by Tinkerbell
Series: Wounds Invisible 2

He came just to taunt me, the arrogant little prick that he is. I don't know why he gets such enjoyment from it. You'd think he'd steer clear. I mean, I left his turf, I came to Los Angeles, but he keeps popping up around every corner.

I had to teach him, or he'd never learn.

Who am I kidding? He'll never learn anyway. He'll always be impetuous and headstrong.

I liked that about him, once...

I don't like him anymore. I have a different feeling for Spike, the childe of mine who has been running a rampage of death for over a century, and this feeling that I have for him is too primal and deep for me to even examine. Disturbing.

So I had to teach him his place.

I smelled her for two days. It was unmistakably her, there's no way that I would ever confuse that scent with someone else. The daffodils give it away every time, that faint buttery scent that's tinged with lemon, and I always know when she's near.

It got closer, that smell of daffodils, and I found myself getting more and more restless, because I could tell that she was coming back to Los Angeles. There was no other way to explain the smell of her getting stronger. I wanted her to come, and yet I didn't...there was nothing to say that could fix what was already broken. But she was coming.

She *had* to be, because I could smell her.

I knew it the moment she walked into my apartment without knocking, even though my back was turned. The light scent of flowers drifted past me, and I steeled myself against her before I turned, and behold my shock when the only person standing in my dark, spacious apartment--

--was Spike.

His eyes lit up with amusement when he saw the confusion in mine.

"Looking for the Slayer, were you?"

My nostrils flared as I took a step closer to him, and I cocked my head like a dog trying to pinpoint a smell. My only question was, " do you smell like her?" Perhaps I should have asked him why he was here, but I was too confused by my senses.

The corner of his perfect mouth turned up. "Like who, mate?"

My eyes must have grown wild, for he took a step back as I took one forward. "I smell her. She's on you. Why are you *covered* with that smell?"

"What do you smell, Angel?" he asked me softly, his eyes dancing. "Sure, there's that flowery stuff she wears. But what's underneath?"

I paused and narrowed my eyes. Underneath? I tested the air again, honing in on Spike, trying to work past the intoxicating scent of daffodils, and when the underlying smell hit me I took an unconscious step back.

Desire was on him, and it wasn't his own I was smelling. It was hers, the unmistakable scent of her heady arousal, and it was lingering on my childe.

He could tell when I figured it out, and could hardly keep from grinning. "You smell that little girl on me, don't you, Peaches? Sure you do." He lifted his arm to his nose and breathed deeply of his shirtsleeve. "No wonder you had to leave town. I couldn't keep my hands off of her either."

Suddenly everything was white, and I felt a murderous rage well up. Spike saw it, too, and a moment of alarm shone in his eyes as I leaped forward and snagged the front of his shirt in my hands.

"Why is her smell all over you!" I shouted at him, as if it would make him answer me any more completely. He had his little secret, and he was keeping it.

To his credit, he remained very calm. "Why do you think, Angel? Why do you think I have the Slayer's smell in my pores?"

"She would never," I breathed, willing it so, praying it was so.

"Wouldn't she, now?" he replied, leaning in so that our noses touched. "She's still on my lips, Angel. Taste for yourself."

His invitation brought a flash of memory, a memory of dark wild nights when Spike and I shared each other's bed, and our bodies...and our blood.

"You'll never learn, Will," I snarled at him, and brought his mouth up to mine savagely. At the first taste of him, I realized he was right...her taste was still on his lips and something inside of me died. But somewhere else, somewhere deeper, a part of me sprang to life, a part of me that had never relinquished its hold on my childe. My head began to spin with the scent of both my Slayer and my childe mixed into one, and I lost sense of time. All I wanted was William, I wanted it to be one hundred years ago and I wanted him to belong to me.

