S p i k e / B u f f y . F a n f i c t i o n . b y .K J .D r a f t


TITLE: Stale Cigarettes

AUTHOR: KJ (Katherine Jay) Draft

PAIRING: Spike / Buffy / Riley (No actual slash. Curious?)

TIMELINE/SUMMARY: Starts mid-way through episode 5.10, "Into the Woods." Spike's the Puppet Master; Buffy and Riley, the puppets.

...Or are they???

WARNING / LURE: This fic contains a threesome, the kind Harmony would endorse: Boy, boy, girl. Mmm.


DISTRIBUTION: Only archived at my site, courtesy as always of the lovely Nautibitz.

FEEDBACK: Does a body good. Slap me some, and I'll adore you forever. Send correspondence to: [email protected]

DISCLAIMER: Nobody and nothing belong to me. (Should I be paying royalties for any orgasms incurred? Ewww.) Keep in mind that while I looooove Buffy and Spike, I also actually like Riley and try to give him a fair shake. Whatever he endures in this story comes strictly from the other characters, not me

THANK YOU: to Devil Piglet for encouraging my perversions on an almost daily basis.



Buffy darts down the stairs and out of the (crack house-y) vampire lair.

Spike's waiting for her.

"Thought you should know," he offers.

She pauses just long enough to shoot him a contemptuous glare, then continues rapidly past.

"Buffy! Wait!" Spike clenches his fists and takes off after her.

In seconds he's flanking her, long black coat snapping at his legs. Corners her sideways against the alley wall.

"Want revenge?" he asks quietly, ducking in. "I could bite you --"

"That's my revenge?!"

"There are other ways," he murmurs, cupping her chin in his hand and kissing her mouth.

She knocks his hand away. Slaps his face, but not hard, more because it's expected. "What are you *doing*?"

He stares at her for a moment, preserving her appearance Post-Kiss in his brain: tear-filled eyes, chaotic hair, ankle length cotton knickers, old sneakers, no socks.

My Goddess.

Spike moves his lips to her ear.

"I burn for you, Buffy."

She's stunned. He presses his thigh between her legs and kisses her neck.

She doesn't stop him.


"I'm leaving tonight," Riley tells her, "Unless you give me a reason not to."

"Loving you isn't a good enough reason?" Buffy protests.

"*Do* you love me?"

"I kissed Spike," she blurts out.

"These are all great reasons. Please, keep going!"

"I mean... *he* kissed *me*, but I didn't stop him -- slap him." Adds a hopeful, chirpy addendum: "But I slapped him the first time."

"There was a second time?!"

"Hey! I was upset, and hurt, and tired. It was right after I saw you getting your... *arm* job --"

"Conveniently orchestrated by Spike --"

"You were the one doing it, Riley."

He closes his eyes. "I know." Opens them. "Do I at least get to kill Spike now?"

"I only told you because if we're going to make this work, we have to start clean."

Getting slobbered on by Spike is not what I'd call clean. "First things first..." (Did you douche your mouth?) "Do you want me to stay?" he questions, taking a deep breath.

She hesitates a split-second, then touches his arm and looks him in the eye. "Stay. Please."

He exhales, world re-aligning. Thank you, God.


Buffy sits on her bedroom windowsill, staring into the front yard.

"I burn for you."

It sounded ludicrous out of context.

It sounded ludicrous *in* context, so why didn't she laugh and shove him away when he said it?

Why did she just stand there, flummoxed, and stunned, and curious, and let him worship her neck for an entire minute, while her heart raced and her blood swam a hot marathon through her body?

Closing her eyes, Buffy re-lives the moment, the feel of his mouth, the smooth, surprisingly tender kiss that darted down her neck to her collarbone and back up the other side, lingered in the curve of her throat and nibbled gently under her chin, and Oh, God, did it feel good --

Time to patrol.


Spike watches her dust a vamp, then emerges jovially from behind a gravestone.

"You break things off with Soldier? Not too gently, I hope."

"Of course I didn’t break up with him!"

"Why not?" he objects. "First thing I did was toss Harmony out on her perky, aerobacized ass."

"I'm sure the loss will plague you for years to come. Oh, Harmony: The one that got away --"

"Shut it. You felt something with me or it wouldn't have happened."

"Forget it ever did, okay? Wipe it off the dry erase board. Oooh! If you hurry you can still catch Harmony."

Buffy chuckles to herself and shoos him away with both hands, then scans the cemetery for more things to kill.

Spike follows her, hovering closer than a shadow. "You know I don't give a bloody damn about Harm, and it's obvious to everyone, *including* your boy, that he's not cutting it anymore."

"I made a mistake, fine! I'm human." Despite what we did.

"Bloody right you are." Still behind her, he leans down to smell her neck. She jumps but doesn't move. "In all the best ways, too. Soft and warm... strong, healthy blood pumping just beneath the surface..."

He swallows, desperately wanting to sink his fangs into her flesh, anywhere, doesn't have to be the neck. Wonders vaguely if she'd ever let him feed off her. She doesn't feel low enough right now, but if I catch her at the right moment, maybe...

Buffy pivots and stares at him coldly.

He backs off, startled. "What?"

Stop smelling me! "Get out of my way."

"Make me."

She shoves him. "Why are you acting this way?!"

