Chapter Notes: Written for crackers4jenn because I promised her Season 2 Spuffy about 120 years ago. (Minger.) Beta’d by desoto_hia873 and slackerace, without whom I would be an absolute mess. I change POVs a little way into the story, indicated with a ***.
It was comical, really. A police office was actually arresting the Slayer, clamping those delectable little wrists in handcuffs that wouldn’t hold her in a million years. A lazy stream of smoke curling from his lips, Spike watched the scene play out from his hiding place in the shadows. He wondered when the Slayer was planning to break herself free and make a run for it. That should be interesting to watch. Pity he didn’t bring a snack.
It wasn’t until the officer finished reading Buffy her rights and shoved her in the direction of the car door that Spike truly became confused. She wasn’t seriously going to let herself be arrested, was she? They’d throw her in jail – probably try to pin Dru’s Slayer kill on her. That wouldn’t do at all. He had plans to make with the Slayer tonight – plans for world save-age in rebellion to his grandsire. Nasty piece of work, that – and Spike knew he needed help. Trouble was, his help was about to be taken downtown for a fingerprinting session with the boys in blue. Getting her on his side would be a little difficult if she was locked up tight in a cell full of pickpockets and prostitutes. He’d have to think fast – move even faster. Casting his cigarette down on the pavement, Spike silently emerged from his hiding place and went into action.
The cop went down easily enough. One kick to the stomach to ground him and another to the head to make sure he stayed there. It felt good to do a little violence after months of being trapped in a wheelchair, but Spike didn’t have time to relish the moment – not with a lethal Slayer at hand.
Before Buffy had time to react, Spike grabbed her cuffed wrists from behind and twisted them cruelly. She cried out as a sharp pain shot up the length of her arms, stunning her into temporary immobility. Spike drug her to the front of the car and pressed her face down against the hood. Now that she’d had a moment to process what had just happened, she started yelling and kicking out in protest – that is until he captured her flailing legs between his own. He held her there tightly until the furious Slayer worked it out in her mind that she was indeed hopelessly trapped.
“What the hell do you want, Spike?” spat Buffy, still trying futilely to push herself back and off the car’s hood.
He chuckled and pressed against her suggestively. “You know, Slayer, I’m beginning to understand what Angel saw in you.”
She clenched her teeth and twisted her neck around to glare at him out of the corner of her eye. “Look, if you want to fight me, let’s fight for real. This is low, even for you.”
“Not here to fight, princess, though the offer’s tempting. Got a matter to discuss with you. Like to make certain you’ll hear me out. And the fact that you can’t reach for a stake right now is a plus, too. Useful things, these handcuffs.”
“Like I’d want to hear anything you had to say.”
“You’ll want to hear this, believe me.”
Buffy sighed in frustration and rested her cheek against the hood. When her body stilled under his own, Spike relaxed his hold on her a bit and let her legs slip free. “Let me up, and I’ll listen,” she said evenly.
He smirked down at her body. “Now, now – let’s not be hasty. I’m not sure I’m ready to – OW, FUCK!!” With a woeful groan, Spike fell to the ground, body curled up protectively in defense of his bruised groin.
Buffy pushed away from the car and launched into a run, hands still cuffed behind her back. She found herself stumbling every few steps, lacking the balance usually provided by her arms. It wasn’t long before she heard Spike’s footfalls pounding on the ground behind her. Rushing through a copse of trees, she found herself on familiar turf: one of Sunnydale’s many cemeteries. The problem was that it was probably familiar turf for Spike as well. Still, she thought she might be able to lose him amongst the crypts, but not if he was right on her tail. She would have to do something about that.
Growling, she stopped dead in her tracks and did an abrupt about-face. Spike nearly crashed into her, but she kicked out, connecting her foot to his jaw. When he fell to the ground, sputtering curses she’d never heard before, Buffy immediately took off again, flying through the maze of tombstones and statues. After a few minutes of hard sprinting, she collapsed behind a large crypt to try and catch her breath. Straining her ears against the sounds of the night, she found she couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore – not that she could hear much over the pounding of her heart. She knew Spike would find her eventually, vampire senses being what they were. She would have to act fast and be ready to fight when he did. The handcuffs were a bit of a problem in that regard.
Buffy tried to pull her wrists apart, hoping the chain would break – but either the cuffs were much stronger than they looked, or Spike had really done something nasty to her when he’d twisted her forearms. Her muscles screamed in protest, and she was soon forced to give up. Cursing under her breath, she rolled onto her side, ready to try something else. ‘When in doubt,’ she told herself, ‘do what the movie stars do.’ She brought her legs up to her chest and tried to maneuver her arms under her body. She was convinced she could break the chain if she was cuffed from the front rather than from behind – but even if she couldn’t get free, at least she’d be able to use her arms to defend herself, cuffed or not.
