Nelly Furtado - Spirit Indestructible http://youtu.be/ej3SmDScjjY

As the two blondes sat on the edges of their respective beds facing each other in the motel room, Spike leaned across the short space between them and touched his lips to Buffy's tentatively. Buffy's earlier tears made her lips salty and damp, beneath that Spike could taste a splash of cinnamon from her toothpaste. He longed to delve deeper, to taste 'Buffy', but was afraid to push, afraid he'd push her away. He could feel a small shudder run through her – whether from the kiss or a remnant of her tears, he didn't know.

To his delight, Buffy laid her hand on the side of his face and deepened the kiss, sweeping her tongue along his lips, searching for entry. With the Bot still in 'sleep mode', charging on the bed behind him, Spike moaned against Buffy's mouth, parting his lips for her, and meeting her tongue with his in a gentle, sensuous dance. And there it was, her tang, her essence assailing his senses with the utter spirit of her – her strength, her determination, her light all shone through as their tongues swirled against each other. He'd never tasted anything sweeter.

Buffy melted into his lips with a desire that had been building in her since he’d shown her his true self by standing up to Glory’s torture when the hell-god had kidnapped him, thinking he was the Key. His sacrifice, loyalty, and bravery had touched something inside her and shone a new light on Spike. Even if she hadn't been ready to fully admit it then, she knew deep down that he had truly changed. Soulless though he may be, he stood like a man, he acted like a man, and she had started to think of him as a man rather than a monster.

Although Buffy had been shocked by the mission her mother had given her, partly because it had come from her mother, the thought of it had only fueled the Slayer's slowly building desire for her former mortal enemy, turned ally, turned rescuer. But she dare not undertake that yet – not until she was sure she was ready mentally to deal with the ramifications. Which didn’t mean, she concluded, that they couldn’t … practice until that day came.

Buffy slid her hand behind his neck and pulled him to her as she lay back on the bed, and Spike followed willingly. Together they scooted back, their lips parting only for her to take deep gasping breaths of air, until his body covered hers. She could feel his hardness pressing against her as she spread herself open for him, wrapping her bare legs around his hips and pulling his chest down to rest upon hers. Suddenly the t-shirt and shorts she had on seemed like way too many clothes to her, as did the jeans that Spike still wore, but, at the same time, she was loath to break the contact between them to remedy the situation.

Spike snaked his arms under and around her shoulders, holding her against him as he’d wanted to do for so very long. His hips moved of their own accord, grinding his jean-clad pelvis against her sex in slow, sensuous thrusts. He broke the kiss, allowing Buffy to breathe, and trailed his tongue down her heated skin, across her jaw, to her neck. He nibbled and sucked gently on the tender skin, feeling her pulse racing just beneath his lips as her whole body shivered under him.

“Want you so much, Buffy,” he whispered against her ear, his breath tickling her earlobe and loosing another shudder and a moan from somewhere deep inside her.

Buffy began to reply, to agree, when a loud banging began from the wall near them. They both stopped, their heads jerking toward the source of the unexpected sound.

“Angel,” they both groaned at once as the banging began again in earnest.

“Ignore ‘im,” Spike urged her as he went back to kissing her throat.

The banging got louder.

Buffy sighed and pressed gently on Spike’s shoulders, stopping him. He groaned and dropped his forehead to her shoulder, his whole body sagging in frustration.

“Spike – I’m sorry. I … I don’t want our first time to be …” she began, then stopped and tried to compose her thoughts. “I mean, I don’t want to be thinking about Angel while we’re …”

Spike’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as he peered down at her. Hurt and anger warred in his expressive eyes for which emotion would dominate their burning, blue depths.

“And I don’t want you to be thinking about him, either,” Buffy added quickly, realizing her mistake. Buffy's eyes suddenly widened and her face screwed up like she'd just eaten a lemon as her words registered with her brain. "I mean ... not that you'd ever be thinking of Angel like that ... while we're ... you know ... or ever ... not like that ... I mean ... it's just ..." She sighed heavily and closed her eyes a moment to compose her jumbled thoughts.

When she opened her eyes again, Spike looked almost amused by her uneasy prattling, the hurt and anger that had been there now faded into the background. He cocked a questioning brow at her, waiting for her to continue her 'foot in mouth' routine. "That whole train jumped the tracks and took a wrong turn somewhere near Albuquerque. A very, very wrong turn. I just meant that I want it to be us … no one else in the whole world, no interruptions,” she explained gently, touching a reassuring hand to his face.

