#vampire slayer

You pushed Spike back with a kick the second you came through the door, his back bumping against the stone sarcophagus where he slept. Now he is wide eyed, his neck straining as you hold the point of the wooden stake against his jugular. Slowly, Spike lifts his hands up, one corner of his lips twitching even as he is pinned in place by the very end of a threat. “I have a feeling you might be angry.”

“Really? What gave it away?” You glare at him, pressing the stake down against his neck, not piercing him, just causing him to suck in a rigid breath. His blue-eyed gaze lowers to the sneer on your lips then lifts again to meet your eyes, a smug smirk finally fully stretching across his annoying face. “You look cute when you're angry, love.”

With a growl you dig the stake into his flesh, the recently sharpened tip breaking pallid skin, causing him to hiss out in pain as he attempts to back away. Unfortunate for him, the sarcophagus digging at his spine kept him trapped. “I'm going to kill you, Spike. I'll finally rid the world of your useless existence and free myself from having to clean after your messes. If it's not your Buffy obsession, it's Drusilla shoving herself back into the plot, and if not her then it's vengeful demons that have a bone to pick with you. I am sick of it!”

Spike's eyes darken at your words, his smirk slowly fading and easily replaced by a scowl. “Indeed? And killing me would bring you peace?”

“Plenty!”

“Right. Even when it would mean chucking your principles out the window because you can't take a couple of inconveniences?”

A dry laugh erupted from you at the audacity of his words. “That's rich coming from you! Considering how quickly you switched sides when you couldn't kill humans, but then switched back when Buffy rejected you!”

“I needed Dru to trust me! To prove to Buffy that I am not who I used to be!”

“It doesn't matter what it was for! You fold under pressure! You always do! That's why you've never been able to kill Buffy!”

Spike's mouth opens and closes like a fish trying to find a valid argument or defense, but nothing comes out. It is true. He always caved to Dru’s demands and if not her, then savage demons foiling his plans to take over humanity. Including Angel, who was constantly getting in his damned way both as the conniving son of a bitch Angelus and the moral, good-for-nothing, soul-having version of himself. Then there was Buffy, making everything difficult for him since he arrived in Sunnydale. The last thing he had wanted was to fall in love with her. He hated her. Or at least he thought he did. After her rejection and everything that had been happening with Gloria, she couldn’t deal with Spike anymore. She wanted him as far away from her as possible, and if he wasn’t going to leave Sunnydale, then he needed a watchful eye. Buffy had put it as being a sort of “parole officer”, but you knew, and Spike knew, that she intended for you to babysit the undead asshole. You’d both become sideliners in her life. He a problem, and you the trustworthy backup. Spike craved to be useful. To do something with his time other than sit around in a dusty old crypt, drawing Buffy, fucking his fist, watching bad TV, talking to himself, drinking and mourning his life before the chip in his head, before the slayer, and before Sunnydale. He wanted out, yet he couldn't bring himself to leave Sunnydale.

When Buffy dropped him on you, neither of you were happy about the arrangement, but Spike soon got to find something new to do. Bothering you and leading you on blind goosechases instead. You spent too much time in this damn mausoleum for your liking. Getting him what he needs, taking him on patrol, following his empty leads that wasted your time, arguing with him, spending sleepless nights criss-cross apple sauce across from him on his bed talking and looking at his stupid sketches…

Spike’s lips twitch angrily. You don't think he’s ever looked this hurt before. You both squabble and argue all the time, but this time it was different. His life is at your fingertips. One plunge of your stake away. He knows he wasn’t a good person. He was a demon, possessing the shell of the human man he used to be. William the Bloody. A bloody bad poet. Craving love that humiliated him and tore him to shreds. A love that sent him straight into the arms of a devil and right into an un-life of mischief and cruel villany. He really did fold under pressure. Under disappointment. Spike knew all this now, but he still wanted what Angel got to have: a second chance. He thought that with you he'd finally gotten it. Because despite your differences, you'd given him a purpose—although initially reluctantly—when no one else wanted to do so. Not Buffy, and not the Scooby gang. You.

