Spike was so angry he could spit. He should have known as soon as he touched the Slayer his luck would go all to fuck. Three bloody hours and not a challenging tussle was to be had—at least not one that didn’t start out with the special brand of Buffy touch. There was a diner and a hotel, right off the bleeding highway, and not a demon in sight. It was perfectly good pickings, particularly with the regular stopping of tour buses and the like, so what were they bloody doing missing the chance? Had evil gone on holiday and not told him?

Spike felt like punching every human he walked past on his way back to the room—the dreaded room where he was right back at square one with a restrained and no doubt furious slayer. His head hurt like a bitch just thinking about it.

Then it hurt some more as he was slammed from behind and his head cracked the wood of his door. His demon was instantly enraged; Spike pivoted and grabbed two slimy little green bastards around the throat and then howled in pain as their skin shed and seemed to melt into his flesh in a freezing attempt to incapacitate.

Right, he wanted a challenge, didn’ he? He could kick the shit out of these two snots and still be in time to be ripped apart by the Slayer’s mean glare. He chuckled then roared threateningly as he reached down into his boot and pulled out a long bladed knife. Never leave the car without it, he thought almost viciously as he started slicing up the air, his strikes without plan and rhythm. His arms flew as he screeched and stared at them with flashing amber eyes, the two stepping back in fear of the psychotic karate kid possessed vamp.

"Tell Dru she needs to calm down and stop sending her posse after me." He sliced an arm off one of the demons and they all stopped the dramatic show to watch it fall to the floor and another regenerate in its place almost immediately. "Well that’s not bloody fair," Spike whined just as he struck forward and slashed off a head. The other collapsed howling as Spike paused, waiting to see if another of those would pop out of this thing’s shoulders, almost collapsing in relief when it didn’t. It was his hard and fast rule that most blighters weren’t coming back from a full head lobotomy.

He turned a potent glare at the remaining slimy beast and fought off his disgust. It was collapsed beside the body of its…what? Mate, partner, buddy, lover? Spike couldn’t give a fuck, just as he realised he was bloody sick of these games and it was time to force a little distance. Maybe if he got off the main drag, found a little hidey hole in the backwaters of California, he might be able to relocate some peace.

He felt like his motivations were completely tied in knots. Here he was, trying to bring Dru the snack to beat all snacks, and she was sending every foul monster after him. Hadn’t he suffered enough by watching her invite all these revolting breeds to plunder between her legs? Wasn’t like he’d even been granted more than a sniff—on second thoughts, not even that—since long before he was confined to that menace of a wheelchair.

His jaw ticked in frustration. She didn’t want him? Fine. What was he doing working so hard to bring her the Slayer? The bint may have destroyed his car, might be playing havoc with his heart and his sense, but she hadn’t sicced some deranged Cujo monster onto him. She’d been pretty damn compliant until she’d tried to sneak out on him.

That she’d tried to do that made Spike so mad he almost felt like tearing her to shreds. She’d run that risk when he’d returned after finding nothing to take out his frustrations on. Seemed Dru’s minions had saved her from his wrath. Ironic, considering who the spitfire was for.

Spike chuckled as he shot one final glance at the pathetic thing at his feet, sobbing in a particularly unmanly fashion. He was almost positive the other one had been male, too. Bloody liberal demons.

"Tell Dru…tell her to bugger off or I’ll forget I love her and that I’m tryin’ to get her back."

The demon looked up in shock, stared at Spike as if he were particularly retarded, then shook his head and squelched away. When he was across the car park and with the engine of his very ordinary ride thrumming along happily, he wound down his window and glared hatefully at Spike.

"She doesn’t want you back, moron. She’s trying to kill you. Are you some kind of halfwit or what?"

He put pedal to the metal at Spike’s roar of outrage as the vampire began to sprint after the rapidly disappearing vehicle. Spike growled as the idiot almost fishtailed into oncoming highway traffic and then disappeared into the lightening night.

Spike came to a frustrated stop, knowing that as much as the demon deserved to have his head ripped off for saying such things to him, it was true. Dru was trying to kill him. Maybe if he’d been alone it might have even worked. He was bound to get the message eventually and let one of them just put an end to his misery. But he had Buffy along for this ride, and that seemed to alter his levels of determination.

Spike straightened, rolled his head on his neck until he heard a reassuring crack and then stared at his dented hotel room door. She was waiting for him behind there, possibly murderous though he was sure he could calm her down. His first carefree smile of the day came at the vision of how he’d calm her down—only to rile her right back up again.

