This story is based on a brilliant idea Carol came up with, and was kind enough to let me see what I could do with it -- many Spuffy thanks.

Author’s notes: The *’s in the first chapter mean the answering machine is talking.

CHAPTER ONE

*You have five new messages*

“Spike, dah-ling, I’ve been calling you all week! I was hoping we could have a little more fun before I left for Milan fashion week -- give me a ring would you?”

“Hey, Baby, it’s your Nikki. Last night was spectacular -- I was wandering if we could have a repeat performance tonight -- call me.”

“Hello Spike, this is Candi, I know it was supposed to be just for one night, but I can’t stop thinking about you. I have to see you again. Maybe this time I could be the doctor.”

“Spike, sweetheart, it’s Jennifer. I’m going to be in L.A. early next week for a Vogue photo shoot. Please, don’t let my visit across the pond be a complete waste of time, if you know what I mean. Call me back.”

“Spike you son of a bitch! You are by far the biggest, most . . .” the message ended abruptly as a hand leapt to stop the voice short.

A long finger reached to press delete, hesitated, then walked away leaving all the sultry voices intact. Spike sauntered to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water and taking a long swig before setting it down on the counter. He whipped off his sweat soaked t-shirt from his morning skate and threw it in the general direction of the hallway hamper.

Spike was making his way to the shower when the phone rang. Smirking cockily, he picked it up.

“What are you wearing?” the voice purred.
Spike’s tongue found the back of his teeth, “Just about what I was born in, luv.”

The voice on the other end closed her eyes and took a minute to revel in the thought of his cut muscles, six-pack abs, and tight ass.

Spike smiled at her obvious contemplation, “What do ya need, Lilah?”

“I need a certain sexy young photographer for some mind-blowing, on-the-top-of-my-corporate-desk sex . . . .” Spike waited moment. “Oh, and I have an offer for the biggest project of your life.”

Spike smirked, “I’ll be right down.”

CHAPTER TWO

“Oh my God!”

“I’m gonna cry!”

“You look gorgeous!”

A gaggle of screaming girls gathered to fawn over a young brunette covered in white satin and lace. Her every dream was coming true one by one. She was going to be married in her grandmother’s church with red roses draped dramatically, yet tastefully all around her. She was to begin a new life with the man of her dreams. And whether she knew it or not, she owed it all to one person . . . .

Standing alone, with a soft, wistful smile spread across her face, Buffy watched the familiar scene play out in front of her. It had happen hundreds of times over Buffy’s five year career as owner of Fairytale, but the result was a happy one all the same. It meant that Buffy was making someone’s wish become a reality, and that’s why she decided to open her own business right out of college. Luckily, her friends were surprisingly eager to help, all having had no immediate plans after they all graduated from UC Sunnydale together.

Each of her co-workers brought a unique skill to Fairytale that made it was it was today: Willow takes care of inventory, shipping, and booking (really anything that has to do with computers); Xander works as delivery man, handy man, and takes care of any other jobs he believes he can do with wedding work without compromising his manliness; Anya takes care of finances, and Buffy’s younger sister Dawn helps out with any loose ends Buffy may forget. Buffy was content when the shop finally opened, and still is, but the difference is now, it’s getting noticed.

Fairytale is not a regular wedding retail shop, Buffy and the gang had worked very hard for it to become so. Fairytale not only supplied a young bride with her dream gown, but got her in contact with the best flower shops, caterers, and stylists in the area -- and that area was beginning to expand. Buffy was now in regular contact with the biggest names in fashion and style, shipping Vera Wang dresses cross country if necessary, all while headquartered in a small mom and pop looking shop in the small town of Sunnydale. It was that extra mile Buffy was willing to go, without compromising the small metropolitan upbringing, that made Fairytale so unique.

Buffy was distracted from her thoughts by the bell, sounding that someone has entered the store. It was Dawn and Xander, who had picked her up from school. Dawn walked back around the desk where Buffy was standing, gave her a kiss hello, then went in the back room to drop her backpack off before helping Anya.

Buffy waited for Xander to report some funny and clever happening on his adventure to pick Dawn up at their old alma mater high school. He always had a little observation to make Buffy smile. He made none, so Buffy took the initiative.
“Hi ya Xander! What’s up?”

Xander jumped at the sound of her voice, “Iummmmnnnaa,” his eyes bugged and looked around him frantically, glancing anywhere but at Buffy, before panicking and pushing past her quickly.
Xander had been acting strangely around Buffy for a week now. He couldn’t be mad at her -- there was just no reason. And he didn’t act mean, he acted . . . Nervous. Maybe . . . No, he couldn’t. Well, he always had . . . Liked her. She liked him too, but . . . . Maybe they could. Stranger things have happened. She looked on as her young client tried on several veils to match her fantasy dress. Buffy decided then that if Xander would ever ask her out, she’d say yes.

Suddenly, Xander was thrown out of the maroon curtain that separated the store from the back work area. He looked back, scowling at whatever force propelled him. He came face to face with Buffy yet again, and stared at her for a moment.

“Buffy, I want to ask you a very important question.” It seemed to Buffy to be THE question. The one she had been dreading, but sure of all the same.

“Yes Xander?” Buffy couldn’t believe this. Little Xander, who she had gone to school with for all those years . . . .

“This is going to be the biggest decision of my entire life.”

“Oh, mine too!”

“I hope you’ll say yes.”

“I guarantee you I’ll say yes.”

In all the commotion, Anya had come up to the couple, sharing in the excitement.

“Buffy . . . I want you to be . . . my wedding coordinator.”

“Huh!? Your wedding . . . Wait, you were dating someone!? Who are you marrying?”

“Me,” Anya lurched forward in her outburst, overcome with excitement. “We want you to be our wedding girl,” she knocked Buffy on the shoulder with her fist lightly. “We want you to give us the biggest wedding you have ever done, all the while keeping in mind that we put our own lives on hold to help you set up your precious dream shop.”

The rest of the gang had emerged from the back, hearing the word ‘wedding’ in respect to one of their own.

Buffy gapped, and Xander looked at his future bride lovingly, “Only my girl could be so insulting with such a genuine smile on her face.”

“So we expect a big discount,” Anya added quickly. “We need the extra money for our honeymoon, where we can leave this crappy town and go have many, many orgasms!”

“WHOA!” the gang said in unison, Buffy nervously glancing at Dawn, making sure there was no sign of mental or physical scarring. But the younger Summers girl seemed blissful about the abrupt upcoming events.
“So, Buffster, whataya say? You’ll do this for us?”

Buffy was a little flustered. She didn’t even know Xander and Anya were seeing each other, let alone getting married! But they looked at her expectantly. Buffy took a breath, “Well, OK then!”

The entire gang imploded into hugs, kisses, and congratulations, until finally dissipating to return to their work.

“Oh, and Buffy?” Anya called back to her, “We need it done in two months.”

CHAPTER THREE

Spike road the elevator to the eleventh floor, making sure to give the young girl next to him a little wink as
he stepped off. Walking down the marble hallway, he greeted multiple fashion editors and other photographers. Approaching two clear glass double doors, he slowed. Written elegantly in gold, both above and below the doors, was “Today’s Bride.” Then, in smaller print, “The world’s most popular bridal magazine.”

He passed a slew of studios. Sticking his head in one of them, Spike could hardly contain his laugh as the model struck another pose. Ironic she be in a virginal white wedding gown, considering the defiantly non-virginal acts she was performing on Spike last night.

“Spike,” he was greeted from behind. Only one person could address him with such distaste and disappointment, as if he was being scolded.

“Cordelia,” he sighed, turning around.

“Lilah’s waiting for you in her office. And I wouldn’t boink her on her desk today -- we have a meeting in fifteen minutes and I have better things to do than sit around waiting for her while she searches for the papers she needs.”

“You suggesting I move my venue?”

“I suggest you quit sleeping with our boss.”

“Why? You got someone better for me?” He raised his eyebrows suggestively, albeit with a joking smile on his face.

Cordelia rolled her eyes, returning his smile. He followed her in the direction of Lilah’s office. “Don’t you ever get sick of it, Spike? Sleeping around with women who’s names you don’t remember the next day?”

“Never,” he answered, stopping in front of the office. Cordelia crossed her arms, facing off in front of him.

“You’re twenty-eight years old and a professional -- one of the best, I admit. But you insist on acting like a moron. I don’t care how many girls you sleep with, but the least you could do is be responsible about it. Grow up and quit wasting your time and money.” She turned on her heels and walked away.

Spike watched her go with a slight frown. Cordelia may be the most self-absorbed fashion editor he had ever met -- and he’s met a lot of them -- but damn if she didn’t call him on every cigarette, supermodel, and bad habit he’s ever had since he joined Today’s Bride right out of art school at twenty-three. Cordelia had been the one to show him the ropes of fashion, something of which he knew nothing. She had helped him dress the part, act the part And she’d been the first one to violently warn him against the darker aspects of the fashion world -- the drugs, the alcohol, and the women. He knew he had let each and every one overtake him. On cold lonely nights, he knew. In the past few years, Spike had successfully gotten past the first two sins, it was that last one he had trouble with -- the bold, sexy women he was paid a couple thousand to shoot. But he had no time to dwell because one said woman was waiting for him.

Pushing open the door with a gust, he entered the room. Lilah, his boss and lover, was perched behind her desk. Her feet were up on her desk, causing her already slight skirt to ride up even further. She had to be at least seven years older than Spike, but he was never dumb enough to ask.

“Spike, come in.”

Sitting down, he was slid a magazine, folded to one particular article, across the mahogany, “Do you know this girl?”

It was a People magazine article. The headline read “Fairytales Do Come True.” On the page was a face he hadn’t seen in five years. Though he regularly saw Red, Harris, and Anya, he and Buffy tended to distance themselves for the good of the community. Bad things always tended to happen when they came within fifty feet of each other. Yet for as distant as they were, they knew an impeccable amount about each other’s lives due to the closeness they had to the same tight knit. Though he did owe Buffy something -- It was her success that kept his friends well employed, which in turn kept them wealthy enough to meet him for a drink half way between their Sunnydale, and his current residence, L.A.

“Use to,” he finally answered.

“Didn’t you go to school with our little wedding planner herself?”

“We weren‘t exactly friends.”

“And would I be wrong to say that you and Ms. Summers once included yourselves in the same circle of friends and acquaintances?”

“You’re point?”

“My point,” she began, rising to stand behind Spike, “is that your girlfriend here, has small-town roots that have developed into a big time business. She’s on her way to becoming the Vera Wang of bridal businesses.”

“Know all that,” he stated as she sat on his lap, he seemingly distracted by her ministrations.

“Today’s Bride would very much succeed off a multiple page layout of the wedding-know-it-all telling all the future blushing bride readers her own dream wedding.”

Spike didn’t respond as he turned his attentiveness to her body.

“You have so much pent up energy,” she marveled at his roaming hands.

“Only for you,” he breathed, nipping at her neck.

“Seduce me all you want, Spike, but don‘t lie to me. I know quite well that your energy is not limited to me.”

“Well,” he smirked, “it’s energy just the same.”

“Good -- I’m going to put it to good use . . .” she stretched a long arm to the desk, returning with an credit card, wedging it between her neck and Spike’s mouth.

His eyes fell upon it with a raised eyebrow, “What, you startin’ to pay me for my services?”

“This account is critical to Today’s Bride. I plan on putting her on the June cover. Follow her around, get to know her, visit your family -- all on me,” she shoved the card in his hand.

“That only gives me two months to get the photos, story, and layout. She hasn’t even agreed to do the story yet.”

“Then I suggest you channel your frustration elsewhere until she does,” she shook his pleasure-giving hands off her as she stood up with a smile.

“Come again?”

“Think of my body as collateral. It’ll be reward for a job well done.”

“Oi! You cuttin’ me off!?”

“You’re lucky. The job is yours . . . since you’re such good friends.”

“Meeting time!” Cordelia breezed through the door, taking no time to look over the scene she had interrupted. “Spike, isn’t there a big project you should be working on?”

With that, Spike was shoved out the door, with nothing but a company credit card and a glossy picture of a girl from his past.

TBC

CHAPTER FOUR

Spike pulled the Desoto through the well-paved streets of his old neighborhood. The “Welcome To Sunnydale” sign was still intact after all these years -- which included the year he had drunk himself into a stupor and proceeded to run it over on his way back into town -- but he hadn’t been back in years. Before this unexpected job, there really was no point in him coming back. His dad had retired from The Magic Box and had taken his step-mom, Jenny, back to the motherland, merry ol’ England, where they have been residing happily since Spike had graduated from college and proved himself a capable adult.

He reached into the back seat and fished his cell phone out of his bag, pressing one, then send. The phone rang only twice when the other end was answered by a small voice, “Tara speaking, how can I help you?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Spike? Where are you?”

“Sunnyhell, USA. Did you hear about the job?”

“Yeah, Cordelia filled me in. Do you need me out there?”

“That would be great, pet. I’m thinking this project isn’t going to come to me, I need a brother-in-arms fighting the battle that is Buffy Summers. If you could note-take for me, that would be brilliant.”

“No problem.”

“You’re the greatest assistant in the world. How much am I paying you anyway?”

“For being the greatest assistant in the world? Not nearly enough.” Spike smiled at the shy girl’s uncharacteristic joke.

“When can I expect you down here?”

“After I finish up the layout we did on Carmen Electra’s wedding? About two days.”

“Lovely. Hurry down.”

“Okay, I’ll talk to you later Spike.”

“Bye, Luv.”

Ending the call, Spike made the left turn past the laundry mat and pulled to the side of the road, parking the car. He sat a moment, staring down the store at the end of the street. In it now resided the biggest project of his career -- the cover, the story, and the layout. Spike glanced at the clock -- five-fifteen. If the website’s hours were correct, they should have just closed to the public, sparing some unfortunate souls the sight of World War III. With a loud inhalation, Spike gathered his balls and launched himself out of the car.

_______________________________________


“Nothing new or exciting ever happens around here . . .” Dawn fought to untangle herself from the complex veil that was half-way on the ceramic store model.

“Dawn, be careful. You know the rule -- You break it, tear it, rip it, step on it, or breath the wrong way on it; you buy it.” Buffy filed through a pile of papers on the high, cream colored desk. Every so often she would lean down to file something or fumble through a low drawer. “Xander and Anya are getting married and we have a couple months to get Anya a million dollar wedding for a few hundred. How much more excitement do you need?”

“I don’t know . . . It’s always the same. Always the same faces, same people.” Dawn continued to complain as she dressed the mannequins.

“What are you talking about? We have new girls and families in here everyday.”

Dawn ceased her work to address her sister, “But they’re all the same girl. The same blushing bride that claims she has the last real gentleman in the world. She says that she’s found her ‘Prince Charming’ and she wants a replica of J.Lo’s wedding. The only thing that ever changes is which J.Lo wedding she wants to rip off.” She paused and pouted her next sentence. “And every time they try on their dress they cry.” This earned a smirk from her sister before she delved under the desk.

With that the doorbell clanged and instantly, Dawn’s eyes went comically wide and her voice squeaked out, “On second thought . . . .” Wandering awe instantly physically drew her to the hotness in the low slung jeans and gray t-shirt. Through his t-shirt, Dawn could make out every individual muscle group on his body -- biceps, triceps, . . . This man was way more fun to identify body parts on than the model used in her anatomy class. Caught up in daydreams of learning about his pectoral region, Dawn slammed into a low table, silently mouthing her pain.

The customer’s brows furrowed, “You alright, Nibblet?”

Dawn went dizzy at the low rumble of the English accent. “Yeah-huh.” she sighed, her heart speeding spasmodically.

At her sister’s animal-like tones, Buffy raised her head from under the desk to see what she had squealed and was now making low moans about -- noises her sister should not be making at sixteen years old.

Buffy stood up to scold her sister, “I thought I told you to be careful around . . . Spike.”

“Summers.”

“Spike?” This time his name was said in confusion -- as if “what are you doing here?” was implied in her tone.

Buffy didn‘t look much different in his eyes than she looked the last time he saw her in person six years ago -- same long brown hair formed into large, loose ringlets at the bottom and hazel eyes to match. And of course she had the same nose -- the nose that looked like that when God was sculpting her face from clay, he decided to play Snoopy, pressed on the tip of her nose and went “Meep!” -- forever forming the indentation. Not fancying this the best time to assess her appearance or stall talking about the weather, Spike cut to the chase. “I’m here to make you an offer.”

Buffy’s eyebrow arched in confusion of his first words to her in years, “And I suppose it’s going to be one I can’t refuse?”

Spike ignored both her joke and her little sister, who he’d seen in pictures, fumbling around behind him. Little did he know the teen was falling all over herself over the fact her sister was being propositioned by a gorgeous man she apparently already knew! She’d have to search through her sister’s picture boxes later for photographical evidence of this man’s existence to show Janice.

Spike thought the best game plan would be to start out slow and work his way to the real reason for him being here. “You know what I do?”

“Yeah.”

“And you know what you do?”

“Obviously.” Buffy glanced around the store.

“And you can see how,” he proceeded lightly, “in the right setting, our jobs could be connected?”

“Get to the point, Spike. I’m starting to think this has something to do with the mob. Do they have English mobs?” Funny how easily they fell back into snarkiness and bitch-mode after not seeing each other for six years. She wasn’t going with the tempo he was setting, so he said “to hell” with his original plan.

“Let me photograph you for the cover story about your dream wedding.”

He had the sentence out so fast, it took a minute for it to sink in. But when it did, a resounding answer permeated her brain, “No.”

“What!?”

“I said no.” There was the battle cry.

“All you have to do is prance around for a day like one of your little brides and tell me all about what it takes to get Businesswoman Summers hot.” This was all out war.

“No! I refuse to whore myself out to supposedly well-meaning magazines. I am a wedding retail saleswoman -- not a runway model. You are not the first to tread this area and you all get the same answer.” In the tizzy Spike never failed to put her in, Buffy began hurrying around the store, arranging flowers and fixing dresses all while debunking Spike’s pros of the situation without looking at him.

“You did it for People!”

“That had to do with the store, not me personally.”

“Millions read the magazine, it’s great publicity.”

He thought that halted her for a moment in her daisy arrangement, “How did you get the nickname Spike anyway?” She tried to change the subject, moving back across the room.

“By helping little old ladies cross the street. Listen, Buffy . . . .” he plowed, following her but remaining the same safe distance away. He kept away from Buffy for roughly the same reason there are signs at the zoo reading “Don’t feed the animals” -- she might go rabid and bite him.

She whipped on him suddenly, causing him to retreat quickly, hoping there was a shot for the froth that was coming out of her mouth. “And won’t those millions that read your magazine wander how it could be that Buffy Summers -- romance extraordinaire -- can’t find a man of her own? It’s an embarrassment, Spike, and I won’t do it.”

“Buffy, you don’t understand . . .”

“You want me to model in a replica of my dream wedding, without having a real wedding, or a groom, or have any previous modeling experience?”

Spike gauged the question, searching for the booby traps, “Yeah.”

“No.”

“Come on, we’ll give you one of those poofter male models.” The eggshells Spike had been previously stepping on when he first entered the store were now being violently thrown.

“I don’t know whether you’ve noticed or not, but I’m not exactly the kind of girl you photograph on a regular basis.”

Spike threw his head back in frustration, “Ohhhh! Don’t flatter yourself! I’m photographing you, not your body!” The whole scene froze. That was the wrong thing to say and he knew it. It was incredible -- Spike could handle any model that was put in front of him. But Summers . . . Summers was different. That girl got anywhere in his vicinity and he made a complete ass of himself. It was too late to take back what he accidentally implied and had no defense but to drop his jaw at his own idiotic tendencies.

“I can’t believe you!”

Spike decided it was best to move on. “Buffy, I know we didn’t particularly get along while in college, but I though we could put that all behind us and act like adults!”

“Oh! Good, Spike, now I can save many dollars by inviting you personally!” Anya popped out from behind the red curtain, waving a clipboard that read “My Wedding” at him.

Spike squinted, still distracted by his fight with Buffy. She took the moment escape behind the curtain. “This isn‘t over, Summers!” he yelled to the back of the store.

“Oh yes it is!” Answered him.

Spike sighed and turned to Anya, who was impatiently taping her foot, convinced that anything said or thought about within the next two months should only be about her or her upcoming nuptials.

“ ‘M sorry, luv, invite me to what?”

“My wedding!”

“You’re getting married? To who?”

The groom-to-be stepped up beside his bride, “Anya, haven’t we decided it would be called ‘our’ wedding from now on?”

“Whatever,” she answered. “So, will you come? More importantly, will you be Best Man, because I have to make arrangements for tux fittings and I do not want to waste pretty money.”

“Best Man?”

Xander stepped up to his best friend, “I was going to ask you myself, but Anya seems comfortable enough in our month-long relationship to ask you herself.”

Spike was slightly flabbergasted, but not exactly surprised. He had a feeling those two had been sweet on each other for months. “I’d love to, mate.”

This earned smiles from the couple and hugs went all around. Confusion furrowed the brow of the brunette as he pulled away from his Best Man.

“Spike . . . What the hell are you doing here?”

Spike took in a deep breath, looked to where his subject had disappeared -- halted with his answer -- then decided to just tell the truth, “I have no idea.”

TBC

CHAPTER FIVE -- The Curse

Spike sat in the midst of piles of satin, lace, and many other white materials that he could not identify. Head in his hands, he continued to wallow in his own self pity as Anya and Willow, who was splitting her time at Fairytale with getting her Master’s in computer science and had missed Spike’s grand entrance, sat packing the bridal paraphernalia in delicate pink boxes. Suddenly, Spike sat up as epiphany over his current company hit him.
“Perhaps you can help me . . .”

“It has nothing to do with you personally.” Anya answered as if she had been holding her breath, waiting for the proposition.

“What?”

“Not agreeing to the article, I have a not so hidden habit of eavesdropping,” she revealed, bright eyed.

“Then why won’t she do this for me?”

Willow, who had apparently been filled in on the latest battle between the lifelong foes, chimed in, “She’s not turning you down to punish you, she’s insecure.”

“About what!?” The girl had everything, a successful business and a slew of great friends. Spike truly could not understand what kept the girl on the bitchy edge all the time.

Anya was already getting impatient with his inability to understand the female psyche. “Good god, Spike!” She then turned to her fiancée, who had just entered the room, “He hangs around too many models.”

“A fact that I will be incredibly jealous of until the day I die.”

As Anya gave Xander a kiss to make up for his misfortune, Willow sighed and gave it a try, attempting to coax the reasoning out of his own brain: “What do you know about Buffy?”

“Well,” he contemplated. “She wears the same knee-length skirts, loose blouses, and plays the same boringly professional-conservative she was in college. I mean, look at the girl, Red, if she has misfortune with men, it’s only because she’s asking for it.”

This wasn‘t exactly what Willow was looking for, but she went with it, “Well, do you remember any of Buffy’s college boyfriends?”

Spike furrowed his brows at the random question, “No, but I wasn’t exactly paying attention.”

“Don’t you remember?” Anya asked the rest of the group, annoyed. “Buffy and Spike spent a good four years berating each other into the ground. They both despised what the other stood for. Buffy concentrated on her studies and Spike jumped into bed with every easy girl he came across.” Anya shot Spike dagger-eyes and Spike’s eyes darted to the ground. He specifically remembered saying some pretty horrible things, but nothing that wasn’t encouraged by Buffy’s own verbal tirades.

Willow continued delicately, “You don’t remember any of her boyfriends because she never had any.”

Spike blinked, “You mean she . . .”

“Is a virgin! I know!” Anya blurted, “She’s wasting time that could be spent having many orgasms.”

Spike balked slightly, “That’s not what I was talking about . . .”

Willow struggled to find the right words to explain the rhyme and reason of her best friend to another one of her closest friends, neither of which had ever understood each other. But Willow was convinced that the reason why they never got along was because they are so much alike in one big, annoying aspect -- stubbornness and the inability to admit to the character flaw. “This is about her insecurities with men -- her dad left and she’s never had a serious relationship. She feels awkward posing in a wedding gown, without having any idea what it feels like to be in love.”

Xander turned to him, a cream-filled pastry in hand, “I mean, think how horrible she must feel to stand for something she’s never experienced and doesn’t believe in.”

Good God, even Xander seemed to get it -- why couldn’t he? Spike stayed silent for a moment before standing up and making his declaration clear to the three witnesses before him:

“Then I’ll make her believe in it.”

________________

It had been a couple of hours since Spike’s arrival and things were winding down in the process of closing up the shop for the day. He had stuck around, piddling around and helping Xander, making sure to stay far out of the vicinity of Buffy. Earlier in the night he had gotten in her way when she was trying to move a stack of boxes while he was carrying a group of dresses over his head. He was rewarded with a sharp cardboard edge to the abdomen.

Yet all through the night, Spike continued to steal glances in Buffy’s direction, waiting for the right moment, preferably when she wasn’t armed, to proposition her with his next plan of action. He got his chance when the only ones left in the store were himself, Buffy, her kid sis, and Xander, who was in the back room. Spike made sure Xander was still around because if Buffy tried to kill him, he wanted to make sure someone heard him scream. Spike waited until Buffy descended the couple stairs that led to the floor where during the day future brides marveled at themselves in a wall of mirrors.

“Buffy . . .” he started, stepping down onto the floor himself, Buffy showed no sign that she had heard him. He sighed, blue orbs pointed to the ceiling of florescent lights in silent pleading. “Look, I’ll make you a deal. Anya told me everything.”

