Satin is supposed to feel smooth, soft against your skin, like the gentle caress of a lover.

The satin of Buffy Summers’ wedding gown, however, felt like burlap, scratching her, smothering her, binding her too tight.

“I can’t breathe, Will. I feel like I can’t breathe,” she sobbed as she laid her head onto the knee of her maid of honor, Willow Rosenberg, and succumbed to the onslaught of grief.

“Oh, honey,” her friend sighed, tears in her own eyes, rubbing comforting circles on the hysterical girl’s back. “I’m so sorry!”

“Why couldn’t I have found this out yesterday? Or last week? Or any time but right the hell now?” Buffy sat up and wiped away the tears messing up her perfectly applied makeup.

“I can’t believe Harmony!” Willow burst out angrily. “That she would show up, first of all. But that she would tell you…that.”

“Better than tomorrow. Better than tomorrow when I’m already married.”

The redhead’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth and closed it a few times before she could speak. “Are you saying…Buffy, this is bad, so bad. I know that. And Angel is a jerkface, and he should pay, and pay, and pay and pay---“

“Get to the point, Will.”

“He loves you. I know what he did was so, so wrong, but…you do still want to marry him, don’t you?”

The bride let out a bitter laugh. “He fucked my cousin. More than once, apparently. It doesn’t get much more wrong than that.”

“I know, but…it was a year ago,” Willow bit her lip. “I’m not trying to defend him, and I’m going to give him a swift kick…somewhere, when I see him. But it’s your wedding day, Buffy. We’re in the church, you’re in the dress, your family…everyone’s already here. Are you going to just walk away? I mean, if you do, I’m all for it. I’ll run interference and get you in a taxi and you and I will take the honeymoon together, because really, I’ve always wanted to see Anguilla and the dolphins—“

Buffy laughed weakly, but sobered up in the blink of an eye as she heard a knock.

“Girls? Ten minutes!” The voice of her mother came through the heavy, carved wooden door.

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle it,” Willow said. She scurried over and opened the door a crack. “Hi, Mrs. Summers! Just putting the finishing touches on, you can come back in a bit!”

“Okay, dear, just tell her to hurry up. Now is not the day for her trademark tardiness.”

“I’m keeping her on schedule, don’t worry.” Willow shut the door and ran back to Buffy, who was sitting in the middle of the expensive Oriental rug in the fancy country club lounge, her gown spread out around her, fiddling with the veil in her hands.

“I just don’t know what to do.”

“Um. Pros and cons?”

“Pros? I love him. Cons? He has sex with my cousin, they took pictures together which I got to see, and it seems more than likely he’s been with other women too.”

“Do you think?”

“What am I supposed to think?” Buffy began to cry harder. “That it was just a one time thing? He does work late a lot, and I know his secretary has always flirted with him…”

“Eve flirts with anyone!”

“And has sex with anyone! Do you think Angel would turn her down, but not Harmony?”

“I don’t know,” Willow frowned, clearly overwhelmed with having to deal with the situation. Her pale face was flushed to match the pink of her bridesmaid’s gown, and her eyes were wide with panic. “This is so not my area of expertise. Too bad Cordelia’s out hitting on the ushers. I could get her, but we don’t really have time…”

“What do I do? I don’t know what…what can I do?”

Willow took a deep breath. “I mean, really, Buffy, only you can know. I love you and whatever you decide, I’m behind you one hundred thousand million percent. But I can’t tell you what to do. You have to decide.”

Buffy nodded, and took a shuddering breath. “I think…I think I need fresh air.”

The maid of honor bobbed her head up and down. “Yes. Yes, air is good. I’ll tell your mom there was a wardrobe malfunction, that’ll buy you an extra few minutes to…to think.”

“To think? Great. I get an extra five minutes to decide the rest of my life.”


Spike Pratt took a drag on his cigarette, staring out at the rolling green lawns of the ritzy country club, leaning on the stone wall of the main building’s faux castle facade.

“Dude, you can’t smoke, you’ll stink,” his co-worker Charles Gunn scolded him as he came around the corner and caught sight of the bleached blond. “If Walsh smells you, you are so dead.”

“Fuck Walsh,” Spike growled, kicking his shoe at a pebble on the ground. “It’s my last day anyway.”

“Oh yeah, I heard you quit, man. Where you off to?”

“Anywhere but sodding Sunnydale.”

“Nice plan.”

“Yeah. Just me, my bike, and the open road.”

“Aren’t you the twenty first century’s answer to Jack Kerouac.” At the other man’s surprised look, Gunn laughed loudly. “What? I read.”

“Apparently.” Spike dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his shoe. “How long do we have?”

“Ceremony hasn’t even started yet, bride’s called a time out. Something about the dress? Fuck if I know.”

“How much do you think this bloody wedding cost?”

Gunn shrugged. “Upwards of sixty thou, I’d say. Probably more. Groom’s some sort of American royalty or whatever, bride’s parents are both members of the club. Read an article about it in the paper this morning.”

“Saw the groom. Ponce.”

“I’d go with dick, but sure, use one of your British words.”

“Charles?” Gunn’s girlfriend came rushing around the corner excitedly, stopping short when she saw Spike. “Oh…hi!” She smiled nervously, smoothing the front of her black cocktail dress.

“Hey, Fred. Wanting to drag Gunn away for a bit of alone time before the reception starts?” He grinned devilishly at the blush that crept over the girl’s cheeks.

“Asshole,” Gunn smacked him roughly. “See you later.” He grabbed Fred’s hand and they walked off, leaving Spike to contemplate smoking another cigarette before he had to head back inside to serve tiny hors d’oeuvres and expensive champagne to rich society people intent on making his life a living hell.

He frowned when he suddenly heard the faint sound of crying. Giving into his curiosity, he went to investigate, tracing the sound to the beautiful terrace outside one of the club’s many lounges. Sitting on the steps up to the door was a petite blonde, dressed in a huge white silk ball gown, crying into her hands, entire body shaking with the force of her sobs.

Spike intended to leave her be, not wanting to interrupt was what was clearly a personal moment, and was starting to slowly back up when he accidentally kicked a flowerpot and knocked it over. The sound of shattering ceramic caused the woman to gasp, and look up at him.

Her face was tearstained, her mascara smudged, her cheeks flushed. Green eyes shined brightly with yet unshed tears, and her soft looking pink lips quivered.

“Are you…are you alright?” Spike asked awkwardly, pulling at the hem of his black tuxedo jacket as he tried not to stare too hard at her distraught face.

She let out a laugh, but a bitter one, her features not remotely shifting from misery to mirth. “I’m supposed to be getting married and I’m crying outside. What do you think?”

He hesitated for a moment, wanting nothing more in this world than to flee, but knowing he couldn’t do it. “I think you may need to talk about it.” He moved forward before he could change his mind, and sat down next to her on the steps, looking at her questioningly.

For no reason, but trusting the sincerity she heard in this unfamiliar man’s voice and the compassion in his blue eyes, Buffy rushed out, “I just found out my fiancé had sex with my cousin last year and now I don’t know what to do.”

“Don’t marry him.” The response was immediate.

Her eyes widened. “It’s not that simple, he loves me and I told him—“

“If he loved you, he wouldn’t have fucked another woman. Pardon my language and my bluntness.”

“You’ve never cheated on anyone?”

“Not once,” he said vehemently.

“But…but there could be extenuating circumstances. There could be—“

“Is he the one who told you? What happened?”

“Well, no, she did. With picture aids.”

Spike sighed, and chose to continue with the brutal honesty. “Again, I say, don’t marry him. If he hadn’t told you by now, he wasn’t going to, and who knows what else he was hiding.”

Buffy was quiet for a moment. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It is.”

“It’s not, though!” Her voice wavered and broke, and Spike was surprised at how much it hurt him to see her cry. “Our whole families are here, we spent all this money, he’s waiting out there for me. How can I just break his heart like that?”

“Seems like he’s the one who broke yours.” She dropped her head in her hands again, and Spike spontaneously reached out and brushed her hair back from her face. Buffy glanced up at him in surprise, but didn’t pull away. Spike cupped her cheek, and spoke from his heart. “You’re a beautiful woman, and he doesn’t deserve you. I’m not saying you have to break it off with him, although he sounds like a right wanker, but are you really going to be able to walk down that aisle, and say you love him till death do you part and all that rot, with this hanging over your head?”

He was silent, then, and let her think for a moment. “No,” she finally whispered. “I couldn’t.”

Loud voices suddenly came from inside the room, and Buffy’s eyes widened.

“Where is she? Everyone’s getting restless!”

“Sorry, Mrs. Summers, she just needed a bit of fresh air, can I offer you some champagne?”

“No, I’m…okay, yes, that sounds lovely, Willow.”

Spike took in the panicked look on the bride-not-to-be’s face, and impulsively offered, “Want to get out of here?” He stood, and offered her his hand.

She stared at it for a moment, then her eyes traveled up to his face. “What’s your name?”

“Spike.”

She took his hand and stood. “I’m Buffy. You have a car?”

“Motorcycle. Might be tough with the dress, but it’ll work.”

With a nod, she said firmly, “Let’s go.”

Still holding her hand, Spike turned and led Buffy towards the parking lot, pulling her gently every time she paused. They reached his bike, and he spun around to face her, resting his hands on her shoulders.

“You sure you want to do this?” He asked softly.

She took a deep breath. Her response was, “He’s going to be so embarrassed.”

“He deserves it,” Spike chuckled, grabbing a helmet and passing it to her. “Put this on quick, don’t have a lot of time before they notice you’re gone.”

“It’ll mess up my hair.”

“Well, your makeup is already all over your face, so at least it’ll be a theme.” At her horrified expression, he laughed, “Still look gorgeous, pet, don’t worry. Now put it on, I don’t let women on my bike without one.”

She reluctant slid it over her head, and he lifted the visor for a moment to wink at her, which seemed to ease her worried expression. “Climb on, try not to let that big skirt get all caught in the tires.”

Buffy nodded and gathered the fabric up in her arms before carefully swinging one leg over. She wobbled on her high silver heels, but Spike caught her and lifted her easily, settling her on the seat. Checking quickly to make sure the dress was secure, he pulled on his own helmet, climbed on the bike, and spun around to slide her visor back down.

“Still sure?” He checked again.

“Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” Buffy said seriously, her words muffled from within the helmet.

“You got it, pet. Hold on to me.” He started the bike and sped off, and Buffy tightened her grip around his waist.

When they cleared the gate to the country club grounds, she felt herself relax.

They’d made it. And, she’d done it. She’d made a decision quickly and stuck with it, something she hadn’t been able to handle her whole life. Other people made the decisions for her, smarter people. Her parents told her where to go to college, her friends told her what to think, and Angel told her to love him, to accept his proposal. When she did try to figure things out for herself, she’d waver back and forth between the choices for hours, weeks, days, struggling to figure out exactly what her mind was telling her it wanted.

This time, she followed her heart. Heart hurt, wanted gone, and so she took it with her on the back of this motorcycle, with this kind stranger who managed to say exactly what she was thinking and guide her towards what she knew, in her heart, if not her mind, was the right decision.

Buffy rested her cheek on Spike’s back, closed her eyes, and felt the wind rushing past her. She hadn’t thought to ask where they were going, but supposed it didn’t matter.

As long as it was somewhere that was away.



Let me know if you think this is a fic you'd be interested in, I'd love to know if anyone's intrigued!

Buffy had kept her eyes closed the entire ride, afraid of the high speeds, feeling vulnerable and open, and wanting to block out anything that might cause her to change her mind. The vibrations of the motorcycle’s engine between her legs was strange, and new, and add to that the fact that she was tightly hugging an unfamiliar man, someone who was not the person she was supposed to be currently marrying, and she had to concentrate hard on her breathing to keep from hyperventilating.

Suddenly, the motorcycle slowed and stopped. Buffy pulled off her helmet, opened her eyes and blinked, finding that the sun had gone behind a heavy, dark cloud, and she was in the parking lot of what looked like a bar.

“Where are we?” she asked as Spike dismounted, removed his helmet, and took hers from her.

“A bar.”

“Okay, but why?”

Spike lifted her from the bike and set her down gently. “Figured a night of drinking your sorrows away could be in order. It was that, or a lot of chocolate, but I don’t particularly like chocolate.”

“You don’t like chocolate? That’s like, sacrilege or something.”

“I think the Pope would disagree.”

He grabbed her hand and started to pull her towards the front door. “I can’t…I’m in my wedding dress,” she protested sadly.

“So?”

“So? I’ll look like a huge freak! I’m all white and poofy and you said my makeup was all messed up and I bet my hair---“

Spike sighed, and licked his thumb to wipe under her eyes. Shocked at the almost intimate act, Buffy didn’t stop him, just watched him intently as he cleaned off her face, and began to run his hands through her hair until the curls were managed. For the first time, she took in his face in its entirety. High, sculpted, cheekbones, those gentle, clear blue eyes, bleached blonde hair. Almost the exact opposite of Angel, physically, she realized. “Okay, two out of three,” he said once he was done. “You really don’t want to go in there in the dress?”

“Well, I mean, won’t people laugh at me?” She said softly, kicking at a rock on the ground. “The stupid girl who ran away on her wedding day.”

“No one will laugh, pet. And if they do, I’ll kick their ass. Besides, I know the bloke who owns this bar, and his girlfriend would have some clothes lying around, yeah? If you want. But we have to go inside first.” He didn’t know why he cared so much that this girl came with him. He should just call her a cab. But instead he squeezed her hand gently, trying to reassure her, feeling a deep rooted need to help her heal.

“Okay,” she acquiesced reluctantly, and let him pull her towards the door. But, abruptly, she stopped again and yanked him back to face her, biting her lip worriedly.

“What now?” Spike said, slightly irritated.

Buffy blurted out, “Why are you being so nice to me? You don’t even know me.”

“Do I really need a reason?” When she was quiet, he sighed, and tried to explain the feeling he couldn’t quite identify. “Look, I would say your day, that I am now a part of whether you meant for me to be or not, probably ranks in the top ten of worst days I’ve seen. You needed someone to take care of you, so I am. Is that a problem?”

The first smile he’d seen spread across her face, and he felt his heart stop as he realized how truly beautiful she was. “Not a problem at all.”

Again, they headed towards the front door of the bar. Spike lightly stroked her palm with one finger as they stepped in the door, and adjusted their eyes to the dim light. The bar was nearly empty, as it was only around five on a Saturday night, but those who were in the room turned to look curiously at the girl in the big white gown. But after their initial once over, they all turned back to what they were doing, and Buffy let out a sigh of relief.

“See? No problem,” he leaned in and said directly into her ear, allowing himself a moment to linger in her personal space.

“Spike! My man, how goes it?” The bartender waved them over, a happy smile on his face. “Looking sharp.”

“It goes good, mate. Xander, Buffy, Buffy, Xander. He owns the place.”

“Nice to meet you,” the dark haired man reached out a hand and brought hers to his lips. Buffy blushed. “Nice dress, by the way.”

“Um, thanks,” she said awkwardly, glancing down at the yards of beaded satin that wrapped around her body.

“Tell me the story after a few drinks?”

“Sure,” she instantly relaxed when he didn’t push her for an explanation.

“What’ll you have?”

Buffy paused, thought carefully for a moment and finally decided, “Um, just a beer?” Spike glanced at her, slightly surprised.

“No problem. Spike?”

“What do you think?”

“Whiskey it is.”

“Your girl around?” Spike inquired as he loosened his bow tie and dropped it on the bar.

“She’ll be here later,” Xander replied, then moved to grab their drinks.

Buffy lifted her skirt and awkwardly tried to sit on a bar stool, but got tangled in the layers of fabric on her body. Chuckling, Spike took a surreptitious look at the expanse of thigh revealed as she gathered up the silk and teetered on her high heels, then assisted her. He then moved to sit down next to her, unbuttoning the top of his shirt and shedding his jacket.

They sat in an awkward silence for a moment, as the spontaneity of their afternoon and adrenaline it caused faded, and they just became two strangers in a dark bar, knowing nothing but first names.

“So, um, kind of late to be asking you this, but were you a guest?” Buffy asked, wondering if she’d just escaped her wedding with Angel’s cousin or something.

“No. Work for the catering company.”

A wave of irrational guilt crashed over her that she’d somehow ruined the day of someone who’d been so extraordinarily kind to her. “Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry, I made you leave work!”

“Made me?” He raised one eyebrow.

“Well, I mean---“

“Relax, love. It was my last day anyway, not like they can fire me.”

“Oh. So you got a different job?”

He chose to lie by omission, figuring the night needed to be about her and her problems, not his. “Sick of the penguin suit, thought I’d find something that didn’t involve shiny shoes.”

Buffy giggled. It was the sweetest sound Spike thought he had ever heard. “I think you look snazzy.”

Xander set down their drinks in front of them with a flourish. “Want something to eat, Buffy?”

As if on cue, her stomach rumbled loudly, and she realized she hadn’t eaten since that morning’s bagel. “Oh, this is a restaurant too?” She said hopefully.

“Nope. But I live right upstairs, can make you…well, eggs of some kind, or grilled cheese. Or macaroni. Or pancakes.” Her eyes lit up. “Pancakes it is.”

“No! No, I don’t want to put you out, I’m fine---“

“You looked more excited about pancakes than I’ve ever seen anyone look before. No arguing,” Xander said firmly he headed up the stairs to the left of the bar, whistling a jaunty tune.

“Wow, definitely full service!” Buffy said happily, clapping her hands together with glee. “Pancakes are my absolute favorite food in the world.”

“That so?” Spike smirked. “Can’t say I’ve ever met anyone with that favorite food before.”

“What can I say, I’m weird,” she shrugged, took a sip of her beer and made a slight face.

Spike tried to stifle his grin. “Surprised me that was your drink of choice.”

“I noticed. What’d you expect, a Cosmo? Apple-tini? Lemon drop?”

“Something like that.”

“Girly drinks and Buffy are like…unmixy things. Hangovers from the sugar, not of the good.”

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“And it’s only five-thirty, I could surprise you a lot before the night is out.” She cringed at her words. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you had to hang out with me all night, I’m sure you have plans and you’ve done so much for me already I wasn’t expecting—“

Spike put a finger to her lips and shushed her, definitively deciding how he wanted to spend his last night in Sunnydale, in the company of this beautiful woman. “Got no plans but spend the evening with you. And stop apologizing to me for no reason.”

Buffy grinned underneath his finger. Once he reluctantly stopped touching her, she nodded, “Okay then. No more sorries.” She took a deep gulp from her bottle.

“Pace yourself, it’s early,” Spike said kindly.

“Thought the point was to drown my sorrows!”

“It is, but you have to drown them carefully. Don’t fancy carrying you out of here when you pass out.”

“So you’re like, Mr. Responsible then?”

He barked an almost bitter laugh, then tried to smile to soften it. “Hardly.”

“Well, tell me about yourself, then,” She turned on the stool so she was facing him and leaned on one elbow, staring at him curiously. It was so easy to forget her life and her day, here in this slightly rundown bar, and she knew the reason she could even pretend to smile was this strange man beside her, offering her a chance to forget and laugh. And she wanted to know why.

Spike averted his gaze from the display of her cleavage, enhanced by her twisted torso and the tight bodice of her dress, and shrugged. “What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know. But if we’re going to hang out tonight, I’d kind of like to know some stuff about you. I mean, you know…things. About me. Only fair!”

“Not like I have a resume to read off, pet. Got to give me somewhere to start.”

Buffy stuck her lower lip out in a pout, then suddenly her entire face transformed, and she looked absolutely radiant. The kind of radiant a woman should look on her wedding day. “I have an idea! We’ll play twenty questions.”

“Like, I think of an object, and—“

“No, no, silly. We each get twenty questions to ask to get to know each other better. It’ll be fun!”

She looked so excited, there was nothing in the world that could make Spike reject her suggestion. “Does sound fun, kitten. You’re up first.”

“Okay. Let me think. They need to be good questions, you know. Not like, what’s your favorite color.”

“Right. No boring questions, then.”

Buffy snapped her fingers after a moment. “Got it! This is my question, and it has two parts. What’s your real name, and how’d you get your nickname?”

“What makes you think Spike is a nickname?”

“Um, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean---“

“Just teasing you. And you apologized again for nothing. Every time you do that from here on out, I get an extra question, so there.”

Buffy sighed as if that was the worst punishment in the world. “Okay, FINE. I’m sor—“ She slapped her hand over her mouth. “Didn’t say it,” she insisted through her fingers.

“I’ll let you off the hook. This time,” he laughed. “My real name is William Edward Pratt the third.”

“No kidding.”

“Nope. Spike’s a nickname I got in high school, used to wear a spiked dog collar, spiked my hair. Thought I was real tough.”

“Did you also wear safety pins and eyeliner?”

“That I did. Was that another question?’

Rolling her eyes, she said, “Of course not. It was a continuation of a topic brought up by my original question. Duh. So I’ve used up one. Your turn, William.”

She was the first person to call him William to his face in years. And, surprisingly, he didn’t mind.

Xander came back to them, brandishing a tray with a plate piled high with fluffy flapjacks, syrup, and a rose in a vase.

“Oh my!” Buffy giggled. “I feel so pampered.”

Spike smiled at his friend gratefully, always shocked at the fact that the guy, without fail, could figure out exactly what someone needed without even asking. Probably why he was a bartender. “Looks delicious.”

“My own special recipe, right off the Bisquick box,” Xander said proudly.

“So freaking good!” Buffy said, mouth already full.

Spike observed her thoughtfully for a moment, realized he was staring, and chugged down the rest of his drink. “Another, barman!” He turned to Buffy. “Ready for more?”

She nodded and swallowed. “What kind of drink can I drink with pancakes?”

“White Russian?” Xander suggested, pouring more whiskey into the empty glass. “It’s got cream in it.”

“Plus, pet. Almost tastes like chocolate,” Spike said, eyes twinkling.

“Sign me up!” She squealed, digging back into her meal.

“So you… you’re doing okay? With…everything?” Spike asked quietly as Xander moved away, hoping to turn the conversation back to the events of the day so he didn’t get distracted by the urge to turn on his patented charm.

“Pancakes cure all. And well, I’m being repressy. Let me repress. Repression is of the good. I don’t even want to think about it.”

“Got it. No deep questions yet.”

She offered him her fork and wiggled it enticingly. “Want a bite? Come on, you know you want it.”

“No, thanks, wouldn’t want to take away even a little bit of something that makes you so bloody happy.”

The incredibly sweet sentiment made Buffy freeze for a minute. Spike chugged down his new drink, ignoring her reaction. “Okay,” she said softly.

Xander returned and placed a drink on the counter. “Here you go, milady. Let me know what you think.”

Buffy took a sip, and her eyes widened. “Oh my God. That’s like, heaven in a glass! Xander, you’re like a god.”

He puffed out his chest proudly. “I’m quite the talented drink-maker, what can I say.”

“Mmm…” Buffy sighed happily as she sipped on the drink. “Too tasty.”

“Figured out my question.” Spike announced when Xander was torn away by a thirsty patron. “How old are you?”

“Boring question!”

“Come on, I want to know.”

She wrinkled her nose a bit, and her answer was almost like a confession. “Just turned twenty one. Xander probably should have carded me.”

Spike gawked at her, the wheels in his mind spinning quickly. “You were getting married at twenty one?”

“Apparently.”

“You go to school?’

“Yup. UC Sunnydale junior, art history major, dance minor.”

“Dance, really? Ballet?”

“Ballet, jazz, hip-hop, whole kit and caboodle.”

“What’re you going to do? When you graduate?”

A cloud settled over her face, and she suddenly realized she had no plan for any future past this evening, and the thought made her heart feel heavy with lead. “I was going to be married. Didn’t really think about much after that.”

“Ah,” he sipped his drink and inspected her carefully. “Well, at least now you can decide what you really want to do.”

“I guess. I’m not…there’s never really been anything I’m good at. Picked art because it was easy, picked dance because I love it, but neither are things I can really, like, make a career out of. I didn’t really ever plan a career, I know that’s so stupid and shallow.” Buffy blushed a bit.

“Not shallow at all. You’re young---“

“I’m not that young, how old are you?”

“Twenty eight.”

“Okay, fine, old man,” Buffy teased. “Maybe you could teach me a thing or two.”

“That I could, pet,” he leered back, before reining in the comment he almost made about just what he would like to teach her. “Anyway, as I was saying, you’re young, you’ve got a lot of years to find your passion.”

“Well, have you found yours?”

“Is that your question?” She nodded, and Spike said, “I’m a writer, or at least, an aspiring writer. That’s my passion.”

“That’s very cool. What do you write?”

“Everything. Short stories, poetry, songs. Almost wrote a novel once, got sidetracked.”

“By what?” She asked curiously.

“That, pet, would definitely be another question, and it’s my turn,” Spike winked at her, then again had to suppress any further flirtation, and glanced down at the white dress to remind himself of the circumstances.

“No, no, back to previous topic. Did you go to school for writing? Totally a follow-up question.”

“Oxford.” He said shyly.

“Seriously?” Her eyes widened, impressed. “That’s a really good school.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“So a punk kid named Spike ended up going to Oxford?”

“Oi! Just because I was punk doesn’t mean I didn’t study.”

“Right, right, okay.” Buffy absentmindedly stuck one finger in the syrup on her plate, swirled it around, then slid her finger in between her lips to suck it off. She didn’t register Spike’s intake of breath, or the way his eyes watched her finger slide in and out of her mouth.

