Chapter 1

Oh. My. God.

“Mom!” This was not happening. If there was one thing Buffy couldn’t handle, this was it. Demons twice her size? Sure, she’d rip their heads off with her bare hands, blindfolded and with a twisted ankle. Apocalypse? Point her in the right direction and she’d come out on top. But this? This was even worse than finding a glamorous, yet slayer-friendly pair of shoes—on sale too—only to realise they had run out of her size.

“I don’t understand why you’re being so difficult about this.”

Buffy was torn between laughing hysterically like a raging lunatic or bursting into tears. There was nothing to say. Christmas was ruined. It was as simple as that.

“Difficult?” she shrieked in a voice that probably made dogs within a twenty mile radius flinch. “I’m so totally with the reason! You’re the one that’s un. Mom—”

“No, Buffy,” her mom interrupted, nonplussed by Buffy’s distress.

Well, that was just completely unacceptable.

“I thought you would be more mature, have a little compassion. Haven’t I raised you better than this?”

Oh great, the ‘I’m disappointed in you’ tone accompanied with a saddened shake of her mom’s head. A guaranteed way to make Buffy feel like vile goo stuck on the bottom of a shoe.

“But it’s supposed to be just us. I was looking forward to having you all to myself,” Buffy tried, hoping it would pluck on her mom’s heartstrings. The sincerity was nice and all, but it was the sticking out of her lower lip in the lightest pout that would surely push the advantage into Buffy’s corner. Surely her mom would change her—

“My decision is final. Spike is spending Christmas with us.”

--mind.

With that, her mom walked out of the kitchen, effectively ending the argument and leaving Buffy standing there feeling as though someone had run over her favourite pet. Then backed up and ran over it again.

“Oh, shit.”

*******

A week later on December 23rd, Buffy was perched on her bed, painting her toenails candy pink with one hand, the other holding the phone as she relayed her misfortune to Willow’s sympathetic ear.

“So, when is he coming over?” Willow asked.

Buffy capped the nail polish bottle and wiggled her toes. “Ugh, today. I can’t believe Mom is letting an evil vampire stay at our house.”

“Unless you count the whole scowling, being mean thing, he’s not really all that evil anymore.”

“Willow! You’re supposed to be on my side,” Buffy said sullenly and propped a pillow against the wrought iron headboard before leaning back. “Besides, just because he has that chip, it doesn’t mean he’s not evil. He just can’t do anything about it right now.”

“I’m just saying… I mean, I’m still not over the bottle-in-my-face-thing, but I guess he’s not as evil as he used to be.”

“Oh no. You’ve turned into a pod person! Should I be worried?”

Buffy could feel Willow roll her eyes all the way through the landline. That was real friendship right there.

“Shush,” Willow said. “I mean… Well, you know how Miss Kitty Fantastico went missing.”

“Yeah?” What did that have to do with anything?

“Spike overheard and then brought Tara a new one.”

Buffy frowned. “What was Spike doing with a kitten?” Her eyes widened. “I bet he was about to eat the poor thing.”

“Unless he snuggles his food first,” Willow said. “Or I suppose some vampires do… if they are really into snuggling. So it would be like playing with your food, which, kinda disturbing—”

“Willow? Tangent? You’re about to go off on it,” Buffy said, amused.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” There was a deep breath as Willow regained her composure and got back to the point. “I was at Tara’s and we were just about to leave and I opened the door and poof! There was Spike snuggling the kitten, b-but then he noticed us and got all snarky and swaggery and pushed the kitten into Tara’s arms. There was a pet carrier at his feet too, so I think he meant to leave it there and do the vampire thing when they disappear and stuff.”

Stupid Spike and stupid kittens. She still wasn’t convinced there hadn’t been any ulterior motive. “Maybe the kitten is evil! It’s like one of those sleeper agents. You’ll say the wrong word and boom! The kitten will rip your throat out.”

There was an uncertain silence on the other end. The kind where Willow obviously thought Buffy had eaten a bagful of magic mushrooms.

“A secret agent kitten?” Willow sounded dubious. “It’s been very cute so far. I think it was nice of Spike even if he got all grrr and made with the big exit.”

“You’re supposed to join the bash Spike fest, Wills, not make him look like a vampire version of Mother Theresa.”

She could almost see her friend shrug. “He curses too much to be a nun.”

Buffy giggled against her will then abruptly choked it back. That sound had not just come out of her mouth in relation to any comment about Spike. Derisive snickering was absolutely fine but heartfelt amusement was where she drew the line. A swift change of topic was in order. “So, how’s the Tara thing going?”

Willow let out a squeal that almost rendered Buffy deaf then proceeded to go on about the magnificence that was her witchy girlfriend. It made Buffy smile despite her ringing ear. It was nice to see her friend find happiness, especially after the Oz debacle a few months back.

With the slam of the front door, her fuzzy mood turned a corner right into aggravated-PTB-please-give-me-strength territory. “I think it’s here.”

“It?”

“The peroxide pest. I just heard the front door close.”

“Be nice.”

“You sound like my mom.” Buffy gnawed on her bottom lip as she checked her still not-quite-dry toenails. “Do you think I could get away with staying permanently in my room throughout Christmas? Or at least for now? My toenails will get ruined and everyone knows having pretty toenails is important.”

Just then her mother decided to yell for her to come down to ‘greet their guest’.

“You can do this,” Willow said in her resolve voice, making Buffy feel marginally better.

“Yes, yes I can. I’m the Slayer. I can totally do this.” She inhaled deeply then let out a cleansing exhale. “I’ll just ignore him. I can make it through the holidays without staking him, which would make my mom ground me for life even though I’m practically an adult.”

“Yup, no killing the Spike shaped people for Buffy.”

Buffy nodded even though Willow couldn’t see her, said goodbye and got to her feet with her chin up.

She would not let him get under her skin.

*******

Ah, there she was, spitting fire with her eyes, her spine ramrod stiff, making him wonder just how far up her arse that stick reached . And look at those tiny baggy shorts, revealing far more than they hid. God, she was hideous. With her sun charred skin and too round eyes, the nasty bump in her nose and stupid bouncy Valley girl hair.

“Buffy, can you show Spike the room he’ll be staying in?” Joyce ordered rather than asked and he could sense a brewing argument between the two females.

“Oh, you mean our sunroof?” The Slayer looked at him, fluttering those thick dark eyelashes that he wanted to rip out one by one. “It’s very picturesque when the sun comes up. I’m sure you’ll enjoy the brief view.”

“Buffy,” Joyce jumped in, mouth taut in reprimand. Spike would have given the Slayer a brilliant retort but he sensed that Joyce was tired, so he kept his mouth shut and nodded politely.

“Thank you for having me, Joyce. I appreciate it.” And he did, to his utmost discomfort. Joyce was a lot like his mum and had properly nestled within his heart. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out how such a posh lady could have popped out the gum-chewing, dim-witted brat.

For some reason, Buffy’s heartbeat picked up in speed and he noted with glee that his refusal to give in to their usual banter routine was making her all kinds of itchy. Well, well. Wriggling under her skin was going to be so much fun.

With a bright grin, he appraised the house and said, “You have the most lovely house, Joyce.”

“Oh, let me show you my art room.”

“You’ve got an art room?” Finally, he could have an adult conversation with someone other than a stuffy watcher hell bent on hiding the good scotch. The fact that the Slayer’s hands clenched into fists when he followed her mum up the stairs was just the icing on the cake.

*******

Buffy sat sullenly on the couch in the living room with her legs tucked under her butt, flipping through the channels as she mocked Spike under her breath in a frighteningly bad British accent. “Oh, I would love to see your art, Joyce. I love the house, Joyce. I like to drape frilly French lace over my nakedness and…” She dropped the accent. “Okay, Buffy, you’re officially losing it.” She grimaced and shut the TV off.

What to do? What to do? She’d already followed Spike and Mom on the impromptu house tour like a lost puppy, all the while casting an evil glare at Spike’s back.

Not that it had ended too well.

“Did you want something, honey?” her mother had asked when she’d finally noticed Buffy’s stalking tendencies.

“I’m making sure he’s not up to something evil.”

Joyce had given her a confused look, so Buffy had elaborated. “I’m not going to leave you alone with him!” Had everyone lost their mind? Spike was a vampire. One that had tried to kill her numerous times. And she was supposed to play nice and pretend they were the bestest buds? No way, Jose.

“As if I’d hurt Joyce,” Spike had scoffed, pointing to his head. “Chip, remember? And even if I didn’t have it, I still wouldn’t.” That last part had been said almost too quietly for Buffy to catch, but she had. And unlike her mother, she hadn’t fallen for his act.

“Really, Buffy. There’s no need to follow us around. Especially if you’re going to have that attitude.”

Spike’s scarred eyebrow had quirked up, clearly mocking her. She had snapped, and what normal person wouldn’t?

After she’d reacquainted Spike’s face with her right hook, Joyce had given her a long embarrassing speech about manners and ladylike behaviour, every word wrought with disappointment. All the while she could see Spike’s eyes glint with glee as he’d overdramatically cupped his bleeding nose.

The big faker.

It’s not like he didn’t have vampire healing. The swelling was probably gone already!
So now she’d been banished to the living room as if she was public enemy number one while her mother fussed over Blood Breath upstairs.

Her phone rang and Buffy’s mood slightly picked up when she spotted Willow’s ID on the screen. At least she’d had someone to rant to.

*******

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Slayer. Would you shut your gob already? Any more sickly sweet talk about Captain Cardboard and I’m going to hurl.”

She twisted around from her spot on the couch to gape at him with her phone hanging limply in her hand. “What did you just say to me?”

Spike arched his scarred eyebrow, as cool as a cucumber even with the purple bruise adorning his nose. Which—now that she thought of it—was a really stupid thing to say. Why cucumber? Couldn’t a pepper be cool too?

“What, you hard of hearing now? Got glitter stuffed in your ears?”

Willow’s questioning voice carried to Buffy’s ears and with a hurried apology, she ended the call before pinning Spike with her best threatening glare. “Oh, I’ll stuff glitter in your… somewhere glitter has no business being stuffed!”

Spike leaned against the doorjamb separating the living room from the foyer in that maddeningly casual way and she wished that for once, he’d topple back right on his scrawny ass.

“Oh, I’m all aquiver now. Seems to me that the insult queen can’t even say the words out loud.” His lips stretched into a smirk and she just knew he was doing that to spur on her rage. And she was very enraged. Definitely about two seconds away from staking him where the sun didn’t shine. “So, how does it feel?” he asked.

“What?” she hissed past her clenched teeth.

“To have that stick up your arse, of course. Is that where you’re hiding your stakes? Could have sworn you always whip them out of nowher—”

“You’re about to find out yourself if you don’t shut up. Right. Now.”

“Gonna hit me again, Slayer? Not sure mum would like that.” He sneered, thumbs hooked through his belt loops.

“Okay, first of all, don’t call her ‘mum’. And… What the hell is going with you and my mother anyway? Since when are you all buddy buddy? You better not be having something icky going on.” The visual of naked aerobics between her mother and Spike wheedled into her brain and for a second she feared she’d actually heave. “Oh. Ewww. Now I’ll have to scrub my brain clean.”

“Not much to scrub away anyway,” he muttered and shouldered off the doorjamb. “And grow up, would you? Not all of us jump into bed with everyone who’s being nice, Slayer.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

The corner of his lips tilted into a condescending smirk. With a shrug, he headed off to the kitchen and yelled over his shoulder, “I’m sure you can figure it out.”

The Parker thing was so not her fault. How was she supposed to know he was just a big sleaze?

She picked up the remote and hurled it after Spike’s retreating form, grinning in satisfaction when she saw —and heard— it impact with his back. His resulting curses were music to her ears.

TBC

Chapter 2

He was staring at her again. Not looking, or casually giving her a passing glance. Nope. He was staring her right in the eyes, his own glinting, that infuriating smirk curling the corner of his lips, legs sprawled and hands framing his crotch. Crude much?

She was chewing her pancake so viciously her teeth ached. Yeah, get that, bleach pest. See if she looked away first.

“I need to go to the gallery.”

Buffy’s gaze jerked to her mother, fork half-forgotten on the way to her gaping mouth. “What! But it’s almost Christmas!”

Joyce sighed. “I don’t like it either, but there is a late shipment coming in today that I have to sign for and unpack. It won’t be long. I’ll probably be back in about two hours.”

Hours? Hours!

She couldn’t stay alone in the house with Spike and his maddening provocation for so long.

The front door had just closed and now they were alone, her appetite gone just like her traitor of a mother. She picked up her cup of coffee instead and looked at him over the rim.

She drank… and promptly spit the contents all over the table.

She could barely hear Spike howl in laughter over the blood rushing to her head. It must have been him! The bastard had put salt in her freaking coffee! Heaps of it!

Okay. This was it. He’d better run because he had one pissed off slayer on his hands.

*******

Seeing the expression on the bint’s face when she had a taste of the salty coffee was priceless, almost enough to compensate for the time she’d dropped an organ on him and broken his spine.

His abs were aching he was laughing so much! This was even better than that one time he and Dru had kidnapped those two mimes and made them cry and scream for mercy.

But wait, the Slayer was rising from her chair and stalking towards him, all crimson cheeks and tight-lipped smile. Well, that didn’t bode well for him at all.

Not that he was scared or anything. He was the Slayer of Slayers, he’d been scourging Europe for decades, painting the towns blood re—

“Now, now, Slayer, you wouldn’t want to make your mum mad, would you?” He jumped from his chair and surreptitiously placed it between him and the impending disaster in the form of an enraged Slayer. “Ought to act all nice and gracious to your guests.”

“Oh, she’ll forgive me eventually. As long as I vacuum you up.”

“That’s a bit heartless. Thought you liked me enough to scatter me in the wind at least.”

She scoffed. “Knowing you, you’d probably get in my hair.” The wooden legs of the chair skidded along the tiles as she dragged it to the side.

Spike gulped, eyes darting around in search of escape routes.

Fuck, the sun was up, which meant the back door was out of question.

The Slayer growled.

Maybe he’d make it to the sewer entrance, even without the protection of his coat.

Yeah. Probably not.

“Don’t see what got your knickers in a tw—” The rest of the sentence cut off with a squeak as she gripped his throat and squeezed. The edge of the kitchen island dug into his lower back as she bent him backwards, the glimmer in her unblinking eyes just a tiny bit unsettling.

“Don’t you worry about my knickers, Spike. You should be worrying about yours.”

Well, it wasn’t as if he wore any, a fact he was suddenly regretting when her pelvis rubbed against his goodies in just the wrong way.

Her brows furrowed as she wiggled her hips then froze.

She let go of him as though he’d caught on fire.

“You… you… disgusting…” She started sputtering, jumping away and wiping her palms on her thighs as if he had fleas.

“Well, what did you expect? You grab a bloke by his throat and grind against his cock, this is what you’re going to get!” Bloody stuck up bitch.

Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment and rage, and yeah… all that blood pumping…

She turned on her heel and dashed out of the kitchen, fluttering virtue intact.

No wonder she was so high strung all the time. Now only if she’d find a bloke stupid enough to stick it to her good. Might do all of them a favour.

Adjusting himself, Spike headed towards the fridge and retrieved a pack of blood.

All the flowing hormones had made him hungry.

*******

He was disgusting! A pervert! And what the hell was in his pants? A freaking cucumber?

“Oh God.” She flopped down on her bed face-first, glad her mother wasn’t home to witness the spectacle.

Why had she pressed him into the island? Hadn’t she learned last year that Spike was obviously a kinky bastard who got off on being hit and pushed against hard surfaces, kitchen furniture specifically?

Don’t think about ‘hard’. There wasn’t anything hard at all!

Getting hit was probably like getting to third base for him. Oh no. She’d been to third base with Spike! How much lower could one possibly go?

Her skin was tingling with disgust, her stomach flipping with something that could only be nausea and why couldn’t she get it out of her head that Spike was apparently leaning to the left?

“Someone kill me now.”

*******

The house was eerily quiet. The kind of foreboding quiet that probably meant Spike was up to something nefarious. And while she’d been hiding—uhh, regrouping—in her room, God only knew what he could have come up with to mess up her holidays even more. Sometimes she wondered if now that he’d lost his bite, his only purpose in unlife was to make her hair turn prematurely grey.

She ventured out of her room, scanning the corridor for anything out of place.

“You better not be doing anything evil,” she muttered as she made her way down the stairs.

And just as she expected, he was… oh. Sleeping. Well, that was disappointing. Or, a pleasant change, more like. Because she— in no way, shape or form— enjoyed their constant battle of wits. After all, everyone with half a brain knew silent Spike was the best kind of Spike. Probably why Harmony dated him, since she seemed to have cotton candy instead of a brain.

Buffy padded up to him, thinking of all the ways she could rudely awaken him. Roll him off the couch, maybe? Blare the Mexican radio station right next to his ear? Dunk his hand in a jar of hot water to see whether vampires could pee themselves? Hey, it was all in the name of science and she was nothing if not science-keen. It was a valid question too because Spike was a big bleached freak who couldn’t keep his hands off booze and hot chocolate. It had to go somewhere, right? Maybe someone should clue him in to the fact that vampires weren’t supposed to eat human food or drink anything but blood.

“You are so weird.”

Spike’s nose twitched, lips parting to let out a sigh. Gross. He better not drool all over her favourite throw pillow.

It was a bit disconcerting to see him asleep, especially when it seemed as if he was always awake, day and night, bouncing all over the place as though his skin could hardly contain all that energy inside. Murderous urges probably gave you quite a boost.

She poked his shoulder.

Snort.

“Are you ticklish, Spike?” she asked, kneeling down to get on eye-level.

Spike, who had been sprawled on his back curled on his side, knees drawn up to his chest as he cuddled an extra purple pillow to his chest. “Mmhmm.”

“You are? Well, that’s just unfortunate, isn’t it?”

His lips smacked, his eyes flickering beneath his eyelids. Someone should tell him he had girly eyelashes. How embarrassing.

“Smells nice,” he slurred in his sleep, face nuzzling into the pillow and she noticed how curly his hair had gotten. It was a riot of ivory, cupid-like ringlets and she considered getting a few snapshots of the sight just so she could print out about a hundred copies and plaster them all over Willy’s.

Maybe I should put my cat ears from Halloween on him first. Not like I even used them.

She was just about to do go up to her room to get them when a hand shot out and clamped around her wrist.

Uh oh. Busted.

And as his eyes slowly blinked open, it was as if her legs had given up on her entirely. Stupid legs with their stupid un-movingness. Now if her brain decided to kick in with the plausible explanation as to why she’d been staring at him, that would be nice. Swell, even.

“What’re you doing?” Spike asked, rising up on his elbow, his hold loosening. Maybe she should just up and leave and never even say a word, but her mouth was already opening and the words were spilling out.

“Doing? Nothing. I wasn—”

“Were you just watching me sleep?” His eyes slitted as he scanned her face and she knew she looked as guilty as hell. Which, not fair. She was supposed to be good at that whole covert op stuff! Slayer, here, hiding the sacred duty for years.

Well, besides that part where your whole high school knew.

“No!”

“You were!” His voice was oddly shrill as he sat up and drew her favourite pillow to his chest like a damsel in distress. “I feel violated.”

“I wasn—”

“Not that I can blame you, really. I know I’m dashing but—”

“I wasn’t staring at you! I was just…” Did he have to look at her like that? With that sardonic twist of lips and head tilted to the side? “I just wanted… my pillow back! You were drooling all over it.”

She yanked it out of his grasp and staggered to her feet with her chin up even though she felt like digging a hole in the backyard and crawling in it until Christmas was over. Possibly even longer.

“Yeah, right,” he snorted, fingers laced over his stomach as he stretched on his back. “Never knew the Slayer had a voyeurism kink. Guess you do have something in common with Angelus after all.”

“You know, Spike, sometimes I really hate you.”

“Only sometimes? Better not be turning soft on me, Slayer.”

“The only soft thing here is you.”

“Now, now, we both know that’s not true.”

Oh boy, did she. “Keep it in your pants, you pervert!”

Turning on her heel and immediately regretting that non-witty response, she ran out of the living room.

Well, at least she’d saved the pillow.

“I suck.”

*******

Dealing with Spike again came a lot sooner than she would have liked, when hunger drove her out of her room. Of course he couldn’t just keep his pasty ass glued to the living room couch. Not when there was a slayer in the kitchen trying to make a sandwich. She was like a neon sign of ‘let’s nag Buffy until she snaps’.

“You going patrolling tonight?” He hopped up on the counter near where she was buttering bread, and snatched a slice of cheese before she could whack his hand away.

“I patrol every night, in case you haven’t noticed.” Ignore him. Just, finish the stupid sandwich and leave.

“Someone’s touchy. Was just making polite conversation.” And maybe one could believe him, if he wasn’t smirking around a piece of cheese he’d stolen from her.

Don’t say a word. Don’t indulge him. He’s not even here. La la la!

“Silent treatment, is it? Have to say, I like this improvement, Slayer. Maybe you should try it on for size more often.”

She sliced the tomato in half with one violent motion, knuckles turning white from her tight grip on the knife’s handle.

“And how very nice of you to make me a sandwich, too. No crust, yeah?” He reached over her to steal another slice of cheese.

Okay, that was it. “Take that cheese and I’ll chop up your fingers like they’re carrots.”

His hand hovered in the air. “Whoa there. Looks like someone needs to take anger management classes.” He shrugged and snatched the cheese before she could blink. “At least I know what to get you for Christmas. If I could be bothered that is, which I’m not.”

It was her favourite kind of cheese and now he was chewing it obnoxiously loudly with his mouth open, smacking his lips, eyes locked on hers with a challenge she couldn’t refuse.

“You’ve got two seconds to run.”

He quirked one eyebrow and slid off the counter like some big jungle cat, landing so close to her that his breath tickled the shell of her ear when he whispered, “Come and get it, Slayer.”

A blood red haze spilled over her vision like ink and all she could see were those mocking eyes, so blue it made her want to look away. Every time he was near she’d feel her bones itch, that dark part of her she didn’t like to acknowledge stretching and pressing against her ribs. She wanted to hunt him down and pin him against the ground, feel his flesh give under her hands.

The moment she drove her elbow into his gut her mind narrowed down to the basic instinct of killkillkill, her heartbeat beating out the rhythm of get closer and feel and hurt. She twisted around, her knee colliding with his groin and knocking him into the kitchen island. She was deep in now, drowning in that part of her that nobody but Spike could unleash so completely.

His mouth moved, voice raspy and deep, catching on something deep inside her and squeezing like a vice. She punched him twice in rapid succession before he ducked, knocked her fist off to the side and growled low in his throat, flinching as he shoved her off. She scented that weakness, that hesitation, like a shark scented blood and the predator in her wanted to tackle him and devour.

He managed to tuck into a roll and slip behind her when she aimed a high kick at his head, bones shifting to let the demon out to play and yes, the chase was on now. His fangs flashed in the low light, his tongue flicking out to catch the drop of blood trickling from his split bottom lip. He matched her blow for blow now, light on his feet like a dancer, never hitting back, but not letting her connect, making her work for it with every sharp inhale and shuddering exhale.

She met his gaze dead on, saw his eyes crinkle at the edges right before he threw a chair right beneath her feet just as she was about to round on him. She jumped over it and landed softly on the balls of her feet. Propelled by the momentum, she jumped forward and tackled him. They skidded across the polished wooden floor into the corridor, her thighs clamped hard over his arching hips. His fingers dug into her thighs and maybe it would have hurt if she was just a girl, but she wasn’t. She was more than that and her nails sank into the flesh of his chest. So close, just skin and bone and flesh away from breaking through his sternum with her bare hands and pulling out his heart, feeling it turn into dust in her palm.

“Slayer.” It was more a sound than a word. A shiver ran down her spine, her eyes locking on his for a beat too long.

Then the front door opened and closed with a slam, a gust of cold wind licking her cheeks.

“I’m home!”

TBC

Chapter 3

It was as though someone had dunked her head underwater and chained her feet to the bottom. But now she was free, kicking furiously to break the surface.

“Buffy, what’s going on here?”

She opened her mouth, but words caught in her throat. She was straddling Spike. His hands were gripping her upper thighs and from the feel of it, he was more than happy to see her. And God, what had she done?

“Just sparring,” she heard Spike say right before he pushed her off his lap and rose to his feet fluidly as if nothing had happened at all. And here she was, sitting on her butt, feeling like a child who had broken her mother’s favourite vase.

“You’re bleeding,” her mother said and Spike just shrugged, nonplussed.

“Slipped up is all. ‘S already healing, no worries.”

While her mother’s glance darted between the two of them, Buffy wanted to stare him down and say, I don’t need you to defend me. And why was he? Because this hadn’t been sparring. She’d lost control of herself as she never had before. She’d gone all Hulk Smash. She still remembered the hunger for it, the craving to paint her skin with his blood.

“Well, let me heat some food for you, at least.” Her mother gave her the look Buffy knew meant they’d talk later. Spike didn’t look at her at all, hands stuffed in the front pockets of his jeans as he followed Joyce into the kitchen.

He lied for you.

No, not for me. He’s going to hold this over my head somehow, twist it all around and use words to cut me up. It’s what he does best. Hitting the nerve.

She stared after him and slowly picked herself up from the floor, secretly terrified of losing control like that again. And the worst thing? She didn’t even get to eat her sandwich.

*******

“So… you two were just sparring,” Joyce said, her arms crossed over her chest as she looked around the kitchen. “That’s why it looks like a war zone in here.”

He bent down to right the chair, pick the fallen knife and scattered bits of unfinished sandwich up off the floor, feeling a lot like the time his mother had caught him sneaking bits of fresh-out-of-the-oven gingerbread into the pockets of his breeches when the cook’s back had been turned. “Well… got a bit carried away, I suppose.” It had been stupid of him to rile the Slayer up, what with that piece of plastic shoved in his brain. Except, he’d do it all over again. He’d always loved holding his palm over an open flame, to see how close he could get without catching on fire and there was nobody who had more fire than her.

Joyce shook her head, her shoulders sagging and bloody hell, he felt a tiny bit bad for making a mess. He threw the sandwich into the bin and put the knife on the counter, almost sheepishly.

“I swear to God it will be a miracle if you two and the house survive the holidays.” She opened the fridge, took out a bag of blood and glanced at him over her shoulder. “How do you…”

“’S fine, I’ll do it.” He took it from her, not missing her relieved smile before she went over to sit by the kitchen island, regarding him quietly.

“Why did you do it? Invite me here?” he asked, his back to her, setting the temperature to 98.6 and watching the mug rotate inside the microwave.

“Nobody should spend Christmas alone.”

“A demon here, you know. Celebrating Christ’s birth is not usually on our annual bucket list.”

“Why did you accept then?”

Got him there, didn’t she? It was a bloody good thing Joyce couldn’t see his face. Felt safer this way, less likely to have her see him split down the middle. “Nothing better to do anyway. And… not like you gave me much of a choice, did you?”

The microwave pinged and he took the mug out, apprehensive to face her, but doing so anyway. No reason to be scared of a middle-aged woman. Well, unless she wielded an axe.

“I can be stubborn, I know. But so can you.” She paused, as if considering her next words. “It’s okay to admit you’re lonely, Spike.”

He tensed, drinking so he wouldn’t have to speak.

“And to answer your question, I invited you because I know how it feels. With Buffy off at the campus, I get lonely sometimes too. And I thought it would be more… lively, with you here. It’s kind of quiet with just Buffy and me.”

“Well, lively is one word for it.” He hid his smile behind the rim of the mug. “But it’s just how we are, the Slayer and me. We snark, we brawl, always have. Suppose we always will.” One day, he’d get the chip out and pay her back for all the times she’d broken his nose without a reason, looked at him as if he was a rat scuttling down in the sewers. There was nothing he wanted more than to take her on again, the one adversary he hadn’t managed to best. They were so different and yet, too much alike in some ways. Followed the blood, not the brains, lived for the rush of it all, even if the uptight bint wouldn’t admit it even to herself.

Joyce shifted on the stool, hands linked on the countertop. “I won’t pretend to understand because I know… obviously, the regular rules don’t apply to you two. Violence seems to be a part of the package, regardless of how much it wigs me out, as Buffy would say. But… do you think you could try to be friendlier towards one another?”

“Never say never,” he said, secretly thinking I’d rather chew on nails. The two of them could never be friendly. As much as he liked Joyce and could tolerate the rest of them, he’d never be a ‘white hat’. He’d rather sunbathe before that happened.

“Promise me you’ll try then. It would be good for you too, since you can’t really do anything but let Buffy hit you.”

“Hey!”

“It’s true.” Joyce shrugged. “So, promise?”

“Fine,” he said with a sigh. “I promise.” There you go, you sod, making promises you can’t possibly keep. Brilliant. And it wouldn’t mean jack if it wasn’t Joyce asking it of you.

“You know, sometimes I wish they sold parenting books for stuff like this. I try not to think about her going out every night, fighting God knows what and getting hurt, and I know that for both you and Buffy it’s almost normal, but I just…” A frustrated sigh rolled off her shoulders. “I find it hard to deal with sometimes.”

“To be fair, you’re not the one who has to deal with it.” He drained the rest of the blood and went over to the sink to rinse the mug out. “You shouldn’t worry anyway. She’s… she knows how to handle herself,” he said grudgingly. “We may not see eye to eye most of the time but I can admit she’s one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen plenty. Plus, she’s got you lot to keep her going. ‘S what the others didn’t have, why they let go.”

“I guess. I still worry.”

“’S what happens when you love someone. Know you can’t help it. A word of advice though, those parenting books are rubbish.” He hooked his thumb in the direction of the coffee machine. “Coffee?”

“Thank you,” she said with appreciation he wasn’t used to hearing. “Maybe you should have told me that years ago when I bought about a hundred of them.”

“You don’t need a stranger to tell you what to do. All you need to do is love her, be patient and listen when she needs to talk, even if all you want to do is slap some sense into her.” It’s what he did, for Dru. Would have given her the world if she’d let him. He still missed her. It was a phantom sort of ache, like missing a severed limb, wishing it would grow back one day and knowing the chances were more than slim.

“That’s… actually good advice.” The coffee machine whirred, brewing. “You didn’t have… you didn’t have any kids, did you? I mean, when you were still human?”

The thought of his human self even finding a woman willing enough to spare him a second glance let alone touch him was ridiculous enough to make him laugh. “No, no little ones. Just… Dru. Yeah. She was a bit of a child herself. Someone had to take care of her, but I didn’t mind. Would have done anything for her.”

“You really loved her, didn’t you?”

“Do. Still… do,” he said, words tumbling out almost too quickly. He looked away, busying his hands with pouring coffee into a mug decorated with dancing kittens. Would he crawl back if she asked now? Was it Dru he missed, or was it the feeling of being needed, of taking care of someone who’d let him love them, even if they’d never love him back?

‘Course I would. I’d take her back. She made me who I am.

But she’s never loved you the way you wanted. Maybe it’s not enough.

“As I said before, her loss,” Joyce said, startling him out of his thoughts. “You’ll find someone better.”

He should have been angry and denied it as he would have months ago, but the fight had gone out of him, so he just shrugged, grimacing. “Can’t do worse than Harmony, can I?”

Joyce clucked her tongue in disapproval and stood up. “I’m sure she had her qualities.”

Sure she did, a big nicely rounded pair of them, he thought with a dirty smirk.

“Okay, I can see what you’re thinking and I’m going to pretend I have no idea what it is.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, smiling his most innocent smile.

“Good.” Joyce reached over him to take the mug, her hand squeezing his shoulder. Funny how he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him with deliberate kindness. “Thank you for the coffee. I’m making dinner in a minute and since you promised me… why don’t you go help Buffy set up the tree?”

It was more of forceful suggestion rather than a question and so he could only bring himself to nod.

The Slayer with one giant stake at her disposal? Sounds like fun.

*******

“What in the bleeding hell do you think you’re doing?”

She was a disaster on two legs, battling with the tree as if it was a Fungus demon. Not that he could blame her. He sure as hell wasn’t going anywhere near that giant anti-vampire-friendly monstrosity.

“Shut up.”

Her cheeks were flushed, teeth gritted as she wrestled the tree almost twice her size into the upright position in the corner of the living room. He could have offered to help. He could have, but she’d probably use it as an excuse to ‘accidentally’ shove a branch through his heart. Besides, it was so much more amusing to watch her struggle.

You promised, William.

Fuck, didn’t promise to help her, just not taunt her that much.

Once she got it upright, the proud smile on her face slumped when she realised she somehow had to wedge it into the stand.

Well, this ought to be entertaining.

He sprawled on the couch and watched it all unravel.

“Are you just going to sit there?” she asked, chest heaving. Yeah, she was spitting mad and frustrated. Made all the blood flow just the way he liked.

“What? Does the almighty Slayer need help?”

“I never need your help.”

“There you go then.”

The first time she tried, the stand slipped and the tree fell to the floor with a whoosh.

“I hate you, stupid tree!”

“What has that poor piece of wood done to you?”

“It’s evil.”

The second attempt ended up even worse when she failed to see the stand right next to her foot and managed to trip over it. It happened almost in glorious slow motion, the way her eyes widened, arms flailing to catch onto something as she toppled backwards, bringing the tree along for the ride.

There was a moment of stunned silence.

Then he saw her, buried beneath a pile of needles, cursing, scratched up and limbs askew, and he couldn’t help it. He laughed so hard his stomach hurt, his cheeks strained and aching. Yet he managed to stagger towards her and roll the tree off. Never let it be said that he didn’t try.

“I hate you.” She was pouting, standing up and shaking stray needles from beneath her baggy T-shirt. It was a sight for sore eyes.

“Don’t blame me because you’re useless at this whole Christmas shindig.”

“Ugh. My hands are all sticky with sap.” She frowned and now that he was so close, he couldn’t help but smell the faint scent of blood. He might hate her but he wouldn’t mind licking those scratches until they were clean.

“Stop staring at me like that, it’s wigging me out.” She stepped away, arching her eyebrow. “There’s plenty of wood to go around, buddy.”

“Well, stop smelling like dinner then!”

She poked his chest with an indignant finger. “I swear to God, if you—”

“Are you two okay in there?” Joyce’s voice carried from the kitchen, interrupting the staring match.

“Just dandy!” he yelled back, removing the Slayer’s finger. Her skin was blazing hot against his. “As much as I enjoy watching you fail, why don’t we put our differences aside for a mo and get this bloody tree up, yeah?”

“Fine,” she said sullenly. “But I’m only letting you help because I’ve got to go patrolling soon and Mom would kill me if I got any more needles on the floor.”

Being manipulated by Joyce seemed to be an ongoing theme here. “Whatever, short stuff. Hold it while I get the stand beneath.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. And you’re one to talk about being short,” she said, but lifted the tree anyway.

Together, they managed to get the tree up and secure in five minutes, ready to decorate.

He had a tinsel angel in his hand when she said, “No angels! Because of… reasons.”

He rolled his eyes but dropped it back into the box anyway. “Does Captain America know you’re still mooning over your ex?”

“I’m not mooning. I’m all with the sunny, non… cloudiness.”

“Are you even speaking English?”

She reached up to hang a snow-white ornament near the top, her T-shirt riding up to expose her lower back. He looked away.

“Are you seriously saying that, Mister ‘oh bleeding bloody hell, sodding pansy’.”

“That’s not how I talk, you bl--… At least I know what proper grammar is.”

Her response was to stick her tongue out. It was incredible how annoyingly childish the Slayer could be. This was the creature that made the demon population shake in their boots. It was a sad, sad world.

“You’re a hypocrite anyway. You’re still pining after Drusilla. At least I’m trying to move on.”

He had a half mind to strangle her with the string lights, headache be damned. “I was with her for over a century, so excuse me if I find it hard to just forget everything with a snap of my fingers. You and the Poofter hardly compare.”

The muscles in her back tensed like a tautened bowstring and for a split second he wondered if she’d snap. But then she slowly relaxed and bent down to get more ornaments. As much as she liked to pretend it hadn’t touched her, he knew better. Hitting the weak spots had always been almost too easy with her. She was an open book written in a language he spoke fluently, her emotions see-through.

She’s not the only transparent one.

“Just because we weren’t together as long as you and her, doesn’t mean I loved him any less,” she said, almost too quietly. “Love, I mean. Love him any less.”

So many hurtful things he could have said, to dig inside the wound a little deeper with salted words and feel her flinch and try to twist away like a wounded animal. Instead, he swallowed it all back, hating her just a little bit more for making him feel for her. For making him acknowledge another thing they had in common. They just gave and gave and played with their hearts raw and open on the palm of their hands and all they got in return was heartbreak.

“Hand me the other end of lights, will you?”

They finished decorating the tree in silence.

TBC

Chapter 4

With her feet up, the Christmas tree done and Spike disappearing into the night for what was probably another night of drunken brawls at Willy’s, Buffy had been feeling pretty good. That was until her mom had sat down next to her with her ‘Buffy Anne, you’re in trouble’ face on. It had all gone downhill from there with the speed of Xander devouring a bag of Cheetos.

“Ugh, and then she said, ‘maybe you should try to be nicer, Buffy’, as if I was the bad guy. So not the bad guy here. Kind of in the job description.” A punch. A grunt.

“What are you even talking about?” the vampire slurred through his fangs, ducking her swing.

“He’s totally evil, you know? He put salt in my coffee and laughed when the tree fell on me an—”

“A tree fell on you?” The vampire chortled, the laughter whooshing out when she kicked him in the gut so hard it sent him staggering back.

“And the worst part?” She whipped the stake from the inner pocket of her coat. “He’s a cheese-stealing, pillow-hogging, mother-charming pest hell bent on ruining my favourite holiday and now I’m not even allowed to hit him when he provokes me. How is that fair?”

Before the vampire could as much as shrug she plunged the stake into his chest. He looked down, surprised, as though he’d never even expected it to end this way. The stupid ones never did.

“I feel better now.”

“At least someone does.”

She jumped about a foot in the air and almost dropped her stake. Not her finest moment. “Oh God, are you doing this on purpose?”

There he was, leaning against a nearby tree, half of him submerged in shadows like the big vampire drama queen he was.