Buffy slightly stirred in reaction to his words, but tried not to show it. “And what exactly does ‘everything’ entail?”

“Why you won’t do the shoot.”

“Oh, really? And why is that? Enlighten me.” Buffy had turned on her heels to face him, arms crossed.

“You don’t believe in love!” He exclaimed accusingly, puffing up his chest, proud of himself for reading into her -- finally -- and having the courage to say it to her face. Well, OK, technically Xander had successfully read into the enigma that was Buffy Summers, but all the same . . . .

“I don’t believe in love?” She spoke slowly, smiling at his stupidity. “Spike, I own a wedding store. I make hundreds of girls’ dreams come true. I’m a modern day fairy godmother, for pete’s sake.”

“Yeah, well the fairy godmother never got laid, now did she? To concerned about other people’s love lives than deal with her own.”

“Spike, I believe in love . . .”

“Well, then you’re scared of it, I don’t know.” His nonchalantly complained words caused Buffy to flinch, causing much more of a reaction, albeit an unnoticed one by Spike, than his earlier tone. “But I want you to hear me out.”

“I’m all ears,” she replied, fixating on him intently, giving him the vast amount of attention he seemed to crave at all times.

Spike nodded, under the pressure of her gaze he faltered before starting, “You’re so quick to turn me down -- like you won’t get something out of this . . . .”

“Embarrassment. Humiliation.” She offered.

“Companionship. Love.” He contradicted.

“Love? I thought you said you were trying to get the fairy godmother laid?” She tried to undermine him.

“I’ll find you a guy in one month in exchange for the project.” Buffy looked at him. He was serious.

“You? Find me . . . ?” Then she huffed, “Don’t make me laugh.”

“There’s no one gigglin’ here, luv.” His eyes shone desperation.

“And just how do you plan on being able to do that?”

Spike replied confidently, “I know what women want.”

“Just because you fucked every girl on the face of the planet you claim you know women?”

Spike reacted to her words by encircling her closer, purposely making her feel uncomfortable by his violation of her personal space, before harshly whispering into her ear, “How else do you think I get so many notches on my bedpost?”

“That proves you know whores, Spike, not me.”

“OK, Aunt Linda.” Dawn’s voice snapped at Buffy from the top of the stairs, who had been watching the exchange in the mirrors.

Buffy swished around to face off her sister, her voice retracting into high school snobbery, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dawn put on an evil glare and dropped her voice to scary-campfire-story range. “The Curse of the Summer’s women.”

“The . . . Oh, Dawn, come on!”

Spike looked on at Buffy’s reaction with interest. “What’s this now, Bit?”

“The Curse of the Summer’s women -- Aunt Linda and Aunt Sue. Both in their fifties and never married. Then Mom’s marriage didn’t work out. Buffy’s afraid she’s the next victim.” She replied smartly, showing off more of her ability to read her older sis’ diary then anything else.

“Aren’t you afraid, Nibblet?” Spike wondered.

Dawn stuck her chin out defiantly, “I’m not scared. If you don‘t believe in it, it can’t hurt you.” Spike smiled at her innocent bravery, a saying her mum told her to keep the monsters out of her closet doubled as her motto in life.

“OK. Fine. I’ll do it.” Buffy grit out painfully through her teeth. Dawn felt glee rise in her stomach. She’ll get to watch her sister play dress up and she successfully helped Spike get what he wanted, which made her feel pretty special to be on the receiving ends of one of the British hottie’s smiles and wink he gave her in return for her aid.

Buffy ignored her sister, who she more than planned to scold later, and turned to Spike, “What do I have to do?” she asked dully, no spark in her green eyes.

“Be like the models. Believe me, it’s not that hard.”

TBC

Chapter Six -- Model Citizen

“A model must project a look that makes people notice.” Spike, playing the part of Mr. Fashion, was sauntering around Buffy critically as she stood perched on a stool in front of the mirrors. Spike had wasted no time after he received Buffy’s compliance to the project. He had quickly enlisted all of their friends or, as Buffy thought of it, hired them against her to successfully complete Spike’s mission.

That was one thing Buffy would give him -- Spike had a way to get people excited over something they had no idea about or would have had no involvement in otherwise to further himself. All though college he was the one inciting the riots. Sophomore year, he convinced the entire senior class to stage a strike over the brand of sports drink being given to their precious sports teams just so he could start in the soccer game against their biggest rival. They won the game and now serve Gatorade, not Sports Aid, on the sidelines. No one realized the ridiculousness of the argument until years later. The man could easily raise a revolution simply by being aggressive.

Willow stood below Buffy with her little measuring tape, recording all of Buffy’s numbers for the designing of her fake future wedding dress. “If models want to model haute couture, they must also be tall and thin.” Spike paused, looking Buffy up and down critically. “Well, you got the thin part right.”

“Oh you must be loving this,” Buffy glowered. Spike ignored the comment.

“Though the clothing worn during a shoot is provided, models must also own a wardrobe that is fashionable and flattering for them to wear in public and in meetings.”

Buffy purposely sighed loudly and turned her eyes toward the ceiling.

“Look, Summers, I’m not doing this for my health. You agreed to the deal, so I’m doing this for you.

“Oh, so sorry fairy godmother, I had no idea I wanted to go to the ball so badly.”

“I’m not exactly asking you to turn water into wine, Summers. You’re job is to stand there and look pretty.”

“And what exactly is your job?”

He smiled proudly, “A fashion photographer must make the model and the product or service she is promoting look as appealing as possible.” He paused.

The many comments on what kind of perverted service she was promoting that had the potential of flying out of his mouth made her interject, “You even think it and this is over before it’s begun.”

Spike ignored the empty threat. “A good fashion photographer has a unique style of shooting and the ability to work with fussy models.” Buffy stuck her tongue out at him to play up to his insult.

Willow’s mediating spirit prevailed, “So who do you have lined up for Buffy on Friday?

Buffy putting on a fake cheer, “Yeah, have you successfully whored me out yet?”

“Don’t worry about it Summers, I already found the perfect guy.”

“He better be.” Buffy commented as she climbed off the chair. “Are we done with today’s festivities?”

“For now. We meet tomorrow at eleven o’clock at the salon. Be there.”

“As long as you’re paying.” Buffy wasn’t about to argue a free haircut. She left the dressing area and returned to her real work on the main floor.

Spike poked his head around the corner, making sure the Ice Queen was out of earshot. He saddled up next to Willow, who was gathering up her materials. “So, Red, what am I looking for here?” In all honesty, Spike had no one in mind for Buffy for Friday and had planned to throw a bunch of guys at her and just see which she’d take to.

Willow answered his question with a confused look, “I thought you’d set her up with a bunch of random losers, and see who she baits onto.”

“Yeah, well, a guess I’ll throw some normal ones into the bunch too.”

“How nice of you.” Willow rolled her eyes. “Well, I guess I’d be looking into the smart, funny, and cute bunch then.”

“I’ll try,” he began his way towards the door.

“Oh, and Spike . . .” He turned around. “She hiccups.”

“She what?”

“She hiccups, ya know, when she’s crushing on someone, she gets so nervous she gets the hiccups.”

“So I should be watching for diaphragm spasms to see if I hit the mark?”

Willow shrugged and nodded.

Spike sighed, “Okay.” Yet another strange characteristic of Buffy Summers.


TBC

**Job descriptions come from Careers For Your Characters

Chapter 7 -- Make Me Over and Over

Author’s Note: Wanna say thank you for all the wonderful reviews and an extreme thanks to Carol, her genius, and her charity in giving me a go at her brainchild.


“So nice you could join us.”

As he entered through the salon’s revolving door, Spike didn’t bother to hide his wide yawn as he rubbed his eyes and tried to place the voice. His eyes focused and saw the whole group standing in the lobby, not one of them looked particularly surprised at his fashionable entrance. It hadn’t been very hard for Spike to get an appointment in the nicest salon Sunnydale had to offer -- he had once gotten the owner laid by the captain of the University of Sunnydale’s football team. “What time is it?” he asked through yet another yawn.

“Twelve-forty five.” Xander answered.

“Not that late,” he grumbled. “Where’s Buffy?”

“Already in the chair,” was his response. Xander tried to make a crack on Spike’s lateness, “She’s been there for an hour and forty five minutes.”

Spike nodded, “Glad to hear it.”

Dawn piped up as Spike approached the conglomerate of friends, “I picked out Buffy’s new outfit, she looks really pretty.” After a pause she added, “Willow and Anya helped too.”

Spike smiled at her excitement, “I bet she does, Bit.” Dawn had never been at the Summers home during the few times Spike had been there. He suspected part of that was due to Buffy’s insistence she be forced out of the house when her friends were over. Dawn was sweet, always trying to play with the big kids.

“Spikey-baby, how are you darlin’?” A flamboyant man in a Armani suit entered through a set of swinging doors separating the lobby and hairdressing section. “Still swinging for the wrong team?”

“Lorne,” Spike greeted the salon owner in response. “ ‘Fraid I’m still straight as an arrow.”

“Well, the day you decide . . .” Lorne gave him a suggestive wink. Spike had known Lorne long enough and been around enough gay hairdressers to not be bothered by the comment. He’d heard worse.

But Xander apparently hadn’t. The shock on the boy’s face was almost comical. Lorne noticed this and gave the brunette a wink too. Turning back to Spike, he insinuated to Spike’s newest model makeover.

“Oh, Spike, who is that sweet-as-pie cutie Sergio’s working on. She’s just the nicest thing!”

Spike smiled, “You must be mistaken, mate. The girl I got here is a spit-fire.”

“Well I bet she is in certain situations, if you know what I mean. But anywho, I love her. I don’t know Spikey-kins, I think you should keep this one around for a while.”

“It’s not like that, mate. This one’s a friendly favor.”

Lorne looked doubtful, “Aren’t they all?” He opened his mouth to say something else, but was distracted. “Oh, here’s are little princess. Gorgeous.”

Spike turned around but was too late as Buffy was rushed upon and he lost her in the crowd. Buffy herself was a little overwhelmed. Dawn was tugging on her new honey blonde tresses and Willow exclaimed for her to turn around so she could fully admire her new dress. It wasn’t until a few of them parted that Spike finally got a good look at her.

Spike’s Adam’s apple bobbed dramatically at what he saw. Gone were the brown ringlet curls having been replaced by lightened layers making her look like the California girl she was. The same pink lip gloss she’d been wearing for as long as Spike had known her was now an enticingly strawberry lipstick. Her eyes were lined with brown making her hazel eyes shine out.

But it wasn’t the makeover that made her look different in Spike’s eyes. Granted, she glowed, but she looked so happy with all the attention she was getting. Buffy had never been one to want to stick out in a crowd and had, in Spike’s opinion, done everything in her power to make herself blend in with the world. But she couldn’t have picked a more eclectic group of friends. Buffy, until this day, had never branched out from their group as the rest of them had. Willow went the lesbian Wicca route, Xander had a habit of dating women looked upon to be out of his league and had now settled down with Anya, and Spike had left Sunnydale the day they graduated and went to the L.A. scene. But Buffy stayed, and seemed content to. But her friends took her for granted -- all assumed she would always be there as a sort of home base, a familiarity they could always come back to when other parts of their lives got rough. And for the most part she was.

And now she smiled. Spike was never lucky enough to be on the receiving end of one of her smiles. Of course, Spike had never given her a reason to give him one -- just an arsenal of glares.

Unbeknownst to Spike, Lorne had watched his reaction the entire time and now saddled up next to him, leaning close to his ear, “I don’t know, Spikey, she looks pretty sweet to me.” Lorne gave Spike’s open jaw a touch of his knuckle, calling attention to Spike’s reaction.

“My best piece of work,” Lorne exclaimed as he left Spike’s side, wrapping Buffy in a hug.

It wasn’t until Spike fished in his pocket for his keys that he was acknowledged by the group. Xander addressed him, “You outta here already?”

“Yeah, I’m off to find a decent skate route. Glad to see your transformation turned out alright Summers,” he smirk at her and Buffy dared to take it as a compliment. “I think I’ll try to find that new one by the campus.”

At the mention of her favorite workout spot, Buffy announced, “If you want, I’ll come and show you. I skate that path all the time.”

Spike’s eyebrow raised, “You want to come skating with me?” he asked incredulously.

Buffy gave him an innocent look, “Well, ya know, any excuse to push you out into oncoming traffic.”

He smiled and nodded understandingly, “Okay, Summers, I’ll pick you up at your house at two.”

“You remember how to get there?”

“Don’t worry, Summers, I’ll follow the lines of drooling men that are bound to come out of the woodwork now.” He motioned at her new dress -- a little snugger and shorter than she’d ever worn before. He smiled and existed the salon. Buffy was sure to take that last remark as a compliment. Spike gave her a compliment. The surprises he was pulling almost floored her.

TBC

CHAPTER 8 -- Skating Around the Edges

Author’s Note: I am so sorry this has taken so long. My floppy disk went kaput. (Note: please make sure all the floppy’s you use have “formatted” on them. I didn’t and my entire life’s writings are now gone.) And now, until we get our home computer fixed, I’ll be limited in computer time. Please don’t hate me and/or give up on this story. I will try my absolute best. Thanks.

Spike swung the Desoto into the Summers’ driveway. Christ, it had been a long time since he’d seen this house. He had only been inside the Summers home a handful of times, always part of a large group and usually on their way to The Bronze. Yet, warm thoughts only permeated his brain at the memories. He remembered Joyce as clear as day -- damn, that woman could make coco.

Spike jumped up the two steps onto the porch. His knocking was answered by a violent rustle behind the door -- like some one had a bad run-in with a wall. After a moment of silence, Spike started to wander if something bad had happed until the door was flung open to reveal Dawn, an impressive bruise beginning to show on her forehead. Spike couldn’t help but smile as she put on a brave front for him. “Oh, hey Spike,” she greeted coolly.

“Hey, Nibblet,” Spike answered, entering into the foyer. “You big sis ready?”

“Oh,” the disappointment evident on her face. “Of course you’re here for Buffy. Everyone’s always here for Buffy,” she grumbled as she made her way up the stairs to find her sister. But she stopped halfway, “Buffy!” she screamed, causing Spike to flinch at the shriek.

“Dawn, honey, don’t yell,” a calming voice came from the direction of the kitchen.

“Spike’s here for Buffy,” Dawn answered dully, arms crossed, lips pursed.

“Spike?” Joyce asked, approaching the room. “Why would Spike . . .” she broke off when she entered into the foyer and saw him. “Spike!”

Spike smiled as Joyce drew him into a tight hug. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to be lost in the maternal warmth. Spike hadn’t been hugged with this much love in a long, long time. In his teen angst years he hadn’t been exactly welcoming to Jenny. He had still been bitter over the loss of his mother and pitched a few fits over the idea of another woman in his father’s life. Granted, he and his step-mother were fine now, but it still all seemed so . . . formal. The polite asking of how things were at work and the like. Spike really had never taken the time to get to know her. What bonded them was a mutual love for his father, and not much else. Spike knew what was mostly at fault was his initial hatred of her. The situation between them never fully recovered. But Joyce was so much the den mother to everyone, you couldn’t help but lose yourself in the radiating love.

“Buffy didn’t tell me you’d be in town!”

“I’d imagine she wouldn’t.” Spike had to give her that. For as horrible as Spike had been to Buffy (of which he was sure Joyce knew all about), Joyce had never treated him badly. It was as if she put herself in the delusion that he and Buffy were best mates -- and that would just never be the case.

Buffy rolled her eyes as she came downs the stairs. She always suspected her mother secretly wanted Spike as her son. Her mom loved all her friends, but she especially fawned over Spike. After all the years of Buffy complaining about the blonde English guy who was put on this Earth to make her life a living hell, her mom was always the first to defend him -- like she knew something about him Buffy didn’t. At random moments she would always mention what a nice boy Spike was and asking when was the next time he’d be coming over. Even five years after he moved to L.A. her mother would ask weekly how Spike was doing and if he’d ever be visiting.

She interrupted the love fest between Spike and her mother, “Mom, he’s not going to be able skate if you squish the air out of him.”

Joyce backed off, brushing the wrinkles she created out of Spike’s t-shirt. Buffy half expected her to lick her fingers and fix his hair like she was always doing to Buffy and Dawn. “Let me get you two some water to take with you. You’ll get dehydrated out there today. Oh, Spike! You should come to dinner sometime.” Buffy looked around helplessly as her mother took over. Joyce had already pulled Spike into the kitchen in front of the calendar. “Oh I know, how about next Thursday? Buffy’s aunts are going to be in.”

“The cursed ones?” He asked good naturedly.

Joyce looked disapprovingly at her girls. “Don’t listen to them, Spike, they’re very nice ladies. They’ll love you.” Technically they were Joyce’s cousin’s, but growing up they were so close and only a few years apart they considered themselves sisters. Buffy and Dawn dreaded when they came to visit. All three older women being single, they had the ability to regress into their early twenties when they were around each other -- some of their conversations being down right raunchy. Neither daughter wanted to know about their mother’s glory days.

“Consider me there,” Spike agreed. Great, Buffy thought, why not invite snob Cordelia Chase from high school and the boy that used to pull Buffy’s pigtails in elementary school. Everyone else she didn’t want to spend a night with was already coming.

“As much as I hate to break up you party, I’d like to skate sometime today.”

“Okay, Summers, let’s go.” Spike grabbed the water bottles, handing one to Buffy and grabbing the heavy bulk of her rollerblades to carry for her -- a fact Joyce did not fail to notice -- as they walked out the door. They didn’t get off the porch without her mother giving two more hugs to Spike.

Buffy stopped short of getting in the car. Her lack of movement caught Spike’s eye and he stopped to stare at her frozen form in front of the passenger door.

“Something wrong, Summers?”

“I just can’t believe you still have this thing. You’re a successful professional Spike. Don’t you think it’s time to get a new car?” She lifted her face and the smile that was there told him she was joshing him.

“And I’m guessing this is worse than having neither car nor license?”

Buffy sobered in defeat, “Okay, shut up.”

Spike smiled as they slide into the car. He turned the ignition and addressed Buffy, “Ok, Summers, you gonna show me what you got?”

TBC

CHAPTER 9 -- Pt. 2

Author’s Note: This chapter and the next are two mini-chapters, but I’ll make it up to you. Chapter 11 is some Bronzing, and Chapter 12 some light Spuffy (but, if you read the summary, you know the real Spuffy doesn’t come that easy). J


Their muscles tensed as they shot down the sidewalk. They had been skating at a leisurely pace at first, but that had lasted all of five minutes before the competitiveness began to show. It had started out innocently enough. Spike’s legs were significantly longer than Buffy’s and she began lengthening her strides to match his, then to edge out a little further ahead, just to show he didn’t have to do her any favors in holding back so she could keep up. Spike resented this, not about to let a little one hundred pound five foot nothing show him up. They tried to hold polite conversation at first, but within minutes their pace made talking physically impossible.

Buffy continued to fly down the sidewalk, turning her head back, she smiled, “Spike, are you coming or what?”

Narrowing his eyes, ready to partake in yet another battle, Spike pushed off hard, his strides smooth and even, slowing closing in on Buffy. He followed her crossovers, weaving in and out through pedestrian traffic. Their impatience with those slower than them -- whether it be on foot, bike, or skate, earned the two some smiles and some scowls. Buffy was enjoying her lead, closing her eyes and loving the breeze on her face as she stopped pushing for a moment and rode the momentum of her skates. Her victory was short lived, however, when she felt a swipe at the back of her white halter top. She whipped her head around to reveal Spike skating dangerously close behind her. Buffy let out a mock gasp and bolted through the windy pathway. Spike chased her through the park -- both of them laughing. She occasionally glanced back at her pursuer, wind flowing through her newly framed locks.

When they neared the parked Desoto and knew their fun was over, Buffy slowed and allowed herself to be caught by Spike as he wrapped his arms around her from behind, slowing them both to a stop. They unabashedly smiled at each other before plopping down in the grass. They had chased each other through the entire park for an hour. When they stopped at a water fountain, Spike had caught himself following a trickle of water escaping down beneath the low neckline of Buffy’s Adidas halter top. He shook his head to remind himself who he was with -- he was doing that a lot more recently. It wasn’t like being with Buffy The Ice Queen, it was like being with an old college friend. Weird.

Buffy sat next to Spike, scowling at her laces, “Stupid knot.”

Spike let her pick at it for a few more seconds. “Here,” he reached out and took her calf, placing her foot on his lap. Buffy relaxed on her hands back in the grass as Spike worked on the knot in her skate.

She watched the constant stream of people on the walkway in front of her, making eye contact with an old couple strolling, holding hands. The older couple stared poignantly at Buffy, then glanced down to the man diligently aiding her with her skate, and smiled knowingly. Acknowledging the young love. Buffy almost opened her mouth to correct them, to tell them they were mistaken because the man they thought was her knight in shining armor was in reality her mortal enemy. But they looked so happy for them that Buffy couldn‘t bring herself to say anything, just smile back sheepishly.

Buffy decided to change the subject, “So I think your little make-over-Buffy was a success. I think I look rather cute.”

Spike glanced up from the untied skate in front of him and smiled. Buffy gave him the other foot and without a word began to work on the tie.

“So Professor Higgins, I think I’m ready. Bring on the boys. I’m going to knock ‘em dead. The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain. I can do this,” She smiled at her feigned confidence.

Spike smiled softly at her, the idea of sending her to the lions he had picked out, suddenly making him slightly uncomfortable. He shook his head to clear out the thought, finished untying the knot, and padded her calf, “Your first dates tomorrow.”

TBC

CHAPTER 10 -- Tara

Tara glanced at the name and address on the crumpled piece of paper in her hand, then at the store in front of her. This was the place, all right. She expected it to be bigger. The assignments Lilah usually had Spike and her working on were quite ritzy. This had a small, hometown feel to it. She liked it a lot.

Tara cautiously pushed open the door, setting off a bell that sounded her arrival. She looked around in front of her, the place was deserted. She was about to turn on her heels and hunt down a payphone to call Spike’s cell when a clatter had her jumping out of her skin. Composing herself, she followed the sound of screaming that followed the clatter, nervous that something bad may have happened. With all the publicity the little store with no security guard was getting lately, it wouldn’t surprise her if someone tried to rob it. To her left and down a couple stairs was a wall of mirrors where the future brides could admire themselves. To the right was a velvet maroon curtain that led behind the mirrors and into the changing rooms.

“Hello?” she called tentatively.

From behind the curtain she heard more commotion, then it opened to reveal a smiling red haired girl. At the sight of her, Tara blushed and bowed her head.

“Hi! You must be Tara, I’m Willow.” Tara smiled and shook her hand, but jumped when there was another loud thud.

Tara was worried, “Is everything okay?”

Willow looked at her confused. “What do you mean?”

“Should we . . . Um . . . Call he police or, um, something?” She glanced warily back to where the commotion was coming from.

Willow’s eyes widened, “Oh. That’s just Spike and Buffy.”

Spike came out from behind the curtain. He smiled when he saw his assistant, “Hey, Tara. You find the place alright?” Tara nodded slowly. “Great.” He seemed about to say something else when he was hit in the side by a high heel. His smile instantly vanished and his head shot to the curtain, where the offending item had flown from, “Summers, if you throw one more thing at me I’m going to come back there and ram it so far up your ass . . .” Spike stormed behind the display of mirrors.

Willow felt embarrassed by the open display of hate that Buffy and Spike had no problem showing. She looked nervously at Tara, “We thought they were getting along. They even went skating together yesterday. But then we all met here to get Buffy ready for her date, Spike came in in a bad mood, Buffy got cold feet, and, well, now they’re at it again.” Willow shrugged helplessly.

Willow nervously babbled to distract Tara from the small war going on, “Buffy’s meeting us at the Bronze after her date. You coming with?”

Tara was grateful for the conversation, “I’m supposed to follow Spike and help do an article on Buffy, so I guess so.”

The harsh screaming that reissued had Tara grasping onto Willow’s arm. It grew louder and louder until the curtain once again flew back and out marched an agitated blonde fighting with a dark haired man about the proper color of bridesmaid dresses. She was concerned that the other girls in the wedding would take away from the attention she should be receiving. The man was yelling to get a word in edgewise but the girl continued to ignore him. But the fighting didn’t stop there. Spike emerged next, his face red with the amount of screaming he was doing and had a girl, who Tara assumed to be the one who had thrown the shoe, slung over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. She was violently kicking and screaming, saying she wasn’t ready yet and refused to go be his guinea pig of dating.

Willow let them stand there for another minute before interrupting, “Um, guys?”

The arguing instantly stopped and she was met with a violent quartet of “What!?” Willow gently nudged her head in Tara’s direction.

Buffy, lifted her head from it’s current upside-down state and smiled, “Hi, you must be Tara.” Buffy surveyed their little group. She blew a fluff of hair out of her face, “Welcome to Sunnydale.”

TBC

CHAPTER 11 -- The Usual

“Don’t you think we’re a little old to be here?” Spike called over the music as he and Tara followed Willow’s zigzagging around the round tables and stools of The Bronze.

Willow fluttered her hand at him, “Nonsense. They serve alcohol here, don’t they?”

“They better,” Spike grumbled, pulling his coat tighter around him, surveying the crowd. He hadn’t been here since they graduated. The dance floor was crowded with gyrating bodies, the base thumped through the floor, causing the tile under Spike’s feet to vibrate.

