Total Chapters: 1

What happened between the end of Smashed and the beginning of Wrecked?

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Author’s Notes: Thanks to Tanit for beta-reading and to Jamie for the challenge prompt! Enjoy!

Buffy was fucking Spike like the world was going to end, and it just might if anyone ever found out. They’d fallen through the ceiling at some point in the night. Or…the floor. It really depended on where you were. They were amid the destruction, completely unaware of just how much of it they’d caused. Drywall and bits of ceiling rained down on them but neither seemed to take notice. This was the renaissance. This was a new era. This was what happened when super beings made love. But it wasn’t love, at least not yet. Not yet, but maybe. It was a hell of a lot bigger than a crumb, though. This was the Berlin Wall coming down. This was the clash of the Titans. This was Genesis and light and dark and violence and pain. This was fucking amazing.

Spike, somehow, had discovered that there was something wrong with Buffy. That she’d come back from heaven a little less human than she thought.

There was something wrong with her.

She was wrong.

He could hurt her again without setting off his chip and though it scared her for a split second, afterward, she was exhilarated as the obligatory tête-à-tête of fists and jibes began. There was nothing better than fighting Spike. God, she missed fighting him. Nothing made her feel more alive. And she’d been dead for so long. Nothing challenged her, angered her, or turned her on more than a good brawl with her number one enemy. She’d denied those tingles for years but he really had a way with a right hook that got a girl all mushy between the legs. He’d swung from a chandelier like an action star and she’d punched her fist through the drywall. They were magnificent together. This was exactly what she needed. All the rage she’d felt since she came back from her supposed eternal rest, all the anger and frustration and dead cold awareness that she might never feel it again, channeled through every punch and kick she delivered. And Spike took every blow like the masochist he was. He wanted it just as much as she did. And there was nothing better than fighting Spike.

Until she’d shoved her panties aside and thrust his cock into her as far as it would go, taking them both by surprise. Well, she had kissed him first, but it was an angry, violent kiss. A kiss no different from a punch to his nose, a kiss to shut him the hell up. Keep him from looking any further. The belt came undone, she was on him and over him and around him and then the world came tumbling down. Because they’d found something better than fighting.

He’d looked at her then in awe, a look she was too stunned, too confused to return. He loved her, she knew it then. How he looked right into her eyes as if she’d fallen from the sky especially for him, the sweetest gift he’d ever receive. How he looked at her in a way she wished any man would have in her past. But it was Spike, and she’d been dead for too long to care about romance and she was fucking him in an abandoned house, with an abandoned heart, and feeling things that had left her so long ago. She closed her eyes and then they fell through the floor.

She concentrated on getting off. Her thighs gripped his sides and her nails bit into his chest and she rode him harder than she ever had anyone before. She wanted it to hurt. She wanted him to hurt. How dare he show her this? But Spike loved it. Spike could take it. Spike wanted more, and drove the point home by thrusting up into her like a piston, proving just how much he could take. And he was holding back, she knew. How many times did she have to hold back before?

Not Spike, no. Not him. He couldn’t be the one. He could not.

She tore his shirt in half and jerked forward to kiss him. It wasn’t out of want, it was to mask the noises bubbling in her throat as she reached climax. His hands held onto her ass and he bit her lip as he purposely slowed down his hips and kept her still.

“What are you doing?” She was panting, struggling to move, struggling to come.

He licked a drop of blood from his lip and smirked up at her, taking harsh, unneeded breaths. “You think for one sodding minute I’m going to let you come now?”

She scowled, pissed that he’d been so vulgar, that he’d pointed out what they were doing, that he knew what she was doing. And what was she doing?

She sat up and tried to get off of him but he grabbed her wrists, both of them moaning as her fight to flee sent another wave of pleasure through their joined bodies. And she wasn’t really trying, anyway. If she wanted off, she’d be off. Spike smiled wickedly, because he knew that too. He sat up with her and wrapped his arms around her waist, raking his eyes over her neck and her hair that was in danger of falling out of its restraint. She tried to look hateful, tried not to shiver as his fingers trailed up her spine. She found it to be impossible.

“Waited for this too long to let you go, Buffy,” he whispered, dragging his lips against her neck and pushed her denim coat off her shoulders. She started moving over him again slowly, gasping, needing to feel him inside her. Needing to feel.

“You can’t keep me,” she said defiantly, though the tone was softened by a shuddering moan as he pinched her nipples through her top. She touched his hair and pulled away like a reflex, moving her hands to his shoulders. “I…hate you.”

He smiled deviously and pulled her shirt off. “I can see that.”

