Disclaimer: I have no rights to BtVS. All is owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy

Betas: Holly, as always, my huge confidence booster. A new addition, Slackerace, for adding the end polish that made me feel I wouldn’t be totally embarrassing myself, and Schez, who is always brilliant with the little additions! Thank you so much guys.





Chapter One

Reality tore through Buffy like scorching hot winds. Her body was tight with sensation—with adrenaline brought on by fighting for their lives as well as from the lure of incredible sex with her fiancé.

Willow stood, arms held out as she reversed it all, her face a little sheepish, as if she’d accidentally mixed her milk with instant gravy instead of Nesquik. And Buffy still straddled Spike, her mind slowly catching up with the knowledge that she shouldn’t be cupping Spike’s cock between her thighs, that she shouldn’t be loving his mouth with all the intensity of a bride-to-be. Her racing mind replayed words said to her friends and watcher, declaring that she was the Slayer, and not susceptible to the silly spells that Willow constantly screwed them over with.

She pulled away, dazed with yearning, and those words replayed over and over with furious pace. Just as Spike screwed up his face—simultaneously with her emerging revulsion—all Buffy could feel racing through her veins was humiliation. Oh God, she’d been kissing her enemy. Kissing a vampire. Crap. Kissing Spike! And she was supposed to be above being sucked in by Willow’s spell kablooeyness. She was so going to kill her best friend, and she was going to really make it hurt when she did.

But in the meantime, she had damage control of the pride variety, and Spike was so not going to make her look like a spell-possessed idiot.

“Spike lips! Lips of Spike!” she improvised desperately, trying so hard to wipe the horror off her face while she clutched at his coat and slammed her lips back onto his. Under the cover of the leather, and determination to protect her plan before he tore himself away and blabbed for all the world how dumb and susceptible she was, Buffy grabbed a hold of his throbbing penis through the too tight denim and squeezed…hard.

“Mmmmm, yummm,” she said even as she glared steely hate into his shocked eyes, and her belly roiled in disgust. Then, proving he wasn’t as stupid as they all thought he was, he grabbed her around the waist and held her to his body tight, trapping her hand between them as he forced his tongue into her mouth.

Buffy would’ve gagged, but appearances were totally important to her right now. She closed her eyes and desperately tried to remember what it was like to kiss Angel this passionately. There was nothing she could compare to. While Angel had bestowed little else but sweetness upon her, Spike plundered her mouth like some trashy romance novel, except the swell of his appendage in her hand and the wetness between her legs wasn’t trashy. Unholy, yes, but trashy was on another planet for now. It was hot and Buffy felt like slapping herself for being turned on by a situation that should have been making her heave. And was, even if it was internally. She was puking up all over the place in her head.

It was just a pity her body hadn’t caught onto the visual—even if that revelation would completely counteract what she was doing.

There was no way Buffy would admit to getting lost in the pressure and length of his kiss, not even when horrified coughs interrupted the crawl of her fingers through his hair. But that was totally of the good, right? Made it all kinds of authentic and she was less the psycho-idiot-super-slayer that was taken over by her friend’s magic.

It was Spike that eventually pulled away first, though it was with a look of hazed surprise as he stared bemusedly at her lips. Buffy couldn’t stop the embarrassing panting that was the result of being kissed within an inch of collapse, and her body nearly hummed with craving a repeat.

“B-Buffy? You can stop now. I-I reversed the spell.”

Rather than inspire her relief, Willow’s mouse-like repentance turned Buffy’s stomach—possibly even more than the lips of her enemy. Just to prove she didn’t care, that the spell wasn’t what had inspired her rush into romantic madness—with Spike, of all vampires—Buffy lowered her angry gaze and defiantly pecked Spike’s puffy, kiss-drunk mouth.

Though a quick moment later she pulled away, feeling years older. Spike seemed just as stunned and had completely lost that ‘stake-me-now-for-I-have-kissed-my-mortal-enemy’ mask of horror that his face had been sporting just minutes earlier. Buffy was absurdly pleased; suddenly inspired to stick to her spontaneous plan of not looking stupid and weak to her friends, she turned to Willow with a raised brow, refusing to loosen the link of her arms around Spike’s neck.

“Stop? Why would I stop, Will? I mean, I know it was fast and everything, but God, Spike is the hottest kisser ever. I can’t believe I never saw what was right in front of my nose this whole time.”

