All About Spike

Last Night
By Kantayra

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Buffy or Spike. And after Joss is through with them, I'm not sure I'll want to...

AUTHOR'S NOTE: OK, I was really pissed off when I wrote this. I'd just watched 'Dead Things' and 'As You Were' back to back ... and that's never a good thing. Basically, I was just sick of everyone *cough, Buffy, cough* treating Spike like he's dirt. And, yes, I do know that even in Joss' contorted Spike-doesn't-have-a-soul-therefore-it's-OK-for-him-to-be-miserable world Buffy isn't this bad. Anyway, this is *dark* and NC-17. You have been warned.

With a loud crash, the crypt door flew open. Buffy stormed right in and slammed the door behind her with equal irreverence. Her eyes quickly flew over the all-too-familiar interior, finally resting upon the only source of light: the bluish hues of the television.

He was sitting in front of it, staring dazedly at the screen, completely oblivious to her entrance. Buffy stalked over to him and turned the TV off with an angry gesture.

"I've had an absolutely terrible day," she informed him. "I had to take a pay cut in order not to get laid off, and I just stopped ten Lorak demons from devouring the hospital and completely ruined my new shoes in the process, and Dawn just called to say that she's not going to come back to visit this Christmas!"

The vampire in the chair before her had a completely blank expression on his face throughout this entire tirade. She almost thought she saw the merest hint of a sparkle in his eye at the mention of Dawn, but it was so hard to tell. And so not worth the effort.

"Well!" she exclaimed in frustration. "Get up!"

He obediently complied, and she immediately snatched up his hand and led him to the lower level of the crypt. She sat him down on the edge of the bed and began fumbling to get his pants off. Luckily, he rarely bothered to wear anything other than his jeans anymore, and this morning he had neglected to even fasten his belt.

She was grateful that he was so easy to disrobe today. On the days when he actually got dressed, this process could be quite lengthy, especially in the three years since he had ceased to be an active participant in their little affair.

Once his pants were off, she turned her attention to her own clothes. She efficiently and neatly disrobed, leaving everything in a tidy pile on the chair by the side of the bed.

Now came the hard part.

It had first happened two years ago, right about the time Dawn had gone off to college. The first time had caught her completely by surprise. After years of 'rising to the occasion' — so to speak — at merely the sight of her, he had suddenly become in need of stimulation before he could perform. At first it hadn't happened often or taken too long. Now, however, she was resigned to having to make a good twenty minutes' worth of effort before she could get what she wanted.

It was truly annoying, especially on days like today where she was practically sopping, desperate to have him inside of her.

Sighing resignedly, she began to set about to her task. She took hold of his limp member in one hand and began to stroke it up and down. Her other arm went around his neck, drawing his head to one side so that she could lightly bite at his throat. She straddled his lap, rubbing her naked body against his, moaning as she did so.

Oh gods, she needed him now! Why was he taking so long?

He sat there, looking at a spot on the wall just to the left of her head. She caught his chin and forced his eyes to look into hers. His clear blue orbs seemed not to even see her, focusing on some spot far beyond her. She crashed her lips to his, plundering the soft wetness of his mouth. Out of old habit, he returned the kiss half-heartedly, and she sighed in satisfaction.

Her constant massage of his cock was starting to pay off, and it was now half-rigid in her hands. She began to increase her pace, rubbing the soft flesh vigorously. With agonizing slowness it finally arose to its full height, and she breathed out a sigh of relief. She was becoming increasingly afraid that one day she wouldn't be able to get her pleasure out of him anymore.

"Lay back," she ordered.

He nodded meekly and did as she asked.

She recalled a time when he had been one of the most verbal people she knew. Those around him had been almost constantly telling him to shut up, and even then he hadn't listened. Buffy tried to remember when he had stopped his constant, irritating chatter and turned to the occasional monosyllabic reply. She wasn't exactly sure. But, then again, it wasn't really important now, was it?

With impatient eagerness she impaled herself upon his cock, letting out a sigh of relief when she was finally filled once again. She began riding him slowly, allowing the pressure to build inside her, bringing her ever closer to her sweet release...

She caught hold of one of his cool hands and led it to her breast, guiding it in its caress of her needy mound. Her head flew back at the sensation. Memories flitted through her mind of him, passionate and intense, touching her all over, whispering how much he loved her... She'd taken care of the last bit: screaming at him, beating on him, telling him that he was a worthless thing, that he was nothing but a good fuck, her whore. That had stopped the declarations of love.

She did miss the passion he'd brought to this act, though. The feel of his hands roaming her body, worshipping her ... his lips struggling desperately against her own ... and, of course, the oh-so-clever-and-original sex games he would come up with...

