Chapter Four
It seemed to Spike that he'd barely closed his eyes before he was being not-so-gently shaken awake.
"Spike. Hey, man, up and at 'em." He could hear Xander saying in a tone that was entirely too chipper for early morning.
"Wutimzit?" he mumbled groggily.
"4:15."
"In the morning?" Spike nearly yelled.
Xander shushed him. "Um, yeah, that's generally the part of the day we Americans experience awakeness. So come on, rise and shine."
In a supremely mature gesture, Spike rolled over and faced the wall, yanking the covers up over his head. "Do a man a favor and sod off 'til 'bout noon."
"Suit yourself, man. If you're going to be like that, I'll just go ask Willow to get me some water out of the freezing cold well…"
Deciding he didn't know the whelp well enough to call his bluff, Spike reluctantly rolled out of bed, glaring blearily at the unbearable ponce.
"There we go. Come on, big day ahead of us, chock full of farm-fresh goodness," Xander said encouragingly. He left the basement whistling a jaunty tune.
Spike changed into his standard black shirt and jeans, which took a bit longer than usual considering it took him several attempts before realizing he was trying to shove his head through the arm hole. He stepped into his Doc Martens and trudged up the stairs. Immediately he made his way to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup, rubbing his puffy eyes. *How in the bloody hell are we supposed to work when it's not even light yet? Friggin' farmers are mad.*
He turned around to face the kitchen and finally noticed Buffy and Willow preparing breakfast. Or rather, Willow was preparing breakfast, Buffy was buttering the toast. She looked up at him, her own eyes still a little bleary and gave a small smile. "Morning."
Spike tried to reply, he truly did, but rude or not, his brain and mouth couldn't connect so early, so he was only able to force out a grunt and a nod.
"Not Morning-Guy, I see," Buffy remarked, handing him a plate of eggs, hash browns, and toast. "Eat up. You'll need it. Plus, I buttered the toast myself." She smiled, genuinely proud of herself.
He attempted a smile and plopped down on a stool at the bar, pushing his food around with a fork. Xander took the seat next to him, gobbling down his breakfast like a starving man, and talking to Willow with his mouth full.
"Um, I don't know if that's really the best thing to wear for working," said Xander, looking him up and down. "Black on black on black probably won't be all that comfortable, I'm guessing. It's kinda chilly right now, but once the sun's up, it gets pretty damn hot out there."
Spike sighed. "Well, mate, it's the only thing I've got, so I guess I'll just have to live."
"You could borrow some of my clothes," Xander offered with a shrug.
Giving him the once over, Spike curled his lip in disgust. Not only was Xander considerably taller and broader than he was, but apparently without a mirror. He wore a plaid button up shirt over his undershirt, dirty, faded jeans that were too baggy, and dilapidated old cowboy boots. "I'll be just fine, thanks." There was no thanks in his voice.
"Whatever. Just trying to help. But I really don't hate to say I told you so."
"I bet not," Spike muttered before he took another sip of his coffee.
Willow spoke up before Xander could make a comeback, wanting to dispel some of the obvious tension in the room. "Um, so…how's breakfast? Isn't the toast great? And oh, the hashbrowns…"
"It's all great Red," Spike said with a forced grin. He didn't understand how people could eat at this time. For all intents and purposes, he was still asleep. "So tell me, what is it you birds do while we're out slaving in the sun?"
"Oh, you know," Buffy said in a sing-song voice. "Eat bonbons and play with each other's hair…wait for the men folk to come back and take care of us."
"Wanna trade places, luv?" he asked with a hopeful grin.
"What, you want a man to take care of you, Spike?" she questioned cheekily.
Xander burst out laughing, spraying Spike with bits of egg.
"Well, no. 'Specially since I seem to be the only man around here..."
Xander swung his head around so fast to glare at Spike he almost got a kink in his neck. Buffy stepped in between them, clearing their plates without bothering to ask if they were finished. "Okay boys, cock fighting is still illegal in America, so play nice, will you?"
"I think you guys need some fresh air or something. Get to the chores, already. Milking: does a body good," Willow added lamely.
Both men took another chance to glare at the other, and then went out the back door, keeping plenty of space between them.
"What was all that about?" Willow wondered aloud.
Buffy shook her head and shrugged. "Don't look at me."