“Look! It’s free!” Spike turned his attention to where Willow was pointing, dragging Tara alongside her. The crowd parted to reveal the table that Spike and the group had spent a good deal of time during their four years in college, listening to local bands and eating those really good onion things.

They pulled up stools around their table. Willow raised off her seat, waving her arm, “Hey guys! Over here!” Holding hands, Xander and Anya came off the dance floor.

Spike looked around at the excitement radiating off his friends, “Having fun reliving your college days, then?” He waved over a waitress, placing their orders.

“Come on, Spike, don’t you want to shake your grove thing for old time’s sake?” Xander made some violent jerking motions.

Spike looked at his friend questioningly, “Harris, I didn’t dance in college. What in God’s name would lead you to believe I would do it now?” He studied Xander’s ‘dancing’ motions, “And if that’s what you call dancing, I don’t think I want to be in the same room as you.”

Anya nodded excitedly, “We’re getting ballroom dancing lessons for the wedding.” She turned to her fiancée, “You will not embarrass me in front of eight hundred of our closest family and friends.”

Xander was perplexed, “Okay, I’m mentally counting up my friends and family and I get a total of five . . . and that’s including myself.”

Anya patted his shoulder, “I’m not inviting your cousin Jack.”

“OK, make that four.”

Xander was relieved when his change of subject walked through the door, “Buffy! How’d the date go!?”

Buffy approached the table, looking emotionally drained, “Yeah, that Warren guy? Never again.”

Spike smirked, “Wasn’t romantic enough for ya?”

Buffy rolled her eyes in his direction, “No, and I’m sure you had no idea.”

“So sorry I didn’t teach him everything I know in the romance department.”

“He was a sleazeball, Spike, I’m fairly certain that you did teach him everything he knows.”

“Are you saying I don’t know how to be romantic?”

“Oh come on, Spike, you couldn’t be romantic if you tried.”

“Oi! I can to!” Spike looked around the table, their faces showed that they didn’t believe him.

Buffy noticed this too, throwing more wood onto her verbal fire, “How? ‘Hey, baby, you wanna be a notch on my bedpost?’”

“At least I have notches. You don’t even have a bedpost.”

As anger boiled between Spike and Buffy, Tara was getting nervous. She had seen Spike mad before -- he’d yell and scream and kick things from time to time when a project didn’t go his way, but she’d never seen him with such unadulterated, passionate . . . disfavor. Hate seemed too strong a word, one Tara didn’t like to use. But it was hard to believe that one single girl could get him so worked up. It seemed sadistic to watch them explode at each other, but at the same time she couldn’t help but find the relationship . . . intriguing. She continued to watch the spar as Spike yelled over the music at Buffy, both completely unaware they had an audience.

“To find what you want, you’re going to have to get out of your precious comfort zone and live a little.”

His eyes challenged her to a comeback, her head shook at him in anger, but she surprised them all with her response, “I need a drink,” Buffy turned on her heels in search of the bar. The whole night was getting to be too much. She needed to forget -- and soon. The Warren guy she had gone out with was a nightmare. His lack in the romance department was the least of his pitfalls. He was arrogant and kept hitting on some brunette named April -- and he actually bragged about the time when he had broken into a museum and beat up a guard.

Spike was thrown by her statement. He sat there blinking for a moment, “Since when does she drink?”

Xander watched her retreating form, “Since you got back, apparently.”

Spike turned back to the group. They sat in silence, Spike drumming his fingers on the table, not looking at the others. When he could no longer stand four sets of eyes boring into him, he glanced up and was faced with silent pleas. He gave a silent protest before giving in. Spike sighed and slid off his chair to find Buffy.

They watch Spike get enveloped into the crowd before turning back to the table, looking somber, the night’s cheery vibes gone. Anya looked more worried about the Spike and Buffy fight than the others. “They’re not going to do this at the wedding are they?” The other three didn’t seemed too surprised at her concern, “I mean, I cannot have the best man and the maid of honor fighting. That would take attention away from me.” She looked quite put out, and Xander ran his hands up and down her arms comfortingly as she pouted.

Tara shifted a little towards Willow, “I’m sorry your fun night was ruined.”

Willow sighed, “That’s okay, I was stupid to think they could go five minutes without yelling at each other.”

Tara looked out over Willow’s shoulder to the dance floor, “Well, we could make the best of it?” Her statement came out as a request and Willow turned behind her to follow Tara’s gaze.

Willow smiled wide, the fighting couple momentarily forgotten. “That’s right! We don’t have to let those two party poopers ruin our night of fun and dancing!” Willow, having had her usual optimism reinstated by Tara, put down her drink and held her hand out to the girl next to her, “Come on, let’s dance!” Tara smiled back and joined Willow on the dance floor, flowed by Xander and Anya.

Spike found her at the bar, a group of drunk university boys looking a little too appreciatively at her form.

He touched her shoulder lightly, “Summers . . .”

“No, I don’t want to hear it,” she was already throwing back shots. Buffy was know for a lot of things, holding her liquor was not one of them.

Her voice wavered and her eyes were watering -- two signs she was already wasted. She stood suddenly, knocking over the stool she was sitting on. Two school boys held out their arms to steady her, Spike shot them a glare and they all found sudden interest in the red headed waitress at the bar. Buffy was on the verge of crying, she pointed a blaming finger at Spike‘s chest, “You think you’re too good for Sunnydale. Think you’re all high and mighty because you picked up and left. You’re gone for five years -- five years, Spike! Then you just swoop in one day and start trying to fix my life. But what makes you so special? You grew up here too! Well I happen to like my life. I like it here. I grew up here, my family’s here. I want to raise kids here. If you don’t like it then just shut the fuck up, Spike! I’m not pushing my lifestyle on you.” She was openly crying now. Spike had seen . . . well, made, a lot of girls cry in his time. It had never really affected him before. It wasn’t his fault they let their emotions be dictated by what he said and did. But Buffy’s tears were different. He said a lot of awful things to her over the years, but he never meant to make her cry. He had the sudden urge to apologize for ever cuss word, every ponytail pulled, and every generalization he had ever made about her life.

But he couldn’t. She had already grabbed her coat and whirled out the door. How long he had been standing there looking like a loon, he had no idea. But he was already getting disapproving stares. He went back into the crowd in search of his friends. He’d tell them what happened then go find Buffy.

TBC

CHAPTER 12 -- Midnight In the Garden of Good and Evil

It was midnight by the time Spike had found the dancing (and tipsy) group, explained what had happened, grab his coat, and made it to Buffy’s house. Knowing full well that Joyce and Dawn were sleeping, and knocking on the door would accomplish nothing but piss off the entire Summers household, Spike sat in the parked Desoto contemplating his options.

It left him with only one.
He couldn’t go to bed with Buffy mad at him. He didn’t know why not -- he’d done it many times before. But this was different for some reason.

Spike sighed as he slide out of the car, “God I hope I don’t get the cops called on me.” Instead of heading for the front porch as he usually did, Spike headed for the left until he reached the side of the house. He halted and glanced upward. Buffy’s house was an older one, meaning the ceilings were high and the second floor was well off the ground. He eyed the top window -- Buffy’s window. Taking a quick survey of his surroundings, his eyes eventually fell onto his only choice -- an old, sturdy tree.

“Bloody hell,” he cursed before shedding his coat and grabbing on to the first reachable branch, hoisting himself up. Spike had dark hair the last time he climbed a tree -- he remembered it being easier. He cursed a couple more times as a particularly sharp branch caught him in the face, drawing a thin red line across his cheekbone.

As he continued to navigate a tricky clump of branches, he was too caught up in not falling to his death to notice the window to his left open.

“Spike?” The voice broke through the dead silence of the night. In his surprise, Spike lost this grip on the branch, teetering on the twig he was standing on before securing himself on one behind him.

Spike caught his breath, “Christ, Summers, don’t scare me like that.”

“Says the dark-clad man climbing up to my window.”

“I was trying at a grand gesture.”

“And you couldn’t have throw a rock at my window?”

“Get in the car,” he demanded.

“You’re kidnapping me?”

“I was hoping to not to have to take it that far.” At his pleading eyes and weirdly not-angered demeanor, she considered.

“Give me a minute,” she said finally. Spike let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding, relieved she gave in so easily, only to tense again when he glanced down at the descent he was going to have to make.

Spike made it down without incident and reached the front door, just as Buffy was shutting it quietly behind her and locking it.

She turned to address her sleep interrupter, “What happened to your face?”

“War wound,” he replied.

“Where are you taking me?” She asked as she followed him to the car.

“Why?”

“Because I want to know where to tell the police they can find my bruised and broken body,” she replied in sarcastic anger.

She slid into the passenger seat and the rest of the trip was made in silence.

The Desoto climbed a steep hill. Reaching the gravel top, Spike pulled the brake, smiled mischievously at Buffy and got out of the car. Guessing she was to follow suit, Buffy slid out too. She found him pulling an old plaid blanket out of the trunk, spreading it out over the warm hood of the Desoto. He hopped on top, motioning her to join him. She stood with her arms crossed for a minute, her eyes screwed in confusion, before climbing up next to him, her hazel eyes continued to stare at Spike.

Spike was gazing out into the air in front of him, feeling her eyes on him, he nodded to the view in front of him, “Look.”

Buffy forced her herself to follow his directions -- and was immediately glad she did. Her breath floated away at the drape of sparkling stars in front of them. They sat on top of the entire town, the late-night lights of the houses shone like scattered diamonds on the ground below.

“This is gorgeous,” she breathed.

Spike was glad she appreciated the view as much as he did. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a wrapped Twinkie, split it in half and offered it to her. “Sorry I don’t have a better menu.”

Buffy accepted the Twinkie, but looked at it suspiciously. She smiled slightly, turning to the man beside her, “What are you doing?”

He glanced up from below his lashes, smiling softly at her, “Showing you I can be romantic.”

Buffy‘s featured softened towards him, “You don’t have to prove it to me.”

“Yeah, I do.” He paused, gazing out into the sea of stars in front of them. “I want more out of life you know . . . more than what I have. You’re right . . . I did think I was too good for Sunnydale.” Buffy moved to object, but he silenced her. “I thought I could find what I was looking for in L.A. And I did, for a while.”

“What did you find?”

“Shit I wished I hadn’t. I’ve done some really stupid things in my life.” She didn’t try to interrupt him, so he continued. “But the more I’m here, and the more time I spend with everyone, the more it undermines the life I built in L.A. -- the life I thought I wanted. I was horrible to you in college. Don’t know why you put up with so much of it.”

“I remember saying a few choice words to you too,” Buffy said softly.

“Yeah, but they were provoked. I know now why I said some of the things I did. You threatened everything I stood for. I fancied myself some big-city boy and you were the innocent small-towner. I was scared that I would be happy in a simple existence -- that I would live without seeing the world.”

“You can always change. Us small-towners move to the city all the time, you could move back.”

“No. It’s too late now. I have a name for myself up there.”

“It’s not about where you live. You can travel the world to wherever you like -- as long as you know where home is, you’ll never be lost.”

And that’s what he had been -- lost. Giles and Jenny had moved and he had fled to the fast pace of L.A. He filled the void with drugs and women -- both false, fleeting, and slowly killing him. He hadn’t know where home was anymore.

Spike looked deeply at Buffy, “I think I’m beginning to remember where that is.”

His look, like all his looks, was intense and Buffy found herself shying away from the serious self reflection.

“So,” she lightened, “Do you do always do such chivalrous acts to get your point across?”

Spike chuckled, “You’re the first woman I’ve ever climbed a tree for and split a Twinkie with.” At her look, he continued, “Don’t take that lightly, Summers. I’m bloody fond of Twinkies.” She giggled, he smiled along with her, “Don’t share them with just anybody.”

After a minute of silence, Spike spoke, “So . . . Truce?”

“Friends,” Buffy offered as she gave him her hand.

“Friends,” he agreed.

The two new friends turned again to the clear night in front of them and watched the stars.

TBC

Author's Note: So very sorry this has taken so long. Thanks for all the reviews and special thanks to romiverna who got my butt moving on this and Comedown. Happy reading!

CHAPTER 13 -- Back to Reality

Buffy sat in the passenger seat of the van next to her newest date -- a guy who looked suspiciously like Spike, although she was pretty sure her date’s hair was naturally that color.

He sighed behind the wheel, “Yeah, Spike is really cool. Do you think he could, like, go out with us sometime?” His eyes lit up at the prospect.

Buffy rolled hers, all through lunch and the car ride home, no matter what she tried to suggest, the conversation always turned back to her date’s two favorite subjects: Star Wars and Spike. “Um . . . Sure Andrew . . . I’ll ask him,” she replied, with no intention to do anything of the sort.

The van rolled to a stop outside Fairytale and Buffy slid out of her seat. She turned back to her date, “Goodnight, Andrew.”

“Oh, goodbye!” he waved awkwardly. Buffy had gotten halfway down the sidewalk when he called out her name, “Buffy!” She turned around. “. . . Tell Spike I said hi!”

“Ooookay. Goodbye Andrew.” Buffy shook her head and headed inside her store.

She winced as a bright flashbulb went off in her face. “What . . .” she attempted to dodge Spike’s camera, “What are you doing?” She dropped her purse and jacket on the floor and went to join Xander at the desk. It was after hours and the two men were helping put the finishing touches on the new window displays.

“Taking pictures of the store for the layout. You do remember the rest of our deal, don’t you? I get the lowdown on Ms Summers’ psyche.” He smirked and snapped another picture of her for good measure.

Buffy rolled her eyes, “How could I forget?” She sighed and picked up a stack of papers, flipping through them.

Spike followed her to the desk, “So, how’d the date go?”

Buffy looked up from her papers, “I think he’s trying to vicariously date you through me.”

Spike looked thoughtful, “I always wandered about that guy.” He shrugged. Buffy smiled. “So, one last date then?”

Buffy looked at him seriously, “No, Spike. You’ve had your fun, your little experiment didn’t work. Let it go. I‘m done.”

Spike blocked her way as she tried to walk towards the back, “Listen, he’s an old friend of mine from grade school. I just called him the other day and he’s currently between girlfriends.”

Buffy considered him warily. If he really was an honest to God friend of Spike’s, he had to be better than the last couple guys he’d set her up with -- guys she could never imagine being in the same room as her bleach-haired friend. “Who is he?” she asked suspiciously.

“His name’s Ben. He’s a med-student at Sunnydale Hospital.” He rolled his eyes at her impressed look, “Every girl and their mother’s dream guy, I’m sure.”

“And if this one doesn’t work out.”

Spike put his hands in the air, “I’ll leave you alone, not more dates.”

“Promise?”

Spike crossed his heart.

“Even if I only go on one date with the guy?”

Spike sighed, “Yes, even if you don’t hiccup, I’ll never set you up with anyone ever again.”

Buffy furrowed her brow, “If I don’t what?”

“Hiccup,” Spike replied. At her confusion, he continued, “Red tells me you hiccup when you fancy someone.”

Buffy looked appalled, “I do not!”

Xander, who had until then amused himself listening to their exchange, smiled at her shock, “Yeah, you do. Remember Riley?”

Buffy looked pained, “Oh, please don’t bring that up.”

Spike smiled, “Oh, yeah, I forgot about that. You really liked him. Who’d he end up asking out instead? Melody?”

“Harmony,” Buffy corrected. “Wait . . . didn’t you go out with her?”

Spike racked his brain, “Might of.”

“And you couldn’t remember her name?”

“We met a couple times. Alcohol was involved. I didn’t know any better.” Spike looked regretful.

Buffy turned to Xander, “You going to be okay here while we go to the park?”

“No sweat, I can figure this wedding stuff out. You figure I gotta be smarter than the two of you.”

Buffy and Spike looked doubtful, “And why’s that?”

“Because I’m the only one in the room with the hair color he was born with.”

Both blondes smiled at their friend’s logic. Loud ringing interrupted the conversation, Buffy turned toward the noise, then looked up at Spike, “Your ass is ringing.”

Spike gave her a look, fishing his cell phone out of his back pocket, “I can hear that.” He flipped open the phone, “Hey babe . . .”

Spike spoke on the phone while Buffy continued to talk to Xander, “Where’s Willow? I thought she was going to show.”

“Her and Tara are at the Magic Box. Willow still gets the discount even though Spike’s dad doesn’t own it anymore. They found out they both were all into the witchcraft. They had a moment. It was kinda creepy.” Buffy smiled, pleased that Willow had found someone that shared her enthusiasm in magic. Spike ended his phone call.

“Who was that?” Buffy asked.

“My boss.”

“You call your boss ‘babe’?”

“You should hear some of the things she calls me.” Spike raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Buffy smiled and rolled her eyes, “No thanks. Ready to go skating?”

“Got my skates in the car.”

“Ok, let me get changed and we’ll go,” Buffy disappeared into a dressing room.

Xander watched her go, “Spike, man, what’s the deal?”

“What do you mean?”

“In the past week their has been not one single screaming match. And now you guys are skating together three times a week. What gives?”

Spike smiled, thinking back to their talk on the hood of his car, “We understand each other now.”

TBC

CHAPTER 14 -- What’s Cooking

“I don’t know about this, Spike. Isn’t . . .” Buffy studied the recipe in front of her, “asparagus-prosciutto rolls and individual strawberry mousses a little too ambitious of us?”

Spike tisked, “Maybe for you. I happen to be quite skilled in the kitchen.” He turned the oven burner on to medium heat, tossing chopped strawberries, sugar, and water into a pan and began to stir.

Buffy pouted, playing with an asparagus stalk on the counter in front of her, “The last time I used the toaster I caught the cabinets on fire.” She turned back to her duty of slicing the prosciutto.

Spike nudged at her chin with his thumb, “Cheer up, Summers. We’ll have you Martha Stewart-ing it in no time.” This earned him a grin. “Knew I could get a smile. Now go find me some measuring cups, yeah?”

Buffy nodded, “Measuring cups I can do.” Buffy ransacked her mother’s kitchen drawers, searching for the requested items. Dawn was at school and her mom was working extra at the gallery. Spike had agreed to help cook for Thursday night’s dinner, much to Joyce’s glee. She just didn’t have the time to get everything ready for the next day and was a nervous wreck at the idea of leaving her eldest alone in the kitchen, but felt perfectly comfortable with Spike there to supervise.

“Quit eating the chocolate!” Spike scolded, slapping her hand away from the bowl of semisweet morsels. He grabbed the measuring cups out of her hand, “Come over here and stir this,” he thrust the spoon at her in yet another attempt to keep her nebbish hands busy from picking at the sugar, chocolate, and strawberries.

Buffy peered clueless into the sauce pan in front of her as she stirred, “How do you know when it’s done?”

Spike placed the bowl of chocolate into the microwave, “When all the sugar dissolves,” he answered.

“Is this good?” Buffy asked, looking for Spike’s approval on her stirring job.

He glanced over her shoulder, “Perfect,” he replied. Buffy turned off the burner, her confidence level flaring at his praise.

“This isn’t so hard,” she commented as she sat down at the counter.

Spike placed the bowl of melted chocolate on the counter and turned around to search for the right cup.

“Summers!”

Buffy froze, index finger in her mouth, “What?” she mumbled around her chocolate covered digit.


No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep a straight face. He let a smile overtake him and shook his head, “Come over here and be helpful.”

He easily spread each slice of prosciutto with goat cheese and rolled around the asparagus. He held up the perfect job for her inspection. She nodded that she followed his lead, picked up an asparagus and completed an exact replica of his. She beamed at her job well done. He then picked up a bowl filled with the cream and sugar that was to be part of their desert. He beat the ingredients in the bowl until soft peaks began to form.

Buffy watched him for a moment before grabbing a bowl and attempting it herself. While Spike began to fold in the strawberry mixture, Buffy fought with her bowl -- her concoction looking more like thick goop than whipped cream.

She sat back in a huff, “I suck,” her face fell.

He looked over at her bowl, “Yes you do,” he agreed, taking a swipe of cream on his finger, unceremoniously dragging it down her cheek.

She blinked confusedly out of her self-pitying stupor, wiping her hand at her marked face, “Hey!” Buffy dipped her fingers into the bowl of flour, flicking them at Spike, the white landed contrastingly against his ever-present black t-shirt.

He studied his marred clothing, “Well, a food fight was inevitable wasn’t it?” He shrugged, took a hand full of flour, and blew it into her face.

Buffy screamed, running around the island, trying to duck away from Spike’s throws. Rounding the counter, she armed herself with leftover sugar.


She hid below the countertop and waited. She sat for a minute in buzzing anticipation, not hearing a peep from Spike. Figuring he also must be hiding, she cautiously peeked over the counter. Her exposed face was immediately sprayed with melted chocolate. She jumped up from her position on the floor and went to run out of the kitchen.

Spike grabbed her around her stomach with one arm, captured her ankles with the other, and effortlessly lifted her off the ground. He attacked her side and Buffy shrieked in laughter, squirming in his arms.

“You give up?” he yelled over her.

She was laughing to hard to speak. She fought to get the words out, “I give! I give! Ahhhhhh. Stop! I give!”

“Okay,” he set her back down on her feet. He swatted at her playfully, “Now help me decorate these things.”

They brought over the dozen white cups filled with strawberry mousse over to the table, each baring a pastry bag filled with melted chocolate. Spike divided them into six each and the couple went to work decorating the deserts with hearts, stars, and zigzags.

Spike sat back in his chair, looking at the girl across form him, “You used to cheerlead didn’t you?”

She looked at him, perplexed, “Yeah, why?” she asked, craning her neck across the table to see what he was doing.

“Hey!” he hastily covered his work with his arm, “No peeking.”

Buffy went back to her own decorating, occasionally glancing at Spike. He looked like a little boy, hunched over in his seat in concentration, his tongue stuck out from the side of his mouth. Buffy smiled and finished her drawing.

“I made one for you,” he pulled back his hand and turned the mousse around to face her. It was a rough chocolate drawing of a girl in a pleaded skirt, UC Sunnydale symbol on her sweater. She was holding pompoms.

Buffy smiled, “Is that me?”

“Uh-huh,” Spike nodded.

She smiled brightly at the drawing, considering him for a moment. She turned around the cup of mousse she was drawing on, showing Spike her design. It was a stick man playing guitar, music notes surrounded him.

“I remembered you played guitar. You used to play at The Bronze all the time.”

Spike was happy that she remembered. “Try,” Spike dipped a spoon into the mousse in front of him and held it out to Buffy.

She leaned forward and took the creamy confection into her mouth. Spike slid the spoon from her mouth. Buffy closed her eyes, “Mmmmmmm. Oh my god, that’s the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.”

Spike took the spoon and took a bite himself. “Not bad. Not bad at all.” He held out a asparagus roll, “Try one of these.”

Buffy shook her head, “I don’t like asparagus.”

Spike looked doubtful, “Have you ever had it?”

“Well . . . No.”

“Try it,” he insisted, pushing one at her, “You’ll like it.”

She took a bite, looking pensively at the ceiling while she chewed. After some thought, she gave him a wide smile, “I like it.”

“Told you.”

Spike glanced over at the clock. “I gotta go, I’m already late meeting Xander. He’ll be right pissed if they’re a player short.” He jogged over to the foyer, picking up his soccer ball he was to bring to the field. “I’ll see you tomorrow night,”

“Five o’clock sharp,” Buffy instructed, following him to the door.

“Okay,” he went down the sidewalk, “Finish those dishes for your mum!” he called over his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah,” she answered, her plans to place them all in the sink to sit under some water ruined. She shut the door and sighed. Tomorrow the aunts were coming. She was pretty sure how the night would go: they would grill her on her love life, treat Dawn like she was five years old, and Buffy was suspecting that in their trip down memory lane they’d forget they were no longer in their twenties and hit on Spike.

Sounds like fun.

TBC

CHAPTER 15 -- Meet the Family

Author’s Note: I have to give love to Carol, who’s idea this whole thing was. I hope I’m doing your story justice! There would be no Game of Love without her. She ranks with Joss on my genius scale.

Spike ascended the stairs to the Summers’ home, fifteen roses behind his back. He rapped on the door and heard loud cackling coming from the direction of the kitchen. Buffy answered the door, looking a little worse for the wear. “Hi,” she greeted dully.

Spike smirked, “Tough day, luv?”

“You have no idea,” she said, grabbing the sleeve of his dark blue button down and yanking him into the house, relieved there was now someone else in the house to suffer overhearing discussions of menopause and the dirty details of the three women’s past conquests.

He reached and separated three roses, “For a true trooper,” he presented them to Buffy.

She immediately perked up, “Ohhhh, pretty,”

“Buffy, is that Spike?” Joyce yelled from the kitchen.

“I better go say hi,” said Spike, turning the corner, peaking around the wall into the kitchen. “Ladies,” he greeted with a nod of his head.

Joyce, Aunt Linda, and Aunt Sue sat at the kitchen table around steaming cups of coffee. Joyce stood up and gave Spike a hug, “Hello, Spike. I’m so happy you could come. This is Linda and Sue,” she gestured to the women. He divided nine more roses between the three older women. He received a hug, a kiss, and fawning adoration from each of them.

“Spike . . .” Aunt Linda drew out the name thoughtfully as she sat back down in her chair. “Why do they call you that?” The woman looked poignantly at Spike’s pants. Spike’s eyes bulged slightly, an amused smile on his lips, pure shock at what was coming out of the otherwise harmless looking lady.

