He kept studying her.

Not just looking. Not just observing. Not just staring, although that was what Liam called it, said with a frown and a promise to talk to Spike about it later. Buffy always told him not to. It wasn’t a problem, she said. The looking didn’t make her uncomfortable, she insisted.

Except it wasn’t just that. It was studying. Like she was a particularly difficult piece of literature, or a work of art, or a map. Something. Something to be examined again and again, like new information would eventually be revealed, like there was always something about her to be explored and interpreted.

His bright blue eyes followed her whenever she was in the vicinity, tracking her every movement. When she spoke, those eyes were fixated on her face, intently, like every syllable she uttered was precious, to be memorized and savored.

When Spike had moved in, Buffy assumed it would be a difficult transition for the both of them. Some of her friends had horror stories about being the stepmothers of teenagers, especially boys, and she had steeled herself for problems. Liam had warned her, too, said his son was a troublemaker, entrenched in his youthful rebellion, determined to fight his parents about anything and everything, no matter how small. At twenty eight, she certainly wasn’t old enough to be his mother, but still she’d read the books on how to be a good stepparent, and swore to Liam she wouldn’t take it personally if he hated her. Which she anticipated. Expected.

But he didn’t. Hate her, that is.

Their first meeting, he’d barely spoken, except to compliment her dress, oddly. Then the next day, when Liam had gone to work, he’d come downstairs and offered, without being asked, to do any chores that needed to be done. And in the six months since then, he’d been nothing but a perfect angel to her.

He was surly with his dad, contrary, difficult. But with her, he was sweet. Accommodating. Even flirtatious when they were alone.

It was subtle. Nothing she could call him out on, nothing she could identify and point to and say “Look! There! Weird!” It was the smirking smile, the raise of his eyebrow, the gentle brush of his hand on her shoulder.

She didn’t shiver. Well, not because of him. It was just…you know, a natural reaction to being touched. It happened when Liam touched her, too, but much more, of course. Because he was her husband, and she loved him. She did.

So then why was it that every time she came with Liam’s cock inside of her, Spike’s face flashed in her mind? Why did she schedule her day around his so they’d be home at the same time, alone? Why did she let him get away with murder when his father was out of town?

Why did she study him, too?

Buffy had three mantras that suppressed the flare of arousal every time Spike was near.

He’s your stepson. He’s your stepson. He’s your stepson.

You love Liam. You love Liam. You love Liam.

He’s sixteen. He’s sixteen. Sixteensixteensixteensixteensixteensixteen.

They worked. They always worked. Usually worked. But whenever it got too bad, whenever she found herself slipping, staring at him too long, thinking too much, she went upstairs to the master bedroom and locked herself away, determined to wring every last spasm of pleasure out of her body with her own hands so she couldn’t even think of sex when she looked at Spike.

That was where she was now, spread out on her bed, knees bent, one hand on her breast as the other rubbed furiously at her swollen clit, juices dripping into the crack of her ass, trying desperately to think of Liam. Or her high school boyfriend Riley. Or Brad Pitt. Anyone, anyone but Spike.

He’d come home from school, ranting about an English test he had on Monday. She’d majored in English at UC Sunnydale, and even though in the six years since she’d graduated she hadn’t used it once, she still had a decent grasp of Shakespeare. So she’d helped him study a bit. It was the motherly thing to do.

Then he’d said he was going to take a swim before dinner. Invited her to join, and of course she’d said no. And she’d stayed away from all the windows, trying her hardest to keep from seeing him in his swim-trunks, always hung impossibly low on his hips, teasing her with an occasional glimpse of dark hair.

But he’d come to find her after he was done, dripping wet and smelling of chlorine, bleached hair messy and curly and a smile on his soft pink lips.

He’d thanked her for her help earlier. And kissed her on the cheek.

Buffy wanted.

She was sick. Sick sick sick dirty bad wrong sick.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t currently coming for the fourth time, face buried in a pillow, limbs stretching and muscles quivering and pussy aching for something inside of it. Her whimpers and cries were swallowed up by the soft pillow, and as hard as she tried, she couldn’t stop her mind from flashing to Spike.

She gave in. Imagined those too large for his body hands cupped under her ass, fingers probing between her cheeks. Pictured his cock, likely as big as his father’s, driving slowly in and out of her channel. Thought of his eyes, those eyes, drunk with lust and staring at her like they always did.

No, not staring. Studying.

Her fifth orgasm built quickly, starting in her toes and working its way up. Buffy could almost feel his breath on her cheek, hear his accented words of praise, smell his sweat and taste his come as she imagined taking him in her mouth.

She wondered if anyone had done that to him before. Wondered if he’d ever felt a women’s touch, ever slid inside a warm and willing body. Thought that maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t. Hoped.

It would have been so much easier if she could believe what she told Liam. That Spike just needed a mother figure, since his was such a shitty example. That he just wanted approval but was too insecure to seek it from his father. That she wanted to help him, get him back on the right track, make them a family.

She didn’t believe any of that.

Because when Spike studied her, she knew. She could feel it.

He wanted her, too.

As she came for the last time, pinching hard at her nipple and biting down on her lip, she heard a noise from outside her door. She was too far gone to stop, and too far gone to realize that when she lifted her head and arched her back, the pillow fell away from her face.

Buffy moaned, loudly, waves of sensation creeping over her flesh and rendering her drunk with passion.

There was another noise from the other side of the door. A gasp.

She lay on the bed holding her breath, body quivering in the aftermath, frozen as she listened closer. There was nothing for a moment. Silence.

Then the sound of footsteps walking away.

~*~*~*~

Spike appreciated beauty in all its many forms.

Music. Art. Scenery.

And women. Of course, women.

What teenage boy didn’t appreciate a beautiful woman? Well, gay ones, Spike supposed, but they probably just appreciated beautiful men. And with all those hormones raging, it was natural to stare at the opposite sex. Or whatever sex you were interested in.

It was hard to ignore beauty.

And Buffy was beautiful.

Tan, soft skin just aching to be touched. Curly blonde hair that smelled like lilacs. Small, round breasts with nipples constantly poking out of her shirt.

It’s not like he planned it. It’s not like, as part of his “youthful rebellion” as his father called it, he’d planned to fall in love with his stepmother. In fact, he’d sort of planned to hate her, on principle.

You were supposed to hate the woman your father married after leaving your mother. It was just basic human nature.

But he didn’t. You couldn’t hate a woman who had a laugh like bells, who smiled at you like you were special, who listened to you when you talked as if what you said mattered to her. Couldn’t hate a woman who was intelligent, and witty, and just so damn beautiful.

Who masturbated all the bloody time.

Hormones, remember? And curiosity. It wasn’t his fault he was curious!

The first time had been a total accident. He’d wanted to ask Buffy if she was making something or if they could order Chinese since Dad was out of town, and so he’d gone upstairs to knock on her door.

And then he’d heard it. A high, breathy sigh, followed by a chanting of, “Oh God, Oh God, Oh God…”

His stepmother was not a religious person. So that left only one explanation and that explanation tented his trousers to the point of pain.

He hadn’t tossed off right there. Back then, a whole four months ago, he at least had a little shame. Sure that Buffy would be mortified if she knew he’d heard her, he’d crept away quietly, tried for a few minutes to get his hard on to go down, then gave in and grasped it tightly, needing only a few tugs before he’d erupted, coming harder than he ever had, though the pleasure was tainted with humiliation.

But then he’d started to notice things. The way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. How she talked to him differently when they were alone. How he could make her blush with a casual innuendo.

It took a few months to really believe it. To really believe that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as perverted as he thought.

But now, he knew. Knew what he could to do to get her all wound up, and then he’d listen outside her door for the sweet, muffled sounds of her pleasure, with his hand down his pants furiously stroking his cock.

She was in there for ages this time, coming again and again, and he’d already lost control and stained his swim trunks. But he still stood and listened, eyes closed and forehead resting on the door, fingers stroking slowly at the wood as he imagined being in there with her. Licking the column of her neck, biting that enticing bit of skin that always peeked out over her jeans, sucking on her tits, fucking her…

When the room went suddenly silent, Spike crept away, mind stuck on that last thought as his dick began to harden again in his wet shorts.

What would it be like to have sex with someone? To have a woman’s mouth or pussy or hell, even just hands, wrapped around him? To have Buffy beneath him, begging for his cock, spread open and wet and needy…

Spike stripped off his shorts and stepped into the shower, once again suffering from a painful erection. He turned the water on hot, and stood with his face against the stream as his hand returned to his cock and he began to pump it slowly. Wanting to savor it this time.

Though his reputation at his new high school would suggest otherwise, Spike didn’t actually have a lot of experience with women.

When he was twelve, he’d had the biggest crush on Cecily, a girl who was a year ahead of him in school and way too cool for him. At a birthday party, he’d summoned up the courage to confess his feelings. It hadn’t exactly gone as planned, and he’d sort of stayed away from girls for a few years after that.

When he was fourteen, he’d had his first kiss with his mate’s cousin, Drusilla, who was only in town for a few weeks. She was seventeen and had taken a shine to him. Adopted him as her pet project, dyed his hair, taken him shopping. The kiss had just been a goodbye sort of thing. A quick peck on the lips, hardly anything to jump for joy over. A few weeks after she’d left was when his parents announced their divorce, and he was far more interested in blowing off steam with his friends than he was with dating. Since, clearly, romance was a crock of shit.

