"Trippy," Buffy said as she watched her opponent's scaly skin change color yet again, this time from light blue to indigo. "You're like a big ole' ugly mood ring, aren'tcha?"

It didn't answer, but it did turn a little green.

Spinning, Buffy socked it in the stomach. The ribcage. The throat. The knees. Nothing made a dent. A sharp weapon might do the trick, but this demon had accosted her on her way out of lecture hall. All she'd brought was a latte. "Can you guess my mood?"

The demon made another clicking sound, and its snake hair rattled.

"If you said 'angry, exhausted, confused, annoyed, a little hungry, and completely over this fight', you're right." Buffy dodged a lunge. "Who needs mood skin?"

Effortlessly, it blocked her next swing. Then, kaleidoscope eyes swirling, it poked her sternum, causing her to fall on her butt.

"See above, re: confused," the Slayer said, sweeping the demon's legs and rolling out of its way. "You do want to fight to the death, right? I mean, you sought me out, put me in that choke-hold, made with the threatening snake hair, but now, all you do is push me away. Gotta say, I'm starting to feel a little rejected. Where's the follow up? Where's the fire? Is it the whole hitting-a-girl thing that's holding you back?"

Click ung sa click hisssss, it said.

"Unless you are a girl. In which case, my bad." It was wearing a shapeless tunic. "Hate to disappoint, but if it's a chick fight you want, I'm not so much with the hair pulling and the..." She looked at its writhing hair. Maybe that was its weakness! She'd been kind of hoping to avoid the snakes, but if it meant she could move on with her night... Buffy took off her dangly earrings and threw them on the grass, saying, "Know what? Bring it."

It cocked its head and stared.

Buffy rolled her eyes and went for the demon's face.

In the ensuing melee, Buffy learned two things: The demon's snake hair was there to stay, and chick fights felt as ridiculous as they looked.

Not that she didn't rise to the occasion. Some time later, she found herself repeatedly smashing the demon's skull against a tree trunk, shouting, "Die already! Die! Die! Die! You psychedelic... H.R. Giger-looking... bitch!"

Fed up with its passive, saucery lava-lamp stare, Buffy thrust her thumbs into the demon's eyesockets.

Which, in hindsight, may not have been the best course of action, because suddenly, all of the snakes on the demon's head woke up, unhinged their little snake jaws, and hissed a fine purple mist. Right into Buffy's face.

A mist that reeked of... nag champa and patchouli oil?

"I knew it," Buffy said, turning her head and coughing. "You're here to create more hippies, aren't you?"

It didn't answer, and not just because it didn't speak English. It, and its hair, was dead.

Finally.

Buffy extracted her thumbs and let the lifeless corpse slide to the base of the tree. She shrugged. "When in doubt, go for the eye gouge."

The only drawback of the eye gouge? The occasional hissing hair snake. And, ew: sticky, viscous, multicolored eye-goo all over her hands.

"...But only if you've brought a pack of Wet-Naps," she amended, squatting to wipe the goo off on the demon's hempwear. She noticed the time on her wrist. "Great. Now I'm late."

She was supposed to start Spikewatch over half an hour ago -- Giles must be climbing the walls.

"Late for an unimportant date." Buffy stood up and nursed a shoulder ache. Maybe she could plead exhaustion and go back to her dorm. She'd been Spike's babysitter for the last two nights -- hadn't she earned a night off? Besides, it was pretty clear that Giles was using any old excuse to get out of the house now. She couldn't blame him for that, but after this impromptu epic battle, all Buffy wanted was an excuse of her own, followed by a long, hot shower and a nap.

"Ha-choo!"

Uh oh. Sneezes plus Buffy equalled never good. Also not good: her eyes had started to burn. So, either she was coming down with something, or Medusa Lite was having the last laugh.

Oh, god. She wasn't gonna turn to stone, was she?

"Any chance that was just a sensual aromatherapy spritz?" Buffy's hopeful question was met with dead silence. Literally dead. She knew the answer, anyway. "Always with the catch."

Remaining calm, she assured herself, "It's probably just a temporary, mild side-effect catch. Not a 'turning to stone' catch, or a 'taking on an aspect' catch, or a Shumash-y 'catching syphilis'... catch..."

With a gulp, she hurried to the nearest phone booth.

* * *

Spike snagged the kitchen phone on its first ring. "Wankers Council, Sunnyhell Branch. Watchin's what we do. Get your ass kicked and we'll watch. Have a good, filthy snog and we'll watch, and wank, free of charge, day or ni--"

"Spike?" Buffy finally interrupted after the shock subsided. "Who let you answer the phone?"

"Cream Puff!" Thank Christ it was her. He'd been so bored. Peering into the open refrigerator, he scolded, "Where have you been, young lady? I've been worried sick."

"Yeah, I'm sure you have." As she watched a group of carefree students stroll by, laughing in the moonlight, Buffy exhaled her ennui. "And the whole irritate-the-enemy-with-cutesy-pet-names routine got old two days ago."

"But you told me you liked them, Lemon Drop."

"When we were under a spell." Buffy rubbed her tearing eyes. "Could you put Giles on please?"

"He's not here." Cradling the receiver between his shoulder and cheek, Spike emptied a bloodbag into his mug. "What's the matter, Candy Apple? Did some nasty get a nibble?"

"None of your-- Ow!" Not surprisingly, talking to him made it hurt more.

"Come on, Sweet Tart," he egged, always titillated by the concept of her in pain, "tell Daddy all your troubles."

"Daddy?" she repeated, incredulous, forgetting her discomfort for a moment. "Daddy."