“Trust me, if I knew it was you scaring the squirrels off, I’d have given the place a wide berth.”

“Who else would it be, genius? You knew I was going patrolling.”

“Oh,” he said, blinked and shouldered off the tree, unsteady on his feet. Was he drunk? “Well, could have been any sort of nasty picking a fight. Figured I might as well get me some action.”

She sheathed the stake. Not like she could use it, no matter how tempting the idea was. “And you thought, what? You’d kill them to death with your booze breath?”

He not-quite-stumbled over to her, way too close for comfort, so close she almost went cross-eyed meeting his challenging gaze. “Bet your arse is sore from sitting on that high horse of yours all the time.”

“At least I have a… horse.” Great, I’m losing an argument to a tipsy Spike. I just can’t get a break.

“You know, you’d be a lot more fun to be around if you unclenched your tight arse every once in a while.” His breath smelled like smoke and whiskey, his eyelashes casting shadows in the hollows under his mocking eyes.

“I’m not here for your entertainment,” she said through gritted teeth, wondering why she didn’t just shove him off and flee, why there was a force of gravity dragging her closer into his orbit. “And stop talking about my ass!”

His hand jerked up before she could slap it away, sliding into her hair and wrapping it around his fist. “You drive me bonkers, Slayer. Can’t fucking get away from you.”

She dug her nails into his wrist, feeling off balance, a stuttered reply dying in her throat when she met his dark, narrowed eyes.

“Are you trying to ruin my unlife?” He loosened his hold, just enough to slide a cool palm down her fevered neck and rest over her hammering pulse point, fingertips curling into her nape.

“Me? You’re the one who’s always under my feet, Spike. It’s not like I can just up and leave. I’m stuck here. If you hate Sunnydale so much, why don’t you leave? Nobody’s stopping you.” This was surreal, flew right off the scale of weird and wrong and Hellmouth-y into a whole new category she wasn’t sure how to name. His thumb stroked over her artery and her fingers were still clamped around his wrist hard enough to feel the delicate bones creak in protest. Neither of them moved away.

“This chip—”

“Stop making excuses,” she felt her mouth move and heard her voice but wasn’t sure where this was coming from, why she was confronting him now when it would be so much easier to just let go and pretend there wasn’t some part of her hungry to see him unravel. “The Initiative isn’t even here anymore. No one here can help you get the chip out. What’s wrong with you? Why the hell do you just keep coming back?”

“Maybe I just like it here then. Demon, Hellmouth. Makes sense, being pulled in.”

It sounded like a lie and she wanted to push it and make him spill, but in the end decided she’d rather not know. “What you are is a masochist.”

“Got that right.” He chuckled, the sound of it reaching inside her, shifting everything around until she wasn’t even sure if it was her lungs drawing in the quick shallow breaths.

“Let go of me,” she said, a whisper of a threat that only made him smile, grip the back of her neck tighter and pull her forward, his forehead against hers in a bizarre parody of intimacy.

“I’m not the only one holding on.”

And God, he was right. Right and so, so close, a parasite leeching off her heat, the feeling of it new yet familiar, twisting in her stomach like eels. She closed her eyes, too nauseous to focus on his face, thinking, He’s drunk. What’s your excuse?

Her hand slipped down to his elbow, the other balling into a fist. Push him away, shove him down, pretend he could never have a hold over you.

He doesn’t. This is just… What is this?

“I want to kill you,” he said, almost gently, as though the words were coated with honey.

“Too bad you can’t.”

He tensed against her and she felt it so acutely that it reverberated through her bones. His chest rose and fell in a forgotten reflex, a puff of air a cool stroke over her lips. Why was he breathing?

She should have been paying attention, should have been on high alert because the world hadn’t narrowed down to just the two of them.

It hit her out of nowhere, energy slamming into her body with the force of a winter blizzard, like slimy dead hands stroking over her flesh until they turned greedy and raw, tearing her skin open and digging into vulnerable tendons. She was falling through the ground as if it had turned liquid, hurtling into nothingness, her every cell jerking as if electrocuted.

I got distracted and something got me. Can’t die, not so close before Christmas. Mom will kill me even deader.

And it felt a lot like that time she’d drowned in a puddle of dirty water, only this time she was alert enough to feel every twitch of pain.

They fell, clinging to each other, until at last, they hit the ground.

*******

His mind was fuzzy still, as if wrapped in cotton wool, muscles cramping in residual pain. Between the two of them, they should have seen it coming a mile away, an enemy sneaking up, zapping them and… wait.

It was cold. Colder than usual, the ground beneath his back frozen and covered in snow. Guess we’re not in Kansas anymore.

“What? How? What?” She was warm and on top of him, warm enough that he almost missed it when she rolled off, looking around with furrowed brows, gathering a fistful of snow to watch it melt in her palm. “If you did this, I’m staking you right now.”

“We’re not in Sunnyhell.”

“Oh, wow. Your powers of deduction are as great as ever.” Her face was a hard mask, but he knew better. Knew that inside she was just as confused and worried as he was.

“Suddenly I’m feeling a lot more sober.” He rose, and although his legs were still a touch on the wobbly side, his mind was sharp. He scanned the surroundings for anything other than gently falling snow and tall trees with intertwined branches thick enough to block out the starry sky. There was no one but them, the Slayer already up and keeping her distance.

“Good, because we need to find out where the hell we are and how to get back home.” She paused, eyes widening. “Unless we’re both dead and I’m in some kind frozen hell dimension.”

“Didn’t figure your sort could ever go to hell.” The snow crunched beneath his feet as they wordlessly started to walk, ears open for any signs of trouble.

“Well, you’re here, so it sure isn’t heaven.” She wrapped her arms around herself, dressed only in a thin coat.

“Fair enough.”

They trudged ahead in silence that was slowly starting to drive him mad. Not that he minded quiet, not most of the time. It was the tension snapping in the space between them, full of unspoken words, thoughts all tangled up in his brain that set his fangs on edge.

I can’t handle being near her.

What had he tried to achieve anyway? Getting all up in her face, touching her. Ever since he’d got chipped, everything had got twisted around. They were mortal enemies, they were supposed to be at each other’s throats, slashing and bashing, and he wanted to, so desperately it was like an itch beneath his skin. Only the more he scratched the worse it got, this urge to just push and push until she lost it, unleashed that fury and power in glorious Technicolour. He couldn’t do anything else, now could he? He’d been reduced to pulling her stupid fluffy hair instead of ripping it clean out of her scalp.

“I feel like we’re going in circles,” she said and although he’d never admit it, she’d startled him.

“Knew you’d be the first to speak.” Small victories and all. He had to take what he could.

“Are you five?”

He didn’t have to look to know she was looking down her nose at him, even though she was the shorter one. “All men are children at heart.”

“You’re not a man.”

He grinned slyly. “Got a few choice parts that suggest otherwise.”

“I hope they freeze off then.” She tripped over a fallen branch hidden beneath the snow and bumped into his side. He caught her elbow out of reflex then immediately let go before she could yank it out of his grip.

“Is this the infamous Slayer grace I’ve been hearing about?”

It was pitch dark and the wind was picking up. He could almost feel the goosebumps on her skin. Give her your coat, William, said the voice inside his head, suspiciously sounding like his mother. Sod that. Don’t owe her a thing. Not a knight in shining armour. Not for her, at least.

“In case you haven’t noticed, these shoes were hardly made for trekking through inches of snow. I can barely feel my feet.” She stopped suddenly, her breath fogging in the air, the tip of her runny nose red. “Oh God, what if they have to cut my toes off because of frostbite?”

“As long as they don’t cut off your feet. You don’t need toes anyway,” he said with a shrug, trying really hard to ignore the way her chin wobbled, the way she set her jaw in order to keep her teeth from chattering, to keep her composure. So bloody proud, wasn’t she? She’d rather freeze to death than ask for his help. Not that he would, mind.

I’m not giving the bitch my coat. I’m not.

Just because he couldn’t get hypothermia didn’t mean he didn’t feel the cold. The tiny pinpricks of it bit into his flesh and seeped into his bones, kind of like that one time when he’d woken up to Drusilla chewing on his forearm because she’d thought she was half dog.

The Slayer sniffed, her face turned away from him, her entire body wracked with shivers.

“Oh for fuck’s sake…” He pulled the coat off, immediately hit by a blast of cold as he swung it over her shoulders. “If you rip the leather on some bloody bush I’m cutting your feet off myself.”

“What are you—” She caught the lapels and pulled it closer around her automatically, even as she stared at him like a fish out of water. “Is this some kind of trick?”

“Yeah, it’s called ‘let’s keep my only ally from freezing to death’.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Yeah, you kind of do.” He buttoned up his red over-shirt and forged ahead. Not that it helped much. “We need each other if we’re going to get out of this mess. Strength in numbers, yeah?”

“Yes, okay. Fine.” She put her arms in the sleeves and tightened the coat around her frame. The hem dragged behind her like a black veil. “Truce?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he said as a way of reluctant agreement.

“I’m giving it back, though. Your coat. Right after I warm up a bit. In a minute.”

“Keep it or don’t, Slayer. No skin off my nose.”

They kept walking in silence for a few minutes, the moon over their heads the only source of light.

“What if we don’t find any shelter before the sun comes up?”

Or before your human sensibilities get the better of you, he thought. Only he knew something she didn’t, saw something she couldn’t. He should have probably told her there were faint footprints the snow hadn’t covered yet, a trail that only went one way; the way they’d come from. The owners though, they’d seemed to vanish into thin air. Just like we did.

“We will.”

“How do you know? It’s not like you have a magic ball thingy. And even if you did, I don’t think they work anyway.”

“Don’t need a sodding ball. I just… I have a gut feeling this is the right way.” If he told her, she’d immediately assume he was leading her into some kind of trap, even if it made no sense whatsoever. He wasn’t too keen on being a scapegoat.

“Oh no. I’m going to die. Again.”

“Got any weapons on you?”

She gave him a sideway glance, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why?”

“Look, it’s likely we got zapped here by a demon. If we’re in their home dimension, it’d be nice to have a nice shiny dagger at hand in case we run into trouble.”

She sighed. “I only have stakes.”

“Better than nothing, I suppose.” He noticed then; the trees were thinning out. “Come on, I think we’re close.”

“Close to what exactly?”

“Let’s find out.”

TBC

Chapter 5

“Spike!” She tugged at his wrist, the tips of her fingers barely peeking out from beneath the sleeves of his coat. She could see the outline of it now, a small cottage huddled among the trees, trying to look all innocent and fairytale-like. She knew better.

“Why are we hiding behind a bush, Slayer?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” she whispered, annoyed that he didn’t get the importance of subterfuge when faced with a possibly evil Christmas-y cottage crawling with demons. “We’re scoping it out.”

“Maybe we should actually, I don’t know, go inside? I’m freezing my balls off here.”

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll rip them off and feed them to you. How’s that sound?”

“Kinky.”

Speaking of kinky, she was still holding onto his wrist. What was wrong with her lately? It was as if her limbs just went off doing what they wanted without her brain’s permission. “Ugh,” she said, letting go. He was still close though, too close, his chest now pressed against her shoulder blade.

“Oh come on, let’s go. We can take on whatever’s inside.”

She scoffed. “Duh. But I’d rather know how many of them we’re up against befor—”

He was up and striding towards the cottage, weapon-less no less. Stupid, reckless vampire. If Faith was still around the two of them would have got on like roll and butter.

Better not go there, she thought, running after him. She caught up to him right as he walked up the front porch’s steps and stopped in front of the front door.

“Well, no nasties popping out.”

“Not yet anyway,” she said. “It looks like the light is on inside.”

Spike peeked in through a window right next to the door. “A bit dim, but yeah. Seems empty though.”

“Maybe they’re asleep?”

He nodded, his back to her when he suddenly tensed. “Slayer?”

“What?”

“I feel dodgy.”

“You want to play dodgeball now?” Since when was Spike into sports?

He sighed. Heavily. “I meant ‘weird’, you bloody Yank.”

“Okay, jeez, someone forgot to take his dose of Valium today.” She withdrew a stake out of her inner pocket, gripping it tightly. “What do you mean by ‘weird’ anyway? And by the way, if they were asleep, they’re probably wide awake now.”

He turned on his heel to face her. “Well stop with the chatter then!”

Huh. “What’s wrong with your bumpies?”

His hands flew to his face, searching, his eyes wide in panic. “My face feels off.”

She caught his wrists and pulled his hands away, her fingertips traveling over the planes of his face. “It’s like they’re… smaller. Almost non-existent.” She pinched his upper lip between her thumb and forefinger and lifted it, to which he for some reason took offense and pushed her hand away.

“I’m not a dog!”

“You still have your fangs. And your eyes are gold, but… it’s like there are blue bits in them,” she said, peering up at him and oh God, her finger had kind of been in Spike’s mouth. She stepped away, almost tripping in her haste. Ew. Ew. Ew! Gross and disturbing and there was a bit of his saliva on her thumb and somebody should just tie her up and douse her in holy water because she’d definitely been possessed.

“Well, don’t look so disgusted, Slayer. You were the one who stuck her finger in my mouth.”

“I didn’t stick… I just touched your lip!” She wiped her thumb repeatedly on his coat. The feeling of dirtiness remained. There may never be enough soap to make her feel clean again.

“Why the hell isn’t anyone attacking us?”

“I don’t know!” She needed action right now before she self-combusted out of the embarrassment and overall weirdness being around Spike made her feel. “I’m kicking the door in.”

He caught her elbow just as she was about to do just that, dropping it just as quickly, which… good. At least she didn’t have to remove his hand by force.

“How about we try the doorknob first, Xena?”

“Oh.” It was probably locked anyway and then who would look like a dumbas—

The door opened.

Someone up there had it in for her, she just knew it.

He made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “After you, milady.”

“You just want me to get attacked first.”

“Me? Never.”

If he thought she missed that smirk on his face, he was deeply mistaken.

“Coward,” she muttered, stepping over the threshold and straight into a small living room out of a holiday postcard, complete with an unlit red-brick fireplace built into the wall ahead, two red giant armchairs and a small matching sofa that looked so plush her butt couldn’t wait to try out.

“Better be a coward and unlive to fight another day. Besides, if something jumps you and you get pummeled, it’s a free show for me. Got a front seat, no less”

“Shut up and stop breathing down my neck.”

His chuckle stirred the hair at the back of her head before she heard the door click closed behind her. Spike moved to her side then, snow stuck on the soles of their shoes melting onto the polished wooden floor.

“Is it just me or does it feel like there’s nobody here?” she asked, not letting herself relax despite the warm glow suffusing her flesh through the layers of clothes. It was probably a trap. A trap with full-on Christmas holiday décor. A giant wreath hanging above the unlit fireplace and on the door? Check. Lights strung up over the windows and various knick-knacks littering the shelves? Check. Several boxes of decorations for a tree that was nowhere to be seen discarded in the corner? Double check. Someone sure loved Christmas.

“Maybe they went out to get a tree. Good thing too because now we have a jumpstart on them. Can off them once they set their feet back inside, won’t even know what hit them.”

“Well, they better hurry up so we can have it over with. I could use a nap.”

“Something’s not right here,” Spike said and eyed the space around them, a crease between his brows. “And I don’t just mean their hard-on for decorating.”

“That’s what I was thinking!” She coughed awkwardly. “I mean not exactly what I was thinking. Didn’t think about the… uh… just the decorations part.”

“Right,” Spike said, looking at her in a way she just knew meant he was laughing at her inside his chipped little head. “Want to go check out the loft then?”

And there it was, a rickety looking ladder, with a closed door next to it, leading up to a dark loft. It didn’t seem too stable. “How about you check it and I’ll do the rest. Down here.”

“I see how it is. You’d better remember I’m not your minion, Slayer,” he grumbled but started to climb the ladder anyway. And if she watched his progress to see if he’d fall down and her eyes strayed to the way his tight jeans hugged his butt, no one had to know.

The kitchen in the left corner of the cabin had cabinets and appliances arranged in an L-shape with the window above the sink showing off the still falling snow. The fridge was full of food. Human food, her growling stomach nagged. What kind of demons were these anyway? And they had to be demons, otherwise Spike would never have been able to get in the first place. Not without an invite.

No baby heads in jars or severed limbs stashed in the freezer and ew, she’d been a slayer for far too long.

The door next to the kitchen led to a bathroom. Thank god because she really needed to pee.

“Slayer!”

She jumped and whirled around to see Spike jumping off the loft like a cat and looking paler than usual. Maybe he’d found the baby heads.

“I think I know what felt off to me.” He hooked his thumb over to the loft. “It’s the smell of this space. Couldn’t pin it down because it’s all muffled, almost. There’s something wrong with this place. Must be why I can’t vamp out fully and smell as clear as I do back in SunnyD. But upstairs it’s… stronger. The scen—”

“Can you get to the point already?”

“Impatient bitch,” Spike muttered. “It smells like you, all right? Like you and me and…” He swallowed hard, trying to block out the other hot-and-heavy scent he never wanted to think of in relation to him and the Slayer. Unless it ended up with him sucking her dry with endorphins still dancing in her blood. “Not exactly, but close enough. It’s more of a variation. Like a blurry watercolour of us.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean anything. You said it yourself, this place is weird. Maybe you’re just getting it wrong.”

“Think what you like.” She never really could take his word for anything, could she? Stubborn, self-righteous cow.

“Whatever. I found nothing. No weapons or dead people or icky murder-y trophies.”

“Did you check everything?”

She pointed over his shoulder. “Not that one.”

“Let’s do it then, shall we?”

“After you, milady,” she said, sticking her tongue out.

“Watch it, pet. Do that again and I’ll bite it off.”

She rolled her eyes and whined low in her throat. “I’m hot.”

“Should have known you’d be into biting.”

“Shut it.” She shrugged off his coat and instead of striking him in the chest with it as he’d expected, she just offered it for him to take with something approaching a genuine smile. Would wonders never cease?

And then she said, “Thanks.”

Apparently not. “Welcome.”

Gratitude from the Slayer. She always knew how to throw him off balance, didn’t she?

“Come on, don’t just stand there.”

He gripped her shoulder before she could touch the doorknob and pressed his ear against the door.

“Do you hear anything?”

“Shh!” It was as if he had cotton stuffed in his ears. Standing so close to her wasn’t helping either, not when he seemed so tuned into every shift of her muscles, the way her heart pounded in a way that made his demon roar and purr at the same time. And… wait. There it was, steady and out of synch.

“I hear a heartbeat. Another one, I mean. Beside yours.”

“And I am yet to be creeped out by this.”

“Used to the creepy, I reckon.”

“Don’t remind me,” she whispered as he twisted the doorknob and opened the door.

The lights were off but the moonlight pooled through the window, silvery wisps spilling over the lump hidden beneath the covers on the bed.

“There’s something there,” he said, the thing shifting at the sound of his voice.

Buffy only nodded, stake in her fist as they wordlessly split up to sneak over to the sides of the bed.

He looked down and pulled the top of the cover down the tiniest bit and… fuck. Anything but this.

Buffy was wide-eyed, gaze flickering between him and the thing in the bed.

He nodded towards the door and together they tip-toed out and closed the door.

“Spike!”

“I know.”

“This is bad. In a freaky ‘I don’t think I can kill it way’.”

“You can’t.” He had a hunch now, one he desperately hoped wasn’t true even though his gut was telling him it was.

“But if it’s a demo—”

“It’s not a demon. It’s a girl. Human. Can tell by the rhythm of her heart, okay? The scent too.” Her arm with the stake lowered, lips pulled into a thin, worried line. “Want to know what I’m thinking?”

“Actually, yes because right now I’m all thoughtless.”

“Think when we got zapped here… we might have switched places. With… uhh… well, us. A different version of us, that is.”

“So, you’re telling me we somehow ended up switching with our other selves? If this is true, which we don’t know, how do you know they’re still not out there somewhere?”

He scratched the back of his neck, wondering if he could spin it. Only he’d never been good at lying on the spot. She’d see right through him. “Right, how we got here… Don’t punch me.”

“What did you do?” She crossed her arms over her chest, hip popped out. Never a good sign.

“Followed a trail of footsteps that led only one way… as if they just vanished. Kind of as we did, which means… they’re likely back in Sunnyhell. In our place.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice was low and angry and… puzzled.

“Thought you’d think I was leading you into a trap or something. Wouldn’t put it past you.”

Her nostrils flared. “Okay, new rule. If one of us knows anything important about this wiggy situation, we say it. Because as much as I hate this, we’re stuck here and we’ll never get back if we don’t work together.”

“Deal. If you promise to give me some bloody respect and start treating me like a partner instead of your punching bag.”

“Hey! I don’t treat you—” At his raised eyebrow, she deflated and stuck out her hand. “Deal.”

He accepted her handshake, her palm warm and soft against his, and if he felt electricity shoot up his arm, no one had to know.

“Mommy, daddy, what’s going on?”

Startled, they broke apart, and he realised both of them had been too deep inside their own little bubble to notice the door being opened. He didn’t want to think about it, couldn’t, not when the words of the little girl looking up at them hit him like a ton of bricks.

Guess my gut feeling was right. Bugger.

TBC

Chapter 6

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said before the Slayer could start flailing around like a headless chicken. Any minute now her eyes would pop out of her sockets. Now, wouldn’t that be a laugh?

The girl barreled into him, wrapped herself around his leg with enough force to make it go numb, had he had any blood flow. “I love you. Can you tuck me in again?”

She was the Slayer’s daughter all right, with those heart-shaped lips and big doe eyes—so blue, so much like yours too—only using words instead of weapons to stab him where it hurt the most.

“I—” He met the Slayer’s eyes, helplessly, wordlessly begging her to do something, mouthing the words, ‘get her off me’ without a sound.

“Come on, I-I’ll tuck you in.”

He watched them walk off before collapsing into one of the armchairs, head tilted back, eyes closed, wondering if he could run without the Slayer noticing and hunting him down to chop off his balls.

He didn’t know whether he’d drifted off or if he’d just been so lost in his own disjointed thoughts that he’d missed the sound of footsteps padding towards him. And so the brief touch of her hand on his shoulder was as effective as being poked with a cattle prod, and he should know. Drusilla had always had a weakness for making it hurt.

“We need to talk.”

He rubbed one hand heavy with exhaustion over his face. “She asleep?”

“I think so. I’m pretty sure.” She cast a lingering glance over her shoulder, towards the closed door, and he wondered if it was deliberate or of it was an effort to avoid looking at him. “Maybe we should go upstairs, just to be sure.”

Upstairs in the loft, with the strange mosaic of a life the two of them had never shared, clothes folded next to each other on the shelves in a domestic intimacy he couldn’t stomach. If he wasn’t careful, this place could start messing with his head, make him think thoughts that were better off drowned at the bottom of a glass of Scotch.

He climbed up after her, the bedside light casting shadows across the room. They faced each other over the still unmade bed, gazes flitting around the room before finally colliding.

“What do we do?” she said quietly, arms folding over her middle. And maybe this shouldn’t have thrown him, but it did. Seeing her like this, worried, the mask of the warrior having washed off, taking biting wit and stubborn pride with it. For the space of those four words she was laid bare, right down to the marrow of her bones.

He dropped his gaze. “Your guess is as good as mine. She’s…”

“She looks like us. It’s—”

“Bloody weird?”

“That and more. It’s freaky, and wrong.” She ran a hand through her hair, her gaze catching on the opened half-unpacked suitcase next to the bedside table. “Oh God, what do we do? We’re… she’s our daughter! Well… not our, but you know what I mean. And we can’t just… we can’t just leave her here. She’s a child.”

He leaned his back against the closed mahogany wardrobe, hands buried in the pockets of his coat. “It’s not forever.”

“Forever? Why would you even—”

There was no point in jumping in and pulling her off the edge of the cliff and make her see the reason, tell her this isn’t so bad, we’ll figure it out and we won’t even notice anything’s changed. It was already too late to stop her from falling right into panic mode. It was right there written plainly on her face, with her gaze growing distant and feet wearing tracks into the wooden floor.

“What if we can’t… we don’t know how we got here in the first place and I don’t know how to fix this!” Her eyes searched the room, as if wildly looking for clues etched into the walls, for someone to fight. He wasn’t stupid enough to turn himself into a sacrificial lamb. One thing he’d learned about women; better stay off to the side and do his best impression of an inanimate object and let them rant until they no longer had any energy to punch you in the throat, especially when they had the power to crush your windpipe.

“I’m… I suck at this. This isn’t a battle, not an apocalypse I can figure out how to stop. I’m good at those. I’m not good at this… people stuff. And I used to be.” The words came off mumbled, aimed at an invisible audience. He wondered if she’d stop and clam up once her brain kicked in, told her this is your enemy you’re letting inside your head.

“I used to be a cheerleader, you know? Before, I mean. I had so many friends and I always knew what to do when someone needed dating advice, o-or anything. I used to know how to talk to people and just be a… a person. I just… what’s happened to me? When has it become so hard to just, to just be human?”

She was looking at him now as if expecting him to have all the answers and all he could do was bite back all the innuendo featuring bouncing around in short skirts and waving pom-poms. “Not exactly human myself,” he finally said because he’d never been too good at keeping silent and maybe he’d prefer a crushed windpipe over a heart-to-heart. “Don’t know why you’d want to be that again either. Sounds—”

“Flaky? Shallow? Naïve?” She laughed like a maniac, bent over at the middle. “Yeah. You have no idea.” There was still a smile twisting her mouth but it didn’t reach her eyes, if it had in the first place. “It’s stupid and useless and I wouldn’t even want to be back there again, not really, but… sometimes I miss not having blood on my good shirts or not having to make all the hard decisions that could cost people their lives.”

And maybe there was a twist of something else in his gut when she turned her back on him again, lost inside herself, and he wanted to pick up the bloody lamp and smash it against the wall over her head because he wasn’t supposed to give a fuck about her feelings or indulge in anything other than contempt and vicious glee over her just losing it..

“And now this,” she said, sweeping her arm around. “How am I supposed to deal with this? I d-don’t know how to take care of anyone! Of… little girls with breakable bones. Oh God, I’m going to break her, aren’t I?”

“Stop it,” he said, moving towards her, his hand shaking in anger as he laid it on her shoulder. He didn’t even know who he was angry at anymore. Her or himself, or at being dumped in the middle of this ridiculous situation that would pull out hidden parts of them like loose threads. “We will deal. There’s no other choice. How hard can it be anyway? We feed her and… well, that’s as far as I’ve thought about this.”

“We’re doomed.” She turned around then and she was too close and even though there was space around them he felt as if he’d been trapped in a fish bowl. He couldn’t escape her if he tried. “What do we… Do we tell her? That we’re not really her parents?”

“Yeah, can imagine that going just swimmingly. She’ll be up and running off like her little feet are on fire.”

“Well, what do you suggest then?” He shouldn’t have felt relief when a spark of anger in her voice chased off the helplessness, when those tightly drawn shoulders uncoiled bit by bit, but he did.

“We’ll play it by ear. We just won’t say anything.” He tried not to think about what it meant. This charade, playing the part of being a part of a happy little family. “How old is she anyway? Four? How hard can it be to fool a kid?”

*******

It had been five minutes and everything was unraveling already. Right from the moment he’d woken up, disoriented, half of him fitted on the too short sofa with his legs slung over the armrest, stirred awake by an insistent finger poking his cheek as if he was a bloody pin cushion. Then there had been big blue eyes blinking down at him, little chin quivering as she asked about the Christmas tree, and why aren’t there any presents and is it because Santa thinks I’ve been naughty?

And now the Slayer was climbing down the ladder as he stood there in the middle of the living room with a crying child hugging his leg because he sure as hell wasn’t about to pick her up and get snot all over his tee.

“What’s going on?” she hissed when she was close enough, dark circles under her eyes telling him she’d slept about as well as he had.

“S-Santa… hates me!” the little mite said, last syllable drawn out in a loud wail.

“That’s not true,” he said, trying to salvage the situation and mostly get her to shut up and stop bawling because his jeans were starting to get damp. “The bastard doesn’t even ex—”

The Slayer slapped her hand over his open mouth, looking equally mad and disgusted, probably at having his spit on her skin for the second time in two days. “What he was trying to say is that… Santa’s just—”

“Late!” he blurted out. “The poor sod’s got so many places to be, you know. He’s just taking his time, probably getting sloshed right off his face on eggnog in between.”

“What’s sloshed mean?”

“Right!” Buffy clapped her hands, a scary grin on her face. And he should know scary, being the thing that haunted people’s nightmares. “He’s just… having trouble… finding us.”

“Yeah, like the Sl—” She shot him a warning look. “Buffy says. The cabin’s all hidden by the trees and snow and what not. ‘S just a bit of a delay.”

The girl sniffed, playing with the laces of his boots. He’d been so knackered he hadn’t even bothered taking them off. “But what if he can’t find us?”

“He will,” the Slayer said with an expression he’d seen before, during the time they’d tied him to Rupert’s chair and he’d been forced to watch her cook a Thanksgiving meal, so determined to make it work. This was going to end badly.

There better not be any bears this time or I’m hiking it.

The rest of the day wasn’t any better as he was forced to take over cooking duty while the Slayer went out to get a tree on her own. Thank God for his sunlight intolerance, at least. If not for ducking out of manual labour, then for the fact she’d returned with her cheek scratched up, complaining about broken nails and having to snap the tree off with her bare hands and having an empty bird nest fall on top of her head. There was a stray feather sticking out of her hair when she got back, her mouth pulled into a scowl before she dropped the tree in the corner with a huff and disappeared into the bathroom.

And maybe this wouldn’t be so bad if they both hadn’t found out that neither of them could cook worth shit, and so he spent the time rummaging through the cupboards and finally deciding to just put a banana in the kid’s hand, only to have her look at him as if he’d just ran over her puppy.

“What now?” he asked, leaning against the kitchen counter, staring her down. “Eat up.”

“You know I don’t like them.”

“Well, I don’t like pig’s blood but I drink it anyway, don’t I?”

“Eww! No, you don’t.” She pouted and oh, this was familiar. He’d seen it on the Slayer several times when she was trying to emotionally blackmail her mother. Good luck trying it on him. “I’d like a cup of hot chocolate, please.”

“You can have it if you know how to make it yourself.”

“But I’m little!” She looked at the banana somewhat forlornly. “Please, Daddy?”

Daddy. Bloody hell, this felt wrong, even more so than being snogged by Angelus, and that was saying something.

They finally settled on Choco Puffs, her short legs swinging in the air as she slurped up the milk.

“Do you know how obnoxious that is?”

Then she looked up and fucking smirked around her spoonful. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, I just bet you are.” He needed to turn around and leave, possibly kill something just so he wouldn’t have to look at her and see all the pieces of him and the Slayer reflected in those eyes, and the tiniest bump in her nose, the slash of cheekbones barely pushing beneath her rounded cheeks, the light brown hair that curled at the ends. There had been many strange moments he’d experienced in his hundred plus years, but this one topped them all.

“Are you even real?” he asked her.

She just giggled and went back to eating her cereal.

*******

She and Spike had set the tree up in a few minutes, having learned quickly from the last, far more disastrous attempt back home. And it was weird, out-of-the-Twilight-Zone weird, but she tried not to think about this being a permanent arrangement. It could have been worse anyway. Spike could have witnessed her mental break-down, seen her eyes well up from frustration, honed in on that weakness and tuck it away for later use. Oh, wait.

“Found them!” he yelled from the loft. She made sure the little girl was still too preoccupied watching cartoons before going up to the loft.

“Found the presents,” he said with a triumphant grin and shook a wrapped box in his hand. “It’s always the top shelf of the closet. There’s more inside.”

“Thank God.”

“Second that.” He tossed the box on the bed. It took her a moment to realise something was off and then she finally pinned it down. Spike was barefoot. He looked shorter, for some reason. Huh. Somehow she’d thought those boots had grown onto him, like a never-changing fixture. Kind of like his hair and the scar on his eyebrow and the trademark coat he wasn’t wearing right now either. It was a bit like seeing Santa in his underwear. “Wait a sec. Found something else,” he said, flipping open a wallet he’d found in the night stand. “There’s stuff here.”

“You’re not stealing their money.”

“Our money, you mean.”

“No, I really don’t.” It had been hard enough to sleep in that bed, definitely not imagining them lying there with lazy limbs all tangled up in the early mornings, all warm skin and wandering hands and… Ew. Definitely perverse. The less she’d be reminded of the relationship between their doppelgangers, the more sanity she’d keep. And she rather liked her sanity.

“Not what I meant anyway.” He pulled out a piece of paper, handed it to her with an unreadable look.

“Oh.” A picture. With an identical looking Buffy wearing a hospital gown, a tired but happy smile on her face as she cradled a newborn in her arms. I’ll never have this. She imagined what her life would have been like if she hadn’t been Called. If perhaps this Buffy had got to fall in love at sixteen without having to sacrifice everything and kill the one person she loved the most, if maybe she hadn’t had to watch her father figure pay the price for her sins and feel all alone even among hundreds of people. She had a life that was all hers, not playing the part of destiny’s martyr or feeling herself hardening on the inside, more like a stone with each passing day.

“Buffy.”

She started at the sound of her name, almost surprised to see Spike was still there, wondering how long she’d been zoning out like a basket case. She hated that he wouldn’t look away and that she couldn’t either. Especially now, when he turned serious, as if a switch had been pulled inside him, or maybe it was her, being lit from the inside out so he could read her every thought as if they were inked on her skin.

Her stomach lurched in that familiar sensation of riding in a too fast elevator when he finally spoke. “Turn it over.”

She did so with numb fingers, not even finding it in herself to tell him to stop bossing her around.

Buffy and Emma, two loves of my life, March 1995

It was there, blue on white in a careful elegant penmanship, the photo already worn out on the edges as if the owner often took it out and smoothed out the corners with careful fingertips.

She caught a glimpse of black-painted fingernails right before another picture landed on top of the one she was already holding. She met Spike’s eyes, saw the almost vindictive set of his jaw and harsh line of his mouth.

It was her and him and it was a stupid snapshot with the other Buffy wearing a too big T-shirt of a band she’d never heard of, laughing as she wiped chocolate on the other Spike’s nose with her index finger. They were both in profile and he wasn’t laughing, but his eyes crinkled at the edges and his lips were pulled up in a smile. But it wasn’t even that. It was the way he was looking at her. As if there was nothing in the world beside her and he looked so desperately fond that Buffy might have gagged if it didn’t make her feel sad instead.

Has anyone ever loved me like this?

And it was bizarre to think that because it was Spike but at the same time it wasn’t him at all. Not the Spike she knew, the brash, careless, reckless Spike who didn’t give a damn about anyone but himself.

And Drusilla.

Not the same. He’s got no soul. He can’t love like this, she told herself but maybe it didn’t fit as well as she’d like it to.

“Why are you showing me this?”

“Figured it’s an insight I should share, if nothing more.” His eyes were dark and he looked ready to tip over and do something drastic. She wondered if it was his turn to freak out.

“Guess this means it really is us we swapped places with.”

“A bit hard to counter all the evidence.” He stalked towards her and for a moment she thought he was going to pick her up and throw her over the railing. She wouldn’t put it past him.

“What’s with you and the murdery vibes?” she asked as he snatched the pictures from her hand and stuffed them back into the wallet.

“I’m a vampire, it’s kind of what we do.”

“Oh, really? Because I didn’t know. Thanks for enlightening me.”

He tossed the wallet on the mattress, sucking his cheeks in. “Stop being so glib about it!”

“Okay, were you or were you not here yesterday? What part of my massive freak out seemed glib to you?”

“It’s bloody wrong and… unnatural!” He was getting worked up and maybe he would have looked a bit more intimidating if he wasn’t barefoot. “It wasn’t supposed to be you.”

Saying she was lost was an understatement but she could see it was all simmering beneath his skin ready to explode in a barrage of foreign curse words and yelling, and there was a little girl downstairs Buffy couldn’t help but think of. And maybe she’d finally started to lose her grip on her sanity but she just needed him to stop, so she closed the distance and banded her arms around him in a too tight hold she refused to think of as embrace. More like an arm-prison. Yeah, much better.

“What are you—” He sounded alarmed but wasn’t moving away. Maybe she’d just stunned him motionless.

“You think I want to be here? It’s Christmas, Spike. And I’m here stuck with you. But… we’re stuck with each other, okay? This isn’t the time to fight. I’d like to keep from traumatising her too much.” Even now she still remembered what it was like to listen to her parents fight and just feel so confused and helpless and afraid one of them was finally going to snap and everything would fall apart. “I don’t want her to feel like… let’s just try to keep from fighting and screaming when she can hear. Deal?”

He was still shaking against her, one hand fisted in the fabric of the back of her T-shirt, blunt teeth biting down on her shoulder. “Fuck.”

There were so many kinds of alarms going off in her head it was like the 4th of July, but she held on anyway, and now he was squeezing her back so hard that breathing was becoming a struggle.

They let go at the same moment as if realising in synch how unnatural and wrong and strange it was to be so close without fists meeting flesh. She couldn’t even look at him now, blood rushing to her face and… had her hands just always hung there like that? Where should she put them?

Act casual. You’re the queen of casualness.

She managed to trip over Spike’s discarded boot before rushing down the ladder.

And so her delayed Christmas was spent being deafened by childish squeals and the sounds of wrapping paper being torn by overeager hands, which unfortunately weren’t loud enough to drown out the voice of reason frantically whispering, what the hell did you think you were doing?

Both she and Spike got tackled and hugged rather violently, neither of them quite knowing what to do with themselves. She didn’t know what was more depressing. The fact she had the same amount of skills when it came to interacting with children than someone who had probably spent over a century eating them or that she was stuck with the said someone in a place she couldn’t escape. She decided on the latter when she and Spike started to reluctantly open ‘each other’s’ presents just to avoid Emma’s suspicion, and things got even more awkward when she opened hers only to find sexy lingerie. Crotchless panties included.

They avoided each other like the plague for the rest of the day.

TBC

Chapter 7

Emma had been watching them all morning, quiet and solemn, and Buffy just knew she was onto them. It was this that forced her to break her oath of silence brought on by the kinky lingerie. Seriously though, was the other Buffy some kind of sex freak? She shuddered to think of the unholy, dirty, sweaty things their doppelgangers would have used the panties for.

