Title: Breaking a Slayer 9-12

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

Spoilers/Ships: This is AU. Buffy/Spike/Angel.

Distribution: Sure, just let me know.

Feedback: Is always nice. DarkRhiannon@aol.com

Rating: NC-17.

Spike couldn't believe that he was awake. He was in bed with the Slayer *and* his sire. This had to be a dream. Surely, he would wake alone and rampant, with no one to assuage his need but himself. Still, it was one hell of a dream, so why not go with it. He slid his hands across the Slayer's rounded breasts, glad that she had filled out again. He stroked the hard peaks with gentle caresses at first, then teased harder as she moaned in abandon.

Spike looked up and met the molten gaze of his Sire over the Slayer's shoulder. Angel looked as if he was barely restraining himself from rolling Buffy over on the bed and fucking her unconscious. Just in case this *wasn't* a dream, Spike hoped for all of their sakes that Angel had learned some self-control. He didn't fancy waking up to Angelus and one of his twisted games of foreplay. Holy water and knives were not Spike's favorite toys. He much preferred his handcuffs lined in fur, thanks ever so.

Spike lowered his cool mouth to Buffy's breast, licking lightly at the pebbled nipple that strained for his attention. He loved hearing her heartbeat race and feeling her warm breath as she panted against him. She was a delectable little snack. He moved his mouth to her other breast, leaving her moaning with desire as he lavished the other nipple with biting kisses, just this side of pain. Buffy responded by grinding her ass back into Angel, who groaned in turn as his cock strained against the already damp fabric of his black pants.

Buffy was transfixed. When she'd demanded that Angel share Spike with her, she hadn't expected to have both of them at the same time. She had only ever been with Angel before the awful night when Faith stole her body, and oh, so much more. Now, suddenly she was confronted with her lust and need for Spike while she rested in the arms of her only love, Angel. How could this be?

Angel had never seen anything as desirable as Buffy writhing under Spike's experienced tongue. He sipped gently at her neck, drawing tiny amounts of blood from the angry punctures he'd placed there earlier. Each drop was flavored with Buffy's growing arousal. He'd had no idea that she would respond so ardently to the concept of a menage a trois, he'd thought that in her innocence, she'd shy away from any taint of questionable sexuality. Clearly, he'd not given her enough credit. Or perhaps, Buffy had been through so much, suffered in so many ways, that she no longer questioned the rightness of a union that felt so incredibly good. Whatever the reason, Angel was not about to reign in either his mate or his childe.

He moved his large hand slowly down Buffy's side, stroking her soft skin gently and moving his sensitive fingers in tiny swirling circles to tease out each erogenous zone. There were many; Buffy seemed consumed with passion, arching back into Angel's steady caresses, then forward toward Spike. She was gasping and sighing with ever growing lust, completely captivated by her two gorgeous lovers.

Angel leaned over her shoulder and caught Spike's mouth in a hard and passionate kiss. The link between them had been strengthened by the blood exchange, and Angel could feel Spike's consciousness humming near to him in his mind. It was too nebulous for true images, but feelings came across loud and clear.

Spike was drowning in lust for the Slayer and his sire. He was torn between wanting to plunder Angel's mouth more, or move his own mouth lower to taste the Slayer's luscious cunny. Angel's unspoken mental push made up Spike's mind and he broke away from the powerful kiss to lick and nip his way down Buffy's torso.

Spike dragged the sheet down an inch at a time, covering the exposed skin with tender bites until every inch of Buffy's skin felt as if it were on fire. She was suddenly afraid. Afraid of Spike; irrationally so, to be sure, as he wasn't a physical threat. Afraid, perhaps, of the way she was losing herself in his attentions? Afraid of Angel and what he would think of her, definitely. More, though, Buffy was afraid of herself. This dark side of her nature that had come to the fore in the past several months…was her only coping mechanism. But giving up control to that part of herself meant that this inexperienced girl was drowning in passions she had never learned to control or explore.

Buffy froze, all arousal halting abruptly as she flashed back to the awful night of the rape. Men, too close, surrounding her then and now, now she was trapped again, between two men. The differences, that these were Angel and Spike; that she desired them; that they weren't warm; weren't hot and sweaty, stinking of humanity; those differences were the only things that kept Buffy from bolting and escaping as far as she could from the demands of her own body and theirs.

Spike stopped instantly when he sensed Buffy's withdrawal. Angel, feeling her confusion through the soul bond, cradled her gently in his arms and turned her to face him. "Buffy, are you ok? We don't have to do this now. We can wait until you're ready."

Buffy gazed up at him with troubled eyes. "Angel, I'm sorry, I just…there's two of you and you were both so close and…." Her voice trailed off and she shivered, suddenly chilled between their cool bodies. "I'm sorry….I'm so sorry, I just, I never expected it to be both of you at once and I don't know what to do." She blushed in painful confusion.
 

