Buffy woke with a smile on her face. She was warm and sated, her body impossibly relaxed and pain free. Well, relatively pain free, she thought to herself with an odd feeling of pride filling her chest. Her injuries from the previous evening had all but faded away, but there was still a delicious kind of ache between her legs that whispered to her of the things she and Spike had done the night before. It was nothing she couldn’t handle—more of an uncomfortable stretched feeling than anything, and certainly far less painful than what she’d felt the morning after she awoken from her night with Angel.
Sighing happily, Buffy curled herself further into the strong arms that were holding her. Yes, things had been infinitely better this time around.
Hooking one of her legs over Spike’s, Buffy watched his chest rise and fall with each unnecessary breath that he took. She loved that he’d only breathe like that when she was beside him, as though even in sleep his body was somehow attuned to hers. The minute she left his side the slow even breaths would come to a gradual stop and he’d wake soon after to see where she’d disappeared to. Just thinking about it made her smile with contentment. He was so in tuned to her—so very aware of her presence. She had to wonder how it had taken her so long to recognise his feelings for her. Even as a friend, Spike was twice the boyfriend Angel had been.
Buffy ran a hand through the soft curls of his hair, and leant over him to place a soft lingering kiss to the bare skin of his chest. Even in his sleep, he gave her a gentle squeeze in response. Who would have imagined she could ever be this happy with Spike? It was the last thing she’d ever foreseen happening when she first met him that night out behind the Bronze, and she seriously doubted the thought would have even entered Spike’s mind, not with Drusilla still filling his every waking moment.
As if compelled by the thought alone, Buffy stretched upwards placing a gentle kiss to the side of his neck, unconsciously possessive, even against a memory. Spike growled appreciatively, waking up enough to slide his arm around her more securely and turn onto his side.
“Morning, Kitten,” He mumbled, placing a sleepy kiss to the top of her head.
Buffy smiled, deliriously happy and content with the moment.
“Morning,” she replied.
Spike’s hand stroked down her side territorially, curling around her hip to rub small soothing circles into her flesh. Buffy closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of his hands against her skin and the softness of his lips against her neck. She parted her lips as he trailed kisses up her neck, accepting the slow languid kiss he greeted her with.
“S’nice,” Spike mumbled as his body began to wake up a little more.
“Mmm,” Buffy agreed, reaching out to pull her vampire’s lips back down towards hers.
Their lips never parted as Spike rolled her onto her back slowly, her legs falling open naturally to welcome him into the cradle of her hips. He entered her slowly, allowing her time to adjust to his length after their enthusiasm from the night before.
Spike brushed her hair back from her face and smiled down at her tenderly. “Alright, Love?”
Buffy nodded her response, smiling back at him as they started up a languorous pace, moving against one another slowly, allowing the sensations of their lovemaking to wash over them in rich, delicious waves.
Spike felt his climax building and looked down at the beautiful creature stretched out beneath him—her golden hair splayed out across their pillows, eyes closed, cheeks flushed, breath heavy… She was a goddess—his golden goddess. When he fell over the edge, he wanted to make sure she fell with him.
Her eyes flickered open as she sensed his gaze on her, and he found himself caught in emerald pools of emotion.
Love.
It was shining vibrantly back at him, and he could scarcely believe all that emotion was for him. The morning light only made things more real, when the frantic urgency of the night before had faded. He’d wanted her affection, yes, but deep down he hadn’t believed he’d get it. Over a century of falling just short of the mark, it was a surreal feeling knowing he’d finally made it. The weight of responsibility settled onto his shoulders unlike ever before. The knowledge that this time, for the first time, he had to protect more than his own heart made him tremble with happiness.
Spike buried his head in her neck and inhaled the scent of her skin, further embedding it into his memory as he fought to reign in his emotions.
Buffy clung to him as they both fell over the edge, her fingers sinking into the flesh of his shoulders and her legs gripped tightly around his waist, holding their bodies flush against one another.
Spike basked in the moment, no words necessary to convey the emotion flowing between them. Lying there with her as they slowly came back to themselves, Spike sent a silent thank you to Drusilla for turning him over a century ago and allowing him this moment. He’d finally made it home.
Taking a steadying breath, Xander reached a searching hand into his pocket to reassuringly touch the stake he had concealed there.
