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Spike heard the door of the crypt open and close, then silence reined again. But he knew she was there. He could smell her; feel her heart beating as she came closer and closer.

"What are you doing here, Buffy?" he asked without even looking around. "I thought I told you that until you were ready to face the truth about the way you feel, until you're willing to tell your little friends about what's been going on between us, I didn't want to see you."

Buffy circled the chair to look at him. "What makes you think I came for that?" she asked. "Maybe I just wanted to -talk," she suggested.

"Because you never want to just-talk," Spike responded, rising from the chair with the intention of putting space between them. "You come in here, pick a fight, toss me around a little bit, and then we end up shagging." He shook his head. "Sorry. I'm not love's bitch anymore. Not yours, anyway. Find somewhere else to get your rocks off."

As he started to turn away, Buffy grabbed his shirt and tossed him against the wall. "I wouldn't sleep with you again if you begged me to," she said, moving closer to pin him against the wall. "You're a sick, obsessed little man," she told him.

"You're forgetting who you're talking to, Slayer," he said menacingly. "And that the little chip in my head won't stop me from doing this-" Her head jerked sharply as he hit her.

He saw her smile, and shook his head. "No. It won't work this time."

Buffy returned his blow with a stronger one of her own that sent him onto the floor. "You're sure about that, Spikey?" she asked, standing there with her head tilted as she looked down at him, her feet planted firmly at his sides.

Spike lay there. "You can hit me as much as you want to. I'm not going to give in this time. It's too important. Whether you understand it or not," he added half to himself.

"You know what, Spike," Buffy said, lowering herself to straddle him as he lay there, "I've finally figured you out."

"Oh, you have, have you? And just what have you figured out, Slayer?"

"That all of that talk about being the Big Bad was just that- talk. Angel with a soul is more dangerous than you are," she taunted him.

"Is that so?" he asked. The bitch knew exactly where to hit to score the most points. She knew too many of his weaknesses. "I don't remember Angel- or Angelus taking out any Slayers."

"You got lucky," Buffy said as she leaned toward him, the tips of her breasts encased in a tight sweater brushing against his chest. She smiled when his reaction to that touch was revealed in his eyes.

"You're wrong."

"Prove it," she dared him, pulling her hair back from her neck. "Bite me."

Spike stared at her as his eyes moved to the throbbing vein in her neck just above him. He could smell the blood there, waiting for him to tap into its sweet life-giving warmth.

"Prove that you're the Big Bad you claim to be," she taunted again. "Take out another Slayer."

Spike rolled them over until he was laying on top of Buffy and easily slipped into his game face. He *was* the Big Bad, wasn't he? He'd killed two Slayers- and here was the third, offering herself to him like a sacrificial lamb. Maybe Angelus had been right, after all.

"To kill this girl, you have to love her."

Only Spike didn't want to kill the Slayer. Not anymore.

"Bloody hell!" he declared, slipping out of game face as he released her arms and rolled to sit on the floor at her side.

"I can't," he told her, his back toward her.

"What?"

"I mean, I can. I could do it like-" he snapped his fingers, "that. But I don't want to. I can't do that to you."

"Of course you can. Spike-" she grabbed his arm, but he pulled away, rising to his feet in a smooth motion to put the room between them.

"Buffy, I won't be the cause of your death,- no matter how much you want it."

"I guess I was right, then. You're whipped. Poor little Spike. Can't do anything."

Spike moved so quickly that Buffy actually looked frightened for a moment when she found herself laying flat on her back again, Spike leaning over her with his game face on. "I could, Slayer. And you'd never know it." His hand curved around her neck, twisting it slowly.

Suddenly his features smoothed again, and his fingers caressed her skin instead of bruising it. "But I won't. No matter how much you push me toward it, I'll always stop myself short of that mark. And *you* know why."

She refused to meet his eyes. "Then let's make out instead," she suggested, grinding her hips into his.

Spike grabbed her hands from his chest, pushing them onto the floor on either side of her head. "No. I can't pretend it's just about sex anymore, Buffy. It's more than that. And when you're ready to admit that there's something more between us, come and see me." He stood up and went back to his chair to sit down. "I'll be here."

He heard her get up from the floor, and stayed where he was, his eyes focused on a point across the room. It was up to her now. Her decision. He just wanted her to go. If she touched him again- he wasn't sure he'd have the strength of will to say no a third time.

Her hand slipped over his shoulder, and he shuddered. He knew that the battle was lost, when Buffy felt that shudder. Her hand slipped around his neck and she roughly turned his head up to look at him. "Not so cool after all, hey, Spike?" she teased, and jerked him from the chair. He hit the wall above the bed and slid down onto the sheets.

Before he could recover, Buffy was straddling him again, pulling his shirt open, sending buttons flying across the room. "I just got those sewed back on from the last time!" he told her.

"We'll get you a new one," Buffy said, pulling her sweater over her head as she leaned forward again.

Spike ran his hands though her shorter hair. "If I tell you that I like it, are you going to go get it clipped again?" he asked.

Buffy's lips were on his chest. "Spike?" Her hand found the zipper of his jeans and lowered it.

"Yes, luv?" he said, his fingers beginning to curl into the sheets at her touch.

She smiled as she looked at him. "Bite me."
 

The End

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