"And who is this toasty goodness?"

The words were appreciative, confident, and cruel. Bells ringing in clear air, echoing the smokey darkness he was used to.

Spike grinned. "Spike's the name," he answered, thrusting his hips out for his cockiest walk. He knew the score, of course. Was never gonna give the 'bit up, but bedamned if he wasn't gonna have a bit of fun before he killed her.

"Spike, huh? That a descriptor or just wishful thinking?" Red gold instead of black or blonde, animated instead of distracted or distant. Not too tall, not too thin, and not too short. Bloody perfect, she was, and the look in her eyes said she saw it too.

"Wanna find out, is it? Wouldn't say no to a romp."

"A romp? Oh, please. Goddesses do not ‘romp'." She approached slowly, red lips twisted in a lascivious smile that never stopped being cruel, even as it grew more lustful. "We do, however, dally. Now and again. When we need. . . rest."

Spike closed the distance between them, ignoring the brown-robbed scabby things hovering to the side. They were insignificant minions, and, well, an audience was never a bad thing. Sliding his hands around her waist, Spike gave her his best smirk. "And you need rest, then, is it? Goddessing tirin' you out?"

She pouted, eyes dancing. "I just want to go home, you know. But that little Slayer keeps getting in my way and I can't find my key!" She actually even stamped her foot, but Spike didn't mind. Childishness was still a turn-on, even after so many decades living with it. "But you could help me forget. . . for a little."

"Oh, I could make you forget for a lot longer than that."

Her kisses were pain, cracking through to his marrow and making him quake as he held her. Actually slipping inside her was agony a thousand times over, but Spike just screamed his delight and begged for it to hurt just a little more. She loved those screams, pushing him onto his back so each harsh cry was when she willed it, cooing her pleasure as he filled her again and again.

Coming was like dying.

When they were both finally sated, she lay lax in his arms, not truly sleeping but not truly awake, either. Spike hurt too much to sleep, entire body marked and griddled from her touches. He stroked her hair and murmured praise and adulation, because he was never happier when a strong woman made him her bitch. And he waited until the trick happened, the one thing he couldn't figure out, the connection between this beautiful woman and the wanker of a doctor that always seemed to be around her.

And when he finally understood what the trick was, too close to let the mojo work and make him forget this time, he closed his hand over the sleeping man's mouth and waited.