Then there was Harmony, a cheerleader. She’d asked him out the first day he’d arrived in Sunnydale and like an idiot, he’d said yes. It had taken a month to break up with her once he realized how bloody annoying she was. But at least he’d gotten some good snogging experience in. Anything beyond that was out of bounds, though, since Harmony was the local pastor’s daughter and was waiting for marriage or something bloody ridiculous like that.

And by then he was in love with Buffy.

Buffy. Beautiful and sexual and older and married to his father.

Liam didn’t deserve her. All things considered, he wasn’t necessarily a bad bloke, aside from the whole cheating on his mum thing. Although, he’d finally started to realize maybe it wasn’t just Liam who’d been cheating. Any affection he once had for his mother was slowly dying as more time passed that he hadn’t heard from her.

No, Liam wasn’t a bad guy. Just boring as hell. Buffy needed someone passionate, someone to challenge her, someone who wouldn’t let her sit around and be a housewife all day. Someone who wanted the best for her.

Someone like him.

Spike leaned forward and rested one hand on the tile wall, as the other started to move faster over his dick.

One of his current favorite fantasies began to play in his mind.

It’s late. One, two in the morning, maybe. Liam is asleep upstairs after a long day doing whatever it is he does. Corporate shit.

Spike is downstairs, drinking a beer, watching TV. Sometimes football on one of the satellite channels, sometimes porn, depending on what he wants the mood to be. Right now, he wants it hard and fast, so he’s watching one of the locked channels. Like he couldn’t guess the code. Parents are so dense sometimes.

He has his cock out, which, he has to admit, is pretty damn impressive for a sixteen year old. He’s stroking it, leisurely, not in a hurry to get off, just enjoying the sensation as he watches three guys fucking a skinny little brunette on a pool table, one in each hole. She’s loving it, and the erotic sounds from the TV fill the den.

But over the moans and curses, he hears a noise from his left, and turns his head to see Buffy hovering in the doorway. She’s dressed in those pink satin PJs he loves so much. No, not tonight, tonight she’s wearing a negligee…yeah, that’s it, red lace, almost sheer.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry!” She gasps, hand flying up to cover her mouth. But not her eyes. And she doesn’t leave.

“It’s okay, Buffy,” he says casually, not ceasing the movement of his hand. Her gaze is drawn to it, and she moans quietly. “Like what you see?” He purrs, reaching his free hand up to hook behind his head, displaying his body for her viewing pleasure. Because he’s now naked, apparently.

“It’s…wow. You’re so much bigger than your Dad.”

Okay, she probably doesn’t say that.

“I…God, I should go,” Buffy stammers, backing out of the room.

Spike jumps up and catches up to her in three steps, then reaches out and lightly grasps her shoulders. She shudders under his hands. “I don’t want you to go,” he says.

“But…Spike, we can’t!”

“Why?”

“Because it’s wrong!”

Or some other sort of token protest. He usually skips over this part, because even in his wildest fantasies he really can’t figure out how he could ever seduce a woman like Buffy.

But she finally gives in, and he wraps her in his arms and lowers his mouth to hers. She tastes like chocolate, dark chocolate, which she hides around the house even though she always claims to be on a diet. Not that she needs to be, she’s fucking perfect.

“I want you,” she sighs breathlessly when they part, and he grabs her and carries her to the couch, laying her down on her back.

Sometimes he imagines her riding him, taking control, using his body for her pleasure. But not right now. Right now he wants to take what he wants for a change instead of having to wait for someone to give it to him.

“You want my cock, baby?” He asks as he tears her clothing in two, baring her breasts and naked, shaved pussy to his hungry gaze. “Want me to fuck you?”

“Yeah…” She sighs, reaching out and grasping his cock with firm, confident hands, stroking him quickly, just like he likes. “Need you so bad.”

Spike groaned, the sound echoing in the bathroom, his orgasm approaching faster than he would have liked. So he sped up the fantasy, skipping over all the foreplay and imagined himself already inside of her.

”God, yes!” She screams, loudly. Because his dad sleeps like the dead, or it just doesn’t matter, in his fantasy it’s okay to make as much noise as they want.

“Take it, Buffy,” he groans, pumping his hips furiously, savoring the impossible wetness that coats his raging erection. “God, you’re so hot. You love it, don’t you? Love getting fucked by me.”

“Oh, Spike, yeah! Fuck me!”

“You wanted me, didn’t you Buffy?”

“Yes, wanted you…always want you, Spike.”

“And you love me?”

“Yes, I love you…Love you, Spike. Fuck me harder! Love your cock inside of me! Fuck me! Yes!”

Spike wasn’t very creative with the imaginary dirty talk when he was so close to coming.

He pistons in and out of her, lips fastened on her throat or her tits or her mouth, making her come long and hard, making her scream his name.

“I love you, Buffy,” he moans, and then he shoots his load inside of her, fills her up and claims her as his. She begs for more and more and he keeps coming, and so does she.

Spike choked down a moaning of her name as he came, spraying his semen on the wall as his body shuddered and threatened to collapse. He kept pumping his cock until it started to almost hurt, an image of Buffy’s beautiful face, contorted in ecstasy, so vivid in his mind it was like it was real.

God, he wanted it to be real.

“But you’ll miss our anniversary!” Buffy pouted, cradling her phone between her ear and her shoulder as she stirred the pasta sauce on the stove. Liam’s apologetic excuses did nothing to curb her raw disappointment, but she tried her hardest to sound chipper despite the threatening tears. “I know, I know, but I was just really looking forward to it. I bought a sexy outfit and everything…Nope. It was a special two-year treat. Guess I’ll just have to return it…Well, bring me something pretty and maybe you’ll get lucky on Monday, but I make no promises…Love you, too. Call me tomorrow? Bye.”

She sighed desolately and hung up the phone with a sniff, then jumped a foot in the air when a familiar voice came from directly behind her. “Dad’s staying in San Francisco through the weekend?”

“Jesus, Spike, you scared me!” Buffy gasped, pressing her hand to her chest and feeling her heart racing wildly. Not just from the shock, but from his very presence. And the fact that he probably overheard her earlier, a fact that she was trying her hardest to suppress.

“Sorry, pet.” He smiled, moving to lean on the counter beside her. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” He smelled of soap and cigarette smoke, a smell she usually detested but for some reason didn’t mind so much on him. A good stepmother would have called him out on the smoking. But she wasn’t, and she didn’t.

“Yeah, he has to do a dinner party or something.”

“Lame. What’s for supper?”

“Um, spaghetti and garlic bread?”

“Tasty.” He reached over and stuck his pinky in the cooling sauce, then slid it between his lips and let out an appreciative hum. “Good sauce.”

“Right out of a jar. My heating skills are unparalleled.” Buffy forced out the joke as she watched the way his tongue darted out to lick up the last bit of sauce from his finger. Any good done from her marathon masturbation session was gone with that tiny gesture.

“Need any help?”

“No, I’m good. Thanks, though. It’ll be ready in five minutes or so.”

“Okay.” He stayed standing next to her, picking at the chipping black polish on his fingers.

Buffy watched him out of the corner of her eye, trying hard to read in his face whether or not he’d really been outside her door. Whether or not he’d really been listening.

Whether or not it was really her name she heard moaned from his bathroom.

Dinner was normal, perfectly normal. They talked about the test a bit more, and his other classes, her book club, and a movie they wanted to see. Buffy tried hard to be upbeat, but with the addition of Liam’s extended business trip, her day had officially sucked, and she was having a hard time keeping her mind clear of the thoughts she shouldn’t be having.

“We could go. Tomorrow, if you want,” Spike suggested as they stood side by side washing the dishes.

“Go where?” Buffy asked, jolted out of her self-pitying reverie.

“That movie? And…we could have dinner out. I mean, if you want.”

Surprised and pleased, she resisted the impulse to agree immediately, as she always resisted her impulses with him. “That’s sweet, but it’s a Saturday. You don’t want to hang out with me! Go have fun with your friends.”

Spike turned towards her and said softly, “There’s no one I’d rather hang out with.” Buffy felt her jaw drop, and she froze in the intensity of his gaze as he stared at her hungrily. But whatever fire was there burned out quickly, and he continued with a smirk, “And it’s your anniversary, yeah? Don’t want to be alone.”

It sounded like a really bad idea.

“Sure,” Buffy heard herself saying.

The smirk turned into a bright smile that lit up his face and made him look so, so young. “Okay, cool,” he replied happily. “It’s a date.”

She wanted to protest. It most certainly was not a date.

But she didn’t.

~*~*~*~

Only a total and complete ponce would leave a woman like Buffy alone on their anniversary.

And his father was most definitely a ponce.

He didn’t really have a plan, some grand seduction scheme. Or any ultimate goal, other than just to spend some time with her. But if his dear dad was going to be gone all weekend, then Spike planned to take full advantage of that fact. He’d made reservations at a nice restaurant, and checked the movie times, and washed his car.

She’d looked so sad. She tried to hide it with that fake, sunny smile of hers, but he knew all her little facial expressions. He could read her like a book. And, even if he thought it was ridiculous to get upset over dad, she clearly was.

And Spike wanted to make her feel better.

The whole comment about a sexy outfit had nothing to do with it.

~*~*~*~

It was a shame to let such a hot dress go to waste. And she’d bought it for her anniversary, after all. Why shouldn’t Buffy wear it? There wasn’t anything wrong with wanting to look nice for a night out. She felt totally fine with it.

Although that might have had something to do with the two glasses of wine she’d had while getting ready.

Spike was usually pretty good about hiding any blatant, lustful appraisals of her body. His studying was never lecherous like one would expect from a teenage boy, but it was impossible for him to hide his reaction when she came out in the dress. The dress she’d bought with Liam in mind, knowing his favorite color was red, and how much he liked lace.

