Battle Stations
Chapter Two

She couldn't believe she was doing this. WHY was she doing this? She should let him get what was coming to him, the stupid undead jerk. Still, she quickened her pace toward the cemetery.

Giles's call had come at the end of a particularly nasty argument with Riley--one of a series they had been having lately regarding the direction of their sex life.

She needed more. More than the formulaic 'kiss-kiss--touch-touch--flip-her-over-and-pound-her-into-the-mattress-a-few-dozen-times'
that had become their regular routine. The boy had the stamina of a bull--she had to give him that--but he lacked creativity and seemed perplexed by her desire to experiment.

The incident with Spike a few weeks earlier beneath the tree in front of her house had awakened in her a curiosity about the male body--what made it respond, what made it shudder and squirm--that Riley had no interest in satisfying. Just a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy, her boyfriend, with no desire to be made vulnerable. He didn't even like to be teased. It was only her genuine affection
for him that made her keep trying to improve things between them.

When the phone rang, Riley had been telling her that maybe she had a problem--some sort of kinky hang-up that would be better explored on a therapist's couch than in their bed. She could have killed him for that little suggestion. As it was, she left his apartment without another word to him, not even bothering to tell him where she was going. Let HIM be curious for a while.

And now she was off to the crypt of her nemesis, her foe, her...her what? Spike really wasn't any of those things anymore. Their relationship lacked definition, but that was ok. She was sick of drawing lines around everyone and everything in her life, categorizing each interaction. This is what she knew: Spike was potentially in danger, it was her job to help, and help she would. Simple.  Clean. Yeah, right.

She turned her thoughts to the task at hand: warning Spike that his old "buddy" Butch was in town. Giles had reported that Anya had overheard some whispered conversation in the alley behind the Magic Box between a couple of lesser, nuisance-demon types regarding a new gang of vamps on the Hellmouth led by a rival of Spike's from his Euro-trash days. Butch had the usual pretensions
toward being a Master someday in the near future, and he apparently thought that taking out the local Big Bad was an excellent step in the direction of his goal.

The moon had just breached the horizon when the cemetery came into view. Buffy had an uneasy feeling for no good reason she could name. Drawing her stake, she hit the gates at a jog. A few yards past the entrance, she heard the unmistakable sound of Spike's voice raised in a shout of pain.

The Slayer broke into a sprint and hit the crypt door with a flying kick from five yards back. It flew open with a crash, and the scene within was revealed.  She allowed herself a moment for absolute rage to wash over her.

Spike had very apparently been caught unaware and unprepared. Barefoot and dressed only in his jeans, he hung by his hands, suspended from a chain looped through the chandelier at center of the crypt ceiling. A sqat, homely little vampire, who could only have been the aforementioned Butch, stood next to him, and several others lounged at a distance--Butch's gang, out for a night of

At the center of Spike's chest there was an angry red mark that was the exact size and shape of the end of the lit cigar that Butch held in his hand. The skin there was still smoking.

Five vamps taken by surprise by a Slayer on a mission. Then just three, as two were dusted on their way out the door. Finally, just Butch remained, a perplexed look on this face. He'd seen Slayers in action beforebut THIS bitch was like a demon herself and obviously took more than a professional interest in her work.

She circled him slowly, wondering how she could best take him out. He wasn't a Master--not nearly as old or experienced as Spike--but dangerous just the same.  She was a breath away from leaping at him when Spike yelled a warning--as a sixth, previously unseen vamp emerged from underground to take the Slayer. She whirled, she kicked, she spun, she staked--he was dust. But Butch was gone, taking the opportunity to make his escape through the still-open door of the crypt.

She turned to go after him, then considered her options. If she left Spike here, dangling like bait, Butch would probably return--she could take him then. If he didn't return this night, well he'd be back at some point. She turned to look at Spike.

"You OK?"

"Ta, pet. Had visions of a...blistery...sort of evenin' 'til you arrived."