***
Spike and Xander crossed the dry, patchy yard to the work shed, where they suited up in huge, filthy work boots and well-worn leather gloves. When he was handed a pair of chaps, however, Spike decided he had to put his foot down.
"No way in hell am I putting these on," he spat.
Xander finished buckling up his own chaps and looked up, more than annoyed. "Are you going to fight me on everything? Because I'm seriously hoping this attitude crap is just a morning thing, or you and I are going to have some serious issues. I'm not going to beg you to do everything, man."
Spike looked down at the chaps again, then up at Xander, jaw tightening. "I'm not gonna go around lookin' like one of the ruddy Village People!"
With a roll of his eyes, Xander started outside. "Whatever. It's so not even worth it. Don't wear the chaps then. I really don't give a damn if your jeans get shot to hell, so just come on. Got miles to go before we sleep."
Spike didn't know what was making him feel like pushing the whelp's buttons.
*Oh, wait, he's a right prat, that's why. And NOT because you're jealous,* he thought. *Nope, not a lick of jealousy here.* He nodded his head in affirmation once before chucking the chaps in a corner and shuffling off after Xander.
***
After a morning of trying his hand at milking, mucking out stalls, feeding and watering stock, and a rather painful incident in the chicken coop involving a light bulb, a water hose, and a lot of broken eggs, Spike was exhausted and irritable. Their final task for the day, Xander had told him, was moving pipe. Well into the second hour of doing so in the sweltering midday sun, the two had even stopped bickering in the name of getting done as quickly as possible.
His usually gelled-back hair had gone crazy on him from the humidity and his own sweat. He had taken off his shirt only twenty minutes into the chore, hoping it would help cool him off, but he could still feel frequent drops of sweat running down his arms, face and back. Of course, there was no way he'd admit that wearing all black had been a stupid move, or that he should have just worn the stupid chaps, judging by the three large rips his jeans had acquired throughout the day.
He and Xander had fallen into a somewhat tense but efficient rhythm, disconnecting a piece of pipe, moving it twenty feet, and reconnecting it to another line of pipe. *Loads of fun, eh, Old MacDonald?* Spike asked himself. *Bugger the field. Do these crops really need water today?*
***
Willow was carrying four glasses, and trotting alongside Buffy, who was carrying a large pitcher of lemonade, as they headed out to the lower wheat field to give the boys a break.
"So Oz is going to come for a visit?" Buffy asked as they were turning the corner around the fence into the field.
"Yup! Next week. Oh, and did I tell you about the dream I had about him? See, there was this giant otter on a motorcycle..."
But just what the mobile marmoset had to do with anything, Buffy would never know. As soon as they were within eyesight of Xander and Spike, her brain could only form one thought: *Gah!*
The air seemed suddenly hotter and heavier as she caught sight of a shirtless Spike, glistening with sweat, muscles rippling as he picked up one end of a pipe and lifted it high over head. She'd never seen a body that amazing before. His pale skin contrasted perfectly with the dark shadows his muscles created as they flexed and relaxed beneath the smooth surface. He wore his jeans very low on his hips, exposing an unbelievably sexy crease in his flesh just below his abdomen.
In her open-mouthed stupor, she failed to notice a dip in the ground. Buffy stumbled and sloshed half her pitcher of lemonade down her front.
"Whoa, Buff, you okay? Might wanna try actually watching where you're going." Willow followed her gaze, catching on. "And not ogling the goodies," she added with a smirk.
Breaking out of her daze, Buffy balked and tried to wring out the hem of her shirt, which had taken the brunt of the spill, drenching her entire midsection. "Wha...ogling, I wasn't ogling anybody. That is, not that there's anybody that's ogle-worthy, 'cause hey, it's just Spike and Xander and..."
Willow cocked her head to the side and gave Buffy her "oh, come off it" face.
Buffy scowled. "Gimme a break. You're not blind, either."
The redhead just giggled. "Nope. But the difference between you and me is that I know how to put my eyeballs back in my head."
They cleaned up as much as possible and crossed the rest of the distance to the men.
"Can we offer you a bit of refreshment, gentlemen?" Willow called as they sat down in the shade of a shed on the edge of the field.
Spike look up, delighted to see Buffy, not to mention bearing lemonade. He was more than glad to have a break from the beating sun and the sole company of the whelp, whom Spike had decided possessed no redeeming qualities whatsoever. He wiped the sweat from his face with the back of his arm and followed Xander to the shed, where he flopped down next to Buffy.