"I can't stop thinking about you, I *need* to have you -- but not just have you, I need to *love* you --"

Buffy shivers with revulsion. "Stop!!! You were -- hit by a potted plant, or something, here, I'll just punch you a bit 'til you're back to what passes for normal."

She cocks her fist but he dodges, goading her.

"Why does it bother you so much? If I don't have a chance, and it's insane, and you'll never want me, then why does it matter how I feel?"

"Because I'm with Riley --"

"Right. You're with Riley, and everything's perfect, everything's rose colored dandy --"

"No it's not! Nothing is dandy, it's completely fucked up, but I'm still with him, and I'm going to make it work, because, because if I don’t..."

He tilts his head. "If you don't...?"

She turns away as it hits her for the first time.

"If I don't... every bad thing he thinks about me will be true."


Seventy-Eight, Swoosh, Rebound, Jump, Throw, Seventy-Nine...

Determined to reach a hundred free throws before hitting the hay, Riley wipes his brow with his shirtsleeve, then thinks better of it and removes his shirt altogether. Tosses it on a bench. Sets up the next shot, springing backward while he jumps.

Swoosh. Eighty.

Spike slinks over to the bench and picks up the damp, discarded shirt with one finger. Makes a face and pitches it aside. Opens his mouth to speak but Riley beats him to it.

"What do you want, Spike?"

Swoosh. Eighty-one.

"Where's your sweet pea, then? Beating on her Watcher?"

"She's at home, chugging Listerine and cleansing from your tongue assault. It'll probably take a couple weeks."

"If she's at home, how come I just saw her patrolling?"

Riley suddenly turns and bounces the basketball off Spike's head, causing his cigarette to hit the pavement.

"Hey!" Spike rubs his brow.

"This is your last warning. Keep. Your lips. *Off.* Her -- "

"Or what? You'll pretend-stake me again? I'm shaking."

Spike stoops to retrieve the cigarette and slips it back in his mouth.


"It's my last one," Spike retorts defensively.

Trying to adopt an air of nonchalance, Riley shoots another basket. Eighty... two? Or three? Dammit!! "You really saw her patrolling?"

"Let me guess, she left you behind."

"None of your business." Riley chucks the basketball and marches to the bench. Hauls Spike up by his collar.

Spike struggles for a moment then goes limp. "Why do you think she let me snog her?" he chokes out.

"I don't know." Not true. Riley heaves a sigh and relaxes his grip somewhat. "It's not *you*, Spike, she has a thing for vampires, she always has. She just won't admit it."

"And you think it's... what, gonna go away by itself?"

Riley grinds his teeth. Considers dusting Spike once and for all, in a decapitating sort of way. But if Spike were dead, would it change anything between Buffy and me?

He drops the vampire onto the bench and plops down beside him.

"Assuming you're right," Spike begins, straightening his clothes, "and it's not personal, then what have you got to lose? Let her get it out of her system."

"Share her with you? I don’t think so!"

Spike shrugs. "Not everyone’s monogamous, White Bread. 'Sides, it’s probably just a phase. She’s a college girl, she should be allowed to experiment or what have you. You’ll cram her into some frilly whites eventually, and if not, let’s face it, she’s probably gonna die young. Let her have some kicks."

"She does have kicks! She kicks up a storm, she's a kick line -- "

"Plus when she gets tired of me, then you’ll know she’s really yours."

"If I ask her to choose, she’ll choose me and we both know it."

"Well, yeah, probably, and then resent the hell out of you, passive aggressively jerk you around for a couple of truly miserable months before dumping you in a spectacular fashion not to be missed. I’ll take a couple balcony seats if you’re selling."

Riley concentrates on his breathing; maintaining a façade of calm. The popping veins in his arm betray him.

"‘Course..." Spike continues slowly, "there’s the risk she won’t *get* tired of me. Maybe she’ll get tired of you." He pokes Riley to emphasize the point.

"She loves me."

"And if you love *her* you won’t try to stifle her."

Spike stands, finishes his cigarette and stubs it out with his boot. Can't resist a parting threat.

"Learn to compromise or lose her for good. It’s your choice."


Riley drags a smoothing hand through his new haircut and checks his reflection in the window, then rings the doorbell.

Frowns and re-ruffles his hair before Buffy answers. She's clad in a shiny tank top and dark blue jeans.

"Mr. Finn," she smiles, "Right on time."

Spike watches them kiss and climb into Riley's car.


After the movie, Riley and Buffy sit in The Bronze. Riley takes a thoughtful swig of his beer and watches the band.

Buffy laces her fingers through his. "What's up?"

"Is there something between you and Spike?" he inquires.

She forces a laugh. "Be serious."

"I am. You let him kiss you, Buffy."

"And you let those... Things... *bite* you. Can't we chalk it up to a horrible night?"

"How am I supposed to get past it?"

"You make a decision to, just like I am, and you *do.*"

He clears his throat. "I don't think it's that easy, okay? Those girls, those vampires, they were nothing to me. I didn't know them. But you *know* Spike, it's different, and -- and -- if you decided that you were..." he grimaces slightly, "Curious, or whatever, about what he... had to offer, I could hear you out."

"Um. Huh?"

"Do you want to see Spike?"

Buffy pushes his beer aside. "I'm cutting you off."


She sniffs the beer. "I think someone drugged this."

"Answer me."

"No! No, I don't want to see Spike in a dately way. I don't even want to see Spike with my *eyes*!"