Like father like son, it seemed, because Spike was catatonic when she walked into the kitchen, eyes wide, mouth hanging open.

It was mean. It was wrong. But Buffy couldn’t help but tease him, just a little bit. She needed a little validation, being alone on her anniversary and all. Just a tiny ego boost. Especially since it was six at night on her four year anniversary, and she’d yet to hear from her husband.

“Is it too much?” She asked, spinning in a circle, the short skirt flaring out a bit around her thighs. “I know we’re just going to the movies, but I thought hey, why not?”

“No,” he choked out, shifting his arms so his coat was hanging in front of him. “It’s nice. You look…nice.”

“You look nice too,” she replied. Which he did. He was wearing the shirt she’d given him for Christmas, dark blue that offset his eyes, and a pair of black jeans. Delicious.

“Shall we?” He asked when he regained control of himself, holding out his arm gallantly.

With a giggle, she took it, and he led her out of the house into the cool, dark night.

It was okay. It was fine. Dinner and a movie with her stepson---nothing wrong or immoral about that.

But when he put his hand on her lower back to help her into his car, Buffy shivered involuntarily, and the small movement made her teeter on her heels. She fell backwards, and Spike reached out to steady her, one arm banding around her waist. Her ass pressed into his crotch, and she gasped audibly when she felt something hard and thick between her cheeks.

They froze, pressed against each other, silent. Spike’s breath was hot on the back of her neck.

He’s your stepson. He’s your stepson. He’s your stepson.

Without any permission from her brain, her body sank back further into his, and he let out a low whimper, arm tightening around her so she couldn’t get free even if she’d wanted to. Which she didn’t.

She could feel him shaking.

You love Liam. You love Liam. You love Liam.

Buffy turned her head slightly and looked up at him over her shoulder, starting to open her mouth to speak. To explain or protest or beg or confess or she didn’t know and she couldn’t think because Spike was suddenly kissing her.

Sixteensixteensixteensixteensixteensixteensixteen.

His kiss was soft and hesitant, a little off center from the middle of her mouth. The pressure was light, and Buffy could feel his lips trembling as he moved them awkwardly. He let out a ragged sigh of contentment.

As quick as it began, it was over. Spike released her and backed up a few steps, a look of horror blooming on his face as she stumbled without his support and leaned against the car.

There was a split second of indecision, a moment where Buffy could have told him, “It’s okay, Spike, let’s just forget about it!” or “Oh my God, young man, what were you thinking?”

She balanced precariously on the edge of a precipice, moments from falling into the unknown. All she needed was just one nudge, just a light breeze or a gentle push, and she would do it. She wanted it.

Her brain was confused but her body certainly wasn’t. The tiny thong she was wearing beneath the dress was already damp, her thighs were quivering, her lips burned from the light brush against his and her heart swelled as she saw how utterly humiliated he was. Opening and closing his mouth, trying to speak, pale skin blushing.

That turned out to be her breeze, her push. She couldn’t let Spike feel like that, like he was the one who was wrong.

It was her.

Before Buffy could over think it, she walked forward until she was standing directly in front of Spike, with just inches between them. He ducked his head low to keep from looking at her, arms curling in front of his chest as if to shield himself from something.

She reached out and grabbed his wrists, then gently pulled his arms away from his chest until they were hanging at his sides. His skin was burning hot underneath her hands, and soft, softer than she’d expected.

Spike raised his head slowly, blue eyes wide and questioning, but before he could ask anything, Buffy turned and led him back towards the house. He followed along like an obedient puppy. Her heart was pounding as her eyes darted from side to side to check for spying neighbors, and soon they were in the house, door shut and locked behind them, one of her hands still wrapped around his wrist as they stood face to face again.

All her mantras were useless. There was no turning back.

~*~*~*~

Spike didn’t know what to do.

Buffy was looking at him like she was waiting for something, still holding his arm gently, looking fucking delicious in that crimson lace dress that gave him just a hint of her cleavage.

He hadn’t meant to kiss her. Her body just felt so amazing next to his, and she’d looked up at him so sweetly, and she smelled so damn good. It had been instinctual. And the second it was over he’d started going over all the possible punishments, feeling almost sick to his stomach. Boarding school sounded like the most likely option, his dad had threatened it before, and this would really be the final bloody straw.

He was such a pervert. Such a disgusting, horrible, perverted---

She leaned up and kissed him. Hard. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she pressed her body into his and he gasped and her tongue was in his mouth.

Buffy’s tongue. Was in his mouth.

Tentatively, he wrapped an arm around her waist, and slid his hand down to the swell of her ass. She hummed like she actually liked it, and his confidence rose, so he slid his tongue out to dance with hers, then she sighed, and he was harder than he’d ever been. He was so nervous he was shaking and wanted her so badly he couldn’t think of what he was supposed to do. He didn’t know what to do.

Buffy pulled her lips away and Spike gasped for air, tightening his arms around her so she couldn’t leave him. “Is this okay?” She whispered.

He couldn’t help but laugh through his panic, and nod a few times. “Yeah,” he said when he regained the power of speech. “It’s…yeah. Right. Okay. It’s okay.”

“You know we can’t---“

“Tell anyone? I know. I…I know, I…won’t, I promise I won’t…I…” He really couldn’t formulate a sentence out loud right now. He was certainly doing fine with his inner monologue, because his mind was racing a mile a minute, but every time he opened his mouth, gibberish seemed to come out. He really didn’t know what the hell was going on, but Buffy certainly seemed to have made some sort of decision because she was smiling at him, so he would just…stay quiet.

“That’s good,” she said, sliding her hands from behind his neck down his chest. Spike inhaled sharply as her fingers brushed against his nipples. “Your heart’s beating so fast…” she mused, almost to herself, her eyes fixated on her own hands.

“I don’t---I don’t know what to do,” Spike couldn’t help but blurt out, and she glanced up at him with a soft smile. “I…I haven’t…”

“Don’t worry about it,” she replied, then kissed him gently on the cheek. “You alright with skipping the movie?” He nodded. “I’m going to have a glass of wine, would you like one?” He nodded. “Hold on one second.”

Buffy disentangled herself from his grip and walked away, tossing one glance over her shoulder before she disappeared into the kitchen.

Spike sagged against the wall and said aloud, just to check, “This is a dream, right?”

Nothing changed. He pinched his arm next, and still, he was standing in his front hall, with Buffy taste in his mouth. No, not a dream. But it certainly was one he’d had before.

She wanted him. He’d guessed, he’d hoped, but there was no doubting it now. She wanted him.

With one deep breath, he tried to gather his courage and his confidence. If they were going to do this, and apparently they were, he was going to do it right.

She deserved it.

One more deep breath, and his pulse had slowed down enough and his body had stopped shaking enough that he could stand up straight and walk towards the kitchen. Buffy was standing at the counter pouring a second glass of red wine, and Spike squared his shoulders, walked up behind her, pressing his front to her back, and pinned her to the counter with his arms on either side of her.

She looked up over her shoulder at him in surprise, just like she’d done outside, and he leaned in and kissed her again. But this time Spike was going to make it count.

It wasn’t clumsy like before. He took her lower lip between his and sucked gently, before sliding his tongue across the seam of her mouth and tasting the wine already on her lips. She opened up to him sweetly and he brushed their tongues together once before he pulled away quickly.

“That one mine?”

“Hmm?” Buffy murmured, eyes glazed over and lips still parted.

Spike smirked, proud of himself, and gestured to the wine glass.

She seemed to refocus. “Oh, yeah. It’s a Merlot, but if you want…never mind. Are you hungry?”

“Not for food,” he teased honestly, causing her to smile. He stepped away from her and took a long gulp of the wine, barely keeping himself from making a face at the taste. He took a smaller sip this time as he gave himself a mental pep talk. He could do this. He could take charge.

Buffy picked up her own glass and chugged down half of it before setting it back on the counter. “Okay,” she said firmly. “Okay, then---”

Spike interrupted her and took charge, kissing her again and pressing her hard into the counter, groaning into her mouth as his cock rubbed against her stomach. He put down his glass and cupped her small face in his hands then slid them into her hair, deepening the kiss, electrified by the taste and the feel and the smell and he still couldn’t believe it was real. Buffy was responding, hands pressed to his chest and tongue dueling with his, hips circling, sweet little sighs escaping her lips.

This was the extent of his experience, kissing someone into bliss, and as Spike slid his hands down to graze the side of Buffy’s breasts, he half expected her to push him away. Since that’s what he was used to. But no, she arched into him and his hands were suddenly filled with flesh, soft and warm. He shuddered violently and pulled his hands and mouth away, overloaded with sensation and dangerously close to embarrassing himself after just a simple make-out session.

Spike stared down at Buffy, captivated by the sight of her lips, swollen from his kisses and her hair, mussed from his hands, and her eyes, drunk with passion. He’d done that to her.

But he didn’t know what was next. Was he supposed to take her to his bedroom? Hers? Or should they have more wine first? Or were they even going to the bedroom at all? Maybe he’d totally misinterpreted it and there was just kissing. Which was fine, brilliant even, he liked the kissing but if he didn’t do something about his hard on soon---

Her hand was on him. Oh, God, she was rubbing the front of his jeans and he shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut, gripped the edge of the counter. It was too much, the feel of her hand on him through the denim was so hot and electric he had no idea how he’d handle it when there was nothing between them. Her lips were on his jaw. He whimpered her name.

“It’s okay,” he heard her whisper, and then her hand was gone and he wanted it back so badly he could barely breathe. But then he felt her tugging at his belt and pulling on the buttons of his fly, and he opened his eyes to see her starting to kneel in front of him.