He chuckled snidely. "Like that, do you? I had a feeling you--"

"Spike! Giles! Now!"

"Oh, you want him to play that game with you." He crumpled up and tossed the bloodbag toward the trash. It landed on the floor, leaving red speckles on the tile grout. "I should have guessed--"

"What? Ew! I don't want to play 'daddy' games with Giles!"

"Very well, then," he heaved a burdened sigh, pretending he wasn't enjoying this, "I will be your father figure. Put your tiny hand in mine."

"Look, I don't have time for... What about a tiny ham?"

"Hand, love." He sniffed the blood and opened the microwave. "But if you're hungry, I'm sure we can find something to fill up that tiny piehole of yours."

"Okay, you had better be talking about--"

"Cookies, for instance." Smirking, he pressed a series of buttons on the microwave. "Still a whole plate of 'em left over from Red's guilt trip. Dead tasty when you dip 'em in warm blood."

She wrinkled her nose. "No... thanks... Are you there alone?"

"Why?" Hands on the countertop, voice seductive, he teased her, "Do you want me to be?"

"No! I want to go back to my dorm and bathe. I don't want to spend three hours with you if I don't have to." Her eyes stinging, she winced, trying to keep her voice steady. "Giles wouldn't have left you alone, so if someone's there--"

"Now, Jelly Bean, you know you can bathe here. I'm not chained to the tub these days, so I won't be underfoot. 'Course, I could be, you say the word."

Buffy's head tipped back as she prayed to the heavens for some kind of end to the physical pain of whatever had been spit into her eyes, and the emotional pain of having to listen to Spike's constant provocations. He couldn't fight her anymore, so he'd resorted to driving her insane. "I will never say that word."

"Your loss. Vampires don't need air, know what I mean?"

"No. What?" She was already sorry she asked.

"See, I lie on my back underwater, right, and you sit down on my fa--"

"Just. Please," Buffy cut in irately, trying not to let him get to her. "All I want to know is, is anyone else there?"

"No," Spike said, and the microwave beeped. "Just Scrappy and his demon squeeze."

"Ex-demon!" Anya corrected helpfully from the couch, patting the arm that was draped around her neck. "Scrappy and his ex-demon squeeze."

"Scrappy?" Xander was offended enough to tear his eyes away from Jeopardy. "Scrappy? I should be Shaggy! Or at the very least, Scooby-- Is that Buffy?"

"Hmm," Buffy mulled aloud, "maybe Anya knows..."

"Knows what, Hot Pocket?" Spike asked, checking the freezer. That Oxford nonce had hidden it somewhere... "Got a demonology query?"

"No." Buffy made a point not to give the evil vampire in their midst a heads-up on Sunnydale's demonic activity -- especially when it was a demon that had managed to harm her. Also, he'd just called her 'Hot Pocket'. "Did you finally run out of candy names?"

"So, it's the candy names you like." He searched the cupboards again. "...Butterscotch? Pixy Stix?" Uh... "Toblerone?"

Toblerone? "Let me talk to Xander."

"I'm not completely useless, you know. Try me."

"There's no way I'm telling you anything--"

The recording asking for additional change kicked in, and Buffy searched her jeans for a quarter to shut the thing up. Stupid Spike, always wasting her time...

Meanwhile, Xander had appeared in the kitchen, snapping his fingers at the phone Spike held out of his reach. "Gimme the phone."

"Give the phone to Xander," Buffy said.

Spike ignored them both. "I won't use it against you, if that's what you're thinkin'. I've got better things to do, you know."

"Really," Buffy said, not believing him for an instant, and not being able to let this one go. "Like what?"

"Well," he began, idly scratching his chest. "I got a liquor cabinet here I haven't fully explored, tons of dirty magazines under your watcher's bed I haven't read, and... oh, Sabrina the Teenage Witch comes on in an hour."

"And to all of the above, I say, 'Please hurry, Buffy.'" With that, Xander swiped a bag of chips and left the kitchen.

Spike hadn't been paying attention to him, because Buffy was audibly cringing. "Giles has magazines under his--? Never mind, I really don't want to know."

"Some of them are dead brilliant, love. There's one called Foxxxy Mommaz, with a Z and three X's, right? I'm telling you, it's got to be seen to be believed. These bints have got these teeny-tiny little waists and, like, zeppelin-sized--"

"Spike!" Buffy sputtered, shivering in revulsion, "Stop! Stop talking! You're disgusting! Everything about you disgusts me!"

"I'm not the one with the lifetime subscription--"

"I don't care! I do not have time for this, and I have no idea why I haven't hung up on you yet!"

"Because you know I can I.D. your demon," he answered simply.

Could he? Maybe he could. Ever since he'd been chipped, he'd been playing sort of nice...

"And, you have the hots for me."

Except when he said things like that. Buffy snarled in frustration again. "I do NOT--" She took a deep breath. "Do you want me to tell you about this thing or not?"

"Yes. Tell me all about your scintillating brush with death, my little dollop of..." Leaning on a cupboard door, Spike spun a white jar to see the label. "Marshmallow Fluff."

She crinkled her brow. Where does he come up with this crap? "This thing I fought. It had snake hair that hissed at me when it died, and now my eyes feel like sandpaper."

"Was it a lady demon?" He moved some cans aside.

"I think so... How'd you know that?"

Result! At last, Spike found the Wheetabix Giles had been hiding from him, the sneaky bastard. He shook the box. "Snakes on the head? Chameleon skin? Could pass for an oversized walking hookah?"