"All right, all right, I'm just trying to understand, be Open Minded Guy -- "

"Close it. Close your mind right up, because it's not gonna happen. I'm totally committed to making this -- us -- work, no matter how hard it is."

"Why does it have to be hard?"

"That’s not what I -- Look, I thought we were having a good time tonight, doing something relaxing and normal. My mom's better, things are better. Aren't they?"

No. "Yeah. Yeah, things are better." He kisses her forehead.


They linger in his car. Riley's reluctant to let her go.

"I want to stay the night."

"You want to mark your territory. I’m not the neighborhood tree."

He stares ahead, taps the steering wheel reflexively with his fingers.

"I’m sorry," he tells her softly.

"Me, too. It’s just..."

"Let’s do something low key in the morning, go for a run, have brunch, how 'bout that?"

"Sounds perfect."

She exits the car.


She turns.

"I love you."

"Me, too."

She never says it unless I prompt her. And then it’s always “Me, too.”

He drives away while Buffy walks to the front door.

Spike appears. "How was the movie? Hand job in the back row?"

Buffy laughs before she can stop herself, then rolls her eyes.

"Goodnight, Spike."

She opens the door. He shuts it and rests his hand on her hip.

"Shove the guilt, Love, our frolics are totally sanctioned. Hope that doesn’t take the fun out of it for you --"

She gasps. "Did you *follow* us? How did you know?"

"Who do you think gave him the idea? You really think he’s that bloody progressive?"

She makes an inarticulate sound of frustration. He could be progressive. He *was* a Psych major...

"Go. Away."

"No. I want to come in."

He pouts.

Her gaze drops to his lower lip. Oh.

The lip moves toward her, brushes against her ear.

"What would it take for you to let me in?"

"My dead body across the doorstep?"

"Slayer -- "

"Goodnight, Spike."


Buffy leans against the door, heart pounding. His hand, on her jeans... so casually possessive. Her skin feels warm where he touched her.

She thinks of his lips on her neck, so soft, so insistent, and a tight ball of longing unrolls inside her.

"Is Spike still out there?" Dawn asks, rounding the corner.

She jumps. "What are you doing up so late?"

"Movie Night with Mom. She's asleep, I told her I'd clean up."

"There's a first. And what do you mean 'still'?"

"He was looking for you earlier. Like, psychotically, all prowly and starey. I called him on it and he taught me Poker while Mom was at the video store."

"You let him in the house?!"

"We were on the porch! But it's not like he can't come in, he's been here before."

"That's changing, first thing tomorrow. I'm calling Willow to revoke his privileges."


Buffy assumes an obnoxious impersonation of Dawn: "Like, psychotically, all prowly and starey."

"He likes you." Pointed beat. "For whatever reason. You could at least talk to him."

"And say what? Ugh! It doesn't matter, he wouldn't hear me."

Outside, Spike formulates a plan.


"Slayer! Slayer, help, they're after me!"

Dawn opens the door. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Bit! Thank God. Let me in, they're after me."

The hall light flicks on. A very angry Buffy stands on the stairs.

"Buffy!" Dawn whispers urgently, "Spike's here, he needs to hide."

"Broken nose, black eye -- Did I beat you up while sleep walking?"

"I'm telling you, I need sanctuary, they'll be here any minute, whole big gang of them -- "

"Gang of what? Vamps? Why aren't you fighting them?"

"Tried to, couldn't. Just need to crash here tonight." To Dawn: "In case Sis hasn't told you, it's always best to run if you're outnumbered so obscenely."

"We could play more Poker!" Dawn pipes up. "Use pretzels instead of money -- "

"Dawn, go back to sleep, I'll handle this."

"This is life or death, Slayer, if you don't help me, where am I supposed to go?"

She opens the door and skeptically looks down the street. Right, then left...

"Nothing out here but the crickets. How dire."

"They already got some nasty chunks outta me, obviously when they saw I was tight with the Slayer they decided it wasn't worth it."

"We're tight, are we?"

Buffy senses Dawn eavesdropping on the landing.

"Dawn, I'm serious!"

Dawn clomps back up the stairs. Calls to Spike. "Will you be here tomorrow?"

"*No*," Buffy informs her, then drags Spike into the kitchen and sits him down.

Her eyes bore through him. "First of all, did you take Dawn's money when you taught her poker?"

"No! Well -- I needed some more cigs, and she *was* losing --"


"And she's not likely to develop a gambling problem, thanks to me, 'cause now she knows the risks. So -- you're welcome."

Buffy is not amused. "Okay, we'll deal with that later. Now describe the creatures you claim are chasing you."

"Mm, let's see, there were about twenty vamps, but not regular sized, might have been enhanced with some type of spell, er... caught one of 'em looking at me funny at Willy's before, yeah, probably organized a lynch mob for the turn coat, (that'd be me), which I think qualifies it for a, a -- hate crime you know! Which... aw give it a rest, if you'd let me talk to you earlier I wouldn't have to resort to this sort of bollocks!!"

Buffy sighs laboriously. "Let me get this straight, you beat *yourself* up, and this Help Me Charade, your little diabolical scheme was just so we could... chat?"

He doesn't answer.

Buffy pretends to cough into her hand: "Psychotic."


"Make it fast," she orders.

"How's your Mum?"



"See, I didn't know that. Not from you, anyway. Last time we talked you were filled with tears, didn't know what was gonna happen to her." Thoughtful, sincere pause. "I'm glad."

