Author's Note: Um...nothing new since I uploaded this with the previous chapter... Gorgeous, naked Spike in this one! Hoorah!

“You cannot trust him!” Spike grabbed her firmly by the shoulders once they’d reached his underground bedroom.

“I-I know that,” Buffy insisted. “It’s just…”

“He wants to kill you,” Spike continued. “All you are to him is Slayer #3. Sure, some of his killing fantasies involve screwing you into the ground first, but—” He stopped abruptly when he realized that he’d let a little secret slip.

“You wanted me even back then?” she asked cautiously, raising one hand to his chin and forcing him to look into her eyes.

“You saw his reaction to you,” he shrugged nervously. “You’d better bloody well believe I wanted you.”

“You’re…” she began.

“A pig,” he finished for her. “I know.”

“Actually, I was going to say ‘kinda cute’,” she retorted. “But ‘pig’ will do.”

“Cute?” he looked into her eyes hopefully. “You think I’m cute?” He suddenly switched his tone. “Not that I want to be cute. In fact, ‘cute’? Hah! Nothin’ cute about me, pet…”

His macho bravado probably could have gone on all night if she hadn’t stopped him with her lips. Her tongue roughly demanded entry into his mouth, and its request was instantly granted. They desperately explored each other with tongues and hands, Buffy crying out in relief as he finally touched her and Spike reasserting his claim upon her.

“Spike…” she whispered as she tore her lips from his to take in erratic gasps of air.

“Yes, luv?” He was breathing heavily too, for no reason but force of habit.

“I need you, Spike,” she pulled his body closer to her, feeling his hardness press against her stomach. “I need you to touch me…”

A low moan escaped his throat at her words, and he caught her up in his arms. Her legs latched around his waist and her mouth gently traced the tenderest spots on his throat as he half-staggered over to the bed.

As usual, he missed.

They collapsed to the floor in a tangle of frantic limbs. Clawing wildly, they managed to rip each other’s clothes off. Spike’s shirt and jeans managed to make their ways to opposite sides of the room. Buffy’s bra – now ruined like so many others – fell atop the one lamp lit in the room, covering up the light source and dimming the surroundings to twilight.

The pair on the floor remained completely oblivious to the change in atmosphere as they rolled about, each trying to pin the other down. After several minutes of this wrestling – interspersed with long, hard kisses – they finally couldn’t take it anymore.

Buffy let herself fall back and watched with lazy, lust-filled eyes as the demon settled himself comfortably between her thighs. She reached up to pull him down to her, stealing a last frantic kiss.

As their lips broke apart, he plunged into her depths, his eyes rolling up at the heat that burned him from all sides.

Buffy cried out as she was stretched in every way imaginable. She tangled her fingers in his white locks, twisting the fine silk gently.

“Cor, you’re beautiful, luv,” he whispered huskily into her ear. “So tight… So good…”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she ran her nails up and down his back as he began thrusting in and out of her slowly in the rhythm of the ages.

He began angling himself, pushing deeper within her with every stroke. He was now pounding against the opening to her womb, hitting her most sensitive spot each time.

“Oh, Spike!” She cried out his name each time he thrust into her. The truth was, no one had ever fit her this well before. No one had ever filled her so completely. “Faster! Please!”

He instantly complied with her pleas, not able to hold back himself anymore. Their hips ground together with superhuman strength and speed, the fire between them burning hotter and hotter… His hands were everywhere, instinctively knowing exactly where to touch her to give her the most pleasure. His forehead rested in the crook of her neck, his tongue lightly tracing over her collarbone. Soft hisses and purrs escaped his lips, and she could feel nothing but sexual pride at the fact that she had completely worn away his usual verbosity.

Her fingers twined into his hair, savoring the soft, snowy locks. She explored his shoulder blades, then moved down his back, feeling his muscles tense and flex beneath her touch and he continued to pound into her.

“You’re perfect,” she told him, and at that moment it was true to her.

His head rose so that his eyes could meet hers. His were almost black by now, but that secret devotion buried deep within the burning fire was still visible.

He kept his eyes locked firmly with hers as his hips miraculously managed to force their way even deeper within her.

She was trapped, captured, completely and hopelessly his…

“Mine,” he growled with his strongest, deepest thrust yet.

