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After he got dressed—and he took his own sweet time about it, to give his erection time to deflate—he sauntered out to the living room. Buffy was sitting there, intent on the show.

He barely gave it a glance. “Look, I’ve gotta go out.”

“No,” Buffy replied, not even taking her eyes from the screen.

“No?” he repeated, staring at her disbelievingly. “You’re not my nursemaid, Summers.”

“Funny, you seemed to think I was a few minutes ago.” She turned off the TV and came to stand in front of him. “I said no, Spike, and believe me, I meant it.”

“Oh yeah? And just exactly how do you plan on stopping me?” He came a bit closer. If she wanted a fight, he was definitely up for it—in more ways than one.

Uh-oh. She had on a smug little grin. That couldn’t be good.

It wasn’t. She reached out and pocked his stomach, where a particularly painful bruise purpled his muscles.

Fire shot through him and he couldn’t restrain his yelp. “Bloody hell, Summers, that fucking hurt!” He reached out to grab her, maybe strangle her—he wasn’t sure. Fucking bint had made it so he couldn’t even see straight!

“And if I touched your back it would hurt even more,” she snapped. Fire was in her eyes; as with all things, Spike found it sexy.

He decided to cooperate, for now at least. He hung his head. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she grumbled in a slightly softer tone. “Just...go lie down.”

“Hurts to lie down,” he pointed out. “Bloody bullet grazed m’ back, remember?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Now guilt filled her features, and it was her turn to look down. “Thanks,” she whispered, so softly that he almost didn’t hear her.

Almost. “No problem,” he replied, shrugging. he instantly regretted it, as pain from the very wound they’d been discussing shot through him. “Or maybe a slight one,” he added with a rueful grin.

A blush turned her cheeks bright red. “I feel horrible about that,” she confessed. “I mean, I tell you I don’t trust you, and I act all yell-ey and stuff, and then you go and save my life.”

“You sayin’ you want to thank me proper?” Spike asked, watching with glee as her cheeks burned. “’Cause I wouldn’t say no to that...”

“Oh, shut up,” she ordered. “Now, let’s see. It’s...” she checked her watch. “Almost noon. I ought to check your bandages soon.”

Buffy’s fingers on his back? That wasn’t something he was going to turn down. “Sounds good. What d’you want to do till then?”

“Dunno. Not much to do.”

“I know. Do you spend a lot of time around here?”

“Not much. Red comes up here, sometimes. One of those rooms is filled with all her books. Science and the like.” Spike made a face. He’d have died before he admitted it, but personally, he preferred poetry over the books Red liked. Give him a good Byron any day, and he’d be sittin’ pretty.

“Oh.” She sighed. Spike glanced at her; she looked frustrated. “So...what are we gonna do? I mean, it’s not like we can go all Blizzard Baby Boom, or anything.”

“Blizzard Baby Boom?” Was that what he thought it sounded like?

If Buffy’s face was any indication, it was. He grinned slowly. Predatorily. “Well, pet, if you’re offering...” he sidled closer, gripping her waist suggestively.

“God! No! I said cannot! As in, there will be no sex, of the unprotected—or protected!—variety,” she stammered.

He gazed down on her with amusement. He’d never known a chit to get all worked up over one little thing. And somehow, he couldn’t help but push his luck with it. Just a little.

He leaned in until his lips were almost touching her ear. “You sure about that, kitten?” he whispered, and darted out his tongue to just barely graze her earlobe.

*

Okay. That was it. End of the line for Buffy Anne Summers.

First she got all hot and bothered thinking about his cabinets, of all things. Then she went practically insane seeing him all shirtless and seductive-y while she ate her sandwich. Now he was coming on to her while they were supposed to be fighting, and since there was absolutely no chance of them ever actually consummating Buffy’s incredible lust for him, she was mad.

She pushed him away with all the cop-strength she had. He stumbled back a few feet. When the back of his legs hit the couch, he stumbled back and fell onto the leather cushions.

“AUGH! Bloody hell!” he yelped. “Jesus Christ, Summers, cut a man some slack!”

She actually felt sorry for him, but there was no way she was going to show it. “If you want me to cut you some slack, then back off,” she snapped. “I already asked you to!”

He didn’t answer audibly, though he muttered as he stood up again. She glared at him, a glare that faltered when he again began to stalk toward her. Stupid bleached wonder, why did he have to act all menace-y?

And sexy. Definitely sexy.

He halted his pacing when he was standing a mere six inches away from her. “You’re gonna regret that,” he informed her in a low (sexy) voice.

She raised her chin defiantly. “Oh yeah? Come another step near me and you’ll risk losing all your parts.” Her eyes did the flicky-thingy she’d learned from Kennedy, traveling down to his bulging pants before making their way back up to his face. She smirked.