He coughed and tore his eyes away. “Okay. My question.”




Everyone still enjoying? Please oh please, let me know, and there is much fun to come!

“That is quite a skill,” Buffy said appreciatively as she watched Xander flipping alcohol bottles.

“Don’t encourage him, pet. Bloke’s seen Cocktail one too many times, and do you have any idea how many times he had to get stitches while learning these tricks?” Spike wasn’t watching his friend demonstrate his skills, but rather, was watching Buffy out of the corner of his eye as she smiled happily.

“Hey! Once!” Xander pouted, still juggling.

“Three times, whelp.”

“Fine, three, but one of the times was not my fault.”

“Right, because the very act of me saying hello was enough for you to royally botch it up,” the blond man snorted.

Laughing at their easy banter, Buffy finished off her White Russian and smacked her lips contentedly. “Okay, that was just damn yummy. Could I get some water, please?” She said to Xander, who obliged immediately. “Pacing,” she whispered.

“Good girl.”

“So how many questions are we at?’ She shifted on her stool, then pulled up the top of her dress, the movement pressing her breasts up and distracting Spike for a moment,

He turned his distraction into just a moment of thought, and said, “You have 16 left, I have 17.”

“So it’s your turn, then?”

“That it is. Let me think…okay, got it. Well, it’s not really a question, more of a topic to discuss. Family?”

“Only child, parents still together.”

He waited for a moment, then prodded, “And…”

“And, what?”

“What’s your family like?”

Buffy shrugged, and called out to Xander, “Make me something new and yummy!”

“You got it!”

She returned her gaze to Spike, who frowned at her a bit. “Dad’s a business guy, his offices are in LA so he’s gone half the time. Mom doesn’t work, really, does a lot of charity stuff and social engagements and whatever. Society wife. They’re…well, let’s just say they’re married permanently, if not happily.”

“How do you mean?’

Buffy shrugged and turned away from the conversation, accepting her new drink with a smile. “What’s this one called?” Spike sighed at her avoidance, then second guessed why he even cared so much to dig around in the past of this unfamiliar woman. Although, by this point, she could hardly be called a stranger.

“It’s a Buffy,” Xander winked. “Vanilla vodka, triple sec, and pineapple juice.”

“Oooh! I’ve always wanted a drink named after me.” She took a small sip. “And yet again, you stun me with your impressive skills. Can I steal your brain?’

“It’s not much use to me, anyway,” he laughed.

The bell over the door jingled, and a dark haired woman entered, yelling at someone on her cell phone. “I don’t give a shit, motherfucker. You promised me five, and I want five. Any less, and I’m taking a hammer to your fucking precious cycle, and then your balls.” She hung up and stopped short as she saw Buffy in her dress. “Whoa. It’s a bride.”

“Oh…right.” She looked down, having almost forgotten her apparel, and the reason she was wearing it. “Long story.”

“I’ll have to hear it. I’m Faith,” the woman stuck out her hand and looked Buffy up and down appraisingly.

Spike explained, “Faith is Xander’s bird.”

“I’m no one’s bird, bleached wonder.”

“Right, sorry. She also fixed up my bike for me. Bloody genius, she is.”

“Oh, you flatter me!” Faith ruffled Spike’s hair and ducked under the counter, giving her boyfriend a heated kiss before fixing herself a drink.

“This is Buffy, she is our guest of honor this evening,” Xander said, putting back the bottles he’d been twirling.

“Awesome. So, then, we’re partying?” She asked hopefully.

“That seems to be the plan,” Spike nodded.

“Excellent. Always up for an excuse to get trashed.”

Xander said cautiously, “Remember, Faith, we’re having lunch with my parents---“

“Pipe down, baby. I’ll be just as hung-over as your mother, no more.”

He rolled his eyes. “My girlfriend, ladies and gentlemen.”

Buffy watched their interaction silently, feeling slightly uncomfortable and left out, when Faith turned to her and grinned invitingly. “You’re a cutie, B. How long have you known our boy?”

“Um. About…two hours?”

“Two and a half, love,” Spike lightly nudged her side.

“Right. Sorry,” she giggled, a warm blush spreading across her cheeks as he smiled at her.

Faith smirked at their interaction. “Wow, he must like you, if he brought you here. Most of the trash he dates doesn’t get to meet me.”

“Sitting right here, don’t talk about me like I’m not!” Spike objected, glancing at Buffy to see her reaction to Faith’s comment.

She just laughed and ruffled his hair as the other woman had done. “Aw, don’t pout. We’ll talk about you when you’re gone, too.”

Faith high-fived her. “I like this one, can I keep her?”

“Sure. You two can form a club called Let’s Kick The Spike.”

Buffy smiled and nuzzled his shoulder briefly before pulling away and sipping at her drink. His shoulder tensed the second he lost her weight on it, and he rolled his eyes at Faith’s curious expression.

“Hey, you think Buffy could borrow some clothes?” He asked. “I mean, if you still want to change, pet.”

“Oh, yes please.”

Faith shrugged, “No sweat! Come on up, B. We’ll find you a party outfit.”

Buffy got off the stool and smoothed her hands over the front of her dress. With a tentative smile at Spike she followed the brunette up the stairs, who was chattering excitedly about what to dress up in.

Once they were out of sight, Xander turned to Spike and said curiously, “So, I take it the wedding you were working today didn’t quite go off without a hitch?”

“Something like that.”

“What happened?”

“Met Buffy, she needed to get out of there, brought her here. Any other details are hers to tell.”

“Fine, fine, we won’t gossip like chicks. She’s a looker, though.”

“Yeah,” Spike nodded, taking a deep breath. “She is.”


Faith led Buffy into the apartment above the bar and headed for the bedroom, not wasting a minute before saying, “So, were you supposed to be getting married today? Or are you married? Or wearing a costume. Or what.”

“Um, sort of, the first.” She bit her lip, not wanting to spill her story but not wanting to offend the other woman. “I think I need to be a little drunker before I get into the whole saga though.”

“Sure thing,” Faith breezed, not looking remotely bothered. “Okay, I see you in black. No, wait, I’m wearing black. Red, yes, you could pull off red.” She began to dig through the messy closet, tossing items behind her onto the unmade bed. “Ah! This, this is wicked hot.”

She dangled a skimpy red lace halter dress in front of Buffy, whose eyes almost popped out of her head. “I’ve…I’ve never worn anything like that before.”

“First time for everything, right? At least try it on.”

Nodding reluctantly, Buffy took the proffered dress, then paused before heading to the bathroom Faith pointed her towards. “Um,” she said quietly. “I’m not…I’m not sure I can get out of this dress on my own.”

“Oh, yeah, duh. I was a bridesmaid for my cousin last year, it took four people to get her into the dress. I mean, the dress was hideous, but yours is beautiful.”

“Thanks.”

Faith moved behind her and began undoing the hooks and buttons up the back of the gown. “What brand is it?”

“Monique Lhuillier?”

“Huh. Sounds pricey.” She was quiet as she finished the last of the clasps. “Okay, you’re good to go. Change and then we’ll do the whole makeup and hair bit. You’re going to look so bomb.”

Buffy shut the door to the bathroom behind her, and hesitated a moment before sliding the thin, delicate straps of her dress off her shoulders, and letting it fall softly to the floor, revealing the lacy white lingerie beneath, the garter on her thigh, and the small blue bow on her underwear. Suddenly overcome with anger, she ripped the blue bow away, tore off the garter, and tossed both into the trash, then furiously kicked at the dress on the ground. Gathering her courage, she removed the bra she knew wouldn’t fit under the scrap of a dress Faith had offered her, and slid the garment over her head.

The dress hit her about mid thigh, which Buffy realized meant on Faith it probably barely covered her ass. The top was two triangles of dark red lace over black fabric that pushed her breasts up and together, creating more cleavage than she’d ever displayed. With her silver heels still on, she had to admit she looked pretty good. And not at all bridal.

“Okay, I’d do you,” Faith said the second the bathroom door opened to reveal Buffy, shifting uncomfortably. She finished buttoning up her leather pants, and adjusted her breasts in her black satin top. “We are going to make a splash. Granted, it’s just Xander’s bar, but hey. It gets pretty busy on Saturdays.” She took the wedding dress from Buffy’s arms and hung it up carefully, before dragging the girl over to the vanity.

Faith chattered away as she redid Buffy’s makeup, and pulled her curled hair back in a messy twist.

“We ready?” She asked as she finished applying her own fire engine red lipstick.

“Yup,” Buffy smiled. As the girl started to walk away from her, she said, “Wait, Faith? Thank you. A lot. This…this is good. What I needed.”

“No thanks necessary, B. Just enjoy yourself tonight, okay? We’ll exorcise your demons.”

“I will. Can I use your phone before I come down? I should call someone and let them know I’m …I’m okay.”

“By the fridge, see you down stairs.” Faith bounced off, and Buffy reached for the cordless on the counter.

It had been a long time since she’d needed to memorize a phone number, and without her cell phone she felt practically naked, but found herself easily remembering and dialing Willow’s cell.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Will, it’s me.”

“Oh, hi, Bob!” Willow lowered her voice. “Hold on, let me go in the other room.”

“Bob? Are you with spies?”

“Your mother.”

“Close enough. How mad is she?” Leaning against the counter, Buffy started to chew on her lip, afraid that somehow her mother would sense that she was “Bob” and tear the phone right out of Willow’s grasp. A lecture about responsibility and family was definitely not what she needed right now.

“Okay, privacy. She’s…um, she’s worried.”

Buffy sighed. “And mad.”

“Well, yes. Where did you go?” Willow’s voice was curious and concerned, but her clear disapproval of Buffy’s choice made the girl start to shake nervously.

“I…I made my decision. And I had to get out of there.”

“Where are you now? Do you need me to come get you?”

“No, no, I’m fine…I’m with friends.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Friends who didn’t come to the wedding?”

“New friends?” Buffy offered tentatively.

Willow took a deep, audible breath. “I should tell you, Angel saw you getting on the back of some guy’s motorcycle? He’s absolutely flipping out, Buffy.”

“I’m fine, Will, I promise. The guy’s nice, one of the waiters for the reception, he did me a favor and we’re hanging out at his friend’s bar. I’m just…decompressing.” The longer she talked, the more Buffy’s hand began to shake, and she dug the nails of one hand into her palm in attempts to focus on physical pain, rather than emotional.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come get you?”

“No, I’m of the good. Just wanted to let you know I’m alright.” Buffy was quiet for a moment, deciding whether or not she truly cared about the answer to the question floating in her mind. “So, Angel’s freaking?”

“Well, yeah. Of course. I haven’t told him you know about Harmony, figured that was your news to tell, so he’s completely…he cried, Buffy. I mean, just so you know.”

“Oh…” Resisting the pull of regret in her heart was less difficult than she’d thought it would be, yet still the idea of her Angel crying was still enough to bring pinpricks of tears to her own eyes, despite her belief that she’d done the right thing.

“So, I mean, you eventually need to talk to him. I get that it wasn’t right for you to get married, not with that hanging over your heads, but you need to…I don’t know, at least try and let him explain?”

“I will. Eventually. I have to go, though, Will.” The conversation couldn’t last another second with the guilt trip being laid on her by her best friend, and the turmoil raging within her.

“I’m sorry, Buffy, I didn’t mean to make you mad, I’m totally on your side, I just---“

“No, no, it’s fine. I just, I’m using their phone and I don’t want to hog it. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Are you coming back to the apartment, or---“

Buffy hung up and let out a shuddering sigh, closing her eyes and trying to block out her conflicted sadness.

A soft knock at the door startled her. “Pet, are you—“ Spike stopped short as he saw her standing there, and breathed out, “Wow…” He drank it all in. Blonde hair piled on her head, tendrils falling and framing her face, green eyes rimmed in black, lips full, shining and pouty, breasts almost pushing out of a dress in his favorite color.

Buffy blushed from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, his clear appreciation of her appearance making her misery lighten a bit. “It’s…Faith kind of played Barbie with me. It’s too much, isn’t it?”

“Not at all,” he managed to say. “You look great. But, not very happy. Are you alright?”

“I’m…yeah. Somewhere in the vicinity of alright.” She sniffed a bit and stared down at the ground, not wanting him to see her cry yet again.

It took three steps for Spike to reach her, and he folded her into a tight hug, wanting nothing more than to alleviate all of her pain. She relaxed into him immediately, wrapped her hands around his waist, breathed in his scent, and willed the tears pricking her eyelids away. They stood like that for a few minutes, neither saying anything, until Buffy pulled away and smiled weakly up at him.

“Okay. Nearer to alright now.” And she was. The feeling of being wrapped up in his arms was one of the purest, most comfortable sensations she’d ever experienced, and Buffy still couldn’t wrap her mind around just why this man was being so extremely kind to her.

“Ready to head downstairs? Faith’s ready to party and you aren’t there to give her a reason,” he joked, brushing the one escaped tear off her cheek.

Buffy nodded, “Sure thing. But Spike, I just don’t know how to ever thank you—“

“No need to ever. Not something I need to be thanked for.” He offered his arm to her in a gallant gesture. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” she grabbed his arm, squeezing it till he paid attention to her. He looked down at her questioningly, and she took a moment to search the depths of his blue eyes before saying, “Really, though, thank you. Just so you know. I don’t think anyone has ever been this nice to me.”

Spike observed her, thoughtful. “Well, love. Then you haven’t been spending time with the right people.”

The pair descended the stairs, hand in hand.

“Buffy! You look—“ Xander stopped abruptly as Faith smacked him on the arm. “Absolutely off limits.”

“Keep dreaming, she’s out of your league,” his girlfriend smirked, showing no jealousy. “Phone call made?”

“Yep, all set,” Buffy nodded animatedly, determined to enjoy the rest of her evening and push any more sad thoughts from her mind.

“Okay then,” Faith said formally, gesturing to a row of amber liquid filled glasses. “Then, as the official start to our evening, I propose shots!”

“What are we toasting?” Buffy asked as she picked up a small glass, sniffing it apprehensively.

“It’s whiskey. To new beginnings?” Spike suggested, raising his drink in the air.

“I like that,” she nodded, raising her shot as well. “To new beginnings.”

They all clinked their glasses, and gulped their shots down. Only Buffy coughed a bit, rubbing herself on the chest, wrinkling her face and shivering unintentionally to ease the burn of the liquor as it made it’s way into her belly.

Spike rubbed her back worriedly. “Okay, pet?”

“Oh, yeah. Awesome. Just never had whiskey before,” she admitted shyly.

“Seriously?” Faith said. “Man, first time I had whiskey, I was like, twelve.” At the astonished looks all three gave her, she shrugged. “What? I’ve had a life.” She and Xander moved behind the bar to deal with customers, as the bar began to fill up with more thirsty bodies.

“Most of my drinking has been keg beer and wine with my parents,” Buffy shrugged in embarrassment, letting Spike lead her to the corner of the counter where two empty stools sat. “I guess I’m not exactly the most experienced drinker. And no more whiskey for Buffy.”

“No shame in that. Pace yourself, remember,” Spike whispered into her ear, settling his hand on her lower back as he guided her.

The alcohol started to warm her body, and she smiled up at him appreciatively. “You’re going to help me pace, right?”

“Of course, kitten. Don’t want my girl drowning herself along with her sorrows.”

Buffy blushed a bit at his choice of words and smacked him lightly. “You goof.”

“I am a goof,” he laughed. “I vote you rest a bit, a beer, two drinks and a shot in a few hours should be more than plenty, especially if you aren’t used to it. Let me know if you aren’t feeling well, though.”

“NO, I am feeling mighty fine.” She giggled. “And hey, you changed too. Xander’s clothes?” He’d dumped the tux and put on a tight black t-shirt, and dark denim jeans.

Spike snorted a laugh. “No, he doesn’t dress nearly as well as I do. I actually rent a room in the back of the bar. Only a few steps and I was home to take a quick shower.”

“Well, you do smell nice,” she leaned in a bit closer. “So, my question now?”

“Nope, we’re not done with the previous topic.”

“We’re not?” Buffy pouted her glossed lips. “I was so hoping we were.”

“We can if you really want to be, I won’t force you,” Spike looked wounded, and his full lower lip slid out into an unintentional mirroring of the girl’s pout. Buffy eyes traveled to it briefly, than snapped back up to his eyes.

“No, no, it’s fine, I’m…not sorry. What do you want to know?”

“Just curious, is all. What you said about your mum and da sounded pretty important to you,” he said casually, reluctant to let on just how desperate he was to know anything she’d tell him about herself.

“What’d I say?”

Spike narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t play games, you sassy little chit.”

Buffy winked at him. “I am sassy, aren’t I?’

“That you are, pet. You were talking about your parents’ marriage, if I recall correctly.”

“Ah. Fine. Well, they’ve been together like…twenty-five years or something. Long time. And I don’t think they’re exactly happy, but neither one of them has any reason to get a divorce.” Buffy started fiddling with the hem of her dress, trying to pull it down to cover a little more of her thighs. She was unsuccessful, and Spike was admittedly glad about that.

“Why not?” He prodded.

“Well, Mom’s got the money and the society status, Dad’s got a woman who’ll do all the good image stuff and go to functions and doesn’t call him out on his affairs. Perfect relationship. Are we done now?” Her pretty face was twisted into a hardened, practiced mask of disinterest, as she turned and surveyed the bar. “It’s getting busy in here.”

“Yeah, usually is on Saturdays. Alright, pet, your question, I’ll save my extra one for later.” He reluctantly let her choose a new topic, but filed away her remarks in the new fascinating file in his brain solely devoted to Buffy.

“Okay, goody,” the mask fell and she smiled at him again. The thought flashed through Spike’s mind that nothing had ever made him feel more successful in life than making her smile like that. “Tell me about your first love.”

“Oh, we’re getting deep, now?”

“Yes! I’ve imbir…imbr…”

“Imbibed?” He chuckled

“Yes. Enough alcohol now, and its deep time.” She crossed her legs and shifted in her seat, so her knees were pressed up against his thigh.

Spike checked, “You feel alright though?”

“Yes, sir!” She nodded happily.

He smiled, then confessed, “High society bird, name of Cecily, was in love with her all of my youth. Told her how I felt when I was about…sixteen.”

“And what’d she say?”

“Said I was beneath her.”

Buffy gaped at him. “You’re kidding me.”

“Nope. Wrote her a poem, she shot it down, said I was nothing to her.” Years later, the words still held a miserable power over him, and despite his attempts to hide their affect, Buffy clearly sensed his pain.

“Oh, William,” she said softly, resting one hand on his forearm and lightly stroking it in circles. “She was obviously stupid and blind and stupid.”

He chuckled, and glanced down at her small hand on his arm. “Not really. I was a nancy boy in tweed writing bloody awful poetry for a woman I hardly knew. Took it hard, but got over it.”

“Well, is that what turned you into big bad Spike?”

“You’re very perceptive,” he smiled. She was still touching him. “Got in a band, dyed my hair, showed her I wasn’t so beneath her after all.”

“Way to be,” Buffy giggled, and slid her hand down Spike’s arm to play with his fingers. “Did you ever tell her off?”

“Nah. By that point I was over her, moved on. Last I heard she was marrying a baron or something, popping out kiddies left and right.”

“Oh, God, I don’t want children yet! I kill my goldfish.”

“Yeah, I’m not really on the daddy track yet either. Too much out there to see.”

“Like what?” Their hands fully linked together, and Buffy tried to suppress the shiver that crept up her spine as Spike brought their clasped hands into his lap and spun her on her chair so they were facing each other.

“Nu-uh, miss, it’s my question.”

“Come on, it’s within the context of conversation! It’s not a new topic. Learn the rules, Spike.” She stuck her pink tongue out at him and wiggled it.

“Fine, fine, mistress of the game, I bow to your wisdom.” He waved his hand at Faith and summoned her over. “Water for the lady?”

“No problem. Then, B, I’m wanting to shake my ass once I’m freed from working for no pay. You up to dance?”

“Oh, definitely. I am ready to hit the floor.”

“Nice, one water coming up.”

Once Faith had set down the glass and left, Buffy took a sip then continued, “Okay, Spike. So you want to travel?”

“That I do. Lived in England for twenty two years, came straight out here. There’s a lot of things out there to see besides London and Sunnyhell.”

“Sunnyhell! Oh, that’s funny.” She collapsed into a giggle fit.

Spike waited for her to calm down, then asked, “Lived here your whole life?”

“That your question?”

“Suppose so.”

“Then, yes. Well, no. Kind of.”

“Change your mind a few more times?” He teased.

“Oh, shush, you.” Buffy pushed his shoulder gently. “Lived in LA for like, a year, when I was born. But other than that I’m a Sunnydale girl. Almost went off for college but my parents didn’t let me.”

“Where did you want to go?”

“Well, I mean, I didn’t necessarily want to go there. But I got into Northwestern. In Chicago.”

“That’s impressive,” Spike smiled.

“Yeah,” she shrugged modestly. “But, my parents wanted me to stay close, so I did.”

He contemplated that for a moment, then said gently, “Is that what you wanted to do?”

The question didn’t offend her as he’d feared it might, she just bit her lip and looked thoughtful. “I wanted to make my parents happy. I was eighteen, I didn’t know what I wanted.”

“Three years later, you’re wise and knowledgeable now?”

“Hardly. Still have no idea what I want. But, yeah, I kind of wish I’d gone. Moved somewhere else, tried something new. Now I’m going to be stuck here forever.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“Well, Angel wants to---“ Buffy face fell as the words came out of her mouth and the alcohol keeping her memories at bay lost some of its power. “Kind of forgot about that for a bit.”

“Angel, that was your husband to be?” She nodded. “Pretty stupid name, if you ask me.”

“Yeah, his real name is Liam, but he’s been Angel since we were kids.”

“You’ve known him for that long?”

“Yep. Since elementary school. He’s three years older than me, but our parents were friends. My dad works for his.”

“Wow. That’s a long relationship.”

“Well, we didn’t start dating until my freshman year of college. But yeah, it was always kind of…understood. That we’d get married.” Buffy felt an uncomfortable tightening in her chest as the conversation took a turn in the direction she didn’t want to go.

“Understood?”

“B! Dance with me!” Faith bounded over happily and interrupted. “Larry showed up to man the bar, so I am free to party it up.”

“Sure!” She turned to Spike and gave him a quick, impulsive peck on the cheek. “Be back in a bit, unless you want to join.”

“No, you two have fun.” He watched the two skip off, already narrowing his eyes at the crowd of guys watching them intently from a pool table.

“We need to get you drunk and happy,” Faith said as she spun Buffy onto the dance floor. “Best cure for heartache.”

“I’m halfway to drunk, but far from happy. Let’s dance.”

A thudding bass beat overtook the bar, and Buffy and Faith began to move with it, lacing their fingers together over their heads, tossing their hair and gyrating their hips seductively. Spike felt his heart stop as he watched Buffy transform before his eyes. She’d been a goddess and now she was a nymph, attracting the attention of everyone in the room, sending shocks of want throughout his body, making his lips part and his mouth dry up.

Buffy let the music control her thoughts and body, let Faith guide her into a circle of men, and closed her eyes as she tried to block out any thoughts that weren’t about the here and now.

Spike felt his hand clench on the edge of the bar as men surrounded the two dancing girls. If it weren’t for the fact he knew Faith could, and would, kick the ass of anyone who touched Buffy without her permission, he would storm over there and knock each of the men flat on their backs. Something deep within him wanted to claim the dancing blonde as his own, and his conscience battled with his lust as he watched her.

Buffy and Faith moved closer, giggling, enjoying the appreciation of the group around them but spinning out of the way anytime one tried to get too close. Adrenaline began pumping in their veins, the alcohol began to work it’s seductive power, and both turned up the heat, lightly touching each other, moving closer and dancing back to front.

Out of the corner of her eye, Buffy could see Spike watching her intently, an indecipherable expression on his face. She found herself performing with him in mind, as she swayed her hips more she felt a rush of control, as he didn’t even blink, just stared at her absorbedly. Buffy held his gaze for a few long moments, then shot him a quick, seductive grin before returning her attention to her dance partner, heart fluttering. Spike’s eyes blazed with unbridled lust as she turned away, and he took a deep, shuddering breath.

“B, I think we need shots,” Faith said when the song ended, dragging off the blonde without even a backwards glance at their admirers.

“Have fun?” Spike asked so softly when they approached that Buffy had to lean in to hear him.

“I did. Faith’s offering shots?”

“No need to ask my permission, pet,” he tickled her side.

“Yes, sir, you’re right, sir,” her eyes sparkled as she leaned closer into his body. Spike wrapped his arm around her and lightly stroked her arm as Xander came over with drinks.

“Ooh! Is that vodka?” Buffy asked excitedly, snuggling closer to the warm body next to her, finding that she could only truly breathe and feel relaxed when he was near her.

“Very expensive vodka,” the bartender grumbled good-naturedly. “Faith wouldn’t have any less.”

“I’m classy, what can I say! Now drink up, B, and then I want to hear your story.”

Spike’s grip on the girl tightened a bit protectively. “Faith, don’t push—“

“No, no,” Buffy said firmly, drinking her shot down, making a small face, then continuing, “It’s definitely story time.”



Feedback would be oh so greatly appreciated! Something to feed the muse on my long, long flight... ;)

Buffy settled onto the stool next to Spike, who reluctantly had to remove his arm from around her waist. “Well, where do I start? Okay. So, I was supposed to be getting married today. If you hadn’t figured that out yet.”