Spike sighed and nodded. He closed his eyes then dropped his head down onto her shoulder, relaxing his whole body against her. She felt like heaven; her supple body, strong and lithe beneath him. Her heart was thundering in her chest, beating against his ribs as if it wanted to break through his bones and embed itself in him. Her body was like a furnace in the cool of the room, and she warmed him like nothing he’d ever felt before – from both the inside and the outside.

Buffy trailed her hands over his bare back, playing a game of chase with the rising and falling goose-flesh she was creating with her touch. “I’m sorry,” she whispered against his ear as the banging from the other room continued. “It probably would’ve been some kind of macho victory for you to … for us to ... you know … right under his nose,” she stammered, flushing slightly. “But … I … I don’t want to be a trophy.”

Spike lifted his head and looked at her. The depth of emotion in her verdant eyes was overwhelming – it was Buffy, fully and completely. And she’d chosen him – again. He shook his head. “You aren’t, luv. Not t’ me. I … care about you too much for that,” he agreed, again biting back the ‘L’ word that wanted to come out, afraid of losing her again.

A tear slid down Buffy’s cheek and she nodded. “I know everyone thinks you’re a soulless monster, but … to me you’re a man, Spike.”

Spike had to swallow back the emotion that suddenly lodged in his throat. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough and genuinely awed. “No one’s ever said that t’ me before, Buffy – not even when I was a man.” Spike dipped his head and kissed her again, soft and gentle, undemanding – a kiss that conveyed all the love he held in his heart for her.

Bang, bang, bang…

Buffy released her own groan of frustration and Spike pushed up off her and stood up. His injured thigh, which had somehow stopped hurting a few moments before, shot pain into his hip and knee when he stood up. He fell back onto his butt on the other bed to get the weight off it.

“Are you alright?” Buffy asked worriedly as she sat up and moved to the edge of her own bed. “Are you hurt?”

“I’ll do. The wanker stuck a stake in m’ leg last night. Just hasn’t quite healed yet,” Spike explained, assuming she didn’t recall the skirmish, which she didn't.

“A stake? In your leg?” Buffy repeated, confused.

Spike shrugged. “He never was big on book learnin’. Reckon he needs a remedial anatomy lesson t’ locate the heart.”

Buffy snorted a laugh and shook her head.

“Better get dressed and packed up, luv. The sooner we find a new place t’ hole up, the sooner we can … resume our … dance,” he suggested, leering at her, his voice growing lower and sexier as he went.

Buffy shivered just from the timbre of his voice, but nodded and got up to start tossing things into the suitcases. While she did that, Spike woke the Bot up and set her to helping Buffy. When they’d gotten dressed, had everything packed, and were down to just his cooler of blood to load into the DeSoto, he asked Buffy if she’d take it to the car for him.

“Need the Bot t’ … check my bandage a mo',” he explained, waving a hand at his injured leg.

Buffy gave him a suspicious look, but hefted the cooler up and headed to the car with it.

“Is the bandage I applied earlier not satisfactory?” the Bot asked, looking at him with concern.

“No – yeah … it’s fine,” he replied when Buffy was gone and the door closed behind her. “Need ya t’ help me with something else, luv.”

“I am at your command,” the Bot replied, grinning widely. “How may I be of service to you?”

Spike adjusted himself in his still-frustratingly tight jeans and moaned at the images her words conjured, but shook the thought off. He had the real Buffy now – he could wait. He motioned with his head for her to follow him. He stopped near the headboard of the bed he and Buffy had been on earlier and began banging it against the wall in a steady rhythm. He smirked and increased the pace when Angel began banging against the wall in the bathroom – apparently with his hard head.

As Spike banged the headboard on the wall, he leaned over and whispered into the Bot’s ear, “Reactivate the ‘Sounds to Make and Words to Use During Sex’ file and run through ‘em, luv.”

The Bot’s gaze became unfocused a moment, then she began to moan deeply and call Spike’s name as she stood casually beside him. Spike smirked and added his own moans to hers as he increased the rhythm of the headboard banging against the wall to a frantic pace.