“You ready?” Oz asked in his usual manner, looking across at the taller teen as he seemingly went through the motions of preparing himself for battle. Oz couldn’t help but wonder what Xander expected to find inside the rundown demon bar. It was mid afternoon and the sun was still burning brightly in the sky. Even those demons that weren’t strictly nocturnal tended to stay underground until after dark in Sunnydale. The likelihood of them running into anything inside Willie’s, besides Willie, was almost nonexistent.
Xander nodded, and started forward. Oz followed a pace or two behind him letting Xander take the limelight he so desperately craved.
Xander slammed through the front door with a dramatic flourish sending the door crashing into the wall behind it. The bar was silent, and it took a moment for the teen’s eyes to adjust before he realised that the bar was completely deserted.
“No one’s here!”
“Let’s check out back,” Oz suggested, fighting down the amused smirk that threatened to erupt at the note of relief he’d heard in Xander’s voice.
The taller teen nodded, his stance more relaxed now that he knew he wasn’t about to be jumped at any moment.
The two teens made their way through the bar and into the small backroom. The doorknob turned easily and Xander couldn’t help but whistle lowly at the state of the small room as the door swung in on itself. Half the room was covered wall to wall in green slime, a rickety looking poker table was upended in one corner and a thin layer of ashes seemed to cover most of the floor. Someone had certainly had fun last night.
The small greasy looking man inside jumped at their sudden intrusion and spun around to face them, his hands going up in defence before he had fully registered who was standing before him. Xander couldn’t help but feel insulted at the sigh of relief the bartender gave when he realised who was standing in front of him.
“What are you kids doing in here?” Willie asked quickly, glancing over their shoulders nervously. “Don’t serve minors. Anyway, the bar doesn’t open till six.”
“Some demons have a little disagreement?” Xander asked, gesturing to the mess.
Willie looked at him sideways. “What do you want, kid?”
“Information,” Xander stated, stepping forward in what he hoped was an intimidating gesture.
Willie offered shrugged and went back to cleaning up the backroom. “Oh yeah? Not sure I can help. Don’t know much of nothing.”
“We want information on the Slayer,” Xander continued. “Anything you might have heard from the demons you get through here.”
“The Slayer?” Willie repeated as though the title was foreign to him. “Sorry. Got nothing.”
Xander snapped his hand out and grabbed the front of the bartender’s shirt. “Nice try, Greasy. What do you know?”
Willie laughed. “If you think you’re scarier than some vamp with a mouth full of pointy teeth, you’ve got another thing coming. I told you. I got nothing.”
Xander’s fist connected with Willie’s jaw sending a shockwave of pain back up the teen’s arm.
“Ouch! Oh my God, that hurt!” Xander moaned, shaking his hand out. “Shit!”
Oz rolled his eyes and stepped forward. “Listen, anything can tell us might earn you a few extra bucks on the side, you know?”
Willie eyed him with interest. “How much we talking?”
“Depends on what you’ve got to say,” the werewolf shot back. Xander looked across at the teen in confusion. They had money?
Willie pushed Xander’s hands off him, and brushed himself off. “I guess I might know a thing or two. Might even be willing to share for the right price.”
Oz pulled a fifty out of his pocket and held it up.
Willie eyed the cash greedily. “Slayer’s been a hot topic lately. Been shaking things up, she has.”
“How?” Xander cut in.
Willie clammed up and raised his eyebrows pointedly. Oz pulled out another fifty.
“Word is that she’s shacked up somewhere in Sunnydale recovering from her fight with Angelus,” Willie told them easily. “Some claim she had help of the demon variety, but I don’t buy it, not after Angelus went homicidal on her.”
“Anyone seen her around lately?” Oz asked, pulling out another fifty when Willie didn’t respond immediately.
“No one who’s telling. The demon community’s being kept on a tight leash though,” Willie responded as the money appeared.
“Any leads on where she’s staying?” Oz continued, pulling out another fifty without question.
Willie shook his head. “None.”
“Oh, come on!” Xander exclaimed when no more information was forth coming. “That answer wasn’t worth a fifty!”
Willie shrugged. “You asked, I answered. Could have offered less.”
“So basically, you think she’s in Sunnydale, but as far as you know no one has seen her and you have no idea where she could be staying?” Xander clarified.
Willie nodded.
“Great, so we’ve just blown two-hundred dollars to find out that she might be in Sunnydale! We already knew that!” Xander exploded. “Someone has been out slaying thought, right? You said that someone was keeping the demon population under control.”
