Shooting Sparks
by fauvistfly

Rating: PG for now, but eventually NC-17

Chapter One: A Photo Subject

The first time she saw him he was perched on a rock, staring out into the ocean. He seemed very comfortable—his arms lightly resting on his knees, his cigarette gently resting in his fingers. She looked at him through her lens to get a better picture and was not disappointed. His lean, defined arms were pale, glowing in the sunlight, in contrast to his black tank. His shock of blond hair ruffled in the slight wind; his worn jeans were slung low on his narrow hips. But it was his face that stopped her, made her zoom in and take a flurry of shots in an attempt to capture him forever in her camera. His cheekbones were sharp, and his eyes squinted in the glaring sun, giving his face a tough look to it. His mouth puckered a bit around his cigarette, and as he looked down, his lashes spiked against his face. Stunningly gorgeous, she thought. She put down her camera for a moment to process the information, then quickly looked through her viewfinder again, afraid he might have disappeared. She found him and began taking pictures in earnest, zooming in on certain parts of his body, capturing his entire physique in other shots. She watched in fascination as he flicked away his cigarette, whipped off his tank top, unzipped his jeans to reveal black Speedos, and dove into the water. She lowered her camera and sat down on the warm sand. She noticed that she only had one more shot left on her roll. She snapped a photo of the empty slab that held the remnants of the hottie she had been ogling for the past 15 minutes and then quickly walked back to her townhouse to develop the roll.

The second time she saw him was surprisingly closer—still behind glass, but that of a window rather than a lens, and right next door, to be exact. It had been only a day since she had taken her photos, which had come out amazingly, and as she posted some up on her wall, she happened to glance out her window and see her mystery model. He had just left the townhouse adjacent to hers and quickly, perhaps angrily, walked out the backyard and strode out onto the sand as if in search of something important. He was dressed similarly, tank top and jeans, and she watched as he quickly disappeared over the dunes. She sat down, tape in one hand and photo in the other, and took in this new information. Her mystery model staying right next door!

She mentally thanked her parents for nagging her about staying in the beach house this summer. The beach house still belonged to her parents, despite the divorce, but it was hers this summer. They had been wanting her to take it for a while now, not only to relax but also to have someone stay in the house as opposed to letting it sit empty all year. It helped them justify having a townhouse right on the beach. Their reasons didn’t matter; only his proximity mattered right now. As the sun set on the close shores, she contemplated how she’d be able to meet him. Night came as her thoughts meandered through fantasies before finally reaching sleep.

Ch. 2: Separate but Equal
Rating: NC-17

It was the loud yelling and heavy movement next door that woke her up. She could hear some kind of argument taking place, muffled yet harsh tones that piqued her interest but couldn’t satisfy it. She tried going back to sleep, tried listening to music, tried counting— but there was no going back. Her mind was furiously imagining what was happening, and sleep was fleeing from its ferocity. So, she decided to enjoy the otherwise still night.

She grabbed her short terry robe and climbed the stairs that led to the roof. Her parents had installed a tanning spot on their roof that she felt was one of the house’s best amenities, but she had never been up there at night. She breathed in the salty sweetness of the evening and allowed it to caress her legs and weave through her hair. She had always loved the intoxicating night air, and she was about to slide into a chair when a light next door caught her eye.

Having always been on the roof during the daytime, she had never noticed the skylights that ran across her neighbor’s roof— the sunlight must have reflected off them and made them difficult to see through. With the darkness, however, the lit rooms pierced the night with startling clarity. Unable to squelch her curiosity, she walked closer. The sundeck gave her the height to peer into the skylight and see what was happening. She couldn’t hear any more yells, so she assumed the argument had subsided, but she did see her model pacing his room. Bare-chested. She could tell he was angry by his rapid movements and the way he kept running his hands harshly through his hair. Every now and then he would cover his face with his hands and breathe deeply; she watched his chest move with each inhale and exhale, and she started to grow dizzy with focused anticipation. But nothing could have prepared her for his next movements.

She felt her cheeks grow hot and her pussy grow wet as she watched him unzip his jeans and sensuously slide them down his legs, watched him step out of them and kick them to the side, watched him slowly walk towards the other side of the room and out of sight. She stayed motionless, looking at the lit room, breath held. Had she merely imagined that? Imagined how his cock had slowly been released from its encasings and stared at her, as if it knew she had been watching? Imagined the way it had slowly waved as he kicked his jeans aside? Imagined his taut legs and tight ass as he walked away? She shook her head in amazement and began breathing heavily. It was then that she realized there were other skylights, other ways to watch. She quickly walked in the direction he had gone and hoped with her aching pussy that she’d be able to see what he was up to.

She clenched the railing of the sundeck as she saw him sprawled out on a bed, one knee up and the other leg dangling off the edge. His hands were wrapped around his cock, slowly moving up and down. She felt her body tighten in response and sat down on the deck. She mimicked his position, one leg dangling over the edge and one knee propped up. She felt the night air kiss her lower lips, and she shivered. Reaching down to her slit, she slowly slid her fingers over the juice that had pooled during her spying. She stared at his face— head back, eyes closed, mouth slightly open. His tongue darted out every now and then, curling under his teeth and sometimes licking his lips. His hands slowly but unceasingly slid up and down his cock, its head disappearing for a moment and then appearing with tense direction. It seemed as if his cock kept getting bigger and bigger, his movements urging its growth. She noticed the glistening cum and the sweat shining on his chest. She kept her movements in pace with his, using one hand to feel her pussy clench and the other to caress her clit. As his hips start to buck, she allowed her own to attempt to reach them. She was mesmerized by his cock and how he touched it powerfully, aggressively, knowingly. That power turned her on and kept her soaking. She wanted to throw her head back and imagine he was fucking her with that intensity, but she couldn’t stop watching him; she didn’t want to miss anything he did. He started jerking faster and his eyes screwed together while his mouth revealed his tongue pushed up against his teeth. She could tell he was close, and she was matching his every motion. She could feel her body rising, jerkily advancing to those heights of ecstasy. Suddenly he stopped, went rigid, and his cock exploded, pulsing cum all over his rigid abs. She felt her own orgasm crash all over her body, pleasure waves coating her with licks of delight.

She felt the air kiss her breasts, her robe having coming loose with her forceful movements. She threw her head back and enjoyed the aftershocks of her bliss, her body still hot with sex and satisfaction. When she finally opened her eyes and looked to her distant lover, he was gone.

“Buffy, wake up.” Joyce gently shook her daughter’s shoulder and smoothed her hair out of her face, but none of these movements caused any movement in Buffy. She tried again. “Buffy, it’s really too late for you to still be sleeping, and don’t you have any pajamas? It’s really quite indecent the way you sleep in the nude.” Still, nothing. She was going to have to bring in the big guns. “Buffy, if you don’t get up right now I’m not going to take you to the Ice Capades, and then when will you get to see Brian Boitano?”

“I’m up! Don’t leave without me!” Buffy jumped up with her eyes still shut from sleep. Slowly, confusion crept over her face. “Wait. Mom?”

“Yes, Buffy,” Joyce said with impatience coloring her voice.

“I thought you weren’t coming till 12 noon? And I thought we discussed not using the Boitano method unless we were in dire straits?” Buffy squinted at her mom through sleep-crusted eyes and clutched her sheet to her chest.

“Actually, it’s 12:15, and I’ve been trying to wake you for quite some time. I say that counts as dire straits. Now get yourself dressed and come down for some breakfast. Or lunch. And really, Buffy--pajamas. Think about it.” Joyce quickly left the room and headed down the stairs to fix up lunch.

Buffy slumped back into her pillow. Okay, brain. Wake up. Can’t lounge around naked with Mom here. Buffy unwillingly threw back her sheets and headed to the shower. She peeked out her window to see if anyone with a kick-ass body happened to be outside, but she didn’t see anyone. “Ah well,” she thought. That would’ve been too coincidental. She did a quick stretch and went to take a shower.

***

Spike had just come out the back door to enjoy a brief smoke, happened to look up, and was greeted with perky breasts being stretched out--breasts that disappeared as quickly as they appeared.

“Huh. I could’ve sworn the place next door was unoccupied. Well, maybe this summer’s gonna be different. Wouldn’t mind some more perky breasts, he thought to himself. He lazily scratched his cock, which was quickly starting to twitch, and slowly exhaled a long haze of smoke. He sat down at the back step and allowed himself to enjoy the quiet of the afternoon.

***

“Sorry about that, Mom. Had a long night.” Buffy smiled to herself, remembering the intense pleasure she had gotten through watching her neighbor. She frowned at the thought of contriving a meeting with him and was quickly lost in thought.

“…so if that doesn’t cut into your plans, I thought that’d be a nice first day at the beach. What do you think, Buffy? Are you up for some mother-daughter bonding over sandy food and sticky bodies?” Joyce looked hopeful, unaware of the images cascading through her daughter’s mind of washboard abs on sandy beaches.

“Sure thing, mom. Always up for the bonding.” Buffy blushed at her thoughts but maintained eye contact in an attempt to cover her wandering mind. Gotta stop thinking so much about him. Shyea, gotta start doing. But first, bonding with Mom. And then, bondage with yummy model. Ooh. No, bad Buffy. Be a good daughter! Mom just got here! Buffy tried to squelch the inner monologue that was heating up her brain and her cheeks and focused on finishing her coffee.

They finished their lunch pleasantly, chatting about Buffy’s upcoming photo projects and Joyce’s upcoming gallery acquisitions. They were simply enjoying each other’s company when they heard someone at the door.

“No, Hank, wait till we’re inside! You naughty man, you.” A high-pitched giggle and shriek pierced the former peace. There was more movement and noises that definitely sounded like lips smacking, among other smacked body parts.

“Oh, but I just want a taste, baby. You’re just so sweet.”

Gross, is that Dad? Ugh, what is up with that? Buffy’s lip curled in distaste, and she glanced at her mom, who was starting to look very angry, her lips tightly shut with her eyes revealing only slightly suppressed revulsion and anger.

They heard a few more awkward steps and heavy breathing until the couple finally appeared in the kitchen, the young bimbo’s shirt disheveled with Hank’s hand down her bra and Hank’s face peppered with red lipstick smears. When they finally noticed they had company, Buffy’s dad appeared not embarrassed or apologetic, as one would expect, but irritated that they had been interrupted.

“What are you guys doing in my townhouse?” Hank held steadfastly to his bimbo, despite her embarrassment at being caught and her desire to straighten her appearance.

“Excuse me? Your townhouse? I believe we both own this place, so don’t go throwing ownership in my face. And I don’t know why you’re surprised to see us, or at least Buffy. We did have a conversation where we decided that she would be here for the whole summer, or were you too busy getting blow jobs from your slut here to pay attention to that little piece of information?” Joyce spat out these words with a vengeance, her earlier calm now replaced by venomous words. “And how can you not at least be ashamed in front of your daughter with your hand groping a fake breast? Buffy, aren’t you disgusted by your father’s indecent behavior?”

“Mom, I just—“

“My indecent behavior? Well, just because you haven’t been able to date since our divorce is no reason to get upset about my ability to attract young, beautiful women. And Candy is actually--”

“Oh, please. Spare us. Just because Buffy and I don’t share your tastes doesn’t mean you have to make us hold back vomiting.”

***

Spike’s quiet afternoon was interrupted by a seething Angel.

“Spike, get your pasty ass in here and apologize to Dru for last night.”

“What? For telling her to go find some other play toy--say, oh, her boyfriend?”

“Angel, see how he’s so mean to me, the one who first discovered his light, his glowing nature. Get him, grr.” Dru hid behind Angel and continued taunting the two to fight.

“Spike, don’t you insult her.”

“You are such a poncy ass. I’m not insulting her—if anyone is, you are. You’re the one who’s pretending that she’s some little girl-thing that can’t be without a strong man.”

“Did you just call me an ass?”

***

“So, Buffy, you’re saying that you don’t like seeing your father? Because last we talked I thought that we were completely satisfied with the way things were going.”

“Actually, da—“

“Satisfied? Maybe you were, but Buffy wasn’t. How can you expect her to be happy when she sees her father a total of one time a year, and sometimes even that is brief and in the presence of your flavor of the month.”

“Mom, I was ju—“

“How dare you accuse me of being lax in my duties towards my daughter? Do I pay the bills? Did I pay for her tuition? Was she ever lacking in any way?”

“Dad, I want you—“

“You think that money is a substitute for a father figure? You have some really deluded ideas about family. Buffy has often talked to me about your lack of communication, and quite frankly, she’s been hurt more than you know.”

Buffy stayed quiet, stewing in her irritation in being ignored, at having private conversations with her mom being aired in front of her dad, and at Candy, who was attempting to make an ally of her. Like I’m going to make nice with you, ya ho. Buffy rolled her eyes and continued to squeeze her knife.

***

“My sweet William, save me from angry Daddy. He is not being very nice. Naughty Daddy.” Drusilla grabbed Spike’s waist and moved him in between the two arguing.

“Oh, no. I’m not a bleeding idiot. Solve your own problems.” He tried to disentangle himself from Dru’s arms, but she held on tightly and pressed her breasts against his back.

“Get your tits off him, you slut.” Angel jerked forward and grabbed Dru’s arm.

“Ow, you’re hurting me.”

“Ey, now, don’t talk to the lady like that, and don’t you fucking think about hurting her.” Spike glowered at Angel, angry that he had clearly disregarded any respect he had for his so-called girlfriend.

“Oh, William, my sweet knight in shining armor. Yes, protect me from Daddy.”

“Who do you think you are, trying to get Dru to like you? She belongs to me.”

“What? Did my rejection of your girl last night make it unclear in some way that I don’t. want. Dru.”

***

“Why are you even here? If this is supposed to be Buffy’s summer here, why is best friend Mom invading Buffy’s space?”

“Oh, please. Stop trying to make her turn against me. Buffy invited me here so that we could spend a little time together before she starts her job with the magazine. You remember that, right? Oh wait, you didn’t call her back when she left you that message.”

Buffy decided that it was time for her to leave. She could still hear them yelling at each other, their voices escalating as they continued to insult each other in the ways they knew best. Buffy grabbed her purse, walked out the door, and slammed it behind her.

***

“Why are you trying to keep her from me? And why is she clinging to you?”

“Oh Angel, he’s trying to keep us apart! Why won’t you come and save me and let me be your princess again?”

“What?!? Dru, you are one crazy bird.”

“Hey, what do you mean by calling my beautiful princess crazy?”

“Why are you afraid to embrace all of who I am? Insanity is not always so terrible. You never see all of me.”

“Know what? Bugger this. I’m not getting sucked into your bizarre love triangle made of two.” Spike shrugged off Dru and pushed her towards Angel, rolling his eyes as they embraced and then kissed passionately like they had just overcome some obstacle, which was quickly followed by more shouting. He grabbed his keys, walked out the door, and slammed it behind him.

***

The simultaneous slamming of doors caused the slammers to look up, both startled out of their angry faces.

Buffy blushed instantly, imagining the rock hard body that stood clothed before her.

Spike casually hazarded a glance at her breasts, noting their perkiness and smiling at the memory.

A beat passed, both basking in memories.

“Bad day all around, it seems. So, you wanna get away from all this shit?” Spike said, gesturing to his motorcycle.

“That would definitely be of the good.” Buffy followed him to his bike, doing a sexy Snoopy dance in her head at the goodness of the Powers That Be in allowing her to meet NaughtyNeighbor and the greatness of the Powers That Be in allowing said NaughtyNeighbor to have a motorcycle—both leading to a fabulously satisfying ride, despite the uncomfortable helmet, clutched to tight abs and pressed up against a sexy leather coat.

Ch. 4: What Looks Right

“How’d you find this place?” Buffy asked, looking around in awe at the view before them. After 15 minutes of cheek to leather—both on her face and between her legs—they drove off the side of the road, walked a few minutes on the side of a cliff, and found themselves in a sizable niche overlooking the ocean. There were parts that were completely shaded and others that were sparkling in the sunlight, creating a beautiful cave dance of shadows and light framed by the large expanse of ocean and curbed by the sounds of rolling waves against the sand. “It’s just gorgeous. Amazing. Breathtaking. And terrifying,” she said as she slowly backed away from the steep edge.

“You can say that again,” Spike muttered under his breath as he watched her daintily creep around what had been his asylum for the past several years. He took out a blanket from his bag and spread it on the floor. He sat on the blanket and leaned against the smooth rock. Taking out a cigarette and placing it in his mouth, he squinted into her golden presence and watched her rummage through her purse in confusion. “Whatcha lookin’ for, pet?”

“My camera—my digital camera, that is. My real camera is too big to just carry around in my purse. I just wanted to take a picture up here, capture the moment and all.” Buffy moved all the items in her purse around one more time, hoping that she’d see the camera’s hiding place. “Aha! Found it.” She looked out into the horizon and snapped a few shots, attempting to harness the blue and shut it in her memory box. She turned to look back at him and saw a cloud of smoke circling a body curved against stone. Perfect. She aimed the camera at him while he glanced away and took a picture.

“Hey, what’s the big idea?” Spike looked up abruptly when he heard the clicking of the camera.

“Sorry—moved to do it, the whole artist thingy. You didn’t really mind, did you?” Buffy hesitated, wondering how he would react to her roll of him and his body.

“No, pet, don’t mind—just thought maybe I should get a warning. And maybe a name? Mine’s Spike, by the way.” He waved two fingers at her in greeting, as if they had just been introduced.

“Whoa, I’m so sorry for not introducing myself earlier,” Buffy said hastily. They had both been so comfortable from the moment they had seen each other face to face, and thus the introductions hadn’t even come up. “I’m Buffy. Yes, that’s my real name. No wisecracks, please.”

“Wouldn’t even think of it, Buffy,” he said slowly, emphasizing the foreignness of her name on his tongue. “It’s cute, in that really dumb way.”

“Gee, you really know how to compliment a girl.” He watched him smirk in return and defiantly shot another picture of him without warning.

“You know, if you really wanted me to model for you, all you had to do was ask.” Spike arched his eyebrow lasciviously and grinned. She took a picture.

“Hm, I don’t know if you’re my kind of model, you know, since you don’t have those California looks that are so attractive in pictures.” Spike’s mouth gaped in mock horror. She took a picture.

“C’mon, love, these cheekbones are just made for the camera,” he purred, giving her a long, intense look. She took a picture.

“Well, I’ll consider it if you take off something,” Buffy said saucily. Spike looked slightly shocked. She took a picture.

“Will you stop bloody taking pictures? It’s right distracting.” Spike stood up, threw out his cigarette, and moved towards her, motioning at her camera to keep her from taking another picture. “And why’s such a beautiful girl behind the camera instead of in front of it?” Buffy halted, processing his compliment, Spike used her momentary surprise at his words and took the camera from her hands.

“Hey, give that back! And be careful!” Buffy tried to take the camera back from him but only succeeded in wrapping her arms around him and pressing herself against his chest in an attempt to reach around his back—true success indeed.

“So, the girl doesn’t like being on the other side of the camera, ey? Likes to hide a little?” Spike smirked and kept the camera away from her grasp. When she looked like she was beginning to get irritated, he looked her directly in the face. “Look, I’ll make a deal with you. You let me take some pictures of you, and I’ll be your own personal model, since you like taking so many pictures of me. Deal?”

“What makes you think I want any pictures of you?” she said quickly, trying to look aloof but only succeeding in pouting. She tried not to think of her favorite pictures detailing his abs and dive into the water.

“Other than the fact that you’ve taken my picture four times already?” Spike asked in disbelief, trying not to be sucked in by her pouty lower lip.

“Uh, yeah. Those were just--oh fine. I do think you’d be good on film. And I have a project that I’m trying to finish that I need a model for. But only if you’re serious.”

“As long as you’re serious about letting me take pictures of you,” he said with a glint in his eyes. “So why don’t we take turns. And since I have the camera right now, I’ll take the first one.” As she opened her mouth to protest, he took a picture. “See, now that wasn’t so bad, was it? Actually, now that I look at it, open-mouthed shock doesn’t always look pretty on the camera. We’ll have to try something different next time.” He envisioned her open-mouthed under him, coming in his arms. He shook the image away--though he was attracted to her physically, he also felt a different kind of connection, and he hoped to learn more about her.

“Wow, you sure know how to make a girl feel special. Besides, taking pictures and being in pictures--they’re two very different things. And just because a person is hot doesn’t mean he’ll be a good model,” she snapped, holding her hand out for the camera.

“Are you calling me hot? Because I think I feel kinda special.” Spike grinned at her frustration.

“You know what? I think I’ve got enough shots of that grin. Let’s try something different. Lose the coat.” Buffy smiled triumphantly when he looked at her, aghast at the suggestion. “I’m serious, and you said you’d be serious, too. I think the coat definitely conveys a message, and I want something a little different.” Buffy tried to keep her voice even, but her mind was sending her all the messages of the coat--“Fuck me, use me on the ground to keep you from rug/cement/rock/grass burns, let me cover you and swallow you, you know you want to”--and it was all she could do to push down the blushes that seemed to have set up camp on her cheeks.

Spike hesitated in taking off his coat, but he had agreed to take the modeling seriously so he complied, if slowly. He laid the coat gently on the blanket and then ran his fingers through his hair. He heard the camera click.

“Hey, now. Thought we were going to be serious with the whole modeling thing.”

“I am serious. As much as I’m going to tell you what to do, I also like just being able to take pictures when I see something that looks right. And eventually this whole swapping of the camera is going to get on my nerves,” Buffy said, looking down at the photo she had just snapped. Yummy biceps. She held out the camera to him and savored the warmth of their brief contact.

“Okay, serious. So I’m supposed to take a picture when I see something that looks right, as you say? Well, then, this should be easy,” Spike said flirtatiously. When Buffy rolled her eyes again, he waited for the blush to come that he had seen earlier. He looked down at the photo, looked up at her beauty, and glanced at the photo again. “Yeah, it looks right,” he said gently.

Buffy noticed the change in his voice, and it made her heart pulse with anticipation. She knew he had been flirting with her, but the flirting had seemed so natural for him that she didn’t think he meant anything by it. His gentle voice, emerging while looking at her picture, gave her hope that they might have something substantial between them.

“So, my turn? How about you move towards the edge of the cave, right where the sun hits the ground.” Buffy gestured with her hands and then watched him through the camera. “Tilt your head up a little--there. Good.” She took the picture and smiled at how the sun caught the highlights of his hair and sparkled. These photos were pretty good, and she looked forward to getting home and playing with them, among other things. Bad Buffy! She tried to look nonchalant as she handed him the camera.

“Poses, eh? Let’s see now. How about you lean against the wall and prop your leg up. Yeah, like that.” Spike looked through the lens and ogled her thighs, how her skirt sidled up her leg to reveal toned, tanned skin. He was really enjoying the time spent with her, and the added bonus of taking pictures with her was turning out to be rather sexy. He just hoped that the camera didn’t make his stirring cock too apparent.

“Can you lie down? I want to take a picture of you with your eyes closed, sun on your face.” Buffy knew her suggestion sounded a little risqué, but she didn’t care anymore. Her artistic eye was starting to demand control of her, and she could never resist for long. Plus, making him close his eyes would give her the freedom to check him out more thoroughly. “Can you put your hands behind your head? Yeah, good. Now close your eyes. No, don’t clench them; just pretend you’re sleeping and let them look naturally closed,” Buffy said as she moved in closer. There are those luscious biceps again. And that flat stomach, and oh, hello, she purred to herself. Finally, she took the picture.

“Getting a little pickier now, are we? How about you lie down? But prop yourself up with your arms.” Spike sat up but stayed on the ground, patting the space next to him. “Yeah, like that,” he said as he watched her ease her body down and lean on her elbows, making her chest push forward. He noticed the sun glistening in her hair and her hazel eyes shyly looking at him. “Does it make you nervous to be the model? I know I teased you before, but seriously. Does it?” He waited for her answer before taking a picture.

“A little. I’m just so used to making other people move for me that posing for you is a little, well, un-Buffy. I know how to move someone else’s head and body to make it look good, but I don’t know how to do that for myself. I can’t visualize what I’m doing,” she said pensively, looking down and biting her lip. She looked up quickly when she heard him take the picture.

“Well, I’m no pro, but I think you look amazing. Keep doing whatever you’re doing, Buffy.” Spike smiled in assurance and watched her blush again. He tilted his head and looked again, amazed at how comfortable he felt with this woman he had just met this morning.

“Thanks. But you--I really think these pictures are going to be good. And if you wouldn’t mind, maybe we could take more pictures with my other camera--this digital one’s just my portable camera.” Buffy wondered if she would ever tell him about the pictures she already had, but she figured she’d wait to see if an appropriate moment came up. “Lie down again, but on your side, with your head on propped on your hand. And look down,” she said, becoming the demanding photographer again.

Spike moved his body gracefully and leaned on his side. He looked down, as he directed, and tried to ignore the erection that was becoming harder - to ignore. He heard the snap and sat up again, hoping that the crossed legs in front of him would hide his erection a little longer.

“Your turn. Why don’t you just stay like that and maybe tilt your head a little, so I can get a little bit of that lovely sun?” She moved her head, and slowly looked up at him.

He reached to move a strand of hair out of the way before taking a picture and enjoyed its smoothness on his fingers. He gently ran his fingers through her hair again and then trailed his fingers down her cheek. She looked up in confusion, wondering if there was something else he needed to do before taking the picture. Looking into her eyes, he whispered, “Perfect.”

Buffy’s breath caught in her throat as she heard his soft voice caress her skin. She looked down and blushed, her heart fluttering in anticipation, her mind attempting to logically understand how things were progressing so quickly. Her wetness just didn’t care.

Spike leaned in closer and kissed her lowered eyes gently. Their cheeks touched tentatively, then softly, rubbing against each other, breaths mingling and lips dancing around each other. Buffy’s tongue darted out, tasting his skin and taunting him, until their lips finally touched in urgent sweetness, and then sweet urgency, and then more. They kissed slowly but thoroughly, tongues undulating and quietly sucking. Spike ran his fingers through her hair, cradling her head with his hand; Buffy softly massaged his neck and began stroking his hair. Both of them felt their bodies sizzling from the contact, from the slow build-up of anticipation finally meeting in burning heat.

They finally broke away for air, but Spike kept his hand behind her head, keeping their foreheads together. Buffy licked her lips and tried to steady her breathing.

“Wow, that was--”

“Amazing. You’re amazing.” Spike gently stroked her hair and looked deeply into her eyes. “I can’t believe I only met you today. I feel like I know you, have known you. Do you feel it?”

“Yeah, I-I’ve been feeling it.” She began playing with his fingers and rubbing his thumb with her tiny hands. “I’ve felt it since I first saw you.” She paused, wondering if she should continue.

“Fate, or something. Living next door, coming out at the same time, needing to get away--I think the gods would be offended if we didn’t go along with their plans.” Spike smiled and ran his fingers over her thighs as became more and more comfortable with each other.

“Yeah, it does seem kinda oddly coincidental, especially since--“ She hesitated for a moment. “Well, since I actually saw you before we rode here together.” She waited to hear his response.

