The Story of B

Part Five
Incubus I

"Do you even like me?"

Oh, God. How had they ended up talking? She couldn't believe it -- hated where these conversations went. She *should* have kicked him in the head and left while she could.

And *like* him? He was crude. He was annoying. He talked too much. He was rude to her friends. He was infuriating, frustrating, and exasperating.

She'd never liked Spike. Not even when Willow had cast that spell and accidentally gotten the two of them engaged. Liked him? A resounding no.

But she didn't have to like Spike (something was wrong with that, but she'd think about it later). And on the other hand, he could be sweet when he wanted to be. He wasood ood listener (at least he had been back in the old days when they used to talk). He cared about Dawn. Good fighter, good to have at your back.

And then there was the sex. The heart-numbing, mind-blowing, always incredible sex.

"Sometimes."

In fact, her life had ceased to feel real outside his presence. Outside this crypt. Oh, yes, she wood ood and addicted now. He must spend all his time planning the next little sexual interlude. And it showed.

It was a little like fighting with him. Well, a lot like fighting with him. You could never anticipate his next move. She'd forgotten that until very recently.

So not looking at him. She'd been having fun and he'd blown that with that stupid animal remark. Of course, what could she expect? His frame of reference was Drusilla. She wondered again just what she was doing.

He had stopped telling her that he loved her. After the night they'd found Dawn with Willow, he hadn't said it again. Maybe it was just sex for him too. Because now it was all fun and games.

Lots of games.

He was jealous of the time she spent away from him though. She'd figured that out. Noticed lately that if she skipped a day seeing him, the sex was twice as intense. And those days it was much harder to keep him mindful of the rules.

Of course, sometimes it was worth bending them a little.

'Do you trust me?'

She'd glanced back at him, then to the dangling handcuffs in one hand.

Like now.

Again, no anticipating him. And now he was looking at her with that appraising look of his.

If he was trying to get her attention, he'd done it.

Trust him? Stupid vampire! She'd been having sex with him for weeks. His mouth had been on or around every major artery she possessed and he wanted to know if she trusted him?

But no, she didn't. She didn't trust him not to kill her friends - didn't trust him not to start feeding again if he ever got that chip out. Didn't trust him not to break her heart if it had ever in a million years been possible to fall in love with him. Didn't trust him not to leave.

Of course, the falling in love part was so not happening. This was all about the way he made her feel. Connected to herself again. For a while, at least.

'Never.'

He lowered his eyes at her ambiguous tone and reached over to pick up her arm.

She didn't protest, or even look at him, as he weighed it in his hand, waiting for her to call him down. Then he snapped the first cuff into place.

She considered. After all, she thought, I've already trashed the crypt again. He'd spend the rest of the afternoon getting blood out of the carpet from that half-full mug they'd knocked over.

Their sex sessions always started the same way.

It could be a quick simple fight or a long drawn out full-scale war, depending on whether he was prepared to play by her rules. She'd set those that first night: her way or not at all.

And Buffy was always on top.

But sometimes, Spike seemed determined to challenge her. A free for all invariably ensued unless he managed to remember what the consequences were. Sometimes he did, most times he didn't.

Of course, sometimes they just both got carried away and a trashed crypt was the strangely satisfying result.

White body shining in the dusk of the room, Spike got up with the other end of the handcuffs in one hand and tugged lightly on her arm, cocking an eyebrow at her. He obviously wanted her to move onto the bed; since that was the direction he was headed.

She ignored him. Uh uh. Do it yourself, Big Bad.

He made an exasperated noise and lifted a limp, unresisting Buffy over his shoulder, and walked to the bed. He dumped her unceremoniously, driving a little woof out of her.

Eyes hooded to hide the glint of amusement, she thought idly that he hadn't missed the bed this time.

She settled in slightly, trying not to be too noticeable doing it, as he threaded the other end of the handcuffs through the headboard.

