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"I can taste your hunger," Dracula mumbled as he moved closer to her neck.
Buffy attempted, albeit briefly, to fight him, then his fangs pierced the skin of her neck, right over where Angel had drank from her, and she was gone. The moan escaped her throat involuntarily, and the dark Prince sucked harder, running his tongue up and down lightly, massaging her sensitive skin.
She felt a pool begin to flood between her thighs as memories of Angel feeding from her overwhelmed her senses. Dracula chuckled low, his mouth vibrating against her as he pulled his fangs free and licked the puncture wounds. "Your hunger consumes you."
"No," Buffy watched his mouth, her eyes fixed to his tongue as he ran it over the sharp tips of his ghostly white fangs.
Smiling, the vampire put a finger on her collarbone and trailed a path downward, slowly tearing the thin straps that held her camisole in place. She made a move to cover herself, but he caught her hands. "Ah, ah, ah, no, let me see you."
She wanted to scream at him, wanted to rage and lash out, but the force was too powerful, and she felt her arms move to her sides. Her discomfort at having him openly gazing at her breasts was soon replaced by an overwhelming sense of satisfaction, for the look on his face was one of wonder. Clearly, he liked what he saw.
He saw her looking at him and smiled, his eyes twinkling with merriment. "Do you want me to touch you? Be honest."
She bit her lower lip, watching as his eyes roamed her face, pausing to watch her gnaw at her lip. "N- n-" Then his eyes were on hers again, pulling her soul into their penetrating depths. "Yes," she whispered, silently cursing herself for the admission.
Dracula chuckled again, the same rumbling sound from before, and she shivered at the memory of his bite. He lifted her hand, turning it palm up, and ran his fingernails over it, then up her arm, slowly tracing small circles with his thumb until he reached her shoulder. He watched as her face flushed, and her breathing became rapid, then traced lower, until he could circle her nipple, which was hardening before his gaze. "You do not know the times I have dreamed of this," he muttered, studying the contrast of his pale skin against her dark peak. "I must confess, my wildest dreams could not have prepared me for your beauty."
Buffy almost cried out in protest when he moved his hand away from her breast and traced the contours of her face. Involuntarily, she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes briefly. Breaking the eye contact was enough to send her spiraling back into her senses and she tried to leap from the bed.
Dracula caught her arms and held her in place. "Look at me, Buffy." He waited a beat and she complied, just as he knew she would. "Why do you fight what is inevitable? As surely as that sun will rise from the east, you were meant to be mine. You are the only one of your kind who has ever been so close to unlocking the secrets. You crave the night. You are restless, just as I am, for the darkness - for the hunt." He moved his hand back to her chest, laying his palm flat against it to feel her heartbeat. "A thousand times your heart will beat and a thousand times it will betray you. It is not your heart that sustains you anymore than it is the blood that sustains me. You know."
"I - I don't understand," Buffy shivered under his touch, his cold fingers sending a delicious thrill up her spine.
"You do understand," he suddenly moved his hand lower, dipping into the leg of her pajama shorts, where he encountered no panties, but a dripping patch of coarse curls. "You feel it here, the ache, the wetness, the hunger. Only a vampire will sate it because a vampire is what awakened it in you."
Overcome with raw emotion, she grabbed his wrist and twisted it. "Get out of here!"
He didn't flinch; instead he gripped her upper arms and glared down at her. "It is no fun when you lack the burn. Therefore, you will burn for me until this time tomorrow night, Slayer. It will consume you, make you miserable, and you will long for my touch; the touch of cool against warm, dead against alive, demon against - what you know you are. And only when you feel that touch, the vampire's Embrace, will you rest."
As soon as he said the words, Buffy felt as if her skin was on fire. Her limbs ached to hang on to him, her mouth ached to cover his, and her inner walls constricted violently, itching deep inside. Her breathing was ragged, and she could feel sweat working its way over her forehead and down her back. "Please-"
"You will beg me, Buffy. As the sun rises and sets on a new day, you will long for me and when you come to me tomorrow, I will set you free."
She watched through half hooded eyes as he moved toward the window, opening it all the way, then she cried out when she heard the familiar flapping of bat wings. Her body betrayed her, reacting painfully to his absence, and she rolled into a ball, trembling in fear and need.