“Actually, I saw you before also. But you tell me first.” Spike hoped that her nervous lip-biting meant she had seen something good, because her flashing might have been unintentional and perhaps embarrassing when he finally told her. But he felt this need to be honest and completely open with her. It was a good feeling, one he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Okay. I kinda took some pictures of you a few days ago when you were swimming.” She looked at him, wondering if he would think she was some kind of stalker. “I was just taking shots of the ocean and of different people on the beach, and I saw you on this rock. And the camera really likes you, so I took a few, uh, maybe more.” Buffy shut her eyes and waited for him to respond. “Don’t think I’m weird, please. Sometime my inner artist is a real bitch, and she just takes what she wants. I honestly didn’t think I’d ever end up meeting you.”

Spike watched her get all flustered, her nose scrunched and her eyes screwed shut. He just couldn’t resist and impulsive leaned in to kiss her. She opened her eyes abruptly. “Hope you don’t mind my kissing you. I just had to, with your cute face all worried I was going to think you were a weird stalker chick with a thing for black speedos. Yeah, I figured you saw that,” he said when he saw her blush again. “Yeah, I really hope you don’t mind my kissing you, because I plan on doing it a lot.” He kissed her again, letting his tongue linger a bit longer.

“I’m glad you don’t mind. They came out really well, those pictures. I’ll let you see them some time.” She smiled, glad that he hadn’t gotten weirded out and left. However, she decided not to tell him about her secret cum-fest on the roof. That’ll be my little secret, she thought, licking her lips at the memory.

“What are you thinking about? You look like you’re thinking of something delectable,” Spike said, leaning in to lick her lips. He decided not to mention the breasts just now.

“Oh, nothing. And if you keep doing that, my mind won’t be able to complete any thoughts for a while.” Buffy ran her fingers through his hair and kissed him fully, basking in his soft lips and talented tongue.

Their kisses became harder and deeper, and Buffy moaned when he began kissing her neck. She threw her legs around his waist and began rubbing herself again him. Feeling his cock leap against her, she became bolder in grinding her hips against him.

Spike moaned into her neck, feeling her body press against his and rhythmically rock in his lap. He wanted to lift her hips and slam into her, but he felt that things were moving so quickly, too quickly. She had enchanted him, and he didn’t want this to be a quick fuck.

“Buffy, love,” he breathed into her. “I’m not going to want to stop.”

“I know,” Buffy said, breathing heavily. “I know, and my mind is saying slow down, but god, Spike.” Buffy stilled her body, her chest heaving.

“Hey, we got all the time in the world, right pet?” Spike said, forcing himself to slow things down.

“Yeah, and we got all the time it takes to get back to the condo,” she teased. “Oh, I wonder if my parents are still arguing. God, I completely forgot about them. And what were you upset about? I can’t believe I didn’t ask earlier.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know if I would’ve told you before. We’re much better acquainted now,” he joked, running his hands over her thighs straddling his waist.

“Much better.” Buffy leaned in and kissed him again. “So, what was it? Is it still too personal?”

“No, it was just my stupid cousin and his crazy girl. She came on to me last night, and I turned her down, and then they both turned on me this morning. I was just a little frustrated, and I needed to get out.”

Aha! So that was what happened. A little pent-up sexual frustration. At least it wasn’t his nightly ritual, she thought to herself, grinning. “I’m glad it wasn’t anything too bad. My parents fight all the time--it’s what eventually led to their divorce. And then my dad just kept dating the young skanks--not exactly something you want to see your dad doing. Anyway, he showed up at the condo unexpectedly and then acted like a jerk. I’m so used to it, but I still get annoyed when they forget that I’m there and that I’m not a little girl anymore.” Buffy played with Spike’s t-shirt while she thought about her parents’ earlier fight. “I just hope he’s gone by now.”

“Well, I guess we should find out. But if you’re not busy later, I’d love to take you out. Do a real date with dinner and all.” He ran his fingers up her arms, lightly touching the skin under her sleeves.

“I’d love to. I don’t even want to leave, but I guess we might as well face reality again. We could always come back here if it’s still bad, right?”

“Right. It’ll be our little haven.” He smiled at her and kissed her on the nose. “But I can’t go anywhere with you around my waist.” He reached behind him and pulled at her ankles.

“Next time, you’ll be my little prisoner,” Buffy said, laughing.

Spike threw on his coat and picked up his blanket. They began walking back to his bike, and he furtively eased his hand into her, sending sparks through Buffy’s body.

As they drove home, Buffy snuggled into his back and let herself embrace the calm that flowed through her.

Spike felt her tighten against him and smiled.

Ch. 5: Steel Memories

“Mom? Mom, are you still here?” Buffy called out, her step light and her heart bouncing from the newness of kisses and fresh intimacy.

“In the kitchen, Buffy,” Joyce replied, her voice weary. “Where did you run off to?” Joyce leaned against the counter, slowly blowing on a mug of hot cocoa.

“Oh, I just went out for a walk, you know, get away from the bad vibes of Dad,” Buffy said, helping herself to a cup. “Is everything okay? Is he gone?”

Joyce sighed and closed her eyes. “For the time being, he’s gone. He just makes me so angry sometimes,” she said, irritated. “I wish I could be the better person and not be drawn into his games, but I can’t help myself.”

“Oh, you’re perfectly normal. He’s the one with problems. God, I can’t believe his latest. Did you see how young she was? What is up with that? Can we say, ew?” Buffy rolled her eyes in disgust as she opened and closed cabinet doors in search of those little marshmallows she loved. “I’m so glad you never went through that phase.”

Joyce stirred her cocoa absentmindedly. “There aren’t any marshmallows. I didn’t even think to restock for you. Sorry about that,” she murmured.

“Mom, are you okay? I know it’s always kind of weird to see Dad again. I—” Buffy paused, thinking about the plans she had made to see Spike later on that evening. She imagined seeing him, his smooth cheekbones and smoother arms. She smiled but then caught sight of her mom, listlessly stirring her hot cocoa with a blank look on her face. “Mom, do you want to do some girl bonding? Maybe watch Steel Magnolias and eat lots of ice cream?”

“Oh, Buffy, that sounds perfect.” Joyce smiled, her face creased with contentment. “We haven’t done that in ages. Are you sure you don’t mind staying in?”

“Not a problem. I might consider going out later on tonight, you know, when the freaks come out, but dinner and a movie are definitely doable.” Buffy reached out and gave her mom a squeeze. “Besides, Summers women are always more important. It’s the Summers men that have the problems.”

Joyce leaned into her daughter’s arms and enjoyed her daughter’s company. “Thank God we did something right. It’s amazing you’re as normal as you pretend to be,” she said laughingly.

“Gee, compliments all around.”

They both giggled and took sips of their hot cocoa.

***

Spike’s phone vibrated into his thigh.

“Hello? Oh, hey pet. Sure, I’ve been thinking about you,” he said, smiling. He had been thinking about her for the past few minutes and was thinking about really thinking about her for the next half hour or so.

“Oh, really? Yeah, sure, you should do that. Get your kumbayayas out and make your mum feel happy. Yeah, I’m up for doing something later on. Do you want me just to come by, or should I wait for you to call?” He imagined what she looked like talking on the phone—her shiny hair, her sexy eyes, her luscious mouth… “Uh, what? Sure, definitely. I’ll see you then.”

Spike threw his phone onto the couch and ran his fingers through his hair. I know I just met her, but I can’t help it. I think I’m going to have to.

Spike closed his eyes and ran his fingers down his thighs, imagining her petite body straddling his.

***

Buffy sniffed loudly. “That Sally Fields really knows how to cry.”

Joyce blew her nose. “And Julia Roberts still looks good in a hospital bed.”

“I know how it ends, but I cry every time. I’m such a sucker for this movie.” Buffy stretched her arms and put the popcorn bowl back on the table. “Nothing like a sad movie to make you appreciate what you have.”

“I love you, too, Buffy.” Joyce slowly rose from the couch. “You don’t have to hold back any longer. Go ahead and call that boy you met today.” Joyce smiled as she saw her daughter feign disinterest.

“Huh? But we were so cozy,” Buffy said, not wanting her guilt to answer her mom.

“Oh, Buffy, I’ll be fine. This was really great, but I’m not one to wallow. Hank irritates me, my daughter loves me, and Sally Fields cries for me. All is right with the world.” Joyce squeezed Buffy’s shoulder. “I’m going to get going soon, anyway. So go call.”

Buffy hugged her mom tightly. “You are so the best mom. Definitely the best.” She ran up to her room to call.

Joyce put away all the dishes and stretched again, languidly. She stifled a yawn when she heard the doorbell ring.

***

Even before they got off the phone, Spike headed next door. Right as he pressed the end button, he rang the doorbell. Expecting to see Buffy, he froze when he saw the woman at the door.

“Mrs. Summers,” Spike said with surprise. “Joyce.” The second time he said her name was softer, the memories of his lost virginity and their intimacy heating his face and pushing him back into time.

Ch. 6: Matter over Mind

8 years earlier…

Joyce stepped outside as she waited for the water to boil. The evening air was refreshingly chilly by the sea, the perfect weather for hot chocolate. Overwhelmed by the innumerable calls and paperwork surrounding her messy divorce, she took a moment and basked in the distant sounds of sea gulls, of the tireless ocean, of…someone crying?

She looked over and saw a teenage boy sitting on the back porch of the townhouse next door.

“Are you all right? Is that you, William?” Joyce asked cautiously, concerned about the sweet summer neighbor who had just spent his first summer away from England.

William looked up slowly, his glasses clouded with tears and his face pale. “Oh, hi, Mrs. Summers. I’m okay.” He wiped away his tears and tried to smile.

“Oh, call me Joyce, really. I, well, I was making some hot chocolate. I had a long day, too. Would you like to join me? I’d have enough for two, and the weather’s just perfect for cocoa.” Joyce smiled sympathetically and tried to make herself approachable. Something in William’s demeanor made her feel for him, want to be a friend to him.

Spike sniffed and exhaled slowly. “Actually, that sounds lovely. Do you happen to have those little marshmallows?”

Joyce smiled widely. “Of course.” She opened the door and beckoned him in.

Upon entering the kitchen, Joyce began putting all the ingredients together, grabbing two mugs and stirring the chocolaty concoction.

“No, no, sit down. You’re a guest,” she said when she saw William moving to help her. “I want you to sit back and tell me how you’ve enjoyed your stay in the States so far,” she said lightly. She wanted to hear what was wrong, but she didn’t want to pressure him too quickly into sharing his thoughts.

William shrugged. “It’s not been too terrible, I suppose,” he said with a sad smile. “I didn’t really want to spend the summer away from Mum, but she was so sick and had such difficulty keeping up her strength. I think it was better that she didn’t have to worry about me being around. And my cousin Angel lives here in the US, so I’m not completely alone.” He reached for the steaming mug and blew on it gently. “I do miss her. She’s the one I always talked to when I had problems or just when I had a bad day.”

Joyce pulled up a stool next to him and sipped her cocoa slowly. “Well, you can always tell me, if you want. I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener. And I’ve had a bad day, too, so we can trade stories, if it makes you feel better.” Joyce smiled at him.

“Okay, maybe I will. But why don’t you go first? My mum always taught me to allow women to go first,” he said. His posture relaxed a little, and Joyce could tell he was starting to feel more comfortable around her.

“Well, where do I begin? My husband of 14 years left me for another woman, a younger bimbo of a thing, and now I’m trying to sort through all the mess that has resulted from his affair. Somehow he is off gallivanting with a woman, and I’m stuck with the paperwork. I’m not sure how he was able to pull that off, but I’m not surprised. So I’ve brought all the work here, because I just couldn’t stand being at the house we lived in together.”

“Oh, Mrs. Summers. I’m so sorry. I hope you don’t think all men are evil because of his reprehensible actions.” William looked at her, his face conveying his sincere regrets at her situation.

Joyce looked into the swirling cocoa and smiled thoughtfully. “This beach house is a place where my daughter and I usually came when Hank was away on business trips. Most of my memories here don’t involve him. So, I figured it was a safe haven for me.” She finished off her cocoa and got up for a second cup. “But I’m not as angry with him as I thought I would be. I mean, I think I feel betrayed, but I don’t feel that it was unexpected. Maybe I knew things had been bad for a while. And really, you can call me Joyce.”

“Uh, okay…Joyce. You are a strong woman to be so secure after such a tragedy. I hope that you will find someone more deserving of your character.” William caught the last few drops of cocoa on his tongue. “And you really make great cocoa.” He grinned sheepishly at his greediness in licking up every last drop. Joyce took his cue and gave him another cup.

“Well, cocoa has always been my comfort drink. It’s better than alcohol, I say.” She leaned back against the counter and looked at him. “But now it’s your turn. Why the sad face today?”

“Oh, well I feel silly telling you about my tales when you’ve obviously dealt with something so much more serious than my frivolous problems. It’s not a big deal,” he said dismissively.

“No, I insist. No problem is silly if it makes your heart ache. Please, I promise it’ll make you feel better.” She moved to sit down next to him.

“I suppose it can’t hurt to talk about it with someone.” He drew in a deep breath as if preparing to unload a large burden. “When I first came here, I didn’t really know many people beyond my cousin. I’m quite shy, so I didn’t make friends right away. I tend to observe people first, and then I write down my perceptions in my journal. Sometimes I fancy myself a poet, but I know it often comes out as drivel.” William absentmindedly stirred his cocoa. He looked up, as if replaying a scene in his mind. “There was one girl who stood out to me, who seemed to have a kindred soul, calling out to my own. And so I began writing poetry about her. Cecily.” He said her name with such anguish that Joyce couldn’t help but feel bad for the poet next to her.

“What happened?” she asked sympathetically.

“Well, I thought—since I felt she was a kindred soul—that I could share some of my poetry with her. So this morning at the beach, I approached her with my journal. I wanted to talk to her quietly, but she said she couldn’t hear me very well. In the end, she took my journal and started laughing. She shared it with some of the others there, and they all took turns making fun of me.” He started crying again, his emotions overwhelming him as he recalled his humiliation.

Joyce put her arm around him and rubbed his shoulders. “They were just jealous of you, of your ability to articulate things that they’re too shallow to contemplate. This Cecily isn’t the one for you,” she said while pulling him close.

He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes. “But I don’t understand. I watched her, saw her gentleness with others, her intelligence in conversations. Why didn’t she see me as someone to share those things with? How could she be so cruel, when all I ever saw was her kindness? Was I that stupid?” He began crying again, and he left his glasses on the table to cover his face with his hands. “I’m sorry I’m being such a ponce. I just can’t understand.”

“Oh, William. It’s not you. Never think that you’re the one who can’t understand. They don’t realize who you are, what you are. Don’t let them dictate your own identity. That only gives them power, and they don’t deserve that.” Joyce continued to hold him tightly.

“But what if she’s right? Maybe I am just a stupid geek who’s beneath her. Maybe I’ll never find love because no one would ever stoop to love me, hold me, kiss me. Oh, she was so terribly cruel—I can barely repeat the things she said to me.” He continued to sob, his body trembling with tension.

“She was wrong. She was wrong, William. You are brilliant, wonderful—such a shining, genuine soul.” She took his hands from his face and made him look at her. She gazed into eyes that were startlingly blue with intensity and beauty. In that moment, she was struck by this boy, by his hurting soul, by his beautiful face marred by a girl’s cutting words. She wanted to help him, to heal him. Impulsively, she cupped his face and kissed him. She saw the confusion in his watery eyes, gently wiped his tears away, and kissed him again, softly and tenderly.

He looked at her again, not knowing how to react. He had felt the genuineness in her kiss; he sensed that it wasn’t out of pity, and that sense surprised him. He glanced down at her lips, and his body wanted to feel them again, even though he felt that giving in would somehow be wrong.

“William, I do mean what I say. I’ve always been struck by you, by your depth and wisdom even in the brief times we’ve talked. It would be a shame to think that a stupid girl took all that away from you. I’m a woman, and I don’t think you’re beneath me.” She ran her fingers through his hair, already rumpled by his earlier outbursts. “Not beneath me at all,” she murmured.

“Mrs. Summers, I—“ he began, not sure what to say. He felt her fingers in his hair, softly rubbing his earlobe. He closed his eyes and allowed the sensation to wash over him.

“Please,” she whispered as she continued stroking his hair. “Call me Joyce.”

She then leaned in and kissed him again, not being able to resist his closed eyes and look of contentment that she had caused. It gave her a sense of accomplishment—of power, even—knowing that she was the source of his satisfaction. Hank had always diddled with younger women, and she had never really understood the enticement until now, until she saw how satisfying it was to see someone be drawn in, because she knew what worked, what could please another; in this case, being older meant knowing more, and that knowledge gave her a power she hadn’t felt in a long time. She began to pull away, finally acknowledging the numerous reasons why it would be a mistake, when she felt his hand at her waist and his tongue at her lips. So soft, so hesitant. To resist now would only devastate him more, and she did not want to resist; she felt her own attraction to him, and her resistance was only based in rational thought, not in physical reasoning. She had a feeling that he would equate the two. And right now, she didn’t want to think that hard.

William wasn’t thinking at all. He had kissed others before, but this was different; this was soft and searching and kind and healing and he didn’t even think about how this woman was older, how perhaps he shouldn’t be moving his hand up her body, how he probably shouldn’t taste her—all he could do was act, and his body was more than willing to take over his thoughts.

He stood, attempting to press more of her body against his, wanting to feel her against his entirety. Their kissing became more fervent and heated, their tongues drinking in each other’s essence, their hands learning the new landscape. He felt her begin to move away. He began to panic—his mind suddenly warring with his body for rational thought and supremacy—when he felt her hand in his.

“Let’s go somewhere more comfortable,” she said quietly, leading him towards the stairs.

His body once again conquered his mind, and he followed in anticipation.

Ch. 7: Working Off Memories

---

Author's Note: I am not, in any way, a Spoyce fan (because that just sounds dirty). The brief indiscretion is merely part of the plot and is therefore necessary (notice I didn't go into details). Please trust my inherent belief in delicious Spuffy goodness.

---

"Mom, was that the doorbell—Spike! Mom, this is Spike," Buffy said excitedly, running up to Spike and squeezing his arm.

"Spike?" Joyce questioned with an arched eyebrow, her expression laden with significance. Spike blushed furiously and looked down. "I always knew him as William."

"Wait, you guys know each other?" Buffy said, confusion on her face.

"Yeah, Spike has been spending his summers at the house next door for years. You never met him because we stopped vacationing here during the summer after the divorce; your father tended to frequent the place then, so we ended up coming during the winter."

"Actually, I haven't visited as consistently as I used to, since I finished university." Spike felt himself becoming more at ease, thankful that Joyce wasn't trying to hide the fact that they knew each other. As Joyce and Buffy began chatting about that summer around the time of the divorce, Spike began reminiscing as well.

8 years earlier

He woke up in a daze, his first experience still a shock in his memory. His body felt sated, slightly sore, yet still tingling with energy. He turned onto his side to face an empty bed. Sitting up quickly, William looked around, only to see Joyce sitting at the vanity brushing her hair. Upon seeing him stir, she turned around to look at him.

"Hi," she said quietly. "Did you have a nice nap?"

"Uh, yes, I did. Did you sleep at all?" William said hesitantly, not sure what to expect of the conversation.

"Oh, yes. I had to after...But—" She hesitated, fiddling with the sash on her robe. "I don't want you to think that I do this sort of thing all the time—I definitely am not that type of a woman. I can barely comprehend this at all, but I also don't want you to think that I regret what happened."

"I hope that I was okay—I mean, I've never, I mean—I guess it would only make sense that I was not—"

"No, not at all. William, it was wonderful—you were wonderful. And it was very special to me, to be the one to experience it with you. Cecily is definitely missing out," she said with a small smile. "But let's leave our memory special."

"It always will be. Joyce, I will always remember what an remarkable woman you are." He reached out to hold her hand, and in their shared look, they felt the finality of that moment.

***

He had almost expected to be embarrassed about it, scared to find pleasure again, unsure of himself--but that hadn’t happened. Instead, the closure on his first experience gave him more confidence in himself, in talking with women and being sure of who he was. He had eventually shed the stuttering, shy demeanor and embraced the charming self that had always lived just underneath his surface. "Spike" had emerged shortly thereafter; though he had only seen Joyce in passing since their time together, he had always felt a sort of gratitude to the woman who had helped him come into himself.

"So that's cool, that you guys are already acquainted. Mom, are you still planning on leaving tonight?" Buffy asked, her voice breaking into Spike's thoughts.

"I still have that early meeting at the gallery tomorrow morning, so yes—I'm going to drive back to the house tonight. But are we still on for that picnic where you show me your portfolio of new photos next Saturday?" Joyce said, reaching for her keys and her purse.

"Definitely. And I promise you that I'll be done with the whole thing. Down to the mounting and everything. And then you'll be so proud," Buffy said with determination. "And hopefully, since you're my deadline, I'll actually do it in time for my meeting with my future boss."

"Sounds good to me. See you then, sweetie," Joyce said as she kissed her daughter goodbye. "Be good," she whispered into her daughter's ear. "It was nice seeing you again, William." Joyce gave them both a smile and left.

"Who knew you were so close to me for so long? I mean, we could've met years ago," Buffy said, wrapping her arms around his waist. "If you and my mom met, what, 8 years ago? Then you could've been my cool beach boyfriend. Of course, I don't know how much my mom would have let me date then, since I was just starting high school. But you never know. How old were you? Which, I guess is my way of asking how old you are now? I never got the chance to ask earlier."

"I was 17 then, and I'm 25 now. And you're 22?" Spike asked, his arms loosely resting around her waist.

"Yup. Fresh out of college with a job on the horizon," Buffy replied. "So what do you want to do now?" she asked, her fingers running down his arms.

"Actually, I was thinking we could take a walk. The beach is pretty beautiful and pretty empty at night. It's one of my favorite things to do," Spike said candidly. He was still a little shaken—obviously—by the sudden appearance of his first lover, and he wanted some time to walk and process all this new information. And he wasn't about to hop into bed with the daughter of his first lover. Well, not yet anyway.

"Oh, that sounds wonderful. Let's go out through the back."

Leaving their shoes, they walked through the house and into the night air. The cool sand squished beneath their feet, and the ocean breeze feathered its touch over them.

"There's something about walking by the beach that lends itself to contemplation," Spike said after they had walked in silence for a few moments.

"It's just so beautiful, the stars and the air and the ocean. It's pretty. It makes me happy," Buffy said simply. "And the silence is kinda nice, though I'm curious as to what you're thinking about."

"Oh, I'm not thinking of much at all. Just sort of feeling, being." He watched his toes push into the sand. Truthfully, he was thinking so much he was surprised his brain wasn't smoking. This morning he had been frustrated by his poofter of a cousin and his deranged girlfriend. Then he had met Buffy and spent the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon getting to know this amazing woman who practically glowed in her beauty and confidence. Then, after spending their time apart thinking about her, he had finally come over to see her, only to be confronted by an old memory—not a memory that haunted him or controlled him, but a strong memory nonetheless. Joyce had been his first and would therefore always be special to him. Buffy was the kind of woman he'd been dreaming about meeting for so long. How terrible would it be to allow himself some happiness with Buffy? They obviously had a connection, one that he hadn't felt in a long time, if ever. But how would Buffy react when she found out he had slept with her mom? The question sounded so ludicrous, straight out of a soap opera. He had had his fair share of problems with women, but nothing like this. In fact, Joyce had been the only older woman he had ever slept with. He wanted to tell Buffy what it had meant to him, how it had only been once, how it had been sort of like salvation for both of them at that particular moment, but how it had never developed into any kind of affair. But then he began to wonder if he needed to tell her at all. What were the chances that she would be okay with it? He closed his eyes and sighed, the thoughts becoming too much to handle.

Buffy reached out and held his hand. She had felt such a connection to him, one she couldn't quite explain. She was torn between jumping him right there on the beach and letting the relationship develop before jumping him on the beach. She knew what her rule was—for possible serious relationships, no sex till the fifth date. If she were looking for sex, the rule was different, but she felt that this had potential. So she reined in her hormones and tried to focus on getting to know him better.

"You want to sit? There's a little spot here by the pier. I don't want to go too far down," Buffy said, pulling him towards the bench.

"Sure, sounds good." Spike sat down next to her and ran his fingers through his hair. "So tell me a little more about this job that you have. I already know you're a photographer."

"Well, I interned at this magazine last summer, and they hired me as an assistant photo editor with some possible side work. So, I'll be leaving for New York City this fall. I'm pretty excited about it, though leaving for New York will be a huge change—not unwelcome, but huge." Buffy's face lit up as she began talking about her plans.

"Really? I'm going to be in the city this fall as well," Spike said in surprise.

"No way! Doing what?" Buffy asked, her excitement animating her even more.

"I'm going to be working as a columnist at a small independent magazine. It's not much, but I get to write, which is my main goal. Looks like we have more in common than we thought," he said, smiling at her. "And we still have the summer in front of us."

"I know! It's amazing, how these things work out. Fate, or coincidence, or whatever they're calling it these days. Do you know where you're living and everything?"

"Yeah, I've got a flat lined up already. A friend of mine is leaving for London around the same time I'm coming to New York, so we're basically switching places. It's pretty nice—it's got a loft and nice little kitchen. So I'm set. You?"

"I'm moving in with my friend Cordelia. She's trying to make it on Broadway, so she's been there for a while already. Her roommate is moving out, so I'm taking her place." Buffy smiled widely. "I can't get over how much our lives are crossing. And to think, we've only just met."

Spike reached out to smooth back a lock of hair blown by the gentle night wind. He knew that he should probably think things through more, felt that he should consider waiting till he had sorted things out—but he couldn't resist. he leaned in and kissed her gently.

Buffy leaned into the kiss, having missed his skin and taste in the moments they had been away. She felt his hands weave through her hair, and it sent shivers through her skin. She reached up to caress his cheeks and his neck. Too quickly she felt him pull away. She felt him rest his forehead against hers.

"God, you're so beautiful," he breathed. He kissed her on the forehead and on her cheeks. "So beautiful," he murmured again.

She felt her heart flutter with his words and with his soft kisses. She sank into his chest and lost herself in his warmth.

He held her for while, inhaling her scent and enjoying the softness of her hair on his cheeks. In the warmth of her comfort of her embrace, the rightness of their intimacy, he dismissed all insecurities about whether they should be together; he would make it work.

Ch. 8: Seaspray

"So you remember that promise about being my own personal model?" Buffy asked coyly, blowing on her hot coffee. They were sitting in a booth at a diner, enjoying really greasy food and each other's company. After their pleasant walk on the beach, they had both been thrown into a flurry of responsibilities that took them away from the comfortable beach home and their newfound affection. Spike had helped Angel and Dru buy a new condo together in San Francisco where Angel had just landed a new job, which had ended up taking a little over a week. Buffy had visited her sister Dawn, who was doing a summer session at UCLA in hopes of completing college early to eventually join her sister in New York City; she had postponed seeing her mother because of this trip, which had also delayed the completion of her photo portfolio. Through phone calls and emails and IMs they were able to keep in touch fairly frequently, further cementing their rapport, but this brunch was the first time in two weeks that Buffy and Spike had been able to see each other again.