Buffy looked positively sick, “Oh God,” she uttered. “I think we should go say hi to Dawn,” she took his arm, leading him into the living room. Laughs and whispers of, “Oh, Linda, you’re so bad!” followed them.

Spike looked disbelievingly back towards the kitchen, not able to wrap his head around what he had heard. “Well that was new,” he shook his head, trying to rid himself of the memory.

“Spike!” Dawn greeted from her place on the floor, in front of the television.

“Roses for my favorite girl,” He held out the last three roses to the youngest Summers. You would of thought he’d presented her with a diamond. She jumped up, “For me!? Really!? I’ve never gotten flowers before!? I’m gonna go put these in my room! Thanks Spike!” She gave Spike a hug around his middle and bounded up the stairs.

Buffy smiled at the happiness in her sister, “I think you have a new best friend,” she plopped down on the couch, curling up in the corner.

Spike smiled, he’d never had any siblings, and he found joy in Dawn’s young excitement with the world, “She’s a good kid.” He joined her on the sofa. “So how’ve things been going today?”

Buffy smiled, “Well, our asparagus rolls were a hit. I hid a couple for you in the back of the fridge, behind the milk.” She sighed, “Other than that, me and Dawn have been hiding in the living room watching a VH1 All-Access marathon.” She gestured toward the TV.

Spike watch the special on hot Hollywood couples for a few seconds, “You imagine Brittany Spears knows she looks that bad, or does her entourage just not tell her?”

It was such an off-handed comment, and one that wasn’t a typical one from Spike, Buffy had to laugh. She nodded her head, “I’m thinking that no one tells her. I’ve always said that people with bad fashion sense should not be given unlimited amounts of money.”

For the next half-hour, Spike and Buffy sat back on the couch supplying a running commentary for the celebrity show, laughing as pictures of David Guest seemingly trying to eat off Liza Minelli’s face flashed across the screen.

____________________________________


After dinner, Buffy came in from the living room, carrying an arm full of empty soda cans and plates. Throwing them in the sink, she ran water over them.

“Come on ladies . . .” Aunt Sue announced. She acknowledged Spike, “and gentleman,” she added. Spike nodded in thanks. “It’s poker time!” She had Spike, Joyce, and Linda gathered around the kitchen table and was dealing out playing cards. “Buffy, dear, you in?”

Buffy shrugged, wiping her hands on a dish towel, “I don’t know how to play.”

Spike pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and held out his hand, “Come ‘ere, luv. You can play with me.” She took it and he pulled her to sit on his lap. The Aunts and Joyce exchanged glances. Spike picked up his cards, holding them in front of Buffy so they both could see them. “Jokers wild?” he asked. He received a nod from Sue.

Spike whispered in Buffy’s ear, she laughed and threw two dollars toward Aunt Sue in exchange for another card. She picked it up and showed him. Pleased with the card, he bounced her on his knees and she giggled.

Three games later, the blonde couple had a significant pile of cash in front of them. They had a winning system going -- Spike made the bets and Buffy took the money from her carefully organized pile and threw it into the pot.

“I will see your bet and raise you five,” said Spike. Buffy threw a five dollar bill into the middle of the table. Linda considered the blonde duo, determining if their bet was valid or if they were bluffing. Spike leaned in closer to Buffy’s ear, “Now’s the time for the poker face, luv,” they both wore matching scowls. Joyce and Sue, who had already folded, sat watching the exchange. Linda sat quietly for a moment before laying down her cards for everyone to see -- four of a kind. A sly smile appeared on Spike’s lips, Buffy sat looking innocent on his lap. He laid out the cards, revealing a royal flush.

The room burst out in laughter. “I thought you were bluffing!” Linda yelled. Buffy scrambled to gather all of her and Spike’s hard earned cash.

Spike turned to his partner in gambling, “Well, pet, what do you fancy we do with all this loot? I’m thinking celebratory dinner at The Bronze.”

“I’m thinking yes,” agreed Buffy. She got up off his lap, counting out their money.

“Come on, Spike,” Dawn tugged on his arm. She felt left out with all the attention on the card game. “You promised you’d help me study for my World War II test.”

“Ok, Bit, let’s go learn about Hitler,” he got up from the table, following her up the stairs. “When was Pearl Harbor?” he quizzed.

“December 7, 1941,” she answered proudly. Spike praised her knowledge.

As their voices faded, Aunt Sue turned back to the group, “Oh, Buffy, we love him!” Buffy rolled her eyes at their enthusiasm.

“Where did you find him?” Linda asked.

“We went to college together,” Buffy answered, trying her best to quickly quell their curiosity.

“How long have you been dating?”

Buffy looked startled, “Dating? As in each other? Oh, we are so not dating.”

“But your mother said . . .”

“Mom!” she hissed accusingly.

“Well, you have been spending an awful lot of time with each other. And he did persuade you to do the dishes, so I figured he must be someone special. God forbid you tell your mother what’s really going on in your life.”

Buffy sighed and turned back to her aunt, “He lives in L.A. He came back to write an article on me and the store, that’s all,” she insisted, ending the Spike-centric conversation.

__________________________________________


It was well into the night when Spike decided he should go and all five women stood outside on the porch, lined up to say goodbye. “Are you sure you have to go?” asked Aunt Sue.

“Yes,” Linda chimed in, “We’re leaving the day after tomorrow. Sure you don’t want to come with us?”

“You could mow our lawn,” Sue gave him her most winning smile.

Spike laughed nervously, “No, that’s okay,” he leaned in and gave a quick kiss to Linda and Sue, working his way down the line of women.

“Study hard, Bit. Promise me?”

“I promise,” she answered diligently. Spike kissed the young girl on the head, ruffling her hair.

“Wow,” Joyce marveled at Dawn’s excitement to study, “I think you should come around more often. She’ll be getting A’s in no time.” Joyce gave her favorite boy a kiss on the cheek and wiped at the lipstick imprint she left there.

Last in line was Buffy. While finishing his conversation with her mother, he leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. Not paying attention, Buffy accidentally turned her head in the same direction. Their lips met for the briefest, most miniscule of seconds before they quickly pulled away, shock evident on their faces.

Quiet awkwardness fell over them. Spike attempted to redeem the situation, “I’ll see you later, then?” He tried at nonchalance, pretending as if nothing had happened.

Buffy shook her head quickly, agreeing to his statement and his method of escape, “Okay.” They both tensed, fighting back down the feelings that flared up inside them.

Tearing his eyes away from hers, Spike climbed into his Desoto and started the car. Buffy stood with her family, waving goodbye. The sound of Spike’s engine faded into silence. As the girls all turned to go inside, a sound from Buffy echoed through the quiet night:

“Hiccup.”

TBC

CHAPTER 16 -- Big Ben

Buffy slurped at her tomato soup happily. Across from her sat Ben -- her boyfriend. Yes, boyfriend. This was their fifth date in three weeks and, in Buffy’s opinion, things were escalating nicely. Ben was a complete gentleman -- nice, laid-back, calm, and reserved.

Buffy felt as if she was no longer being punished for having no social life. Her whole social circle was quickly making their way off in pairs. Willow and Tara were spending every available moment with each other. With the way it stood now, you couldn’t get one without the other tagging quietly behind. And she was immersed in the details of Anya and Xander’s upcoming nuptials. Anya had Spike stealing her back copies of Today’s Bride. It was her self-proclaimed Bible and she was no longer ever seen without a copy clutched in her arms, eager to show any unsuspecting person detailed photographs of the exact snapdragons and hybrid lilies she wanted to grace her bouquet. Finally Buffy was paired off herself. Although before, she hadn’t really minded being single in their relationship-laden group because with any free time she would have been spending with a significant other, she had been hanging out with Spike.

Thinking over the past couple weeks, Buffy realized she hadn’t seen Spike in a while. The last she saw him was a couple days prior when he had stopped by the store to pick up some sketchy details of her dream wedding. She had rolled her eyes at him, scoffing that she barely thought of such a thing for herself, then proceeded to amuse him by wistfully rattling off the exact dreamy details of her own big day. Buffy even halted the impromptu interview at one point, stopping to make sure he had noted ‘bubble gum,’ not just ‘pink’ as the color of the baby orchids.

She found herself wandering frequently what Spike was doing. They had gotten close during his visit home -- skating in the park, baking and cooking, and several trips to the local ice cream shop with Dawn. But demands of work tore them apart. She was busy at the shop fielding the unending stream of questions from Anya, forcing Buffy to eventually put her foot down and explain to Anya that, No, she could not have Wolfgang Puck cater her wedding and still be under budget. And Spike had to split his time between L.A. and Sunnydale. He had picked up a few side projects and was making a constant commute from one city to another.

Buffy and Ben’s first meeting had had the usual first-date awkwardness but they had gotten to talking about their childhoods and had found they had a similar upbringing. His parents had also divorced and he had lived primarily with his mom.

He and Spike had met in grade school, just like Spike had said. What Spike failed to mention was what brought them to be such buddies. Apparently, Spike had entered the American school system at the age of eleven, placing him in Mrs. Shepard’s fifth grade class with Ben. Spike’s mother had just passed away from complications with pneumonia and Giles had moved him and his son to the other side of the country to start anew.

Back then, Spike was quite different than when Buffy met him eight years later. He was smaller than the other boys his age, with thick glasses, and a shy demeanor. Known by his given name of William, he had been picked on for his funny accent and ability to recite Wordsworth from memory. Ben had been one of the many bullies that had pushed the new little boy around outside at recess. It was on one such occasion that little Spike had had enough and proceeded to beat the living snot out of Ben, surrounded by a circle of schoolmates chanting “Fight! Fight! Fight!” After the fight, when both boys left the principal’s office, Ben was clutching an ice pack to his nose.

Ben and their male classmates, impressed by the otherwise un-intimidating William, deemed him worthy of their club, christening him with the moniker Spike. He and Ben were then inseparable for the next seven years -- both playing for the soccer team Spike was captain of -- until high school graduation tore them apart. Spike enrolled in UC Sunnydale and Ben had gone to UCLA med school.

Buffy felt sad that such a nice little boy was forced the rely on violence to earn acceptance amongst his peers. He had just experienced the tragic loss of his mother, an experience no little boy should have to go though, and he met nothing but ridicule from his unsympathetic classmates. But it explained so much of what Spike was today -- his ability to scale the emotional spectrum, callous to sweet, in a matter of minutes. It explained his climb up to her window and their night spent under the stars on the hood of his car. And it also explained, to a lesser degree, his meanness to her in college. He had been unceremoniously conditioned to strike out at anyone who threatened him -- that being tough and mean were the only way to get respect and results.

“Hey,” Ben interrupted her thoughts, “I was thinking we could go to that new restaurant over on Third Street. How about Friday?”

“Ok,” she agreed with a megawatt smile. Yes, she thought, ignoring the slight sinking feeling in her stomach, things were moving along quite nicely.

TBC

CHAPTER 17 -- Epiphany

Spike slid out of the Desoto, trickily balancing several white Styrofoam boxes on top of each other. Jutting his chin at an odd angle to keep the tower secure, he closed the door and pressed a button on his key chain, the beep of the car signaling its security. He walked up the meandering sidewalk and threw open the door of Fairytale, the door bell chiming.

He was met by Buffy, who was currently three feet above him, teetering on a chair, reaching towards the ceiling. “What are you doing?” he asked, placing the boxes down on a table just inside the door.

“Seeing just how many Buffys it takes to change a light bulb.” She dropped her shoulders in a huff, “And it’s apparently more than one.” Her lower lip jutted out appetizingly as she lifted her heels off the stool she was standing on, again reaching to screw in the bulb. Her wispy sleeveless peach silk blouse raised with her, and the scrap of jean around her waist lowered, presenting Spike with an unobstructed and accidental view of her soft tummy, leaving Spike fighting the urge to nuzzle it.

Without knowing it, Spike subconsciously took several even strides towards the stool, with Buffy trickily balancing on it in stiletto boots.

“One little nudge of my boot,” he thought, glancing at the stool’s uneven legs, “and she’d come tumbling down into my arms.” At his serious consideration, Spike gave his head a violent shake. God, ever since that accidental kiss on the porch his head had been all over the place. Even when he was up in L.A., immersed in bitchy models and unforgiving deadlines, his mind kept wandering to the little blonde back home. Ridiculous.

The room suddenly grew a little brighter, and Spike looked up to see Buffy with her arms crossed, smiling satisfactorily. She glanced up at the burning light, it’s fixture back in place, “Look, I did . . .” One of the spiked heels of her boot slipped off the stool and her body jerked. Spike dropped the car keys he was holing in his hand and rushed to the chair.

Her hands flailed a moment before finding the strength of his shoulders, her legs wobbled until his fingers steadied her hips. He wrapped his right arm around her, bringing her body flush against his. Their gazes met as Buffy slid sensuously against him, down to the floor. “. . . it,” she breathed, finishing her sentence when both her feet were set on the ground. Her hands were still splayed on his chest, his held her low on her hips, their lower bodies rested against each others.

“I . . .um . . .” Spike frantically searched his mind. He knew there was a reason he was at the store -- a specific purpose of his visit -- he just couldn’t remember what it was at the moment. Oh . . . Food. “I brought you something,” he broke away from Buffy, leaving her feeling cold where his warm body had been pressed up against hers.

“Ohhhh, a preezie!?” She squealed, instantly cheered.

“Sort of,” he answered, grabbing the first box off the stack. He held the box in front of her, making a grand gesture of it’s opening. With a flourish, he whisked the top off, revealing a delicious looking chicken pasta.

“My favorite!” she beamed.

“I remembered,” he answered, pleased with her reaction. They had made the dish during one of their cooking sessions at her house. She had loved it so much she had made him promise they’d make it again soon. He handed her the box and a fork, holding up a finger, gesturing her to wait. He went back to his pile revealing fiesta fried cheesecake for desert. “If you got a blanket and some drinks we’ll make it a real picnic, yeah?”

She nodded eagerly and disappeared to the back.

“I heard you were neck deep in designs for the wedding from hell,” he called back to her, referring to Xander’s wedding to the bridezilla herself. “I figured you’d be too busy to take lunch -- working by yourself.”

Buffy came out from the back, “You figured right,” she replied, laying down an old piece of fabric on the carpeting. She took a moment to marvel at the rightness of his statement. She hadn’t planned on eating today, figuring she’d snack on some cherry licorice of some other unhealthy alternative. She handed him a Pepsi and joined him on the floor. They ate in comfortable silence, both their hectic lives suddenly calm in each other’s company.

She looked over her dish at him, digging into his chocolate like a little boy. She smiled at him, “Thank you,” her tone implied more than just the meal.

“Your welcome,” he returned quietly. It was the way he looked at her that caught her breath. His features soft, his head tilted to the side, and his eyes shining.

“So,” Spike broke them out of their trance, “I haven’t seen you in a while, luv. Everything between you and the good doctor going well I take it?” He steered the conversation and his internal feelings in the opposite direction.

Buffy tried to wipe away the haze that fuddled her brain. “Huh? Oh, ah, yeah. Everything’s going great.”

Spike nodded. “I’ll be going back to L.A. tomorrow. You’ll be up there with me on Tuesday, correct?”

“My flight lands at eleven o’clock, you’ll meet me there, and we go straight to the photo shoot,” she answered dutifully.

“Good girl, I’ll see you then,” he kissed her on the forehead and headed out the door, the chime of the bell echoing behind him.

TBC

CHAPTER 18 -- Covergirl

Buffy thought that day at the salon getting her hair done was the most she’d ever been fawned over. She was wrong. Buffy sat on a stool, blinded by florescent lights and buried in make-up artists and hair stylists. She had one guy fluffing her hair with a round brush, working to pull it back in a elegant low bun. Buffy’s eyelids fluttered when two women in front of her began dotting her face with little brushes. Another woman yanked a little on her hand, asking her not to move as she continued to paint her nails. It was a complete circus all around her. Everyone was hurrying and stressed, but Buffy sat silently through it all. She wished Spike was there. She hadn’t seen him in two hours since he’d handed her over to the hair and make-up crew. She needed a friendly face.

“Okay, who stole my favorite pen? You know I cannot approve layouts without my favorite pen,” a woman demanded from the doorway. Buffy swiveled in her seat to see the woman. She was the kind of girl that Buffy had always shied away from in high school -- perfectly put together, make-up flawless, and moves graceful. Buffy had been on the receiving end of some very snotty comments from girls just like her.

“Oh,” she smiled perfect teeth, “You must be Buffy. You’ve had to deal with Spike for the past couple weeks haven’t you? How unfortunate. Although I must say, I’ve enjoyed the vacation from him immensely. I find my skin looks better when I don’t have the stress of having to baby-sit him.” Buffy couldn’t help but smile at the brunette’s bluntness mixed with a hint of egocentrism. She offered her hand and Buffy took it, “I’m Cordelia Chase, fashion editor. I’ve worked at Vouge, Marie Claire, and In Style, but have somehow ended up staying at this fine establishment.” She said it with a hint of distaste, glaring over at a young man who had followed her into the room, offering her coffee, a donut, and the sky if she so requested it. Cordelia sighed, “I hate interns,” she remarked. “Well, good luck at the shoot. If Spike gets out of hand, just throw something sharp and pointy at him, it works for me all the time.” She rolled her eyes at the boy waiting for her at the door. “Okay, shadow, let’s go,” the kid flanked Cordelia out of the room. Buffy smiled at the welcome interruption, Cordelia Chase had breezed into the room and easily took it over, every eye off Buffy and hanging on to her every word, guys and girls alike. She couldn’t help but marvel at the ability.

There was a flourish of white in front of her and Buffy whipped around to see an older white haired woman standing in front of her, a measuring tape around her neck and extra pins in her collar, “Here’s your dress, I hope it’s exactly how you wanted it,” she said to Buffy nervously. She pulled off the white zipper-down clothes cover.

Buffy let out a small gasp. In front of her was her dream wedding gown -- strapless A-line gown with twelve foot veil. “Oh my God,” she whispered quietly. Buffy looked up at the seamstress, “It’s beautiful.” The older woman looked down at the young girl, pleased that her work had been appreciated.

A group of five women help Buffy get into the gown, completing complex buttoning up the back and holding her steady as she stepped into the beaded ankle-strap sandals. Buffy stared at herself in the mirror, running her hands delicately over the veil. She was almost sad her mother wasn’t there to see her, this would probably be the only time she’d ever get to see her daughter in a wedding gown, as the real thing was not going to be happening in anyone’s lifetime.

Buffy sighed, deciding to enjoy herself the best she could playing the psedo-bride, and took the bouquet of pink gardenias offered to her.

“There’s are little cover girl!” Buffy turned to see and older woman walk through the door. The way everyone in the room reacted to her, told Buffy that she must be the one in charge. “Hello, Buffy,” she spoke in soothingly precise words, as if Buffy was a small child and that talking to her slowly would help her understand the big words. “I’m Liliah. I’m so glad you could come up to L.A.” Oh, this must be Spike’s boss, a/k/a “Babe” as Spike had called her on the phone. Buffy immediately decided she didn’t like Liliah. “Well, it’s getting late, I’m sure Spike’s already set up to shoot,” she spoke Spike’s name intimately, like she was the only one who truly knew him. Buffy almost snorted, like Spike would be dumb enough to sleep with his boss. Then she considered the man she was thinking about, the thought instantly sobered her. Oh my God. Spike slept with her!? His boss!? Ewwww. Gross. At their whore-of-a-boss’s suggestion, the room ushered Buffy out the door into the studio.

Buffy entered the set of the shoot, flanked by three make-up and hair crewmen, who were to stand in the wings, swooping in every so many shots to do touchups. On the set -- a replica of her dream wedding.

Rose petals lay scattered up the short white aisle. A stain glass window was at the front, signifying where the alter would be in a church. Over to the right was a table decorated to her exact specifications, like it was taken out of her reception.

The round table was scattered with rose petals and a short cut-crystal vase with tight, short-stem arrangements of pink roses served as the center piece. Several Japanese Peony candles were in clusters around the glassware. Her entourage having dissipated, Buffy sat at the reception table in the silent studio, smoothing over the white linen that covered the table, lost in thought.

“Ready?” Buffy twirled around, her veil swooshing behind her. Spike came into the room, taking his place behind the camera and it’s stand. He wore blue jeans, a black t-shirt, and well-wore Vans. She felt silly being so overdressed.

He looked over her and the scene around her, earlier he had silently pushed everyone out of the room and had leaned up against the doorframe, just watching her. She was glowing and looked perfectly in her element. She was the most perfect, exquisite bride he’d ever seen. “You look beautiful.”

She glanced over her ensamble, blushing slightly, “Thank you,” she answered softly. Something caught her eye, sitting off to the side of the table was a five-tier vision with roses, piping, and swags.

“Is this real?” she asked, pointing to the cake on the table.

“Try it,” Spike replied with a knowing smile.

Buffy swiped a finger into the confection, placing her recently French-manicured finger into her mouth. Just as she suspected -- red velvet, just like she’d wanted, had the wedding been real. But it all was kind of real. A little too real.

Sensing he was losing her, Spike took her hand, leading her into the middle of the set, “Just have fun with this okay, luv? Promise me?” Buffy gave him a sweet smile and shook her head. Spike grabbed a remote -- pointing it at the stereo in the corner, he pressed play. The romantic tunes of Frank Sinatra began to filter through the stereo. “I usually have Sex Pistols, Generation X, The Clash, or some other equally ass-kicking tunes in here, luv,” he winked at her, “But for you I made an exception.” He gestured to the music currently playing, “Thought it set the mood -- classic and romantic.”

For the next three hours, Spike took hundreds of pictures of Buffy. He had her sitting at the reception table with her hand resting on her chin, sitting on the floor with her dress billowing around her, and standing with her bouquet close to her face. She’d never seen Spike so much in his element. Just as she suspected from witnessing first-hand his inability to stay still in any situation, he was an active photographer. He had laid on the hard floor to get a shot of her standing with the stained glass behind her and followed her around the set, asking her to act natural. She sent him an exagerated glare, and he laughed, requesting her to maybe not be THAT natural. Buffy had laughed and he had taken the opportunity to snap several shots. His mind reeled with creative possibilities. A fan blew a light breeze at Buffy and he took a string of close-ups for the cover.

They were getting so carried away that they hadn’t heard Spike’s assistant enter the room, “Hi, Buffy,” Tara greeted quietly, “You look really pretty.”

“Thanks,” Buffy replied happily.

Tara took Spike’s place behind the camera and he joined Buffy on the floor.

Buffy looked slightly alarmed, “What are you doing?”

“Getting in the picture.” At her quizzical look, he continued, “It’s customary, in our world of fashion, to get a couple taken of the photographer and his subject. They use them in the contents, with blurbs on who worked on which layout.”

“Oh.”

Feeling her begin to tense at not being sure what to do, he took her hand, “Here,” he reached over and changed the track on the CD player. The exotic beat of Dean Martin’s “Sway” began to play, and Spike firmly pulled her towards him, putting on arm around her waist. He began to move them. He twirled her around the floor, Spike leading easily and Buffy following. He began a basic tango that Buffy was surprised he knew.

Buffy laughed, “You know how to dance?”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” he swung her around the floor with renewed furvor, adding a few more complicated steps and dipping her back.

Tara smiled behind the camera, as the couple continued to giggle on the floor, both collapsing against each other when the song came to an end. This was going to be a beautiful shoot.

TBC

Author’s Note: Please stick with me, I know you’re getting antsy for some major Spuffy and it’s coming -- a major realization next chapter, and I’m updating sooner to get to the ultimate payoff a little quicker!

CHAPTER 19 -- Early to Bed, Early to Rise

Spike walked through the deserted office of Today’s Bride, everyone having left hours before. He’d been doing a lot of that lately --getting in early and leaving late. In a move that shocked even himself, he had turned down a couple of parties that night and a particularly promising night with Lola, January’s cover girl, a few days before.

He strolled into an empty room. In the middle of the office was a long, four legged table littered with fifty or so proofs -- all under consideration and deep scrutiny for the next issue’s cover and layouts. Spike aimlessly flipped through a couple, some of which he had taken and some not. At the sound of approaching footsteps behind him, he whipped around.

“Well, aren’t we staying a bit late?” Cordelia stood in the doorway, arms crossed and looking impressed.

Spike shrugged, tossing the proofs back onto the pile, “Thought I was the only one left. What are you still doing here?”

“Lola threw a fit this morning when her make-up wasn’t done to her liking. It was a disaster with the photographer ending up with expensive cake smeared all over his five thousand dollar camera. I stayed late to make a few phone calls to assure him everything would be replaced.”

He chuckled at the fussy model and turned back to the photographs in front of him.

Cordelia’s brow crinkled, “Weren’t you supposed to go out with Lola the other night?”

“Yeah,” Spike replied flatly.

Cordelia eyed him critically. She had noticed a difference in Spike since he returned from his little trip home. Whereas he used to come sauntering through the doors of Today’s Bride unapologetic and brash, he was now there before anyone else, flying under the radar and remaining low-key. Lately, when she heard stories about outrageous outside-the-office behavior -- it was never about Spike. Strange.

His cell phone rang. Cordelia watched as Spike retrieved it from his pocket eagerly and checked the caller ID.

Spike frowned at the phone. It was Lilah. Some late-night booty call, he imagined. Spike sighed, turned the ringer off, and hid the phone back away in his pocket.