Buffy’s eyelids lowered a fraction at the expression on his face. He was biting his lip and flaring his nostrils as he blatantly stared at her tits, then his tongue darted out to wet his mouth and she closed her eyes again. Whatever he was going to do, she didn’t want to watch. Watching made this real. Watching would give her something to remember later. She didn’t want to remember. But Jesus, he was taking a nipple in his mouth as if it were cotton candy, nipping at it with his soft lips and sucking just a bit, letting his tongue absorb her flavor until she melted completely. Her eyes flew open and he smirked at her. Smirked with a nipple in his mouth.

She tugged his duster off and he eagerly shimmied out of it, still feasting on her breast, still inside of her. Spike’s cock was inside her and she wanted more. His torn shirt joined the duster on the rubble and she pushed him on his back to look at him. Just for a minute though, because she’d closed her eyes again as she moved over him. His hands were everywhere, reminding her who she was with, sneaking up her skirt, tugging on her panties, rubbing her, pinching, caressing and she was going to come.

“Sp—” She licked her lips, maybe he didn’t hear. She kept her eyes closed and sped up the pace of her hips.

“Buffy, Buffy,” he said softly. “Look at me.”

“No.” She lowered her head. She was so close. So close. Then she could leave. She could come and then put an end to this perversion. She was perverted. She was wrong. Something was wrong with her.

Spike growled and then she was airborne, her back crashing against a wood post. She felt the sting of splinters in her skin and before she could open her mouth and scream at him, he was on his knees in front of her and pulling her skirt down her thighs.

“What are you doing?” She grunted as she tried to get out of his grasp but he chuckled and yanked her skirt off completely, leaving her standing there in only her panties which were bunched and twisted on her hips. She covered herself with her arms, panting, and Spike looked at her, crouched before her. She liked this much better. Spike on his knees. Spike on his knees and looking at her as if she were dinner, not as if she were something to be treasured and cherished. This was easier to play at.

“Fuck, you’re tasty,” he said with a sneer. Then she slapped him. Didn’t punch him, didn’t say anything. She slapped him across the cheek as if he were just an ordinary man and she an ordinary woman. A slow smile crawled around the corners of his mouth. She tried not to moan.

“Don’t talk to me that way.”

If it were even possible, he’d grown harder. She lifted one of her beautiful legs and slung it over his shoulder. She pulled him forward with the heel of her boot and tilted her head as she looked down at him. She’d tempted him with the scent of her pussy, tempted him too much for him to resist what she was doing. And besides, he wasn’t a priest and the slayer was offering and he shouldn’t complain. But he wasn’t going to hand over the reins, either.

“What do you want?” he asked her as he slid his hands up her thighs and tore away her panties. Flimsy little things.

She was breathless, her hands gripping the wood post behind her and his mouth was inches from her flesh. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. She was supposed to be in control of her emotions. It was Spike. Spike, for crying out loud. She dug the point of her heel into his shoulder blade. “Do it.”

He traced her entrance with the tip of his finger, his nose twitching at the fragrant aroma of her sex. “This?”

“No,” she said quietly, her hips starting to move a bit, trying to get him inside.

His mouth hovered over her clit and he looked at her through his lashes. She tried to seem disinterested, but he knew. He knew how badly she wanted it. He could see it in her eyes, smell it on her skin. It was just as hard for him to tease as it was for her to wait. He pursed his lips and blew a steady stream of cool air right onto her aching nub, waited for her heart to skip a beat, for her chest to rise and fall. Then he moved his mouth to her thigh and gave it a noisy kiss. “This?” he asked innocently.

Her frustration only made him want her more. She was lovely when she was pissed.

“Dammit, Spike!” She shouted angrily, but she liked, it too. Because she didn’t move a muscle. This was a dream. “God, you can’t even do this right!”

“The hell I can’t!” he said with yellow eyes. What a bitch. His finger plunged inside of her sodden hole, his mouth latched onto her clit and she wailed in ecstasy. Fucking slayer knew him too well. She knew exactly how to get what she wanted. Insult him, make him prove her wrong. God, he was easy. But it didn’t matter because he was tasting heaven and she was pulling his hair so hard it might come out at the root. She could make him bald and he wouldn’t care. He’d waited too bloody long for this.