"Wow. Yeah."

Nodding, he crushed the cereal and sprinkled it into his mug. "Talk in a language with lots of clicking? Only weakness is the eyes? Shot out a Hendrix haze when it died?"

"Yeah, yeah, that's the one!" Buffy said excitedly as he went down the list. "So what was it?"

As she waited for an answer, Spike took the mug to his lips, drank heartily, then thunked it down on the counter, empty. "Never heard of it."

Buffy groaned, tempted to ram her head against the pointiest part of the phone booth. "Spike! Just tell me what the hell it's done to me!"

He chuckled merrily. "Come over and I'll be happy to."

"Argh! You're such a jackass!"

"I miss you too, Strawberry Nips."

Her jaw dropped. "Strawberry...?" Scandalized, she covered her chest, as if he could see her. "Ugh!"

God, she was easy. "Coming over then?"

"Yeah, I'm coming over. To beat the crap out of you!" Buffy slammed down the phone, drummed her fingernails on the receiver, and grudgingly accepted her fate. She had to unlock the mystery of the hissing snake hair demon, and Spike, for better or worse, held the key.

Probably for worse.

Swiveling the phone booth doors open, Buffy the Vampire Slayer took in a deep, dignified breath, and set a course for wild, humiliating adventure.



TBC...

Buffy was feeling great. Her symptoms had disappeared on the walk over -- no ouch in the eyes, no sneezies, no sniffles... technically, she had no reason to be here. Except that she'd promised.

"Sigh," she said.

Descending the steps into Giles' garden, she heard the strains of Wheel of Fortune, and Anya yelling out, "Fat as a batter!"

She pushed open the door and saw the television screen: _A_ AS A _ATTER.

"I'd like to solve the puzzle, Pat."

"Toffee Crisp!" Spike greeted her happily from the armchair, holding an unlit smoking pipe by its bowl. "You can toddle off now, Scraps. The tastiest treat of all is here to spend a romantic evening with me."

Buffy squinted at him. "Are you wearing a smoking jacket?"

"Yeah. Can you believe? Giles actually owns one." Straightening the velvet lapels, he put the pipe in his mouth and went back to showily perusing the large book in his lap.

"Hey, Buff," Xander hailed, rising from the couch to mute the television. "So glad you could make it."

"'Mad as a hatter'? What does that even mean?" Anya recoiled at the sight of Buffy. "What happened to you?"

"Huh?" She turned to check the mirror and saw her unruly chick-fight hair. "Oh. Nice. I walked all the way over here like this. Two people said hello to me."

"I like it," Spike declared. "Makes you look like you've just been f--"

"No," Buffy said, whipping her head in his direction.

He smirked, F shape still on his lips. "--ighting. What did you think I was gonna say, Sour Patch?"

"Shut up, Spike." Picking out a dry leaf, she said, "Ugh. I hate bad hair slays."

"You and your kicky puns," Spike said, eyes on his book.

Meanwhile, Anya was whispering something in Xander's ear.

"So, you're all set, right?" Xander was poised at the coats, an anxious Anya clutching his arm. "We can just... 'toddle off'?"

"You're leaving? So soon? But..." She pointed at the TV. "Spinny wheels... exciting vowel-buying?"

"What's the matter, Bit o' Honey? Is the hard-up Slayer afraid to be alone with the irresistibly handsome vampire?"

"You mean Angel's dropping by?" both Buffy and Xander replied at once, then high-fived.

Spike gave her this one. "Well played, Bobbsey Twins."

"He's been strangely giddy all night," Xander asided as he put on his coat. "Please make him miserable."

"That's m'job," Buffy said. "Well, that, and babysitting a two hundred year old animated corpse for no pay."

"A hundred and twenty-six! Don't age me."

"Pipe down, Alistair Cookie," Buffy said.

"The cookies!" Xander remembered, and hurried to the kitchen. "Will said I could take the last batch."

"I used to babysit sometimes, when I was a demon?" Anya said, filling the awkward silence. "Or, I posed as a babysitter applying for a job until I got a satisfactory wish out of its newly single mother. I was so good at it, I barely ever had to watch the small humans--"

"Is there a point to this tangent," Xander asked from the kitchen, "besides the creepy thought of a demon alone with innocent children?"

"In babysitting jargon, Spike is what we'd call 'a real handful'."

"I'm all too familiar with the Spike handful." Buffy's eyes widened at the end of that sentence. She'd walked right into that, and now everyone was staring at her. "Metaphorically. You got that, right?"

"She was begging for a handful the other night," Spike informed them, unable to resist. "Or was it..." He closed his book with a dusty pop. "...a mouthful?"

Buffy scowled at him. She did not beg, she just... broached the subject, and hello, she was under a spell! "Fortunately for everyone, I experienced neither."

"Well, yeah. If you had, you'd know it was much more than a mouthful."

Ugh. Him and his sexual predator eyes! "That's it. I'm staking you."

"Hurray," Xander said.

Spike held the DAEMONS book up, tapped it with his pipe. "Do that and you won't know who Little Miss Hiss is until it's too late."

"Non-issue," she said, bored and breezy. "I'm better now, so you can drop the 'I hold all the cards' act. My eyes stopped stinging, like, five minutes ago."

"Which means..." He looked up at the ceiling, calculating. "You're about five minutes away from stage two."

She scoffed, hoping he was messing with her. Just to be sure, she nabbed Anya by the pea coat sleeve. "Good thing Anya's here to settle this."