Three dumbfounded faces stared at the entwined pair slack-jawed and Buffy could feel her skin crawling where it was in contact with Spike’s body. The weakness she was trying to hide swirled in her belly and Buffy felt the heat of bile as it rose up.

“You guys are okay now, right? Xander’s done with the attracting abnormal numbers of monsters to kill him? Good.” Not waiting for an answer, Buffy seized Spike’s hand and almost crushed it as she dragged him outside the crypt. Suddenly overwhelmed by what had just happened, she quickly hid behind some bushes and puked up her last meal. Pushing weakly back to her feet, Buffy realised she was still holding Spike’s hand and flung it from her as violently as she could while not giving the game away to her group of friends now crowding the crypt doorway.

“Am I the only one who thinks the Buffster’s out of her freaking mind?” Xander searched the darkness around them for any sign of his friend and her luminous-haired companion and sighed dramatically when he’d reasoned that they’d gone. An obviously abhorrent prospect of what they might be rushing away to do crossed his mind and he shuddered violently.

Anya patted his back in a soothing motion and glared at Willow. “I think Willow did the reversal wrong. She obviously mucked it up somehow.”

Indignant at first, Willow spluttered, “I did not,” before admitting to herself it was more than possible. Only she could screw up a spell so spectacularly and have Buffy and Spike smooching in front of them all. “Okay, so I screwed up. But I can fix this.”

Anya scoffed even though Xander grinned at her with the kind of confidence only a best friend could bestow. “I know you can, Wills.”

“Although,” started Anya, looking off thoughtfully past the grave markers, “Buffy could just really enjoy Spike’s kisses. It isn’t as if we couldn’t see the sexual tension between those two.”

“Anya!” Willow and Xander shouted loud enough to wake the dead, and were eternally grateful that it didn’t happen—despite their location practically screaming for fulfilment.

“This is all kinds of bad. Willow, you’ve got to get help from Giles. If you’ve got Buffy still macking on the undead, I’m gonna seriously lose my lunch.”

The three moved off and Buffy rolled her eyes. “Already there,” she mumbled sickly, hunched over at the waist and trying to hold back the urge to heave again.

“You better make sure you brush your teeth before you try an’ snog me again, Slayer.”

Buffy looked up, shaking with hatred. There was nothing she wanted to do more than declare a Spike-free zone permanently at her lips, but there was no way Buffy could do that and make sure everyone understood that she and Spike got engaged on their own terms—not by virtue of some tacky spell of a grieving witch. If it got around in the demon world that she was susceptible to her own friend’s emerging power in magicks, she’d have every magical hick trying to subdue her somehow. There was no other option but to pretend that she was truly engaged to Spike—and loving it.

But only in public.

In private, it was a totally different kettle of ducks.

“OW! What the bloody hell was that for, you violent bitch.” Spike rubbed his aching nose and glared daggers at the diminutive blonde that had too much power over his existence, and too much speed to warn him of what he should have expected.

Buffy smiled genuinely for the first time since she’d awakened to the horror of being Spike’s voluntary smut muffin. “You didn’t think getting married would change me, didja?”

Spike growled and Buffy held back a small squeak at what the sound had unearthed in her belly. Her body felt all tingly and suddenly she wasn’t so certain where to look—only that she couldn’t look at Spike when she was feeling suddenly weak and titillated.

“You want to explain that little performance in there? Or should I just guess?”

How had he managed to light up a cigarette right in front of her without her even noticing?

She’d become a little distracted maybe, but Buffy soon snapped back to attention when she thought of some of the obscene reasons Spike might feel compelled to share as explanation for her strange behaviour. In everyone’s world it would have made more sense for Buffy to stop the kiss the second commonsense had slammed back into her skull. Even now, it seemed pretty dumb that she’d carried it on, subjecting herself to the almost certain ridicule and disbelief of her friends.

The consequences were only just starting to hit her and Buffy felt a surge of irrational giggles create pressure in her chest. It had to be released, and in the face of Spike’s irritation, Buffy succumbed to it.

“You should have seen your face.” She snorted as he repeated it, feeling strangely reassured by the expected display of disgust. Finally they were having the honest moment, and Buffy was loving it.

“Stick your slithering, slimy tongue back down my throat and I’ll see if I can do it again.” His lip was curled in a sneer and the predictable sight of it made Buffy shiver—it wasn’t long enough since she’d last had those cold, fleshy lips against hers.