“Oh, fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she sobbed. She would never underestimate Spike’s abilities ever again. The noises he made while he pleasured her…the noises. She didn’t know who liked it more, her or him. Somehow, both her legs were now slung over his shoulders, his free hand was squeezing her ass and though the wood post at her back was cutting into her skin, she didn’t care. Oh, it was amazing watching him, watching his eyes close when he moaned and then open when she did. He’d twisted his hand upward and found the sweet spot inside her while his tongue painted a fresco on her clit. He curled and pumped and curled and pumped his fingers inside her and she’d never shouted so loud in her life. She’d be hoarse the next day. He chuckled against her as he sped up the pumping of his hand, adding another finger, and then another, smiling in satisfaction as she moaned her praise. She was too far gone to scold him for it.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as her body tightened. She felt it building again, the tease of an orgasm on the edges of reason and she knew that Spike was going to bring her to the stars. She didn’t want it to be him. She didn’t want to be here, to be wrong and wrong and wrong. What had happened to her? What had her friends done to her? Why hadn’t she ever, ever felt this before? It was a strange and powerful sensation, feeling such a great sadness and elation at the same moment and Spike played her body expertly through every single wave. She cried and sobbed, laughed and shouted his name and shook with release and he kept it going for as long as he could, moaning and cooing and grumbling as he glided his tongue over her.

She was intoxicating. She was beautiful. Fucking gorgeous, his Buffy. More perfect than he’d ever seen her and whether she meant to or not, she’d exposed her most intimate place to him. She’d shown him her pain, her happiness, her vulnerability; shown it to him while he had the honor of tasting her, of bringing her off. He would tell her he loved her if he thought she cared to hear it, but she didn’t. He’d take this, though. This memory, this image would last years.

“Spike…oh…my God…” She was moaning this, softly. His name. Saying his name as her hips moved, milking every bit of her orgasm. She hadn’t denied that he was there. Though her eyes were closed, she knew exactly whom she was with. He was sad it was over.

He lowered her legs and kissed her mound, pulling his fingers out of her gently. She could barely stand and he watched her try to avoid him. He licked her taste off his lips, his fingers, and brought his hand to his cock.

“This never happens again,” she said, finally looking at him. He pursed his lips and stroked himself. “I mean it.” He nodded with casual acceptance and smiled at her, slowly dragging his hand up and down his shaft. She hesitated for a moment, had one last inner struggle with her calling, her preconceived notions, with everything she’d told herself about slayers and vampires and souls and then she was on her knees and sucking his cock into her mouth with a desperate moan.

A long, bewildered sigh escaped his lips as he fell back, his hands raking into her hair as she did it, and she did it bloody well right. So he told her.

“So good, oh fuck, that feels so good.” He hissed as she grazed her teeth against him and he looked down at her to find her smiling smugly. “Do it again.” She did. He moaned, and she pumped him with her hand, planting kisses and flicking her tongue along his length.

She didn’t know why. She could have left. She’d rarely done this before but after he’d given her the orgasm of the century, she supposed she owed him one. And she’d barely touched him and he was babbling incoherently. It was nice. It was really, really hot, too.

“You’re gonna come soon, aren’t you?” She straddled his thighs and stroked him, looking down at him. In control again, she awaited his reply. Shook her hair out of the loosened twist and noticed how his eyes drifted from her tits to her hair in an expression that never changed. Want.

Yeah. Don’t stop doing that…”

She smiled. And she knew she shouldn’t smile, shouldn’t give him reason to think she was enjoying herself, even if she was, but it made him come instantly. She leaned forward to take it in her mouth again, to swallow everything he had. To taste him, drink him up. She didn’t mean to moan. He was gripping her hair, saying her name like a mantra and she couldn’t help but grin, which really was sort of hard with a dick in her mouth but no one had ever made her feel as if she’d done it right, as if she’d done it well. Not like Spike.


She pulled away and started to stand. Spike wasn’t supposed to make her feel anything. Except…just feeling. Sensations. Not anything else. She shouldn’t even be here in the first place. She was wrong.

Spike knew it was coming, which was why he’d stretched out on his back with his hands laced behind his head, completely relaxed as he watched her mill about the destruction.

“Could go again, you know,” he offered, reaching for his duster and pulling out his smokes. She stopped and turned to face him. The trademark folded arm, cocked hip look had a different effect when she was naked. She realized it a second later and rolled her eyes.

“I’m not doing it again with you, so forget it.”

He chuckled and lit his cigarette, propping himself up on one elbow. “Right.” He exhaled and narrowed his eyes. “Already crossed the line, pet. Might as well make the most of it, yeah?”

“You’re disgusting. The only reason I did this was because…”

He cocked an eyebrow and caressed his own stomach, reclining again with his cigarette dangling out of his mouth. The jerk.


“Because you…well, because you started it!” She pointed at him. He laughed. Really laughed. Curled his knees up in the air and clapped his hands, he was laughing so hard. If she weren’t struggling with being a perverted mistake from heaven, she might have laughed with him. Might have even admitted how adorable he was. Instead she folded her arms over her chest. She’d leave in a second. Once he stopped laughing.