I kissed him fiercely, still clutching the lapels of his shirt, and I felt his hands go into my hair and grip it so tightly that it hurt, but I didn't let go. I mauled his mouth as savagely as I could, smelling both my enemy and my love, letting my fangs appear and biting down hard on his lips. He let the drops of blood come willingly, even stuck his bleeding tongue into my mouth in offering, and it was then I noticed his erection pressing painfully against the ridge of his pants.

Breaking the kiss, I reached down and gripped his cock through his pants, none too gently. "You like this?" I growled at him, gesturing toward myself, then at him.

He responded by squeezing my own shaft, which I had not even noticed was hard. "You tell me," he said, his eyes a shimmering yellow. "You're always so blind, Angel. Except when it comes to your bloody Slayer." He spat the last word, as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

I chose to ignore the implications of his words, though perhaps it would have been better if I had examined his meaning. Instead, I pushed him to the floor of my kitchen, yanking on his belt and pulling his shirttails from his pants. He remained outwardly calm through it, though whenever I met his eyes, they were roiling and dark, the blue mixing with a stormy gray.

I yanked his pants to his knees, barely registering the fact that he lifted his hips to help me, and then I grabbed his arm and forced him over onto his stomach, flattening him to the floor. The sight of his well-muscled buttocks, flexing under my gaze, caused me to narrow my lips into a thin line. His body was how I remembered it, unchanged, unlined. It was the same body that had given me nights of pleasure, and I had given the same in return. The fact that there had also been an exchange of emotion did not have any place in this time. I did not want to feel emotion for Spike, and was horrified by the thought that he might harbor some for me.

With his pants around his hips, he did not have the room to spread his legs to accommodate me. I didn't care. I jammed a finger in between his cheeks, feeling for the small, tight opening. When I found it, I shoved my finger in as far as it would go, hoping to elicit some response from him. The only thing he did was to tense, then relax, and I felt his shrunken passage expanding slightly. He waited silently beneath me.

It angered me, his martyred silence, and the guilt I felt angered me as well. The anger spurred me on. I ripped open the fly of my jeans, letting my cock spring free. It jutted proudly away from my body, bobbing slightly, and I touched my fingers to my tongue and then my hand to my erection. Spreading my cool saliva over the swollen head, I closed my eyes and momentarily imagined another, smaller hand, a hand that was distinctly feminine, but the image faded and all I could see and remember was Spike.

Straddling his bound hips, I parted his cheeks with my hand and eased my cock into his opening. The damned soul that was eternally mine would not let me hurt him, though the demon in me ached to rip him in two and fuck him into the concrete ground. He made not a sound as I sank slowly into him, burying myself to the hilt in his cool, dry passage. I noticed his hands scrabbling for purchase on the smooth floor, searching for something to grab on to, and in a moment of weakness I leaned forward on to his back and stretched my arms out over his. He grabbed my hands and brought himself up on his elbows, leaving his pelvis to rub on the floor as I began to rock.

Deeper and deeper still, I buried myself in my childe, shaking my head back and forth in denial, still smelling both of the different, unique scents that were blended into one. He rocked with me, rubbing his hardness on the floor below, straining for release but still not making a sound. Suddenly, without warning, he snarled and sank his fangs into my wrist, and I could feel him jerking under me as he came. The feel of his teeth in my flesh drove me harder, and the feeling behind my balls intensified as I felt him suckling at my arm. It welled up and spilled over, and I came inside him with a grunt, tearing my hands away from his and gripping his buttocks tightly.

I pulled out of him almost instantly, rolling away on the floor and fastening my pants while staring at the ceiling. Spike did not speak, but I heard his clothing rustle as he straightened it.

"You'll learn your place, Will," I told him tiredly. "If it's the last thing I do, you'll learn your place."

He stood, looming over me like a handsome, rebellious youth. I felt very old.

"I'll give the Slayer your regards, Peaches," he tossed at me angrily, and I heard the door slam shut behind him. It rang dully throughout the empty apartment.

I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, and stayed that way for a long time.