"So am I. She's strong."

"You're strong."

Buffy swallows. "No I'm not. I'm just destined."


Buffy rolls over, eyes closed. Stretches leisurely, which draws her soft cotton pants and t-shirt up her flexing body.

Spike envelops her in his arms and dots kisses around her ears and neck, tentatively seeking her lips. Their mouths merge, hot and deep. Buffy's legs instinctually wrap around his as she arches against him. His tongue slips into her mouth, tasting, sucking, sucking... sucking?!

Her eyes pop open, horrified by her bedmate: Spike, shirtless in black jeans.

"Oh my god! Oh my god!" she scoots away. "What are you doing here?"

His voice is a calm, drowsy purr. "You fell asleep. I tucked you in."

"What *else* did you tuck in?"

"Nothing. Nothing! But then you looked all snuggly this morning, so I thought I'd -- "

She's incredulous. "Snuggle?"

"Join you."

"No, Spike, you have to leave. I didn't mean to kiss you, I -- thought you were Riley. You have to go!"

He trails a hand along her leg, up her thigh. "We had a nice talk before you drifted off. You don't remember?"

"Seeing as I don't *have* any nice memories of you, no."

"Liar. You have one nice memory of me. In the alley. Kissing your neck."

His words caress her like silk rope, the kind you use to tie someone to the bed.

He coaxes her legs apart, then covers her body with his. She can't deny the intoxicating feel of him, of being devoured by him, (Angel, Dracula), hard, lean, determined, dead, sexy... dead sexy...

She turns to liquid.

Spike props himself on his elbows and attacks her neck, lips playing mercilessly along her collarbone and throat, just like before. She's shaking.

Buffy is furious with her body's traitorous reaction.

I'm strong enough to push him off.

Flip him over.

Pin his hands.

(Ride him for days --) No! Bad, bad, bad thoughts...

A hungry, velvety moan seeps out of her mouth. Oh my god, shut up! So he's been around a few necks in his life, doesn't mean he's a sex god.

But what if he is?

"Spike," she whispers.


He doesn't stop kissing her. His hands cup her breasts, squeeze and fondle them.

She moans again.

"This can't happen."

He pries her top off. She lifts her arms to assist him.

He circles his fingers around one nipple, then the other. They plump at the attention and strain toward him, begging for more. He kisses a slick trail between her breasts, up and down, then sharply catches each cruel, pink tip between his teeth.

She cries out, and he can't take any more foreplay.

"Buffy," he groans, raising back and fumbling with his belt.

She stops him. Grabs the back of his head and mashes their lips together, teasing his tongue with hers, wrapping her supple thighs around his waist and scratching at his rock hard abs. He grinds frantically against her, desperate to feel her skin, her insides, anything but the abrasive denim barrier between them.

She gasps for air. "I can't."

He staggers back on his haunches and yanks out his belt. "Why not?"

She stares at the long, tough outline of his cock. "Because you're evil."

He unzips, no underwear, nothing between them now, and whips it out.

"I'll be good to you."

Possessed, she shimmies out of her pajama pants.

He taps his skull. "And I can't hurt anyone else, can I?"

"You better not."

Spike looks her up and down, his gaze so fiery she actually feels the burn, all over, especially between her legs, where she's wet enough to take everything he can give her.

He probes her with the knob of his dick. She clutches his shoulders, rotates her hips, sharing her fluid with him. "Oh, god."

So slippery. He whimpers at the sensations. "Invite me in."

She intends to say, "Come in," but somehow the words, "Come inside me," tumble out.

Spike smirks at her, as you wish, and buries himself so far that for a moment Buffy fears he's going to split her in two. They both pause.

Spike's eyes widen and then roll back.

So full, Buffy thinks.

So tight, Spike thinks.

"Don't move," he beseeches weakly.

Now it's her turn to smirk. "Not even a little?"

She launches back, causing him to slide partially out.

"Buffy -- !"

He grits his teeth and clamps onto her ass with both hands. Allows his cock to slowly leave her delectable warmth, then drives back in.


He stills once more and grits his teeth.

"Spike," she pants softly.

He closes his eyes. Oh fuck. This is too -- much --

"More," she prays, "Faster -- please -- "

He glides back out and repeats the deep stroke.

There's a knock on the door. Buffy and Spike freeze and stare at each other.

Riley's voice chops through the wall.

"Buffy? You there?"

Buffy squeaks and kicks her feet wildly. "Out! Out!" she hisses to Spike, chest heaving.

He pulls out of her and leaps off the bed, slick cock throbbing and waving in the air. Motions to the window.

"Day! Day!" he hisses back.

Another knock.

"Buffy, it's me, ready to go?"

The doorknob turns.

"Just a sec!!" she calls.

Spike dives under the bed.

Riley opens the door to see Buffy buck naked before him. His jaw drops, but his approval is instant (and obvious, given the new shape of his sweatpants.)

Lust cramping painfully inside her, she closes the door with her foot, then slides her toes up his calf and snares him with a seductive, promising look.

"Thought we were going to take it slow?" he teases a bit apprehensively.

"We can take it slow." She rubs her breasts against him. "We can take it real slow."

Spike hears their lips meet. The accompanying smacks and "Mmm"s make him want to rip his ears off.

Then there's a gasp, followed by a nervous giggle.

"You're so wet," Riley marvels quietly.