“Xander probably didn’t, he’s kind of slow,” Faith teased.

“Thanks, babe.”

“So, I’m in the dress. With my maid of honor, fixing my veil, when my cousin stops by. Harmony. And she’s chattering away about how pretty the club is, and how nice my dress is, and how it’s good that Angel and I moved past our problems. And I was like, what now? We had problems?” She took a sip of water before continuing, her tongue loosened by the alcohol and the sympathetic faces around her. “So she stammered and did this whole bit she has where she acts like she’s dumb, which she is, but she also plays it up if that makes sense.”

“Totally,” Faith nodded.

“And then she says that she and Angel---my fiancé---slept together last year. A lot. For an extended period of time. I wouldn’t believe her, but…she had a picture. That she brought with her, so basically she’d come to my wedding planning to tell me.”

All the jaws around her dropped. “Fuck. Bitch,” Xander finally said.

“Yeah,” Buffy found her heart pounding as she relayed her story, but it slowed again as Spike casually slipped his hand into hers. “So, I didn’t know what to do. I had like, ten minutes. And I was wigged. So I went outside for some fresh air, and met Spike, and he offered to get me out of there. So we just…left.” She squeezed Spike’s hand tightly, and he reciprocated with his own squeeze and a kind smile.

“So you rode off on his bike in the big white dress. That is like, the best thing ever,” Faith said.

“Yeah,” Buffy giggled. “Probably looked pretty hilarious. Apparently Angel saw me leave, too, which is…a little satisfying, I have to admit.”

“He did?” Spike said, surprised.

“Yeah. I called Willow, my maid of honor, just to tell her I was alright, and she told me.”

“I’m sorry, B,” Faith said sincerely. “Men suck.” At the offended noises of their two companions, she corrected, “Well, most men suck.”

“Yeah…” Buffy stared down at the countertop as she tried to blink back a sudden, unexpected onslaught of tears. She didn’t like this roller coaster she was on, where one minute she was fine, one minute she was furious, and one minute she was imagining herself back at the club, dancing at her reception, officially Mrs. Angel O’Connor.

“So what are you going to do?” Xander asked, then let out a cry of pain when Faith smacked him.

“Don’t be an asshole, it’s been like, four hours. She doesn’t have to figure it out yet.”

“Sorry,” he pouted. “I was just asking.”

Spike didn’t chime in, although he too was desperately curious as to what Buffy was planning to do. He glanced at her pained face, and said, “Well, you have the story now. Give us a minute, yeah?’

“You’re such an idiot,” Faith dragged Xander away by the front of his shirt.

“I’m sorry!”

“You doing okay, love?” he leaned in and said directly into her ear, not relinquishing his hold on her shaking hand. “What else did your mate say? Willow?”

Sighing, she dropped her head to the countertop with a bang. “I don’t want to care,” she moaned.

“Care?”

Turning her head so her check was resting on the glass, she looked up at him, pouting, eyes almost overflowing. “She said he was really upset. Crying. I’ve never seen him cry. And I shouldn’t care, it was all his fault. Right? I mean, was I a total bitch for leaving? Maybe I should have talked to him, let him explain---“

“Buffy, sit up,” Spike commanded. She obeyed instantly. “Turn, face me. Look at me.” He put his hands on her cheeks, his thumbs stroking small circles on her impossibly soft flesh. Staring at her, he felt some sort of unnatural pull. He wanted to drink the unshed tears in her eyes, wanted to swallow the pout off her lips. Those desires hit him like a ton of bricks, and he almost dropped his hands from her face, like her skin had burned his own.

But he just said, “You did what was right for you. You need to stop living your life according to what other people want. Everything you’ve done since the day you were born has been about pleasing other people, am I right?” She said nothing, but her eyes glistened even more. “I mean, you say you’re sorry for things that don’t need apologizing for, you talk about your choices as if they weren’t your own, like you aren’t the one who knows best for you. You need to let go. You need to live your life for you, pet, no one else. And today was your first step, yeah?”

“What, did you major in psych in college or something?” Buffy finally said when she regained use of her voice.

“Minor.”

“Knew it! You should do motivational speeches!” She giggled, and he reluctantly dropped his hands from her face. “Okay, so Buffy no feel guilty.”

“No guilt.”

“Buffy drink?”

‘Buffy sounds like cave Buffy.”

“Buffy grrr!” They dissolved into laughter, the heaviness of their conversation evaporating. “Okay, pretty sure it’s my question. Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Ha! I asked a question and you answered. Your turn.”

“Oi! Cheating. Can’t think of a good one?” He brushed a bit of her hair back from her face and tucked it behind her ear.

“No,” she whined pathetically. “My brain’s all…flooey. I think I’m drunk. But, I have a question now.”

“Go for it.”

She grinned wickedly. “Will you dance with me?”

“That’s your question? Seems like it doesn’t lead to much discussion.”

“No, but you told me to let go. Want to let go with me?”

Spike tried not to read too much into that comment, and admitted, blushing a bit, “I’m not a very good dancer.”

“Aw. I’ll teach you! Come on, don’t turn me down. Please?” She hopped off the stool and stood behind him, resting her chin on his shoulder and looking at him pleadingly.

“Bloody hell, what man can resist that look?” He sighed. “Fine, but don’t you dare make fun of me or you will be severely punished.”

“I would never,” she said seriously, grabbing his hand and dragging him towards the dance floor. “Come play.”

Spike let himself be dragged, and muttered, “Bossy bint.”

“Okay, lesson the first.” Buffy pretended not to hear him and wrapped his hands around her waist. “Close your eyes and listen to the music. Let it wash over you.”

He obliged, and listened carefully to the hard rock beat. Suddenly, he felt her body close in on his, then press against him, and he stifled a gasp. “Okay. Listening to the music. Check.”

They began to move back and forth, Buffy easily finding the beat and leading him into it with her. “Lesson the second, it’s not about knowing the moves, or the right steps. This isn’t classical ballet. Just do what feels right.” With his eyes closed, her voice wrapped around him, smooth as honey, convincing him to be brave and wrap his hands around her tiny waist, and spin her around so her back was pressed up against him.

“Like that?” He whispered in her ear. She nodded, and he inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of her sugary perfume, the faint hint of her shampoo, and a smell he’d first become aware of when she’d climbed onto his bike, a smell that was purely Buffy.

Her hands grasped his, where they settled on her flat stomach, and their fingers intertwined, gripped tight, as the beat of the song sped up. Spike felt himself reacting to the closeness of her body, the feel of her flesh, and bit his own cheek to try and calm down. His lack of success embarrassed him, but Buffy didn’t seem to care as she pressed harder back into him, surely able to feel the evidence of his arousal.

After a moment of blissful contact, she twirled away then spun back so they were face to face again, and smiled up at him happily. “Lesson the third. Have fun. Are you having fun?”

“That I am,” he grinned down at her in that same goofy way.

As the song ended, Buffy pulled away from him. All of sudden, she’d felt this unwanted urge to grab Spike, to kiss him. And she knew that was definitely not what he wanted from her, and not what she needed, not really. He was being nice to her, nicer than she deserved, and she didn’t want to screw it up by assuming he’d want to assuage her grief in another way.

“See, you aren’t a bad dancer!” She said cheerily, grabbing him by the hand and dragging him back towards the bar. Dazed, he trailed after her like an obedient puppy, willing in that moment to go wherever she ordered him to, even if it was right off a cliff. “What time is it?” She asked as they returned to their seats.

He checked his watch. “About nine thirty.”

“Wow, it’s early.”

“Well, we did start drinking at five,” Spike teased, offering her a sip of his beer, which she accepted.

“Yes, but I am not remotely tired, nor have I reached my limit! And it’s your question, buster.”

“Um. Buster?”

“What? You have all these pet names for me, like…”

“Pet?” he supplied obviously.

“Yeah, like pet! So you’re buster, until I think of something better.”

Spike winced. “You have to come up with a better name than buster. Something a little…manlier, yeah? Something tough.”

“Something that demonstrates your sinister attraction?” Buffy giggled.

“Teasing me, are you?” He growled, leaning down so their faces were inches apart, eyes glittering with playful wickedness. “Don’t make the big bad angry, little girl.”

“Oh yes, you’re so big and bad,” she challenged, straightening up to meet his gaze head on. “I could so take you.”

Spike growled again and leaned into whisper into her ear. “Kitten’s got claws, yeah? I like it.”

“Yup, I’m a kitten with claws, and I think you’re more like…a harmless little bunny. It’s so cute.”

“I’m not cute! And I’m not a bunny!”

Buffy giggled and kissed his cheek. “You are cute. And sweet. But also very big and bad.”

“Don’t you forget it,” he huffed. “I believe it’s my question. What were the best and worst days of your life?” The latter, he figured he knew the answer, the former, he wondered if this girl could even say.

“Oh, so we’re getting deep again.” She wrinkled her nose in thought, then she had a small epiphany, the kind of realization that can only come when you’re not quite part of your own mind, when you lose a little of your self control. Her epiphany was courtesy of alcohol. “Worst day? Today. Best day? Today.”

He looked confused. “What made today so special?”

“Well. I met you.” A blush stained her cheeks as she realized what she said, and she stuttered, “I mean, well, this night could have been awful and it’s not and if I hadn’t met you this day could have been…badder than badness. I didn’t mean you, like, meeting you and you---“

“I know exactly what you meant, sweets,” Spike interrupted stilling her frantic ramblings with a gentle brush of a kiss on her bare shoulder. “I’m glad to have met you too.”

Spike intently watched Buffy head towards the bathroom, a fond smile gracing his lips, and then rolled his eyes as Xander entered his line of vision and bee-lined towards him.

“So?” The bartender asked excitedly as he hurried up.

“So what?”

“So what’s going on with you and runaway bride?”

“Nothing,” Spike insisted firmly. “Nothing’s going on. At all.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing! With the dancing and the naughty touching,” Xander raised his eyebrows expectantly, looking like an eager puppy.

“There wasn’t any naughty touching.”

“Au contraire, mon frère, I distinctly saw touching. Methinks you protest too much!”

“Methinks you should mind your own business,” Spike grumbled.

Xander’s face became more serious as he asked, “Does she know you’re leaving tomorrow?”

Buffy entered the room again, a happy smile on her face as she headed back towards the table, and Spike shook his head quickly, a guilty expression on his face. “No. She doesn’t, not yet. I’ll tell her.” He watched his golden goddess bouncing towards them as he considered telling her the truth. But while he couldn’t know what her reaction would be to the news he was out of Sunnydale first thing in the morning, he couldn’t bear the idea that the revelation might wipe that happy smile off of her face. He’d tell her. Just not now.

Xander noted the dreamy expression entering his friend’s eyes and turned to walk away, ruffling Buffy’s hair as he passed her. She settled herself onto her stool, slightly off-balance, then said, “My question! Why’d you get sidetracked from your novel?”

Spike’s shoulders sagged. “Remembered that, did you?”

“Yup. And I’m curious, you made it sound all mysterious,” Buffy placed one foot on the rungs of his stool, so her leg was nestled between his, rested her chin on her hands and stared up at him pleadingly.

Spike didn’t respond to her teasing, just beckoned Larry the bartender for another water for his clearly tipsy company. “It’s not all that mysterious.”

“Did I…I mean, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, I totally understand…”

“No, love. It’s fine.” He took a sip of his beer and wondered where to begin. “Told you I came out to Sunnydale when I was twenty two, yeah? Came with a woman, Drusilla.” Her name burned his tongue as it came out. “Met her when I was seventeen, and we stayed together all through college, and even after that. She got it into her head she wanted to leave London, said whispers told her my treasure was to be found in the sunshine. So we came to Sunnydale.” At Buffy’s confused look, he explained quickly, “She was off her bird.”

“Does that mean crazy?”

“Yeah.”

“How crazy?”

“Actually legitimately insane. She had a doll called Miss Edith that spoke to her.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. So I followed her out here, and I was writing this novel inspired by her. She was a few fries short of a Happy Meal, granted, but she spoke in these beautiful riddles, like poetry. Called her my black goddess, she was my muse.” Buffy ignored the slight flare of jealousy within her as Spike’s face got a faraway look, crediting her own broken heart and the realization that Angel probably never spoke about her like that for the strange emotion. “She got us into sort of a wild scene out here, started going even crazier. My flow of creative juices stopped when I walked in on her shagging our landlord a few months back. Then she kicked me out. Had to depend on the hospitality of the whelp.”

“Oh, Spike, I’m sorry.”

“And I get another question.”

“No! That was an expression of sympathy, I wasn’t apologizing for me.”

“You’re right, love. And thank you.”

“I guess we’re sort of in the same boat. With the cheating. Stupid bitch.”

Spike laughed heartily, half at the angry expression on her pretty face and half at the fact that, just a year ago, he would have punched anyone who dared called Dru a bitch. How far he’d come. “Thanks again. So, that was when the novel got burned in a bonfire. Faith’s idea, she said it always helps to burn things.”

“You know it!” The woman bounded over and pressed a kiss to Buffy’s cheek. “And I have an idea.”

“An idea?” Spike frowned, knowing the bright twinkle in Faith’s eye could only mean property damage or sex.

“Yes. A brilliant idea. B, how do you feel about fire?”

“Um, fire?” Buffy repeated, wrinkling her nose a bit in confusion.

“Yep. I think we should burn the wedding dress.”

“What?” The blonde gasped. “That’s crazy!”

“Is it? Are you ever going to wear it again? Even if you stick with this Angel guy, would you really wear the same dress? No, probably not. And anyway, you shouldn’t stay with him because he’s a lying, cheating ass and men like that don’t change, but that’s beside the point. Imagine the catharsis.” She laughed evilly and rubbed her hands together. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

Spike watched the parade of emotions flittering across Buffy’s face. Revulsion, confusion, apprehension, excitement, fear. “I’m…I don’t really know, Faith. I mean, can I just think about it?”

Faith nodded. “Of course. Just let me know when, I’m itching for a good blaze.”

“You don’t have to do this, love,” Spike said as Faith spun away, yelling at a customer who’d just broken a glass. “She can be persuasive, but don’t let her talk you into anything you don’t want to do.”

“I won’t. I’m not!” Buffy insisted. “I like fire, too.”

“Oh, really?” he gazed at her adoringly as she nodded spastically. “Okay, my little pyro.”

She changed the subject abruptly. “Whose question is it?”

“Mine. When was the first time…” Spike trailed off as he watched all the color completely drain out of Buffy’s face, leaving her bone white and looking horrified. “Pet, what’s wrong?” He spun around in his chair and caught sight of a tall, dark haired man scanning the bar. From their brief encounter at the country club earlier, he recognized this was Angel.

The clearly furious man scanned the bar quickly, and Spike didn’t have time to shield Buffy with his body before her fiancé caught sight of her. He pushed his way through a group of patrons, ignoring their muttered complaints, and headed for the blonde pair.

“Buffy, I’ve been going out of my mind,” Angel growled as he approached them, myriad positive and negative emotions swirling about in his gaze, clearly relieved but obviously livid. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Buffy was frozen, speechless, and Spike responded tersely, “Look, I don’t think you should be here.” The noise level of the bar lowered as its occupants caught wind of the fight brewing.

“Who the fuck are you?” the man yelled. “Get out of my sight and stay the hell away from my fiancée. Buffy, we’re going.” He reached out to grab her wrist, and then found himself pushed back a few feet by Spike’s strong arms.

“Don’t touch her,” he said as calmly as he could with a raging fire in his veins. The push was a show of aggression Spike hadn’t intended to make, but he felt so irrationally protective of the girl beside him that he’d instinctually moved to protect her from even the threat of harm.

“I’ll touch her if I want to. You get the hell out of my face or---“

“No,” the shaking girl finally interrupted softly, and both men turned to look at her. The word felt unfamiliar on her lips, and clearly, was as unfamiliar to Angel’s ears.

He frowned in confusion. “What do you mean, no?”

“I’m not going with you, Angel.”

Breathing deeply, the jilted groom tried to soften his voice. “Baby, I know you got scared. It’s all right, I’m just upset, we can talk about it, okay? But not here. You have to---“

“I don’t have to do anything.” She was surprised at herself, and almost proud, as she stood her ground.

The softness wavered, and his eyes flashed with anger at her defiance, but Angel regained his calm and said smoothly, “Sweetheart, come on. I’m so sorry, okay baby? Okay?” He reached out, gently this time, and brushed her bare arm with his fingers. Spike could see something in her eyes he didn’t like, and tightened his jaw as he held his breath in anticipation. “I love you. Come on. Let’s just get out of this shithole, I’ll take you home and---“

In a blink that brief hesitation was gone, and Buffy balked. “No.”

“Seriously, what is wrong with you? And why are you dressed like a hooker? Are you drunk, or something?” Angel snapped, his control over his emotions wavering. “We’re going, now.”

“I’m pretty sure the lady said she wasn’t leaving,” growled Spike as he stepped closer to the girl, who he could see was trembling violently.

“Seriously, who are you?” Angel asked, barely glancing at the other man before refocusing on Buffy. “What, did you find someone to fuck around with, that’s why you left? Are you screwing this clown?”

“No, Liam,” Buffy hissed. “I found out you were the one fucking around.”

His dark eyes widened. “What?”

She took a deep breath. “I talked to Harmony.”

Angel let out a bark of humorless, uncomfortable laughter. “God, that’s what this is about, Harmony? I’m not sleeping with that bitch. She had a crush on me---“

“I saw a picture. Don’t you dare lie to me.” Trying her hardest to maintain her composure but failing miserably, Buffy’s voice started to shake with the threat of angry tears. “How could you do that to me?”

“I...baby, that was…look,” Angel stammered. “I made a mistake, she came on to me and I was weak, but that was a long time ago. I cut it off, Buffy, I did. It meant nothing to me! I love you. I want to marry you.”

“How long? How long were you with her? I heard three months, right and who else have you fucked? How could you lie to me?” The dam burst and the flood of tears began. Spike had to shove his hands in his pockets to keep from either grabbing her and comforting her, or punching out this man making her sob. He knew Buffy needed to handle this on her own, but it was killing him not to be able to solve her problems for her. She glanced at him quickly, and he hoped his eyes communicated that whatever she needed from him, he was there to do her bidding.

Angel ignored her questions, and his own guilt, and turned the accusations back around on her. “You should have talked to me, Buffy. Running off like that was immature, do you know what you put me through? And your parents? Get your stuff, now. We’re leaving.” She didn’t move. “Don’t make me tell you again,” he menaced.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child,” she yelled, getting the attention of most of the patrons of the bar. Faith and Xander moved a bit closer, ready to intervene if necessary, their instant hate of this intruder evident on their tense faces. “I’m not yours to order around, I’m not some little girl who needs to be told what to do. I can make my own decisions.”

“Since when?” The laugh was cruel and felt like a knife in Buffy’s heart. “Right, you’ve made one decision in your whole life and it was you running away like a selfish, spoiled little brat. Pardon me for thinking you need a little guidance.”

“I’m not selfish. I did what was right for me! I couldn’t stay there, so I came here. And seriously, how did you find me anyway?”

“Willow looked up the number you called her from. She knew you needed me to come get you.”

Buffy felt crushed. She’d expected almost anything but that, and the realization that her best friend wasn’t truly on her side broke her heart even more. “God, she helped you? What, did you sleep with her too?” She struggled to contain a sob. “You can all go to hell.”

“Buffy—“

“No! I don’t care what you all think! I’m not a child and I’m not stupid.”

“You just---“

“I couldn’t marry you. I didn’t want to and I made the right decision.” And she realized she truly had, and the last of her remaining doubts about her flight evaporated, as did the last of her desires to make it work with this man. Buffy took a deep breath, and said, “We’re over, Angel.”

He gaped at her. “You can’t possibly be serious.”

“I am. I want you to go.”

“You’re just upset, try and calm down and think about this, think about what you’re doing,” he reached for her again, but Spike stepped in between them, fists clenched, unable to sit back for one more second. “Get out of my face, you fucking---“

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” Buffy said firmly, her voice gathering strength, though her face told another story. The unbearable hurt and fear shown on her features elicited sympathetic rumblings of anger from the captivated patrons, who throughout the course of the night had come to realize this little slip of a girl needed their support. “I’m done with you.”

“You’re not the one who gets to say when we’re done, Buffy. Come on, what do you think your parents are going to have to say about this? Your father?”

She winced, but maintained, “I don’t care.”

“Oh, you know you do, baby. There’s no way your dear dad will let you break this engagement off. Do you know what this will do to him?”

“Please leave, Angel,” she said softly, biting her lip. “I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

“Too fucking bad.” He shoved Spike to the side into the bar and grabbed her wrist, then began to drag her towards the door. Xander stopped Faith who tried to lunge forward instantly and moved to cross Angel’s path himself, his usually friendly eyes dark with rage. However, Spike was up in an instant, pulling at the larger man’s shoulder and spinning him around before sinking a fierce punch into his nose.

Angel let loose a roar of fury, and relinquished his grasp on Buffy’s wrist. He lunged for Spike and managed to connect fist to face before Xander intervened and pulled him off.

“Stop it!” Buffy cried out pleadingly, and Spike’s fist froze just inches from Angel’s stomach. “Stop it,” she said again quietly, sniffling back tears before walking slowly up to her ex-fiancé, who was breathing heavily and glaring at her.

“I swear to God, Buffy, if you don’t---“ He started to threaten, but his words were cut off as Buffy slapped him, then pulled back one high heeled shoe and kneed him squarely between the legs. A chorus of congratulatory jeers and applause erupted from their tense audience.

His howl of pain brought a smile to her tearstained face, and she said confidently, “Get out of here, Angel. You’re not welcome.” She slipped the large diamond ring off of her left hand, where it had been heavy and cumbersome all evening, and shoved it into Angel’s hand.

Xander, with a proud smile on his face, and a random angered bar patron pulled the moaning man towards the exit and threw him out into the night. Buffy moved towards Spike quickly and gingerly touched the reddening patch of skin on his cheek where he’d been hit.

“I’m okay, really,” he insisted as her eyes welled up with tears again, and he gently pulled her into a long hallway, away from the prying eyes of the customers. “Are you, though?”

“I’m not the one who got hit! Oh, Spike I’m so sorry---“

“Don’t be, it’s not your fault,” he soothed, wiping away her falling tears, his almost uncontrollable fury at the man who made her cry evaporating only when he touched her. “He’s gone, okay? We won’t let him back in, just try to calm down, yeah?”

Buffy’s breath hitched in her throat. “I should leave, I shouldn’t be here I’m just screwing up your night---“

“Now, you be quiet,” Spike said firmly, lifting her head so she was no longer staring down at his shoes, but at his face. “I want you here. You haven’t screwed up a damn thing and I don’t want to hear you even imply that again. If you really want to go somewhere, I’ll take you, but if it were up to me you’d stay the whole bloody night. Alright?” He was shaking just as much as Buffy was, and pulled her closer to him to rest his forehead on hers, and repeat, “I want you here.”

Buffy felt his words enter her ears and sink into her heart, but she could hardly comprehend them for a moment. When she finally did allow his meaning to penetrate the walls she’d carefully constructed, she let out another weak sob and snuggled into his chest, burying her face in her hands as Spike wrapped her up in his arms.

“I feel like we’ve done this before,” she forced a laugh as she finally pulled away. “I’m sorry I’m all whiny little cry Buffy. You must---”

“No. No, whatever you were going to say,” Spike said gently. “We don’t have to go back into the bar, if you want, we can…I don’t know, take a walk?”

“That would be good, in a bit though. But let’s get Faith.” She angrily wiped away her tears, and her face shifted into a mask of strength and confidence.

“Why?”

“I’ve got a dress that needs burning.”

Buffy focused intently on maintaining even, steady breaths, and stared at herself in the mirror as she gathered her strength. Her hands clenching the edge of the counter, her heart beating unnaturally fast, she whispered one thing to herself before pulling open the door and heading out into Xander and Faith’s bedroom, where the latter was dancing happily to the bass beat heard from downstairs.

“You’re free,” was her mantra, said once out loud and repeated over and over in her mind as she smiled at the giggling brunette, whose face could barely be seen around the pile of white satin in her hands. Faith finally caught sight of her, and dropped the dress on the couch to bounce over.

“B! My girl, are we all set for the ritual burning?”

“Ritual?”

“Oh yeah. You don’t do these things lightly, you know. There’s like, a process. Steps. Want a drink?”

“I’m good, thanks,” Buffy grinned, already perfectly light hearted and headed, and enjoying the spectacle of a drunken Faith dancing around her living room.

“God, I love you, B. I mean, it might be the alcohol, but on me it’s like, truth serum. And you’re just adorable.”

“Well, thanks. I’m falling a little in love with you too!”

“We’ll definitely have to keep chilling, even once Spike’s gone,” Faith chattered as she gathered up the dress again. At the other girl’s wide eyes, she winced at her blunder. “Wait…gone? Did I say that…oh, crap.”

“No, I just…gone…leaving to go where?” Her tone was as casual she could make it, yet still with a twinge of confusion.

“You should really ask him, babe. I didn’t want to be the messenger. But, now that I am…he’s taking off in the morning. Moving out of Sunnydale. You didn’t hear it from me, but yeah. You should know.”