The not-at-all-helpful visuals flooded her brain like an X-rated tsunami. “Stop it.”

“What was that?” Spike asked from where he was bent over with his hands on his knees, staring into the refrigerator. Don’t think I didn’t see you eat two bars of chocolate already. Pig.

“Nothing.” She contemplated kicking him in the butt hard enough for it to propel him forward so his head would get stuck inside. Then she’d promptly shove the refrigerator door closed. “She knows something.”

Spike scoffed. “She doesn’t know jack.”

Those words turned out to be as much of a jinx as every time Xander opened his mouth to give a positive prognosis. Cue a disaster comparable to being trampled by a horde of angry demons. An hour later, Emma approached her with a look in her eyes far too old for a five-year-old, clutching a brand new teddy bear with floppy limbs and said, “Don’t you love Daddy anymore?”

And before Buffy could reply, Emma’s eyes were wide and earnest and glossy as if she was holding back tears. “He can fix it, I promise! Remember when he ran over Mr. Cat? He fixed him too!”

Somehow, Buffy thought Mr. Cat had probably been replaced by an exact replica, but didn’t have the heart to say that out loud. Instead she crouched down to be at eye-level and asked, “Why would you say that?” even though she already kind of suspected.

“You don’t give him kisses anymore. You always give him kisses. And Daddy never sleeps alone because he said he likes to cuddle with you. Why does he sleep on the sofa?”

Buffy honestly didn’t know whether she should laugh or cry or both, her gaze catching Spike’s from across the room. Vampire hearing. Great.

Don’t cringe, Buffy. You can do this. You’re a liar extraordinaire. “Of course I… umm… love him. I’ve just been feeling a bit ill. Don’t want to pass on the germs, so no kisses for now.” She faked a cough. “Or cuddling.”

“Daddy kisses you even when you’re ill,” Emma said with a frown, and how was it that Buffy was losing an argument to a five-year-old?

“Uhh… well… medicine!” She nodded to herself. “Since we’re in the middle of nowhere and there are no doctors or pharmacies, it’s just… smarter to not spread the ickiness around.”

“But there’s lots of stores in the town. Medicine ones too.” Emma tilted her head and hello there déjà vu. It was like looking at a miniature, girl version of Spike, especially when Emma only stared and stared at her as if picking her apart and inspecting every piece of her insides under a metaphorical microscope. It was creepy as hell.

And wait… town?

“Oh. Well, I-I just… It’s a grown up thing, okay?” She hated herself the second those words left her mouth. She’d promised herself, promised, that she’d never treat her child as if they couldn’t understand, even if Emma wasn’t technically hers. But she was at her wits’ end and all the excuses got tangled up in her head like the empty lies they were.

Without another word, Emma silently left and tucked herself in the corner of the sofa, hugging the teddy bear to her chest. The cartoons were still on, and as an anvil flattened Tom the Cat to the ship’s deck all Emma did was look at it blankly in a way Buffy remembered all too well.

We’ll mess everything up. I already am.

Then Spike was there right behind her, silent as a shadow, whispering, “Good job, Slayer,” into her ear. She wanted to turn around and hurt him, but she remained rooted to the spot, her hands closed into fists.

“You’re not helping, you know.”

His voice was dark and smooth and she wanted to strangle it in his throat. “Maybe I don’t care.”

Emma looked over at them from her spot on the sofa, nervous eyes peeking from behind her teddy bear and Spike’s arm slid around Buffy’s waist before pulling her against his chest, fingertips of his free hand rasping down her arm and stopping at the fist coiled so tightly with helpless anger, opening it up slowly. His lips tickled the shell of her ear when he whispered, “I don’t care,” almost too low for her to hear.

She hadn’t realised her eyes had closed until she opened them again and noticed Emma was no longer watching them.

She avoided him for the next two hours, blaming it all on girl bonding as she let Emma braid her hair and indulged in a colouring session that made her feel a bit like a child for the first in forever.

*******

It was a survival instinct, that was all, Spike thought as he searched through all the pockets of abandoned clothes folded up in the dresser and hung up in the closet, bored and restless. It would be so much easier to just give up and act the part of an evil soulless vampire, to move into all the right spots on the chess board. Only he’d never been one to follow the rules. So what if he cared a little? The Slayer didn’t need to know.

They could play the part of a happy couple until the White Hat Brigade noticed they were gone and mojo’d them back into Sunnydale. And they had to, because it felt a lot like this world was drained of magic and neither he nor the Slayer was equipped to fix it. There wasn’t any foe he could fight and defeat, besides the one in his head.

He could get through this, not let it get to him and twist everything around. It’s not like he’d ever want her.

Spike opened the last shelf of the dresser. Books. And it would be all fine and dandy if one of them didn’t have William Pratt imprinted on the cover.

He held it tightly, sat down and scooted against the wall, listening intently to make sure the Slayer was still busy downstairs before flipping it open and reading the inscription.

“To my wife; thank you for letting me share our story with the world.”

All right, going any further would probably be a colossal mistake because did he really want to know what had gone on between their alternate versions?

He stretched out his legs, kicked the feeling of unease far into his subconscious. Hell yes he did. He’d always been a nosy bastard. And yet, you shouldn’t be reading this. You don’t know what it will do to you.

It’s just a book.

It’s not as though he’d get a sudden impulse to follow in their footsteps, he told himself, and forged ahead.

He was a few chapters in, every word like a heavy stone in his gut. It was surreal to see all his mannerisms set down on the pages, to see the way he’d put everything on the line, made the same mistakes over and over again. To see that any version of him could feel this way about the Slayer, the way he’d felt for Drusilla. Maybe more, and that was a thought he didn’t want to contemplate in depth. Just like he didn’t want to admit he could see the other him falling into the trap of being attracted to Buffy. He’d always loved to reach for what was beyond his grasp, trip himself up chasing after a challenge.

“And even though her skin was warm as a summer day, it was like touching glass that wouldn’t break. Her mouth would breathe denials into my skin while her body fell into mine, pliant, every slip and slide saying ‘yes’. I wanted to grip her tighter and not let go, demand her to admit this was more than an illicit affair, but every time I would, she’d clam up even more, leave me alone and aching with just the scent of her perfume for company.”

“Spike?”

“Fuck!” The book fell to the floor with a rustle of pages and he wanted to curse again because he hadn’t got it bookmarked. And how come he hadn’t even heard her coming up? This place was messing with his senses. “What?”

“What are you doing? I yelled and yelled and nothing.” She was eyeing the book now, so he inconspicuously picked it up and flipped it cover-down.

“Just… killing time.”

“As long as you’re not killing the innocents.”

“Would if I could,” he said, mostly to aggravate her.

“You’re disgusting,” she said and yeah, this was good. Familiar. He could take the insults, the banter. Anything to distract him from the still vivid imagery of her naked golden flesh and needy gasps against his skin.

“Is that what you wanted or was there anything else?” He was starting to get a crick in his neck from looking up at her, so he stood up, put the book down on the nightstand and stretched his limbs.

“Oh. Umm… shops. Town. Emma said there is a town. I thought I’d go check it out. It can’t be far, right? Maybe I can find something helpful.”

He tugged the hem of his T-shirt down where it had slightly ridden up. “Doubt there’s a Magic Box here and even if there was, neither of us have the power or skills to pull off interdimensional travelling. We’d probably end up stuck in between or at the bottom of a fiery pit.”

“I know that,” she said, lips pursed. “But I can’t just do nothing. We can’t just sit here and expect to be saved. That’s not my style.”

He took a step closer, could see she was getting worked up, fought the impulse to grab her shoulder. “It’s not mine either. All I’m saying is; don’t get your hopes up. There’s something up with this place. It’s almost like magic doesn’t exist here, yeah? I reckon that’s the only reason all my senses are glitching.”

“Even if you’re right, I’ve just… I’ve got to. I need to try, I need to look, see if I can find someone.”

“Yeah, all right. Hope you do. The sooner we get out of here, the better.” And then it occurred to him, that crucial issue only she could resolve. “Buffy?”

She paused and turned back around from where she was just about to leave, a strange expression on her face.

“Buy marshmallows, will you? We ran out.”

“But there was a full bag in the cupboard this morning.”

He shrugged. “I got bored. Ate them all.”

She sighed. “I swear to God… And how am I supposed to pay for them anyway? It’s not like I have any money on me.”

Well, he did, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to waste his hard-stolen dosh. Good thing there was a wallet full of cash. Convenient is what it was. He took it out of the drawer and handed it to her. “Here, use this.”

“I told you we wouldn’t tak—”

“Listen, you’ve got two choices. One, be a bloody goody two shoes and starve to death, or two, buy some food. We’ve got enough for now but we ought to stock up just in case, and since you’re going—”

“You don’t even need food,” she hissed, the artery popping up on her neck. Oh, how he wanted to lick it and taste it and sink his teeth in.

“Oh come on, Slayer. Don’t be such a Grinch.”

“I’m only buying the stuff we really need and I should probably stop by at the butcher’s. You know, since you’re on a special liquid diet.”

Right. Food for him. Funny how she’d thought of that before he did, funny how it made him feel.

“But I’m paying them back,” she added, as though he was claiming otherwise. “Somehow.”

“If that eases your conscience,” he said sullenly, willing himself not to say thank you. It was easier to feel put out because she wouldn’t get him the marshmallows than dwell on the other thing. Besides, there was only so much estrogen a man could take without some sugar in his blood. “Wouldn’t worry about it too much anyway. If they can afford to rent this cabin, I doubt they’re hard up for money.”

“Whatever. I’m going. Look after her while I’m gone.” She stopped herself, her hands nervously fluttering around her thighs before she added a soft-spoken, “Please.”

Fine. If she could play nice, so could he. At least for now. “Good luck.”

*******

Buffy was miserable and cold and her feet hurt. This had been a total bust. It had taken her an hour to realise she was walking in circles before she figured out that she should try going up the hill. She’d found the road then and even managed to flag down a ride from a man who luckily hadn’t turned out to be a homicidal maniac. She’d have preferred that, actually. Anything would have been better than maintaining awkward small talk for ten minutes that had felt a lot more like ten hours.

Buffy’s guide to social interactions. Chapter one: How to converse instead of stabbing things to death, she thought dryly, lugging four bags of groceries and hoping she wouldn’t roll down the hill to top off the perfect day.

She skidded down carefully, following the track she’d made earlier, trying to think of all the positives of the otherwise sucky situation.

It was a good thing she’d gone alone, for one. If Spike had witnessed her suffer a mental breakdown while standing in the frozen foods aisle, holding the peas of doom, he’d never let her hear the end of it. To make it worse, an elderly lady had come up to her, probably drawn in by the aura of distress and loud sniffling, and said, “They have other brands as well, dear, if you don’t like this one.”

Buffy had just nodded and thanked her and clutched the peas of doom to her chest. She wasn’t crazy. It was just the feeling of being an utter failure, drawing strange looks from people she’d not-so-subtly tried to ask about any resident witches, and standing in the middle of a small unfamiliar grocery store that had made her realise they might have to actually use those peas. They might be stuck here for days and neither of them could do anything to fix it.

The last straw had been her stop at the butcher’s where she’d stuttered through her half-assed explanation when she’d requested blood they’d ended up not having. ‘Come back later,’ they’d said and she should have been glad they hadn’t called her out on acting like some kind of sociopath too fixed on making blood sausages, but it still felt a lot like another failure on an increasingly long list.

And so she may have cried a little, but she was fine now and nobody would have to know.

Wow, I suck at positive thinking.

She knew life was tough when the only good thing she could recall was seeing that ivory sliver of flesh right above the waistband of Spike’s jeans when he’d stretched, riding low enough on his narrow hips to give her a glimpse of a happy trail and oh my God, maybe I am going crazy.

She had a… she had a boyfriend! Riley. Finn. With his big muscular arms and kind eyes and affinity for picnics and aimless driving around in his truck. All normal and safe, all the things Spike was not. Which was good, because if there was one thing she despised it was stupid accents and cockiness and an ability to provoke blood-boiling rage using only words.

Just think of Riley. Who is your boyfriend. And who you need to think about more often because he’s the only stable thing in your life.

She didn’t need dangerous and volatile and hot in an outdated retro kind of way. She needed safe and easy. Dependable.

Just as she was about to put the bags down so she could knock, the door swung open right in front of her face and… Well.

“Help,” Spike actually whimpered, his cheeks covered in bright pink, red lipstick smeared over his lips and so much make-up on his eyes he looked as if he’d gone several rounds with a Fyarl.

“Wh-what—” She bit down on her lip and tried not to let it get to her. She really did. And failed.

“Stop laughing! Look what you’ve done to me. This is your fault.” He pointed at her, nostrils flaring. “You left me at the mercy of that little demon in there and I can’t even see myself in the mirror to get it all off properly. And I think it’s waterproof.”

She had to lean on the doorjamb with her shoulder, laughing so much and so loudly she ended up snorting.

“You didn’t tell me giving her sugar would make her hyper! Stop laughing, Slayer.” And then he pouted.

“Oh God, I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” she said and tried to mean it. “You’re just… wow. Drag really suits you.”

He scowled and yanked the bags out of her arms before stalking inside.

And okay, maybe he’d been right about the demon thing because it looked as if a bomb had gone off in the middle of the living room. Suddenly, she was far less amused. Emma was currently running around wielding a cushion and letting out a war cry as she tried to tackle Spike.

“What happened here? Clean it up this instant!” And she sounded so stern and parent-like she even shocked herself.

Emma stopped with her pillow mid-air and blinked up at Buffy with faux-innocent Bambi eyes, her own lips clumsily painted. “We had a pillow fight. And then we played at beauty salon.”

“Okay. That’s nice. But when you play you have to clean up after yourself, okay?”

“But Daddy made a mess too!”

“Then he’ll have to help,” Buffy said, ignoring Spike glaring in her direction.

“How was I supposed to know the pillow would tear?” he complained as he unpacked the bags. Which, not good. She didn’t need him to know she’d caved in and bought the marshmallows in a moment of self-pitying weakness. She’d kind of planned on stashing them in the back of the cupboard and feigning obliviousness once he inevitably found them.

She strode over and slapped his hand away. “I’ll do it.”

“I’ve got it, you slave driver.”

“No, I’ll—”

“Let me—”

“Spike—”

He turned his back on her, huddling the bag to his chest, probably just to annoy her rather than out of any real eagerness to help. “Oh.”

“Look, it’s—”

“You bought them,” he said, facing her now, looking more than ridiculous with all that make-up on and hey, had his eyes always been this stupidly blue? “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” She looked away. “I mean it.”

“Mo-om, do I have to clean it? I’m tired.” Emma turned to Spike then, obviously trying to coerce him into taking her side.

“Yeah, get to it, Bit. Come on, I’ll help you out.”

As they went around picking up all the scattered toys and make-up and feathers, Buffy felt a strange kind of shift. Like maybe he’d have her back, like they could form a united front and make this work without being driven insane past the point of no return.

“Oi, pet! Move your arse and close the door, would you? You’re letting the cold in.”

At least he was still obnoxious. Some things would never change.

TBC

Chapter 8

Emma crashed down from the sugar high, and finally devoid of make-up, her head lolled against Buffy’s arm. Buffy finally took pity on her and asked, “Do you want to take a nap?”

Emma mumbled something incoherent, all rosy-cheeked and bleary-eyed. Buffy took it as a yes and took one down-for-the-count child to her bedroom.

Good thing too because she had a bone to pick with a certain bloodsucker who was currently clattering about in the bathroom, and Emma was too curious for her own good.

“I don’t think the bloody stuff’s coming off,” he said, his back to her as he splashed his face with tap water.

She considered snickering and leaving him to his own Rocky Horror Show devices, but her conscience won in the end. Let him make fun of her white hat-ness and see if she’d bother being helpful again. “That’s because you need the make-up wipes. It’ll work better.”

He sighed, snatching a snow white towel and rubbing it over his face before Buffy could as much as cringe. She was so not doing the laundry.

“Well, don’t stand there like a twit. Give me a hand.”

“Say please and I might.”

The muscle in his jaw ticked, which was for some reason incredibly satisfying. She should turn irritating him into a national sport. She’d win every round.

“Fine. Please,” he said with a saccharine sweet smile.

“You look like The Joker, by the way,” she said, pushing past him to rummage through the cupboard above the sink where she’d spotted the wipes yesterday. “Aha! Got them.”

“Thank God for small mercies, eh?” He held out his hand, which she chose to ignore for reasons she didn’t like to inspect too closely. He’d just… he’d do a sloppy job, what with being reflection-impaired, that was all. Better to get this over with quickly than have him pester her later.

And so she lay her palm on his chest and pushed him back until the back of his knees hit the bathtub.

“I can do it mys—”

“Sit.”

“Bossy,” he said but sat down on the bathtub’s rim anyway, his chin tilted up. “What’s with the dominatrix routine?”

“You can’t see yourself. I can do a better job. Hence being practical. But if you don’t want me to—”

“Do it.” He leered. “I won’t bite.”

“You couldn’t if you wanted to,” she shot back, a tissue in her hand.

As she stood in between his spread thighs and cupped his jaw, it occurred to her that maybe this hadn’t been the best idea she’d ever had. Deliberately crowding Spike’s personal space to the point she was hyper aware of every brush of his thighs against hers, of the way he gripped the rim with white-knuckled fingers? This was a bad, awful idea. This was bordering on uncomfortably close, something she had a feeling would become more regular the longer they were stuck here.

A distraction had never been more needed, especially when it was so quiet she wondered if he could hear the quickened pace of her heartbeat as loudly as if it was a canon. “How do vampires even put make-up on?”

His lips were still slightly reddened from the friction and his eyes were boring into hers through the smeared charcoal and if she had to swallow nervously it was because… Just because.

“Darla helped Dru with hers. Then when she left… I did. When she wasn’t up to doing it herself, that is.”

“Wow, she must have been even crazier than I thought, letting you do her make-up.”

The muscles in his jaw tensed under her hands, eyes glaring daggers. “At least she didn’t end up having raccoon eyes.”

“Hey!” She scrubbed his cheekbones extra viciously. “It’s called smoky eyes.”

“Don’t know why you bother anyway. Look better without it.”

“Huh?” Somehow Spike and words ‘look better’ in relation to her just didn’t make any sense. She’d been prepared to subject him to offended silent treatment. Of course he’d have to mess it up, as he always did. “Did you just complim—”

“No!” His brows furrowed, eyes falling shut as she moved up to his painted eyelids. “No. It was just… ah… an observation. Forget it.”

“Right.” Weird, weird, weird. And she was touching his face and his stupid girly lashes kept tickling her skin and maybe she should just shove him into the bathtub and flee.

“Slayer?”

“What?” Just a little more. There, finally, all the make-up was off. She’d never needed space more in her life. She wadded up the tissue and threw it on the counter, moving away more quickly than Xander would if there was pizza involved.

“We’re not fooling her.”

She was tempted to say I told you so but chose not to be petty. And she so could have been. Never let it be said that she wasn’t mature. “Nope, we’re really not.”

“What do we do?”

The Slayer in her wanted to take action, devise a tactic, a way to resolve this, but deceiving five-year-olds seemed a little out of both of their areas of expertise. Helpless was a feeling she hated more than anything else in the world. “Maybe we could hug or something.”

Even though she was no longer touching him, the bathroom still seemed too constricted, as if there wasn’t enough oxygen and all the walls were closing in.

“Hug?” He was up on his feet, voice skeptical.

“I don’t know!” She sure as hell wasn’t kissing him. She wasn’t.

“No offense, but you’re not the best actress.”

“I’m better than you,” she said, full of false bravado.

“Oh really? I hardly think so, love. Want to know why?” He stepped up to her, way too close for comfort, and ran his hand down her hair. “See? You freeze up the second I touch you. It’s a bit obvious.”

“Like you’re all good with being touchy-feely?”

“I can pretend,” he said, dropping his hand.

“I thought you didn’t care.”

“I don’t,” he said, almost too quickly. “But she’s mine, in a way. And she kind of grows on you. Today she started singing ‘I wanna be sedated’ and—” He cut himself off and she chose to pretend she hadn’t seen the way his eyes had gone soft before he shook it off. “Besides, not keen on seeing her mope around and give us the sad puppy eyes.”

She was almost afraid to ask, but did so anyway. “What do you suggest then?”

“Maybe we should—” He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more than it already was. “Get familiar. So it doesn’t seem so off when we touch in front of her.”

“Touch?” Wow, she’d never known her voice could go that high.

“That’s what it’s called, yeah. Not sure if you know, but hugging does involve touching.” The bastard smirked and she so wasn’t going to be one-upped by someone whose style icon was Billy Idol. “Body language says a lot and she’s not going to believe it when both of us flinch at the smallest contact.”

She squared her shoulders. “Touch me then.”

“How about you buy me a dinner first?”

“Spike! Just…do it.”

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes. They regarded each other as if they were gunfighters at high noon. Although in their case it was not only tense, but also incredibly awkward, neither of them quite willing to make the first move.

They moved at the same time without meeting each other’s eyes, she getting closer and Spike reaching out. They somehow worked it out and he ended up rubbing his palms down her bare arms, up and down, slowly and almost gently. It was bizarre.

“I think this is the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me,” she said while he held her hands in the middle of the bathroom.

“Can’t believe I’m going to agree with you.” He tugged her closer until there was barely any space left between them, any room to breathe. His left hand settled on her lower back. It wasn’t the first time she’d been so close him, but this was different. They weren’t fighting or squabbling, staring each other down and waiting to see who would break first. This wasn’t a spell. And perhaps that’s why she found it so hard to ignore that electric pull urging her to fall into him, that feeling she’d always ascribed to Spike-induced rage. It was a lot like sitting on a chair right before it tipped back, and her hands reflexively shot out to brace herself. One landed on his hip, the other one clutched at his upper arm.

“I don’t think this is going to work.”

“Giving up already?” he asked, a challenge in his eyes.

“No.” She was testy and maybe she’d gripped a bit too hard because he winced and pulled at the back of her T-shirt in reflex.

“Sorry.”

“’S fine. Occupational hazard.”

Their knees knocked against each other and she could see the shape of his collarbones through the fabric of his T-shirt. It was the sudden urge to tug down his collar so she could have a better look that had her shaking him off.

“Enough for now?” he asked, eyebrow raised. She felt as if she’d lost some game she didn’t even know they were playing. Next time, she told herself. Next time she wouldn’t be the first one to give in.

“For now.”

*******

He’d been fine up until now, or as fine as a vampire forced into shacking up with his mortal enemy could be. But it would be gaining an edge soon; that hunger slowly simmering beneath his skin. She’d told him about the trip to the butcher’s and he’d just shrugged and said it was no big deal. He could easily last two more days without going bonkers, probably longer if he had to. Wouldn’t be the first time he had to starve and it seemed as though he didn’t get as hungry here. But it was her, constantly underfoot with her skin that smelled like apples and candy, and the promise of ambrosia right beneath, that made his stomach growl as if he hadn’t had his fill in weeks.

They were attempting to cook now, something healthy at Buffy’s insistence because apparently small humans needed their vegetables. Too bad it didn’t include blooming onion flowers because he could go for something that would distract him from staring at her throbbing artery as she chopped up green peppers.

It got worse throughout the day and he blamed the stupid game they’d started, one that somehow resulted in an unspoken challenge of who would pull away first. And while he was stuck at the small kitchen table, rubbing the inside of her wrist with his thumb and torn between sucking her dry and bending her over the table then sucking her dry, it occurred to him that being hungry was never a good thing. For him, the line between bloodlust and lust had always been tenuous at best, and got more blurry the hungrier he got.

Cabin fever was the only reason he found her attractive at all. Had to be. She was nowhere near his type. She was golden skin while he preferred pale; blond while he loved inky black; short and perky and stuck up while he admired long-limbed, sensual and uninhibited.

And he was currently being dragged away from the table by Emma and he would have been almost grateful for the interruption if she didn’t catch the Slayer’s hand too and pulled them into the middle of the living room with a giddy smile. Or was it devious? He couldn’t decide.

“What’s all this then?” he asked, glancing down at her, feeling as puzzled as the Slayer looked.

She giggled and pointed up to the ceiling where the chandelier hung above their heads. It wasn’t the chandelier that got him gulping though. And it definitely wasn’t chandelier that got the Slayer’s eyes go big and round like coins. She was probably frantically trying to come up with a way to get out of this, just like he was.

“It’s a missing toe. Now you have to kiss. It’s in the Bible,” Emma said, serious and looking much too satisfied with herself.

“Mistletoe,” he corrected automatically. “’S poisonous too, you know. Shouldn’t trust it.”

“But… ill,” Buffy protested, coughing to prove her point.

Emma just pursed her lips and stared until both he-- the fucking Big Bad-- and the Slayer that made vampires piss in their britches, wilted under her scrutiny. Of course they had to get zapped into a dimension where their child would be an evil little manipulator. He was almost proud. Almost.

“Kiss!”

Buffy pulled at his wrist, her shaky breath hit the hollow of his throat, and all he could think of was that he had no excuse. A five-year-old made me do it? Yeah, that’d fly, wouldn’t it? It sounded a lot like a ridiculous, empty excuse in his head, no matter how true it was.

Their gazes met, flitted away like startled birds and then his hand was sliding to the back of her neck and scrunching her hair in his fingers. He willed himself to just get it done and over with.

It’s just a kiss. It’s not a big deal.

So why did it feel so much as though he was betraying Dru when he closed his eyes, when her palms burned where they rested on his chest as if his skin had caught on fire? He’d never felt that way with Harmony, never felt as if he was cheating. It had never meant anything.

This doesn’t mean anything either.

Her heart was pounding and he felt his would have too, if it could, and he didn’t understand why. Had to be the bloodlust making him all wonky because it was daft and awkward, especially when they finally decided to go for it and turned their heads in the same direction. Their noses bumped and her lips hit his chin instead of his mouth. When they finally slotted their lips together he could feel her smile, could almost hear her think, God, we’re so dumb, and he smiled in response before he could catch himself.

He vaguely remembered Red’s spell and tried to compare but couldn’t, because this was nothing like it. He was aware now, painfully so, of the way her pouty upper lip fitted between his just so, and how she tasted of the strawberries they’d had for dessert when she opened her mouth the tiniest bit to suck his bottom lip into her mouth.

When he tightened his hold on the nape of her neck and his free hand settled on her lower back, fingertips meeting blazing skin just beneath the hem of her top, he tilted his head to get deeper and told himself this was as far as he’d let this go. Just a snog. Nothing more. Wouldn’t mean he’d feel something all of a sudden. They were putting on a show and that’s all it was.

Then her teeth caught his lip and tugged, and he realised the distance between them had somehow vanished so they were pressed flush from chest to knees. And it was a lot like fighting with her, the tug-of-war of who would make the other surrender. He refused to be the one to lose, so he brushed the seam of her mouth with the tip of his tongue, just teasing flicks, until she parted her lips and let him in with a sharp inhale, chasing his tongue back into his mouth.

It wasn’t until she sucked on his tongue and breathed a moan into his mouth, until he gripped her hips in response and pulled her against him so hard they may as well have melted into one being, that they both realised at the same time that it had gone too far.

They all but jumped away from each other, wiping their mouths and resolutely avoiding each other’s eyes.

“Gross!” Emma said with a giggle from where she’d apparently scampered off to the sofa, peering up at them from behind it.

“Oh God,” Buffy mumbled low enough for only him to hear.

“No big deal, yeah?” he said quietly, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans, feeling breathless even though he didn’t need to breathe. “What’s a snog or two between two sworn enemies?”

“Right. Just a… a snog.” Her cheeks were flushed but she finally met his eyes and there was a mutual understanding there. It doesn’t have to mean anything.

And it didn’t, but he was still relieved when Buffy took Emma outside to build a snowman, something he begged out of under the pretense of doing work. Emma didn’t protest after that, probably thinking he was busy writing.

He went up to the loft and picked up the book, turning it over in his hand. He shouldn’t keep reading it, but he sat down and did anyway, because when had he ever been known to do the smart thing?

TBC

Chapter 9

“Her hair was a mess as if she’d teased it out of the coiffed twist with nervous fingers and her eyes were tired as if she’d lived centuries instead of twenty years. I wanted to beg her to leave him, but didn’t, knowing it would only make her hate me. ‘I can’t. I won’t,’ she’d say, her lips a harsh line.

Why couldn’t she see that he’d never love her the way I could? That he was keeping her trapped in a cage like a wild animal, treating her like a fixture at that too-expensive cold house when she was so much more; a temptress with a heart of a warrior. And I wished I’d have been there instead of him, stealing her heart at sixteen and not keeping it to myself selfishly, but keeping it safe.”

Never the first choice, was he? Didn’t matter what universe, Angelus was always there to take everything away from him as if he deserved it. The only reason he didn’t end up tossing the book out the window was the happy ending he knew his other self had got to have. Spike just wanted to see, needed to know that somewhere out there a version of him had found someone to love him back.

So when he came down and spotted her lounging on the sofa with her stockinged feet up on the coffee table, and Emma dressed in her pajamas, playing by the tree with a gaggle of teddy bears, he felt almost jealous. Not because he wanted this, wanted the Slayer. But he wanted something.

And perhaps it was his frustration, and hers as well, spurred on by the inability to do anything useful, that had them on edge. The moment they started talking about Sunnydale and she mentioned the overgrown corn-fed sod, the reason he’d been put on a leash and unable to defend himself against the likes of Harris, it was as if a fuse had been lit.

When they snuck out to the front porch and closed the door behind them, he wasn’t even sure what they were about to quarrel about in the first place. All he knew was that they were both strung up and he called Captain Cardboard a tosser with a bad haircut and told her he’d rather stake himself than listen to more than five minutes of his boring prattle. Spike also may or may not have mocked Finn by giving a drawn out speech in a horrible American accent about milking cows.

Buffy got all fired up and defensive, eyes burning into his as she sneered and said, “You’re one to talk about relationship choices. At least he’s decent. The only women you can get to date you are either dumb as a rock or clinically insane!”

He forced himself not to react to the jab at Dru, knowing he’d most likely end up with a chip-induced headache. “I never ‘dated’ Harmony, Slayer,” he said, hands flung up to emphasize the point with air-quotation marks. “She had a nice pair of tits and I’m just a man. And she may have been dumb but at least she wasn’t a cold fish like you. You probably wouldn’t know what to do with a real man if they handed you a manual.”

“Well, look who’s being a hypocrite! For being such a cold fish, you sure seemed to enjoy the ‘snog’,” she said, and looked almost as surprised as he felt that she would bring it up at all. He half expected her to take it back and stalk off, but she held her ground, arms crossed over her chest.

“I’ve had better,” he said and knew it was callous, but what did he care? He was hungry and irritated and all the pent up energy inside him demanded a release. So why did he feel regret when the corners of her mouth slumped even more, hurt edging in?

“So have I,” she replied and marched back into the house, leaving him standing there with something that felt a lot like bruised pride.

They spent the next two hours in subdued silence.

*******

Emma was already asleep, and here the two of them were, sitting on the sofa, half-heartedly watching some gore flick on the telly like an old married couple. Ironic, wasn’t it?

They’d both said sorry, but he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. The Slayer knew how to hold a grudge and offending her feminine wiles was a deliberate hit at her weak spot.

His stomach growled.

“Hungry?” she said, with a hint of vindictive satisfaction in her voice. He probably deserved that.

“No, I’m just having a conversation with my stomach.” He slouched into the couch even more, closing his eyes as blood spurted out of a supporting character’s neck. “Can we change the channel?”

“No, I’m watching this.”

He knew she wasn’t actually into it because she’d mentioned earlier that she wasn’t a fan of horrors. If this was her way of getting back at him, he reckoned he could have done much worse.

“Fine.” He was bored and couldn’t handle the silence for very long. Sue him. “Wish I could hunt animals at least. Would have been a problem solved.”

“Well, you can’t, so—” And then she was staring at him as if she’d had the revelation of her lifetime. She settled closer to him, invading his personal space, all her attention dead-set on him.

“What?” It was making him squirm. Not that he actually would. He wasn’t William anymore. But it still made him uneasy.

“Maybe I know a way to solve it.”

“Go to the butcher’s again?” What was up with her?

“What if they don’t have it though?”

He didn’t much like the idea of that. Starving wasn’t fun, he knew from experience. “Don’t know.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing I’ve got plenty of blood then. Right here.” She gathered her hair and let it slip over one shoulder, tilted her head to the side. Fuck. For a moment he’d forgotten that for all her vanilla tastes and straight-laced behaviour, she knew how to play dirty and bend all the rules. “Bet you want it, don’t you?”

“What vamp doesn’t?” he said, not sure what she was trying to prove. What she was playing at. “’S like the Holy Grail for us.”

She rested her palm on his chest, fingers splayed. “You could have it. Take just a little bit. Just until we get the pig’s blood.”

“What?” Had she hit her head when he wasn’t looking? “Buffy, what are yo—”

“My blood. All you’d need is just. A few. Drops.” Reason fled the moment she took his hand and laid it over her throat, the steady ta-dum ta-dum beneath her silky skin beating against his palm, so close. He was so hungry for it, couldn’t help but stroke down the column of her neck, fingertips chasing down the blue vein thrumming beneath. “Imagine, a mouthful just sliding down your throat. Thick and sweet, the best you’ve ever had.”

“Yeah,” he said, swallowing hard. He could almost taste it, warm and rich on his tongue.

“Too bad. You can’t have it,” she said with a too-wide smile, ducking away from his touch. “Never ever.”

It took a moment for the words to register, to travel through the crimson fog in his brain and when they finally did, she was backing further away, so much like that time at the Bronze. A seductress with his balls in a vice, the memory of her touch a burning echo on his chest.

Bloody bitch with her pretty words. You fall for it every time, Spike.

“Who’s the cold fish now?” And she was back to her childish abrasive self as if she hadn’t just given him a hard-on with only her words and a touch of her palm over his dead heart.

“That was uncalled for.”

“Was it really? Because I think you totally deserved it.”

“Guess we’re even then.”

He adjusted himself when her attention was back on the telly and scowled even though she probably didn’t see him. They may have been even but she’d just started a war he wouldn’t let her win.

*******

“Okay, one of us sleeps on the floor,” she said, heavily insinuating that it would be him.

“Good luck with that,” he said, flopping down on the bed on his back, arms laced behind his head. “Don’t forget to take a pillow.”

“Let me rephrase. You’re sleeping on the floor.” She gripped his ankle and pulled so hard he ended up crashing to the floor and hitting his hip and, “Ow! What was that for!”

“Shh, don’t yell. You’ll wake her up.”

“I’m not sleeping on the bloody floor,” he growled out. The second he stood up, sharp pain raced up his side. Sadistic bitch. At least she had the decency to look contrite. Didn’t mean he forgave her as of yet though.

“Well, I’m not sleeping next to you.”

“Then that’s your problem, not mine.” He pulled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it over the open drawer of the dresser, wincing at the stretch.

“But Spike—” she said in her whiny voice, pouting.

“No.” He unbuttoned his jeans and pulled the zipper down.

“Oh God, what are you—”

“Getting ready for bed. What does it look like?” He pulled them down and kicked them off, and all right, maybe he’d done that on purpose just to see if her head would explode. She was turning so red it just might happen.

She spun around fast, but not fast enough to avoid getting an eyeful. He grinned smugly when her toe collided with the nightstand.

“Shit!”

“Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

“Now I’m definitely not sleeping next to you.”

“’S your funeral.” He collapsed on the bed belly-down and wriggled under the duvet, nuzzling his face into a pillow that smelled like apples and cotton candy. Much better than the sofa. “Mmm, comfy.”

He heard her huffing, could practically feel her urge to bang the drawers shut and stomp around. Instead she glared at him in silence for about a minute and when she realised he wasn’t bothered, she yanked a pillow from underneath his arm and took the other duvet.

“You know the bed’s big enough for both of us, right?”

“I’ve been touching you too much for one day, thanks.”

“Who said anything about touching? I’m not that easy, you know. Where’s your finesse, Slayer?”

“Jut shut it and let me get some sleep.” She was tossing and turning as she lay on the floor, probably trying to find a comfortable spot that wasn’t there. As he’d said, it was her funeral.

*******

She couldn’t sleep. The floor was hard and dug into her ribs, all her joints were aching and there was a naked Spike a few feet away with his arm dangling off the bed. Why had she pulled the short end of the stick in this scenario? Never mind. It was as if her whole life was just one short stick at a time.

It wasn’t fair, she thought, giving the bed a longing glance. It looked soft and inviting, giving her a smile and beckoning her with come on Buffy you know you want to snuggle in. Oh no, the delirium was starting to kick in.

How dare he be asleep! With his stupid slack mouth and too long eyelashes and a curl that fell onto his forehead. Not to mention nakedness. Nakedness she’d got to see in all its pale-skinned, lanky-muscled glory. She was scarred for life. She’d never again be able to see him without getting flashes of his thing swinging in the breeze. Well, not swinging per se. More like hanging. She was baffled that he’d managed to pack it away in those tight jeans.

And now I’m officially a pervert. Could she blame it on the late night delirium?

She buried her face in the pillow to muffle her groan. Stop thinking about his penis, she told herself repeatedly, which of course had the opposite effect.

She sat up, rubbing her back, tired, cold and miserable, glaring at his sleeping face because her suffering was entirely his fault. And it was unfair that he was one of those people who didn’t look all that gross when asleep. Or dead. Wasn’t he supposed to look dead? Angel kind of had. But not Spike. Spike’s nose twitched every now and then, eyelids flickering as he probably dreamt of all the gay old times he’d had with the crazy nutjob, all cuddled up into his pillow.

“I hate you.”

He did offer for you to sleep on the bed. Of course you had to be all prideful. Now look where it got you.

Maybe she could sneak in beside him then wake up early and sneak back onto the floor. Willow had called her a bed-hog once, but surely her Slayer side would subconsciously keep as far away from him as possible, right? Right. He wouldn’t even have to know. She was exhausted enough to think it sounded like a foolproof plan.