“Come here,” he said, as if they were old lovers, as if they’d done this a hundred times before. As if she’d spent a hundred Sundays in a shared bed with him, giving naughty touches and playful tickles beneath the sheets. As if he weren’t Spike and she weren’t Buffy. He forgot that she hated him, forgot that she couldn’t deal with the reality of his feelings.

“I’m leaving.” She turned around and looked for her clothes and as she expected, he was right in front of her in a flash.

“Stay.” He pushed her hair behind her ears. He had that look in his eyes again. The look he shouldn’t own. Shouldn’t be able to give her. She opened her mouth to speak and his hands were on her waist. Not holding, not restraining, just touching. Just feeling.

“Stay.” And he kissed her. The feel of his naked chest against hers and his hands sliding around to her back, his mouth slanting across her lips and the soft little breath he emitted was enough to make her reconsider. It was still early. She’d stayed out patrolling far later than this. No one was going to find out anyway and if this was the only time to be a perverted, sick thing, then she might as well make the most of it. Just as he’d said. And this would be the last time.

Spike felt the moment that she relaxed. Her hands slid up his chest and into his hair, her tongue swept across his and he held her lightly against him, savoring the gentleness of these shared touches. Even if she pushed him away in the next moment, even if she punched him, fuck, even if she staked him, he had that. For three seconds, Buffy had let go and let him love her. She’d allowed a moment of tenderness, let him feel her softness. Let him pretend.

But in the fourth second, she was squeezing his hair and yanking his head away from her mouth to kiss his neck and she bit down on his jugular. His fangs threatened to break through his gums if she did it any longer and he pushed her back, held her back by a firm grip on her arms and glared at her with eyes that were swirling with blue and gold.

“Careful. Do that again and I won’t hesitate to return the favor.”

She knew he wasn’t lying, either. She was somewhat impressed that he’d even warned her but he was kissing her again and she couldn’t think straight. Her feet left the floor and she was in his arms, swung to the side so hard she had to wrap her legs around him to keep from falling. He slammed her into the wood post again and she felt it crack.

His mouth was on her breast and she whimpered, digging her nails in his shoulders. His hand was fumbling with something between them and then she cried out as he pierced her entrance. He didn’t wait for her to adjust, didn’t take his time. He moved with fervor, burying his face in her throat as his hips smashed against hers, over and over, pushing her further into the wood post. It was about to break, she knew it was, but he was fucking her, breathing on her neck, sliding against her skin, tickling her cheek with his baby soft hair and it all felt so, so good.

“Oh, God! Yes!”

“Gonna…fuck you…all…bloody night,” he said with a dangerous glint in his eye. She shot him an equally challenging gaze and they both smirked. She was about to tell him how hard she wanted it, how deep she needed him, but the post against her back snapped in half and another part of the ceiling started to fall. Never losing his stride, he jumped backwards and turned, and they both came crashing to the floor. He landed on top of her with a thud and it knocked the wind out of her. Something large dug into her thigh but his soft, pliant lips were on hers and his cock was sliding into her again and she didn’t fucking care any more.

“Don’t hold back,” she said. If she was going to go all out, she was going to go all fucking out. She wanted to know what she was capable of. What they were capable of.

He’d give it to her as hard and as long as she wanted it. She knew he would. He pushed her legs to her ears and held them down with a tight grip to her ankles, propped himself up on his knees and the battle began.

His jeans were still bunched around his thighs and it was making things a bit difficult but he wasn’t going to stop, even if his very existence depended on it. Somehow, she’d gotten her legs free of his grip and she wrapped them around his head and twisted so hard that it flung him onto his back. He felt a nail pierce his arm and he hissed as she sat astride him at the same moment. She shoved two fingers in his mouth and rode him. The whimpering, womanly noises she emitted as her tits bounced up and down was a combination of sights and sounds that almost drove him over the edge.

He tried to speak, tried to tell her how perfect she was, how he could watch her green eyes glaze over, her lips turn red and her skin glisten with sweat for hours but she pushed her fingers further into his mouth. He rolled his tongue around them. Reached his hands up and squeezed her tits. She moaned and lost her rhythm long enough for him to take charge of their position. He flipped her onto her stomach and pulled her to her knees, holding her hands together at the small of her back.

Her torso bowed back as he drove into her from behind, holding her up by his grip on her hands. The pitch of her moans rose and fell with every jerk of his hips, and he didn’t know how much longer he was going to last. He’d never moved so fast, never fucked anyone this hard, and Buffy loved every minute of it.