Still awash in a sea of confusion, Buffy didn’t resist when Faith grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the door. The pair headed down the stairs and out to the back parking lot, where Spike stood unmoving, a beer bottle dangling from his fingertips, eyes narrowed at some unseen spot in the distance.

Any tension in his body melted, however, as he turned slightly to see Buffy walking up to him. “All set?” He asked as she instantly curved her body to meet with his, like two puzzle pieces fitted together.

“Ready for the ritual,” she smiled, intent on putting any negative thoughts out of her brain.

“Oh, did Faith explain the rules?”

“Not yet, should I be worried?”

“Of course,” Faith laughed as she sauntered up to them having dumped the dress unceremoniously on the ground, burning cigarette in hand and an unmistakably devilish gleam in her dark eyes. “Xander’s heading out in just a sec, and then I will explain the age old process of pyromania.”

The night had turned cold. Dark, menacing clouds shielded the moon, leaving the back parking lot illuminated only by the nearby street lamp and the faint light from the club’s back door. Xander sauntered up and moved to light the fire, only to be stopped by a barked command from Faith.

“Sorry, sorry!” He repeated, backing away with his hands up.

“You’ll hurt yourself, you idiot,” Faith scolded, then amended, “And damn it, I want to do it.” She hurriedly set up a burning fire in the metal trash can, and suddenly each of their faces was bathed in flickering, golden light.

“Look at that, B,” the brunette crowed. “Isn’t it fucking gorgeous?”

“It is, actually,” Buffy smiled, hypnotized by the dancing flames. She turned to find Spike watching her, seemingly amused, and Faith moved away to steal a sip of Xander’s beer.

Spike searched Buffy’s eyes for any hesitation, any sign of the regret he hoped she wasn’t feeling. “Can I ask a question, pet?” He murmured softly.

“Of course.”

“You’re welcome to plead the fifth if you’d rather not answer,” Spike breathed in deeply, preparing himself for whatever answer might come. “If you hadn’t found out about the ponce cheating on you, and you’d gotten married today, do you think you would have been happy?”

“Happy like…forever?”

“Sure.”

Buffy stared at him thoughtfully, then shifted her gaze to watch Faith and Xander bickering a few feet away. Xander reached to grab her for a hug, earning himself a smack on the head, then a shrug, then an apologetic peck. She sighed. “I don’t think I like that question.”

“It’s alright, I didn’t---“

“I just, should I have known? I mean, you’d think I would have known.”

“That he was cheating?” he said gently.

“No. I mean, yes, but what I mean was I should have known that he wasn’t…the guy for me or whatever…I do love him. I mean, I did. But I don’t know if I was ever really in love, or if it was just because people told me I was, that I should be. I should have known that it was wrong. Because it was, I know it was. And I’m not going back to that. I’m not in love with him, so I can’t. So no, I wouldn’t have been happy. Not for long.” After her rambles, she took a deep breath and said shyly, “That makes the kind of sense that doesn’t, right?”

“I understand perfectly,” Spike grinned at her, unable to suppress the happy heat that spread throughout his chest when she firmly declared that no, she didn’t love Angel. The pair stared at each other for a moment, the dancing firelight illuminating every thought, every emotion on their faces they may have tried to hide.

Buffy searched the eyes of this no longer stranger for some sign of deceit, or manipulation, or selfishness, three things she was intimately familiar with, growing up as she had in a family concerned far more with appearances and money than the welfare of their daughter. People like Spike didn’t exist in her world. Kindness because you needed it, generosity without asking for it.

But no, there was nothing in the blue depths of his eyes but caring, and warmth, and a third thing she couldn’t identify. Was afraid to identify. Not that it really mattered, because here on this summer evening that should have been her wedding night, with this new friend who was almost a stranger, she felt perfectly comfortable. As crazy as it was, she felt right standing here with this man.

She reached out to grab his hand.

Spike felt the frissons of joy in his chest start to fade as he observed the wide open, trusting face of the small girl next to him. Trust, that was something he had rarely instilled in people in the last few years. With Drusilla at the helm of his ship, rarely was he ever trusted. He’d taken what he wanted, what Drusilla insisted he’d deserved, he’d partied and cared little for the disasters he left in his wake.

After the breakup that had shattered his perception of himself and his world, he’d drifted even more. He’d drank and he’d smoked and he’d dabbled in drugs, he’d moved as far away from the shy, quiet man he’d been in his youth as one could possibly get.

Faith was the one who had snapped him out of that with a few well chosen words, and for the last month or so, he’d come to some clear understandings about himself. Who he was, what he needed, where he wanted to be and how he wanted to get there. He needed to leave, start fresh, find out who he was outside of this town and that woman.

But the clarity of his life that he’d held that very morning was gone after spending a few hours with this runaway bride, and he couldn’t understand how quickly everything had changed.

“Are we going to burn something, or what?” Faith asked impatiently.

“Baby, shush. They were having a moment,” her boyfriend whispered loudly.

“Whatever. I want fire.”

Buffy tore her eyes away from Spike’s and clapped her hands together excitedly. “Let’s do this.”

She bent down and picked the dress up off the ground, eyes roaming over the bejeweled fabric and layers of satin. For a moment, Spike thought she might change her mind.

He needn’t have worried.

“Okay, so the rules?” She asked, moving over to stand with Faith.

“Well, they aren’t really rules, since I kind of hate rules, they’re more like, guidelines. A ritual burning needs three things. Good reason and good friends, which you definitely have.” The mention of friends made Buffy’s smile widen. “And then, you have to say something.”

The smile dropped. “I have to talk?”

“Yeah. Like, when wanna-be Hemingway or whatever over here burned his novel, he recited a lovely little poem. I would have laughed, but that wouldn’t have been nice.”

“Bitch,” Spike muttered.

“I won’t laugh at you though, B. Just say what’s on your mind, rip up that dress, and toss it on the flames.”

Xander supplied, “I’m always a big fan of just saying ‘fuck you’. If you want to go simple.”

“Please,” Faith scoffed. “She has a little more creativity than that. Not everyone speaks in monosyllables.”

“Wait, what’s that mean?”

“Shut up.”

Buffy was staring into the flames, biting her lip, pondering what she could say at such a pivotal moment in her life. As dorky as she knew it was, she almost felt like this burning was about more than ridding herself of the reminders of Angel and the horrendous mistake she’d almost made. It was almost like this little bonfire was representative of her split from her old, weak-willed, doormat self to a better Buffy, an adult, someone she could be proud of.

The quote she used under her senior photo in her yearbook popped into her head, but she rejected it as too cheesy. She thought about songs, literature, jokes, and couldn’t seem to wrap her head around the appropriate thing to say.

Buffy took a deep breath. “There’s this greeting card they sold at this store right next to my therapist's office when I was in high school, and I bought four copies. One of them’s on my wall, and I’m saving two to give to my best friends when they get married, and one…one of them I meant to give to my future husband. And for whatever reason, I never gave it to Angel. Guess that was my first clue,” she giggled, then her face turned serious again. “Anyways. It’s this gorgeous artsy photography and it has this quote from a poem by Rumi. It says, ‘The minute I heard my first love story, I started looking for you. Not knowing how blind that was. Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere, they're in each other all along.’ I always thought it was just so beautiful. And I think I’ve finally realized, Angel wasn’t in me, and it wasn’t meant to be. And I’m okay with that.”

A quick glance over at Spike almost made her lose her train of thought. He was staring at her so intently, so focused, that she could hardly look away. Simultaneously, they smiled at each other.

She then fisted the top of the dress and pulled violently, the satin giving way easily, tearing straight down the middle with a satisfying rip. All four present smiled happily, as the bride that wasn’t continued to rip apart one example of the thousands of dollars her parents had poured into the society wedding of the summer.

Once the dress was satisfyingly shredded, Buffy stepped forward and tossed it into the fire, the flames reaching up for it greedily. It burned brightly, quickly, consumed by the angry wrath of the fire, and the quartet of people observed it silently.

“Still, though. Even if it wasn’t meant to be. Fuck you,” Buffy finished, throwing a wink at Xander, before turning around and striding back into the bar.

The remaining three shared proud glances, before Faith doused the fire, and they followed the new and improved Buffy.

The evening continued to progress in the same wondrous haze of laughter and drink, and after the ritual fire Buffy’s sadness seemed to have nearly evaporated. Only occasionally did her eyes darken with gloom, or flicker with a deep thought, and usually those changes occurred when she glanced at Spike.

She avoided asking him the question bouncing around in her brain ever since Faith’s unintended reveal, sure that the flicker of hurt she felt was irrational. He owed her nothing, and what he’d already given to her was worth far more than one kept secret.

The hours flew by, and the party continued.

Spike emerged from the bathroom to see Buffy and Faith standing side by side next to the bar, cupping their own breasts, with an audience of frat boy onlookers a few feet away.

“See, you have like, multiple handfuls!” His girl whined, pouting sadly down into her cleavage.

“You have at least one,” Faith insisted, reaching out to replace the other girl’s hands with her own. “See? A handful, at least.”

“Yes, but you have tiny little hands!”

“More than a handful is a waste,” Xander piped in helpfully, eyes zeroed in on his girlfriend touching another woman.

“Oh, is that so?” Faith snapped, eyes darkening, spinning to face her now frightened boyfriend. “So, let me understand this. You don’t want these anymore? They’re wasteful?” She lifted her chest defiantly and smirked.

“Uh, no! No, that’s not what I meant. Baby, you know---“

“I’m guessing I have a line of guys in this dump just waiting for their chance to enjoy these babies. Am I right?”

The crowd of observers cheered their agreement.

“Honey I’m sorry---“

“Shut up, Xander. Give me a beer.” Faith rolled her eyes.

Spike could barely suppress his laughter as he sauntered up, then found himself with an armful of Buffy, who pressed a kiss to his cheek. He held her to him tightly, glaring over her head at the men who’d been watching her, staking his claim with one smirk.

“I missed you!” She squealed. “Want to dance again?” Spike opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off, “Oh! No. Food, I could totally go for food.”

“Pizza?” Faith came over and peeled Buffy away. “We could order in.”

“I like this whole living at a bar thing, it’s convenient!”

The pair of girls scampered off, and Spike continued to chuckle as he ducked under the counter to help Xander deal with the increasingly drunk clientele of the bar, scrambling for last call.

“You’ve got it so bad,” his friend remarked as he thrust two wine glasses and a bottle of Chardonnay into Spike’s hands.

“What are you on about?”

“Buffy. Come on, man, spill. Faith will murder me in my sleep if I don’t get you to talk.”

“I get your comic book collection, yeah?” Spike joked as he settled up an exorbitantly high bar tab.

“Yeah, I guess,” Xander sighed. “Seriously, though. The long looks, the dancing, the sexual tension---“

“Reading that Cosmo magazine again?”

“Stop using humor as a defense mechanism, that’s my schtick.”

“I learn from the best.”

“It’s starting to rain!” Buffy squealed as she returned, skipping up to the bar and reaching for Spike.

“Yes, and?” he laughed, amused at the exhilaration on her face.

“I love the rain. Come play in it.”

“You want to go out in the rain and freeze and get soaking wet?” He glanced at a smirking Xander before ducking under the bar to stand in front of Buffy.

“Yes, I would like to get pneumonia, is that a problem?” She frowned sarcastically and put her hands on her hips, then cocked her head. With her eyes flashing mock anger, her lips pouting adorably, and her body barely covered in that enticing scrap of lace, there was no chance of resistance.

Spike sighed. “At least put on a bloody jacket.”

“But I don’t have a jacket.”

“Then I’ll get you one of mine, come on.”

They made their way through a crowd of people to a door by the stairs, and slipped down a long dark hallway to a small, cramped room. A twin bed, a guitar stand, and a computer desk were all that could fit.

“You live in here?” Buffy asked, unintentionally wrinkling her nose.

“Not up to your high standards?” He felt a little hurt.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she turned and pressed her hands on his chest, and stared up at him guiltily. “It’s nice, it is. I like it. It’s cozy. And Spartan.” Then, she giggled.

She was too close to him, but not nearly close enough. With the choice of throwing her on the bed to ravish her, and backing up to put some necessary distance between them, he chose backing up. He grabbed a hooded rain jacket for her, and his black leather duster for him, and hurried back to her.

“Looks good on you,” he said gruffly as he wrapped the jacket around her shoulders, and pulled the hood up over her head.

“You really like the leather, don’t you?” Buffy teased, reaching out and petting his coat softly. “I like this...mmm. Soft…”

“Uh, right, you wanted to go play in the rain?” He pulled away again, and Buffy frowned, confused, as she followed him down the hall to the back door of the bar. But any unease on her part melted when they emerged into the light rainfall.

Squealing, Buffy ran forward, then spread out her hands and raised her face up to the night sky. She spun in a full circle, hair glowing in the light of the nearby street lamp, skin starting to glisten with a thin sheen of rainwater. She pulled the hood of the jacket off of her head and took out the bobby pins in her hair to let it fall down her back in a halo of gold.

Spike watched, hypnotized by the sight of her, as she turned her face back towards him and called his name.

“Get over here,” She said. “I want to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“Just come, you!”

“Pet, you’re really going to catch something, even with the jacket you’re hardly wearing anything,” he moved forward towards her, avoiding a puddle, ignoring the part of him that was saying to resist, back up, go inside.

Buffy stepped closer to him and asked seriously, “You don’t like my outfit?”

“You know I love the outfit.” She was a sex kitten in that dress, and she didn’t truly understand it, her sexual power, which made it that much harder to resist his impulses. “Just don’t want you to get sick.”

Something tiny, almost indiscernible, flashed in Buffy’s green eyes. Spike was looking at her intently enough that he saw it. “I think I’m good with the taking care of myself. Or at least, I want to be. Better. Older. Aren’t you proud?”

“Very.” He could feel his hair getting damp, and as the rain began to fall faster, rivulets of water began to run down the back of his neck, under his jacket.

“You aren’t, you’re teasing me!” She put one finger up to the smirk on his face.

“I’m not teasing, you’re just…so bloody adorable.”

“Oh,” she smiled softly, leaving her finger pressed to his mouth. “That’s okay then.” The small finger, with its delicate manicured nail, started softly caressing his lips.

“You’re definitely drowning the sorrows,” he tried to kill the mood, but didn’t move an inch from her tentative, exploring finger, now tracing a path up his cheek, lightly dancing across the bruise forming from Angel’s punch.

“Consider them drowned,” Buffy giggled, her finger reaching his eyelid and brushing his scar as she stepped forward, so their bodies fused together, wet leather against lace. “Sorrows totally drowned and…in the ground.”

“Writing me poetry, now?”

“Shut up,” she pouted, fingers now traveling back down his chest, across one nipple, circling it slowly before outlining his abs.

He hissed his pleasure. Then regained his focus said, “Really, the sorrows are still there, you just---“

“We’re done with the whole psycho-analyze Buffy portion of the evening, as fun as it was, if it’s going to tell you that I don’t want this.” Her voice was confident, her hand stopped at his belt, and gathered up the fabric of his shirt so his stomach was bared to the cold, wet air.

He gulped. “Want what?”

“Is that a question?” Buffy giggled, before she reached up and kissed him softly. Spike suppressed a groan the second they touched, and leaned in to the lingering, yet almost chaste kiss, but kept his arms firmly at his sides.

She pulled away, and said shyly, nervousness flickering in her eyes, “It’s okay that I did that, right?”

“More than bloody okay,” Spike murmured. “But we really shouldn’t, baby, you don’t---“

“You’re the one who says I need to make my own choices, right? So let me make one and don’t question me. And don’t say we can’t because I’m drunk, because I’m not so far gone I can’t think straight. So shush.”

“Pet---“

“No buts. Who knows better what I want than me, right? And I know I…I want you.”

And he wanted her too, but couldn’t let her push for what they both craved without a confession. “Buffy, I can’t…I should tell you that tomorrow I’m---“

“You’re leaving tomorrow, I know,” she shrugged, affecting a fake air of nonchalance. At his surprised look, she explained, “Faith let it slip. It’s okay. I’m not thinking this is like…forever whatever, I just…want you.”

And that repeated plea broke down the last of his gentlemanly impulses. Spike initiated the kiss this time, wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her flush against his body. Buffy let out a squeak of surprise, and he used the opportunity to gain entrance to her mouth, and began to explore it with his expert tongue. He could taste the rainwater on her lips, the faint fruit of her lip gloss and the coarse hint of alcohol, along with a flavor he couldn’t identify. A flavor he could become addicted to.

Legs almost giving out, she clung to his biceps, let him control her mouth, and moaned softly as his hands gravitated immediately to her breast and her ass. She arched her back into his touch, digging her nails into the leather of his coat, feeling shocks of pleasure every time their battling tongues connected.

The rain was falling harder now, nearly a downpour, drenching them both, as they frantically poured hours of sexual tension into their heated embrace. The night was quiet but for the steady pound of water droplets on the ground, and Spike’s heavy breaths and moans mingling with Buffy’s soft whimpers.

He pushed her backwards, seeking refuge from the onslaught of rain underneath the eaves of the building, pressing her to the wall with his hard body and his want for her. He nipped gently at her lips before leaving her to gasp for air and attacking the column of her throat with wet kisses. Buffy let her hands fall from his arms to his hips, grasping at them frantically, eyes flying open at the feel of something hard and insistent pressing into her.

As one of Spike’s hands slipped under her wet dress to caress and tweak her nipple, and the other made its way up her inner thigh, Buffy began to shake almost uncontrollably, her lips quivering, her hands on his body trembling. When his fingers reached the edge of her white lace panties, and brushed over her swollen clit barely covered by cloth, she let out a shuddering breath.

“Baby, you okay?” he said into her neck, dipping under the cloth of her underwear to brush her already wet folds. He almost swore aloud as he felt the evidence of the arousal he evoked in her.

“Yeah, yeah,” she squeaked biting her lip as unfamiliar sensations coursed through her. She shivered again.

“God, you’re probably freezing,” Spike pulled away from her and brushed her soaked hair away from her face, eyes roaming over her lips and cheeks and nose reverently, finger still inside her panties. “I’m sorry, pet, I’m such a prat. Let’s go inside, yeah?”

“Okay,” she said softly, dropping her arms from his shoulders, but neither moved to enter the bar.

“Really, are you alright, love?” He didn’t still the soft strokes of his fingers in between her legs, and shifted his weight so his erection was pressed into her hand, and he sighed his relief at that slight touch. “You’re sure about this, yeah? We don’t have to---“

“No, no, I’m sure,” Buffy insisted, gathering her inner strength. “It’s just, um…I should probably tell you something.”

“What’s that?” he moved to bite her earlobe, ground himself into her palm, unable to resist any of the urges he felt towards her in the heat of the moment, after ignoring them all night.

A bang to their left startled them both, and they pulled apart.

“Oh, whoops, didn’t mean to interrupt,” Faith laughed, wiggling her eyebrows at the pair, her head poked out of the bar door. “Just wanted to find you, let you know we’re closing up and the pizza’s here.”

“Oh, pizza!” Buffy said, her voice full of fake enthusiasm. “Awesome.”

Faith ducked back inside, a wicked grin on her face, and Spike took a deep breath. “Need a second before I can head in there, love. Got me all worked up.”

“Oh?” She squeaked.

“Oh,” he grinned, slinking back to press her against the wall once more, lust-addled mind forgetting her almost-confession from seconds earlier. “You’ll work me up again later though, yeah?” His voice was low, throaty, sending shocks of pleasure throughout Buffy’s body.

“Yeah,” she agreed, suddenly feeling light-headed. Spike smirked and moved away, allowing her room to scurry back inside.

After a few minutes of slow, even breaths, he followed.

The bar was empty now, but for Xander and Larry, cleaning up the beer bottles and wine glasses and napkins that littered every available surface. Spike began to help immediately, attempting to suppress the giddy smile on his face but failing miserably.

“Dude!” Larry laughed. “Look at that smug bastard. Grinning like an idiot.”

“That he is,” Xander agreed, juggling a few beer bottles while observing his friend. “Methinks the lady may have something to do with that.”

Spike ignored their comments, and merely asked, “Where’d she go?”

“Who?” Larry asked innocently.

Xander dumped the bottles in the recycling bin and raised his hand. “Oh, you mean the soaking wet smoking hot blonde?”

The bigger man sighed longingly. “You know, if I was straight, I’d be all over that.”

“If you were straight, you’d never have a chance.”

“Like you would!”

Spike snapped, “Come on, where is she?”

“Dude, chill. She’s borrowing some of Faith’s sweats,” Larry shrugged, wrinkling his nose as he lifted up a discarded sock.

“Thank you, Abbott and Costello,” grumbled Spike, shedding his duster, then glanced towards the stairs impatiently. “Should I go up there? I could---“

“What, help?” Xander snickered. “Calm down, Romeo. Eat some pizza. Don’t be overeager.”

“I’m not!” His voice was high and whiny, so he repeated, deepening his tone to a more manly level. “I’m not overeager.”

He glanced over at the stairs, that goofy smile returning to his face, and waited. Impatiently.



“Spill.”

“Faith---“

“No, really. You so owe me. I need info!” The brunette flung herself on the bed and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Buffy sighed and spun around, pulling on the tank top Faith had given her before untying the halter of her dress and pushing it down her hips. “There’s…not really anything to tell?”

“Liar. Big fat liar. Come on, girl, I saw you two snuggle bunnies.”

The blonde coughed uncomfortably as she ducked into the bathroom to slide out of her wet underwear and pull on the too large sweat pants. “We kissed?” She said tentatively as she came back into the living room, running a comb through her soaked tresses.

“Well, no shit, Sherlock!” Faith teased good naturedly, springing up to grab makeup remover to fix the smudging of Buffy’s make up. Her mood sobered up a little, and she observed Buffy carefully.

“What?” She asked awkwardly, slipping her feet into the slippers offered to her.

“You really like him, don’t you?” Faith said seriously.

“Well, as a person, yeah, I mean he’s been so nice to me---“

“Not what I mean.”

Buffy took a deep breath, and said, “He’s leaving, Faith, as you said. And he told me, I mean, he was going to tell me. I didn’t really let him get that far. So…it’s not like I’m expecting anything.”

The other woman clearly didn’t believe her, and said so. “Just be careful, B. You’re all vulnerable and shit, and as much as I love Spike, after that Druid bitch he wasn’t exactly the Prince Charming he’s been acting like all night. So, I’m just telling you not to get in too deep.”

“Thanks, Faith,” Buffy said sincerely, trying not to show how the warnings worried her. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Seriously. As a friend, since that’s what I am.”

“Right, I got it.”

They headed back downstairs, and the second they emerged into the bar Spike jumped up with a smile on his face. A smile that chased away all of the fears Faith had just instilled in her.

“Spike,” she said shyly.

“Buffy,” he grinned back.

“Xander!” The bartender said in a booming voice.

Both ignored him. “Pizza?” Spike handed her a plate and a water glass, which she accepted with a smile. “We could…go eat it in my room, if you like.”

“Sounds good,” she said as calmly as possible, turning on her heel and shuffling in the too big slippers down the hall.

Spike rolled his eyes at the thumbs up Xander gave him, but paused a moment as he passed Faith and observed her serious expression. “What?” He asked curiously.

“Don’t hurt her,” she said simply, hands on her hips. “She’s a good girl.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Spike growled on instinct, his tone harsher than he intended. “I would never hurt her,” he softened his voice, his words obviously sincere. “Believe me.”

Faith’s eyes widened, and she grinned. “Oh, shit. It’s not her I have to worry about, is it?”

“Don’t know what you mean.”

“Our boy’s got it bad, Xand,” the brunette smirked, curling into her boyfriend’s side. “Have fun, Spike. And be nice.”

“Always am,” he grumbled, taking off down the hall to avoid any more teasing.

He paused just short of his door, where he knew he couldn’t be seen, and leaned back against the wall with his eyes shut tight. He knew exactly what Faith meant with her warnings, and her worries.

Love’s bitch, that was Spike Pratt. Or at least, it had been up until Drusilla cheated on him, ripped his heart out, and served it as a meal to his pet dog Clem, who she’d kept as her own after the break up. When Faith had met him, he was the kind of man who would have done anything for the woman he loved, would have walked through fire, but after Dru left him he became the kind of man who didn’t believe in the notion. He’d bedded more women in the months since his black goddess had left him than he cared to admit, and not one of them had lasted in his affections longer than a week.

He wasn’t always nice. He was a bad, rude man, as a matter of fact.

Aside from his pursuit of countless meaningless women, he’d increased his indulgence in the drugs Drusilla had introduced him to, spent days drinking himself into stupor only sobering up when sickness overtook him, lived a life antithetical to anything he’d ever imagined for himself. He’d been nearly dead, physically, emotionally, spiritually.

But after a night that still haunted his nightmares, he’d ceased all that behavior, save the drinking. The night that he’d been drunk enough to claim to be sober, drunk enough to demand he drive himself and Faith home from a party where they’d seen Dru hanging on the arm of some tattooed musician. Drunk enough to scream how he didn’t care if he died, drunk enough to wrap his car around a tree, endangering the life of one of the only remaining people in this world who cared about him.

Faith had been bruised banged up, but safe, while he suffered only from a deep cut on his eyebrow and an immediate onslaught of guilt. She’d dragged his bleeding body from the car, screaming the whole time, her words finally snapping him back from whatever hell he’d put himself through. And she made him realize Sunnydale was toxic for him, permanently controlled by Drusilla and her fucked up hold over him.