At his uncharacteristic behavior, Cordelia had a feeling it was a girl that called him -- but not the girl he wanted. She smiled, “I saw the proofs of your shots this morning -- really hot.” She stopped behind him and whispered, “And I’m not talking about the ones of just her.” She slide an envelope over his shoulder, into his hands. He looked confused, but as she sauntered out of the room Cordelia suddenly turned back.

“Spike, just promise me something, okay?”

Spike nodded, “Sure.”

“Be careful,” she stated. “I don’t know what this whole attitude adjustment thing is about, but I’m pretty sure it’s moving towards the better. I just have a feeling that things are going to get a little messy for a while. Whoever just called is going to be mad at your rejection, and whoever you wished had called -- she probably doesn’t know you want her to. You’re life’s about to get a major face-lift -- fight for it.”

Cordelia turned and left the room.

He took a moment to take in the fashion editor’s revelations about him. He smiled, shook is head, and peeled back the fold. In the envelope were the shots he had taken of Buffy. He sifted through them, smiling at the memories of the day. He passed by the single shots of Buffy until he reached the photos of the both of them -- the ones Tara had taken of him and Buffy together. One was the two of them posed lounging on the ground, Buffy leaning back into his arms, a series of them dancing, another of him dipping her back. He continued to flip through, but stopped at a particular shot.

It was a picture of Buffy snuggled up against him, her hands balled up in his t-shirt, her eyes closed in serenity, a soft smile upon her face. She alone made it a beautiful shot, but what jarred him was the rest of the picture. His own face was cradled close to hers -- his eyes studying her ivory features. A slow smile also upon his lips. He didn’t remember this picture -- it was not one they had posed for. It was taken without either one knowing it -- completely natural.

Buffy. The smell of her perfume. Her smile. Her laugh. How cute she looked with flour on her face. All these things assaulted his senses as he stood alone, staring down into her face on the picture in front of him.

“Fuck,” he stated into the empty room. “I’m in love with her.”

TBC

Author’s Note: Spike realized his feelings -- next chapter he’s going to do something about them. Don’t miss Chapter 20 -- Pivotal Moment (Horrendously long -- four chapters in one)

CHAPTER 20 -- Pivotal Moment

Author’s Note: Ok, this chapter is long, but not as long as I originally planned (and promised). It’s my first week of school, so until I get a set schedule, I didn’t know when I’d have time to update, so I split the chapter in two so I could give you an update sooner. Don’t hate me -- happy reading! And a BIG THANK YOU again to everyone currently voting for “Game of Love” on Spuffy Archives!!!

Willow couldn’t help but smile across the front room of Fairytale as Buffy laughed at something Ben had said, jokingly placing a bridal crown with a three-foot veil on top of his head. Willow was glad Buffy had found someone. At least for now. Granted, she liked Ben, but he just didn’t seem to be a perfect match -- something Buffy deserved. He was more like a training-wheel boyfriend -- something to practice on until the real thing came along. Willow’s smile quickly faltered and she quirked a critical eyebrow at the couple. Buffy was engrossed in a conversation with Dawn -- a story about an adventure she had with Janice, and the result of the current high school dreamboat, Kevin, getting a plate full of coleslaw and lima beans on his varsity letterman jacket. From behind, Ben slid his arms around his girlfriend’s waist. Buffy smiled at something Dawn had said, gently extracting herself from Ben’s arms and immediately finding something vastly interesting behind her desk. Before Willow had the time to further contemplate their budding relationship, the bell signifying the opening of the front door sounded throughout the store.

A bride, crying out of happiness at all her dreams coming true, exited the store as Spike made his way in.

He lurched out of the hysterical girl’s way, her mother following closely behind. Spike’s brow furrowed at the sobbing girl’s entourage as it passed him, “How’s Sam’s Club’s favorite Kleenex customer?” he asked, walking into the store.

“Hey!” Buffy popped up from behind her desk, attitude instantly brightened at his entrance. At her reaction, Spike’s chest grew a little tighter and his confidence bloomed. Buffy made a bee-line over to Spike, throwing her arms around his neck and giving him a kiss just to the left of his lips. He returned with his own almost-kiss. It was their new thing. Spike wasn’t sure when exactly it had started, but these hugs and close kisses after not seeing each other for a while was their own tradition.

Pulling back, Spike ran his hands firmly up and down her sides, eliciting a giggle from the blonde in front of him, “How’s my girl?”

“Not bad,” she replied, leaning all her weight on the arms slung around his neck. He swayed them back and forth, Buffy completely trusting him not to let her fall. “I missed you.”

“I called,” he defended.

Buffy rolled her eyes, “Yeah, and talked to my mother and sister more than you did me,” she pouted.

“I can’t help it if your family finds me irresistible,” he smirked.

“We played poker again the other day,” Dawn chimed in. “You should have seen her.” Dawn made a face, further solidifying the fact that her sister was a horrible liar and card player.

“Hey!” Buffy yelped. “I was the pure image of composure.”

“Not unlike you that day on the hill . . .” Spike’s face broke out in a smile.

Buffy gasped at his insinuation, “Well I wouldn’t have went that fast if you hadn’t pushed . . .”

“I was steadying you!” he interrupted.

“I was on skates! That hill must have been at a ninety-degree angle!” she yelled, her own smile upon her.

“The face you made when . . .” Spike burst into laughter.

Buffy couldn’t help it -- she rolled into an uncontrollable fit of giggles, “And then the old woman . . .” Buffy couldn’t finish the sentence at the two laughed harder at the memory.

The blonde couple continued to reminisce in code. Willow shot a glance over at Ben, who stood off to the side, smiling uncomfortably, trying to get in on the joke that only his girlfriend and old friend shared.

Willow felt bad for the odd guy out, how he was barely acknowledged when Spike walked in the room. Spike continued to tease Buffy about their apparent mishap on one of their skating trips and she began slapping at his chest half-heartedly amidst her laughter. Spike turned his back defensively to Buffy and her pummeling hands. In response she jumped on his back playfully.

Willow continued to observe Ben’s dejected attitude. Even when Buffy and Spike hated each other, whenever one would walk into the room, the other would forget that anyone else was in the room and zone in on the torturing. Now, their relationship had grown. The torturing was gone, but that aspect of only the two of them in their own little world still remained.

“Oi! Watch it, Summers,” Buffy rode Spike in a zigzag fashion around the room, using the neckline of his t-shirt as reins, before parking him over by the desk and sliding off him.

“Ben,” Spike nodded in the direction of his friend.

“Spike,” Ben greeted back.

The guys began conversation as Buffy carried a dress over to the far corner, laying it down on the table, a smile in her lips.

“So . . .” Willow ventured over to her friend, “Where are you and Ben off to tonight?”

“Oh, just the standard dinner and movie. And then . . .” Buffy’s lips curled into a smile, “We’ll see.”

“What do you mean?” Willow looked perplexed.

Buffy glanced over at her boyfriend, who was across the room talking to Spike, “I’m going to sleep with him, Will,” Buffy bounced on her heels.

Willow didn’t look so excited. After what she had just witnessed with the Ben-Buffy-Spike dynamic, she was even more hesitant to say that Ben was Buffy’s perfect guy. Whether Buffy admitted it or not, she was a bit of a romantic. She had the one-guy-one-girl-forever innocence. You could see it in her wedding store, by the fact that she never had a boyfriend, and that she shied away from cereal-dating losers like the other girls their age.

“Don’t you think you should wait a little, you know, until you’re sure?”

The joy drained out of the blonde, “What? Will, you guys always treat me with kid-gloves when it comes to dating. You sleep with whoever you want!”

“No, Buffy, I’m just telling you not to settle.”

“What about Ben is settling?”

“What about Spike?” Willow countered.

Buffy squinted, “What about him?”

“Buffy, I just witnessed you blow off Ben when Spike walked into the room.” Buffy was a smart girl, always had been, but when it came to certain things, she was blatantly oblivious. “Buffy, he’s kind of in love with you,” Willow braced herself for a reaction. “And I think you like him too.”

Buffy deflated, “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Buffy, the way you two act around each other. It’s so obvious. Why don’t you just admit it?”

Buffy’s jaw dropped. What had brought this on? She knew she was the most inexperienced out of their little group, but she was also an adult capable of making her own decisions about her love life. First Spike showed up with his little “Get Buffy her first boyfriend quick” scheme and now Willow was pushing her in the opposite direction. That was it. Buffy was fed up with being everyone’s project. She had her own life, her own relationship, and the rest of them couldn’t handle their Little Buffy growing up, no longer everyone’s den mother. Confused and angry, she shook her head, “I have to go,” Buffy grabbed her coat, leaving the store.

Both men’s eyes followed Buffy out of the store, both unaware of what had made her so upset. Ben turned back to Spike, “I guess that’s my cue,” he shrugged, grabbing his own coat and heading towards the door.

“Yeah, guess so,” Spike replied distractedly, his gaze still on the place where Buffy had disappeared, all the while knowing it should be him, not Ben, running after her. It was a battle to keep both his feet glued to the floor.

When the door finally closed for the final time, Spike let out a long breath, eyes closing.

Willow’s voice filtered from behind him, “She’s going out with Ben tonight.”

Agitated, Spike raked his hands though his hair, “Red, I’m the fucking idiot who set them up, of course I know they’re dating.”

Willow moved to say something, but Spike spoke again, a sigh of defeat in his voice, “You know what? Fine. Let her date him. I’m not gonna stick around like some little lost boy!” Spike held his head high, pride apparently back in place, “I’m moving on. I’ve got . . . prospects,” his last sentence wavered uncertainly.

“Spike, she’s going to sleep with him tonight,” Willow replied quietly to his tirade.

Spike looked around the room helplessly, “Son of a bitch!” he yelled. Willow winced at his exclamation. “I’m in love with her!” he screamed at Willow with the same intensity. Apparently his new-found pride was a front.

Willow smiled nervously, “I know, that’s why I told you.”

Spike collapse on the steps, wallowing in his own self-pity. “This is very inconvenient,” he stated dully.

Willow couldn’t believe what she was hearing, “What? It’s inconvenient for you so your just going to let her go out with him!? Sleep with him!? Spike, you have never in your life made anything easy for yourself, why should finding the love of your life be any different?”

“Red, you couldn’t stand me and Buffy being anywhere near each other. What’s with the cupid?”

“Well, I think it’s kind of romantic.”

Spike looked at her doubtfully, “You got another word for that? Projection?”

“What?” Willow stuttered nervously, “Don’t you go making this about me!”

“You’re banging my assistant, Red.” Her face flamed the same color of her hair and Spike rolled his eyes and sighed, “You’re in love and now you have some misguided notion that everyone should be as happy as you.”

“They should be,” she replied quietly before regaining her voice, now strong with rousing conviction, “Think about it: It’s mortal enemies, sworn to despise each other, turned lovers. Shakespeare couldn’t write that!”

Spike looked up at her from his place on the floor, “He did, Red, it’s called Romeo and Juliet. And before you continue, let me just remind you how THAT love affair turned out.”

Willow had no other choice. It was time for drastic measures. She put on her resolve face. “Spike, I’ve been your friend for years. I know your track record. Falling for Buffy is the smartest, albeit most ill-timed, decision you’ve ever made.”

“What are you saying I should do?”

“Go get her, stupid!”

“Red, she has no idea I have any intention of being more than friends,” he fought.

“Well . . . She might have . . . An inkling,” Willow stumbled over her words.

Spike shot her a piercing gaze, “Don’t make me hate you, Red,” he warned.

“Spike, I . . .”

“What did you do, Willow?” he growled, trying to control his rage. He would hate to have to go ape-shit on the most sunny-dispositioned girl in the world.

His use of her real name guilt-tripped her over the edge, “I kind of told her you were in love with her,” she released quickly, then shut tight her eyes, waiting for the inevitable blowup from her short-fused friend.

But she was met with silence. Warily, she ventured an eye slightly open. Her gaze met open air. Startled she shot both eyes open, venturing around the store.

He was over by the coat rack, slinging his jacket around his shoulders.

“Where are you going?” Willow called frantically.

“To find Buffy,” he replied.

The store clock chimed seven o’clock behind him.

TBC

CHAPTER 21 -- Complications

Your reviews are wonderful!!! Thank you so much! AND THANKS FOR GIVING ME AND CAROL STORY OF THE WEEK ON SPUFFY ANCHIVES!!!! You guys rock! And you convinced me -- I’m doing shorter chapters with more frequent updates. I’m hoping to put the next update up tomm or Tuesday. Thanks and happy reading!

Buffy raced around the empty house, gathering her last minute items distractedly. Her purse remained in the kitchen, her gold hoop earrings on the living room coffee table, and her wrap was God knows where. Ben would be there any minute to pick her up and she wanted everything to be faultless. An abrupt knock on the front door made her jump. Nervously, she flung the door back, an expectant smile on her face.

Coming face to face with the man on the other side of the door, her brightened features quickly vanished. She left the door in it’s halfway opened state and walked away.

Buffy kept her back to her visitor, “What do you want?” she asked, shuffling through a pile of junk on the coffee table for her missing jewelry.

Spike ran his gaze warily over the entire frame of the door, looking for some sort of invisible barrier. With the animosity he was receiving from Buffy, there might as well have been. Taking in a breath, he only ventured as far as the foyer. His eyes followed her form, clad in a black spaghetti strap dress, “Are you going out with him tonight?” he spoke sullenly.

Buffy spun on her heels to face him, a fire in her eyes he hadn’t seen in a month, “This was your idea you know! All this! You came back into town pushing guys at me! Trying to fix me!”

“I know,” he said in a hushed tone, looking at the floor, his palms wiping restlessly on his jeans.

Buffy threw up her hands, “Why the problem with this all of a sudden? I like Ben. I like him a lot. I’m happy.” She rushed past him into the kitchen, never looking him in the eye.

Spike cringed at her words, standing in the living room alone to compose himself before following. She was at the kitchen table, rummaging through her purse, probably for nothing but to keep her hands and mind occupied. “Where’s your mom and the Bit?”

She hesitated at his abrupt subject change, “Visiting my grandmother. They’ll be back on Sunday.” She made her way over to the refrigerator. “You want something to drink?”

He shook his head in response, “No.” She extracted a bottle of water, then reached up to the cupboard above her, taking down a pill bottle. Spike furrowed his brow, worried, “Since when do you take aspirin?” All the years he’d know her, she was stubborn when it came to pain -- always said she could handle it without any painkillers, even when the uncomfortable throbbing was obviously too much.

“Fighting with you makes my head hurt,” she replied quietly.

Spike smirked nervously, “Not unlike the time you actually hit me over the head with your Ramen Noodle bowl junior year.”

The look Buffy shot him was less than amused, “Don’t try to change the subject.” She bravely met his eyes, “Spike . . . What’s this all about?”

Spike closed the distance between them. Buffy looked startled, but didn’t move away. He cupped her cheek, rubbing the pad of his thumb over her soft features. He gently, slowly brought her mouth up to his. The softness of his lips coaxing her tongue from her mouth. She moaned into the kiss. They soundly tasted each other’s lips for a full minute. He pulled back and gazed into her eyes, swallowing hard, “I’m in love with you.”

“So I’ve been told,” she whispered. The lipstick she had worked twenty minutes on getting right was smudged and her lips swollen. He ran his thumb over her bottom lip. Buffy blinked and pulled away, the spell broken, “So, what . . . I’m supposed to ignore my feelings for him and jump into your arms?”

A bitter smile graced his features. He rocked back on his heels, “No, you’re supposed to decide you love me more than you love him and leave him for me.”

She scoffed aloud at the idea.

“Do you love him?” he asked. She didn’t reply and walked over to the counter to fetch her shawl, smoothing out the edges. “But you’re going to sleep with him,” he stated.

Buffy froze, turning slowly, “How did you . . .” realization came over her face, “Willow.” She shook her head, “God, is nothing sacred to you people!?” When Spike didn’t answer, she continued. “Can I ask you something? Why Spike? Why do you care?”

Spike’s eye pleaded with her own, “Because your first time shouldn’t be with him . . . It should be with me.”

The color drained out of Buffy’s features, “So that’s what this is all about! You getting a piece of ass! It has nothing to do with me! I should have known!” She paced violently around the kitchen.

Spike followed her, “Buffy, no, luv, you got it all wrong!” The sound of car wheels on gravel echoed in the night outside -- Ben had pulled into the driveway.

Buffy grabbed her things, making a quick exit towards the front door, “This is all about you, isn’t it? It’s been about you since day one! You used me to get a big magazine project and now you want to bang a virgin! It’s only about what you, Spike, Bachelor extraordinaire, wants. It always has been.”

“Buffy! Wait!” he reached for her.

She whipped her arm around out of his reach, “You can show yourself out.” With that she slammed the door behind her.

TBC

CHAPTER 22 -- Fiddle

Author’s Note: Thank you to everyone who’s currently voting for “Comedown” on Spuffy Archives! You guys are the best and your support and reviews mean the world to me! I wish I could hug each and every one of you! Happy reading!

Buffy was obviously in an agitated state. All night through the movie Ben had watched her as she shifted uncomfortably in her chair as if it was a cement block. She barely picked at the popcorn and chocolate covered peanuts in front of her. Now, two hours later, sitting across from him at a nice Italian restaurant, she fiddled with her fork, viciously cleaned off her spoon with her napkin, and twirled the ice in her glass with her straw.

Ben couldn’t help but smile a little at her nervous state. He’d been going out with her for a while, but had never witnessed any of the habits she so avidly displayed now. Habits that he recognized belonging to another one of his friends.

He slid his hand across the table, his larger one covering her tapping fingernails, bringing them to a halt, “So the movie was pretty good huh?”

“What?” Buffy looked up at him startled. Up to that point she had been staring fixatedly on her salad plate. “Oh, yeah, Denzel Washington is great.”

Ben looked puzzled, “Buffy . . . that was Will Smith.”

Buffy’s eyes widened, “Oh . . . Right, of course.” She gave him a half-hearted smile, “My bad.”

Buffy played with the corner of her menu which lay on the table. Ben had watched her and noticed that she hadn’t opened it yet. Looking to his right, he saw the waiter coming their way, “So, what are you ordering?”

“Chicken alfredo,” she answered instantly. She had ordered it there before and liked it. But it wasn’t as good as when Spike made it.

The couple placed their orders, handing over their menus, Buffy smiling guiltily when the waiter studied her dog-eared menu disapprovingly.

Buffy continued to drift her eyes aimlessly around the room, studying the sculptures decorating the place and paintings of quaint Italian villages mounted on the walls.

Ben examined his date, “Buffy, why are you here with me?”

“What?” she looked across the table at the queer look he was giving her. “What kind of question is that?”

His gaze never wavered, “Why are you here with me when you should be with him?” he asked gently.

“Him who?” she asked, nervously glancing around the restaurant, not liking where this conversation was going.

“Spike,” he replied.

Buffy jaw hit the floor, “Oh my god. I can’t believe this is happening. He put you up to this didn’t he? He told you . . .”

Ben interrupted her, “Buffy, what are you talking about? Spike didn’t tell me anything. Is there something I should know?”

Buffy continued to deny, “How do you . . .”

“You can just tell,” he sighed. “The way you are around each other. The way your faces light up when the other walks into a room.”

“We’re just friends,” she offered.

Ben gave her a contradictory look, “You ignore me when he’s around.”

Buffy slouched in her seat and pouted, giving a little, “I don’t mean to.”

“I know you don’t, that’s the incredible thing. You put the two of you in a room together and you fall into this incredible sync with each other. Buffy, I know you and I know Spike.”

Buffy shook her head, “Ben, I don’t feel the same way he does about me.”

“Don’t you?” he questioned.

They finished their meal in silence.

__________________________________________

They walked out of the restaurant together. Inside, Buffy was dumbfounded. She couldn’t believe it. Spike showed up in town with that cocky attitude of his and not only used her, but brainwashed everyone else. He had apparently successfully convinced everyone but herself that she was in love with him.

“Buffy, I know this night was supposed to be special for us, but with everything that’s gone on maybe we should just . . .”

She shut him up by kissing him, pushing her lips hard against his -- willing the fireworks, bells, and whistles to forcibly appear like the one’s she had seen earlier that night in the kitchen. None came, but Buffy ignored their lacking.

Ben pulled back breathless, shock evident on his face. He searched her eyes, “So what do you want to do?”

Buffy set her jaw, addressing him squarely, “Go back to my place,” she answered.

TBC

Author’s Note: I know!!! Angst, angst, angst and no Spike. Don’t worry, next chapter will be up in two days and you’ll all be happier individuals, I can assure you.

CHAPTER 23 -- Moondance

Author’s Note: Thank you again for all the reviews and for voting for “Comedown” on Spuffy Archives! This is a shorter chapter (the Author’s Notes probably being longer than the story) but I’ve got some great ideas coming up in the future based on some recent experiences I had. I’m very excited for the direction this story is going in and am not going to be stopping anytime soon.

Author’s Note: Ok many, if not all of you, are questioning my use of Ben and not Riley as the other guy. It comes down to this: I refuse to put Riley in a story in which he does not die violently and that just wasn’t where this story is going. And I needed you to like Ben, and his character doesn’t come with all the emotional reader baggage that Riley does. I needed room to work and create my own character a little for the good of the story and I’d be stuck with Riley’s Iowa corn boy image. I hate that image. So sit back, enjoy, and happy reading!

Approaching her front door she saw him. He was on the steps, illuminated only by the porch light and the moon. His eyes were bloodshot and he had his head cradled in his hands. He must have been sitting there all the hours she was gone.

He heard her heels clicking against the pavement in front of him but couldn’t bring himself to look up, afraid of some tale-tell sign on her face he didn’t want to see. She came to a halt in front of his hunched over form. He couldn’t bear to know, but at the same time couldn’t bear not to. The did she/didn’t she had been torturing his every thought for the past three hours, forty-two minutes, and twenty, no, twenty one seconds. “Did you sleep with him?” He asked quietly.

Buffy closed her eyes for a minute, trying to compose her thoughts, preparing what she would say to him. She wasn’t good with words, not like him. He said whatever was on his mind -- eloquently and with no concern to the ramifications. He just let his ideas fall off his lips and let everyone else deal with their meaning. She smoothed the back of her dress and sat down next to him, hands on her knees. “No, I didn’t sleep with him.” She answered just as quiet.

His hands slid to the back of his neck. He met her eyes for the first time, his usually immaculate features wreaked with hurt, slight confusion, and maybe a glimmer of hope, “Why not?”

After Buffy and Ben’s kiss, it had taken half the ride to her house for her revenge mode to cool off and Ben’s chivalry to prevail. He had renounced his earlier motives and refused to continue a relationship with a girl so obviously caught up in someone else. In the end it had all been so very anticlimactic and awkward. “Because he’s convinced I’m love with you,” she answered dully, so very tired of the whirlwind her life had taken in the past couple weeks. She’d have to think about simplifying in the future.

Spike’s body straightened in response.

Buffy rolled her eyes, her mood lightened, “Hold on their, cowboy. Just because someone fancies themselves perceptive doesn’t mean jack for you right now.”

He gave her a smile, “Well, you can’t blame a bloke for holding on to some hope.”

She turned to him, “Why don’t you . . .” He cut her off with his lips. It was demanding, chaste, soft, and promising. Everything a kiss should be.

He pulled away slowly and she sighed at the rightness, her eyes still closed and her lips slightly puckered.

Spike smirked at her state, running a hand into her hair, bringing her back to earth, “Remember to breath, sweetheart.”

Buffy opened her eyes and scowled, annoyed that he had so effortlessly reduced her to a sappy puddle of goo and knew it. “Doesn’t mean I love you,” she said.

“No,” he agreed, a slow smile spreading on his face, “But you will.”

TBC

CHAPTER 24 -- Resistance

She found it taped to the front door a week and a half later when she arrived to open Fairytale for the day:

“Bard Apartments. Room 512. Four o’clock,” the paper read. It was written in Spike’s distinct handwriting -- hurried but with a hint of the elegance of the proper cursive his father had distilled in him when he was young.

Buffy knew exactly where the address was. It was an apartment complex on the outskirt of the Sunnydale University campus. It housed students lucky enough to score a place outside of the dorms. And she knew exactly where Room 512 was -- it was Spike and Xander’s apartment for their four years in school. Buffy had roomed in the dorms with Willow for the first two years, but both got an apartment with Anya for their last two.

Buffy pulled the note off the door and folded it, sliding it into the back pocket of her jeans, and headed for the pile of boxes of new merchandise that sat in the corner. The balk of her day had gone on a little distractedly, Spike’s note pinned in the forefront of her mind. The last time she had seen him was the night on her porch when he had kissed her, insisted that one day she’d love him, and left town for L.A. Just what exactly was he up to?

And of course, he had left her to deal with the whole Spike-loves-Buffy debauchery on her own. Buffy couldn’t even count the number of Willow’s chocolate chip cookies she had to eat to ease her best friend’s pain. The redhead that insisted that the whole thing was all her fault and she shouldn’t have stuck her nose in any of it. Yet, Buffy couldn’t help but notice the distinct look of satisfaction on her friend’s face when Buffy had verbally rehashed the altercations with Spike -- both in the kitchen before her date and on the porch afterwards -- all of which had ended with the blonde couple kissing.

Although as open as she had been with Willow, Buffy kept the cryptic message to herself. Even when the bubbly girl arrived at the shop two hours later. Buffy feared she might seem a little distant, never catching what Willow had said the first time around and constantly asking her to repeat herself. But Willow was still guilt tripping over the fallout with Ben and the apparent addition of Spike to take much notice of Buffy’s behavior.

