by Francis

"Hello doll," he says the last word so slowly that the effort, in itself turns Faith on, she turns around and faces the pale faced lover she keeps secret. His thumbs gently caresses her cheeks, his leg slides in between faith's thigh, he smells her forehaed out of habit. A good habit.

He does this to know if she's been unfaithful, funny word, under the circumstances but appropiate. Un-Faith-ful. He smiles at her and relishes the fact that she's always the one to kiss first, she forces her soft tongue into his mouth and taste the blood from this evening's kill. She gets excited by the possibility of becoming a vampire but she carries it only in her mind.

Spike pulls away from her and his palm covers her face, the Bronze is filled with the thumping bass and thumping hearts. He recognizes the rhythmic pulses and laughs low to the pure of having the power to take it as he pleases. But nothing excites him more than having this little jewel in his arms, she is a slayer and she is his. She does everything he tells him and without question.

Buffy would've never gone for what they were into. Then again, Buffy was dead.

"Wanna dance?" Fath asked him, her hands now running around beneath his shirt, she takes it a knotch lower and slides it in front of his pants. He arches forward as she palms his flaccid penis. "Wanna dance?" she repeats again.

Spike nods in agreement. He is at her mercy.


His new crypt was above ground, like Angel's only smaller, like many things. He rented the apartment to please his little dynamo, and then she pleased him with gifts of female warmth and other things, often she brought home people. And they said you couldn't play with your dinner.

The bedroom was spare save for bed, the floor littered with clothes of varying style and taste, why waste clothes for the dead after all.

She was on top of him, grinding her hips hard against his, she panted and moaned incoherence which pleased Spike, her hands were clutched against his shoulder, fingernails, digging deep into the flesh. It was digging in so hard that blood flowed into the sheets. She was howling now, as he simply screamed the word, "Fuck" over and over like it was all he knew. The basic truth.

She collapsed on him and babbled something before giggling, this unnerved him somewhat, she sounds like Dru, he thinks. William the Bloody ran his fingers through her hair, she smells so much of him and sweat. Sweet and sour, he licks her nape and taste it too.

His palm delicately caresses her neck, he longs for it, so much that he cannot take the pain of not being able to taste her. But he cannot just bite into her, because she'll bite back. He rolls off his back and now he is on top of her, he takes his cock and guides it into her and she howls in delight. "Another ride, kiddo?" she smirks.

He does not speak, he rides her slowly, as if he was unsure about her body, as if he doesn't know that she enjoys the shallow thrust his body makes. As if he doesn't know that she enjoys it more when he's in her ass. He just thrust in and out wildly and then he realizes that his hand has closed on her neck and that she is fighting him off, he realizes this but does not stop. Because to stop would make it worse, he pounds on her until he comes inside her and he feels her explode to.

Faith jerks underneath him one last time and he stops. He can no longer hear her heart, her eyes are fixed on him, his chest burns with her scratches. He feels tears of blood rolling off his cheek, it falls on her bruised and crushed neck.

Spike, the lover, arches down and licks it off, then he bites into the still warm, still tender flesh. He taste blood, good blood, but that Faith taste, the one with the sweet and the sour, is gone.


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