Through the lust that fogged his mind he knew this was wrong. She was too good to get on her knees in the kitchen, better than that, better than he deserved. It took every ounce of strength he’d ever possessed but he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back up, back to his lips, cutting off her question with a fierce kiss as he pressed her into the counter again, grinding against her desperately for a moment before moving his lips to her ear, nibbling on her lobe and whispering, “Do you want to go upstairs?”

“Uh huh,” Buffy moaned, and he stepped back, holding out his hand to her.

She took it with a smile, and Spike led her towards the stairs.

Luckily, Spike guided her to his room. Stepping foot inside of hers would have possibly clued her into the reality of what she was doing, and Buffy really wasn’t inviting reality into her brain right now. She didn’t want to think of Liam, or their life together in that room, and what she was threatening to lose with her actions.

Because she didn’t care. She didn’t, she couldn’t, not when every single thing that Spike did was driving her crazy. When he was awkward and sweet, or when he was dominating and sensual, all of it. She was melting from the inside and couldn’t wait to explore every inch of him.

He hovered uncomfortably in the doorway, still clutching her hand tightly, waiting for her to take charge. Which she didn’t mind doing. At all. In fact, as much as she’d like to deny it, it was just turning her on more.

It was wrong. She knew that.

But it didn’t matter any more.

Buffy tugged his hand gently and guided him towards the bed, unmade and covered with dirty laundry. Spike let go of her to push the pile off with a bashful smile, and sat awkwardly on the edge of the mattress, hands fiddling with his undone belt.

She knelt down in front of him and his eyes grew as wide as saucers, his hands flying out to support him. The poor boy needed relief, now, if the way his pants were bulging was any indication, and Buffy had no problem helping him with that. In fact, she’d probably enjoy it just as much as he would. She didn’t know why he’d stopped her downstairs, but he certainly didn’t seem to be thinking of doing that now as he stared at her with eyes full of wonder.

She sat up on her knees and kissed him softly, trailing her hands from his neck down his front, unbuttoning his shirt as she tickled the skin of his chest. She pushed the shirt off of his shoulders and dragged her fingers down the center of his body, pausing half-way to tease small circles around his nipples. Her hands trailed down further to his waist, and she pulled her lips away to ask, just once, even though she knew the answer, “Are you sure, Spike?”

“Oh, God…” He groaned. “Yes…p-please, Buffy. Please.”

Well, then. No more second, third, or fourth thoughts.

He was panting as she finished unbuttoning his jeans, gasping as he lifted his hips when she tugged them to his knees, and finally, breathless as she pulled his boxers down. His cock was thick and swollen, dark and long against the pale skin of his stomach, everything she’d imagined it would be. Buffy licked her lips, captivated by it, anxious to have it inside of her.

She glanced up to see Spike still staring at her, looking almost pained as she danced her fingers up his bare thigh, tickling the soft hairs there. “Please, Buffy?” he repeated hopefully, and she couldn’t wait any longer.

Eyes still trained on his, she put the final nail in her coffin as she lowered her head and engulfed the tip of his cock between her lips. His eyes squeezed shut, and a grateful moan tore from his throat as his entire body jerked.

Impatiently, Buffy descended and took as much of him in her mouth as she could, wrapping her hands around the rest. It stretched her jaw to swallow even half of him, and she moaned in contentment at the feel of him sliding across her tongue. She moved up and down slowly, savoring every inch of him, swirling her tongue when he was almost free of her lips, sucking hard when she had him down her throat.

His flesh was soft, yet hard…just like him. His taste was salty, but so sweet to her. And the sounds he was making…God, they sent waves of desire coursing through her veins.

Delicious.

Spike couldn’t seem to formulate words, but was trying hard, body shaking like a leaf and fingers firmly clenching the edge of the bedspread. “B-Bu—God, yeah….ple—shit, gonna…yes…yeah…wait, wait oh, fuck—”

He erupted quickly, with a shout, cock jerking forwards and filling her mouth. Buffy almost gagged in surprise but recovered quickly, with practiced ease and total willingness, swallowed everything down as he cried out hoarsely.

She glanced up and watched him, face twisted with pleasure, full lips parted and pale skin tinged pink. The sight of him completely self-absorbed, eyes closed to the rest of the world and focused only on his satisfaction made her impossibly wetter, and she wiggled her hips in search of friction as she sucked him dry.

Buffy slid her lips off of his softening member slowly, still intent on watching him as he came down, breathing heavily. She rested her hands lightly on his knees, and his body stiffened.

“I—bloody hell, I’m sorry,” Spike stammered, eyes flying open wide. “I couldn’t stop, I’m sorry—”

“It’s okay,” Buffy interrupted quickly, heart seizing with affection, standing and cupping his face between her hands. “Nothing to be sorry for.” She forced him to look up at her, and his face was beet red from exertion, his eyes dilated and dark with lust.

“But I—I should have warned you, I—”

“You did warn me…sort of. I didn’t want to stop,” she insisted. Spike frowned in confusion, and she traced his sharp cheekbones with her pointer fingers as she dropped her voice low. “I wanted to taste you.”

Oh, God, he looked so completely amazed, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. She wanted him to always look at her like that, like she was offering him what he wanted most.

He reached up and twisted his fingers in her hair at the nape of her neck, staring intently at her lips, his own opening and closing as if forming silent words. Then quickly he pulled her face down towards his and kissed her fiercely, tongue exploring every inch of her mouth and tasting himself there.

With a whimper, Buffy straddled his lap, hands roaming over his thin, lightly muscled torso as he crushed his lips to hers. He kissed her with such desperation, such raw passion that she could barely handle it, could barely handle the way something so simple made her throb with want. She’d never had a kiss so filled with emotion, and the way Spike was making himself completely vulnerable to her drove her passion higher.

Buffy reached up and grabbed one of his hands, guiding it between her legs as she pulled her mouth away and whispered, “Want to touch me?”

Spike nodded once, a muscle in his jaw ticking, and stroked at her damp thong with hesitant fingers. The light touch sent an electric shock throughout her body and she mewled her approval, digging her fingers harder into his shoulders. He pulled his hand away only to yank her dress over her head, and then she was almost naked in his lap, but for her black lace bra and satin thong.

He slid two fingers under her underwear as he fastened his lips to her chest, worshipping her cleavage with soft kisses and licks, nibbling at the edge of her bra. Those fingers slipped between her wet lips and Spike mumbled something Buffy couldn’t understand against her flesh, his other hand fumbling with the clasp of her bra. She shivered and arched against him, and after a long moment he finally growled his frustration and took his hand from between her legs and violently tore the offending fabric away from her body.

Buffy squeaked in surprise, then held her breath as the both of them froze. She didn’t feel awkward like she thought she might, and she didn’t feel any flicker of regret. Not yet. All she felt was burning need, to give and take and share this strange, wonderful, but still wrong moment with him.

She watched him watch her, drank in the way his eyes darkened at the sight of her bare breasts, the way he licked his lips. He reached out one hand to touch her delicately, trailing one finger from the side of her breast to her nipple. She wanted more, needed it, but just when she was about to break and push him down, she found herself grabbed tightly and flipped over onto her back.

Spike hovered above her, nostrils flaring, renewed erection pressing hard into her thigh.

“Now I want to taste you.”

~*~*~*~

Her skin tasted better than any candy, as smooth as silk against his shaking lips. Spike trailed kisses down her throat, exploring with his tongue and his teeth as his fingers played with her nipples. They hardened beneath his touch, gorgeous little red berries, ripe for the eating. He lowered his head and licked one tentatively, cock twitching as Buffy moaned.

He was actually making her moan! And it wasn’t fake moaning. He could tell the difference, having watched enough porn that he considered himself to be somewhat of an expert. No, he could tell it was real, and she was arching up into his mouth until it was full of her flesh, warm and so, so soft. He reached up and squeezed the neglected breast as he bit down on her nipple tentatively, then harder when she made a very, very encouraging sound.

That sound drove him forward, gave him confidence, and Spike kissed a path down her flat stomach towards his ultimate goal. The goal that scared the shit out of him, sure, but more than anything he wanted to make Buffy feel as amazing, as special as she’d made him feel. More than he wanted to have sex with her, more than he wanted to come again, he wanted her to know just how much she meant to him. It was a poncy thought for sure, but Spike didn’t care. Any man who had Buffy in his arms would feel the same way.

He laid his hands on her knees and pulled them apart, breath catching as she willingly spread her legs wide for him and stretched her arms over her head, tan body shimmering in the moonlight that came through his bedroom window.

Maybe he was wrong, but Spike was pretty sure that body language meant he could do anything to her he wanted, and that she’d let him.

And he knew exactly what he wanted.

Mentally commanding his hands not to shake, Spike slid her panties off of her slowly, driven nearly to the point of spontaneous orgasm just by the sight of her shaved, wet, pink pussy, all laid out for him. For him.

Honestly, not coming right then and there was a notable achievement.

He lowered his head between her legs and inhaled deeply, instantly drunk on the scent of her. With one hand he stroked her folds, sliding in the moisture, making sure to avoid her clit. While health class was, for the most part, a bloody waste of time, he’d at least learned the basic ideas of sex, and he knew he could drive Buffy crazy by not giving her exactly what she needed. Not yet.

Spike stuck out his tongue and licked lightly at the entrance to her sex, testing the taste. Not only was it better than he expected, it was delicious, rich and heady and what he wanted more than anything was to just shove his tongue inside of her. And so he did, and then she gasped, loudly, and he hurriedly moved his hand and rubbed a light circle on what he was pretty sure was her clitoris.