"Me? I'm not here," Anya said, halfway out the door with her cookie-toting boyfriend. "I shared an anecdote and feigned camaraderie, and now I'm leaving to have sex with Xander. And possibly diner food."

"I bet the food rates better in the sack," Spike snarked.

"This will only take a second, Anya." Buffy smirked triumphantly at Spike as she said, "Lady demon, snake-hair, iridescent skin, clicking language. And it got all Jimi Hendrix on me when I killed it."

"Jimi what-rix?"

"It hissed out this purple haze."

Anya frowned, giving it some thought. "Doesn't ring a bell."

Wait. What? "But you know all about demons!"

"Only the ones I've met. And if I'd met one of those, I think I'd remember. Try asking Spike!"

Buffy's shoulders slumped. She pouted and turned to Spike, sitting there cross-legged with his book and his pipe and his boots and his ridiculous maroon smoking jacket.

Goodbyes were exchanged, the door was closed, and the hard-up slayer was alone with the irresistibly handsome vampire.

He put the pipe down and unstoppered the crystal carafe on the side table. "Looks like I'm all you've got. Again."

"And again, I don't want you."

"Cheer up, Juicy Squirts. Night's about to take an exciting turn."

She'd paused mid-jacket-unzip to gape at him. "What did you just call me?"

"What? Juicy Squirts? It's a candy. Don't they have that here?"

Buffy shut her eyes and envisioned him bursting into a million particles of dust. Sadly, this vision was not a reality.

"Feeling all right?" he asked, now swirling a brandy snifter.

"Just fine. Headache caused by the proximity of you notwithstanding." Jacket hung, she put her hands on her hips and stood tall. "Enlighten me, Spike. What is this alleged 'stage two'?"

Holding his brandy up to the light, he said, "Death. Any second now."

Her face fell. He couldn't be serious, could he?

What was she thinking? Of course he could.

She was poisoned. Fatally. And her friends had just left. The Slayer began to puzzle out scenarios, possible outcomes, survival tactics--

"I'm joking, Milky Buttons," he taunted her in sing-song. "You are so cute when you're afr--"

"Oh. My. GOD!" Like a wound up linebacker, she tackled him full force, making brandy fly and the chair topple over -- with the two of them in it. Getting in a good one-two punch before she started throttling him, she ground out, "That's enough! Enough with the obscene candy names and the innuendos and the not-funny jokes! You either give me facts or you shut! the fuck! up!"

"Hey, hey, hey!" he surrendered, hands up, trying very hard not to laugh in her face. "No need for violence and strong language, Red Hot. First of all, it'll wear off. So don't fret, alright?"

Mouth tight, she loosened her grip, and sat back. "You have ten seconds to tell me everything you know."

Rolling his eyes, he reached for the fallen book, opened it to a dog-eared page and turned it toward her.

There it was -- the freaky demon she'd just killed. "Sa'Q So-lat," she read aloud, taking the book. "'A rare, reclusive herbivore'? What's it doing on a college campus? Oh, here it is... 'emits a largely harmless venom upon death' -- ha! It is harmless!"

Trace of a smile curling his lips, he folded his hands behind his head. "Keep reading, Tootsie Pop."

"'...that can cause intense hallucinations and temporary tears in the fabric of one's reality. Victim will be highly suggestible and easily influenced.' Oh. Well, I guess she didn't hit me with enough spit, or slayers are immune, 'cause... I... d-on't..."

She watched with growing curiosity as the words she was trying to read began to bend and swim off of the page.

"Uh oh."

She heard smug laughter, and looked down at Spike, who was grinning wide as the Cheshire cat.

The second she thought that, the rest of his face disappeared. She tried to feel for his invisible face. "A grin without a cat. Hoh, boy. This is not good."

"What's the matter, Slayer? Never chased the rabbit before?"

The rest of him came back, but now he was growing rabbit ears.

That's when it finally hit her: "You did this! You made this happen!"

"Me? Whyever would I do that, Gummy Bear?"

"So you could weaken me! Or get me to hurt myself, or whatever your stupid plan is! I can't..." She made some clumsy attempts to strike him, but nothing landed. She felt soft and... gummy. "My arms don't... I know what you're... Your eyes are blue butterflies."

He smiled. Thank you, Rupert Giles, for leaving your books and baubles out for anyone to play with. "And your eyes are all pupil."

Buffy was riveted. His irises were transforming into electric blue butterflies that kept fluttering toward her and exploding into glittery Pixy Stix powder. It was freaky, but breathtakingly beautiful. "This is..." Her mother had a blue butterfly candy dish, but never put anything in it. What was the point of a candy dish without candy? "Wait. What are you gonna do to me?"

"Well, first, I'm gonna get you to find the berks who did this to me. Together," he put his hand on hers, the one that was on his face, "we're gonna force them to make me whole again, at which point, you and I are gonna slaughter them, and their families, and all your little friends, and then, I'm gonna suck you dry. Or turn you into a vampire. I haven't worked out that detail yet." Either way, he had a Plan B now: getting her to hurt herself. How had he not thought of that?

His lips were sugar-coated. "That's a lot to do in one night."

"The haze lasts six weeks."

What? Six weeks? "You...!" She tried to hit him again, but missed by a mile. "I am not gonna be your Helter Skelter hippie six slave for sex whole...! Six... Sex... Am I talking right now?"

Eying her with both suspicion and intrigue, he said, "Yeah."

"What did I say?"

"Quite a bit, Bit."

"Bit?" She gasped, and covered her mouth. "Did I bite you? I feel like I just bit you."