Chapter 10

Buffy had no idea how to react to Angel and Spike's seeming acceptance of her inexperience and trepidation regarding sharing a bed with the two of them. On the one hand, they were all she'd ever wanted. Angel was everything to her…her heart, her soul, her mind were his for the taking and he was her first and ever-important lover. No one could match his gentle acceptance of her vulnerability. His sensitive caresses, his experienced, yet tender touch, were all that she craved and needed in this world. He was her life, her love, her soul incarnate. But then there was Spike. Buffy still couldn't accept how she felt about Spike. He was a vampire. Evil, remorseless, dangerous and deadly, Spike was everything she'd been taught to hate and destroy by not one, but *three* Watchers. Yet, Buffy was drawn to Spike like a moth to a flame. He was, unaccountably, life in unlife. He took a decadent pleasure in every tactile experience unlife could impart. He was alive in a way that Angel was not…sinfully relishing every possible taste or hunger. Spike was wanton and unashamed of his rutting delight in the pleasures of the body. Some innate, primeval, aspect of Buffy was drawn to that decadent worship of the now…that irreverent relish of the flesh with no heed of the future, no concept of repercussions.

Could she balance this fight within her very soul? She longed for Angel…her mate, her true love….but a base and long-denied portion of her hungered for Spike as the physical representation of the pleasures of the flesh that she screamed to express somehow, someway. Buffy was at war with herself, and until she could reconcile the two aspects of the Slayer, she was doomed to unending inward torment that she could not acknowledge or express.

Buffy lurched away from her lovers, shrinking from their touches as if she were unclean. She knew herself unworthy of such glory…undeserving of two such beautiful mates. Why they even wanted her, she didn't understand. Surely they could see how sullied she was, how stupid she felt. Angelus had told her what a bad lay she was, and somewhere deep inside, Buffy knew him to be right. Angel might be too kind…too gentle to admit it, but if she ever slept with Spike, Buffy knew that he would voice her multitude of inadequacies with fervent and unrelenting verbiage. The far-too-recent rape simply confirmed her own inadequacy. She was the Slayer, yet she'd been unable to protect herself from the most basic of violations a woman could suffer. She was, she knew deep within, dirty…an inadequate, ugly failure…no matter how her lovers might deny it on the surface.

"I'm sorry….I can't do this….not now…it's too soon….I'm sorry, I'm sorry, god, I'm so sorry….I'm going to go hunt now, please just let me go….I need to do this on my own." She babbled as she drew on her clothes, staring at her half-clad lovers as they looked at her in shock and dawning understanding that she just couldn't handle this intimacy right now.

Angel climbed from the bed, standing acceptingly before his love. "Buffy, it's all right. Just go out and slay for a while. We can wait until you're ready to deal with this…please, don't worry." His voice trailed off as he wondered, not for the first time, whether she could ever heal from the wrongs done her the night that Faith took her body. He wished with all his heart that he'd been more accepting of her need, more understanding of the pain and suffering that she'd been through when she came to him in LA. Instead he had condemned her and in doing so, had denied her the solace that was her right as his soulmate.

Spike's need of the Slayer was much more primal, and thus, more curt. "Slayer, we can wait. God knows, I've been waiting since I met you. I'd wait a mortal lifetime for the chance to shag a slayer." He grinned at her, unrepentantly, confident in his certainty that eventually she'd come to him of her own accord.

Buffy winced from their too-intimate regard, and finished fastening her clothes, then hurried out of her bedroom, grabbing her weapons quickly and striving to be anywhere but there, where her emotions, her very heart, were on display and vulnerable.

Angel growled in unassuaged lust, his gaze turning golden once more as he glared at his childe. Spike was equally lustful and their uninhibited need for one another bloomed anew when the master's soulmate removed herself from the equation.

Spike, never the agreeable childe, leapt upon his Sire, wanting to be the aggressor this time, though knowing that Angelus was damned unlikely to allow *that* to happen.

True to form, his Sire rolled Spike violently underneath him, tearing at his willing mouth with savage kisses until they were both bleeding from the twinned assaults of fangs upon lips and tongue. Angel tongued their dripping blood from his childe's mouth, reveling in the glorious taste of their decadent sustenance.

Spike groaned beneath him, sparking a whole new set of longings in his Sire. Quickly, Angel stripped the remaining clothes from their supple ivory bodies and turned to his childe with violent abandon. Angel slammed Spike over, forcing him face-down into the cotton sheets of Buffy's bed. He caressed his childe possessively, running large hands over Spike's tight, muscular body. Angel reveled in the beauty and violent grace of his favored childe, delighting in the savage power held in check just below the surface…the awesome potential that Spike himself hadn't fully realized. Angelus had been an exacting and dominant master, and with Spike, Angel could acknowledge those traits within himself without shame.

Angel growled into Spike's ear, "So, Will, how do you want it tonight? Should I even give you a choice, Childe of mine?" He tongued Spike's ear, teasing moans of pleasure from his recalcitrant Childe before drifting lower to his tantalizing jugular.

