If You Can't Beat 'Em...

By joan the english chick

A Vague Disclaimer Is Nobody's Friend: The characters and locations of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and "Angel the Series" are property of Mutant Enemy Productions (Grr, argh) and FOX Television, and are used without permission. The lyrics to "Every Day is a Winding Road" are property of Sheryl Crow, Jeff Trott, and Brian McLeod, and are also used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. This story is property of the author, and may not be reproduced, retransmitted, or posted anywhere without my expressed permission.
Warnings/Ratings: This story is rated NC-17 for graphic descriptions of rough (but fully consensual) sex, and also for some depictions of violence (no more than you'd see in the average R-rated action movie).
Timeline: Takes place immediately after BTVS Season 4 episode "Who Are You?" and AtS Season 1 episode "Eternity."
Spoilers: BTVS 4th Season through "Who Are You?", AtS 1st Season through "Eternity."
Relevant BTVS Quote: "I could ride you at a gallop till your legs buckled and your eyes rolled up. I've got muscles you've never even dreamed of. I could squeeze you till you popped like warm champagne, and you'd beg me to hurt you just a little more. And you know why I don't? Because it's wrong." --Faith-in-Buffy to Spike
Thanks: To Siubhan (
www.siubhan.com) and Laura (www.mindspring.com/~lcooksey) for beta-reading. Without them this story would suck way more than it does.

Spike lurked in a dark corner of the alley, smoking a cigarette, peering moodily out at Sunnydale. A few blocks away he could barely see a church with a big crowd of people milling around outside it; some kind of commotion going on over there. Idly, he wondered whether it was something he could get involved in, maybe get a little entertainment out of. Without actually going into the sunlight, of course.

He was still contemplating this when he heard a clatter from behind him, and whirled around to see what was invading his alley. Please let it be a demon, he thought grumpily; he could really use something to beat the crap out of.

But instead it was a girl, a panting dark-haired girl who had flung herself into the alley, lost her footing, and fallen into a pile of old crates, where she was now sprawled, flexing her hands as if they were stiff and unfamiliar.

"Well, well, what have we here?" Spike drawled, but his heart wasn't really in it. Terrorizing random girls on the street just wasn't as much fun when he knew he couldn't actually bite them.

But this girl wasn't terrorized, anyway. She looked up without fear, and when she saw him, she rolled her eyes in annoyance. "You again," she said disparagingly.

Spike raised his eyebrows. No, no matter how drunk he'd been, he was pretty sure he'd remember having met a tasty morsel like this one.

But then he noticed that uncomfortable tingling on the back of his neck -- that "there's a Slayer too close for comfort" feeling -- and it all clicked. He'd seen Willow earlier and she'd told him about the whole body-switching thing. (At the time, he'd just been mildly disappointed that it hadn't really been Buffy saying all those delicious things to him at the Bronze -- even now he felt a renewed flush of arousal, remembering.) His interest level rose about six notches.

"So, this is the infamous Faith?" he asked, flicking his cigarette away and lighting another one. He leaned a little closer. "Or are you really Buffy, eh, luv?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm Faith," she growled. Spike smirked with pleasure. Oh no, that was definitely not Buffy. No matter how bitchy she got, the Slayer -- uh, the other Slayer -- never spoke to him in that kind of voice. It was a dark voice, low and scratchy and dangerous. It was the way a Slayer should sound. Spike liked it.

He liked the look of her too. What wasn't to like? He let his gaze travel lewdly over her body -- bloody great curves! -- as he tossed off, "So this is the dangerous girl-maniac they warned me about? Not lookin' too bloody scary to me."

"Appearances can be deceiving," she shot back. "And get your filthy undead eyes off my tits."

"Make me," Spike invited, practically bouncing with glee. Oh, this was fun. Another Slayer to taunt!

All too quickly, Faith rocketed up out of the corner and had Spike by the throat before he could react. She spun around and slammed him against the wall, then paused and shook herself slightly. "Damn," she muttered. "That musta been some spell they used on me." She blinked and reeled dizzily for a moment. Spike took the opportunity to shove her away from him, but it was a feeble attempt stymied by the implant. He grimaced in pain, and Faith, recovering, tightened her grip on his throat. She scrabbled with her other hand along his arm, finally finding his hand and taking the lit cigarette from it. She continued to pin him to the wall as she brought the cigarette to her mouth and took a slow drag. Spike watched her full, shiny red lips and tried not to think about the things she had offered -- threatened -- to do to him at the Bronze, when she was in Buffy's body.

Faith considered the vampire in front of her as she let the nicotine soothe her nerves and waited for the aftereffects of the second body-switch to wear off. Now, what was it she knew about Spike? Oh yeah.... "He made you, didn't he? Where is he?" she demanded, tossing the cigarette away. Spike watched it go in annoyance.


"Who!" Faith gave him a shake, banging his head against the wall. "Angel, you asshole! That worthless undead hunk of meat she was gonna feed me to! Where is he?"

"Me pathetic excuse for a sire? He lives in L.A. these days, doing the sodding Boy Scout thing," Spike growled back, trying to pry her fingers off his throat. "That was my last bloody fag, you know."

"Take me to him," Faith ordered. "I still got some more scores to settle."

"Make me," Spike said again, getting even more annoyed. Who the hell did this bitch think she was, anyway, stealing his smokes and then ordering him around like some kind of puppydog?

Then she had a stake in her hand and he remembered: shit. Who she thought she was, was a Slayer. And me without my fangs.

"You will take me to Angel," she said, and that dangerous tone was back in her voice. Spike knew he should probably be scared, but instead that voice was really turning him on. Besides, if she was calling Angel names, maybe they had a few things in common. His good humor returned.

"You know, that bad-girl thing is really workin' for me," he told her with a smirk. "Although if it wasn't for what the Slayer -- I mean, Buffy -- and her soldier boys did to me, I'd be kicking your sodding ass right now."

"In your dreams," Faith scoffed. "Wait ... what they did to you?"

Spike growled angrily, gesturing out at his temples. "The chip in my head, remember? Or were you too busy wanting to jump my bones to get that part?"

