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Buffy had her opponents right where she wanted them. More specifically, she had Spike tied up and pinned under her feet and Angelus kneeling before her with her sword at his throat. Neither of them was going to be opening a portal into Acathla’s dimension anytime soon, and if both of her hands hadn’t been occupied with weaponry, she’d have given herself a much-deserved pat on the back for a great night’s work.
“You lose,” she declared, giving Angelus the most withering look she could muster. “Now get the hell off my Hellmouth and never come back!”
Angelus grinned up at her roguishly. “Did I ever tell you how hot you are when you’re winning?”
“Slayer’s pretty cute when she’s pissed, too,” Spike added from his position on the floor. Buffy dug her sneaker a little more firmly than necessary into the side of his neck and demanded, “Quiet, you.” Judging by his infuriating chuckle he didn’t object to her severity, but he obediently kept his mouth shut all the same.
Angelus gave one of her blonde locks a teasing tug. “We’ll get out of here, promise,” he said, “but what do you say to the two of us giving you a nice parting gift before we go?” A suggestive quirk of his eyebrow told her exactly what sort of parting gift he had in mind.
Though she knew such a distraction could only lead to more trouble, the tingle of excitement that came after a good fight spoke louder than her inner logic. The sensation of Spike’s hand trailing sensually upward along the back of her thigh wasn’t helping, either; she made a mental note to practice her knots at her next training session, though she was definitely not going to tell Giles why.
“Last time we did it left a lot to be desired,” Buffy replied coolly. “Seems rude not to let you have a chance to redeem yourself.” She pressed the blade of her sword into his neck. “You first, since you’re already on your knees. But try any funny business, and you’re both dust…”