*******

It was still dark outside when she woke up plastered against Spike’s side. She’d have almost preferred it the other way around so she could call him a handsy pig and kick him in the shins. Only it was her. She was the handsy pig. The bed-hog in action, with her face an inch away from his, arm draped over his bare back and leg hooked over his duvet-covered butt and thighs.

Ugh, he smells good.

Kind of like rain soaked earth after a storm and something fresh and citrus-y. As she untangled herself and felt herself being dragged back under the wave of drowsiness, she wished he smelled more like a corpse. Gotta get back on the floor, she thought right before she fell asleep again.

*******

It was hazy and stretched out like an old rubber band and Buffy knew she was dreaming. She found herself a helpless spectator standing at the edge of the cemetery. She blinked, waiting for the world around her to stop spinning and come into focus.

It was her. Them. Standing there a few feet away and looking right through her as if she didn’t exist. She tried to call out but made no sound, watching as a demon rushed them, hissing garbled words that definitely weren’t English.

Her legs pumped, not caring that she was only wearing the oversized T-shirt and panties she’d gone to sleep in, and launched herself right at the demon… only to fly straight through him.

She got the wind knocked out of her, but could still hear her dream twin scream and catch Spike’s urgent, Buffy, run!

And they did, but the demon was faster and managed to swipe at Spike’s shoulder with clawed fingers. The other Buffy heard his cry and spun around, face ashen but determined as she kicked out. It wasn’t nearly as strong as Buffy was used to, didn’t send the demon flying, but it was enough to knock him down, gain them an advantage. Spike kicked the demon in the face, hard, while the other Buffy snatched a small statue of Jesus off the nearest grave and started to whack the demon over its head until its limbs finally stopped twitching.

“Nobody messes with my husband,” she said and threw the statue down as Spike pulled her into a messy kiss. She knew then, felt all the pieces click into place as they started to run again, the image pulsing in blood red in time with the pain shooting through her midsection as if she’d been the one on the receiving end of other Buffy’s kicks.

She clutched at her belly, knowing it had been real. It was the other them. And they were in Sunnydale.

She woke up with cold sweat running down her spine, her body aching.

TBC

Chapter 10

He was hovering right on the edge of wakefulness, soaked in warmth as he watched the waves splash against the jagged rocks, rushing forth to the beach and retreating before rushing in again. He curled his toes into the sand as warm lips brushed over the nape of his neck.

“I’ve never swam in here before. The water looks too deep.”

“Isn’t that half the fun?” he replied, his stomach quivering under the gentle touch of her hand. “Taking a risk? Saying bugger that to the rules?”

“You would say that, wouldn’t you? Do you even know how to not be reckless?” She nuzzled into his back, shielding him, molding into him as if she was made of liquid.

“’Course I do. Just prefer not to. Learned a long time ago that it only makes you get stuck in one place.” The starlight reflected on the swaying waves like scattered diamonds, as he lazily traced the valleys of her knuckles, worried she’d vanish if he moved too fast.

“And sometimes it can make you drown.”

“I wouldn’t let you.” He caught her wrist, pressed his thumb to her pulse point to assure himself she was still there.

“I thought you didn’t care.” The waves were rolling in closer and closer now, almost reaching his toes, dragging the sand under.

“I-” She stole the words off his tongue with a kiss to the curve of his neck, fingertips of her free hand resting over the Sire mark on the other side, digging in the tiniest bit. “I can’t think when you’re touching me.”

“Why?”

Good question that. Now only if he could remember why it was wrong that her heart was beating against his back, why the warmth heating him up like the sunrise he hadn’t seen in over a century shouldn’t feel so right.

“I don’t know. It feels as if I could belong.” To someone. To you.

“But I’m all wrong. Why don’t you stop me from touching you?” The sun was rising up at the horizon but it didn’t burn. Its light was spilling over the water, turning it blood red.

“Maybe I like it too much. Maybe I want you to.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Sod that. I do what I want,” he breathed out, added I want you silently, as she trailed their joined hands to the waistband of his jeans.

The water washed over his feet, leaving crimson stains in its wake. His fangs were pricking his bottom lip and a part of him wanted to sink to his knees and lap at it like a thirsty dog, but the other part of him was hungrier for her dizzying touch. Later. He’d do it later. When he no longer felt warm.

“You want me,” she said slipping in front of him, looking up with eyes that were too big and too green. “The outside of me.”

There were streaks of colour splashed over her naked skin as if she was a living painting.

“No. Not just the outside.” He stroked his thumb over the silvers and yellows twisting above her closed eyes and down her temples, tracing every contour of smooth, smooth skin and down to the black line smudged over her vulnerable throat. He leaned in and kissed the hollow of it, tasted the skin stretched over her golden collarbones, his palm resting over the blue spot spilled over her heart. It fluttered wildly beneath his touch like a bird trapped inside a cage, beating its wings to get closer.

She laid her purple-stained hands over his and dragged it down, his fingers spanning over her breast and bumping over her nipple on the way to her ribs. He fitted his fingers in the spaces between, mouth moving up her throat to lick the black off even though he knew he couldn’t. Not like this.

Her heart was thundering now as he kissed a line down her chest and hovered over her red-stained belly. It was as if he couldn’t get enough, and he just wanted to map out her entire body with his lips and see if he could make the colours change.

“Do you want all of me?”

He heard the rush of it before it came crashing in, a wave a hundred feet high slamming into his body so hard he startled awake, haunted by the phantom feeling of being suffocated as though he still needed to breathe.

Spike rolled onto his side, colours flashing behind his eyelids, fading just as quickly. He could almost feel the shivering point of skin meeting skin as he opened his eyes to see Buffy curled up into a ball next to him.

Sleeping on the floor, eh? At least I’m not the only who can’t keep his own promises.

He’d tried so hard not to dwell on what Dru had told him back in Mexico, managed to pretend it had never happened. Only now he couldn’t even escape it in his own dreams. Him and the Slayer? Nothing good could ever come of it. Oh, the shagging would be spectacular, he knew. But neither of them was wired to do one night stands. It was the book and the circumstances and his own depraved subconscious that wouldn’t let him escape it, that whispered twisted suggestions of you could fit together. But they couldn’t. She wasn’t the love of his ‘life’ and he wasn’t hers.

He knew she was awake when her breath turned shallow, her muscles tense. He could pretend to be asleep and give her an out, but he fancied the idea of condescending mockery a lot more.

“Couldn’t stay away, could you?”

She muttered something into the pillow before clambering off the bed. The second she was on her feet, she swayed unsteadily, hands catching onto the closed wardrobe doors. He didn’t think. He was up and at her side in a second, lifting her up into his arms and ignoring the way she weakly punched his chest with a demand to let her go.

“It’s just a… head rush. Let go.”

“Can you stop being bloody stubborn for one second? I’m trying to help you,” he said, putting her down on the bed. He caught it then, the smell of blood that had a growl rumbling through his chest.

“No, Spike. I just need to—”

“Are you hurt? What’s—” She was so pale the pink blotches on her cheeks seemed almost red.

“I’m fine. Just, stop looking at me.” She rested her head on her knees, drawing in ragged breaths.

“You’re not fine.” And perhaps his voice got a bit shrill there, but he wasn’t bloody concerned, all right? It was just… hunger. “You’re bleeding!”

“Can you put some clothes on?”

“No. Stop changing the subjec—” It hit him all of a sudden. “Oh. You’re… with the… Right.” She wasn’t about to keel over and die, at least. “Thank God it’s not anything worse, eh?”

She finally met his gaze, and the expression on her face told him she was about ready to rip his spine out right through his arse.

“Thank God?” Her voice rose in volume. “I feel like someone is stabbing me with a dull knife and scrambling my insides all around like a soup and you say thank God?”

She lost whatever colour was left in her face from the angry outburst when she stood up, refusing to look at him again. The smell was… well, it was all he could do to not push her down on the mattress, spread her open and lick her clean.

Fuck, he needed to get as far away from her as possible. “Want me to—”

“D-don’t touch me.”

She disappeared down the ladder and he realised that not only he was stuck in a cabin with the Slayer, now she would be bleeding all over the place while he hadn’t fed in what felt like forever. This would be a joyous ride.

*******

“No, no, no…” This was bad. Apocalypse-bad.

She frantically searched through the cabinet above the sink, ransacking every nook and cranny of the entire bathroom twice, only to come up empty-handed.

No pads. No tampons. No dignity for Buffy.

Her entire midsection throbbed in pain as if someone had set it on fire, and not in a fun, let’s-have-sexy-times way. More like, my-internal-organs-are-being-beaten-into-a-pulp-and-I-might-throw-up kind of way. She ditched her clothes on the tiled floor and crawled into the bathtub. The cold porcelain was a momentary relief to her clammy, feverish skin.

She tried to breathe through it, convinced now that the universe had been conspiring against her since she was born. Of course she’d get a really bad one at the most inconvenient time and not even have any supplies. Of course the only person who could help her was the one person she couldn’t ask for help.

You’ll have to. Unless you want to spend the next few days in the bathtub.

Beg Spike for help or become a bathtub hermit? Tough choice.

The knock on the door almost gave her a coronary.

“Uhh… you all right in there, Buffy?”

And why was it that every time he called her Buffy instead of Slayer, something inside her jolted to attention? It wasn’t right. But none of this was, and no matter how hard she’d like to pretend otherwise, Spike had proven she could rely on him. Rely. On Spike. Her world had been officially flipped upside down.

“No. No, I’m not.”

“Want me to come in?”

“No!” She leaned over to pick her T-shirt off the floor and held it to her chest just in case.

“What do you want me to do then?” He sounded slightly exasperated, not that she could blame him. Not really.

“Could you… could you look? For… you know… feminine supplies? Maybe there are some up in the bedroom?”

“Aren’t there any in the bathroom?”

“Would I ask you if there were?”

He paused. “Good point. Sorry. I’m… yeah.”

“And painkillers,” she called before he could disappear.

“Anything else?”

“No. Thank you,” she added and the gratitude came easier than it had before.

“I’m on it.”

As it turned out, there were none, and that was the point Buffy started to sniff, fighting the urge to cry. Everything just sucked, and she knew she’d hit a new low when she’d accept a hug even from Spike.

“Are you… are you crying?” sounded Spike’s voice through the door.

“N-no.” Not yet. Stupid vampire.

“Don’t.”

“You’re n-not the boss of me.”

“Buffy…”

That was it. The way he said, as if he cared. She started to cry then, not even knowing why, really. Stupid hormones.

The door opened and she wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole when Spike strode in and knelt down next to the bathtub.

“I’m n-naked.”

“Can’t see anything,” he said, his hand jerking as if he was about to touch her but changed his mind. “Besides, not like you haven’t seen my goodies, eh?”

She just shrugged because her throat was too tight to utter any words that would make much sense.

“Come on, now. Can’t stand it when you’re crying.”

She glared. As if it was her choice.

“Not that you can’t!” He shifted, gaze dropping to the floor. “Just… don’t like it. You’d think I would, wouldn’t you? I mean, I should.”

Her eyes were puffy and her nosy was runny and she must have looked like something that crawled out of its hole after midnight to scare little kids, but at least Spike wasn’t pointing and laughing. That was something.

“We’re a team though. We’re in this together. Although, don’t know why I bother when you can’t even make a decent cup of hot chocolate.”

“Hey!” The touch of his thumb wiping the tears off her cheeks stunned her speechless.

His face turned oddly soft for a moment but then she blinked and it was gone, just like his hand. Maybe it hadn’t even been there in the first place.

“I’ll go buy the stuff. Pick the blood up as well.”

“It’s daylight,” she said, her voice hoarse.

“It started snowing. ‘S cloudy enough and doesn’t seem to be stopping any time soon.”

She wiped her nose on the corner of the T-shirt, wondering if she’d ever shake this feeling of gratefulness. “This isn’t Sunnydale though. No manholes. You’ll end up all dusty if the sun comes out.”

“Nah. Won’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Spike—”

“Do you want to stay in this bathtub for hours?” He quirked his eyebrow.

“No.”

“There you go then.”

They heard the creak of the door out in the hallway at the same time, her pleading eyes colliding with his. She didn’t know when she’d started relying on him to take care of things, when she’d started to expect he’d actually come through.

But he did. Again. Striding out of the door and shutting it behind him, saving her from further humiliation.

*******

“Where’s mom?”

“Taking a bath.” He picked Emma up, tried not to like it when she wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his shoulder. “And you, Pidge, are coming with me to the shops.”

“We’re going shopping?” She bounced, almost wriggling out of his grasp.

“Yup. Get some food in you first and then we’ll get you dressed.”

*******

“Daddy, I can’t move.” A pair of eyes stared at him accusingly from beneath a woolen hat and a giant scarf draped around her throat and half of her face. Maybe he should add a second one. Just to be sure.

“We’re going out. Need to make you all snug, don’t I?”

She waddled over to him, dressed in an undershirt, T-shirt, over-shirt, two thick jumpers and a coat, two pairs of gloves, and as many pairs of stockings and socks as he could fit beneath her trousers and into her boots. He hoped it would be enough.

“Are we going to the North Pole?”

“Are you sassing me, young lady?”

She giggled.

“Okay, that’s it, you little scoundrel. Prepare to be tickled to death once we get back.”

She pulled at his sleeve then, brows furrowed. “You need to get your winter coat too. You’ll get cold.”

No, he wouldn’t, but there wasn’t any way to explain, so he put on his counterpart’s black winter coat, glad the other him wasn’t keen on pastels and Hawaiian prints.

Once they stepped out and Emma toppled over into the snow, he wondered if he’d gone a bit overboard with making her warm. He couldn’t be bothered to go back though, so he just picked her up and carried her up the hill where she haughtily informed him he was going in the wrong direction and the bus stop was that way.

Bus stop. He better not tell the Slayer about this or she’d curse up a blue streak.

Emma dozed off in his arms and didn’t wake until he jostled her by stepping off the bus. Luck seemed to be on his side as the snow storm still raged on and the butcher’s had blood for him. Emma watched him with a smile of someone who had no idea they were snuggled up to a vampire. The only thing she said was, “It’s just like the adventure!”

She was well-behaved, unless he counted that incident where she’d pelted him with snowballs once he’d let her down and somehow managed to hit him right in the face. She definitely had the Slayer’s aim, even if her mother wasn’t one.

“Why are we just standing here?” Emma asked once they were inside a grocery shop. There was a chance he’d been standing in a same spot just next to the ‘feminine’ aisle for over three minutes now, fondling a teddy bear with a missing eye that Emma had decided to rescue because nobody will buy him. He was weak in the face of her begging, all right? It was just a bloody teddy bear anyway.

“I’m waiting for my balls to stop shriveling into my body.”

Her eyes widened. “Your boy bits can do that?”

“When faced with buying tampons? You’d be surprised, Pidge.”

She tilted her head to the side in an eerie imitation of… well, him. “What are tampons?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.” He took a breath he didn’t need and braced himself. He could take on a crazed mob and withstand Angelus’ ‘art’ sessions at his worst. This was nothing. “I’m going in.”

She trailed after him like a miniature human penguin, huffing through her scarf.

Fuck, nobody told him there would be so many options! What was he supposed to do now? And just how many should he buy? He clearly hadn’t thought this through. “Bugger.”

Emma giggled.

There were ones for night and day and heavy flow and light flow and they came in all kinds of shapes and sizes and brightly coloured boxes. For a second he’d wished he hadn’t even offered. Why had he? Oh yeah, the sodding Slayer and her crocodile tears.

“Why do they need to sell so many? They did just fine without any of this rubbish in my time.”

Emma tugged at his pant leg and pointed up. “Take that bugger!”

A lady standing a few feet away looked at him with her lips pursed in disapproval.

“She’s smart, isn’t she?” he said with a smirk, to which the woman shook her head and went as far away from him as possible.

In the end, he ended up buying one of each kind. It had better be enough because there was no way in hell he was coming back here again.

And as soon as he got back he was draining half of the blood bags, before he asked the Slayer to give him a taste and got himself punched in the nose.

TBC

Chapter 11

His hands were shaking so much he could hardly open the lid on the Thermos. He was starved for it, as awful as he knew it would taste, the tip of his tongue running over the sharp edges of his fangs.

Emma was huffing and puffing somewhere behind him, wrestling off her boots. “Daddy, I need help!”

“Just a sec, love,” he said, aware he couldn’t face her with his demon out to play.

“Hurry!”

“Told you to wait,” he growled out, the wave of bloodlust welling up in the pit of his stomach as he unscrewed the lid and drank deep. Even the pig swill tasted like ambrosia, and yet… something inside him remained restless, a thirst he couldn’t quench even as he drained it all.

His fingers flexed around the counter hard enough to feel it creak.

It’d hit the spot, just not all of them.

When he finished putting the rest into the freezer and his head cleared up, it occurred to him that he might have snapped at Emma, even though he’d never really meant to.

She sat there with her hands resting on a boot that was half off, following him with that too serious gaze that made him feel as if she was trying to wriggle inside his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said, instantly angry, because he wasn’t supposed to care about her feelings at all, but did so anyway. No wonder Angelus made me his laughing stock. What kind of vamp cares for a snack?

“It’s okay,” she said and he wondered when the roles had flipped and she’d become the adult one. “Are you mad at me?”

He wanted to yell, pick her up and shake her, tell her to stop looking at him as if she trusted him with her life. “No. No, I’m not mad. Everything’s fine.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll help you, yeah? Just hang on a tic while I give your… mum… stuff.”

He didn’t deserve Emma’s earnest trust and soft-spoken I love you’s, didn’t deserve Buffy’s thank you as he put the stuff on the bathroom floor without coming inside. He didn’t deserve it, but a part of him didn’t care, was starved for it like a hungry animal.

*******

It was wigging her out how strangely quiet Spike was. See, she should be cheering and dancing around because he’d shut up, but something had shifted the moment he’d decided to risk getting crispy just to help her out. Maybe even before.

She didn’t want to get in too deep, to pick it all apart and find out the when and the how, to pinpoint all those familiar dynamics that no longer felt as familiar. She just had to get him to say something, anything, to lock up all those thoughts that were better left unsaid.

“Thanks. Again. With the helping out stuff. You didn’t have to.” Her hand hovered over his shoulder where he was sprawled in the armchair with a book in his lap. She told herself not to be stupid and made contact. Emma was there anyway. Got to keep touching, keep the pretenses up.

She’s not even watching you right now.

Shut up.

“Don’t mention it.” He tilted his head back to look up at her, his voice strained and testy. “I mean it.”

“Okay, Grumpy.”

She was about to leave when he caught her forearm and tugged, pressed his lips to her wrist. His eyes were tracking the pages of the book as if he wasn’t even aware of his lips, soft and ticklish on her vulnerable skin. She tried not to think about how his fingertips felt like live wire pressed into her inner arm.

This isn’t right. This feels like cheating. What would Riley think? And Willow and Xander and Giles?

Then why wasn’t she pushing him away?

“You smell good.”

“Uhh… thanks?”

He bit down on her wrist with blunt teeth and sucked at the skin over her pulse, and that that sound she’d just made was definitely not a moan. She was just… voicing her disapproval. Without actual words.

“Sure,” he said, as casual as you please. But it wouldn’t be Spike if he didn’t turn it into some kind of challenge and the smirk he gave her as he let go of her arm made her want to press him into the couch and punish him. In a non-sexual, non-naked way, because that would be the very definition of wrong. Yes.

“I’m getting you for that later.”

“Can’t wait.” He turned back to the damn book and added, “Now let me read, woman. You’re ruining my concentration.”

“God, you’re boring.”

The blatant dismissal of her jibe and his refusal to give in to the banter was enough to make her develop an eye tic. If he wanted to be buried in some musty old book, then fine. His loss. She was the Slayer, the Chosen One. She was perfectly self-reliant. She didn’t need him to entertain her.

*******

If he wasn’t too lazy to move, he’d have toppled off the bed when the earthquake started.

Wait. Not an earthquake. Just a five-year-old jumping up and down to wake him from his nap. And landing on his back. He grunted into the book on top of which he’d fallen asleep.

“Bloody hell.” What was it with women in this cabin not letting him get a wink in?

“Can we watch The Grinch?” Emma shoved a DVD into his hands and fluttered her eyelashes the second he got to his feet and put the book into the night stand. “Please?”

“How did you even get up here? Isn’t it unsafe for little girls to go around climbing ladders?”

“Mommy said I could. And I’d never fall! I’m the best climber in the world.” She started jumping up and down on the mattress. “Can we go watch it right now?”

He wiped his hand down his face and sighed. “Sure, I’ll pop it in for you.”

“But you have to watch with me. I’ll feel lonely if you don’t.” She plopped down on her bum, turning serious before he could as much as blink.

It was the pitiful little pout. Had to be. God damn it. “All right.” He could go get the book if he got too bored, get a few more chapters in, safe in the knowledge that books were to the Slayer what holy water was to him and she wouldn’t want to peek. She hadn’t earlier.

Emma squealed and jumped on his back, limbs wrapped around him tightly as he climbed down the ladder. Buffy was already seated on the living room sofa with a blanket around her, mouthing at him, You too, huh?

Before he could make himself comfy in the armchair, Emma hopped into it, grinning at them. Well then. He put the film in, hit play and sat next to Buffy. He felt Emma’s eyes on them, so he put his arm on the back of the sofa, playing with Buffy’s hair.

“Mommy looks cold, Daddy. You should cuddle her.” She smiled at them from behind her teddy bear and Spike knew now that the kid wasn’t actually their child. She was the spawn of Satan.

He reclined in the corner of the sofa and pulled Buffy into his arms. She huffed at being manhandled, her back ramrod straight against his chest.

“Relax,” he whispered into her ear as Emma huddled into a blanket and resumed watching the telly. He had to tell himself the same thing, because the last time they’d been this close he’d been snogged to within an inch of his unlife. Christ, he was really hard up for a good shag if he was considering turning her head to the side to find out if a repeat would be just as good.

*******

Relax, he says. She would, if his penis wasn’t up against her lower back. Well, not up, per se, but still. It was right there, separated from her by a few flimsy layers of clothing, Spike’s underpants excluded. She’d more likely catch him cleaning the windows with a pair of boxers than see them on him. He was shameless and indecent, and looked inhumanly good naked.

She needed a lobotomy. Not only to forget the way moonlight washed over his V-line or dipped into the hollow between his collarbones, but also because his proximity was making her… squirm. Too close for comfort didn’t even begin to describe it.

Maybe it’s not close enough.

And when the hell did the dirty voice in her head start to sound like Spike? Or look like him, as he beckoned her with a lip bite and bedroom eyes? She really hoped he couldn’t read minds. She was ashamed enough for the two of them, and she clearly needed to get laid. Not by Spike. Anyone else but Spike. Preferably someone Riley-shaped.

Yup.

If you can read minds, say ‘chicken’.

Spike just shifted and tucked the blanket around her sides. He was the Grinch here. The movie should have been about him.

About twenty minutes into the movie, Spike let his arm slip from the back of the sofa. It took her a couple minutes to actually realise his arm was holding her in a loose embrace, his hand splayed lazily over her abdomen. But that wasn’t even the wiggiest part. The wiggiest part was that she’d laid her hand over his, fingernails slowly scratching down the back of it as though it was a habit she’d grown into years ago.

And it was easy to make excuses and tell herself that it was for Emma’s benefit and that all they did was play a part, but the fact was... it felt nice. And that’s what made her the Worst Girlfriend of the Year, because she’d never really liked to cuddle with Riley for too long. He was too warm and too big and too needy, with arms that wanted to hold her prisoner instead of holding her close.

She wondered now, if it was a slayer thing or a Buffy thing that made her so screwed up that she couldn’t stand to be held by someone alive, that she preferred the way Spike’s hand ducked beneath the blanket and the hem of her top, and made itself at home on the fevered skin of her belly when her muscles seized with a cramp.

“You all right?” he whispered against her temple and all she could do was nod, torn between feeling like a traitor and a traitor who wasn’t willing to stop.

“I’m just… I’ll be back in a minute.” Getting off the couch was a lot like struggling to climb from beneath a mountain of warm blankets. Not because Spike wouldn’t let go. It was more of an I-feel-more-comfy-than-I-should kind of an issue and the second she realised it, she couldn’t get up fast enough.

Life would be a lot easier if she could just lock herself in the bathroom until the problem went away, lock him out of her head. And wasn’t it ironic how she could flirt with death every day and not be afraid, yet her knees would start to shake if she so much as thought of sorting through her own feelings.

It was just this world that was messing it all up in her head, the skewed perception, the constant touching without causing pain. They’d been forced into this. The second they got back to Sunnydale, everything would return to their usual brand of normal. She would no longer have to think of the way his hair curled after he took a shower; the way he could touch her so gently; the way he kissed. She could forget everything as if it had never happened.

Can you?

*******

“Can I sleep on the bed then or will you try to kick me off again?” He’d watched her closely ever since she’d come back from the bathroom, back to being stiff like a corpse in his arms. She’d relaxed in the end, of course, let her guard down when she thought he wasn’t looking anymore. She had no idea that he had an insight now, all those little nuances and reactions she shared with her other self, all laid out in the pages of the book.

“Her heart was like an exposed nerve she tried to barricade with walls inches thick. I’d still see it though, in that moment when she was in my arms, lost in all the things I could do to her. I’d see but couldn’t touch, because she was the only one who could let me in and being out of control terrified her more than anything else.”

“I won’t. Not on purpose anyway,” she said, fingers playing with the hem of her top as she faced him from the opposite side of the bed. He remembered the first time they’d stood there, that moment when they’d realised all they had was each other. How much could change in five days, and yet so much had stayed the same. He wasn’t in love with her and she wasn’t in love with him, but there was a tension snapping beneath the surface, the cabin fever heating them up from the inside.

“I’m holding you to that.”

“Okay. Sheesh. Good night.”

“’Night, Slayer.”

Lying down next to her was bloody awkward, a lot like the time they’d touched in the bathroom under the guise of practice. She was so close to the edge of the bed he expected her to tumble off any moment. He’d laugh if she did. Still evil, after all. Had to get his jollies somehow. Jollies that didn’t include stripping her naked and seeking a heart-shaped birth mark on her hip, finding out if she’d turn pliant and needy under his hands, giving as well as she took.

He should never have opened the blasted book. It had put all kinds of nasty ideas into his brain. He’d fallen asleep soon after, plagued by too intimate moments he’d never lived through, her tongue smoothing over his skin, lips sucking bruises into his throat and the inside of his elbow, that sensitive spot he’d never known before that he liked to have kissed. Her breast was a warm weight in his palm as she whimpered into his jaw, sinking down on him inch by a torturous inch.

It turned hard and fast soon, her torso stretched and head thrown back, his fingers leaving bruises on her hips. It wasn’t half-scribbled poems written at sunset or four-word confessions whispered into flesh. It was passion that rebounded and multiplied with every slip and slide, every time she’d dig her nails into his chest when he’d talk dirty.

He sat up then, wanting to feel her entire body quiver in his arms. Only she was turning hazy like a morning fog and instead of racing to the finish line he found himself hovering somewhere between the last flashes of the dream and a sober moment of wakefulness.

He blinked, knew he’d be sweating if he could. There were limbs wrapped around him still, an arm carelessly thrown over his waist and flannel-clad legs tangled with his. He’d never have pegged her to be a cuddler, but he supposed she wasn’t the only guilty one, seeing as his hand was on her lower back, bordering on slipping lower to get a nice little handful. It was likely a good thing he’d compromised and put boxers on before going to bed.

When she stirred he wondered if he’d tipped her off somehow, poked her Slayer radar into awareness. Her eyes were open now and it was too late for him to start faking sleep.

They stared at each other in the darkness, neither quite knowing what to do next. He knew she’d recoil soon and maybe he was selfish but he didn’t want to let go of her yet. It was… nice.

“Don’t make a big deal, yeah?” he whispered, saw her swallow hard. “Doesn’t have to mean anything. It’s natural, isn’t it? To want to hold someone.”

“Just… here,” she said after a pause. “The rules are different here, aren’t they?”

He could read it in her eyes. They were silently pleading with him to agree and say it won’t change us, it’s not really real when it’s not our world. And it wasn’t. The minute they got back all this would be but a distant dream.

“It’s just comfort. Nothing more.”

“I don’t love you,” she said, not pulling away.

“I don’t love you either.”

“Okay.” She closed her eyes. “Okay. But… I do care. Maybe. A little bit.”

“Maybe I do too,” he admitted, safe in the knowledge neither of them would remember their confessions in the morning. And if they did, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.

TBC

Chapter 12

It was the end of the world. That was the only explanation for the sight that greeted her once she came downstairs, still bleary-eyed and dressed in the other Buffy’s pajamas. It’s not as though anyone was there to judge her. Spike would most likely only encourage her laziness, evil vampire that he was.

“What are you doing?”

“Curling the Bit’s hair, what does it look like? Got to get her all prettied up for the tea party, haven’t I?” They both sat on the rug in front of the unlit fireplace, half of Emma’s hair already done, her eyes glued to the TV.

“I’m having a tea party with my teddy bears,” Emma supplied, the very picture of seriousness.

“They’re a demanding lot,” Spike added, equally serious.

“This really shouldn’t surprise me anymore.” Buffy sat down on the sofa, hugged a throw pillow to her chest. “How do you even know how to curl hair? I know Xander doesn’t. I’d probably end up half-bald if I let him anywhere near me with a curler.”

“’S not rocket science, but I wouldn’t trust the Donut Boy with painting my nails.” The fact he was talking about painting his nails while he expertly twirled another lock of Emma’s hair around the curler had Buffy torn between laughing and sitting there in stunned disbelief. She decided on the latter. “Besides, I’ve had practice. Used to do Dru’s hair all the time.”

“I’ve just realised this, but… you’re totally like someone’s gay best friend.”

“That’s it,” Spike said haughtily. “Don’t expect to get your hair done.”

“I don’t even curl my hair, so the joke’s on you. It’s naturally perfect.”

His eyebrow twitched as he gave her ratty, out-of-bed hair a critical once-over. “Your roots are showing.”

She gasped. “When did you get so mean?”

“Is this flirting?” Emma asked guilelessly.

Spike stopped mid-curling.

Buffy gaped. So this is what a heart attack felt like. She didn’t want to live long enough to reach twenty anyway.

“Aunt Willow said it’s called flirting when you play fight,” Emma said. “Why do you and Mommy flirt? Is it because you love each other?”

“I need to cook!” She jumped off the couch as if it had been lit on fire, tuning out Spike as he tried to fumble his way through a response.

That had not been flirting. At all. Those were mean jibes aimed to… oh God, it hadn’t really been mean at all, had it? They had been flirting and this was most definitely Bizarro world.

Cupboard doors banged. The pan landed on the stove.

This just kept happening. With the touching and the snuggling and the whispered conversations deep in the night. He was just constantly underfoot, with those eyes and cheekbones and general everything-ness. She couldn’t escape him if she tried, and if she was being honest, maybe she could have tried much harder.

She cracked three eggs open, hunting for a stray bit of shell that had fallen in.

They were starting to act like a couple without the benefits, the line between a convincing act and something else so blurry now that she had trouble remembering when the banter had turned into an almost friendly routine. When it had become teasing instead of digging deep to dredge up each other’s insecurities.

She scrambled the eggs with too much enthusiasm, a bit of it splatting on her top. Just… breathe out. It wasn’t so bad. It was fine. All cookies and fuzzy little kittens and Spike who went out in daylight to buy her tampons. Spike who was curling Emma’s hair. Spike whom she’d kissed under the mistletoe and liked it a lot more than she probably should have. Spike whose tentative hand was currently lightly rubbing her between her shoulder blades in a way that spoke without words.

“Think the eggs are done.”

“What?” She looked down as his hand vanished. The eggs were starting to get past the point of well-done. “Oh.”

She turned the stove off, remembered what he’d said at night, about how this didn’t really count. That it was okay to touch and just be them and the world wouldn’t collapse around their ears.

“Emma’s in her room playing. Want to blow off some steam after you two are done eating?”

“No blowing!” Of any kind.

“Oh, come on. ‘S snowing and I’m going stir crazy in here. Need to go out for a bit. I’ll even risk getting singed.” When she finally turned to face him, he was bouncing on the balls of his feet as if he was the child in the house. “We could fight.”

“You can’t fight me.”

“Snowball fight,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “You too chicken, Slayer?”

Bastard. He knew she couldn’t say no to a challenge. “If your chip fires, don’t come crying to me.”

He uncrossed his arms, closed the distance, breathed against her temple. “You’ll be the one crying after I’m done with you.”

She fisted the front of his T-shirt, resisted the urge to bite his jaw. “We’ll see.”

*******

He’d missed this. The adrenaline rush. Facing off against someone good enough to give him a challenge. Late night smoking sessions on the porch and occasional treks through the woods were not nearly enough to keep him from going stir crazy, all locked up and without a bottle of bourbon to keep him occupied.

“Okay, the rules,” Buffy said, putting on her woolen gloves. What a sissy. “There are no rules.”

“I like your style,” he said. Their eyes met for a second too long, assessing, two predators in their element. Then they were both off, gathering snow, palming it into deadly snowballs. One whizzed right by his ear before he could straighten up.

He prepared to flinch the second he let his own impromptu ammunition fly and watched it connect with her left shoulder. The chip didn’t fire. Fuck yeah, it was on.

“Is that the best you can do?” he taunted as she hit him in the chest, right above his heart.

“My aim is impeccable, you big… dumb guy.”

“Ooh, burn. Your threats make me shake in my boots.” He pelted three snowballs in a row, didn’t hit her once. Didn’t care either, because this was fun.

“Well, I already knew that. Run and catch me if you can, slowpoke!” When she stuck her tongue out at him and ran into the woods, he lost sight of her. The snow crunched beneath his soles as he trailed after her, the black of his attire giving him away. So she had an advantage. Didn’t mean he’d let her get the best of him. “Here, kitty, kitty…”

Not a sound. She could be silent as a shadow when she wanted to be and he wished he had all his vampire mojo just so he could hear her heart pound like a drum.

A branch snapped to his left. He spun on his heel, smirked, headed in with a snowball in his grasp.

“Is the big bad Slayer afraid of little old me? Tsk, never pegged you to be a coward.” Almost there. Just a little closer. He was sure that once he ducked behind that tree, she would be… not there at all?

“What the—”

“Up here, Spikey.”

He instinctively looked up right as an armful of snow showered down on his head. Sputtering, he spat the snow that had got into his mouth, shook it out of his hair. Meanwhile that little wench had jumped off the branch above and was bent over, dying with laughter at his expense. He’d show her. She wasn’t the only one who could play dirty.

“You should have seen your face,” she said, pointing at him, her smile so big it looked as though it almost hurt.

“Let’s see how you like it, pet.”

Her eyes widened, the smile sliding off her face like melted snow when he pounced and tackled her to the ground. “Not laughing now, are you?” He cupped a handful of snow and smirked.

“Spike, no.”

“Yes.”

“Sp—”

Her indignant shriek as he lifted the collar of her coat and stuffed the snow down her front had just become his new favourite sound.

“I’m going to kill you!” She shoved him off, but he tangled his legs with hers and pulled her on top with his arms holding her hostage, cackling. “Ahh, cold! Cold! Let me go!

“Not until you admit I won.”

“Never.” If her arms weren’t trapped between their chests, she’d probably smack the grin right off his face. Oh, well. Too bad. “I got you first. I won.”

“Seems like we’ve reached an impasse.”

Her warm breath puffed against his throat and she was so ticked off; he could see it in her face, in the way her legs tightened around his as if she was trying to crush his bones to dust.

“Ugh, you make me so mad I could just—”

“You could what…”

Her hands gripped his collar and then her teeth were sinking into his bottom lip, nipping and tugging. Something inside him stretched and roared to life as his hand slid into her hair to pull her closer. Her lips were dry and cool from the wind and he shouldn’t be loving this, but he was, couldn’t keep from slotting his lips to hers and licking the sizzling hot insides of her mouth as if she was crème brûlée sprinkled with O negative.

Doesn’t count, doesn’t have to mess everything up. It’s just us and we’re both on the same page.

The increased thudding of her heart told him she knew; was aware they were lying on the outskirts of the woods with snow beneath his back and lips gliding wetly together with desperation that bordered on pain.

“So mad,” she breathed into his mouth before diving back in, turning his brain into mush.

“Yeah,” he managed as she pulled away to draw in a breath. “Lay it all on me.”

She kissed him again, hips wriggling in a way that made stars burst behind his eyelids. He was trapped between hot and cold, frustrated hands roving down her coat-clad back. He just… he couldn’t get close enough.

“This is so wrong… bad.”

“So bad,” he echoed, rolling them over so he could latch onto her throat. Her hips ground against his with a filthy drawn-out moan he’d never known she could make. Maybe he could see it now, how his other self got himself trapped in her web, why he couldn’t keep himself from coming back for more. He could still do this though, without needing her, without falling in love.

He sucked the droplets of water off her silky smooth skin, licked up the long elegant arch of her throat until he reached her jaw. He suckled until she was gripping his coat so tightly the leather might bruise. And he didn’t even care; not when her blood was rushing right beneath his lips, right beneath the paper-thin tissue of her skin. He wanted it, but no more than he wanted the rest of her right now. And he’d be buggered if it wasn’t wrong and perverse to want to strip her bare and find out if she tasted like honey and melted candy everywhere.

“Buffy,” Spike said as if he knew it was her weakness. The ground was hard and cold and the clothes beneath her coat were uncomfortably damp from the snow Spike had dropped down her front. She should be shivering. She should be beating Spike up for doing it in the first place. She would be, if he hadn’t turned her white hot to the point she was surprised the water hadn’t sizzled off her skin.

How is it that he gets you hotter just by making out with you than Riley does when you’re getting your sexy on?

She loved Riley, she… couldn’t breathe when Spike hooked her leg over his hip, squeezed her ass and sucked at the sensitive spot right behind her ear. It wasn’t fair that he could turn her so needy when they weren’t even naked. And maybe it was a pride thing, but she wanted to see him surrender, even more helpless than he was now.

She spun them around, straddled his hips and swept down to kiss him again. His face was damp and his mouth tasted like icy mint. Yet it wasn’t enough, not the way he was clutching at her hips or breathing shallowly as though he had to. All she wanted was to get closer and just moremormore. Her lips trailed down his chin, licked over his Adam’s apple, paused to hover over the curve of his neck. She wasn’t thinking, she just… bit down with blunt teeth, right over the scar on his neck. When his hips bucked, a low growl rumbling through his chest, she thought that’s it, you’re mine.

