AUTHOR:Kate Nicholas

EMAIL: tobin4@hotmail.com

SUMMARY:  Events over the last few years have altered Willow's behaviour. Willow's diary entry.  Eventual Willow/Spike.

RATING:   Overall, an 18 for me in the UK so that's an NC-17, right?

DISCLAIMER: These characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and whoever else owns them.  I'm just borrowing them for dire and unspeakable purposes of my own.  Trust me, I'm making no money from this.

FEEDBACK:   Pretty please?  This is my first fic so I'm incredibly nervous.  Flame me if you will, but I warn you, my ego is so strong that it could deflect small meteor showers...

SPOILERS:   Events from the first three seasons mentioned at random.

NOTES:   OK, being from the UK and having no access to SKY TV means that all my knowledge of Season 4 comes from spoiler sites.  It's probably best if you think of this happening in my own little universe.  Actually, it's a very nice place to live..(g)

Oh my God.

Oh my God.

Tonight I fucked a vampire.

And do you know what?  I enjoyed every minute of it.  Little Willow Rosenberg, gettin' it on with a soulless demon.  What would they say,my fellow Scoobsters, if they knew that while they were out helping Buffy on patrol I was screwing Spike on Giles' bathroom floor?

(I can't believe I'm writing all this down.  I've never done the whole diary thing before.  What was there to say?  "Got up, went to school, came home, cried myself to sleep?"  Riveting, much?  Anyway.)

You know what?  I don't give a damn what they think, or what they say.  Not anymore.  Why the hell should I?  They obviously don't care about me. They care about their Willow, the cute little brain that hung on Xander Harris' every word in case one of them should be about her.  They'd do anything for her.  Problem is, she isn't here anymore.  I don't really know when she left but I don't miss her.  She was nothing but a doormat that everyone scraped the dogshit from their shoes on before they went to worship at the Shrine of Buffy.

As my new lover would so eloquently say, bunch of wankers.

OK, I've just read that last paragraph back and I sound schizophrenic.  I'm not.  I guess I'm just waking up to me.  All of this has been building up for a long time, really.  I never realised how much baggage I was lugging around with me.

Mom and Dad, well, there's years of therapy waiting to happen.  I don't think that they should have been allowed to have a dog, never mind a kid.  I guess them not being around like regular parents was kinda cool during high school.  Nobody around to set curfew or have a wiggins about all the bumps and bruises from extra-curricular slayage.  It certainly made the logistics of being best friends with the Slayer a lot easier.  As long as they got my test scores faxed to whatever conference they were chairing I got my allowance transferred into my bank account.  It would have been nice to see them around a little more. But it could have been worse.  My parents could have been like Xander's around the house but still not giving a shit.

Ant talk of the boy himself.  The nights I tortured myself with dreams of Xander, King of Cretins.  I had my first orgasm thinking of him, sweet sixteen and in the shower.  Goddess praise the inventor of the detachable shower head!  All that time wasted over him, and he only goes and sees what's under his nose when he's all hot and heavy with Cordelia.

One thing you can say about Cordelia, she really attacks those cultural stereotypes.  It turns out that not all bimbos are blonde. Am I being miaowsome?  I believe I am.  Saucer of milk, table six...

Anyway, she's out of the picture in L.A getting her claws into Angel and Xander's smooching with Anya.  Anya?  What is he thinking?  Or thinking with?  Am I detecting a pattern here?  Praying mantis woman, Inca mummy-girl, Superbitch and now the human incarnation of a millennia-old demon who avenged the bitter and the jilted?  Maybe it's best that we didn't get much beyond illicit smoochies.  I might have ended up an another in his Gallery O'Freaks.

Besides, I had Oz.  At least, I thought I did.  I didn't know we were living on borrowed time.  Veruca?  Who names their child after a scuzzy foot wart?  Oz was my ticket, my way into a normal teen life.  He was a senior, he was the guitarist in a band.  I was so desperate to do all that stuff, the school dances and the making out in his van tat I didn't freak out about him being a werewolf.  Normal teen life.  Most girls slap their boyfriends when they get a bit too frisky.  I had to tranquilise mine with a dart gun.  But Oz was so cool about the slayage and the Hellmouth.  He seemed to like me, brain-girl.  And it wasn't for sex. ( I wouldn't have minded if it was.  Shocked?  Hey, Willow gets horny too.)  Oz was everything that a girl could want in a boyfriend.  And this perfect boyfriend was so fucking nice and so fucking sweet that he just leaves me. Just packs up and goes and leaves me alone again.