Spike paused mid-bite to cock his eyebrow at Buffy. He swallowed the large portion of pancakes and sausage before responding. "What's that now? Modeling?"

"Yeah. That day we first met you said you'd let me take more pictures of you. You did promise," she said, starting to pout just a little but not too much, saving herself for possible later coercion. She was enjoying their physical flirting, since most of their teasing for the past weeks had been through words and not actions. Buffy had gotten used to finishing the night by talking to him, telling him all about her day and her various tasks. They had shared favorites, memories, future plans, dreams...It amazed her how comfortable she felt with him. It felt good.

"Now that is just wrong," he said, grinning at her obvious machinations to convince him. "Are you just trying to get me naked?" he purred.

"It's not about nakedness. It's about art," Buffy said firmly. "But yes. Naked is good."

She squealed as he poked her in her side, squirming to get away from his tickling fingers. "No, no, that's cheating! Stop!" she said, starting to lose her breath from the laughing and attempts to elude his fingers. She was still clutching her side and trying to grab his fingers when the waitress came by to check on them, not amused by their somewhat vocal antics.

"How is everything?" she said, clearly trying to interrupt them.

"We're fine, luv. If you could just bring me another cup of coffee, that'd be great, Sally," he answered, reading her name off her tacky coffeecup nametag. Spike smiled broadly, which became a grin when he saw the waitress faltering under his gaze, despite the fact that his arms were completely wrapped around another woman.

Buffy watched the scene in amazement--until he began his tickling once again.
"No, stop! No!" she gasped, trying to punch him in between holding her body.

Finally, he stopped, an amused smirk on his face. "There are other ways to get me naked," he said seductively, sucking pancake syrup off his finger.

Buffy speared one of his sausages and erotically licked syrup off of it, deciding to play his game. "I wasn't sure you'd be into that kind of voyeurism, but I'm up for videotaping and photographing if you are," she purred. "I can have a friend come over, maybe even join us, if you'd like." She smiled slowly and then burst out laughing when she saw the glazed look flit across Spike's face.

Hearing her laughter, Spike blinked and then groaned. "Oh, that is just cruel. I was really starting to imagine the possibilities." Buffy's laughter went higher in pitch, and Spike shot her an evil look. "Just for that, no naked model for you." He began pouting.

As Buffy's giggling subsided, she wiped some tears from her eyes and calmed herself down. "I'm sorry. I just couldn't help myself. You have to do this for me. It's for my portfolio, seriously. I'll make it up to you," she said in a singsong voice before gazing at him, wide-eyed and pouting.

He tried to look stern and unwavering, but Buffy's lips called out to him, and his feigned resolve--since he had every intention of modeling for her--finally crumbled. He pretended to sound reluctant, hoping to garner more favors. "Alright. I'll do it. But only because I love--the way you look when you beg." Spike caught himself before he completed what seemed natural to say, which surprised him. He was not one to profess his love so early on--nor was he the kind to use such powerful words all the time. The slip intrigued him, making him realize how much he felt like they belonged. The thought scared him but also filled him with warmth. He smiled as he observed her excitement and glee over his consent to model for her. Buffy hugged him tightly.

"Thank you so much. It'll be fun. I promise. And I'm sure you'll look great on camera. You'll be amazed. And then we can look at it together so you can see what I do. And then maybe I can show you some of the other pictures I--"

He silenced her with a kiss. Her surprise quickly ebbed and turned into desire as she tasted the sweet syrup mixed with the musky taste that characterized his sharp, masculine persona so well. Spike pulled her closer and began rubbing her back and sides, subtly brushing up against her breast. She moaned into his mouth and began her own exploration of his chest, feeling his heart beat and his skin burn with pleasure, till--

"Ahem. Excuse me. Excuse me!" The waitress loudly spoke, attempting to interrupt what had escalated into a rather intense kissing experience.

Buffy and Spike slowly looked up, still caught up in each other's heat.

"Can I take these plates? And offer you the check? And suggest that you go somewhere else?" Sally asked politely, though her flushed cheeks showed her slight sarcasm and slight arousal at their public display of lust.

Buffy blushed and moved away from Spike's arms. "I'm sorry. Yes, we'll take the check and be on our humiliated way." She reached for her purse but was outdone by Spike, who handed the waitress a few twenties.

"Thanks. Keep the change. We'll be going now." He grinned sheepishly and began to move out of the booth.

"Thank you. Come again," she said brightly. Sally watched them leave the diner and then muttered, "If only I could come again." She sighed, envious of the couple's heat and harmony, and then began cleaning up their dishes.

***

"God, I can't believe I totally made out with you in the diner. I never do that kind of thing!" Buffy said, quickly walking away from the site of her embarrassment.

"Buffy, slow down. It's not a big deal. It's not like we flashed anybody or did anything illegal. That we can do later," he said sexily, sticking his tongue out to tease her.

"Spike! You're so bad! Seriously, I always hated those people who couldn’t keep their hands off of each other. I just can't believe I'm one of them." She kicked a random stone in her path.

Spike chuckled and turned her around to face him. "Isn't that a good thing? An indication of how good we are together?" Spike spoke tenderly, caressing her face. "I personally can barely keep my hands off you." He caught her punch and kissed her fist. "Even if it gets a little violent. Sometimes a little hitting and slapping can really get my blood pumping." He grinned as she began to curl up her fist again. "You're so cute when you're mad."

"You are not making me feel any better. Am I one of those people? Am I a ho?" she said despairingly. She yelped as he suddenly picked her up and twirled her around.

"Better not be. Only mine." He kissed her, his lips only increasing the dizziness she felt. "I don't care if people watch. They'll just envy us for knowing that we fit." He softly kissed her again.

She sighed into the kiss, finally allowing herself to let go of the slight shame she had felt. "Okay. You win. All yours." She moved in to kiss him again and then wound her arms around him tightly, burying her face against his chest. "But I'm not about to go make out with you again in the middle of the street, so we'd better get going." She grinned up at him and then skipped away. "Can you catch me? AAHH!" she yelled out with glee when she saw him sprint after her. They ran home, laughing and teasing each other the whole way.

***

"I want you to dress in jeans and a black t-shirt with your Speedos on underneath," Buffy said firmly. "I'll meet you out back in 10 minutes. I just have to gather all my equipment." She leaned in and kissed him quickly. "Isn't this exciting? See you in a bit." She opened her door and ran in.

"How does she know I have Speedos?" Spike wondered aloud. He quickly unlocked his own door and went to his room to get changed.

Ten minutes later they walked out towards the beach. Buffy had her large bag and was quickly shooting out directions.

"There's a large flat rock a little ways ahead. I'd like that to be the site. It's fairly private, and there's a lot of room to move around for different angles and things. We'll start out with you fully clothed, and then we'll move to the Speedos," she said succinctly.

Spike grinned as he noted the change in her persona, her professional tone and precise directions such a change from her somewhat rambling style of conversation. He was about to comment on it when she stopped abruptly.

"This is where I'm going to set up. I'll leave all the stuff on a blanket, and we can move around without kicking up sand on it. Go ahead and start walking slowly down the beach. Pretend I'm not even here. Think about something as you walk, something profound and not amusing. I don't want any smiles just yet." She squeezed his arm and then pulled out the blanket to place everything on the ground. Spike grinned again, watching his girl at work, and then began his stroll down the beach.

He soon heard the clicking of the camera and tried not to let the sounds affect the way he was walking. He tried to think about something and inevitably began to think of her, of the way her face lit up when she smiled, of the way her hair swirled around her face, of the way her body moved so easily, so comfortably. He smiled in thinking about how much he loved being with her. And then, of course, he began thinking about Joyce and that situation. He wondered if it was even necessary to tell Buffy, if she would feel differently--or rather, how much she would feel differently. He ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed his face. If he could get the timing right, maybe he could tell her the whole story and she wouldn't get too freaked out. The last weeks, despite not actually seeing each other, had been wonderful. He felt they had a connection, beyond the physical attraction that had initially drawn him to her. He felt like he had found a best friend--a soulmate, even. She had to feel that connection.

"Spike? Can you take off the shirt and jeans?" Buffy's voice pierced his thoughts, and he flashed her a grin. Deciding to play a little, he turned and began stripping slowly for her. Bending over, he lowered his jeans while keeping his ass up in the air for her approval. He glanced back at her, winked, and then threw his clothes onto the ground. He stretched out his chest muscles and flexed for her.

"Please. You don't exactly have a bodybuilder image," Buffy said, snorting behind her camera.

"Ouch!" Spike hugged himself and acted hurt. "If you don't like my body, I can just--"

"Oh, I like your body all right. Now go and strut it for me so I can take more photos. Go along the beach and climb up that rock. Then dive in, swim a little, and then walk around in the water a little."

She lifted her camera to her eye again, signaling the end of their brief break. He grinned again at her attitude and began to walk. The sun had already begun to beat against his skin, for which he was thankful, since the water tended to be pretty damn cold. Rubbing his hands against his chest, he prepared himself for the cold. He let the sun warm him for a little longer and then gracefully dove into the waves.

Buffy paused for a moment to wipe the beads of sweat that were forming on her brow. The sun was high, but her rising temperature was more due to the beautiful body in front of her than nature itself. She was eager to see how these pictures would come out; seeing him through the lens was becoming rather erotic for her, her inner voyeur indulging in the sensation of watching and capturing his gorgeous movements. It thrilled her to know she'd have these photos always surrounding her, revealing his features, his emotions that so clearly washed over his face. It also thrilled her to think about how he was hers; it sounded so possessive, but that's how she felt--that they belonged. When his head emerged from the water, she began shooting again.

Spike swam in the ocean, subtly watching Buffy take pictures from the shore. The wind whipped around her, causing slight undulations in her pretty dress. Her hair was starting to come out of her ponytail, and he watched her brush it back, trying to keep it out of the lens' way. He began walking out of the water, and the sun's rays combined with the cold water felt electrifying. As his eyes raked over Buffy's body, he began to feel his cock push against his Speedos, even with the cold ocean pressing against it. Continuing towards the shore, he watched as Buffy looked down at her camera, finally pausing in her work.

"I'm out of film. Let me just put in more and we'll continue." She turned to walk quickly towards the blanket. Spike followed swiftly, waiting for her to put the camera on the ground.

And then he pounced.

"EEK!" Buffy shrieked as his wet arms came around her, lifting her off the ground. "What are you doing?"

"I'm making you take a break. You've got me all hot and bothered with your demanding tone and professional control, all 'Do this' and 'Show me that.' I have to have you. Now." He placed her on the ground long enough to kiss her deeply. She moaned and leaned in more, but he moved again, suddenly scooping her into his arms and running towards the ocean.

"Spike! Spike! What are you doing?!? Put me down!" she screamed.

"Okay. If you insist." He dropped her into the water with an evil cackle.

She emerged from the water with her hair all stuck to one side, sputtering for air. "You are soo gonna get it." She tried to pull him under the water, but he easily evaded her.

"I'm sorta hoping for that," he leered cockily, ducking as she splashed water towards him.

She abruptly went underwater, throwing him off. He looked around and then suddenly felt something around his thighs. Before he could move, he was submerged. He gasped for air when he finally came above water and searched for her. Buffy was a couple feet away, laughing and smoothing her hair out of her face. He started laughing as well, and they giggled together while nearing each other. Buffy's dress was completely wet, and her nipples were reacting to the cold water, pushing against the thin fabric. Spike leaned forward to suck its ripeness through the fabric.

Buffy gasped at the warmth of his mouth against her shivering skin. She ran her fingers through his wet hair and pushed her body against his. Pulling his head up, she kissed him, thrusting her tongue against his. All her sexual energy that had built up during the photo shoot coursed through her, sending vibrations against her skin. As she cupped his ass, she maneuvered his erection in between her legs, wanting to feel his hardness against her.

They both moaned, frantically touching each other and pressing themselves closer together. Using the water, Buffy let it hold her up as she wrapped her legs around his waist, making their position even more intimate.

Spike's cock strained against his bathing suit, creating a large gap that quickly filled with cold water. The ocean pushed and pulled against him, magnifying the arousing thrusts against Buffy's heat. He kissed her hard and then continued down her body to suck and nibble at her neck and her breasts. Using his tongue, he pushed the wet material away from her nipples and sucked them, hardening them even further.

"Oh, God," Buffy breathed, the sensation of Spike's mouth on her breast and the thrusting of his cock against her clit crashing over her. Her thong was slowly pushing into her, the wet material rubbing against her and letting her feel part of Spike's cock. She desperately wanted more, but she didn't have the energy to move.

Spike devoured her mouth again and gripped her hips tightly, quickening the pace of his thrusts. Their breathing got shorter and shorter until Buffy's whole body tensed up, her arms squeezing around Spike's torso and her legs clenching his waist. She cried out, throwing her head back in ecstasy.

Spike used her movement to suck at her nipple once again and then felt his own surge burst against her.

"OOOHHHHhhhhhhhhhh," he moaned as he felt his cum shoot through him and mingle with the chill of the waves.

They held each other for a while, letting the surf carry them in their boneless state.

Buffy moved first, softly resting her forehead against his. "Wow."

Spike smiled and gave her a soft peck on the lips. "Wow, indeed. I think this is the first time I've ever come in the water."

Buffy giggled. "Me, too. And I think what we just did was illegal."

Spike cocked his eyebrow. "Into that, now, are we?"

She leaned in to kiss him, her tongue tenderly stroking his. "Maybe."

"My daring baby." He nibbled at her earlobe.

"My sexy baby." She tightened her legs around him.

"Your tired baby," they said simultaneously. They looked at each other wide-eyed and then began to laugh, freely and loudly.

"Come on. We don't want anyone stealing your camera. Those pictures will be worth a lot one day," Spike teased as Buffy lowered her body from his.

"They already are," she murmured, brushing a kiss onto his shoulder and intertwining her fingers with his.

Hand in hand, they slowly walked towards the shore.

---

Please review!!

Ch. 9: Spanking New Confessions

Buffy watched Spike's face and body magically appear as each photo developed and then carefully hung her photos to dry. She worked methodically, making sure the specifics of the photos were exactly to her standards, the time floating by as she worked to finish the entire group of shots. When she was finally done, she leaned back to survey her work.

Spike on the beach. Spike in the water. Spike walking. Spike stretching. Spike smiling. Spike contemplating. Spike laughing. Spike pouting. Spike diving. Spike swimming. Spike soaking. Spike splashing. Spike.

It was fabulous.

She hugged herself, her giddiness bubbling and spilling out of her smile. She was giddy because the pictures had turned out amazingly and because he was all hers. The summer was turning out so perfectly, and she had autumn in New York with Spike to look forward to; she couldn't have scripted a better life.

Her cell phone rang, interrupting her thoughts of contentment.

"Hey, Mom," Buffy said, cradling the phone in her shoulder as she finished up her photo development.

"Actually, tonight's not good. I'm having dinner with Spike. Yeah, he is--exactly. Things are going really well, and I'm kind of excited." She hung the last picture and watched the solution drip slowly. "Okay, tomorrow, then. Yup. Talk to you then."

Hanging up the phone, she took one last look at her work and then left the room.

***

"So, what do you think?" Buffy asked hesitantly. She was showing Spike her entire portfolio, complete with the photos from their morning together. Nervously she waited for Spike to voice his opinion.

"Buffy, they're amazing. You have such an eye for movement and emotion and color. I'm so incredibly impressed. And lucky that my girl is so talented. You're going to completely wow the guys in New York." He leaned over and kissed her softly. "Gorgeous and talented. Now what did I do to deserve that?" he teased, rubbing his thumb on her bare shoulder.

Blushing, Buffy reached out and squeezed his hand. "I'm really glad you like them. I love what I do, but sometimes I wonder if it's all just in my head, the way I see things."

"No, these photos are bloody brilliant. Really. Not just saying that. But I do have a question," Spike murmured, looking again at the photos. He flipped through the pages and stopped at a photo of him perched on the rock in jeans. "Is this the one from before? When you were stalking me?"

Blushing again, she smacked him playfully on the arm. "I wasn't stalking you. You just happened to be there, and I just happened to be there, and my camera just happened to be there. So there," she blurted out, still a little embarrassed. "Anyway, you wanna go to dinner now?"

"Yeah, pet. Let's leave this here, and we can ride my bike to the restaurant." He reached out for her hand, and they walked out of the house together.

***

The wine was making Buffy a little buzzed, a little horny, and a little chatty. She coyly licked the chocolate off her spoon and then licked her lips, savoring the rich chocolate taste. Watching for Spike's reaction, she flipped her hair back and then gently ran her fingers over her collarbone, edging towards her breasts.

She leaned forward and whispered, "I have a confession to make."

Spike gulped, already hardened by her tongue and her exploring hands, not to mention her feet caressing his legs. "Tell, me luv."

"I don't think I should tell you here. You might get a little angry with me, and I don’t want to be spanked in front of all these people." She took the cherry off the top of the sundae and sucked all the whipped cream off of it, letting it bob in her mouth for a bit before pulling off the stem.

"Check, please!"

***

The ride back to Spike's was vibratingly quick, which suited them both. Tongues sucking and probing in the hallway, hands roaming daringly in the living room, they fell onto the couch in a pile of heat and desire.

"So what's this naughty little confession, pet? Do you need to be punished?" Spike taunted in between kisses.

"Maybe. I might need to be punished real bad, because I kept this secret from you for a long time." She straddled him and held his face in her hands, enjoying their little flirtation.

Spike knew she was teasing him, but tiny little alarms were going off in the back of his mind, wondering if this little secret was anything like his. He placed his hands over hers and kissed her again. "You gonna tell me, or are you gonna make me beg?"

"Ooh, beg. I like that," she breathed, squeezing her thighs around his body.

"Yeah, but that might make your punishment worse. Do you want that?" He placed his hands on her waist, brushing up her torso and nearing her breast with each stroke.

"I'm a bad girl. Bad, bad, bad..." she repeated, pulling his head close and filling his mouth with her tongue. "I watched you."

He lightly brushed the underside of her breasts, teasing her and himself. "You did, did you? At the beach? You already told me that. I think you're hiding something from me," he said while nibbling at her ear.

His breath tickled her, and she arched her back in response, pushing her breasts into his chest. "No, not then. Again. Later. At night," she whispered, licking the spot right behind his ear.

"At night? I wasn't at the beach at night." He tried to keep his mind clear enough to hear her words, but her squeezes and licks were driving him crazy; he wanted to rip her panties and thrust into her over and over again. He closed his eyes and lost himself in the lush touch of her tongue on his earlobe.

"Yeah, at night. I was on the sundeck, and I could see inside your room." She ran her fingers underneath his shirt and pinched his nipples. "I couldn't sleep, and then I saw you, angry, horny, full of fire," she breathed, grasping his ass and pressing her heat into his.

Spike hardened even more when he remembered what he'd done that night--how he'd jerked off and spewed all over himself. The thought of her watching made him so hot. "You saw me, did you? And did you like what you saw?" he demanded, pushing up her shirt and licking her nipple through her bra. "Did you want me then?" he asked, using his tongue to pull out her puckered breast.

She gasped at the sensation of his tongue on her skin, and she pressed his head to her chest. "God, yes. I saw you running your hands on your cock, and I pretended it was me, my hands, my tongue. And you know what?" she said, slowly starting to rock on top of him. "I touched my wet, throbbing clit and pretended you were fucking me instead of your hand."

Spike bucked underneath her, and he snarled, grabbing her for a hard, intense kiss. "You are a bad, bad girl, and you need to be right punished." He yanked her t-shirt off and pushed her to the side, making her skirt fly up and her ass protrude sexily. He rubbed it, feeling her heat and her cum starting to moisten her thighs.

"I'm not sorry. I wanted you. I want you." She reached for his belt buckle, trying to loosen his hard cock.

"No, pet. Not yet. You don't get that yet. I need to spank you first." And with a hard thwack, he began slapping her juicy ass.

"Fuck. Oh, god," she cried out, feeling the stinging pleasure of his hand. He kept it up, smacking her ass, hitting her while his other hand rubbed her clit. The harshness of his palm contrasting with the smoothness of his fingers drove her mad. He did this repeatedly until she felt herself flying up, tightening, and then exploding. "Shit, aaaaaaaggggggggggghhhhhhh! Spike," she yelled, her fingers tightening around the supporting pillow. She screamed into the couch and then let her body fall into his lap, exhausted.

Spike pulled her body close and began kissing her face. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" Spike murmured, his hands running through her hair.

"God, no, that was amazing," she said, "but now it's your turn." She pulled at his belt buckle and unzipped him. His cock sprung up, hard and wet with pre-cum. She slid down his legs and knelt before him.

"What are you doing--uuunnnggg," Spike moaned as Buffy slowly licked his cock from base to tip. He tightened his fingers in her hair, loving the feel of her head moving over his cock.

"So yummy," she said, licking and sucking him, swirling her tongue around his slit and tasting him. She skated her lips down his entire shaft and then up again, moaning so that he felt the vibrations.

"Fuck, Buffy," Spike cried out. He lifted his arms as she pulled off his t-shirt and then threw his head back as she resumed giving him incredible head.

"You like," she asked, in between licks, eyeing him coyly from her kneeling position.

He pulled her up and kissed her fervently, thrusting his tongue into her hot mouth. "God, pet, you taste so good."

"You, too," she said with a smirk. She yelped as he picked her up and switched their places, Spike now kneeling in front of her.

He began suckling her nipples, and she rubbed her legs against him, loving the feel of her skin against his. "Oh, Spike. I knew you'd be like this. Knew it'd be hot from the moment I saw you," she babbled, his movements making her crazy with lust.

Continuing his kisses down her front, he tongued her navel. "Wanted you from the moment I saw you. Feeling your hot little hands around my waist. Best bike ride ever." He reached up to kiss her on the mouth again before returning to his attack on her breasts. "Knew we could be great together, that the past wouldn't matter." He lightly bit her nipple.

"Past?" Buffy asked, her voice slightly unsteady because of his sensual mouth. She ran her fingers through his hair and looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, bollocks," Spike thought to himself.

Ch. 10: Old, Wounding Confessions

Buffy knew something was wrong for two reasons: one, Spike was no longer sucking her nipple; two, Spike was no longer talking. Both of these things contributed to the dispersal of the haze that had engulfed her, and the clearing made her wonder if she had stumbled onto some hidden field rigged with mines. She looked down at the bleached head leaning against her chest and suddenly felt scared.

Spike was still frozen, completely at a loss for words and actions; his own stupidity scared him. He wondered if he could pretend the words away, forget he had ever said anything, especially in this moment when they were so close. That was it! That was why he'd said it--because the lust had crazed him and made him say things that were never meant to be said. He rubbed his forehead on her belly and breathed in her scent, wondering if he could distract her. Slowly he began kissing her belly again.

"Spike? Wait, stop. Is something wrong?" Buffy asked. She'd become so attuned to him, to his moments of lust and of contemplation, and she knew the latter was at the forefront. Concerned, she lifted his head up to look at him. "Are you okay? All of a sudden you seemed to change or something. Is there something in the past that's bothering you?"

Spike's heart tumbled and collapsed. Her genuine distress at his own slip-up was only making the rocks on the hill sharper. Was there something in the past that was bothering him? "Not exactly, luv." Well, that wasn't a lie. It wasn't him that was going to be bothered. "It's nothing, pet. Don't worry about it." He tried to lean up and give her a kiss, but she stopped him.

"Spike, there's obviously something going on inside. As much as I love how this feels, I also love--" Buffy broke off, her eyes widening a little. Her words had fallen easily from her mouth, and she suddenly reined in her emotions, afraid they'd come out too soon. She tried to cover up her slip by reaching in to kiss him, but he stopped her.

"Love what, Buffy?" Spike asked, cocking his eyebrow. His heartbeat had quickened at hearing her almost-declaration, and he pressed her for more.

"You're trying to distract me, but we're talking about you." She pulled him up off his knees and onto the couch next to her. "Tell me. You can tell me anything. I'll still--" Buffy paused again. Looking down, she began rubbing his thigh in a comforting manner. "You can tell me anything."

Spike's heart warmed to her words, but this time he didn't press her. He closed his eyes, wishing he hadn't allowed his defenses to fall in the height of his lust. He ran his fingers through his hair and then took her hand into his.

"Wait a sec," Buffy said. She reached for her t-shirt and quickly put it on. "I just feel like this is a moment, and I feel silly with my breasts all hanging out." She gave a small grin and then put her hand back into his. "Tell me what's on your mind. What's in your past that gave you such willies?"

She looked so innocent, and for a moment he considered lying. But those hazel eyes staring at him so trustingly made him realize that lying would only make things worse. He took a deep breath, trying to figure out how he speak those things burdening his heart.

"Buffy, I know we haven't known each other for a very long time, but I feel like we have this connection. Do you feel it? It's not just me, is it?" he asked, looking fully into her eyes. Buffy nodded and squeezed his hand in reply. "And I don't know what you were about to say earlier, but I'm not afraid to say it. I love you, Buffy. God, I love you. And maybe it's not right for me to say it so quickly, but I know it. I feel it." His voice was heavy with emotion, and his clear blue eyes gazed at her with sincerity and love.

Buffy sat still, her external body unmoving but her heart running and leaping wildly. She felt the same way, had almost said as much not two minutes earlier, but she was afraid of being so vulnerable. She played with his fingers and then finally met his eyes. "I--I love you, too. I wanted to say it earlier, but I was afraid. I've never met anyone like you, been with anyone who makes me feel like this, who understands me and still wants to stick around." She placed her hands on his lovely cheekbones and kissed him softly. "And is incredibly hot," she teased.

He smiled at her, letting himself enjoy the comfort of her teasing and her beautiful face. He kissed her again, his tongue gently stroking hers in the motion that seemed so natural and right. He took a breath and then began talking again.

"I wanted you to know how I felt, how connected I feel to you, before I shared about my past. I know you say that my past doesn't matter, but I just wanted you to know-- to know that I love you, that I truly care about you." He paused, gently caressing her hand and sending blue vibrations through her body. "When I was younger, I was really nerdy. Insecure, quiet, bookish. Instead of talking to people, I wrote. Poetry, fiction, whatever came to mind. And there was this girl, Cecily. I thought she was beautiful, angelic, perfect." His eyes looked off into his past, remembering. "I was wrong. When she heard of my affections, she humiliated me, rejected me, said I was beneath her." He chuckled, hiding his hurt. "Well, you can imagine I wasn't feeling all that manly. She essentially lopped off my jewels, took away my confidence, my self-esteem, my ability to believe that I was worthwhile. And then I met another woman. Only briefly, but still. She made me feel like I was something. Like I had something to offer this world, that I was a man. I really only spent one summer night by the beach with her, but it was enough. I lost my virginity to her." He hesitated, looking down at their joined hands. "Her name was Joyce."

Buffy waited with patience, trying to figure out at what point in his story she was supposed to understand what had made him so uneasy earlier. His abrupt stop made her wonder, and then suddenly a dark wave of realization threatened to crash onto her. She couldn't accept what he seemed to be implying until he raised his eyes, his pained blue eyes that seemed to cry out with guilt and regret and pleas. Her fingers tightened around his, her knuckles becoming white, and her heart seemed to be squeezed inside both hands.