Nor did Willow act suspicious when Buffy left the shop hours before she normally did, having to make the twenty minute trek to campus. Buffy had simply made the excuse that she had to run some miscellaneous errands for her mother and planned on returning in a couple of hours.

Now, Buffy stood in front of a very familiar door. Taking a deep breath she rapped on it. When there was no answer, she slowly turned the doorknob. Pushing open the door, she was transplanted back to six years prior.

It was Spike and Xander’s old apartment all right, but not only in address. It was exactly the same as they had left it all those years ago. Buffy even thought she could still see the wine stain on the far wall from the time when she had chucked a glass of the deep purple beverage at Spike’s head and he had expertly ducked out of the way.

The furniture, complete with the cheap futon (which boys had picked up off of someone’s lawn) that sat opposite the twenty-five thousand dollar entertainment center, was all in it’s right place. Although she did find the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit calendar mysteriously missing from it’s usual spot as the living room centerpiece.

“Spike?” she called out, slowly wandering around the flashback before her.

She heard footsteps and whipped around to face the hallway. He walked out of the back bedroom wearing an outfit Buffy hadn’t seen him wear since college -- his black ensemble. She didn’t even know that he still had any of that stuff. The snug black jeans, the black t-shirt turned inside out that hid writing that only he knew what it read, the scuffed up boots, and of course his black leather trench coat that had been so ever-present in their college days. Even his hair was neatly slicked back, unlike the more messy spikes he sported in recent years.

Buffy ran her eyes over the scene, “What are you doing?” she asked confused, wonder laced through her voice.

“Starting over,” he replied taking a few steps toward her. “This, if you remember, is the first place we met. It was the first week of freshman year and Xander had invited you and Willow over to meet his stunningly handsome new roommate.”

Buffy didn’t remember the “stunningly handsome” part, but so far the story was true.

“And within, I believe, five minutes, you were already threatening to kill me.”

“You told me I had stupid hair!” she defended.

“Besides the point,” he continued his story, ignoring his part in their first conflict. “Our relationship only went downhill from there, ending with me leaving after graduation. When I came back it was only to get the big project.” His voice quieted, more introspective but at the same time revealing, “And it’s true . . . I didn’t care how it would affect you. But God help me Buffy, somewhere in the middle of all of it I fell in love with you.” Spike smiled, lifting his arms to bring attention to the room, “So I’m starting over.”

Buffy’s brows furrowed, then her eyes widened, “You’re living in Bard?”

Spike laughed, “No, I gave the frat boys living here fifty dollars in drinking cash and told them to get lost for the night. I got a place across town.”

“Oh,” she replied but continued to be lost just seconds later, “Wait, across town? You’re living in Sunnydale? What about your job?”

He bit his lip for a second, unsure how Ms. Responsible would react, “I quit,” he replied.

She didn’t disappoint him. Buffy’s green orbs grew even larger, “You what!? Why!?” she screeched.

“Because if I’m not near you I don’t feel right. Because this is home. Because if I’m really going to make this work with you -- which I know I am -- I have to be here, not three hours away. God help me if some prat gets some bright idea to come after you while I’m gone.”

“Oh, God, Spike, when I told you that this would always be home that night I didn’t mean to give up everything you’ve worked for all your life! Oh God, you don’t have any source of income. You’ll be living in a cardboard box and it’ll be all my fault! That was so irresponsible of you, Spike!” While Buffy continued to rave and work herself up into a frenzy, Spike looked anything but unsure about his decision. “I know you have some sort of idea about us, but what if it doesn’t work out? Then you’ll resent me for ruining your life!” He smiled at her nervous ramblings and stalk slowly towards her. In response she unconsciously back up as she continued her rant.

“Did you give them any notice or did you just up and walk out? They won’t give you any kind of recommendation if you left under bad terms!”

They continued the cat and mouse movement until Buffy was pressed against the door. He had one hand on either side of her, effectively caging her in.

Buffy was scared and he could tell, and not just by her incessant talking. Buffy didn’t like her world to be so abruptly shaken and Spike had effectively turned it on it’s head. He had given up his entire life in L.A. -- one that had taken him six years to build -- and that showed her just how serious he was about her. Now he was here full time. That meant she didn’t get any convenient breaks from him when things got too heavy.

Spike could see she was still mad at him. Her jaw was locked in place and her hands were curled up into tight balls, just begging to sock him in the nose. He gently lifted one of her clenched fists and kissed her knuckles tenderly. “I hate you,” she told him.

“I know,” he continued to worship her hand.

Each placement of his lips on her hand loosened her tight fist. He pressed kisses all over her hand until it was pliable. He intertwined his fingers in hers, “But you love me,” he stated.

Buffy huffed, “Good luck getting me to admit it,” she said doubtfully.

Spike smirked, “Baby, that’s going to be half the fun.”

TBC

Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews and the votes on Spuffy Archives! Next chapter: Anya's wedding shower

CHAPTER 25 -- Showers

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who's sticking with (and reviewing) this story, I'm really having a great time writing it! And again, thanks for all of you voting for "Comedown" on Spuffy Archives! Happy reading!

“That’s FIVE!” a woman yelled at Anya from her place at one of the white linen covered tables. The room burst out into laughter.

Buffy, Willow, and Tara stood next to Anya, who sat amongst strewn wrapping paper and empty toaster boxes. When she was done tearing into one wedding present, Willow would hand the grabby bride-to-be another. Dawn came running over to the group. “Why do they keep counting like that?” She asked, annoyed she wasn’t in on the joke.

“It’s an old superstition for wedding showers. All the ribbons the bride breaks is supposed to be the number of kids she’s going to have,” Tara answered.

“Six!” A group of family members called out. Anya seemed unfazed by her growing number of offspring.

“Sweetheart, take it for someone with three children -- easy on the ribbon!” a woman called.

Anya smiled brightly, “That’s alright. That means more orgasms for me and more expensive presents from all of you in honor of the birth of each of my children . . . and their subsequent birthdays ever year after.”

While the crowd was charmed by the young woman, Buffy and the rest of the bridesmaids rolled their eyes. Anya’s hand shot out and Buffy took yet another shiny ribbon from her, dutifully weaving it into a Styrofoam plate.

“Now what are you doing?” Dawn asked.

“Taking the bows from the gifts and making a bouquet out of them. She’ll carry it during the wedding rehearsal.”

Dawn slouched, “Jeez I’ll never remember all this stuff. When you and Spike get married, I’m going to be the worst maid of honor ever.”

Buffy smiled at her sister, “That’s okay, mom and Willow will help . . . . Wait, who’s getting married!?” Willow and Tara exchanged smiles and barely contained laughs.

“You and Spike,” Dawn answered slyly.

Buffy looked to the sky, “Oh for the love of God! Dawn have you been talking to Spike!?” Buffy had her hands on her hips, head cocked to the side.

“No,” Dawn answered. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. Jeez Buffy, if you two don’t get married all your unresolved sexual tension will have been pointless.”

“Where did you learn about unresolved sexual tension? You shouldn’t know anything about that,” Buffy scolded.

“Why Buffy, what has Spike been saying?” Willow asked smiling, taking joy in her friend’s discomfort. Apparently she wasn’t feeling guilty about Buffy’s romantic situation anymore.

“Nothing,” Buffy replied quickly. “Not a thing, haven’t seen him.”

“I still can’t believe he quit his nice cushy job for you,” Willow marveled.

“Agh, don’t remind me. I feel bad enough as it is.” Buffy looked at the couple next to her. He eyes widened in shock, “Oh God, Tara you lost your job and it’s all my fault! I am so sorry!”

Tara didn’t look too concerned, “Oh, don’t worry about me. Spike’s got something lined up,” she smiled secretively.

Buffy sighed, exasperated, “What is it about Spike that brings out nothing but optimism and confidence in you people?”

“What did he say?” Willow pushed.

Buffy exhaled in defeat, “He wants to start over.”

Willow’s eyes lit up, “Oh, that’s so romantic!”

“Excuse me!” Anya interrupted their conversation. “But as bridesmaids you are required to fawn over me! I’m not feeling very fawned! You can talk about Spike and Buffy having sex AFTER my wedding!”

Buffy face proceeded to change to a lovely shade of red. Tara gave the group a crooked smile, “Well, this wedding shouldn’t be too bad.”

“Have you seen the bridesmaid dresses?” Buffy panned.

Willow turned on her, “And who was the one who let her pick them out!?”

Buffy grimaced, “She was a tyrannt! You’re lucky you’re wearing the ones that you are! You should have seen the tapioca nightmare I talked her out of!” They all turned back to the demanding bride.

“Ohhhhh, a red lace teddy!” Anya screamed, handing Buffy another broken ribbon.

_______________________________________

While the girls continued to ooh and aah over candles and bedspreads, Xander and Spike were at the Bronze, keeping it simple with beer and pool.

Xander knocked the six into the corner pocket, but missed his next shot. Clem leaned against the wall, watching as Spike perused around the table for a shot.

“So, Spike, when are you gonna get hitched?” he asked.

Spike opened his mouth to speak, but Xander interrupted.

“No, no, no,” Xander slapped a hand on Spike’s back, “Man are you barking up the wrong tree! Spike here is the proverbial bachelor,” he announced proudly. “He’ll never settle down in one place.”

Spike quirked an eyebrow at is friend, “That’s not true.”

“Oh, no,” Xander continued without taking heed to the blonde’s words, “Spike is my idol. He wanders the world alone, open to any good time that comes his way, may it be blonde, brunette, or redhead.” Xander threw back his beer, gulping heartily.

Spike pivoted on his heels, leaning on his pool stick, to face his friend, “I quit my job and plan on marrying Buffy,” he deadpanned truthfully.

Xander sputtered his drink out of his mouth. Spike hit him on the back a few times to dull the violent coughs. “What!?” he shrieked. “You quit your job? Marrying Buffy? Since when do you like Buffy? Well, yeah, I knew you had become friends but . . . What!? When did this happen?”

Spike thought about it for a moment, “I’m not sure.”

“So . . . No more models?” Xander looked utterly let down.

Spike shrugged, “Sorry I didn’t live up to your expectations, mate.”

“Marry Buffy,” Xander said dismayed. He had seen Buffy earlier in the day. She hadn’t said a word. “Wait,” Xander shook his head, “Does Buffy know that you two are getting married?”

Spike couldn’t help but smile, “She will.”

______________________________________

“I thought only the groom was supposed to show up.” Buffy stood akimbo in front of the only non-groom man in the room.

Spike sent a glance towards the brunette, “Xander didn’t feel comfortable in a room full of wedding-obsessed women. He said I could work a room of females better than he could.”

“That I believe,” Buffy replied, picking crumpled tissue paper off the floor.

Spike glanced around the wedding shower, everyone too wrapped up in the bride and groom to notice him or Buffy. He placed his hands on her hips, bringing her back towards him. “Wanna get outta here, luv?” he whispered in her ear.

She spun around, “I’m the maid of honor! I’m not supposed to leave.”

“Yeah, and as the best man I’m asking if you want to get out of here,” he replied.

Buffy dropped her jaw at his pure ignorance of nuptial responsibility. It lasted about two seconds before she sagged in relief. “God, yes, let’s go.” She grabbed his hand, leading him out thorough the kitchen door, “Quick before Bridezilla sees us.”

TBC

CHAPTER 26 -- Pieces of Me

Author’s Note: Thanks for all the reviews and votes on Spuffy Archives! This chapter took me a little longer than planned, let me know if you like it! Next chapter should be out Friday or Saturday.

Buffy slid across the front leather seat of the Desoto, inching closer towards Spike. They wove smoothly through the streets of Sunnydale and Buffy let her head fall back against the headrest, relieved to be out of the clutches of Anya. At least for now.

Spike glanced over at the tired angel next to him, “Hungry luv?”

Buffy shook her head in the affirmative, her drooping eyes fluttering a little. She was wearing herself out working as both Anya’s wedding planner and maid of honor. This did not go unnoticed by Spike. The circles under her eyes were getting darker, and her body a little more angular by not eating right.

“How’s Joe’s sound?” he asked, noticing the sign for the diner up ahead.

“Very good,” she answered with a smile, dreaming of juicy hamburgers and milkshakes.

He pulled into the parking lot of Joe’s Diner, a local joint designed with fifties motifs in mind. At night you could see the neon outline of Marilyn Monroe in her pose from “The Seven Year Itch”.

Spike held the restaurant door open for Buffy, guiding her in with a hand on her lower back. The color scheme was a shiny red -- the cushy booths, the bar stools sparkled and the walls were covered in retro Coca-Cola Norman Rockwell-esque ads.

They sat themselves in a booth on the right, under a framed poster of James Dean from the “torn sweater” series.

An older woman with snowy-white hair pulled up in a tight bun and a nametag reading “Wilma” approached the table, handing them each a menu and taking a notepad out of the pocket of her apron.

“Our lunch specials are the BLT and ham and cheese sandwich, both come with fries or onion rings. Can I start you kids off with something to drink?”

The couple ordered, made quick by their stomach rumblings, and sat back to wait for their food.

Spike reclined back in his seat, “So how’d the shower go?”

Buffy shrugged, “Smoother than I thought. Anya only rejected one gift, asking what she would possibly do with a bread maker. Granted this was after she learned it didn’t make bread as in money, but the kind you eat. She demanded they go back and get her something she planned to get some use out of -- lingerie.”

Spike laughed at the story, not incredibly surprised that such a thing had occurred.

“Bachelor and bachelorette parties in a couple weeks.” Buffy reminded him.

“Don’t worry, Summers. I didn’t forget -- we got the whole thing planned already.”

Buffy sat up, “Let me guess . . . A night consisting solely of strippers and beer?”

Spike smirked, “No, we thought we’d mix it up a little . . . Strippers, whiskey, and beer.”

Buffy’s eyes widened in false shock, “Oh, my mistake.”

He smiled, “You’re excused.”

_____________________________________________

After their meal, they slid back into the car. Instead of making a right out of the parking lot, back towards the wedding shower, Spike made a left, following the sign that pointed towards the highway.

Buffy quirked an eyebrow, “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Buffy sat up, “Spike, I’m the maid of honor.”

“It’s not your wedding. They have Tara and Willow to help finish up.” He wound his fingers into hers, “Come on, let me have you for the rest of the day.”

“But I have to get back to . . .” she began halfheartedly.

“To what?” he challenged. “What do you have to do today that can’t wait until tomorrow? Pretend you don’t have a job. You don’t have any responsibilities.”

“Like you?” she smiled.

Spike returned her grin, “Yeah, like me.”

Buffy yawned in response.

He cupped her cheek and ran a hand over her hair, “You can sleep, luv. I’ll wake you up when we get there.” Buffy yawned again and didn’t fight him. Spike reached into his backseat, bringing up a blanket and arranging it over her.

__________________________________________

“We’re here, luv.” Buffy was awoken a couple hours later by his gentle tone and hands rubbing up and down her back. She smiled and stretched against the seat, feeling so much better from her nap.

He opened her door, taking her hand and helping her out of the car. She looked over the hood of the car at the scene around her. She was presented with a gorgeous view of the sun setting over the ocean. “Where are we?”

“Secret place. Not many people know about it, just the early morning surfers.”

They walked down the beach a little ways then sat down to watch the glorious colors across the sky. Buffy sat between his legs leaning her back against his chest. A breeze greeted the couple, giving Spike an intoxicating aroma of the salty ocean and vanilla perfume. Spike brought his hands up to rub her shoulders and lower back and she relaxed further against him.

“Buffy, I did bring you out here for a reason . . .”

She tensed immediately at his words and Spike wound his arms around her tighter, not allowing to runaway.

“I told Xander today about my feelings toward you. Willow knows to, so does Tara. Point is . . . I don’t want to keep this thing between us from anyone. Buffy, I’m in love with you. I want you to be mine,” he whispered. He turned her so she was straddling his lap, her hands on his shoulders, love and uncertainty shining in his eyes. Shining for her. “Will you?”

She kissed him in response. It began with a simple press of her lips against his, her hands holding his face in place and his arms wound around her back. It escaladed quickly with a swipe of his tongue across her cherry coated lips. She opened her mouth to him and allowed her tongue to battle with his. She let herself go, allowing all her weight to rest on him. Her actions drove him further, slipping his hands under her top to skim her stomach and back. She moaned and wound her fingers in his hair. In her movements she ground herself down onto his hardness and heard him growl low in his throat. She smiled against his lips and repeated the action.

They continued their assault on each other’s mouths. Buffy felt his fingertips graze the outline of her breasts, causing her to realize her own emotions going out of control. She pulled back, “We . . . We have to stop . . .” she blushed, “I don’t want to . . .”

“I’m not asking you to,” he interrupted, worship and awe on his face. Buffy shifted away from him, uncomfortable in the intense silence.

Spike brushed golden locks off her face, causing her to look at him, “I’m just asking you to refrain from dating anymore of my friends,” he smirked. He furrowed his brows, “Or anyone else for that matter,” he finished, smiling again. “Can you do that for me, luv?”

Buffy smiled, nodding her head agreeably.

He dropped a light kiss on her swollen lips, “Come on,” he stood up in the sand, helping her to join him. Not letting go of her hand, they walked along the shore, stopping every once in a while to kick waves at each other and kiss. Looking up ahead, they saw a party in full evening swing. White Christmas lights shone through a white gauze tent. Jazz music flowed from the party, drifting down the beach.

Buffy slowed, ready to turn back. They had reached the end of the beach and she had no intention of interrupting anyone’s gathering.

Spike tugged on her arm, “We can’t just crash someone’s party!” she said.

“Watch me,” he replied, urging her further down the shore. But he didn’t take her into the tent like she thought, but led her up a steep set of wooden stairs leading to a deck built high over the ocean.

Once atop their destination, Buffy let go of his hand and walked over to the edge. From their place high above the tent, she could see through the flimsy cover at all the couples slowly swaying to the music below them. Paper lanterns glowed down on the romantic gathering, glints of lights dancing off couples old and young, eyes closed in bliss.

She felt him come up behind her and wrap his arms around her, beginning their own movement to the flowing beat. She brought her hands up around his neck. He placed a slow kiss on her neck and she closed her eyes as they continued to dance. He gently tugged on her waist, turning her around in his arms, never stopping their own personal waltz under the stars.

Hours later as the Desoto began it’s trek back home, the only thing lighting the road was the bright headlights of passing cars. Throwing the blanket over Buffy’s shoulders, she curled up against him. He kissed her silky strands and drew his right arm around her and she burrowed deeper into him, inhaling his scent of tobacco and musk, and closing her eyes.

TBC

CHAPTER 27 -- Bachelorettes

Author’s Note: Thanks for the reviews and thank you to everyone who voted for me on Spuffy Archives -- two fictions of the week in a row!!! Happy reading!

Five dildos, two finger vibrators, several bustiers with matching hose, and a box of banana, strawberry, and chocolate flavored condoms littered Buffy’s living room floor.

Buffy almost dropped the tray of margaritas in her hands as another wave of cries radiated through the house.

“Oh my God! Is that a Screamer 2004!? That is the best vibrator ever!” Somene yelled.

So went Anya’s bachelorette party.

As the maid of honor, the whole event was Buffy’s to plan. But Anya, being Anya, had her own ideas of how her last hurrah should go. With all of Anya’s input, all Buffy was left to do was make the arrangements which consisted of a few phone calls and one embarrassing trip to the local porn shop.

Whereas Buffy was fully prepared for a night of loud music and cheesy male strippers, she was blindsided by Anya’s request for a “romance enhancement” party, her reasoning being that they were all so sexually repressed that they should revel in the chance to broaden their sexual horizons. She also took into account the gay couple at the party -- she refused to waste money on dancers two of her bridesmaids would not be capable of enjoying.

So at two o’clock that afternoon, Buffy opened her home to the female half of the wedding party, assorted X-chromosomed individuals, and a woman named Linda and her assorted sex toys and edible lotion samples.

At first it had been a uphill battle to get Dawn out of the house. But with the first knock on their door being Anya with her own sex toy collection, Dawn was quick with a reason to get out of the house. Her first idea had been hanging out at Spike’s new place for the day, but when she found out her favorite new friend’s own evening would be consisting of scantily clad lap dancers, the youngest Summers had suddenly remembered the history project she had to finish with Janice.

Buffy took a deep breath and rejoined the party in her living room. Everyone seemed to be having a good enough time. Even Willow gamely passed around the paraphernalia, offering up a few recommendations out of her own experiences. When she wasn’t participating in the group discussion, she was whispering in Tara’s ear. The redhead’s girlfriend would lean over, pointing to something in the catalogue and sharing a flirty smile.

Buffy tried her best not to feel out of place at the sex toy party. She knew, looking around the room at the women, most of which she’d never met before, that she was the most inexperienced of the bunch. She didn’t know how exactly, but somewhere in middle school she’d missed the day where everyone got Dating 101. All of a sudden, everyone had significant others except her. And it only escaladed in high school and college. Boys continued to ask out all the girls -- all the girls except her. And she would have been more bold, perhaps, if the opportunity had presented itself. What was wrong with her? She wasn’t an idiot -- she had things going on upstairs. But she’d never been so much as close acquaintances with any boys, with the exception of Xander. Well, him and Spike. But Spike hadn’t counted . . . Until now that is. He was most certainly beginning to count now.

Late that evening, after a call from Dawn asking to sleep over Janice’s, Buffy wandered around her living room picking up the remnants of the party. Grabbing the last of the dirty plates and wrapping paper, Buffy turned to go to the kitchen. A knock on the front door halted her movements. Confusion over who would be visiting this late, Buffy cautiously opened the front door, only to relax and swing the door open the rest of the way.

“Hey, luv. Long day?” Spike walked into the foyer.

“Glad it’s over,” she replied.

Spike smiled and relieved Buffy of her load and took it to the trash can himself. He came back into the living room, shedding his coat and throwing it over the chair.

Her internal monologue calmed at his presence, Buffy allowed herself to be enveloped in his arms, leaning all her weight on him. She crinkled her nose, “Your shirt smells like smoke and strippers,” she pushed away against his chest.

“Would you rather I take it off?”

She eyed him shyly, “Maybe,” she replied.

His glance darted to the stairs, “Where’s the family?”

“Out of town and at Janice’s,” she answered.

He smirked and prowled closer to her.

She backed up until the backs of her legs hit the couch, then crawled onto it and kneeled, waiting for him.

He didn’t leave her for long, striding over to stop in front of her, capturing her lips with his. She drew him down to sit on the couch next to her. Unfolding her legs out from under her, Buffy shifted to straddle his legs and Spike’s hands reached around her, slipping his hands into the back pockets of her jeans, urging her closer. She moaned and he snaked a hands up under the back of her shirt. Finding no bra to hinder him, his fingers dove boldly to her front, cupping her naked breasts and squeezing sensuously. The cry of surprise from Buffy was muffled by his tongue in her mouth and it quickly turned into a moan as she broke away from him, arching back and thrusting herself further into his hands.

Spike reestablished the connection of their lips. Buffy wrapped her arms around his neck, but he pulled back with a queer look on his face, stopping the lovely massage of her breasts.

“What?” she asked breathlessly, having been thoroughly enjoying where his actions were leading.

He leaned against the back of the couch, lifting his hips up off of it, reaching under him and extracting something that was poking him in the back. To his incredible surprise, he brought out a leather cat-o-nine tails whip.

Buffy clamped a hand over her mouth, doing nothing to silence her laughs, “Anya’s bachelorette party,” she answered his unspoken question.

His sagging jaw clamped shut, recovering from his shock, “And here I thought it was yours. Way to get a bloke all excited.” She giggled and he swatted her on the ass with his new toy.

“Please tell me you don’t know how to use that.”

“Course I do.” He leered at her, “You’ll learn all the things I know.”

“And with that I say goodnight.” She moved to get off him.

But he gave her no chance to get away, grabbing her hips, “I’m kidding,” he amended. “Well, not really. I’ll say anything to just keep you in this position.” She smiled amusedly, placed a lingering kiss on his lips, but got up anyway.

He watched her move about the room, folding a blanket and opening a wooden chest. He arched an eyebrow, “What do you have in there? Foreplay dice?”

“You wish,” she shot back, placing the throw in the box and closing the top.

He sighed and grabbed the remote off the coffee table, reaching to turn on the television.

“Wait!” Buffy yelled, diving for the remote in his hand. Yanking it off of him, she bolted to the VCR, ejecting the tape that would have cued up to play had he pressed power.

“Buffy . . .” he drawled out. “What do you have there?”

“Nothing,” she squeaked, clutching the videotape to her chest.

Spike launched off the couch, causing Buffy to yelp and run for the hallway, the movie held tight in her hands.

He trapped her easily against a far wall and wrestle her secret out of her little hands. He held the tape up in the air, high out of her reach, squinting to read the title.

“Deep Throat?” A scarred brow shooting up, “You a fan of the classics, luv?”

“It was Anya’s idea and for her bachelorette party,” she scowled in embarrassment.

He brushed golden curls off her face, “Well I’m glad Anya left us some things to play with,” he smirked.

“Stay here with me tonight,” she requested softly. “I don’t mean . . .” her cheeks flushed, “Just sleep here.”

Spike smiled, “Sure, luv.”

