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

A couple of weeks later…

“We must select Slayer theme music,” the Bot proclaimed as she and Buffy left the Vegas theatre where they’d just watched the Cirque Du Soleil perform. “It appears the music made them stronger and more flexible, and it may do the same for us. Other superheroes have music. Batman has music; Superman has music; Underdog has music. Even Darth Vader had music. We should have our own music.”

“Uhhhh, I guess,” Buffy stammered, still a bit flabbergasted that normal humans could do the stuff she’d just witnessed. She didn’t think she could do half of what they had just done. Maybe the Cirque Du Soleil performers were some kind of acrobatic demons. Were there such things as acrobatic demons? She'd have to ask Spike ... Then she frowned, the Bot's words sinking in. “Darth Vader? That didn’t really end well for him, did it?”

The Bot shrugged. “Maybe if he’d had better music he wouldn’t have been so easily swayed by the dark side,” she contended. “I believe Luke had much more appropriate music for a hero.”

Buffy laughed and shook her head. “If you say so. Why don’t you work on that?” she suggested.

Suddenly the Bot’s mouth opened and the ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ began blasting at top volume from her throat. Buffy gasped and pushed up on the Bot’s chin, closing her mouth. “Shhhhh!” she admonished her BFF-Bot, looking around sheepishly at the other patrons leaving the theatre.

“You do not like Wagner?” the Bot asked, confused.

“Sure, he’s very … music-y,” Buffy replied, pulling the Bot off to one side of the hallway. “But it’s already been used in ‘Apocalypse Now’ ... although …” Buffy mused, tapping a finger on her pursed lips, and then shrugged. “We’re usually pretty apocalypse-y. It might work, actually.

“I don’t know. Let’s just … think about it. Spike might have some ideas too. Maybe something more modern,” Buffy suggested.

The Bot opened her mouth again and Carl Douglas began singing, “♫ Everybody was Kung-fu fighting…”

Buffy laughed and put her hand over the Bot’s mouth. “I don’t think so. Let’s wait until we get back to the room, okay?”

The Bot nodded and closed her mouth, and the muffled song behind Buffy’s hand stopped.

Every day since 'that bloody brilliant night', as it had come to be referred to, Buffy had planned on leaving. She'd squirreled away money and chips that Spike had given her to spend, even bought a bus ticket to New York City. She'd packed her bags more than once, but then ended up unpacking them again before anyone saw. She was on the starting line, she just couldn't quite push off. Each day she told herself that 'tomorrow' she would leave. So far, two weeks on, tomorrow had never come.

While Buffy was secretly planning her escape, the three roommates had fallen into a bit of a routine. Spike would go to dinner with them each evening, then he’d go to the casino to continue amassing his, or their – as he insisted it was – fortune. While he was doing that, Buffy and the Bot would go to one of the many shows that the hotel gave their VIPs complimentary tickets for. After the show, the two girls would window shop, or shop-shop, or just walk for a while, people-watching. Buffy and the Bot usually went back to their room by one or two a.m., maybe talked a bit more or watched TV. After that, Buffy got her shower, and the Bot lay down on the couch in the sitting room to charge. Spike usually showed by three or four.

Then came the part of the day that Buffy looked forward to most, and the part that she knew she would miss most when the day came that she really had to leave. She and Spike would make love and talk, and make love again. They’d sleep and wake up and make love again. They’d order in breakfast and eat and talk and laugh and make love again until they both finally fell into utterly exhausted and contented slumber, and the cycle would start again with dinner out.

Buffy had become better and better at pushing back the red river of guilt over the last days with Spike. She continued to use his eyes as her anchor to sanity and could even fight it back when he wasn't even near. She could close her eyes and see his face, see the azure pools of adoration threaded with the golden sparks of demonic power beneath, and the guilt and anguish would simply melt away, recede like a glacier touched by warm, tropical sunshine. The better she got at it, the more confidence she had in her ability to stay in control, and the less often the guilt-monster tested her, giving her even more confidence. It was a vicious cycle that, for once, worked in her favor.