And with that devastating memory, Buffy’s whole body shuddered violently.

“The next time I kiss you, you so better act like it’s the best kiss you’ve ever had or risk disintegration from my nice pointy stake.” Hands on hips, Buffy glared as Spike’s eyes nearly popped.

“Are you off your bird? Why the hell would you do it again, you barmy bint? And who said I wouldn’t prefer a piece of wood in my chest than Slayer on my lips?” Spike’s face screwed up so grotesquely Buffy was almost scared out of her wits. “If I’d known I was in for cruel and unusual punishment coming to you lot for clemency, I’d have taken my bleeding chances with the soldiers.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed as she bore down on him, an ugly curl to her lips doing more to warn him than her fist full of stake ever could have that he was pressing dangerously against her last nerve.

“Not only am I going to kiss you again, you ass, but you are going to act like you love it. You are going to convince my friends and anyone else we have to put this sickening freak-show on for that you would rather give your life than spend a day without my mouth attached to yours.”

It took a few minutes of total silence for Spike’s eyes to unbug and he reached for another cigarette with shaking fingers. “Just what is going on here? It was a spell. You don’t have to be embarrassed about it. You’ve already chundered—and rather insulting that was too, if I do say so—now why don’t you just move on? Preferably to another hulking Angel wannabe so I can wash your taste out of my mouth and forget this humiliating episode ever happened.”

She was a fool if she’d actually expected Spike to understand. Her sensitivities were presumably far from his concerns, and just because he was all chipped and no physical danger to her, it didn’t mean he was suddenly incapable of thinking up flawed plans to kill her. He just had to find someone else to do it while he sat back and waited for the blood to flow. The potential he now had to harm her with this kind of information nearly blew her mind. Any magic-inclined freak could come along and render her powerless. Why go searching for Council-approved Cruciamentum Slayer-weakening juice when she could be rendered paralysed at any demon’s whim?

She had to play this carefully. Obviously Spike was yet to catch on to what kind of damaging information he had at his fingertips. She could threaten him, yet somehow Buffy couldn’t see him being all that cowed by her automatic promises to turn him into dust. Somehow, that threat had lost its bounce—and more than likely from the number of times she’d not carried it through. So a bribe it would have to be—except what the hell did you offer a vamp who had nothing? Particularly when her own scalp hanging from his belt would make him happier than a pig in mud.

Ooh! Freedom. Spike may have come rumbling into town looking for invulnerability, but he’d ended up practically halving his potential by being stupidly caught and chipped. As much as the idea of a free-range Spike returning to the populace made her want to add to the puddle on the ground at her feet, it was something that just might guarantee his silence. And as thus, should not be a possibility easily discarded.

That so didn’t mean he had to be clued into the sitch. An ignorant Spike was the very best kind and Buffy was going to make it her mission to keep him in the dark as much as he was accustomed.

“What is going on here is that you are going to do as I say and keep all your thoughts about it to yourself. If I hear you say one word about not being totally in love with me, I’ll cut out your tongue. If you flinch or pull away when I kiss you, I’ll—” Okay, so it was totally easy to fall back into the threats and she was positive she’d gotten that point across anyway.

“Fine. Skip the reasons why you’ve completely lost your mind. Jus’ tell me what’s in it for me.” Head tilted to the side, avid interest making him focus sharply on the misleadingly diminutive pocket-rocket, he eyed her up and down to make sure this was the same blonde that had kicked him up and down Sunnydale in the past. It was funny. Before tonight, he would never have suspected the Slayer was operating on only half her marbles, but obviously he’d kissed her senseless without even knowing it.

Buffy grimaced and knew she looked in pain. And she was really, but self-preservation had her straightening her spine and subconsciously pushing her chest out.

“If you behave like a good boy, and make sure nobody suspects this dumb engagement is phony, I’ll…I’ll—” She gulped, hard, and sucked up her courage while determinedly ignoring the misery that made her want to weep at the injustice of it all.

“You’ll what? Feed me my blood naked?” He chuckled as Buffy nearly fell over in shock. Her disgust couldn’t be any more obvious as she took a frantic step away from him and clutched at her objecting stomach.