Faith smiled slowly, wickedly. "That's right, the chip. So you can't even fight back, huh?" She let go his throat and backhanded him. Spike reeled aside and she aimed a kick at his gut; he blocked it and took an ill-advised swing at her. Faith watched with amusement as Spike staggered back against the wall, clutching his head, just barely managing to avoid the ribbon of sunlight bisecting the alley.


"So you've been declawed," Faith observed with a snicker. "Good to know. Now get a move on. I wanna be shoving this into Angel's heart before sunrise." She held up her stake.

Spike shoved himself off the wall and straightened his clothing, trying to recapture his customary swagger. "Yeah, well, it so happens I have a score or two to settle with nancy-boy meself, so maybe we can make a deal."

"Sure, we can deal," Faith agreed harshly. "You're driving me to L.A., and I'm not killing you. At least, not till we get there." She pointed the stake at him, twirling it in a slow circle. "Get my ... point?"

Spike was feeling a little bolder now, so he batted the stake aside and looked the brunette Slayer in the eye.

"I don't have a car," he told her imperiously. "And I'm not driving anywhere until I get some more smokes."

Night had fallen, and it was very dark on the highway. There were almost no other vehicles on the road, except the occasional semi, which Spike sped past in the sporty little number Faith had hotwired. The more he saw of this bint, the more he liked. At the moment she was just sitting in the passenger seat, keeping one eye on him and one on the road, the stake still in her hand as a constant reminder. She had kicked off her boots and lifted her bare feet onto the dashboard. The Sex Pistols blared out of the stereo, telephone poles whooshed by, and Spike's unlife was almost, dare he think it, good.

As they passed through a particularly barren stretch, nothing but fields on either side for miles around, Faith suddenly sat up, waggled her stake, and said, "Pull over."

"Huh?" Spike said, startled, but he obeyed, jamming his foot on the brake, twisting the wheel so that the car screeched into the ditch. Even before it came to a complete stop, Faith was unbuckling her seatbelt, stashing her stake atop the dashboard.

Spike turned to ask her what was going on, but the words died in his throat as she reached over and undid his seat belt as well, then threw her leg across both of his and climbed onto his lap.

"What the hell?" would probably have been Spike's cliched thing to say, but he was feeling his old cocky self, so instead what he said was, "Yeah, you want a piece o'this, pet?"

"Shut up," Faith instructed huskily, pulling her tank top up to expose her breasts. Spike took a moment to admire them, round and full, gleaming slightly in the moonlight and the reflected glare from the headlights. Then he was admiring them from much closer, as Faith put one hard hand behind his head and forced his lips against her chest.

Spike wasn't arguing. He opened his mouth and sucked one nipple in, suckling and chewing slightly on it. Faith was already breathing heavily, squirming quite deliciously on his lap, lifting her ass up so that she could push her tight black leather pants down over her hips, while still keeping her breast firmly in Spike's mouth. He wrapped one arm around her back and brought the other hand up to play with her other breast, mashing it between his fingers. Oh, it had been far too long since he'd had a real woman in his hands; that unbearable airhead Harmony didn't count.

Somehow, he wasn't even sure how, Faith had gotten her pants all the way off. She had been braless and pantyless; now her bare ass was resting on his thighs, and he could feel the heat from her pussy even through his jeans. He groaned, his cold fingers sliding across her bare hips and digging into tight buttocks, pulling her tighter against his groin. She pushed her fingers into his hair, pulling his head up painfully, covering his mouth with hers in a gesture that was more a challenge than a kiss. As his tongue struggled to keep up with hers, he felt her hands sliding between their bodies and tugging his fly open. His cock sprang free, already desperately hard. Faith wrapped her fingers around it and stroked, drawing a tortured gasp from Spike's throat.

Chuckling hoarsely, she pulled his head back down to her breast and settled herself over him, rubbing her wet clit against his throbbing erection, her breath coming in short sharp bursts. It was a good thing Spike didn't need to breathe, because his face was buried in her breasts and his cock screamed for relief. He bucked his hips upward, trying to force his way inside her, but she anticipated him and moved away, laughing again, her tone filled with electric excitement.

She pulled back to look down at him, at her swollen nipple disappearing into his mouth. "Use your fangs," she told him breathlessly. Spike blinked up at her, not understanding for a moment, then suddenly he got it. He grinned ferally and let his vamp face slip on. Faith cried out when he put his mouth back to her breast, his sharp fangs unavoidably grazing her flesh as he resumed sucking. She sat down suddenly, engulfing the entire length of his cock in one swift shocking instant. Spike gasped and thrust his hips up again, rubbing his tongue over the sensitive tip of the nipple, feeling her powerful ass muscles flex under his hands as she rode him up and down.

His fangs sliced into her breast again and Spike ignored the stab of pain in his forehead as Faith spasmed, climaxing in a rush, shuddering violently atop him. The sensation of her muscles tightening around his cock overwhelmed Spike and he came an instant after her, moaning into her breast, thinking to himself, Shoulda known a Slayer would be strong everywhere.

Faith moved up and down a few more times, breathing deeply and steadily through her mouth, then pushed his face away from her chest and slid off him, her butt landing neatly back in her seat, fishing around on the floor for her pants. Spike didn't have a breath to catch, but after pulling his human face back on, he did sit still for a moment, trying to regain his equilibrium, before reaching with slightly shaky hands to tuck himself back into his jeans and zip them up. Then he reached behind the visor for a fresh cigarette, lit it from the car's lighter, took a deep drag, and passed it over to Faith without being told. As she sucked in smoke and wriggled in the seat, pulling her pants back on, he shifted the car back into gear and pulled back out onto the highway.

After a few more drags, Faith handed the cigarette back to Spike and reached to turn on the indoor light. Twisting in her seat, she lifted her shirt and inspected the shallow cuts left on her breasts by Spike's fangs. She grunted slightly, poking at one thin red line.

Spike glanced over and saw the blood welling out, and an urge of a different sort suddenly surged in him. He quickly returned his eyes to the road, but Faith was studying him calculatingly as she pulled the tank top back down over her breasts. Spike shifted in his seat, sucking hard on the cigarette, trying not to smell the faint scent of the blood wafting over from the Slayer.