The only thing about ‘that bloody brilliant night’, that Spike ever mentioned to Buffy was that she shouldn’t expect those kinds of mind-blowing fireworks all the time. He was good, but he wasn’t that good every time. That night was, he told her, a once in a lifetime – the stars, moon, and planets had all been aligned for them that night. She assured him that she didn’t expect that every night, and what they had was perfect – he was perfect, and he never left her wanting. It twisted her heart to do it, but she agreed with him about it being ‘once in a lifetime’ without telling him just how right he was about that night. The other thing she never did again was repeat those three little words that she'd let slip from her lips as he lay unconscious in her arms. Giving him that and then yanking it away, she reasoned, would be worse than never giving it to him at all. Leaving him would be hard enough as it was without those words hanging like an empty promise in the air between them.

Over the last days and nights, Spike had taught her things about her body that she was sure Dr. Ruth couldn’t have told her, shown her positions the Kama Sutra lacked, and pleasured her with toys she had no idea even existed. He somehow made even her most embarrassing cravings and curiosities seem perfectly natural. He made her darkest desires feel right, made her most twisted fantasies come true. He could mix pain with pleasure in the most amazing ways and leave her utterly satisfied and yearning for more at the same time. She felt like something inside her had been freed. He'd touched the deepest parts of her being – parts that she'd denied for so long– and somehow made it seem right.

She would miss him in so many ways, and to her chagrin it wouldn’t just be physically. Her heart would break the day she left, she knew it. He'd earned her trust and her affection and she'd finally given it to him, utterly and completely. He'd brought her from the darkness into the light and then shown her how to walk the path between those two worlds. He anchored her so she didn't fall back into the abyss, but gave her permission to swim in the dark worlds of lustful desire that she'd denied for so long.

As the two blonde twins walked through a mall-like shopping center in the hotel where the show had been, Buffy laid her hand over her lower abdomen. Her period wasn’t due for another few days. When she missed it, Spike would be sure to notice – and she was very sure she would miss it. She had no illusions about his knowledge of exactly when she menstruated – she’d been too near him for too long. Stupid, creepy vampire smelling. She might be able to forestall questions for a day or two, but if she was later than that he was sure to notice.

When that happened, there would be questions. Questions she couldn’t answer. How could she tell him that she’d used him to make a baby? She felt dirty, like she’d raped him, stolen part of him without his knowledge or permission, just like the monks had. But she’d had no choice. She had to save Dawn’s soul, and Spike had made it clear that he had no desire for a child. Buffy had even brought the subject up once or twice more in round-about ways, and Spike’s disdain for the idea never wavered.

She considered telling him and simply begging for his forgiveness, but the thought of it terrified her. What if he didn’t forgive her? What if he hated her? What if he looked at her with disdain and contempt? This was going to be hard enough on her heart, she didn’t think it could take seeing those emotions in his eyes.

Buffy’s logical mind knew just how crazy it sounded, but to spare her heart the possibility of utter decimation, she would have to leave Spike before he found out about the baby and left her, or worse: stayed but resented her for it. Her heart would be broken, but it wouldn’t be destroyed. It was the lesser of two evils. The possibility that Spike would forgive her seemed so remote that it didn’t even make a blip on her emotional radar.

She was the Slayer and she had a mission. Her heart had been broken more than once in the name of the mission; it was, it seemed, her true calling. She simply had to make sure it wasn't broken so completely that she couldn't take care of their child, and to do that she would have to leave him before he shattered her with his scorn and rejection. Tomorrow ... or, perhaps the tomorrow after that. Definitely one of these tomorrows would be their last.

“Let’s go in here,” Buffy suggested as they got to the swankiest ice cream parlor she’d ever seen. If the ice cream was as rich as the décor, she may just die right there from the utter bliss of it.

The Bot turned in and Buffy directed her to a booth in the back. The menu was like something from the Guy Savoy over at Cesar’s Palace, which Spike had taken them to the week before. She suddenly felt a bit underdressed in her short skirt, sandals, and button-down blouse.