Poor little Willow, no more the star, only the sidekick.  When Buffy is the hero, everyone becomes a sidekick.  None of us are allowed to shine.  I was so grateful to her that night in the Bronze, when she first came into town.  Buffy Summers, the foxy mysterious new girl wanted to hang with me.  And don't get me wrong, Buffy's been a good friend to me.  When she hasn't needed tutoring, or got me kidnapped by one of her nasty enemies who wants to dish out some damage on someone who isn't a Slayer.  It's just that it's easy to fade into the background when Buff's in the room.  That's why I started the magic, really.  I wanted to be more powerful.  Kickass Willow and her black arts.  Yeah, Witchy Willow who can't turn Amy back into a human or even go through with a proper hex.  Bette Midler made a more convincing witch.

Buffy even took Giles away from me.

OK, reality check, Giles was *never* mine.

He never will be mine.

But there was a time when I wanted him to be.  he was so much older than Xander, more knowledgeable, more sophisticated.  More experienced - I've always wondered exactly what Ripper used to get up to.  Plus his accent still makes me cream, big time.  I used to fantasise about one-on-one research sessions that would end up with us naked and sweaty on that big oak table.  But when Buffy calls, her devoted Watcher comes to kiss her feet.  Does anybody belive that "father-daughter bond" bullshit?  He wants her *so* bad and it's just killing him that he's getting lustful over a teenage hottie.  It killed me for a while that I wasn't the hottie, but I grew out of it.  Just.  It was hard though, seeing him get all angsty over Buffy when she was getting frolicsome with Angel.  Bitch.  She gets the posterboy for the undead as her boyfriend while the perfect older (human) man is pining away for a little BuffyLove.  Yeah, being the Slayer is such a fucking chore.

Sacred duty my ass.

So this is what I've been walking around with.  All of this buzzing around on the inside while trying so hard to be Perfect Willow on the outside.  It has been leaking through, though.  I ditched all my fuzzy jumpers.  My hemlines are all higher and my necklines are lower.  Considerably.  Instead of looking like my mother dressed me, it looks like I've been taking fashion tips from Faith.  I like it.  I started paying attention to the tattoos on the Goth sitting in front of me in psych class.  One time I went up to her and asked her where she had been done.  Could you imagine high school Willow even talking to a woman with a tattoo, let alone ask her for the address of the shop?  Well, Irma (poor kid, no wonder the rebellion) offered to take me and before you could say "deviant behaviour" I was checking out the designs at Doc Graham's.

I have this electric blue and black lizard running down my spine!!!

I managed to keep it covered until the skin healed - not an easy task when you have a roomate, especially one that just waltzes in and out of the bathroom when you're trying to wash your hair without getting your tattoo wet.   Jeez, just because you kill a few vampires, does that give you automatic hot water privileges?  I think not!  You know, it's amazing what a tattoo can do for your sex life.  I've been hanging out more at the bars off campus.  Ten minutes after unveiling the tattoo for the first time, courtesy of a skimpy black dress, the guys were buzzing around like flies.

One stood out from the rest.  He was pure BMOC, the kind of guy that would have just brushed past me in high school like I was Marcie, the invisible girl.  Yet here he was, buying me drinks and desperately trying to get a good look down my dress.  I let him hang around all night and we left together.  By the way that we were all over each other it was obvious that he was expecting an easy lay.  To be honest, so was I.  We started stumbling through the paths to Stevenson.  Buffy was on patrol around this area so the room would be empty.  It was on the way there that I thought, wouldn't it freak Buffy out to find Willow having sex on a bench in the middle of her patrol route?  Wouldn't it blow her fake-blonde mind?

So that's what I did.

The next bench that we stumbled past I sat down on and and told Jerry..or Jake..or Jason..I was wasted, I don't remember his name, I told that guy that I wasn't going anywhere else until he licked me until I came, right there, on the George R.Perry Memorial Bench.  So he did, ripping off my panties with eager fingers and searching out my clit with a remarkably dextrous tongue.  Buffy didn't see us, despite the fact that I screamed out loud when I came.  It was the first time I had been able to since Oz left.  Nobody saw us.  Which is good, really, because there was nobody to see me put the wicca whammy on Jude or Jack or saw him slump to the ground unconscious, lost in sleep.  I got home OK and fell into bed.  Next morning when I woke up Buffy she said that the only weird thing that she saw last night was some kid fast asleep in the middle of the path with a pair of panties tucked in his jeans pocket.  (I thought I'd leave him something to remember me by, you know?)  How I kept a straight face I'll never know.