"Stop there," she ordered as a gas station came into view a few miles down the line. Spike grunted acknowledgement and watched the station's lights grow from a pinprick to a big neon sign, twisted the wheel and pulled them up to the pump.

It was an old, mostly deserted gas station: just three ancient pumps and a bored middle-aged guy manning them. When Spike and Faith climbed out of the stolen car, the attendant took in their rumpled, sweat-stained clothing and Faith's flushed face and disarranged hair, and smirked knowingly. Faith gave him a disgusted look and turned to Spike.

"I'll pump," she said. "You eat." She jerked her head toward the attendant. Spike brightened briefly, then paused and made a face. Faith looked deeply annoyed.


"I can't," he said, equally annoyed. "The sodding soldiers-"

"Oh, right, the stupid chip," Faith said, rolling her eyes. She pulled a knife from her boot and strode over to the attendant, landing a kick to the leg that spun him around and brought him to his knees. Faith grabbed his hair and quickly slit his throat.

"There ya go," she tossed over her shoulder as she returned to the car and popped open the gas cap. Spike gaped at her for a moment, then quickly lunged over to where the dead man was lying.

"You coulda propped him up," he grumbled. "Letting my dinner leak all over the place." Faith ignored him. He picked up the corpse and slurped greedily at the nice warm blood, taking care not to let it get on his clothing.

The corpse was empty and the gas tank full at about the same moment; without a word, Spike dropped the lifeless man back on the ground, Faith shoved the gas cap back on, and they both slid back into the car and were on their way.

As he drove, Spike looked over at Faith and observed that she was clearly buzzed. Must be the bloodlust. "Thrill of the kill, eh, pet?" he commented. She scowled.

"A good slay always makes me hungry," she conceded. Spike leered.

"I'm game for another go if you are, luv," he said suggestively, letting his right hand drift over to her thigh. She brushed it off.

"Drive," she ordered. After a moment of silence, though, she added, "At least you're better than Angel! Fucking moron doesn't have a clue how to use his mouth."

Spike felt a slow grin creeping across his face. "Sod off," he said admiringly. "You shagged Angel? Yer shittin' me."

"Nothin' special," Faith muttered crossly. She picked up her stake and began turning it meaningfully over and over in her hands. Spike took the hint and shut up.

But not for long. A few more miles rolled by under the tires, and Spike turned off the interstate onto the equally deserted state highway that would take them into LA. "Only ten more miles to San Diego, then we're almost there," he observed slyly, darting a glance sideways at his traveling companion.

"Whatever," Faith grunted. Spike grinned evilly and pulled the car over to a stop in the ditch for the second time.

Faith turned to look at him in annoyance. "What the hell? Why are you stopping now?"

"Like I said," Spike told her, reaching for her breasts, "I'm ready for another go. Come on, luv. Let's have some sugar."

"What are you, stupid?" she demanded, showing him the stake in her hand. Spike chuckled.

"Oh, you won't stake me now, pet. Not when we're in the middle of nowhere, on a road where there won't be another car for hours, and you have no idea how to get anywhere." He grinned devilishly at her expression. "You need me! You can't find Angel's place without me, and you probably can't even find your way back. 'Ten miles to San Diego!'" he mocked himself with glee. "You don't have a fucking clue where we are, do you?"

Faith gave him a murderous look. "Let's get something straight, lover boy," she bit out. "You're not the boss in this scene, and I will stake you and then wait however long it takes for someone to come by. Please!" She threw up her hands, then gestured meaningfully at her lush body. "You think I'm gonna have any trouble hitchhiking to L.A.? I can find Angel without you, if I have to. Thought I could save myself the bother by bringing you along, but if I have to...."

"Fine, then go ahead, do it already," Spike exclaimed in exasperation. "Bloody well stake me already, bitch!"

"Maybe I will!" She lunged, stake outstretched, and Spike cringed back against the driver's door, convinced that she was really going to do it.

But at the last second she turned her hand aside, and instead of staking him she lifted her lips to his again, pressing a searing kiss onto his mouth, pulling away while he was still panting for more. He reached for her, but she pushed him away again.


Clenching his teeth, he pulled back onto the road. A soft noise made him glance over, and he saw that Faith had her hand inside her pants, rubbing herself hard and fast. Her full lips were parted, gasping softly as she pleasured herself. Spike's jeans were suddenly painfully tight.

"Fucking tease," he muttered through his teeth. He heard Faith laugh, a taunting sound that turned into a whimper as she rubbed herself even harder. Spike felt enamel grinding off his teeth. He reached down and fiddled with the radio dial until he found some Skinny Puppy, then twisted the volume control, pumping the music up even louder to drown out the Slayer's sounds of passion.

Faith dozed off briefly, although Spike could sense from the tone of her breathing that she was still on the alert and could probably be fully awake and ready to stake him in the blink of an eye. Damn Slayers and their superhuman reflexes. He flicked another cigarette butt out the window at the Los Angeles city limits sign and reached out to turn down the volume of the music.

An instant later, though, he yanked the wheel to the side to avoid a truck that cut him off, and his barrage of shouted curses brought Faith awake. Expressionless, she surveyed the surroundings and asked, "How far till the exit?"

"Right here," Spike grumbled irritably, swinging the car onto the exit ramp. His legs were tired and sore, making him grumpy.

"Drive-through," Faith said, indicating a McDonald's just off the exit. Spike pulled into the line and Faith ordered a grease overload: bacon double cheeseburger, fries, large soda. They sat in the parking lot while she inhaled the food. Spike got out of the car to stretch his legs, scowling at the tawdry neon of downtown L.A. in the wee hours of the morning. A couple of hookers strolled past and he thought wistfully of what he would have done to them just a few months ago.

Eventually Faith got out of the car and took her leavings to the nearby trash can. Returning, she walked over to where Spike was leaning against the car and pinned him against it, pulling his head down to hers again. They kissed at length: hot, slippery, fierce, and maybe a little desperate. Lust surged darkly, crackling in the air around them.

When Faith finally pulled back, she was panting, and Spike was grinning. "Bloody insatiable, aren't ya, luv?" he asked, letting his hands roam across her ass. She scowled at him.