Spike was walking into the Summers' lawn when he saw the bat emerge from Buffy's window and fly toward town. He ducked quickly, hoping he hadn't been spotted, then looked at the Slayer's house. The Slayer!
He had come to warn her, let her know that her Lunk Head Boytoy would not be her salvation. On the entire walk over, he kept telling himself that he was doing it so Dracula wouldn't have the pleasure of killing her, that he himself would have that pleasure, but as he saw the bat vanish against the night sky, he knew better.
If he had a soft spot at all, Buffy Summers had found it and wormed her way inside.
She had been nothing but trouble since the first time he had seen her gyrating on the dance floor. He should have realized it then -- by the way his cock had strained against his jeans as he watched her slim hips pump in time to the music. No other woman, only Dru, had ever gotten that kind of response out of him. He viewed other women as food. Dru was his lay. But the Slayer -
Christ, the Slayer!
He quickly scaled the side of her house, leaped onto the roof, and peered into her window. His eyes adjusted easily and he could make out her form on her bed, shivering against the cool air. She had rolled herself into something of a ball, and her back was bare, exposed to his gaze. He licked his lips and stepped into her room. "Buffy?"
She sat up quickly, not bothering to cover herself, and reached for the shadow that was silhouetted against her window. "You came back. Please, please, I want you to touch me. Show me what I am. Make me see. Please?"
Bloody hell! Dracula was still up to his old tricks. The blighter couldn't score chicks the old fashioned way, he had to use his mojo on them. Spike had seen it done a million times, the old blood bag had even tried to impart his wisdom before things soured, and he knew damn well how to break it. The question was - did he want to go that far?
Buffy half crawled across her bed, reaching out for him. Her skin felt like a thousand tiny darts were being thrown against it, her nipples were erect, begging to be tugged, and her core was so swollen that it hurt to close her legs. The term 'bitch in heat' flitted through her mind, but she was too consumed by his presence to rationalize her behavior. No human being had ever ignited a fire so hot inside of her. Or so deep. She brushed over his arm with her fingertips. "It hurts! It hurts so much. Make it stop."
Rolling his eyes, Spike took her hand in his and let her pull him toward the bed. If she was going to plead that way - damn it all to hell! She was trying to run her fingers through his hair, and if he recalled correctly, Dracula liked to wear his long, trying his best to accentuate his pasty features. Speaking in his best Bela-Lugosi accent, Spike said, "Lie down. Lie down and put your arms over your head."
He waited for her to object, waited for her to call him by name and threaten him, but she quickly complied. The task at hand suddenly seemed less daunting. The moon had broken free, shining into her window and bathing her in a curtain of light. He saw her squinting his way and said, "Close your eyes. Keep them closed. You will only concentrate on the feel," he drew out each word, as he knew the Count would do, and it worked.
Buffy eagerly complied, and when his cool hand found its way to her hot center, she arched upward, crying out in relief and anticipation. It felt so good, so naughty, and so right. Her hands were pinned by an invisible force above her head and her legs were spread wide, giving him all the access he desired. Her senses reached out, trying to gauge his intentions, his movements, but she was helpless, unsure of anything except the one hand that was between her legs. The other hand could be pulling a dagger from his pocket and taking aim at her heart for all she cared.
Spike tried to look at the ceiling, tried not to take delight in the sticky wetness that coated his fingers, but he finally caved and watched her. He watched his digits glide over her and into her, pumping against her clenching pussy. His other hand found it's way to the button and zipper of his jeans and his stroked himself, wanting more than anything to bury himself in her heat. Or to have just a taste -
He didn't know if the chip in his head would react to him sliding his tongue into her. Or his cock. Hell, the fucking thing reacted when he pointed a toy gun at someone, didn't it? She bucked her hips upward, straining against him, and he threw caution to the wind. Gripping her hips, the same hips that had mesmerized him on the dance floor of the Bronze, he pulled her to the edge of the bed and kneeled down. After the first lap of his tongue against her core, he paused, waiting for the inevitable headache, but nothing happened.
Buffy bit back a scream when his tongue, so cold and long, wormed inside her. She felt his blunt teeth scrape over her clit and gasped, remembering the long fangs, but she felt no pain - and for a brief moment - she wondered at that, then his lips were fastened over her swollen nubbin and he was sucking it, and she forgot everything. She wanted to run her fingers through his long, silky hair, but she didn't dare. If he stopped again, to punish her, she would surely die.