“Oh God,” she said, jerking back, meeting his hazy eyes. They stayed like that for what felt like forever, just staring at each other, panting like thirsty dogs.

He’s not mine. I don’t want him to be. I just… want him. But I can’t. I can’t.

She bit me. Right over Drusilla’s mark, and I didn’t even stop her. I almost got off on it. I want her to do it again. What’s wrong with me?

“Maybe we should… head back,” she said, climbing off him, her knees shaking.

He nodded and swallowed hard, resisted the urge to lay his hand over his mark. As they trekked back to the house, he wondered if they were both going stark raving mad after all.

*******

It wasn’t awkward being around her, not nearly as much as it could be, he figured. They ate and talked and watched telly while Emma built a blanket fortress in her room. But it was prickling at him, that desire to have Buffy again. She was worse than a nicotine habit and the more of her he tasted, the hungrier he got.

He had to keep away for a bit, just to simmer down, and so he went up to the loft and took the book out of the nightstand, picked up right where he’d left off. It didn’t make him feel all that much better, but he couldn’t put it down anyway.

“I knew she was coming undone on the inside, no matter how hard she’d try to hide it from me. As I pinned her wrists to the bed and made her look up, she whispered, ‘I don’t know what to do.’ Nothing more. Just that, and then she silenced me with her kisses, touched me until there was no blood left in my brain. I didn’t see her for a month after that.

It happened when I’d least expected it, as we bumped into each like in a bad chick flick. There were dark circles under her wide eyes and her hair was tied in a messy ponytail as if she couldn’t be bothered to fix it up. I’d rather have seen her on his arm and smiling than alone and miserable, because it was worse than being crushed to death by stones to see her so unhappy and be unable to do a thing to change it.

‘You haven’t returned my calls.’ I said, imagining taking her hand and bringing her home with me. Imagining she’d stay and kiss me with eyes that weren’t dull and hopeless, looking at me as if I was the only one on her mind, the one who’d made her happy.

‘I couldn’t. I can’t… can’t keep doing this. It’s not right.’

‘Buffy—’

‘Spike, no. I just need… need to work this out on my own. I can’t have you confusing me with your eyes and your words and… just let me go. Let this go. Please.’

She wouldn’t look at me at all, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. I’d known since the moment I’d met her that getting pulled in would be the end of me. I’d known but I’d done it anyway, told myself it was no big deal. That I could turn my lovesick, pounding heart off whenever I liked. ‘Is this it then? You’re ending this? Because I’ve heard it all before and you always come back.’

She met my eyes then and the sneer on my face died the moment I saw her chin wobble, the moment she said, ‘I’m sorry,’ as if she meant it.

I watched her go, feeling sick to my stomach, knowing that letting her go would be the hardest thing I’d ever done.”

No matter where or when or which version of him, he was always the one left behind. He wouldn’t let this get out of hand, let himself plunge into a chase after a bloody fairy tale like his other self had. He was better than that. Lust is better than love; lust doesn’t tear you in half. And that’s all this with Buffy will ever be.

TBC

Chapter 13

She dreamt of them again that night; the other them. Couldn’t help but notice how easily they touched, how fluidly they moved together as if they were two parts of one whole. How well they fit as, when they finally stopped running, the other Buffy’s face nuzzled into the curve of his neck, his arm curled around her waist.

When she blinked, they were standing in her living room, her mother staring at them as if they were a foreign species, especially when the other Buffy enfolded Joyce in a bear hug that looked almost painful. She couldn’t hear a word, the sounds distilled through a thick fog in her brain until they turned into gibberish.

The dream flashed forward and she felt a tug at her stomach, like an invisible hook yanking her forward. Her mom was there and Xander and Willow, whose cheeks were flushed, her eyebrows drawn together in that stubborn way she got when she was hacking into the hospital database and it wouldn’t let her in at the first try. They were arguing, surrounded by a stack of books that were slowly but surely building precarious little towers.

When the dream changed again Buffy almost tripped over Tara’s quiet presence. The living room was filled with the acrid smoke of a spell gone wrong. The other them were there too, eyes locked in a silent conversation as they followed the rest in a mad dash out of the polluted room.

And it was insane, that fleeting moment of jealousy Buffy felt about the way they seemed to talk without speaking at all, the way they seemed to just get each other, because as much as she’d loved Angel she never really understood him. She didn’t think he’d ever understood her either. She’d have given up everything to make it work and he’d given up before they could try at all.

Maybe he’s never been right for you.

Maybe love wasn’t supposed to hurt all the time, wasn’t supposed to feel like she was punching a wall and not getting through to what was on the other side.

Like Spike’s right for me?

She closed her eyes, scoffed, because he couldn’t be more wrong if he tried.

When she opened her eyes, she was standing at the foot of her bed back in Sunnydale, the other Buffy smiling at her, sadly almost. But… no. Not at her. Spike just came stalking right through her as if she was made of air, see-through. He crawled towards the other Buffy inhaling her from pelvis to throat like a wild animal. Her fingers tangled in his hair, yanked him up until their lips lined up.

Look away.

She couldn’t.

“Are you okay?” he asked, sagging against her when her nails scratched down his naked spine, not in passion. In comfort. Somehow, that made Buffy feel even more as if she was intruding on something not meant for her eyes.

“Not really. You?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“I’m worried about her,” the other Buffy said, lips resting against his temple. It was so instinctive and gentle she had to look away.

“I can’t help but think of her all alone, hungry, and,” he hid his face in her shoulder, “fuck.”

“Don’t. It’ll be fine,” she said, voice shaking. “They said… us, the other us, they’re in our place. They must have found the cabin. Must have.”

“How did this even… it’s not possible.”

“I don’t know.” She rolled them on their sides, her thigh settling over his hip. “It did in your book. I mean, not this exactly, but…”

Spike snorted, smiled a little. “It’s called fiction for a reason, love.”

“I hate feeling this way, like everything’s out of control.”

“I know,” he said, because he did, and then he kissed her, hands gliding everywhere. “I know.”

“Don’t want to think about it.”

“I’ll make you forg—”

She cut him off with a kiss, pushed him back and straddled him. “I will too. We’re in this together.”

“Always,” he said, eyes rolling back as she moved down his body and… oh boy. Gross! And why am I still looking?

She was most definitely a pig now, a perverted voyeur who just stood there and stared as he stroked the other Buffy’s hair away from her face, dragging in a lungful of air, teeth catching in his bottom lip when she sucked him in even deeper.

Okay. Wow. Didn’t really need to see his sex face on top of everything else.

She definitely wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye now. Or at herself in the mirror, for that matter. How had the other her even learned how to do that? Which, okay. Spike probably wasn’t all about slow and soft missionary and mouths above waist all the time.

My sex life is great. Brilliant, in fact.

Spike pulled her up, rolled her over and returned the favour in a way that made a heat wave roll all the way down to her toes. It was indecent and dirty and… hot. Kind of. Maybe. And if it was just sex she might have a better chance of leaving this nightmare unscathed, but it was more than that, in some intangible way. It was the way her calves rubbed over his shoulders as she whispered his name as if she was losing herself completely, the way his eyes would crinkle at the edges, hands stroking a smooth path down her flushed skin, hungry for all of her all at once. The way he made her come undone and make her giggle right after when he blew a raspberry against her still quivering belly.

They smiled against each other’s lips, teasing with words just as well as they did with their hands until thoughts became half-cut moans and stifled gasps.

This is what we look like together. It shouldn’t look so right.

She was spared the shattering finale by the door ringing.

Only it wasn’t the door. It was the tinny sound of the phone and now that she opened her eyes, only to find Spike looking right back, she kind of wished she hadn’t woken up.

“W-what’s—”

He was making that face again. The one she knew never meant anything good. “Had any nice dreams, pet?”

Yup. There he goes. She blushed to the roots of her hair. “No.”

“Really?”

The phone kept ringing down in the living room. Why didn’t he just go pick it up?

“Because it sure smells like you did.”

She, the queen of banter and timely pun-making, could only squeak.

Spike smirked and her skin went all goosebumpy when his fingers danced over her bare shoulder. Not good. “Bet I was in it, wasn’t I?”

It’s not like he was wrong, exactly, but he was a smug bastard and she wouldn’t stand for it. “You’re so full of yourself it’s embarrassing.”

His knuckles stroked down the length of her arm. It was distracting. “Were you though? Full of me.”

“Pig.” She slapped him on the shoulder hard enough for it to sting, but not nearly as hard as she could. She was tired, okay? And it was… cold outside. It made her all lazy and un-ragey. “Full of annoyance, yes.”

“Is that right?” He lifted his eyebrow, the one that wasn’t squished against the pillow. “So, you’re telling me that,” his fingers crawled up her ribcage, spanned right beneath the curve of her breast, “I don’t make you all hot and bothered then?”

“Not even a little bit.” She vaguely noticed the phone had stopped ringing, and the renewed silence made her heartbeat sound too loud in her ears.

“Mmm… fancy that.” Then he cupped her breast, the pad of his thumb rubbing over her hard nipple back and forth as if they weren’t breaking an unwritten law. She whimpered into the pillow like some brazen hussy and caught his wrist. She didn’t know whether she wanted to push him away or pull him closer.

“Spike…”

“Buffy,” he replied, mildly amused. And what was wrong with him? Was this who they were now? Taking liberties with touching each other as if they’d never done anything else?

“We shouldn’t—”

“Why not?”

She realised her grasp had gone loose, fingers trailing up his forearm. “I… I’m not a cheater.” And why was it so hard to remember the colour of Riley’s eyes? Why had she never hungered for him the way she did for Spike right now?

“But you want me,” he said and it wasn’t a question. But he was still holding back, eyes intent on her face. “It’s just us, Buffy. We’re all we have.”

She wouldn’t have done this back home; the home that felt more distant and vague the longer they stayed here and blurred the lines between Slayer and vampire, turned them into Buffy and Spike instead.

“Tell me I’m not alone in this,” he said, gaze dropping between them, eyelashes sweeping over vulnerable skin. “In wanting this.”

“You’re not alone,” she admitted, softly. When she met his eyes she realised that she wasn’t the only one who was freaking out, the only one with this desire crawling beneath her skin.

He shuffled closer, nosing at her jaw, playing with the neckline of her top. There was too much of his bare skin begging to be touched and maybe she’d given in a little bit, couldn’t hold back from sliding her palm up to his shoulder.

This is insane, she thought as he pulled the neckline down and teased his way down her chest with the tongue she was convinced was the work of Satan. And when she threaded her fingers through his messy bed hair, she realised something she’d known for a while now.

She couldn’t keep dating Riley. She’d tried so hard to make it work, to pretend he was what she wanted, needed, that the fire between them was anything other than a smothered spark. Even without Spike in the picture, they’d never have worked out, no matter how much Angel wanted her to have ‘normal’ in her life. Maybe normal was overrat—

“Stop thinking so much,” Spike said, stroking up her spine, his mouth hovering over her nipple, and if he could just… “Can hear the gears turning from here.”

“I’m here. Thoughtless. Please—”

“Please?” He smiled impishly. “Please what, Buffy?”

She pinched his earlobe, gave him her best bitchy face.

“This?” He swiped his tongue over the tip of her breast, and it was good, so good, but— “More.”

“If the lady says more,” he closed his lips over her nipple and suckled it into his mouth, teeth grazing the tiniest bit, “she shall get more.”

*******

Spike wondered if she was conscious of the way she’d arched into him, the breathy moans she couldn’t hold in when he’d barely even touched her. She was so responsive. More responsive than Dru had ever been. He could imagine her right now clear as day, as he pushed Buffy onto her back, could hear Dru telling him he’d gone all soft and sticky on the inside.

I’m not. I’m just adapting. Taking the next best thing when the top prize had been snatched away.

And since when had Buffy become the next best thing?

“What are we doing?” he asked, rolling her top up to her breasts anyway, eyes eating up the way golden skin stretched over toned muscle.

“I don’t… I don’t know.” Her heart was pounding and for a second he just wanted to rest his ear over it so he could listen closely and pretend his was beating in synch. “Do you want to stop?”

“No.” He laid his hand over her stomach, all warm and silky, trembling for him. “Feels right.”

A beat.

“I know.”

She caught his gaze, held it, told him without words this is terrifying but I want it anyway.

“This isn’t as repulsive as I thought it would be,” he said.

Buffy snorted, fingernails scratching the nape of his neck, hesitant but doing it anyway. He wondered if they were both knee deep in shit creek, if she just couldn’t help herself the same way he couldn’t stop himself from breathing her in. “Stop. Your sweet talk is getting me all tingly.”

“Don’t need sweet talk when I’ve got my hands.” He teased the hem of her pajama pants. Sodding flannel. He liked the knickers and tee combo much better.

“Umm… wait,” she bit her lip, “I’m still… you know.”

“Trust me, I know.” As if he could forget. It was like waving a red flag in front of a chained up bull. “Makes my mouth water.”

“Eww.”

He was just about to argue his case when a teddy bear flew right to the edge of the loft, followed by a cry of, “Get up! Get up! I’m hungry!” A pause, in which he and Buffy sprang apart as if they’d been caught in the act by her mum rather than a flying piece of fluff.

“Please?” Emma added.

“Be right down,” he yelled back, flopped on his back, tenting his boxers like the miserable, sexually frustrated git he was.

“You should take care of,” she gestured at his lower half with flaming cheeks, “that.”

“Mind giving me a hand?”

There was a moment of silence a beat too long before she shook herself out of it and dashed out of the bed, stammering her way through an excuse before she scurried down the ladder.

“Yeah, didn’t think so.” So she’d gone back to being skittish Buffy. Well, it’d been worth a try anyhow. He still couldn’t quite wrap his head around it all, so he wrapped his hand around his cock instead, thinking all I’m after is a good shag, and so is she. Nothing more. Nothing less.

And if it didn’t sit quite right with him, well, that was a cross he was not willing to bear. Not when he could break it into tiny splinters and burn them to dust instead.

*******

It was a disaster. Not only had she been actually considering handling Spike’s junk, the food she’d been cooking had somehow caught on fire while she’d got sidetracked by working up the courage to call Willow back. Because it had been Willow who’d woken Emma up. And Buffy wasn’t proud of it, but when Emma had told her Aunt Willow had called, she’d freaked out. Fought the urge to hide inside the coat closet with a pillow over her head, because it had felt as though the outside world was forcing itself in past the front door.

I can’t deal with this right now.

Emma was screaming and Buffy’s eyes stung from the smoke. And the glass of water she’d splashed over the pan in a moment of panic? Yeah, definitely didn’t agree with the oil that had already been there. Apparently, she failed at dealing with anything these days.

I’m being punished for my lusty thoughts.

“What the bloody hell is going on?” Spike skidded into the kitchen, dripping water everywhere, a small towel around his hips. This was not helping. At all.

“I didn’t mean to!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, woman.”

“You said a bad word!”

Spike vanished and was back in a second, ordering, “Off with you.”

Only she couldn’t move fast enough, all her survivor instincts clearly non-existent, just like her culinary skills. Then Spike was dousing the pan with a fire extinguisher, the foam stuff spraying everywhere, including all over her.

“There. Crisis averted.” He set the extinguisher down with a clunk. “Let’s not burn our only shelter to the ground, shall we?”

“It’s totally not my fault. It was… squirrels. Barging in and… being arsonists. It’s what they do.” Buffy wiped the specks of foam off her face. This was what happened what she tried to do her best Martha Stewart impression. She’d almost set the cabin on fire.

“Right. Maybe they shouldn’t be trying to cook next time then, eh? Or making up lame excuses.” He grinned, wiped a bit of foam off her nose. “You look like you’ve gone a few rounds with a snowman.”

She wanted to hate him right now. Now if he could only stop being half-naked and wet, it would be so much easier. “And you look like someone who’s gonna get kicked in the butt if he says another word.”

“Wouldn’t I get kicked in my balls instead? Unless I’m backing towards you, which—”

“Both,” she decided, drying herself off with a kitchen towel. She might look like roadkill, but she still had her dignity. What was left of it anyway. “I’m very limber.”

“Don’t know if I trust your word,” he said, and could he just put some clothes on already? “Fancy showing me?”

“Showing you what? The kicking you in the butt thing?” Was that like a kink or something?

“How limber you are, you daft cow.” He waggled his eyebrows, tweaked her nose before turning on his heel and swaggering off without waiting for her reply.

“Why do I even put up with you?”

“Because you like me,” he yelled over his shoulder, Emma hopping after him.

“Asshole,” she muttered, definitely not checking out his towel-clad ass.

Someone give me a break.

TBC

Chapter 14

Buffy squared her shoulders, took a deep breath and thought, this is it. I’m doing this.

She poked the phone as though expecting it to bite her, frowned, fled back into the kitchen where a bowl of oranges sat on the counter, silently judging her.

“What do you know? Stupid fruit. Everybody hates the colour orange, anyway.” She felt bad the second she said it, then realised she was talking to fruit. Feeling guilty for offending said fruit.

It was a good thing Spike and Emma were out and couldn’t see her descent into insanity.

Okay, totally doing this now. She strode back to the phone, picked it up and dialed before she could lose her nerve. It would be fine. It was just Willow. Just her best friend who she knew virtually nothing about, because this wasn’t actually her Willow. Oh god, it was too late to hang up now.

“Hello? Rosenberg here.”

Buffy leaned against the back of the couch, gripped the receiver tighter. “Wills? Hi! Emma said you called.” Are you a witch too? And into girl-on-girl? How awkward is this going to get? “Anything urgent?”

“Buffy! Oh no, no need to panic.” She sounded all peppy and so Willow-esque that it made Buffy miss her. So much. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. “I just felt as if I haven’t talked to you in ages. Got a case of missing my best bud.” She paused. “Don’t tell Xander I said that. He’ll get all jealous and start in on that yellow crayon story again.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Buffy said, relaxing, even though she had no idea what the yellow crayon story was all about. “Zipping my lips shut right now.”

“Knew I could count on you.” Her wry, teasing tone put Buffy at ease. “So, how’s the holiday shag-a-thon going? Give me all the dirty details. I mean… maybe not all the details. I still can’t look at a spatula without blushing after the last time I caught you two getting it on.”

Buffy almost choked on her own saliva. “Willow!” At ease, my ass.

“Hey, I’ve been traumatised!” Willow protested with a giggle that suggested otherwise. “I reserve the right to tease you for the whole of eternity.”

“There are no… spatulas.” What would they even do with one? “And the holiday is nice. Very snow-y and disaster free.” Unless she counted the fire incident and no Christmas tree, and a million other things that mostly involved her and Spike freaking the hell out.

“Your kinkiness aside, I can’t believe you’re coming home next week. Back to the real world, huh?”

“Oh yeah… back to the slaying and stuff.” She froze, wishing she could shove the words back into her mouth. “Slaying… as in… slaying all those chores. And tasks, and… stuff.”

And the Oscar goes to… not me.

“At least you get to hang out with Tara. The only people I get to talk to during lunch are middle aged men who talk about processing data and fixing software glitches. Not as much fun as it sounds.” She cleared her throat, lowered her voice until Buffy had to strain her ears. “I think one of them heard me. He’s giving me the stink eye.”

“Are you at work right now?” And Tara? What job would involve her and Tara hanging out? Not that she didn’t like Tara. She just… didn’t know her that well.

“Yup. Not all of us get to enjoy the school holidays, Miss Guidance Counselor. Or be married to bestselling authors who sweep you off to romantic getaway trips.”

Her? A guidance counselor? She could hardly help herself! “Wait. Who gets to do the whatting me where?” She thought she was married to—

“Spike, you dummy,” Willow said in that careful, slightly condescending tone that clearly meant, are you on drugs? “Are you okay?”

“Yes!” Her mind was blank. Zero thoughts. Nada. Zilch. “Uhh… I’m perfect. Fine. Yes.” Totally not sounding like an inter-dimensional impostor. Nope. “I just… I guess I don’t think of him that way. He’s just Spike, you know?”

“By ‘just Spike’ do you mean your ‘sweet hunk of looove’?”

She should be grateful Willow wasn’t suspicious anymore, but on the other hand, “Please don’t ever call him that again.” No love here. Not even an ounce. Only lusties.

“Blame Xander. He said it first,” Willow said. “Speaking of… he asks if you’re still going to be doing the night kickboxing classes. Apparently, his New Year resolution is to stop eating so many donuts and get in shape, so he wants to join. I think single life is catching up with him.”

Single life? So he wasn’t dating Anya here? Lucky non-Hellmouthy Xander. “What about you and Tara though? Is there, you know… magic?”

Willow giggled. “Oh, there is definitely magic.”

“Really?”

“Yup. Sparks flying everywhere.”

Wait. Somehow, Buffy thought they weren’t talking about the same thing. “Not literal magic, though?”

“Have you been reading Spike’s Demon Huntress series again?” Willow asked, amused.

Buffy blinked. Then blinked again. Thank God for a clueless Willow. “Right. Must be it.”

Muffled voiced sounded in the background, then Willow’s voice that used too many words Buffy didn’t even understand.

“Sorry, Buff. Gotta go stop an impending technology disaster. Talk to you later!”

“By—”

Beep. Beep.

Their alternate selves were a bunch of weirdos.

*******

“When I was your age, I massaged my pop’s feet every day,” Spike lied, serious as a heart attack as they trudged through the snow.

Emma tilted her head, stared him down as though she wasn’t even aware she was less than half his height. “No, you didn’t.”

“Are you calling your father a liar?” He arched his eyebrow, pulled her beanie over her eyes. Smart and obnoxious. Just like him.

“Da-ad!”

“What?”

She pulled the beanie up and glared at him.

“So, are you going to rub my feet or not?”

“Does that mean I won’t have to eat broccoli ever again?”

Spike shrugged. No skin off his back. “Sure.”

Emma scratched her nose, considering the tempting offer. “And get hot chocolate every night before bed? For ever and ever?”

“Now, that’s pushing it.”

“There will be no feet rubbing without chocolate.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Pidge.” He swung her up into his arms. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good.”

Twenty minutes later, he found himself making snow angels in tandem with Emma like some prepubescent poofter. He was strangely okay with that. As long as Buffy never found out.

*******

“So what were you two up to? Had fun?” Buffy asked from where she was doing push ups in skin-tight leggings and a training bra.

He bit his lip, imagined licking the sweat off her lower back. Ahh, Slayer musk. Buffy musk. That’s the stuff.

“Lots!” Emma replied, kicking her boots off willy-nilly. “We went for a walk and made a snowman and snow an—”

“An-gry! So, so… bloody angry! About the…” his eyes darted around the cabin in search of help he knew he wouldn’t find, “state of the… woods. There’s just too many trees everywhere! What’s a poor vam-man to do? ‘S just a matter of time before you get bird shit in your hair.”

“Bird shit,” Emma repeated with a delighted giggle, her hat and scarf flung to the floor.

“Okay, Mr. Spaz-o.” Buffy sat back on her haunches, hands propped up on her hips. “How about you don’t corrupt the five-year-old more than you already have?”

He rubbed the nape of his neck. At least his dignity had been preserved.

I better make Emma pick up her stuff off the floor before the Slayer chucks it at my head.

“By the way, I totally know she was going to say ‘snow angels’,” Buffy said with a wink.

Well, there goes that.

*******

They’d slipped into an odd sort of routine. He took over cooking, even though he knew bugger all about preparing human food. Buffy got saddled with cleaning up, where she couldn’t do as much damage. At night they’d take turns reading stories to Emma before tucking her in. They’d bicker and spar in the front yard or fight over the remote control until lips met and took the fight to a whole new level.

The urge to yank her sweats down, unwind her hair from her sloppy bun and kiss every inch of her until she was begging and whimpering into the mattress got harder—pun bloody intended—by the day. It would be all right if it stopped there, only there were those quiet moments too.

Sometimes he’d accidentally catch her gaze and hold it for a few seconds too long or touch her without really meaning to. Comforting touches; his hands on her shoulders, fingers kneading until her head lolled forward and her body sagged back into his. Sometimes he’d tug on her ponytail just to see her give him an exasperated look, or slide a hand down her spine for the hell of it all.

So what if we’re comfortable. Doesn’t mean anything. Doesn’t mean I’ll miss this once it’s gone.

Not supposed to get this close. He knew that. Not a complete idiot. Only a part of him couldn’t stop thinking, she fits you so well, matches you perfectly in a way Dru never had.

A dolt, that’s what he was. A dolt who was fondling Buffy’s sweater in the middle of the living room when he was supposed to be wriggling into tight spaces.

“I’m looking!” Emma’s voice called out.

He panicked and bolted into the bathroom even though he’d heard the water rushing. No time to back out now. He wasn’t too upset by that. Still evil, after all.

“Spike!” She tried to cover her bits as well as she could with a shower head in one hand, but he’d already seen it all. “What are you doing here? It’s shower time! I’m all… vampires are not invited!”

“Shh. I’m playing hide and seek.”

“And I’ll be playing ‘let’s fit my foot in your ass’ if you don’t leave.”

He wanted to cradle her flushed cheeks and follow the rivulets of water with his tongue.

“Hey, is that my sweater?”

Bugger. “Uhh… yeah? Found it in the living room.” He tossed it into the hamper in the corner of the room, trying not to look like the fool he was. “Was starting to smell a bit ripe, so I figured I’d do laundry. My good deed of the day, eh?”

“Well, the bathroom is… occupied right now, so—”

His feet carried him closer, eyes locked on hers, not straying below. Whipped by a woman who wasn’t even his, how bloody pathetic. “You’re a goddess.”

“I… What?”

“Bet you’re boiling hot right now. Even more so than you usually are. Never thought I’d like it so much, but you’re so…”

“Spike?”

“Warm. So bloody warm, all the time. Could hold you for days and never get enough of you.” He blinked, came back to himself, reminded himself not to let her wriggle underneath his skin more than she already had. Can’t get used to this. Can’t get so hooked up on her.

“I’m naked,” she said, dazed.

“That you are.” His fingertips caressed the curve of her hip, toeing the boundaries, wondering if he could nudge them even more. “Couldn’t help but notice.”

Her eyes widened. “I’m naked!” She should be pushing him off instead of chatting to him, letting him sway her with his thrall-y eyes and honeyed voice that made her throb in all the wrong places. “W-we shouldn’t—”

“Shouldn’t we?” His hand settled on her hip, thumb brushing over the jut of her hipbone. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Velvet skin and grasping fingers exploring every inch, wet kisses pressed into the hollow of her arched throat.

Stop it. Focus. Now wasn’t the time to be flooded by all those flashbacks of the other them, but she just couldn’t think. Wasn’t a good enough liar to convince herself his touch didn’t feel good. Better than good. “Yes. Maybe. But,” she realised her arm had slipped, that bit of modesty gone to hell. He was fully dressed and she didn’t have a stitch on. She’d never felt more exposed, and yet it wasn’t nearly as scary as it should have been, “I’m getting water everywhere.”

“Yeah, should have warned me to bring an umbrella,” he said with a lopsided smile, prying the shower head out of her hands.

She put a steadying hand on his shoulder. “You’re British. I thought you had one on you at all times.”

“Wonder where you’d hide yours right now.” He reached behind her, slotted the showerhead into the holder mounted against the wall while she stood there, pretending the heat in her cheeks was from the hot water pelting her back, not the way he looked at her or his proximity that made her all woozy.

“I don’t think I even own one. I’m not the one from the Rainy Land.”

“I like rain,” Spike said with a shrug.

She held his gaze, shivered when his palm slid over the curve of her ass and settled right beneath, gripping the back of her thigh.

“I like you,” she said with a pounding heart.

She wouldn’t take the words back, even as his shoulders stiffened, his gaze darting to the side. He met her eyes again when she pulled him in even closer, water dripping off the ends of her hair to dampen the fabric of his T-shirt.

“It’s okay, right?” Okay to do the wrong thing when it feels so right. Okay to just be without questioning every step. “Sometimes. I mean, sometimes I like you. Even if you’re obnoxious and hyper and leave your socks on the floor.”

“Twit,” he said with a smile, sprinkling barely-there-kisses from her shoulder up to her earlobe. “I always pick them up.”

“After I yell at you.” Her snort turned into a muffled moan when he suckled water off her skin, his fingers so close to where she needed him the most.

“Maybe I do it on purpose. Maybe I like it when you yell at me.” A pause. “Maybe I like you too. A little bit.”

She bit the shell of his ear, whispered, “You’re strange.”

“Says the bird who goes out slaying wearing hoop earrings and short skirts.” His fingertips tickled down her spine, counting each vertebrae.

“That’s not strange. That’s accessorising.” She arched into him, heart thundering against her ribcage.

“What about letting me kiss you like this?” He stole a kiss, his lips massaging hers slowly and thoroughly. Only he wasn’t stealing. Not really. Not when she was giving it freely.

“Oh. That.” She scattered sloppy, needy kisses along the damp line of his jaw. “I guess we can be strange together then.”

“Yeah, that sounds,” he nuzzled into her neck, “bloody brilliant.” He uncurled his hand from around her thigh and suddenly he was slipping it right between her legs, fingers dragging along the too sensitive nerve endings and hitting the sweet spot at the top. “You’re dripping.”

“Water,” she protested, clenched her thighs around his hand.

“Liar.” He kissed her, sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and nibbled at it with blunt teeth.

“Prove it.” She played with the hem of his T-shirt, tentatively slipping right under to touch his bare skin. He sighed, his thumb rubbing her until she couldn’t think coherently and her knees turned into a wobbly mess.

Bang. Bang.

“Fuck!”

She jerked and tugged at him too hard, felt her feet leave the bottom of the bathtub, bringing Spike along for the ride. She hit it hard. “Ow! My butt.”

Spike was panting against her temple, one arm trapped beneath her back, his thigh pressing between her legs in a way that had her heart jump into her throat. It was too much and not enough all at once.

“You’re not supposed to hide in there,” Emma’s voice called through the closed door. “I won! And you cheated, so I get to have chocolate now!”

Spike bit into Buffy’s neck, the back of his hand brushing her nipple in a way that seemed far too deliberate.

“You ruined my shower time,” she said, feeling awkward sprawled there with him on top, the water raining down on them.

Spike’s words were a hot whisper in her ear, his jean clad thigh nudging her sensitive flesh, “I’ll make up for it.”

Then he was fumbling out of the tub and giving her a hand and handing her a towel, his eyes averted. From a predator on a hunt to a gentleman. Sometimes she felt as if she didn’t even know him. As if there were parts of him buried so deep nobody would see them until they got too close. And the worst thing was? She wanted to see more.

TBC

Chapter 15

The universe was conspiring against him. There was no way his balls could get any bluer with the way she kept brushing up against him, nimble hands darting out to touch his lower back as she reached over to grab a mug from the counter, or her feet landing in his lap and kneading his inner thighs without her eyes ever leaving the telly.

“This is torture,” he muttered and caught her wrist when she delved inside the already too tight pocket of his jeans. “You’re doing it on purpose, aren’t you? Want to drive me around the bend.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, pulling the lighter out after some unnecessary frisking that had him gritting his teeth. “I just want to light some candles. For the ambiance.”

“Think we’ve established that you and fire are—”

“Un-mixy?” she asked, turning the lighter over in her hand. “I guess.”

He put his hand out, palm up.

She shook her head, tossed, “I think I’ll keep it for now anyway,” over her shoulder as she disappeared up the ladder.

“You don’t even smoke!” Bloody women. He’d never understand them. And now he wouldn’t only be horny, but also nicotine-deprived.

*******

It’s not that she was deliberately making him suffer… except for the part where she totally was. So what if she wanted him? If she sometimes imagined pushing him on the bed, straddling him and licking every inch of his bare skin? She’d always been too annoyed with him to find him attractive, but it had changed now. He’d crept up on her and burrowed under her skin. He was… fun. Teasing him was fun, made her feel as if she was the kind of woman who could drive a man like him crazy.

And yet, getting all up close and personal with anyone was kind of a big deal for her. It felt safer to teeter on the precipice than to take the leap and see if the fall would crush her bones to dust. Wouldn’t be the first time.

Haven’t you already jumped?

Maybe. But I’m not letting myself fall.

She tucked the lighter into the pouch on the front of her hoodie and collapsed on the bed with a sigh. If she was making the biggest mistake of her life, it was way too late to backtrack now.

*******

Stealing his lighter had turned into some kind of bizarre game. She’d take it from him, maybe cop a feel or two in the process and wait until he got frustrated enough to demand it back from her.

As she was out on the porch getting some fresh air, she wondered why she was making him play chase when she wasn’t even sure she wanted to be caught.

“You’re like a magpie, you know. Attracted to shiny objects.”

She startled, shouldering off the wall. “God, wear a bell next time. You made me all jumpy.”

“Vampire stealth,” he offered, walking slowly towards her until his booted toes bumped into hers. “I’ll take rain check on the bell, but only if it comes with a nice leather collar.” He grinned, his tongue tucked behind his front teeth in a lascivious manner she definitely shouldn’t find attractive.

“Kinky much?”

“Much,” he agreed, brushing Emma’s scarf Buffy had borrowed aside, undoing the buttons of her coat one by one. When she looked at him questioningly, he added, “Someone’s got my lighter and I need a fag.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” He smirked, stroking down her sides under the coat, wandering beneath the fabric of her sweatshirt. It didn’t really feel like searching as much as just touching. “What would the Watcher say if he knew what a little thief you are?”

“I don’t think he’d care about me stealing your stuff.”

“Right,” he said stiffly. She had a feeling she’d screwed up somehow, strummed on a raw nerve. “’Course he wouldn’t.”

“Spike…”

He patted the back pockets of her jeans and pulled the lighter out, but she couldn’t help but notice that something inside him had shuttered down.

“What did I say?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he replied, retrieving the cigarette from behind his ear and sticking it between his taut lips.

“It’s not like I’m really stealing it, you know. I just…” How could she explain it when she didn’t even get it herself? She couldn’t say I like having something that’s yours, because the idea of it being true scared her more than it had to face her mother after she’d wrecked the car. Needless to say, it scared her a lot.

“It’s fine, Slayer. No need to make a big issue out of nothing, yeah?” They were on the same page, after all. It wasn’t Buffy’s fault he’d got touchy when she’d implied he didn’t matter. He wasn’t supposed to care. It was… it was all the bloody estrogen floating around the house that had turned him into a whiny git, that was all. “Here. Want some?” He offered the cig as a peace offering.

She scrunched up her nose. “No, thanks. I just want… tell me what I said wrong so I can fix it.”

“There’s nothing to fix. Don’t mind me. Think I’m just a bit tired of being stuck here for so long and not being able to do a thing about it.”

“Oh.” She kicked at the spot of snow that had drifted on the porch, hands jammed into her pockets. “Is it so bad here? With me?”

He felt himself soften, hated her for it. “You know that’s not what I… that’s not why.”

“I don’t, though. I don’t know what we’re doing, or why, and I don’t know why it’s so easy to just… be. It shouldn’t be.”

He lit the cigarette, put the lighter away. “Maybe it’s because I don’t expect anything from you. You’re you and I’m me. We don’t need to know the whats and the whys, I reckon. Just do what feels good.”

“Because that always works out so well,” she said dryly. “Every time I do, something comes along to screw it all up. Someone I love ends up getting hurt.”

His lips pursed around the cigarette’s filter, dragging the smoke in, exhaling slowly. “Bad things happen all the time. You can’t do anything but try to make the most of your life in the meantime.”

“It’s not that simple.” Her shoulders drew up. He wasn’t sure if she was cold or defensive. “I hate you for making me feel as if it is.”

He took another drag, grateful he had something to do with his hands. He’d got into the habit of touching her too much already. “I thought you didn’t mind. Said so yourself. It’s a different world here and the same rules don’t apply. So what if we like it? Like just being… us. Together. Once we’re back…” He’d… what? Erase all those moments from his memory as if they’d never happened? Forget the way she tasted and laughed and rolled her eyes when he said something stupid? Bloody hell. Always knew she’d be the end of him. Just didn’t expect it to be this way.

“You really think it’s that easy?” she asked. “That once we’re back, it’ll be just like ‘poof, none of this ever happened’?”

He tapped the end of the cigarette against the railing, watched the ash float down to the snow below. “Will be for you. You’ve got your mates and your mum and your stodgy watcher and… that all American boy toy of yours. Once you get back into the swing of things, all this will feel like a bloody nightmare. The longer we’re back, the more you’ll convince yourself it didn’t really happen.”

“That’s not true.” She frowned. “Don’t presume to know how I feel. I don’t… I’m not even in love with him.”

“Hope you’re not talking about Rupert.”

“Ugh. You’re insufferable. You know I was talking about Riley.” She looked away as he finished his cigarette, lit a new one. “I love him. I do. Just not the way he wants me to. I can see that now, and I feel as if I’ve been using him to be normal. It’s not fair to him.”

“Bugger what’s fair to him.”

She glared.

He put his hands up. “Hey. Don’t have to like him. In fact, you’re too good for the likes of him. He can never give you what you really need.”

“And what’s that?”

Me. “Someone who will let you be who you are without making you feel as if you need to hold back, to change into someone you’re not. You’re not normal. Don’t see why you’d want to be anyway.”

She was quiet and even though she wasn’t looking at him, he knew she was listening.

“Look me in the eye and tell me that you miss being weak and helpless.”

She met his eyes, not saying a word.

“That’s what I thought. At one point you’re going to have to accept that kids and a white picket fence aren’t in the cards for you. Not like for your counterpart. But even if they were, that overgrown sod still wouldn’t be right for you.”

She lifted her chin. “Like you are?”

“Never said that. Hell, a slayer and a vampire… one without a soul? That’s as wrong as it gets,” he said with a shrug, blowing out a stream of smoke. “But the two of us, we’ve never really followed the rules, have we? We make our own. It’s why we fit together, I suppose. We have an understanding that you and him don’t have. I don’t care that you’re stronger than me. Don’t care if you’re in a pissy mood or don’t feel like putting on a brave face. And I like your Slayer side. Like all your sides, because they’re all you.” He smirked then, hoping it didn’t come off as a grimace, hoping she hadn’t caught on the way he’d let himself slip. “I like my women feisty and on top.”