"Ride it out, Cherry Charms." Compelled by a twisted sense of paternal affection, he slid her hair behind her ear. "The hallucinations are strongest in the first... hour... What are you doing?"

"I'm riding it out," she said, eyes shut, nuzzling against his hand and undulating on his stomach.

Sensually.

"Oh. Uh..."

In her own little world, she moaned softly, and spasmed like she was doing Kegel exercises.

Spike arched a brow.

It was that kind of trip.

Book hadn't cautioned against extreme horniness. Then again, this could well be a by-product of her obvious attraction to him. Haze just magnified it, brought it out. The question was, what should he do about it?

Buffy watched his adam's apple bob, and wondered if it was a regular apple, or candy-glazed. A red delicious, or a macintosh. She ran her fingertips over it. Swiveled her hips some more.

Should he just stick to the plan? Would telling her she wasn't in the mood make her stop? They could always do it later, after they'd killed everyone who posed a threat. They had sex weeks... Six...! Six weeks to get this done.

...Buffy was stroking his neck. Squeezing it. Just the right pressure. Might as well have been stroking his cock; it had the same effect.

Like he was saying, they had six whole weeks to get this done. What was the harm in putting the plan off for a minute or forty? As long as they got out of here before Giles came home...

Her beestung lips parted, and her pink tongue darted out to lick them, shine them up.

He came to a decision: he would leave it up to her. She'd be the coin, he'd just do the flipping.

"What do you want to do right now, Buffy?"

She smiled shyly. "Bite you."

He swallowed. "Where?"

Gently, she fingered his adam's apple. "Here."

Entranced, lashes low, he matched his volume to hers. "Why don't you?"

"You've got that hard candy shell. I can't break it."

He tilted his head. "Hard candy shell?"

"Uh-huh. It's all over you, all red and shiny... like on an apple. Or the lollipop Santas." She leaned forward and confided, "Those are my favorite."

"Yeah?" Well, that settled it, then. "Won't hurt to take a lick of old Saint Nick."

Wow. That made so much sense. And it rhymed! Lowering her head, she lathed her tongue over his skin, from the base of his throat all the way up to his jaw.

Spike let out a powerless squeak.

Her eyes rolled up, her tongue hit her top teeth, and she made a noise like, "Nmmmmn."

"Bloody hell," he whispered, balls tightening.

"You taste soooo good."

"Do I?"

"Uh-huh. Taste." She touched her tongue to his.

Sparks seemed to ignite on contact. It was her. She tasted like the most delectable candy he'd ever eaten.

He grabbed her neck, and kissed her.

Buffy finally figured it out: why the butterfly candy dish was always empty. Sitting up, she exclaimed, "Because you're the candy, and the butterflies are inside you!"

Spike stared up at her, astonished. Her hair haloed around her, rippling in the wind... sparkling blue butterflies flitting about. Did those fly out of his eyes? Was that a rainbow behind her, with Skittles shooting out of it? And when did all those strawberries start growing on her shirt?

"Oh, no," he said. The venom. It traveled through saliva. Instantly. He probably should have read the fine print...

"Take off everything now," Buffy told him. "I wanna see your skin."

Without another thought, he got up on his elbows to shrug off the smoking jacket and yank the t-shirt over his head.

"Your skin is so pretty," she said, nearly orgasming when she coasted her hands over his chest. "So shiny and red... I wanna bite it."

"Bite it," he said, nostrils flaring. "Do it. It's all right if you break it."

She nibbled at his chest. "So pretty."

"God, you're so..." He touched her sunshiney hair. "You're so pretty."

"Am I?"

He nodded, enamored. "You're growing fangs."

She touched her tongue to her new fang, and broke the skin. "Ow."

"I'll fix it, baby." He pulled her close and sucked the candy out of her bleeding tongue.

"I want to be naked," she said between kisses. "All the way naked."

"Me too," he said, hastily helping her out of her shirt.

"I wanna be wet."

"I can get you wet."

"I wanna be in the dark." She unbuckled his belt.

He pinched her strawberry nipples. "I'll turn off the lights."

"You should take a bath with me!"

"Yes, I should."




TBC...

But it's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.


- Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

---

Giles was flying high tonight. His face actually hurt from laughing.



Two weeks prior, he'd won the role of Berger in the Thorndale Public Library Theater's winter production of Hair, and they'd really hit their stride in rehearsal tonight. He and the cast had gone for a pint afterward, and though Sheila was married with children and Claude was a gay Samoan lawyer, they'd all gotten on smashingly and had quite a bit of fun.



He hadn't realized how sorely he'd missed the company of grown-ups. It had been ages since he'd spoken with anyone who didn't qualify the word "not" with "so". Well, except Spike.



But he was irritating in a multitude of other ways.



Thank goodness, Giles thought as he stuck his key in the door, Thorndale was over 40 miles away. The "Scoobies" would never be the wiser. Just so long as Buffy could keep watching Spike, and no apocalypse struck between now and January 15th...



Why were the lights off?



Giles switched on the wall sconce, tossed his keys on his desk and called her name.



No answer. Just an eerie quiet.



Her jacket was on a hanger, beside her bag and Spike's leather duster. Nothing seemed out of place... until he entered the lounge: something was draped over the television set. The television was on, but muted.



He shut it off. Lifted the black t-shirt that covered the screen -- vampires were such slobs sometimes -- then let it fall when he noticed that the Eames chair had been overturned. A brandy glass was on the floor... and was that his old smoking jacket? The one he wore to that Council costume party in 1992? He was supposed to be Hugh Hefner, but everyone thought he was Alistair Cooke, flanked by two Playboy bunnies. Pillocks.