Golden Opulence Sundae. $1,000.

Five scoops of Tahitian Vanilla Bean ice cream mixed with Madagascar vanilla and Venezuelan Chuao chocolate. The decadent foundation is set off with a leaf covered in 23K edible gold and surrounded by golden dragets, Paris candied fruits, marzipan cherries, and truffles. This decadent sundae is topped off with Amedei Porcelana drizzled over the top, and a Ron Ben-Israel sugar flower. But the experience doesn’t end there! Topping the sundae you’ll also find a small glass bowl of Grand Passion Caviar, sweetened with orange, passion fruit, and Armagnac, which gives off a shiny golden color. Eat your sundae in style: an 18K gold spoon is provided to eat your delicious treat out of a Harcourt crystal goblet.

“Holy shit,” Buffy muttered under her breath as she searched for something she could afford.

She finally settled on something with less glitz and precious metals: a brownie sundae for $50, along with a cup of coffee. She gave her order to the waitress and, after getting her coffee, she summoned her courage to do what she knew needed to be done. Buffy had to get the Bot prepared for the day when Buffy left. She couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Spike completely alone. The Bot was all she could give him, and she intended to make sure he knew that Buffy gave her blessing for him to be with her twin.

“It is a very good thing that Spike is so talented with games of chance,” the Bot observed after the waitress left. “Otherwise you would starve.”

Buffy chuckled nervously and nodded. “No doubt. Man – I had no idea there was such a thing as a thousand dollar sundae. Geez … and I thought McDonald’s was overpriced when they went to $1.29 for their sundaes. I guess I’m not very good being a high roller’s girl.”

“Spike seems satisfied with your performance,” the Bot offered matter-of-factly.

Buffy blushed and fidgeted with her coffee cup, looking down at the table. “Yeah, I guess … Which brings me to something I wanted to talk to you about,” she forged ahead. Summoning her courage, Buffy looked up at the Bot. “Spike had you deactivate some files and programs.”

“Yes,” the Bot replied.

“Can you … reactivate them anytime?” Buffy wondered.

“Yes. I am extremely efficient at managing my files.”

Buffy nodded and gave the Bot a smile. “Good. Ummm … I was thinking that Spike might like to spend some … time with both of us … together.”

“Spike spends an average of 2.76 hours per day with both of us together,” the Bot pointed out helpfully. “I believe he is satisfied with this level of interaction.”

Buffy sighed – hints were not gonna get it with the Bot. She started to get more explicit, but stopped talking when the waitress came with a brownie sundae that could’ve fed a Mongol horde.

“Wow – I didn’t ask for it to be supersized,” Buffy commented as the punchbowl full of rich, dark chocolate brownies and decadent French vanilla ice cream was placed in front of her. The ice cream had been drizzled with hot fudge and then covered with Maraschino cherries, sliced bananas, pecans, and walnuts. The whole thing was then topped with real whipped cream – as in cream that had been whipped, not sprayed from a can – and that was dusted with Ghirardelli’s cocoa.

“There must be a whole pan of brownies here… and a whole half-gallon of ice cream,” she continued as she eyed the mountain of food from one side, then tilted her head to check the other.

“Biggest, baddest thing you’ve ever had in your mouth, honey,” the waitress assured her with a wink.

Buffy choked and flushed, and thought, You’ve never met Spike, but aloud she just said, “Uhhh ... right. Thanks.”

When the waitress left, Buffy tucked into the mound of sugary-goodness and talked between bites and moans of pleasure. If Buffy had never met Spike, she would’ve agreed with the waitress – it was heavenly!

“What I meant was, I think that you should reactivate those files that he had you deactivate and then … use those programs to spend more time with Spike and I,” Buffy clarified between bites.

The Bot’s eyes became a bit unfocused, the clue that she was ‘thinking’, then she looked back at Buffy. “You wish me to have sex with you and Spike,” she announced in a too-loud voice. “I believe that is called a ménage à trois or a threesome.”