As Buffy poured them all a glass, he couldn't help but notice the large wet spot on the bottom of her shirt, or the way it made the thin baby pink cotton stick to her skin and show off her gorgeously toned abdomen
*Cor, what a body.*
Buffy couldn't help but steal glances at him, either, as he lay back on his elbows, making his washboard abs even more obvious.
*Now there's a way to make laundry day a little more enticing...Dammit! Bad Buffy!*
Just as she was mentally smacking herself, her hand touched Spike's while giving him his lemonade. Their eyes met for a split second as an all too familiar shock coursed through them both. Tensing, she released the glass and looked away, noticing for the first time how very interesting the peeling paint on this particular shed was. "You boys getting along better?" she inquired.
Xander and Spike just glanced at each other and rolled their eyes. Buffy furrowed her brow. "That good, huh?" Still, neither man said anything.
"Aw, you guys can't be all with the loathing all summer! You're supposed to like each other. So do," Willow said with a pout.
They made small talk for a few minutes, until the lemonade was gone and work had to be resumed.
"Thanks for the drink, pet," Spike nodded to Buffy with a smile.
She smiled back, but lowered her head. "You should really thank Willow. She made it, thankfully. When life throws me lemons, I somehow tend to leave out the sugar."
Willow and Xander both made faces, the memory all too recent.
"Bloody hell, woman!" Spike teased. "Even my baby sister can make lemonade. And she's five!"
Buffy rolled her eyes and tried to suppress a grin at his ribbing.
"Do you even have a sister, Spike?" Willow asked.
"Well, no, but it just proves the point: even my imaginary baby sister can make lemonade." He grinned.
That earned him a smack on the chest from Buffy, who watched intently as the firm skin turned briefly white, then back to its normal color. He nearly did a victory dance when he caught her staring at his chest. He brazenly flexed every muscle in his upper body, relishing in her almost audible gulp.
Coming back to herself, Buffy hurriedly grabbed the boys' glasses and the empty pitcher and began to walk back toward the house. "You two play nice. Or else," she threatened over her shoulder. Willow followed close behind her.
"C'mon, bleach boy, we've still got about two hours of work ahead of us," Xander sighed as he stood and stretched.
Spike would have whined like a baby, but he felt suddenly energized. *Hell, if the chit looks at me like that every time I take it off, I'm never wearing a shirt again.*
***
By nine o'clock that night, Spike had made one promise to himself. *I'm never taking off my soddin' shirt again!* He hollered in pain as Buffy laid a cool wet cloth across his right shoulder, currently the color of a tomato.
"Oh, quiet down, you big baby," Buffy scolded.
"Stop trying to torture me then!"
"Hey," she said, placing her hand on her hip. "It's not my fault you're genius enough to work outside all day with no shirt and no sunscreen. Of course you got sunburnt. Now stop squirming and the cloths won't hurt as much."
Sitting in the basement on the edge of his bed after an incredibly long day with Xander, his skin stinging like mad, Spike was at least glad to have the company. He sat still as she gently placed a cool cloth over his other shoulder, but hissed loudly at the pain.
"Spike Blood…" Buffy murmured. "Vicious name for such a wimp."
"Oi!" He scowled at her. "Give a bloke a break, luv. Never had a bad burn before. Not exactly loads of sunny days in London."
"Fair enough. But please tell me that's not your real name," Buffy pleaded with a smile.
He snorted. "Does William Henry Blood, the Third suit your fancy?" he asked in a snooty accent.
She giggled and sat next to him on the bed. "So where did you get 'Spike'?"
"Back home on my school rugby team. Got tackled and some sod from the other team 'accidentally' stomped on my face. A spike from his cleat gave me this," he pointed to the prominent scar on his eyebrow and Buffy gasped, "and I gave him a crooked nose."
"Ouch," Buffy whispered with raised eyebrows. "Rough sport. I didn't know you played rugby."
"Still do, actually. Live for it. That's why I'm in the States, as a matter of fact. Got a scholarship to play for the University."
"Wow. What position do you play?"
"Lock."
"Oh, cool!" she exclaimed.
He blinked. "You like rugby? Didn't think you American birds were into it."
"Nope, don't know a thing about it. Just pretending to be interested in the name of being a good hostess," she said sweetly.
"Oh, well anything for the sake of propriety," he panned with a roll of his eyes.