When the Bot began to scream out, “Take me, take me, I’m yours! Oh, Spike! I’m yours!” Spike growled and banged the headboard harder, but more deliberately. He heard Angel roar in frustration and anger from the bathroom and it was all the blond could do to keep from bursting out laughing. Spike stilled the headboard as the Bot panted and cooed beside him, as if she’d just been taken to heaven and back again.

“I love you, Buffy,” Spike vowed to the Bot, wishing for the day he could say it to Buffy again without fear of her retreating from him.

“I love you, Spike,” the Bot replied breathlessly, as he knew she would. “I’ll always be yours.”

The Bot tilted her head and seemed to focus inwards a moment before asking, “Shall I start this prog…”

“Shhhh…” Spike hushed her, quietly, laying a finger on her lips. “No,” he whispered against her ear. “That’ll do.”

When they emerged from the room into the still-steamy, early evening air, Buffy was leaning against the trunk of the car, her arms crossed over her chest. She glared from one to the other of them, then settled her sharp gaze on Spike. “Get everything … taken care of?” she asked, looking pointedly down to his crotch – not his injured thigh – and then back up to his eyes again.

Spike shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny, the self-satisfied grin fading from his lips. “Yeah – everything’s … fine.”

“Got the bandaged changed, did you?” Buffy pressed.

“Yeah, yeah … got it changed,” Spike replied dismissively as he limped quickly for the driver’s door.

“Huh. That’s amazing, since I packed all the bandages up and loaded them into the car not fifteen minutes ago,” Buffy shot back, anger flaring in her eyes. “You’re a pig, Spike! How could you?”

Bugger!

“Buffy, it’s not what you think, luv,” Spike defended, holding his hands up in surrender. “Nothing happened. Just taking the piss outta Angel is all.”

Buffy turned her accusing eyes to the Bot. “What did you and Spike just do in there?”

“He banged the headboard against the wall and then I began program one from the ‘Sounds to Make and Words to Use During Sex’ file. This included the proper vocalizations for foreplay, penetration, intercourse, climax, and post-fornication embrace.”

Buffy cocked an angry brow at Spike, her eyes blazing with fury.

“Buffy, she said the words and I banged the headboard against the wall with my hand. Bloody hell! We didn’t … engage in anything,” he defended emphatically. Spike stepped up to Buffy and pulled one of her hands from where she had it tucked against her ribcage. He pressed it against the hardness in his jeans, barely repressing a moan as her warm hand touched him.

Buffy pulled her hand back as if it had been burned, but her indignant look faded a small fraction. Spike leaned next to her ear and whispered. “It’s you I want, luv. Only you.”

Buffy laid her palms on his chest and shoved him back away from her. She turned to the Bot again. “So, you didn’t actually … fornicate?”

The Bot tilted her head as she thought about the question, then re-focused on Buffy. “No. That file has been deactivated.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and sighed, looking back at Spike. “One day I’m gonna take you and Angel, put you in a room and just let you two fight it out.”

“Bells? Hadn't really thought of bells ... I was thinking there could be some kind of oil … or Jell-O … maybe pudding involved,” Buffy offered, thinking aloud as she bit back a grin. “Naked vampire wrestling in a vat of chocolate pudding. I could sell tickets – make a million.”

Spike looked at her in disbelief a moment, then gave her a wolfish smile. “Cheeky wench, you are.”

“And you’re insufferably juvenile at times,” she retorted as she pushed off the trunk and headed for the passenger side of the car.

“But in a bloody adorable way, right?” Spike prompted, his eyes flashing with amusement.

“You have your moments,” Buffy admitted with a sigh as she climbed in. “Not sure this is one of them…”

**~**

Spike felt like the king of the bloody world as he rode the elevator up to their new suite on the top floor of the MGM Grand. With Buffy’s hand in the crook of one elbow and the Bot’s in the other, he drew looks from every man and woman that entered the lift. The porter was waiting for them with their bags already set out in the dressing area and a magnum of champagne chilling in the sitting room. Giant vases of fresh flowers adorned nearly every flat surface, their fragrance making it seem like they’d just walked into a tropical garden rather than a hotel room, and room service was on the way. Off to one side of the sitting room was a bedroom larger than Spike’s crypt back home, a spa-bathroom to match it, and a floor-to-ceiling mirrored dressing area. All gratis.

Spike flipped the porter a $50 chip after the young man showed them around the suite.

“Thank you, Mr. Gambolputty,” the young man, a redhead who was clearly not as old as Spike’s duster, tittered.