He needed to get out, start fresh, and he’d planned it. Given up on his mutilated car, bought a bike, pared his belonging down to the bare essentials. Planned to run, from himself, from his life.

But there, in his room, was a girl unlike any he’d ever had the chance to get to know. In the hours since he’d met Buffy, around eight, at last count, he found himself sinking back into the behavior so typical of who he’d been a year earlier. All he wanted was to please her, to comfort her, to make her feel special. He felt none of the bitterness that had been present in his heart since Drusilla, none of the need to assert his dominance over the fairer sex, none of the desires to snort or smoke or drink himself unconscious.

Spike still had to leave. He knew he did.

But the idea no longer gave him the comfort it had that morning. He no longer knew if it was the answer, if it would cure the problems plaguing him.

But she might.

Spike stood away from the wall and walked into the room, heart swelling as he saw Buffy, cross legged on his bed, mouth full of pizza, wet hair curling slightly as it dried, looking perfectly at home.

“Hi,” she mumbled around her mouthful, swallowing it quickly before a tentative smile graced her face. “Good pizza.”

“Dominos?”

“Rusty’s.”

“Greasy.”

“Tasty!” She chucked a balled up napkin at him and giggled. “Want some?”

“Sure,” he moved to sit across from her on the small bed, taking the last piece of pizza off her plate.

They ate in silence, glancing at each other sporadically, smiling in unison every time their eyes met. The mood was light, free, despite the baggage each of them were carrying, despite the reservations each held.

“Is it your question or mine?” Buffy asked, halfway through her pizza slice and stalling.

“Oh, don’t even know, pet, lost count ages ago,” he frowned. “Let’s say it’s your turn.”

“Um, can we say it’s yours? Totally don’t have a question.”

“Fine, okay, it’s mine,” Spike thought for a moment, chewing on the last bit of his pizza. “Okay, got one. Where’s your favorite place on earth?”

“Paris,” She replied immediately. “Specifically, this little park near the Saint Ambroise metro stop.”

“That was quick.”

“Summer after I graduated high school my parents took me on a Europe trip. I know this is so poor little rich girl, but it was awful. They were fighting all the time, I had to get dressed up and meet all my dad’s business contacts, we didn’t go any of the places I wanted to go. When we were in Rome I didn’t even get to go see the Coliseum or anything!” Buffy reached for her water glass and took a sip. “But when we went to Paris, I sort of…just took off for a day. Walked at least fifteen miles, all around the city. And I ended up in this little park. It was totally empty, it was raining, it was so quiet…I don’t know. I just think about it all the time.”

“Sounds beautiful,” Spike murmured.

“Yeah. Until I went back to the Hilton and my parents flipped out at me and sent me back home.”

“Are you serious?” He couldn’t imagine a set of parents treating their daughter in the way she’d hinted at over the course of the evening.

“Yep. First flight back to the States, I was on it. Stayed with my aunt and uncle for the rest of the month.”

“Tossers.”

“Assholes.”

“That too.”

“And you, Spike? What’s your favorite place?” Buffy leaned forward and wiped a bit of pizza sauce off the corner of his mouth, then put her thumb in her mouth and licked it off.

The comfortable little gesture distracted him from her question for a moment. When he realized it had been at least thirty seconds of him staring at her intently, he smiled sheepishly before replying, “Don’t think I’ve found it yet, pet.”

“Is that what your trip is for?” She asked as casually as she could.

Spike froze, yet again. He didn’t remember any other time in his life when a person had this paralyzing affect on him, with just simple questions and smiles. “In a way. Just need to get out of this town.”

“Yeah, Sunnydale sucks. I’d get out if I could.”

“Maybe you should.”

“I can’t. Can we drop this?”

“Of course, pet,” he pouted a bit.

Buffy thought deeply for a moment, considered his behavior, Faith’s warnings, the way he smiled at her, and could come up with no concrete reason to resist the desire to lean over and kiss him. So she did.

He responded instantly, wrapping a hand around the back of her neck and shifting to kneel above her, free hand dancing up and down her arm, playing with the strap of her tank top, caressing the sensitive skin on her wrist, finally lacing his fingers with her own. The kiss stayed slow, his tongue only entering her mouth when she parted her lips to invite him, his lips soft and sweet on hers.

Spike leaned forward more and more, until her body was flat on the bed, her legs still folded in their pretzel position. He abandoned her neck and hand to uncross them, then wrapped them around his waist, his touch firm and demanding, while his kiss was still gentle. He lowered his body on hers slowly, inch by agonizing inch, until Buffy felt completely covered, surrounded, swallowed by him. Their kisses intensified, her hands moved to pull off his shirt, his erection pressed into her most intimate of places. She whimpered.

Suddenly, Spike pulled away, a curious look on his face. “Wait, didn’t you have something you were going to tell me before?”

“Oh…that,” Buffy said weakly, biting her lip nervously. Sensing instantly this wasn’t a conversation to be had with his cock threatening to burst through layers of clothing to reach her pussy, Spike rolled off of her and leaned on one elbow.

“What is it, love?” He asked softly, hand stroking her upper thigh, unable to keep from touching her.

“It’s really not a huge deal,” she shrugged, sliding up to lean against the wall, away from his touch, fiddling with the ties of her sweatpants. “I just figured you’d want to know.”

“Know what?” He was starting to worry, as she seemed unable to meet his gaze. He moved to sit up next to her, thousands of scenarios running through his mind.

He wasn’t exactly prepared for what she confessed.

“I sort of…haven’t really actually done this before. The whole thing. Technically.”

“Done…what?” Spike asked stupidly. At her pointed look, then a quick glance down to the bulge in his pants, he got it. “Oh….bloody hell.” He gaped at her, then shifted a few inches away. “You’re a…fuck.”

“I’m a fuck?”

“No, you’re…fuck.”

Buffy giggled a bit, the affects of the alcohol lightening her mood and keeping her from being as self-conscious as she would be otherwise. “Don’t look so horrified, Spike.”

After finally regaining control of his senses, he sighed and stood away from the bed. “This isn’t a good idea,” he insisted, going with the cognitive as opposed to the emotional or physical. “We can’t do this.’

“Why not?” She almost whined. “Don’t you want to?”

“Hell, yes, I want to,” he groaned, spinning around and resting his hands on his desk, dropping his head and sucking in a much-needed breath. “You were waiting? For…for Angel. For marriage.”

“No, not really,” Buffy confessed, watching the muscles in his bare back ripple with tension as he kept himself from looking at her. “It just never happened. I didn’t date anyone in high school, and by the time he and I got together, I wanted to wait a bit. And then he proposed, and it was like, why rush it?”

“Right,” he mumbled. “Right, okay.”

“Don’t have a cow,” she got off the bed and moved to lean next to him on the desk, waiting impatiently for him to raise his head and look at her. “It’s really not a big deal. I figured I should just…tell you first.”

“Buffy,” sighed Spike, as he straightened up. Her heart fell at his passionless use of her given name, as opposed to the terms of endearment she’d come to adore. “This can’t happen. You should…you should go.”

“Why?’

“You know why.”

“No, explain it to me!”

“Let’s see, you’re too young, just broke up with your fiancé, and you’re…confused. I can’t give you what you want, Buffy, I’m not that guy,” he rushed out, snatching his shirt off the bed and yanking it back on, unbearably frustrated. Not with her, not really, but with himself and the fact that this new piece of information excited him more than it should. She could be his, truly his, was more innocent and more pure than he’d even imagined. But to take her, possess her, would mean he was falling directly from the frying pan into the fire.

“You have no idea what I want! I have no stupid illusions about you and me and I know you’re leaving, I know this is just for tonight, so what’s the problem?” Her babbles rushed out of her quickly, leaving her breathless. For the first time, she knew what she wanted with her whole self, and she was going to go after it with all she had, regardless of the obstacles and consequences.

But her babbles did make a little sense to Spike. “Kitten,” his voice softened, and he moved close to her, cupping her face in his hands. “You…you may think you wouldn’t mind, that this wouldn’t be anything more than just a night. But it would hurt you, I know it would, and I couldn’t let myself…you don’t want this, you’re just being impulsive.”

“Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?” Buffy frowned. “Like I said before, I think I’m entitled to make my own decisions. And I get you don’t want to hurt me, I get that but…you won’t. I know you won’t.” She knew there wasn’t more between them than just one night, but for whatever reason, she wanted, needed him to be her first. None of her friends had really enjoyed their first times, as far as she could tell, as all held far too high expectations. With Spike, she could have no expectations, just a night with someone who truly seemed to care about her. Who didn’t want to hurt her.

It certainly wasn’t because one look at him made her heart pound so loudly that she could hardly concentrate on her argument.

He tried to protest once more. “But---“

“You like me, right?” She already knew the answer to that.

“God, of course I do, kitten.”

“And I like you. And I know the score. So what’s the problem?”

Spike was wavering, she was swaying him, and he tried to cling to his last shred of self-preservation. She was strong, he knew she was, she’d be fine no matter what. But he might not be.

With one more kiss, she tore that last shred away. “Please, William,” she murmured against his lips. “Can I stay?’

He was helpless to resist her.

At her bachelorette party, Buffy had been pulled aside by her bridesmaid Cordelia, a friend from childhood whose father owned the very country club where she was to be married. The slightly tipsy woman had sat the bride to be down in the back of the nightclub where they were celebrating, and began a comprehensive class on how to handle her wedding night. Buffy had stuttered at the graphic words coming out of her friend’s mouth, but Cordelia had rolled her eyes.

”The virgin thing is cute, Buffy. I mean, to guys it’s all about the dominance, am I right? And seriously babe, don’t be afraid to say what you want. No way he’ll know otherwise, men are simple that way. Go after what you want.”

Keeping that speech in mind, Buffy murmured exactly what she wanted.

“I want you, Spike.”

She felt her knees shaking when Spike smiled at her words and began to kiss her as he had earlier. Dominating, desperate, yet almost…reverent. His lips were impossibly perfect, sometimes molding themselves to hers sweetly, sometimes hard and forcefully passionate. His tongue danced with hers and explored every inch lightly, then more confidently caressed her until she had to pull away, gasping.

Everything fell away but the two of them. Their pasts, both recent and distant, their futures, their pain. There was nothing left in the world but Buffy and Spike..

They could hear the rain falling outside the room’s small window, a light, gentle drumming on the glass. Aside from that, the only noise was their lips meeting and parting, and the short, shallow breaths they expelled. With such silence, in the faint light, Buffy could focus on the feel of his arms holding her so tightly to his chest, how soft his hair was when her fingers ran through it, the taste of his mouth on hers. Every sense was heightened in the quiet, making each action seem like the most intense sensation she’d ever experienced. Spike could savor the soft flesh of her hip, the smell of the rain on her skin, the heat of her body through her clothes.

Wanting no barriers between them, Buffy pulled his shirt over his head again and tossed it on the ground. She then leaned forward to press light butterfly kisses to his abs and chest, her hands roaming his arms and shoulders, exploring every muscle and curve with confident fingers. She wanted to mark every inch of him, wanted to be able to take comfort in the fact that there wasn’t a part of him she didn’t touch.

Groaning slightly as she lightly bit his nipple and dragged her fingers in the indentation of his pelvis, it became harder for Spike to keep his control. He brought his hands to her face and lifted her head up, pressing their lips together again fiercely, fingers twisted in her hair and in the fabric of her shirt to keep her as close to him as possible. He was rock hard already, craving more of her, thinking nothing but her name over and over again in his mind as he gently cupped her breast.

As he was sufficiently distracted by her lips, Buffy dropped her hands to his waist, and with deft fingers unfastened his pants. Trying to suppress her nerves as much as possible, she tasted the skin on his chest, breathed in his scent, and arched into his touch. It was overwhelming how desperately she wanted him.

“Oh, fuck,” Spike swore, voice heated and dry, as his cock sprang out of his pants into Buffy’s waiting and willing hand. He hadn’t even noticed her fingers at his belt, he’d been so consumed with her, and the shock of having her soft, small hand on him was enough to pull a string of expletives from his lips. Her firm grip hardened him further, and her free hand cupped his ass as her lips traveled to his throat and lightly nibbled at his tender skin.

“God, that feels…” Spike encouraged as the steady rhythm of her pumping started driving him crazy.

Buffy suddenly pushed him backwards until his legs hit the edge of the bed, where he fell to a seated position. She began to kneel willingly between his legs, and relished the sharp intake of breath from above her. Their eyes connected for a moment, and Spike smiled reverently down at her, one hand cupping her face gently. Buffy nuzzled into his touch for a moment, before returning her focus to his erection.

This, she could do. This she was used to, experienced at. It was always everything but, with Angel, Well at least, she did the everything. She knew the basics, the foreplay, what to do with her mouth, her hands. She knew how drive to a man crazy with her touch. And she wanted to make Spike crazy, make an impression on his mind. She didn’t want to fade into his memory having made no impact.

Her hands grasped him again, exploring every inch of his flesh with light caresses. Buffy trailed one finger up and down, then stroked small circles on the wet head of Spike’s cock. She explored every inch of him, memorizing the feel of his soft skin under her fingertips, then suddenly darted out her tongue to imprint his taste into her mind as well.

Spike let out a low rumble, lightly stroked the wet blonde hair touching his legs, then gathered it in a low ponytail at the back of Buffy’s head. When more of his erection was taken into her hot mouth, and her hand stroked his balls, he couldn’t help but vocalize his enjoyment.

“God, Buffy…just like that, yeah…yeah…so beautiful…”

He couldn’t tear his eyes away, hypnotized by the sight of her pink lips wrapped around his shaft, her eyes fluttering delicately. But when her movements quickened and her grip tightened, threatening to make him spill himself far sooner than he meant to, he stopped her. He didn’t want to lose himself in his own pleasure. Tonight was about her.

Spike lifted her up, flipped her on her back, and quickly pulled her tank top over her head. “Want to see you,” he explained simply when he caught the dazed look in her eyes from the sudden change of pace, and the slight blush of embarrassment at her nudity. “Don’t be nervous, kitten. You’re in charge here, won’t do anything you don’t want.” He moved his hands to her waist, and watched her face intently. Buffy nodded at his unspoken request.

Slowly, inch by agonizing inch, Spike slid her pants over her hips and down her legs, and his eyes darkened to a stormy blue. He nearly licked his lips as he slid his gaze down and savored his first view of her spread naked before him. His eyes slid over hard nipples at the center of pale triangles, a valley of tanned, flat flesh down to her legs, and another patch of pale, shaved skin.

“Gorgeous,” he proclaimed firmly, as he bent to kiss every inch of that golden skin. He went from her throat to her shoulder, down the very edge of her tan lines to her ribs and belly, back up between her breasts and down one arm, leaving a trail of fire in his wake, and Buffy began to breathe louder. His fingers followed behind his mouth, and delicately caressed the inside of her bicep.

“Stop it!” she giggled abruptly, yanking her hand away. “That tickles!”

“But your skin’s so soft there,” Spike murmured mischievously, his mood turning playful, leaning down further to kiss her shaved mound, inhaling her scent happily. “Mmm. Soft here, too. Like velvet. Open up, love.”

Buffy did so obediently, spreading her legs and revealing her sex. She began to pant faster as Spike moved to her mouth and he lightly traced the edges of her lips with pointed tongue, while his hand dipped between her thighs, parting her folds and lightly dragging his thumb up and down.

She cried out happily, and she wasn’t the only one finding pleasure in this basic, introductory act. Spike was finding himself completely captivated by her reactions to his littlest movements, as if everything was new and unfamiliar. He found himself wondering how much time Angel had ever spent trying to give Buffy pleasure. Her confidence earlier showed she’d likely let the bastard into her mouth, brought him that same searing bliss that Spike had felt, and the idea that the favor had never been returned heightened his hatred. He vowed to show her what she’d been missing.

As Spike’s tongue slowly traveled from her breast to her pussy, Buffy moved one hand to grasp his shoulder, needing to touch him to calm her nerves. She refused to admit that this was something new and unfamiliar to her, so she tried not to let her fear show. Yet, Spike seemed to know that fact without her saying a word.

“No one’s tasted you, have they?” After she shook her head, his tone took on an intense, desperate quality. “You’ll let me, though. Let me taste you? Could make you feel so good, love.”

“Yes, I…God, please, yes,” she forced out, short on air, hardly able to stand the aching between her legs, the tightness in her stomach, the tingling of her skin. It was all his doing, something solely connected to Spike. Angel had never, not once, invoked this reaction, and it even furthered solidified her belief that she never should have married him. To do so would have been to condemn herself to a life without this kind of passion.

Spike took a deep, calming breath before slowly, tentatively licking a path around Buffy’s entire pussy, then up and down the direct center, letting her get used to the new feeling. His fingers came into play next, lightly tracing the edge of her tight entrance, more firmly once he felt it relax slightly. Buffy cried out in pleasure as he lightly flicked his tongue on her clit, then moved to dive it inside of her and rubbing her bundle of nerves with his thumb.

The unprecedented sensations caused her to melt in mere moments, her hand falling from Spike’s shoulder to the bed as she arched her back, bringing herself closer to his touch. She wanted to recite the naughty litany running through her mind, but felt awkward about saying the erotic words. Instead she just let loose quiet cries and moans, her hands clutching the sheet beneath her.

The sounds drove Spike to distraction, and he pulled his mouth away to murmur, “Got my next question, baby. Do you like that?”

“I…yes…” Buffy nodded eagerly, happy to answer any question he had as long as he kept softly rubbing her clit.

“Next question,” he smirked proudly. “Want more?”

“Yes, I…want…”

Spike growled and moved his mouth back to her flesh, tongue and lips working her clit as he slid one finger inside of her, and curled it up towards him.

No embarrassment was felt as she cried out Spike’s name, and begged, “Oh, don’t stop…please…”

He groaned his approval as he tasted more evidence of her arousal. The exquisite flavor of her imprinted itself in his mind, and his cock throbbed to the point of pain.

The orgasm hit Buffy’s body with sudden, unexpected force, and she arched her back and curled her hands into fists. She continued to come as Spike’s tongue began to move even faster, tracing frantic circles around her flesh. A slight bit of discomfort infiltrated her pleasure as he added more fingers and stretched her gently, preparing her to accept him into her body. The minor pain faded quickly as three of his fingers filled her, and she felt her body begin to respond again.

“One more time, baby, come for me again,” Spike purred, fingers moving a bit faster. He returned his mouth to her clit, a smile curling his lips. He nibbled her lightly with his teeth, and she came again instantly, babbling her enjoyment as her muscles clenched tightly.

Spike groaned as he pulled his mouth away, pumping the last few tremors out of her body slowly with his fingers. Buffy was a sight, all flushed and glistening with a faint sheen of sweat, lips parted and eyes glazed.

“Mine.” The word was all breath, hardly audible, but Buffy nodded automatically, not caring what she was agreeing too but knowing there’s little she’d deny Spike.

“Yes. Yours.”

He crawled up her body slowly, leaving a kiss on each inch of flesh he passed. When he arrived at her mouth he licked it teasingly, leaving the trace of her own flavor on Buffy’s lips. Their kiss deepened, and she ran her fingers through his hair, feeling completely sated until Spike leaned forward and pressed his erection into her thigh. A flush of passion surged through her body again and she pulled away from him.

“Spike, please…I want you…” Buffy whispered softly, dragging one finger lightly down one angled cheekbone.

It wasn’t a sultry come on, or an erotic ploy, rather a sincerely passionate plea said in the sweetest tone of voice. The affection for this woman hit Spike hard, and he shuddered under the weight of it. He leaned over to his nightstand quickly and fished for a condom in the top drawer, hands shaking slightly, mentally berating himself for being so nervous. “Oh, fuck,” he muttered when he couldn’t find anything, and almost panicked until he realized he’d already shoved his stash into the duffel bag for the next morning.

“What’s wrong?” Buffy asked.

“Condom. Sorry, love. One sec,” Spike said, leaving a kiss on the tip of her nose before rolling away. He yanked his pants back up and jumped out of bed quickly, heading to the black bag waiting by the door. He fished in the outside pocket slowly, taking a minute to calm down after his fingers closed around the box.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t done this before, many times, yet he was the one who felt nervous, far more than Buffy seemed to be. Her confidence surprised him, intrigued him. She was so inherently sensual, and he got to be the one to bring it out of her, to enjoy it first. Every emotion, every sensation was new to her, and he could read them through her eyes, her shivers, her words. It made him tremble.

Spike turned, small silver packet in hand, to see naked, beautiful Buffy lying on his bed, looking like a fantasy come to life. Which in fact, she was. A fantasy he didn’t even know he had.

“I’m getting cold,” she pouted, no longer concerned with her nudity as she rolled on her side and rested her head on her hand.

“Oh, pouty!” Spike moved towards the bed, fixating on Buffy’s mouth. “Look at that lip. Gonna get it…” He dove for the bed and captured her giggles with his mouth, his own chuckles sending vibrations throughout both of them.

Basking in the euphoria of their free, easy interaction, Spike pulled away and stood again, sliding his jeans the rest of the way down and mumbling his annoyance when they got caught on the boots he had never bothered to remove.

“Hurry up, buddy, before I change my mind,” Buffy said.

Spike turned to her worriedly, but upon seeing her devious smirk, a spitting image of his own, he replied, “Don’t even think about it. Bossy little chit.”

He began to frantically unlace his shoes, and Buffy moved to press herself against his back. She kissed his shoulder softly, missing the warmth of his body though he had hardly been gone from her embrace any time at all.

Spike could feel her smile on the back of his neck, and her touch prompted him to move faster. He kicked off his boots, stripped off his socks, kicked his pants away, then spun to capture his lover’s lips in a kiss. His hands ripped the condom packet open blindly, then a gentle touch stopped him before he could sheath himself in the rubber.

“Can I…um, put it on?” Buffy asked hopefully.

“Of course, pet,” nodded Spike, handing her the packet. “You can do anything you want.” When she paused and looked quickly from his erection to her hand a few times, he continued, “Just put it like this, love…good…and roll it down…”

As Buffy’s small hands slowly slid the condom down his length, Spike stroked her thigh and arched slightly into the touch of her hand. When she was finished, and looked up at him expectantly, he checked himself quickly before leaning to slide his tongue between Buffy’s lips. He maintained the contact of their mouths as he rolled her over onto her back again, then pulled back to take a breath as he brushed a lock of hair off of her forehead. The urge to drive into her with one long stroke was hard to ignore, but even her soft grin couldn’t distract him from how tense her muscles were beneath his body, and the innocence in her wide-eyed gaze as the head of his cock first touched the lips of her sex.

“This might hurt a bit, love,” Spike warned gently, as he gripped his erection and slid it up and down her wet entrance. Just that second of contact made him shiver, even through the condom it was like her flesh had burned him.

“I know that. It’s okay,” she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and gripped him tightly, heart pounding as every inch of her skin hummed.

Spike slid one hand up her arm to grab her hand, intertwining their fingers firmly as he pushed himself a few inches inside of her. Enjoying the gasp of pleasure from her, he pumped his hips gently a few more times, working his way in fully and finding no barrier to her wet channel, for which he was grateful. She was impossibly, maddeningly tight, though, even more so than he’d imagined, and he pushed forward more when she moaned and bit her lip.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, staying still once he was fully inside her. The feel of her below him, around him, was glorious, heavenly even, so perfectly fitted to his own body, so responsive as he lightly stroked her breast. He savored the feeling, then asked worriedly, “Is it bad?”

“No, not really,” Buffy shook her head, feeling only slight pain from being stretched for the first time. “It doesn’t really hurt. I’m good.” Her breath hitched slightly as she squeezed her muscles around him experimentally.

Spike groaned loudly in response and tentatively thrust his hips once, then twice, achingly slow, staring into her eyes for any sign of regret. Buffy said nothing, just nodded slowly, hand still tightly clenching his above her head. Spike gritted his teeth, trying not to focus on how it felt to slide in and out of her, focusing instead on the expression on Buffy’s face, trusting and wanting and eager.

“Oh, God!” she moaned quietly, eyes fluttering shut, lips parted slightly . “Yes…”

“Yeah, like that?” Spike’s voice was ragged, and turned her on further, if that was even possible. “That feel good, baby?”

“Yes, yes.” Buffy’s voice was throaty, raw, and womanly for the first time, and her eyes glimmered with surprise at the sound, a contrast Spike found irresistible. “You can…faster …” She breathed tentatively.

He moved quicker, on command, drinking in the vision below him that was gradually shedding her inhibitions. A litany of praise fell from his lips, giving her more confidence, and she wrapped her legs tighter around his waist.

“Buffy, love… so good, bloody perfect…yes, pet, that’s my girl…” He felt himself becoming hypnotized by every thing she did, the way she arched beneath him, the way her eyes opened and shut every few seconds. He gasped when her nails suddenly dug slightly into his shoulders, and shifted his hips to more directly hit her clit with every thrust. Buffy began to raise her hips to meet his, and they fell into a fluid rhythm as if they’d known each other’s bodies for years.

Spike felt certain this was the best it had ever been, or ever would be again.

But then, she cried out his name. His real name, not the moniker he’d hidden behind for years. And the name William had never sounded so sweet on anyone else’s lips, and her eyes stayed open to fixate on his. She smiled, a replica of that first smile he’d seen grace her face outside the bar. A genuine smile he was sure was meant only for him.

And at that, he knew he was permanently, irrecoverably lost to her. He’d clung hard to a shred of strength as he’d made love to her thus far, fighting to keep himself from falling for her. But his past history should have taught him better. He was forever a slave to his emotions, which were always fierce and all-consuming. Whether love or hate or anger he gave himself over to it fully, incapable of ignoring his heart.