"Still can't get the taste of that fuckin' soldier out of my mouth," she complained, breaking out of his grip and walking back around to her side of the car. She opened the door and got in.

Spike raised his eyebrows and got in as well. "Bloody hell," he murmured as he started the car. "You shagged the commando boy while you were in Buffy? That's bleeding beautiful." He smiled delightedly, imagining how he could use this information to his advantage.

Faith shifted in her seat, suddenly appearing uncomfortable. "Shut the fuck up," she said tightly. Spike rolled his eyes and concentrated on navigating back out onto the streets.

After about fifteen minutes of twisting through the streets of the city, Spike pulled the car over to the curb and shifted into park. "There ya go," he said, indicating the darkened building across the street. "You gonna let me watch while you poof the poof?"

Faith shrugged. "You wanna watch? Come on then." She got out of the car and stalked across the street. Spike paused for a moment to admire her from behind. With her dark hair flowing in the breeze, her shiny black leather pants hugging that great ass, her black leather jacket crackling, her lethal-looking boots slapping the sidewalk, she was Spike's idea of a goddess. A vicious, murderous, unpredictable goddess of chaos. Dru who? Spike thought gleefully as he hopped out of the car and hurried after her.

Faith entered the office building and burst through the locked outer door to Angel's office without breaking her stride. She glanced around in disgust. "What the fuck is this, Demon Social Services?" she demanded.

"Yeh, something like that," Spike chuckled, amused. "Come on." He led the way to the elevator and punched for down.

To their mutual disappointment, Angel's underground apartment was deserted. "Bugger," Spike said. "He must be out doing some..." he nearly spat the word "good."

"Well, damn," Faith commented casually. "Guess we'll just have to wait." Shrugging off her jacket, dropping it carelessly on a chair, she went to the wall cabinet and helped herself to some of Angel's liquor. Slamming it down her throat, she gasped and grinned. "Wow, this is good stuff. Remind me to take it with me after I dust the bastard."

"Will do, luv," Spike said cheerily. He glanced around the apartment, but it really held no thrills for him; he'd already seen it all when he was trashing the place looking for the Gem of Amara. He plopped down on the sofa and tried to picture Angel's face when he got home and found a renegade Slayer drinking his booze. Now, just what would Spike be doing when Angel walked in, the best to irritate him?

Spike's wicked grin split his face again. He looked over at Faith. "Hey," he said, and waited till she looked back at him. "Wanna fuck?"

He could see Faith reading his mind. From her expression it was clear the exact moment at which she pictured Angel walking in on them. Her lips curved devilishly. She considered it.

"Maybe," she said at last, and strolled past him to glance into the kitchen, then to the bedroom. "Well, now this is kinky," Spike heard her say. Intrigued, he jumped up off the sofa and went to see what she had found.

Spike's eyebrows nearly met his hairline when he saw the array of chains attached to Angel's bed. From the arrangement -- or rather disarrangement -- it was obvious that someone had been chained there, and had not bothered to put away the chains after being set free. "Guess me old sire isn't quite as squeaky-clean as he wants us to think," Spike observed with a grin. He looked at Faith and shivered, with fear and desire, at the calculating expression on her face.

Faith went over to the bed and untangled one set of chains, which had cuffs at either end. The key was still in one cuff; she removed it and pushed it into her cleavage. Predictably, this drew Spike's full attention to her breasts, and so he almost didn't even complain when she strode past him and snapped her fingers to tell him to follow.

"Hey, I'm not your sodding puppy," Spike said as he followed the Slayer back into the living room, but his tone lacked conviction, and Faith knew it.

"Shut up," she said, grinning with anticipation. "Gimme your hands." Swiftly, pausing first to remove Spike's jacket and duster, she closed a cuff around one wrist, threaded the chain around one of the pillars in the middle of the room, and attached the other cuff to his other hand. He was now locked, facing the elevator, with enough slack to move around a little but not to get more than a couple of feet from the pillar.

Faith stepped back to study him. Her luscious lips spread into a wicked smile. "Now that's a sight," she said appreciatively. Spike didn't need to look down to know what the front of his jeans looked like. He wriggled a little, not so much struggling as testing the limits of his bonds.

"If you like what you see, pet, why don't you do something about it?" he invited hoarsely. Faith grinned.

"Oh, don't worry, I will," she promised. She came over to press her body tightly against him, claiming his mouth again. Their tongues twisted around each other and Faith rubbed her crotch against Spike's thigh, hard. Spike found that if he backed all the way against the pillar, he could get his arms up just enough to clutch Faith's waist. But of course, as soon as he realized this, she walked backward from him, and in order to maintain contact he was forced to move forward until his arms were pulled behind him, just barely to the point of pain.

Faith's mouth was hot and slick on his, and she pulled it away slowly, slowly, her eyes glittering. She reached between her breasts and pulled out the key, pressed it against Spike's lips so he could feel how warm it was. Then she turned away and put the key on a nearby coffee table before turning back to study him.

"Ya know, I could 'poof' you right now," she pointed out, taking her stake from her jacket pocket and turning it idly around in her hands.

"I know," Spike said, and his cock knew it too; it twitched urgently in his pants. "But you won't," he added cheekily. Faith looked up, meeting his eyes.

"I won't? Really?" She tilted her head slightly to one side. "Why not?"

Spike smirked. "Because, luv, you're more interested in Spike's spike." He winked suggestively. Faith laughed with delight.

"Maybe I am," she agreed, moving back over to him and poking the tip of the stake against his navel. Spike tensed as she used the sharp piece of wood to pull his t-shirt up, up, exposing his flat stomach, his pale chest. Faith dipped her head down to press her mouth against his chest, swirling her tongue around a nipple before she pulled back and, letting the stake fall to the floor, scratched her nails down Spike's chest. Her touch was hard enough to make Spike gasp and flinch away, hard enough to leave angry red marks across his pale skin. The marks, of course, faded quickly, and Faith looked dissatisfied.