There was something about him hanging there like that, feet barely touching the floor, all the muscles in his arms and chest revealed and pulled taut by gravity. It made her think things.

"Bit of help here, ducks?" His voice was subdued--he was embarrassed by his position and excited by her nearness at the same time. Couldn't get much more vulnerable than that...or so he thought.

"You want me to let you down?" There was a smile behind her words, but her face remained innocent.

"No, by all means, luv, let me hang here all night...maybe Butch'll come back and roast me good an' proper."

"Now, why would I let him do that after I took the time and trouble to save your sorry undead ass?" She stepped closer as she said this, circling him. Suddenly, she was fascinated by the quality of his skin--it glowed ivory in the dim light and appeared to have the texture of velvet. She stood behind him briefly and reached out to touch his back. His intake of unnecessary breath was a hiss.

She circled around to the front again and leaned in to examine his wound.

"Hurt much?"

"S'fine." He swallowed the large lump in his throat and hoped she didn't notice the larger one growing in the front of his pants. "Let me down now, Slayer."

"Mmhm, yeah, ok, just a sec." She leaned in blew gently on the red mark at the center of his chest. He closed his eyes and hung there--what else could he do?

He felt rather than saw her retreat. When he looked again, she was removing her jacket, then her boots and socks. Barefoot, as he was, in a thin white tee-shirt and black slacks, she glanced around the room, finally spotting a small metal stool in the corner. She retrieved it, set it down about six feet directly in front of him and perched on it. She said nothing.

He tried to speak--nothing came out. He cleared his throat and tried again.  'Slayer...what's this about then? Let me down now." He tried to look stern. "I won't say it again."

"Mmmm...where have I heard that before?" She stood up and approached him again, very, very slowly. She saw his eyes widen. "Scared, Spike?"

"What?!  Scared...of you? What I am' a might'... I want you to let me down."

"What if I won't? Whatcha gonna do about it, you big...bad...vampire?" With each word she took a tiny step closer until he could feel the heat of her body beneath her clothes.

He knew this game--had played it himself a more than a few times. Dru was always one for kinky, and chains and ropes and blindfolds and gags had been some of her favorite toys--but Dru had preferred to be the one tied up. She had rarely been interested in restraining him--it took more energy than she was inclined to muster.

A part of Buffy's mind remained detached and horrified at what she was doing.  But it was a small part, and she shut it up with threats of violence. Her curiosity was too great to pass up this chance. What could she do to this creature? How far could she push him? She had seen the bulge in his jeans immediately, and knew she was having some effect...and THAT was having an effect on her, in turn. She hadn't stopped to put on a bra before leaving Riley's apartment, and now she could feel her nipples swelling and hardening beneath her tee-shirt.

Her hands snaked around his waist and she pulled him off his feet to grind his pelvis against her. His head fell back, exposing his throat and she fastened her lips there, licking and nibbling. Abruptly, she let him go and returned to the stool. He swung limply, trying to process the experience and decide how best to react.

Once seated, she watched him struggle to control his response. Finally, he lifted his head to meet her eyes.

"Never had you figured for a bondage freak, Summers." He fought to keep his tone light. He was afraid to reveal the depth of his arousal--it would have given her too much power, and she had more than her share as it was, given the circumstances.

"What can I tell you, Spike? I'm on a voyage of self-discovery...and you are coming along for the ride, so to speak." She gave him a grin that could only be described as evil.

Spike's head dropped back again and he let slip a moan. He was beginning to think that he had been safer in the clutches of Butch than in the hands of this girl, on this night.

Still perched on the stool, she considered her next move. Didn't want to push him too far, too fast--might as well make it last, since there wasn't liable to be a  repeat performance.

"Are you really hungry, Spike? I mean, can I get you something, make you more comfortable" Her voice trailed off as she realized the absurdity of her question. He looked at her oddly.

"Well, luv, to be honest...I've known more comfy restraints...perhaps you could loosen..." He looked meaningfully upward at his hands.