Spike was this close to just capitulating to anything at all that Angelus…no Angel…wanted. Being taken by his Sire was intrinsically satisfying to any childe, and Spike, though a master vampire in his own right, was not immune to the seduction of the Sire-bond. Still, with predictable stubbornness, he struggled.

"Fuck off, you pansy. It's the Slayer you want, you Pouf…not me. Go find a blonde-bombshell to boff," he growled snarkily.

Angel just laughed and replied, "But Will…I have!" then latched onto his childe's neck and thrust rampant fangs into Spike's white neck with brutal relish. Angel sucked voraciously at his convulsing childe's blood, rolling every drop across his tongue and savoring the violent images imparted with every tantalizing taste. He'd never told Spike, but he was, by far, the sweetest childe Angel had ever made. His blood was nectar for his Sire's lascivious tongue. Angel could never…ever…get enough.

Spike moaned under Angel's dominant grasp, writhing in anguished ecstasy as his Sire sucked him. Spike wasn't a sub, at least not with anyone but Angelus. His Sire brought out aspects of his character that Spike had long tried to suppress. It was wrong for a vampire, any vampire, to need anyone, even a sire, this much. So Spike denied the connection, no matter how desperately it tugged at him…until he was once again under his Sire. With no recourse, no escape from Angel's powerful grasp, Spike could surrender…however unwillingly…to the demands of his own nature and that of his Sire.

"Gods and monsters, Sire….please…." Spike groaned as Angel sucked at his muscled throat, hands still grasping his childe's wrists and forcing them to the bed as his hips ground brutally into Spike's ass.

Angel growled, totally consumed by lust. Buffy was gone. She wouldn't be shocked by his need for his Childe, or repulsed by the means with which he satisfied his longings. He unleashed himself upon Spike with no restraint, glad, for once, that his Childe was vampire and thus immune to the destructive power of his own desires.

Angel released Spike's right hand and found his own cock, turgid and aching with desperate, lustful need. He slashed his own wrist until blood welled from the cut to coat his large hand. However bad a lubricant, with its nearly instant clotting and slightly gritty texture, blood would do for now when he had no patience to find something better. Besides, Spike *enjoyed* a little pain…. Angel coated his cool, white cock with the crimson liquid, then teased Spike's ass with experienced fingers until he moaned beneath him.

No patience for further ado, Angel entered Spike with one long thrust, stretching his Childe's tight ass with his rampant cock. His right wrist was healed again and Angel reached around to grasp Spike's hard dick and pull at it roughly in time with his own thrusts. Spike moaned enticingly as Angel ground into him…unwilling to acknowledge how satisfying this was to his vampiric sensibilities, but reveling in the violent pleasure nonetheless.

Angel ground himself into Spike faster, rolling his hips to stimulate every portion of his Childe's tight, muscular ass. Spike began to pant unnecessarily, rocking his hips back to meet Angel's thrusts as passion took over any cognitive function left. He moaned helplessly under his powerful Sire and begged for mercy and thrust into Angel's skilled hand, now coated with Spike's own pre-cum.

"Please, Sire. Please let me cum. Please…Angel." The sound of his name on Spike's lips drove Angel over the edge and he battered Spike's ass with unrelenting passion.

There were aspects of his own character that he could never display to Buffy (he thought). She was all that was pure…sunshine and vanilla in his desperate and dark existence. How could he ever disclose his need to inflict pain upon this childe of his (or upon his mate…no he would never allow her to know that filthy need of his). Darla had reveled in his sadomasochistic urges, but he would never allow Buffy to know that dark and dangerous side of his character. For her, he would suppress everything vile and twisted about himself.

But Spike; Spike craved this part…any part…of his Sire. Spike let Angel unleash the terrible urges deep within himself until finally he could find peace and tranquility. Angel caressed his childe with abandon, running strong, desperate hands up and down his lithe, powerful body teasingly before returning to his cock.

Angel bit down again into Spike's ivory throat, fangs aching to possess that perfect sculpted male beauty. Spike came in desperate spurts as he felt Angel drink deep of him, and Angel came in turn from the taste of Spike's powerful blood.

They collapsed onto Buffy's bed, spent and satiated, for the moment at least. Angel reveled in the feeling of Spike's taut body beneath him, running one large hand up and down his Childe's muscular back with possessive care.

Spike allowed himself to arch into Angel's touch for a moment before he growled and elbowed his Sire off of him, reasserting his own Master-status. "Get off, you Pouf. Satan's balls, have you gained weight from all that pig's blood?" Spike could never admit the yearning within himself for Angel's skilled caresses, it acknowledged too much power for a dominant master-vamp to show. No, Angel's broad muscles and powerful frame could only be appreciated silently, Spike would never tell him how desirable he looked and felt. At least, not with words.

Angel just sighed and rolled away from Spike, pulling on his own pants and rising from his mate's rumpled bed. "I suppose we should change the sheets…Buffy is making great progress but she'd probably 'wig' over this much 'sharing,'" he chuckled, balling up the sheets and tossing them to the wall before stalking gracefully to the armoire to get new ones.