The hate she felt was immeasurable as she stared him down, imagining torturing him with fifty stakes just missing that one big target on his chest. His completely clothed, revolting chest. Buffy felt the bile rise as latent memory of her body experiencing his not so many hours ago struck her almost off her feet.

As much as it had to continue, it also had to stop—and preferably with her life and reputation intact. Desperation fuelled her impulsive stupidity and Buffy blurted her offer before she agreed to something even more idiotic.

“I’ll help you get the chip out of your head.”

Chapter Two

“God, do you ever shut up?”

Spike snorted. “I find it helps me not to run screaming that the Slayer’s gone crackers. You want me to keep that little nugget of information to myself, you’ll get used to the chatter.” His expression fell to mild amusement; Spike knew it was bound to annoy.

He really hadn’t bargained on the implacable hand that seized his throat and shoved him dangerously into the nearest tree, though.

Buffy nearly growled in his face, just barely controlling the hand that wanted to pop his head right off his shoulders. “You say one teensy little thing about me to any of your demon buddies and your dust won’t be needing to get rid of any chip. Got it?”

It wouldn’t be so farfetched to describe his enemy’s eyes as glittering with insanity. Wasn’t like he didn’t already suspect she’d gone carrot top, so the added touch of her obviously unhinged mind made him all the more alert.

Careful to not activate his own personal little head-kicker, Spike shrugged away from her, his hands balled up into helpless fists of rage. Silence reigned as they started walking again, Spike sniffing the air to make sure all good little commandos were at home in bed. It took a while to re-establish his priorities, but once he remembered the hell of being caught and helpless with no option to even move beyond stark white walls, he felt himself calming fractionally.

It had been an exhausting night, and one he’d really love to forget. He couldn’t believe how much a witch’s bitch he’d been and if he hadn’t wanted to drain the little redhead dry before he’d been defanged, the desire was almost making his body thrum with violent dislike now.

It was interesting how she’d completely manipulated his feelings. He could still remember the pleasure of having the spellbound and willing Slayer writhe in his lap; could remember the happiness he’d felt to know he was going to belong to someone again—someone who enjoyed running her fingers through his hair. Just the way she’d teased his lips, barely tasting while she did nothing but hold his hand. Did nothing but love him with her heart rather than her body. He’d felt every false emotion and taken it deeply inside himself until he was positive this woman—this bane of his existence—was the one he’d wanted forever in his life.

Except it was nothing but a bad dream and being woken amidst the poison of it—her lips still showing him what his life could have been—made him want to beat someone very bloody. Red should thank her lucky stars he’d been rendered a vampire with no bite.

The night was quiet—except for the thundering heartbeat of the Slayer. They walked closely at each other’s side, darting uncomfortable glances at one another. Buffy’s body buzzed and the closer they made it back to Giles’s, the sicker she felt. How was she going to pull this off? While she obviously didn’t want the demon public to work out that she was under the influence of magic while she was macking incessantly on Spike, she also felt humiliated that Willow now knew how easy it was to influence her. Her emotions were divided up into so many segments of bad right now that she felt venom just tickling the edge of her tongue.

Despite it being night and her usual patrolling time, Buffy felt surprised to be faced by another vampire. She’d been so lost in thought about the one right beside her that she’d forgotten she had a job to do. This one looked scared, but quickly relaxed once he realised who he’d managed to cross paths with.

“Oh hey! Congratulations,” he said, a huge smile eclipsing the ugly ridged face. He extended a hand out to a befuddled Spike, shaking it enthusiastically while he looked between the two blondes. “So, you’re gonna make the Slayer go easy on us now, right? I mean, getting married will mean some kind of compromise, right?” He was nodding avidly, grinning in confidence right up until he splintered into dust.

“Ugh! I was so hoping this hadn’t gotten out. What a disaster.” Buffy shook her head and flopped down on a nearby headstone. This rated right up there with attempting to flash Xander when he’d done that stupid love spell—only worse, because at least she could hit Xander if he made fun of her. Realisation brought her the first smile post-Willow’s spell. She could hit Spike too—a lot. In fact…

Spike reacted to the sudden malicious glee sparkling in the Slayer’s eyes with an incredulous arch of his brow. “You realise that looking at me like I’m the most deformed bug you ever put out of it’s misery with your oh-so-sexy boot is going to put the kibosh on this romantic idea of yours that we’re still engaged. Your friends are pretty stupid, but even they won’t buy you being in love with me if I have blood spurting out my nose.”