Buffy cried out as the waves of pleasure fully crashed over her. She clutched him tightly to her, holding on for dear life…

He shut his eyes tight at the feel of her inner muscles pumping him for everything he had. “Love you so much…” he managed to exclaim before his balls clenched and his chilled seed flooded deep inside her…

When Buffy finally came to, she found herself trapped fully under the weight of a limp vampire…well, at least his limbs were limp. Other parts of him were as rock-hard as ever. And still inside her. Not good.

“Oh, shit!” she exclaimed, pushing him off of her.

He mumbled a tired complaint as he was forced out of her, and she escaped his touch.

“Buffy-luv?” he asked, barely daring to open his eyes.

She was scrambling about the room, frantically trying to reassemble her wardrobe.

“Buffy, stop it!” he demanded when she cried out in frustration at her tattered bra.

“I have to go!” she insisted, slipping her skirt on. Apparently, her panties had vanished.

“No, you don’t,” he pleaded. “Please, can’t we just talk—”

“No talking. Talking bad.”

“Buffy, be reasonable!”

“I am being reasonable!” she snapped at him. “This is wrong. It has to stop.”

His own anger flared. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe this keeps happening for a reason?” he retorted. “That maybe we can’t stop ourselves because it’s not wrong? Because it’s right?”

“I’m the Slayer,” she said firmly. “And I can’t do this.” And with that, she fled.

“Jesus, you two make enough noise?” the past-Spike called out to her from his place still chained against the wall upstairs when she flew by. “Have some sympathy for those listening.”

“Shut up, Spike,” she gave him a cold look before slamming the crypt door shut behind her.

1997-Spike blinked at her abrupt departure confusedly for a few seconds before turning his attention to the trapdoor leading below.

“Oy! You still down there? Or’d she stake you?” he called down.

His future self came up a few seconds later, clad in nothing but his jeans. He had the world’s most frustrated expression on his face.

“This happens often, does it?” 1997-Spike watched the preparation of yet another glass of bourbon and blood.

“All the time,” 2002-Spike said before downing the entire glass in one gulp.

“I don’t believe it, man,” Andrew said, dropping the treasured tome on the cluttered desk.

“Who knew Star Trek could be so…inconsistent?” Jonathan sighed.

“I’m so disillusioned,” Andrew replied solemnly.

“Get a grip, you two,” Warren commanded. “We’ll just have to look somewhere else.”

“Maybe we should just undo the spell before existence as we know it has a chance to vanish,” Jonathan suggested.

“Hey!” Andrew suddenly exclaimed. “Things haven’t changed!”

“Yeah?” Warren and Jonathan turned to him.

“Well, wouldn’t they have changed instantly if we’d really fouled everything up?” he asked.

“Hey, yeah…” Warren said.

“Unless they already changed, and no one’s aware of it,” Jonathan pointed out.

The other two looked at him, annoyed.

“I do have some experience in this area,” he defended himself.

“Or maybe we’re going to fix everything in the future, so the past hasn’t really changed, because of what we’re doing in the present!” Andrew added his own two cents.

Warren and Jonathan’s heads started to hurt.

“Let’s just find a way to reverse that spell,” Warren said wearily. “And if he hasn’t managed to kill her in two days, then we’ll send him back…”

“Problem with the Slayer,” Spike’s speech slurred as he started to get into his topic, “is that she’s so bloody stuck-up. Thinks she’s too good for me, she does. Doesn’t see that ‘m the only one that’ll have her…love her like she wants to be loved…”

“What is the deal with that, anyway?” his past self demanded. “I mean, she’s the Slayer! Couldn’t you’ve found someone else to turn to after Dru left?” He flinched slightly at the horrible hint of things to come.

“Tried,” present-Spike retorted. “Tried to kill her, tried to hate her… Tried so hard not to love her.”

“What can you possibly see in her?” his 1997 counterpart asked in bewilderment. “Sure, she’s hot an’ all, but…”

“You don’t know her,” his captor retorted. “Well, actually…” he thought about it for a little while, “you do know her pretty well. But not as well as you will…er, I will…I mean, I do…I mean…” The complexities of time-travel were definitely not something her could handle while drunk.

“No, I guess not,” he rolled his eyes at his future self’s inebriated state. “All I know is that the woman you claim to love just ran out of here for no apparent reason, leaving you all by your lonesome. Seems like a great relationship, that.”

“Oh, like you’re so much better off with Dru,” 2002-Spike retorted.

“Things between me an’ Dru are great,” the past vampire retorted. “Never better.”