Uh huh. Much better than the scratchy carpet! She ran her hand across the bed lightly. Was this Egyptian cotton? Trust Spike to have Egyptian cotton. She was making do with 180 count sheets from the dollar store.

He straddled her and grasped her other wrist. He was already hard again. Three things she'd found you could count on in this world: death, taxes, and Spike's erections.

Working at the whole nonchalant thing, she craned her neck curiously to watch as he slowly drew her other arm above her head and placed it inside the open cuff. She almost giggled. She could always break the cuff if she wanted out. Stupid vampire.

She followed his hand up to his face and saw him looking at her questioningly. She gazed at him unflinchingly, expressionless. No reason for him to see that she was curious. Of course, he already knew that she was wet.

Snap.

And he remained there, chest suspended above hers. She felt his fingers trace the outline of the cuffs on the sensitive underside of her wrists, the insides of her forearms. Taking a breath, she waited for him to do whatever it was he wanted to do.

For a moment, she almost got impatient. What? Where was the sinister handcuff stuff? She'd read her mom's old dog-eared copy of "The Story of O." Time to bring on the bondage and humiliation. That'd be fun. And she certainly deserved it. After all, look at what she was doing and with who. Then she realized that he was lightly stroking and tracing his fingers up - down - whatever, her arm. His hands danced lightly at the crook of her elbow. She jerked a little.

Tickles.

Then he started again at the cuffs, at the join in her wrists.

She must have read the wrong book.

He leaned over and put his lips on the inside of her elbow, while his hand traced the same route.

Squirming slightly, she flushed as he leaned back, sitting on his heels, to look at her.

But he wasn't looking at her face. He was looking at her breasts. She realized that her nipples were getting hard. She flushed a little deeper red.

His hands continued their journey down the insides of her upper arms to her open armpi

Good thing she'd been paying special care to her hygiene lately, she thought, trying to get her mind off the arousal that was making her stomach clench.

She began to feel a little uncomfortable with this single-minded exploration he had going on. Couldn't draw her hands down to cover herself, couldn't roll over, couldn't curl up and away from his eyes. She began to think she'd made a mistake. He was still staring at her breasts intently, exciting her even more.

Then his eyes narrowed. She looked down knowing just what she would see. What he was seeing. Her nipples were incredibly hard. Hard little knobs. He nodded, satisfied that he'd found what he was looking for, and locked gazes with her. His hands were tracing the skin just around the mound of her breasts. She gasped, looking at him pleadingly, and tried to turn a little to push one of them onto his hand.

She realized she couldn't and made a little mewling sound deep in her throat. He smiled as he saw her realize just how this was going to go.

Oh, great! He was going to torture her to death with those soft, tickly fingers, and she had absolutely no control over any of it. That is, unless she tore up the bed -- and she liked his bed!

He swept his hands down her sides, and traced her hipbones. She looked at herself with the same frowning look he had. She really needed to put on some weight. But lately, it seemed like there was only one thing she had an appetite for. And she was getting plenty of that.

Shifting and leaning back, he ran his hands down the outside of her legs and ran his hands around her ankles, never taking his eyes off her face. There was a small smirk playing around his mouth.

Bastard! she thought as she realized she was really, really wet.

He must have tortured her for hours - well, it seemed like hours - stopping every time she came close to an orgasm, those insolent eyes fixed on her face. She'd seen him watching her even as his tongue teased her between her legs. She hadn't begged him to stop - well, not out loud anyway. But she had been reduced to gasps and moans a while back. He was absolutely diabolical.

Finally, in a quick motion, he had her legs up and slid into her. She was so wet and so ready that she gave up a contented sigh at the welcome relief of him filling her. He slid his hands up and grasped her wrists, to lay full length on top of her, chest to chest, and hooked her ankles around his. Then he began to rock softly and gently, head buried in her shoulder, murmuring into her neck like a real lover.