"Heh, sometimes you just -- wake up horny."

Spike growls.

Riley's shirt hits the floor, and a moment later his running shoes and socks join it. Spike glares viciously at them from his vantage point.

This was not the plan.

The mattress sags in the middle and Spike scooches ineffectually away, rug-burning his ass in the process.

"Who needs running," Riley murmurs between kisses.

"This is perfectly good exercise," Buffy agrees.

Smooch, smooch, smooch, slurp, slurp, slurrrrrrp.

Spike digs his black painted fingernails into his sides.

When Riley's sweat pants, plaid boxers within, top off the clothes heap, Spike loses his erection completely.

The absence of focus on his favorite body part allows him to take stock of the wretched situation. He has to admit there's an upside; as unwanted as Riley's interruption was, it did prevent him from becoming a Three Pump Chump their first time out. Maybe after Riley leaves he'll be able to get a better grip on himself, no pun, and carry out the original strategy of pounding her into the bed fast and brutal for a good hour or two, until she either passes out or begs him to finish.

The sound of Buffy fumbling with her bedside drawer cuts into Spike's reverie. A condom is ripped open, then more rustling and positioning taunt him from above.

"Oh god, you feel good," Buffy sighs, finally lowering herself onto Riley's dick and bouncing lightly in his lap. I am so burning in hell for his.

Spike feels his cock stir back to life and looks down at it. Bloody hell, she's not talking to you.

Makes a tally of her sounds in his head: That one sounded real, that one sounded fake...

"Yeah, just like that," Buffy continues, guilt guilt guilt, as Riley caresses her waist and rocks her up and down.

The bed creaks rhythmically. Spike can't help himself. He anxiously thrusts his hips and tugs his cock in time with it.

The shoe box next to him catches his eye, and he rifles through it one handedly. Must be something sinful inside or she wouldn't keep it down here with the likes of me. A-ha!

He locates a tube of lube and squeezes a generous dollop into his palm.

Buffy shuts her eyes and concentrates.

Mmm, Spike.

"Mmm, Riley," she coos.

Oh, Spike. "Oh, Riley..."

Spike... "Riley…"

Spike! "Riley!"

Spiiiiike! "Ri-ley, uhh, oh god, oh god..."

She goes wild on top of him, rutting and grinding and fucking him until a swift orgasm catapults through her taut, trembling body.

Underneath the bed, Spike moves his fist furiously. Lurches forward as much as the area allows and comes in thick spurts, momentarily relieved.

He'd climaxed a few times before on her front lawn, so this seemed an improvement. He was in the house, at least. He looks around for something to clean his hand and stomach with.

"Wow," Riley opines, equal parts jealousy and awe. "That was fast."

"Mm hmm."

"Did you... want another one?"

"Mmm, that's okay, you go."

The mattress shifts again as Riley rolls her onto her back.

They quietly make love, and it hits Spike: all the things Riley can give her that he can't. Riley can sweat, can make her warm, fill her belly up with babies. *He* wants to be the one to make her warm, fill her belly up with babies... the only one to come inside her mouth, her pussy, her ass...

Salt water forms in his eyes.

"Buffy, you have such an awesome body," Riley whispers, breathing intensely, "Buffy, oh my god, Buffy..."

At last the mattress stops moving.

Spike knuckles away his frustrated tears.

More random smooching, then the weight above him decreases and Riley's bare feet appear in his view.

"If I have a shower, would your mom freak?"

"I don't think she's here, and if Dawn gives you grief just tell her we won't take her skating later."

"Wanna join me?"

"Umm, nah, I think I'll just stay here and Glow in the After...ness of it all."

The instant Riley leaves, Spike scrambles out from under the bed.

"What are you trying to do to me?" he howls.

"Maybe it's for the best," she offers gently, keeping him at bay. Guilt guilt guilt. "You can't possibly want me after... that. So! Problem solved, goodbye." She wraps him in a blanket and ushers him to the sun-drenched window. "Go burn for me."

He flings the blanket off. "Ohhh no, that's where you're wrong, Slayer. You were mine this morning and you're mine again *right now.* Let me back in."

He snarls and grabs her wrists, yanking her toward him.

"Stop! Ew! How can you be cool with that?"

"There's nothing you could do that would make me stop wanting you."

That's... disturbing. "Um, apparently!"

He kisses her. She wriggles away.

"Are you crazy? He's coming right back!" Beat. "Are you crying?"

"I already got off, if that's what you're concerned about."

"You jerked off under my bed?!" she wails.

"Well I didn't have much choice, did I?"

"Yes you had a choice! You could have chosen *not* to jerk off under my bed!"

"I recuperate fast."

"Where'd you... splurt?"


"Yeah. Do I have to wipe anything down?"

He reaches under the bed and pulls out one of Riley's now crusty looking socks.

"Oh! Ew!"

Enough small talk.

He drops to his knees and starts eating her out, determined to get past the taste of latex and Riley to her core essence.

Buffy sways drunkenly above him. "I don't think I can have another one -- woah."

He pulls away to regard her. "That wanker got you off, did he? Hoped you were faking."

"Have you *seen* my boyfriend? And his really big... hands?"

"Bet you had to train him how to please you."

"Little. But it was fun. And at least he hasn't necked around with half of England. Or -- any country that doesn't have to be England."