Her breath caught in her throat, and her voice was uneven. "Spike? What do you--I mean, why are you--huh? Please, explain." She held onto his hand, as if holding him would keep the waves from crashing down on her.

"Buffy, it was a long time ago, and I didn't know you. I didn't even know you existed. Please, don't let--"

"Wait. Just wait. Are you saying you slept with my mother? Joyce, your first, is my mother? My mom? My--" She suddenly wrenched her hands away from his. "What the fuck are you saying? You can't be serious. 'Cause that's just impossible. You can't. Tell me you're not saying what it sounds like. Tell me, Spike." She jumped up from the couch and looked at him with pleading eyes. "Tell, me. Please."

Spike rose slowly to face Buffy, who was now on the other side of the couch. "Buffy, I want to be honest with you, and that's why I'm telling you about this. Not quite how I'd imagined it, but there it is. But it doesn't change how I feel about you. That's just history, just a moment in my adolescence. It was--"

"Just a moment? Oh, sure. No big. You just lost your virginity to MY MOTHER! You don’t think that's a little fucked up? My virginity was lost in the back seat of a car. Very cliché. Very normal. Very teenage prom night. You? You get it on with an old woman? And when? Was that why my mom knew you? Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god," Buffy said, shaking her hands as if trying to rid them of some dirtiness.

"Luv, understand. She was there during a time when I needed some--"

"Some what? Some hot loving?" Buffy interrupted, her voice starting to rise in pitch and volume.

"Buffy, please listen. I--"

"I can't. I can't listen. I just--I need to go. I need to go now. But I can't, because I live here. So you--you need to go. Please. Just--just let yourself out. Now." She ran up the stairs, not even waiting for his response.

"Buffy, please! Hear me out--don't just walk away!" The only response was the slamming of a door. And then he crumpled, his head falling into his hands and the tears welling up. "God, what just happened? Can't believe I fucked this up." He clenched his jaw, walked out the door, and quietly shut it.

He lingered outside the door, glancing up at the Buffy's window. The night breeze floated across his cheeks, its coolness contrasting with the hot tears in his eyes. "I'm not going to give up on this, Buffy. I love you," he whispered in a low voice. With a final gaze, he turned and went inside his house.

Ch. 11: City Counsel

Joyce walked into the quiet home, noting the couch pillows strewn haphazardly on the floor but the kitchen pristine from lack of use. She sighed and began up the stairs, assuming that Buffy was still sleeping at noon.

Buffy's body was tightly curled into a ball, her body clutching the stuffed pig and her leg thrown outside of the comforter. Joyce smiled at the sight, how young she looked in her sleep, and then moved to rouse her.

"Buffy? Buffy, it's time to wake up. Don't sleep the day away. Buffy?" Joyce lightly shook her so as not to scare her.

Buffy gasped and shot up, her mother startling her out of sleep. She looked confused for a little, realized it was her mother, shot her a dirty look, and then fell back onto the bed, covers hiding her face.

"Buffy, don't be childish. It's already noon. You should really get out of bed."

"And you shouldn't sleep with young boys," Buffy muttered, her anger awakening her and reminding her of last night's news.

"Hmm?" Joyce said, unable to understand Buffy's morning mumblings. "Come on, Buffy. I think--"

"You think what? Mom, I can barely stand to look at you," Buffy spat out as she shoved the covers aside and brushed by her mother to the bathroom.

"What? What are you talking about?" Joyce followed her into the bathroom and stood in the doorway while Buffy furiously brushed her teeth. "Don't ignore me, Buffy. You cant just proclaim that you're angry and then not at least tell me why." She crossed her arms, waiting to hear her daughter's explanation.

"You wanna know?" Buffy spat out, angrily wiping her face with a towel. "I just found out that Spike, the guy I was with last night, the guy that I thought was THE ONE, that I felt was connected to me in some way, was actually already familiar with Summers women, because he slept with you. YOU! Oh my god, I can't think about it," she muttered, closing her eyes as she scrubbed her face, as if rubbing the past away from her skin.

Joyce's face was frozen in shock, and slowly the events began to make sense. Spike, or William, must have let their secret slip. She closed her eyes, trying to figure out how to deal with the sudden onslaught of old memories and consequences. Buffy flew by her in a blind fury, muttering as she moved to the closet to get dressed.

"Don't you walk away from me!" Joyce said, following Buffy back into her room.

"Fine. You don't want me to walk away? Fine. Let's talk. Let's talk about how you cheated on Dad with the boy next door. Let's talk about how you should be arrested for what you did. Let's talk about how you took away his virginity. Let's talk about how you got to be with the one I wanted, the one I thought might be The One. Let's talk about how you ruined my chances by sleeping with him. Talk, Mom. Talk." At this point, Buffy's voice was cracked with hysterics, tears coursing down her face and tightening her body.

"Buffy, I--" Joyce started, moving closer.

"No. No. I can't do this. I don't want to know. I--" She ran out of her room, down the stairs, and out the door, as if she could physically escape the pain of her situation.

Joyce, shocked by her rejection, finally roused and ran after her, only to have the door slammed in her face.

"Buffy!" she called out, searching the street. "Buffy!"

There was nothing, no sight of her daughter and no sounds of her voice, not even her sobs. Nothing. Joyce collapsed on the steps, her body exhausted by the sudden emotional sprinting. She allowed the immensity of the situation crash over her, squeezing her heart and pricking the guilt that had been long in hiding.

"I fucked up royally, didn't I?"

Joyce started at the gravelly voice that had suddenly appeared next to her. She looked up to see a disheveled boy, hands shaking with a lit cigarettes, eyes red from crying. She smiled weakly. "Yeah, you did. What possessed you to tell her?"

"I didn't intend to--at least, not the way it happened. I just, well, I guess I just wanted to be completely honest with her. Didn't want any secrets or anything."

"You really did fuck up." Joyce stood, acknowledging him but intentionally maintaining space between them. "What are you going to do?"

"Not sure." He took a drag from his cigarette. "I just can't think straight. But I know I can't just cut my losses and go. I can't wish away the past, but I can't just give up on the future. I--Joyce, I think I love her." His voice was cut with emotion, his downcast eyes hiding the intensity of his feelings.

Joyce smiled again, if sadly. "I think she feels the same way." She turned to go back into the house. "Give her some time. Let me talk to her."

Spike crushed his cigarette and looked up at her. "You think there's a chance? That Buffy might--"

"I didn't say that," Joyce interrupted. "But I'll try. Just give her some time. And don't give up." She stepped inside and looked at him a final time. "Take care, William."

Spike gave her a last look of desperate dreams. "Thank you, Joyce." They shared a moment of painful hope, and then Joyce closed the door.


***

"Dawn, I'm fine. Yes, I'm fine. I just, well, I need to leave. I'll tell you more later, but right now I just need to get away. I'll come back and get the rest of my stuff, and you can call me on the cell if you really need to. No, don't worry. Mom? Well, I'm sure she'll figure it out. I'm not running away--I'm just escaping for a little bit. Yeah, that's fine. Take care," Buffy said lightly, hiding her shaking fingers and bursting heart. When she finally closed the phone, she fell into the fake leather airport chairs, a loud sigh escaping her lips. She knew it probably wasn't the most mature way to handle the news, but Buffy just needed some time to think, to process all the information she'd been thrown with in the past day. Cordy was expecting her and had a place for her to stay, Mom was wherever she was, and Spike? Well, she didn't know where Spike was, but she didn't feel like dwelling on that.

Moving her bags under her legs, Buffy leaned back and closed her eyes, waiting for the announcement that would fly her away, if temporarily, from the insanity that had recently come upon her life.

***

"You have got to be kidding me. Your mother?" Cordelia exclaimed, ignoring the look Buffy was giving her. "God, I'm sorry if I'm being loud, but it is a little crazy and freakish. Now I get why you flew here like a demon was on your heels. Let's get some more alcohol, shall we?"

Buffy slumped in her chair, her head nuzzled in her elbow as Cordy flagged down their waiter to stock up on martinis. "God, my life is a Jerry Springer show!" she moaned.

"You're right. It is. But tell me about this Spike guy. I mean, is he worth all this? Is he a sleaze?" Cordy asked bluntly.

"No, he's not--that's the problem. I mean, when I was with him--pre-disgusting epiphany--it was great. We were completely comfortable, we connected on a level that went beyond physical--I really felt that he understood me, that we were kindred spirits." Buffy took a large gulp of her drink. "But now I just feel gross because he's been with my mother."

"Well, let's not dwell on that too much, shall we? Because one: ew. Two: we're here to talk about you and get your life fixed. So this Spike, you really liked him?"

"I did. I totally liked him. I know I only knew him for a few weeks, but in that short time I knew more about him than I did Angel, and you remember how long that dragged on. We opened up to each other. It was like he was my best friend--the last person I wanted to talk to before I went to sleep." Buffy pouted before taking another long gulp of her drink. She wasn't wild about the taste, but she desperately wanted something to numb the pain and confusing emotions that were choking her.

"Got it. Friendship good. Now what about the sex?" Cordy asked as she speared her olive to eat it.

"Sex? We didn't have sex."

"No sex? So then, what's the big deal? Nothing was shared, and you're not there anymore, so why are you bent on getting pissed tonight?"

"Becauuuuuse!" Buffy whined, her hand propping her head up. "I thought he was the one. I felt it. I wanted it. I can't believe we didn't have sex, because we basically did everything else under the sun. If he'd asked me to run off with him and get married in Vegas, I would have! That's the problem!" Buffy complained, her voice starting to get shrill with emotion. Her third drink was beginning to dull her senses, and she began talking very loudly and emotionally. "He was the one, and my mom got to him first!" she wailed, banging her head on the table.

"God, Buffy, get a grip. It's not the end of the world." Cordy calmly sipped her martini and pulled another olive into her mouth. "Tell me more about what happened between Spike and your mom."

"Ugh, do I have to?" Buffy muttered.

"Yes, you do. You should pay me for all the counseling I give you." She flung her hair back and winked at the man at the bar who was giving her a smile.

"Fine. They slept together. He lost his virginity to her when he was, I don't know, 18? 16? Who knows. I think it was 8, 10 years ago and they slept together," Buffy explained.

"Did they have an affair? Or was it a one-time thing?"

"It was a one-time thing. Or so they say," Buffy grumbled. "No, I'm pretty sure it was just once."

"You don't know how it happened, do you?"

"God, no. I mean, my mom started to tell me but I just shut my ears. I don't want to know details! She and Dad were divorcing, and William was living next door, and I guess they just hit it off or something. My mom, with a thing for teenagers."

"Well, did she have a lot of teenage lovers?"

"No, just him. Special? Who knows. Just gross."

"So, it was just him, just once, 8 or 10 years ago?" Cordy summarized, trying to get the facts straight.

"Yes. Yes. You got it. Ding ding ding, you get a prize."

"No need to get sarcastic. I'm just trying to feel out the situation for you, since you're obviously more concerned with getting drunk than with finding a solution."

"Solution? There's no solution; that's why I'm getting drunk."

"I beg to differ. Conflict: you want Spike. Spike slept with your mom. The question is: How can you feel okay about being with a man that's been with your mom?"

"I can't! I can't I can't I can't."

"Broken record, much? Buffy, if you didn't care about the guy, if he were just a quick, hot fuck, then you would be disgusted and move on. But you've been talking about this for hours, and I do literally mean hours. Clearly, you want something to happen, something to change, something to make it okay for you to be with him. That's what I'm trying to get at."

"If only that were true. If only I could be with him. Why does my life suck so much?"

"What were true, that you could be with him? I think it's possible, if you want it enough. I mean, there are weirder things that have happened. I wouldn't go around telling people, but it's not like they had an affair or anything. Honestly, it could be worse."

"How can you say that? How can you be so calm about the whole thing?"

"I'm over it. Surprise element is gone, and I'm left with a weepy drunk Buffy. Totally over it. Taking the first exit off the highway."

"I want to get off. I do, Cordy. Will you help me get off?" Buffy wailed, not noticing the stares of the young men at the table next to them.

Cordy smiled at them and then shoved Buffy gently but firmly. "Well, Buffy, I've always had my suspicions about you, but my getting you off won't get your Spike back."

"But you said you'd help me! You did. You said you'd do whatever it takes. I'll get on my knees, Cordy. Please!" Buffy launched herself into Cordy's arms, begging her.

Cordy stood up as gracefully as possible, pulling Buffy along. "Okay, you know what? I think it's time to go home. Sweet dreams, boys," Cordy called out as she pulled Buffy out of the bar.

When they got back to her apartment, she dumped Buffy's heavy body onto the twin bed set up for her and let her sleep off the alcohol. "'Night, babe. Hope sleep somehow gives you some logic so you're not so weepy when you wake up." She turned off the light and left.

***

Cordy was calmly drinking coffee and reading a magazine when Buffy crawled out of her room looking completely wrinkled and bleary-eyed, her caked eye makeup making her squint and her hair mussed and disheveled. "Well, I hope you're feeling better than you look, which can't be that hard."

"You'd be surprised," she croaked, gingerly feeling her face and body to make sure everything was in tact.

"You're all there, don't worry. You just kicked back a few too many last night."

"And here I was, hoping it was all a bad dream." Buffy groaned a little, trying to rub away the pain. She waddled to the bathroom to wash away the sleep and the lingering aches of alcohol.

Cordelia rolled her eyes and went back to her magazine. Just then, the phone rang.

"Hello? Oh, hey Dawn. Just a sec." She covered the received with her palm and called out, "Buffy? It's for you."

Eventually, Buffy emerged from the bathroom and eased her way into the kitchen. "Hello?" she said groggily. "What? What do you mean? How do you know? Are they sure?" Buffy was jerked into attention, and her eyes began widening as she heard her sister speak. "What? Yeah. Yeah, I'll do that. I'll call you when I get there. As soon as I can. Love you, too." She hung up the phone and slumped into a chair, in shock.

"Oh my god, Buffy. Are you okay?" Cordy asked, her face concerned.

"Mom. She--she had an accident or something--something's wrong. She's in the hospital. I have to go back." Reality hit her, and slowly Buffy crumpled at the table, her sobs wracking her body and squeezing her insides until she folded herself up into a ball, waiting for the pain to subside.

Ch. 12: Mother-Daughter Talks

Buffy closed her eyes and rubbed her arms, attempting to dispel the chills that were part of her life, the worries that were scrambling up and down her body. The past two months had given her new wrinkles, sleepless nights, and unshed tears. She had to stay strong, to be the one who comforted Dawn in her tears--and there was no one to comfort her.

And her mother was dying. Dying! The word bounced off the walls of her mind, reverberating and leaving residual pain with each crash. Her eyes were dry, sucked hollows from the stifled crying and worried rubbing and insomnia that had become familiar to her. She waited patiently for the doctor to finish his examination before spending her daily visit over tea and cookies.

Minutes crept past, and eventually the doctor with his entourage of interns and nurses left the room. Buffy slowly gathered her strength and entered the room.

"Hey, mom. Sleep well?" Buffy asked nonchalantly as she gave her mom a big smile.

"Buffy. I've been thinking that it's time we talked." Joyce smiled wanly as she beckoned her closer.

"What do you mean?" Buffy responded, biting her lip in nervousness.

"We never really resolved our issues--please, don't interrupt me." Joyce lifted her hand in protest when she saw Buffy begin to voice her thoughts. "I know you probably don't want to talk about it, among many other things, but we need to. I need to. Hear me out."

Buffy sat on the chair near her mother's bed and looked down. She remembered first coming back, her thoughts overwhelmed with irrepressible anger at her mom's actions with Spike battling feelings of guilt for not being there when she had taken her first bad spell mixed in with frustration for her own weird relationship and continuing attraction to Spike and topped off with her denial of the possibility that her mother might, indeed, die. She wanted to be the comforting daughter who was supportive and loving, but she couldn't ignore the resentment she still felt towards her mother; such conflicting feelings had been suppressed when, upon arriving at the hospital, Joyce hadn't recognized her own daughter. She'd had to avoid the whole incident and corresponding emotions when she and Dawn had had to deal with the much more serious issue of cancer and its fast spread through her mother's body.

And now, with her mom being much more sound in mind, those jumbled emotions returned full-force, much to Buffy's dismay. She began fiddling with the zipper on her jacket.

"Buffy, the last time we had a real talk, one where we were honest and upfront with each other, was right before you took off to New York. Now, you're an adult and have the prerogative to go where you want and when, but we never finished our conversation. And I want to do that now."

"Mom, it's nothing. Really, in comparison to what--"

"No, Buffy," Joyce interrupted. "Just because this, this disease is now in me doesn’t mean that everything else is gone. It's not that simple." She sighed and then looked out of the tiny window of the hospital. "You need--deserve--to know what happened. Not details or anything, but just why. For the record, I didn't cheat on your father. The divorce was simply being finalized, and your father had already moved in with his new woman--I don't even remember her name."

Cringing at the thought of her father's many women, Buffy let out a bitter laugh. She waited for her mother to continue.

"What happened with William was probably not the smartest thing I have ever done--I know that." Joyce sighed, shaking her head slightly. William and I were both in need of some comfort, believe it or not, and it just ended up being that kind of comfort. It only happened once, and though I regret the effect it has had on you, I don't regret that I did it. I needed it, needed some kind of affirmation of who I was, my attractiveness as a woman--and I think he needed it, too, as much as you may not want to hear it."

Reaching out to grip Buffy's arm, Joyce forced her daughter to look at her directly.

"Buffy, I'm human, with faults and insecurities and hopes and fears. All of those things got the best of me that day, and then I moved on, continued with my life--and I'm sure William did, too. I wasn't out to seduce him, but I wasn't trying to stop it, either. Why am I telling you this? Because, to be quite frank, I feel terrible that my indiscretion has left you feeling like you can't pursue him. And this is not some deathbed request or anything--except that I want you to be happy. I understand if you can't get over it or are completely disgusted by the idea, but I just hope that you understand how minor it was, and hopefully how minor it is, in the grand scheme of things. I love you, and I want you to be happy. It pains me to think that I might be hindering that, and so I just wanted to explain it to you. Be mad--don't think I'm so fragile that I can't handle it. I may be frail in body, but I still have that Summers feistiness that seems to be so thriving in you." She tried to smile a little. "I'm sorry, Buffy. I really am. Sometimes we don't realize the consequences that our choices make. But I am sorry." She looked into Buffy's eyes to see her reaction. She closed her mouth, signaling that she was done.

The whole time her mom was speaking, Buffy crossed her hands over her chest and tried to figure out how she wanted to react. Her initial choice was to be angry, to have all those feelings come back and crash over her, lash out at her mom and make her feel triumphant. But as her mom continued to talk, the anger started to leak out of her, making her feel like a deflated balloon.

"You know, if you had asked me a month ago, I would have been really pissed. I would have ranted and raved and accused and cursed." She chuckled softly, as if trying to disperse the tension. "But now? I don't know. Maybe it's because I haven't seen him in over a month. Maybe it's because, in light of things, it's not really that important. Maybe I just no longer think it's that important. Maybe I just don't have the energy to be angry anymore. I don't really know how I feel."

"Buffy, just because I'm sick doesn't mean you have to stop living. You don't have to come see me every day. I know your job in New York begins in two weeks, and I fully expect you to be on a plane to New York to start on time."

"Mom, there's no way I can. I've already asked for a delay in starting, and--"

"Buffy Anne Summers, you better call your boss back and tell him that you're coming in that Monday as planned," she interrupted. "I'm serious. I do not want you changing your life because of me. That means starting on time AND not letting my past get in the way of your possible future with William--not William, Spike. Don't make me feel guilty for getting in the way of your plans."

"Mom, you're not getting in the way of my plans! But I'm not going to travel across the country for work when I can get another job here and be closer in case--" Buffy stopped herself. She had been fairly optimistic about her mother's illness for the first few weeks, but the doctors had met with her last Friday, and the prognosis didn't look good.

"Buffy, that's the other thing I wanted to talk about." She took her daughter's hand carefully.

"Mom, please. I--" Buffy's eyes slowly teared up as she tried to ignore the possibility of her mom's death.

"I know you don't want to talk about it, but we have to. Buffy, if I'm going to die, I need to know that everything is settled. I don't want to have you all confused about what to do--I don't want you to have to deal with that on top of everything else." She turned to her nightstand and picked up a packet of papers. "Buffy, this is my will. I just met with my lawyer to finalize changes and make sure everything was in order. Dawn will have to end up with Hank in LA, but only till she finishes school. Then she can go to college. Once she turns 18 she'll have full control of her finances and won't need to stay with Hank unless she wants to. My gallery will be turned over to you in name, but I've talked to a potential buyer this week because it might be easier just to sell if it comes down to it. The house, all my belongings, they'll all go to you and Dawn. I want--"

Suddenly, finally, her calm and composed demeanor broke down, and Buffy was in her arms. They both held each other as Joyce sobbed, her frail body shuddering as she wept for her own diminishing life. Buffy tightly embraced her, her own bawls adding to the mix. They tried to give each other strength and provide an outlet for the barrage of emotions falling in the tears.

The waves of sorrow finally receded, and Joyce pulled away, reaching for tissues.

"Oh, God, aren't I a mess," she said, trying halfheartedly to laugh away her pain.

"I still think you're the prettiest one here," Buffy reassured sincerely, smiling through her tears.

"I love you, Buffy. My life may not have had lots of wealth and fame, but I look at you, at Dawn, and I know I'm leaving behind something wonderful." She reached out to caress her daughter's cheek. "Take care of her for me, will you?"

Buffy's eyes began to well again, and she could only clasp her mother's weak hand in assurance.

"Now, enough of this. Tell me all about things that have absolutely no consequence on my life. Like, I heard that Barbie and Ken broke up? What is the world coming to?"

Buffy laughed, her cheeks tight with salty tears, and they temporarily lost themselves in the world of plastic dolls with movable parts.

***

She died quietly in the night. True to her wishes, Joyce had organized everything so completely that Buffy had very little problem with setting up the funeral or dealing with the paperwork for her will. Buffy and Dawn had spent the night of the funeral together, huddling in her mom's large bed, wishing the warmth of the comforters were their mother's arms. Their father had helped them the best he could, but though he did all that was expected of him, his words of sympathy were belied by his quick departure and the uncomfortable ease with which he handled everything. Dawn was unhappy about her move to her father's house, but there was nothing she could do about it. The gallery was sold, the clothes were given to charity, the house was placed on the market, and Buffy packed everything else to be held in storage until other arrangements were made. All Joyce's plans were completed so smoothly that, too soon, Buffy found herself on a plane, wondering what had just happened.

Ch. 13: Approaching Normalcy

Eventually, Buffy got used to the bustling pace of New York City, with people flying by in their heels and suits, talking to cell phones more than people. She got used to living with Cordy in her apartment, with skeezy guys leaving messages under the pretense of job offers and no one leaving messages for her except for the occasional call from Dawn. And she got used to seeing Spike every day--his picture, that is. Her editor had been incredibly impressed with her beach photo shoot of Spike. Buffy had been tempted to leave it out, in her desire to bury those days in the bottom trunk of her brain's basement, but the shots had been too good to leave out--and it would have made her portfolio unacceptably short. So when her editor had asked for copies of certain photos, she complied. This gift, however, soon became the wall montage of her editor's office. Five prints of Spike's body and soulful eyes and sexy grin--all in a row--greeted her every time she walked into the office. But even that became a daily routine, and she barely noticed him anymore. Barely.

Buffy looked up at the clock--9:25 pm. This past week she'd been working crazy hours due to the unexpected firing of the assistant copy editor, among others. She didn't know the reasons or the story behind it; what she did know was that, as the newbie and as the English minor, she was stuck doing double duty. Though the work wasn't difficult and she was getting paid extra, she couldn't deny the soreness in her neck from being in front of the computer for hours, nor could she deny the soreness in her butt from sitting in the same chair for hours. Just one more article to proofread and submit, and then she'd be done.

Blinking hard to refocus her eyes on the screen, she returned to the writing. This article was highlighting some of the massage parlors in the area, which ones were worthy splurges, which ones were good deals, and which ones were not worth noticing. She groaned, wishing she could experience a massage that would work out all the kinks in her neck.

Her proofreading began earnestly enough, with Buffy's inner grammar Nazi kicking in to add the necessary comma and semicolon, but her thoughts began to take a different bent when she reached the second paragraph. Lately, now that she'd been starting to develop a routine that was almost comfortable, she'd been finding herself thinking about Spike. Perhaps it was just time, that enough months had elapsed that she could think about him without too much pain. Perhaps it was those photos in her boss's office, finally wearing down her defenses and affecting her the way she knew they would eventually. Regardless of the cause, her thoughts wandered to that part of her brain once more, recalling more about him than she wanted to admit.

Buffy remembered the day she'd taken pictures of him in the water. They'd kissed and touched and moaned and sighed in each other's arms, the water lapping around them. Then they'd returned to the sandy shore, and the sun drank up the water from their skin. She'd sat on the blanket, gathering her things, and he'd sat behind her. His hands had skittered over her shoulders and arms and neck, adding warmth to the heat of the sun. His warm fingers had gently kneaded her skin, rubbing and softening her tense muscles.

Buffy closed her eyes for a moment, convincing herself that it was merely to rest her eyes from the glare of the computer screen. A few moments later, her memories merged with fantasies and sucked her in.

Her shoulders began to sag under his ministrations, her head lolling forward as her body yielded to his every touch. She felt him direct her towards the blanket, and she easily submitted, crawling onto her stomach. He continued his massage down her body, working the flesh of her lower back and above her ass. She moaned softly when he began to kiss her skin with each stroke of his hand. Their bathing suits somehow disappeared, and she could feel his strong thighs around her, pressing her tight. His hands stroked the sides of her breasts, and her pussy ached as his body slowly slid down hers. His fingers touched her sex, jolting her with burning electricity. Even as he touched and kissed and licked, his massage never stopped, creating contrasting sensations of loosened sinews and tightened muscles. And finally she felt his cock, rubbing against her ass deliciously. She spread her legs apart, wanting to feel his head against her wetness.

"Spike," she breathed, arching her hips to let him in.

"Buffy," he moaned, pressing his cock forward to graze her buzzing clit.

"Now," she cried out, pushing herself against his flesh.

"Buffy?" A hand shook her, breaking her dream and leaving her unsatisfied. "Buffy, wake up."

Squeezing her eyes and her pussy, Buffy looked up slowly to see Knox, the layout editor. "Oh, hey there."

"You okay? You fell asleep at the screen. I thought I was the only one who did that," he said lightly. "You should get out of here. It's getting kind of late."

"Yeah, but I just have to finish this one last article," she explained, stifling a yawn.

"Understandable. Do you have a lot left?" he asked peeking at her screen.

Buffy cracked her neck and straightened her posture. "No, just two more paragraphs. I'll be done in no time."

Knox put down his bag and said, "Do you want me to wait for you? I could walk you to the subway or wherever you're going."