"Spike? Are you here?"



Perhaps he'd run off and Buffy had gone after him? Or perhaps something had come here, offed Spike, and Buffy was out celebrating. A man could dream.



Beneath the jacket was an antique demon tome, open to a spread about the Sa'Q So-lat.



"Odd," Giles remarked at the coincidence. He'd recently acquired that very demon's summoning stone, with no impetus but the simple joy of hoarding artifacts that the Watcher's Council coveted. Well, that, and it was also rather fetching: iridescent, smooth, stout. He used it as a paperweight.



He glanced at his desk. The stone was still there, innocently flattening his receipts.



Closing the DAEMONS book and returning it to its rightful place, he heard a whoosh and a massive splash, followed by a frantic gasp.



Dear lord! Buffy was being drowned!



He sprinted to the bathroom, burst through the door, tripped on Spike's boot, slid across the floor and ...What?



Buffy was in the tub, yes, but she wasn't struggling. She was straddling Spike's lap, her arms around his neck, a great tuft of bubbles squashed between them and piled atop their heads.



They were laughing and kissing. By candlelight.



Had she gone stark raving mad?



...Again?



"Uh oh, Daddy's home," Spike said, cheek pressed against hers.



"Shhh!" Buffy stage-whispered at Giles, her shush finger on Spike's lips. "We're in the arctic tundra, and Spike's an enemy submarine!"



"Incoming missile, prepare countermeasures..."



She giggled as he kissed her neck, and informed Giles, "He loves my zeppelin strawberry boobs."



"They're amazing," Spike said, molding a mound of suds into a cone shape. "Sweet, tasty cream puffs."



"I'm your candy girl. Wait, cream puffs are a pastry."



"You are everything sweet. And savory."



She touched his lips. "You are."



"No, you." The air thick with arousal, their mouths met again.



Calmly, Giles stepped back, closed the door, walked to his weapons chest, picked out a mace, and smashed the offending paper weight to bits.



Looking at his watch, he counted, "One. Two. Three..."



"OH MY GOD!"



"OH, COME ON!"



Giles nodded, and put the mace down.



"Get off me, you ...pig!" "Me off you? You're on me!" "What did you do? What the hell did you DO?" "Me? Ask your meddling witch friend!" "I can't believe this--"



The door slammed open, and Buffy monsooned through the living room in a towel, clothes in hand, suds and water flying in her wake. "Why does this keep happening to us?"



He shadowed her, naked. "Don't ask me! I don't remember a sodding thing!"



"Me either, and thank god for--" She got an eyeful of his substantial, glistening erection. The word glorious came to mind before she shooed it right out, shielded her eyes and threw him his pants. "Will you put some clothes on, please?"



He didn't catch the pants. He was too busy licking his lips and noticing a very distinct, highly intoxicating flavor and aroma. Wow, had he really? And if he'd done that... He squinted. "Did we...?"



Buffy gulped.



Did they?



He did feel knackered.



She did feel abnormally satisfied.



Though, they both craved ...strawberries and cream?



"Wipe that smirk off your face. If no one remembers, it didn't happen."



After a short pause, he said, "Yeah. Fair enough."



"Now get dressed before Giles gets home and--"



That's when she noticed Giles, standing on the staircase, wielding a crossbow.



"Oh. Hey! ...Giles." Nervous, she tightened her towel. "Been there a while?"



With Ripper-esque intensity, he kept his sights on Spike. "Quite long enough."



"Rupert." Spike couldn't get his pants up his legs. "Uh, Buffy, these aren't..."



"Oh." Redfaced, Buffy switched jeans with him. Sitting on the couch and wiggling into them under her towel, she said, "Giles, I don't know what happened. One minute I was here, fully dressed, looking at a book, and..." She pointed at Spike. "There was a demon. You knew what it was. Sucks Alot!"



"Never heard of it," Spike said, zipping up his pants.



"Sa'Q So-lat," Giles said, using the correct pronunciation, with the clicky noise. Crossbow aimed at Spike's heart, he descended the staircase with a murderous glare. "You conjured a demon so you could take advantage of Buffy."



Head popping out of her shirt's neckhole, Buffy gasped. "You did?"



"No!" Spike held his hands up as Giles got close. "Well, not in the way you think!" He bargained, "I only wanted to get my bite back, with her help -- I swear it! Something went horribly wrong! Last I remember she jumps me, then tells me I'm slathered in delicious hard candy!"



"Oh, puh-leeze! I would never say that."



"Wouldn't you?" He gave her a cocky head-tilt. "Red lollipop Santa, your favorite?"



Her eyes widened. The red lollipop Santas were her favorite.



"Just admit you've wanted me from day one, Poptart--"



"Do shut up, Spike," Giles barked, while Buffy said, "Wanted you dead! Give me that, Giles. I'll kill him."



"No, you won't," Giles kept a firm hold on it. "You'll taunt him and get him worked up."



"What? I don't do that!"



"Do, too." Concerned that Giles' finger might slip, Spike said, "Look, I won't do it again, all right? I promise! No more magic. Learned my lesson, I did. And... besides, it's your fault for leaving demon charms and facebooks about for any resident evil to get his surly mitts on!"



Heaving a sigh, Giles lowered the crossbow. Spike had a point -- such volatile ingredients in the hands of a physically powerless evil creature was a recipe for disaster. He just hadn't pegged Spike for much of a reader, or planner. Of course, if Spike had read a little further, planned a bit smarter, he could have summoned far worse. He'd also know this: "Sa'Q So-lat venom is transmitted through saliva. If there was any ...contact, you would have been infected instantaneously."