He took her hand and led her back over to the couch. He stretched out on it and she crawled over him, laying on top of him and resting her head on his chest. He turned on the TV, stopping on a late night comedy show, and reached behind him and clicked off the lamp, the flicker of the show the only thing illuminating the two.

TBC

CHAPTER 28 -- Plans For The Future

Buffy woke up to the distinct smell of pancakes wafting from the kitchen. She looked around at the snug cocoon she was wrapped in. She was on her side facing Spike, his right leg nestled between her own. Before she had woken up, her head had been neatly tucked under his chin. Both his arms were wrapped tightly around her, her hands rested on his chest, one still clutching his t-shirt. Somewhere during the night he had pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over them. She wasn’t sure when she had fallen asleep, but all she knew was that she hadn’t slept that easily and soundly in a long time. Speedy Gonzales beeped across the television screen behind her. She turned her attention back to the man next to her and admired his face and boyish features while he slept. She kissed his scared brow and ran her thumb over his cheekbone before gently extracting herself from his arms.

Buffy padded into the kitchen to find her mother huddled over a bowl of pancake batter.

“It’s about time you got up. Is Spike still asleep?” Buffy nodded in the affirmative, taking a seat at the counter and pouring herself some orange juice. Joyce busied herself around the kitchen, shooting the occasional glances at her daughter until she realized that looking nosey would be inevitable, “So,” she started, “When did this happen?” She nodded her head in the direction of the boy asleep in her living room, a bright smile tugging at her lips.

Buffy rolled her eyes, “No gloating.”

Joyce’s smile widened, “I’m not gloating. Can’t a mother just be happy when she comes home early from a business trip to find two of her favorite children asleep in each other’s arms on her couch?”

Buffy sighed at her mother’s simplistic romanticism, “We ‘found’ each other years ago. We just recently stopped hating each other.”

Buffy went back into the living room. Sitting down gently on the couch next to Spike, careful not to wake him. She ran light fingering caresses over his features. When he inhaled deeply at her touch, she raked her fingers through his mussed hair. He nuzzled into the caress.

“Hey sleepyhead,” she greeted quietly as his eyes blinked open.

Spike smiled, pleased with they way he was awoken, and arched off the couch in a feline stretch, “What time is it?”

“Quarter past twelve,” she answered, playing with the skin of his abdomen that had been exposed during his movements. In reply, Spike snuggled deeper into the couch, pulling Buffy to lie down with him. She giggled as he re-intertwined his arms and legs around hers. They lay with each other, running lazy hands up and down the other’s body.

“Well, mom’s making animal shaped pancakes if you’re interested,” Buffy said, glancing up at her boyfriend, fingers walking up under his t-shirt.

Spike grabbed her wandering digits, kissing the tips and smiling, “Always.”

Buffy sat up, pulling Spike up and onto his feet. Not letting go of his hand she led him eagerly into the kitchen and to the table.

“So, what are you two up to today?” Joyce asked, flipping a stack of pancakes onto each plate and passing them to the couple.

Buffy looked at Spike questioningly and he shrugged. “I don’t know,” Buffy answered for them. “Hanging out, maybe a skate in the park.”

Spike put his fork down, tilting his head at Buffy thoughtfully, “I want to show you something later.”

“Okay,” Buffy agreed easily. “What is it?”

“A surprise,” he answered, turning back to his food, giving her no more clues.

___________________________________________

Spike pulled over to the side of the road and he and Buffy walked off the street up to a boarded up shop, a construction sign on it’s window. Spike reached into his pocket, surprising Buffy by producing keys and unlocking the door.

“Are you sure we’re allowed in here?” she glanced around at passing strangers.

“I promise I’m not tattering your record, Summers,” he replied, pushing open the door.

Buffy entered to find a vast room filled with boxes and various tools. A thick coat of sawdust covered everything -- evidence of a wall having jut been knocked down. Branching off the bigger room was several other rooms about the size of Buffy’s bedroom.

“What do you think, luv?” Spike asked expectantly, studying her reaction.

Buffy searched her dusty surroundings, “I think the owner need to find another maid.”

“I take offense to that,” Spike smirked.

Buffy turned to him, “Why?”

“I bought it.”

“You what?”

“It’s mine,” he replied. “I’m opening my own studio.”

Buffy’s eyes brightened at his enthusiasm, “What do you know about owning a business?”

Spike sighed, “Not much. But Tara knows a lot. She’s the co-owner.” He continued on in front of her, “This will be the main desk over here,” he pointed towards the far right corner. “We’ll knock out these front walls and put in glass windows that can display our work.” He ran over to the line of doors, “I’m thinking in each of these rooms here, we can build a different set. That way everything can be really detailed and pre-set at the beginning of the day so me and Tara can keep up with the appointments better.”

Buffy continued to stare at her surroundings in awe.

“Think of it: I’m only ten minutes away from your store. Willow splits her time between there and school just down the road. She’ll be stopping in here to visit her girl.” He wrapped his arms around her waist as they continued to stroll around the territory. “I can visit you anytime I want. We can work out our hours so we can have lunch together everyday and close up at the same time. I can pick you up at the end of the day.” Buffy closed her eyes, letting his dreams and plans wash over her. “And we’re just down the street from the daycare and elementary school. If anything happens, either of us could easily go get the kids.”

Buffy was momentarily jolted at his mention of their children. But mulling over the future some more, she let herself fully envision her life in a few years. And for the first time it didn’t scare her. Pictures of a little boy with blonde curls and mischievous blue eyes danced through her head.

She turned around in Spike’s arms, kissing him soundly, “I think that sounds wonderful.”

TBC

CHAPTER 29 -- Rehearsal

“They will be here, Anya!” Buffy insisted for the fortieth time, arranging a tall bouquet of flowers that sat in the aisle of the church. The big day was tomorrow afternoon and Anya insisted on running off an unending list of last minutes items to Buffy, triple checking that they would all be in place come one o’clock the next day.

“What is up with you?” Willow asked, her and Tara walking up to the two blonde girls. They were all dressed in their wedding-rehearsal finest, each of their outfits having been OK’d by Anya.

Buffy ceased playing with the tulips, “What?” she asked, a smile playing at the corners of her glossed lips.

Willow let go her own grin, “This laissez faire attitude. You’ve been different these past couple weeks.”

“It’s all the orgasms Spike’s been giving her,” Anya answered haughtily.

Willow and Tara’s eyes widened, “What!? What orgasms? Spike’s giving you orgasms? Spill!” The redhead insisted.

“I . . . But . . .” Buffy took a few steps back, not sure when exactly the conversation had took this embarrassing turn.

“You know she HAS been acting weird the past couple weeks since the bachelorette party,” Tara teased.

“Oh, have you tried the Screamer 2004?” Anya inquired. “It always gives me the sort of orgasmic glow you’ve got going.”

Buffy continued to back up until she hit into something hard. Breathing in the familiar and comforting scent, she relaxed against it.

“These birds picking on you, luv?” Strong arms wound themselves around her.

“Yeah, and they’re nosey too,” Buffy pouted.

“Come on,” he tugged her away from the rest of the bridal party. “I haven’t seen you all day,” he said, nuzzling and kissing her neck.

Buffy sighed in contentment. The last few weeks had past in relaxed bliss. Even the strains of the wedding plans hadn’t put a damper on her spirit. Spike’s daily visits and the mini-vacations he stole her away for didn’t allow her to be stressed. She let her mind wander back to a couple days prior:

“Hey, you haven’t seen my new place yet!” They were in Spike’s car, coming back from lunch. “Lemme show it to you.”

Buffy’s stomach knotted in both nervousness and excitement at the prospect of being utterly and completely alone with him, with no chance of annoying sisters and nosey mothers interrupting. The number of make-out sessions that had been cut short were countless. But if Spike had been upset, he’d never shown his disappointment.

He pulled into the driveway of a posh condo situated on the top of a hill.

“Wow,” she gasped, looking around his spacious room upon entrance. It was a vast wood floor that covered the living room, dining room, and kitchen. An inviting leather couch sat in the middle of the room. A large glass wall loomed in front of her, allowing for a breathtaking view of Sunnydale below. A hallway branching off of the living room led to two bedrooms and a bathroom.

“Come on, you gotta see the place,” he took her hand, giving her a grand tour, at one point having to physically carry her out of the bathroom when she spied the bathtub big enough for five people. The last stop on the tour was his bedroom.

Dramatic in design, the main point of the room was the four poster bed, a deep mahogany that complimented the deep reds and blacks that colored the space.

“Spike, this place is gorgeous,” she sighed, running her fingers over the satin bedspread.

“Glad you like it. Figured we can use it as our little getaway. Come over Thursday and I’ll cook you dinner.”

Buffy turned to face him and nodded enthusiastically. Spike made his way towards her, but broke away abruptly.

“Oh, I almost forgot, I got you a housewarming gift,” he rushed off to the closet.

Buffy laughed, “Shouldn’t I be getting you something? You’re the one with the house.” She slid onto the bed behind her, her feet dangling off the edge.

He returned to the foot of the bed with a wide blue rectangular box in his hands. Buffy looked at him quizzically before taking the box from him and removing the lid. She gasped at what she saw. Inside were a pair of dangle chandelier earrings. They were the same pair she had specified as the set she most wished to wear at her dream wedding and had been leant to her for the Today’s Bride magazine shoot.

“When I was cleaning out my office I found those in wardrobe. I couldn’t imagine them finding anyone else they looked more beautiful on.”

“They’re lovely. Thank you,” She awarded him with a bright smile and an adoring kiss.

He gazed down at her, contemplating his words before speaking, “I love you, Buffy,” he spoke quietly. His face held his uncertainty, not sure whether he was going to be hugged or hit for his admission. But his features also showed the hopelessness of his situation. His heart burned for her whether he chose to admit it or not.

Her bight green orbs held his, “I love you, too,” she replied with a soft smile.

More elated with her answer than anything in the world, Spike quickly leaned down and captured her lips with his. Crawling onto his bed with her, they sprawled out next to each other. His hand rested on her hip.

“Do you really love me?” he asked in awe.

“Want me to show you how much?”

Spike nodded, “Yeah,” his voice lowering.

He almost choked when Buffy got up on her knees before him, crossing her arms at the hem of her shirt, bringing it over her head and throwing it into a far corner. She slid back down next to him. When he didn’t make a move towards her, uncertainty flashed across her eyes. She had applauded herself for her smooth undressing, but hadn’t a clue on where to go from there.

Spike broke out from his mist of desire. “Say stop and we stop,” he managed to say. His hand slipped to the waistband of her jeans, diving in and sliding around just enough to feel the silky material of her panties. His fingers turned back to the button of her pants. When he leaned in and kissed her, she crossed her hands behind his head and rolled onto her back, pulling him on top of her. Encouraged, he pushed down the zipper of her jeans and she help wiggled out of them.

Clad in nothing but her purple lace underwear, she tugged at his t-shirt until he got the hint and whipped it off. Spike slowed his decent of her body. If he went too fast, he was liable to loose the ounce of control he was so desperately holding on to and scare her. What they were about to do was new to her. And God help him he was going to make this last.

Keeping his eyes on her, he lowered his lips to her breast, wetly licking her nipple thorough the material of her bra. When she arched into him he attached his mouth and sucked strongly. Her head fell back under a cascade of blonde and one of her hands played with the hair on the nape of his neck, the other caressed up and down his bare back, scratching him with her nails.

He slid down the sheets to her stomach, not spending much time there as he continued down her body. Hooking his fingers in the waistband of her underwear, he slowly drew them off her. She moved to bring her legs closed, but he stopped her, looking into her eyes and massaging her thighs until she relaxed under his touch and opened herself to him.

With one long stroke, he applied his tongue to her sex. Keeping his licks on the surface, he alternated fast and slow, hitting her clit with each upward motion. Her head thrashed from side to side, and he backed off, settling her down. Her eyes crossed when he stabbed his tongue past her opening and deep into her core. Her hands twisted into the bed sheets above her head.

She moaned and pleaded for release and he didn’t stop his tongue’s onslaught until her body arched elegantly off the bed. When she slid bonelessly back down, panting, he continued to lap her clean.

He slid back up her body, leaving wet kisses as he went. “Good?” he asked, the grin on his face already knowing the answer.

“The best,” she sighed in contentment. But her glow quickly faded as his own uncomfortable situation became blaringly obvious, the tightness in his jeans rubbing against her thigh. She stumbled over her next words. “Spike, I want to . . .” she broke off, blushing. Unable to verbalize what she wanted, she looked into his eyes and reached down between them, unzipping his pants and reaching inside, wrapping her fingers around his erection and squeezing gently.

At her first touch, he slammed his eyes closed, “God, Buffy,” he breathed. Regardless of the number of times he had run this particular fantasy through his head, nothing, absolutely and posi-fucking-tively nothing beat the real thing -- being with her, here. When he refocused on her face, she moved her hand, swiping her thumb across the tip, scooping up his pre-cum. She lifted her finger to her lips, placing it in her mouth, she sucked on it.

“Where the fuck did you learn that?” he exhaled, his eyes never leaving the finger disappearing past her lips.

She giggled in response, “Being friends with Anya, you pick up a little thing or two.”

He looked at her hungrily, “Remind me to thank Anya,” he noted as she rolled him onto his back, admiring the way his tight muscles arched and stretched. She moved to crawl down his body but he caught her, sliding a hand into her hair and bringing her to his mouth and kissing her deeply.

When he let her go, she smiled at the awe written across his face. He watched as she moved down, her golden tresses tickling his hips. He fought the urge to buck. He tried to watch her devour him, God knows his did. But the first lick up the underside of his dick and he was almost undone. He threw his head back, throwing a forearm over his eyes, mentally reciting the roster of Manchester United . . . Anything to keep him from cumming. He had made it all the way to the full-back before he knew the end of this exquisite torture was inevitable.

Spike sank his fingers into the sheets, trying to ground himself and not thrust into her mouth. He satisfied himself with gently winding his hand in her hair.

“Buffy, I’m going to cum,” he rasped, impressed with his ability to form a coherent thought. How was he expected to think? She was swirling her tongue around the head of his penis, tracing a candy cane pattern, and pumping the length of it with her hand.

When he came, it was hard, and he let his hips lose contact with the bed as she took him deep, swallowing powerfully and rhythmically. He was fairly certain he had stopped breathing for a couple minutes.

She reappeared at the head of the bed, “Good?” she repeated his earlier question with much more uncertainty.

“The best,” he replied with the utmost confidence, kissing the lingering taste of their mixed fluids from her lips.

That afternoon they fell asleep wrapped in each other’s embrace.

Coming out of her daze, Buffy blushed a little at the memory coming to her in a church. Spike must have sensed her change because he sent a cocky grin her way, attacking her neck and collarbone with even more vigor.

“Hey! What did I say about sex in the church!? Unless it’s me, nobody is going to having orgasms in the house of God!” Anya hollered, stomping down the aisle towards the couple.

“At least someone’s getting some action,” Xander grumbled, unhappy with the no-sex-until-the-honeymoon-so-it-will-be-extra-special stipulation from his soon-to-be bride.

The bossy blonde turned on him, “Xander, get your best man away from my maid of honor before they take each other in one of the pews! I need him up front and in line pronto!”

Spike pulled back from Buffy, smiling and placing a chaste kiss on her lips before letting himself be yanked away by Xander and dragged down the aisle to take his place by the alter. Buffy herself was pulled away seconds later to join Willow, Tara, Dawn, and Anya in the back of the church, all in line and ready to practice their march down the aisle.

“Honestly,” Anya sighed, straightening her skirt and taking her place last in line, “Does no one have a sense of decency anymore?”

TBC

CHAPTER 30 -- Wedding Bells

Author’s Note: Thanks to baby spikes and Jess Marie for getting me in gear to get an update out!



“And I promise to give you many orgasms if you continue to make me those delicious waffles.”

Laughter echoed through the church as Anya finished her wedding vows to Xander. The entire monologue, heavily laced with mentions of orgasms and sex toys, had the priest a deep crimson and the guests rolling in the aisles.

Spike glanced across the aisle at Buffy as she laughed at Anya’s words. He had watched her walk down the church ahead of the bride and he couldn’t help but envision his girl in white. If Anya had known that Spike’s entire attention had been devoted to Buffy and not the bride, she would have slugged him.

The priest pronounced his two friends man and wife. As the organ began to play, the newlyweds linked arm in arm and led the procession down towards the entrance. Waiting for Anya’s train to clear the way, he held his arm out to Buffy, who wound her arm through his. They shared a squeeze and a smile and began their trek to the limo.

The party was in full swing two hours later. Xander pranced his bride around the dance floor, boogieing himself into embarrassment.

Spike smiled at his spazzing friend, leaning up against the bar sipping at his scotch. He watched Buffy on the other side of the room. On her hip was Anya’s two year old cousin, Jack. Buffy bounced him up and down, swinging him around and lifting him up in the air. Over the crowd he could hear the squealing giggles of the little boy.

Buffy stole gazes over to the bar. Spike was leaned back, both elbows on the bar, and talking to Willow. His jacket was unbuttoned, the first few buttons on his white shirt undone, and his tie hung loosely around his neck. He looked so relaxed and sexy. Ideas fluttered through her mind of walking over to him, taking both ends of the tie, and dragging him into the coatroom. Fairly certain he would have no objection to her actions, Buffy was forced to settle the butterflies in her lower stomach.

The DJ’s voice boomed over the crowd, announcing the time had come for the bouquet toss. Knowing this would lead to some guy, most likely a drunk stranger, having to expose her thigh to the entire room, Buffy purposely shied away to the side of the dance floor, to the left of the screaming single women crowding the floor, and began a conversation with Xander’s uncle. She hadn’t seen him since they were kids and before long they were reminiscing about scraped knees and tree houses.

“Buffy!”

Buffy heard her name being called and turned around to Anya’s voice, only to see a floral arrangement flying towards her head. Instinctively, she put up her hands, completing a neat catch to the cheers of the wedding guests. Buffy stood slightly stunned, Anya’s bouquet in her hands, until Anya and Willow ushered her to the middle of the floor.

“What!? No . . . no, you guys . . .” Buffy pushed against her friends, but her heels slid across the wooden dance floor with no avail.

“Let’s hear it for the lucky lady!” the DJ called out.

Buffy turned an incredible shade of red. They sat her on a chair to the side while Anya more than happily offered up her leg to Xander to take off her garter while tacky stripper music played in the background. Buffy fingers tightened onto the sides of the chair in a death-grip.

“Now lemme see all you eligible bachelors out on this floor!” the DJ yelled out to the room.

Buffy’s eyes were darting around nervously. Oh God, what kind of weird, perverted relation of Anya’s was going to have to climb under her dress? No matter how evenly she tried to breath, the heart palpitations just wouldn’t stop.

To the yells from the guests and the countdown from five, Xander slung the garter over his shoulder. Buffy closed her eyes and silently prayed.

After the noise climaxed and quieted, Buffy ventured one eye open, then the other. Cautiously awaiting, the crowd of men slowly parted. Buffy inhaled a breath and held it -- then immediately relaxed. Standing in front of her was Spike -- the garter dangling from his fingertip. He raised a playful eyebrow at her and she couldn’t help but smile, giggling nervously in relief.

But as he approached her, her muscles tensed again. Even though Spike had caught the garter, she still had to complete the uncomfortable tradition. In front of everyone.

Buffy knew the superstition was that the higher Spike put that garter up her leg, the happier and longer Anya and Xander’s marriage would be. And Anya would accept nothing but the happiest and longest. And that meant putting that garter on Buffy until it reached her white lace panties -- embarrassingly high. She spared a glance at the bride, who was hovering closely by, truly believing her marriage rode on Buffy and Spike’s next actions. Buffy truly did want Anya and Xander to have a long and happy marriage. But at what price to her sanity? Buffy slapped her hands over her eyes.

Spike approached her, tuning out the loud music and the rowdy drunks demanding to see some leg. Slowly lifting her hands from her face, he met her eyes, giving her a gentle smirk. “Just you and me, okay?” he asked quietly, asking her to ignore the crowd and focus on him.

Buffy took a deep breath and nodded in agreement.

Catcalls and whistles permeated the room. Buffy squeezed her eyes shut in mortification as Spike knelt in front of her. He lifted her leg, placing a chaste kiss on her ankle. Buffy opened her eyes to meet his as he slid the garter over her strappy sandal, his eyes darkening. Her breath hitched at the instant tightening of her stomach, the one she always got when around him. At this point she almost wished someone else had caught the garter. Yes, it would have been just as embarrassing, but at least Buffy wouldn’t have had the overwhelming heat in her stomach to go along with it. He wrapped his fingers around her shin, hooking his thumb and one of his fingers through the garter. As his hand slid up her leg, so did his body until his forehead rested against hers and his hand disappeared up her dress. Buffy once again closed her eyes, this time to get reign over her overheated body as his fingers came dangerously close to making her moan.

“That’s enough luck for the both of them, don’t you think?” he asked, eyes sparkling mischievously.

Buffy returned his smile, nodding in reply as the guests applauded their tradition-well-done. Lifting her up from the chair, as the first notes of a slow song began to play, he brought her flush against his body, slowly swaying them across the floor.

Three hours later, Buffy walked through the garden outside the reception hall, her bouquet hanging loosely in her hand, a bit melancholy. Sure, she had helped arrange hundreds of weddings in her relatively short career, but never for a friend. With Anya and Xander’s wedding, she had seen every detail and emotion up close. And that had only succeeded in intensifying her own feelings of reflection.

She instantly brightened when she turned the corner of the garden. Across the way, sitting on a boulder, was Spike. He stood up to greet her, holding two flutes of champaign.

“Did I tell you how absolutely smashing you look tonight, luv?” he spoke, wrapping his free arm around her.

Buffy smiled, taking a flute out of his hand, “Multiple times, but feel free to keep going.” During the reception all the bridesmaids had congregated in the bathroom. The pictures having been over, they could rip apart each other’s dresses in an attempt to create something wearable. With Tara’s fashion know-how, the shortened dresses came out looking pretty good.

Buffy took a sip of her drink, “Thanks for catching the garter, I’m glad it was you.”

Spike glanced down at his shoes, “Well, I have a confession to make, luv.”

Buffy’s brows furrowed, “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t catch that garter.” Buffy just looked more confused. “Harris’s nineteen year old cousin caught it. He took one look at you and seemed a little too eager. So I gave him twenty dollars and what was left of my scotch and told him to shove off.”

“Awww, honey, you bribed and gave alcohol to a minor, both illegal activities, in the name of my honor. How will I ever thank you?” She laughed gave him a kiss.

Spike pulled back, playing with the ends of her blonde strands, “Like I was going to let some bleeding wanker feel up your leg,” Spike scoffed.

Their playful kisses began to deepen until Spike broke away, “Hey, I got something for you,” he reached over to where he had been sitting and brought up a thick magazine. “Hot off the press,” he said and flipped it over. On the cover was Buffy in all her wedding glory. It was a shot from the waist up and she was looking over her shoulder, showing off the long veil trailing down behind her.

Buffy ran her fingertips over the smooth glossy cover. It seemed so long ago that she and Spike had spent that day at the studio. She felt so different now.

“God, I feel like such a loser,” she stated dully.

Spike started, her reaction not being the one he was looking for.

“Um . . . Why do you say that, luv?” Spike asked, not sure what kind of territory he was about to tred on.

“Think about it. You had to force me into the dating field.” She rolled her eyes.

“Now that’s not remotely true and you know it. I have learned long ago that you, Summers, do whatever the bleeding hell you want. Not once have I seen you weakly give into pressure.” He sighed, “You have high expectations of relationships. Love is not all hugs and puppies. It’s hard. It takes work. It’s not always happy.” He turned to face her, “And we’re not always going to like each other. Sometimes your going to want to put my head through a wall. But I will promise you with the utmost certainty that we will always be in love each other.”

Spike reached down and took her hand, bringing it up to his lips. Buffy gave him a water smile.

Spike lightened the conversation, “Now if I’m not mistaken, Miss Summers, we have an unbelievably expensive pre-paid room awaiting, compliments of Anya and her desire for no one to drive home drunk and die, therefore taking attention away from today’s nuptials.”

Buffy laughed, “Well wouldn’t be an absolute travesty for such a gift to go to waste?”

“My thoughts exactly,” he jumped up, grabbing her hand to pull her up with him.

On first entering the room, both Spike and Buffy’s expectations were grossly exceeded. True it was only a one-room living space, but the privately owned bed and breakfast made the absolute most out of the area given. Across from the door was a large brass bed. The bed was high off the ground and piled high with soft pillows on a thick, fluffy comforter, inviting the room’s occupants to sprawl across it.

Being the maid of honor and best man, who were just so conveniently a couple who would share a room, awarded them with the best. Anya was so excited that she would save money in housing both the blonde couple in one room and Willow and Tara in another, that she had been easily convinced to throw in some added perks with a little nudging by Xander, who assured Spike that they would not be housed in just any motel.

So Anya had found a quaint little bed and breakfast on the same grounds of their country club wedding.

“Wow, this room in incredible,” Buffy breathed, leaning back into Spike’s chest.

Spike was rapidly losing interest in their room, his focus quickly shifting, “You’re incredible,” he spoke, nibbling at her neck. Spike had been watching her all night, and all that dancing and shaking her ass Buffy had been doing with the other bridesmaids had been slowly driving him insane all night.

She smiled, “Me? Why me?”

“Just are. The things you do, the passion you have.” Buffy hummed at the praise. Spike shrugged, “That and you have a cute ass.”