"No, don't worry about it. Go on home. I'll turn the lights out and everything."

"Are you sure?" he asked, still holding the strap of his bag.

"Positive. I'll see you tomorrow morning." She pushed him slightly, as if to get him moving, and smiled brightly. When he finally left, she rubbed her temples and emitted a long sigh. Quickly whizzing through the text, she saved, closed, and left the building.

***

"Okay, guys, this is the last day of deadline week. Yes, I know some of you might be thinking that it's been deadline month, with the loss of some people, but this is the real crunch time. I truly appreciate the extra work some of you have been putting in, and you will be compensated according to..."

Anya's voice began to fade out as Buffy studied the photos of Spike on her wall behind Anya's desk. That one, when he'd come out of the water and walked towards the shore--that one was the precursor to the one she'd omitted from the collection, the one where he'd looked at her with such unadulterated lust that she became wet just thinking about it. That look of hunger and passion and lust, deepened by love and pleasure and delight--it'd been a while since she'd seen that look on anyone, if anyone at all captured it the way he did. It made her blood sing through her veins, her heart beat erratically with cravings, and it made her want to sink her teeth into him. She wanted to kiss him till he was breathless, touch him till he moaned with that sexy low voice of his, rub her body against those hard muscles, ride him till he was--

"Buffy? Meeting's over. I know you've been working some late nights, but that doesn't excuse you from listening to my inspirational speech," Anya stated bluntly. "Now go do your work."

Flustered by being caught in the midst of a very wet scenario, Buffy quickly grabbed her things and went back to her cubicle.

"Oh, god," she whimpered, trying to erase the images from her mind.

"What's wrong?"

Buffy looked up to see Willow, the co-worker at the next desk, peeking over the cubicle walls. "Nothing, nothing. Just having some difficulty concentrating." She smiled and tried to gather herself together.

"Late night again? I think I'm going to be here late tonight as well, so at least we'll have company. Maybe we can grab a drink or something afterwards. Might give us something to look forward to after this hell week," Willow suggested with a smile.

"Yeah, that might be nice. Who knows? Maybe we'll finish early," Buffy added. She and Willow had been slowly becoming friends, both being new to the city. The redhead was fun to hang out with and seemed to be free of all the biting New York wit that seemed to be wearing her down.

"Unlikely, but it's a nice thought. Back to the salt mines," Willow grumbled, disappearing from view.

Buffy hoped that having real company would keep her from daydreaming too much. Directing her attention back to her work, she tried to forget the sexy Spike scenes.

Hours passed, the sun set, and still Buffy was working. Magazine work demanded completion, and Buffy was struggling to stay on top of things.

On top of things...the innocent phrase that normally drove her to perfection was currently driving her crazy. Buffy on top of Spike, Spike on top of Buffy, both on top of a blanket on a beach, on top of a car hood at night, on top of the kitchen counter...

She sighed, rubbing her eyes. Focus, she commanded herself, again trying to squeeze the thoughts out of her mind. Two more proofs and then we can go have a drink. With that motivation in mind, she threw herself back into her work, determined to come out on top.

On top. Oh, fuck...

***

"Well, at least we can say we finished our part. We'll probably get more next week, but tonight, right now, we're done. So here's to finishing," Willow declared, raising her martini.

"Here's to finishing," Buffy agreed. They clinked glasses and then drank with the satisfaction that they'd done a good job.

"So, you seem more distracted these days. Anything going on?" Willow asked, playing with her olive.

"No, yes, I don't know. Is it something going on? In reality? No," Buffy confided, snacking on peanuts. "It's just an old fling, someone I haven't thought about in a while." That sounded innocuous enough.

Willow nodded in understanding. "The job certainly takes up time, doesn't it? I can't remember the last time I had a date, and it certainly wasn't someone I met here in the city." She finished up her martini and signaled to the bartender for another one.

"Yeah, this was someone back in California. Actually, you've probably seen him, the one posted up in Anya's office?" Buffy shrugged as she downed her drink and then asked for another.

"That was your man? I thought he was just a model," Willow commented, the awe apparent on her face.

"Well, he was a model, but he was sort of a boyfriend, but then there was extreme baggage, and then there was badness, and then I left. I never saw him after that," Buffy finished, a note of sadness in her voice.

"Was it that bad? You seem like you really liked him, just from the sound of your voice," Willow noted.

"I did." She sighed, popping more nuts in her mouth. "I did, but I couldn't deal with this thing in his past. I couldn't, and then I went home, and then my mom died, and now I'm here." Her summary neatly compacted her emotions into digest form, and it only made her sadder.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Was it sudden? Your mom's death, I mean."

"Yeah, it was. I mean, I knew she was going to die, so we were able to have a goodbye, but it was still hard." She sipped her drink slowly. "But I'm not trying to be a downer. We're celebrating!" she exclaimed, a little too brightly.

"Yes, we are. Let's leave the past behind us and trudge on to the future." They clinked again,

Willow paused thoughtfully, considering where the conversation should head. She decided to go with the less personal hottie road rather than the more personal mother road. Swallowing more of her drink, she asked, "So why the long face? He may be a fling of the past, which is fine, but that doesn’t mean he can't go into your spank bank, so to speak."

Buffy shrugged, playing with her maraschino cherry. "True, I suppose. I guess I'm not used to being so plagued by fantasies."

"Well, when's the last time you got some?"

Buffy gave Willow a look, grabbed the cherry with her tongue, and then took a quick shot of her drink.

"That long?" Willow concluded, grinning at her antics. "Well, maybe you're just suppressing your emotions too much. Don't make him out to be taboo; imagine every single possible position whenever you feel like it. If you don't treat him as off-limits, maybe you won't fantasize about him so much, you know? Sometimes we just like the unattainable."

"You know, that makes a lot of sense. I totally beat myself up whenever I think about him. Maybe that's why I think about him so much." In her slightly inebriated state of mind, Willow's logic made perfect sense.

"Great! So we've figured out the solution to your problem: think of this hottie whenever you touch yourself. Now, how about my problem? I don't even have a guy to fantasize about. What are we going to do about that?" Willow cried out, the alcohol starting to make her voice high-pitched and whiny.

Buffy laughed as Willow began listing all the items on her Willow-friendly list for eligible men. It was close to sunrise when they finally said their goodnights, pleasantly drunk and surprisingly satisfied with their lives.

***

Staying faithful to Willow's advice, Buffy stopped quelling the tendency to imagine Spike pleasuring her; in fact, she capitalized on the memories she did have and made them more, keeping her as satisfied as being alone could be. With the end of the weekend drawing near, Buffy was attempting to release the inevitable Sunday night tension before the work week. Currently she was replaying fantasy #12: on the bike.

He leans back on his bike sexily, clad in leather and his pimp necklace--can't forget the necklace. The sun is beating down on him, making his hair glint with diamonds. Diamonds are a girl's best friend, she think as she draws near to him, her short miniskirt swinging in the wind. There's this look on his face, this 'I want to eat you up and lick my fingers when you scream' face, this 'you'll never want to let go of this ride, baby' face. He doesn't have to say a word; he just looks, and she gets wet. She bites her lip, almost knocked over by her arousal, and stands before him, waiting. He slowly unzips his pants to reveal his fascinating cock, hard with desire for her. For her. He continues to watch her, his gaze unclothing her, and she finds herself completely nude, the sun her only garment. There's a sense of excitement, her naked body and his clothed one, save for the glistening cock beckoning her. He lifts her up, his strength making her shiver, and then her mind explodes. He eases her down, her insides burning with every inch, until he's completely sheathed and pressing against her most intimate parts. She throws her hair back as he devours her breasts, sucking and lightly biting and making her animalistic ferocity emerge. She roars as he pounds into her pussy, breasts bouncing and body writhing. So hard, so tight, so wild--she clenches his leather while he snarls into her neck, her skin red with love bites and lust scratches, some self-inflicted. She's so close, her cunt tightening around his cock, when he reaches forward and guns the engine, ripping vibrations through her sweaty body. She howls with wanton pleasure, and he growls with orgasmic ecstasy. He strengthens his grip on her body, flesh against leather, until she falls.

Buffy's clit throbbed in post-orgasmic bliss, and she stretched out lazily, letting the sensations race over her tired body. She purred deliciously and then fell asleep, resting in preparation for the busy week.

Ch. 14: Doors Opening

Though Willow's advice to embrace her fantasies had certainly given her an excuse to dream till her palms rivaled King Kong's, it wasn't abating her lust in any way. In fact, her desires were merely expanding into other areas of her life. Tired of recycling the short moments she'd spent with Spike, Buffy's vivid imagination began creating elaborate situations from the Xerox machine in her office to the little park bench outside her apartment building to the large rock in the middle of Central Park. For someone who hadn't had sex in months, her brain certainly had no trouble remembering various positions and techniques to keep her pleasured and satisfied.

Work was finally beginning to slow down, and she was starting to leave the building at decent hours--sometimes even before 7 pm. On those early nights, she and Willow sometimes went to Happy Hour, sometimes caught a movie, sometimes just went home. She was seeing Cordelia less and less; her roommate was finally getting acting gigs, which meant late rehearsals and weird hours. She missed her friend but was happy for her success. Today had been a long day at the office in front of the computer, and now Buffy was ready to soak in the tub, read a cheesy romance novel, and let Calgon take her away. Packing up her things, she walked tiredly towards the elevator and began her trek home.

When she approached her apartment door, Buffy noticed a plainly wrapped package she had been expecting sitting innocently on her welcome mat. Feigning nonchalance, she picked up the package and quickly went inside, her nervousness only betrayed by the faint flush on her face.

The apartment was empty, as usual, and Buffy knew that Cordy was not going to be home till late. She placed the package by her nightstand and undressed, wanting to take a long bath. Trying not to look at the package, she filled her bath, let the water soothe her work-weary body, and allowed her mind to wander around her library of fantasies. When she finally emerged from her bath, she felt sufficiently relaxed to open her package.

Seated on her bed, hair still damp from her bath and body only clad in a short terry robe, Buffy opened the parcel. She first took out a large, thick, pink dildo complete with dual-speed vibration, rotating head, and rolling pearls for g-spot stimulation. Then there was the interactive dvd with scenarios where the viewer could choose the situation and the reaction of the characters involved. And then there was the Nipple and Clit Sucker, which would work her top while she worked her bottom. It was a treasure chest of sensual delights. And still the blush would not leave her face.

It was silly, really, that she was getting so worked up over these things. It wasn't like she'd never touched herself or had never watched porn. The thing is, she'd been getting so hot and horny lately that the fingers simply weren't enough anymore. She wanted a cock in her, wanted to feel something touch her, but she was not so desperate that she'd pick up a random guy and fling with him. No, she was still a little old-fashioned in that sense. Her solution: discreet, on-line shopping.

Quickly, she disposed of all the packaging with busty women biting their lips in pleasure, put in the appropriate batteries, and turned off the light. She didn't need the DVD tonight; she knew which fantasy she wanted to visit.

Ding. The elevator arrives, and Buffy enters the empty car. The doors quickly close behind her, and she turns to watch the numbers light up with each descending floor. 12th floor, and the doors open. He walks in, all blond and sexy, and he cocks an eyebrow as he notices that she is alone. The doors close, and he is immediately on her, his lips bruising her with passion and his hands searching for her wetness. They press their bodies against the railing, and she lifts her legs to wrap around his waist and avoid the way the railing cuts into her back. He moans in response and pushes against her, wanting to be closer. Ding. 8th floor. He quickly lets her go and pushes her forward a little, wanting her to hide his excited state. She breathes in and starts playing with her nails, barely acknowledging the stodgy man who enters their car. The car begins to move again, and Spike surreptitiously slides his hand down her skirt to play with her ass while she bites her lip, playing with her nails. The business man is simply reading the newspaper, waiting for the 2nd floor to light up. Ding. 2nd floor. He leaves the car, and the two are left alone again. The moment the door closes he palms her cheeks and bends her over. With his hands undoing his belt and pants, he lifts up his foot to punch at the red emergency button. The car jolts to a stop, and the sounds of heavy breathing and moaning make the air heavy with desire. She holds onto the rail in front of her while her hair falls forward, her ass pushing back against his cock. Pulling her thong away, he thrusts into her. She cries out in pleasure as he begins to fuck her from behind, his large cock sliding easily into her wet pussy. His strong hands capture her hips and control her movements, the consistent rhythm of his thrusting quickly making her fire rage higher and higher. And then before she can fly over the edge, he spins her around, picks up her body, and pushes her against the car wall. The elevator groans with their bouncing movements, as if cheering them on. She instinctively wraps her legs around him, and he finds her nipples with his tongue, sucking the sexy whimpers out of her. One hand is gripping her tightly around the waist, and another finds that pulsing button underneath her skirt. Circling that tight bud of flesh, his fingers dance in tandem with his tongue, and she swirls in ecstasy. Such eddying movements coupled with his hard thrusting quickly shoot her into the air, and she screams in pleasure, her pussy tightening around his cock and willing him to join her. He groans with satisfaction as he fills her completely, gripping her body so that their unity is consummate. Slowly, her legs hit the ground, and their lips touch, finishing their animalistic coupling with human tenderness. Their tongues dance, and their bodies rejoice in each other's warmth. Hair is smoothed, clothes are straightened, and the car jolts back to life. The doors open, and the two calmly enter the lobby, hand in hand.

Buffy's breathing finally returned to normal, her voice a little hoarse from her orgasmic moans, and eventually she found the strength to pull the dildo from between her legs. Her toys had done good, but still she ached for a real man. When she closed her eyes, she dreamt of blue eyes looking at her with affection and love.

***

Another day of work passed, and Buffy slowly made her way towards the elevator. She'd decided not to go out with Willow, preferring to spend some time alone. Why, she wasn't sure, but she simply didn't have the desire to spend another night out at a bar where drinks and cigarette smoke seemed to be her only male companions.

The doors dinged and opened. She entered and then leaned back on the rail, her mind filling with images of last night's incredibly arousing and satisfying fantasy. Being in the place of her fantasy made her glazed with desire, thinking about how the elevator would bounce with their fucking and how the security guards might get an eyeful. She was so enthralled by her own lust-filled thoughts that she didn't realize the opening doors were not yet at her floor. Assuming the car had reached the lobby, she automatically moved towards the doors.

And ran smack into Spike's chest.

The two stared at each other, both in shock and in confusion. Buffy had to blink several times before she could separate reality from fantasy--that Spike was, in fact, standing in front of her.

Spike, who had entered the car without even looking, was completely flabbergasted. He'd just been thinking of her, wondered what the chances were of running into her--when she'd run right into him. There she was, staring up at him with those wonderfully large eyes--when the doors began to close on them. Jerked out of his trance, he quickly stuck out his arm to keep the doors from closing on their relationship once more, and he stepped into the car. The doors closed behind him and headed down again. And still, the two said nothing.

And the doors opened into the lobby, opened and closed, and still the two said nothing. But when the two realized that they were simply staring at each other inside the unmoving car, they each finally awoke, blushed, and both reached for the open door button at the same time. Their fingers collided clumsily, and when the lobby finally appeared before them, they both rushed out, eager to breathe normally again. They took two steps, and Spike reached out and tentatively touched her arm. Buffy looked up at him, her eyes still wide with surprise and confusion.

"Buffy?" His voice was soft, slightly tinged with awe and filled with longing and a little regret. His voice flowed over her body and called out to her.

She could only mumble inarticulately; she continued to stare into those blue eyes and wonder how this had happened, what she could possibly do or say that would be right or appropriate or even simply comprehensible.

"Buffy."

Again, that voice flowed over her and comforted her. There was something about his timbre that made her feel at home, and yet the stubborn streak resented deriving such sensations from him. She tore her gaze away and looked down at her feet, but she could still feel his gentle touch on her arm, his gaze on her face. To see him in the flesh, after imagining for so many nights--her emotions were exploding all over the place and there was barely any room to process how she was actually reacting to this unplanned meeting.

Spike was not doing much better. She was beautiful, more beautiful than in his dreams, and he'd had quite a few. She looked confident and comfortable in this building, which indicated that she was enjoying her time in New York. That made him happy, and he was just starting to figure out whether this was the building she worked in regularly or whether this was merely a coincidence. Merely a coincidence? He couldn't believe that. He didn't know what powers or beings controlled these things, but he held to the idea that someone had worked this out. He thanked that person with everything in him; seeing her again made his whole being wake up again. These past months had been busy, fulfilling in terms of work, but his social life had been limited to books and movies and nights alone in his apartment. And now that she was standing before him, he'd be damned if he'd let her slip away again.

He said hesitatingly, he said, "Can we--"

Before he could finish, she nodded at him, still incapable of articulating full sentences. If he would just give her some time, she'd be fine. Not wanting him to misunderstand her wordlessness, she smiled slightly at him, giving him a little encouragement. She started walking slowly, her nervousness needing some kind of release. And he walked alongside her, still watching her, drinking in her presence conspicuously, though she was doing the same thing in her own way. He smelled nice, faint cologne oddly mixed with his male scent and a tiny bit of cigarettes. So much had happened since they'd last seen each other. She simply continued walking, eventually ending up outside the office building and in the streets of the city. She walked, and he followed alongside. Wordlessly, they seemed to be communicating to each other their mutual desire to be in each other's presence, though they were not quite ready to speak.

They ended up at a small café nearby, and Buffy turned to go inside. He held the door open for her, got a table for two, and then sat across from her. And finally, she spoke.

"Spike." Her voice sounded flat, unemotional, but her eyes belied such indifference.

"It's so good to see you again, Buffy," he said first, wanting to set the tone for their conversation. He didn't want to scare her away, and the emotion in her eyes threatened to push him away with finality. He couldn't deal with that. He opened up the menu and motioned for her to do so as well.

Buffy bit her lip, still trying to sort out her reaction to him. She distracted herself for a little bit by ordering food, but when the waitress had come and gone, she found herself staring at him again, as if his face would help her understand what to do. He was squeezing lemon into his water and setting the napkin in his lap. He seemed at ease, though his body seemed a little tense. Maybe she should take his lead and act like they didn't have sordid history, that she hadn't been dreaming of him for the past months, that she wasn't struck dumb when she looked at him. Yes, she would try to be normal Buffy. At least that would buy time.

"So when did you get to the city?" she asked, her face attempting to look normal. She leaned forward a little, as if forcing her body to participate in the ruse. She looked ready to listen.

He smiled at her attempt at normalcy. Tilting his head a little he replied, "Oh, it's been about two months since I first moved to the city, but then I had to go out West for this conference. I only just got back this past weekend. And you?"

"Yeah, a few months. That's the building I work in, where the magazine is housed. What were you doing there?"

"Coincidentally, my magazine is on the twelfth floor. I know that there are several publications there--I had no idea that yours was. I'm glad, though, because the odds of randomly seeing each other again would be pretty low."

She smiled in response and tried not to acknowledge the slight disappointment that pinched her side. Part of her wondered if he'd sought her out, and his answer, though expected, deflated her a little. Had he thought about her at all?

"I thought about you a lot, after you left. I was hoping we'd run into each other," he said simply, his eyes conveying the sincerity in his tone.

Buffy's eyes widened with his words; it was as if he could hear her thoughts. It was still there--the connection that had burned so brightly when they'd been together, the connection that had made her so happy when they were together, the connection that she'd resented when she'd realized that he'd been with her mother. Her brow furrowed slightly at the turn of her thoughts.

Spike noticed the progression of emotions flying across her face, and his own spirits sagged a little when he realized that the final thoughts had ended sourly. He assumed that her thoughts had returned to their awkward and unpleasant parting. He tried to turn things towards a more cheerful topic of conversation. "So are you enjoying your work? Did your portfolio project turn out okay?"

She immediately brightened at the change in subject, almost grateful that he wanted to talk about their present rather than their past. Spike breathed a mental sigh of relief; if things went the way he wanted, they'd have plenty of time to figure their past out.

"Work has been really good. Tiring, exhausting, and at times annoying, but I really love it." She smiled again, her whole demeanor changing. "And my portfolio turned out beautifully." She lowered her eyes and blushed slightly, the reference bringing a Speedo-clad Spike to mind. "Thanks again for your help. Your pictures were a big hit."

"I'm glad I could help." His smirk draped sexily across his face, but his eyes were trying to convey his delight in being helpful, in having done something good for her.

"No, really, my boss absolutely loved the photos of you. In fact," she added as she leaned closer, as if trying to whisper conspiratorially, "she asked for reprints."

Spike cocked his eyebrow briefly before laughing heartily. "You're kidding, right?"

"Not at all," she replied gleefully. "She got them enlarged and hung them up all around her office." She shared in his laughter and allowed herself to loosen up a little. This was nice, chatting and laughing and simply being together. She remembered this part of their friendship very fondly, and it was nice that they were returning to their previous comfort level.

"So you got to see me every day, every time you were called to her office like a naughty girl?" he teased lightly, wondering how she'd felt about that. It gave him hope, that she'd still used his photos and could talk about that day without malice or discomfort. For him, it'd been one of his favorite memories. The fact that that night had ended sourly was something he tried to forget, and he hoped she did as well.

"I'm never naughty at the office," she replied before she could stop herself. Flirting was harmless, she convinced herself. He brought it out in her, and she hadn't felt this good in months. "But I wasn't the one enjoying you every day. That was Anya. She's convinced that you're a fantasy. Imagine if you walked into the office."

"Is that an invitation?" he purred, ecstatic that she was warming up to him so quickly.

"Maybe," she replied coyly.

She smiled again, making his insides melt and harden at the same time. The waitress came with their order, and Spike allowed himself a moment to stare again, fully take in this beauty before him, this witty and charming woman who'd quickly made him fall. She wasn't exactly different, but it seemed like life in the city had made her mature, become wiser and yet happier. He was eager to find out all that she'd experienced, and he hoped she'd let him be a part of her future. After taking another long look, he turned towards his food.

Buffy knew that he was watching her, looking at her with those piercing blue eyes, but she couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze. Part of her felt she should avoid seeing him, refuse to allow him into her life; Buffy tried to make that anger resurface and make its presence known--but she couldn't. Time had worn away those emotions, and she simply didn't have the fervent anger that she'd had before. There was still hesitation, unwillingness to throw herself back into the passion of their relationship, but who knew if he even wanted that? She was content with what seemed to be a returning friendship. Smiling again, she breathed easily and let herself enjoy a man's company for the first time in months.

Ch. 15: Office Flirting

Buffy was nervous. It wasn't because she was seeing Spike again. No, that had become rather consistent in these past weeks. They often walked home together, actually living only a few blocks away from each other. They had dinner together, had seen a movie once, had even gone jogging together through Central Park. No, seeing him wasn't making her nervous. She enjoyed his company, and their friendship from the summertime seemed to be returning. What made her nervous was that she was actually introducing her to others, to the office, to the world outside herself. Allowing him into other parts of her life meant acknowledging that he was important, real, substantial. What exactly did that mean? What did he mean to her?

She lay awake in her bed, trying to sleep. Tomorrow Spike was picking her up at work, actually coming into her office to get lunch. Part of the reason he was coming was because she wanted to surprise her boss, but part of her knew she just wanted to see how he'd get along with her friends, react in company that extended beyond her own. She knew that meant something; she simply didn't want to define what it meant. Right now they were friends, good friends; that was all she could handle right now.

***

Spike sat on his fire escape stoop and smoked, staring out at the lit city blurred beneath him. Buffy. Her smile and laughter swam in and out of his thoughts. Little by little, she'd let him in. They'd talked on the phone, met for drinks, taken walks, enjoyed each other's company--little by little he was becoming part of his life. That made him feel very excited--but it wasn't quite enough. Every moment was torture. He knew, even though they laughed and chatted and smiled together, that she was holding him at a distance. Her eyes were warm, but they didn't have the affectionate spark that they used to. He did see a struggle, which gave him hope, but he was not going to push the situation. Instead of brooding about the current relationship, he simply thought about her.

He loved the way the scent of her hair and skin lingered with him after they'd spent time together. He loved how she nodded and listened actively whenever he had a story to tell or a joke to share, making him feel like he was the most interesting person in the world. He loved how she was so confident and mature as a photographer and a woman but that she scrunched up her nose at a putrid scent or squealed in terror at the sight of a rat. He loved the way she walked around the city, her eyes still eagerly devouring the various sites with an expression of awe mingled with pure joy at being alive. There was just so much about her that called out to him, thrilled him, warmed him. He was in love.

He flicked his ashes from his burning cigarette and exhaled slowly. It pinched him that he was so restrained, that he couldn't simply proclaim how much he loved her. He'd been spending time at his guitar writing both maudlin and hopelessly romantic songs--songs that were even beginning to annoy him with the whining and the sappy lyrics. He felt perpetually hard, to the point that even the scent of vanilla aroused him--bakeries were becoming an erotic treat. It was crazy, really, the way she had taken hold of him. The months spent apart had been difficult, but in some ways being with her was harder. Knowing that she was right there, tangible and visible and yet untouchable--really it was the lesser of two evils, he supposed. Sighing for the last time, he put out his cigarette and turned in for the night.

***

Spike was nervous. He pulled a little at his blue button-down shirt, smoothed his hair down, and pressed the elevator button to make his way down to Buffy's office. It was part of a dare, of course, to tease her boss and show the actual flesh of the model that graced the walls of the magazine's office. However, Spike knew that it was a big step for Buffy; up till that point it'd always been just the two of them, and she seemed to like the sense of secrecy, of not having to explain who he was to others. Now he was entering a different part of her life. How was she going to introduce him? The elevator went up, the doors opened, and Spike strolled into the office, feigning nonchalance. He went up to the receptionist and smiled charmingly.

"Hello, there. Could you tell me where Buffy is?" he asked politely, putting his hands into his pockets in an attempt to hide his nervousness.

"Huh?" Harmony responded inarticulately. The blond secretary was utterly speechless; this was the model from Anya's office, and damn if he wasn't fine even with clothes on. Her eyes slowly slid down his body, undressing him till he was down to the Speedos from the photos, slightly wet from the ocean. She hungrily took in this sight and began moving her eyes up again, pausing at the only part of his body that she still hadn't seen yet, and--

"Like what you see?" Spike said, interrupting her ogling. He had an amused smirk on his face--who wouldn't be flattered by such blatant appreciation? He smiled slowly at her, enjoying how she was blushing under his blunt question.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I just..." Harmony began gesticulating in an attempt to hide her own arousal. This man was so incredibly sexy, and looking at him just made her want to jump him, nibble on his skin, and ride him till she screamed. "My name's Harmony." She extended her hand, still ignoring his question about Buffy.

"Hello, Harmony. Name's Spike," he replied, shaking her hand and briefly squeezing it. He smiled again, smirking as she blushed and stammered under his gaze. "As I was asking before, do you think you could tell me where Buffy is?" The girl was cute, but Buffy had him completely under her thrall.

"Why don't I escort you personally?" Harmony purred. She linked her arm in his before he could say anything and slowly began to walk towards Buffy's cubicle. Rubbing his arm, she deftly felt his muscles and giggled with glee at touching this walking sex. "Ooh, nice biceps."