The job certainly looked easier when they did it in the movies, but eventually she managed it. “Take that, Sunnydale PD,” she gasped, wriggling her fingers in front of her face. “My kung fu is best.”
But before Buffy could attempt to yank the handcuffs apart, Spike was suddenly upon her. He gripped her roughly by her jacket and dragged her to her feet before she knew what was happening. “You bitch!” he roared as he delivered a sharp left hook. “Kicked me in the jollies, you did! That fucking hurt.”
“Yeah,” she spat back as she elbowed him in the gut, happily using her newly freed arms. “That was kinda the point.”
“That’s it,” he growled through clenched teeth. “Fuck saving the world. You’re mine.”
She sighed and fanned herself, feigning flattery. “You just say the sweetest things..”
And then they were at it. Back and forth they went, fists and boots flying with furious intensity. Buffy fought well, despite her handicap, but it was clear after a few minutes that Spike was winning. Unable to use her hands freely, she was struggling just to defend herself, let alone fight back.
“Yeah, ‘s right,” he sniffed as he kicked her legs out from under her. “Old Spike’s still got it. Nothing like a stint in a wheelchair to get you in an arse kicking mood for the Slayer what put you there.”
Ignoring the ridicule, Buffy tried to push herself off the ground but couldn’t seem to manage it. One too many punches had gotten through her defenses, and her strength was suffering. No way would she be able to pull the handcuffs off now – not until she’d had a moment to rest. Her eyes shifted to her opponent. Spike stood over her, gloating. She wondered if she could lull him into letting up on her for a moment so she could regain her focus. If she could just get him talking..
“Haven’t you ever heard of fair play?” she managed weakly.
He shifted into game face. “What do you think?”
Buffy’s eyes widened. Fangs bad. Distraction good. “You said you had something to tell me, didn’t you? So talk.”
He leaned down, golden eyes glinting at her dangerously. Uncertain of his intentions, she tried to back away but couldn’t go far. When his legs straddled her from above, she gave up the distraction ploy and kicked upwards for all she was worth. He caught her foot before it connected with his groin again.
“Stop doing that, you bloody lunatic!” he cried as she tried the same thing with her other foot. He caught that one, too. In one swift movement, he pressed his body down on hers, maneuvering himself safely in between her struggling legs. “Now, that I’ve got you where I want you,” he said, smiling congenially, “let’s talk.”
She bashed him in the nose with her handcuffs and rolled him onto his back, capturing his wrists in her joined hands. Twisting his legs between her own, she successfully pinned him down to the ground. “I’m all ears,” she replied sweetly.
“I’ve got the keys, you know. Grabbed ’em from the cop when you first took off. Might be willing to part with ’em if you play nice,” taunted Spike, watching with satisfaction as Buffy tilted her head with interest. He took advantage of her distraction and broke the strong grip she had on his arms. He grabbed her in a barrel hold and rolled her onto her back.
“Give me the damn keys, Spike,” she demanded angrily.
“Oh, right. Guess I’ll just hand ’em right over then, seeing how you asked so nicely. Please. ‘Fraid you’re gonna have to work for ’em, pet.” His eyes skimmed down their joined bodies. “Got anything specific in mind?”
She head-butted him in reply.
It was chaos after that. Limbs hopelessly intertwined, they rolled over each other again and again, both of them struggling for purchase. Eventually Buffy’s back hit a tombstone, and they could go no further until one of them let the other up. She didn’t have the strength to push him back the other way – but if she guessed right, she wasn’t the only one who was getting tired. Teeth clenched, they glared hotly at each other, exchanging silent challenges.
But it wasn’t until that moment that she realized their faces were only inches apart, breath intermingling as they panted. Her cuffed hands were trapped between their bodies, while his encircled her, holding her tightly to his chest so that she couldn’t break away. His hips were crushing hers, held there by the unforgiving clutch of her thighs. Buffy’s blood suddenly ran cold with anxiousness when she realized what a compromising situation they were both in. She cursed herself for letting her mind go to such a place, but it refused to return to reality where Spike was a vampire and she was the Slayer. Suddenly all she felt was the cool hardness of his body pressing into her own – into places she should never allow – and her own body’s predictable response. She couldn’t help it.
And she certainly couldn’t help the soft moan that curled up from her throat when he unwittingly moved his hips, putting pressure on all the right places.
‘Wrong places,’ Buffy thought, desperately trying to correct her confused psyche. ‘Wrong!‘ Her cheeks flushed in a mixture of denial and embarrassment. She watched as Spike’s eyes narrowed with sudden understanding. She expected to be mocked. Hell, she expected a swift and painful death. But that wasn’t what she got.