“Yesyesyesyes, oh fuck yes, Spike! Harder, harder!” She practically wept her request. Fuck, he’d never imagined it being like this. He knew it would be amazing. How could it not be amazing? But this…this was brilliant. She was brilliant. And they looked bloody brilliant together. He watched his cock disappear and reappear in a blur inside of her, watched her ass move up and down. He was fucking Buffy. The slayer. Christ, what was happening? How the fuck did his night turn into this?

He felt her muscles squeezing him, watched her beautiful blonde hair bounce from his efforts and he dropped her hands to grip her ass and slow down a bit.

“So close,” she whined, propping herself up on her hands and looking at him over her shoulder. God, she was looking at him over her shoulder, naked and wet and sucking his cock inside of her as she wiggled her hips.

His fingers caressed the tender skin of her ass as he slid languidly in and out of her, moaning serenely as her slick walls squeezed and caressed him. “You want to come now?” God, she was so tight, so silky smooth.

He trailed his fingers up her back. She curled into his touch like a cat and shivered. “Maybe…”

If she was smiling, he wanted to see it but she’d turned her face towards the ground. He pulled her hair to the side and leaned forward to kiss her shoulder blade. “Could make it last a little longer.” He could make it last forever if she wanted.

She couldn’t speak just then, because he’d snuck a hand around her stomach and started stroking her clit, slowing his hips even more, twisting them on the down stroke. This shouldn’t feel so good. Not with Spike. It made too much sense. It would be too easy to give into him, forget everything she’d ever learned, say “Fuck you” to her friends and live in absolute pleasure just like this forever and ever and ever.

“Need…” she trailed off with a sigh as he licked her spine, kissed the back of her neck, and sucked her earlobe into his mouth as he pushed inside of her.

But easy wasn’t meant for her. Nothing was ever easy. It wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Life had proven that to her again and again.

“What do you need?” he whispered.

You. Need you.

And she did. He was the only one who’d ever understood, the only one who treated her the way she needed. Like a person. Someone he respected. Someone he wanted. Someone he loved. He didn’t put her on a pedestal. He didn’t look to her to fix his problems. He didn’t treat her like a child. He listened. Told her the truth, always. He stood by her side and offered his support even if she didn’t need it. He was always there. Would always be there for her. Spike wasn’t a thing. This wasn’t a perversion. He loved her and she was giving herself over to him willingly.

“Faster,” she pleaded, moving her hips against him. “Please, faster.”

She couldn’t think about this now. She couldn’t do this. It wasn’t fair. Not to him, not to her. But God, she needed him. She needed this.

He pulled away from her ear and kissed her shoulder before he sat upright again and did as she asked. She missed his closeness. His hands were on her ass again and she listened to him breathing, panting, grunting. She wanted to see his face. Fast wasn’t what she wanted. Fast would make this time end too quickly. So she flipped them over again.

He wanted to scream. If she was going to threaten leaving again, that was bloody it. There was only so much crazy he could take in one night. But she didn’t say a word: she only kissed him and slid down the length of his cock until their bodies were touching again. He waited for her to set the pace, waited for her to sit up, move away from him. But she didn’t. She just kissed him. Stayed completely still on top of him, his cock throbbing inside of her, while she kissed him so sweetly he almost cried.

His arms wrapped around her waist and held her on top of him as her plump lips gently caressed his at a sleepy tempo. As she lifted slightly and started to move, she looked down at him, pressed her forehead to his and looked down at him.

“Just this once,” she said quietly before she covered his mouth with hers again. It wasn’t long before they were both rolling and pushing against one another like oil and vinegar, moving in tandem as their climaxes built and finally erupted with a reverent acceptance. She was making love to him, and though she hadn’t said the words, it was enough.

But what she didn’t realize was that because she’d let him see, because she’d let him in, Spike would never let her go. Not ever. She thought that tonight was the only night they’d do this, but he knew better. He wasn’t going to give up on her, not when she let him in. Not when she opened the doors to her heart and showed him how lonely it was inside, how much it looked like where he lived. She needed him.

Buffy needed him.

They waited only a few moments to regroup before they were joined again, but he knew the tenderness was over. That was fine with him. That was fine. She slapped him around a few more times, let him toss her against a wall, destroyed the rest of the support beams from their violent mating and all of that was just fine with Spike. Because now that he knew where she lived, he’d do everything in his power to stay there, to hold on.

And Buffy was determined to forget about it in the morning.

Because she was wrong.

A/N: This may or may not be turned into a WIP but for now, it is complete!

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