Buffy saw the tattoo that morning.  It was my own stupid fault, I had been so wasted that night I had just stripped my dress off and gone to bed without putting on my pajamas.  She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw it.  She totally freaked out, like she was my Mom or something.  OK, I know Ethan tattooed her against her will but I chose to have mine done.  I just lost it and a load of stuff came out, stuff that I never thought I'd actually say to her, like how selfish I think she is and how badly she treats everyone around her.  I told her to stay the fuck out of my business and that I'd do whatever I wanted with my body.  For once, I didn't stammer or stumble or babble aimlessly.  I was cold, I was ruthless, I was direct and I loved every minute of it.  She started to cry and slammed out of the room in that wonderfully melodramatic way she has.  I could tell exactly where she'd end up; sobbing on Giles' shoulder while he tries to control his raging hard-on as he hugs her.    Was I ever in for it.  That night we were scheduled for a pre-patrol research session; word on the demonic grapevine was that some slimy green snot demons were headed our way and Giles wanted to be prepared.

Mmm, wouldn't he look good in a scout's uniform?

Sorry, minor diversion into porno-world.

They'd rip me apart when I got there but part of me was waiting for it, wanted it.  I think I was getting tired of pretending to be somebody I wasn't.  I wanted to come out of the sweet-girl closet.

Well, I came out and not with a whimper but with a bang.  I was the last to arrive at Giles' house.  He was at the table, surrounded by open books, but with his head in his hands, glasses on the table.  Buffy was leaning against the wall, sharpening Mr.Pointy.  Anya and Xander, as usual, were entwined together on the couch looking sickeningly in love.

Did Oz and I ever look like that?

Down the hall, the door to Giles' bathroom was open meaning that Spike, Giles' reluctant houseguest who was chained up in the bathtub could hear every word of our forthcoming conversation.  Conversation.

Yeah, right, we could have been on the Jerry Springer show for all the decorum that the ensuing shouting match held.  Apparently, my change in behaviour lately had not gone unnoticed.  they had all picked up on little things; Giles has noticed that my Wiccan studies had taken a darker, more powerful tone.  No more floating pencils for me.  Why stake a vamp with a pencil when you can use a tree branch?

Buffy, my closest galpal and the Scoobster with most access to me, had come to the startling conclusion that my clothes were different; well, quelle surprise from the Slayer/Supermodel.  It is so fucking annoying to share a room with someone who could make a garbage bag look sexy.  Even her morning hair is ten times better than mine.

And Xander, true to form, had noticed that I didn't laugh at his jokes anymore.  Why should I?  I only did it before because I thought I loved him and wanted into his pants.  After that it became habit.  Only Anya hadn't noticed anything different, and that's because she doesn't give a shit about me.  Her honesty is quite refreshing.

Of course, telling them all this did not go down too well.  Hence the shoutage.  We'd been at it for an hour or more before Giles finally made himself heard over the noise.  He ordered everyone out on patrol except me.  I had Spikesitting duty, which is normally fobbed off on Anya since she really is the most useless of the Scooby Gang.  Although, Spike wouldn't be able to charm her letting him go as she hates men.  This was obviously a punishment detail for me.

They all slammed out of the door and I threw myself down on the couch, still in a rage.  The last hour had brought so many raw feelings of mine to the surface that I was still confused.  I was deep in thought for ten minutes before I heard Spike calling from the bathroom.

Spike.  There's a conundrum.  Evil, soulless killer, devout enemy of the Slayer and all she holds dear; weakened and at the mercy of those very people.  Despite the fact that the implant in his head stops him from biting anyone, Giles keeps him locked up at night in case he tries to escape.  I've wondered at the logic of that one.  What's he gonna do, go and find another group of people that will shelter him from daylight and feed him blood?  Terrorise the world by doing good deeds and not biting people?  Be still my fearful heart...

I think we're the only ones stupid enough to take an enemy into out HQ.  One that has proved to be untrustworthy in the past, and one that has tried to hurt me on several occasions.  The fact that he's a major hottie also makes the situation as clear as mud.  I know I shouldn't want to screw the evil villain, but I think I'm just conforming to peer group pressure.

If Buffy and Xander can fuck demons, why can't I?

I stood in the doorway to the bathroom, and Spike stopped calling long enough to check me out.  He let out a slow whistle, noting the knee high leather boots, very short black skirt, ice blue spaghetti strapped top and matching guazy blouse buttoned over it.  "Turn around, witch," he said, and I slowly pirouetted, showing him a part of the tattoo that had made Xander explode in a torrent of foul language and had made Giles go an interesting purple colour.  When I was facing him again, he smirked and said "Finally, I get to see what all the bloody fuss was about.  Change of image, pet?"  I smiled back, and said, "Change of personality.  They'll deal."  He shot back with, "And if they don't?" to which I just laughed and said, "Then it's their fucking problem."