“Name’s Heir Johann Gambolputty de von Ausfern-schplenden-schlitter von Hautkopft of Ulm,” Spike corrected tersely in his best German accent.

“Uhhh … Yes, sir … Mr. … ummm … Heir … What should I call you then?” the porter asked worriedly, his face scrunching up in confusion.

Spike shrugged. “You can call me Spike,” he replied deadpan, returning to his normal Cockney-esque accent. 

“Oh. Okay. Thank you, Mr. Spike,” the young man replied, relieved, the smile returning to his lips. “Just call if you need anything. The service numbers are right on the phone.”

“Will do, Opie,” Spike assured him as the young man let himself out.

Buffy rolled her eyes and looked at Spike. “How am I supposed to remember that name?” she wondered.

Spike looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “It’s a classic. How can you not remember it?”

“Smith. ‘Smith’ is a classic ‘check into a hotel’ pseudonym. Mr. and Mrs. Gobble-de-gook is … totally not classic!”

“Is it possible you have never watched Monty Python?” Spike wondered incredulously.

“I don’t like nature shows … something always gets eaten. I can’t handle all that gore and violence.”

“You can’t handle … gore and violence?” Spike laughed. “You’re the bloody Slayer, pet – you eat gore and violence for breakfast.”

“It’s different,” Buffy objected. “The big mean animals are always eating the cute little baby animals, and then the mother animals are looking for their babies… It’s just depressing.”

Spike shook his head. “You’ve lived a sheltered life, Summers. Can see right now, I got a lotta work ahead o’ me.”

“I’m telling you right now, I’m not watching any mountain pythons eating little baby meerkats, so you can just forget it.”

“I’ll try t’ keep the meerkat eatin’ pythons to a minimum, pet.”

**~**

A few minutes later, Buffy stepped out onto the balcony that looked over the bright lights of the Vegas strip. Despite the late hour, or early hour, depending on your perspective, the town was still buzzing with traffic, people, brilliant lights, and blaring sound – the city that truly never sleeps. She leaned against the railing and closed her eyes, letting the cool desert air blow over her face. After spending the entire night in the casino downstairs, it was a relief to finally breathe some relatively fresh air.

Spike walked up behind her, pressing lightly against her back, and offered her a glass of the bubbly. Buffy gave him a smile over her shoulder, and took it from his hand as she turned back to look at the view.

“Bloody genius you are, pet,” Spike offered as he nuzzled through her long hair into the nape of her neck, breathing her in.

Buffy closed her eyes and pressed back into him, savoring the feel of his lips as they touched her skin. “You’re the card shark…”

“Sharp,” Spike corrected, emphasizing the ‘p’ on the end with a burst of cool air against her neck.

“Huh?” she asked, turning and stepping slightly to the side to look at him.

Spike sighed at the loss of contact, but let her go. “Card sharp, luv, not shark,” Spike explained, taking a sip of his own champagne.

“Are you sure? ‘Cos I always heard it as ‘shark’,” Buffy argued, leaning against the railing with one elbow as she looked at him.

“In my time, a card shark was a cheat … a card sharp was just bloody good. Didn’t cheat, did I? Couldn’t bloody cheat – watch ya too bleedin’ close here,” Spike admitted.

Buffy shrugged. “Either way, you won the money … and the room – that makes you the genius. And if you ever tell anyone I said that, I’ll kill you.”

Spike chuckled, a low, melodious rumbling, and mimicked her stance, standing facing Buffy and leaning one elbow on the railing close to her. “But it was your idea t’ stay ‘ere. I was ready to high-tail it outta Dodge,” Spike pointed out.

Buffy shrugged again. “Which is exactly what Angel would expect us to do. If he decides to be an ass and keep looking, he’d never look for us right here where he already found us. And, anyway, we needed more money.”

“You’re bloody devious … always liked that about you, Slayer,” Spike revealed.

Buffy snorted softly and took a sip of her champagne, turning and leaning both her forearms on the railing to look out at the city. “I guess I had some good teachers. You might want to … remember that about me,” she warned softly.

Spike furrowed his brow and studied her, trying to suss her out, but his efforts were thwarted by the vision before him. The desert wind was blowing her hair back from her face in soft waves, transfixing him. It flew out like strands of spun gold, shining in the lights of the city below. She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen – a vision of light and goodness – more than he deserved.

“I trust you, Slayer,” he said at last.