Spike growled, pulling on his own jeans. "Don't much care what the Slayer thinks about us…you pansy. I'm going for a hunt…gotta be something out there to kill tonight…" his voice trailed off before Angel forced him to admit that he was going to check on Buffy.

Angel looked at him gratefully, knowing what his Childe had left unsaid. "Be careful, Spike. We need you." Angel didn't mind acknowledging what was left unspoken between them all. They were together, however fragile and tenuous the bonds betwixt them.

Spike nodded wordlessly and strode from the room, unwilling to admit what he knew. He was well and truly snared between his Sire and the Slayer. Satan help him…what a fate for a vampire. And the worst part was, he couldn’t even say he'd ever complain.

Chapter 11

Buffy felt like the worst coward, running from the two men who loved her the most in the world. Stupid, stupid girl. That's all you are…a girl. Leaving aside the fact that both were un-dead - and Spike's unrepentant evil streak - any woman would kill to be with either one of them, let alone both, and here you are alone in a cemetery hoping for demons. Idiot.

She knew they wouldn't hurt her. Knew with her head, that is. Her body, though…her body's most vivid sexual experience was no longer the one blissful night with Angel. She tried to cling to that beautiful memory, but sweaty human hands and hateful voices crept in, soiling her thoughts and turning erotic dreams to horrendous, unending, nightmares.

At least they had each other; she knew that now. She'd suspected before, that the demons, if not the men, drew a very fine line between fighting and foreplay. She was willing to bet that the line was nonexistent for Spike, from the way he'd reacted to her from the start. And looking at Angel with more experienced eyes, she was sure that if he didn't feel that way it was because he worked so hard to suppress all aspects of his vampiric nature near her. Ever since he'd vamped to game face while kissing her, he'd been ashamed and embarrassed to show her that side of himself. No matter how she reassured him that when she looked at him all she ever saw was Angel.

Oddly enough, neither Spike nor Angel felt threatening to her in game face these days. Perhaps that was the key to making this work, she'd just knock them around a little first, then screw them. *Yeah, right, Buffy…that'll solve ALL your problems.*

Those few moments with Angel when she had just let go, though. Oooh. She'd been too innocent to appreciate what a spectacular lover he was the night of her seventeenth birthday. He could wring responses from her body until she felt like a dishrag. And he'd apologized about it?!

The usual tingling stir in the pit of her stomach alerted Buffy to the rising of a fledgling nearby and she hastened to the grave where it originated. Before the hapless vampire had even crawled halfway out, she staked it expertly with a quick thrust to the chest. She pulled back and scanned the cemetery for the master of the now-dead minion, but there was nothing else to be seen. It had been a remarkably quiet night all around, and Buffy decided to head back to the mansion, hoping to avoid Angel and Spike until she could look them in the eyes again without blushing…like maybe in a century or so….

*

Spike had failed to find Buffy in any of the usual places. Everything had been so quiet that night, at least once he left the mansion. He still couldn't believe that he'd dodged a beating from Angel for touching his mate. A good shag, now, he'd never complain about that, except to his pouf of a sire. He was pretty sure that Angel knew exactly how much of that was bluster, anyway.

Stalking through the tangled garden behind the mansion, Spike was caught off guard mid-thought when he was knocked to the ground by a sharp kick to the head. Growling and in game face, he shook his head to clear it, then rolled to spring upon whatever foe had attacked him. "What the fuck?" Suddenly a soft weight pushed him to the ground, straddling his groin as a tiny mouth kissed the rapidly growing bruise on his left cheek.

"Spike, I'm so sorry, I felt a vamp, I didn't know it was you. I thought you and Angel were both still at home. Are you ok?" Buffy leaned in closer, all the more enticing because she had no idea what she was doing to him. She caressed his forehead ridges gently, staring into his golden eyes for a moment, startled a bit when he morphed back to his handsome human features mid caress.

"Mmmm, don’t stop, Slayer, that feels bloody fine. Oh, I mean, OW! My bloody skull is splitting…keep rubbing and I'll get over the pain faster…yeah…oh, yeah, Luv!" Spike could barely keep from purring at Buffy's gentle touch. She'd never stroked him, never really touched him except in anger. The Slayer was glorious in battle, all heat and fire, calling to him and burning him in the same moment. If anything, though, she was more terrifying when she was gentle with him. He was losing his heart to her without a struggle.

Buffy smiled down at him for a moment, still stroking his head with soft touches. Then she frowned, "Wait a minute, Spike. I didn't kick you *that* hard. I've hurt you lots worse than that before." She shifted as if to rise, but he grabbed her hips and held her there, lurching up to brush a light kiss across her silky lips.

"Don't leave, Pet. I won't hurt you. Just give us a kiss to make the pain go away. Please?" he wheedled, giving her his best flashing baby blues combined with little boy charm face, perfected from over a century of flirting.