"Yeah, right. I loosen, you escape, there goes all the fun and games for the night. Don't think so, but nice try." She followed his glance upward. "But I suppose I could take some of the pressure off your arms."

Leaping up gracefully onto to large sarcophagus that served as his bed, she loosened the chain from the chandelier, allowing him to drop his weight fully onto his feet. She heard him sigh with relief. Leaping down again, she approached him.


"I s'pose...but how 'bout a drink, then? There's a bottle of bourbon around here somewhere" He motioned with his head. She searched briefly, finally finding it among his stash of personal items. With it, she found several magazines of the pornographic variety.

"Why, Spike, you pig!"

"Oh, I'M a pig! Look who's got who chained to the ceilin'!"

"But I FOUND you this way" They smirked at one another. Then a rather evil glimmer--one that made him decidedly nervous--found it's way into her eye. Very deliberately, she unscrewed the bottle and upended it briefly down the front of her shirt, soaking it to near-transparency. He watched, transfixed.

Walking over to stand before him, she brought the bottle to his lips and tilted it, giving him a long and much-needed gulp. Then she poured the remainder of the liquid down HIS chest.

"OWWWW!! You stupid bitch, that hurts!" He screeched as the alcohol seeped into the burn on this chest.

"Oh, God, Spike, I'm sorry...I wasn't thinking" Doing the only thing she could to relieve his pain, she leaned in and affixed her mouth gently to the red mark on this skin. Sucking at it tenderly, she felt a strange rush of emotion--almost warm and fuzzy--toward this creature of the night.

Licking the wound clean of all alcohol, she finally soothed him and stood.  Looking down, she noticed that the pain hadn't erased his erection. Smiling slightly, she stepped forward and put a very tentative finger on one dark, round nipple. His reaction was most gratifying, so she increased her pressure, pinching and rolling the nub between her thumb and forefinger.

If he had needed to breathe, he would have been out of luck. The sensation sizzled from her fingers down through the pit of his stomach to the tip of his cock and back again. His erection pushed painfully against the buttons of his jeans, and for the first time in years he wished he owned a pair of underwear.

She didn't stop. Instead, she added her lips to the mix, affixing them to the other nipple, gently at first. Then she bit down on him and pinched hard at the same time, wondering how much was too much. Apparently, not that much. He gurgled in the back of his throat helplessly.

She let go abruptly and stepped back. When she walked, she could feel the swelling between her legs. This was way too much fun. Seating herself again, she let her hands slide gently over her wet torso, noting that that Spike licked his lips when she did. She stripped off her tee-shirt. Her nipples were nearly as dark and hard as his, and when she squeezed them she heard him make a rumbling noise in his chest.

"Spike? Tell me what you want."

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He tried again.

"Please..." It was a whisper. "Pants...too tight."

"Oh!" She stood up quickly, but when she was directly before him, she became shy. Reaching for his belt, she wondered if she should call a halt to it now, before they were both too far-gone. Glancing down indecisively, she saw that his hips were straining forward towards her hands, and she knew that she had to continue, if only to understand the power of her own sexuality for once and for all.

His belt off, the buttons undone, his cock sprung loose in a manner that almost frightened her. It certainly wasn't the polite penis that Riley sported. She should have expected Spike to be uncircumcised--Angel had been, although she had never really gotten a very close look at him.

Interested--fascinated, in fact--she knelt to tug his jeans from his hips. Her breath on him there made the room swim in front of him.  He lifted his feet mechanically to kick off his jeans and lost his balance, falling against her.  His cock brushed her hair and the smooth skin of her face and he cried out. She jumped back in alarm.

"Are you OK? I mean, maybe we should stop"

"Please...Buffy...I need you to touch me...anywhere...for pity's sake, girl!"

She felt a mix of confusing emotions. On one hand, her inexperience and lack of knowledge was never more apparent to her than at this moment. On the other, she felt a surge of power, and an evil urge to torment this monster as he had tormented her in his pre-chipped days. She stood and moved away from him. He groaned.