Buffy snorted, leaning against the railing. “Not everything you said was true, you know.”

“Meaning?”

She shifted, looking away. “I don’t think I could forget if I tried. It’s changed. We have. I can’t just go back to the way things were before.”

That’s what she thought, and for a moment the words caught on his heartstrings so hard his chest ached. But she was only thinking in the now, in the place where there was nobody to tell her bloody wrong this was, how she shouldn’t, how soulless things like him weren’t worthy enough to lick her heels. Oh, she’d try. To talk to him the way she did here, to tease and use banter instead of her fists. But eventually they’d fall back into their old patterns and he’d be left alone on the sidelines like the chipped, sort-of-harmless former enemy that he was. Nothing more.

“Let’s not think of the future right now, yeah? We’ll deal with it when the time comes. And if we stay the same. If we still care a little,” if you still do, “less broken noses for me, eh?”

She nodded. “Deal.”

She could tell he didn’t believe her, but what did he know? Stupid, stubborn vampire. Getting back home didn’t mean she’d forget the way he’d helped her and made her feel all right when he could have torn her down. The way he could smile so big and so genuinely that it made her smile too. It’s not love. But it’s something. And I can’t just turn my heart off.

They stayed silent for a while, lost inside their heads, her cheeks stinging from the cold night air, the snow catching hues of blue. And even though it was freezing, she liked it. It was nice to be here with him. Comfortable.

“Spike?”

“Yeah?”

She remembered all the times she wanted to tell him what she’d seen in her dreams, how it had made her feel, but had chickened out. If he wouldn’t believe that she would treat him the same in Sunnydale, she could at least be honest. “I had these dreams—”

“Is this is the time you tell me you always wanted to join the circus and be the half naked snake lady?” He grinned around his cigarette and she wondered why she’d felt the compulsion to tell him anything at all. All he deserved was to get shoved into the banks of snow lumped beneath the porch.

“I’m trying to tell you something, poophead. This is serious.”

“I’m very serious about picturing you in a tiny bikini right now.”

She punched his shoulder, made him lose his grip on the cigarette, which landed by his feet with a hiss and a spark of cherry red.

“Now look what you’ve done. I had to pay for these. Well, not with my mon—”

“Spike!”

He rolled his eyes.

“You know what? Forget it. I’m not telling you anything.” She spun around. Her hand was already on the doorknob when he caught her elbow and coaxed her back.

“I’m sorry for being a wanker.” He pulled her close, eyes all earnest and stupidly blue. “Was just trying to be funny and failed. Tell me all about your dream. ‘M all ears now.”

“You smell like an ashtray.”

He hesitated about an inch away from her face but kissed her in the end, quickly but deeply, making her head spin. “Sorry,” he said again with a smile, and her initial reaction wasn’t to punch him as it would have been over a week ago. They really had changed. She had.

“I’m still annoyed.”

He leaned in, pecked her on the lips four times in a row until she was biting back a smile. “You taste like an ashtray too.”

Spike pouted, and she had a suspicion he’d learned it from Emma.

“Fine,” she said with a sigh. “I guess I’ll tell you.”

He was wise enough not to unleash the snark again.

“You know the dreams I’ve had?”

“The one where a washing machine chases you around the cabin?” He tilted his head to the side, his brows furrowed.

“No, the Slayer ones. With Willow doing the smelly spell stuff?”

“Ah. The visions.”

“Yup. Just call me Cassandra.”

Spike leaned back against the wall of the cabin and she found herself by his side before her brain could process she’d moved at all. But then Spike said, “Come here,” and pulled her into his arms, her back flush against his front.

“Uhh…”

“’S chilly out here. You’re warm. The end. Don’t overthink it.”

“So that’s what I am now? A human electric blanket?” She pulled his arm around her waist even tighter. Just to keep the cold away. Not overthinking this, see?

“Exactly. Now, go on.”

“Okay. Going on, right now.” She breathed in, tried to put her thoughts in a coherent order and away from Spike’s thumb rubbing back and forth over her knuckles. “You know how I told you the other us… that they’re in our place in Sunnydale?”

Spike hummed in agreement.

“I kind of saw them… all with the togetherness and smoochies. And stuff. All close and personal.”

“Smoochies,” Spike echoed teasingly, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear.

“You’re making fun of me.”

“You bet I am.” He kissed the spot behind her ear. When she shivered, it wasn’t from the cold. “Can’t help it when you’re mangling the mother tongue.”

“You’re too British. What do you know?” She pinched his knuckle. “What I wanted to say before I was rudely interrupted is that… I kind of may have seen them… the other us… doing the, umm… the groiny thing. And it was weird. Kind of pervy, but not, at the same time. They just, they looked good together. They fit.”

“Yeah?” He sucked her earlobe into his mouth. “Do you think we fit as well?”

“Sometimes. I mean… I kind of like it when you do that thing.”

“What thing?” He teased.

“The kissing thing.” Did it get warmer, or was it just her?

“We’d make a hell of a team in battle as well, you know.” He spun her around, brushed his lips against hers.

“I can see that,” she admitted. The longer she spent with him, the more she saw how he could fill all the empty spaces. How he could make her laugh when she felt too stern or not talk when she needed silence.

“How about we continue this inside? Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold, would we?” He bit his lip.

“But I like the chicken soup you make.”

“I can make it any time, not only when you’re feeling poorly.” He smiled, took her hand in his.

“This feels nice,” she said, looking at their joined hands. “I’m starting to like this whole ‘getting stuff off my chest’ thing.” Starting to like that she could, like knowing that he’d get it.

When she tugged on his hand and opened the front door, he said, “Wait.” She could practically hear the gears turning in his head.

“What is it?”

He sucked in a breath and let it out, then put on a smile she didn’t quite believe. “Nothing. Just… that’s a cute scarf. The monkey heads especially are very quirky.”

“You’re a weirdo,” she said as they went in, but couldn’t help but think he’d meant to say something else entirely.

TBC

Chapter 16

Buffy swept her hair out of her face and put it up in a ponytail, wondering why all the crap seemed to multiply the minute she decided to dust the furniture. A small radio with the time permanently stuck on 2:16am, a leather wallet with its thinning wad of cash and a photo she definitely had not looked at again before she threw the wallet on the bed, an empty vase and a mysterious bobby pin all cluttering one tiny nightstand.

She was gaining a whole new appreciation for Mom having to clean the entire house, including all the times Buffy had destroyed the downstairs area in the line of duty.

“Cleaning sucks.”

Emma jumped up and down on the bed with a spare rainbow-coloured duster in her hand, completely and utterly unhelpful.

“Hey, you should be helping me. All in favour of child labour. Go!”

“Will I—” a jump, “get a,” another jump, “puppy?”

“If you feed it and pick up the poop,” Buffy said, and now she’d officially become an old, boring person who wouldn’t get a puppy unless it included a whole list of stipulations. The five-year-old Buffy would be so disappointed in her.

“Poop is gross!” Emma said, short of breath as she flopped down on the bed, cheeks flushed.

Buffy refrained from saying that so were demon guts. Especially once they splattered all over her hardly-worn designer jeans she’d got on sale. “Well, no poop picking, no puppy. That’s what my mom always told me.”

“I will, I promise! I’ll do anything!” Emma pouted, the little liar.

Buffy knelt on the bed and tickled her until she was shrieking and squirming away. “Ask me in about a week, okay?” Hopefully, they’d get switched back by then and the other her could deal with the longing glances and hard-to-resist pleading.

“But then you’ll just say the same thing,” Emma said with a sigh worthy of an eighty-year-old man tired of everything and everyone.

“I promise I won’t. Scout’s honour.” She got to her feet again, retrieving the broom from the floor. No vacuum cleaner at the cabin for Buffy. Yay. “Now help me? Please?”

Emma sat up and thrust her duster towards the ceiling as if she was wielding a sword. “Let’s fight the dust bunnies!” She paused. “They’re not real bunnies, are they?”

“Nope. These are far less cute.” Also, not as horny. She wondered whether this meant that Spike’s spirit animal was a bunny. Because hello to the horniness. When he wasn’t being a jerk, cuteness too. Sometimes. Not to mention the nostril-flaring thing Spike did when he was holding back a biting retort. He was definitely the vampire version of a bunny.

“Okay.” Emma hopped off the bed with an expression that meant serious business and proceeded to dust with enough energy to power an entire house. And although she got under Buffy’s feet more than she actually helped, it was the thought that counted.

Buffy knelt down, prepared to vanquish the clouds of dust gathered under the bed when she found even more stuff to put away. Great.

She pinched a stray sock between her thumb and forefinger and flung it towards the clothes-that-need-a-wash pile. There was a book too. If Giles was here, he’d get heart palpitations. Keeping books in dust-infested places ranked on his very long list titled Former Librarian’s Insan-o Book of Rules, probably somewhere below not letting Xander anywhere near the Watcher’s Diaries after he’d eaten a jelly donut.

She pulled it out, the hard cover well-loved, but clean. “Hey, I know this one.” She’d caught Spike reading it a few times, mostly because she’d made fun of him for being a boring bookworm.

Emma popped her chin over her shoulder. “Is it daddy’s? Daddy writes all the books.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” She’d discarded that bit of info the moment Willow had told her, but as she read William Pratt on the spine, a doubt crept in. William was Spike’s human name, wasn’t it? Too bad the book didn’t say William the Bloody, because that would have cleared it right up. There were plenty of writers named William anyway. She doubted it was him.

“Read some!”

She put it in her lap and let it fall open where the bookmark was, skimmed it in silence and snapped it shut again. “Not Daddy’s. Just some old, history… stuff.”

Emma shrugged and went back to cleaning while Buffy sat there, clutching the book to her chest, blinking the words away. But it was right there, that nagging little whisper inside her head tempting her to take another peek.

She was weak.

“She hovered in my bedroom doorway with the too long sleeves of my shirt grazing her knuckles, hair falling limply past her slumped shoulders. I froze, squinting through the darkness at the streak of street lights slanting over her bare thighs, painting her skin light blue.

She opened her mouth, closed it with a sigh. I didn’t let her know I was awake until she turned away, tugging at the hem of the shirt.

‘Buffy?’

Her back stiffened. It felt as if hours had passed before she finally faced me again.

‘I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to wake you,’ she said quietly, as though confessing a secret.

‘You didn’t.’ I sat up and rubbed a weary hand down my face, grateful that it was too dark for her to see into me as though my skin was made of glass. Angry that she was always there lurking around in some nook or cranny anyway, even if she wasn’t physically present. I wanted to grab her shoulders and shake her, as she stood here a few feet away, an unspoken secret like a leaden cloak draped over her shoulders. ‘Can’t seem to get much sleep.’

‘Me neither.’ She toed at the doorway as if the inside of my bedroom was forbidden territory now. As if we hadn’t been tangled in the sheets soaked with sweat and her juices too many times to count. ‘I was thinking… maybe I should leave.’

‘Now? It’s the middle of the night.’

‘In the morning,’ she amended, arms wound around her middle. ‘This is stupid… I should never have come here in the first place. Shouldn’t have expected you to—’

‘What? Help you?’ I ran a hand through my hair, propped my elbows up on my bent knees. ‘I’m not heartless, you know.’

‘No.’ She smiled a little. ‘No, you’re not the heartless one here.’

‘Hey,’ I said, hating her just a little bit for twisting my heart into knots every single time she let herself be vulnerable. ‘You’re not heartless. You just… you lock yourself up worse than bloody Alcatraz.’

She snorted a laugh then couldn’t seem to stop, bending over at the middle, hardly making any sound.

‘Why are you here, Buffy?’ I asked after she regained her composure, for the second time since she’d showed up at my doorstep with dark shadows of unrest under her eyes and a beaten old duffle bag slung over her shoulder. Later, she’d said. Well, later was now.

She sucked in a breath, her mouth tightening in that familiar way that told me that getting her to be honest would be like skiing up a grassy hill.

‘Does it matter why I’m here? I’ll be gone in a few hours. There’s no point.’ She dropped her head, shadows shifting.

‘Yes, it bloody well matters!’ Her head snapped up, my hand fisting around the sheets. ‘You come here knocking late at night after avoiding me like a sodding plague for weeks, after breaking things off, and now here you are, asking me to let you stay. I don’t know what you want from me, but I’m not your whipping boy. I won’t just let you… let you take everything when you never give anything back.’

‘You’re right,’ she whispered.

‘What?’

‘I’ll—I’ll leave right now.’

She wasn’t supposed to agree with me. This wasn’t how the game was played. But when I saw her breath hitch in her throat just before she turned away, I wondered if this was a game at all.

‘Buffy, wait—’

She wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t look at me, so I jumped out of bed, stark bloody naked, and caught her arm. ‘Just tell me what’s wrong. For once in your life… let me in. I think I’ve earned it.’ Couldn’t she see how much I’d changed? For her? To be the kind of man who deserved to be loved? That I’d give her everything I am just to have an ounce of her back?

‘I don’t think it’s a good idea. I don’t know what I’m doing here,’ she said, voice breaking on the last syllable, her eyes welling up.

I wouldn’t let her go. ‘I’m not letting you go until you tell me what’s wrong. Did he… did he do something to you?’

She shook her head, pulling her arm out of my grasp. ‘It’s not him. I don’t… I left.’

‘You left,’ I repeated, the words not making sense.

‘Two months ago.’ She took in a shaky breath, her eyes pleading. ‘Tell me… tell me you love me.’

I wanted to fucking hate her for doing this, for wrapping my heartstrings around her fingers and yanking hard. I couldn’t. ‘You know I do.’ I grabbed her shoulders. ‘What’s wrong with you? Does it make you happy to kick me while I’m down?” She was shaking her head frantically now, biting down on her bottom lip. ‘Then what? Just tell me!’

‘I’m pregnant.’

The world stuttered to a standstill and exploded behind my eyelids. My hands slid off her trembling shoulders as I stepped back, trying to make sense of things.

‘I’m not here… I’m not asking you for anything. I wasn’t trying to hurt you,’ she said, visibly shaken but trying to smother it all as she always did. ‘I just… I needed someone t-to know and you’re… I just needed to feel… okay for a while. To stay somewhere for a night.’

‘You’re pregnant,’ I repeated, and there was terrifying conviction settling in my bones. It wasn’t his. It was mine. MineMineMine. ‘If you’re not at home anymore… Where… where are you staying?’

‘Sunnydale Inn,’ she admitted, not meeting my gaze, wiping her face with the sleeve of my shirt.

‘Bloody hell, Buffy. That’s a right shithole.’ I knew she was too proud to say no, but I had to say it anyway. ‘You’re staying here.’

‘Don’t tell me what to do! I can take care of myself,’ she said, nodding. I wondered if she was trying to convince me or herself. ‘I have a job and I’m saving up and it will get better.’

‘Buffy—’

‘I’m fine. I’m fine.’

The minute I touched her shoulder and squeezed, she burst into tears and fell into my arms with enough force to make me stumble back. I held her, her words muffled against my pounding heart. ‘I’m sorry. I’m s-so sorry. I’m selfish and I shouldn’t have c-come here… but I can’t stay… at the Inn t-tonight, because… someone next door got m-murdered, and I was scared and my job sucks… and the smell of grease m-makes me sick and I… I can’t do this, Spike—’

‘It’s fine. You’ll be fine,’ I murmured into her hair, rubbing her back and trying not to fall apart along with her.

‘I’m scared. I don’t know what to do.’

‘Stay here. Please. At least for a while. Please.’

She shook her head. ‘Can’t. Can’t.’

‘I’ll never forgive myself if I let you go back there, you know. I’m doing this because I’m selfish,’ I said, knowing that I had to get her to stay, no matter what. Even if I’d never get to touch her again, even if the child would turn out to be his. I just needed her to be safe. ‘I’ll chain you up if I have to. It’s not just you now. You have to think what’s best for… both of you.’

She clutched me harder.

‘Let me help you.’

She nodded, slowly, her breath shallow and ragged. I knew then, knew that I had a chance to prove that we could change, that we could let each other in without tearing everything apart. It wasn’t just us anymore.”

*******

She wasn’t like that. Was she? So closed off to everyone, so stubborn that she’d rather live at a dingy motel than ask for help?

“You are,” Spike whispered in her ear from behind, making her jump, “looking very lovely today.”

When she turned around he plucked a mote of dust from her hair and blew it to the floor. Very helpful. “Tackled the dirt, love?”

Yes, with the side of ‘I read your doppelganger’s innermost thoughts and now I can’t stop thinking about the way he could love, wondering if you can too, if you can feel it in the place where your soul used to be’. “Everything’s squeaky clean.”

“Except for you. You’ve got,” he wiped her cheek with his thumb, “a bit of dirt right here. Maybe you should take a shower.” He ducked his head, kissed her right below her ear, on the edge of her jaw. “I could assist. I’m good at getting all the hard-to-reach places.”

“I noticed, Mr. Wandering Hands.” Noticed and didn’t mind nearly as much as she should.

He pinched her butt.

“Hey! Stop it.”

“It’s payback for hogging the covers. You had it coming.”

It was hard to think with his hands rubbing up and down her back and his hips pressed against hers. “I don’t hog. The covers just like me better than you. They come to me on their own.”

“Is that so?”

“The pillows too,” she added, let her head loll forward to rest on his shoulder. She wished being around him wasn’t so easy, that they didn’t fit so well in all the wrong ways.

“You like me though,” he said with an unvoiced question mark, leaving barely-there kisses on her temple. She was afraid she was starting to like him a bit too much.

“It’s implied. If I didn’t, there would be blood spurting out of your broken nose right now.”

“My nose appreciates it then.”

“It better.”

On a scale of one to ten, the realisation that she could touch him, in any way she liked, was at least a hundred. That as she licked the hollow of his throat and scraped her teeth over his Adam’s apple on her way up, he wouldn’t shove her away and look at her as though she had rabies. And as he claimed her lips and pushed her against the kitchen counter with his hands slipping under her shirt, he wouldn’t get her elbow in his face for his trouble.

“Is the little one napping, by any chance?” he asked, rubbing his cheek against hers like a cat.

“Playing in her room.”

He groaned, winding the untied strings of her shorts around his fingers, knuckles brushing against overheated skin above her waistband. “I just want to bend you over this bloody counter and—”

She smacked her open palm over his mouth, and he licked it, of course. “There will be no… we put food there!”

“So we do,” he said, picked her up as if she weighed nothing and set her down on the counter. “I’m a bit peckish myself. Could go for something sweet.”

“Too bad we ran out of chocolate bars.” She tugged at his pouty bottom lip with her teeth, hooked her calf around his thigh to pull him closer.

“Guess I’ll have to settle for something else then.” He kissed her long and hard and deep and the fresh scent of his aftershave was making her dizzy. That or the way he was grinding his pelvis against hers in a filthy imitation of sex. It was a toss up.

“We shouldn’t be… getting all worked up.”

“A bit too late for that,” he whispered, guiding her hand right over the bulge in his jeans. God, he was so, so bad. So perverted and… hot. She squeezed, felt entirely too proud of the way he bit down on her shoulder in response.

“Mmm… later,” she said on a shaky exhale, letting go. “Later.”

“You’re a tease.”

Funny how hard he was breathing when he didn’t need to breathe at all. He could act so human sometimes that it was easy to forget he wasn’t. “So are you.”

“I’m praying to bloody God that Pidge doesn’t have a tummy ache tonight,” he said, absentmindedly stroking her knee. “Want to have you all to myself. Gonna spread you out and have a little taste.”

“I might let you.”

“Bloody hell.”

The minutes on the kitchen clock never ticked down more slowly.

TBC

Chapter 17

It was his turn to read to Emma tonight and he could have acted as disgruntled and put out about it as he wanted to, but deep inside he knew he didn’t mind at all.

She’d wrapped herself up in her duvet and looked up at him with droopy eyelids when he entered her room.

“Ready for your story?” He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned against the headboard, tried to ignore the tightness in his chest when she scooted up to him and curled up against his side. “You look about ready to drop off.”

“I’m very awake,” she said with her chin up. The effect was somewhat spoiled by a yawn that followed right after.

“I can see that,” he said, a smile pulling at his mouth. “So what do we have here?” He snatched a bunch of books off the night stand. “Dumbo? Nah, read about the floppy eared tosser last week. Uhh… how about the one about the three little piggies? Seeing as I’m a bit of a bad wolf myself and I like bacon.”

Emma dug her nimble little fingers into his ribcage.

“Hey. No tickling.” He put her in a loose headlock. “Where the Wild things Are sounds all right. Do you think they’re talking about us? We’re a bit wild ourselves, aren’t we?”

“You’re silly.”

“I am at that.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and just… The trust she put in him still made him uneasy. She should be running as far from him as she could. He was a thing out of children’s nightmares, not a protector. He was evil, with a rap sheet, with which he could probably cover all the buildings of a small town. Having her burrow her face into his chest shouldn’t make him feel as though he wanted to keep her safe, most of all from himself.

“Are you…” She fell silent, fingers picking at his T-shirt. “Do you love mommy? Like, really really?”

He swallowed hard, a stone falling into the pit of his stomach. “You know I do.” It should have felt more like a lie. He wondered when the lines had blurred and why it felt as though he’d lost his footing.

“It’s my job to make sure. They won’t come back until you do. And mommy too. It’s an adventure!”

He frowned, combing through her hair, twisting a curl around his finger. “Think you’re a bit tired, Pidge. You’re talking nonsense.”

She heaved a sigh, laid her ear right over his heart. “I love you. You’re my daddy, you know.”

He froze, ducking his head to look her in the eyes, those eyes that looked far too old and knowing. If his heart could beat, it would be stuttering against his ribcage. He wondered if she knew, but then she yawned again, eyes slipping shut and he thought, no. She couldn’t.

“Love you too.”

He read until her breath evened out, tucked her in with a lingering kiss on the top of her head, wishing he could fill that hollowness inside telling him that he was living a borrowed life. That eventually it would be over.

He should feel happy to be rid of this charade. Tiredness weighed heavy on his shoulders instead, the clearly drawn lines of ‘do’ and ‘don’t you bloody dare’ smudged beyond repair.

*******

“You seem strangely quiet,” Buffy said after he’d climbed his way to the loft and fishing a pair of boxers from a drawer seemed to be taking him way too long. Weird how she’d learned to read him so well. How she noticed just how transparent he really was when one looked close enough.

“Just got her to sleep. Don’t want to wake her up.” He pulled off his T-shirt, slashes of moonlight moving over pale, pale skin stretched over firm muscles. Was it bad that she wanted to lick every inch of him and find all the weak spots that made him squirm? Probably.

“She won’t hear you from down there, doofus.” She threw a pillow at him. He caught it and dropped the T-shirt, of course. Because he was a nuisance, but a nuisance with vampire reflexes.

“Is that a proposition to make you scream, pet?”

She blushed, grateful that the lights were out. On second thought… vampire. Damn him. He probably saw it anyway. “You know, there was a time that would have meant you threatening to bite me or break my legs or something.”

“Still might,” He grinned, the tip of his tongue running over his teeth. “Bite you, that is. Would be a shame to break your legs. I’m quite fond of them.”

Her eyes fell shut when he went for his zipper. Okay, so maybe she peeked a little bit. What was a sexually frustrated slayer to do? She didn’t really see much anyway. It totally didn’t count.

“You know, if you want a full show, all you have to do is ask.”

She squeaked out some unintelligible response and mumbled, “I wasn’t looking,” into the pillow.

“Just got a case of a wandering eyes, eh?”

She groaned, clinging to the mock security of hiding her face in the bedding while he pulled the boxers on. “You’re just… you’re nice to look at, so… bite me.”

“You seem a bit too fixed on the whole biting thing. Should I take it as an invitation?” And then there was a dip in the mattress and a puff of his breath over her skin as he swept her hair to the side and sank his blunt teeth into the back of her neck. It was animalistic, and it should have raised all kinds of alarms in her head, but it just made her want to arch into him and let him keep going.

He was gone right away, slipping under the covers as she lifted her flaming face off the pillow and turned to face him. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”

“I know I am. I’m a riot,” he replied. His cheek was squished against the pillow as he blinked at her lazily. He was smiling a little too, probably unaware that he was doing it at all. She kind of wanted to kiss him right now.

If there were any Slayer awards, she would definitely not be getting any. It would be the Slayer Handbook all over again.

“What?” he asked. “You’re looking at me all funny.”

“Nothing,” she blurted out, watched as his teeth gleamed in the darkness, restless energy buzzing beneath her skin. “I was wondering if you were, you know, tired. And stuff.” If you would mind me tackling you and rubbing all over your half-nakedness. Oh God.

“Hardly.” His fingers crawled across the space between them, stopped just shy of touching her arm, which she’d tucked against her chest. “Night creature, here.”

“Is that why you sleep when I do? You know, at night?”

“Yeah, there’s that. Reckon you’ve done a good job of messing me up.”

So had he. In more ways than one.

“Not tired now,” he added, tickled her forearm. “Got other things on my mind.”

“You make everything sound so dirty,” she said, but didn’t move away, her fingers itching with desire to travel over his skin.

“Do I? Or is it your little noggin that twists everything I say into something dirty?” He was smirking at her, his expression at odds with the gentle slide of his palm up her arm. He was like one big definition of odd, now that she thought about it.

“That’s too philosophical for such a late hour. Actually, that’s too philosophical, period.”

“Or maybe you just don’t want to admit you’re the pervert here,” he said, tugging at the end of her hair.

She wanted to bat him away. She really did. It wasn’t her fault that she somehow ended up catching his wrist instead, brushing her lips over his knuckles.

His eyes narrowed, lips parting just the slightest bit as his tongue flicked out to lick his bottom lip.

“Maybe I am,” she admitted, shoving her foot under the duvet and rubbing it over his calf.

“If you don’t stop that I’ll—”

“You’ll what,” she demanded, so close to saying to hell with it all, I want me a bite of that Spike-shaped chocolate.

“Cheeky,” he said, drawing closer, so slowly that she thought she’d explode by the time his breath tickled her lips, his feet tangling with hers.

“I just, I want…” You. She swallowed, traced the shadows dipping into the slash of his cheekbone. “Kiss me.”

It was ironic that it still took so much out of her to ask that. That she still held her breath for a second too long, fearing that he’d laugh at her, when it was so easy for her to face an army of demons with just a sword in her hand.

He kissed her then, with one hand sliding up her neck and smoothing into her hair to pull her closer, lips slotted to hers in a perfect fit. It was just a second, just a thought flitting behind her closed eyelids when he parted her lips with his tongue and tasted her deep, that thought of I don’t want to leave here.

Because here with her hands tracing the edge of Spike’s shoulder blade, knowing he was a soulless vampire, she felt more normal than she ever had. Not fully human and fifteen again, but like a woman who could be herself, give in and want and not hold back. He made her feel as if she could be strong without being made of stone. Nobody had ever made her feel like that. Nobody. And even with her eyes closed and his skin a few notches cooler than hers, she could never imagine him to be anyone else. She didn’t want to.

“Sp—” She pulled away from his seeking lips. “Spike, I—”

“Why did you st—”

“Wait. Wait.” She pressed her palm to his chest. “Are we…? I mean, whatever we’re doing, I just… I want this to mean something. Not just… you know.” I don’t want you to wish I was someone else.

His hands tightened in her hair, his eyelashes tickling her skin as he nuzzled the side of her face. “It does. It shouldn’t, but it does. I’m turning into a right ponce by saying this, but yeah, it means something to me. Wouldn’t want to be anywhere el—yeah.” He wished it didn’t mean so much. It would be him who’d end up with empty hands and even emptier heart once they finished this race against time. Funny how this world that wasn’t theirs could feel so much more like home.

“Me too,” she whispered against the shell of his ear. “I guess I’m a ponce too.”

“You’re a lovely one though,” he said in between brushes of his lips against her jaw. “Used to think that you were the brattiest, most annoyin—”

“Is this foreplay? Because I’m not feeling it.”

He pressed his finger against her still parted lips and leaned his forehead against hers until the frown smoothed out. “Used to. Then you went and made me like you, even the horrible excuse for singing I hear when you’re taking a shower.” Makes me wish we’d never have to go back.

“Oh. You’ve heard that,” she mumbled, her lips moving against his fingertip.

“’S hard not to. You holler so loudly it scares the birds out of the woods. It’s bloody adorable.” He tapped her on the lips and inched up to slide a line down her nose. “As is that little bump on your nose.”

She wrinkled her nose reflexively, fingernails lazily scratching up his spine. “I broke it when I was seven. I fell off a swing.” She paused. “What else do you like?”

There was this fragility in the way she looked at him. He could break her so easily, because she was just like him with that too hard shell and a heart like a soft underbelly. “Your stupid hair. It’s too bouncy and shiny.”

When she arched her eyebrow he wondered if she’d caught his habit by accident. He wondered how many of hers he’d copied in return. Hoped it wasn’t her regular butchering of the English language. “Well, your skin is stupidly soft for an undead guy and your eyelashes are too long.”

“Is that right?”

She slid her palm down his back, down, down until the tips of her fingers grazed the curve of his backside. This was torture. The best kind.

“I like… umm… I like your butt too.” And then she squeezed it.

“Fuck.”

Her eyelashes fluttered, her grip tightening.

“Do you like it, Buffy?” he asked, drawing her name out on purpose because he knew she liked the way he said it. One day he might just get her to admit it. “Do you like it when I talk dirty?”

She bit the tip of his nose and scratched her way up his spine. “Maybe. Just a little. You’ll have to try again though, just to make sure. You know, in the name of all things scientific.”

God, he could love her so easily. And wasn’t that the stupidest thing he could ever do?

“Make me,” he said, knowing she could never refuse a challenge. You and me, we’re made of the same cloth.

She whipped the duvet off him, replaced the rush of slightly chilly air with scorching warmth when she pushed him into the mattress, straddled him.

“How about this?” Red bloomed on her cheeks, but she wasn’t backing down.

“Not entirely convinced,” he said a bit more shakily than he’d have liked, sliding his hands up her bare thighs to her hips, thumbs dipping just beneath the sides of her knickers.

“I’ve got you at my mercy. I could do anything,” she said, and there was still a note of hesitancy in her voice that he wanted to erase, because she hadn’t even touched him properly and he was already willing to beg.

“Do with me as you please then. Won’t hear me complaining.”

She wriggled on top of him, stilled as if held at gun point the second he growled. “Don’t stop. Just,” he gripped her hips and urged her to move, to circle her hips as he ground against her, “yeah, that’s it. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Her head lolled back, the sight of her arched throat making him wish she was close enough for him to feel her pulse throb against his tongue. “Ungh… so not better than chocolate.”

“Mmm… liar.”

“Nope. Not at all,” she said, dragging in a shaky breath.

“The things I could do to you if I had chocolate though. Could pour it all over and lick you clean.”

“Evil.” She slumped forward, her palms braced against his stomach.

“Says you,” he breathed out, fingers digging into her hips when she rubbed against him in just the right way.

“Feels… yes.”

He’d laugh at her incoherence if his own words weren’t stuck in his throat, strangled into a groan that made her whimper in response. And even though she was right on top of him with the almost unbearable heat of her and her thighs trapping him in place, she wasn’t nearly close enough.

“Let me take it off, Buffy.” He tugged at the hem of her T-shirt.

“Oh. Yes. Okay.” She gulped in a breath and nodded quickly, going stiff, which. That was his job.

He couldn’t have her being all skittish when she was so bloody stunning he could stare at her for hours and not get bored. He drew the tee over her head and tossed it to the side, not much caring where it landed. She was, “Beautiful.”

The tips of her tousled hair brushed the tops of her breasts, her golden skin bathed in moonlight streaming in through the open blinds.

“Bet you say that to all the naked chicks,” she said with a rueful smile.

And no. Just no. He flattened his hand on her stomach and slid up until he was caressing the long line of her throat. Realised with a start how much she’d come to trust him when she didn’t even flinch. Realised that he trusted her too, in a way he’d never trusted Dru. “Haven’t in a long time. Mean it too, you know. You make me want to,” write poems again, “ravish you for hours.”

“You’re quite ravishable yourself,” Buffy replied quietly, her hips shifting back and forth, unconsciously chasing after more friction.

He smoothed his way over her skin, traced the curve of her breasts with his knuckles, settled over her thudding heart for a few seconds before moving lower. He loved the way her stomach quivered when he traced the sensitive skin just above the waistband of her knickers.

“Something you want?”

“You know what I want,” she said, grinding down hard enough for him to forget he didn’t need to breathe.

He flipped them over before she could blink, his thigh pushed between her legs. And yes, finally. Skin on skin from chest to feet, her heart beating against his chest so hard it almost felt as if his was beating in synch. “Want to hear you say it. Want to know that you want this. That you want… me.”

“I do.” She locked her arms around his neck and hugged him close, whispered, “Sorry, I’m not good with words,” into his ear.

“Maybe I should improvise then. Give it a good old try and see if I hit a mark,” he suggested, kissing her jaw. He’d never thought he’d like this, the kind of passion that was almost innocent. He could spend hours and days and weeks in her arms with his hands gliding all over her, exchanging kisses that didn’t go too deep.

Didn’t matter though, did it? He’d let her get too deep already, let her get him addicted to the kind of intimacy he’d never had before. And even though she was right here, pressed up against his body, he already missed her.

“Less thinking, more… this,” she said, rubbing her thumb over his forehead and cradling his head to bring him close enough to press her lips to his.

“That’s something I can get behind.” With a final quick peck on her mouth, he pulled away and sat back. “Maybe even literally.”

“Wh-oh,” she breathed out with a giggle as he flipped her over onto her stomach and nosed the nape of her neck. “Tickles.”

“You need to stop being so bloody adorable.”

“It comes naturally,” she mumbled into the pillow, eyes fluttering shut as he rolled his knuckles up her back. He paused. “Why did you stop?”

“Just a sec. Need some stuff.” He swiped the body lotion off the nightstand, shrugging. It would have to do. “Make it nicer.”

She watched him silently, her pupils blown wide, humming in agreement. How did we get here and where do we go from here, he wanted to ask, worried there was no way out anymore.

He straddled the back of her thighs again and drizzled the lotion over her back, tossed the bottle on top of Buffy’s discarded T-shirt. The heels of his hands dug into the tissues, unwinding the knots until he felt all the muscles loosen up, massaged her until she all but melted into the mattress.

“If you keep doing that I’m going to turn into a gooey Buffy.”

He smirked, kissing every knob of her spine from neck to tailbone. “Gooey, you say?”

It was fun to watch the realisation dawn and her cheeks flood with colour. “Not that kind of… I mean… not… ugh. You suck.”

“Not yet.” He kissed each dimple at the bottom of her spine and slid his palms up her thighs, his thumbs teasing the hem of her white lace knickers until she was trembling, her hips arching off the mattress just the tiniest bit. “Would you like me to?”

“No! No… I can’t. This is—”

“Buffy.” He rested his chin on her lower back. “Can you trust me?”

As he waited, somewhere in the distance, the pipes groaned and wind whispered against the cabin walls. She seemed as though she was about to shake her head then, but ended up giving him a jerky nod.

Yeah, she could trust him with her body, but could she trust him with her heart?

You’re not supposed to want her heart, you wanker. Not when she’ll take it right back.

“Buckle up, pet.” He wanted her so much his hands shook and yet, this was a line that couldn’t be uncrossed and redrawn anew. Maybe it was all the blood rushing from his brain, but right now he didn’t give a fuck. Watched another boundary fall to dust as he lifted her hips, slid a pillow right under and drew her knickers over the curve of her ass, down to her spread knees.

A heart-shaped birthmark on her hip. Just like her, the other Buffy. He told himself they weren’t the same, that they wouldn’t repeat the same mistakes.

He kissed her left cheek, laughed in surprise when she said, “Always knew I’d get you to kiss my butt.”

No, not the same. We’re us and we can do this without the heartache. We can.

“Could have just asked,” he said and her giggle came out as a choked whimper when he swiped his tongue from top to bottom.

“Oh God, oh God… nobody’s ever—”

“Never?” It shouldn’t please him this much, to get to have this part of her.

She shook her head, sweat beading on her temple as he licked and teased and drank every drop she had to give.

“Love… love the way you taste. Like honey and wine,” he said, groaning into her swollen folds, kissing lightly then sucking until she was trembling and biting down on the pillow.

She mumbled something that sounded a lot like his name, hips moving restlessly, hands clenching around the sheets so hard that he heard a ripping sound. He didn’t let up, wouldn’t let her squirm out of his grasp and away from his hungry mouth. He laved and sucked and tasted her deep inside, palming himself through his boxers when she jerked and moaned and struggled to breathe, flowing into his mouth once she crested the high and flew apart.

“That’s it,” he growled out, slipping two of his fingers in and pumping hard and fast until she came again with a drawn-out whimper.

He placed open-mouthed kisses back up her spine, smug and proud of the way her entire body would spasm at the smallest touch as if it was electricity. He told himself this was enough, that he didn’t need her to love him. That having her look up at him with only lust in her eyes wouldn’t make much of a difference since he’d never really had anyone’s love anyway. Not the kind he wanted. At least this time he had equal footing.

“My legs are rubbery. I can’t move.”

He brushed her hair away from her flushed, sweaty face. She turned over, all languid muscles and a hint of a smile, and nuzzled his palm.

“Means I’ve done my job well.”

“Job well done,” she agreed, “Can’t even… brain not working.” Her hand slid down his sternum, lips blindly catching his lips before kissing down the curve of his neck.

“’S not nice to tease.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be nice.”

She pulled his boxers down with an unvoiced question in her eyes and a tremble in her hands. She made him want to be kind and gentle and just give, give, give until he had nothing left. Perhaps it was all right, when she gave in return and looked at him that way, so hungry for him, mouth gliding over every inch of his skin when she finally wrapped her hand around him.

“Wait,” he said, struggling to think coherently.

“Don’t you want me t—”

“’Course I do. I do, bloody hell, Buffy.” He reached over to retrieve the lotion, handed it to her, almost sheepishly. “Just, makes it less…”

“Friction-y?” she offered and damn it, her hand was still on his cock, squeezing just a little, but not nearly enough.