Buffy looked at him, turning just her head. “Maybe you shouldn’t. I’m not the Slayer anymore. Not sure what I am … who I am.”

“You don’t just stop being the Slayer, pet,” Spike pointed out.

“Oh yeah? Watch me,” Buffy tossed back, her voice angry, harsh with regret and guilt.

“Not something you can get rid of any more than I can get rid o’ my demon,” Spike offered.

“Maybe not. But I can … muzzle it – just like your demon’s been muzzled.”

“Oi!” Spike objected, insulted. “Not a bloody dog.”

Buffy shrugged and looked back out at the city. “When was the last time your demon killed a human?” she asked rhetorically. “It’s muzzled … chained up, pushed back, controlled – whatever you want to call it. If you can do it, I can do it.”

“You gonna ring up the gigantic hall monitor and get 'im and his buddies to chip ya then?” Spike wondered sarcastically.

“Already got it,” Buffy told him, never looking at him – her eyes focused on the city lights in the distance, even if she didn’t actually see them. “It’s called ‘Dawn’.”

“Buffy,” Spike cajoled softly, reaching a hand out to touch her shoulder.

She turned her head and looked at him. “I’m serious, Spike. I’m done. So … if you want the Slayer, you need to keep looking – I’m passing the torch.”

“Slayer only passes the torch when she dies, luv,” Spike pointed out.

“Yeah, well – been there, done that, got the t-shirt. Faith’s the Slayer now. I’m dead. I kept fighting, thinking I could make a difference, but I can’t. I couldn’t save her, Spike. I couldn’t save my own sister. What fucking good is being the Slayer if you can’t save your own family?” she demanded, as tears filled her eyes.

Buffy looked down at her hands as the river of blood began to bubble up from the dark depths of her mind again, coating everything in a red pall of guilt. The champagne glass fell from her fingers and dropped into the open air below the balcony as her hands began to tremble uncontrollably. They were covered in thick, hot blood. It dripped off them, following the champagne flute into the night sky above the city streets.

“Oh, God … Oh, Spike … no … no … it’s … I’m … it's starting,” she stammered, looking up at him with wide, frightened eyes. She held her hands up for him to see the blood, but he, of course, didn’t see it. “So much blood…” she murmured, turning her hands over and back again – staring at them with wide, shimmering eyes.

Spike dropped his own glass onto the balcony, shattering it, and grabbed her by her upper arms, making her focus on him. “Buffy, you’re stronger than this. Fight it, luv. Stay with me … stay with me, Buffy,” he admonished her.

“Spike … I can’t,” Buffy gasped as the guilt of failing her sister began to overwhelm her psyche yet again.

“You can!” he argued, shaking her slightly to make her focus on him.

“Dawn … Oh, God … Dawn. I … failed. I killed her. Mom begged me to take care of her and I … couldn’t. Everyone was depending on me and I … wasn’t strong enough, not smart enough … not fast enough,” Buffy cried, hot, salty tears streaking her face. Suddenly, her knees buckled and she began to fall to the floor of the balcony.

Spike scooped her into his arms, his bad leg nearly giving way under the extra weight. After regaining his balance and gritting his teeth against the renewed pain, he carried her back into the room, constantly admonishing her to stay with him, to not give into it, that it wasn’t her fault. He reminded her about what her mum had told her in the dream: about not cheapening Dawn’s sacrifice, but nothing worked. By the time he set her down on the bed, Buffy’s mind had been flooded by the crimson tide of guilt. She was lost to him yet again.

As Spike stood up after laying her on the bed, Buffy clutched at his arms, his shirt – whatever she could reach. “No leave. Spike! No leave,” she begged him frantically.

“Not leavin’, luv,” Spike assured her, grabbing her hands in his and holding them in a firm grip.

“Alone. Blood. Spike … no leave,” Buffy continued chanting as she pulled her hands free and began tugging at him again. “Blood hurts. Hurts, Spike. Spike stop hurt.”

“Shhhh…” Spike cajoled as he sat down next to her and pulled her to him. Buffy scrambled into his arms, onto his lap like a child, and Spike rocked her.

“Hurts. Hurts. Blood burns. So hot. Make stop. Help Dawn. Save Dawn,” Buffy continued prattling incoherently as he ran a hand down from her hair and over her back, soothing her.

“It’s alright, Buffy. Spike’s ‘ere. Not leaving, pet. Shhhhh….” he murmured to her as she cuddled against him like a child seeking solace after waking from a nightmare.