"Of course," she said, backing away again, standing just out of reach, "maybe what I really want is pain. Someone to scratch me ... bite me ... really make me scream, ya know?" The word "bite" was a deliberate barb, and the word "scream" was not so much spoken as moaned, and accompanied by a sensuous shimmy of Faith's hips. "And you can't do that, can you?" she taunted huskily, meeting Spike's eyes. "Even if I untied you ... you still couldn't hurt me."

Arousal pumped stronger than ever in Spike's body, and he shook his head, licking his lips. It took two tries before he could get his throat to work.

"Well, it's true I can't give you the pain, pet," he agreed sorrowfully, "but Spike can still make you scream."

Her eyes widened briefly and she grinned with excitement, moving closer again, her hands moving to undo the zipper on her pants. "On your knees," she ordered throatily. Spike's eyes gleamed with anticipation. He sank slowly to his knees, letting the chain clatter to the floor. Faith pushed her pants down and moved forward until her crotch was level with Spike's face.

He turned his head and nuzzled the tender skin of her inner thigh, drawing his tongue across it. He could feel the blood pumping erratically in the artery there, hear her breath equally erratically rasping in her throat, smell the juicy musk of her arousal. He looked up across the flat plane of her stomach, past the twin moons of her breasts, up to her smoky eyes looking down at him.

"So," she said, her fingers sliding teasingly into his hair, "how many times has Angel seen you just like this?"

The memory of seeing his sire from this same position made Spike both scowl and squirm. "Once or twice," he admitted coolly. "But he's not nearly as nice a sight from this angle as you are, pet." She smirked. Spike turned his head again, letting his vamp face out, and raked her inner thigh with his fangs. He reeled back immediately, grunting at the pain that stabbed through his forehead, but Faith's hand on his head caught him, and it was all worth it to hear the loud yelp of startled pain that burst from the Slayer's throat. She caught her breath raggedly and yanked his head between her thighs.

Spike pulled his human mask back on and buried his eager tongue in her wet folds, teasing the lips apart until he found what he was looking for. Dimly he could smell the blood oozing from the two parallel cuts he had slashed into her leg, but even that took a backseat to the scent of her innermost juices. When he put his tongue on her clit she moaned, leaning forward to brace one hand on the pillar Spike was chained to, her other hand digging into his white-blond hair, pulling him even tighter against her. He licked and sucked fiercely, his hands clenching into fists behind him, aching to wrap around her buttocks and hold her still. But instead he had to move with her, keeping up his skilled assault while she moved her hips in slow little circles, whimpering softly above him.

Faith was already so close it didn't take long before she climaxed, and as Spike lapped the juices from her moist folds, he noticed smugly that he had, indeed, made her scream. Then he started licking the trickle of blood from her thigh, but she pulled away now, pulled her pants back up, not even flinching as the rough material slid over the twin cuts. She blew out air through her lips and smiled slightly.

"That was nice," she commented. Suddenly she struck out, backhanding Spike across the face. He flew sideways, unable to steady himself; the chains caught him, his shoulders twinging in agony. He righted himself and got back into position on his knees, his cheek smarting.

"You're welcome," he snapped sarcastically, glaring up at her. Faith's smile widened a bit.

"Oh, who d'you think you're kidding?" she needled. "You love it rough, just like me." It was true that Spike's dick was harder than ever; his jeans were becoming painfully tight.

"Maybe," he replied. "But if I had my way, you'd be the one in the chains, luv."

"Oh yeah?" Faith shot back. She dropped to her knees in front of him; his aching cock pulsed with anticipation. Faith shook her hair out of the way, pulled her shirt aside from her neck, and ordered, "Bite me."

Spike winced, but he ducked his head and pressed his face against the juncture of shoulder and neck, letting his vamp face out again. He tried to sink his fangs into her flesh, but the pain stabbed through him and he jerked spasmodically backward, cursing. He heard Faith laughing at him.

"Poor little pathetic vampire," she taunted, her hands on his shoulders keeping him in place. One of her knees was between his, lightly brushing his thighs. "Can't even do what should come naturally."

Spike growled angrily and snapped his teeth at the soft skin with its hard muscle underneath, at the thick artery that seemed to mock him with its insistent pulsing. Faith was still grinning, her expression mocking him as well, but at the same time her fingers were opening his jeans and pulling out his erection, stroking it with a maddeningly light touch. He grunted and shifted, trying to make her rub him more firmly, but of course she wouldn't.

"Said you'd squeeze me till I pop," Spike panted almost petulantly, recalling the previous night's encounter at the Bronze. Faith's eyes flashed teasingly.

"Sometimes, I keep my promises," she breathed back. She pulled back now, still holding his cock in one casual hand. "Up," she ordered, rising gracefully. Spike had to follow or be emasculated. Without his arms free to help balance, he struggled awkwardly to his feet, the chain rattling and clanking as it rose with him.

Faith urged him forward until his arms were again held painfully behind his back, his twisted shoulders complaining. She nudged his feet widely apart and said, "Move your feet and you're dust, got it?"

His aching cock was still in her hand, his entire attention focused agonizingly on that desperate piece of flesh, and he could only nod agreement.

"Good," Faith said, and dropped back to her knees. Spike's head fell back on his shoulders and he cried out in ecstasy as her hot wet mouth engulfed him. She still had one hand around the base of his erection, the other slipping between his legs to squeeze his balls while her tongue swirled around him. She definitely knew what she was doing. He moaned loudly.

Abruptly Faith stopped, drawing a groan from Spike. "Bloody hell, woman," he complained as she rose to her feet again.

"Shut up," she said for what seemed the millionth time, and with her hand still wrapped around Spike's cock, she pressed her lips against his, pushing her tongue inside his mouth to curl around the sharp fangs. He could taste himself on her tongue, and knew she could taste herself on his. She coaxed his tongue into her mouth and suddenly bit down on it, hard enough to draw blood, simultaneously giving his cock a hard tug. Spike yelped. The borrowed blood leaked out to stain his lips as Faith began to move her hand up and down his shaft, fast and hard, squeezing just a little too tightly for comfort.

Spike felt Faith's tongue rubbing against his fangs and tasted the metallic tang of blood mingling in their joined mouths, and his hips jerked as he climaxed in a rush. Faith shifted her body aside, letting his cold semen gush out onto the floor.