Crap. She hated it when he made sense and thought things out faster than she did. A great wave of hopelessness washed over her and left Buffy feeling limp and wrung out. As convincing as her first post-spell public kiss with Spike had evidently been—what with the Xander mock-heavage—Buffy was reasonably certain that she wasn’t going to be able to easily partake in nuptial-like kissage again in front of her friends without leaving meal remnants all over the place.

This plan was going to need some more thought, and while she was thinking about it, she needed to keep herself and Spike away from anyone she knew. Which meant that either Spike was spending the night with her instead of tied up at Giles’s, or she was going to get over her revulsion at being close to Spike in a big hurry.

Buffy took a deep breath, turned to look at Spike and felt the pitch of her stomach as it objected strongly to what she knew she had to do. “We have a problem.”

Spike raised the obligatory brow and sneered. Not many could simultaneously attempt that trick without falling over, but Spike’s century of practise time had obviously gone to good use. “Check your pronouns. I'm pretty sure it's YOU who has the problem.”

And she really should have known he’d make this crap all about her.

He was so right though. She did have a problem, and if the swaggering congratulations that came off the lips of the second vampire to approach them wasn’t enough to emphasise the seriousness of said problem, Buffy didn’t know what was.

“Heard you’re taking the plunge, ole Spike.” This one almost slipped to a stop, the alcohol he’d imbibed obviously not something his now-dead body had taught him meant little in the way of real intoxication now that he lacked the blood flow to his head. He played the drunk more than convincingly, though the fangs that dripped as his eyes fell on the little bride-to-be and coursed up and down her body was enough to give away how much he wasn’t.

“How ‘bout you show some respec’ for ‘ole Spike’s’ woman, and get your bloody evil eyes off her, you sleazy bastard.” Spike dragged himself to his full height—several inches shorter than Leery, but still a hell of a lot more imposing—and waited for the intruder to back down. Not once did it occur to him to wonder why he was willing to risk being beaten down by one of his own kind and his own little secret getting out, all to protect the reputation of his supposed betrothed. Before his opponent could make a decision that might be less than favourable for Spike, he crumpled into even greasier ash. Spike pursed his lips and glared at the Slayer. As much as he should have been grateful for the Slayer’s interference, all he really wanted to do was slit her throat.

“It might not be the best thing for you to be out here. We don’t know if those soldier guys are hiding in the bushes, and trying to take on a demon to protect my virtue is so not smart.” Buffy didn’t think Spike could sense how impressed she’d been that he instinctively did that—though those moments curled up in his lap and being told the true extent of his unnatural love should have warned her of the possibility. He was a proud vamp, and Buffy suspected that even if it weren’t true, that the demon population now seemed clued in to their possible joining and he wasn’t rushing in to disabuse them of the fact, she owed him something.

Like not puking in his face while they practised kissing and trying to get to a point of enjoying it.

“You don’t say?” His face was so screwed up with distaste that Buffy was sure he’d tasted poison at some stage just so he could get that exact look as accurate as possible. “But then I’m not the one stalling getting back to Rupes. Poor twit must be worried sick about me by now. Shame on you for pushing him into an early grave.”

The only word that could describe the way he tore his cigarettes from an inner pocket of his duster was violent. He was obviously angry and Buffy gulped. For the first time, she realised that it wasn’t just her own aversion to Spike intimacy that had to be taken into account in this ill-thought out plan of hers. He didn’t look like he’d be knocking down her door for the opportunity to rehearse more of their supposedly awkward passionate embraces.

“I can’t take you back to Giles’s place. Not yet. Not until we have this whole sitch worked out and flawless.”

His interest was definitely piqued by that. “Flawless? So, you think we need practise?”

Buffy’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Think? I KNOW we need practise. I think it’s pretty safe to assume that the next time I have to let you suck my face off that there won’t be a handy bush for me to relieve my disgust.”

Spike scowled before releasing an angry plume of smoke. “And what makes you think I’ll go along with your crackpot plan? I don’t even know why you’ve got your knickers in a twist about something so trivial, but I’ll let you have this one. Anyone who has spent a prolonged period in the company of Peaches has to be a few screws loose. I just haven’t decided if I’m going to let you drag me into it.”