“Yeah, that.”

“See? I know stuff.”

He could only nod and watch as she dripped the cold lotion over him and started to massage it in. God she was so hot she could turn him to ashes just with this.

When he looked up and met her eyes, all soft and open, he had to remind himself not to tumble off the cliff and fall in love. Her slippery palm was gliding up and up and down, twisting and squeezing as he urged her with his hand over hers, encouraged her to go faster.

She bent over and sucked a bruise into his collarbone, soft hair splayed over his chest. With her heat and her touch and the silky smooth taste of her still on his tongue, he couldn’t think anymore. Not of anything else but her name on a loop, couldn’t see anything but the stars bursting behind his closed eyelids when the ecstasy rushed through him, white hot.

Her lips lingered on his in a soft kiss as he came down, and he knew he was weak, but he hugged her close to his body anyway.

“Spike,” she whispered, combing through his hair in a soothing motion. Funny how one word could hold so much weight, so many unspoken thoughts.

“Buffy,” he replied, his chest too tight. He wanted all of her and not let go. Maybe not ever.

Don’t fall in love.

“Is it too late,” she said, clueless to his moment of panic, “to—”

She never got to finish.

The moment he blinked, his arms were empty and he was standing in the middle of a cemetery with Buffy a couple feet away, wide-eyed, nausea rolling around in his stomach. They were back as though they’d never left, right in the same spot, dressed in the same clothes they’d vanished in, with a distance that felt miles long and wind twisting between the grey headstones.

Home sweet home.

TBC

Chapter 18

“Buffy!” someone screamed her name, and it wasn’t him. He wished he could close his eyes and pretend this was a dream. Wished they were still back at the cabin with her heat soaking into his flesh and her lips a breath away.

She must have heard it too, but her eyes never left his, her fingers reaching out to wind around his wrist.

“We’re back,” she said and yeah, they were.

“About time, eh?” he asked, the grin not quite fitting on his mouth.

“I could have stayed longer,” she said just as he caught a flash of red hair over her shoulder, followed by Red’s girlfriend’s watchful eyes as they both drew near.

“Me too.”

He twisted out of Buffy’s grasp.

“Buffy! Buffy, is that you? I mean,” Red shook her head, gesturing wildly, “the Slayer-y you? Please, tell me that it worked because I’ve run out of ground dragon teeth and they’re so not cheap and if it didn’t work this time Giles is going to kill m—”

“Willow!” Buffy cut in and even though all Spike saw now was the back of her head, he could hear the smile in her voice. At least one of them was happy. “Take a deep breath, please. To answer your question… yes. It’s me. I’m pretty sure. Slayer parts included.”

Willow jumped on her and just about strangled her in a hug that Buffy returned. “I missed you!”

Glinda was staring at him, her gaze skittering away as soon as he caught her eye.

“What about them?” he asked, unsettled, jamming his hands into his coat pockets to keep himself from acting out of habit and touching Buffy as though he still had the right. He tried not to think about having her in his arms just a few minutes before. “Our all human doppelgangers? ‘R they back then?”

He didn’t like the idea of Pidge being left to her own devices. Someone had to keep her from downing all the sugar in the cabin and make sure she was warm enough and that she wasn’t anywhere near anything sharp or pointy when she was playing. And… she had to be all right. Had to.

Willow stepped away from Buffy and looked at him, her cheeks turning almost as red as her hair. The bird needed to take it easy before she had a heart attack from all the jittery nerves. Not that he cared either way. It was bad enough that he cared about Buffy and Emma.

“Umm… vampire Spike?”

He closed his eyes, the bones in his face shifting, his fangs elongating. Everything was sharp and loud and overwhelming as though he’d been living underwater for the past two and a half weeks. “Does this answer your question?”

“Yup. One vampiric Spike, check.”

“So? How about you answer my question then?”

“He’s grumpy,” Willow whispered to Buffy, who just gave a weak smile in return. She wanted to reach behind and take his hand and tell him to stop grinding his teeth, but she didn’t. Didn’t think he’d let her right now.

“I’m pretty sure they’re both back. I mean, that’s how it works. And how do you even know about the switch? I mean, obviously you’d have known you were in the wrong place, but—”

“How did we know our doppelgangers took our place here?” Buffy filled in.

Willow nodded.

“There were… clues,” Buffy said. Lots and lots of clues. “We found their cabin. In the woods. It was a bit of a trek because of all the snow, but we found it. And pictures and stuff.”

“Have you,” Tara started, “Have you found her then? Their, umm, daughter? They were v-very worried about her.”

“Massively freaking out,” Willow added. “It’s a good thing we managed to keep Xander from spilling about Spike’s vampire status.”

“Wanker,” Spike muttered under his breath, but Buffy heard him anyway.

“Yup, we did. She was a handful. Very cute and—”

“She had your pout,” Spike said, the sharp edges of his face softening. She wondered if she was the only one who saw it. “And your violent streak, unfortunately. My bum still hurts from that time she tackled me to the floor. At least give a poor bloke a warning.”

“Oh, please. She totally had your manipulative streak. And your obnoxious smirk.” And those blue eyes and the way she’d tilt her head. “I’m not the only one with the problematic genes.”

“Well, they weren’t exactly your genes,” Willow said, glancing back and forth between the two of them as though they were a time bomb.

“I know that,” Bufffy said, warily, “but she was just… a lot like us, that’s all. Maybe they weren’t so different, personality-wise.”

“Yeah, but she still married Spike,” Willow said, grinning as though it was the biggest joke of all. “Don’t think you’d ever do that.”

Buffy could practically feel the tension radiating off of Spike, could picture the way the muscle in his jaw was ticking right now.

Before either of them could say anything, Tara cleared her throat. “H-how about we take this inside?” she suggested, wringing her hands and glancing over her shoulder at what Buffy noticed was a dead demon. Probably the one that had zapped them in the first place, and woah. They were back. In the same place they’d stood two and a half weeks ago when she and Spike still despised each other and spending time together seemed like the worst punishment in the world.

She looked over at him, saw past all the black leather, menacing stare and hunched shoulders and saw… him. She didn’t want to go back to that.

*******

She’d dragged him to the house with her, dodging Willow’s questioning looks and ignoring Spike’s protests.

“Don’t you want to be filled in too?” she’d asked, to which he’d given a grunt she’d chosen to interpret as a yes.

“How did you do it?” she asked Willow as they walked out of the cemetery. “Switch us back? Because I had this slayer dream and mojoing us back here seemed to be a big ‘nope’, with the side of ‘try again later’.”

“You saw that, huh? It’s wiggy that you can do that. Wiggy and cool.”

“Very cool,” Tara said, Spike lagging somewhere behind like a big, black shadow. “Sorry it took us that long. The ingredients weren’t easy to get.”

“Almost two weeks,” Willow said and Buffy thought, it was a bit longer for us. “We did try some spells at first,” Willow looked over at Tara, almost in reassurance, “None of them worked, which is probably good, because we might have made you switch places with some other versions and it would have been one big mess, so we… well, we kind of turned back time instead.”

“What? You can do that?”

“Well, no,” Willow admitted. “Giles knew someone from his days of misguided youth, apparently. The ingredients of the spell weren’t exactly legal. It was an old favour kind of thing. He didn’t want to talk about it much.”

“As opposed to him being his usual blabbermouth self,” Buffy piped up, thinking, I missed you guys. But I’m starting to miss the cabin too. A lot more than I can admit right now.

“Yup.”

They made it back to Revello as Willow filled her in on Giles flying back from London to help with the spell and Xander powering the research by bringing refreshments. It was almost comforting in its familiarity and yet, exhausting too.

The house was quiet when they came in, her mom having already gone to bed. She’d always been a heavy sleeper, so Buffy wasn’t worried they’d wake her up.

She sat down on the sofa in the living room, absentmindedly searching for a throw pillow that wasn’t there. She realised then that it wouldn’t be. Not the stupid pillow, the loft, snow gathering outside the windows or make-believe tea parties with Emma.

When Spike perched on the arm of the sofa she wondered if he felt it too; that disquiet in his stomach. If she reached out, she could touch him, make sure that at least they could stay the same, but she folded her hands in her lap instead. Why doesn’t this feel like home anymore?

“How?” she asked Willow. “How did you find them?”

She could hear Tara puttering around in the kitchen, opening and closing the cabinet doors, the gurgle of boiling water. Buffy didn’t want tea, but she’d take it anyway.

Willow sat sideways right next to Buffy, facing her. “They kind of found us. They came to your mom’s house. Apparently, there’s a Sunnydale in their universe too, only without the annual apocalypse event. This house is where they live.”

“Every time I think my life can’t get any weirder, something comes up and proves me wrong.” Buffy closed her eyes, let her head rest again the back of the sofa that wasn’t as plush and as worn in as the one at the cabin. “It just feels so weird… that we’re back in time.” She opened her eyes, saw the Christmas tree with the star sitting on top all askew and almost felt sick, as if she was reliving someone else’s memories, not her own. “What were they like?”

“Umm, they were… well, kind of like you, sort of. More… handsy with each other, in a non-murdery way. It was spooky, even for the Hellmouth standards.”

Buffy turned her head and met Spike’s eyes, his mouth flattened into a thin line, arms drawing his coat tighter around his frame. It had been a while since she’d seen him in his leather armor.

“What about the demon?” he finally spoke, breaking the eye contact. “Should we be worried about a repeat performance?”

“I don’t think so. I mean, no. Its kind isn’t known for coming in packs. We’re pretty sure it was just another demon after the Slayer. This one was just more of an interdimensional-magicky kind than a brawly one. Probably thought it would be easier to switch you with a human counterpart and then kill her so you could never come back. Non Slayer-y Buffy makes for an easy target. Or… that’s what the demon thought, because human Buffy totally got her slay on too, as they told us.”

“That, and I bet it didn’t count on you guys fixing it all,” Buffy said, smiling a little.

“Nope.” Willow smiled, all earnest and familiar. “We still don’t know why Spike got zapped too, though.”

“I think I do,” he said just as Tara shuffled into the living room with two cups of tea, steam curling into the air, her long skirt swishing around her ankles. “We were touching then, Bu-Slayer and me. We were quarreling, if I remember it right. Could have been the reason, right?”

“We can look into it tomorrow, but I think that would make sense. The human body is a conductor, so the energy would have travelled through you both and presto… mass zapping.”

Tara handed one cup to Buffy, the heated ceramic warming her skin. The other mug ended up in the hands of a puzzled Spike.

“Not human, love. Don’t really need this.”

Tara shrugged and went over to sit next to Willow. “T-time traveling can be tough on anyone.”

Buffy saw their pinkies graze and entwine then dropped her gaze to the rippling surface of the tea. Spike had done the same thing one night when they’d been dozing off in front of the TV, and they’d both pretended it didn’t matter. She didn’t want to go back to the way things had been before, to the mean jibes and the unrelenting game of one-upmanship. She couldn’t.

“Nobody knows but us,” Tara said, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I mean, about what really happened while you were t-there… only Willow and I remember because we were the ones who helped cast the spell.”

“Yup,” Willow added. “You can feel grateful about that later because I don’t think I’ve ever heard Xander complain that much about PDA in my life, and that’s saying something.”

If Xander only knew. “Right. Grateful. Very,” Buffy said, taking a polite sip of the tea before putting it on the coffee table. “Also, a bit tired. A lot, actually. I guess time travel can do that to you.”

“Oh no. Of course,” Tara said, standing up and pulling Willow along. “We should go.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow, Buffy,” Willow said.

“Are you guys going to be okay? I can walk you home if you want me to,” Buffy said, already rising from the sofa when Willow said, “No. Really. Two powerful witches right here. We’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very sure,” Willow said, both her and Tara’s voices calling out ‘bye’ in unison.

“See you guys,” Buffy said, slumping back into the sofa the second she heard the door close.

“Do you think she’s all right?” Spike said, and she didn’t have to ask what he meant. She knew.

“I feel like she is. Wouldn’t we know? If she was in trouble?”

He shucked off his coat and sat down next to her, his thigh against hers. She didn’t feel like that much of a stranger in her own home anymore.

“Not sure it counts in this case. She was never ours. Not really.”

“But you loved her,” she said, holding her breath.

He tensed and she was almost certain he wouldn’t reply at all. But then he said, “Thought you slayers didn’t believe vampires could love anyone. Soulless ones, that is.”

“I don’t know what I think anymore. But I know I’m not like other slayers.” You said it yourself, you and me have never played by the rules. Why should this be any different?

“No, no you’re not. A good thing, I reckon. If you were, I’d have been dust in the wind a long time ago.”

“Yay me.” Her limbs were growing heavy, her head too light. And if she shifted closer to Spike and let her head rest on his shoulder, that was okay because there was nobody there to see it and judge. “I feel strange. Can’t believe we’ll have to live through the same holiday again. At least we don’t have to,” the world seemed blurry, “decorate again.”

“I didn’t buy you a prezzie,” he said, his tone bordering on teasing.

“Prepare for my wrath then. Might make you do my laundry for a whole month.”

“’M shaking in my boots already. Nothing worse than braving the washing machine.”

She might have mumbled something in reply, something about fabric softener, she thought. It was too hard to make sense of the words when her brain was shutting down.

*******

She woke up before sunrise, disoriented, her feet tangled up in the duvet she must have kicked off some time after falling asleep. Her hand grappled around, landing in the cold empty space next to her. Something wasn’t right.

“Sp—” she started to say when it all came back to her. She knew he wouldn’t be there even before she opened her eyes and peered around to find herself in her bedroom alone. She was pantless and braless and slightly chilly, her limbs too clumsy as she sat up. She felt as though she hadn’t slept at all.

I’ve always preferred sleeping alone. This missing him next to me thing is just a habit. A habit I can break.

But not tonight. Not yet. It should be gradual, shouldn’t it? Wasn’t that what people said? Taking a sip every day instead of gulping down the whole bottle?

And since when had Spike become an addiction?

Her bare feet hit the carpet and she was on her way downstairs and slipping through the basement door before her brain could tell her she was being pathetic.

For a second she worried he wouldn’t be there at all, but she knew he was when the cigarette smoke hit her nose. Maybe it was a good thing he’d chosen to sleep in the basement rather than the guest room. A lesser chance of being overheard.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked as she came down the stairs, his back against the wall and a sheet thrown over his lap.

“You do realize ash and bedding equal flammable badness, right? You’re going to set yourself on fire.”

He took a long, deliberate drag, lips smirking around the filter. “Always wanted to go out with a blaze.”

“How very suicidal of you.” Her feet were starting to get cold and she was suddenly very aware that the only things she was wearing were panties and a T-shirt.

“Not suicidal,” he protested. “I just like living on the edge.” He blew the smoke out, the smell of it sharp and acrid. She hated it when he smoked, even if he made the vice look hot. “’S probably why I still hang around good old Sunnyhell.”

“Come for the murder, stay for the, well… murder.”

“Don’t stand there like a twit, Slayer. There’s a plenty of room on this cot.” His eyebrow flicked up, all lascivious-like.

She rolled her eyes and flopped down next to him, the springs of the old mattress whining in protest and digging into her butt. “Comfy.”

“I’ve had worse,” Spike replied, throwing the corner of the sheet over her legs. “At least there are no massive windows here.”

“You took my pants off,” she said, watching as he took the last drag and ground the butt against the cot’s metal frame, dropped it onto a growing pile by the bed. If Mom saw, she’d have a cow.

“Which time?”

Blood rushed to her cheeks. Damn him “Tonight, perv.”

“Nothing pervy about that. Just thought you’d sleep better without your jeans on.”

“Or my bra.”

“Yeah, or your bra.” He grinned. “I might have copped a feel.”

She kicked him in the shin.

“Just joking, bloody hell!”

The kick was partly for that, and partly for the other thing, “You left me alone.”

“Did you want me to stay?” His voice was tentative, as though he was treading on a minefield.

“I just didn’t expect for you to not be there. I just… I got used to… well, having you next to me all the time. What if I woke up and wanted to tell you that I think your hair looks stupid when it gets all curly? What then, huh?”

He looked mildly horrified. “My hair’s not curly.”

“It is, too. It’s all cute and cherubic.”

“Sodding cute? Cherubic? You take that back!”

She shook her head, daring him to ‘make her’.

He pounced on her, the weight of him pressing her into the mattress, his eyes turning sharp and dark, dark blue.

“I’m not taking it back,” she whispered, her arms trapped against his chest. She wasn’t sure if she meant the comment about his hair or something else entirely.

Knew you were stubborn, he wanted to say. Stubborn just like me. He wondered how much longer he’d get to act this way, as though they were more than just former enemies turned into reluctant allies, turned into something else that made him feel as though he was burning inside his own skin. Going out in a blaze indeed. “Didn’t think you wanted me to stay.”

“I didn’t know either. Guess some habits are harder to break.” Her heartbeat picked up. “I couldn’t sleep without you.”

“Couldn’t sleep without you either,” he admitted, nosing at her jaw. “You messed me up.” Can’t fucking rest without you making me warm. “Didn’t want to risk your mum catching me strolling out of your bedroom though. She doesn’t know anything. All she knows is that we still… that we’re the same we were before. How fast do you reckon she’d chop my balls off if she thought I was taking advantage of your unsullied virtue?”

“Not so much with the unsullied anymore,” she said, her skin growing hotter.

Oh, he knew. Wanted to do a bit more sullying right now, but he couldn’t. Because as much as she’d insist nothing had changed, she’d change her tune soon enough.

“Can I stay here? Just for a bit? I’ll sneak out before mom gets up.”

“How illicit,” he said, biting down on her shoulder, wishing it wasn’t so hard to say no.

“Can I, then?”

“Buffy, do you think this is a good idea? We’re not there anymore. This is different and pretending it’s the same will just,” bloody hurt, “not work in the long run.”

“Do you remember when you asked me if I could trust you?” she asked, as serious as he’d ever seen her. And even though he had no idea where she was going with this, he nodded anyway.

“Well, do you trust me?”

He looked away. A million dollar question, wasn’t it?

“You don’t, do you?”

“I do,” he said, quietly. “I shouldn’t.” He wanted to so badly, to just let himself fall in, but he knew her friends meant everything to her and none of them would be okay with Buffy shacking up with him. They’d be right, too.

“Since when do we do the things we should? You were the one who told me we bend the rules. So, this is me. Bending them.”

It wasn’t supposed to be this easy. To just see the stubborn jut of her jaw and the conviction in her eyes and think it’s too late to keep myself from falling. He’d known. Known he’d end up bloody losing himself, but he’d gone on and taken the plunge anyway.

“Yeah, we do. We always do the things we shouldn’t.” He buried his face in her neck, glad she didn’t see the way his hands were shaking. “Stay. Stay here for the night.”

TBC

Chapter 19

As he straightened up, his palms damp with melting snow, for a second he couldn’t remember why he’d been kneeling on the ground in the first place. He was dizzy, but it passed quickly.

He met Buffy’s unfocused gaze, wondering if she’d felt it too. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I feel weird.”

“Me too.” He frowned, cold winter wind whipping his cheeks. “I feel as if… as if I should remember something.”

She shook her head, eyes lighting up. “Cutting down that tree? It’s not going to do it by itself.”

He looked at the saw lying on the ground and bent down to pick it up, grinning. “Right. Must be it. Hope Little Bit doesn’t wake up before we get back.”

“Stop making me worry, you jerk. Now start sawing, so we can get back quickly.” She tucked her gloved hands under her armpits. “I’m freezing.”

He started to saw, leering. “I love it when you’re bossy. Gets me all hot and bothered.”

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks reddened just the same, and he knew it wasn’t just from the cold. “Hold that thought, Romeo.”

And hold it he did, right until they got back to the cabin, the warmth slowly sinking into his chilly skin and bones.

“Can’t wait to get you out of these clothes,” he said, propping the tree against the wall before taking off his coat and pulling her in by her waist.

“Mmm, I love you.”

“Love you too, you sexy wench,” he said, kissing her soft and slow, warming her up. He was just about to roll her onto the couch for a spot of snogging when the door creaked open and Emma walked out, rubbing her bleary eyes.

“Daddy?”

“Oh, sorry, love. Did we wake you up?”

She nodded and stretched her arms out. He picked her up and kissed her forehead. The life of a parent. There were only so many moments when he could catch a break. This was not one of them.

“Can you read me a story again?”

“You’ve already had one,” he reminded her as Buffy rubbed Emma’s pajama clad back.

“Please?” She pouted, her eyes big and pitiful, and bloody hell, he couldn’t say no.

“All right. But only a short one.”

“Can you tell me the one about the lady huntress and the demon again?”

“That’s a long one,” he said at the same time Buffy said, “I’m totally the lady huntress.”

“Then just tell me the part when they fall in love. I want to hear the happy ending! Happy endings solve everything!”

“Even sleepiness?” he asked, that strange sense of déjà vu washing over him again. If only he could remember what it was that he was forgetting.

“Yup,” Emma said, smiling.

Buffy bit his shoulder and squeezed his behind and yeah, he had to hurry this one up. “Quick story time it is.”

*******

The bed was too narrow, the air slightly damp and there was a spring in the mattress digging into her hip. But here in the quiet stale air of the basement with water rushing through the pipes over her head, she could admit to herself that she’d rather lie here with Spike’s arm over her waist and his legs tangled with hers than go up and sleep in her comfy bed on her own.

He muttered something into the back of her neck, voice still raspy from sleep. It really shouldn’t have made her flush from head to toes.

“Hmm?” she asked, closing her eyes when he pulled her in even tighter, nuzzling the back of her head.

“You awake?”

“No,” she said. Not awake. Too comfy here, don’t make me move. “Don’t let the whole talking thing fool you.”

He laughed his real genuine laugh, the one she’d only ever heard a handful of times. She wanted to catch that sound and tuck it away for the times she’d feel sad. For the times she’d no longer get to have him like this.

“You smell sleepy, still,” he said and she just knew he was sniffing her hair. He was dumb. And the way he stroked his way up her arm and ended up brushing her hair away from her face, fingers massaging her scalp, was also dumb. But she was even dumber, because the fear of losing this and being judged for making a wrong choice again kind of made her want to cry.

“Spike?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s going to be different, isn’t it?”

The hand in her hair stilled. “Yeah. Afraid so.”

She let out a breath, hugged the corner of the sheets to her chest. “How did we end up in this mess?”

“Do you want me to start chronologically or alphabetically?”

She snorted, hating him a little bit for making her feel something in the first place. This complicated mess of want and need, vulnerability and fondness. The way his smile or a simple look could make her heart feel as though it was too big to fit inside her chest. “Can’t we just not get up? Do you think anyone would notice?”

“Don’t think it works like that,” he said, but his hold tightened. “The second you didn’t answer the phone, your mates would assemble the cavalry. White hats.” He scoffed.

“Hey. White hat myself, buddy.”

“One with a naughty streak a mile wide.” He played with the hem of her T-shirt. “I can live with that,” he said, thinking why haven’t you kicked me to the curb yet when you have so much to lose.

“Says the person who stripped down to nothing in front of his mortal enemy. Back when, you know, we still disliked each other.”

“Someone needs to have her definition of naughty redefined,” he teased, his hand slipping beneath her T-shirt and drifting over her taut belly. “That’s just my usual bed routine.”

“Mmm… I know.” She wriggled against him, and yeah, this wasn’t helping.

“Is that all you’re gonna say?”

“What?” she said, defensively. “Maybe I like it when you’re naked.”

He nibbled on her shoulder, choking back an unmanly giggle. “So scandalous.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen scandalous yet.”

When she twisted around in his embrace, hooked her thigh over his hip and rubbed against him in just the right way to make his brain short out, he knew then that he loved her naughty side. Loved… loved her other sides too. The self-righteous, stuck up one that drove him insane, her belligerent one that had him torn between fearing for his unlife and wanting to bend her over the nearest sturdy surface, the soft one she’d let slip unknowingly and even the one that would leave her tired and lazy, dressed in sweats with her hair pulled back in a messy bun. Fuck.

“I wish we could stay here for hours,” she whispered, her lips pressed to his collarbone.

“Yeah,” he said, thinking I miss you already.

*******

Joyce knew something was wrong but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. It had started when she’d caught Buffy sneaking out of the basement, claiming to have been doing laundry, of all things. Since when had Buffy ever done laundry without having to be told?

She’d shaken it off, of course. If Buffy wanted to do the messy part of being an adult, who was Joyce to complain?

She sat at the kitchen counter with the newspaper spread in front of her and a mug of coffee cradled in her hands.

“Thank you for the presents, Mom. Loved them, really.” Buffy came over and kissed her cheek before she went back to ransacking the cupboards, eating cereal straight out of the box. Joyce had tried teaching her manners, she really had.

“I’m glad you like them, honey.”

“Sorry I didn’t get you anything cooler. Like that dusty old vase Spike gave you.” She pouted, stuffing her cheeks full. It was a sight.

“You know whatever you give me will always be my favourite.”

Buffy arched her eyebrow and it felt a bit like déjà vu. “Oh, really? Because you totally fangirled. It’s fine though,” she said, chewing with her mouth open. Joyce just sighed. “Spike’s totally old. Just one antique from another.”

“Watch it,” Spike said from behind her and Joyce wasn’t ashamed to admit that she jumped a little. “’M not old. I’m experienced. There’s a difference.”

“You’re also old, Mr. I-lived-before-cars-existed.”

“Touché,” Spike said with a shrug and Joyce wondered where the malice had gone. Maybe she should thank the Christmas spirit. “You’re lucky you don’t have to breathe in the stink of the horse shit and smoke. Because that’s what London smelled like in my time. Glamourous, eh?”

“Ew.”

As they bantered back and forth, there it was again, that restless feeling, as though she was missing the picture that was right in front of her face. Buffy turned back to the sink while Spike stepped right behind her to reach into the cupboard over Buffy’s shoulder. His other hand briefly settled on Buffy’s hip and it was… Joyce felt as if she was intruding, all of a sudden. Which was ridiculous, because Buffy couldn’t stand Spike at all. And now he’d just touched her and she wasn’t punching him in the face.

Joyce didn’t understand.

She pretended to read the newspaper, watching them out of the corner of her eye with mounting confusion. It was just… they way they moved. It was different. When Spike stepped back and poured his blood into the mug, Buffy was already holding her hand out. He handed it to her without a word and she put it into the microwave, punching in the time and temperature. When she moved to sit, he did too, almost in synch. As if they were the opposite sides of two magnets. But the thing was, they didn’t even seem to notice they were doing it at all. It seemed… natural. As if they were moving to a beat they’d been practicing for ages.

I’m just tired. Tired and reading too much into things.

Joyce took another sip of her coffee and tried to push the questions into the back of her mind.

*******

“We’re totally acting normal,” Buffy said, flopping onto the couch next to him. “She doesn’t notice anything’s different.”

“I bloody well hope not. Not keen on becoming an eunuch.”

“True. I prefer you with a penis.” Her eyes widened almost comically and he just wanted to roll her under him and kiss her breathless.

“Do you, now?”

“Yes. No. I mean… that’s not what I was… ugh.” She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “You know what? I’d like you even if you didn’t have a penis. How is that?”

“Are you going soft on me now?”

She made the funniest face when she was trying to hide a smile. He wondered if she knew she was doing it at all.

“Well, hope you’re not.” And then she got that dangerous gleam in her eyes that made him feel like prey. She crawled over to him, her hand sliding up his thigh, higher and higher until she was hovering over the growing bulge in his jeans. Since when had she become so wicked? He might love her for that too. Pathetic. Pathetic and doomed, that’s what he was.

“Uh, Buff—”

She put her palm over him and squeezed. Maybe he could learn to live with that.

“Nope. Not soft.”

“Fuck. I want you.”

“Shh. Mom could wake up from her nap, come down and see, and then what?” She pulled away, smirking and putting her feet on the coffee table with a happy sigh.

“And they say I’m evil.” Buffy could give him a run for his money.

“I learn from the best,” she replied and stole the remote control from his slack hand. Yeah, take it. You’ve already taken everything I have anyway.

He wished it bothered him more.

TBC

Chapter 20

Christmas was over. Before they’d been zapped into the Bizarro Land, she’d have been ecstatic to have Spike out of her house at last. Would have thrown a party, probably. Now she was just sitting on the couch in the living room with a stone the size of a monster truck in her gut as she listened to Spike thank her mom for the hospitality and promise he’d stop by some time.

I’m not missing him already. It’s fine. It’s not like he could stay here forever.

The door closed.

Maybe it was better. They’d gotten too close. Like in the morning when he’d been deeply asleep. Half his face had been squished against the pillow, lips parted, too long eyelashes resting over his cheek. Her hand had lingered above his skin, not quite touching. In that moment all she’d wanted to do was kiss her way up his spine and nuzzle the nape of his neck, to breathe him in, imagining what it would be like to wake up next to him for the rest of her life.

He made her feel vulnerable and exposed, more than anyone ever had.

She stood up, feeling like eating something nice and cool and creamy with chocolate in it. Ben & Jerry’s would do.

There was a note pinned to the fridge by a little pineapple magnet; a note that she’d been ignoring for about five hours.

Riley called. Said to call him back when you can.

Maybe she should. She could start with hi there, this is Buffy, the world’s biggest coward. It had a nice, true ring to it. Also, I don’t think I’ve ever been in love with you.

She slammed the fridge door closed, deciding against ice-cream. Slaying was what she needed. A good kill. And if she happened to walk fast and catch up to Spike, then that would be nothing but a coincidence.

She raced up to her room to grab a couple of stakes and a dagger, yelling, “I’m going out on a quick patrol, don’t wait up,” to her mom, took the jacket off the hanger in the hallway, slipped into her shoes and was out before Mom could do more than call out, “Be careful!”

She spent two hours scouring empty cemeteries. Spike was nowhere to be found.

*******

When he woke up, the sun was still up, but he got up anyway. His booted toe knocked against the empty whiskey bottle on the floor and sent it scuttling away into the corner of the room.

That had been some night. What he could remember of it, at least.

He pinched the collar of his T-shirt and sniffed, grimacing. Blood, guts and spilled alcohol. Not his, except for the last one. Willy was probably brassed right off. Not that Spike cared.

At least he’d got to pass out instead of staring at the cobwebbed ceiling for hours, which would have happened had he had all his wits. He fucking missed her, all right? And he couldn’t even light a fag because his lighter was missing and he had a suspicion he knew who’d taken it.

As he shucked all his kit off and climbed into a makeshift shower in the lower level of his crypt, he told himself that missing her wasn’t a crime. Or maybe it was. He’d never been much to follow the Vampire Code of Ethics, if such a thing even existed.

Pretty sure wanting to shag a slayer would rank high in the chapter of no-nos.

If only that’s all he wanted. A shag. No, William the Bloody Sad Wanker wanted to strip her down and taste every revealed inch of skin, feel her tremble beneath his lips again and stroke all the places that made her blush. He wanted to drink her down and feel her gripping his hair before he rose up and surged into her, got lost in all that tight, wet heat with her eyes never leaving his, telling him without words I love you too. He wanted to hold her afterwards.

You can’t have that anymore. Not here. Not her love, not the right to hold her and kiss her whenever it strikes your fancy.

Maybe you can. Maybe she’ll want it too.

He plunged his head under the cold stream, wishing it would wash the spark of hope out of his chest. Hope had only ever gotten him a broken heart.

*******

“What’s up with you today?” Xander asked through his mouth full of half-chewed jelly donut. Charming. “Are you waiting for someone?”

“What?”

His eyebrow shot up as he nodded toward the front door of the empty Magic Box Giles had recently purchased. “You keep staring at the door.”

She did? Crap. “Nope. Just… hey, where is Anya anyway?”

Never let it be said that she wasn’t the queen of distraction. Or that Xander wasn’t easily distracted.

“She’s not really into the whole helping people out for free thing. She said she’d come by tomorrow though, if I…” He cut himself off, his entire face turning scarlet.

“I’d rather not know,” Buffy said dryly, consciously keeping herself from glancing at the door again. Spike wouldn’t be here anyway. He didn’t know she was here in the first place and even if he somehow found out, the sun was still up.

As if that’s stopped him from wandering around before.

“More cleaning up and less sitting,” Willow called out from the loft, frowning down at the two of them. “Tell them, Giles, wherever you are.”

Giles, who had been sitting behind the register with a teacup halfway to his pursed lips as he thumbed through a book, stood up so suddenly a drop of tea splashed over the rim and down on his sweater. “Yes! Yes, quite. Buffy, Xander, come on. No time to laze about.”

Buffy gave him a disappointed shake of her head, which he promptly chose to ignore.

“Since Giles is so hardworking and wise, he should show us how to sweep properly,” she said sweetly. “Nobody can sweep better than you, Giles.”

She fetched a broom and thrust it into his hand before he could make an excuse. “Let’s clean this place.”

When the little bells at the front door chimed and Buffy turned around, her heart plummeted right to the soles of her feet.

“Riley.”

While everyone else greeted him with enthusiasm, she accepted his hug with her arms held stiffly at her sides, too shocked to see him here in the first place to evade his kiss.

When his dry lips pressed against her, it was just… Shouldn’t she feel more? Something, at least? Why was it so hard to remember if she’d ever felt passion for him in the first place?

“You’re here.”

“Here I am,” he said, pulling away, a boyish smile on his face, and all she could think of was I’m going to break your heart. “Surprise.”

“Yeah. Yes, I’m… very. Surprised. You should have called.”

“I did,” he said, the smile sliding off his lips and she just felt guilty. Wished that she could be what he needed. “Yesterday. You, umm, you never called back.”

“Sorry.” She tried to smile. It didn’t fit right. “I was out and then it was late and I didn’t want to… you know, wake you up. Or your parents. I thought you’d be staying there longer.”

“That’s okay. I decided to cut it short because I… well, I’ve missed you. Now, I’m here, so,” he clapped his hands, a bit of his floppy hair falling onto his forehead, and she wished she could say she’d missed him too, “Joyce said you guys could use a hand?”

“Yes, thank you, Riley,” Giles said, ready and more than eager to hand over the broom. “Help would be most welcome.”

Buffy took Riley’s hand and pulled him along to the back room before Giles could shrug his workload off onto him. “We’ll be back in a minute.”

She wasn’t ready and her stomach felt as if it was full of fish flopping around, but she couldn’t just stand there and pretend that everything was all right. Couldn’t be that person who’d pull someone else’s strings as if they were a puppet dancing for her own amusement. Riley deserved better than that. He deserved someone who would love him the way he loved them. And that wasn’t her. She didn’t think it ever had been, no matter how hard she’d tried to convince herself.

“What are you—”

“Riley, we need to talk.”

His face turned serious and even though there was still a note of confusion in the crease between his brows, she thought maybe he already knows.

*******

The last time Spike had been in the Magic Box, he, Buffy and his poofter of a grand sire had demolished it pretty well. A lot had changed since then. Except for Angel.

He was still a poofter.

“Nice place you’ve got here, Watcher. I wonder if you’ll last longer than the last owner?” he said after he dashed in and shrugged the smoking blanket off his shoulders.

Harris squeaked and jumped up. Spike grinned. So easy to scare, that one.

“Thank you, Spike,” Giles said, “for that helpful remark. Is there a purpose to your, ehm, visit?”

“Yeah, what are you doing here, Dead Boy Junior?”

“Looking for Buffy. Might have some info for her.” Not really, but they didn’t need to know that.

Harris shrugged. “Afraid we’re out of cash, so—”

“Just tell me where she is,” Spike said with a sigh. “’M not here for your sorry dosh.”

“If this information you claim to have is important, you might as well tell us then,” Watcher said.

“I’m not telling the tale twice,” he said, sniffing haughtily, thinking I should have just waited until sunset and found her during patrol. The lack of patience would be his downfall one of these days.

“She’s busy macking on Riley somewhere in the back, so I don’t think she’s too interested in what you have to say right now.”

Harris kept talking and talking, but it all turned into white noise in Spike’s head. He could smell him now, that offensive stench of Old Spice and Initiative. But she wouldn’t. She said she wasn’t… that she wasn’t in love with him.

She’s not in love with you either, now, is she?

He fumbled for the blanket, dropped it once before he managed to get it over his shoulders again, that horrible, terrible doubt gnawing at him from the inside, spreading like wildfire. What if she’d decided she’d be better off trying to make it work with Soldier Boy? If she finally saw that getting it on with a soulless vampire broke all the rules even she wasn’t willing to break?

“Don’t… don’t tell her I was here,” he said, spinning on his heel. She was right there. Glinda, with a small duster in her hand, her gaze clashing with his. He wondered if she could see his heart breaking and hoping she couldn’t.

He resisted the urge to rub the ache out of his chest, decided he’d be better off drowning it at the bottom of cheap whiskey, and ran out of the store.

*******

They kept shooting her these looks. As if she was a ticking bomb ready to explode. How could she possibly explain to them that while she was sad, she wasn’t heartbroken? That she’d known for a while now that she and Riley and were never meant to last?

“I can’t believe you broke up with him,” Xander said, looking for all the world like he was the one who’d just gone through a break up. “Riley was—”

“A good guy. But, not the right guy for me,” she finished, wishing Xander would drop it. Just because it was the right choice didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt. “I just, it wasn’t fair to him when I don’t… I don’t think I’ve ever been in love with him.”

“Not like with Angel,” Willow said, quietly, phrasing it almost as a question.

“No, not like with Angel.” Not like with… no. Nope. She wasn’t. Was she? Not again, not with someone like Spike, so volatile and plain weird, with his endless list of vices and stupid, soft heart. Oh God, she totally was. She was in love with him.

“Buffy?” Willow asked, frowning. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

If by okay you mean ready to get into panic mode, then yes. “I’m… fine. Did you, did you say something?”

“Spike,” Xander said and the wooden edge of the chair she was sitting on almost splintered under the pressure of her grip. She felt as though she was going to be sick.

“W-what?”

“Our least favourite vampire was by earlier. Said he had some info for you. He wouldn’t say what, of course. Only that he wasn’t after our money, which I find really hard to believe. I swear the cash he’s already cheated us out of could last him a year.”

“I think I’m going to… go. Walk for a bit.” She stood up, all those puzzled eyes watching her, and she just couldn’t stay because if she did, she felt as if they’d see right through her and know.