You're taken aback when Spike reaches up and wraps a hand around yours, the vicious one that holds the stake to his neck. He lifts it and directs it over his chest, allowing the point of the stake to press above where his unbeating heart is meant to be. “Then do it. Stake me. You know I can't hurt you. I can't put up a fight unless you're a demon. It will be easy and quick. Just make sure to vacuum my ashes off the floor, it's in poor taste to leave a mess.”

“What are you doing?” You look down at his chest, Spike's grip turning firmer, surer, as he presses the stake harder into his sternum. You tense your fingers around the weapon, trying to pull your hand back.

“I said. Stake. Me. That's what you want, no? You want me gone.”

“Spike-”

“I have no other purpose on this Earth other than to piss you and a million others off. That's what I do. No matter what I do. Nothing I try changes who I am. Not to Buffy, not to her friends, and especially not to you. It doesn't matter if I've controlled my hunger, if I've cut off Dru from my life, if I've shared my thoughts and feelings and my history with you. I'm still defined now by the sins I have committed from the moment I crawled out of my grave. It doesn't matter if I lie awake hating the thing I turned out to be, if I've gotten your back when you need it most, or if it's you that keeps me from giving up and throwing myself under the sun. But riddle me this, slayer: why does Angel get to redeem himself? Why does Anya? Have we forgotten she threw Cordelia into a timeline that could have destroyed the world? Faith? They have all done terrible things. Yet I am the only one that continues to be punished?”

Your mouth draws into a grimace, your eyes avoiding Spike's, but he quickly pinches your chin, tilting your face to meet your gaze. “Kill me. Maybe I'll be free as well. Free from the torment of not being enough.”

The sting in your eyes startled you. Your fingers had never trembled or hesitated when it came to killing vampires. They were a pestilence. It was your job. You were chosen for this. Albeit by accident, but chosen nonetheless. But Spike was right about you. It wasn't your principle to kill without a true reason. To kill someone that could not defend himself. You hadn’t known he felt this way either. He was obnoxious and dramatic most days, easily hiding all of these sentiments. And now he was outright asking you to end it. You were hoping he was gambling, manipulating you, but he just looked… determined. There was no fear in his eyes. The spark of mischief he always carried dulled like the dying embers at the butt of a crumpled cigarette. Once fiery and pungent, it was now nothing but stale ash.

He was serious. Spike wanted you to plunge your stake into his heart. You looked at his fingers wrapped around your stake-holding hand, black nail polish decorating the digits. You'd painted them for him not long ago, a very few lightly chipped. He needed a retouch soon. You'd also been meaning to take him to a screening of a movie next week. He kept bugging you about it, some crazy action movie he saw the trailer of on his crappy TV. You were knitting him a damn quilt because the stupid crypt looked sad. Why? Why the hell did you have to care? God, you inadvertently let him tangle himself into your life in such a way that you didn't know how to undo it. Now with your anger cooling down and with him waiting for the kill, you can't find a reason for him to die.

Spike directed your face towards him again with a slight shake. “Y/N! Do it!”

You swallow. You had to do it. That's what you came here for. He'd crossed the line. That should be enough of an excuse to kill him. You grip the stake tighter, your hand shaking with the effort. “No!” You hear the cry of your own voice, breaking. “I… I can't…”

Meeting his gaze with tear-filled eyes, you wish there was something you could say that didn't sound like pity. You didn't pity him. You know that he would hate you more if you did. He was right about absolutely everything. Everyone else got a chance except for him. It was unfair.

Spike's eyes soften and slowly, as if trying not to spook you, he takes his hand from your chin to cup your cheek. A callused thumb rubs your cheekbone back and forth before his palm slides to the back of your neck, fingers curling into your hair. He leans in, never loosening his hand around yours with the stake.