"Coulda warned me," she groused. Spike blinked his way up out of his lust-induced haze and summoned a mild smirk.

"What happened to those magical Slayer reflexes?" he taunted back. Faith scowled and balled one hand into a fist; Spike tensed, awaiting a blow. But instead, just to keep him guessing, she struck out with a kick, pivoting on one foot to slam the other into his chest, thrusting him back against the pillar with a loud thunk and an "oof."

Faith came forward, her face flushed with adrenaline, and pinned him to the pillar, one hand on the rough brick to either side of his head. She wrapped both her strong thighs around one of his and rubbed herself against him, asking, "So, Angel's still not here. What should I do with you now?"

Spike managed to lift his hands high enough to get them on her breasts. Pressing his thumbs into her hardened nipples, he suggested, "Well, you could untie me and let me get me hands on you, luv. Feel at a bit of a disadvantage here, you know."

"Mm... no, I don't think so," she said, although she arched her back to press her breasts into his palms. "Kinda like you disadvantaged. I wonder if Angel has any whips?"

The thought made Spike shiver with lust, but he shook his head. "Doubt it. Wouldn't really fit in with his do-gooder image."

For some reason, this seemed to deflate Faith's good mood. "Yeah," she said with a frown, pulling away. She stepped over to where she had left the bottle of brandy and poured herself another shot. "Sure," she said, drinking half of it in one gulp. "He can kill a Slayer, that's just fine, but a little harmless fun...." She didn't finish the sentence. She slammed the rest of the alcohol down her throat and tossed the glass over her shoulder, heedless of the noise as it shattered. Spike flinched slightly at the sound.

"Did Angel kill you, pet? When did that happen?" he asked curiously. Faith moved back toward him, looking lost in thought.

"It didn't," she said, "but it would've, if the bitch had her way." It wasn't hard to guess that 'the bitch' meant Buffy. Faith came back around into Spike's field of vision and sat down in the nearest chair, looking pensive.

Spike watched her for a moment, a little confused, trying to figure out what had changed in the last two minutes. "Hey," he said at last, tentatively. She looked up, startled, as if she had almost forgotten he was there.

"What?" she asked warily. Spike shifted a little, the chains clanking softly.

"Listen," he said, "whatever Angel did to you, whatever he said -- it's not worth bothering about. He's a bloody hypocrite, luv. Walks around all holier-than-thou like he can do no wrong, when truth is, the wanker's probably killed more people in his lifetime than the rest of the top-ten vampire list put together."

"Yeah," Faith said, not appearing cheered. "But at least now he's trying to turn it around."

"Turn it around?" Spike scoffed. "Yeah, like it's really possible to make up for killing that many people."

Faith had looked away, but at this her head came up and she fixed Spike with an intense gaze that was almost desperate. "Is it possible to make up for killing one?"

Spike blinked, not sure how to reply. For an instant it had seemed that he saw directly into the depths of her anguish; her expression was like that of a woman hanging by one finger over an abyss, and it made him recoil, almost ready to revise everything he had come to think of her in the past few hours.

But then he blinked and it was gone; she looked away again and gave a heavy sigh. Spike decided to change the subject.

"So," he said almost casually, "izzat why you want to kill Angel? 'Cause he tried to kill you?"

"Yeah ... no." She frowned. "Sort of. No, I ... he ... it's a long story."

Spike shrugged. "I got all night, luv. Wouldn't mind a fag, though."

To his considerable surprise, the Slayer actually got up and went fishing through his jacket to find the pack of cigarettes and his lighter. She lit one up, took a few puffs, and then came over to put it between his lips.

"Angel..." she said, as if to herself. And then, "He pretended to be my friend. Pretended to give a shit about me, when all he really wanted was information. God!" Anger surged back and she gave an exasperated gesture, throwing her hands up. "I was so fucking stupid! To think I could believe him. Trust him!"

"Yeah, you can't trust a vampire," Spike said flippantly, but not without feeling. Bending his head, he was able to get the cigarette into his fingers and knock off the ash before putting it back in his mouth.

"No, but..." Faith seemed to be struggling with some painful realization. "But he's a vampire, and he does good, and I'm a Slayer, and I do bad. I mean, that's ironic, right?"

"'S one word for it," Spike agreed uneasily. Faith looked dissatisfied. She was silent for a few moments, and when she finally spoke, it was so softly he almost couldn't make out the words.

"He said there's no place in the world for me any more," she murmured.

"Angel said that?" Spike asked incredulously. She shook her head in irritation.

"No, not Angel." But she didn't volunteer a name. Spike shrugged.

"Well, whoever said that, he's a bloody fool, pet," he replied coolly. "The world needs you, that's for sure. At least as much as it needs ... Buffy." He almost didn't say the hated name, afraid it might set her off, but decided to risk it.

As it happened, Faith didn't go off, although he did see her flinch slightly. "Bullshit," she said, but perhaps with a note of hope in her voice.

"No, I mean it," Spike said, thinking to himself, Shit, me comforting a Slayer? And they said she was crackers. "I mean, half the time, she doesn't even scare me a little bit. Fluffy little college girl! But you?" He turned his face away, but then cast a sideways glance at her. "Bloody terrifyin', you. Make any vampire tremble. With fear, that is," he added. Faith made a sound that might have been a snort or another sigh.

"Whatever," she said. "But..." Again she stopped and pondered. Then she turned to face Spike directly, putting her hands on her hips. "Listen," she said intensely, "what's the difference between me and her?"

"Bloody hell," Spike began, letting his eyes travel meaningfully over her body, but he left the obvious unvoiced. "Well, you got a different style, is all," he said instead, a little lamely. Faith made a face.

"A style," she said with disgust. "She blames herself for her problems. I blame everyone but myself. I mean, Christ, why am I really here?" She swept her arm around, indicating the room.

"To kill Angel. To get revenge for what he's done to you," Spike contributed.