He was so confused about this. He couldn’t deny that feeling Buffy surround his cock earlier in the night had been enough to make him melt, made him want to thrust harder and deeper just to stay in her heat. On the other hand, he was in love with Dru. Maybe. Or at least, yes, he was, absolutely still in love with his sire and partner of over a century.

What he needed was to sort all this out in his head, take the complication somewhere a little more remote so that he wouldn’t be found again so quick. Then he could have some time to not only make a decision, but also have some fun.

With a wicked smirk, Spike let himself back through the damaged door, feeling even more light and carefree as he encountered a still passed out slayer. Right then, only one way to wake her up and guarantee she wouldn’t be completely brassed off. A determined stride took him close to the bed. Nimble fingers undid her pants and relieved her of them, as well as her boots. The smell of her pussy and her previous release almost had him harder than rock and Spike salivated.

He looked up the length of her body, smiling in satisfaction that even in sleep she configured her form to best accommodate his attentions. Her legs fell naturally apart and Spike’s eyes gleamed in hunger as her nipples pearled and puckered up against the thinness of her shirt. It sharpened his arousal, made him lust for her taste and he found his lips lowering as if in a trance to the hypnotic fluid glistening around her channel.

He growled deep in his chest as his tongue slid passed his lips and flickered against her readied flesh. He licked her lips and then his own, relishing the taste of slayer arousal solely for him awash in his mouth. His hand curled around her thigh, pulling her silky flesh to rest against his cheek as he alternated nibbling and sucking on her clit to painting her walls with his saliva. He lapped at her again and again, his teeth evincing tortured moans as he scraped them across her heated spongy walls, his tongue poking as far along as he could reach.

He was aware the exact second she worked out what he was doing, very slowly sliding out of a dream state and falling red-blooded and hot into wakeful fantasy. Her thighs suddenly squeezed his head as her body started to writhe against his tongue, her arms jerking frantically at their cuffed bracelets around the bed head and her lips releasing the sexiest little mewls he’d ever heard.

He couldn’t bear the tightness of his jeans any longer, his cock almost shedding its outer layer in desperation to be encompassed in her molten depths again. He shoved her thighs apart and sunk into her like a knife through melted butter, and he shuddered as she sucked him in and melted around his cock like cheese on bread. And all these metaphors were making him bloody hungry—as if he hadn’t even feasted on her earlier.

On his knees he was thrusting shallowly into her excruciatingly tight passage, the vision of her breasts frustratingly hidden by the shirt he couldn’t whip off over her bound arms. In a show of masculine depravity, he grabbed it at the shoulders and tore it from her body, fabric shreds hanging from her suspended arms.

"Hey!" Buffy objected. "That was my only top, dumbass."

Stupid bint thought he’d snag her without a bag of feminine necessities to make his trip less fragrant? Spike grinned wickedly, bucking his hips against her as he bulged against her walls, continuing the friction of his thrusts as she forgot about the shirt and moved in time with him. Her legs came up to surround his waist, riding him as best she could from below his body. He could feel the smoothness of her calves as they rubbed his ass, slipping too and fro against his body as he rammed all of himself inside her.

The sensation of her tiny flutterings against his cock made him laugh—carefree and fun, that’s what he was when he was with her. He could sense her need to come, could feel the tightening in his balls as his cum followed the flute of his cock and blew a melodic tune as he pumped rapidly into her tightening pussy.

It wasn’t one shot in the dark, nor was it two. Spike jetted continuously as he succumbed to the lure of her perky nipples, biting them and sucking them deep in his throat, his cock pumping and pumping as Buffy exploded around him, her pelvis tipped to receive as much pleasure as he could give. And still he came, his cock slipping smoother and longer as her juices mixed with his. It was the longest orgasm of his life and he felt nearly crippled by it, laughing jubilantly as he realised his words to her in the diner. Best shag of his life, alright. He seriously doubted anything could top this.

Finally he slumped exhausted on her just as Buffy screamed his name once again and her body surged in another rippling crescendo. Spike smirked against her chest, his tongue swirling around her nipple as a hand swept circles around her navel. Fuck she was gorgeous, responsive, a bleeding marvel of sexual chicanery. Yeah, isolating themselves for a bit was a truly brilliant plan. After over a century he was bound to strike upon one that worked eventually.

She gasped and whimpered beneath him and Spike wasn’t even slightly inclined to get up and ease the weight of his body from hers. Not when his cock was already swelling inside her despite the ridiculously thorough work out it had already received.

"Never happen again, my ass," she spluttered while still panting heavily. "You so lied."

Spike levered himself up on his elbows and looked at her. There was no admonishment, no violent sense of rejection and he grinned.

"What did you expect, baby? I’m baaaaad!"