Spike paused in his movement, briefly, hit with the full weight of his feelings, but quickly began to pump inside her again, trying valiantly to concentrate on the present, not the future he realized could never be. He didn’t think he deserved the paradise he was currently experiencing, the raw, pure perfection he felt. He had no right to slide his cock into the tightest, sweetest, most beautiful woman he’d ever known. But despite these beliefs, Spike realized he could be happy with her forever, a thought he tried to dismiss as insanity. Mere hours couldn’t produce this kind of connection, but there was no denying the things he felt towards Buffy, but he told himself there was no way she could feel the same.

“I think…Spike, god…don’t ever stop…” she gripped his shoulders tighter, a needy cry falling from her lips as she squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted to say more, to follow her plea with a demand that he stay with her longer, all night, past the morning when she meant to let him go. But she bit it back and cried out again, her breath coming faster and faster. The tension that had been rising inside of her increased quickly, and what almost felt like a tight ball of heat grew in her center. She knew logically what was happening to her body, but the overwhelming, surprising force of her passion still caught her off guard.

The thought of his departure was chased away quickly by Spike as he squeezed her hand and roughly commanded, “Look at me, Buffy.” She opened her eyes to see him staring down at her with awe, her own passion reflected in his gaze. He began to move even faster.

“Spike…”

“Yeah, pet…come for me…”

“I’m…I feel…”

All thinking ceased then, for a few long moments, as a final thrust sent her over the edge. Buffy savored the rush of energy over her body, the tightening of her muscles, coming harder when Spike moved to grind his pelvis hard against hers. She knew she was babbling but could hardly hear her own voice, just the panting above her and the roar of blood in her ears.

The rush of emotions that came along with her pleasure were just as overwhelming as her orgasm, and the fear of losing him returned full force. She bit back another cry, as he shuddered above her, and slid his arm under her lower back to pull her even closer to his hips. He thrust into her a few more times before he roared out his own climax, his grip on her tight to the point of bruising, his face buried in her neck. Their fingers were still intertwined.

Spike panted heavily as his orgasm subsided, his face pressed into the pillow under Buffy’s head. He didn’t want to give into the poetry forming in his mind, but there was no way to deny how hard he’d just come, his body limp and sapped of all energy, both physical and emotional.

His lips were pressed to her ear, her head was buried in the crook of his neck, each unable to look at the other for fear of being the first to crack, to beg the other for more than they’d agreed upon. Spike surrendered to his feelings first, kissing the shell of her ear repeatedly as he regained his breath.

“You’re bloody perfect,” he mumbled. “Such a wonderful woman, Buffy…never felt like…” He stopped his own words and moved to kiss her sweetly, hoping to convey his thoughts in that way.

“Be right back, baby.” Spike moved to turn off the light and take off the condom, while Buffy turned on her side and shimmied under the sheets, raising one hand to surreptitiously wipe away the single tear that threatened to fall from her eye. It was a tear she didn’t even realize was forming, and one she couldn’t really understand the cause of, yet it wetted her cheek just the same.

She was completely sated, awash in her afterglow, yet found herself battling sadness as she listened to Spike move around. She found herself wanting to say a million things to him, to confess things she could barely understand, but bit her lip to stay silent. After just seconds she found herself gathered back up in strong arms, Spike’s front to her back, and he kissed her on the neck, cheek and shoulder as he pulled the blanket over them fully.

“That was amazing,” he sighed, grasping her hands in one of his, covering them entirely. His other hand skimmed down her side to rest lightly on her hip, tracing small circles there. His cock was still half hard after spending the night wanting her desperately, but worried about hurting the girl.

“It was?”

“Didn’t you think so?”

“Oh, yes! I…yes,” Buffy relaxed into his form, body drained of all strength after the whirlwind that was her day, and the intense rush of adrenaline threatening to drown her. “I just…I didn’t know it would be like that.”

His chuckle soothed her, the rumbles of his body against hers lulling her into a sense of security. “Yeah, it isn’t always. We’re just special. Actually, you’re the special one.”

“Special, huh?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I like being special.” Buffy felt her self falling asleep quickly, the affects of the alcohol and her orgasm pulling her towards oblivion. “As long as it’s not like, Mom saying I’m special, but meaning I’m stupid.”

“Never, pet,” he laughed again, inhaling deeply at her neck, trying to memorize her scent to store away for all the coming nights when he wouldn’t have her in his arms like this. “Comfortable?”

“Totally. I feel like…boneless. Mmm.”

Spike flushed with pride, then moved a bit closer to her. “Sorry the bed’s so small.”

“Like it small,” she mumbled. “Means we have to stay close.”

“Close is good.” He could hear her breath slowing, and chose to let her rest, despite his body’s desire to have her again.

The rain had petered out, but the clouds hanging in the sky shielded the moon and stars from providing any sort of light. The bedroom was dark, illuminated only by an outside street lamp, but as close as he was Spike could make out the curve of Buffy’s cheek, the swell of her lips, and their hands clasped together. He felt so unworthy of the gift she’d given him, yet felt selfish enough to dream of the possibility of being the only man to ever have the pleasure.

“Sleepy, pet?”

“Mmm.”

Buffy was hardly aware of anything anymore, sounds and feelings fading away as her eyes drifted shut. She managed to focus her thoughts enough to realize she didn’t regret a second of her day, or her night.

“Where did I find you?” Spike whispered into the dark after a few minutes, his grip on her tightening possessively.

“The Sunnydale Country Club?” Buffy replied sleepily, missing entirely the raw need in her lover’s voice. He smiled, though, at her response and kissed her softly on the cheek. “Sleep now, no more questions.”

“Alright. Goodnight, love.”

She said nothing, already fast asleep.

Spike wanted to follow her over the edge into unconsciousness, wanted to push away the melancholy creeping over him, but it was impossible. He wanted to savor every second, make the most out of the rest of the night. He wanted to wake her up and confess how hard he was falling, wanted to take her again and again until she was coming around him and telling him she felt the same.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Instead, as he held his lover in his arms, he satisfied his desires by whispering to her sleeping form.

“Where did you come from, Buffy? You weren’t… You don’t even know how amazing you are, pet…I wish I could show you, wish I was good enough for you…God, you’re in my gut…my throat…I’m drowning in you. Drowning.”

The faint light of dawn was peeking through his window before Spike finally managed to fall asleep.

“Night and day, you are the one
Only you beneath the moon or under the sun
Whether near to me, or far
It’s no matter darling where you are
I think of you

Day and night, night and day, why is it so?
That this longing for you follows wherever I go
In the roaring traffics boom
In the silence of my lonely room
I think of you…”

-“Night and Day”, lyrics by Cole Porter
as sung by Frank Sinatra

The loud sound of a garbage truck jolted Buffy awake, and it took her a minute to register her unfamiliar surroundings. She was naked and comfortable, her head pillowed on something firm and warm.

A chest. A naked chest. A naked Spike chest.

The events of the previous evening came rushing back quickly, held at bay momentarily only by the morning after haze of confusion. Along with the memories came a feeling of all-encompassing happiness that only increased when Buffy heard a voice from above her.

“You awake, love?”

“Mmm,” she replied, nuzzling closer into his chest and smiling into his skin as he wrapped his arm tighter around her.

“Sleep well?”

“Mmm.”

“Gonna talk to me?”

“Mmm?”

Laughing, Spike quickly pulled her from his chest and up to his face, and softly, chastely kissed her parted lips.

“Morning,” he whispered.

“Morning,” Buffy replied shyly, ducking her head to keep from looking into Spike’s eyes.

“None of that,” he hooked one finger under her chin and raised it up, winking at her before rolling her off of him onto her back and leaning on one elbow to observe her quietly.

The bright morning sun that shined directly in his window usually annoyed him and woke him before he was rested, but today Spike was glad for it. The light illuminated Buffy’s hair, made her skin glow, and bathed her in a golden light so she looked every bit the goddess she was.

“Are you sore?” Spike asked softly, one finger drawing patterns on her stomach under the sheet as his other hand slid under her shoulders to pull her back towards him.

“No. I mean, not really…it’s more like, I know you were there,” explained Buffy hesitantly.

His eyes smoldered in response, and he shifted a bit closer to say in a low voice, “I could be again, you know.” He brushed his lips lightly across her shoulder.

She shivered at her immediate flare of desire, but when her head began to pound she said, “Oh, my head is killing me.”

“Wow, we’re already on to that method of rejecting me?”

“No! No! I really have a headache!” She stuttered.

“I know, pet, I’m teasing. And I’ve got Advil,” Spike leaned over to grab the glass of water and pill bottle he’d placed on the nightstand when he’d gotten up in the middle of the night. “Thought you might be hung over.”

“I’m not, really. Just headachey. Drinking all that water must have helped.”

“Figured it would, didn’t want my girl feeling sick.”

“You’re sweet,” Buffy kissed an available bit of bare skin, and swallowed the pills, loving the ease with which he’d declared her to be his girl. “I need a bathroom. And a toothbrush, if you have one?”

“Bathroom’s in there, got an extra under the sink,” he gestured to the door in the corner.

She glanced down at the thin sheet covering her nude body, then over to her clothes thrown across the room, while Spike lay back down on the bed and seemed ignorant of her predicament. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen her naked the night before, but she felt there was something very different about…sexy-nudity, and wandering around his bedroom-nudity.

Hiding his grin at her embarrassment, Spike stood and moved to his duffel bag, fishing out a black shirt. “Want something to wear?” He was standing naked, proudly, as if unconcerned with her wide, watchful eyes.

“Yes, please.”

“Shy, are you?” He wiggled an eyebrow as he caught her staring at his semi-hard cock.

“Not shy, just…naked. And cold!”

He dangled the shirt just out of her reach, and laughed as she reached for it and missed. “What am I getting in return?” He put on his bedroom voice, low and velvety.

“Your ass not kicked?” Buffy replied smartly, her eyes flashing with a combination of anger and lust.

“That’s not it…” he mused, slowly picking up their clothes from the night before and his bag. “Perhaps a kiss?”

“Perhaps you give me the shirt, and then we’ll see.”

“Hmm. I’ll think about it.” He moved off to the bathroom, taking all the clothes in the room with him, and slammed the door behind him.

Buffy gaped after him. “I’m still naked!” She yelled out.

“Just the way I like it!” He called back, before the sound of the sink drowned out his words.

Buffy glanced around the room, slightly giddy, and observed the guitar stand in the corner she’d forgotten to ask about the night before. The idea of making Spike play something for her seemed like a pretty attractive one, but she shook away the romantic notion. When he emerged from the bathroom, she glared at him with all the fake anger she could summon.

“Give me the shirt, or I will seriously kill you.”

“Fine, fine.” He tossed it to her, and caught a glimpse of her bare breasts as she pulled it over her head, a glimpse that did nothing to soften his erection. When she slid out from under the sheet and darted to the bathroom, her ass peeking out under the hem of his shirt, he was officially turned on.

When she came back, he tackled her immediately to the bed, lips on hers, licking up the taste of his toothpaste in her mouth and shoving his hands up under the shirt.

“Spike! Get off of me!” She squealed as he mercilessly attacked her throat with kisses and growls and her sides with his tickling fingers.

“Do I get my kiss?”

“Stop! Stop!---Breath! Necessary!”

“So you surrender?”

“Yes, yes!” She kissed him sweetly, bursts of laughter escaping her lips and blowing hot air on his skin.

His expression was gleeful as he ceased his assault and let her catch her rapid breath, a few random giggles still slipping out. He ran his fingers through her hair as she calmed down, reveling in the impossible softness.

“So other than the headache though, you’re…feeling good?” He wanted to ask her if she regretted anything, but didn’t want to sound like a completely whipped berk.

“Yes. Aside from the little hammer in my head, I’m wonderful,” she smiled shyly. “Once the aspirin kicks in I’ll be right as rain. Where do you think that phrase comes from? I mean, rain…“

Spike stopped listening as she continued to ramble adorably. He fixated on her eyes, still slightly glazed with sleep, her hair, a messy nest of waves and curls, her breasts, barely peeking out over the edge of his sheets. He couldn’t seem to stop touching her, exploring the soft flesh of her hips with gentle caresses, stroking her hand, rubbing her arm. The sun rose a bit in the sky, filling the room with yet more warmth and light.

She had stopped talking long ago, just reveling in his gentle ministrations, her eyes lulled closed as he soothed any pain out of her head or body with his fingers. They laid there in perfectly comfortable silence, until Buffy finally spoke.

“Spike?”

“Yeah, love?”

“Last night…”

He waited patiently for her to continue, but when she didn’t he prompted, “What is it, baby?”

“Um, this is probably kind of a stupid thing to ask, but since…I mean, since I’ve never done that before, I was wondering, was I…”

Spike didn’t need to wait for her to force out her nervous question, and he bent down to speak right into her ear. “You were amazing. Are amazing, as a matter of fact.” His voice dropped lower and he continued, “I’ve never felt the way I felt with you last night.”

Buffy felt her heart stop dead in her chest. “You’re just saying that.”

“No.” He raised his head to look into her eyes, and shook his head firmly. “I don’t lie.”

The alarm suddenly sounded right by the edge of the bed, jolting them back to reality.

“Shit,” Spike muttered and rolled over to smash the offending device, ceasing its loud, obnoxious buzzes. “Forgot to turn it off.”

Buffy slowly uncovered her ears. “You seriously wake up to that every morning?”

“I’m a heavy sleeper,” he shrugged. Noting the time, he wondered when she might want to head home, and asked reluctantly, “You can stay a little awhile, yeah?”

“Of course,” she nodded quickly, biting her tongue to keep from offering to stay even longer. His hands returned to her hair, massaging her scalp and temples lightly.

“Mmm,” she sighed, her eyes fluttering shut.

“Helping the headache?”

“Yeah…” He could lay like this forever, but a tiny mew escaping her lips reminded him of other things he could do forever. Sliding over her body to cover it with his own, he nibbled at her jawline and slipped his hand back under her shirt. She arched into his touch, so damn responsive to his every movement, but when her stomach grumbled Spike pulled his hands away. He was disappointed, yet almost relieved that he could draw out the near unbearable pleasure of her company a bit longer.

“Hungry?”

“Yup” she said reluctantly. “Buffy need food.”

With a kiss to her nose, he climbed off the bed and turned on his CD player, quickly slipping in a disc, then from the speakers came a Frank Sinatra song. He grabbed a pair of his sweatpants and held them out to her. “Here, put these on. Don’t want to get cold.”

“Thanks,” she smiled. “But I can just wear Faith’s, if you could…hand them over.”

“These are nice and clean, though.” And she’d be fully dressed in his clothes, which was an image he desperately needed to have.

“Um, I think I should probably change back into her stuff later, though,” said Buffy softly.

“It’s alright, you can keep mine, pet.”

Her chest physically hurt as she said, “No, I think…I mean, for when I show up at home, later, I shouldn’t be wearing…”

“…Oh. Right.”

He turned away to hide his expression, grabbed the items out of the laundry basket, and carefully folded them, giving himself time to cool his temper and her to dress. He heard her shut the bathroom door, and noticed a tiny scrap of white lace peeking out of the pajama pants she’d been wearing the night before. Impulsively he took it and shoved it in the pocket of his duffel bag. When he finally turned back around to see her standing in his vintage Sex Pistols shirt and favorite sweats from university, he shoved his anger away forcefully and wrapped her up in his arms, hugging her tightly before dropping her onto the bed.

“Hey!” she giggled as she bounced on the mattress.

“Don’t move. I’ll be back.” Spike threw on some sweats of his own and slid his feet into a pair of flip flops, tossed her one last happy smile, and headed out to the small fridge and shelf under the bar where Xander let him keep some food.

He rummaged quickly, wishing he could make her a lavish breakfast but having neither a kitchen, nor the ingredients, nor really the skills to do so. He hummed softly to himself, digging out a loaf of bread and some jam, then looked around for the apple he was sure he had somewhere.

“He’s humming Sinatra. This is bad.”

“Morning, Faith,” he sighed, hardly startled by her appearance from upstairs. He’d been hoping he could avoid his friends and get back to Buffy as quickly as possible, but it seemed like he was out of luck. “Why are you down here?”

“Was listening for you.” She began to sing. “Night and day…Why is it so?...This longing for you follows where I go…” Her voice broke on a note.

“You messed up the lyrics, and please never sing again.”

“Oh, snappy,” Xander teased as Spike stood and turned to face the couple. The bartender was dressed in an old, tiny battered robe that looked to be a woman’s, and Faith was wrapped only in a white sheet, makeup smeared under her eyes and hair mussed in wild curls. “But look at that glow about him. Methinks Spike likes a girl.”

“You really have to stop with the methinks, Xander. You say it all the bloody time.”

“It’s true, baby, it’s obnoxious,” Faith agreed. “So? Details, quick, my man.”

“Don’t kiss and tell,” he said gruffly, gathering up his scavenged food.

“First of all, that’s a lie, because I could tell you the number of moles on that stripper’s ass you slept with in Vegas. Two, you’re not feeding her that!” The brunette exclaimed, observing the meager offerings in his arms. “Bring her upstairs, Xander will cook.”

“I will?”

“You will.”

“No, no, it’s fine---“ Spike tried to protest.

“Go, now, my peroxide idiot. You can’t feed a girl like that scraps from your bachelorhood.”

“But---“

“No.”

Spike surrendered and dumped the food on the bar. “But if she doesn’t want to come up, we’re not coming up. And no teasing, I’ll kill you both if you make her uncomfortable.”

“Tell her there’s pancakes!” Xander said happily. “She liked my pancakes, Faith.”

“Great, why don’t you just go and hump her leg if you like her so much.”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“Keep it in your pants, asshole.”

Their bickering followed him down the hall, and he knocked gently on the door and peeked his head in.

“You don’t have to knock, it’s your room,” Buffy smiled from her seat on the bed. “And it’s not like you haven’t already seen me all…naked.” She giggled.

“Very true, love. Faith and Xander are making breakfast, they want us to join. But we don’t have to if you don’t want.”

She screwed up her little nose in thought, and nodded. “We could do that. Do you want to?”

“I want what you want, baby,” he smiled. She hopped off the bed and slid her feet into Faith’s slippers, then grasped his hand and followed him back out to the bar and up the stairs to the apartment above.

“Hi, Buffster!” Xander said loudly when she entered, no longer in the robe but dressed in horrible bright yellow plaid PJ pants and a Superman t-shirt. “How did you sleep?”

“Fine, Xander,” she replied, giggling slightly at the furious glare Spike was giving the other man.

“B! Get your cute little ass in here!” Faith called from the bedroom.

Glancing awkwardly at Spike, she headed towards the bedroom door, which opened right before she reached it. She was grabbed and pulled in by a half-naked Faith.

“So, are we awash in the afterglow of the first time?” The brunette asked giddily as she pulled a t-shirt over her black bra.

“What? Why---How did you know---“

“Ah, I knew it! Come on B, don’t have to hide it from me, I’m extremely perceptive. I used to have this fetish, about deflowering virgins---that’s how I met Xander, but that’s a whole other tale I’ll tell you later. Anyway, I can see the signs and I guessed. Did you tell him before?”

“Faith, I really don’t---“

“Come on! We’re girlfriends, we talk about sex, that’s what we do. Like, for instance, last night Xander had me wear this outfit---“

“Okay! Okay!” Buffy blushed bright red and covered her face with her hands. “I surrender! Yes, I told him.”

“And did he make it all sweet and romantic? Spike seems like the kind of guy to do that.” Faith sprawled on the bed and patted the comforter next to her.

“Yeah, he did,” she moved to sit down, relaxing and starting to like the idea of getting Faith’s advice on the whole situation. “It was…amazing.”

“Amazing, huh? Very jealous.”

“Yeah, he’s…”

“Smoking hot? A demon in the sack? Hung like a racehorse? Or Ron Jeremy?”

“Faith!”

“What? I’m just trying to help you along!”

Buffy stared at her in horror for a moment, then burst into laughter suddenly, falling back on the bed next to the other girl.

“Wow, are you on drugs?” Faith observed her carefully. “No, pupils are normal. Must be the endorphins or whatever from the multiple orgasms. He doesn’t strike me as a wham, bam, thank you ma’am type of guy.”

“Definitely not,” Her laughter slowed, and her body tingled a bit just from the memories.

“So he took care of you, then. Good, I don’t have to kick his ass.”

“No, you leave his ass alone!”

“Slut.”

They both cracked up this time, entire bodies shaking with the force of their laughter. They’d almost calmed down when from outside the door, they heard Spike yell.

“You two birds better not be talking about me!”

Their laughter renewed again, only fading when they both ran out of air.

“I seriously love you, B,” Faith gasped out. “You’re a trip.”

“Am I?”

“I mean, in one night you go from little miss goody-two shoes to a…a devirginized version of the same. It’s fucking awesome.”

“I’m not a goody-two shoes!”

“Right, right.” Faith rolled over and sat up, finally going to put on a pair of track pants. “You should come to karaoke night on Tuesday. It’s fucking hilarious.”

“I’ll be there,” Buffy grinned and leaned back against the headboard, arms around her knees. Once fully clothed Faith came to sit back down in front of her, folding her legs up and observing the other girl carefully.

“Is there something on my face?” She touched it quickly.

“Have you guys, you know, done the big talk thing?”

“No, we…I mean, we don’t need to.”

“B, come on. You like him. A lot.”

“Yeah, but…There’s really nothing to talk about, I knew he was leaving and he knew that I’m…you know, complicated.”

Faith’s dark eyes flashed with hesitation, but she said, “Did he tell you why he’s leaving?”

“Not…not exactly,” Buffy glanced towards the door, suddenly not liking the direction this conversation was going but not desperately wanting to find out.

“I probably shouldn’t…you know what, whatever, you’re my girl and you should know. Spike was really fucked up after he broke up with that creepy witch, and he thinks there’s no way for him to get better if he’s stuck in this stupid town.”

“What do you mean, fucked up?” She was whispering now, feeling enormously guilty for what seemed like malicious gossip about the man she’d just spent the night with. But at the same time, she was finally getting a deeper glimpse of who he really was. Despite their night of conversation, she still felt as if she knew nothing about him.

“Partying too much, just in a dark place. He kind of…there was a car accident and we were okay, but he freaked out that he could have hurt me or whatever. He’s got crazy writer’s block or whatever now, and that Dru bitch keeps calling him when she’s high, and he’s finally almost paid off all these bills from spoiling the psycho with presents…And I’m not telling you this because…shit.” She blew a chunk of hair out of her face. “Okay, all I’m saying is, he thinks he has to leave to be happy. And I don’t think that’s true. So, think about it, B.”

“Mistresses! Your meal is served!” Xander yelled from the kitchen.

Faith mimed zipping her lip and winked, then headed out into the main room demanding milk. Slightly dazed, Buffy followed.

The lack of a kitchen table in the apartment meant that the four were spread out on the floor, picnicking on fruit, eggs, bacon, and a wide array of fruit pancakes. Spike and Buffy were leaning up against the couch, pressed side to side, while Xander and Faith moved the coffee table and sprawled out on the rug.

“Thank God you don’t cook like this for me every day,” Faith sighed as she finished off her juice and smacked her lips. “I’d get so fat. Although, you should still offer to cook for me every day. Jerk.”

“Love you too,” Xander smiled, dodging a thrown grape and retaliating with a small pancake.

“Waste! Waste of a pancake!” Buffy cried, snatching it from Faith’s lap and setting it gently back on a plate. “You do not waste tasty food!”

“You know babe, if you were as appreciative as the Buffster here, maybe I would make you breakfast every day.”

“But Buffy would never lower herself to date you. Am I right, B?”

The blonde coughed uncomfortably, and shoved a bite of pancakes in her mouth to stall her answer, blinking innocently.

“It’s true, she wouldn’t,” Xander sighed dramatically. “She’s high class, I’m blue collar. She’s a princess, I’m a pauper.”

“I’m not a princess!” The subject of debate protested with a frown.

“Oh, really B?” Faith scoffed. “Where do you live?”

“Um…The Gardens?” She admitted, naming the city’s most desirable neighborhood.

“Uh-huh…and what kind of car do you drive?”

She ducked her head awkwardly and mumbled, “A BMW.”

“And how much did the stupid wedding cost?”

“Leave her alone, Faith,” Spike warned, glancing over to make sure Buffy wasn’t upset, while he himself was annoyed after one brief mention of the aborted nuptials.

“I’m just teasing, dude! Really though B, I’m curious. The wedding sounded fancy. How much did Daddy spend?”

“Um, I don’t know---“

“I’m kind of curious too,” Xander piped in. “Not to be gossip guy I just…I read about it in the paper this morning, and---“

“The paper?” Buffy’s eyes widened and her fork clattered to her plate.

“You’re a stupid git, Harris,” growled Spike, his arm gravitating to wrap around her shoulders. Faith smacked Xander hard on the head, and he whimpered.

“Can I read it?” Buffy asked politely once everyone had calmed down.

“Love, don’t---“

“I’m fine, Spike. I’m a big girl, I can handle it,” she stood quickly and moved to grab the paper from the kitchen counter. His arm dropped to the ground, and he gritted his teeth as she spread the paper out.

“Society section, page ten,” Xander murmured. When his girlfriend glared at him, he said, “What? I’m helping.”