"Yeah ... yeah." She looked disgusted now. "What he did to me. Betrayed me -- after I had already betrayed him, and Buffy, and all of them. Lied to me -- after I lied to them a million times. Would have killed me -- after I shot him with the poison arrow." She looked at the ceiling and shook her head painfully. For a brief and deeply disturbing moment, Spike actually thought she might burst into tears, but instead she just kept talking. "It's all my fault," she went on. "My whole life is one big fucking mess, and I can walk around all day blaming everyone I've ever met for it, but the truth is, it's me. I'm the one who fucked it up. And the only real reason I came here was to keep on blaming someone else for my own screwups."

Spike was silent, not knowing what to say, while Faith stood motionless, processing this revelation. Abruptly, her demeanor changed and she looked around a little wildly, like an animal suddenly finding itself in a cage. "Shit," she said, "I gotta get outta here." She moved swiftly to retrieve her jacket; shrugging it on, she caught sight of Spike beginning to look alarmed, and paused. She fetched the key from the coffee table and brought it over, unlocking the cuffs as Spike dropped the cigarette butt to the floor and ground it out with his heel. He rotated his shoulders a bit, loosening the relieved muscles.

"Listen," Faith said a little uncomfortably as Spike tucked himself back into his jeans and fastened them up. "I'm bailing. I can't wait around for Angel, killing him's not really gonna make anything better. You can stay here or come with me, I don't care."

Spike wasn't sure he really understood everything that had just happened, but he shrugged. Stick around bored in an empty apartment waiting for a self-righteous vamp who might not show up for hours ... or go with the dark Slayer, around whom interesting things always seemed to happen, and in whose presence he stood a fairly decent chance of getting laid again? The choice seemed clear. "Lead the way, pet," he said, picking up his duster and jacket and pulling them on. "Oh -- hold on a sec." Faith watched in puzzlement and then amusement as he went into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and helped himself to one of Angel's bags of pig blood. Tearing it open with his teeth, he sucked on it with alacrity as he followed Faith into the elevator. By the time they reached the ground floor, he was done. He left the empty bag on the floor of the elevator and followed the Slayer back out to the car.

"Where to, luv?" he asked as they climbed in and he started the engine. Faith still looked a little shaken from all her soul-searching, and she just shrugged.

"I don't know ... back the way we came, I guess."

Spike steered back toward the highway, and Faith fiddled with the radio dial for a bit. She paused for a moment as a throaty female voice crooned to a peppy beat.

   I been swimming in a sea of anarchy
   I been living on coffee and nicotine
   I been wond'ring if all the things I've seen
   Were ever real
   Were ever really happening...

Faith abruptly flicked the dial again and it was back to Skinny Puppy. She seemed relieved. Other than the music, there was silence in the car for a long while, as Spike got them back on the familiar dark, deserted highway and Faith stared meditatively out the window.

"I could go anywhere," she said suddenly, startling Spike. He glanced over at her, then back at the road.

"Yeah, the world's your sodding oyster," he agreed sourly. "Me, I gotta get back to Sunnydale. Not much hope of ever gettin' this chip out of me head unless I hang around there." He looked over at Faith again. "You should come back with me, pet," he urged. "You'll kill the Sl - Buffy, and I'll watch and laugh. And then we'll rule the town and cause general mayhem. It'll be a total fucking party."

"I don't know," Faith replied indecisively. "I gotta ... do some other stuff."

"Aw, come on," Spike wheedled. "I'm tellin' ya, this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Faith rolled her eyes. "You really are kinda dumb," she told him. "Funny thing about us Slayers: we don't tend to establish meaningful dialogue with vampires."

Spike burst out laughing. "Dialogue?" he hooted. "Who the fuck said anything about dialogue? I'm talking about shagging, luv."

Faith still looked a little bleak, but she did give a small smile at this. "Well, I will miss that tongue of yours," she admitted. Spike smirked.

"'Course," he said smugly. Again he dropped his right hand onto her thigh. This time, though, she didn't push it away.

"Pull over," she said, and when he glanced sideways again, she was grinning. Spike drove onto the shoulder with alacrity.

"Told ya it'd be better if I could use my hands," he said, reaching for her, but she had her hand on the door handle.

"Not in the car, too cramped," she said, opening the door and climbing out. "Turn off the headlights," she added as she slammed the door shut.

Spike obeyed, and then got out himself and walked around the car. There were no streetlights, and with the car's lights off, it was quite dark, but he had good night vision and he found Faith easily. She was sitting on the hood of the car, unlacing her boots. As Spike went over to her, she leaned back, bracing her shoulders against the windshield, and lifted her hips to push her pants off. He walked between her knees, which opened for him, and pulled her against him with one arm, the other hand slipping under her shirt. They kissed again, the white-hot passion almost familiar by now.

As the kiss deepened in intensity, Faith wrapped her arms tightly around Spike's shoulders, and he took his arm from around her waist, slipping it down over her hip and across her lower belly, pressing his cold fingers into her heat, stroking her. He pushed a finger inside her and she moaned into his mouth, her body arching. He pulled his mouth from hers and muttered insolently, "Oh yeah. Love to work with my hands, pet."

"Then get to work already," she ordered breathlessly, thrusting against him again. He grinned and pushed a second finger inside her, moving his head down, lifting her shirt and fastening his lips around a nipple. On her breast he could still feel -- and smell -- the rapidly healing cut he had left with his fangs, what seemed like days ago. His hand worked faster between her legs, now with three fingers inside her and his thumb pressed firmly down on her clit. For once she seemed willing to take the passive role, writhing on the car hood underneath him, clutching his head to her breast.

Spike let his fangs slip out again and slid them along the tender flesh, not actually slicing or biting, just making them felt. Faith cried out and bucked so hard he almost lost his grip on her, but he stayed with her, feeling her spasms clutch wetly at his fingers.

Watching her, hearing her, smelling her, was too much for Spike now. He dropped his free hand to his jeans, tugged them open, and entered her while she was still coming down from her orgasm. Her body was still buzzing, her inner tissues hyper-sensitive, and she gasped and twitched as his stiff cock slid inside her; her legs came up and wrapped around his waist. She shuddered deeply as he thrust again, the sensation hovering between pleasure and pain. Spike bent over her, nearly horizontal on the hood of the car, thrusting urgently into her. He heard the way her shoulders and neck banged the car with each stroke, but he didn't care, and she didn't seem to either. In fact, she pushed his head against her shoulder again so that his fangs grazed her skin, both of them shuddering at the pain.