Spike looked down at her in amusement, his eyes dancing with laughter. She certainly was forward. He chuckled a little and was about to reply when he heard a cold voice.

"Looks like you found the office okay." Buffy stood by her cubicle, trying not to let the furious jealousy creep into her throat. She was rather unsuccessful. That stupid bitch was touching her--her what? She was taken back by her own reaction to Harmony's pawing of Spike. She had no claim on him, no reason to feel like Harmony was encroaching on her territory. Still, the way he had looked down at her with that smile--it made her want to pull on all that fake blond hair and claw at the stupid pink outfits she always had on. Surprised again by the intensity of her response, she pasted a bright smile on her face.

Spike looked up quickly, hearing her voice carry over to where they were approaching. He tilted his head slightly, trying to understand that awkward smile on her face and how it related to the slightly cold tone of her voice. Could she possibly be jealous? He knew it was terrible of him, but he decided to test his theory. Just a little bit--just enough so he could figure her out.

"Thank you so much for personally escorting me," he said graciously to Harmony. He watched for Buffy's reaction as he lightly squeezed Harmony's hand and gave her a stunning smile. Buffy seemed to be looking for her purse and didn't even notice.

"Any time. You know, if you ever want to model for me, I do a little photography myself." Harmony flipped her hair back and leaned forward a little, her breasts pushed together for his pleasure.

Spike chuckled at her brazenness and shrugged. "I think my modeling days are over. But thanks for the offer." He smiled again and then turned to look at Buffy. She looked a little bored, as if he was taking up time in her busy day. "You sure you're up for lunch? You look a little busy or distracted."

"If you can't, I'm sure I can take Spike out to lunch," Harmony piped in quickly, still not ready to leave.

"Oh no, I'm fine. I was just cleaning up a little before I left. I got a lot of work done this morning so I could have a leisurely lunch." She smiled genuinely at Spike. Just a moment before, she'd had to use almost every effort not to push Spike behind her and hiss at Harmony. She'd had to force herself to look indifferent and unaware of how they were flirting with each other--yes, he was definitely flirting back. Her look must have been too successful. She smiled again, not wanting him to feel unwelcome.

He smiled back, and Harmony was a distant memory. He turned his back to her completely as he reached for Buffy's jacket to help her. "I'm so glad. I was really looking forward to lunch today. There's this great café that I found nearby."

"I'm glad you have something planned. I don't feel like making a decision." She zipped up her jacket and enjoyed the way he did little things like that without making it uncomfortable. There was no one around--no one important, anyway--for her to introduce him to. Willow had run out to meet a friend for coffee, Anya had a meeting outside the office, and those were the only two she really felt needed to meet Spike. It all worked out, because now she had time to ease herself into his presence; by the time they got back, she'd be fully ready to handle things, not react insanely the way she had to Harmony's actions. Grabbing her purse, she said to him, "Oh, Anya's out of the office right now, so we'll go make our little visit after lunch."

He nodded and moved towards the elevator with her at his side. The two walked past Harmony without a second thought.

"Oh my god. Is that the Speedo guy?" Faith, another employee at the magazine, asked Harmony as the couple left the office.

"Yes. That Buffy is trying to keep him all to herself." Harmony stared daggers into the girl's back. "She could at least have introduced him properly. I'm lucky to have that front desk--never thought it would serve me till now."

"Well, Buffy has to come back sometime. We'll just have to make sure we're around. Unless they're dating, which it doesn't seem like since he didn't put his arm around her or anything, he's fair game. We'll just have to pounce when he gets back." She cocked her head in confidence and smiled as the two girls began plotting.

***

They were seated in a cozy booth in a small café, just two blocks from their building. It was tiny, so tiny that their legs couldn't help but be entangled underneath the tablecloth. It was made for intimacy, and Spike expected her to move her legs or apologize for the touching or something--but she simply smiled and allowed their legs to fall where they may. He tried not to let his glee show on his face, hiding his grin in the menu.

Seeing the attention that Spike seemed to get from all of the women and some of the men in the city, Buffy was starting to feel a little unsettled. How was she supposed to keep him interested, ensure that Spike stayed focused on her when all she was offering was friendship? It wasn't that Spike would ever say such things, or even think them for that matter, but she couldn't escape these fears. Okay, friendship was there--she knew she'd always find a friend in Spike--but the past weeks had been unfettered by other people. The whole thing was pressuring her to define things sooner than she wanted. All she wanted to do was enjoy the light pressure of his leg on hers, the way he tilted his head and listened to every single word she said.

"So are you still up for going to the concert in Central Park tonight?" His voice broke into her thoughs. They had been planning to see one of the local bands playing in the park, but details hadn't been set yet. Spike didn't want her to feel that they were spending all their time together, but there was no harm in asking.

Buffy nodded. "Definitely. And the weather's supposed to be great, so I'm looking forward to it. Did you have any ideas for dinner?" Friends went to concerts together. Friends had lunch together. Did it really matter that they were spending more and more time together?

"Actually, if you don't mind staying in, I was thinking I could just whip up something quick and eat in. Does that sound okay?" He was very proud of his place, the way he'd been able to decorate and call it home. For whatever reason, he really wanted to share what he'd done with her.

"That sounds great. Besides, we're eating out now. Don't want to waste too much money. Oh, and then I can finally check out your apartment!" she said excitedly, a smile brightening her face.

Spike soaked in that smile and let it warm his toes for the rest of the lunch.

***

When they got back to the office, the place was hopping. It was as if the news had spread during their absence, and now Spike was a hot and wanted commodity.

"Hi, Spike. Glad to see you again," Harmony called out the moment he'd entered the floor. She didn't even acknowledge Buffy at first, her attention so focused on Spike, but eventually she greeted her as well. "Buffy, hi. I have a message for you." She held out a phone message to Buffy but kept her eyes on Spike.

The two lingered in front of the desk, and Faith decided it was time to be introduced. "Hey, there, you look mighty familiar. I'm Faith." She shook his hand but held onto it while pulling herself forward. Smiling coyly, she let go but trailed her hand down her chest as she backed away.

Spike grinned at her and almost laughed out loud at the look of fury on Buffy's face. "Glad to meet you, Faith," he murmured, turning on his charm. He smiled at both women before turning to Buffy and saying, "Buffy, you didn't tell me there were such--"

"Let's go meet Anya, okay?" she interrupted. Buffy knew he was about to give those two airheads some sort of compliment, and it was difficult enough not to push them aside physically. She put her hand lightly on Spike's arm and then led the way.

"See you later, ladies," he said politely, reining in some of his earlier charm. Buffy had made herself known, and that was enough for him. A large grin on his face, he followed her down the hall to the large corner office of the magazine.

"You know, they attack every male that comes into the office," Buffy commented, keeping her eyes away from his observant face.

"I'm sure they do. They're harmless. Just a little innocent flirting." He shrugged.

"Ah, so you admit that you were flirting with them," she noted with triumph.

"Well, yeah. I didn't know flirting was a bad thing." He looked down at her in all innocence, wondering if she could hear the possessive tone in her voice--not that he minded, of course.

"Of course it's bad! I mean, leading on women is generally a bad thing," Buffy explained, keeping all of her justifications on a very global level, even in her own denials.

"Of course." He smiled again at her as they heard Anya's voice calling out for them to come in.

"Anya, I want you to meet--"

"Oh my god. You brought him. My very own Speedo man." Anya stood up and blatantly stared at his body. Suddenly Spike felt a little violated.

"Anya, please. This is the real thing, not a picture. You can't just stare and no expect him to get a little wigged out." Buffy tried not to be annoyed by her boss's obvious attraction to her, well, her friend. She was looking out for her friend.

"Hi, I'm Spike." He held out his hand in an attempt to get her to stop looking at his crotch.

"Anya. Nice to meet you. Ooh, nice grip," she observed, still not seeing him fully as a person.

As flattering as the attention was, he was starting to get a little annoyed. He pulled his hand back and then moved to look at the various photos adorning the walls. "I was wondering which ones you ended up choosing." He walked from one to the next, amazed at Buffy's ability to capture so many of his emotions on film. That day came flooding back to him, the way they'd held each other in the water and came in each other's arms. He began to become aroused, and he tried to subtly adjust himself.

Buffy was being bombarded with memories, the photos of Spike bringing back the feel of her legs around his waist and the water up against her body. She thought she'd become inured to those flashbacks, indifferent to his face staring down at her each time she'd entered the room, but his presence surrounded by the photos had broken down her defenses.

Anya noticed the tension between the two and pulled Buffy to the side. "What's going on between you two?" she whispered.

Spike tried not to eavesdrop, but the office was not that large--and he hoped that it would help alleviate the growing tightness in his pants .

"What do you mean? We're friends," Buffy whispered back, trying not to let the flush of her cheeks unnerve her.

"Yeah right. That's why you're blushing like a horny virgin and he's adjusting himself in his pants."

Spike starting coughing loudly, choking on something--whether it was surprise, horror, or laughter, Buffy couldn't tell. Whatever the case was, she needed to get out of that office.

"Oh my god, Spike, are you okay? Come with me--I'll get some water for you, and then I should probably get back to work." With a final glare at Anya, she led the choking man out of the office.

"She's got it bad," Anya said, shaking her head. She watched them walk away--watched that tight ass walk away--and sighed. "At least I have my photos." Turning back to look at the gorgeous model, she closed the door behind her.

A glass of water later, Spike could finally laugh the way he really wanted to. He threw his head back and laughed, the sound zinging up and down Buffy's body. It was only laughter, innocent laughter, and it made her hot. She shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry if she made you uncomfortable."

Spike shook his head as his laughter died down. "No, it's no problem. I mean, I wasn't expecting it all, but I guess those women have seen most of my body already. I must look strange with all these clothes on." He smiled again, not wanting her to feel awkward.

"I'm glad you don't mind that women are throwing themselves at your luscious body," she said dryly, rolling her eyes.

"Luscious? That's a new one," he said with a smirk, curling his tongue.

"You are so terrible," she teased, laughing. "I should have known the modeling would go to your head."

"Those aren't all the photos, though," he said, suddenly growing serious.

Buffy's blush returned full force. "Uh, no. I didn't give her all of them. You know, some of them were a little more personal." Her voice lowered to a hushed whisper, as if she were sharing a secret.

He stared at her, wanting her to look up. "That was a wonderful day, our time at the beach." He reached out and touched her hand lightly.

She gasped at the sudden contact, the first he'd initiated since she'd left him so long ago. For a moment, she was speechless, but then all the memories came surging back--all of them. She pulled her hand back slowly but kept her eyes on him.

"Buffy!" Willow's voice approached. "So who was this mystery guy that you--Oh. Uh, hi! I'm Willow, normally not with her foot in her mouth." Spike had been seated at her desk, so Willow had mistakenly assumed that Buffy was alone. She mouthed an apology to Buffy.

Buffy awoke suddenly, as if shaken out of a dream, and then turned on her polite voice. "Willow, this is Spike. He's my, uh, he's a friend of mine." She widened her eyes for emphasis when Spike had turned to greet her, and Willow nodded in understanding.

"So good to meet you. Hope Harmony didn't give you too much trouble. She's been obsessed with you for a while." Willow smiled, trying to make up for her earlier slip.

"Good to meet you. Listen, I better get back to work. You want me to meet you back here, or should I call you about dinner?" Spike asked, getting ready to leave.

"Oh, why don't I just call you when I get home? I have some errands to run after work."

"Sounds good. I'll talk to you then. Lunch was great. Nice meeting you, Willow." He waved, not wanting to seem like Willow had broken into a moment, and then walked towards the elevator.

When the elevator had safely closed its doors, Willow neared to hear what had happened. "I'm so sorry if I goofed. I didn't see him at first."

"God, everyone else did. I was fighting to keep them off of him." She sighed heavily while sinking into her chair.

"So you have been keeping a secret! This is the guy you've been fantasizing about, right? With the baggage and all?" Willow's voice lowered to a whisper.

"Yeah, and I'm still not sure how I feel about it all."

Willow said nothing, not commenting on what Faith and Harmony had said about her jealous behavior and certainly not commenting on the way he'd been looking at her and how Buffy's face had expressed such longing.

"It'll all work out, right?" Buffy asked, her eyes desperately wanting an easy answer.

"Yes, it'll definitely work out," Willow reassured her. They shared a smile before Willow returned to her cubicle.

Alone again at her desk, Buffy closed her eyes and tried not to remember too much. "It'll all work out," she repeated one more time. Breathing deeply and then opening her eyes, she launched back into her work before her thoughts could take control of her.

Ch. 16: A Concert of Emotions

She arrived at his apartment a little early; rather than burst in before expected, Buffy took a stroll around his block. She looked up at the various brownstones lining the street, the little park with its slightly dilapidated playground, the corner newsstand with its Playboys next to The Wall Street Journal. This is what he saw every morning when he left for work. Did he notice it the way she did? The way the blue paint had chipped and worn away to create a shadow of a Rene Magritte painting? Did he watch the corner nuts man scoop and turn his peanuts rhythmically, as if creating a symphony of nuts and car horns and heel taps on the sidewalk? It was unlikely; her thoughts always seemed very odd and almost crazy to others. But what if he did? She sighed and shook her head slightly. What if he didn't? Really, what difference did it make? Unfortunately, it did seem to matter. She really wanted him to see those things and yet wanted him not to--wanted him to confirm her suspicions that their connection really was merely a construction of her deluded and romantic mind. Her internal insecurities and fatalistic mindset were starting to make her dizzy. She found herself in front of his place once more and slowly made her way up the stairs.

And fell in love with the building. Marble stairs, polished wood banisters, old ornate iron numbers on the doors, she felt very comfortable here, sensing a kinship with the building, if such a thing were possible. Of course she would love his building. She sighed once more and then waited for Spike to come to the door.

"Hey! Come on in," he said, awkwardly inviting her in before running his hand quickly through his hair. Warming his neck with his hand to avoid fidgeting, Spike said shyly, "Welcome to my home. Feel free to take a look around. I'm just going to finish things up in the kitchen." He gave her a quick smile before returning to his culinary arts. He pretended to be busy cooking, stirring occasionally and throwing things into the trash, but he couldn't help watching Buffy as she casually checked out his place.

"Nice place," Buffy commented, not wanting to sound overly complimentary, even though she was overwhelmed by how much she immediately she loved the place. She ran her fingers lightly against the vast collection of books neatly organized in the built-in bookshelves. She smiled to herself as she observed the alphabetical-by-author order and silently ooh-ed at his eclectic mix of books. Nodding at the numerous books she'd read and itching to read those she hadn't, she forced herself to go to the kitchen and help out with dinner.

---

"Wow. That was really good." Buffy nodded her head for emphasis, staring at her clean plate. "I mean, damn. That was really good food."

He smiled at her and then took a sip of wine. "I'm glad you liked it. You should come over more often. Be my guinea pig for recipes I'm trying out. I'm always looking to try something new." He smiled warmly at her while standing up to take her plate.

"No, I'll do it. You cooked. It's the least I can do." She started towards him and tried to take the plate away.

He just grinned and kept walking, leading her towards the sink. He enjoyed having her so near and simply relished her light touch on his arm. "Actually, we should get going. Let's just leave these. I can take care of it later." After putting the plate down, he gently squeezed her hand and then moved away.

"Well, I'll just come back afterwards and help you clean up then." She shrugged triumphantly and tried not to think about what she had just said, how she had agreed to come back to the apartment, help clear the table, stay with him till the wee hours of the night. She blamed it on his touch and the illogical reason for still sensing his hand on hers.

"It's a deal." He winked at her and then washed his hands quickly. "Ready to go?"

"Ready."

--

They easily chatted while walking to the park, discussing their jobs, the various people who walked by and the stories they made about them. It was a pleasant walk, not marked by anything spectacular but by their simple ease with each other's presence. Somehow, that subtlety was more intense than anything else. With so much time before the concert, they decided to wander a little and grab some refreshment.

"I'll just go grab us something and be right back. Sound good?" Spike said, enjoying the relaxed feeling of the interaction.

"Sounds great. I'll just be here." Buffy gestured around her. "I'll try not to wander."

"Yeah, don't make me come find you." He winked and then headed towards the drink stations.

Spike paid the vendor and grasped two cold drinks in his hands. Nodding thanks, he turned to weave his way back to Buffy's side.

He could see Buffy waiting for him, attempting to look nonchalant but occasionally looking around for him--he knew she didn't like appearing alone. He headed towards her and smiled brilliantly when she looked his way. She smiled back and turned to meet him.

And instantly collided with a large chest.

"Ugh--excuse me, but--" Buffy's words stopped instantly when she looked up into a familiar face. "Riley!" she said, surprise registering on her face.

Spike's eyebrow lifted immediately. He'd been ready to jump in and play the protective boyfriend, ready to give the dirty glare and receive the look of gratefulness from Buffy herself--but her recognition threw him for a loop.

"Buffy, oh man, it's been ages. Wow, I--" Riley stopped for a moment to give her a rather long bear hug.

Spike lifted his other eyebrow. He moved forward to make sure this Riley knew he was there with Buffy.

"Buffy, you look wonderful! I had no idea you were in New York now. You should have called me or something." Riley glanced over at Spike but didn't say anything to acknowledge him.

"Well, I've been rather occupied--you know, moving to a new place, new job, all that." Buffy smiled and then gestured towards Spike. "Riley, this is Spike. Spike, Riley. He's my...Spike. Yeah." She tried to cover her hesitation with a wave of her hand, but her slight blush belied the casual gesture. "And Riley, Riley's an old friend of mine, and--"

"Just an old friend? I thought we were gonna get married." Riley flashed a smile towards Spike, still feeling out their relationship. "It's nice to meet you. How do you know Buffy?"

"Oh, Spike and I met at the beach this past summer, and we both just moved to the city for jobs." Buffy decided that she'd rather keep their relationship indefinite; for some reason, she didn't want to hear Spike call her just a friend, even though that's clearly what she was--platonic, non-gay friend. Geez.

Spike raised his eyebrow again; he'd been waiting to hear her identification of their relationship. He decided to take this lack of definition as a good sign--it gave him the freedom to act in any way he chose. He handed Buffy her drink and allowed himself to relax a little.

But his relaxation was fairly short-lived. Riley was using Buffy's lack of definition in his own favor, taking every opportunity to touch her arm gently or lean forward into her space. Spike's jaw was clenched in conflicting emotions--jealousy that he was touching her, indicating that they'd had a fairly intimate history, anger that she was allowing him to show such ease, and disappointment that she wasn't treating him any differently.

It was probably wrong that Buffy was enjoying herself so much, but she'd been annoyed earlier today when Spike had attracted so much attention. It was only natural for her to enjoy the same kind of attention, expected that she would encourage such comfortable flirting, assumed that she would capitalize on the undercurrent of competition that was zinging around her petite body. Noting that Spike's face had been tense with jealousy for a fairly long time, she turned to him, gently resting her hand on his arm, and said, "You haven't been to the Met since you've been here, right? Riley was just mentioning that he'd seen their most recent exhibit. You wanna go see it?" She batted her eyes innocently, her feminine wiles comfortably playing both men.

Spike's lips curled into a smile. "Sure thing. Maybe do a day in Central Park at the same time?" He reached out to brush away a stray hair, marking his own intimacy with Buffy through the simple touch.

Buffy didn't even want Riley--he'd been somewhat of a bore in college, and it seemed that he was now a full-fledged bore. His military sensibilities and traditional ways of life had been attractive in her chaotic college days, but now it just seemed dull and uninviting. And, of course, she convinced herself, she didn't want Spike. They had a good--no great--friendship. He was like her hot gay (but definitely not gay) best friend; she could spend all her time with him, enjoy the connection they had, and know that she wouldn't fall in love with him, right? Their soap opera history would keep their relationship platonic. Flirting with him was fun, but completely innocent, right? Her flawed logic in place, she smiled brightly at both men, who each slightly growled at the other.

"Buffy, I could show you the exhibit. Since I've seen it already, I could give you a personal tour." Riley moved closer, as if his mere presence would help her change her mind.

Buffy noted his movements and did her best not to grimace. She remembered that tactic well--and had the same reaction to it, one of near claustrophobia. She noticed that Spike was about to answer, and she pre-empted his answer with her own. "No, it's okay. I remember how you used to get kinda bored with museums, and Spike and I have been planning to go anyway. Right?" She turned to Spike for confirmation, her hand still lightly holding his arm.

Spike smiled triumphantly. "Yeah, one of the things on our list."

Buffy arched her eyebrow at that but didn't contradict him. Turning to Riley, she said, "But maybe we can just grab dinner some time?"

Riley smiled triumphantly. "That sounds great. Why don't you give me your number?"

Spike, not to be overlooked, checked his watch and then said, "Hey, the concert's gonna get started soon. You wanted to get close up, right?"

"Oh my god--totally lost track of time. Yeah, let's get going. Give me a call sometime, Riley." She quickly scribbled her number on a piece of paper. I might be out of town this week on business, so don't call before then." Letting Spike lead her into the park, Buffy waved goodbye.

--

The park was starting to get crowded; people gathered around the vendors, buying food and stocking up for their outdoor music enjoyment. Buffy’s whole demeanor exuded excitement; her smile lit up her face, and her body bounced with energy.

"Aren’t you excited? I love outdoor concerts!" she exclaimed as they weaved through the crowds. "Come on, we have to get right up front." She reached out to pull on his shirt but caught his hand instead. Undaunted, she grasped his fingers and continued to plow through the people.

Spike smiled at her energy and allowed the heat of their joined hands course through him. He was trying so hard to play the friend card, but he couldn't help but stare at her beauty and enjoy every touch, every look--and not in a friendly sort way. Still, she didn't seem to notice, and so he merely allowed himself to be pulled along. With Buffy's determination and perseverance, they found themselves a premium spot right by the stage. Getting settled, both relaxed a little.

There was still about half an hour before the concert started, restless people wandering around the park, creating a relaxed but anticipatory atmosphere. They stood in silence for a little, people-watching and enjoying the energy of the moment. Despite the mixture of activity around them, Spike's mind was still focused on Riley and her interaction with him. Trying to sound nonchalant, Spike leaned in and asked, "So you and Riley went to college together?" He kept his voice casual, not wanting to pry but giving her the opportunity to share.

"Yeah, we dated for a little bit, but it just sort of faded. Nice guy, but just not my type." Buffy shrugged noncommittally, as if their relationship had been rather insignificant. She caught his eyes for a little, and her heart began its little spiral of dizziness that seemed to appear when she was near him. She smiled slowly, unable to suppress the silly grin that naturally responded to his presence.

And suddenly, life seemed a little brighter. Spike smiled down at her, infusing his eyes with affection and hope. Buffy faltered, eyes lowered, and she nervously licked her lips. Not wanting to push, Spike looked away and simply enjoyed the budding hope in his heart.

They lapsed into silence, the crowd starting to thicken with the approaching starting time. They began getting jostled and pushed a little, and Buffy kept giving glaring looks around. Finally, Spike placed his arms on either side of her, resting his hands on the stage and creating a small oasis in the midst of pushy bodies. It seemed to do the trick, and Buffy tried not to notice the sense of security that wrapped around her like a warm blanket. She told herself that the rising heat was merely from the growing number of people arriving for the concert and not the fact that she could feel the heat emanating from the lithe body behind her. Keeping her face turned towards the stage, she ignored every message her body was sending her.

Spike knew it was rather risky to put his arms basically around her, but he was just as tired of the shoving. And the slight blush traveling up her neck was enough assurance that his help wasn't unwanted. He smiled again, savoring the light scent of her skin and the softness of her hair that occasionally slid across his neck. The night was wonderful, crisp but not cold, and there wasn't anywhere else he wanted to be.

--

The concert was amazing, the performer banging out songs on the piano, entertaining the masses with amusing anecdotes, and somewhere along the way, Buffy had leaned into Spike's chest. Somewhere along the way, they'd begun swaying to the music together. So when the haunting notes of a love ballad began to float by, it seemed natural that the arms once resting on the stage now rested around her waist. And it seemed natural that, somehow, she found her hands resting on top of his. Naturally it was merely the spell of the music and the crush of bodies surrounding them--not an irresistible attracting drawing them together. So naturally, when the slow song was over and the music began to pick up the pace, they'd step apart and resume their earlier stance of merely standing together instead of the way they were currently standing together.

Except not. Except his arms around her felt so damn good that she couldn't bring herself to pull away. Except she didn't want to think about what was right or supposed to be or anything like that--she just wanted to be. In his arms. No matter how she twisted it, no matter how many times she described him as a platonic non-gay friend from the past, she could not deny how comfortable, how right it felt being in his arms.

And Spike was perfectly content to keep her there. He didn't question the way she'd started to move into his arms, didn't wonder at the way she began to snuggle into his chest, didn't even blink when her hands began sliding over his. He knew it was going to come to an end eventually, so he was going to enjoy the now as much as possible.

But the now came to an end with the concert. There were no more excuses for why they were standing in each other's arms, especially when the roadies began clearing the stage and giving them dirty looks. Slowly, they began to move apart and away from the stage. Even walking they stayed close, inviting the occasional brushes of thigh against thigh, shoulder against shoulder, hand against hand. They didn't say much, not wanting to shatter the sensuality of the night. Before they wanted it, they were in front of Buffy's apartment building.

Finally, under the weak yellow of the light outside, under the muted stars of the sky, they turned to look at each other. There was heat crackling all around them, yearning to blaze further, but neither was quite ready to give in yet.

"Concert was great," Buffy said, awkwardly beginning the conversation.

"That it was. Outdoor concerts are always nice." He ran his fingers through his hair, not wanting to fidget.

Buffy watched his fingers sliding through his hair...sexy. She bit her lip.

And the fullness of her lip puckered under that bite. Sexy.

"Fuck it," she thought to herself, giving in to her desire. "Inviting him up is what a friend would do. We're not talking sex, here." Blinking away the sudden thoughts of sexy bodies and slightly holding her breath, she said to Spike, "You wanna come in for coffee or something?"

Spike smiled broadly, amazed at his good fortune. He knew it didn't mean sex, didn't mean anything, really, except that he'd be able to spend more time with her. "That'd be great."

Buffy ignored the butterflies engaging in wing to wing combat inside of her and slowly moved up the stairs. "It's not complete--I mean, I haven't really made the place mine yet, but eventually it'll happen, I guess. It's not as nice as yours, but it's where I live." She shrugged and grinned a little.

He smiled back and waited as she fumbled with her keys. He was trying to avoid getting his hopes up with the possibility of actually being able to touch her, to hold her without the music as an excuse, but it was difficult.

Buffy finally found her key, threw him a quick smile, and opened the door.

"Cordy!" Surprise was all over her face and her voice in seeing her roommate seated at the kitchen table drinking a diet coke.

"Buffy!" Cordy smiled broadly and then smiled more when she saw Spike enter behind her. "So good to see you," she drawled, not taking her eyes off of the handsome man.

Spike couldn't resist a smile, and he grinned widely in response, though not without including Buffy in the smile.

Buffy tried not to roll her eyes--clearly the man was an incurable flirt. "Cordy, this is Spike."