She took a deep breath and read it aloud, voice gaining in confidence as she spoke until she was mocking the words in anger. “This weekend’s social calendar was completely centered on one event. However, the much-anticipated wedding of Liam O’Connor, heir of Nathaniel O’Connor, and Buffy Anne Summers, former Miss Sunnydale, did not quite live up to your columnist’s expectations. Forty-five minutes after the ceremony was scheduled to begin, guests were informed that the bride had unfortunately fallen ill, and the ceremony would be rescheduled for later this summer. We were welcomed to stay and enjoy the lavish reception, rumored to have cost even more than the Wilkins wedding three summers ago, likely exceeding $200,000. While enjoying the finest cuisine prepared by chef Andrew Wells, the rumors flew. From a very trustworthy source, I learned that Ms. Summers actually fled the scene with an unidentified man, and the engagement is off. What will this mean for the merger of O’Connor Industries and the Medina Corporation, headed by the father of the runaway bride? Who knows, dear readers, but what I do know for certain is this: this summer’s social scene just got a little more interesting.”

There was silence in the room.

“You were Miss Sunnydale?” Spike finally asked, eyes wide with the realization that he still had thousands of unanswered questions about her.

“Please tell me there’s footage of this momentous occasion,” Xander said, wide-eyed and impressed..

“That’s not the point, dude,” Faith suppressed a laugh, then turned to Buffy. “Sorry, is this not a laughing matter yet?”

“No, no, laugh away,” She pouted and crumpled the paper up before throwing it on the floor, then kicked at it angrily.

“Oh man, you wrinkled the comics!” Xander blurted out.

She continued as if she hadn’t even heard him. Her tone was harsh, dripping with an elitist disdain that made Spike cringe. “I hate that woman. That Bitsy von Muffling-whatever wannabe writing about people’s lives because she doesn’t have one, like anyone gives a shit what she has to say.” A hot flush of anger spread over her skin as she bit her lip nervously, mind suddenly flooded with all the possible outcomes of her night away.

The room was quiet again, and Spike couldn’t read in Buffy’s eyes how she was feeling, but he was a bit thrown by her sudden hard demeanor. She glanced over quickly and smiled at him, and though he’d only known that smile for half a day, he could tell it was strained. He smiled back, weakly, fantastic mood crushed under the weight of fear that Buffy might go running back home immediately, as she was clearly upset.

“Let me just help clean up this mess and we’ll head down?” He finally suggested when it was clear no one else was going to break the silence.

“No, no, you two go,” Faith insisted, wiggling her eyebrows jokingly at Buffy, with smiling. “We can clean up, right Xander?”

“But I cooked. Common decency states that the chef---“

“Shut up.”

“Okay.”

Buffy protested for a minute, but ultimately followed Spike out of the apartment and down the stairs. She was feeling confused and off balance, suddenly confronted with concrete evidence of the previous day’s events and trying to suppress her panic over what her parents’ reactions would be. So wrapped up in her own conflicted emotions, she hardly noticed when they reached the bedroom.

Once she did realize where they were, she reached out and spun him back to face her, reaching up to pull his head down for a hard kiss. He responded instantly, pressed her up against the door, hands sliding to cup her ass as he lifted her slightly so her feet were barely on the floor. Buffy clung to him for balance, sinking into his possessive kiss by sliding her tongue to dance with his, a plaintive whimper escaping as his fingers dug harder into her skin.

When they parted, she asked breathlessly, “You aren’t leaving yet, right?”

“What?” His eyes were hazy with lust, and he shook his head as if to clear off a fog of confusion.

“Leaving. You aren’t---“

“I have all day,” he blurted out quickly, smiling happily at her question though the promise of a full day with her still didn’t seem like long enough.

“Me too.”

They kissed again quickly, and Spike lifted her higher to wrap her legs around his waist, backing up to fall onto the bed as he pushed any worries about her out of his mind. She was here with him now, she wasn’t leaving, and that was all that mattered. If she wanted to talk about it, she would.

He moved his hands up her sides to cup her face gently, lowering the intensity of the kiss as he lightly traced the edges of her lips with his tongue. His erection grew as she wriggled on top of him, and he pushed her up a bit to catch his breath, planning to take the morning slow, to draw out every second in her presence and make her stay as long as possible.

Spike sat up quickly and Buffy squealed, finding herself straddling his lap with his arms wrapped around her back under her shirt.

“Hi,” he said goofily, then nuzzled his face into her neck with a sigh.

“Hi yourself.” She smiled against his hair as he stroked her back, rough fingers tracing her spine lazily. Pulling away slightly, she said, “I’m sorry about earlier, about getting all wigged out.”

“Understandable,” he shrugged as he pulled away and smiled reassuringly at her. “Nothing to apologize for.”

“Okay. So can we…can we just pretend that whole thing doesn’t exist?” Buffy captured his earlobe between her teeth and nibbled a bit, too shy to make the first move but wanting his touch to drive away her anxiety. “You can distract me.”

“And how might I do that?” Spike teased, understanding instantly what she was getting at and wanting to play a bit.

“Well, we have this big long day,” she giggled shyly. “And I bet you could teach me a lot in that time.”

His grip on her tightened as a dizzying combination of arousal at what her words promised and the deeper understanding of what she meant, but he pushed that jealousy away and focused on his tightening groin. “Eager to learn, then?”

Buffy blushed prettily and shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe.” Her soft word turned into a shriek of surprise as he flipped her over, but she was silenced with the insistent pressure of his lips and she submitted to his passionate domination.

When Spike pulled away, he groaned out, “One day’s not enough to teach you all I know. But I bet we could have fun trying.” If she wanted to learn, he’d take that time to show her how good it could be, and maybe push his way inside her so deep that she wouldn’t be able to leave him. He kissed her once more, gasping into the kiss, then continued, “Let’s take showers, yeah? Get nice and clean before I dirty you up again.”

Flushing more at his words, Buffy arched into the sudden brush of his fingers on her nipple, a soft sigh escaping from her kiss bruised lips. She found herself overtaken by a passion free of any nervousness from the night before, and nodded her agreement with the suggestion.

“Do you want to go first?” She asked breathlessly.

“Was thinking together, pet. Saves on the hot water. I could bathe you.” He winked at her, utterly charmed by her sudden display of naiveté.

“Oh!” She covered her face momentarily, embarrassed, then pulled her hand away and said a little sexily, laughter in her eyes, “Sounds good. But, you know, we’re already in bed…”

“I think you’re trying to seduce me, love,” he mused, pulling her up from the bed. “I just thought we could relax and I’d pamper you as a lady deserves, but if you want something else, all you have to do is ask---“

Glaring at him, Buffy cut him off with a kiss. Somehow they made it into the bathroom as they removed each other’s shirts quickly and barely left each other’s lips. Spike blindly reached for the nozzle and turned on the shower, muttering an apology for how long the water took to heat up before focusing his attention on pulling his pants off of Buffy’s hips.

“Towels!” He said suddenly, darting out to his room and grabbing them out of his duffel bag. He was back quickly, tossing them on the counter before pulling Buffy into the warm shower. They moaned happily under the firm water pressure, and Spike curled his tongue behind his teeth as he raked his eyes over Buffy’s body. Then with a smile, he reached out to grab a washcloth and started soaping up her soft skin as the small bathroom filled with steam.

“Now, what do you think you’re doing?” She giggled when he continued to bathe her casually.

“Gonna take care of you, pet,” he purred into her ear. “Make you feel so good.”

Spike rubbed her skin, first with the washcloth then with his hands alone, soothing any remnants of stress or worry from her body. He dug deeper into her muscles, and Buffy couldn’t help but arch into his touch and moan softly. She was surprised at the tender gesture, turned on beyond belief but enjoying the slow torture of his relaxed ministrations.

His erection nudged her hip, but he didn’t seem inclined to do anything with it yet, as he poured shampoo into his hands next and lathered up her hair. With gentle fingers he massaged her scalp, then quickly washed his own hair like an afterthought.

“Don’t have conditioner, love,” he said softly.

“No problem.” Her sigh was blissful, and sent more blood down to his painfully hard cock.

He rinsed the shampoo off of both of them before his hands returned to massage her back again, then moved down around and crept down her front.

“Mmm…” She leaned back into his hard form, body completely under his control as he stroked her stomach teasingly.

Suddenly, her hand crept behind her to grasp his cock, and he bucked in surprise. “Oh, yeah…”

Spike dipped his hand lower and slid it between her legs, finding the hot slickness that hid there. Unerringly he found her clit and stroked it gently, lips moving to find a tender, sensitive bit of skin under her chin. The night before he’d been so concerned with the fact that it was her first time, and now he was letting go of his control as he was consumed with the need to possess her.

The pace of his ministrations quickened, and Buffy felt her knees weaken from the waves of pleasure shooting out of her core. Spike nudged her forward and tucked his knee in between her legs to spread them slightly, panting against the back of her neck.

“Put your hands on the wall, Buffy,” he ordered.

She obeyed, reluctantly removing her hand from his flesh to steady herself, shivering a bit despite the warmth of the water. His body melded to hers easily, his thick cock pressing against the crack of her ass. One hand banded around her waist to hold her up, while the other dove between her legs again, curling his fingers up inside her.

The cry she let out echoed in the room, and he fastened his lips to her shoulder in a gentle bite. He’d memorized what she’d liked the night before and used the experience to work her into a quivering mess, as he ground his cock between her perfectly round cheeks, murmuring gentle reassurances when she cried out again.

He knew he didn’t need to reassure her when she sighed, “Spike…yeah…”

“Yeah?” He released her flesh and moved to whisper in her ear throatily. “Tell me what you need, baby.”

“Need? I…”

“Need another finger up your sweet little pussy?”

“Oh!” She felt her stomach flutter at his frank words, fighting the urge to almost laugh from the pleasure.

“Or do you need me to rub your clit faster…”

“Um…both…”

“Good girl,” he groaned against her skin and did what she asked, rubbing his hips harder against her, which pressed her pelvis down onto his fingers. The need to take her was strong but he wanted to draw out the sweet torment, tease her until she was begging for more of him.

When Buffy started to grind on her own, fucking his fingers with thrusts of her hips, he moved his other hand up to squeeze her breasts and flick her nipples. His lips pressed hard into her neck, tongue tasting her flesh and catching falling drops of water.

She came suddenly when he bit down suddenly, just a little harder than she would have expected. He held her up with his arm around her waist again as he lengthened her orgasm with well practiced caresses, stilling his hips to keep himself controlled.

The heat in her body was just as powerful as the night before, but different, less explosive but more intense. It seemed to last forever as she arched towards his hands then back against his erection, fingers clawing uselessly against the slick tile wall as she shook and shivered as cooling shards of water prickled her skin.

Mingling with the sound of her lustful pants, Spike’s low murmur made her pussy throb more. “That’s it…love how you look when you come, wish I could see those pretty eyes…”

Her body sagged in his arms, and he spun her around quickly to press her against the shower door and steal her last few high, breathy sighs with a kiss, shaking just as hard as she was.

“Let’s get you back in my bed,” He smirked when he’d managed to calm down. “Got a lot of other things to teach you, Ms. Summers.”





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Spike made good on his promise.

But he wasn’t like any teacher Buffy had ever had.

As she lay curled up against his chest, sated and boneless, she was ignorant of time or space, or anything but him, her mind drifting over the events of the day. The way he stroked her now, softly and lovingly, contrasted with the way he’d held her an hour earlier---rough and dominating---or before that, fierce and passionate. He’d guided her through her fears and her insecurities, made her touch a part of herself she hadn’t known existed, and ignited a fire inside of her that was still burning long after their bodies had given out, drained of energy.

The start of the day of sex lessons had been slow at first, to be fair. Not everything had gone exactly according to Spike’s brilliant seduction plan.

On the way out of the shower, he had slipped and fallen directly on his ass, which instantly broke the passionate moment and Buffy had dissolved into laughter. Scowling and grumbling, he’d stood and thrust a towel at her, skin tinged slightly pink with embarrassment. Finally he’d started to chuckle himself, and they’d started teasing each other on the way out of the bathroom.

A still hard cock barely covered by a towel had caught Buffy’s attention, and she’d tried to gather the courage to push Spike on the bed and jump him. He’d made the move first, a little clumsily.

He was, at that point, completely over-excited and bursting at the seams with glee. He had never felt a connection like that with anyone, and now he had the day stretching out in front of him, filled with possibilities. She was so gorgeous, skin still speckled with shimmers of water and hair tangled around her face, and he could barely contain his lust.

He was a little grabby, and bit her lip harder than he meant to, and fumbled with the condom for an embarrassingly long time. Any suaveness from the night before had vanished, and he felt like the inexperienced one in the room, and Buffy had repeated her move from the night before, taking the rubber and sliding it onto him confidently.

No, it hadn’t been quite as smooth and practiced as the first time. But once Spike was inside of her, it was like heaven again, and the eroticisms of his praises and instructions helped drive her quickly to another peak. His touch was light and soft on her face and breasts, in contrast with the fast snapping of his hips, and she was driven entirely by her body’s desires, unable to worry or even think with his skin covering hers. Buffy just listened, moaning her approval of everything he did, letting her instincts take over as she writhed beneath him.

“So bloody sexy, kitten… that’s the way, fuck me back…God, can’t get enough of you, need you…yeah, squeeze me just like that…”

It wasn’t long before Spike felt the tell-tale flutters around his cock, and he moaned along with Buffy as she came, trying every way he knew to keep himself from losing himself in her. God he needed to come, he needed it like a dying man needs absolution, but the idea of leaving her safe haven was heartbreaking. He wanted this moment to last forever, to never lose the sweet bliss of her complete trust in him, trust to let him touch her like no one else ever had. He managed to keep himself in check and rode out the pleasurable torture of her orgasm, driving hard against her until her body went limp.

He stilled himself on top of her, panting hard as he pressed kisses to her shoulder and throat, reigning in his desire, not wanting to scare her off with his intensity. Her hands were softly stroking his back, tickling along his spine, soothing his tension. It felt as if his pounding heart was trying to burst out of his chest, and he realized that pressed together as they were, he could feel Buffy’s heart beating as well.

Even despite twice now experiencing earth-shattering orgasms, she felt the flickers of renewed passion as Spike’s body shifted a bit above her, and his still rock hard erection slid out of her pussy. “Spike, please…” Buffy breathed out, arching her back and raising her hips to take him back inside. “Don’t stop.”

A choked, awed groan slipped from his lips, and Spike grasped her face between his hands, focusing intently on her swollen lips and the pleading little mewls that came from them. After a moment he rolled them over, hands gentle but demanding on her body as he settled her astride him, then began to direct her movements tenderly, murmuring soft instructions, making her feel comfortable and powerful as he helped her take control.

“Want to watch you, baby,” he said softly, folding his hands behind his head as his eyes raked over her naked form.

It was only a few seconds of nerves and timidity before Buffy began to move slowly, hands resting on Spike’s muscular chest for support. Beneath the sparkling lust in his eyes she had seen a sort of blissful wonder that made her want to impress him further, deepen that look of…affection, maybe. She couldn’t describe it, but it melted her defenses and made her feel treasured. She had no words to describe what she was feeling, just expressed herself with breathy moans and cries that Spike seemed to like a lot, if the tight ticking muscles of his body were anything to go by.

There was nothing Spike could do at this point to stop the swell of an orgasm deep within his body, because Buffy seemed to know exactly how to ride him to get herself off, and it was driving his cock to desperation. But the sight of her was what made him permanently lose control, watching her seek her own pleasure, skin flushed pink and occasionally saying his name.

He opened his mouth to warn her of his impending orgasm, but she silenced him when she leaned forward to press her lips to his hard as she came first, suddenly and with a force that made him follow directly behind her, hips rising off the bed to shove himself fully inside of her, a wordless groan escaping his throat.

They collapsed in a heap of limbs, panting heavily, skin hot against skin. Buffy’s face was buried in Spike’s neck as she lay on top of him, and suddenly, she started to laugh.

Confused, Spike lifted her off of him and settled her into his side, and she was giggling relentlessly, small body shaking with the force of her laughs and the aftershocks of pleasure she was still feeling.

“Um, pet?” He asked tentatively. Buffy raised her head and kissed him quickly on the cheek, trying and failing to suppress her laughter. The sound of it was bright and happy, almost surprised. A slow, happy smile spread across his face as he saw the relaxed, completely sated glow of his girl, and he caressed her hair softly as she curled back against him, slowly calming until she was fast asleep.

*~*~*

“Is it my question or yours?”

Spike smiled contentedly, pulling her body closer to his. “Oh, you’re awake. Think it’s yours, kitten…mmm. That feels good.” Her long nails were delicately tracing his muscles.

“You have really nice abs, do you know that?”

“That your question?”

“No. That would be boring, wouldn’t it?”

“Is that your question?” He teased playfully.

The hand she was using to tease him so wickedly suddenly smacked him hard, and she said, “Bad boy.”

Yeah, okay, he was getting hard again. “Don’t damage the abs, love. They’re a work of art.”

“Okay, here’s my question. How did you get so damn cocky?” Her head was still cradled on his chest, her words were said with a slight giggle.

“Years of practice, love.”

“Don’t want to know anything about your practicing! Jerk.”

In response, Spike moved to tickle her mercilessly, which turned into a chase around the room that ended up with them right back on the bed, breathless and smiling.

*~*~*

“Well, my mum and I get along great. She’s the one who got me started me reading, bought me a journal for my poems, always said she loved them even though they were bloody awful. It was just me and her for most of my life.”

“Do you miss her?” Buffy stroked his hair softly, enjoying the sweet comfort of cuddling and talking with Spike. His head was resting in her lap, his eyes were closed, and he looked almost like an angel, face younger in repose as he answered her prying questions with no protest.

“Yeah. ‘Course. Once I have the dosh I want to head back to England to see her. She keeps offering to pay, but…don’t want to take her money when it was my choice to leave.”

“Because of Drusilla?” She was intent on getting him to talk more about his past, but he seemed to be carefully hiding it from her, not approaching any of the issues Faith had mentioned to her.

Spike’s voice was a touch softer when he said, “Yes. But it’s my question now, yeah?”

*~*~*

“Definitely better than I expected,” Buffy giggled.

“Oi! Didn’t have high expectations of me?” Spike frowned, tickling her gently until she squirmed, glad his question hadn’t embarrassed her too much. Asking a girl what she thought of your performance was a tricky thing.

“No, I just…All my girlfriends said it was kind of a disappointment, and that…yeah. That was not a disappointment. So I’m a lucky girl.”

He smirked proudly where she couldn’t see him, thoroughly satisfied that, if nothing else, she’d always remember him for what he could do for her in bed.

Even if Buffy never loved him, he could give her that.

*~*~*

“Oh…God…”

“You’re so tense, kitten. Got these little knots up your neck.”

“Right there, ohhh…”

“Still haven’t answered my question.”

Her brain was complete mush. She didn’t even remember the question, let alone know how to answer. “What?”

“I asked about this whole Miss Sunnydale thing. Did I really shag a beauty queen?”

“Ohh…shut up, it’s not a big deal, my mom made me do it. Oh!”

“Sore?”

She sighed and wiggled against the erection she could feel pressed into her ass, newly aroused and reenergized. “Yeah, but it’s good…”

*~*~*

“Please…please…”

Buffy really did like to beg. And Spike certainly didn’t mind hearing it. “So good, pet,” Spike purred as he came up for air, still pumping three fingers inside of her. “You taste so good.”

“No, I don’t,” she gasped out, clawing his hair.

“No? Have you tasted yourself?”

Her sharp, “No!” of surprise turned into a long moan when he sucked her clit between his lips again, a smirk on his face as she grabbed his hair harder.

*~*~*

If Spike never stopped touching her, she would be perfectly okay with that. If she lived the rest of her life in a bed with him, forgoing food and television and showers, she’d be really, really good with that.

Alright, maybe showers were necessary, because she was already covered in sweat and her own juices, though Spike was doing a fine job of licking her thighs clean as she laid boneless after her orgasms.

She wished she could stay like this forever.

*~*~*

“Jesus, where’d you learn to do that?” Spike gasped out in awe, as Buffy entirely swallowed his cock. “Never mind, don’t answer,” he corrected himself. She giggled slightly as she pulled her mouth back, and the vibrations made him shudder. “Don’t laugh at me, kitten. Might have to punish you.”

She arched one eyebrow as she circled the head of his dick with her tongue, a playful challenge in her eyes.

“Fuck…no, that’s an advanced class, kitten. Not sure you’re ready…oh, yeah, do that again…for that kind of lesson. God, that’s good.” Buffy was teasing him now, with light, barely there caresses with her tongue, and she giggled again at his frustrated whimper. “Alright, that’s it,” he growled, pulling her up to lie on top of him, leering at her. “You naughty girl.”

*~*~*

Her ass was tingling slightly as it scraped Spike’s sheets, reminding her of the playful spanking, and Buffy cried out her satisfaction. Her legs were bent and spread wide, his hands were firm on her wrists and he was driving into her at a torturously slow pace.

Spike’s lips were busy teasing hers, brushing gentle kisses and licks every so often on her mouth. She arched up for more of his touches, wanting speed and passion to sate the burning need in her, but he was teasing her with light caresses and tender domination.

“You’re evil,” she sighed in frustration, arching her hips up pleadingly. “Seriously, totally evil.”

He grinned against her cheek. “And you love it.”

*~*~*

It was late afternoon. Probably wasn’t a lot of time left before someone came looking for her. Angel the wanker knew where she was, anyone could come storming in soon, ready to try and take her away from him.

Spike had given up the teasing of himself and Buffy and started making love to her the way they both wanted. Raw, messy, passionate. Their kissing had no finesse, just a desperate merging of tongues as they moved their hips together and apart, Buffy still flat on her back beneath him but with her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Spike thought it might be the last time, and he was going to make the most of it, wrenching every last spasm out of her body that he could, trying to tell her everything with his body that he couldn’t say with his words.

*~*~*

“You killed me,” Spike groaned, collapsed half on top of Buffy, his head resting between her breasts. “I don’t think I could come again if I was paid. And I’d be right pricey, too.”

She almost giggled, a sort of half sound that she choked on. She didn’t think she could manage any words, so she just closed her eyes and sighed contentedly. She felt Spike shift above her and get off the bed, but couldn’t muster the energy to care. A few minutes later he was back, laying on his side next to her, curled up around her body.

“Or did I kill you?” He asked playfully, nipping at her shoulder.

Buffy struggled to open her eyes, and said, “Nope. I could go another round or five.”

He laughed at her clear lie and kissed her cheek softly. “My little sex kitten.”

A question was forming on the tip of Buffy’s tongue, but she didn’t want to sound crazy for asking it. There was no way what she was feeling was normal, not this fast, and she didn’t want to make Spike uncomfortable after all that he’d done for her. But she wondered and hoped, after what Faith had said to her, that maybe he would want to stay.

But she couldn’t ask. So she nudged him gently in the side. “It’s your question, buster.”

“What else do you want to know about me?” He blurted out quickly, body stilling completely the second he finished speaking.

Buffy turned and looked at him curiously, then answered, “Everything.”




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They were dozing now, curled together and intertwined as close as they could be. Any further questions or lessons were postponed, their bodies and minds begged for rest. Soon their grumbling stomachs would drive them from the bed, and the real world wouldn’t be as distant as both of them would like it to be.

The sounds of Faith and Xander out in the bar, getting ready to open for the night, stirred them both, and simultaneously they sat up and stretched, heads turned away from each other. A sort of awkwardness had started to settle over them when they were touching or talking, when each let their minds wander to their nascent feelings about each other. Confusion and insecurity kept them quiet, unsure what the other’s reaction would be, but both felt like there was a ticking clock in the room.

Buffy opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, and studied the movement of the muscles in Spike’s back as he pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. She fingered the shirt she’d had on for some of the day, and glanced over at Faith’s clothing waiting for her on the desk.

It was a seemingly insignificant decision. There was no reason to think she was leaving immediately. Would putting on Faith’s clothes make him think she wanted to leave?

Because she really, really didn’t. Ever, if she had her say.

Her brain had been working a mile a minute, going through every possibility, every pro and con, every hidden drawback or positive result. She didn’t think her brain had worked this hard since her philosophy class last winter.

When she got home…Hell was coming to Earth. Seriously.

What she had done went against every one of the tenants of the Summers family belief system. Loyalty. Duty. Commitment. Since she was little the point had been hammered home that she had expectations to fulfill. Hank and Joyce had sent her to the best schools, given her everything she could have wanted, and asked for one thing in return. Her total and complete…submission. Because she was a Summers.

But recently their family name didn’t hold the same sort of power in the community. After a few years of her fathers failed business ventures, and a scandal involving her Aunt Darla and the Mayor, less and less invitations were forthcoming to Sunnydale’s most prestigious events, and her parents were furious.

Her marriage was going to be the answer to all of that. Not that she had been, like, commanded to marry Angel or anything. It wasn’t like that at all. But the second it had become clear to Hank and Joyce that a relationship between the two was possible they’d been supportive, in their own special domineering way. And they’d been hopeful. And, well, pushy.

Nathaniel O’Connor was her father’s boss, or at least, was going to be in a few weeks. Or was supposed to be. She didn’t really get all the details, but she knew the basics. Her father’s failing company was going to be purchased by O’Connor Industries, and then they’d be as wealthy as they were in her childhood. Her mother would have her status back, and the Summers name would be tied to the most powerful family in town.