Buffy felt speared by a panic so wild and crazy that she almost lost her mind. She jumped off her headstone seat and bore down on Spike hard, her fists immediately full of his lapels as she hauled him as close to her face as she could get him without their lips meeting. “You are so with the plan. If you aren’t with the plan, then you’ll be impersonating Buffy’s dusty ex-fiance. Got it?”

Spike carefully pried her hands off his coat and took a very large step back. “Anyone told you the pressure’s going to your head?”

Buffy slumped in defeat. She was going to end up dead, all because Willow couldn’t handle her grief like a normal person. Did anyone see her summon up spells to make her feel better when Angel canon-balled out of her life? She could see it now; Spike drinking down at Willy’s—once he’d regained his over-confident footing—and bragging about how the only way he’d ever lock lips with the Slayer was through some barmy spell laid on by her own best friend. Perfect. She might as well just hand her neck over to the next vamp that ambled on by.

“I guess this just totally excites you, doesn’t it? Couldn’t kill me yourself, but it won’t dampen the pleasure to see someone else come along and spell me still while they chomp on my throat.” Her legs felt weak and Buffy couldn’t even see the point of remaining on her feet. She fell like a stone to the ground and hung her head.

Spike stood transfixed. It had never occurred to him that someone else could finally have his good day and kill the Slayer. The thought was more than disturbing. It was wrong and it made him furious. If she was going to perish at all, it was going to be on his watch. On his fangs—and no government organisation was going to stop him. And little witches with red hair and inappropriate grieving mechanisms were even less likely to be forgiven for getting in his way.

He considered her, a slayer-shaped puddle in a demon breeding ground, and he felt a small measure of affection. She was his, whether she knew it or not. He couldn’t blame her for her ignorance—he’d only worked it out himself. But now that he knew, he had to protect her until he could take her out himself.

“Get up then. Where do you want to take this? Your mum’s? I think your dorm room might be safe. I’m betting the witch is paying penance with the Watcher as we speak. She’ll probably wait there all night.”

Buffy looked up, feeling insanely hopeful and wondering why that didn’t disturb her more. Here she was, contemplating the best venue to go perfect her Spike-kissing technique and she was feeling more relieved than incensed. Willow’s spell had definitely rocked the world off its axis. She thought the redhead could possibly have more penance to pay than just Giles.

“Mom’s out of town on some Gallery business. Maybe…we could go there?” Why did she feel guilty about inviting a boy home to make-out? Buffy blushed a fiery red and wondered why her life had to be so bizarre.

“Right then. Off to Joyce’s.” Spike snagged her hand and hauled her to her feet, Buffy’s eyes filled with confusion and suspicion.

“Why are you suddenly so cooperative?” Buffy wasn’t moving, her feet planted firmly on the ground while Spike worked through tight lips, a sneer of irritation, and then a gust of pure frustration.

“Don’t bloody know, all right? I just am. Go with it.” Hand in hand they walked toward Revello Drive, and Buffy didn’t flinch even once.

Thank you so much to my betas: Holly, slackerace and Schehrezade. Your suggestions are simply invaluable.

Chapter Three


The hard part wasn’t scrambling up her tree and swinging up onto the roof. Nor was it prying open her window and slipping inside. Watching Spike follow with an incredibly sexy grace wasn’t so much with the hardship either, and nor was observing him shrug off his coat and drape it lazily over the back of her dresser chair. The hard part almost viciously slapped her in the face when Spike puckered up and stepped toward her.

Buffy jumped back so fast she bumped the back of her knees and toppled gracelessly onto her bed, her hair flinging around her head so that she couldn’t see anything around her.

“Smooth, Slayer. But I wouldn’t recommend that move in front of your mates.”

Buffy blew the hair out of her face furiously. Spike had ridden her nerves tonight almost past her breaking point, and he just never let up. “I’m not stupid enough to go with your recommendations, Spike. If I want to fall over backwards in order to avoid your lips, I totally will. I’m the Slayer, not…not…HARMONY!”

Spike chuckled. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, luv. But if it warms you up at all, you kiss better than her. Now lay one on me.”

“You’re comparing me to Harmony now?” Could he be any tackier? She didn’t have to be told that she kissed better than Harmony. On a good day, Buffy could do anything better than Harmony. If she so chose, she could even out-bimbo the biggest of all bimbos, and nothing Spike could say would convince her otherwise.