Ah well, it was no use crying over spilt milk. And he was still able to satisfy her needs.

With a final cry, she thrust down hard upon him, and her orgasm racked through her. Stars exploded all around her, and she fell miles and miles and...

She came back to herself with a gasp, pulling up from the vampire's chest. And, oh, did she feel wonderful! All the stress of the day had been released from her muscles.

She felt that his cock was once again limp inside her. She knew he hadn't cum. That was a rather recent phenomenon, from the last few months or so. He would just turn flaccid again when she was done with him. Not that she really minded: it was a lot less messy this way.

It did irk her that his vampiric stamina seemed to have vanished. She figured it might have something to do with the fact that he hadn't killed anything in over three years. After she'd refused to let him come patrolling with her anymore, he'd basically just kept himself holed up in his crypt, only venturing out to get more blood. Oh well, it wasn't like he needed the violence to feed. And although the lack of exercise had definitely caused his once-magnificent musculature to deteriorate, she still found the sight of his body breathtaking ... if a little emaciated.

"I have a date tomorrow," she talked mostly to herself as she lay back on the mattress beside him. "His name's Mike. Nice guy; very normal. We met at the Bronze last night. You remember the Bronze, right? I'm really hoping he'll be the one. For some reason I haven't been able to get a single boyfriend since I got involved with you," she spit out the last word with slight distaste, blaming him for her current state of affairs. "But Mike seems to really like me. We've had lunch together a couple of times now. I think it really has potential. So, anyway, if I don't come by for a few days, that's why. After all, I can't let this interfere with the chance that I'll finally find a man who loves me... You understand, right?"

She turned to look at him, but he didn't respond in any way. His eyes were closed, but no emotion played across his handsome features. For that, she was grateful. There had been a terrible period about two years ago where he'd always burst out crying after sex. She had been forced to leave before she was ready because she really hadn't wanted to put up with the vampire's desperate attempts to gain her sympathy. He was a cold, unfeeling creature, and she knew it. She couldn't figure out why he'd tried to keep up the act for so long.

"Mmmm..." she murmured, her thoughts returning to her date. "He's so much fun to be with, too. A great dancer ... passionate kisser ... clever and insightful ... dark and mysterious ... and, don't worry, human, yes, I checked... He's everything I could ever want. I'm really hoping this is the one."

At one time, the creature beside her would have killed any man that so much as looked at her. He had been horribly jealous and possessive. Buffy was glad he had finally gotten the notion into his head that she would never be his. It saved her a lot of embarrassment.

And she had had to play her trump card to bring it about: his supposed love for her. She basically just told him to prove it by staying away from her life and friends; she realized in retrospect that he'd probably thought this was some kind of test that could eventually leading to her actually caring about him.

He'd been such a foolish romantic back then.

Buffy shook the unpleasant images of the way he had been from her head, and pillowed her head upon his chest, falling into a deep, contented sleep...

She awoke when she felt him move out from under her and get out of bed.

"Where are you going?'' she asked drowsily.

He didn't respond and slowly climbed up the ladder.

"Come back here!" she demanded, annoyed now. She had been sleeping so peacefully.

Remarkably, he didn't obey her order.

"Hey, I said come back here!" she got out of bed and marched up the ladder after him for his defiance. He was going to get a sound thrashing for this; that was for sure!

When she finally caught up with him, he was standing at the crypt door, shoulders sagging and still completely naked.

"I told you to come back to bed!" she exclaimed, spinning him around to face her.

A blank, vacant stare met her. Eyes that had been so vibrant — passionate and comforting, intense and cruel, hateful and loving — were now completely void of all emotion. But, then again, he'd looked like that for years, so she didn't really take much notice.


The word was soft-spoken, weak, and gravelly. It was the first word he'd spoken to her in weeks, and his voice sounded worn from disuse.

"No?!" she sputtered in disbelief. "Where do you get off, telling me..."

She never got to finish her sentence, though. At that moment, he had flung the door to the crypt wide. Bright sunlight beat against his bleached hair and fair skin for an instant, and then — before she could react — he was gone, a cloud of fine dust in the air all that remained.

Her mouth widened in horror and disbelief. And then, "Spike, you insensitive bastard! How dare you! How dare you! I need you, dammit!" she raged.

She trashed his crypt, overturning chairs, breaking the TV to bits, destroying everything in her wake.

And then, after a moment's reflection, she stopped. He was just a thing, after all. Things could be replaced. And maybe now she would have more time to find someone who would love her.

Someone capable of real human emotion, not a heartless monster.

- The End -

Yeah, I'm not even sure if I like it ... but still reviews are nice.

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