Author's Note: We're getting deeper into NC-17 territory here, kids. So be sure the parents aren't reading over your shoulder. ~_^

“What the bleedin’ hell?” were Spike’s first words as he opened his eyes to find himself lying flat on his back in the middle of a cemetery. “Dru?” he asked cautiously, wondering if his insane lover had randomly decided to put him into some bizarre thrall. He got no response.

Hesitantly he sniffed the air, trying to figure out where he was. This all had the feel of dark magic, and he didn’t like it one bit. The scent that wafted into his nose sent nervous tingles down his spine. There was exactly one scent on the planet that could send tingles down a vampire’s spine: Slayer.

Having less common sense than most vampires or perhaps still being really pissed at his failure to kill her earlier, Spike followed the scent and came upon the Slayer seemingly struggling with a man in the middle of the clearing. Keeping his eyes focused on her at all times, he slunk through the shadows to get a better view of what was happening…

And he stopped dead in his tracks.

“Oh, Cor, pet! Don’t stop!” he heard an all-too-familiar voice cry out.

His jaw dropped. The Slayer’s companion was none other than…himself! And they weren’t struggling at all. Rather, the Slayer had her hand in his pants and was stroking him up and down. He could do nothing but stare in disbelief as the fiery little blonde thorn-in-his-side dropped to her knees and firmly latched her lips around her companion’s cock. His doppelganger wove one hand into her hair, clutching her head to him, while the other held him up against a nearby gravestone. The other Spike moaned and snarled and growled as the Slayer gave him what looked to be the mother of all blowjobs.

Spike felt himself growing hard at the sight of utter ecstasy on his twin’s face. He automatically unfastened his own belt and released the persistent bulge in his pants, stroking it in time with the Slayer’s sucks on his counterpart. His hands moved faster and faster, and he could almost feel the spitfire’s mouth deep-throating him.

“Yes! Just like that, luv! Just like that!”

Spike came just as his twin cried out these words. He couldn’t help but feel dizzy for a second. After all, he hadn’t cum that hard in quite some time.

He neatly tucked himself back into his pants and zipped up as he continued to watch the couple in the clearing.

They were talking to each other now, too softly for even vampiric hearing to pick up. However, the just of the conversation was all too clear. His look-alike had an imploring look on his face, while the Slayer crossed her arms in front of her and turned her back to him. He tried to spin her around to face him, but she shrugged him off. And both their expressions turned angry.

“Fine!” he heard the other Spike call out after her retreating form, “but when you come back later to have that itch scratched, be prepared to beg for it!”

“In your dreams, Spike!” the Slayer called back.

“And in yours, too!” he retorted and then began swearing once she was gone.

Spike’s head was starting to hurt. He sat back against a grave marker and tried to think logically about his situation. The Slayer…giving him a blowjob… It was insane. That settled it: this was just another of Dru’s mind-games. But the argument he’d just overheard made him second-guess this conclusion. Dru’s little imposed fantasies were never this…coherent. He sighed in frustration. Well, no point in thinking about it, mate. Get up and do something about it. Hey, what could he say? He was a hands-on type of vamp. And since only one of the players in the show was still there, the choice was made for him to follow his doppelganger into a nearby crypt…

“What happened?” Warren demanded as he shook Jonathan’s shoulder hard.

“Yeah, you OK, man?” Andrew asked. “That was a pretty bright explosion.”

“Explosion?” Jonathan asked, coming back to his senses.

“Yeah, it was way cool,” Andrew informed him. “All of a sudden ‘bam’! It was just like how Q teleports…or at least how he does after ‘Encounter at Farpoint’ since that episode broke all the rules of continuity and—”

“Will you be quiet!” Warren interrupted him.

He got meek silence as his response.

“That’s better,” he scowled at Andrew. “Now, what happened?” he repeated.

“I…looked into the mirror,” Jonathan began.

“And?”

“And it was Spike and some weird half-naked chick,” Jonathan shrugged. “I think something got messed up.”

“Half-naked chick?” Andrew followed up on the all-so-important details.

“It was Spike?” Warren asked a more relevant question.

“Yeah,” Jonathan nodded. “I think I might have summoned him.”