We were still making eye contact, and after I had spoken we were both silent for a while.  Still checking each other out.  He really didn't look at all comfortable, trussed up in that tub.  An idea sprang to mind, and to my annoyance, a little Good Willow voice piped up in my head and warned me that Giles wouldn't like it.

Which, of course, was all the reason I needed to do it.

Undoing a lock by magic was delicate work, not as easy as lifting something, even something heavy like a book or a branch.  It required a light touch and some finesse.  Luckily, I had been getting some practice in recently.  I'd locked myself out of the dorm several times in the last month and didn't want to pay for a replacement key.

Plus I've been reading Buffy's secret diary, which has a lock.

From my position at the doorway, I carefully manipulated the padlocks one by one until they all clicked open and the chains fell away from Spike, who looked at first confused and then wary.  Then he snuck a look at my face, and I guess I was telegraphing my feelings.  Major lust.  He rose from the tub smoothly; his grace and speed a testament to his vampire demoness.  Any mortal would have been sore and cramped.  For a minute we just stood, taking in the new situation.  It was new for both of us.  He is compromised; the implant in his head stops him from hurting me or killing me.  No vampire Willow in this reality, thank you very much.  I have complete control over the situation; a new experience for me.  I felt a sudden rush of power fill me, a sense of joy that I'd never felt before.  There was no one in the room that could make me do anything I didn't want to do.  I *liked* that.

He walked over to me, snaking an arm around my waist and pulling me to him.  His body was not as cold as I had expected it to be; it was cool, rather than icy cold.  His strength was evident in his grip on me, strong enough to hold me in place if I struggled but not so strong that he was hurting me.  I didn't struggle.   Why the hell should I?  This was what I wanted.

I don't love him, the way Buffy loves Angel.

How can I, when Spike has no soul?  If the implant in his head was removed tomorrow, he'd be back the way he was.  I may have changed my way of thinking, but I'm not stupid and having a tattoo doesn't make me a sudden convert to evil.  I'm not pro the forces of evil in Sunnydale.  I just want to have a little fun with the hotties.

All this was communicated between us in that searing moment of eye contact before our first kiss.  I leaned into it and pushed my tongue into his mouth while running my hands over his chest and unbuttoning his shirt.  I pulled it off, and dropped it on the floor.  He responded in kind, yanking my blouse off my shoulders and softly kneading my breasts with his hands through the material of my top, finding my nipples and rolling them expertly between his thumb and forefinger.  I let out a deep moan, and my knees felt like they were about to buckle.  My top joined the slowly growing pile of clothes on the floor.

Spike broke away from our kiss but kept staring at me with his icy blue eyes, a small smile playing over his lips.  He laid his hands lightly on his shoulders, and began to gently trace a pattern down my arms with his fingers.  I could do nothing but return his gaze and remember to keep breathing.  Suddenly that was becoming very difficult.  His hands moved over my waist, and then he dropped to his knees.  I felt small kisses on my stomach as Spike's hands continued down my legs until he reached my boots.  He unzipped each one, and I stepped out of it.  They were thrown aside, hitting the wall with a resounding thud.  Spike rose, and returned his mouth to mine.

As my knees finally gave way, Spike stumbled forwards, and I was pinned against the bathroom wall.  Grateful for this support, I began to move my kisses along his jawline and towards his ear.  He growled in pleasure, and I knew that I had found one of my new lover's vulnerable spots.  I kept my lips attentive to pleasuring him there, while my hands found his trousers.  Operating by touch alone, by trial and error I located the button and zipper, noting with pleasure that every time my hands moved over his groin his burgeoning erection would grow and harden.  I undid the fastenings and pulled the trousers down over his slim hips.  Spike stepped out of them and kicked them towards the clothing pile.  The trousers were soon joined by my skirt, and for what seemed like an ecstatic eternity we just stood there, holding each other up, Spike naked and I with only my peach silk panties which were slowly getting damper and damper.  His kisses moved around the back of my neck while his cool fingers, like a welcome breeze on a sweltering summer's evening, slowly traced my tattoo from its start at the mid point between my shoulder blades to it's tapering end near my hips.  I was rubbing his back and butt with one hand while slowly tracing the length of his penis with the fingers of the other while kissing and nibbling my way around his collarbone.