Buffy choked on the food in her mouth, inhaling some brownie into her windpipe, and began coughing. Her eyes teared up, and she thought she was going to have to do something really gross to clear her windpipe. After a long minute, she finally got her throat cleared (without resorting to anything too unladylike) and swallowed what was in her mouth. By now people at tables and booths near them were casting furtive glances at the blonde twins.

“Inside voice! Geez! Announce it over the loudspeaker, why don’t you?” Buffy growled at the Bot in a mock whisper.

“If that is preferable,” BuffyBot began as she began to slide out of the booth, presumably to go in search of a loudspeaker.

Buffy put her hand on the Bot’s arm and stopped her. “A figure of speech,” she clarified. “Not literal.”

“Oh. I understand. You were using sarcasm. I am still compiling a file on sarcasm, it is incomplete.”

Buffy sighed. “Ok … those files that he had you deactivate. Do any of them have … scenarios for … threesomes?” Buffy asked, keeping her voice low.

The Bot’s mind whirled behind her eyes a moment, then she nodded. “Yes. I have several scenarios for threesomes. Do you wish me to diagram them for you?”

“Uhhh … no. I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” Then, after a beat, “You can do that?”

“Yes. I have above-average hand-eye coordination and can draw in perfect detail in several mediums, including pencil, charcoal ...”

“That is so not fair. I can barely draw stick figures,” Buffy groused, cutting the Bot off. She sighed. “Also non-pointy.”

“Actually, the pencils are quite pointy,” the Bot corrected.

“No … I mean … never mind,” Buffy huffed out a breath, then began again in earnest. “Bot, do you remember when I cut my arms?”

“Of course. I run diagnostic tests daily and my ROM and RAM is in perfect working order,” the Bot replied.

“Right. And I asked you to love Spike for me?”

“Yes. I agreed.”

“Right, you did. I want you to promise, if anything … happens to me ... If I … go away or … well, just anything happens and Spike’s alone ... or for some reason I can't be with him, that you’ll love him for me, okay?”

“I have not rescinded my promise. It remains in effect,” the Bot assured Buffy. “I am excellent at keeping promises.”

“Good. That’s good. Ok, but you need to not be jealous, ok? If he finds someone else to love, then you can … stand down, go back to just being his friend if that’s what he wants. Take your cues from him. Don't go all Othello on him. Understand?”

“Yes. I understand fully. My verbal and written comprehension of the English language is in the 100^th percentile among English-speaking college graduates,” BuffyBot agreed.

Buffy furrowed her brow but nodded. Did the Bot go to college? Surely not. “Good … At least I think that’s good. That's good, right?”

"Superlative," the Bot clarified, giving Buffy a nod and a Colgate smile. "Just like Spike's wash-board abs."

"Oh, you mean 'extra-yummy-goodness'," Buffy translated, returning the Bot's smile.

Buffy turned her attention back to her barely-touched mound of chocolate nirvana. She’d eaten as much as she could, but it hardly made a dent in it. “Man, I wish I had a poor country I could send this to. It’d feed a small army for a week.”

“Actually, that would be insufficient to feed even one human adult for a week.  There are approximately 12,000 calories in that dish. It would, of course depend on if the army was made of males or females, and their average weight and fitness levels. It would also depend on if the army was actively engaged in warfare and at what temperatures and in what terrain. A fit male would require approximately 2,000 calories per day, however if they were active …”

“Never mind,” Buffy sighed, waving a hand at the Bot. “That was rhetorical.”

“I am not programmed to recognize rhetoric.”

“I know – sorry,” Buffy apologized as she pulled money from her purse to pay for the dessert. “C’mon – we’ve got some things to do before Spike gets home … errr … back to the room tonight.”

**~** 

When Spike got in in the early hours of the morning, Buffy and the Bot were both on the couch in the sitting room. Buffy was half-snoozing, half-watching TV, and the Bot was charging. They were both dressed in soft, fluffy bath robes and they both smelled of sandalwood and vanilla, the fragrance of the high-end body-wash and shampoo that the hotel provided.