"Are you suffering, Spike? Do you like it?" She decided in that instant to keep this night in the arena of gamesmanship. Something told her that if she allowed any deeper emotions to be accessed, they would both pay for it later.

The moon had risen high and cold light spilled in through the open door. She stepped outside for a breath of air and looked at the ground around the crypt.  There, in the grass, she found a long, stiff crow's feather. Perfect.

She was holding something behind her back when she returned to him. He watched her warily as she approached. Her naked breasts glowed, and his bound hands opened and closed in frustration, aching to touch her. Then she produced the feather.

He started in real fear. As a child and a young man, before he was turned, he had been exceptionally ticklish. It had shamed him, this unmanly bodily response, and he had learned to steel himself against soft caresses for that very reason. Now, in this vulnerable state, he knew that he would be unable to control his reaction.

"Wha...what are you doin'?"

"I'm going to touch you. Isn't that what you said you wanted?"

"NO!!" He kicked at her blindly. She jumped back in surprise.

"Hey! Cut it out, Spike! You act like I'm going to pour acid on you or hold still." She gripped the muscle at his waist firmly, and then surprised him by planting a friendly kiss on his lips. "It's OK. If you hate it, I'll stop, I promise. OK?"

He looked into her eyes and saw that he could trust her...perhaps the very first person he could trust in his entire existence, living or dead. He nodded and steeled himself.

She ran the tip of the feather slowly from a spot behind his ear down over his ribs and abdomen and hip. He shuddered and bucked, but not in discomfort. He was surprised at the pleasure that surged through him at the soft touch of the feather as she circled behind him and began the stroke again on the other side.  At the same time, he felt his frustration mounting. It had been at least half an hour since this little scene had begun, and except for some incidental contact, nothing yet had touched his aching cock.

Then she stood behind him and coaxed apart his legs slightly, giving one of his buttocks a gentle squeeze. She stroked the tip of the feather from the place where his nearly white hair met the skin of his neck, down the center of his back and between the cheeks of his ass. As she did it he shuddered, so she did it again, more slowly this time.

She had begun to find her own pants to be slightly uncomfortable. His response to her ministrations was so gratifying that she had a wild desire to unchain him and let him take her--but knew that she wouldn't. Not this night. Most probably, not any night. But that didn't mean she couldn't give herself some relief and heighten the stakes for him at the same time. Returning to the stool, she unzipped her slacks and peeled them off, checking to see if he was watching.

"Pink cotton, Slayer? And here I was anticipatin' a black leather thong on a kinky bird like you." He chuckled deep in his throat, staring intently at the few curls that escaped around the elastic edges of her panties and wishing with all his heart that x-ray vision was part of the vampiric special-powers package.  He took a deep, absolutely unnecessary breath in order to catch her scent, and was rewarded by a soft muskiness that was the unmistakable clue to her arousal.

Seated again on the stool, she dragged the black feather down between her breasts and dropped her head back, concentrating intently on the sensation. As if of its own accord, her right hand found itself pressed against her crotch.  She spread her legs wide to give herself better access and him a better view and began stroking her clit lightly through the soft cotton cloth. She heard him
growl and opened her eyes.

"If you'd let me go, I could do that for you, Slayer. I'd do a good job." His voice had a pleading, ragged edge to it, and she noticed that his hips had begun to thrust ever so slightly in time with her fingers' strokes on her clit.

"No, Spike. Sorry. Stop talking now. Need to concentrate." She dropped her head back again and her hand began to move faster. Soon he could see a dark spot of moisture forming beneath her hand, and the scent of her filled the room. Her body was growing tense, but she wasn't ready to finish yet.

Sighing, she stilled her hand, and slowly removed the now sopping panties.  Dropping them to the floor, she walked slowly over to stand before him, both of them totally nude. The nearness of him made her skin jump. She wanted to wrap her legs around him, lower herself onto his cock and ride away into oblivion.