"Oh ho!" he clucks. "That what this is about? Yeah, I been around a bit." Dru. And... Dru. He circles his tongue around her receptive clit. "But they were only good for one thing."

"What's that?" she pants, rubbing herself heatedly against his lips, giving in to the thrill.

"Mmm." He pauses. "To send me to you with the ability of givin' you more pleasure than your little body can handle."

Oh god. He tongues her fast and she clutches his hair in little fistfuls, and he moans against her, and she can't believe this is happening, *so good*, his tongue's pointed now, flicking at her and she needs it so badly, worse than ever, more, harder... She fucks his face greedily and shudders with the onset of climax.

"Yes, yes, yes!" she gasps, yielding completely.

He shoves her onto the bed and crawls atop her. For a second she thinks he really is going to fill her up and finish what they started, but instead he leans toward her ear and issues a low warning.

"I'm coming back tomorrow to shag you unconscious. And if you're not here, I will find you."

He gathers his clothes, wraps the blanket around his back and drops out the window.


Buffy finishes her glass of wine and reaches for the bottle.

"Slow down, Tiger," Riley teases, taking it from her. "Don't you want to enjoy it?"

"I am enjoying it. I'm just enjoying it faster than you."

"It's meant to be sipped." It cost me a fortune.

Riley pours her about a fourth of a glass and replaces the cork. "We can finish it another time."

She clinks her glass to his. "To... New Beginnings."

"New Beginnings," he agrees.

By the time she leads him upstairs to her bedroom, she's pleasantly buzzed. The thought of locking her window doesn't even cross her mind.

They make short work of their clothes. Riley gets under the covers and holds his hand out to her. She takes it and slides in next to him.

"You wanna be on top again?" he asks.

"Mmhmm," she smiles, wrapping the sheet over them both and going down on him for a few minutes. He gently pulls her head up and looks her in the eyes.

"Make love to me."

She kisses him and fits him inside her. Together, they move...

...And are promptly interrupted by a droll, sarcastic voice at the window. "Is that as frightfully dull as it looks?"

Spike climbs into the room.

Riley's eyes pop out. "Jesus, Buffy! Get him out of here!"

"Spike, oh my god, what the *hell* are you doing?" Buffy sputters, poking her head out from the covers and straining to look at him.

"I told you to expect me," he responds angrily, "and you know it."

Riley stops moving. "Is that true?"

"N -- nno -- "

"‘Course it is. Stop coddling him."

Buffy tries to rise then, but Riley holds her fast, tightening his arms around her.

"We're not stopping. He can leave."

Spike folds his arms. "I'm not leaving. I had a prior engagement."

"Fine, enjoy the show."

"Riley, this is ridiculous! Let me up --"

"You're not going anywhere."

"Riley -- "

"Fine," Spike says calmly, and disrobes.

He reaches under the bed, locates the shoe box and grabs the lube. Liberally applies some to his left hand.

"What are you doing?" Riley snaps, trying not to see any dangling Spike parts.

Spike rips the sheet up from the foot of the mattress and reaches a hand under the bed covers. “Much as you’d like to deny it, she’s got more than one hole, mate.”

Buffy clenches her butt and moves away from him, much as she can. Yeeeeks!

"She doesn’t want that!" Riley sputters.

"Let her speak for herself."

"Shut up! Both of you!"

"You want it, love? Both of us at the same time?" Your past and present?

Spike cups one of her butt cheeks with his dry hand, prying it away from the other cheek and stroking the outline of her tight hole with his lube sopping fingertip. She twitches again, this time from unexpected pleasure.

"Sensitive," Spike remarks appreciatively.

"Riley?" Buffy questions anxiously.

Don't stifle her, don't stifle her, you can handle it, she's yours, it'll be over quick... "If it's what you want," Riley tells her, voice far away, eyes pleading.

"But what do *you* want?" she volleys back.

"I want you to do what you want."

"Can we stop talking in circles, children?" Spike sighs impatiently.

Buffy cranes her neck to regard Spike. "Will it hurt?" she asks softly.

"Yeah. Hurt so good you'll never want it to stop."

He fondles her nubile, rotating ass.


She’s like jello, Riley notes. What is he doing to her? Buffy tries to keep her reactions down so as not to hurt his feelings, but when Spike dips a wet finger juuuust inside her she can't help thrusting back into it. She flutters and squeezes Riley involuntarily, which he likes, but would like a lot more if it didn't involve Spike.

"Little slut," Spike murmurs, "I knew you'd want it."

Riley can't believe Buffy tolerates such crudeness. Everything the vampire says to her, each word, is no way to speak to a girl, especially not to someone as special as Buffy, but she's responding like crazy, bucking and quivering against him, opening herself, both literally and figuratively, in ways Riley has never seen.

Spike lowers his face under the sheet and Riley can't see what he's doing but whatever it is, it turns Buffy's face red and makes her pant and squirm like a cat in heat.

"Ready?" he asks, re-emerging and positioning his cock at her other entrance.

Buffy nods.

Spike eases his fat tip inside and starts to push. Buffy tenses with fear and looks to Riley for assurance, but he's helpless, has no idea what to say.

"It's all right," Spike soothes, kissing her shoulder. "Doing well, baby. Just -- a -- bit -- more."

To Riley's anger and astonishment, this seems to work. Her face visibly relaxes and she closes her eyes, apparently no longer needing anything from Riley. Great, he thinks bitterly, the monster attached to her back soothes her better than I do.