“Well, he’s not here,” Andrew said, looking around nervously. “Which is good…sorta…”

“Uh-oh,” Jonathan said.

“Uh-oh?” Warren inquired.

“Well, if he’s not here, then I don’t know what happened,” Jonathan explained.

Spike flung open the door to see his counterpart with his back to him, pouring a glass of bourbon and blood. “Back so soon, pet? This has to be an all-time record even for you…” The 2002-Spike stopped short when he saw that the intruder was…himself.

“What the bleedin’ hell?” he repeated 1997-Spike’s assessment of the situation from earlier.

“My sentiments exactly,” 1997-Spike agreed.

2002-Spike sniffed the air. “You’re…”

“…Me,” 1997-Spike mirrored his actions.

2002-Spike’s eyes widened in astonishment for a second before narrowing to suspicious slits. “That’s not possible,” he hissed, stalking over to his twin and beginning to circle him.

1997-Spike began a predatory circle of his own, keeping a cautious eye on his opponent’s movements. “No, it isn’t,” he agreed. “So who are you?”

“I’m Spike,” 2002-Spike insisted. “Who are you?”

“The same.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You’re lying.”

“No, you are.”

“I am not! And there’s only one Spike.”

“And it’s me!”

“No, it’s me!” 2002-Spike snarled, his eyes flashing yellow.

1997-Spike stepped back out of their continuous pacing circle. “You’re good,” he cocked his head to one side and checked the scent in the air again. It was definitely his. “What are you? A shape-shifter?”

“I’m a vampire,” 2002-Spike insisted. “You’re probably just another of that pansy human’s bots, am I right? I’ll rip that wanker a new one soon as I get this chip out.”

“What are you talking about?” 1997-Spike demanded. “And where’s Dru? Where have you taken me?”

“Dru?” 2002-Spike’s scared eyebrow raised an inch. “Looks like your programming’s a bit out of date, mate. She’s probably living the unlife all through South America right ‘bout now.”

“South America?” 1997-Spike said incredulously. “She was here all of ten minutes ago. And what’s all this talk ‘bout ‘programming’?”

“That loser didn’t tell you what you were, huh?” 2002-Spike shrugged. “I must admit he’s getting better. ‘d love to know how he got your scent right.”

“I know what I am,” 1997-Spike growled. “I’m Spike, William the goddamn Bloody, Slayer of Slayers, and your ridiculous little mind games aren’t going to work on me.”

2002-Spike scoffed with laughter. “Oh, you’re me, are ya? Well, prove it then, mate.”

“Fine,” 1997-Spike threw up his hands in disgust. “Bet you don’t know my big sister’s name.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” the present-day Spike retorted. “I never had a big sister, just a little one.”

1997-Spike frowned slightly. He didn’t expect his opponent to catch him that easily. “Her name was Margaret,” he countered.

“And her middle name was Rebecca,” 2002-Spike retorted.

“1925 in Madrid…”

“…I killed a master…”

“…Her name was Raven…”

“…Her mate came after me…”

“…Dru killed him…”

“…Struck him right through the back and ripped out his heart,” 2002-Spike finished, slightly disturbed by this chain of events. There was no way Warren could have known this much about his past. But there had to be a way to catch this imposter in the act…  “My turn: 1940 in Poland…”

“Not in Poland,” 1997-Spike corrected. “We’d already escaped into Russia by 1940.”

“True,” 2002-Spike conceded in disbelief. “We stayed in Kiev where we met…”

“…Darla. She was trying to get out of the war-zone, too…”

“…We were shacked up in this abandoned military barracks…”

“…And we were caught there in the daytime when those bloody soldiers decided to re-open the soddin’ place…”

“…Three of us had to hide under a tank all day…”

“…Finally slaughtered the whole lot once the sun set. Then Darla ran off again,” 1997-Spike said. He was starting to get slightly weirded out, too. Not even the best telepath was this good. And he didn’t know of any shape-shifting demons that could pull off this act so well.  “My turn: 1977…”

“…New York, killed the Slayer, yadda-yadda-yadda…”

“What was she wearing?”

“This duster,” 2002-Spike gestured to the leather that was slumped over the chair in front of the TV. “Too easy. 1997, Sunnydale: what day did I regain the use of my legs?”

