The Story of B

Part Two
Revelation

'The pain - is gone.'

He'd hit her. Hit her! She stared at him in horror as his lip curled up in disdain, mixed with some dark amusement.

Vintage Spike was standing in front of her with that old time bad boy attitude oozing out of every pore.

Then what he was saying penetrated her shock. And it was her, not the chip. The chip was working just fine.

'Don't you get it? You came back wrong.'

Practically paralyzed at his biting words, she shook her head, protesting, as a little voice inside of her said sarcastically, 'So Willow screwed up it up. Again.'

Then, finally, she was out of denial and back in the street, ready to kick a little vampire ass that was now actually (and was definitely) kicking back.

Her heart started beating faster as she got that old adrenaline rush that came every time she'd ever faced him down.

It had been such a long time since they'd danced.

With that wistful thought, she slammed the hell out of him.

++++++++++++++++++++++

She remembered his words like he'd said them yesterday: 'I'd rather be fighting you anyway.'

And her answer: 'Mutual.'

He was her favorite adversary. If he weren't so impatient, and she weren't so lucky, he'd have done her a dozen times. And vice versa. But with the chip, implanted courtesy of the good old US of A, Buffy's favorite Big Bad was history. Just a lot of old 'war' stories. All bark and no bite.

'Give it me good, Buffy.' She remembered the look on his face, years ago, when he'd said it, all hopped up for a good fight, even a one-sided one.

At her lack of response, his eyes had searched hers, and then seemed to look inside himself in puzzlement. He'd taken hold of her shoulders and whispered roughly.

'C'mon, Slayer, you know you want to dance.'

The intimacy of his words matched the intimacy of the moment. She had felt the world open up beneath her as he'd told her how he'd defeated the second slayer, telling her all of the things that she had begun to feel and that he so perfectly understood. His perceptiveness had struck like a blow. That was why she hadn't seen it coming.

She'd gotten out of there before things got out of hand.

Well, more out of hand.

Later that night, he'd come to her, angrily toting a shotgun, obviously determined to put an end to her even if it put an end to him. The night ended, not in violence, but with him sitting on the steps of her back porch, listening quietly as she talked about her mother.

She shook off the memory and tried to return her attention to Punk Ass Spike. The one who was standing in front of her right now. In the old days, he could take everything she had and bounce back with a debilitating punch, a sharp, cutting phrase and a smirk

He was definitely back, battering at her with his sarcastic jabs. Showing her over and over that he could hit her now. That she was 'wrong.' As if she hadn't already known that something wasn't right.

She'd kissed *him*, hadn't she?

He'd been bothering the hell out of her for two weeks now, ever since that first kiss. The other night at the Bronze had just made it worse. He'd been as annoying as hell. Hello, slayer here. What part of that did he not get?

And now he was dancing in front of her, looking for a way to slip in. And she was hungry for some serious ass-kicking. Something on the order of 'shooting the messenger.' And when you were spoiling for the real deal, fighting *against* him was the only way to go.

Settling in for a good punishing slugfest, she started connecting good solid punches. And he was getting right back in her face, bouncing on his toes, throwing out verbal jibes with that beautiful, cruel mouth of his.

He wasn't quite hitting her with the remembered power and he wasn't really even trading blows with her yet, but that was okay. They were both a little out practice. Things would pick up. She was a little off her game, too.

That ever-present smirk made her want to land a really nice one. If this was going to be his 'one good day,' she intended to give better than she got.

Even as she had the thought, she dismissed it. This wasn't a fight to the death, because he didn't want her dead. This was payback time for him. And, she admitted wryly, he was long overdue.

She didn't want him dead either. The world was a lot more interesting with him in it.

With that, she landed a blow that threw him into an abandoned building. And she wasn't even getting started yet! She went after him.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

'You haven't even come close to hurting me.' She had spit the empty words at him in retaliation.

'Afraid to give me the chance?'

It had felt like they'd been fighting for hours in the abandoned house. They'd physically thrown each other into walls, the staircase, even the fireplace. They'd verbally thrown every thing they had, words flying like wooden stakes. She was breathing heavily, flushed with exertion and something else that had nothing to do with the fight and everything to do with it.

'Are you afraid I'll - '

And suddenly all her anger and frustration coalesced into an overwhelming need to connect with the one being who completely understood her.

She silently spun him around, pinning him to the wall in turn.

Moving past his guard, she hungrily planted her lips on his, hating that she was kissing him again and wondering how she'd held out this long.

Whipped up by the fight, he put his hands on her with a matching urgency, managing to get a hand under her skirt and rip away at the soaked wisp of fabric between her legs even as she spun him around and pushed him away.

What was about to happen was her call, not his.

It was going to happen *her* way or not at all.

She hoped he had absorbed the lesson, she thought, as she fastened her mouth on his again. She climbed up his body, finally hooking one leg around his waist. And while she was still kissing him, hungry for more, she grasped the zipper of his jeans.

In the quiet aftermath of the fight, the sound seemed amplified a hundred times.

