-eyed and disbelieving because he was perfect right now.

Then he moved and what followed could only be described as a pounding, begun by a few long strokes that had him almost pull out completely until it became a rough jerking of his hips against hers in an uneven rhythm as his cock basically abused her pussy. His arm bore the brunt of it, but she was pretty damn sure she would bruise from the impact of her back on the wall alone. She also really wasn't complaining.

"Oh God, Buffy… God, Slayer…"

'Yes', she wanted to say, 'yes' and 'Spike', but there were no words, not amongst all the pleasure. No one had ever taken her like that. No one had ever dared. She had been seriously missing out.

Her nails were clawing on the back of his neck now, the other hand gripping his upper arm harshly. The leather around them moved fluidly but heavily against her bare legs.

Her orgasm hit her with the kind of intensity that curled toes against fake designer shoes, bit a leather-clad shoulder, drew blood with nails not trimmed enough for endeavors like this. Her back arched almost obscenely.

Spike was swearing through it, eventually just catching her lips again and if her muscles squeezing him felt half as amazing as his dick thrusting inside of her felt right now, she couldn't blame him.

It took her being halfway to recovery to realize he had no intention of coming quite yet. The sounds he made against her lips told of pure agony and she could tell by the sheer insanity of the rhythm that he could barely hold back. Boneless as she felt, the stimulation of his lower stomach rubbing her clit and of course the feeling of his cock splitting her apart so deliciously, would have her back to happy land in no time.

And then Spike slowed down all movement – how he managed to accomplish that while he was so desperate, she would probably never understand – his lips left hers with an almost pained gasp from both sides and his hips gave a few last erratic thrusts until he stilled completely. The look in his eyes was biting, aching, almost crazy with wanting, but there was something else, something that gave her more pause than even the sudden lack of friction.

He pulled his hand out from between her and the wall and for a second she had the insane idea he might have stopped because his arm was in too much pain. Then he gently eased her almost cramped-up legs from around his waist onto the ground, not quite breaking the connection, though.

After a few heated breaths, he exhaled shakily, almost soundless, but the words still rang loud and clear in the silence that seemed to surround them.

"Do you still want me to?"

And when his eyes slid down to almost literally caress her neck with his gaze, she could have come on the spot. Again.

"God, yes!"

For a second his eyes squeezed shut, as if her answer had a similar effect on him as his question had had on her and his body pressed her to the wall almost to the point of actual pain, one hand hanging in a fist at his side, the other digging into the flat surface next to her head.

Then those cobalt orbs opened again and she stopped breathing. The way he was looking at her right now - as if she had given him a gift he had no idea how to repay her for, as if nothing else mattered but her – God, he was beautiful.

His shock-blond hair was a mess in the best sense of the word. The remaining gel made it stick in virtually every direction – and were those curls? His mouth seemed swollen, giving him the sort of ravished expression of a person well and thoroughly kissed. And his eyes-… his eyes.

His face was actually too distracting to notice his clothing, but she couldn't help taking in that particular state of disarray. His beloved leather duster sat on top of his heaving shoulders slightly askew, still protecting them from the looks of potential passers-by, his black shirt was crumpled and half pushed up so that it exposed his abdomen, his equally black jeans hung very low on his hips, shoved down hastily enough for a frantic coupling in a not-so-secluded alleyway.

What a sight. Not even mentioning that even in the dim light she could actually see where they were joined, somewhere below those abs and above those jeans.

Once more she was astounded he was really here. She was really doing this with him, with Spike, with the constant pain in her ass, with the vampire who would love to kill her, with the man to whom she was effectively offering one good day. Buffy was offering Spike her death.

He had yet to resume fucking her.

He also wasn't in game face.

When he lowered his mouth to her neck, she couldn't have moved even if she wanted to. She seemed frozen in this moment, in the absurdity, in the insanity, in the sheer sexuality of it all.

This was Spike. This was Buffy. This was them.

Then she felt him shift and teeth sank into her, softly, a hand unexpectedly twining fingers with hers as he broke the tender skin. For a long while he stayed exactly like this, squeezing her fingers, lifting her knuckles to the wall next to her face, fangs buried in her neck –imitating another part of his anatomy - making no move to just start sucking already and it was-… She couldn't even say what it was, because it was so wrong and it felt so much like exactly what she'd always waited for.

Then he drew a mouthful of blood in, and his body began trembling against hers and at that moment it felt like he was the one vulnerable and exposed, almost pained from the intensity of the moment. Not from the chip, though, she noticed. It seems the government had been kind enough to let there be a difference between blood taken and blood willingly given.

Blood willingly given.

God help her.