The effects of her previous orgasm were receding and the waves of the next were beginning to gather; her hands were on his hips now, urging him on. Spike reached the edge and tumbled over, groaning loudly into Faith's shoulder as he climaxed inside her. She was still moving desperately against him, so after a moment he pulled out and slid down, pulling her legs over his shoulders, his mouth delving low again to finish her off. The chafing of his jeans against her thighs had reopened the slashes on her leg, and he paused to lick the blood away before plunging his tongue back into her wet folds.

Faith's powerful Slayer thighs clamped tightly around Spike's head, and not for the first time that night he was glad he didn't need to breathe. Her whimpers built to a shriek as she came, her strong muscles clenching around his tongue. She was still gasping and writhing a little against the cold metal of the car as Spike straightened up and, for the third time that day, tucked his sated penis back into his jeans and zipped them up.

At last Faith sat up and Spike handed her her pants, then lit another cigarette while she pulled them on. He sat on the hood of the car beside her and they shared the smoke in silence.

Suddenly Faith turned and smacked Spike on the arm, hard. "Ow!" he yelped, staring at her in annoyance. "What was that for?"

"You didn't remind me to take Angel's booze," she scolded with a twinkle in her eye. Spike rolled his eyes.

"You wanna bloody well go back for it?"

"Fuck no," she replied, rolling her eyes back at him.

"Then quit trying to break my sodding arm, woman!" Spike glanced up at the sky. "Gotta keep moving," he said more quietly. "I don't wanna be caught in this tin come sunrise."

Faith looked at him, then looked away, then reached down to retrieve her boots. "I'm not coming back to Sunnydale," she said quietly. Spike wasn't too surprised.

"I figured as much. Never work anyway," he said with a small shrug. "You'd get tired o'shagging and stake me."

Faith smirked and didn't deny it. "Do me a favor, though," she requested. "Don't ever stop giving them shit."

Spike didn't need to ask who 'them' meant. He smirked back. "Count on it, luv. And if you change your mind, if you do come back ... give me a holler. We can make mayhem any time." He grinned a little and added, "Course, if I've got this chip out by then, I'll kick yer ass, but that'll be fun too."

"You wish," she replied with a grin. She looked up and spotted headlights approaching. "Quick!" she said, hopping down to hide behind the car. "Flag 'em down and distract 'em!"

The vehicle came into view: it was a farm truck, the rear carpeted with hay and sawdust, containing only a few wooden crates. Spike pulled on his human face and stepped out into the road; the truck slowed, then stopped. The farmer got out.

"Car trouble, buddy?" he asked, looking somewhat suspiciously at Spike and his stolen hot-rod.

"Overheated," Spike said, using his practiced American accent. In his peripheral vision he saw Faith sneak around behind the car and vault lightly into the back of the truck. The farmer didn't notice. "Lettin' 'er cool down a bit, then she oughta move," Spike added. "Uh, can you tell me how far to the nearest garage?"

"Not more'n ten miles up," the farmer replied, gesturing westward. "Take yer first right and there's an excellent mechanic name of Pete Flint." He looked Spike over again. "Sure you wouldn't rather find somewhere to bunk down, come back for yer car inna morning?"

"Nah, I can sleep in the back, be ready as soon as Pete opens up," Spike replied with a calm shrug. "Thanks for the info."

"Well, it's no trouble," the farmer shrugged back. "Evenin'."

"Yeah." Spike sighed inaudibly, trying not to think about the casual way in which he would formerly have killed this man. Oh well, at least there were plenty of demons to beat up in Sunnydale.

The farmer climbed back into his truck and put it into gear. As it pulled back onto the road, Spike could make out Faith's dark head in one corner. He knew she was looking at him, but she didn't wave. In moments she was gone.

"Yeah," Spike said again, momentarily pensive. Then he lit another cigarette, got back in the car, and drove off.

Angel let himself back into his apartment through the sewer entrance. Walking through the living room en route to the kitchen, he paused and blinked in surprise at the cuffed chain lying on the floor near a pillar. Had he trailed it along with him earlier, when Cordelia freed him from his bed to answer an urgent call for help? As he stooped to pick it up, several smells assaulted his nose: smells of sex, blood, cigarettes, and ... brandy. Frowning, he moved to where the bottle of alcohol was leaving a moisture ring on an antique coffee table. He pulled out a rag and wiped ineffectively at the blemish on the wood, before taking the bottle back to its place in the cabinet. Odd. The bottle definitely contained less brandy than the last time he'd looked.

Standing in the middle of the apartment, holding the brandy snifter in one hand and the chain in the other, Angel gazed around in perplexity. At last he decided that either Cordelia or Wesley was probably the culprit, and he definitely did not want an explanation.

The next morning, when she arrived with her double mochaccino, Cordelia was quite dismayed to find an empty bloodbag lying on the floor of the elevator. Her exact words were "Gross! What am I, his maid?"

Spike was leaning against the crypt he called home, enjoying a quiet smoke, when Buffy walked by, on patrol.

"Spike," Buffy said, stopping at the sight of him. "Haven't seen you around for a bit. We were starting to think someone might've staked you."

Spike shrugged. "Sorry to disappoint."

"I'm sure I'll get through it somehow." She folded her arms and stared at him. "So, where've you been?"

"Around." He flicked his cigarette butt away. "Kinda like your soldier boy, eh, Slayer?"

Buffy made an angry face, but her blush gave her away. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, you know." Spike grinned in devilish pleasure. "Just that G.I. Joe's been enjoying more than his fair share of Slayer goodness lately."

Buffy's jaw dropped and she stared at him in mingled surprise and dismay. "How did you - never mind," she interrupted herself. "You know what? I so don't want to know. I'm on the job." She turned and stalked off.

Chuckling, Spike turned and went back into his crypt. Well, he hadn't gotten to kill Angel -- or see him killed -- but at least he'd gotten his rocks off. Thrice. And life (er, death) in Sunnydale might be a little more interesting from now on.

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joan the english chick
Last updated April 19, 2000