She reached into his pants, freeing him, as she hitched herself up even further on his body. Carefully, she slid herself down, taking him into her slowly, savoring his shock. She watched him intently, almost frowning with all the sensations involved in lowering herself down onto Spike.

His eyes were wide with shock, looking at her face in disbelief. And when she was very sure that he understood what she had done, she began to move decisively up and down, locking her eyes on him until they closed and he buried his head against her.

She'd finally recognized that this moment had been inevitable. Finally admitted it to herself. And to him.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Sometime during the night, Buffy had stopped fighting and let him lead.

He was a much better dancer than anyone else she'd ever been with.

She was going to pay for this, but right now she just didn't care.

She'd concentrated on wringing her pleasure from him by defiantly dominating this new dance just as she'd dominated him when they'd fought. She hadn't given in. He might be getting what he'd always wanted, but he should be more careful what he wished for. Maybe she *was* a demon, because she had never been as brutal as now.

She'd set a slow decisive pace for their first time, using it to take his measure. It was a pace designed to punish as she clenched her muscles on the down stroke, moving down with as much friction as she could create with the wetness that was smoothing his way into her. Finally meeting his body, she'd pushed down against him with slayer strength, almost gritting her teeth with the pain of it as bone met bone. She'd wanted him to understand that she wasn't doing this *for* him or *with* him. She was doing this *to* him, punishing him and her.

She'd pushed him back against the floor when he moved to take off her clothes. She'd stopped moving, pulling back until he was barely inside her, when he tried to take over the rhythm.

This wasn't about what he wanted.

She watched his face intently, listened to his groans, and unmercifully held off her own climax, until he was a quivering mass of reanimated tissue. She'd kissed him angrily; furious for wanting him inside her. She pushed herself away from his mouth, staring at him with an intensity that had made him gasp. Then, she began kissing him again, exploring his mouth savagely, taking perverse pleasure in the growls that were gathering for release in the back of his throat.

As she continued to build her own climax, she pulled back again to watch his face shift from ecstasy to an expression bordering on pain, calmly considering what a Spike orgasm looked like. Then her throbbing body betrayed her and she came. Hard.

She'd made her point.

As she collapsed on top of him, he quickly took over the dance, divesting her of her clothes with a rough impatience born of years of frustration. But only because she let him, she thought languidly.

He immediately bypassed all the usual erogenous zones other than her mouth and set off in directions that made Buffy shiver, calling her back from the malaise that was engulfing her. Spike was making up for all those years of sexual frustration with a hands-on exploration of obviously every single fantasy he'd ever had about her.

His clever mouth explored every nook and cranny. Even the undersides of her breasts hadn't escaped his attention. His tongue on this usually neglected and secret spot had made her writhe in discomfort because she loved what his mouth was doing to her and she really didn't want him to be able to make her feel that way.

His fingers had pushed and prodded nerves in her body that she didn't know she had, as he slid himself inside her from behind. As he moved, he'd gathered her to him, stroking her behind her knees, kissing her neck softly, grasping her hipbones through her skin and pushing the tips of his hard fingers into the nerves there. All of it was woven together into a dance that owed nothing to her and everything to him.

As she came again, this time moaning loudly, he withdrew and quickly turned her on her back, reentering her swiftly. As he relentlessly drew her toward a second more intense orgasm, his mouth investigated the more accessible places, again paying careful, tentative attention to her neck.

Lulled by the feathery touches, she'd forgotten what she was dealing with -- panicking when he'd opened his mouth widely on the juncture of her neck and shoulder, fastening onto her with lips and teeth.

She instinctively knew that if he could hit her, he could feed on her. But his mouth maintained a steady ebb and flow as he sucked at the skin of her neck with blunt teeth as he rocked inside her. She slowly relaxed, learning to trust him in this, too.

This was the most elegant dance she'd ever been partner to.

And when the aching need to have all of him slamming into her hard and fast had sent her moving under him, he had stilled himself, whispering softly to bring her back down so he could continue the dance he had designed just for her.

True to form, he hadn't stopped talking once he'd gotten over the shock of that first time. His words were indecipherable to Buffy, her brain reducing them to rough growls or tender murmurings. The sound of his voice had kept her anchored. Without it, she would have become lost in the sensations that were sweeping through her body and become completely detached from him. And he seemed to know that.

She was absolutely exhausted and she never wanted him to stop. If he did, she might have to think about what he was doing to her, what she was letting him do. Every other man she'd been with, alive or dead, had been an amateur compared to him.

She realized that this was the first coherent thought she'd had in hours. Sounds were coming out of her mouth, but she wasn't sure if she was making words or noises. She still didn't care. Right now, he could make her say anything - do anything.

She also knew that he wasn't going to stop doing this to her until she'd lapsed into unconsciousness. She sighed and sought his mouth, signaling that she was ready to go with him into the next phase of the dance he'd so carefully choreographed.

In answer, he led her into a thrumming, mind-paralyzing place where her body knew the moves even if her brain had shut down.

She heard herself scream his name.

Then she was completely lost in the heady mixture of violence and tenderness that was Spike.


TBC (I hope)