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Summer 2003

Dawn and Spike stared at the sky from the back porch of the Summers’ house. Spike had a small smile on his face as he took another drag of his cigarette.

Dawn glanced at Spike and gave a small laugh.

He looked at her.

“What is it, bit?”

“You are so Buffy’s puppy.”

Spike chuckled and grinned as he threw the cigarette to the ground.

“So she’s my bitch, then?”

Dawn giggled and Spike sighed contentedly.

“She makes me...want to write poetry, tell you the truth. But you know my skills in that area.”

Dawn shook her head in sympathy. “Don’t remind me.”

There was a beat where the cicadas held the microphone before Dawn interrupted them saying,

“Ever tried free verse?”

Spike looked at her thoughtfully, his blue eyes glinting.

/She dances with dust in moonlight,
this timid, powerful warrior.
She splashes white fire into my cold heart
when all I can offer her is a bouquet of bent backed tulips
and the silence of the clock./


--


Autumn 2003

Like most fledglings, Buffy had instinctually fought with her demonic facial features forward, and often slipped into her second face at times of high emotion. Normally, after a few years, a fledgling develops enough strength to combat decently without his/her added demon strength but since Buffy had had the advantage of her Slayer strength before she died, she rose to the level of a Master after a few short months.

In the graveyards, Spike coaxed Buffy to learn to become utterly content about her otherworldliness. He trained her as a Watcher would have. But Giles had recently left for England (not on a sour note mind you--there had been many fond goodbyes and tears and presents and the whole Bon Voyage party) because he knew he could no longer give Buffy the training she needed. He could train her light side--and had, very well, for the last few years--but the training of her demon, Giles left that up to her Sire.


--


Winter 2003

April smiled as she looked out the kitchen window, which was uncovered for once, at the Summer’s backyard.

“They still out there?” Dawn said, entering the room with her empty glass and crumb-y plate.

“Yep. It’s understandable, of course, that vampires would enjoy a cloudy day. Although standing around in the backyard does not seem to be very productive.”

Dawn nodded in agreement as she slid her plate and glass into the sink.

“Well, California’s not renowned for English weather. That’s the ‘Sunny’ in Sunnydale,” Dawn quipped off-handedly.

Just then, Buffy bounced in excitedly through the back door.

“Spike and I are going to walk downtown! During the day! Bye!”

April and Dawn watched as Buffy bounced outside again and grabbed Spike by the hand. Then they both darted off with identically huge smiles on their faces.

The android and the former Key looked at each other before simultaneously rolling their eyes.


--


Spring 2003

“Give them back!” Buffy ordered as she made a grab for them again. Spike hopped backwards, out of her reach, laughing.

She scowled, but since she was clad only in a blank tank-top and her underwear, she didn’t look nearly as threatening as she was hoping to. Spike, who was in his jeans and nothing else, just started laughing again.

She leapt toward him but he was quicker, dodging around her and hurriedly scrambling up the ladder one-handed.

Buffy growled in exasperation.

*Why, oh why, don’t I have extra clothes at his crypt?* She thought as she started up the ladder.

She didn’t give him a chance, launching herself at him before he noticed her head appear in the open trapdoor.

Scuffling ensued and the two vampires wrestled, Buffy attempting to get a hold of her pants, which Spike had commandeered and was doing a good job of holding onto.

Finally, Spike managed to roll backwards, removing him from Buffy’s line of fire. Buffy looked up from her place on the ground at the jeans that were still hostage.

Spike’s eyes went a little glassy as the sight in front of him began sparking arousal, and not just in him. They could smell each other getting worked up but neither was going to do anything about it until the other gave up. Which, by the looks of it, wasn’t happening anytime soon.

Buffy stood up slowly, breathing erratic, unneeded breaths that were making Spike harder by the minute.

“I want my pants.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

Putting an extra burst of supernatural strength into this attempt, Buffy took him by surprise and took him down. She pinned him to the floor, a hand on each of his shoulders. She was crouched over him, most of her body weight on her knees on either side of him, preventing most contact with his body save the iron grip on his shoulders.

“Give me my jeans,” she said slowly, leaning towards him.

“Don’t really see the point. They’ll be off you again in no time.”

Before she could answer with a witty retort, he had let go of her pants and jolted her hands so that they slipped off of him and onto the floor by his head. Then he quickly leaned up and captured her lips with hers.

*This never gets old* was Buffy’s last coherent thought as her knees slid more apart and sank downwards, her body melting into his.

“Told you,” Spike panted between kisses as he tugged on her panties.

“Shut up and give me /your/ pants,” Buffy giggled as she reached for the button of his jeans.





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