Her smirk disappeared when he reached out and grabbed her around the waist. Yanking with surprising power, considering his injury, he pulled her flush against him.

Now that bulge was digging into her stomach. She felt wetness pool in between her legs as he stared at her with passionate eyes that, though they were far from angry, were just a little bit scary. “Now, what was that about my parts?” he asked in that same low voice.

“Um...” was all she managed to get out. God, he was so hot...

“Thought so.” His hands slid up to her shoulders, grazing her breasts ever so slightly. She moaned—and regretted it when she saw the huge grin that crossed his face. “You want this, don’t you, kitten? Want it just...as much...as I do.” His voice dropped to a whisper and he began moving toward her lips.

Her gaze was fastened on his mouth. As it descended, she closed her eyes, whispered, “Don’t want it...” and swayed into his embrace.

He stopped. Completely stopped.

She wrinkled her brow and opened her eyes. He was staring down at her, his expression one of mixed shock and hurt. “What?” she snapped, more than a little ticked that he’d ruined the romantic moment.

“You don’t want it?” he asked with a slight catch in his voice.

And that was when it happened. She blinked as she heard the vulnerability in that statement—and then she saw Spike, really saw him, for the first time.

She’d always known the bad-boy thing was just a front, but now, there was real vulnerability staring out from his eyes. She’d thought that if it ever came to this, if she ever rejected him, she’d receive the chagrin of a guy who’d never been rejected in his life. But now she just saw someone who was tired of fighting and wanted some honest kindness. Maybe even...some honest love?

Whatever. She knew what she saw, and it wasn’t the thing she’d expected. Now that the naked hurt was there, now that she knew she’d been the cause of it, all she wanted to do was kiss him until it was all better.

Why not?

She smiled kindly and reached up on her tiptoes. Closing her fingers around a handful of soft bleached curls, she finished her sentence. “No, Spike, I don’t want it...I need it,” she told him, and at that moment, their lips crashed together.

A thousand, a million sensations raced through her. She felt like she was on fire, and she felt like she was being plunged into ice. It was amazing how that one melding of lips was making her feel like she was being ripped apart, while at the same time giving her an incredible impression of finally becoming whole.

She moaned again as his tongue skimmed across her lips. She instantly opened them, plunging her tongue into his mouth even as he did the same with her.

Heat engulfed them. She couldn’t decide if she was melting or bursting into flames. All she knew was that she never wanted it to stop.

Unfortunately, they both had an annoying habit of needing to breathe. After a few minutes their lips wrench apart. Buffy leaned against him, panting, only slightly gratified to hear his heart beating wildly beneath her cheek.

There was one thought and one thought only running through her head: Oh my GOD!

He found his voice first. “So...’ve you started regretting it yet?”

Just the sound of his voice sent the lust surging through her once again. She tilted her head up and smiled flirtatiously. “You know, I think the regret hasn’t quite set in yet. Maybe you could punish me a little more?”

He growled and attacked her lips once again.

Somehow, they made it over to the couch. They fell onto it, lips still locked. Buffy felt the cool leather press against her back and Spike’s heat warming her front. She gasped at the contrast. Spike took advantage of her shock, grinding his now fully aroused groin into her hips.

He left her lips and kissed his way down her neck, eliciting sensations from Buffy that made her almost cry out in pure pleasure. “Spike...”

“Wanted you. Wanted this,” he told her in whispered tones, “Right from the first time I laid eyes on you, ‘ve wanted to have you...right...here.” His right hand, which had been wandering over her stomach, suddenly plunged downward, grazing her core.

“OhGodOhGodOhGod!” Buffy cried, arching into his caress. She felt him smile against her neck.

“D’you like that, luv?” he inquired, caressing her with a single finger. She arched into it.

“Yes,” she managed to gasp out. His wonderful, talented fingers were making her barely coherent.

“Good.” He pressed down just a little harder, making her clit throb intensely. She clutched at him. “Spike...want you now...”

“Want you too, baby,” he told her, before he planted a gentle kiss on her lips and...



Stood up and walked away!?

Buffy blinked at him, utter fury rising in her stomach. She pushed herself up, running a hand through her tousled hair, fighting to gain control of her racing body, and stolidly avoiding looking over at him.

As soon as she had control, she glanced over at him and completely lost it again.

“What the hell was that?” she screeched, coming over to him and standing in front of him with her arms placed protectively in front of her chest.

“What was what about?” Spike asked. His hair was tousled—Buffy’s fingers itched to run themselves through his hair again.

“You got me all, you know, and then you just leave!”

Ooh, now he was smirking. He was gonna get it. “’M still here, aren’t I?”