Buffy looked uncertain, but Spike wasn't above begging. He nipped ever-so-gently at her chin with tiny biting kisses, then moved his cool hands to her neck, stroking just a bit before angling her face down so he could kiss those delectable lips. "Mmmmmm, Pet, you taste like vanilla and smell like sunshine. More, please?" he groaned, catching her mouth with another exquisitely gentle kiss.

Buffy sighed and relaxed on top of him, calmed by her dominant position and his playful mood. With Angel, things always got so dark, even love was passionate and downright moody. Spike, though, Spike looked positively merry at the moment, his luscious mouth curled in a tempting smile. She pressed more kisses onto it, opening her mouth just a touch to lick at his with a tentative tongue.

Spike groaned, no longer flippant, and opened to her, stroking his cold tongue against her teeth before delving further into the scalding recesses of her mouth. She was an inferno to him, a forest fire blazing dangerously out of control. She was death to his kind, yet called to him like some incandescent goddess of pain. He could never have enough of her. Bloody moth, that's what he was.

Her kiss turned more demanding at the same moment he growled low in his throat and moved his hands to stroke her breasts. *She has on too many damn clothes,* he thought, and ripped her sweatshirt off over her head with one graceful pull.

*Wow, he's good at that,* Buffy thought distractedly, *didn't even pull my hair.* Then all thoughts fled her mind as Spike's skillful fingers found her breasts and stroked their curves teasingly. His callused thumbs glided over her nipples, their roughness catching slightly on the hardening points. He stroked again, harder this time, but carefully gauging his caresses to her responses, unwilling to frighten her away.

Buffy moaned in abandon and arched into Spike's talented hands, grinding on him through their jeans with tiny, unconscious circles of her powerful hips. Now it was Spike's turn to groan as he felt her blistering heat through at least three layers of cloth. "Gods, Slayer, you're so hot. Please, Pet, may I?" His hands moved to her waistband and he hesitated, unsure of what she was offering and unwilling to harm her in any way.

"Yes, Spike," she hissed, standing, trapped in the whirlwind of desire in which he'd entangled her and needing more sensation to drown out the cautionary scream of the Slayer deep inside her. Close proximity to a vampire, any vampire, kept her on edge at all times…as her internal warnings and cognition united to face the threat. That *this* vampire wasn't a threat, at least not to her life, was not something her body or reactions could assimilate. It was the same with Angel.

But Spike's surprisingly gentle hands on her body channeled the Slayer-reaction into something altogether different, just as Angel's passionate possessiveness had earlier. Switching her adrenaline rush of fight or flight into ardent response, Spike pulled Buffy's jeans and underwear off with abandon, immediately returning to the prize standing naked before his worshipful eyes. He coaxed her back down to the soft grass with lingering touches and kisses on the backs of her knees, her jutting hip, and the tender small of her back.

He stroked her body with care, lingering on the curve of her neck and the slight swell of her flat belly before drifting lower to the slender, muscular thighs that he'd so long dreamed of parting. Buffy lay back in the cool grass, surrendering to the exquisite feeling engulfing her being, content for the moment to revel in her lover's masterful care.

*

Angel skulked in the shadows of the crumbling granite archway, golden eyes fixed on the decadent sight of his mate and his childe locked in a passionate embrace. A low rumbling growl issued from his chest as he fought his demonic urge to either rip them to shreds or join them in a violent tangle of blood and sex. *Neither response will help Buffy…I have to think of Buffy,* he panted unnecessarily, desperately reaching for control. The sight of her flushed naked body filled him with need, a need that must go unassuaged if they were all to live. *Angelus will NOT control me. I am NOT just a demon. I have a soul, I have a soul, I have a soul.* He chanted the familiar litany in his mind, clutching it to his battered soul like a well-worn rosary and remaining in the shadows, ever-watchful of his love and his childe.

*

Spike heard his Sire in the shadows and spared a few dazzled brain cells to wonder if he was about to die the true death. Ah, well, what a way to go. He kissed his way down Buffy's neck, lingering for a moment at Angel's renewed mark and flicking it lightly with his tongue. Buffy moaned and clutched his head to her, writhing against him in anguished need. The guttural growl in the shadows intensified for a moment; Spike wisely moved his mouth lower, lapping at the Slayer's beautiful breasts instead.

She arched her hips and Spike gladly complied with her silent request, stoking the Slayer's fires with nimble fingers. His heart would be pounding right now, if it could, of this he was certain. She was the goddess Aphrodite underneath him, all womanly curves and delicate skin, her silken essence flowing from that desperate place inside her where he longed to be. Still, Spike held frantically to a bare thread of caution. *Can't hurt her…have to go slow…somehow,* he thought, worried that he was rushing her fences. *Gods and giants, you ponce,* he snarked at himself, *can't you stop sounding like a poufy English gentleman even in your bloody head? 'Rushing her fences' indeed -- what is she, a brood mare on a fox hunt?*

Spike focussed his shattered concentration back on the task at hand. *Oh, what a glorious task indeed,* he thought. Not that any task could be so sweet as what lay sprawled in heady abandon before him. Spike kissed her thighs gently and spread them apart, pressing lingering kisses up and down the sensitive skin. Buffy groaned in response and pushed against his hands.