“Well, not so much. Besides, in certain areas, you’d completely lose, Slayer. Now let’s get down to business.” Spike looked completely unrepentant of the insults he was laying on thick and fast and Buffy felt her anger swell toward a point of explosion.

“I’d lose? Why you…you chip-headed, bimbo-screwing loser. NO WAY would I EVER lose to Harmony.”

Spike blatantly stared at her chest and Buffy felt mortified beyond belief. How DARE he imply her boobies were less spectacular just because they didn’t bounce off her body and slap people in the face? He was so going to die. After she broke off this farce of an engagement—and after she’d made Willow die painfully for making her resort to this horror story in the first place—no one would even question why she’d done it with a stake to the groom’s blackened heart.

“Do NOT open your mouth.” Buffy held her finger up in warning, just daring him to tempt how far she was willing to let him go before she rid the world of him for good.

The bastard smirked at her, far too confident for his own good. “Don’t fret, Slayer. They did get in the way. Never believe a bloke when he says bigger is better. Bint always knocked things over. I’m willing to bet your little mouthfuls will taste like gold.”

Buffy almost squeaked. “There will be no mouthfuls of gold. NO mouthfuls, period. Keep your mind on the kissage and forget any other dirty, nasty little thoughts you might be having.”

And again with the strutting, Buffy too late realising she’d issued a challenge when she was ridiculously cornered on her own bed. Spike placed one knee on the mattress beside her and then she did squeak, her heart thumping in horror as another knee settled too close to her hip and his face took up all her vision.

Bile rose furiously in her throat and it took everything Buffy had to not throw up in his face. Still, slamming him in the chest and sending him flying across the room to hit her bedroom wall was totally a knee-jerk reaction to having his lips too close to her face.

Spike hit the floor on his ass, sweeping back to his feet and advancing back to her bed with a menacing tread that sent a thrill racing up Buffy’s spine. “What the bleeding fuck is your problem, bitch?”

“I-I didn’t mean to do that. Really, I didn’t. I’m sorry?” She cringed at how that came out, but the anger was back in seconds as Spike treated her to snarled contempt.

“What, you are sorry, or are you asking me if you should be?”

“I am sorry. I just…really don’t want to kiss you.” Buffy cringed as Spike completely stopped moving. The artificial breaths he liked to pretend he needed ceased and she suddenly felt like she was looking at a statue instead of the not-so-living vampire that she’d been cheated of killing all fair and square.

“Well,” he started slowly, “why didn’t you say so?” He causally backed up, grabbed his coat and started shrugging it over his shoulders.

Buffy watched enraptured. She was mesmerised by the way he moved—by the way he didn’t once look out of place, even though he was in a very girly bedroom that belonged to the executioner of his kind. It wasn’t until he swung a leg over the windowsill that she panicked, seeing her death at the hands of some over-zealous magician in what could be a matter of days.

“Wait!” She was on her feet and dragging him roughly through the window in seconds, not stopping until she’d thrown him onto her bed and slammed the window shut. “Did I say you could leave?” Buffy was panting, adrenaline fuelling her with all sorts of confident purpose.

Spike leaned up on his elbows and raised a brow. “The way I see it, I’m doing you a favour. If you’re just gonna toss your cookies in my face, I’ve got chairs I’d rather be chained to. Now make up your mind about what you want to do, and bleeding well do it.”

Buffy glared at him, balled her hands into fists, glared some more, and then wilted. What choice did she have? Conquering Spike’s lips was the only way to make sure she didn’t become the laughing stock of the demon world—she was going to conveniently forget the potential fodder for Xander jokes till the end of time—or vulnerable to any organised magic attack.

“Okay, I can do this.” Buffy narrowed her gaze and wondered if it would matter if Spike was bleeding from a couple of really prominent places before she placed her precious lips on his gross ones. He wasn’t moving, and Buffy swallowed down the nausea that wanted release as she tried to crawl up his body without touching him. When his lips were within reach, Buffy scrunched her eyes shut, screwed her face up in revulsion while pursing her lips and pushing them out, and waited.

The second Spike’s cool lips touched hers, a rapid white heat seared her flesh and she jerked back in shock.

Spike hissed loudly in annoyance. “You need to put more oomph into it, Slayer. At your Watcher’s, you were all over me. Your hot little hands delving into places they really shouldn’t have been. You were a firecracker.”

“I was not!”