Buffy grinned and batted her eyes. "So tell me, Mr. William Henry Blood, the Third, is there a reason you're in school other than sports and parties, or are you the typical young adult male?"
Spike scoffed. "One, let me say now that if I ever hear you use my full name again, I will get you."
She threw up her arms in surrender. "Right. No more William Henry Blood, the Third."
He glared, but continued. "And secondly, of course there's another reason than rugby and parties: easy American girls," he said with a smirk, touching his tongue to he back of his top teeth.
Buffy's stomach flip-flopped as she watched his mouth. She snorted in disgust, even through her smile. "You're a pig, Spike."
He opened his mouth as though about to retort, but then pursed his lips, shrugged his shoulders, and nodded in acquiescence.
She shook her head and giggled, trying to ignore the slight jealousy over the "easy American girls".
"But really, yeah, I am going to school to learn something."
"Well fancy that…What are you studying?"
He let out a long sigh, knowing full well she wasn't going to let this one go easily. "Literature, with an emphasis on Creative Writing and Poetry," he said in one breath.
As expected, Buffy burst out laughing.
"Oh, bugger off," he said defensively.
She took a calming breath. "No, that's really neat. Unexpected, maybe, but very respectable," she said with a fervent nod. "Actually, come to think of it, it kinda makes sense. When Willow first told me you were coming, she said you were a bit of a bookworm. So needless to say, I was surprised when I met you and saw the 'Rebel Without a Closet' look. Seriously, do you own anything that's not black?"
"Yeah, as a matter of fact," he rebuked as he made a face. "I have quite a collection of charcoal and midnight grey."
Buffy grabbed a bottle off his nightstand.
"So what were you expecting then, pet? Slacks, collared shirts, bowties, and bloody awful curly brown hair?"
"Yeah, pretty much," Buffy shrugged as she squirted some green goo from the bottle into her hand. "Turn," she commanded.
Spike obeyed, turning his back to her, flinching as she gingerly removed the damp cloths from his shoulders. "Then you should have known me a few years back."
"What, you weren't always into the 'Flesh For Fantasy' thing?" she teased, sitting down Indian-style behind him with the bottle between her legs. *Speaking of flesh and fantasies...* Buffy mused as she carefully rubbed the gel onto his shoulders and back, letting her hands linger longer than necessary.
"Not so much. Dressed like a bloody great prat growing up. Like my life's ambition was to be a virgin librarian. You know I actually owned four of those tweed jackets with leather on the elbows?"
She doubled up in laughter with the mental image, and Spike joined her, loving the sound of it.
Buffy's laughter subsided. "So what caused the great shift in wardrobe?"
"Long story short? My mum stopped dressing me." He was having a very hard time not leaning into Buffy's touch as she caressed his upper back with the soothing liquid. "What is that stuff, anyway?"
"After-sun lotion with aloe in it. Feels good, doesn't it?"
Spike had to bite his tongue, opting for a nod over his preferred, "Yeah, now how 'bout you take off your shirt and let me have a go."
"How d'you know so much about sunburns, anyway?" he asked.
"Well, when you're from L.A., there are lots of opportunities to get over-toasty, so you learn how to deal."
"Didn't know you were from California. I thought you were a native like Xander and Willow."
"Nope, SoCal born and raised, my friend." She squeezed more lotion into her hand and continued her "for medical purposes only" feel-up session. "Lived in L.A. until my parents split up when I was fourteen, then Mom and I moved to a town called Sunnydale. Strange little place…"
"Did you go to university, then?" he asked over his shoulder, fighting the chills running up and down his spine. It was getting harder to ignore the physical effects she was having on him.
"Yup. Good ol' UC Sunnydale. I wanted to study psychology. That's where I met Riley," she mentioned.
"You're husband? What was an Iowa boy doin' in Sunnydale?"
"He was there on a football scholarship. We met in the campus bookstore when I was a freshman, and got married exactly one year, to the day, later." Buffy suddenly closed up the bottle and wiped her hands on a towel. "All done. You can get dressed, now." She scooted to the other end of the bed, further away from Spike. She couldn't ignore the feeling of guilt at slathering down a half-naked boy while talking about her husband.
"I'd be polite and put a shirt on pet, but the fact is I can't lift my arms over my head at the moment. But go on, I'm dyin' to know how the bloke dragged you to the middle of soddin nowhere." He turned around and faced her, sitting with his legs folded comfortably beneath him.