And still he wasn't anything like she had expected. He wasn't wild, he wasn't out of control, he wasn't merciless in his hunger. He was gentle, with each careful sip of her very essence and for a moment she wondered why he wouldn't just get on with it. The realization, when it came, took her by surprise. He wasn't holding back. He was savoring.

And God if she didn't get even weaker in the knees just for that.

It was too intimate to have him there at her pulse, drinking the life out of her, far too intimate for this being she despised so much. Right now, she couldn't imagine anything closer to perfection.

He didn't make her see stars, he made her see him.

And then he let out an almost helpless whimper and he started moving again, the rhythm of his hips finally mimicking the long pulls of blood from her veins.

When she came for the second time – almost a surprise, a sensation she had forgotten in the midst of feelings - the world narrowed down into one thing, the one thing, the only thing that seemed to exist, the only thing that mattered. She might even have said it out loud, maybe a whisper against the shell of his ear, maybe a scream to the heavens.

Maybe it was the finality of it that made this climax what it was, the unending waves of pleasure crashing over her until she could hardly bear it anymore. Spike was inside her, around her, consuming her, killing her, perfecting her, completing her, everything, fucking everything she never thought possible. Spike.


Through it all, she could feel herself getting dizzy – well, dizzier than this entire exchange had made her before – and knew, just a few gulps of blood more and she'd lose her life, having given it freely to the vampire sucking on her neck. And that she was more than satisfied to be going out this way.

And then he stopped and nothing made sense anymore. He carefully slid his fangs out of her neck, her still erratic pulse pumping more blood to the surface until he gently licked her wound sealed and clean.

"God, I love you, Buffy… I love you so much…"

And with those soft, all-too-vulnerable words against the tender skin of her bruised neck, he came, lifting his face from its rightful place, pressing his lips against hers again, desperation etched into every line of his face as he kissed her frantically, then languidly, the movement of his hips finally slowing down to leave them both trembling.

Their eyes were closed as they clung to each other, holding on to each other as they slowly came down from their shared high. He still felt perfect against her, inside her. Her mouth tasted of blood. Eventually, they opened their eyes.

For long seconds, the only thing they did was look at each other.

He hadn't killed her.

… … …

She shook out of her little fantasy as quickly as it had transpired in her head. There was no time to try to understand what had just happened to her, that he had gotten her to want him, even if only for a fraction of a moment. With all that lust instantly repressed, what remained was cold, hard rage. The kind that was bound to be deadly.

"Say it's true", she began, her voice woven through with a breathiness she hated. "Say I do want to."

Ignore the fact that you're both panting, trembling, aching to just bridge that tiny little gap between you and let the night carry you to the height of passion and back. Turn it into more venom.

A quick and powerful shove away from her later, he was sprawled on the ground.

"It wouldn't be you, Spike."

And finally, there it was. The disgust she had needed to remind herself she felt for him. With him all pathetic before her feet, it was easier to slip back into the horror that was any attraction they might feel for each other.

"It would never be you."

And the money was in her hand, the money that she vaguely remembered promising him if he went over every last detail of killing her predecessors. And he was on the ground, staring up at her with those-… those eyes and all she could do to regain even a semblance of control, to establish she was the Slayer and he was nothing but dust if she so chose was to throw the bills at him in a gesture meant to humiliate.

And even though he already looked stricken, small, helpless, vulnerable there on his back, half-sitting up, long sleeve of his leather duster slipped down to expose the smooth soft skin of his arm and with those eyes, there was one last thing she had to do. One finishing blow, and boy, would she relish in it.

"You're beneath me."

Somewhere it registered that she was hurting him in the cruelest way she could have come up with. Somewhere it registered that he was swallowing back sobs when she turned around to walk away from him. Somewhere it even registered that as evil and annoying as he was, he didn't deserve this.

Somewhere it registered.

But in all the confusion and the weakness in her knees, all she could do to keep going was to get the hell away from him and hate him just that little bit more.

A/N: So yeah. It's just a fantasy. I know on the show, there was no time for Buffy to have such a detailed scenario in her head, but it was kind of obvious that she only (or mostly) acted the way she did towards the end of the scene because he was confusing the hell out of her with all the intense lust in the air - a self-defense mechanism we're going to meet again plenty of times in Season 6.

I decided to make it a fantasy and not just porn without plot, because I was looking for a way to keep the canon storyline afterwards. I could never let anything happen that didn't end with Spike sitting next to Buffy on her porch, a rifle at his side and patting her shoulder awkwardly. So this is what I ended up writing.

I also feel like part of the sex is a little out of character and not so well-written, but to my defense, I stayed up until 5.30 am to write it and I was dead tired, so I'm sorry if that offended you. Also, first time writing a bite. Buffy usually really doesn't let him.