Spike's hands wrapped around your waist, his groan echoed inside his crypt as he kissed you. The crypt he lived in was rather comfortable, somehow. Candles lit, a broken-down couch beside the worn TV.

He pulled away gently before scoffing gently, "First kiss, pet?" He asked before going back to kiss you again. You knew this was wrong, especially since Buffy was your cousin, and so did he. He couldn't get enough of you.

He pulled his hands down to hold your hips and squeezed them, not willing to let this make-out end as he groaned into the kiss, getting his tongue between your lips, as his other hand wrapped around the back of your head. Spike's hand gripped your hip and pulled them close to his crotch so he was practically rubbing against you.