Buffy pushes into him slowly.

"Mmm, fuck me back, Slayer, yeah, good girl... " Before any of them realizes it, he's encased all the way.

"Woah," Riley grunts. "Sharing Buffy" takes on a whole new meaning. He doesn’t like feeling Spike there, not at all, and his gut screams out that what they're doing is unholy, degenerate, wanton... In fact, he's surprised they haven't been struck by lightning.

Buffy adjusts to her visitors. Riley below, Spike behind... Center of my body filled with... boy.

"What happens now?" Buffy whispers to Spike.

"I move it in and out," he purrs, beginning to do just that.

"Uhhhh," she whimpers, mouth dropping open. Touches Riley's face. "You move, too."

He complies, unsmiling.

Two long hard cocks pulling back and forth inside her, straining against her walls, create so much sensation that Buffy nearly starts to cry. I could get used to it, though, she reasons with a smile.

Then she looks at Riley, so beaten down, and desperately wants to make it up to him. Realizes there's something she can give him, something he wants but would never admit to, something he can't ask for, but that will turn him inside out --

"Spike, bite him."

Riley and Spike respond in Stereo: "*What?*"

"You heard me."

"I don’t want to bite him," Spike protests. He moves some hair off her neck. "I want to bite *you.*"

"If you ever want to have sex with me again, you’ll bite Riley."

"I don’t want him to bite me!" Riley shouts.

"That makes two of us," Spike adds.

She rides urgently in both directions, which silences them. Everyone prioritizes finding a good rhythm.

Buffy stares at Riley, trying to communicate. This is a gift I'm giving you. Shut up and enjoy it. Riley stares back, uncomprehending.

Spike frowns, then prompts her.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Bite him."

"My chip’ll go off."

"He wants it," Buffy assures him.

I do? Riley wonders, but before he can speak, Spike’s face morphs and his teeth, razor sharp, sink into the overused crook of Riley's arm, exactly where he got it last week and I do want it, I do, god help me... Seeing Buffy sandwiched between him, coated in sweat, filled to bursting, tiny hands clawing at his chest... all this combined with the bite, the pure intense *need* of it... Riley undulates with startling violence, slamming up into Buffy, hollering uncontrollably.

"Shhhh!" she cautions, but if he can hear her, he pays no attention.

Buffy's never seen him like this. He's not the type to raise the roof. Savage, desperate voice, hitting her deep deep deep, fast fast fast, frenzied, throat pitched upward, raw sexual max out.

A full ten seconds of ecstatic gyrations pass through Riley, into her, into Spike.


"Stop, stop -- !" he pleads. Spike continues to suck ravenously, clamped around Riley's arm like steel daggers in a bear trap, dark red syrup dripping off his lips and teeth.

"Stop!" Buffy commands, scared for Riley, for herself, for each of them. Her voice cuts through Spike's hazy, lusty fog. He reluctantly retracts and withdraws, dizzy and unsatisfied. Licks his chops and lets his human face return.

Buffy's ass suddenly feels further stretched, each direction, way worse than before. "Ahhhh..." she gasps. "You... grew."

"Fresh blood," Spike explains gruffly, superhuman, fucking her faster, rougher. Maybe *this*'ll satisfy...

Buffy's eyes cross. Riley's blood inside Spike's dick inside her...

Riley is weak from the loss of various fluids. It was the best of comes, it was the worst of comes.

Now that it's over, he wishes he could launch them both off, be alone to nurse each confusing wound, sleep for days... and wake with no memory of this nightmare. But he can't make them leave, he has no strength left, his deflated groin aches like hell -- and they won't stop, he can't make them stop, they keep rocking and humping, three beasts on her childhood bed.

Spike smacks him lightly. "Don't just lie there, mate, help her out."

"Can't -- " Riley sputters, flat on his back, motionless.

"He's spent. It's hurting," Buff protests, slowing her hips.

"So hurt him!" Spike instructs quietly, lip curling into a sneer. "Hurt him like I'm hurting you. Use him like I'm using you. *Take* it, get what you deserve, what you want, what you need, bloody Get Off."

Shut up, shut up... But as he speaks, her movements renew, quickening.

The truth was Spike wasn't hurting her, not anymore, but his words lit up something primal and selfish inside. Maybe it reminded her of times past; times she put out for Riley when she wasn't in the mood, times she *was* in the mood but he couldn't keep up, times she could have gone forever but his body wouldn't let them.

"You okay?" she asks Riley. He nods, eyes far away. She leans forward to kiss him but he turns his face, determined to block out the sounds of Spike pleasuring himself with his girlfriend's ass and Buffy loving every second. It feels like they're both fucking him, which, he supposes, is pretty much accurate.

"This is his Hell, but it's my Heaven," Spike continues, his voice the only sound she's aware of in the room. Even the sloppy smacking of their bodies is pushed to the background by the wicked words he uses to excite her. "Tight little hole," he groans, "so sweet, wrapped around me... Too bad Angel isn't here, he could make it a trio, fuck your throat. But just you wait, see who you end up with, oh Buffy, I'd kill them both if I could, I'll be the only one left, yeah, that's it, keep going, get your rocks off, who cares about him, just do it."

And it's awful, awful, awful to wreck another human being like this, but her pussy and her clit don't seem to care. She bucks and rotates against Riley's pubic bone, stuffed and awash with hot, cavernous sensation, growing, rolling and coursing through her. With a muffled cry, she climaxes, once, twice...