Cordy's eyes widened knowingly, and Buffy blushed miserably, hoping that Cordy wouldn't jump to any conclusions. "We just went to a concert in Central Park , and he walked me back, and I thought maybe he'd want something to drink or something before going home, and--"

"So nice to meet you. Did you enjoy the concert?" Cordy interrupted, trying to save her friend from rambling off the deep end. "Have a seat and make yourself comfortable."

"Um, actually," Spike hesitated, wondering if Buffy's babbling indicated a renewed hesitancy on her part. Glancing at her perturbed countenance, he continued and said, "I think I'm going to get going. You guys can catch up--Buffy mentioned she hadn't seen you in a while." He smiled at Cordy and then walked towards Buffy. "Give me a call sometime? Maybe we can do the museum on Sunday?"

Buffy nodded, thankful that he was going--not because she didn't want him here but because, with Cordy here, her reality was catching up with her. Cordy's presence would only make her more awkward, and her small fantasies of yearning looks and quiet but sensual conversation dissipated quickly. She walked with him to her door and gently held his arm. "That sounds perfect. I'll give you a call tomorrow. Thanks again for walking me back." All of a sudden, she snapped her fingers in exasperation. "Oh, wait! I didn't help you with the dishes!"

Spike chuckled. "Don't even worry about it. I forgot--too busy enjoying the evening, I guess."

"Yeah, but you made dinner and everything. I can't believe I didn't even--"

"Hey, just means you'll owe me later." He slowly smiled and touched her cheek lightly. "Yeah, we'll just have to do dinner again, and you'll get your chance."

Buffy nodded, trying not to let her face heat up at his brief touch. "Definitely. You'll have to let me help you next time." Her hand lingered a little on his chest, patting it as if making sure he knew she was sincere.

"I will. Take care." He gave her hand a squeeze, smiled, and held her gaze for a moment before murmuring, "Good night." And then he was gone.

"I'll talk to you later," she called out as he started down the stairs. With a final wave, she watched him disappear and then gently closed the door.

"It's not what you think," Buffy said before turning to face her friend. "He's like my gay best friend."

Cordy snorted unattractively. "Except he's NOT. And he's fucking hot. Damn, Buffy, if I weren't moving out to LA on Monday, I'd--"

"What?" Buffy spun around and stared at her friend. "You're, you're--what?"

"Oops." Cordy smiled innocently. "Okay, so I wasn't really planning on telling you like that, but hey. Guess what? I got the part! Okay, so maybe you don't know what part I'm talking about, since I just found out about it the other day. But whatever. I got the part! And I'm moving out to LA to begin the season! Yay, me!" Cordy's face was lit up by the huge goofy smile.

Buffy eventually got over her shock and ran over to her friend, excitement pouring out of each girl's mouth in the form of incoherent shrieks and babbles and interjections. Finally, the bubbly died down, and Buffy hugged Cordy tightly.

"I'm so happy for you! That's so amazing! You are gonna be amazing." She smiled genuinely. "So tell me about the part!"

"Oh, I play this snobby bitch who actually has layers and is just waiting for someone to peel away at the onion. It's great!" Slowly, Cordy's smile slipped a little.

Buffy noticed immediately. "What? What's wrong? Is there some catch--a porny catch or something?"

Cordy rolled her eyes. "No, stupid. It's a legitimate part. But the thing is, I was planning on selling the condo right away--letting Daddy take care of it. And he's been eager to get rid of this property because the market's really good right now. Which sort of means..." She looked up with expectation.

"I have to move out. Right. Gotcha." Buffy nodded, trying to figure out her options.

"I'm so sorry. It's just that when I called Daddy to tell him about the part, he jumped on the idea of selling the place, and he kinda doesn't know you live here--not that he would care or anything, but it wouldn't make sense to him if--"

"No, no. Don't even worry about it. I'll find some place to crash until I find my own place. I'm really happy for you--this is your big break, the one you've been waiting for." Buffy hugged her again. "Don't worry about me. I'll figure something out."

"Hey," Cordy said, a huge grin spreading across her face. "Maybe you could crash at your hottie's place! Sounds like a nice excuse to wake up to that body, don't you think?" Cordy tried to look innocent, but her rakish grin gave her away.

"Um, hello? Gay best friend?"

"Um, hello? Not gay, and totally hot?"

The girls burst into giggles, and Buffy tried to ignore Cordy's hints and her own secret hopes and fears of the new situation. As they lightly conversed about her new role, Buffy let her mind wander a little, not allowing herself to consider the possibility of staying in Spike's apartment. No, she'd somehow figure it out--surely it wasn't that hard to find a place in New York City , right? Sighing, she eventually said her goodnights and retreated to her bedroom, letting her mind wander a little more in the comfort of the darkness.

Ch. 17: Selfish Pleasures

“By Monday?” Spike asked, a look of incredulity on his face. He had stopped in the middle of a bit of his hot dog, a quick bite after their trip to the museum. Sitting on the rock with the sun in his face, his eyes squinting at her, he waited for her explanation.

Buffy sighed. “You heard right. I have to be out by Monday. Tomorrow.” She would have hid her face in misery if her hands weren’t full of a sauerkraut-laden half-eaten weiner. She settled for another sigh and a pout. “And everyone I’ve talked to has politely refused to let me crash. I just don’t know.”

Swallowing the last of his snack and wiping his hands, he carefully looked at her and said, “You haven’t asked me.”

Buffy studiously adjusted her hot dog so that it didn’t fall on her lap—and successfully avoided eye contact with his sharp blue eyes. “Yeah, well, I didn’t want to bother you about it. You’ve been here for as short a time as I have, and I didn’t want to disrupt whatever routines you’d just established, and...”

“Buffy, you need a place, and I have space. You should crash at my flat. I mean, I even rhyme.” He smiled a little, trying to suppress the sexually frustrated and currently groaning voice in his head, the one that could guess what his life might become like if she actually came to live with him. He clamped down those feelings and merely thought of the possibility of seeing her all the time.

Buffy hesitated. It made complete sense to take him up on his offer. He had a great place, certainly with enough room for her. He lived nearby, so her commute would be the same. In fact, they could probably go to work together. They got along wonderfully, and he was offering. Why the hesitation?

Because she would explode, of course. The sexual tension had already caused her to catalog innumerable fantasies of their couplings even before she’d run into him here in New York . How much more could she take if they were living in the same apartment? But the little devil on her side coaxed her with innocent images of the lovely loft, the wonderful bookshelves, the roomy place, convincing her that rooming with Spike would be purely platonic and that his place was the perfect solution to her problem. The angel, completely aware of all the sexual tension and danger in living with him, was neatly tied up and thrown into the corner of her mind.

“Spike, if you don’t mind having me around, I’d be incredibly grateful to you for letting me stay with you.” The devil in her mind did a little jig, and the angel rolled her eyes and sighed.

His face lit up at her words, and Spike touched her shoulder gently in reassurance. “I love having you around, and it would be no problem at all to have you stay with me. I can help you move in your stuff today, if you want.”

“You are definitely too good to be true.” She faltered a little under his steady gaze and soft touch; she couldn’t keep looking into those eyes and not fall into their depths, and the addition of his gentle caress on her shoulder was a little more than she could handle. But she savored his warmth and felt a little lacking when he finally took his hand away.

--

After much lifting and toting and walking and sweating, Buffy collapsed onto a chair in the kitchen, gulping down water. Moving was such a hassle, even when she hadn’t moved nearly as much as Spike had. She licked a drop of water running down the side of the glass as she watched him carry the last box into the apartment. Slightly glistening with sweat and muscles tensed under his shirt, Spike exuded a masculinity that made Buffy ache with desire.

Spike wiped his brow quickly and then sighed. "I wish I could help you unpack all this—no really, I do," he said, grinning at her look of disbelief. "Unfortunately, I'm supposed to meet a co-worker tonight to finish the copy for this column we're working on together. He's expecting me at 8." He chugged some water. "I'm not even going to have time to shower, but I don't care much—he's not going to care." Finishing the bottle, he stretched a little and then headed for the door. "You have the key and my cell, and I'll try to get back tonight before too late so we can finish pounding out the details. I'm sorry I have to run—I'll see you in a few hours?"

Buffy nodded and waved, too tired for much else. "Yeah, I may not be awake when you get back, but we'll figure something out. Have a good meeting." She waved goodbye, and he was gone. Slouching into her chair, she closed her eyes and thought about the bare minimum she could do to be okay for work the next day. Finally bracing herself for a few moments of unpacking, she heaved herself out of the chair and then headed upstairs.

--

"There." She looked at the two boxes she'd unpacked—the few items that were necessary to make her feel at home, and the clothes she'd actually hung up in the closet—and grinned. The bed was still pretty messy, but it was livable. She got out her toiletries and made her way down to the bathroom to make a place for herself. Humming along to her music, she smiled. The new place was better than she could have hoped, and Spike was better than she could have hoped. Heading back to the—her loft, she plopped onto her bed. Her eyes closed on their own accord, and suddenly her mind was filled with images of Spike—his sweaty body all flexed and muscle-y, his blue eyes staring at her intensely, his lips kissing hers.

All of a sudden, her entire being was hot with desire. It was as if her body was accustomed to becoming aroused at the thought of Spike—no doubt a result of all those fantasies that Willow had said were okay. Okay? Now she was living with him. Was she going to go around in a constant state of arousal?

It didn't matter right now, though, because right now he was on her mind and right now her body was aching and right now there was no one else in the apartment...

Her right hand slid down her body, and her left hand slowly slid over her breasts. No one was in the apartment, so no one was going to hear her breathing heavily or see the covers shifting from her movement. The reassurance was necessary—there was something naughty about touching herself here, at Spike's apartment, even if it were now partially her apartment.

She shook those thoughts from her head and went back to Spike, his body and his heat and his sexy walk. There he was, pouring water over his head and letting it run down his sculpted body. He'd take off his shirt, not wanting it to get too wet, and then give her a smoldering look before throwing the t-shirt down.

Her fingers began rubbing against her wetness, slick just the images of his body. Her hips began to thrust lightly against her hand, wanting to feel the friction. She dipped into her pussy and slid over her clit, moaning lightly at the glorious sensations swirling around her.

Her left hand gently glided over her breast, cupping its softness and squeezing her nipple to hardness. She bit her lip as both hands worked its erogenous zone. Her breathing became more labored, her moans a little louder as she relentlessly pressed against her sex, rubbing and pleasuring with each hand.

--

Spike tried to enter the apartment quietly, in case Buffy had fallen asleep in the loft. He smiled a little at the idea of her being asleep in his—their—apartment. He didn't hear anything at first. Softly closing the door, he moved into the apartment and tried to hear if she was sleeping. And then he heard a moan, and another.

His jaw clenched in anger—not that it was justified, but she'd only been there a few hours or so. How could she already have brought someone over?

And then he heard another moan. Eventually he realized that she was the only one moaning. His cock began hardening with the thought that she might be touching herself. Only a few hours in the apartment, and she was touching herself? Either it had been a long day needful of release or she was in as much sexual agony as he was. Could it be?

Her moans began getting louder, faster, and his hand crept to touch his own aching needs.

--

She was close—her body was tensing, tightening, climbing up that slope of pleasure. She imagined his blue eyes, his hard body that day he'd been her model, strutting and posing before her. She envisioned the way he would look down and then glance up at her with that intense stare, cocking his eyebrow and opening his lips partly, and—

"Uuunnnnnnnnggg," she burst out, her body arching with delight. She pressed her fingers against her shuddering clit, relishing the way it throbbed against her, and then collapsed onto the bed.

--

Hearing her moment of climax, Spike almost came himself. He bit his lip and quickly made his way to his room. Ripping off his t-shirt and dropping his pants, he plopped onto the bed, cock in hand. He could see her so clearly, her golden hair shining in the sun, her body stretched out on the sand all for his pleasure. He remembered scooping her into his arms, running into the ocean. His lips were on her, his hands caressing her nipples and cupping her ass, feeling her sex against his own.

His cock was already so hard, glistening with his own cum, thrusting into his hand with fervor.

He felt his tongue on hers, his body pressed against hers, hard against soft, rubbing against her clit and then pushing into her—

"Ggguuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhh," he spit out, holding his spurting cock tightly, imagining it to be her velvet pussy instead of his cold hand. He came on himself, chest messy with desire. He continued to breathe heavily, reeling from the strength of his orgasm.

--

Buffy paused outside his slightly open door, her eyes wide with shock as she heard his passionate outcry. When had he gotten home? Had he heard her own cries of passion? Was he thinking about her? Her pussy pulsed at the thought, and she quickly walked to the shower.

Throwing off her robe, she stepped under the hot spray and replayed the sounds in her head. His voice was so sexy, so drenched in intense desire. The very intonations of his voice made her hot. Letting the burning water cascade down her body, she couldn't help but caress herself, imagining his voice caressing her, his tongue touching her, his hands holding her. She threw her head back and lost herself in the sensations.

--

Spike slowly emerged from the haze of self-created delights. He berated himself for succumbing so quickly. "Can't be doing this all the time or I'll go blind. She's gonna be living here, for chrissake. Get a hold of yourself," he thought to himself. Blinking into the darkness, he reached for a t-shirt to wipe himself off and then pulled on his jeans, letting them hang on his narrow hips. He stretched a little, waking with each movement, and headed for the shower.

--

Buffy stared at herself in the mirror. "You have to stop this. Your orgasm-to-hour ratio is out of control. You can't masturbate every time you see him or think of him. Your hands are going to be disgustingly hairy if that keeps up. You have to control yourself and get used to the way he looks and sounds. Get used to it and move on." She took a deep breath and hoped that the pep talk to herself worked. Wrapping a towel tightly around her body she stepped out into the hall.

They stared at each other, neither fully believing what they saw.

Spike saw damp hair falling against soft skin, flushed with warmth and lightly kissed with water rivulets running down her body; a towel barely covering breasts just perfectly shaped for his hands; a mouth slightly open with lips perfect for kissing; shapely legs that glistened with moisture; eyes that stared up with an innocence just waiting to be corrupted.

Buffy saw a rock hard chest of smooth pale skin; abs that called out to her fingers to touch every swell; those lovely muscles stretching down into his jeans pointing to a valley of delight; a slight trail of hair that ran from his navel that she longed to scratch; biceps that slightly bulged as his fingers stopped in his hair; eyes that made her shiver; cheeks that molded to her hand.

It took them a few moments to register the image; it also took a few moments to look away, embarrassed for staring to openly. Spike mumbled a quick hello, hands immediately reaching for pockets to hide his growing reaction. Buffy nodded silently and tightened her grip on the towel so that she could rush back up to the loft and hide the wetness blossoming between her legs.

It was going to be a long night.

Ch. 18: Friday Night Sighs

She tried to get used to it—she really did. But no amount of mental or physical preparation could keep her body from thrumming with excitement every time she saw those blue eyes twinkling—god, they were twinkling—and that smile warming her down to the very tips of her fingernails. And his body—she closed her eyes and attempted to shake that luscious body out of her mind. Buffy sighed dramatically and buried her head in her arms.
Cordy sipped her martini and played with her olive, her face furrowed in thought. "So it's been pretty torturous?" Back in town for a last weekend to pack up the rest of her stuff, she sat gracefully on the plush sofa and regarded her friend with sympathy.
Buffy groaned in agreement. She had readily agreed to go out to the new hot restaurant in hopes that the new environment would distract her. Unfortunately, it only made for a bright backdrop to her moping and frustration. Propping her face in her hands, she said, "I just thought I'd get used to it, you know? I thought maybe I was all hot and horny just because I was getting Spike overload. But it's not going away, not getting any easier. Do you think there's something wrong with me?"
"Actually, I do." Cordy giggled a little at Buffy's horrified expression. "Seriously, Buffy, hear me out. Do you think that maybe you're being a little hard on yourself?"
"What do you mean?"
Cordy took a deep breath and faced her directly. "Honestly? Would it really be so awful to give it a chance? He sounds like a great guy, and you're obviously attracted to him. He'd be crazy not to be attracted to you. All that stuff you told me about your past history and everything—is it really that impossible to get over? Is it so huge that you're willing to give up someone who might possibly be someone worthwhile?" Cordy looked at her fully, waiting for her reaction.
Buffy chewed on her lip and fiddled with a napkin. "I don't know. There's something inside of me that just feels like it's wrong."
Cordy dismissed that idea with a careless flip of her hand. "But it's not. I bet it wouldn't even make Jerry Springer."
Buffy chuckled a little before burying her head once again. "Maybe I'm just scared. I mean, maybe I'm just using this as an excuse to—to—" Buffy took a huge swallow of her margarita. "To avoid getting hurt. I totally threw myself into him last time, and it was so hard for me to get past that. It's not like I've dated since him. And if I were to let myself go for him..." She allowed to let her words fade, the napkin completely shredded before her.
"You might actually be happy," Cordy finished for her. "This is not marriage we're talking about. This is just about allowing for the possibility of something. You don't know what will happen—but you'll just be torturing yourself if you keep beating yourself up for being attracted to him. Let whatever is sizzling between you develop naturally. Who knows where it will lead you?"
Staring into the empty glass, Buffy scrunched up her nose and then peeked up at her friend. "So, you won't think I'm a total freak for going for him? For going for this guy that's slept with my mom?"
Cordy let out an exasperated sigh and then rolled her eyes dramatically. "You're kidding me, right? That's not really what's holding you back, is it? Because if so, I'm going to have to come up with some sort of punishment to pay me back for all the advice I've been giving. Who cares what people think? No one even needs to know. Hell, I've already forgotten." She shrugged and then called over the waiter.
"Excuse me, could we have two glasses of champagne?" She smiled sweetly at the waiter, ignoring Buffy's look of confusion. "I'm going to make a toast to your future," Cordy said simply.
Buffy stared at her hands for a long time, silently lost in her own thoughts. Finally she tilted her head and looked at her friend. "Do you really think I could let myself do that—let myself consider him as a possibility?"
Cordy nodded. "I really do. In fact, I feel like you owe it to yourself. Stop fantasizing—you could have the real thing." She thanked the waiter and handed her a glass. "Here." She held the flute with her immaculate nails. "Here's to new risks and the possibility of love. May we never be too afraid to live."
They clinked their glasses and drank in thoughtful quiet.
"Have I ever told you how amazing you are? How lucky I am to have such a smart friend?" Buffy smiled wistfully.
Cordy grinned. "Smart, ey? That's a new one. But don't forget sexy and incredibly talented, okay?"
They laughed and drank, and Buffy let go of the tight reins around her heart and body.
--
He took a shot of Johnny and shook his head. "No, I don't think she's interested. I mean, sometimes I think she is, but there's always this look of fear, like I'm gonna eat her or something." He sighed before muttering, "And not in the good way, either."
Xander chuckled, shaking his head. "Man, you got it bad. Can't say I blame you, though, since you're living with the one woman you can't have. You have all these women throwing themselves at your feet, and you gotta want the one who doesn't want a taste." He took a swig of his beer and shrugged. "Could be worse. At least she's not dating anyone."
Spike grimaced at the thought. "Thanks. I can always count on you to make me feel better." He nodded to the bartender and looked at his friend. "Why can't I get over her?"
"Because you've wanted her for a long time, and now you're living with her. She's in you—sleeping in your apartment, naked in your shower, eating in your kitchen...she's all over you, man. You're screwed. And not in a good way." He laughed at his own joke, enjoying his friend's discomfort.
Spike threw back another shot. "Got any ideas on how to get over her?"
"Nope. But there's no harm in playing the field a little, like talking to that brunette over there that's been staring at you for the past ten minutes."
Spike glanced over and shook his head. "Nope, that's not gonna work. Tried it, failed miserably. No, I think I'm just going to go home and sleep on it."
Xander laughed again. "You are so dead. Two shots, and you'd rather be at home in an apartment with a girl you're never gonna get. You're in love with torture."
Spike shrugged, knowing that it was true. "No point in feeling like shit tomorrow morning. Might as well be tortured and enjoy the view, right?"
"If you say so, my friend. If you say so. But I—" he said, finishing his beer and getting up, "I am going to try my hand with a few of the fine ladies tonight. So, you to your torture, and I to mine." He patted Spike on the back. "I'll catch up with you later, okay?"
He watched his friend make his way towards an attractive blond. He wished there was something, anything to push him out of this stool and into the playing fields. Unfortunately, the only thing he wanted to do was go home, chill on the couch, and hope that maybe he'd get to see Buffy for a little bit before going to sleep. "Wanker," he muttered to himself. Throwing cash on the bar, he got up and left.
He quickly walked home, not wanting the time alone to think about how much he thought about her and how much he couldn't have her. He convinced himself that he simply didn't feel like playing the field and wasn't holding out for any possibility of dating her—he just didn't feel like dating. Comforted by his delusions, he swiftly entered the apartment.
It was empty.
He tried to ignore the piercing disappointment that clutched his stomach when he realized that she wasn't there—tried to attribute it to the shots he'd just had, but convincing himself of that lie still didn't make the pain subside. He dropped his keys onto the table and plopped in front of the television, looking for someone cheesy, godawful movie he could make fun of to take his mind off of his state of solitude.
Surfing continually for about twenty minutes, Spike was about to turn off the TV when he heard keys in the door. He hurried to select an innocuous show, something on TLC, and feigned boredom to suppress the giddiness that was making him smile at her appearance.
Buffy entered the apartment and immediately smiled at the sight of Spike lounging in front of the television. She'd hoped to catch him tonight, hadn't wanted to think about the probability that he wouldn't be home on a Friday night.
"Hey, there," she called out, placing her keys and purse onto the hall table. "Whatcha doing?"
"Not much," Spike replied nonchalantly, turning around on the couch to look at her.
"Want something to drink?" she asked as she reached for a mug. "I'm going to make some tea for myself if you want some."
He smiled. "That'd be great." He played with a pillow and tried to sound less interested than he was. "So, what are you doing home on a Friday night?"
Buffy bit her lip, trying not to let her heart beat race at his question, at her new decision. "I could ask you the same thing," she replied lightly.
"Well, I went out earlier with a friend, but I guess I'm just not into the whole club/bar scene. He was pretty eager to meet someone, pick someone up or something, but I just wasn't feeling it," he said honestly, trying not to stare at her, at how much she seemed to belong in his kitchen, in his apartment. He shook the thought away and tried to focus on their friendship, two friends having a conversation.
"Yeah, that's sort of how I felt. I mean, there were a few guys who sent signs, you know, showed interest, but really? I'd rather be here." She glanced up, wondering if he would pick up on her tiny hint, but he wasn't even looking at her. She turned back to the tea.
Spike had tensed with her simple words and had repeated to himself that it was just being home—not being with him—that she was implying with her words. He closed his eyes, frustrated that he was having such a hard time being natural with her, even in this innocent situation.
"You want some popcorn? I saw that you were watching TV—I actually picked up a few DVDs, if you want to watch something with me." She threw out the invitation and tried not to hold her breath in waiting for his response.
He couldn't help but be pleased—regardless of her motivation, she wanted to spend time with him. That made him happy. "That'd be great. There's nothing on, so a DVD's perfect. Here, let me help you." He got up and headed towards the kitchen, grabbing the popcorn out of the pantry. "Do you want buttered or toffee?"
"Ooh, toffee! I've never had that!" She smiled at him as she added sugar and milk to the tea. "Oh, did you want milk? I just assumed—"
"That's perfect. I didn't know you liked milk in your tea. Most Americans don't." He leaned up against the counter as the popcorn popped in the microwave.
"Yeah, well, after I went to London for a year in school, I could never have tea without it." She shrugged and handed him his tea.
"Cool. I didn't know you did a semester abroad. And in the motherland. Good choice," he teased, blowing at the hot tea.
She grinned and retorted, "Oh, yeah. I didn't tell you I have a thing for British guys?" She cocked an eyebrow before turning to get a bowl for the popcorn.
Spike's eyes widened at her response. "Whoa, is she flirting with me?" he thought to himself. Before he could ponder the thought further, the popcorn finished. He took the bowl from Buffy, filled it, and followed her back to the living room. Sitting down on one side of the couch, he asked, "So what did you get?"
Buffy placed the tea on the coffee table and went to get the DVDs. "I got a few random ones. Let's see...I have a few foreign films like Y Tu Mama Tambien, Sex and Lucia, but then I got Princess Bride just because I love it." She brought the movies over and stood in front of the TV, waiting for his choice. "What do you think?"
Spike ran his fingers through his hair. "Uh, whatever you want. I love Princess Bride, but I've heard great things about the others." He tried not to remember his co-workers column on the best movies for seduction and shrugged indifferently, secretly hoping she'd choose Princess Bride.
"Well, how about we put in Sex and Lucia and then if it's slow or something, we can put in Princess Bride?" She nodded in response to his agreement and then put in the DVD. She then turned off the lights, grabbed the popcorn, and then sat right next to him, offering him the bowl. "Have some. You don’t mind the dark, do you? I just like watching movies in the dark."
He tried not to notice the warmth she brought or the reason she sat so close to him—if they were sharing popcorn, they had to sit close, right?" He tried to make himself comfortable, letting the darkness hide his unease, and leaned back to watch the movie.
--
The movie—despite its graphic sex, horrifying though mostly implied violence, intriguing plot twists, and engaging characters—still didn’t hold his attention when Buffy was so close to him, her body leaning against his. As the movie came to an end, he finally allowed himself to look down at Buffy. He was about to ask her what she thought of the movie, but before he spoke he noticed her regular breathing. She was asleep.
Spike chuckled to himself softly. “Here I was, trying to watch the movie and not look at her, wondering if her movements towards me are intentional or not, and she’s completely asleep,” he thought to himself. Her head was lightly resting on his chest, and her hand was loosely gripping the popcorn bowl. He eased the bowl out of her hand and onto the table. He allowed himself a moment to look at her, really savor her soft skin, the way her hair was mussed up around her forehead, the slight movements of her lips from sleep—and then tried to wake her up.
“Buffy? The movie’s over.” Nothing. She didn’t even acknowledge his voice.
He started to stand up, thinking the movement would wake her up. She suddenly wrapped her arms around his waist. “Uh-uhm,” she murmured into his chest, shaking her head. He tried again, but she just groaned, not wanting to move at all. Instead, she pushed against him, her legs curled up on the sofa and her body pressing against his.
“Uh, Buffy? Unless we plan on sleeping here all night, you’re going to have to get up.” He gently brushed his hand against her hair, not completely disliking that solution.
She merely purred contentedly, pushing him even further into the couch.
He sighed and then gave up. “Might as well get comfortable.” He lay his body fully on the couch, trying not to enjoy too much the way she made herself comfortable on top of him. He took her hand, kissed it gently, and then whispered, “Good night.”
Buffy, sound asleep and lost in her dreams, merely smiled.

Ch. 19: Passionate Storms

Buffy awoke slowly, her body warm and stiff. She first became aware of a chest beneath her face, breathing regularly. Then she felt thighs beneath her own, then a hip under her hand. Her eyes finally opened, and she saw Spike sprawled under her, his arm around her. She smiled, then pouted a little at the idea that she had fallen asleep in his arms and hadn’t even noticed. She must have been completely exhausted, both physically and emotionally, to have allowed such a golden opportunity to pass her by.