“Honey, I’m home,” Spike called as he closed the door behind him. He dropped his keycard onto the table near the door as well as the ‘spending money’ and loose chips that he’d brought home. The ‘real’ cash – the cash they’d soon use to start a new life – was in a safety deposit box in the hotel’s vault.

“Miss me?” he asked as he leaned over the back of the couch and gave Buffy and upside-down kiss.

“Always,” she purred as she grabbed the back of his neck when he began to pull away. Spike didn’t fight as she deepened the kiss, holding him in place with the gentle pressure of her hand … or perhaps it was the pressure of her lips that was holding him in place.

When she finally released him, he still didn’t move far from her. “What was that for?” he wondered, giving her a sexy, upside-down smirk.

“Got a surprise for you tonight,” Buffy revealed. “There’s an outfit in the bathroom I want you to put on after your shower.”

Spike cocked an upside-down brow at her. “I refuse t’ wear a pink tutu, pet.”

Buffy cocked a brow at him. "A blue tutu would be ok?" Spike started to shrug, but Buffy laughed and shook her head. “It’s not a tutu!”

“Or a feather boa…” Spike added.

“Just go get a shower, you deviant,” she commanded, laughter still in her voice.

“Maybe you’d like t’ join me,” he suggested, running his tongue suggestively over his teeth.

“Not tonight – now go on before I change my mind about your surprise,” she ordered, pushing on his shoulder where he still leaned over her.

Spike gave her one more assessing glance, then acquiesced and headed into the bedroom and the bathroom beyond. After a moment he was back.

“Don’t think it’ll fit, luv,” he informed her, holding a black scarf up across his hips.

Buffy rolled her eyes and got up off the couch. “It’s for your eyes, dummy,” she told him, taking it from his hands and wrapping it around his head to demonstrate. “And no cheating. If you look, you won’t get the surprise.

“There are ear plugs and a nose clip in there too. Put them all on and lay down on the bed … after you shower that smell off you,” she instructed, scrunching up her nose. “Mrs. Ryblonski again, huh?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “What can I say? I’m a bloody babe magnet.”

“Good thing I’m not jealous, or I’d have to steal her walker … and blow up her oxygen tank.”

Spike laughed. “You are the epitome of trust and sharing, luv.”

You have no idea… Buffy thought. “Come in smelling like that ho’ Seashell – what kind of name is that, anyway? Geez! – and I’ll show her just how much I can share … with my fists,” she threatened.

Spike laughed. “No worries, pet. I think you got your point across last time when you threatened to make her spine into a puka shell necklace. Haven’t seen her about of late.”

“Good. You don’t need all those skanks rubbing all over you. You’ve got me for that.

“Now go. Shoo!” she instructed, making a shooing motion with her hands. “The smell of Bengay and ‘White Diamonds’ that’s reeking off you is about to make me hurl.”

Spike gave her an appraising look. “What are you plannin’, Summers?” he wondered.

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it? The ‘duh!’ at the end of that sentence is silent,” she informed him.

“Only one way you’re gonna find out. You do … trust me, don’t you?” she asked coyly.

Spike sighed, gave her one more curious look, then turned and headed for the bathroom again, twisting his hips in an exaggerated motion from side to side as he went. He swung the scarf in his hand like a stripper would twirl an item of clothing before tossing it to the crowd. He stopped in the doorway and looked dramatically back over his shoulder at her. His lips were pursed to highlight his razor-sharp cheekbones, his eyes narrowed into sexy slits. Spike blew her a kiss, then turned away and continued his ‘sexy walk’ into the bedroom.

Buffy laughed and shook her head as she watched him go. Such a perv.

**~**

“Right then, Mistress Pandora, come open your box,” Spike called from the bedroom.  “Your deaf, blind, and … What do ya call someone who can’t smell?” he wondered, his voice strangely muffled by the clip on his nose.