“I mean the couch and you know it,” she half-yelled. He flinched, but she ignored it. If he was going to be a big jerk, he could deal with the consequences. “Is this you trying to make me regret what I did?”

As soon as she said it, she wanted to take it back. Pure, unadulterated fury roared through his eyes. “You idiotic, half-brained chit. Have you gone completely carrot-top??

She stared at him. “How dare you,” she began in a low, deadly voice, “Accuse me of being crazy when you’re the sonofabitch who thinks he has the right to just reject me like that!” By the end of her speech, she was shouting, and he was staring at her with open shock in his eyes.

“Buffy, you don’t understand, I didn’t—“

“You kissed me and then you sprung halfway across the room. That’s rejection, you British moron!” God, how could she say these things? She saw the hurt in his eyes, the hurt she herself was causing, but still her mouth kept running, like it was on a motor or something.

“Listen, you annoying little chit, I—“ Spike stopped himself, running a hand through his already-tangled hair. “Fuck,” he muttered, before saying in a surprisingly gentle tone, “Buffy, you’re homeless. Everyone you know, including me, recently betrayed you, and you had a nasty run-in with some of your former friends.”

She couldn’t believe he was saying all that. “Well, duh, Sherlock. I kinda know all that stuff since it happened to me.”

“That’s my sodding point! You’re in a delicate emotional state, and I shouldn’t be taking advantage—“

“Delicate emontional state? Taking advantage?” Buffy repeated his words with complete and utter contempt. “Are you insane?” she yelled, waving her arms in his face.

He caught her wrists in a firm grip. His eyes met hers, and she gulped. She’d never seen such pure intensity in his eyes before. She struggled to hold his gaze when all she wanted to do was look away and hand her head in shame.

“No.”

It was a quiet, almost gentle syllable, but it rang with feeling. All of a sudden Buffy realized what she was doing, what he’d done. She realized that if she’d gone all the way with him, if she’d let him pound her into the couch until they both passed out like she’d wanted, then she would have hated herself, and him, until the end of time for it.

And she realized that in pushing himself away, he’d done more for her than anyone who came before him.

Tears brimmed in her eyes. “I—“ she began to whisper. God, she was so stupid. Stupid, and selfish, and to tell the truth, the absolute most cold-hearted jerk ever to walk the face of the earth.

She sank back down onto the couch, her eyes staring at nothing as her mind recalled the last few minutes. Spike had bared his soul to her, let her see his vulnerability, and then saved her from her impulses. And in thanks, she cruelly stomped on him.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

He sat down next to her. She felt his arms tentatively wrap around her. When she relaxed, she was instantly pulled against a hard but immensely comforting chest. Large, warm hands ran up and down her arms as she began to sob, not so much because of their fight as just because of the sheer, overwhelming emotionality of the whole stupid day.

“Shh, don’t cry,” he whispered, hugging her tight. She sniffled and burrowed into his embrace.

“I’m such a bitch.”

She felt him stiffen. When he spoke, his voice was stern. “Don’t you say that,” he ordered almost harshly. “You’ve just had a rough time of it, is all.”

“I was so mean!” she whined miserably.

His cool fingers reached under her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. “Buffy, you’re a wonderful person. You’re fiery and passionate and that’s one of the things I love about you. But it’s got a price, you know. Everything does. ‘ve got just as much fire as you do. If’ we’re gonna do this, then we’ll have to accept that when we get mad, there’ll be fireworks of the non-friendly variety. Got it?”

She stared at him. He had an ungodly gift of putting everything she was thinking about into simple words. “Um...I think so.”

He smiled and brushed her tears away from her eyes. “Good. Now, I was gonna go out to the store and grab us some grub. Wanna come?” He stood up and offered her his hand.

“Sure,” she said, and smiled a bit. Somehow, in just a few minutes, he’d made all the hurt better.

“Great.” He smiled gently and pulled her to him, giving her a chaste kiss on the forehead. “After we get back, then we’ll talk, a’right?”

“Yeah.” She smiled at him. “Thanks for being protector-guy.”

”Was my pleasure,” he informed her. He shrugged into his duster, wincing a bit, and escorted her out of the apartment.

As he drove them to the store, Buffy rested her head on his arm contentedly. She couldn’t help but wonder, though: Just what, exactly, am I getting myself into?

~*~

A/N: A bit shorter than what I usually put out, but I really couldn’t go any further without making it about thirty pages long. Hope you guys enjoyed the (mild) Spuffy :) There’s more to come, promise. Thanx to Cordykitten and Jessica for already reviewing! Feedback is, as always, greatly appreciated. Ooh, I sound all formal and grown up... ;)





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