“There is someone knocking on our door,” BuffyBot announced, coming to stand in the doorway to the bedroom. “What shall I do?”

“Room service – let ‘em in,” Spike told her. He freed one hand from Buffy, dug another $50 chip from his pocket, and tossed it to the Bot. “Have ‘em leave it and give this to ‘em as they’re leaving,” he instructed her. “And shut that door.”

The Bot nodded sharply before shutting the door to the bedroom and going to answer the knocking.

“Help Dawn. Spike help Dawn. Spike sex Buffy…” Buffy muttered as Spike turned his attention back to her.

Suddenly Buffy began groping at Spike’s chest and stomach – anything she could reach. Pulling at his t-shirt, raking at his skin with her nails. “Buffy, luv – stop,” Spike said, his voice gentle as he tried to catch and still her hands.

“No – save Dawn! Spike sex Buffy! Make baby!” Buffy exclaimed, her eyes now wild as she slid off his lap and began scratching at his belt and the zipper of his jeans.

“Buffy! Slayer! Stop!” Spike demanded, his voice growing more determined and frantic.

“Help Dawn! Save Dawn!” Buffy continued, apparently not even hearing him as she managed to get his belt unhooked in her frenzy. “Sex make baby! Spike sex! Sex with Buffy,” she continued, ripping at the button on his jeans.

“Bloody hell, woman! NO! Not like this!” he growled, jumping up and dropping her onto the floor as he did so.

Spike’s chip fired when he pushed her and he clutched at his head as the electrically-charged muzzle flashed its painful warning inside his skull. Spike fell to the floor next to the bed, momentarily dazed. He shook his head, trying to clear it so he could move away from Buffy, but it was too late. The Slayer was atop him, ripping at his zipper in a frantic effort to undress him.

“SLAYER! STOP!” Spike yelled at her, trying to roll onto his stomach and away from her wildly grasping hands. The stabbing pain began in his leg again and Spike could feel blood begin to flow from the wound as he struggled to get free from her.

The irony of the situation flashed in Spike’s mind as he fought against her. How many times over the last months would he have welcomed such an advance from her? How often had he dreamed of her wanting him, of taking her in a wild flurry of preternatural lust? A hundred? A million? But now it wasn’t what he wanted. Not like this. This wasn’t Buffy – and he knew she wouldn’t want this either when she came back to herself.

“Spike sex Buffy!” she demanded, pinning him with her hips as she gripped the waistband of his jeans and ripped the teeth of his zipper apart by main force.

Spike tried again to capture her hands, but they seemed to move faster than they had any right to. Even when he managed to grab one, she would yank free with adrenaline-powered Slayer strength, leaving him grasping at air. In desperation, he punched up at her, delivering a wild blow that connected with her jaw and momentarily stunned her. Unfortunately, it also stunned Spike, who screamed out in agony and clutched his head as the chip fired again.

Buffy recovered first and had his cock out of his pants, stroking it frantically to hardness.

“No … no … Buffy … don’t,” Spike begged her through the haze of agony which stabbed at his senses from both his leg and his head. He tried to focus on the pain to keep his body from reacting to her touch, but it did no good. Pain and pleasure had gone hand in hand for too many years with Dru – his body had been trained more thoroughly than Pavlov's dog. He responded to the pain, and he hardened obediently under her touch.

“Please … Buffy … you don’t want this,” Spike tried desperately to reason with her, pushing at her hands, trying to roll away from her.

“Spike sex Buffy,” Buffy-but-not-Buffy repeated.

When she stood up to undo her own jeans, Spike got his chance. He turned over and pushed up to all fours, scrambling wildly toward the door and leaving a trail of blood in his wake. He’d just gotten it open when Buffy caught him by one foot and yanked him back, slamming the door again.

“Bot! Help! B...!” he yelled out at their roommate before the door closed, cutting him off. 

BuffyBot, who was waiting to give the young man that had brought their meal the pretty colored disc, looked at the bedroom door just as it slammed closed again, her brows furrowed.

“Do you … uhhh … need to check on that?” the young waiter asked, looking from the blonde standing next to him to the door. He had just started setting the covered plates, condiments, and drinks out on the table for them, but the frantic interruption stopped him cold.

BuffyBot looked back at the young man, recalling her previous orders. “I must wait for you to finish and give you this plastic disc as you leave,” she said matter-of-factly.