“A sanitation worker,” Buffy supplied, as she moved to the bedroom door, still clad in her fluffy robe.

Spike snorted. It blew the clip off his nose. Buffy scowled at him. “I should’ve gotten the big, steel, industrial strength one.”

Spike pulled the blindfold up – to look for the clamp, of course – and stole a glance around the room and at her. He didn’t see any big surprise waiting for him – or at least nothing he hadn’t seen every night for the last couple of weeks.

Buffy sighed and strode over to where the little plastic swimmer’s clamp fell on the floor, picked it up, and put it in Spike’s hand. “Get in bed, face up, spread-eagle,” she commanded.

“Ooooo … I love it when you act like a bossy bint. Gets me all hot and tingly. Oh – wait – that’s how you act all the bloody time,” Spike taunted as he put the little clamp back on his nose and basically dove onto the bed, bouncing halfway across it before coming to rest near the middle of the wide mattress.

He rolled over until he was face up and then spread his arms and legs out as instructed. “I’m your willin’ slave,” he offered as he waited, his whole body on alert, thrumming with anticipation.

Even with the plugs in his ears, he could still hear – it was just a little muffled. He heard Buffy open a dresser drawer. Since he didn’t think she was getting clothes out, he had to assume she was retrieving some of the toys they’d bought over the last days. Ok, to be fair, he’d picked out most of them.

The memory of her in the sex shop the first time made him grin as he waited for her to give him his surprise. She couldn’t have been more red-faced if she’d been dunked into a vat of ketchup. She followed him around, head bowed, her hair falling over her face to hide her discomfort … or maybe to just hide her identity from anyone that might be looking. She wouldn’t even look at the stuff he picked out, even when he specifically asked her preference on something. I mean, how should he know if she’d rather have a Hopping Rabbit Vibrator, a Wild Orchid, a Thrusting Panther, or a Diving Dolphin? She absolutely refused to even look at them. He chose the panther for her; for some reason the predator theme seemed to suit his Slayer.

He took her back there six times in the first two days, just so he could see her face go through the transformation from pink, to red, to nearly purple. She looked like one of those cartoon characters just before the steam starts whistling out their ears and their eyes bulge out of their heads. It was too bloody cute.

To Buffy’s credit, after ten days and fifteen trips into the shop, she had started picking out some things on her own. Her current favorite was the Twin Teasers vibrator that offered double penetration and a little bunny to hop excitedly over her clit at the same time. Spike had unleashed the monster inside his Slayer … and oh how he loved it. And, the best part was Buffy hadn't retreated into 'Barmy-Buffy' once in the last two weeks, even when faced with Thrusting Panthers and butt plugs. He had Buffy back, and now he had all of her ... or nearly all. Her heart was still elusive, but he could wait for that – there was no rush – they had forever. Every minute, every hour, every day he spent with her only brought them closer, he could feel it in his bones. Every silly argument he let her win, every chick-flick he endured, every hour he spent explaining 'Passions' to her was worth it. She had let him in, metaphorically and literally, it was only a matter of time before she admitted her feelings for him, he was sure of it.

Spike came back to the moment when the handcuffs closed over his right wrist. It was only then that he realized she had shackled him to the bed by his wrists and ankles.  He pulled against them tentatively – they were surprisingly strong; the bed, however, wasn’t, but he had no desire to escape his Mistress. He’d done this to her, but this was the first time she’d done it to him. The added incapacity of the blindfold, ear plugs, and the nose clip left him feeling strangely vulnerable. But wasn’t that the point?

“I know you can hear me, can’t you?” Buffy asked from the right side of the bed where she’d just finished clicking his wrist into the handcuff.

“I can hear you,” he confirmed.

“Mistress…” Buffy added angrily as a sharp swat of a riding crop smacked Spike in the stomach.

“I can hear you, Mistress,” Spike corrected, trying to keep from grinning like a mad-man. Oh, yes … he’d created a monster. A wickedly wonderful horny deviant bossy bint of a dominatrix monster.