Her eyes blurred and her breath caught. When he held onto her like this, she almost forgot what he was -

Jerking her ankles away from his, she pulled her knees up to tightly squeeze his waist and began moving with him, spurring him along, determined to end this quickly. When she came, it was so explosive that he followed a beat later, already so aroused from the glazed look in her eyes that he couldn't hold out against those internal slayer muscles.

She was shivering so hard when the waves of orgasm receded that she had tears in her eyes. He slowly pulled his head out of the juncture of her neck and shoulder and looked at her, dazed. He put a shaking hand on her wet face.

"Get these off now!" she said, embarrassed and angry.

Silently, he slipped out of her and reached for the handcuff key, unlocking her hands slowly. She jerked her hands away as he traced the reddened places.

She rushed to find her clothes, trying not to cry, and dressed quickly. Then she looked at him, eyes welling with tears and anger.

"No. More. Handcuffs."

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

She was restless. So restless. Suddenly the Bronze seemike ike a place she didn't belong. Willow and Anya and Xander were all on the dance floor juking to big band music. She smiled wistfully. Once she would have been down there with them, livin' the high life. Now it seemed -

Well, it seemed like she didn't belong with them. When she did try to spend time, like in the old days, she felt off-balance. Out of sync.

Asking Tara to look into the spell used to resurrect her had made her feel a little more connected. Sometimes she felt like she was living in a nightmare. And Dawn. Now there was another bad dream she couldn't wake up from. Angry, rebellious, outspoken. Dawn had always been the brat kid sister. Spike had even called her that once - but now she was working up to demon status.

And she couldn't blame Spike for how she felt about her life. So obviously something *had* been wrong since she'd gotten back. Even then, she'd been seeking him out, going to him for the things she used to go to her friends for.

Buffy was glad she didn't love him or anything like that. Having sex with him was complicated enough.

She felt like a cheat, a liar, every time someone mentioned Spike's name.

She stiffened. He was there. On the catwalk with her.

Of course. She'd almost expected him. They had unfinished business, and he could always find her, no matter how she tried to avoid him. Their relationship was made up of a series of trysts.

She'd even dressed for it. Oh, she hadn't realized at the time; she'd just wanted to be different. Too bad her haircut hadn't turned out quite the way she'd planned. 'Adorable' had not been the description she'd had in mind. But she hadn't heard him use that little girlish 'Goldilocks' nickname again, so she guessed she'd survive until it grew out.

She'd gotten into her closet, into some trash bags she was using for storage, and found some things she'd bought years ago, but had been scared to wear. She hadn't felt comfortable. They'd seemed a little 'old' for her: a little too femme fatale.

That was no longer a problem. She was glad she'd forgotten to take them back. She was rapidly moving far past 'femme fetale-ish' into something that was decidedly debauchey. She'd even slathered some of her mom's old Opium perfume on tonight. She was heavily into overpowering tonight. Or being overpowered, maybe. She'd looped the rawhide thong around her neck about twelve times. Her neck looked all trussed up. Like it needed to be undressed.

He was behind her, hands lightly touching her. Leaning over her shoulder, he gazed out at her friends. She looked at them from his perspective: they seemed ridiculous -- Willow manically trying to have fun without Tara; Xander huffing and puffing; Anya flailing away at the air like some silly bird.

He'd taken to wearing the thumb ring a lot of the time. Heart speeding up a little, she absently glanced down to see if he was wearing it.

He was.

Shivering slightly in anticipation, she realized she was already getting wet. Like one of those dogs, she thought idly. That salivated when they heard the dinner bell ring.

Okay, so not an animal. Right.

'You try to be with them but you always end up in the dark. With me.'

True, she thought, slightly disturbed. Lately she did. Because the light wasn't so harsh in his world, the edges were softer. Even his edges didn't seem so rough anymore. That was probably because she had hardened to it, or her own edges had gotten a little frayed. Pick one. Frowning, she listened.