Buffy cried out louder and arched up, bringing her hips closer to his face. Which he certainly didn’t mind. Going on instinct, Spike wriggled his tongue around in her soft, soaked heat, capturing as much of her flavor as he could, while his thumb brushed back lightly against her bundle of nerves.

Her hands flew down and clutched his head, fingers pulling his hair as she moaned, “Oh, Spike…”

She moaned his name.

Breathing was becoming an issue but there was no way Spike wanted to stop, ever, if he could help it. He slid his tongue out of her channel and replaced it with a finger, sliding it in and dreaming of his cock doing the same as he flicked her clit with his tongue.

It was so damn tight, pillowy soft, her walls caressing every inch of his finger. How would he even fit? And if he did, and he hoped he would, it was going to feel...he didn’t even think he had the words.

Spike added a second finger experimentally, which Buffy seemed to like since she somehow got even wetter, and he lapped up as much of her delectable essence as he could before returning his tongue to her clit. It was hard and swollen, adorable and tiny and he kind of wanted to bite it, but he just pointed his tongue and danced tiny circles on top of it.

“Oh, God…more, Spike…fuck that’s good…where did you—Oh, God! Spike…”

This soundtrack was one he wished he could record and put on his iPod to listen to at all hours of the day. Every time he doubted himself, and he had no doubt that he’d start to believe he dreamed the whole thing, he could listen to it and know this had all really happened.

As Spike began to pump his fingers faster and faster in and out of Buffy’s channel, he pressed his hips down onto the mattress, painfully swollen and desperate for friction. It was becoming nearly impossible not to touch himself, but his unoccupied hand was busy clutching the comforter tightly, needing that bit of stability when it felt as if he was flying.

The muscles around his finger began to tighten and Buffy’s cries grew more breathless as her hands pulled harder on his hair, and whatever he was doing seemed to be working so Spike just kept doing it, but more, and then there was a rush of fluid and a piercing cry. He moaned at the feel of her walls fluttering around him, pressed his tongue harder to her clit and wriggling it around, feeling her juices soaking his chin and his hand as she shuddered for a moment longer then suddenly fell limp, her hands resting lightly on his head.

He’d made her come. He’d done it, and he smiled proudly against her flesh as he gathered up the last of her spendings with his eager tongue, but then froze.

Was he supposed to stop? Or keep going? Women could come more than once in a row, Spike knew that, but he was seriously hard to the point of pain and maybe, just maybe, he could make her come around him. He could keep going until she told him to stop, but then he might embarrass himself and shoot all over his sheets, and he really, really wanted inside of her.

He pulled his face away and crawled up her body, licking his lips as he slid his fingers out of her. She was flushed and panting, staring vacantly at the ceiling, green eyes impossibly bright and shining.

“Buffy?” Spike asked softly when he had hovered over her for a moment and she’d yet to acknowledge him.

Her eyes refocused on his face, and she reached up with one small hand to caress his cheek, and smiled.

“Buffy, I—”

She silenced him with one finger pressed to his lips, then slid that hand down his neck, his chest, his stomach, until it was stroking the curls around his erection.

“I—I need…” He breathed out. She nodded, grasping him tightly, and guided him between her legs.

Then the phone rang.

Downstairs, Buffy could hear her own voice, cringingly chipper and mildly electronic. “Hi, you’ve reached the O’Connor-Summer residence! Leave a message, and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible! Thanks, and have a good day!”

“Beep.”

The sound of Liam’s voice, even as distant as it was, made Buffy drop her hands from Spike like his skin had scalded her and slam her legs shut. The wounded expression on his face barely registered as she listened to the message. “Hey guys, it’s me. Buffy, I tried to call your cell but you didn’t pick up. Just wanted to check in and see how your night was going. Give me a call when you get this. Spike, hope you’re behaving yourself.”

“Beep.”

The room was silent. Spike was still above her, resting on his elbows, face no longer as open and loving as she’d become accustomed to. It was closed off, eyes narrowed, full of the bitterness she always saw when he interacted with anyone but her.

Buffy thought she should speak, to break the sudden awkward tension in the room, but it suddenly didn’t matter because Spike lowered his face quickly and shoved his tongue in her mouth, effectively silencing her and any possible protests. He pinned her arms beside her head, his touch nowhere near gentle, as he intensely asserted his dominance. In no uncertain terms he was telling her that he wasn’t going to let her change her mind, for which she was grateful. She capitulated to him after only a moment, returning his kiss with equal fervor, any flickers of guilt ignited by Liam’s voice fading away.

Spike was holding her down with his hands and body, nipping and sucking on her lips until they were bruised and swollen, his moans sending vibrations throughout their bodies. He pulled away gasping, face no longer twisted with resentment but still dark with hungry lust. He sat up quickly and yanked his jeans off from where they’d been tangled around his ankles, before placing his hands on her knees and pulling them apart again.

There was no thought of slow and sweet, no intent to guide him gently into manhood, no attempt to take control. Buffy let him situate himself between her thighs as she left her hands up by her head in submission, body humming with unparalleled passion as Spike prepared to take what he wanted.

He glanced between her face and her pussy a few times, confidence wavering, and she realized despite his sudden surge of aggression that he needed to hear it.

“I want you, Spike,” she said, voice shaking as the enormity of those words hit her fully for the first time. “I want you,” she repeated, knowing it was the truth. Hearing Liam’s voice had shocked her, but though her head had briefly considered stopping, her heart never had.

The last of any anger melted away from his face, leaving nothing but happiness, eyes bright with excitement. Buffy couldn’t believe her words had such an affect on him, couldn’t believe she had such an affect on him. It made her feel so incredibly powerful, like she had the ability to break him or build him up with a single word, and she relished the feeling.

Even after actually, unbelievably coming from his slightly clumsy but entirely arousing ministrations, she was already on edge again; on fire from the way he wanted her so desperately. She moved her hands from where they still rested by her head and wrapped them around his neck, pulling him closer to her as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

He started to move forward, the head of his cock kissing her folds for a brief second, then he stopped suddenly. “Wait, um, do I need a…a condom or—”

“No,” she shook her head. “You’re fine.”

“Okay,” he breathed out, then he seemed to be giving himself a pep talk as he paused. “Okay.”

Buffy watched him reach down and grasp the base of his erection and he quickly moved forward and pushed against her. The feel of his cock pressing into her folds made her want to wriggle with excitement, but he’d yet to get himself inside of her and she didn’t want to make it more difficult. He was staring intently between her legs, brow furrowed in concentration, with the most adorable pout on his lips.

After a moment, Spike finally found her entrance and his face melted into total bliss as he thrust inside, a little too quickly, not giving her any time to adjust to the size of him. But Buffy really didn’t give a shit about any pain because when he was fully seated inside of her, filling and stretching her like she’d never felt before, her nerves went haywire and she let out a throaty moan, fingers digging into his shoulders to keep herself from forcing him to move before he was ready.

Spike shook and trembled above her, biting his lip hard. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed deeply. Buffy reached up and caressed his cheek gently and his eyes fluttered shut as he nuzzled into her hand. She closed her eyes, too, savoring the feel of him as she ached for friction.

Finally, finally, he began to move.

~*~*~*~

Wet. Hot. Tight. Soft. Perfect. Want. Mine. Mine, mine, mine. Love.

That was about the extent of Spike’s brain function. His entire being was focused entirely on his cock, though he was trying hard to distract himself with mundane, unsexy thoughts to keep from shooting off like, well, a teenage boy. Nothing worked. He couldn’t concentrate on anything but the way Buffy felt around him, the way she was gripping him like a vice, the way her skin felt on his and the way she smelled. He kept his eyes tightly shut, sure that the sight of her beautiful tits or those swollen lips of hers would send him off like a rocket.

He didn’t want to come too soon, he wanted to savor and he wanted to be worthy of her, and hell, he wanted to impress her. But above all, he wanted to make her feel like he was feeling. Maybe he could concentrate on that, concentrate on her pleasure, not his, and maybe he could hold himself off.

With one deep breath, he slid his hips back and forth, slowly and deliberately, the friction exquisite and hard to ignore. He heard Buffy sigh his name, but he couldn’t open his eyes to look at her, because that would definitely make this a whole lot harder. Harder. The unintentional pun almost made him laugh, he was so deliriously happy and horny, but he stifled it and leaned down blindly, lips first meeting Buffy’s chin and then finding her throat.

He tasted the salt of her sweat, inhaled the rich scent of her perfume, felt her pulse thumping under his tongue. With one hand he caressed her breast, tweaking the nipple lightly, then harder, then somewhere in between. He listened intently to the sounds she was making, repeating any action that made her louder, and moved his hips slow and steady, trying to grind against her clit when he was fully inside. Face still buried in her neck, eyes squeezed shut, Spike tried focused on her, only her. What he could do to her and how she reacted, what she wanted, what she needed, and tried not to think of how he felt.

But as he felt her respond to him, as he heard her breathy moans and felt her grip on him tighten, it became nearly impossible. The pleasure was just too great—he wasn’t man enough to push it down. The strongest orgasm of his life was building—fiery shivers and pulsing need and he moaned loudly as he sucked on her earlobe. He was dying of too much pleasure.

Nothing in the world had ever felt as beautiful, as right as it felt to be inside of Buffy. It was everything and nothing he’d imagined, because even in his wildest dreams it had never been like this. There just wasn’t a way to dream up total and complete perfection.