"Oh, no, I don't want to bore you," she sighed with a shake of her head.
Spike was surprised but more than pleased at how comfortable and candid their conversation was becoming, and how genuinely interested he was in finding out more about Buffy. "No, really, I'd like to hear, if it's all right. Lord knows I could use the company. And the distraction from the sunburn," he added.
She gave him a half smile, finding that she felt more at ease talking with him than she'd thought possible. There was an openness about him that seemed to beg for honesty in return. "Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you. Here we go, the Reader's Digest version of the Summers-Finn saga."
Spike rubbed his hands together with a grin and rested his elbow on his knee, and his chin on his hand, ready for intensive listening. "Do tell, luv."
She took a deep breath, as though she were about to tell it all in one sentence. "Well, like I said, we got married really young. I was only nineteen. He was twenty. We had come out here a couple times before we tied the knot, to do the whole meet the parents deal. I loved them and this farm right away. All with the quaintness and simplicity. So not like L.A. or Sunnydale. After we got married, we stayed at UC Sunnydale, living in married student housing." Buffy shuddered and made a face as though she'd just eaten a lemon. "But the next semester, Riley's parents were killed in a car accident."
Spike didn't know what to say, so he just encouraged her to continue with a heartfelt look of sympathy.
"This place was their whole life," she said, gazing at the walls around them. "They raised Riley here. They practically raised Willow and Xander here, too. We couldn't just let it get repossessed or auctioned off or something, so we moved out here to take care of it and live the American hillbilly dream," she said with a smirk, which Spike returned.
"So Riley grew up with Red and the whelp?"
"Whelp?" she wondered with a furrowed brow.
"Xander."
"Oh, okay...But yeah, those three have been inseparable pretty much since conception. This was their second home And that didn't change when Riley and I moved in. I swear they've eaten more meals at this house than any Finn ever did. Filthy rotten moochers."
Spike chuckled.
"Nah, I love 'em to death. Riley and I are both only children, so it was like having a bunch of siblings who didn't look anything alike. Very Brady Bunch. But they've been there for me every second this past year..." she trailed off and picked at a thread coming loose from the comforter.
Not wanting to push, but very curious, Spike caught Buffy's eye and asked softly, "Can I ask how it happened?"
She took another deep breath, and he backed off. "No, nevermind. I completely understand if you don't want to talk about it."
"No, no, it's fine. I don't mind at all. It's good for me, actually. Gets easier every time. Almost exactly a year ago," she paused and took a steadying breath. "Riley was working with one of the horses out in the lower pasture while I was making dinner. Out of nowhere comes this huge summer thunderstorm. They used to be our favorite thing in the world. Whenever one would start, we would both drop whatever we were doing and cuddle up in bed to listen to the storm. So I went upstairs to our bedroom to wait for him, but when he didn't show after a while, I got worried and went to see if he was okay. I got outside and it started pouring so hard I could barely see. I finally found my way out to the pasture, but by the time I got there..." her voice caught as she blinked back tears.
Spike reached out and gently placed his hand on her knee, willing to just wait if need be. She found strength and solace in the kindness of the simple gesture and pressed on.
"The doctors told me there was nothing I could have done, that when a lightning bolt that strong hits a person directly like that, it's over in an instant. That he never even realized what happened. They said the same thing when my mom died," she whispered.
Spike's heart was breaking for Buffy. To have seen and lost so much already in her life, he had to look away to hide his misty eyes, but gave her knee an encouraging squeeze.
"It's weird, you know? They both just up and died one day. No warning, no goodbye, no chance to do anything about it. Riley and I were only married for a year and a half, and it's almost been a year since he died. They say the first year is the hardest to get through, but that it gets much easier after that."
She wiped a solitary tear from her cheek. "Eighteen days. I guess that's when some miraculous change occurs and I'm suddenly a lot more okay with being a widow at twenty-two. I dunno, maybe something will change, something will make it easier..." she said doubtfully. "My husband loved this farm so much. And for me, it's like a living, breathing memorial to him, a piece of him to keep with me and love. So for now, I'm just putting everything I've got into getting it back on its feet."
There was a pause, where each was lost in their thoughts.
"How'd your mum go?" Spike asked quietly.
"Aneurism. Complications from an operation she'd had. I was almost eighteen."