Spike delighted in the taste of her, the raw, salty sweetness that was purely human and - purely Buffy. The Slayer. The -SLAYER-. He was a damn fool. He should let the burn consume her, let Dracula have his way with her, but no - here he was, kneeling down with his tongue betraying him and his cock threatening to explode. He was still massaging himself, but his cold hand was nothing, not when his face was buried in her warmth.
Squeezing her inner muscles, Buffy felt void, longing to be filled, stretched. As wonderful as his mouth felt against her, she wanted to feel him inside her. She wanted to be joined with him when she came, let him feel what he had done to her. Sitting up on her elbows, she pulled back slightly. "I want you."
Spike glanced up at her. "You have me."
"No, I want you inside me." She gripped his arms, pulling her up his body.
His jeans were already around his knees, and there was nothing stopping him. She was slick with need, grinding up against him. He considered fleeing, rushing out the window and leaving her to her own devices - literally - but her small hand found it's way to his throbbing dick and pulled him to her entrance. He pushed forward, slowly, and deliberately - letting her feel him inch by cold inch - and he thrust to the hilt.
She couldn't have bit back the scream if she had wanted to. He was big, almost too big -- it almost hurt. Almost - almost. She felt herself stretch, felt her body give and take him completely, and half-sobbed in relief. Then his mouth was on hers, his hips were pumping slowly, his hands were tangled in her hair, and she did sob. She sobbed because it was right.
And deep down.
She knew it.
Spike closed his eyes, refusing to watch her cry. She was probably thinking of Angel. Or Riley. RILEY! That little fucker had threatened him! Oh, well, fishboy, if you could see me now, he thought, you'd see who won in the end. But he hadn't won, not really. She was aching for the touch of a vampire, one specific vampire, and he just happened to do in a pinch. Angry now, he increased his pressure, slamming into her. He lifted one of her legs, angling her hips, and then moved his hand between them, pinching her clit roughly.
Her orgasm hit swiftly, so swiftly that she couldn't scream, couldn't make a sound, could only hold her breath and grip his shoulders. He stilled for several seconds, letting her enjoy it, then he thrust into her roughly, yanking her hips up and driving himself home. The friction caused her walls to clench, and then he growled and slumped over her.
And the cold rush of his seed spurting inside her finally quenched the burn and she sighed, closing her eyes.
Spike propped himself on his elbows and stared down at her. She had a peaceful smile on her lips and she was breathing deeply. He wiggled his lower half, shaking her slightly. She smacked her lips and sighed.
She was asleep!
Damn mortals! No wonder he had always stuck with vampires. At least they could stay awake to go another round. But they weren't nearly as warm, or as supple, were they? He reluctantly pulled himself from her and stood, sliding his pants back into place. His eyes never left her face, and for a while, he just watched. Then he noticed the clock on her nightstand and knew he only had two hours to do what must be done.
Moving toward the window, he threw his leg over the ledge and paused to look back at her again. She rolled to face him, burrowing down into her cover and it was unmistakable. She moaned again, and this time a name escaped her slightly parted lips.
"Bloody hell!" he hissed, then lost his balance and toppled out her window and into her lawn. He lay perfectly still for a few seconds, waiting for the pain from a broken bone, then he stared up at the sky.
She had said his name!
It had been a fitful rest. After he had stormed Dracula's castle, making quick work of the three sisters, he finally he confronted the old chap. He had staked him, saying, "That's for the eleven pounds you owed me!" And as predicted, Dracula had come back. Spike had been waiting and quickly beheaded him. "And that's for being so damned vain!" Before the vampire could come back yet again, Spike dragged the headless body toward the ornate coffin the Dark Prince slept in, and dropped a torch inside it. "And that's for Buffy."
Spike had paused long enough to watch the castle, which had seemed to appear overnight, burst into flames, then vanish. He thought he had heard the angry cries of the Dark Prince, but he didn't wait around to revel in it. The sun had glared against his neck when he finally rushed into the safe confines of his crypt and the close call was enough to get him pumped, but he had laid down anyway, longing for sleep - and possible dreams.