It took Spike a minute to realize Buffy was whispering in his ear, but he wasn’t sure what she was saying. He reluctantly pulled up and opened his eyes for the first time in a long while, eyes slowly adjusting to the room.

While she was still slightly dark below him, only her hair illuminated in the moonlight, she spoke. Her voice was lower and sexier than he’d ever heard it. “Don’t hold back, baby. Let go and take me…”

Those words were too much for Spike to handle. He snapped and did what she commanded, gave in, began slamming into her haven hard and fast, chasing the sensations he’d been trying to deny. Buffy cried out loudly in time with his thrusts, arm flying over her head to clutch at his headboard. Grasping tight with her legs, she lifted her hips to meet his, meeting him with equal force, her need clearly almost as great as his.

It was fucking mind-blowing.

Just a few seconds of searing passion, and he was right there on the bloody edge, choking out, “Oh, Buffy—love, I’m coming…”

She pulled his face down to hers with both hands, and moaned against his lips, “Do it. Come inside me.” Then she kissed him roughly, and he was exploding, coming so hard he thought he might pass out, making embarrassing sounds into her mouth he couldn’t contain. His hips jerked all on their own because he definitely wasn’t in control of them, didn’t even have the power of thought at that moment.

Spike collapsed on his elbows, the last of his come filling her up, burying his face in her neck again as he choked out the only word that could convey all the love and the bliss and the pained pleasure he was feeling. “Buffy.”

As his body shook and shuddered, she wrapped her legs tighter around him and continued to grind her body against his, rubbing her clit on his pelvis. She was moaning, digging her nails into his back and he was soft, too sensitive inside her but it hurt so good. Then he felt her muscles flutter, she cried out and clutched him tighter, grinding her hips for a moment longer before she fell limp beneath him.

Spike had just enough brainpower to roll off of her as he, too, collapsed, cock slipping out of her just as it was beginning to, impossibly, harden once more. His hormones, or whatever, were working overtime. He couldn’t keep his eyes open and felt himself exhausted beyond belief.

Side by side they lay on their backs, breathing heavily, arms touching. Spike wanted to pull Buffy to him, cuddle her, kiss her and thank her and just…feel her. But his limbs were so heavy, and the dark was so inviting, and he felt himself starting to fall asleep.

He fought it with everything he had left. He wouldn’t let this night end.

~*~*~*~

Buffy was sated right down to her toes, aching between her legs, and suddenly ravenous. Skipping dinner just made the fact that she always got hungry after sex even worse.

Spike’s breathing was slowing, but not like he was falling asleep. More like he was forcing himself to take deeper, more regular breaths. His hand reached out for hers, and he grasped it slowly.

The feel of his grip, his hand so soft and trembling, pulled at something deep inside of Buffy and she couldn’t help but roll on her side and snuggle into the warm body next to her. Spike’s skin was slick with sweat, and his arm wrapped around her eagerly, but weakly.

He was clearly exhausted, but where his orgasm had drained him, hers had energized her. With eyes that refused to shut, Buffy scanned his body, lips twitching into a small smile when she saw his semi-erect penis. What boy lacked in staying power, he clearly made up in stamina.

Her stomach grumbled loudly and Spike chuckled above her. “Hungry?”

“Little bit,” Buffy admitted, pressing a kiss to his chest as she began to pull away. “I’m going to get a snack, do you want one?”

He reached up quickly and grasped her shoulders, flipping her over onto her back as she squealed in surprise smile. “I’ll get it, pet. You relax. What do you want?”

Buffy would have protested, but he looked so hopeful and eager to please that she couldn’t. “Just some cheese and an apple?”

“I can do that,” Spike grinned. He pecked her on the lips briefly then rolled out of bed, movements slow and driven by something other than genuine energy. He pulled on his boxers and left the room, tossing one last happy look over his shoulder.

Sitting up against the headboard, Buffy wrapped the sheet around her body and reached over to switch on the bedside lamp. She could hear the sounds of rummaging in the kitchen, and a hummed, upbeat tune. It made her smile even wider, her orgasmic afterglow making her mood bright and cheerful.

Or that’s what she told herself. She blamed the orgasms themselves for why she was so utterly pleased, and refused to consider the idea that it was the person who gave them to her that was the true cause.

But he was just so…sincere. And considerate, and so damn sexy. The way he’d made slow love to her, then the way he’d let go and fucked the hell out of her—God, just remembering it made her wet all over again.

She could hear Spike running back up the stairs, and he came in with a plate filled with crackers, unevenly cut cheddar slices, and two apples. Without a word the two sat and devoured the plate, shooting furtive glances at each other. The food was gone quickly and, once her hunger was sated, Buffy could refocus on the situation at hand. The silence continued as she considered what to do next.

When it seemed like Spike was about to say something, she made her decision quickly, and leaned in to kiss him quiet. His response was instantaneous, hands flying up to tangle in her hair and tongue reaching out into her mouth.

The sin had been committed. There was no point in any rational thought tonight. She wanted to make the most of it now and they could talk about the details, the realities, in the morning. She couldn’t bear any pain to ruin their current blissful state.

Her hand traveled down to brush at his cock, rubbing it into full hardness as he rubbed at her breast, fast-learning fingers tweaking her nipple just the way she liked. His erection responded quickly, and soon he was straining into her touch. Buffy moved her hand faster and harder until she found the pace that drove him crazy.

Spike sucked for a long moment on her bottom lip, pulling it out tight, before releasing her mouth as he wrapped his arms around her waist and hauled her into his lap. Buffy straddled him as he leaned back on the headboard, and rubbed her hard, sensitized clit on the base of his dick.

Her need blossomed so quickly this time that she was almost mindless with lust after a few short gyrations, needing to have him inside her now. He seemed to feel the same, because he wrapped his hands under her ass and squeezed tightly, lifting her and positioning her as best he could over his long cock. Reaching down and grasping it tight, Buffy sank down in one fluid motion, crying out in pain and pleasure as he stretched her, filled her, split her in two and put her back together in the space of seconds.

~*~*~*~

Spike couldn’t wait to be inside her and he didn’t have to, because Buffy slammed herself down, soothing the anxious ache inside of him. Her sweet pussy was slick and ready for him again, tighter than he’d ever though possible, and he finally realized what it was men wrote poetry about.

She rose and fell above him, illuminated by the spill of moonlight on the bed. He aided her with his hands on her ass but she set the pace, fucked herself on his cock, looking almost unsure of where she was, but moaning softly in contentment.

Spike reached up to brush her hair out of her face and kissed her softly in between her breasts, looking up between them at her. Her hands rested on his head for a moment, curling in his hair, before sliding down his neck to brace herself on his shoulders and she quickened her pace, eyes slowly losing focus as she was lost to lust.

~*~*~*~

Buffy fell in on herself, lost her connection to anything but her own pleasure. Hardness inside her, rubbing, tickling hair on her clit, soft lips on her chest, sweet eyes shining with undeniable love and worship.

She stretched out her legs so she was sitting fully on his lap, cock as deep inside of her as it would go, and moved her hips in circles. His lips were closer now, there to kiss and lick and possess as she drove herself crazy. Hands clutched tighter to her ass, ragged nails on thin, graceful fingers digging into her flesh as they massaged.

Graceful, that’s what he was. Unsure and tentative, watching and learning and careful, but graceful in his natural instincts. Made for this, made to touch her and love her.

It should sicken her. The way she felt being touched by this man—this boy, this person, a way she should never feel. There was a dark part of her that knew, even as she soaked up the sensations, that she was committing herself to a future hell, maybe sooner than she expected. But there was never a moment that she felt guilt the way she should.

She could never regret this.

~*~*~*~

Spike grabbed handfuls of that gorgeous ass, the feel of it in his hands just one more fantasy he’d fulfilled that night, and instantly decided to go for one more.

He pulled his head away from her throat, where he’d been nibbling at the skin and considering giving her a hickey, though he knew that would be a problem tomorrow, and took one hand away. He shoved his fingers in her mouth and his eyes rolled back in his head as Buffy eagerly began to suck them, bouncing more eagerly, looking exactly like a wet dream come to life.

She was dripping wet on top of him, and now his fingers were wet too as he reached around and slipped them between her cheeks. Trying this was a bold move but she hadn’t rejected him yet, still he searched her eyes for any sign of protest.

There was none. She moaned as he lightly brushed her anus, and slowed her hips, making it easier for him to pay attention to it. Spike pressed harder and just the tip of his finger popped through her tight rosebud and he gritted his teeth, the tight muscles giving him all sorts of ideas. Buffy wriggled, pushing back against his finger like she liked it, and her tits bounced invitingly in his face.

This third time around he wasn’t nearly so desperate to come, and he could sit back and enjoy her wet heat sliding up and down his cock, her tight ass clenching around his finger.

Could he add a second? Should he? Would that be going too far? Why the fuck did he ask himself so many questions? He should just do it, take control of her, sod the second guessing and hesitation.

Spike slid his finger out then forced two in, smirking at the erotic way Buffy rolled her head on her neck. Her hands slid up his head to pull at his hair as she sank back, taking him fully inside both holes. He supported her with his hands on and in her ass as she leaned at an angle and humped him slowly, eyes closed in ecstasy.

Leaning forward and capturing one nipple between his teeth, Spike began to raise his hips to meet hers in short thrusts, sliding his hand from her cheek to her back to support her as he fucked her ass faster with his fingers. Her ass was hot and tight, wet from her own spit, and one day he just knew she’d let him put his cock in there.

One day.

~*~*~*~

The speed increased, the friction built, and Buffy couldn’t hold back. His fingers sawed in and out of her ass quicker than his hips pumped against her, and she was just along for the ride, letting him take over.