"Ha!" Spike said, excitedly accusing her. "I remember it now! You licked my tongue!"



"Oh, in your wettest dreams! You probably made me do it!"



Tuning them out, Giles put the crossbow down, sat at a bar stool, polished his glasses and fixed himself a drink.



"Oh, right," Spike was arguing, "because I'm that desperate for a snog with a chastity-belted priss like you!"



"Hey, you said it, Mister, I didn't!"



"No, see," he poked his chest, "I asked you what you wanted to do, and you said you wanted to bite me!"



Her arms fanned out. "I was high!"



"'I was high!' 'I was under a spell!' What's next? 'I was itchy'?"



"You--!" She slapped him across the face, hard. It felt good. Primly, she pulled the hem of her shirt down over her hips and announced, "I'm leaving."



"Good. Leave! I hope something eats you."



"As long as its not you," she grumbled.



"Hmph. Pretty sure it's too late for that," he licked his upper lip for emphasis, "Juicy Squirts."



Buffy turned candy apple-red as he heartily inhaled her scent. Oh. God.



Sick to her stomach, she marched up to Spike and said, teeth grit: "Nothing. Happened. Repeat after me--"



"Like I wanted anything to happen? I get my jollies killing slayers, remember? Not f--"



With eyes that could slay, she clamped a hand over his mouth. "Nothing. Happened."



He nodded, and said, words muffled against her palm, "Nothing happened."



She stepped back, took a deep, brainwashing breath, and turned away.



As the door closed behind her, she thought of a butterfly-shaped candy dish.



As he watched the door close, he thought of a U-Boat cracking a polar icecap.



Something happened.



* * *



EARLIER THAT NIGHT...



"Unh! Unh! Uunh!" Buffy rocked back and forth in the cool, dark ocean, a multi-tentacled sea beast having its wicked way with her. "Oh god! Oh, god, oh my fucking ghunh! Hunh! Hu-UNH! Yeah! Yeah. Yeah..."



When her body went slack at last, Spike emerged from the depths, shaking the water and butterflies off his head with a grin.



Panting, she said, "Sorry I kept you down so long this time."



He pulled her close and kissed her breathless. "I could eat you all night, Sweet Tart."



"You are so amazing," she awed, head rolling back, then forward again. "Vampires are amazing. My little undead submarine."



A scarred, wet brow shot up. "Little?"



She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Little for a submarine. Big for a... what's that thing?"



"Penis?"



She smirked. "Periscope."



He grinned. She'd started to slide against it. "Getting bigger."



She waved her hand over the surface to peer into the depths. "It's gonna break through the candy ice."



"Uh oh. Better run, or I'll catch myself an Eskimo Pie."



Squealing, she shot to the opposite end of the tub.



He pitched his pelvis up until the tip surfaced. "Spotted. What are you gonna do?"



"Surrender," she replied with a glint in her eye, and leaned in to lick it, coil her tongue around it.



He tremored, and reached out to touch her golden-honey hair, disturbing some of the phosphorescent butterflies. For the hundredth time that night, he congratulated himself for summoning that demon. "Best plan I ever botched."



She raised her head. "The plan! I forgot about the plan. What did you want me to do first?"



"Later, Candy Cane." He slid his thumb over her cheek. "First we brave the Arctic Seas and find your favorite lolly in the North Pole."



One corner of her mouth turning up, she squeezed his cock. "Found it."



Exactly what he hoped she'd say... and do.



"Fuck..." Spike's neck hit the lip of the tub, and he settled in for another first-rate blow job. That, plus the sweet taste of Slayer on his tongue, and the Northern Lights dancing in the ceilingless sky above?



Stick a cig between his teeth, and he'd get religion.



He watched that starry light show for what could have been an hour, could have been a minute, all while being worshiped by her eager mouth and hands, and being cradled by the ocean's gentle lapping waves.



Misty-eyed, he proclaimed, "This is the greatest night of my entire unlife."



"Mm mmn," she said, in lieu of me too. No candy on earth could compare to the yumminess of Spike. Not even the lollipop Santas. She had to stop to tell him so.



He laughed. "Come sit on Santa's lap."



Happy to oblige, she floated into his arms and poised herself over his lap. Traded nibbling kisses with him while he teased his cock against her slick, open pussy.



"Now. What would little Buffy like for Christmas?"



"You." She touched his cool, shiny chest. "Forever and ever."



"Yeah?" He ran the back of his hand down her collarbone. "I don't know, love. I don't think you've been naughty enough..."



"I am too naughty," she insisted, and sat on the tip of his cock to prove it.



"Hohh..." Religion. There it was.



Her eyelashes fluttered, and she breathed out three times before whispering, "Wow..."



She clutched his shoulders. He clutched her ass, but didn't push.



Stars and butterflies and Pixy Stix dust burst all around their heads as she slowly sank down.



Spike stared at her, wonderstruck. This was like sliding his cock into a warm, somehow airtight, fresh-baked cream puff. A cream puff shaped like a golden-skinned snowbunny with ripe strawberries at the end of her pert tits...



Could this possibly be real? He hoped to Hell it was.



At the bottom of the ocean, Buffy stilled, savoring the sensation. He filled her up so well, fit just right, and it all made perfect sense now: He was what she'd been missing all along.



Yes. It all made perfect sense now: She was what he'd been missing all along.



They stared at one another, hair billowing in the deep blue sea, and she began to move.