In the next moment, Spike’s panicked voice could be heard through the door. “Bot! Get your bloody arse in here! Now!”

BuffyBot looked at the waiter at the same time he looked at her. “Sounds like he kinda wants you in there…” the young man pointed out.

“You will complete your duties and wait here. When I return, I will give you the plastic disc and you may leave,” she ordered the waiter, pleased with her solution to the contradictory instructions.

“Sure … whatever you say. I’ll wait,” he agreed, eagerly eyeing the $50 tip she had in her hand as he resumed setting the food out on the table.

The Bot nodded and strode purposely to the bedroom door. “My bloody arse is here, as requested,” she said as she stepped into the bedroom and closed the door behind her.

“Get this barmy woman off me!” Spike screamed at her as she came into the room.

The Bot assessed the situation a moment. Spike was pinned beneath the Other Slayer. Her jeans and thong lay in a heap on the floor; Spike’s jeans were shoved down around his knees. She could see the wound on his thigh, which was bleeding profusely again, the bandage completely red and dripping with blood. Spike was squirming under Buffy, rolling as much as he could, and grabbing at her hands frantically, trying to push them away or still them. Buffy had Spike’s hard shaft held firmly in her hand, trying to hold him still and guide him into her opening.

“I am not familiar with this form of combat,” the Bot stated, studying them as they wrestled and grappled wildly on the floor.

“Bloody hell! Just grab her and get her the fuck off me ‘fore she does something we’ll all regret and rips my dangly bits off!”

The Bot nodded sharply, stepped forward, and wrapped her arms around Buffy’s upper-arms and torso. When Buffy's hands let go of Spike and she began trying to pry free from the Bot's grip, the robot lifted her twin straight up off Spike. Buffy kicked and screamed wildly as she was pulled off, smashing Spike in the chin with one foot before he could scramble away.

Spike crawled to the door of the bedroom, leaning his back against it and wiping the blood from his mouth where Buffy had kicked him as he watched Buffy struggle against the Bot.

“Spike! No leave! Please! Make baby! Spike sex Buffy,” she continued to rant as she flailed her legs and head, trying to wrench free of the Bot’s grasp.

“Can ya hold ‘er?” Spike asked, gasping for unneeded air as he tried to pull his jeans back up over his butt.

“Yes. As per specifications, I was created to withstand the force of a ‘freight-train slamming into me repeatedly.’”

At just that moment, however, Buffy, now covered in perspiration that turned her into something like a thrashing, greased-eel, wriggled free of the Bot’s grasp.

“Bloody hell!” Spike exclaimed as she started for him again. He yanked the door open and scrambled out into the sitting room and up to his feet, pulling the door closed with both hands just as he heard Buffy hit it and the Bot hit her.

“Uhhhh … is everything alright?” the young man asked from where he waited next to the room service cart.

Spike spun around, eyes wide in shocked-surprise. “Uhhh … yeah. Just a slap and a tickle…” he explained quickly, pulling his jeans up the rest of the way and tucking himself into them as much as he could with the broken zipper.

He fastened his belt back – at least she hadn’t broken that – so he wouldn’t have to hold his jeans up like a git. The broken zipper gaped open and Spike readjusted himself so nothing would … peek out. Blood began to drip down his leg and soak into the carpet at Spike's feet. He turned slightly to the side to hide it from the room service waiter.

“Did you … need some help with them?” the young man offered, eyeing the door as sounds that could be a struggle … or something much more pleasant, continued to stream from behind it. “Sounds like they could be … more than one man can handle.”

Spike growled slightly at the man’s implication, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Handle ‘em fine, I do. What the bloody hell are you still doin’ here?”

The young man held his hands up in a placating gesture. “The hot blonde told me to wait for my tip,” he explained.

Spike sighed. “Right. 'Ere,” he said, pulling another chip out of his pocket and tossing it to the waiter. 

When a particularly wild, almost blood-curdling scream came from the bedroom, the young man hesitated. “You’re sure…” he began, eyeing the door hopefully.

“Anyone touches my women won’t live t’ see the bloody dawn,” Spike warned, a snarl on his lips.

The young man held his hands up again in surrender and headed for the door. When it closed behind him, Spike slumped, hands resting heavily on his knees, and closed his eyes. “Most likely includin’ me,” he added dryly.

**~**