She put her hands back on the bed, arching sharply, and Spike no longer had to support her. With his free hand he reached down and rubbed at her clit roughly, and she cried out, “Oh God, Spike, coming—don’t stop, baby, don’t…”

He didn’t. He rubbed and fucked faster and she marveled at how his abs rippled as he lifted up into her and drank in the bright blue of his eyes and came, screaming from over-stimulation and then she was on her back and her legs were over his arms.

Spike fucked her quickly, extending her orgasm as he hammered into her, babbling, “Buffy, Buffy, yes, love you, yeah, yeah…coming, coming…”

She could ignore the words in the middle if she concentrated on how it felt to have him filling her up, her muscles still spasming and clinging to him. Buffy would register the words this once, and push them deep down under the layers of physical sensation that could distract her.

They fell limp together, a tangled heap of limbs, Spike’s head cradled on her chest and his arm across her waist. Sleep was imminent, time had sped up and slowed down, Buffy felt like she’d lived a life in a night and at the same time it seemed like she was still outside, making the decision that had changed or ruined or saved her life.

The darkness pulled at her, and the last thing she felt as she fell asleep was Spike’s breath, slow and steady on her breast.

Spike awoke curled around a pillow, a delicious warmth spreading throughout his body instantly as the memories of the night before were vivid in his mind. There was no second of sleepy unawareness, no moment where he forgot. It would be totally impossible to forget. For the rest of his life he’d walk around with the feel of her lips on his, her hands on him…yeah, he was hard. God bless his youth.

He stretched like a cat, a soft purr escaping his chest as he rolled on his back and glanced at his clock. Late, afternoon, much later than Buffy liked to sleep in even on weekends, which explained her absence from his bed.

Maybe he could get her to make a late brunch. She made delicious waffles, with berries and cream, and they could regain their energy and then maybe take a swim, bend her over the diving board…

He made his plans as he pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, then headed for the stairs. But halfway down, he heard something that made his stomach drop to his knees, made his smile shrivel up and die, made his erection fully deflate.

His dad’s laugh echoed in the living room, and the sound of the TV became quieter.

“Bleu cheese or ranch?” Buffy called from the kitchen.

“Ranch,” Dad yelled back.

He wanted to back up the stairs as quietly as possible and lock himself in his room. But at the same time, he wanted to head downstairs and make his presence known, show Buffy he wasn’t going anywhere and prove he wouldn’t lose to Liam. Who wasn’t even supposed to fucking be here. He was supposed to have the whole bloody day and he had to come home and ruin it, like he ruined everything.

Slowly, Spike continued down the stairs, turning his head as his dad became visible on the couch, watching Sunday football. American football, not the good kind. Through the kitchen doors he could see Buffy, dressed in tight yoga pants and a matching tank-top, hair down and flowing around her shoulders, standing at the kitchen counter.

“Good afternoon, Spike,” His dad said with a smile. “Nice of you to join us before the sun went down.”

“Thought you were staying in SF,” Spike snapped, glancing over to see Buffy now standing in the doorway, wiping her hands on a towel, looking at the ground.

“Got Wesley to fly up and take the meeting. Thought I was needed at home.”

“Would you like a salad, Spike?” Buffy asked. “I’m mixing it up right now, I could use some help.” She raised her head but still wasn’t quite looking at him, but rather, looking over his shoulder somewhere near the stairs.

“Uh, sure,” he said, glancing back and forth between the two of them, finding no signs of distress or unease. At least not directed at him, anyway. Buffy wasn’t smiling, but she wasn’t frowning, and his dad had that pout on his face like he did whenever he fucked up. They seemed kind of mad at each other, but not mad at him. Which made him a little less nervous, though his heart was still pounding like a motherfucker.

Spike headed into the kitchen, shivering as he brushed past Buffy, and felt him follow behind him, tracked by Liam’s extremely annoying voice. “So we on for dinner tomorrow, honey? Make last night up to you?”

“Sure,” she said with a shrug, her voice sort of sharp and unpleasant, before spinning around and walking back to the counter. She didn’t look at Spike as she started to chop up some carrots, and the TV volume in the living room grew louder again.

He felt kind of sick as he stood uselessly behind Buffy. Once again he was plagued with questions as to what the hell the next step was supposed to be. Were they pretending like it didn’t happen? Because there was no bloody way in hell he was playing along with that. No, they were definitely going to talk about this. Soon.

But still, he couldn’t open his mouth to get her attention, couldn’t voice any of the numerous thoughts in his head. Even the simple ones, like, “Hey, what can I do to help?” were impossible to force from his lips. So he just watched. Watched and waited for her to turn around and finally look at him.

~*~*~*~

Buffy knew he was watching her intently, could feel him standing just a few feet away. Could smell him, smell the sex on him, was panicking inside that Liam would know. At the same time, there was a part of her that was hoping he would figure it out.

She was just a mess of thoughts and feelings.

When she’d woken up early and slipped out from under Spike’s heavy arm, she thought she’d take the morning to think. Ponder. Puzzle. Figure out what the hell she was supposed to do.

Asleep, he looked like a sweet, young angel: soft pale skin and heavy lashes, lips curling in a smile even in repose. She’d stood there for a moment, naked in her stepson’s room, trying hard to muster up the correct amount of regret, the right blending of disgust and hatred for herself and him and for what they’d done.

But no, it wasn’t there, just like she knew it wouldn’t be. And that was almost worse. If she didn’t feel the expected feelings, then how was she supposed to do the expected thing? Which was to end this, right now. Full stop, as Spike would say.

Oh, he was sweet. Sweet kisses and sweet tasting and his sweet voice babbling, “Love you, love you,” over and over in her head—even though he’d just said it the once—it was all she could hear, and it made her nauseous and happy and so turned on.

His hand suddenly fell on her shoulder. His touch made her knees weak.

Buffy spun around to see him looking down at her miserably, face twisted up like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for her to tell him it was over.

She should really tell him it was over. She should open her mouth and say the words, then take her husband his salad and let him apologize for not actually telling her happy anniversary yesterday which, really, she didn’t give a shit about, but that was the reason he’d come up with for her absolute horror when he’d walked into the house an hour ago, pulled her into an intense kiss, and apologized profusely for being “a shitty husband”.

His words. Not hers.

It was easy to pretend she was mad at him for the thing she should be mad about, and a perfect cover for the fact that she was, in fact, completely preoccupied with thoughts that would get her divorced, thrown in jail, and sent straight to Hell.

She loved Liam. She did, she did, she did, she did. And she wasn’t just saying that, reciting her mantra to keep herself in check. No, she did love him, care for him. Missed anniversary aside, he was good and kind and treated her well and loved her back. And she didn’t want to lose him.

So what the hell was wrong with her that she wished he’d stayed away longer? What kind of wife was she? What kind of person?

The kind who desperately wanted to kiss her stepson, apparently.

She really, really should stop this.

But instead she reached up and laid her palm to Spike’s cheek, soaking in the warmth of his skin, melting his sad face into one of hope, not being able to take another second of his pain when she knew that she, and she alone, had the power to fix it.

The TV turned off in the living room.

Buffy backed away quickly and turned back to the salad, quickly parsing it out into bowls as Liam walked into the room, humming underneath his breath.

He walked over and pressed a kiss to her temple, a kiss that days ago would have brought a smile to her face. So she forced one to the surface and handed him his lunch.

“Do we want to eat out on the patio?” She asked brightly, turning her head towards Spike and finding her smile becoming genuine as she saw the jealousy flickering there. Oh, that was wrong. Enjoying the way he was jealous.

“Sure.” Liam nodded. “Let me carry those for you, sweetheart.” He reached out and picked up the tray of water glasses, then headed out to the patio, still humming away.

Spike looked like he was about to say something, something she wasn’t ready to hear or respond to. Something she really just couldn’t handle right now.

She winked at him, and headed outside. The sound of his steps instantly followed.

~*~*~*~

Spike thought maybe they should talk about it.

He’d really wanted some sort of verbal confirmation, a spoken aloud agreement to…what, date? Definitely not. Fuck? It had to mean more than that, it had to. He would have laughed at how stupid he could be, if his mouth wasn’t currently occupied.

Full of Buffy.

She’d sent Dad to the market with a long, long list. She’d watched him drive away, and headed up the stairs without a word.

He just assumed he was supposed to follow. With the touching and the winking and the smiling at him during lunch, he was supposed to follow. Right?

She’d led him to his room, stripped off her clothes, and covered his mouth with hers until he was so hard he was surprised he didn’t tear right through the front of his sweatpants. She kissed him with a such intensity, like she was trying to tell him something through the kiss.

He was guessing it was something good.

And now he was kneeling on the floor, her legs over his shoulders, trying to convey his own thoughts through the way he licked mercilessly at her clit, fingers busy pumping into her cunt and ass.

“God, Spike…yes, yes just like that, fuck…” And then a high moaning noise.

She came again, was that three times now? Muscles clenching around his fingers and juices dripping down his chin. God, he was good. Feeling a little puffed up with pride, yeah, he was good.

And he wanted, needed, had to fuck her, so he crawled up her body, worshipping the soft sweaty skin with gentle kisses, then waited for permission.

Because they hadn’t talked about it. He didn’t know what was allowed and what wasn’t and what was happening and he sort of didn’t care. She could want him as her bloody concubine if it made her happy. He’d lick her dry five times a day and be happy with just that.

He loved her.

~*~*~*~

Buffy looked into his blue eyes, bright with excitement and hope, like he was opening the best birthday present in the world, and shivered.