Then came the memories of Buffy and the determined hardening of his cock at the mere thought of what had happened. And who could sleep with a raging hard on? He laid on the cold stone slab, staring up at the spiderwebs on the ceiling until his back ached. He tried to close his eyes and count sheep, but instead, he found himself reliving the moment and counting the times he had thrust into her. He finally gave up and paced.
He had no television, nothing to distract him. There were books, there were candles, but the second he sat down, she was back in his head. It seemed like days before he finally felt his lids growing heavy. He curled on his side, pulled his musty blanket up to his chin, and squeezed his eyes closed.
The creaking of the door awakened him, or maybe he wasn't asleep at all. He didn't know, couldn't remember. He sat up, and watched as the Slayer paused, looked at his face, then shut the door behind her. "Slayer," he greeted her, intent of playing it cool.
"Spike," she replied, glancing around the sad looking crypt. "I guess you didn't pay attention to Martha Stewart when you had a television, huh?"
Spike followed her gaze, frowning at how dingy and dirty his 'home' truly was. "I guess not."
Buffy moved toward the recliner he had taken from someone's trash. She regarded the dilapidated chair for several seconds, looked down at her pink pants, then grabbed his duster from the back of it and spread it over the seat.
Spike frowned. "Hey! Who said you could sit on that?"
Buffy leaned back and crossed her arms. "Who said you could come into my room last night and - do what you did?"
Spike's eyes widened and he didn't move. "Wh- how?"
"No offense, Spike, but your Dracula impression left a lot to be desired."
"You went along with it! You thought I was Dracula!"
"At first, I did." She ran her hands through her hair and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "I mean, I think I did, but then I realized sometime during that - well Dracula doesn't smell like cigarette smoke, and - " she stood then, pacing around the room. "God! Why did you do that?!"
Keeping his eyes on her, in case she suddenly yanked a stake from behind her, he shrugged. "I was coming to warn you and I saw you on your bed. I knew that he had done some kind of spell on you."
"And you just happened to know how to break it?" She stopped walking and pointed her finger at him. "You ruined my life!"
"I did not! I saved your life!" He stepped from the stone slab he called his bed and marched toward her. "Do you know what would have happened if he had been the one who made lo-fucked you? As soon as you got off he would have drained you, changed you, and right about now you'd be waking up with fangs and wrinklies, so don't you stand there and say anything to me except 'thank you'!"
Buffy was too flabbergasted to speak. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She stood glaring at him, recalling the way his mouth had felt on her - all over her - and her legs almost turned to putty.
Spike looked away first, feeling very much like he had been slapped in the face. "You don't have to thank me, Slayer. Forget it."
"Where can I find Dracula? You seem to know so much about him, so tell me where he is."
"He's in hell. I sent him there. Three times! That's the key. You have to kill him three times. I staked him, burned him, and beheaded him." Spike looked at her again, his jaw tightening. "And you don't have to thank me for that either. You run along. Go find your regulation boyfriend with his regulation biceps and have a regulation shag with him." When she didn't move, he waved her away. "Go on. There's nothing for you here."
She wanted to step toward him, wanted to hug him, thank him, beg him to touch her again, but instead, she nodded her head. "No one can ever know what happened between us."
"You think I'd admit it?" he snapped, then felt guilty when her face fell and her eyes welled with tears. "Cor, Slayer, I didn't mean-"
"Yes, you did mean it!" Buffy shook her head, wiping away her tears.
He watched her turn on her heel and march toward the door. It took all of his restraint to keep from rushing after her, to keep from taking her in his arms and kissing away the pain. "Slayer!" he shouted suddenly.
"What?" she turned, not meeting his gaze.
"You tell your boyfriend not to threaten me again. You tell him to stay the hell away from me and we'll call it even."
Buffy finally looked at him. "Riley threatened you?"
"I'm asking you."
"Would you believe me?"
Spike walked toward her, slowly, dangerously, like a predator stalking it's prey. His hand molded around the one she had on the door handle and he stared down at her. They were so close that their noses could have touched. "Then believe me when I say that this isn't over. Not by a very long shot."
She stared at his mouth, at his cheekbones, at his cold blue eyes. Her breathing was ragged, forced, and she nodded her head once. "You may be right."
"Keep that in mind."
And she knew she had no choice. As she pulled the door open and stepped into the sunlight - the only thing on her mind was the vampire who had touched the burning, aching fire in her - and quenched it - only to ignite another.
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