After meeting our mouths back for one more passionate kiss, he pulled me away from the wall and turned me around, so that my butt pressed hard into what was now an impressive erection.  He slowly took us both down to the floor, he with his back to the tub, me sitting with my back to his chest, between his legs.  He began nuzzling my ear with his barely open lips, gently pulling at it with them.  His hands, which were resting on my shoulders, ran down my arms, across my stomach and along the tops of my thighs, then down the insides, up to where my panties lay.  Switching attention from one ear to the other, he ran his fingers over the vee of the silk, probing through the thin material until he found my clit, which was already beginning to throb gently.  He began to apply more pressure through the panties, circling around the clit until the nearness of his touch to my pleasure centre began to be sweet agony as he got closer and closer but never touched it directly.  My orgasm was beginning to build, soft waves of pleasure rushing over me.  I needed to feel him moving inside me.  By this point I was unable to articulate more than the soft moans and sighs that had accompanied his slowly wandering hands, but my sudden strong grip on his forearms told him everything he needed to know.

His fingers moved up to the waistband of my panties and suddenly pulled, snapping them.  He wadded up the useless material and threw it in the vague direction of the rest of the clothes.  Turning within the confine of his legs I faced him, then straddled him, hovering just above his erection.  I placed my hands on his shoulders and he wrapped an arm around my waist, and as I moved down onto his penis he guided himself into me, then moved his hand up to caress my breasts. I raised and lowered myself as he moved his hips accordingly, each time allowing most of his shaft to re-enter me to the hilt.  The pleasure waves got higher and higher with each thrust, and I knew that I was reaching my climax and Spike couldn't be far behind.  Suddenly his hands shifted on my body, holding me close on a downthrust.  With no warning the room suddenly moved as Spike leaned forwards and layed me out on the floor underneath him, and he began to thrust in and out, getting faster and faster.  I surrendered to the pleasure and let my orgasm break.  From way up on high where I was wrapped in the clouds I could feel Spike's movements getting more and more erratic until he too climaxed and I felt a cold jet of icy liquid spurt inside of me.

We lay there together, entwined for a few minutes as my breathing returned to normal.  I felt his erection subside, and he pulled out of me but returned to cover my body with his.

I guess even demons feel the need for closeness sometimes.

It was some minutes after this that I began to shiver.  Spike's body was colder than Oz's had been, and we were lying on a linoleum floor.  I dropped a kiss on his forehead and murmured, "Fun as it was, lover, I've got to move.  I'm cold." He grinned back up at me and said, "No, pet, you're definitely hot."  He moved, and we began to get dresses, although the buttons on my blouse had gone sailing to all four corners of the bathroom and my panties were ruined.  I scooped them up from the floor and pressed them into Spike's hand. "Souvenir," I explained before he kissed me one last time.  I caught a glimpse of the clock in the hallway.  It was near the time that the patrollers would return.  With a rueful look Spike also saw the clock and looked at the tub.  Moving back towards me he began his little speech about freedom from his chains and his helplessness with his implant, but I hushed him.   Although I agreed with him, Giles still called the shots and if he knew that I had let him out of the tub, let alone fucked him, we'd both be in big trouble.  I explained the situation and added, "Besides, if you want to play again, Giles has to think that he can trust me."  The lascivious look in my demon lover's eyes was enough to convince me that he'd play nicely.  For now.  I'd just got him back in the tub and chained up (what is it with my lovers and restraints?) when I heard the murmur of voices.  With a brief smooch I dashed back into the living room and sat on the couch, acutely aware of the fact that I had no underwear, it residing now in Spike's pocket.  (I have got to stop doing that. Pretty soon there'll be none left.)

The atmosphere when they entered the room was tense, to say the least.  They had engaged with the snot monsters, but as they'd done no research, it had been an impasse resulting in one monster dead and one Xander slimed.  As he stood slowly dripping in a corner, Giles began lecturing me about appropriate behaviour and the importance of our work on the Hellmouth.  It was all I could do not to laugh in his face, as the sight of Xander slowly congealing was just too funny.  I did my best to let Giles know that I was still on the side of the forces of good, but that the Willow that they knew was a thing of the past.  Giles responded to that just the way I wanted him too - my services to the forces of good would have to be Spikesitting until I "came to my senses".  I pretended to be angry and complain, but thank God Giles put his foot down and insisted on my "punishment".  Buffy escorted me back to the dorm before returning to the gang to figure out how to get through to me.

Keep trying guys, keep trying.

Suckers.