by Saber ShadowKitten

Spike walked up the hallway on the second floor of the dorm with a purpose. He ignored the students swarming around him, all the warm blood calling to him. He had only one person's blood on his mind.

The Slayer's.

After the botched attempt to get back the Ring of Amara, he had decided that he should stop namby-pambying around and just fight her until one of them was dead. And that was why he was back in Sunnydale, heading up the hallway to her dorm room. He was going to pay her a nice, little surprise visit to get the festivities going.

The numbered door he was looking for came into view at the same time he saw someone stick a piece of paper on it, then run away. Quirking a brow, he sauntered up to the door and looked at the paper. It was a crudely drawn picture of a woman's spread legs with the words "Buffy & Willow, Open for Business" written above the legs, and "Please 'come' in" written below.

"Don't mind if I do," Spike said to himself, turning the doorknob. He happily found it unlocked and entered the room.

"Hello, dear, look who's ho--oh, you're not here," he said to the empty dorm room. He shrugged and shut the door behind him and looked around. Two beds, two desks, two night-stands, too boring. The only thing of interest he'd found right off the bat was the low, throbbing music coming from the small stereo on a bookshelf.

Deciding that the best place to lie in wait was right in the Slayer's own dorm room, he picked the bed on the right and flopped down on it, effecting a casual pose. He had a perfect view of the door, and couldn't wait to see the stunned look on the little chit's face when she saw him.

There was a plain, red-covered book on the night-stand beside him and he reached over to pick it up. Opening it up to the page that was marked with a pen, he began to read it.

I had that dream again. I've given up on counting the number of nights I've had it, but not on the thought of seeking counseling. If it were anyone else, I figure it could be chalked up to Angel missage and Riley attraction and, gag me, Parker having reminded me of what it felt like to be physically satisfied. It has to be because I'd repressed the need to be physically satisfied, or else I'm officially certifiable for having erotic dreams about Spike.

Spike's jaw dropped slightly and he reread the passage in what was obviously the Slayer's diary to make sure he wasn't seeing things. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face, replacing the shock that his mortal enemy was dreaming about him, as he continued to read.

The dream always starts out the same. Spike and I fight (what else is new?), and he manages to get the upper hand. This time, he had me pinned to the ground, but instead of going in for the killing bite, he kisses me. It isn't an Angel kiss, full of repressed passion threatening to explode. It isn't a Parker the poophead kiss, expertly sweet and arousing. Spike's kiss is brutal. Hard and bruising and demanding and cutting and as violent as he is.

God, I'm getting horny just thinking about it again. I'm sick. Sick, sick, sick.

I wouldn't feel that disgusted if the dream stopped with him kissing me. But it doesn't. Oh no, not even close. On the ground, up against a wall, a door, over a headstone, a desk, on the table in the old high school library, he fucks me long and hard, bruising me with his fingers on my hips, his mouth punishing mine, until just before I'm about to orgasm. Then I wake up, shaking and unfulfilled and having to go masturbate in the shower.

I so need to get my head examined.

But not as much as I need to be fucked by him.

Spike looked up as he heard the door start to open. Quickly, he closed the diary and set it on the night-stand, standing at the same time. He took in the light blue, silky robe that draped over the roundness of the blond woman's buttocks and brushed the tops of the backs of her knees. Her wet hair was upswept in a haphazard topknot, a few strands falling along the back of her neck.

She turned around after closing the door, and his eyes immediately fell to the exposed skin between the deep V-neck of the robe belted at her tiny waist.

"Spike," Buffy breathed in surprise, and his eyes shot up to meet hers.

"'Allo, Slayer," Spike purred, taking a step towards her.

Buffy reacted to his moving by throwing the pink, plastic bucket of her bathroom things at him. It smacked him hard in the chest as he caught it, and he grinned mockingly as he tossed it away. "Now, is that any way to greet an old friend?" he asked.

"You're not my friend," Buffy said, her eyes darting around the room, looking for a stake. The closest one was in the bag sticking out of her closet. As she started for it, Spike charged her, and the two began to fight.

Buffy shot her leg out in a back kick, knocking him away from her, and she spun around to face him, her hands up in a fighting stance. She blocked his first punch, but caught the second in the stomach. She grunted and bent slightly with the hit, but then stepped forward into a kick, her bare foot shooting up between his legs.

Spike lifted his knee, preventing the balls of her foot from connecting with his balls, and grabbed her calf. He yanked her leg towards him, hoping to pull her off-balance, but instead she pushed herself forwards with her other foot as he pulled her leg, sending him staggering. He released her, and she pressed her advantage, punching him across the jaw twice in rapid succession with each fist.

On her third swing, he blocked, grabbed both sides of her face, and head-butted her. She took a stunned step backwards from him, and he dropped a hand to the belt around her waist. Grabbing the loose end tightly, he hooked his foot behind her ankle and shoved her. She fell back onto the carpeted floor, her robe coming undone, as the silken belt stayed in his hand.

Spike's eyes darkened when more of Buffy's flesh became exposed by the gap in the robe. He could see a hint of the dark curls at the apex of her thighs. A long expanse of tanned skin was visible from her navel up to her neck, and part of a dark, rosy areola peeked from behind the light blue material. He became rock hard instantly, and he knew he had to have her before he killed her.

As she scrambled to get to her feet, Spike tackled her, sending them both skidding slightly across the carpeted floor. Buffy's robe was pulled partially down her arms with the friction on the carpeting, baring her more to him, as well as pinning her arms. Spike was nestled between her thighs, his hardness under his jeans pressed intimately up against her exposed sex.