"Spike, please, please…" her voice trailed off into another sigh as he leaned forward and took his first tentative taste of her glorious sex. He purred against her lustfully, thanking demons and gods alike for this chance at the death goddess of his kind. *She is heaven, Angel is right,* he thought. The power in her blood was equally present in her sex and the savory taste of her cunt was extraordinary to him. Game face surfaced as the sweet, salty tang…like blood, only different…rich with her lust and need, called him to drink at the font. He did, plunging his cold, wet tongue deep into the fiery hole before him and using the last measure of his control to keep from sinking an aching fang into her engorged clit and sucking it dry of blood.

Buffy shrieked her satisfaction to the night sky, unaware of her mate's possessive eyes locked on her rosy body from the shadows, unaware of anything save the heady bursts of pleasure that Spike gave to her as he tongued and sucked over and over until she could no longer count the crests and falls of ecstasy he imparted. Nearly spent, Buffy pulled him away from her pussy, and he snarled at her for a moment, unwilling to leave, before he controlled himself.

Buffy pulled herself slowly to a sitting position and reached for the buttons of Spike's jeans. He stopped her, putting both hands on hers and looked deeply into her eyes with his golden ones. "Luv," he growled, "you don't have to let me…I don't have to." He morphed back to human face with difficulty, looking shockingly young and innocent for a man who was licking her juices off his lips with such relish. "Pet, I don't want to hurt you. If you're not ready…" he shuddered, trying to control his desire to jump on her and ram his aching cock into her hot, wet cunt.

"Spike," Buffy smiled into his now-blue eyes. "I want you. Please fuck me. Now!" She pulled at his jeans with unskilled fingers and he reached to help her, standing for a moment and ripping them from his body before crouching to crawl up her waiting body. "Going commando, Spikey," she teased, then gasped as he rubbed his hard, white cock against her throbbing clit.

"Buffy," he moaned as he slid slowly home into her waiting channel. She gasped and he stopped, hovering above her in concern, afraid he'd hurt her.

"Oh, Spike, don't stop, please, don't stop," she sighed, thrusting upwards with her hips to engulf every inch of his long, thick cock.

He eased slowly out of her until nothing but the tip was sheltered in her cave, then pushed back into her, groaning at the heat that enveloped him. She was so wet, so blindingly hot that he thought he might go mad if he stayed much longer in her silken folds. He rocked against her, pulling out then thrusting back in slowly, then faster as she responded with untutored but passionate thrusts of her own up against him.

Spike pushed in a little farther, until he was fully seated within Buffy's body and felt a new sensation, a powerful, throbbing, quivering pull drawing him even deeper into her. "Gods, what the hell?" he gasped. No woman's orgasm had ever felt like this before to him. He couldn't think, couldn't speak, couldn't stop moving as he thrust again and again into her. She cried out in climax, pulling him with her over the edge, and he plummeted, falling into nearly painful pleasure as he came in aching bursts within her grasping cunt.

He collapsed on her, spent, and barely holding his weight off her deceptively delicate looking frame as he gazed in wonder at the goddess beneath him. "Slayer, are you trying to bloody kill me?" he drawled, pulling reluctantly out of her and reaching one gentle hand to stroke the sweaty hair from her flushed face.

Buffy opened her eyes and flinched away from him, looking painfully shy. "I'm sorry," she said, not meeting his eyes and looking around wildly for her clothes. "I know I'm not any good…I'm sorry." She grabbed for her sweatshirt and clutched it to her in embarrassment.

"Not…good?" Spike was speechless. How could she possibly think she was anything but fantastic, mind-blowing, sensational, miraculous? Flabbergasted, he just stared at her for a moment, unknowingly confirming her worst fears.

Tears rose to Buffy's eyes as one look at Spike's face revealed the truth to her. It wasn't just Angelus being cruel…she really was bad. She could still hear his words echoing through her head even now…

*

She'd been so worried, so afraid that the Judge had killed him. When she saw him in the apartment, she ran to him in relief, hugging him tight to her.

"Ohhh. Oh, my God!" she hugged his half-naked body closer, "I was freaking out! You just disappeared."

Angel pushed her away and strode to his bed to grab his shirt. "What? I took off."

Buffy was confused. "But you didn't say anything. You just left."

Angel pulled on his shirt and sneered at her. "Yeah. Like I really wanted to stick around after that."

Buffy was unsure what he'd just said, surely he couldn't mean…"What?" she asked in confusion.

Angel looked down at her, "You got a lot to learn about men, kiddo. Although I guess you proved that last night."

Buffy was shocked that he could mock her innocence as he seemed to be doing. "What are you saying?"

Angel sneered at her, "Let's not make an issue out of it, okay?" He paced to his coat, "In fact, let's not talk about it at all." He pulled his coat on and made a face. "It happened."