“Please, Spike-” You breathe, his nose nudging yours, “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

“Shhh.” His breath fans your cheek as he proceeds to plant kisses over the salty drops of tears that had escaped your eyes. “Why are you crying, love?”

“I can't kill you.”

He chuckled, “You're crying because you can't kill me?”

“No, you twat!”

“Oh, wow, big bloody word that one. I'm a very bad influence on you, you know?” He continued to trace the trail of tears with his soft lips.

“I'm no better than any of them.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No I'm not!” You pull your head back to look up at him better. “I was going to kill you.”

“But you didn't.”

“But I wanted to-” His lips press against yours suddenly, a surprised hum vibrating in your throat. Spike slants his mouth, using his own lips to part yours. Your eyes flutter close and a little moan slips from you as Spike's tongue enters your mouth to massage yours. He groans at the sound and tugs your hair, pulling the skin of your skull pleasurably taunt. When he breaks the kiss your lips are swollen and reddened, slightly parted in breathless pants.

A primal growl rumbles in Spike's chest at the sight. He pulls your head back and quickly attaches his mouth to your jaw, kissing and nibbling your skin. With a shuddering breath you reach up to cup his cheek with your free hand, feeling the tantalizing movements of the muscles in his jaw as he draws a path of open mouth kisses down to your chin. You try to pry the stake away from between you to throw it away across the room in offense, but Spike kept a tight grip. “Don't,” He sighs against your skin, biting your throat softly to hear your breaths stutter into a whimper. “Keep the stake there, Y/N. Don't move it. Got it?”

“Yes.” You confirm breathlessly.

Tentatively, Spike lets go of your hand, slender fingers brushing over your knuckles before he drops his hand to your waist. When you don't move the stake, he grins and captures your mouth again, using the hand he kept in your hair to press you into the kiss. The hand on your waist snakes to your lower back, pulling you closer. He moans into your mouth as the point of the stake digs into his chest, his shirt serving as a temporary barrier against its life threatening sharpness. Spike deepens the kiss by tilting his head and licking into your mouth while his hand moves from your lower back to your ass. He grips one round globe through your short skirt and you whimper, taking your hand from his cheek to grip his shoulder. Spike shoves one of his thighs between yours, pressing the tensed muscle up against your clothed heat. He lets his hand slip under the skirt to grip your ass, warm skin filling his cold palm as he starts to drag your hips back and forth, making you rub firmly on his thigh. You gasp against his mouth, fingers curling into his shirt, but the action only serves for him to suck on your tongue, and kiss your teeth, spit beginning to gather at the corners of your lips.

You kiss Spike back eagerly, chasing his mouth, and allowing yourself to mindlessly grind on him a little faster. You can feel your underwear begin to grow damper, and Spike lets out a groan at the growing smell of your arousal, his cock twitching needily in his jeans in response. He helps you move against him, his own hips bucking at the sensation of your wetness staining his pants. Spike whimpers and breaks the kiss to bury his face in your neck, his nose pressed against your throat while he nibbles and sucks at your collarbone, his hand pushing you to move faster and harder than before, fingers digging borderline painfully into your asscheek.

“Spike-” You whine as your thighs tremble and squeeze his, the heat pooling between your thighs making you angle your hips so your achy clit was stimulated.

“I know, love. I know.” He groans, his hips bucking against your stomach.

You bite your lip, whimpering as molten heat steers your core, your body tensing as you chase the tricky pinnacle of your pleasure. Spike pressed his thigh up harder into you when he catches the way you become more breathless and desperate, your brows knitted in concentration and frustration. “I can’t-” You start and he pulls your head back harder, eliciting a moan from you.

“Yes, you can.”