Buffy trailed the leather tip of the riding crop down from Spike’s shackled wrist, over his biceps, across the dark hair under his arm – which made him squirm – to his chest. She drew figure-eights over his hard pecs with the leather, making smaller and smaller loops, closing in on his dusky nipples as she went.

Spike jerked his leg, trying to move it away, when a new sensation began on his foot. A feather was trailing lazily from the ticklish bottom of his foot to his ankle and up over his calf.

“Bet you’re one a’ those chits that can pat your head and rub your tummy at the same time,” he commented after a moment.

Buffy’s crop lifted off his chest and smacked down on the hard muscles of his abs again.

“Mistress,” Spike added through clenched teeth, the muscles of his stomach quivering beneath the delicious sting of the leather.

“I can chew gum and walk at the same time, too,” she assured him haughtily.

“We know you’re a vampire,” Buffy continued, as she began the figure-eights on his chest again.

“Do we now?”

“Mmmhmmm,” Buffy confirmed. Spike jumped again as the unmistakable tip of a stake began idly tracing the muscles of his six-pack.

“And … what are ya gonna do with the vampire, Mistress?” Spike wondered as his adrenaline began to climb. He was already hard, but the feel of the sharpened wood against his skin made his cock jump and jerk, dancing with fear and arousal.

“Use him for our pleasure,” Buffy replied matter-of-factly.

Our? Spike thought. Who is ‘our’? She got a bloody mouse in ‘er pocket?

Buffy trailed the soft leather flap at the end of the riding crop over Spike’s nipples, hardening them into pebbles with just a touch. At the same time, the feather tickled his inner thighs before momentarily caressing his balls and cock, then circling around over one hip and beginning again on his thighs.

And in her third hand, Buffy was inching the stake up from his abs toward his heart. What the bloody hell?

Spike didn’t have time to process that very long before the stake stopped over his heart. He felt the tip press into his flesh painfully as the feather ghosted over his balls and cock again. Two primal, brain-stem reactions battled inside him for dominance: fear and lust. The two built on each other as they warred within him, lifting his hormone and adrenaline levels through the roof. He briefly thought of blurting out their safe-word, but parts of him really wanted to see just where this was going. Those would be the parts below his navel; the part just under the tip of that stake had no desire whatsoever to find out any more about this new game.

“I could dust you right now,” Buffy informed him, as if he didn’t know that.

“Yeah … so why don’t ya?” he asked, feigning Big Bad indifference.

Buffy smacked him again with the crop.

“Mistress,” Spike ground out through clenched teeth, trying not to inhale too deeply and press his chest harder against the deadly wood.

“We’re horny. You’re the only vampire we’ve captured in a very long time. If you want to stay non-dusty, then you’ll do as you’re told, when you’re told, for as long as you’re told. Got it?”

There was that ‘we’ again. What the fuck was that about?

“Yeah, I got it.” Spike felt the crop lift off his abs again and quickly added, “Mistress.”

Buffy let up on the pressure of the stake and Spike felt at once relieved and a little disappointed. She was hot when she was threatening him like that. There had been a time when that was the only action he’d ever gotten from her, and he’d taken those crumbs and shaped them in his mind into all sorts of sexual fantasies. Who knew they'd ever actually come true? A vamp could dream, of course ... but this – this was a bloody wet-dream come to life.

Suddenly Buffy’s mouth was right next to his ear. “Don’t think we won’t dust you, vampire. When we say ‘fuck’ you better be the best fuck we’ve ever had, and when we sit on your face, you better give the best head of your miserable life. You want to keep walking around, then you need to satisfy the needs of a Slayer and one horny bitch.”

Before Spike could even answer, Buffy had pulled away and, in what seemed like the very next instant, her lips had closed over his cock and were sucking down on him.

“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed, surprised by her quickness and ferocity. His hips jerked up, pulling on his restraints as she continued teasing his balls with the feather, a sharp contrast to the hungry way her mouth was devouring him.