The blond vampire met the Slayer's eyes for a brief instant before he smashed his mouth down upon hers. She struggled under him, causing her to rub against his erection, making it throb even more. His hands tightened on her shoulders, his elbows digging into her arms, pinning them to the floor. His blunt teeth punished her lips, scraping along their softness before sucking the lower one into his mouth.

He heard a low groan at the same time the unmistakable scent of arousal hit his nose. Her hands, which were trying to shove him off of her, clenched around the material of his duster. Her mouth opened, and he immediately invaded with his tongue, sweeping her into a deeper kiss. She fought him back with her own tongue, sending messages of want and need directly to his groin.

He shifted his weight slightly in order to get one hand between their bodies. His fingers found her swollen flesh, and his nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply when he felt how wet she was for him. With expert ease, he freed his aching cock, ran it down her slick folds and into position at her entry, then slammed himself fully inside of her heat.

Spike growled loudly, his mouth not leaving hers, as her body accepted his turgid length. He pulled his hips back and thrust into her again, savoring the whimpering sound she made deep in her throat. He began a hard, unforgiving pace, thrusting in and out of her softness and heat without mercy, his tongue still engaged in battle with hers.

He felt her legs rise up around his waist, her ankles hooking behind his back, and she lifted her hips to meet each of his thrusts. He could feel himself coming closer to orgasm, and he suddenly had the desire to taste her before he filled her with his long-dead seed.

Breaking away from her mouth, he shoved himself down her body and ran his tongue over the slick flesh between her legs. She cried out unintelligibly and loudly when he sucked her hardened bundle of nerves into his mouth, her thighs closing over his ears. She began riding his face, her fingers digging into his scalp, until she arched up off the floor as she came.

Spike was over her again in a second, sliding into her wet heat with ease. He captured her mouth again as he began to pound into her relentlessly, her silken walls clenching and unclenching around his cock. He felt his sac tighten an instant before he climaxed, causing him to tear away from her mouth with a snarl. His shaft pulsed inside of her, shooting his cold semen in her hot depths, as he pressed himself tightly up against her core.

He stayed within her for several long moments after he came, needlessly panting near her ear. His burning desire to kill her once and for all had vanished under the burning desire to fuck her again as soon as his body was ready. He raised his head and met her startled, slightly frightened, large eyes and he swore under his non-existent breath before bending to press his lips to hers.

The new kiss wasn't as brutal, but it wasn't soft and sweet either. It bordered on rough and roused passion again. Hardening already inside of her, Spike pulled slowly out of her core before reentering her equally as slow. He did it twice more before grabbing her shoulders tightly in order to reverse their positions.

He knew he was taking a chance and giving up his power he had over her by the change, but he really no longer cared. All he cared about was seeing her riding him of her own free will. And as she broke the kiss to rise up above him, he pushed the light blue robe completely off of her, leaving her bared to his hungry gaze.

His hands cupped her small breasts as she raised and lowered herself upon him. Her eyes were open in tiny slits, watching him, her hands resting on his clothed abdomen for balance. He moved his thumbs inward, brushing over her the taut buds of her nipples. He continued to use his thumbs to circle the rosy peaks, eventually pulling his fingers together to tug on them. She inhaled sharply when he did that, encouraging him to sit up and capture one of her nipples with his mouth.

She clasped him around the back of the head, holding him to her, as he sucked and teased the hard bud with his lips, teeth and tongue. After thoroughly laving attention on one, he move to the other to repeat his ministrations. She continued to ride him all the while he played with her breasts, her mound grinding against the coarse curls at the top of his shaft exposed by the opening in his jeans.

Spike moved from her breast to her mouth, involving her in another heavy kiss. His hands splayed her back, one in between her shoulder blades, the other just above the curve of her buttocks. Then he felt her pushing at his duster, and he let go of her long enough to let the leather slide off his arms and onto the floor, followed by his red shirt. Her fingers plucked at his tee-shirt, but he loathed to break away from her mouth to remove it.

Buffy was the one to forcefully push him away in order to tug the material over his head. He assisted her, then bent his knees up behind her, making her lean back on them. Her breasts rose and fell with each breath she took and her skin held a slight sheen of perspiration as he ran his eyes once again down her body. One of his hands came to rest on her hip, the other dipping between them, his thumb finding her clitoris.

She moaned low and long and in pleasure as he rubbed the hard nubbin. He returned his gaze to hers, and saw her lick her lips, her heavy-lidded eyes filled with desire only. If he would have known how good it felt to shag her, he would have done it long ago. Forget fighting, fucking was the way to go.

He watched her face as he brought her to another orgasm, her vaginal walls quivering around his cock before clamping down tightly upon him, causing him to growl deep in his chest. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he used to other to help him stand with his shaft still buried within her as she continued to climax around him. In two steps, he had her slammed up against the dorm room door, pounding into her with vicious abandon, seeking his own second release.

She clutched his shoulders as he came, his body spasming up into her. Several vehement swears tumbled from his lips as white-heat shot up his shaft, burning him from the inside as her heat burned him on the outside. He spilled himself again within her core, his cock pulsing within her soft walls.

Spent and panting just as needlessly as the first time, he rested his forehead against the hard wood of the door, his body molded against Buffy's, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. If there was a way to die from too much pleasure, he'd found it. Already and with unbelievability, he could feel himself hardening inside of her again. Her body was like a drug to him, and his new addiction was demanding to be met.

Spike raised his head and looked Buffy straight in the eyes. For the first time since their carnal tete-a-tete began, he spoke directly to her. "Truce?"

"Only if you lock the door and take off the rest of your clothes," Buffy replied in a breathy voice. "Then fuck me until I can't walk again."

And thus their truce began.

End 1