“Just you wait,” present-day-Spike pulled out a cigarette from his pack and offered it to himself. “Your days together are numbered.”

The past Spike caught the smoke and took a drag once his future self lit it. “Thanks ever so for messing it up with Dru,” he scowled.

“Wasn’t my fault!” 2002-Spike insisted, lighting his own cigarette. “I did everything in my power to keep ‘er.”

“It really didn’t work out?” 1997-Spike asked anxiously. “Damn,” he leaned back and closed his eyes when his twin shook his head negative.

“An’ it’s not working much better with the Slayer,” present-Spike joined the depression.

“Tha’s just ‘cause she has no sense of fun,” his past self reassured him. “Too caught up bein’ holier-than-thou.”

“You said it.”

“She needs to let loose.”

“Been there, done that. Trashed an entire building.”

Past-Spike raised a scarred eyebrow.

“That was a great night,” his companion informed him. “Something to look forward to…”

“Yeah…”

“The problem is,” Buffy’s Spike began his tirade anew, “she still thinks I’m evil. No matter what I do. I do something bad, it’s because it’s my nature. I do something good, it’s just because ‘m trying to impress her.”

“Aren’t you?”

“No! Well…yes, but that’s not all there is to it!” present-Spike clarified. “I wanted to I could turn her any day. Force her to be mine. But I don’t, because I don’t want to, and I don’t want to hurt her or the Nibblet or even the damn Scoobies!”

“Whipped,” his companion repeated.

“You better bloody well believe it!” Spike sighed in exasperation. “She just doesn’t get it. I’ve changed! I’m not you anymore!”

“Well then maybe what she needs is an A-B comparison.”

“What do you have in mind?” Spike frowned suspiciously.

“Unchain me, and I’ll tell you…”

“Higuyslongnightgoingtobednowbye!”

Buffy managed to get out that entire litany in one breath as she flew by Dawn and Willow in the kitchen. She ran up the stairs and slammed the door behind her before either had a chance to speak.

Safe now, her mind informed her happily. No questions, no lying, no gorgeous undead temptations that feel so good inside you that all you want to do is stay wrapped in his arms forever…

Oh shit. It was starting already.

“Not fair,” Buffy mumbled into her pillow as she collapsed face-first onto her bed. “I just had him! The fantasies can’t come back this quickly!”

Her sex-drive wasn’t cooperating with her conscious mind’s reasonable argument, however.

Images flashed through her mind: his hands roaming over her burning flesh, that cool tongue lapping gently at her throat, shinning blue eyes looking straight into hers with such love…promising her everything if she would just give him the chance…

And then there was the feel of him inside of her.

Buffy’s hand moved under her skirt of its own volition. Her walls were still stretched from his latest invasion, and the remnants of their combined juices were still sticky against her thigh. She fingered her swollen clit roughly, all the while picturing his hand stimulating her, that perfect body poised above her…so tantalizing…so beautiful…

“Sooo need him again,” she despaired aloud.

No! The responsible Slayer part of her mind ordered. He’s evil. It’s wrong. It’s sick. You’re using him, and it has to stop. Because you don’t love him. You can’t love him! I forbid it! Evil, bad, bad vampire!

“Mmmm…such a bad vampire…” Three of her fingers were now thrusting into her still slick passage roughly. They could never hope to imitate his size, of course, but she needed something. Her other hand played lazily with her swollen nipple as she closed her eyes and replayed his every touch in her head.

“So bad…” she hissed as she fell over the edge. “So good…”

She lay back against the pillows for several minutes, staring dazedly up at the phantom vampire above her.

“Oh shit!” she repeated her mantra after a while, once she’d realized what she’d done.

Wrong, evil, bad, can’t happen again, won’t happen again, don’t need him, can’t need him, won’t love him…

“Must sleep,” she told herself. “No thoughts; just sleep.”

She curled up on her side, clutching the pillow beside her around the middle. And if her conscious mind had still been available, it would have protested that that pillow looked in her mind’s eye suspiciously like a certain bleached blond and completely forbidden vampire…

Will Buffy ever leave the woefully Spike-less land of denial? Will the Trio's faith in Star Trek ever be restored? Just what are those naughty Spikes up to? And will we ever get to the threesome action I promised? To find out, tune in next week: same bat time, same bat channel. And be sure to review if you want that week to be more like a day. ~_^