She felt…God. When Spike looked at her like that, she felt absolutely treasured, worshipped, important. Loved, more than she’d ever been loved before.

She didn’t want to lose that. Not if she could help it.

With her heels hooked around his waist, she pulled him towards her and he reached down and fumbled only for a second before sliding inside her in one smooth thrust.

“Oh, God…” he gasped out, voice hoarse and tense with pleasure, shuddering as he squeezed her hip. “You feel…you feel so bloody good, Buffy, I—”

She kissed him, sucked on his lip, Sucked on his lip, then released it as her fingers danced over his jaw only to whisper, “We can take our time later. Right now, just fuck me.”

~*~*~*~

Later. Later. There was going to be a later and Spike couldn’t contain the slightly strange sound that came out of him as he pulled his dick nearly out of her; a half laugh, half sob full of gratitude. Then he slammed back in, grinding at her clit for a moment before moving back again.

Buffy squeaked, reached down and squeezed his ass hard, then slid her hands up his torso to scratch at his nipples.

Spike felt a heat searing from his chest and groaned, then he just…fucked her. Hard and fast, just the way he wanted but she liked it, too, soaked his cock she liked it so much and there was nothing, nothing sweeter than this feeling. And he got to do it again. Later.

“Your sweet cunt…better than…everything,” he murmured, feeling almost reverent, like he was praying at the altar of Buffy Summers-O’Connor—no, drop the O’ Connor—as his orgasm built and built. “Love this, pet. Love—love—”

Oh, fuck, he didn’t want to say it. He couldn’t keep from saying it. He was pretty sure he had the night before but it was sort of a haze of flesh and tongue and sweat so he couldn’t quite remember, but now he knew he’d almost said it and really didn’t want to ruin anything. Didn’t want to step a toe out of line.

But Buffy didn’t seem mad, or freaked. She reached up and touched his lips lightly, sliding her finger along his lips, and nodded. “I know.”

She knew. She knew and she lifted her head up and kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he was so damn…happy.

~*~*~*~

Spike wrapped her in his arms and pulled her off the bed, drilling his cock into her hard as he began to come, eyes wide open and staring at her. Openly, nakedly, devoid of any sort of artifice or domination or even pride. Just absolute pleasure and joy.

Buffy clutched him with her nails and sighed in pleasure as he filled her to bursting. He finally shuddered for the last time and collapsed off to the side, soft dick sliding out of her. He nuzzled his head into her hair as he wrapped one arm around her tightly and dipped the other between her legs, seeking and finding her clit instantly.

He rubbed, first lightly, then harder when she arched toward his touch, testing what worked best on her, then sat up on one elbow and took his hand away from her pussy. Her moan of disappointment was short as he grabbed her left hand and pulled it down between her own legs, kissing her forehead softly.

Laying his fingers on top of hers, Spike rubbed gently again and then she understood and took over. Buffy’s eyes fluttered shut as she touched herself, showing him exactly what she would do when she was alone, teaching him just what she liked.

He sighed. “I’ve been listening to you do this. Dreaming about it. Wondering what it looked like…”

Her eyes flew open again in surprise, hand stilling. “You—you listened? Before…I mean, before Friday?”

“Mmm.” Spike nodded, leaning down to kiss her breasts, tongue swirling around a nipple before pulling away to say, “I’ve wanted you forever, Buffy. Since the first bloody moment I saw you.”

She started rubbing herself again, staring into those hungry, bright blue eyes, the confirmation of it heightening her arousal. “Tell me…tell me what you thought about.”

A slight blush, and then he murmured, voice low with lust and a bit of shame, a combination she found just adorable. “Thought about what it would be like to kiss you, first. Dreamed about those lips for weeks, and then the time I heard you…couldn’t bloody stop…”

She rubbed circles around her clit, first hard, then soft and teasing, then hard again. Spike slid two fingers inside of her, which she hardly ever did while masturbating and the added stimulation made her moan.

He continued. “Listened at the door and it felt so wrong but I hoped—I hoped you were thinking about me, too. Were you, kitten? Were you thinking about me?”

“Yes…” She sighed, rubbing faster now, hips rising to meet his thrusting fingers. “I was, I…coming, I’m gonna come…”

Buffy did, rubbing fast and hard at her clit, listening to Spike purr in her ear, “Knew it, knew you wanted me…well I’m yours now, yours. And I’m gonna do whatever you say…” The shudders and trembles in her body were absorbed by his as he lay next to her, holding her close and chanting, “Love you, love you, love you.”

Just like she’d imagined.

~*~*~*~

The sound of the car out front broke into the hazy afterglow, and Spike pulled away quickly.

“Just hop in the shower,” Buffy said calmly. “I’ll do the same.”

She sat up and kissed him quickly, then grabbed her clothes and disappeared out of his room. Heart pounding, cock half-hard again, he ran for his own shower, and quickly jumped under the freezing cold stream, refusing to touch himself.

He was saving it all for her.

~*~*~*~

Liam entered the bathroom as she lathered up her body with her favorite coconut soap. The scent of it filled the steamy room, and through the door Buffy saw her husband lean against the counter and watch her.

“I put away all the groceries, but left out the steaks for tonight.”

“Thanks,” she said as she reached for her shampoo, turning her back but tossing a small grin over her shoulder.

“I missed you this week,” Liam said softly. “I’ll try not to have such long trips from now on, okay? I know you don’t like being left alone.”

Buffy froze for a split second, then said quickly, “It’s okay, I know it’s necessary for your job. Really, I’m just overreacting anyway. And I missed you, too.” She turned and blew him a kiss through the door, glad when it seemed to cheer him up. “You could probably get in a swim before dinner. Bet you didn’t go to the gym once when you were in San Francisco, did you?”

“Caught me,” he said, laughing. “You take such good care of me and my cholesterol. Love you for it.”

“You love me for lots of things,” she quipped, then waved him out of the room before collapsing against the wall and taking a deep breath.

She was really doing this. And somehow, she didn’t care.

~*~*~*~

“Um, Buffy?” Spike asked as she cleared the dinner plates, trying his hardest to sound casual. Normal. “Do you think you could help me study some more for my test tomorrow?”

His father frowned. “Why did you leave it until the last minute, Spike? I’m sure Buffy—”

“Wouldn’t mind at all,” she interrupted. “It’s kind of fun going over all the plays I used to study. After I finish the dishes, Spike?”

“Sure,” he nodded, suppressing the bubbling joy that definitely didn’t come from the idea of studying. “I’ll meet you upstairs.”

~*~*~*~

Liam frowned at the lack of sound coming from Spike’s bedroom, but he wasn’t quite sure why it bothered him.

A sudden strange feeling had come over him as he read the newspaper in the den, a sort of nauseous pain in his gut that made it impossible to finish the article on a local high school football team. He hadn’t understood why, but he’d given in to his desire to go upstairs and check on the studying progress.

But now he was outside the door, and he didn’t hear anything. No music, no voices, no rustling of papers.

It was silly to be suspicious, but being suspicious was a part of his nature, and Liam found it was always best to trust his instincts. Sometimes they were right, sometimes they were wrong, but when he listened to his gut he always knew he’d never have regret.

He knocked once on the door, then opened it quickly to see Spike sprawled on the bed, leaning on one elbow, while Buffy sat in the desk chair next to him, reading aloud. Her voice was soft, so soft he hadn’t been able to hear it from the outside.

Neither noticed his appearance, or seemed to have heard him knock. Buffy, because she was focused intently on her reading. Spike, because he was focused intently on Buffy.

“…Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him
When he bestrides the lazy puffing clouds
And sails upon the bosom of the air…”

Buffy recited in a low voice, the words flowing off of her tongue as easily as if they were modern English.

Liam found himself just as entranced as his son, in awe of the ease with which she spoke. He’d never heard her read Shakespeare before, though he knew she’d focused on it in college. It had just never come up.

Her voice shifted now, higher and breathier, and both Spike and Liam leaned in closer.

“O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name,
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet...”

She stopped and took a sip of her water.

“Would they really want that?” Spike asked after a moment of silence. “I mean, I know they die and everything so it’s not really the point, but would they really want one of them to have to give up their family and everything?”

“There’s a lot of crazy things people will do for love.” Buffy said with a shrug, turning the page. “And later she says she would ‘follow thee my lord throughout the world.’ She’d do anything for him, and vice versa. In their immaturity, they think love means ultimate sacrifice.”

“Like death?”

“Pretty much.” She glanced over and saw Liam in the doorway. Her eyes seemed to widen, but she smiled at him, and Spike glanced over and gave him a cursory nod, eyes narrowing with distaste per usual.

“How’s it going?” Liam asked, stepping one foot into the room.

“Fine,” Spike replied shortly. “Got to study a lot, though. So I don’t, you know. Fail. ”

“He’ll be great,” said Buffy. “Really. We do have a lot of work to do though, Liam, why don’t you watch a movie or something? Oh, or I recorded a few episodes of that Discovery Channel show you like. It’s on the TiVo in the den.”

“Alright.” He nodded slowly, fixing his eyes on Spike’s face as he spoke. “I’ll be right downstairs. If you need me.”

“We won’t,” the boy said dismissively.

With one last smile, his wife turned away from him. “Do you want to stick with the balcony scene, or move on?”

“Read more of Juliet’s lines. I liked that.”

“Sure. Think about the prose style, okay?”

Liam backed out of the room and shut the door, pausing for one moment outside of the door, hand resting on the wood. He could hear her this time, her voice loud and clear as she recited the lines.

He walked down the hall, feeling somewhat relieved, but still with that tightness in his chest.

But really, there was nothing to worry about.