All she was supposed to do was marry the man everyone assumed she loved. Simple.

Or not. Because she didn’t. Not anymore, if she ever really had.

“Buffy?” Spike asked, frowning at the faraway look on her face.

She started, and forced a smile to her face. “Sorry. I went all space case.” Quickly, she slipped on his shirt, then walked over and reached for Faith’s pants.

She knew deep down there was nothing to figure out, not really. As Spike reached for her and kissed her gently on the forehead, she imagined it, just for a moment.

Being with him.

God, she wanted it. The ease with which they connected, the way she felt when he touched her, the swelling of emotion in her gut when he looked at her in that way of his. His head tilting slightly, his eyes flickering with lust and amusement and something softer. Sometimes he curled his tongue at her, or smirked more than smiled. But still, it was the eyes that mattered.

“Buffy?” Spike said again. “Are you sure you’re alright, love?”

“Mmhmm,” she said as she leaned forward, and nuzzled into his chest.

He frowned at her silence, at the way she was clinging to him but not looking him in the eye. He didn’t claim to know her well enough to know what was going on with her, but he did know that something wasn’t quite right.

He didn’t know if he should ask, or could. Was he allowed to pry into her head to try and decipher her moods and thoughts after only a day? Had they reached that point? Despite their hours of talking, despite the fact that they had now explored every inch of each other’s bodies, they were still nearly strangers, with less than twenty-four hours of history between them.

A knock on the door interrupted them, and he didn’t get the chance to decide what he would say.

“Hey, guys,” said Xander when Spike opened the door. “Um, there’s someone here. For Buffy.”

The golden color of her skin faded, but her voice was casual as she said, “Who?”

“Redhead chick? Babbles a lot?”

Buffy’s body relaxed, but she felt a flicker of anger as she thought of her friend. “Willow. Okay, thanks, I’ll be right there.”

Xander nodded and spun around, whistling as he made his way down the hall.

“Maid of honor?” Spike recalled the name from a conversation the night before.

“Yep,” she sighed. “I’m guessing she’s the ambassador from Planet Real World. I should---“

“Go with her, yeah,” he interrupted dejectedly. “I understand, I---“

“---probably at least talk to her---“

“---can drive you home, or she’s here so---“

“---and let her know I want to stay. I mean, if---“

“---she can probably do that. Drive you.”

“---you want me to.”

They’d talked over each other and it took each a moment to register the other’s words.

Buffy wilted. “Oh. Okay, I’ll just go.“

Spike brightened. “Of course I want you to stay!”

They chuckled awkwardly as they spoke simultaneously again.

Silence reigned only for a moment after their laughter faded, until Spike stepped forward to fold Buffy into his arms again. She fit there perfectly, her head cradled in his chest and her hips snug against his, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I want you to stay,” he said again, voice suddenly hoarse. “Need you to stay.”

A shiver crept up her spine and she bit back anything more than a simple agreement, her mind still reeling, overwhelmed with a sudden rush of happiness. “Okay,” she said softly as she snuggled deeper into his embrace, inhaling deeply the scent of him.

Then she turned away and headed for the door, tossing a brilliant smile over one shoulder before disappearing down the hall. Spike let his knees give out and he sank onto the edge of the bed, stunned at what had just happened.

What the hell was that?

It had been so easy.

Sure, they hadn’t exactly discussed any logistics. Such as how long she was staying, or why, or what she wanted, or what he needed, or what they were. But she wanted to stay. Even if it was just an hour longer, it was one more hour he had with her, and he’d take what he could get.



Buffy slowly walked down the hall, dreading the conversation to come. The bar hadn’t opened yet and Xander and Faith were in the corner stacking glasses and bickering, while loud music emanated from the speakers. Willow was hovering near the counter, eyes wide as she glanced around the establishment, like she wasn’t sure how she got there and didn’t know if she wanted to be.

She turned and caught sight of Buffy, and her body relaxed in relief. “Hey Buffy!” She said cheerily, pep and positivity clearly forced as she scurried over.

“Hi,” the blonde replied flatly as she reluctantly accepted the enthusiastic hug of her long time best friend and maid of honor.

Willow began babbling immediately. “I am so, so sorry about Angel showing up here. All I did was tell him I talked to you and when I went to the bathroom he looked at my phone and got the number and, yeah, okay I may have Googled it for him because he sort of doesn’t get the concept and he smiled at me but I swear I didn’t---“

“I’m still pissed off,” Buffy interrupted firmly, arm crossed over her chest protectively. Her readiness to admit her feelings shocked her, and apparently shocked Willow as well, whose face crumpled. With that sad expression on her face, the girl looked just like she had in elementary school when the two had practically been soul mates, and Buffy felt her anger soften a bit, and she rolled her eyes at her own weakness. “But it’s good that he came, it gave me the chance to end things for real.”

Her friend’s already wide eyes grew to the size of saucers. Her voice was high pitched and shocked as she said, “Seriously? You broke up with him? I can’t believe you’d do that!”

“Why wouldn’t I, Willow?” Buffy snapped, then realized what was wrong with Willow’s surprise. “You didn’t know that I…what did Angel say when he got back?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t talk to him, but…Buffy, let’s just get out of this place and we can---“

“I’m not leaving.”

“Wh-what?”

She sighed and rubbed her temples, where a headache was starting to build. “I don’t want to leave here yet.”

“Um, okay…” Willow said slowly. “Let’s just start at the beginning?” She gestured to the bar while wearing a tentatively hopeful smile.

“Fine.”

They each sat down on a stool, avoiding each other’s gaze, feeling a sort of awkwardness that had never been between them before, in all their years of friendship.

“You need to come home,” Willow finally said firmly. “Your parents are flipping out, Angel’s upset---“

“I don’t care if he’s upset!” Buffy said loudly, then softened her voice when she saw Faith glance over at them worriedly. “And I’ll deal with my parents, I will, I just---“

“Deal with them? How do you think you’re going to just…I don’t get it, Buffy! What’s wrong with you?”

“What do you mean, what’s wrong with me?”

“I totally get you leaving yesterday, I do. But just…abandoning your parents and running away to some dive bar off the highway and whose shirt is that?” Willow’s nose wrinkled, but she tried to soften her voice. “What are you doing? This isn’t like you!”

“Yeah, doing what I want and following my heart. Bad Buffy!” She retorted sarcastically.

“I’m worried about you. I don’t want you to just…make this huge mistake and regret it.”

“Why would I regret it? And why is this a mistake? I can’t marry him, Willow, the real mistake would have been doing that! I thought…God, I thought out of everyone in my life you’d be on my side.” She choked back any tears, steeling herself to not show any weakness, lest it be confused for lack of conviction in her decision.

“Buffy, I’m not saying you’re wrong, it’s just…you’ve never acted like this. Running away and avoiding responsibility and spending the night at some gross---“

“Oh, come on, it’s a bar,” Buffy interrupted. “It’s not a crack den.”

“Okay, okay,” Willow sighed. “I just…I’m trying to understand. And I don’t. What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” Buffy echoed thoughtfully, asking the question of herself, as she finally looked over at her friend’s worried face. “I know it’s where I want to be. I can’t explain it more than that, it’s just Spike---“ She cut herself off and winced in advance of Willow’s reaction.

“Spike?” She squealed, seemingly horrified. “Is this the guy you left with? Please tell me you didn’t do anything, you were in no condition to---“

“I was in every condition! I knew exactly what I was doing.” Buffy protested.

“Okay, okay,” Willow sighed, and they sat in silence for a moment. “So, it’s about the guy?” she finally said.

“No. I mean, yes, but…It’s not just about him. It’s about me.”

The redhead frowned, but seemed to reign in any further judgments or accusations. “You still need to go home.”

“But---“

“I had to beg your parents not to come get you last night,” Willow said. “And then again this morning. If I go back without you, there’s no way…you have to at least come talk to them. You can’t just hide forever.”

As much as she wanted to continue protesting, Buffy knew the truth when she heard it, and she felt a rush of gratitude at hearing that Willow had, in fact, fought for her. With a plaintive moan she dropped her head to the counter, banged it gently a few times, then sat back up. “They’re going to kill me.”

“It’s entirely possible,” Willow said dryly. They shared a small smile, which seemed to encourage the girl. “I really am sorry, Buffy, I…I don’t mean to upset you. I’m trying to look out for you and maybe I don’t know what’s right, but…I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“I know,” Buffy sighed. “And you’re right, I should at least…go talk to everyone and settle them down. Or try to.”

“Okay!” Willow’s voice was relieved. “My car’s out front, let’s get your stuff and go?”

“Fine,” Buffy agreed. “I…I need to go talk to Spike first, though.”

“Do I get to meet this Spike?”

“Would you want to?”

Willow nodded. “You seem …different. And I don’t know if that’s good or bad but if he’s the reason, I want to meet him! I’m the best friend, remember? I mean, I still am, right?”

Buffy laughed despite herself. “You’ll have to piss me off a lot more to get that label rescinded.”

“Good to know.”

Buffy rose from her stool and headed back towards Spike’s room, moving as slowly as possible. The day’s glow had darkened and she was leaving her haven. She knew it needed to be done, but dreaded it just the same.

But what she was going to say to Spike was still a mystery to her as she walked unhurriedly down the hall. How to explain she was leaving but didn’t want to be leaving him, how to tell him what she needed and wanted from him.

It was crazy, she was crazy, this whole thing was crazy…but as she entered his room and saw him sitting at the desk, she was hit with a thought, and she froze in place to stare. Spike was biting his lip, scribbling frantically, one hand supporting his head with fingers intertwined in his errant curls. A breath caught in her throat at the simple beauty of him, and that new thought swelled and grew until she couldn’t ignore it any longer. And once acknowledged, that thought became forever part of her, became the most important thing in her world.

She was falling in love with him.






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Spike paced his room for a few minutes, fists tightly clenched, arguing with himself as to whether or not he should follow Buffy. Maybe she needed his support. Maybe she wanted him there.

Or maybe he just didn’t want to be away from her.

The room was tiny, and started to feel smaller and smaller as he walked back and forth, back and forth, straining his ears for sounds from the bar even though he knew there was no way he could hear what they were saying. He briefly thought of sneaking out and eavesdropping, then shook that thought away with an embarrassed chuckle. He wasn’t quite that obsessed. Yet.

Finally he collapsed on the bed and stared at the ceiling, heart racing, a goofy smile spreading across his face.

She wanted to stay. With him.

Hearing that admittance from her, no matter how small it really was in the grand scheme of things, Spike had decided one thing. As long as she wanted him, he’d be with her. He wouldn’t be the one to leave. Whatever he could do to keep her, he’d do it, bugger the consequences.

And if she didn’t really want him, if this was just a brief extension of her little rebellion and in a few hours or days she wanted to head home and leave him…well, he didn’t like to think about that, but he had a backup plan. He’d drink himself into a stupor, and leave first thing the next morning. One day, or maybe a few, wouldn’t make a huge difference to him.

Once she was gone, so was he.

But maybe…maybe she wouldn’t leave.

His tension and worries faded away as he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, still smiling, content for the first time in a long time. He’d made a choice, he knew what he wanted, and he was going for it. He was back to the way he used to be full force, after months of living in a self-constructed prison. The old Spike was back.

The truth in that statement was made clear by the lightness in his heart, replacing the heavy dread that had been typical since Drusilla’s departure. He wasn’t stewing in his own juices, dwelling on his faults and mistakes. For once he was enjoying the present, hoping for the future, instead of living in the past and living on regrets like they were sustenance.

But what made Spike truly realize he’d turned a corner was when his fingers suddenly twitched, and words began to form in his mind. It was such an alien feeling that he almost didn’t recognize it. Then he leapt up from the bed and moved to the desk, lips moving unconsciously as the words begged to be released. He finally found a pencil and his old journal, buried in the back of the desk drawer, and sat to write.

The words poured out of him. Short phrases, snippets of dialogue, descriptions. Images, thoughts, situations. It wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t even linear, but for the first time in months he was creating, filling first one page then two, glimpses of genius buried between random thoughts. And each word, each letter, was completely, entirely inspired by Buffy.

He didn’t notice when she first entered the room, so wrapped up as he was in the forgotten feeling of writing. But after a few seconds, his body became aware of her. His skin hummed, his heart seized, and he turned to see her hovering in the doorway.

He jumped up and made it to her in three steps. She squealed in girlish surprise as he wrapped her in his arms and lifted her, twirling her in a circle before depositing her on her back on the bed.

“Spike, wha---“ she started to ask, but his lips on hers cut off any further questioning. He tried to pour everything he was feeling into that kiss---elation about her staying, gratitude for the gift she’d given him. He tried to tell her that she was his muse, that she’d turned him back around, that she was everything he’d ever wanted, that if she’d have him, he---

He couldn’t let his brain go any further. Just because he was the old Spike again didn’t mean he had to revive all his traits---like his tendency towards falling too hard, too fast, and laying himself bare at the feet of his chosen love. That was one thing he could hide for now.

Buffy struggled to retain her train of thought under the onslaught of emotion she was experiencing. The light touch of his skin on hers wiped out all her self-control and sent her spiraling into lust, into a blissful state of unawareness. She didn’t remember that Willow was waiting for her or that she would be facing a sort of firing squad in a few minutes. Nothing mattered but Spike and the way he was making her feel. She gave herself over fully to him, pliant and willing, drowning in the intensity of his kiss.

Her mouth was soft and wet against his, and he let out a whimper. His body was too tired to respond in any physical way, but he still ached for her, needed her as close to him as possible, and he deepened the kiss. As he reveled in her touch he let his mind wander to how they could spend the evening, tomorrow, next week.

The kiss went on too long and Buffy began to feel light-headed, pushing gently at Spike’s shoulders and letting out a slight whine of protest when he didn’t move away.

“Sorry, love,” he gasped out when he pulled back, a bashful smile curling his mouth as he saw her flushed face.

“It’s okay.” The separation of their lips meant her ability to think started to return, and she pushed his shoulders again, needing him further away from her before she could even begin to figure out what to say.

Words had never been her strongest gift, and the times she got into the most trouble with her parents or teachers were the times when she tried her hardest to explain something. She stumbled over her own thoughts, stuttered, said things she didn’t mean and meant to say things she didn’t. And with Spike looking at her so closely, she didn’t know how she’d get out what she was thinking. She wanted to believe that he’d understand why she had to go, but a part of her feared she wouldn’t be able to explain. With the sudden rush of intense emotion she felt towards him, it was nearly impossible to imagine that she’d ever be able to describe what she was feeling. What she wanted.

Spike frowned, delight deflating as he watched Buffy sit up, eyes averted from him, lip caught between her teeth tightly. Her body language was reminiscent of when he’d seen her on the steps the day before---and had it really only been a day? “What’s wrong, pet?” He asked softly, reaching out to brush her hair away from her cheek.

Unintentionally Buffy found herself shying away from his touch, and regretted the tiny flinch immediately when his face fell. He looked totally crushed, and she hated herself for the words that came out of her mouth next, devoid of the finesse or gentleness she’d hoped for, tinged with a casualness she didn’t feel. “Nothing’s wrong, but Willow’s actually going to take me home.”

There was a pause, a pause that seemed eternal to both of them. “Now?” Spike finally asked, his voice unbearably morose even to his own ears.

“Yeah, I need to---“

He couldn’t hear anymore, couldn’t allow her to placate him with meaningless words that wouldn’t change the fact that she was going. “That’s okay, pet. You all ready to go?”

She frowned at the casual way he accepted the news. “Spike, it’s not that---‘

“Don’t worry about it,” he interrupted again, his own self-pity distracting him from the tears welling up in her eyes as he glanced down at his hand, clenched so tightly in a fist his nails were breaking the skin of his palm. If he avoided looking at her, he could avoid having to watch her go. “I can drive you, or no your mate is here. I’ll walk you out.”

“Just let me explain---” She tried again.

“No, you don’t have to, I get it. I’m not…it’s fine, I understand.” He stood up quickly, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“Oh, do you? Do you really?” she spat, the anger behind her words shocking him into sitting again, “Why don’t you explain it to me, then?”

Spike stared at her, confused for a moment, so wrapped up in his own quick devolution from his new and improved self. After a brief moment Buffy began to speak again, words rolling out of her quickly.

“That’s right, you can’t, because you have no idea what I’m thinking, you’re just off in your own little Spike world lalala and you won’t listen to me!”

“I’m not…lalala,” he protested weakly, finally looking at her, and registering the now familiar signs of her distress. The transition into feeling like a complete ass was over quickly, and he struggled with an explanation.

Buffy didn’t notice the realization dawning in his eyes and continued on her rant, “You know, for someone who was so great before you are kind of acting like a jerk, and I don’t even know why I’m bothering to try and explain it’s not like you seem to care----“

Spike had no way to argue with her, so he did the only thing he could think of, and pulled her lips to his. She squeaked in surprise but relaxed slightly into the kiss as he slid his hands up to cup her face gently.

When the sweet, soft kiss ended, Buffy found herself having a little trouble remembering exactly what she’d been angry about, but she remembered enough to say, “You’re still a jerk.”

He nodded, forehead resting against hers. “Sometimes, yeah. Forgive me?”

“How often does this jerk part of you come out? Because, I’ve been here for awhile and this is the first I’ve seen of it.”

“I’m only a complete berk about fifteen percent of the time, if you want a solid figure.”

Buffy giggled, eyes fluttering shut as long fingers lightly stroked her cheek. But rather than being soothed, she found herself almost more agitated, as she once again struggled for what to say and how to feel. Everything was happening so fast in her life that it seemed as if she couldn’t grab onto anything to hold her steady. Spike felt like he could be her stability but she knew the idea was crazy, since he was just another one of the sudden changes she was trying to figure out. Except she didn’t want to let go of him long enough to find out what would happen to her alone, though she knew she had to.

She pulled away again, but this time Spike let her go and sat quietly as she spoke. “This is just…a lot. I have so much I’m trying to figure out, and I’ve just been hiding out here with you. Can you see that?” He nodded, and a bit of her stress eased. “And I’m trying to be mature about this, right? And it’s not the mature thing to just ignore my parents and Angel and pretend like nothing happened. So I need to go.”

Spike nodded again, her words making perfect sense even as they worried him, though they had nothing to do with him. “I understand, pet.”

“Good,” Buffy sighed, then asked hesitantly, “Um, so are you…I mean are you leaving today, or…?”

He chose his words carefully, considered each syllable. There was no way he was leaving until she told him to, his trip had lost its importance when she made him feel like himself again. Still, he didn’t want to add more responsibility onto her shoulders, making himself just another problem she had to deal with. “I was thinking of sticking around for a bit longer. Xander mentioned something about work in the bar he needs help with.”

“Okay, cool,” she smiled weakly, retaining hope that, although he hadn’t said it, he might be staying for her too. He’d told her earlier he needed her, and that had to be enough for now. “Could you do me a favor? Entertain Willow for just a few minutes, I want to just…um, rinse off in the shower quick?”

He agreed and stood up, reaching out to brush her shoulder with his hand before he forced himself out the door.

A part of him knew he should say something, say anything, say what he thought and what he wanted and speak aloud. Tell her exactly how he was feeling so when she returned home she’d know he would be waiting for her as long as it took, so she would know he was hers if she wanted him.

But he chose not to, chose to let her figure things out for herself and headed out into the bar, now open for business but still nearly empty. A girl who he assumed was Willow sat awkwardly at the bar.

“Are you Spike?” The redhead smiled widely when he approached and stuck out her hand. “Willow Rosenberg, nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he nodded and took a seat next to her. “Buffy’s just…getting her stuff. Did Xander or anyone offer you a drink?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m driving.”

“Ah, right,” he nodded, quickly, scanning the bar and spying Xander delivering drinks to the only other patrons in the bar, settled at a booth in the corner. He struggled for a conversation topic, but after only a moment of silence the girl began to chatter in his ear.

She rambled a bit before finally asking him a question. “So, you’re a waiter?”

“Was. Yesterday was my last day, actually.”

“Oh, okay. So what are you doing now?”

“No plans as of yet.”

“And you live here?”

Spike got the distinct impression he was being interrogated, but the girl’s wide eyes and friendly demeanor softened the questions. Still, he couldn’t resist playing with her a bit. “Yeah, I do,” he said quickly. “And where do you live?”

“Um. Me? Buffy and I share, or shared, I guess, an apartment out by campus.”

“Ah. And what’s your major?”

“Biology---hey! I’m supposed to be asking you the questions, mister!” she protested with a frown.

Spike chuckled. “Alright, I’m sorry. Ask away.”

“I…well it’s ruined now that you know I’m asking you questions,” Willow whined.

“Well, it was a bit obvious,” he laughed again, then calmed. “I swear, anything you want to ask, I’ll answer.”

Her face grew serious, and she asked, “Okay. What do you want from Buffy?”

The question surprised him. “I---what do you mean?”

“Look, you take her away from her wedding when you don’t even know her or what she wanted, then you keep her here all night and…look, you seem nice and all and I’m sure Buffy would kill me for saying this, but things are going to be really bad for her when she gets home and I just don’t want you to get in the way being all…cool bar guy.”

“I still don’t follow.”

Willow sighed, and slowed down her words. “Buffy and I have been friends forever, and I worry about her. And I don’t want to have to worry about her…with you. Because she deserves the best, and if you really do like her, then you know, yay? But right now she’s got a lot to deal with and I just don’t want you to confuse her.”

“Okay,” Spike said with a frown, considering her words and his mind sticking on the phrase deserve the best. He knew it to be true, and knew he certainly wasn’t that.

“Oh, and if you hurt her, I will beat you to death with a shovel. Just so we’re clear---“ Willow snapped her mouth shut and stared over his shoulder, and he turned to see Buffy heading towards them.

“That was quick,” said Spike, forcing a smile. She was back in Faith’s sweats, had pulled her hair back in a clean bun, and was holding his clothes in her hands.

“Yeah, I’m speedy. I’ll take these home and wash them for you?”

“You’re going to wash my clothes?” he smirked playfully at her, pushing away his awareness of Willow’s suspicious eyes.

“Well, it’s polite, you know. To wash something when you’ve borrowed it.”

“Right, okay then,” Spike nodded. The three stood silent for an awkward moment, each not wanting to be the one to suggest it was time to leave.

“You abandoning us, Buffster?” Xander asked as he walked over and interrupted the group, a desolate pout on his face.

“Not abandoning,” she corrected. “I’m…giving you a break from me. But I’ll be back, okay? Faith said karaoke?”

“For sure,” he nodded eagerly. “She ran out to pick up a part, she’ll be pissed she missed you. I think she loves you more than me.”

Buffy giggled. “I’m planning to steal her away from you, keep on your guard.”

“Will do.” He reached out and gave her an awkward hug, winking at Spike over the top of her blonde head. Willow watched the exchange curiously, then hopped down from her stool.

“I’m going to head out and start up the car,” she announced. “Meet me out there, Buffy?”

“Uh, sure, Wills.”

She headed out the door, and Xander found himself alone with the couple, who were studiously avoiding his gaze. “And I am going to…make myself disappear.” He ducked under the bar and crossed to the other side, doing a poor job of hiding the fact he was watching them in the mirror.

Buffy spoke first, taking one small step closer to Spike, wanting to reach out and kiss him goodbye but afraid the time for such things had passed. “So, you’re sticking around for awhile then?”

“Yeah. I’ll be here.” He took his own step towards her, and there was only a foot of space between them. It would take the littlest movement to breach it, but both kept their hands to themselves, both afraid to make the wrong move when everything between them was new and uncertain.

“Okay,” she started slowly. “I just…I wanted to thank you. For everything. I don’t---“

“There’s no need, love. Really,” he insisted.

“No, there is,” she said firmly. “You were amazing to me, and last night…last night was perfect.”

His whole face lit up at her assessment, and he couldn’t stop himself from pulling her towards him to bestow a soft kiss on her forehead. “It was, pet.”

Warmth spread throughout her body, originating at the skin he’d brushed with his lips, and she threaded her arms around his waist and hugged him tight before stepping away quickly, sure that one more second in his arms and it would be even harder to go.

“So, thank you,” she repeated, and gestured over her shoulder to the door. “I should go.”

He wanted to pull her back to him, prevent her from leaving, keep her captive here away from the people who could turn her back into the meek girl he met yesterday. But he didn’t, couldn’t, and so he nodded his agreement. “I’ll…I’m sure I’ll see you soon, though, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she agreed, biting her tongue to keep from making a promise to be back soon, a promise she knew she couldn’t keep. With one last smile she turned and walked out of the bar, blinking against the sun setting on the horizon just ahead.

In the space of twenty four hours it seemed like everything about her had changed, yet in some ways she felt like nothing was different. As she climbed into Willow’s car and they headed for her house on the opposite side of town, she allowed herself just a few more moments of bliss, imagining the next time she would see Spike.

But the closer they got to her home and her parents, the heavier her heart began to feel, until soon there were no remnants of the peace she’d found with him. When the car pulled up to the gate of her neighborhood, she was officially panicked, and held her breath as they drove up the hill to her home.

She knew what she would be facing when she got out of the car, and for a second wished she could have hidden at that bar forever.

But Buffy knew what she needed to do, and a part of her wanted to do it. To finally stand up for herself and do what she wanted, to pull herself out from under the thumb of her father.

But when she saw him standing in the driveway, arms crossed and eyes burning with anger, she knew it was going to be easier said than done.





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