Willie stared at him blankly.
“What?” Xander asked irritably, “You’re not getting anymore money; the last fifty so covers this question!”
The bartended didn’t budge.
Oz pulled out another fifty.
“I said they were being kept on a tight leash,” Willie corrected.
A beat of silence passed between them.
“That better not be it, or I swear I’ll beat you over the head with that broken chair in the corner of the room,” Xander threatened when it looked like the bartender had nothing else to say.
Willie glared at him. “The new Master of Sunnydale has put a control on local hunting and feeding.”
“Who’s the new Master?” Xander pushed.
Willie raised his eyebrows pointedly again. Xander sighed and looked across at Oz.
“Sorry, dude, I’m out of cash,” the werewolf said, shrugging apologetically.
“In that case, I can’t remember anything else,” Willie said, holding his hand out for the cash.
“Answer the last question and it’s yours,” Oz said, holding the cash back.
“Hey! I answered your questions fair and square,” Willie argued, making a grab for the money.
Xander used his added height to push the bartender back down. “And if you want your reward, you’ll answer the question.”
Willie sighed. “Spike. Once Angelus died, the claim reverted to the previous Master.”
“Great.”
It was the moments like these that Spike had fallen in love with, moments where they just were. Where the rest of the world felt like it was light years away and all that existed here on earth was the two of them. It was moments like these that he had never been able to have with Dru, who had been a whirlwind of motion, constantly moving and never able to remain still for more than a minute. That constant motion had been fun, it had been exciting and the danger had been intoxicating enough to keep him happy for over a century, but nothing—nothing—he had ever experienced in all his years of existence had ever been so addictive as the stillness he could experience with Buffy.
It was more than just being able to experience a peaceful moment together, and it was more than just being comfortable in one another’s silence. It was moments like these where they could lie there together, weak from a day spent lovemaking, and understand one another without a single word needing to be spoken.
She was spooned against him, her back pressed tightly against his chest exactly the way she had been when they had awoken almost an hour before. They hadn’t said anything, they hadn’t needed to. Instead she had just smiled gently, content to remain in his arms and laze away the afternoon as the sun crept its way across the sky.
Buffy sighed contentedly as Spike’s larger, slightly calloused hand traced the skin of her arm idly, his fingertips sliding upwards and over the curve of her shoulder before making their descent down her back to curl around her waist. Spike smiled down at her as a small sigh escaped her lips.
“Hungry?”
“Starving,” Buffy replied with a grin. “You?”
“I already ate,” he reminded her, his fingertips dipping to brush against the bite mark on her inner thigh.
Buffy moaned in remembrance and hooked her leg up over his hip to allow him better access.
“Come on. I’ll make you something,” Spike offered as he began to sit up.
“I don’t want to move,” Buffy complained, pulling him back down against her.
Spike grinned. “You have to eat.”
“Later,” She agreed.
Spike chuckled as her stomach protested loudly.
“Come on, Kitten,” he coaxed as he sat up again, this time pulling her up with him.
“Will you make me scrambled eggs?” She asked as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind.
“Anything you like, love,” he replied. “As long as I know how to make it.”
Buffy laughed. “I guess I’m lucky you’re a good cook then.”
“Too right,” Spike teased. “You’d starve without me.”
“So scrambled eggs?” She prodded.
“Scrambled eggs it is,” he agreed, slipping his jeans on as he got up from the bed. Buffy slipped off the mattress behind him and picked up his discarded shirt, slipping it over her head easily. She had to roll the sleeves up so her hands were visible under the cuff, but the sight of her in his clothing had him harder than a rock and wanting to take her straight back to bed. He’d always wondered what it would look like to see a lover dressed in his clothing. Drusilla had never indulged in that little pastime; the act had held too much intimacy.
Growling, he pulled her into him roughly, mashing their lips together with fervour.
“You look amazing.”
Buffy looked at him like he was mad. “I’ve got bed hair and I smell…”
“Of sex. Of us,” Spike agreed. “There isn’t a better smell in the world. I can smell myself all over you.”
“That’s…actually kind of hot,” Buffy replied breathlessly.
Spike shook himself. “Food first.”
Buffy grinned. “You’re determined to feed me.”
“Damn right I am,” Spike agreed. “I look after what’s mine.”
Buffy smiled up at him, stepping into the circle of his arms. “What’s yours.”