It was everything he'd imagined, and more. At the top of each rise, she'd contract her interior muscles, suctioning the tip of his cock. At the base of each fall, she'd open up, and coat him with warm, sweet honey.



Buffy was elated. Maybe it was his shape, or maybe she hadn't learned how good this position could be, but the head of his cock was massaging a sweet spot on every upstroke.



At each downstroke, he held her fast and thrust his pelvis up to meet hers, spearing her center and forcing a gush of silken seawater over her clitoris.



She wasn't sure what was more exquisite: up or down. Good thing she could keep doing both. Forever, if she wanted. Here at the bottom of the sea. And why would she ever want to come up for air?



Why would he?



Candy-colored fish darted past their heads. Soft seaweed enveloped them, tethering them to one another and the ocean floor, and all the while, they danced a slow motion duet.



She mouthed his name. He mouthed hers. Lost in this faraway sea of desire, this haze of ignorant bliss, Buffy and Spike found each other.



Their eyes met, and they kissed, deeper than ever before.



Lips fused, tongues mingling, they danced this way, in suspended animation, for an eternity. Oblivious to the world around them, all they could feel was euphoria; all they could hear were their own moans and sighs. It was the most thrilling experience either one of them had ever known.



Buffy wasn't sure if she was about to come, or if she had already, or if she was coming at the moment, but any one of those things were fine by her. As long as she could keep feeling this way, cradled and stimulated by water and colors and seaweed and Spike...



Spike, on the other hand, knew that they were both approaching a climax they may never recover from. And he was ready to face it.



Breath quickening, hands grasping, bodies thrashing, they tore away from their restraints, rose up out of the depths, broke the surface... and kissed the sky.



Buffy got there first, and inadvertently squeezed him to his peak. A kaleidoscope of lights swirled around them, transporting them through space and time and dimensions, windows upon windows into worlds they were never meant to see...



They were both a little hoarse when they finally stopped shouting, both a little bruised when they relaxed their entangled limbs.



"Oh, my god," Buffy breathed, searching his stunned expression. "Did you see that?"



"All the dimensions?" At her nod, he nodded, too. "Alternate realities, future, past... Like dying, only..."



"...without the death part," she finished his sentence. "I saw you burn."



"Me, too."



She made a face. "I saw us married."



"Me, too. Three kids." He frowned at the memory, "And a bunny..."



She saw the bunny, too. "That was weird."



"Very."



That said, when the powers that be sent her messages, Buffy had learned it was best to listen. "We're supposed to be together, aren't we?"



"I think so."



She smiled, feeling surprisingly okay with that. At least she knew she'd be having fun. "This better not be the one where you burn."



"Nah," he said. "Couldn't be me. Too noble."



"True," she said. "You're gonna have to stay evil."



"Done," he said, pulled her close, and nipped at her neck.



"Guess you'll have to change me."



"Mmm," he breathed in her blood's irresistible scent. "The second I can. You can count on it."



She looked down at their joined laps. "Where'd all the water go?"



They were sitting in about five inches of water. He cast a glance at the shiny floor. "That way."



She pouted. "All the bubbles are gone, too."



Spike reached behind him, turned on the faucet, and grabbed the shampoo. "One fresh bubble bath, coming right up."



They kissed as the tub filled again, this time with a huge, fizzy layer of bubbles. Not snow. "Did the haze wear off? I feel like it wore off."



"Maybe. Maybe all that interdimensional rifting shorted a fuse."



"Or the mind-blowing orgasm did."



"Yeah, that was my euphemism."



She splashed him, chuckling. "Too bad. It was kind of fun, playing vampire submarine with you."



He slid a finger into her. "Don't need a haze for that, Eskimo Pie."



Head rolling back, she moaned. "I think I'll miss the sweet talk most of all."



"Oh, Buffy..." he whispered, working his fingers into a steady rhythm. "You're my cream puff, with cherry charm lips 'n... strawberry tits... and... you're perfect."



"Even though I don't have... mmmnh... 'zeppelin-sized' boobs?"



Before his eyes, her perky B-cups inflated to twin Hindenburgs and bounced on the snowy water. "Oh, the humanity."



"Why are you licking the bubbles?"



"'S'where the strawberries are."



One strawberry floated to the surface. Then another. "Oh. Strawberries and cream."



Buffy was delighted to find that the haze wasn't gone, after all. It was just resting.





Spike stopped fingering her to wrap her giant breasts around his cock.





"What are you doing?" she said, swatting him on the head. "You're so freaky deaky."



He gave her an arrogant smirk. "You love it."



She straddled his lap. "How do you know I love it?"



"Because we belong together, you and I. Like strawberries and cream."



She smiled, biting her lip.



"And I'm in love with you," he confessed.



Buffy's smile fell as she met his surprisingly heartfelt gaze. Oh. She opened her mouth, but didn't know what to say.



"It's all right," he assured her, eyes warm. "Some day you'll tell me."



"I know I will," she whispered, and kissed him with all she could give.



And a little hip shimmy that she couldn't control.



When they broke apart, he breathed in and said, "Enemy sub approaching."



She shrugged. "I'm not afraid. It's made of candy."



"How will you know for sure," he said, voice soft and reedy, "'less you taste it?"



"Good point." Buffy submerged to deep-throat him, and came up, gasping for air. "I'm not a very good vampire yet. You'll have to teach me how to stay under."



"It's easy." He breathed in to demonstrate. "Deep breath, and..."



She took in a long, deep breath, and pinched her nose.



He grinned, and yanked her swiftly by the ankles. "Down we go..."










THE END