Buffy could only stand there, stunned. "I, I don't understand. Was it m-me?" She searched his face for any hint of the tender lover of the night before. "Was I not good?" she asked, her stomach sinking as she realized that was what he was trying to tell her.

Angel laughed in her face, "You were great. Really. I thought you were a pro," he added snidely.

Buffy looked up at him in shock, "How can you say this to me?" Her heart was breaking.

Angel laughed at her. "Lighten up. It was a good time. It doesn't mean that we have to make a big deal."

Buffy felt like she was dying inside at each additional word from Angel's lips, "It *is* a big deal!"

He mocked her again, "It's what? Bells ringing, fireworks, a dulcet choir of pretty little birdies?" He laughed good naturedly, "Come on, Buffy. It's not like I've never been there before." He'd reached to chuck her under the chin like some stupid child and she'd jerked away.

"Don't touch me," she said, too crushed to even think straight.

Angel shook his finger at her and tsked disapprovingly. "I should've known you wouldn't be able to handle it."

*

Buffy jumped to her feet and grabbed the rest of her clothes, clutching them to her like a shield. "I'm sorry, Spike. I'm really sorry," she broke down into tears at the sight of his shocked face and ran into the mansion, sidestepping the shadowy figure of Angel who she only now noticed in the archway. He had seen her humiliation too, intimately witnessed both of her inadequate attempts at lovemaking. How could she ever face either of them again after this night? Buffy raced to her room and locked the door before sinking to the floor and sobbing as if her heart had broken again.

Chapter 12

Spike grabbed his jeans, yanked them on, and fastened them then turned to face Angel. Shocked fury raced through him and he vamped instantly to game face. "You bloody ass. You stupid pillock. I don't believe even you could be that low, that fucking conniving. You never told her? Even after you got your blinkin' soul back, you bastard, you never told her that you'd lied? That you'd done it on purpose to hurt her? I'm gonna fucking kill you!" He leapt on Angel like an angry panther, taking his much larger sire to the ground with him.

Spike pummeled Angel viciously, straddling his sire and pounding at his face, head and chest with brutal bruising force. Angel hissed and his game face slid on, but as he was about to respond, he paused, then dropped his clenched hands back to his sides and allowed his childe to hit him. Caught in the blood lust and rage of his demon, Spike continued to pound on Angel mercilessly until his sire's lack of retaliation slowly dawned on him.

"Fight back, you pansy nancy boy. What're you afraid of? C'mon ponce, give it a go. Coward!" Spike leaned forward in fury and ripped at Angel's throat in a dominant challenge. That, finally, got the reaction he was seeking as Angel threw him across the garden and leapt after him, once again the sleek predator his childe remembered. "Oh, shit!" Spike thought as Angel's large hands grabbed him by his naked shoulders and slammed him into the concrete wall.

Dust flew as Angel leaned dangerously close to his childe's jugular and hissed angrily, "What was I supposed to say that wouldn't make her feel worse, you scatterbrained idiot? 'Oh, sorry Buffy, I really didn't mean that you were a bad lay, actually you were so good that you ripped my soul away?' That's sure to make her feel better, Will. Or how about: 'Buffy, I lied when I was Angelus. I still wanted you. Actually, I wanted you so much, I was trying to figure out a good way to chain you to my bed and rape you until you screamed for mercy. Then I thought I'd fuck your face and ass for a few days and finally rip your throat out before rolling in your blood and savaging your still-warm body.' What?" he hissed at Spike's recoil, "not the words of love you had in mind, Spikey? We can't all be poets, you know."

Angel dropped Spike to the ground with a thud and turned away bitterly. "I hurt her so badly the morning after her birthday I can never make it right again, Spike. I was in heaven for one night and then I went to hell. I've been there ever since. What business do I have dragging Buffy there with me? God forgive me for saying it, but she's better off with you, Childe." He stalked away into the mansion in enraged frustration as Spike stood, once again speechless and left behind.

He grabbed his shirt from the wet grass and shrugged it on before climbing the stairs to the Slayer's bedroom. The door was shut and locked, he discovered with no surprise, as he tried the handle. "Slayer? Pet, could you open the door please? I need to talk to you, Luv. Slayer? Please? You've got it all wrong, Luv. It's not what you think at all, far from it." No response. He could feel her on the other side of the door, hear her trying to calm her sobs, quiet her sniffles. He yearned toward her, kneeling outside the door and placing both hands against the warm wooden surface. He laid his cheek against it as well, feeling her sadness and pain in his damnably sensitive way.

Angel might prance about with his 'oooh I have a soul, pity poor me routine' driving his friends half mad, but Spike knew deep inside he himself was the more vulnerable of the pair. Angel had the strength to destroy others and himself and yet move on to the next challenge. Will lacked none of the ferocity of the demon, but his core personality remained that of the fragile poet he'd been so many years before, just as deep down inside, Angel still carried traces of the arrogantly handsome bar brawler Darla had found so enticing. Years of practice at mayhem, blood and destruction had lessened none of William's yearning or capacity for love. He'd showered that love on Angelus, who mocked it and Drusilla, who betrayed it; even, for a while, on Darla, who'd spurned it and him as unworthy of the line of Aurelius.