“What?” 1997-Spike said in bewilderment.

“Oh, c’mon,” 2002-Spike prodded. Gotcha, he added in his head. “Surely you remember the bloody wheelchair?”

“I have no idea what you’re talkin’ ‘bout, mate,” 1997-Spike insisted, more confused than anything.

“Hello, paralysis? Wheelchair? The Great Poof returning to his not-so-soulful self?” the present-day Spike clarified.

“Never happened,” 1997-Spike insisted, somewhat relieved that his imposter’s façade was slipping. “Some holes startin’ to appeal in your identity?”

“More like in yours,” the 2002 vampire retorted. “OK, how ‘bout an easy one: when did the Slayer first kiss me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” the past Spike scoffed. “Slayer’s never done any such thing…” The incident in the cemetery suddenly came back to his mind, and he realized that the Slayer probably had kissed this Spike. This was starting to make even less sense than before.  “Wait a minute… When did the Slayer first kiss you?”

“1999, while we were under Red’s spell,” the present Spike answered.

“What?!” 1997-Spike exclaimed. “You’ve got your years fouled up. ‘S 1997!”

“2002.”

“What?!”

“ ‘S 2002,” 2002-Spike patiently repeated.

“1997,” the past vampire insisted.

“Not for five years, mate.”

“Then I’m…”

“…From the past,” 2002-Spike finished for him.

Both their eyes widened with this realization.

“Wait, when did you say you come from?” 2002-Spike demanded.

“1997. I just finished my first battle with the Slayer last night…”

“…So, you came back, killed the Annoying One…”

“…Sent out all the minions…”

“…And shagged Dru.”

“What?” 1997-Spike asked.

“She was stronger than usual that night,” 2002-Spike insisted. “That was all that happened. Didn’t fly forward into the future.”

“Well, I did.”

“Something’s wrong then…” the present-day Spike collapsed into an armchair.

His past self did the same in the other chair. “ ‘S not natural. I thought I felt some magical presence earlier…”

“We’re gonna have to fix this,” the present-time counterpart sighed.

“Yeah, but how?”

“Stupid, evil, undead, sexy vampire!” Buffy absentmindedly kicked a tombstone and flinched somewhat guiltily when it fell over.

“Oops!” she exclaimed nervously. And then her anger returned.

“It’s all his fault, you know,” she informed the shattered grave marker. “If he didn’t have to be so goddamn irresistible, I wouldn’t be having this problem!”

She leaned over to try to right the stone cross, but it had broken off at the base. She sighed in frustration.

“What’s wrong with me?” she fell to the ground and leaned back against the oddly angled cross. “It’s just lust, right? I should be able to fight it. I’m the Slayer, dammit! It’s my job not to be seduced by the oh-so-sexy vampires out there. So why can’t I do it?”

The cold stone had no response for her.

“It’s just that…whenever I’m around him, I feel…alive again,” she confessed. “My body goes haywire, and suddenly I just can’t stop myself. I have to have him. Ugh,” she let her head fall back. “I’m hopeless.”

She sat like that for a few seconds before getting up, brushing herself off, and continuing on her patrol.

“All I have to do is stay away from him,” her monologue continued. “If I don’t see him, then my sex drive won’t have anything to latch onto, and I’ll be fine.” A resolved look took over her face. “I just have to avoid him from now on!” she affirmed.

And then she realized that she was standing right in front of the door to his crypt.

“Oh shit!” she swore.

“Well,” the part of her mind that kept insisting that she didn’t really want him kicked in, “this is good in a way. I can tell him that it’s over, and then I won’t have to see him again. Yup, I’m going to tell him right now. Here I go…”

She flung open the door to the crypt…

And two identical peroxide blond heads turned abruptly to look at her.

Two Spikes!

Anyone in the mood for a threesome? A very dirty part of her mind asked.

“Oh shit…” she repeated under her breath as they both rose from their chairs…

OK, so maybe I am evil, since I'm not writing anymore until I get some reviews. Go on, tell me how sick and twisted I really am. ~_^ And just to be more evil, I'll plug another story of mine here. All of you who like B/S (which, hopefully, is everyone reading this...) should check out 'Forbidden' for juicy NC-17 action. And review, because that'll make the next chapter come out soooo much faster...