“You bloody well were.” Huffy Spike bordered on cute and Buffy was so not having him divert her with flirty tactics.

“It was a spell!” she protested confidently. “There is nothing in real life that could possibly induce me to love you like that stupid spell forced me to do. Everything from now on is acting—honest-to-goodness drama theatre of the highest calibre, and you’d better put in the show of your life or it won’t be worth much by the end of this.”

Spike’s jaw ticked, savage anger just humming on the edge of his control. The only thing holding him back was that chip. What he wouldn’t give to dive for her throat right now. He could smell the blood that taunted him just far enough away to be safe, and his fangs stung his gums in desperate need to pierce her skin. He sneered at her as she was suspended over him, hardly believing the comedy hour that had brought him to this. “You know what? There isn’t anything remotely enticing enough for me to continue trying to help you and be abused for it. Not even your wonky promise of getting the chip out. Take me back to the Watcher’s right now.”

Okay, the constant threats to make him dusty? So not the best way to get him to agree to this joke of an engagement. As much as they had still managed to snark at each other under the spell, no one was going to buy it if he was always bruised and bloody around her. And now that she’d had time to step back and consider the consequences of letting people know she’d succumbed to Willow’s will, the more terrified she became at being someone’s magic monkey bitch in the future. She needed Spike and she needed this kissing thing to work.

There was no holding back the pleading look of desperation as Buffy resolved to be good. Whatever it takes! Whatever she had to do to gain Spike’s cooperation, it was a done deal as far as she was concerned.

“Let me have a taste.”

Ewwww! Okay, so maybe not quite a done deal. “Are you completely suicidal?” It suddenly occurred to Buffy that she was still stretched over Spike and that he’d been eyeing her neck. Oh no! She wasn’t going there again. Saving Angel’s life—while almost at the cost of her own—so did not come even close to paying Spike the debt she’d owe him for just a few kisses and some hand-holding.

“You want me to do this thing, then there has to be something in it for me.” His eyes shone uncompromisingly and Buffy shivered. Determined Spike was quite powerful—how could she have forgotten?

“There is something in it for you—the chip goes bye-bye. And that has nothing to do with you hanging from my neck.” Hey, she could be just as stubborn and scary. “I’ll get you some quality human blood from somewhere. I’ll even drain some of mine into a mug, but you are so not sticking your filthy fangs into my flesh. Who knows where they’ve been?”

Spike smirked knowingly—though Buffy was unsure of what exactly he thought he knew—and suddenly jerked up, his crotch connecting with hers and knocking her off balance. Before she could scream, before she could yak all over him and her bed, one of his hands curved vice-like around her skull and hauled her in for a kiss.

The second their flesh met, Buffy lost her breath.

Reason evaporated into thin air and she existed as nothing solid but sensory cells, being fed and nurtured by lips that were soft, plush, tasty and sensuous. Her lids dropped closed and she forgot everything as the tip of Spike’s tongue traced a line along her bottom lip. Sucked gently between both of his, her lower lip tingled and her body went molten with heat. Flittering memories made an effort to remind her why she shouldn’t be enjoying this so much, but Irrational!Buffy blocked them out and lost herself to pleasure.

Her body felt his hand at her waist but her brain blocked it out. Anything that was remotely good feeling and connected to Spike was being intentionally ignored until she decided she didn’t need his kisses anymore. Until her body remembered it had its own life support system and Spike’s mouth was just really, really clever at convincing her otherwise.

By the time Spike poked his tongue into her mouth, she was incoherent and lying flush against his body, obscene bulges and all. He smoothly played over her teeth, enticed her own tongue into this mysterious dance of desire—of seduction. What they were doing now was shared and Buffy found, for one fleeting second, that she was drawn back into a world where the spell was her reality and she was truly in the arms of the man that meant to marry her and treat her forever as his beloved.

It was a beautiful fantasy, and not one that was quick to fade even as Spike dragged his lips away and stared into dazed, confused eyes, his body flush and warm underneath slayer weight.

“Is that enough practise, pet?” His eyes glittered as he searched her expression hopefully.

If she’d required proof before that this whole plan was insane, all she needed was the galloping beat of her heart and the searing heat scarring against every point her body met with his.

Her fingers twisted his stiffened curls, her lips already puckered and prepared, and Buffy unconsciously lowered her voice to a husky whisper she’d never even heard before. “Not even close.”