Buffy, though, Buffy treated him as more than a monster. Even in the midst of fighting him to the death…again…Buffy treated him as a man. Must run in the family, since her mum did it too. How it came about, Spike had no idea, but he knew deep inside in the place he kept safely hidden from others beneath blustery bravado that Buffy held a portion of his heart no one else could ever touch. And she was hurting now because of him…and his idiot mick of a sire.

"Buffy, let me in. I must talk with you, Luv. Please, Pet? Open the door….BUFFY! FUCKING OPEN THE BLOODY FUCKING DOOR OR I'M FUCKING WELL GONNA FUCKING KICK IT THE BLOOMING FUCK IN!"

Once again, patience not really his virtue…if he had any at all…but amazingly, for once, it got him what he wanted. Buffy opened the door hesitantly, not meeting his eyes. She was wrapped in a too-big robe, bundled up as if she could shelter under its shell from prying eyes. Her face showed the ravages of her latest crying jag. She was pale and shaking a bit as he strode through the door and closed it softly behind himself.

Abandoning all pride, he knelt at her feet. "Pet, you don't know what I'm thinking, don't even try to guess. You're so far from the truth you'd not recognize it if it bit you harder than I could without the damn chip. You are the most incredible, gorgeous, bloody marvelous lay I've had in over a century of unlife. No one compares to you, not the most talented whore in Paris nor the raciest vampire in bloody Britain. You are spectacular. You have muscles inside you I couldn't begin to imagine. I've never felt that fucking amazing, ever! Please, Slayer, I wasn't speechless from disgust…you nearly broke me in two. All I want for the rest of my unlife, however short or long is to have you again and again and again in any way you'll let me."

He looked up at her from deep blue eyes, trying to gauge whether any of his words were getting through. Some of them must have, because she was blushing a rosy pink color instead of that pasty pale color she'd been when he entered.

"Buffy," he said huskily, as he rose to hold her gently and gaze into her hazel-green eyes. He stroked one unruly strand of hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear with care. He leaned forward and kissed her jaw line, moving towards her ear and nibbling on it lightly.

Buffy sighed and relaxed a little into his embrace and he began murmuring endearments and dirty promises of exactly what he wished to do to her willing body. "Pet, I want to kiss your sweet mouth until you gasp for air underneath me. I'm going to suckle at your beautiful breasts until you beg me to let you cum and then I'll slide down to your precious cunny and eat you until your nectar flows like honey into my hungry jaws."

Buffy gasped in shocked arousal at his words. Never had anyone spoken to her like that. God, it made her so…hot. Suddenly the robe seemed much too enveloping, she was sweating and warm, despite Spike's cold mouth kissing and nipping at her jaw and neck as he continued murmuring his sweet, nasty endearments to her.

"I want to plunge my long cold tongue into your pussy and fuck you with it, Pet, till my whole face is soaked with your juices. Then I'll slide back to your sweet rosehole and rim you until you scream for my cock anywhere, everywhere. Only then, when you beg me to fuck you, will I enter your perfect body with my cold dick." He sucked at Angel's mark on her neck, past caring what his sire might do to him if he tasted the Slayer's powerful blood straight from the font.

Buffy groaned in awed wonder at the amazing sensations Spike could coax from her just with his words. She'd never heard such dirty promises, didn't even understand some of the things he was saying to her, but in his husky, lust-filled voice it all sounded enticing and depraved at the same time. *He doesn't sound like someone who doesn't want to sleep with you again, Buffy* she thought to herself with the last unimpassioned fragment of her brain. *He sounds like he wants to do it all again right now!*

"Mmm, Spike, I'm ok with that," she whispered, reaching gentle hands to pull his mouth to her own for a long, passionate kiss.

Spike started in surprise, then realized she was agreeing to go to bed with him, not some of the other things he was so desperate to do to her inexperienced body. *Gotta take it slow, William,* he thought to himself. *Don't ruin it again, bloke, or so help me I'll walk in the sun this very morning.*

Gently, he slipped the robe from Buffy's tense shoulders and pulled her to the bed. "Pet, don't think, just feel. Feel how I want you," Spike whispered, placing her hand on the aching bulge in his jeans. "Does that look like indifference to you? I know you've not had much experience, but trust me, Luv, you make up for it with piles of inborn talent!" His admiring tone was calculated to sooth the Slayer's hurt feelings and build up her shaky self-confidence. It seemed to be working, as she relaxed more into him.

He rolled her to her stomach and began stroking his sensitive hands up and down her muscular back. Buffy sighed and let the tension flow from her. *Spike is right,* she thought. *I'm just going to feel, not think. It's better this way.* She drifted toward a calm state of relaxed yearning, waiting for him to make the next move.

---

Title Page
Author's Page
Breaking A Slayer 13-16