Buffy laughed, “Oh I do, do I?” She turned to face him, walking him backwards towards the bed. “Wanna see it?” She reached behind her, grabbing at the zipper of her dress. She turned around, presenting him with a view of her spine. She peeked over her shoulder, “Help me with the bow?” she asked, glancing at the bow of the dress tied around her back.

Spike strolled up to her, taking his time to take her in with his eyes. Reaching her, he lowered himself to his knees, untying the bow as he kissed his way up her spine. Slipping his hands under the sleeves, he caressed her shoulders, bringing the front of the dress down with them.

Stopping him, Buffy turned around again to see his face, “I want you,” she breathed, playing with the buttons of his shirt.

Spike pulled back a little, “You sure?”

She tugged the rest of the dress down her hip, “Mmm-hmm,” she nodded, beginning to unbutton him. He idly traced patterns on the smooth skin of her arms and breasts, mostly hidden by her white lace bra, seemingly entranced.

It wasn’t until Buffy lowered herself down onto the bed, looking up at him while undoing his belt, that he snapped back to her. “God your beautiful,” he spoke, sliding the bra straps off her shoulders. He leaned down, reigning kisses over the exposed skin, and undoing the back clasps.

He lowered her to the mattress, crawling up her body. He dipped down to capture her mouth, sucking on her bottom lip.

Her hands snaked up under his shirt, tugging at it, pouting in protest when it wouldn’t clear his arms. He lifted off her for a moment, untangling the white dress shirt from his arms, then immediately went back to her. She smiled in triumph when she got her hands on his hard chest, running her fingers possessively over him.

He slid down her body. The second his mouth closed over her nipple, a rush of wetness flooded between her legs. She groaned at the sensation, grinding herself into his hard stomach.

He backed off and she whimpered in need. “Please, Spike . . . I need you,” she sighed.

He moved down further and kissed her hip, “Shhhhhh, settle down, luv. I’ve got you.” His hand skimmed down to where his lips had been, reaching further he cupped her mound, her wetness covering his hand, his middle finger slid into her easily.

She let out a sigh and moan in relief. But it was short lived as the pumping of his finger, the addition of another, and the continuous friction on her clit stirred her further. She gasped his name, lifting her hips to meet his hand.

“So wet . . . come on, luv . . . come for me.”

And she did. Hard. Her toes curling into the blanket beneath them.

While her walls continued to flutter, and she still reveled in relaxed bliss, he eased himself into her. At the feel of her stretching, she thought she’d come again. She moaned at the tightness, her thighs falling further apart. Her eyelids fluttered open to stare into Spike’s blue orbs. He took her hands over her head, intertwining her fingers with his. Before he got too far in, he pulled back and entered her again, not much farther than before. A little more, then a little further. When Buffy bit her lip, he reached one of his hands down to her clit, beginning a gentle massage.

“Spike,” she moaned, her head thrashing against the pillow, her mind not sure whether to pull away from his invading dick or push toward the pleasure of his hand.

She chose the latter and softly cried out when his body broke her barrier.

The feel of her body knowing him and him only, her tight muscles yielding to him. He would be the first and last man ever to fill her. A strong overwhelming wind of possessiveness overtook him.

Her internal muscles complained at the intrusion, but Buffy strove forward. Her legs lifted to squeeze his hips, urging him into her. It was then that Buffy lost control of everything. She felt herself spiraling. The constant discipline she had over herself was letting go for the first time. And it felt wonderful. Her breath lost it’s rhythm, replaced by gasping and hitching breaths. Her arms clutch to him, seemingly of their own accord, her nails scratching his back. Her hips pistoned off the bed, slamming into his, reaching for something, striving -- not sure for what, but her body could feel it.

“So close,” she breathed in his ear, followed by a high pitched little grunting noise when Spike rolled his hips hard against her.

He lowered his head to rest their foreheads together, Buffy met him halfway.

“I love you,” he panted, never stopping their quickening pace. “God, Buffy . . . Love you so much.”

Buffy smiled, placing a hand on his cheek, kissing him desperately, “Love you,” she returned. “Love you . . .” her passionate ramblings came to an abrupt halt when her body suddenly tensed, eyes closing, while euphoria washed over her whole body, she cried out at the sensation. She called his name and he buried his face in her neck, soon following her into orgasm.

Two hours later, Buffy awoke to an incessant ticking that just wouldn’t stop. Giving up on blessed sleep, she rolled over to pinpoint and stop the noise. When the origin of the sound was revealed, she giggled, kicking her legs and hiding under the covers. When the incessant clicking didn’t stop, she threw the covers away from her face, huffing giddily, “Stop taking pictures of me!”

Spike took his face away from behind the camera, where he had been capturing her beauty, tilting his head, looking at her seriously, “Never,” he answered softly.

Buffy smiled, reaching her hand out to him. At her invitation, he gladly relinquished the camera, setting it on the bedside table and climbed back into bed with Buffy, where they spent the remainder of the weekend.

TBC

CHAPTER 31 -- It’s Gonna Be Love (Only Hope)

Eight months later . . .

Buffy sat in front of the large ivory oval mirror. The empty room that reflected back to her was about the size of her childhood bedroom, the walls painted a smooth cream. She sat on a low ruffled stool. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, a soft smile playing at her lips. She hadn’t been alone at all since she woke up at seven that morning and she reveled in the silence, only a slight buzz of conversation filtered through the thick wood door.

She laughed softly as her mother’s insistent voice steadily increased in volume, announcing her approach. Opening the door just barely enough to let her and Dawn slip in, they quickly shut it firmly behind them and locked it.

Joyce sighed, brushing off her long deep plum sundress, straightening the corsage pinned to the breast of her short sleeved sweater. “Well, they sure are packing in! Whatever happened to a nice intimate celebration?” she mused.

“I think that went out the window when you realized this is going to be the only time you’re going to see your eldest married off,” Dawn deadpanned, having watched idly by as the nuptials grew steadily bigger and bigger. Of course, Spike had been all for the ever increasing amount of guests. Dawn suspected he was only half kidding when he had suggested taking the wedding to national television. He wanted everyone and their mother to know that Buffy was his.

Buffy laughed, standing up from her chair. She wore the red fitted jogging pants Willow and Tara had gotten her a week earlier at her bachelorette party. “Mrs. Giles” was spelled out in rhinestones on the backside.

Over by the window was the strapless A-line gown with ivory buttons running the length of the back and the twelve foot veil. It was affixed to perfection on a mannequin torso.

Buffy approached the dress, running her fingers delicately over the fabric. Her hair was curled in ringlets, the sides pulled back by a diamond clip. Her makeup was flawless, and her glossed lips an enticing light pink.

Out in the church, Spike was fielding endless well-wishes from people he didn’t know. All with a smile on his face. He was on such a high, he didn’t even care when a nice little old white haired woman that no one recognized, wearing a long flowered dress with lace trim, grabbed his ass.

Seeing the rather shocked look on his friend’s face, Xander approached the groom, “I’m telling’ ya, as soon as you get that ring on your finger, the women folk just come pouring in,”

Spike turned, “Harris, you say one more word and I’m downgrading you from best man to usher.”

Spike was in the middle of asking Xander who in God’s name was that woman, when a familiar air sounded from behind him:

“Well don’t you just look like the quintessential top of the cake? If Today’s Bride could see you now.”

Spike’s eyes lit up at the girl behind him, “Cordy, you made it!”

The brunette returned with a full smile, hugging him, “How could I miss this? Spike, bachelor extraordinaire, who’s past actions are anything but angelic, standing in a church. Will wonders never cease?”

Spike smiled, “How’ve you been, luv?”

“Not as good as you, I hear. You’re little studio isn’t going to be so little for much longer. You’re creating quite a buzz. I hear Vogue is sending models down on location to you for fashion shoots.”

“Yeah, they send me something high-profile about once a month.” Organ music began to filter throughout the church, signaling guests to take their seats. Cordelia squeezed Spike’s hand before letting herself be escorted down the isle by an usher.

Pacing around the entryway of the church, Spike was getting antsy. He hadn’t seen Buffy since he’d been yanked out of her house by the scruff of his neck more than twenty-four hours earlier. He had tried on more than one occasion to see Buffy before the ceremony. But every attempt had been thwarted by the bridesmaids, who insisted on following every tradition known to man and some, Spike was certain, they were just making up to piss him off. He tried sweet talking them, physical force, and finally, whining. He reasoned that he had already seen Buffy in her dream gown for the magazine photoshoot, so what would it matter if he saw her now?

But Willow, Tara, and a three-months pregnant Anya were hearing none of it.

“But she’s my wife,” Spike argued.

“Not yet, Romeo,” Anya replied, pushing his chest, “Not for another fifteen minutes. Xander, get him out of here.”

Xander dragged him out of the way as the women successfully shut him out when they slipped into the room Buffy was getting ready in, blocking his view as he craned his neck to catch a glimpse of his bride.

Inside the room, Buffy was still within the eye of the storm. Her mother and bridesmaids fussed all around her, fluffing her dress and straightening her veil, pouring over how beautiful she looked. Buffy smiled softly. She wasn’t a bit nervous. On the contrary, she was the most relaxed and serene bride-to-be anyone had ever seen. Her life was quickly becoming more and more perfect by the moment as her time to walk down the aisle neared. A warm fuzziness spread all over her body, beginning at her stomach.

“How’s Spike?” Buffy asked the girls around her, already knowing the answer. It was well know that her significant other had the patience of an hamster.

Willow rolled her eyes, “We had to stop him on more than one occasion from breaking down the door. He’s currently out there wearing a hole in the floor with his pacing.”

Buffy smiled fondly at her fiancée’s actions.

It caused her mind to wander to a mere five months earlier:

Spike had been acting weird all week. Granted, he never did have the ability to sit still for any given amount of time, but his incessant pacing and jerky movements were starting to wear on her nerves.

It was a Friday and Buffy stood in the doorway of one of the rooms in Spike and Tara’s studio and watched as he took care of his last appointment -- a little two year old boy with a full head of floppy black hair and chipmunk cheeks.

Spike wasn’t like one of those photographers Buffy remembered going to as a child -- the kind that stood on the other side of the room squeaking various animals at her. Spike rolled around on the floor, tossing balls back and forth to the little boy. The child’s mother stood to the side, delighted as her baby laughed at the silly man crawling around on the floor. He played peek-a-boo with the baby behind the camera, letting the toddler hold and slap lightly at the camera, thinking of it as a toy. So when Spike finally took a few steps back and began snapping, the baby continued to giggle and reach toward him.

“Are you waiting to get your child photographed?”

“Huh?” Buffy broke from the trance of watching Spike with the baby. It’s mother had moved over next to Buffy, “Oh,” she laughed, realizing the woman thought she was there for pictures, “No, I’m waiting for the big kid,” she said, gesturing towards her boyfriend. Spike had finished and was holding the boy on his hip, tickling his side.

Whining softly when his mother parted him from Spike, the baby waved bye-bye to his new buddy, leaving to go see Tara at the desk to pay and make arrangements for picking up the pictures. Buffy watched as they disappeared down the hall.

Buffy felt his strong arms wrap around her from behind, “Hello, sweetheart,” Spike whispered softly. “Ready to go home?”

Buffy closed her eyes and breathed in Spike’s smell of leather and cologne, “Mmmhmm,” she replied, knowing he was talking about going back to his apartment. She practically lived there and was fairly certain that over half the clothes in his drawers belong to her.

When they got in the door, she was on him. Spike blindly through his car keys in the general direction of the dining room table. She wove her fingers through the belt loops of his jeans, dragging him toward the bedroom.

“You know, I did have a plan,” he told her between kisses.

“Did you?” she asked, pulling the hem of his t-shirt from the waistband of his jeans.

“Yeah,” he replied, kissing her again. “I was going to cook you dinner, give you a massage . . .”

“Mmm, sounds lovely,” Buffy responded appreciatively.

“Yeah, it did. Then you had to go distracting me with those wandering fingers of yours,” he grabbed her hands, placing a kiss on each digit in question and wrapping them around his neck.

She giggled, “You love my wandering fingers,” she replied, winding them through his hair, loosening the curls.

He gazed into her eyes, “Yeah . . . I do,” he replied, his voice deep with emotion. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she replied. But her look of love quickly gave way to a saucy glint in her eye -- a look she learned from him. “But I’d love you even more if you didn’t have this shirt on.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Mmmhmm,” she confirmed, forcing his t-shirt over his head, running her hands confidently over his chest and abs. She loved this part of his body. Well, she loved all of his body, but his upper torso was especially pleasing to her. Just looking at his cut form made her want to smear something on it. Oil perhaps. An idea for the immediate future, she decided.

“Well don’t let me stop you on your unending quest for happiness,” he answered, daring her to take the lead in their little game. He loved doing that -- giving her the power, letting her undress him with that hungry look in her eye. He had wanted it for so long that he reveled in it when given the chance to bring out her sassy side. And it was always ready to play. Because what would their lovemaking be without a little mischievous bickering?

And she was more than game now, attacking his belt buckle and zipper, giving him a playful shove onto the bed. When he didn’t fall back onto the sheets right away and stayed sitting upright, fighting her a little, making her work for it, she straddled him, pushing her lips into a delectably irresistible pout.

“Don’t be mean,” she fussed, insisting he lay down under her.

“I would never be mean to you, kitten,” he countered, finally reclining, his hands running lazily up and down her thighs.

Getting him now where she wanted him, she smiled in success, wiggling on top of him to kick his pants down his legs. When she could no longer get his pants down in that position, she swiveled on his lap, putting her back to him and bending over. Presented with an unobstructed view of her ass, which continued to shimmy and squirm, and not only succeeded in getting his trousers off, but gave him an erection that almost blinded him.

Bring his hands up from over his head, he flipped her little scrap of a skirt up over her waist, caressing the innocent white cotton that stood between him and where he wanted to be.

“Having fun back there?” She called from her place facing his feet.

“Not as much as I could be,” he acknowledged hopefully with a surge of his hips, eliciting a gasp from his girl.

Buffy huffed cheekily, getting up off him, throwing her skirt back over her bottom, hiding it from his heated gaze. She was the only one of them wearing clothing. Too much if you asked him.

“Oi!” he objected, grabbing for her arm. “Where you think you’re going?”

She stuck her cute little nose up in the air haughtily, “You Mr. Giles, are entirely too bold for my tastes. I’ve been warned about men like you.” She gave him a look with a sexy flair in her eye, the look he taught her. “I think I should leave,” she turned in the direction of the door.

So that’s the game she wanted to play was it? Well she was in for a surprise. He created that game. It was fucking named after him.

“Not going to let you do that, luv.” His voice rumbled. He slid off of the bed with panther-like grace. “See, you’ve had your fun -- got me all excited, you did. Now, it’s time for me to have a little . . . fun.” He spoke while running his hands possessively over her body. When he brushed her hair to the side and bit down on her neck, over the pulse-point, every bone in her body gave itself over to him. “Come to bed with me, Ms. Summers. I promise you won’t regret it.”

As she let herself be led back to his plush bed, her clothes fell seemingly by themselves to the floor.

He held her hand, helping her climb onto the bed. He followed after her. When she went to lay down, he grabbed her waist, hoisting her back up against him. He put his knees behind hers, spreading her thighs wide. One of his hands slid to her opening, the other to her breast. Her head fell back against his shoulder, letting her body be manipulated by him as he drew a flood of moisture from her. She grunted and moaned and sighed as he attacked her neck, breasts, and between her legs while rubbing his dick in the fluid running down her thighs. When he finally took her it was from behind. Allowing him to hit that spot. Over and over again.

He abandoned her breast to hold her harder against him as he assaulted her clit and pounded into her, trying to release the throbbing that had built up in both of them.

When they came it was hard, bringing them to release sounds that were foreign to them before that moment.

For as hard as they came, he brought them down gently, laying them on the comforter. Buffy sighed in contentment, snuggling under the covers with him, their foreheads almost touching. She didn’t feel tired or worn out from their lovemaking. Rather she felt calmed and revitalized. She always felt that way after being with him. She went through her day anxious and fidgety until she’d had her daily dose of Spike -- whether it be sex or a hot kiss. It centered her.

She rubbed her hands over his shoulders and neck, stroking away any knots in the hard muscle there. He smoothed his fingers through her tresses, studying the way the light of dusk reflected off of each strand.

His eyes not leaving her face, Spike slid his arm under the pillow beneath them, maneuvering his hand around something. Bringing his fist out, his other hand let go of her hair, catching her wrist. He opened his hand to reveal a sparkling stone.

Mr. Slick had managed to hid the box under his pillow and extract the ring out of it’s velvet case one-handed.

“Marry me,” he requested softly as he slid a 3-carat emerald-cut diamond ring with diamond side stones onto her left middle finger.

Buffy’s eyes instantly watered, despite herself, at the look of blind devotion and love in his eyes. “Yes,” she breathed, bringing her hand to his face to guide him towards her to make love to her fiancée.


Churches and reception halls alike were more than happy to clear their schedules for their favorite wedding planner. And Buffy had planned her own wedding in just a couple months.

Now, standing at the back of the church, her bouquet of pink gardenias in hand. She watched as each of her bridesmaids parted from her to start down the aisle.

Spike thought it wouldn’t be any different, seeing her all dressed up in her gown, her hair curled, and her bouquet in hand, looking just like she did in the magazine. But when the double doors in the back of the church opened and revealed Buffy standing in the back, the afternoon light streaming behind her like an angel, the air whooshed out of him. She was meant to be a bride -- the most beautiful bride ever.

Xander slapped a hand on his back, “Remember to breath, man,” he spoke to his friend.

Spike jolted out of his reverie, snapping his jaw shut.

When she came up to stand beside him, he ran his fingertips over her bare shoulders, transfixed by the sight of her. Buffy herself slid her hand over his smooth suit until the priest pried that apart, making the room full of guests laugh when he shook his finger at them, telling them they could wait twenty minutes until the ceremony was over.

Hours later, everyone was on the dance floor. Spike and Jenny swayed beside Buffy and Giles. The group laughed as they continued to joke back and forth.

“And to think,” Giles nodded at Spike, “he used to beg us for a little brother or sister,” he chuckled to Jenny.

Buffy tilted her head, “If you don’t mind me asking, why didn’t you have any more children?”

“Oh, William proved himself to be more than a handful for the both of us,” Giles answered with a pointed look at his son.

Buffy could imagine. She had gotten the overview: A few too many permanent marker drawings on the wall as a toddler transitioned to teenage years of spray painting and a punk rock we-defy-authority attitude.

“I’ll have to fill you in on his more interesting exploits,” Jenny said to Buffy, winking.

Spike rolled his eyes, “Buffy is fully aware of my checkered past, there’s really no need . . . .”

“Why? Because she might think twice about have your children? Afraid she might be a little hesitant to bring the second coming of you into her home?” Giles turned back to Buffy, “We’d like to think of Will’s behavior as a glitch in the otherwise spotless Giles family history.”

“Oh like you were much better?” Jenny asked, her tone hinting at her keen knowledge of the older Giles’ childhood.

Spike turned to his father, “Now, if you don’t mind, Rupert, I’d like to dance with my wife.”

Rupert smiled and nodded in consent, spinning his daughter-in-law one last time, before giving her once again over to his son.

As they danced across the room, Buffy snuggled against he husband tighter, “I love you.”

“Love you, too, princess,” he replied, rubbing their noses together. He kissed her top lip, then the bottom, before placing his mouth over hers in as heated a kiss as she would let him in a roomful of friends and family.

Pulling back, they gazed into each other’s eyes as they continued to waltz around the dance floor.

TBC (the last chapter - “Epilouge”)

CHAPTER 32 -- EPILOUGE

Author’s Note: Well, this is it! I owe this entire story to Carol, who’s idea this whole story was. I’m so grateful she let me take her idea and make it my own. I’m so very proud of this story (my longest). But, alas, all good things must come to a Spuffy-happy end. What’s next for me you may ask? (If you could care less, then just skip this part) Well, I’ll be working on some non-AU stories, fixing some old ideas that I’ve had for a while. So look for me at Spuffy Realm and Buffy and Spike Central. I’m currently playing around with a Spuffy AU idea that has the Scoobies as kids in flashbacks.
Thanks to baby spikes for the motivation, Essi and her friend’s patient hamster, Cordykitten, BuffyandSpikeForever, Beth, hotlippedjen, and everyone else who reviewed!

Oh, hey, I read this fanfic and now I can’t remember who wrote it, what it was called, or where I found it. It was all the Scoobies as kids. They’re in Mr. Giles 2nd or 3rd grade class. Buffy’s new, and her and Spike instantly hate each other (he keeps yanking her pigtail). Spike is Giles’ son. Their class puts on the Wizard of Oz for their class play. Buffy get the role of Dorothy and Spike as the Tinman. She has to kiss him on the cheek in the play. If anyone has any info on this story -- it would be greatly appreciated!

So, without further ado, the last chapter of Game of Love:

1 1/2 years later . . .

He came in through the door, escaping the overwhelming heat of summer and welcoming the cool rush of air-conditioning. She was sitting on the couch, folding cotton candy pink onesies and matching miniature socks no longer than his pinky.

She looked up at him, bright hazel eyes shining.

“Hey,” she greeted as he stopped in front of her to press his lips against hers, “You’re home early.”

“Got through the last appointment quick and Tara agreed to stay and take care of the details. Had to come home to my two favorite girls. Speaking of two . . .” he glanced around the room.

Buffy pointed behind him, towards the kitchen, “Just got cleaned up after her lunch.”

Spike spun around. Within sight of the living room where his wife sat, was Liv’s highchair. There his daughter was perched, playing with an empty bowl and wooden spoon. She put the bowl on her head and beat the spoon against the little tabletop in front her, blowing raspberries.

By some random act of God, two naturally non-blondes had a fair haired baby girl. And she was beautiful, with a pout that rivaled her mother’s. At the sight of her father, she immediately began her incessant intelligible chatter. Flailing her little arms and legs towards her father, bouncing her diapered bottom up and down in her chair.

Buffy passed him going into the kitchen. Lifting her daughter up out of her chair, she set her down on the wood floor and moved to put away the highchair.

The baby crawled across the floor, making little pitter patter sounds as her tiny palms slapped the kitchen floor, sliding her chubby legs behind her, booking it for the couch that she liked to hold onto as she attempted to walk.

“And where do you think you’re going, my love?” Scooping her up from the floor, Spike lifted his baby into the air. Liv laughed, clapping her hands.

Settling her down in his arms, the baby yawned at her father, her little face scrunching up, showing signs of her approaching naptime. Displeasure in losing her battle with sleep, but content to settle her flailing limbs in her father’s embrace, Liv settled down within minutes. Her eyes slowly blinked as Spike rocked her in his arms, humming softly and whispering words of love, until Liv’s miniature lashes closed in sweet slumber.

Quietly ascending the stairs, he turned into Liv’s room, settling her into the pink and white crib. She began to fuss and Spike rubbed her tummy until she drifted back to sleep. Leaning down to place a kiss on her head, Spike ran his hand over her wispy curls, “Sweet dreams, princess.”

He shut off the light as he left the room. Walking across the hall he flipped on the lights in his and Buffy’s bedroom. Sitting down on the bed, Spike pulled off his shirt, throwing it across the room into the hamper. Leaning down he began to untie his boots, having forgotten to take them off downstairs in his haste to see his daughter.

A gleam of something silver caught his eye. Leaning back on his hands, he stared at the shiny object. On the dresser, next to the bed was a framed black and white picture. It was of Buffy -- the one Spike had taken of her after their first night together. She was laying on her stomach, a red quilt pooled low on her waist. She was snuggled softly into the pillow, a sleepy, content smile on her lips.

He was brought out of his reverie by a movement in the doorway. Buffy stood watching him. Smiling, she crawled onto the bed, throwing her leg over so she was straddling him. He put his hands on her hips, slightly rounded from carrying his child.

She wound her arms around his neck, “After Liv’s nap we’re meeting at Xander and Anya’s for the baby shower.”

Spike leaned his head back, groaning, “Will those two ever stop procreating?”

Buffy laughed, “Number three and counting. She wanted the baby shower early this time. I think she’s trying to make it so we forget and won’t know the difference when she makes us buy more stuff for her closer to the birth.”

Her husband rolled his eyes, “Considering the number of free pictures I have to take of all of Harris’ kids, we shouldn’t have to get those brats of theirs anything.”

“Yeah, but think of how nice it’ll be in a few years. When Liv gets older and we give her a sister or brother, they’ll be bunches of kids running around during the holidays. Willow and Tara are getting married and they’re already thinking about adoption. We’ll all be one great big family.” Buffy dream was so contagious that Spike found himself imagining next Christmas with everyone.

But, first thing’s first.

Spike nuzzled Buffy’s neck, “Who says Liv has to be older?”

“Spike, she’s still in diapers!” Buffy objected, but made no move to push him away.

“She’ll be just about getting out of them by the time you deliver.” Spike’s hands continued to roam over her body. “You haven’t taken your pill for today have you?”

Buffy returned his smirk, shaking her head no.

“Don’t,” he requested, reclining them back on the bed.

Buffy pulled back, studying her husband, “Do you always get what you want?” she asked challengingly, a teasing smile playing over her lips.

He roamed his eyes over her, thinking back over the past several years. The day they met in college, the afternoon he walked into her shop, the magazine shoot, the day he asked her to marry him, their wedding, Liv’s birth . . . And smiled, “Always,”

THE END