She was almost out of the door when someone touched her shoulder. She froze, turning around slowly with her hand still clutching the door handle.

“You should g-go talk to him, you know,” Tara said in a gentle voice that made Buffy want to spill all her secrets.

“I think we’ve said everything that needed to be said.”

“Oh, no. N-not Riley.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, her eyes big and knowing. Buffy wanted to bolt. “Spike. Xander kind of t-told him that you were kissing Riley. In the back.”

“There’s nothing… I’m not—”

“I don’t-I don’t know you that well,” Tara started, gaze dropping to the ground, “but I can see that… you mean something to him. And if you feel something too, that’s all right. It’s not my or anyone else’s place to judge you.”

Buffy snorted when she just really wanted to sit down and shut out the entire world and not have to think about any of this, least of all how her friends would judge her once they found out. They wouldn’t be completely wrong either. Buffy wasn’t blind to their past and all those times she and Spike had tried to kill each other. But they didn’t know him the way she did, and they probably never would. “We can’t… It’s not that simple.”

“Nothing worth having ever is.”

And the worst thing? Deep down Buffy knew that he could be worth it, if she’d let him.

*******

The door to her bedroom opened, but she didn’t feel like turning around to face Mom’s third degree, so she just clutched the pillow tighter to her chest, hoping it would keep her insides from spilling out.

How did this even happen? He’d been such a pain in her butt. Still was. But here she was, admitting to herself that she missed the way he’d touch her and kiss her and look at her as if she was the only thing in the world.

When the mattress behind her dipped and a warm hand fell on her shoulder, she regretted not feigning sleep.

“Buffy?” And it was Willow, not her mom, her voice low and tentative and Buffy just wanted to ask when did we change so much and why aren’t we as close as we used to be?

Then Willow’s arms wrapped around her and it was like high school all over again when distance between them hadn’t been as big and they’d actually told each other stuff. Buffy had missed this and she knew it was as much as her fault as it was Willow’s. Even more so, probably.

“I’m sorry you guys broke up. I know you’re upset—”

“I’m not upset. I mean, I am, a little bit. But I’m also relieved.”

“Oh,” Willow said. “Are you sure? Because I know you feel like you need to be all strong and Slayer-like all the time, but… it’s okay not to be okay sometimes. I just wish I understood what happened. I thought you guys were happy.”

The words were right there in the back of her throat, but she swallowed them back and squeezed her eyes shut until the urge to spill everything went away.

“We weren’t unhappy. But when I was there, you know, the other universe… I realised that I didn’t miss him as much as I should. That we don’t really fit. It’s like, I couldn’t completely be myself when I was with him because I knew it kind of freaked him out that I could easily lift him above my head if I wanted to. Not that I did. But still. Freaky Buffy plus normal guys equals major badness.”

“You’ll find someone who’ll love your freakiness. I promise. Guys are overrated anyway,” Willow said. Buffy could hear the smile in her voice.

“Yeah.” She took a deep breath and then they were there, those words that she was so terrified to admit. “Will?”

“Hmm?”

“I think I might be in love with someone else.”

Willow went very still and Buffy was glad that she couldn’t see Willow’s face because she couldn’t handle being judged right now.

“Umm… wow, okay. Didn’t expect that. Who, who is it? Do I know him?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Willow pulled her to lie on her back, frowning. “Why?”

“Because if I do, you’ll hate me.” Those were definitely not tears in her eyes. It was just too dusty in her room. Dust allergy, or something, Buffy was sure.

“Buffy,” Willow, her tone admonishing and concerned all at once. “That is silly talk. Unless it’s Tara you’re in love with. Then we might have a problem.” She playfully punched Buffy’s shoulder and Buffy couldn’t help but laugh, because this was Willow and maybe it wouldn’t be the end of the world if she knew.

“Not Tara.” You can do this. You can tell her. “It’s… Spike.”

Willow blinked then blinked again. Then she started to laugh. “Oh my God, you almost had me! I—” She must have noticed something wasn’t quite right, must have realised Buffy wasn’t laughing at all. The smile vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. “Wait. You weren’t joking, were you?”

“No.”

Her mouth fell open. “Tara was so right!”

“She told you?” Buffy sat up, hugging the pillow to her chest, feeling more than a little betrayed.

“Oh, no. She didn’t… I mean, she said you seemed closer, but… wait. She knew? And she didn’t tell me?” Willow frowned.

“I didn’t tell her, but I think she kind of… guessed? I think she knew it wasn’t her place to say anything.” Buffy buried her face in her knees. “Do you hate me now?”

“I could never hate you, Buffy.” Willow rubbed her back. “I’ll admit this is really, really weird, but… are we sure this isn’t some kind of spell? I mean, it wasn’t me! I wasn’t doing any spells, no sir. Only the swap thingy, but… wait. Do you think that could hav—”

“Wills!” Buffy straightened up and glared. “It’s not a spell, okay? And I-I think I may have felt this way long before you even zapped us back. I just didn’t… I didn’t realise. It kind of snuck up on me. But I know it’s not a spell. Already been there, done that. There were cookies.”

Willow wriggled on the bed, eyes guiltily flitting away. “I don’t understand. I mean, the last time I talked to you, you were kind of pro-Spike-stakage.”

“I know. I get it. Trust me, nobody is more wigged than me. I mean, he’s not exactly my type and he’s like all the wrong things I shouldn’t want wrapped in one retro package, but… he’s more than that too. More than what I thought he was.” So much more. “He gets me and he doesn’t let me get all closed up. And sometimes he can do the sweetest things and not even be aware of it. Like give you a foot rub when you feel like crap or do the laundry without having to be asked.”

“You’re gushing,” Willow said, looking at her as if she was a rare sort of animal at the zoo, “about Spike. This feels very strange. Strange and new. And a bit worrying. Are you sure you know what you’re doing? I’m not being judgy here. I just want you to be happy.”

“That’s the thing though. I feel like he could make me happy if I let him. Actually happy, without the drama and the angst all the time. I find it kind of hard to remember hating him now. Being around him feels right. Does that make sense?” She shook her head, knowing that it didn’t. Not to Willow. “Sorry. This is me stopping the gush-fest.”

“Oh, no. I mean, I’m your best friend. You can gush! Gushing is encouraged, even if I’m still kind of wigging here. But… if he can make you happy, I can’t exactly hate him.”

‘Can’t exactly hate him’ was something Buffy would take any day. “I can gush then? Okay. How much would you freak if I said he was… umm… really hot. Like, really.” She was teasing Willow on purpose now, because she was still here and still her friend and that was more than Buffy had expected. “A great kisser too. And you should see him naked. He’s all lean but muscle-y, and… umm… gifted.”

Willow squeaked and stole Buffy’s pillow to put it over her flaming face. “Buffy! Stop that. Oh no. Now I’m imagining him naked. This isn’t fair. I’m a taken woman!”

Buffy was giggling, overwhelmed with how much she loved her best friend. “I’ve missed you. And, I know I don’t say it that often, but I love you. A lot. I’m glad you’re here.”

Willow let the pillow drop and tackled Buffy in a hug. “I love you too. Even if you’re in love with a Billy Idol wannabe.”

A Billy Idol wannabe Buffy hoped felt the same way.

He does. He’s got to. He doesn’t just give his heart freely, and you know he feels something. You can see it in the way he looks at you and the way he touches you as though you’re something precious.

She just had to be brave enough to tell him.

TBC

Chapter 21

“You fucked yourself over real well, old Spike,” he said to the half empty bottle in his grasp, swallowing the burning aftertaste, wishing it had more effect. “Ain’t love grand?”

She didn’t love him. She did care, he knew she did. He wondered if that didn’t make it even worse, knowing that she cared but could never love him back. He’d rather have her hate him again.

“I hate this!” he heard somewhere off in the distance, “My shoes are ruined. Again. You’d think I’d get paid for this.”

Buffy was the last person he needed to see right now. He hadn’t even done his hair.

What the bloody hell do you care about your sodding hair, you wanker? That’s not really the point, is it?

Maybe he was more hammered than he’d thought.

He should move. Just go off in the opposite direction and lick his wounds in peace. Now if only his legs would get the memo, because it seemed as though the closer her voice got, the harder it seemed to be to distance himself, the stronger the magnet in his chest drew him to her.

She’s got you by the balls and she doesn’t even know.

He could see them now, winding their way around the headstones. She was still far enough away, but he could see the moment she tensed, the way her step faltered for a millisecond.

She lifted her head, staring in his direction and even though he was huddled in the shadows of a crypt, he knew she could tell he was there. Knew that she could feel him.

If he was smart, he’d make himself scarce. Too bad he wasn’t. Certainly not when it came to women.

He stepped out of the shadows, ran his free hand through his messy hair and met them halfway.

“Hey, look, Buffy. Someone you can stake,” Xander said, smiling smugly.

Willow just shuffled her feet, shooting the boy a glare. She was decent, that one. He wouldn’t bite her, even if he could.

You know you wouldn’t bite any of them. Know how much she cares, and them getting hurt would hurt her. And that’s not what you do any more, even when she’ll never love you back.

“You’ve been drinking,” Buffy said in that voice she used when she’d complain about his smoking habits. A bloke couldn’t catch a break.

Hell if he’d toss that bottle away. She didn’t own him. She didn’t want to. “What are you, Slayer, the AA police?”

“No, but I think you’re being dumb by making yourself an easy target. The demon population isn’t exactly on friendly terms with you.”

He took a step towards her, too close for comfort with her friends looking on, something inside him starting to shake. “Afraid I’ll get hurt?”

She stayed silent, just looking at him. He wanted to smash the bottle over the nearest headstone and yell why won’t you love me?

“Nobody here is,” Xander said. “In fact—”

“Xander!” Willow jumped in, “How about we just… go sit over there. Watch out for the fledgling? Since, you know, that’s what we’re here for?”

They were talking back and forth, their voices growing more distant by the second, but not distant enough. Not distant enough for him to just let go and pretend for a little while that he could have it all. Have all of her, all the time.

“Spike—”

Buffy’s eyes had never left his and his hands wouldn’t stop itching to reach for her, so he just clasped the neck of the bottle tighter and swallowed hard.

“You have something of mine,” he said, trying not to remember all the times they’d played hide and seek, what her skin felt like under his palms. “Small, shiny, lights things on fire?”

Her gaze flickered to the side as she tightened her jacket around her frame. “I don’t know where it is. You’ll have to look for it yourself.”

He closed the already small distance between them, his hand ghosting down her hair, never making contact. “You think I won’t?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” she said out of blue, her heart picking up pace.

“Isn’t that we’re doing? Talking?”

“Not like this.” She lifted her hand as if to touch him then let it drop. Of course she wouldn’t. Not with her mates close by. All they had was a dirty little secret.

It’s more than you deserve.

“About Riley, I—”

“You don’t need to say anything.” He forced himself to smile and wondered how much more pressure the bottle could take before it finally shattered. “We both knew it would end up like this, didn’t we? No need to drag this out and preten—”

“Can you shut up? I’m trying to tell you something here!” Her hands closed into fists and he knew just how dangerous she was, but all he could think of was the way she’d snuggle into the pillow in the morning because she refused to wake up and how she’d complain when the orange juice didn’t have pulp in it.

“Tell me what?” His hands shook and the last thing he wanted to hear was how it would be better to ‘move on’, that normal was what she wanted after all. “That it’s not worth the trouble they’d,” he pointed over her shoulder, “give you? That I should bugger off now that he’s back? Think I get it.”

“No. No, you don’t. You don’t get anything. Because you obviously weren’t listening when I said I didn’t want things to change—”

“You didn’t snog him then?” he argued, daring her to lie, wishing she would.

“H-he kissed me.” If there ever was a time Buffy wanted to club him over his thick head, this was it. God, why wouldn’t he just listen? He’s worth it though, even if admitting you love him scares the crap out of you. “Once! And it wasn’t even—”

“You don’t have to make excuses, Buffy.” He smiled, a sour quirk of his lips. “It’s all right.”

“God, you’re so… stupid!” She laughed, a little helpless sound, because she didn’t know how to make him see, short of blurting it out.

“Yeah, well. I was stupid enough to fall in love with you, so I reckon you’re right!”

“W-what?”

For a minute it felt a lot as though they were the only people in the world and all she could see were his panicked eyes.

“You… you lo—”

“Fuck.”

He loves you. He loves you too. But you’re not naïve enough to believe that’s all that matters. She was startled out of her thoughts by the sound of shattering glass. Spike chuckled and flexed his bleeding hand, the broken bottle scattered over the grass and his boots.

“You’re an idiot,” she told him, tugging at his wrist even though he was trying to shake her off. “Look what you’ve done.”

“Yeah, look what I’ve done,” he said quietly, eyes burning into hers.

She looked down, picking the shards out of his palm. He didn’t even flinch.

“’M sorry, you know. Never meant for it to go this far. Guess I’ve buggered it all up, haven’t I? Because you and me? We don’t get to have a happy ending.”

“Spike, no—”

“You know it too, deep down.”

She realised there were no more shards in his hand, but she didn’t want to let go, needed to know he was still touchable.

“’M not taking it back though. I meant it. I love you.” He looked down at her hand on his, almost hungrily. “You’re in my head, all the time. What have you done to me?”

He looked up at her, and he was still Spike, but he seemed raw and exposed, more vulnerable than she’d ever seen him, all those sharp edges soft and breakable. She wanted to tell him it was okay but her tongue wouldn’t work.

“’S funny, in a way. Always knew you’d be the end of me. Just not like this. Should have known you’d go for my weak spot.”

He pulled his hand out of her grasp.

“I never meant to hurt you,” she said, her heart pounding hard against her ribcage. “I mean, I did. A lot. Especially after some of the stunts you’ve pulled in the past. But, then I… I got to see you.”

“Did you?” he asked, “See me?”

“I see you now too.” Those parts of him he hid from everyone else.

“Isn’t that the problem though?” he asked and she didn’t understand why all of a sudden he looked as though she was ripping his heart out and letting it bleed all over the cemetery ground.

“Spike, I—”

“Buffy!” someone yelled and it took her a moment to realise they weren’t alone.

“Run back to your mates, Buffy,” Spike said as she turned around to see a vampire try to claw his way out of the fresh grave several feet away.

Her hand was already inside her jacket, closing around the stake, but when she spun on her heel to tell him to wait, to say they needed to talk this out, he was already gone.

*******

Buffy was exhausted and even though her knuckles had stopped bleeding an hour ago, her hand still kind of hurt. Still, she’d take pummeling a vampire’s face in over Xander’s endless questions any day.

“What was that all about? Since when do you and Captain Peroxide get all chummy?” he’d asked, bewildered.

“He’s been helping me,” she’d said, not because she was ashamed, but because it would be better to ease Xander into it than drop the truth on his head all at once. “A lot.”

“Right. Because he’s so selfless and he’s got your best interests at heart.”

“We have an understanding. A truce,” Buffy had said, wishing she could just tell him everything. “There’s stuff… it’s hard to explain. Just, know that he’s on our side now.”

“Like he was last year, you mean?”

“He saved my life, okay? About two weeks ago. He didn’t have to.” It had been mostly selfish on Spike’s part then, not letting her freeze to death, but it still counted. Because she knew now that if it happened again, he’d save her because he cared, not out of self-preservation. “He’s… different. I’m not asking you to trust him. But I’m asking you to trust me. Can you do that?”

Xander had seemed torn, and she’d expected him to say remember how well that worked with Angelus? But he hadn’t.

“I’m keeping my eye on him,” he’d said instead, and that was enough. It was a start.

The sky was still like black velvet stretched over her head when she made her way towards Spike’s crypt, determined to make him listen, to make him believe her.

When she pushed her way past the metal door, he was nowhere to be seen.

“Well, poop,” she muttered, glancing around until she decided to sit in the ratty old armchair. Leaving would be too much like giving up.

She didn’t know how much longer it would take and her eyelids were growing too heavy, so she just closed them, just for a second. A hand touched her shoulder then, startling her awake.

“I’m sorry. I must have dozed off,” she said, “You weren’t here.”

“Didn’t expect you to pay me a visit,” Spike said, straightening up. Where had he come from?

She stood up and went to brush her hair out of her face when he caught her wrist and frowned.

“You’re hurt.”

“Trust me, it hurt him more than it did me.”

“I don’t doubt it.” He stroked his thumb over her wrist then abruptly let go. “Why are you here?”

Right. Straight to the business. “Because you’re stupid? And you don’t listen to me when I tell you that I care?”

“I never said I didn’t think you didn’t care.” He let out a breath. “That was a mouthful.”

She slapped her hand over his mouth. “Shut up. You won’t talk until I say you can. Are we clear?”

He nodded, his eyes narrowing as if he wanted to devour her. Right. Spike. Kind of kinky. She pushed him to sit down in the armchair.

“I think you misunderstood me and like the big dumb-head you are, you didn’t even let me finish before you went poof.” She started to pace, hoping to work out the sudden burst of adrenaline that left her skin all clammy. “I said I did see you, and you just… I don’t know. I don’t understand why you thought that was a bad thing, or whatever, because it’s not. You’re not. Bad, that is. I mean, yes, you are. But it’s like you’ve got that bit of good in you that makes it all worth it, you know?”

She wouldn’t look him, but she could feel the way his gaze followed her everywhere. “And I thought what I needed was someone nice and wholesome and normal, but I know now that what I really want is… you. Because, because it’s like the two of us, we’re that swirly Chinese black and white thingy with two halves, and one of them is bad with good in it and the other is good with a bit of bad in it.”

“Yin Yang?” he said, almost too quietly, watching her with that soft, unguarded look on his face that always made her think of the man he must have been before.

“Yes.” She pointed at him. “Now shush. It’s my turn and I’m not done yet. Right. Okay. Here we go.” She stopped in front of him, looking down, not entirely sure what to do with her limbs now that she was no longer moving. “I love you. Don’t ask me how or why, but… I love you. And I’m not saying this will be easy, because it won’t. But, one smart person has recently told me that nothing worth having ever is, so… can you please say something now because I didn’t actually expect you to be this quiet and it’s kinda starting to freak me out—”

“You love me,” he said, as if she’d just handed him the stars and the moon and maybe even the entire galaxy. “You love me.”

“I do.”

He struck so quickly she barely had time to do anything but squeak and then her thighs were on either side of his and his arms were wrapped around her so tightly that breathing was becoming an issue.

“What about your mates?” he mumbled against her throat, loosening his hold just a little, his lips on her skin making it hard to think.

“W-willow knows. So does Tara. And… umm… haven’t told the others yet. But in time, I will. It would be kind of out of nowhere if I told them now.”

“Do I have to be at my most charming then? Make them see I’m on your team, and all?”

“Would you?”

He leaned away, just to make her see how serious he was, because he had her in his arms, all of her. He’d be stupid to toss it away for pride. He’d never had much use for it anyway. “I’ll wear a bloody pink fedora if you want me to.”

She giggled, leaning back in with a smile against his lips.

“Don’t laugh. Fedoras were all the rage back in my day. Not pink ones, but…”

“Please tell me you have pictures.”

“God, no. And I wouldn’t show you if I did. Might change your mind about this whole thing in a heartbeat. I was a pansy. Wore reading glasses, was a proper bookworm.”

She bit his earlobe, her arms around him tight as if she never wanted to let go either. “Bet you were all cute. And I hope you’re not messing with me.”

“’M not. I was embarrassing. Couldn’t talk to a woman without stuttering and blushing.”

“If I was born back in the day, I’d have totally swept you off your feet.”

He thought of himself then, so bloody lonely and desperate for someone to let him love them, and yeah, she would have. With her wit and her persistence and her joi de vivre that would have put the ladies of the stiff London society to shame, he’d have been gone at first glance.

“Yeah, you would have.”

“Spike?”

“What?”

“Kiss me?”

He smiled and did just that, tasting her raspberry lipstick, helping her shrug her jacket off with fumbling hands until hands met skin. He rounded the curve of her lower back, down, down until he was sliding into the back pockets of her jeans and, “Knew it,” he said, nibbling on her bottom lip. “Knew you had my lighter.”

“It’s mine now.”

So am I, he thought and hugged her close.

TBC

Chapter 22

She should have been cold. Shivering. He had no body heat to give; neither did the cold stones of the crypt, even with the orange glow of the candles casting flickering shadows on the walls. And yet the touch of his hands on the bare skin of her lower back made her feel feverish, as though a heat wave was rolling through her body.

“Spike,” she whispered against his jaw, trailing open-mouthed kissed down his arched throat. “Want to touch you.”

“You are though,” he said, and maybe it was just her imagination but she heard that little catch in his voice.

“But you’re all covered up.” She tugged his T-shirt out of the belted waistband of his jeans and slid her hands right under, sucking his earlobe into her mouth.

“Slayer,” he said, in a way that made her want to leave marks all over his skin. He said it in the same way he’d say her name; with that passionate tenderness. He loves all parts of me, the good and the bad, the strong and the weak.

Funny how someone without a soul could love better than anyone else she’d ever met.

“I love you,” she whispered, hands curling into his messy hair.

With a hungry growl, he abruptly stood up, gripping her thighs and claiming her mouth in a kiss that left her panting for breath embarrassingly fast.

“What are y—”

“Trust me,” he said as he moved toward the back of the crypt and then they were falling through a hole, her stomach swooping up into her chest somewhere, her eyes closed.

The impact was smooth, and came sooner than she’d expected. It smelled like burned wax and earth and Spike.

“Where are we?” It was pitch dark and all she could see was the golden gleam of Spike’s eyes, feel the sharp edge of his cheekbone against her cheek when she hugged him closer.

“Lower level of the crypt. ‘S nice in here. Got some… umm… furniture, too.”

One moment he was holding her, setting her down on something soft, and the next he was gone. She tried not to let it get to her, this sudden feeling of being left alone in the middle of nothing. “Am I sitting on a bed then? Isn’t that kinda presumptuous?”

Even though she was teasing, she could imagine him rubbing the back of his neck as he did whenever he’d get all bashful. Spike and bashful was something she’d never have thought could go hand in hand. Only, it did. Sometimes. She thought she might like those moments the best because he trusted her enough to let her see the parts of him no one else got to see.

“Comfiest place in here,” he said and she heard the click of the lighter before she saw the flame flare to life, the warm light shattering off the angles of his face. Her retort died in her throat. It was stupid that it hit it her like this, so suddenly. How beautiful he was, even as a demon.

“Never thought I’d end up showing it to you, what with not wanting you to stake me in my sleep and all,” he told her, golden eyes turning blue.

“You’re beautiful, you know?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them and he looked up at her from where he’d been lighting the candles, his eyes a little bit wide. “Sorry, that was weird, wasn’t it?”

He set the lighter down and approached her, not with his usual swagger, but with something that felt a little more exposed, more vulnerable.

“Someone’s got to be the Beauty in this relationship. Guess, that would make you the Beast then.” He gave her a lopsided grin as he came to stand between her knees, smoothing her hair away from her face. And even though he was joking it all off as he always did, his eyes still held a note of solemnity.

“I do scare the baddies away,” she agreed, resting her forehead against his chest. And even though his heart didn’t beat, his chest would rise and fall sometimes, as though he’d just remembered to breathe.

“Reckon it’s a good thing I don’t scare easy.”

“Unless it’s tampons.”

“There’s an exception to every rule. That is one of them.”

“That’s because you’re a… a sissy!” She smiled, proud of herself. Just because she was in love with him didn’t mean that she didn’t enjoy making fun of him anymore, even if the jibes had lost their malicious edge.

His hand that had been playing with her hair stilled, his tongue flicked out to lick his lips, a challenge in his eyes. “A sissy, you say?”

She stuck her chin up, fisted the front of his T-shirt to pull him closer. Show me what you’ve got. “You heard me… sissy.”

His hand tightened in her hair, pulled until she was arching back, all open and I trust you, his lips soft and careful as they travelled up the length of her neck. “Want to say that again?”

“Sissy,” she whispered right before he slotted his mouth against hers, hot and hungry all at once, his tongue stroking hers in that lazy, thorough way that turned her bones liquid.

As Spike gripped the hem of her T-shirt and whipped it over her head, he wondered if he’d ever stop being this needy, stop aching this much for the taste of her, for the familiar gentle pressure of her lips and the scalding heat of her skin under his fingertips.

“Shirt… off.”

“What?” he asked, struggling to think with all the blood rushing south of his brain.

She tugged at the bottom of his T-shirt, her pupils blown wide, eyelashes casting shadows in the hollows under her eyes. He loved the way she looked in candle light, all soft and pliant and smooth, flushed skin. “Off?”

The way she looked at him when he pulled his tee over his head and let it drop to the floor was eerily similar to the way she’d watch him scoop chocolate chip ice cream out of a tub. Her arms were around him before he could say bloody hell, her mouth sucking a bruise right under his collarbone, marking him, claiming him as hers and he wondered if she even knew how much he’d always longed to belong to someone completely.

“Love you,” he said, falling on top of her, propped up on his elbows, kissing her as if they had all the time in the world. And they did, he’d make sure of it, make sure to have her back even when she got too prideful and stubborn, insisting she could do everything on her own.

“Yes. Yes.” She locked her thighs around his hips and rolled them over, her teeth scraping against his jaw.

“God, you just,” she panted against his throat, “make me lose control. With the kissing,” she wriggled on top of him, fingernails catching his nipples on her way down to his belt in that way that pleasure bordered on pain, the line he liked to straddle better than any other, “and the touching. And everything.”

“Everything?” he prompted, wishing he could freeze this moment and paint the way she looked right now, with his hands spanning her waist and her hair curling over the top of her breasts.

“Mhm. You’re salty goodness.”

“Salty goodness, you say?” He thrust against her, waggling his eyebrows. “Is that an innuendo? Trying to proposition me, Buffy? Because you don’t have to. Feel free to do with me as you like.”

Buffy looked down at him and oh. “Oh! That’s not what I was… I mean.” Words. She was sure she knew how to speak them. Or she would if she hadn’t just been ruined for life by Spike referring to his penis as ‘salty goodness’. God, she could never say those words ever again. “I like your covers?” Smooth, Buffy, smooth. Show him your appreciation of his fine linen. “V-very soft.”

“I like soft things.” He bit his lip, his gaze shifting down from her face in a way that should be outlawed in fifty out of fifty states in America.

“Are you implying that I’m all soft and squishy?” she asked with a pout, her hands stroking his torso. She loved how the muscles would shift beneath his ivory skin and the way his eyelashes would flutter as if he couldn’t help himself.

“I like your soft parts, especially the squishy ones,” he said, sucking in a breath when she undid his belt and popped the top button out of the hole. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Not right now,” she said, letting out an embarrassing squeak when he suddenly surged up and twisted them around. And then he was kneeling between her legs, hovering over her with his fists planted on either of her arms, growling.

Was she still wearing pants or had they miraculously self-combusted? Because she wouldn’t be surprised.

“Look at you. All flushed and trembling.” His hands cupped her bent knees and slid down to undo the clasp on her pants with a dirty smirk on his face. “Do you want me to touch you? Make it all better?”

“You’re a jerk.”

“That’s not a good attitude to have.” He dragged the zipper down, licking his lips as if she was his favourite dessert and he couldn’t wait to have a bite.

“Shut up and touch me.”

He yanked the pants down her legs along with her socks and threw them off to the side. She hadn’t even noticed until now that his feet were already bare.

“Hey, you’re still wearing your—”

He undid the front clasp of her bra with a flick of his wrist and pulled her up into a sitting position so he could slide the straps down her arms. She wasn’t too proud to admit that when he clutched her hips, brought her flush against his body and started kissing her, she forgot what she’d been trying to say in the first place.

“Could kiss you,” she said in between kisses, “for hours.”

“Likewise,” he said, smiling against her lips, and she thought he’s ruined me for life. Because nobody had ever kissed her like this, with that tender ferocity, his entire world narrowed down to her, strumming on her every sensitive spot as if she was a violin he’d been playing for years.

She liked how the short hair at the nape of his neck would tickle her palm, the sound he’d make in the back of his throat when she’d cup his jaw and tilt his head to the side to taste him deeper. And his hands. She could write one of those really short poetry thingies about his hands, if she wasn’t so desperately horrible at it. They seemed to be everywhere, gliding all over her back and hips, teasing the edge of her panties down to the apex of her thighs.

She broke the kiss because damn you, oxygen, and nuzzled his cheek, breathing him in. Fresh cologne and that scent that was uniquely him, that made her think of snow on his eyelashes and hot chocolate with little marshmallows and lazy winter mornings when they’d fight over who would make breakfast for Emma. “If you don’t take your jeans off right now, things are going to get ugly.” She hooked her fingers in his belt loops and tugged, kissing a spot behind his ear that she knew was his weakness. “Maybe I should go find a crowbar to pry them off.”

“It’ll take more than a crowbar to get to my unsullied virtue,” he said, the tip of his tongue peeking out in that teasing way, his fingers slipping beneath her panties and over her swollen folds.

“Spike.”

“How about you do it?” he said, voice trailing off into a whisper as though he was losing track of his own thoughts. Good. She wasn’t the only one.

“Okay.”

He settled against the headboard, with his legs all splayed out and his hot happy trail disappearing into his unbuttoned jeans. The weight of his gaze was making her skin break into goose bumps. As though he wasn’t already giving her heart palpitations, he was palming himself through his jeans too.

“You’re… umm.” She bit down on her tongue, crawling closer to him, sitting between his spread legs.

“What?”

He knew very well what. “Well, what with your hand… doing things.”

“Doing things?” His scarred eyebrow flicked up, clearly teasing her. Oh, she’d show him teasing.

*******

She was going to undo him. Over a hundred of years of experience and self-control blown right out of water the second he looked down and saw her lips stretched over his girth, candlelight dancing over the golden skin of her hollowed cheeks as she sucked her way up so bloody slowly he had to grip the sheets to keep himself from flying apart.

“Buffy, Buffy, Buffy, fuck.” He bit down on the inside of his cheek at the obscene sound of her mouth popping free, her tongue flicking out to lick his tip as if he was a lollipop.

“Mmm,” she said, kissing him all over with those swollen, reddened lips, eyelashes sweeping over her cheeks.

He slid his hand to the back of her neck, massaging her scalp, trying to hold himself together when she took him back in and moaned.

“So hot, so bloody good,” he mumbled, swallowing hard.

Her nails sank into his inner thigh, her tongue rubbing over him and he knew that if he didn’t stop her, he’d give her a surprise she wasn’t ready for.

“Buffy,” he said, his voice raw. “W-wait. Come here.”

She did and he didn’t waste any time before he kissed her, lay her beneath him and worshipped every inch of her body until her thighs were trembling against his ears and her heart was beating so fast he thought he could feel it in his own chest.

“So wet,” he said, drinking her down, the taste of her like red wine and peaches.

“Your fault.” Her head dropped onto his pillow, the flush having spread from her cheeks down to her heaving chest. “All yours.”

“Are you?” he asked, crawling up her body, dragging his mouth over her skin, licking a bead of sweat from the hollow of her throat. “Mine?”

“I could be convinced.” And her voice was as soft as the look in her eyes when she added, “As long as you give back. I’m an equal opportunity kind of gal.”

“Buffy, you’ve had me since… since before we even came back, I think. Don’t think I could be more yours if I tried.”

She rubbed her calf over the back of his thigh, pulling him in close enough to whisper in his ear. “You’re kind of sappy, you know.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” She arched her back, her breath hot on his neck. “Now stop teasing before I decide to quote you to Xander.”

“You’re killing my hard-on, love,” he said, parting her flesh with his, wondering if he could dust from this.

“Doesn’t feel like it.” She let out a drawn-out moan, the sound of her blood rushing through her veins like waves crashing on the shore. “Ngh… so good.”

“Only… getting started.” He dropped his forehead on her shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut. Good was an understatement. Effulgent would be a bloody understatement, if he hadn’t learned better than to use words like effulgent in the first place.

He propped himself up on his elbows, catching her mouth in a kiss, no finesse, just his lips rubbing over hers, tongue licking over the roof of her mouth as his hands found hers, their fingers interlaced when he surged in completely.

“This is so…” She trailed off, every drag of his flesh inside her lighting her nerve endings on fire.

“Yeah,” he said, his nose bumping hers.

His hips rocked into hers and she battled right back, the muscles in her thighs shaking, the fire in her veins burning hotter with every thrust and parry, with every brush of his lips and the feeling of his body pressing her into the mattress. And she could hold him as tightly as she wanted to, clutch as much as she could, because he was strong enough to give it right back, to make her not worry about hurting him.

“So hot,” he mumbled into her mouth, fingers squeezing hers tight enough to make her feel taken.

“Thanks… I try.”

He chuckled, hips swaying from side to side, pulling back and driving in fast until she thought she might start gasping for breath as if she had asthma.

“Cheeky.”

“Always,” she answered, her eyes on his lower lip, all swollen and bitten raw.

He pulled away then, his hands smoothing down her torso and pinching her nipples before he grabbed her leg and put it over his shoulder, kissing her ankle with an arch of his eyebrow. “Bendy.”

“All that slaying… finally good for something.”

He laughed, a giddy little sound that made her giggle in return and whoa, there were muscles she’d never thought could tighten like that when she laughed.

“Bloody hell,” Spike breathed out, biting the arch of her foot and picking up her other leg to throw it over his other shoulder, opening her up even more. When she thought it couldn’t get any better, his strong sure hands gripped her hips and tilted her pelvis in just the right way to make her brain short circuit when he repeatedly hit a spot inside her that nobody else had ever hit before.

He was stretching her to the limit, touching her all over, his fingertips slipping over her right where they were joined, and she so wasn’t to be blamed for the sounds she made.

“Best I’ve ever… fuck.” His tempo picked up, his chest rising and falling as though he needed to breathe just as much as she did. “Love you.”

“Love… you too. Lots. God. Right there.”

“You can call me Spike.” He smirked and she should be calling him a smug bastard, but she was too busy being turned on by it.

“Maybe I’ll… call you William.”

His eyes rolled back into his head, his thumbs digging into her hips hard enough to leave bruises. So deep. He’s so deep.

“Buffy.”

She fisted her hands in the sheets, the pressure mounting higher and higher until she felt that if it didn’t crest she might just die.

“Please,” she said, sweat rolling down her temple and into her hair.

He pressed his palm down on her belly, going fast and hard and then she crashed over the edge, stars bursting behind her closed eyelids. He slowed down, letting it roll through her, but not letting her climb down completely.

“You’re evil,” she said, breath whooshing out of her when he picked her up and settled her firmly into his lap, his arms wound around her tightly.

“Not done with you.”

“Good… I can do this with you all night, William.”

And as she sat there with her muscles still spasming in the aftermath and his lips resting on her shoulder, she thought he’s so wrong but loving him is the best choice I’ve ever made.

*******

There were good ways to tell one’s parent you were dating your former mortal enemy. And then there was her.

In retrospect, being caught in a compromising position by her own mother wasn’t Buffy’s proudest moment. Or the best way to admit that she and Spike were an item, who more often than not had trouble keeping their hands off each other. She was sure neither of them could hang out together around the kitchen counter or eat chocolate without suffering the worst case of awkwardness anyone had ever suffered in the history of mankind. Except for Spike. He had no shame.

Buffy thought that my mom saw my vampire boyfriend’s penis in our kitchen would make for a good topic on Dr. Phil.

A few glasses of scotch later and one decidedly just-past-tipsy-stage mother, Buffy could at least sleep easily knowing she wouldn’t be kicked out of the house this time. Having Spike to help with the annual apocalypse events and patrolling was probably what had put the advantage in Buffy’s corner. That, or Spike’s charm.

Too bad his charm had zero effect on Giles or Xander.

But at least they hadn’t shunned her when they’d found out… after they’d caught them kissing in the back room of Magic Box. She really should just keep away from Spike’s lips when anyone was within a mile radius, because kissing him always seemed to lead to trouble.

Xander had been sulking for a few days, until Willow had made it clear that he was dating someone who was about ten times older than Spike and therefore had a ten times longer rap sheet.

And Giles… well, he’d cleaned his glasses, given her that disappointed look that always made her feel like the bottom of a muddy shoe, but seemed to come to terms with it after a while. Maybe it was because he saw how happy Spike made her. Begrudging bonding with Spike over some old bands and bad TV shows had probably helped too. Buffy wasn’t allowed to comment on Passions ever since she’d called it stupid and Spike had ended up threatening to ‘lock up his goods’ until she admitted she was wrong.

She hadn’t, but he’d definitely failed to hold up his end. She had apologised though. Because she kind of loved him, even with his horrible taste in television and bad poetry that he’d scribble down when he thought she wasn’t looking. Hey, he was still better at it than she was, and maybe she did like it. Just a little bit.

And as she looked up from the table and saw him leaning against the wall, he was already looking. While everyone else at the Magic Box was busy researching the newest Big Bad, she mouthed I love you at him. He mouthed it right back, ducking his head to hide a smile and jamming his hands into the pockets of his coat.

Yeah, I love him. A lot.

Not the kind of love that would leave her starry-eyed and crying at night, but the kind that was real. Messy and grown-up, with compromises and talking, and passion that wouldn’t fizzle out. Without playing mind games. She didn’t want impossible. She didn’t want normal. She wanted someone who understood her and made her stronger by letting her be weak when she needed it.

I’d always choose you.

*******

Spike stood there and just watched her, his hands instinctively curling with the need to touch. Sometimes it was hard to remember that he could now, even with everyone looking. Surrounded by White Hats, toothless, and in love with the epitome of everything good, and there was no place he’d rather be.

Not painting towns red with Dru at his side or wreaking mindless havoc just for the hell of it. Because he may be dumb sometimes, but he wasn’t stupid enough to let Buffy go when she was everything he’d never thought he needed.

And with the last page of William’s book still there in the back of Spike’s mind, he knew that no matter what world they were in, there was something about her that made him want to be a better man.

“I’d give up every vice for a single smile and I’d stomp all over my pride if it meant she got to keep hers, because that’s what love does to you. And even with all the things we’ve been through and all those times we hurt each other, we fought our way through and found each other in the end, let all those barriers crash to the ground and let each other in. But it didn’t make us weak. It only made us stronger.”

THE END