Instead, she dropped to her knees and began again to stroke him with the feather. He hadn't been expecting it, and when she dragged the soft tip of the feather from his ankle up to his inner thigh, he hissed like a trapped animal and tried to kick at her again. She caught his calf in a killer grip that stilled him and forced him to endure it again, and then again on the other leg.
Then she backed up several inches and began to contemplate his cock and balls.  Her face had an intent, almost academic look as she studied him.

He swallowed thickly. "Cor, Slayer, you look as if you've never seen a hard-on before." He struggled to keep his tone even and failed.

"Well, I can't say I've ever seen one this...fancy...before. So many moving parts." She was fascinated by the way the rose-colored head protruded from beneath the foreskin.

"Yeah, well, I've one of the old-fashioned models, I suppose. It's a bleedin' shame the way they hack 'em up these days."  He tried to laugh and found he couldn't.

Slowly, she raised the feather and touched the tip of it to his balls, making small, deliberate circles.

He couldn't stand it. He pushed away from her with both feet, bending at the waist, desperate to escape.

"Stop it, Spike. Hold still, or I swear I'll walk out of here and leave you like this." She didn't mean it. She wouldn't do it. But he didn't know that.

He forced himself back into position, grinding his teeth as she began again to stroke his inner thighs and balls with the feather. "There, now that's not really so bad, is it?" He shuddered violently in response.

The drops of pre-cum that had been forming all the while finally spilled over the edge of his foreskin and dribbled down the shaft of his cock, soaking the tip of the feather. She discarded it, realizing that his torment was extreme and that her own was reaching the point of no return.

She lay down on her back at his feet and stared up into his face, which was twisted into a sullen pout. Bending her knees, she spread her legs wide and dragged her hand up and down her slit.

"Stick out your tongue, Spike." Her voice was thick with desire. "Let me see your tongue."

"I'd rather let you feel it, Slayer." But he did as he was told. At the sight of it, she shivered and began stroking her clit double-time. Within seconds she was at the edge of orgasm. As she tumbled over, she opened her eyes wide and stared into his. She saw wild golden sparkles shoot over the surface of his corneas and the planes of his face shift slightly. She felt rather than heard a growl
vibrate through him, and watched as his cock swelled even larger and grew an angrier shade of purple.

The spasms broke over her again and again and she rocked against her hand like a thing possessed. He rocked too, thrusting blindly against the air, praying that she would find it in her merciful heart to give him some release before he simply blacked out.

Then she was still. One hand remained buried in her slit and the other clutched one breast. Never before had she come like that. Her heart continued to pound in time with her throbbing clit, and she fought the urge to simply curl up and sleep there on the cold stone floor.

Finally, she looked up at him. He was staring at her in mute agony. The pre-cum that had been several drops only minutes before was now a small, clear puddle between his feet. His balls were a deep shade of blue, verging on navy, and she knew he must be in pain. She was sorry, and now she intended to fix it.

It took her a moment to find her feet. Steadying herself, she leapt up onto the sarcophagus again and disengaged the last of the chain from the chandelier.  Without the chain to support him, he stumbled, nearly falling. She jumped down and grabbed him about the shoulders, removing the chain from his wrists and massaging them gently. She led him to his bed, such as it was, and helped him to lie down.

"'re leaving?" He steeled himself for her response.

"No. Not yet. I just need to catch my breath, OK?"

She sat on the edge of the sarcophagus for a moment and stroked his hair absently. The scent of her was intoxicating to him, and he shivered. She glanced over and noticed how hard he was trying to remain calm, patient, even respectful.

She urged him to slide upward a bit to give her room to maneuver. Propping herself up on his only pillow, she began to gently nuzzle his inner thighs and balls with her mouth and tongue.

His response was instantaneous. Every muscle in his body, every nerve ending began to sing. He had to bite down hard on his own tongue to keep from crying out.

She slid up a bit and, bracing the shaft of his cock against two fingers, she made the tip of her tongue into a hard point and inserted it gently into the tiny slit at the tip of the head.