He chewed on his bottom lip. "I was sixteen when I lost my mum."
Buffy grasped the hand that was still resting on her knee. "Spike, I'm so sorry. I had no idea..." she whispered with sympathetic eyes. "I guess that means it's your turn for 'Life Story time'," she added, trying to lighten the mood a bit.
He looked at her intently for a moment. "You and I have a lot in common, actually. My dad left before I was born, so it was just me and my mum. It's odd being 'the Third' when you've never met the first or second..." he pursed his lips, trying to remind himself he wasn't bitter anymore.
"Mum was really overprotective, hence the lack of fashion sense, but I really loved her. She was all I had, and vice versa. Grew up in London, living inside of books, until one of my mates introduced me to rugby, and I was never the same again...thankfully. So when Mum died, I 'expressed' myself through some really awful poetry and getting immersed completely in rugby."
"Was your mom sick?" she questioned, her heart going out to him.
"Yeah, she'd been fighting cancer for years. Fought right up until the last day, too. Full of piss and vinegar, that one." He snorted softly and smiled, looking Buffy in the eye. "Guess you know where I get it, eh?"
She smiled back. "So that's when you became...Big Bad?" she teased.
"Big Bad, eh? Brilliant! I like it." He gave a cocky smirk. "Yeah, I guess that's when you could say I 'transitioned'," he said, making air quotes.
"Well, I bet all those easy American girls you were talking about appreciate it."
He nodded fervently. "You bet your arse they do." He waggled his eyebrows and did that damned thing with his tongue again.
Buffy rolled her eyes. "So tell me, oh great and marvelous Spike, the Chick Magnet, what does your girlfriend think about your choice of hair color. Or rather, lack thereof?" She reached a hand up to ruffle his still mussed hair, but he caught her wrist and gave a warning glare.
"One, don't touch the hair. And two, what the hell would I want with a girlfriend? Women are nutters, the lot of 'em."
She smacked his chest playfully.
"Ow!" he yelped.
"Oh, sorry!" she hissed
Spike placed his hand over the spot she'd hit him, trying to quell the stinging. "Well, if that's how you feel...Why don't you tell me, then, Buffy? What is it you look for in a man?"
She opened her mouth to reply, but quickly shut it and made a face. "You know, I've never honestly thought about it that hard. I never really had a lot of boyfriends..."
Spike found that incredibly hard to believe.
"I guess with Riley, he protected me. Comforted me, kept me grounded, you know? He kinda balanced me out. He was a lot more practical and no nonsense than I am. Very loyal and chivalrous, almost to a fault. Loved, honored, cherished - that whole thing."
He couldn't help but think how much effort it would take to try and keep Buffy grounded and no nonsense. He didn't really like the sound of it. And he had to ask; it had been gnawing at him all day. "And Xander?" Spike tried not to spit the name of the newly acquired bane of his existence.
"Oh, well Xander's...Wait, huh? What about Xander?"
"You know, what do you like about him? Why're you dating him?" he pressed, part of him not wanting to know at all.
Buffy blinked three times, then erupted with uncontrollable laughter. He looked at her, befuddled.
"What's so bleedin' funny?"
Catching her breath and clutching her side, Buffy sat straight again and sighed. "Sorry, it's just...Ew!" she giggled again. "Dating the Xan-Man? That's almost incest! This is Iowa, not Arkansas."
Spike's heart leapt in his chest and he had to sit on his hands to keep them from punching the air in triumph.
"I mean, I love Xander to death, but it's always been completely platonic." She enunciated the last part of the sentence very clearly. "And speaking of whom, I'm thinking you guys should really get over this whole macho-fest fighty thing you've got going on. It's getting old. And he really is a great guy."
Nodding his head and grinning like a madman, Spike suddenly felt an inexplicable rush of affection toward the man. "You know, I reckon me and the whelp could be best mates."
A/N: Yeah, so that was a bazillion times longer than my other chaps, so I hope it makes up at least a little for the lack of updates...And just FYI, there will finally be Spuffy smut in the next chapter! Luvs!
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thank you to those who have stuck with this story after the long break, it means so much to me. This is a WIP and I had a serious case of writer's block this last month. Which leads to a huge thank you to my beta, Flibble, without whome, I may never have conquered said block. Special thanks to Evan, my rugby playing pal for his help, and all those who have reviewed. It helps more than you know! Enjoy, and as always, I live for feedback.