He was completely dead to the world, his breaths deep and even, his mouth moving every so often, as was natural in sleep. His lips were slightly pouty, calling out to be touched, caressed. Her fingers skated over them, enjoying their softness. "Just a taste," she thought to herself as her body began to slide up, closer to his face. Still, he didn't move, was completely unaware of her movements. Smiling, she leaned in to taste him, to remember the way his lips felt against hers. She savored the warmth of sleep on his body, the fullness of his mouth, the way they so easily molded to her own. Slowly, he began to respond, to kiss back and taste her as well, though still through the blanket of sleep. Her body relished the slow contact of their bodies, lazily enjoying each other. When she finally pulled away, he merely sighed contentedly and continued sleeping.

Buffy smiled, licking her lips a little, and then rose reluctantly to answer the morning bathroom call.

--

Spike awoke to the sound of water in the bathroom. He'd just had such sweet dreams filled with Buffy and her sweet kisses, and he hadn't wanted to wake up. Buffy must have just woken up; he hoped she hadn't been scared away by the unfortunate morning hardness that was pressing against his pants right now. He had been looking forward to waking up with her still in his arms, but he supposed it was enough that she had fallen asleep in his arms to begin with. He slowly stretched out the kinks from sleeping on the couch and hoped that Buffy wouldn't be weirded out by their having fallen asleep on the couch. Despite the lack of space on the couch and the limited movement caused by Buffy's body on his, he felt oddly well-rested. Swinging his legs to sit up, he rubbed away the sleep from his eyes and yawned loudly.

"Awake? You want some coffee?"

Spike looked up to see Buffy, yawning as well but also smiling at him from the kitchen. He couldn't help but smile back. "Sure thing. I'm just gonna grab a shower real quick."

Buffy watched him go and tried not to imagine what his body would look like in the shower. Breathing in deeply, she set about making coffee and deciding how to push their relationship to a new level—and not fall asleep while doing it.

--

"So, we still have another movie, and I have to return it tomorrow. You up for another one tonight? Or do you have plans?" Buffy asked innocently, trying to sound nonchalant.

Spike tilted his head towards the window and shook his head at the steady downpour. "Nah, I'm not going anywhere. Ugly day, and I don't fancy getting wet for no reason." His eyebrow quirked at his own double entendre, hoping that she wasn't offended by his unintentional play on words.

Buffy smothered a grin and took the slip as a good sign. "Cool. Maybe after dinner?"

Spike nodded. "Are you planning on eating in? I was gonna make some steak—I could make enough for the both of us if you are."

"Oh, that sounds really good. I don't want to go anywhere in this weather. I hate dull rain." She frowned at the grey sky and its unrelenting patter on the roof.

They chatted easily as Spike maneuvered around the kitchen, seasoning and marinating and tenderizing as they traded random stories about work and other trivial bits. With the addition of risotto and a salad to the steak, the meal became a veritable feast—and a much longer process. Neither seemed to mind, as they slid into what seemed like a natural cooperation in the kitchen. Spike tried not to notice the way Buffy lingered by his side, sliding against him every now and then as she volunteered her help as an assistant, gathering ingredients and stirring whenever directed to do so. Not that he minded her company—he rather relished it—but it was difficult pretending that he didn't sizzle every time she touched him, whether accidentally brushing his body or affectionately holding his arm in response to something he'd said. She seemed comfortable with the friendly contact, so he decided to reciprocate, to allow himself the small delight of placing his hand gently on her back, of playing with her hair, of touching her arm in understanding whenever an opportunity came. As long as she didn't mind, never realized how much he took pleasure in the intimacy, Spike let down some of his defenses, allowed himself to savor her nearness rather than steel himself against it for fear of enjoying it too much.

Buffy inwardly danced when she noticed the change in Spike's behavior, when he stopped shying away from her touch. She had to suppress the desire to throw herself into his arms when he began not only to soften at her caresses but to reach out to her as well. His caresses were casual, friendly, indicative of nothing but easygoing affection, and yet her body was buzzing with anticipation. It was all she could do to feign casual conversation when her mind was racing with naughty thoughts.

By the time they had sat down to eat, the rain had turned into a turbulent thunderstorm. The storm seemed to match Buffy's unsettled nerves and violent emotions that were threatening to drown her. Hot from the cooking and the simmering sexuality between them, Buffy decided that it was time to take a chance.

"God, cooking makes me hot." She slid off her sweater, her arms crossing sexily and pressing her breasts together. She swung her hair out when she finally disentangled herself from the wool. She knew her actions were totally cliché, completely unoriginal, but the look on Spike's face when she glanced up through her lashes made it worth it. The camisole she had thrown on after her shower was velvet trimmed with lace—she had matching tangas on underneath her jeans, but he had yet to discover those. "Everything looks amazing." She briefly glanced at him while taking a first bite into the steak.

Spike swallowed and busied himself with pouring wine into their glasses. He glanced over at Buffy, who was licking her lips after taking a bite of her steak. His brain still had her supple breasts on pause, the image persisting, tormenting him. He could have sworn she were flirting with him, intentionally torturing him, but he convinced himself that it was his own wishful thinking perverting her actions. Licking his lips, Spike shook the image away and cut himself a slice of meat.

The wine was making her hot. Spike's lips were making her hot. Everything seemed to be making her hot. She closed her eyes and tried to calm her beating heat, imagined the rain cooling her oversensitive body. She felt stupid trying to act seductive and coy with him, especially after they'd been so comfortable in each other's presence, but her body was screaming at her to take action, to jump the sexy guy in front of her. She concentrated on eating quickly, wanting to quicken their movement towards the couch.

Eventually they finished, and Buffy volunteered to put the dishes away. "Go ahead and set up the movie. I'll be there in a sec." She shooed him away and started clearing the table with briskness.

"Wow, the storm is really picking up," Spike commented, pausing on his way to the TV as lightning flashed across the sky. "I hope you're not scared of thunderstorms."

"Me?" Buffy responded as she wrapped up the leftovers. "No, I love thunderstorms. Something about the violence and passion of the thunder and lightning—they've never scared me."

Spike looked up at her, wondering at the implication of her words, but she seemed engrossed in putting saran wrap on the risotto. Inwardly shrugging, and sadly dismissing the thought of holding her tight during a frightening storm, he put in the movie and settled onto the couch.

"Popcorn? Beer?" Buffy called out as she finished up.

"No, I'm stuffed. Just come on and sit," he answered, patting the seat next to him.

Smiling, she wiped her hands on the towel and then made her way towards the couch. "I hope this movie is good. I've heard it's pretty intense." Plopping down next to him, she settled into the sofa as the movie began.

Images of young, lustful boys danced across the screen, their road trip engaging the pair on the couch. Buffy could feel herself getting hot again, not only from the movie but from the warmth of the man sitting next to her.

Spike tried not to let the movie get to him, but he understood the strength of lust, of pure desire as depicted in the movie, and he willed his cock to stay put, especially with Buffy so near.

"Hey, could you pause it? I gotta pee real quick," Buffy whispered, moving up. She needed to splash some water on her face and alleviate the throbbing down there—she hadn't planned on acting on anything till the movie was over, and she wasn't sure she was going to make it. Quickly scampering to the bathroom, she left Spike staring at a couple kissing passionately.

Throwing the remote onto the coffeetable, he propped up his legs and breathed deeply. The rain outside was howling, thundering, and he understood the "violence and passion" that Buffy had mentioned earlier—all too well. He tried to shift a little, lessening the pressure in his jeans, and waited for Buffy to return. The faster this movie ended, the better off he'd be.

"Okay, unpause it," Buffy said as she came out of the bathroom. "I want to—"

She was interrupted by a huge clap of thunder; almost immediately the lights went out. Completely drenched in darkness, Buffy froze, not wanting to bump into anything.

"Well, I guess that ends the movie," Spike commented dryly. He tried to keep the nervousness out of his voice, the sudden change in atmosphere making his senses go crazy. "You okay?"

Buffy slowly made her way over to the couch. "Yeah, I'm—" Tripping on the area rug, she ended up on top of Spike, her hand on his thigh and her head colliding with stomach.

Spike froze as she picked herself up, her hand unable to avoid the large thrust of his cock, which had only stiffened further at her touch.

"I'm definitely fine," she murmured into his neck as she picked herself up. Buffy couldn't resist kissing his neck lightly—the dark had given her courage, and she could not stave off her desires any longer, especially when she realized that he was just as affected as she was. His skin was so sweet, and she found her lips making their way up his jaw.

Spike closed his eyes and held his breath, in wonderment over the feel of her lips on his body. Her touch was so gentle it was almost like a dream—but there was no mistaking the way her hand kept sliding up his thigh, coming closer to his cock with each caress.

Buffy finally reached his lips, and she feasted on their softness.

As much as he wanted it, wanted her, he had to know what was going on in her mind, what was driving this change in her actions. "Buffy, what—"

"Shhh," she whispered, putting her fingers on his lips. "No, don't speak. Last time you spoke, things got fucked up. This time, let's just not talk, okay?"

His heart burst with pleasure, with the acknowledgement that there might be a "this time." He pulled her tightly to him, her legs straddling his, and kissed her thoroughly.

Buffy smiled in between kisses and murmured, "I'm glad you agree."

Ch. 20: A Long, Stormy Night

At first, their kisses were quick and messy, devouring each other after having fasted for so long. Teeth clashed, lips missed, tongues probed. Eventually, as they got over the newness of each other, the kisses began to slow down but deepen, to taste fully instead of quickly; in short, it became about quality and not quantity.

She was straddling him, knees grinding into the sofa, one hand running through his soft hair and the other sliding up his neck. His face was turned up to hers, drinking in all that she had to offer. One hand was anchored at her hip, the other slowly sliding up her body to brush at her breast, cup its fullness.

Buffy pulled away for a little bit, smiling at him coyly. Then she slowly, seductively stripped away her camisole, leaving her pert breasts full in his face. She leaned in to give him a luscious kiss, her lips smiling as she noted the glazed look of lustful awe in seeing her nude body. The kiss awakened him from his temporary trance, and he breathed her in through his kisses, sucking on her lower lip before launching himself at her breasts, sucking and kissing and licking until she moaned with pleasure, her head hanging back to arch herself into his wet caresses.

And then suddenly she was on her back, nestled in the corner of the couch, with Spike kneeling before her. She lost herself in the hypnotic swirls of his tongue, one hand clutching a pillow in rapture. Spike suckled her, thriving on her squeals and moans and heavy breathing, the way her body curved into his sweeping hands. He just couldn't get enough of her taste, the way her skin came to life under his lips, humming with electricity. He deftly undid her pants and moaned in delight when he saw the lace-trimmed tangas highlighting her tan legs and tight ass. And then she moaned in harmony as his lips burned into their softness.

He slipped off her panties, hands sliding over every inch of femininity, from her dimpled knees to her lean thighs to her dainty toes. He kissed all of it, cherished the feel against his hands and lips, soaked up her mewls and sighs. It was like heaven, and he wanted to make it last as long as possible.

Buffy was in heaven. There were whirling lights and intoxicating, near paralyzing waves of pleasure. His touches were thrusting her higher and higher towards that mountaintop of satisfaction. She lazily opened her eyes and saw that Spike was just as affected—his eyes were half-closed, a wisp of a smile playing on his lips, his hands magically running up and down her thighs. He looked up and caught her glance, cocked an eyebrow sensually, and then took a long lick up her pussy. She gasped loudly and her eyes closed again, body tingling from his intimacy. She moaned in bliss even as her breaths came more quickly.

God, she tasted good. Spike's hand reached up to play with her nipple in time with his licking of her wetness. She was erotically spread out before him, legs splayed, head thrown back, arms raised. She was completely naked for him, and he was still clad—tightly clad—in his jeans and t-shirt. Continuing to move his mouth against her sex, he reached down to undo his pants and let himself breathe a little.

Hearing the sound of his pants being undone, Buffy got the energy to pull of his shirt before thrusting her hands into his hair and pushing him against her again. Spike hummed in approval, and the buzzing raced through her body. God, her voice was going to be hoarse by the time he finished. She shrieked again as she felt Spike add a finger inside of her as he played with her clit. Buffy tried not to pull his hair, but she had to hold onto something as he rode her with his tongue. Faster, harder, wetter, tighter—

Her body tensed up and she shot through the air in ecstasy, screaming, "Spike!" as her clit throbbed with velvety pleasure. When she finally let go, her body felt limp, exhausted, sweaty. And yet when she felt Spike slither up her body, she found the energy to wrap her legs around him, reach for his lovely face and kiss him senseless.

She was so incredibly hot, and Spike loved the way her body tightened before it released itself onto his face, the way her face screwed up with desire and then throatily called out his name. It was almost enough to make him cum. Almost. But now, body against body, heat against heat, and heart against heart, he was starting to lose control. Buffy reached out and kissed him once again, pressed her body against his, and then finally, at last, he entered her.

They were one.

One undulating, gasping, consuming entity. One element that began slowly, stoking the flame, and became hotter and hotter, burning into each other, quickening with slaps of flesh echoing through the apartment. It was a symphony of noises, of sighs and grunts and moans and smacks that were getting louder with every passing moment.

"Buffy, oh god, you're so, Buffy—" Spike babbled as he thrust into her hotness over and over again.

"Yes, oh yes, don't stop, ever, Spike—" Buffy murmured into his ear, nibbling on it in between phrases.

Climbing, scaling, rising, they held onto each other until twin howls of ecstasy penetrated the haze of lovemaking. Hearts beating wildly, Spike and Buffy slowly met each other's eyes and leaned in for a chaste kiss before collapsing again, succumbing to the pheromone-induced exhaustion. They fell asleep in each other's arms.

--

It was the thunder that woke them up. Lightning flashing, the storm was still going on strong outside, and the electricity was still out.

Spike blinked, trying to make sense of his awkward position on the couch, but he slowly grinned as he noted the girl breathing evenly beneath him. Another roar of thunder, and Buffy was awake, though not completely aware.

Kissing her gently, Spike suggested, "You want to get into bed?"

Stretching her limbs, she nodded sleepily. "Yeah, let's go up to my bed."

Spike eased her up, his cock still inside of her. He felt Buffy's arms slide around his neck, her legs slide around his hips. She seemed to slip back into sleep. Spike, however, was now awake. With each step, Spike felt himself getting hard again, but he wasn't sure if she could feel it.

Buffy could feel it. Every movement pushed his cock against her in that delicious way, and all she wanted was for him to fuck her hard against something, anything. When he began to climb the stairs, she couldn't take it anymore—she couldn't hold back a moan, couldn't stop herself from pressing her breasts against his chest, couldn't resist licking his neck and biting his earlobe.

"Buffy," Spike breathed, holding her tight. "Do you—"

"Yes, fuck yes," she interrupted, flexing herself around his hard shaft.

Without another word, he pushed her against the wall, one leg lifted on the higher stair, and drove into her. Buffy gasped at his ferocity, thrilled by the way he hungered for her, his hand threaded in her own, clasped above her flushed face. He sucked at her neck, slapped against her clit, grunted into their kisses. Such wild abandonment only made her wetter, and she clung to him desperately.

The wall rattled with the strength of their lovemaking, and the storm continued to rage, lightning revealing slick bodies fucking against the wall. Buffy's voice moaned with desire, and Spike groaned in response. This time was quicker, harder, their movements jerky with careless impatience. It was too much, and Buffy quickly threw herself into an intense orgasm, her chest heaving and her pussy pulsing with passion. Spike felt her vibrations and knew he was close. Plunging into her for one last time, Spike found his release and cried out huskily.

Buffy was completely drained, and her body could barely hold itself against Spike's—though the exhaustion was welcome. Spike breathed in deeply and kissed her before cradling her in his arms like a baby. Buffy lay bonelessly in his arms as he finished climbing the stairs. Throwing back the covers, he slid her into their warmth and then joined her. For the third time that weekend, they fell asleep in each other's arms.

Ch. 21: Under His Thumb

Thunder woke her again, but it wasn't coming from the storm outside. She couldn't quite figure it out, as her eyes were unwilling to open just yet, but there was some kind of rumbling in the distance of her foggy mind. She heard it again, louder, and stretched out lazily in bed in capitulation to its loud pleas. And then she realized it was coming from her own stomach.

Giggling, she buried herself in pillows and tried to go back to sleep, but now the rumbling was not only pricking her ears but pushing at her belly as well. When her body finally began to stir, she was greeted by the soothing smell of coffee and toast. It was this last sensation that finally pushed her eyes open, if slowly.

Spike grinned at the woman lazing before him, her tousled blond curls falling over her face and partially obstructing the view of his morning treat—grinned at the way she suddenly snorted and shook herself awake, as if not believing the vision before her.

Buffy was pretty sure she was awake, but Spike, in his worn jeans and mussed hair carrying a tray of breakfast, was looking pretty dreamlike to her—and if things went the way her dreams usually went, she'd need all the sustenance she could get. Her face flushed at the thought.

Spike came towards the bed, head tilted in curiosity. "And what is making you blush so prettily?" he teased as he set the food before her.

Buffy sat up lazily, modestly tucking the sheet underneath her arms. "Maybe I'll show you after breakfast," she replied. Laughing at his blush, she then asked, "And what is making you blush so prettily?" she echoed with a grin as she dug into the scrambled eggs and took a large bite of jellied toast. She smiled again with her mouth full, and Spike couldn't help but smile back.

When the food was polished—pretty quickly—and set aside, and when the two were sitting in bed together, still not really addressing that fact of sitting in bed together, Buffy decided once again to take a deep breath and plunge right into things.

She leaned forward a little, wanting to look at him straight on. Spike, sensing she had something to say, braced himself for the end, for what was inevitably going to break this lovely morning camaraderie.

"So, this is the one and only time I'm ever going to bring this up, okay?"

Spike nodded, his whole body tense with dread. He shifted a little, trying to make it seem like he was nonchalant about the whole thing.

"When I found out about the whole mom thing, I sort of freaked out. Understandably I think," she started, her hands nervously twisting the bed sheets in a way that belied the calmness of her voice. "I didn't know what to think, and I was unwilling to hear your side of the story because, well, what could you possibly say that would make the story go away?" She shrugged. "It made the most sense at the time, and I had somewhere to run to, so I ran."

Spike didn't dare move. He wanted to hear all her thoughts at once, and he was afraid that any movement would jar her thought processes and destroy the moment—and right now he was starting to have hope, something he hadn't considered a realistic possibility before.

Buffy sighed. "And then when my mom got sick—" She stopped, looking up at him. "Yeah, I didn't tell you about that," she said in a quiet voice. "She got really sick, and I had to fly back. And then she passed away."

"Oh, Buffy. I'm so sorry," Spike responded, wanting to say more but still unsure about how he should react to news involving her mother.

Buffy nodded in thanks, clearly not wanting to linger on that memory. "It was better, I guess—she was suffering a lot. But she tried to explain things to me, helped me understand things a little better. I guess that's what moms are for. I love her so much, and it was just weird to think about—well, you know." Sighing, as if trying to move on in her story, Buffy continued. "Eventually I came back here, and I couldn't stop thinking about you, not just about that or anything but just about how I felt we connected." She blushed at the memory of her heated fantasies but tried not to get distracted by them. Avoiding his eyes while she left that part of her mind, she continued. "And then as we started to hang out, I realized that it really was something." She met his eyes, searching them for understanding. "

"Can I say something?" Spike saw the hesitation in her eyes, the way her body stiffened in fear of hearing something about his old affair, something that might cause further pain or unwanted images in her mind—and he saw that she was fighting to look open and attentive. He appreciated that and decided to completely avoid mentioning it; Spike wasn't about to ruin the possibility of a future with a lingering of the past.

"When I ran into you here, I never thought I'd actually get my wish and have you here, with me. I was hoping for anything, that you would be willing just to be my friend—even though I knew I'd always want more." He reached out to press his hand against hers. "That we're here, together—that you're even willing to give this a chance—it means so much to me."

Buffy felt her eyes watering, but she didn't want to focus on the sad, didn't want to be teary-eyed at the beginning—was this the beginning?—of a new relationship. There was something about being too emotional that made her feel like some corny movie—one that ended right after the kiss, and she didn't want this story to come to an end just yet. Buffy blinked them away, trying to get a hold of herself and desperately thinking of something witty to say to break the tension. Words just couldn't come, so she simply slid her hand into his—and then tried to thumb wrestle him.

At first Spike thought she was just uncomfortable with the way their hands were joined, but then when he saw her thumb maneuvering around his own, he started to grin—he was an ace at thumb wrestling. He pretended not to notice what she was doing and caressed her thumb innocently before trapping it under his larger one.

"Hey! You tricked me!" she squealed, trying to squirm out of his grip. She looked up with a pout, eyes wide with disappointment.

Spike easily fell into her deception, because the moment he let up she grabbed the opportunity, yelling, "One, two, three Thumb Attack! Yay, I won!" she cried out, bouncing in victory on the bed.

"Oh yeah" I'll show you a thumb attack!" Spike taunted as he dove for a ticklish spot he'd discovered earlier that morning. His thumb brushed against her sides and then grabbed a foot.

"No!!" she shrieked out in laughter, barely breathing in between shouts for mercy.

Eventually, he had her pinned, arms above her head and ankles held down by his feet. He had a devilish grin on his face, one filled with victory. "So, do you give?"

"Ow, you're heavy—hold on," she muttered, trying to adjust herself to his weight.

Immediately he loosened his grip. "Sorry, I was just—"

"Hah!" she yelled again, turning him onto his back before he could finish his unneeded apology. "You're just too gullible!" she teased, straddling him and doing her best to hold him down, though it was obvious that he could get away if he really wanted to.

"You know, one day I'm not going to believe that pout of yours, and then you'll be in trouble. Haven't you ever heard of the girl who cried wolf?"

She shook her head, her silly grin of victory still in place. "Nope, never heard of such a thing."

"Ah, well, let me enlighten you. There's this girl shepherd who—"

"You mean a shepherdess?"

Spike rolled his eyes and cleared his throat. "This shepherdess who always cried out that there was a wolf when there really wasn't. But one day there really was a wolf, and—"

Jiggling her hips in mock excitement, Buffy interrupted and asked, "Was it scary? Did she beat it up? I bet she won, didn't she? Because women are much—Ooomph!"

She was cut off with Spike's quick maneuver—and suddenly she was on her back again.

"Actually, she talked too much, so the wolf just ate her up." He raised his brow cockily as he began to lick her neck. "Yes, he ate her up, enjoying her flesh immensely, and then you know what happened?"

Buffy had swiftly become breathless, and she swallowed hard at the way his tongue was making her feel all fevered. "What happened?" she murmured.

"She died a little death," he whispered into her ear, right before sucking her lobe into his mouth.

Buffy's breath hitched, and all thoughts of thumb attacks and stressful mother talks and serious relationship determining discussions were forgotten at the sensations he was creating. His lips were skating down her neck, nibbling at her collarbone, shushing against the skin right above her breast. He nudged the sheet down and found one ready nipple, perky with anticipation. His mouth tightened around it, and her hands involuntarily tightened around the bed's iron headboard. He was no longer holding her down, but Buffy liked the way her body was splayed for him, there for his delight.

Spike loved the way she tasted, loved the way she mewled and sighed with every move. He made his way down her body, stopping to take in each vista along the way before finally glorying in the view between her thighs, his cheek brushing against the soft mound of her sex.

Buffy gasped at the thrill of each touch, still in awe of the simple ways in which he could make her body boil with desire. Her eyes closed, and she let herself sail away on the waves of ecstasy, her own hands threading into his rumpled curls.

Spike could see her relax into his hands, knew the moment she gave herself completely to him. Though his tongue was thoroughly engaged in giving her pleasure and swirling around that tightened bud, but his eyes drank in his own pleasure at the way her head was thrown back, the way her nipples were tightened, the way her face showed such wanton satisfaction—it made him even harder than he already was.

He was so amazing with his tongue—it made her feel almost guilty for taking so much pleasure without giving any. Shaking herself out of her pleasure-induced stupor, she sat up a little and started pulling—if weakly—at his torso.

"Yes?" Spike drawled, licking her length slowly before meeting her eyes.

"I need something to suck on, too," she purred, pulling one more time.

He cocked one eyebrow and began to climb up her body.

"Oh, no, you don't get to stop," she teased. "You just have to learn how to multitask," she murmured. As his body turned, she lay back and caressed his hardness, humming in anticipation. Her tongue reached out to swirl his head, and his groan only made her pussy vibrate. She smiled and continued to taste his cum, flicking his slit and sliding around that ring of desire.

Spike was in heaven. He was feasting and being feasted on; the feeling was incredible. It seemed like his whole body was drenched in heat; he was tasting hot honey and sinking into sun-ripened pool of warmth. Her tongue was welcoming yet urgent, and he could only moan and make his own tongue match hers in action.

They sucked and teased and licked each other with feverishness, and the moans of one merely led to the groans of the other. It was a balance of ecstasy that they both worked hard to maintain—but eventually the scales had to tip, and Buffy found herself tightening her thighs in anticipation of that climax. Spike recognized the movement and quickened his licking in delighted expectation. When her mouth stiffened around his cock, he moved in to suck her clit into his mouth, wanting to feel every orgasmic vibration. He was instantly gratified, and her whole body became taut under his, thrumming with the aftershocks of her sensual heights. He smiled at the way she throbbed erratically against his tongue, as if her body were trying to catch its breath.

When she finally did catch her breath, Buffy was determined to have Spike join her—and she attacked his cock with relish. Spike forwent all pretenses of licking her—of even thinking coherently when her hands joined her mouth in pushing him towards climax. He couldn't help but thrust into her hot mouth, loving the way her hands firmly gripped his shaft, lightly fondled his balls. She kept creating these sensations with her hand and her mouth and her nails and--

"Buffy!" he bit out, his body tensing up and finally releasing into her greedy mouth.

She hummed in satisfaction, loving the power she had in eliciting such raw responses from her lover.

Eventually his body relaxed, and it took all of Spike's energy to turn his body and not merely slump bonelessly on top of her. "You are amazing," he murmured, his eyes already beginning to drop with sleepiness.

She giggled at his quick enervation and snuggled herself into his chest. She savored the way he warmed her up so quickly with just a simple arm draped around her shoulder—it wasn't like this with anyone else. Grabbing a blanket, she covered the both of them and rested her hand on his chest, lightly caressing his skin.

He simply hummed in response, pulling her closer.

Buffy kissed his skin lovingly and then whispered, "I am willing to give this a chance. No more running away for me, I promise."

Spike opened his eyes at her declaration and met her eyes unwaveringly. "I am definitely willing to give this a chance, and I promise not to screw things up again." He leaned in and gave her a sweet kiss, one filled with hope. "And if you try to run away again, I'll just attack you with my mighty thumb."

She chuckled, not only at his words but at the way he was so clearly falling asleep. She slid her hand into his, enjoying the way they fit so nicely, when he grabbed her thumb with his own.

"One, two, three thumb attack," he murmured before finally falling asleep.

She giggled to herself, her amused expression smothered by his hard body, and followed him into his dreams.