Spike brings his mouth to the sensitive spot below your jaw where your pulse is hammering, calling to his most beastly instincts. He bites down on the skin, resisting the urge to break the skin with his fangs, and sucks at the sweet spot. As you keen in pleasure, your grinding slowing as if you can’t focus on two different sensations, Spike drops his hand from your hair and uses both of his hands to move you, his fingers digging into your hips. Your breaths grow faster, the tension in your stomach increasing until a broken cry tears from your chest, your cunt throbbing rhythmically, inner walls contracting as you topple over the edge of pleasure.

With a wet pop, Spike detaches his mouth from your neck and licks over the raw skin, a purple bruise starting to bloom, circled by teeth marks. A hickey that would probably sadly fade in less than an hour due to your quick healing ability. Spike's lips quirk in a smug smirk as he raises his hand to rub his thumb over the bruise, the skin wet and warm to the touch. His eyes rove over your face and the glistening sheen of sweat that formed over your skin. Your lips are parted in shaky pants as you come down from your high, your eyes glazed and dazed, while your cheeks are deliciously flushed. Spike leans in and bites your cheek playfully, making you whine and hit his chest.

“So cute.” He chuckles, licking the sweat off your jaw before pulling back to look at you again.

Your eyes drop to the stake you're still holding against his chest. The point had torn into his shirt, puncturing and scratching his sternum. “Spike!” You drop the stake and press your palm over the wound.

“It's fine. I'm fine. It'll heal quickly.”

“So? I could have accidentally staked you! I can't measure my strength when I'm…” You press your lips close, embarrassment clear on your face.

“Experiencing pleasure beyond your wildest fantasies?” He offers cheekily as he searches your eyes. You glare at him and finish the argument. “When I'm distracted… Vulnerable…”

Spike's smirk softens and he brings his hand up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your lips. “I like your violence. I like to see your fire. And I like that my life is in your hands.”

Your eyes grow sad, “Are you really so unhappy you truly wish to die?”

“No, love. That's not what I mean by that. I mean that I trust you. I trust you with my livelihood. Or well… my un-life. I knew you were not going to stake me. Because that's just not who you are. If you truly wanted to kill me, you would have plunged your stake into my heart the second you walked in here. No waiting or dramatic monologs. You monolog when you stall.”

“N-No I don't!” The red on your cheeks deepens.

“Yes you do. You prefer going for the kill. No talking. No chances for your target to escape. Buffy's thing is to be witty and dramatic in her fights.”

“I can be witty…”

Spike chuckles at your mumbling and leans in, placing a chaste peck on your lips. “The point is I like the danger that comes with your rage. Turns me on. I think we'd highly benefit from angry sex.”

You scoff and hit his arm. “Pervert.”

“You're just as bad as me.” He flips you off and you stick your tongue out at him. “But seriously. I don't want to hear you say you're like Buffy and her obnoxious posse.” Spike's hands drop to your waist, his fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt to caress your skin in a soothing manner. “You were angry and I'm not exactly making things any easier for you. I know fighting a demon I accidentally summoned was not in your plans this evening… But neither was it my plan for it to become your problem.” He sighs and licks his lips, also slightly reddened from kissing you, as he looks into your eyes. “I would have helped you if you'd let me. I didn't need you to clean my mess.”

“Why did you do it? Summon that… thing?”

“I was trying to find more information about Gloria to help you and Buffy, but I should know by now not to trust sketchy men in suits at monster pubs.”

“You really should.” You laugh.

“Yeah, well, lesson learned.” Spike wraps his arms around you and presses his ear to your chest, right above your heart. He sighs and nuzzles into you, keeping you tightly against his body. Your fingers card through his silver hair in response, your chest fluttering at his affection.

Maybe this undead bitch could stay alive a little while longer.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

-Lady Pensive

I know this isn't as spicy as expected from knife play, but this is what came to my mind. I know Spike is a whore for Slayers and that man loves being at the other end of a stake (without getting killed). The request reminded me of when Harmony role-played being a Slayer for him.