**~**

Buffy stood back and watched as the Bot’s lips swallowed Spike’s length, sucking down with God-only-knew how much force. The Bot, Buffy was sure, could suck the chrome off a bumper. It really was a little weird – ok, it was a whole-lot weird – to watch herself giving Spike head. She was at once jealous and worried that the Bot did a better job of it than she did.

This was your stupid idea, she admonished herself.  You have no one to blame but yourself if the freaking Bot is better than you are. Remember what you’re trying to do, for Christ’s sake, and stop being a baby.

But Buffy couldn’t help but listen to Spike’s moans and hissed words of praise, and compare them to what he said to her when she’d given him head. She’d read in Cosmo one time that threesomes could get really complicated when there were emotional attachments. Buffy suddenly understood that to her core. The feelings that had grown inside her for Spike were suddenly in turmoil. Maybe she should just stop this now. He was still blindfolded – he might not even know if she just stopped the Bot, sent her to the other room, and took her place.

And then Buffy thought of Spike being alone. He deserved better than the Bot, but at least he’d have some comfort until he could find someone new after Buffy left. Spike was, at his core, Love’s Bitch – he needed someone to love almost as much as he needed blood. She owed him this much. She could be a mature, self-assured adult long enough to make sure he no longer felt any guilt over being with his robot. Buffy took a deep breath and steeled herself. She could do this. She could even enjoy doing this. It could be fun. Right?

That’s your problem, Summers. You think too much, Buffy scolded herself. Quit thinking and do.

**~**

Spike had started to say something lewd to Buffy about ‘horny bitches’, but the words exploded into sparks of surprised pleasure when her mouth engulfed his length.

“Bloody hell!” The words burst from his lips, surprised by her quickness and ferocity. Only a moment before she had been right next to his ear, and now she was devouring him. His hips jerked up, pulling on his restraints, as she drove him wild. Her mouth was hot and wet as she sucked down on his shaft, and the head of his cock slammed into the back of her throat when his hips jerked up against her. The feather she’d had in her hand continued to tease his tight balls like the fingers of a ghost, and the disparate sensations overwhelmed his mind for a few moments as his body wrested control from his blood-starved brain.

But something was off. Not that there was anything wrong with what Buffy was doing, but it simply felt different – familiar but different. Buffy's first forays into fellatio had been tentative and unsure. She'd gained confidence over the last couple of weeks, but she still liked to start slowly, tease him into rock-solid hardness with that lovely, pink tongue, then nibble the length of him with her teeth before dropping that luscious mouth over his shaft. And even then, her tongue continued to swirl over him and twirl around the head when she pulled back. She wasn’t doing any of that now, and she definitely hadn't started slowly. Not that Spike was complaining, but it was just … different. Maybe she was just getting into the whole Mistress role and trying something new, he mused as he forced some blood back into his muddled brain.

And then it hit him. ‘We’. He suddenly remembered why this felt familiar. ‘We.’

“Bugger,” he murmured as the truth came to him in slow spluttering bursts of lucidity. That wasn’t Buffy; that was the bloody Bot. No sooner had he realized the truth and began trying to process just what the bloody hell that meant, he felt the mattress dip near his head and Buffy’s lips touched down on his. Spike instinctively returned the kiss, darting his tongue out to taste her. She tasted of cherries and chocolate and Buffy. He wished he could see her. If he could see her perhaps he could suss out what she was thinking, but all he could do was taste her and feel the Bot’s mouth raking over him. Then Buffy’s hands pressed against his chest and she pushed herself away.

He began to protest, but before he could get the words out he felt her shift again and her sweet quim was over his face, effectively silencing him. Her hips rocked back and forth, then she settled her wet pussy over his mouth. Spike moaned into her as his tongue lashed out and devoured her sweet, dripping desire. He pulled against his restraints, wishing he could use his hands, but was thwarted with the cuffs. He groaned in frustration, but his tongue and lips took up the challenge immediately.