No romantic words tonight, just evil incarnate, trying to bring her over to the 'dark side, Luke.' Good. Darth Spike, she thought fleetingly, almost sighing. Maybe she was there already. She just let his voice play over her, not turning to look into his eyes because that meant seeing too much. She liked it like this, this all unseeingness. He sounded eerie -- like a real vampire, all mysterious and dangerous.

His words were touching her in a deep black place. She felt herself breathing faster as his growling whisper filled her ear, saying those harsh things to her, about her - and her friends - things that once she would have punched him for.

His words reminded her of how being with her friends made her feel, how he made her feel, how she felt right now.

And anyway, this *was* a game, she thought defensively. Right? She loved her goofy friends - just not a big band music kind of gal. She was just playing a game. Playing at being. Right?

But somehow it was all like standing outside looking through a window. Or being in a clear plastic bubble. No matter how she tried to take up her old life, she'd still rather be on the outside looking in. And he was on the outside with her.

He understood her. He understood everything, she thought, as desire rushed across her leaving her breathless. She got wet when she felt his breath in her ear, wet when he talked to her in that dark, thrilling way he had, wet when he put his hands on her.

Ah. Spike hands on her leg, pushing her short lace skirt up as his hand moved under it, which meant it was time for the usual token resistance. Next move in the game.

But she was way too aroused to really want him to stop. Her token resistance was very token and pretty much non-existent. She felt so sad, looking down at her lost life. She wanted him to take her sadness and turn it into something else. He could do that. He could make her forget how empty she was when he filled her.

She didn't look at him. This was a night for faceless sex. A night for nasty whispers and liberties taken. A night to feel a little smutty. Which would make up for that bad moment when she was wearing the handcuffs.

This was going to be a lot different than the night the two of them had had grimy sex in the alley behind the Palace. Now that had been very unsexy. She didn't even know what she'd been thinking to try it. First she'd been wearing that uniform that felt like she was wearing a traffic cone. Even taking the hat off hadn't helped.

It had even been her idea. She'd wanted to see him, but she didn't want him to start in about quitting her job. Sex seemed like an excellent compromise. It had seemed to work for him anyway.

Of course then she'd been panicked that her break would be over and someone would come looking for her. After all, she and Spike weren't known for their quickies. Nothing was quick about sex with Spike. He'd had years of frustration to make up.

By now, he only had somewhere around two months left to go.

But the balcony at the Bronze was just the place for liaisons like this. She didn't even care if someone saw them, because they were probably there for the same reason she - *t wer were. As long as none of the dancing Scoobs stumbled on them, she wasn't worried. And she had her eye on them now. He'd told her to look at them.

It was so easy to submit for once. So, just for tonight, she'd give in. Because she needed him to tell her how bad she was. How wrong.

He slowly pushed two fingers inside her, pushing the wisp of black lace out of the way. Submitting with a small tremble, she leaned toward the rail of the balcony to make it easier for him.

His voice droned on, dripping with dark sex. Just as she felt a drop of moisture roll down her leg, she felt him catch it, and in the same motion flick his thumb sharply against the fabric between her legs.

Her thong snapped, leaving her naked for him.

She felt the hard silver band move against the hard nub between her legs. Gasping slightly, she moved back against him as he pressed his crotch against her.

No, no. Don't give him anything! Make him work for it.

She could barely keep her face still. Barely breathe. She was aching for him.

He continued to speak, words without meaning, as he moved his fingers inside her with a sharp, deliberate rhythm.

She felt the tremors of an orgasm and wondered where they could go to finish this. She needed skin. She needed him. All of him.

For a moment, she thought he had read her mind. She gasped as he withdrew his hand, moving away from her in silence.

She stood there a moment, not daring to turn, not daring to allow him to see her face, so naked in this public place.

Turning at last, she felt her eyes widen in surprise.

He was gone. Nowhere in sight.

The ache in her body intensified as she whimpered softly.

Bastard.

TBC in Incubus II