Spike thrusts vigorously, "Yeah, bloody -- beautiful, so good, maybe I'll get me a soul from this, ohhh, yeah, maybe I will -- right -- now -- "

His steady pistoning dissolves into random, loose, jerky pumps, each one shakier than the last. Riley looks up. Spike winks at him then closes his eyes and shoots all his come inside Buffy. "Uh, Uh, Uh, Uhhhh!"

They collapse in a heap.

"Easy come, easy go," Spike grunts a moment later and slides wetly out of her.

He's not fit to be walking yet, and trips while pulling on his jeans. Puts his shirt and shoes back on with trembling fingers. Opens the window, wobbles out and promptly falls off the roof, landing on the lawn with a loud, undignified thump.

"I'm all right!" he calls up.

"We didn't care!" Riley calls down.

Buffy and Riley stare at each other. The silence is suffocating.

"Can you please get away from me?" Riley asks quietly.

Her face falls and she moves off his body, at last, so he can turn away and pretend to sleep.


When Buffy wakes the next morning, Riley's already dressed. He sits on the edge of the bed, watching her.

"Might want to wash those sheets," he remarks. Then, under his breath, "Or burn them."

"Everything all right?" she questions, not really wanting to know.

He shrugs it off. "Yeah. No, you know what? No." Lowers his voice. "I can’t do it anymore. I watched you have sex with another guy. Not even a guy, a fucking vampire! I have no dignity when it comes to you. Why would you want to be with someone who has no dignity?"

She sits up and pulls on a long t-shirt. Makes the action last longer than necessary to give herself time to formulate a response. "I guess I don’t... see it that way. It was just -- sex, Riley." Hesitant: "And it seemed like you liked it."

Riley paces. "Physically, it was Yeah, it was good, but I hated myself the whole time. And I’m never gonna forget what he looked like, clinging to your back like that, like a leech, or the way you moaned for him, I’m gonna see it and hear it in my head and nothing can change that."

"He doesn't mean anything to me, Riley." Clears her throat. "Just like those whores didn't mean anything to you, remember?"

He stops. Nods to himself, as if discovering what's really going on. "So that's why it happened. To get back at me."

"No! It didn't happen for any real reason, it just... happened."

"I kept waiting for you to come to your senses and kick his ass, but instead you let him get off reaming yours -- "

She stands, livid and wounded. "Don't even *try* to paint me as a victim. You got off, he got off, and *I* got off. Twice, actually."

One for each of us. Adorable. "He had so much power over you, Buffy --"

"Are you blind? *I* have power over *him.* He's obsessed with me, Riley. He thinks he loves me, but I *control* him --"

"And that's what you want. Someone you can control?"

Why not? I don't get to control anything else in my life!

"Of course not -- "

"We never should have been in that situation in the first place."

She retreats. They both know, once and for all, that it's over.

"I’m sorry," she says.


Two weeks pass. Buffy ignores Spike completely, reeling from the loss and blaming him, at least partially, for it. But after an evening of board games with Willow, Tara, Dawn and her mother, and a particularly slow patrol, she finds herself mysteriously drawn to his crypt.

Kicks open the door; it's deserted. She takes in the dust and cobwebs, coughs discreetly and calls out his name. No response.

Slowly wanders down the ladder to the lower depths; still no sign of him.

Amidst the (strangely romantic) candles a table catches her eye. Closer inspection reveals that it's a shrine of some sort... drawings and photos and a stake and a mannequin (?!) --

Flee. Flee. Flee!

"Well, well, well. Look who's come calling," Spike remarks smugly, setting down a bag of groceries.

"Forget it," she snaps immediately and turns to leave.

"Hold up, hold up." Spike flings some type of red velvet coverlet onto the shrine (what did she see?) and beats her to the ladder. Leans against it, blocking her exit.

"You'll have to climb me."


She starts to crawl up and over his body, he stops her, eye level with her breasts.

"I missed you. Why'd you stay away?"

"I'm sorry, are we going steady?"

He frowns.

She returns to the ground, examines her nails. Her eyes drift to his grocery bag.

"You go grocery shopping?"

"Not really." He pulls out five packs of cigarettes and an enormous bottle of Vodka.

"What is that, a gallon?"

"Econo-size. I don't like to leave the crypt. Drink?"

She nods. "Okay."

He returns with Giles' Kiss the Librarian mug and starts pouring.

"That's too much!"

He rolls his eyes, drinks half of it for her, then presses the mug into her hand.

She takes a small sip, and makes a face.

"What are you gonna drink from?"

Spike lifts the jug to his lips and takes a deep swig. "Got the feeling I'll be needing more than you. Now say what you came to say."

"Riley's gone."

Spike chuckles. "*Knew* he couldn't handle it."

"Shut up!"

"And you knew it, too."

"So you got what you wanted." Her voice pitches tremulously. "I'm alone. I don’t have anyone."

"You have me."

"Like I said."

"Well hell." He clasps her hand between his. She resists.

"You have me," he repeats forcefully, trying to get her to look at him.

His eyes shine hopefully, so eager to please.

Buffy continues to stare at the floor of his crypt. Can't control my dad leaving, can't control Angel leaving, can't control getting a sister, can't control if my mom gets sick, can't control being the slayer...

Makes her decision.

"Get on your knees."








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