His hips jumped off the stone once, twice, three times as she held her tongue there and wriggled it ever so slightly. The room began to spin around him and a burning sensation spread throughout his body, much like he experienced at the moment of a kill.

She took the entire head of his cock into her mouth then, sucking gently and chewing softly on the foreskin. He began to sob with pleasure. She continued, taking more of him into her mouth, nibbling and sucking while squeezing his balls and shaft with one free hand.

Her strokes became more aggressive and insistent. His cock was large, larger than Riley's, and she couldn't take the entire thing without choking--at least not without some practice. It didn't matter. He was too far-gone and her mouth and hands were too sweet and hot for him to bear much longer. He tried to hold back and make it last, knowing it might be the last time they would ever be that
close. He sat up slightly and tangled his hands in her hair.

The muscles in his abdomen clenched into a white-hot ball. The spasms began at the soles of his feet, traveling up his legs to break against him in wave after wave of the most intense pleasure he had ever experienced in his existence, living or not. He fought to stay conscious, not wanting to miss a moment of it.  He fought to keep his hips from bucking too roughly, not wanting to hurt her.
Finally he gave into it, riding it out, and allowed his beast to emerge as he ejaculated a monumental amount of seed into her mouth.

She was amazed at his orgasm. It seemed to go on for a full minute, and when he finally released his icy load, she counted no less than twelve spurts. Luckily, she was ready for it, and found the taste of it to be more pleasant than she expected--less bitter and more refreshing. But maybe she was just thirsty.

He fell back onto the stone with a thud and lay there like the dead thing he was. She realized after a few moments that he was unconscious. She untangled herself from him with a sigh--male things were all very much the same after all.  Finding her clothes, she dressed quickly, wishing she had worn a watch.

She was pulling on her boots when he awakened.

"Slayer?" His speech was slurred, drugged sounding.

"Yes, Spike?"

"You alright?"

"Fine. And you?"

He sighed and stretched, turning onto his side. "Hhmmmhmmm." It was a rumble and a growl and a purr and a moan all in one. She turned to smile at him.

"I have to go now."

"Have to?"


"Absolutely must?"

"Yes." Her voice was determined.

"I generally fancy a cuddle afterwards...don't you?"

She didn't answer him. Instead, she picked up his jeans and tossed them to him.  "Here, you'd better get dressed."

He looked at her in surprise.

"Well, you can't stay here. Butch might come back, and I can't hang around all night waiting for him."

"Are you laborin' under the impression that I look after myself, Slayer?" There was an edge of irritation in his voice. She was pleased. Things were getting back to normal right on schedule.

"Look, Spike, you can stay here and wait for Butch and whoever he might bring with him, or you can come home with me and hang out on the sofa. Your choice.  But I'm not going to stand here and argue anymore--I've got class in the morning." She gave him a pointed look. "And as for looking after yourself--well, think about what might have happened if I hadn't shown up here tonight."

"Oh, perish the bleedin' thought." He grinned at her and tugged on his jeans. In a few moments he was fully dressed, including his duster, and they were making their way through the cemetery.

As they walked through the entrance she rather casually questioned him, "Do you always make those...noises?'


"Yeah, you know, when you..." Suddenly she was shy again, and he was enjoying it. After the torture she had put him through earlier, he thought he deserved a bit of his own back.

"What do you mean, noises?"

She took a deep breath. "When you came. You made these noises. Like different animals."

"Oh, I see. Well, that's to be expected, darlin.' The beast in me, an' all that.  I suppose I howled?"

"Yes and barked at one point I think. And roared like a lion towards the very end."

He stopped and turned to face her. "I BARKED???!  AN' ROARED!?!?"

"Yeah. It sounded like you were channeling a petting zoo there for a few seconds."

He threw back his head and laughed at the sky. Then he tossed an arm about her shoulders and gave her a hug that was pure affection. She returned it without thinking.

"Full marks, pet. Can't say that's ever happened before."

They walked the rest of the way home in companionable silence.

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