Instead, he rocked his hips again.
She gasped as pleasure shot through her like lightning. She began to move in kind. Any and all thoughts fled her mind as their hips ground together, their gazes locked. Green against gold. She didn’t know who made the first move – perhaps they made it at the same time – but two seconds later, she was French kissing her sworn enemy. And she liked it.
God help her, she loved it.
His lips were cool, and his tongue, ruthlessly urgent. There was no gentleness in his kiss, and Buffy found she didn’t want any. What he offered instead was intense, all encompassing, and probably the most intimate thing she’d ever experienced. It was raw, with no hint of inhibition, and she silently begged him for more. Pulling her back away from the tombstone, he pressed her into the ground. She was lost after that, surrendering herself completely to his power. The loss of control was frightening and exhilarating all at the same time, and she moaned her approval into his mouth. She heard the sound of tearing fabric as he pushed her shirt up, and felt him palming her breast a moment later. The sudden feel of bare skin on skin was shocking but made her want to pull him closer rather than push him away. He rubbed his thumb roughly over her nipple, and pain mixed in confusingly with the pleasure. It scratched an itch she didn’t even know she had.
Biting down on his lower lip, Buffy’s hands struggled hopelessly against Spike’s chest. She still couldn’t move them, but he seemed to guess what she wanted and allowed her to slip them over his head. She gripped handfuls of hair, the cool chain of the handcuffs trickling down the back of his neck as she pulled him impossibly closer. That seemed to surprise him. Their bruised lips parted, and his eyes glinted down at her mischievously, as if he’d just been given an early birthday present. He spotted a thin trickle of blood seeping from a tiny cut on her chin and immediately closed his mouth down on it. He took a gentle pull, and she was surprised at how good it felt. She didn’t protest as he dragged his mouth slowly down the curve of her neck, one hand still working her breast. She gasped as she felt his fangs touch her old scars from the Master. She could tell Spike knew exactly who had bitten her from the low growl that curled up from his chest.
The growl was what woke her up.
Oh God, what was she doing? It suddenly dawned on Buffy that Spike was about to bite her. Whether it would be lethal or not was beside the point. She had a vampire at her throat, and she was encouraging him. “Stop,” she whispered, though her neck was still craned out to him.
And to her surprise, he did.
When he lifted his head from her neck, his human face stared back at her. She watched his eyes shift slowly from lust to confusion to indifference. He was surprisingly gentle when he pushed off of her and stood to his feet. She rose shakily as well, feeling her pulse pounding wildly in her swollen lips. ‘Now what?‘ she thought, a sudden chill gripping her.
In complete denial of what had just happened, Spike turned to stalk away, shaking his head as if he was trying to pull himself out of a daze. Buffy was ready to protest, but any objections she had died on her lips. They didn’t make sense. He was a vampire. She was the Slayer. He had Drusilla. She had Angel . or she would if she ever managed to get him back. Whatever had just sparked between Spike and her was fundamentally insane, and it had to stop. But she couldn’t just let him walk away like that. She didn’t know why, but she couldn’t.
She stepped forward with the only thing she could think to say that would make him stop. “Wait. You wanted to talk to me about something,” she managed, her voice sounding strangely loud in the quiet of the evening. “What was it?”
When he turned back around, his eyes were surprisingly blue in the pale moonlight. They’d always appeared so dark to her. He hovered there for a moment, uncertain whether he wanted to say anything to her or not. “Angelus is planning to destroy the world,” he explained at length, speaking in a carefully indifferent tone. “I want you to help me stop him.”
Buffy blinked in surprise. “You’re joking, right?” But the look he gave her in reply banished that thought from her mind. “I don’t get it. What’s in it for you? Aren’t you demons all down with the mass destruction?”
Tilting his head, he seemed to give her question careful consideration. “Happen to like this world. Got some things in it that are of . surprising worth.”
Her heart began hammering in her throat as he came closer. A soft clink of metal sounded, and he offered her a tiny set of keys. He meant for her to free herself, but she held her chained wrists out to him so he could do it instead. Though she would never admit it, she wanted to feel his hands on her again, even if it was just for a moment. He unlocked the handcuffs and ran his thumb carefully over the raw flesh of her wrist. “I love her,” he said with conviction, staring down at Buffy intently.
Unable to look away, she wet her lips. “I love him.”
Spike leaned in closer. “Then what are we doing?”
“No idea,” she managed to whisper, right before his lips closed down on hers again. The open handcuffs fell to the ground, forgotten.
A/N: I suppose I could continue it, but I don’t know that I will. If I did, it’ll be after I finish my two WIPs. Must finish those first!