But it's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.
- Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
Giles was flying high tonight. His face actually hurt from laughing.
Two weeks prior, he'd won the role of Berger in the Thorndale Public Library Theater's winter production of Hair, and they'd really hit their stride in rehearsal tonight. He and the cast had gone for a pint afterward, and though Sheila was married with children and Claude was a gay Samoan lawyer, they'd all gotten on smashingly and had quite a bit of fun.
He hadn't realized how sorely he'd missed the company of grown-ups. It had been ages since he'd spoken with anyone who didn't qualify the word "not" with "so". Well, except Spike.
But he was irritating in a multitude of other ways.
Thank goodness, Giles thought as he stuck his key in the door, Thorndale was over 40 miles away. The "Scoobies" would never be the wiser. Just so long as Buffy could keep watching Spike, and no apocalypse struck between now and January 15th...
Why were the lights off?
Giles switched on the wall sconce, tossed his keys on his desk and called her name.
No answer. Just an eerie quiet.
Her jacket was on a hanger, beside her bag and Spike's leather duster. Nothing seemed out of place... until he entered the lounge: something was draped over the television set. The television was on, but muted.
He shut it off. Lifted the black t-shirt that covered the screen -- vampires were such slobs sometimes -- then let it fall when he noticed that the Eames chair had been overturned. A brandy glass was on the floor... and was that his old smoking jacket? The one he wore to that Council costume party in 1992? He was supposed to be Hugh Hefner, but everyone thought he was Alistair Cooke, flanked by two Playboy bunnies. Pillocks.
"Spike? Are you here?"
Perhaps he'd run off and Buffy had gone after him? Or perhaps something had come here, offed Spike, and Buffy was out celebrating. A man could dream.
Beneath the jacket was an antique demon tome, open to a spread about the Sa'Q So-lat.
"Odd," Giles remarked at the coincidence. He'd recently acquired that very demon's summoning stone, with no impetus but the simple joy of hoarding artifacts that the Watcher's Council coveted. Well, that, and it was also rather fetching: iridescent, smooth, stout. He used it as a paperweight.
He glanced at his desk. The stone was still there, innocently flattening his receipts.
Closing the DAEMONS book and returning it to its rightful place, he heard a whoosh and a massive splash, followed by a frantic gasp.
Dear lord! Buffy was being drowned!
He sprinted to the bathroom, burst through the door, tripped on Spike's boot, slid across the floor and ...What?
Buffy was in the tub, yes, but she wasn't struggling. She was straddling Spike's lap, her arms around his neck, a great tuft of bubbles squashed between them and piled atop their heads.
They were laughing and kissing. By candlelight.
Had she gone stark raving mad?
"Uh oh, Daddy's home," Spike said, cheek pressed against hers.
"Shhh!" Buffy stage-whispered at Giles, her shush finger on Spike's lips. "We're in the arctic tundra, and Spike's an enemy submarine!"
"Incoming missile, prepare countermeasures..."
She giggled as he kissed her neck, and informed Giles, "He loves my zeppelin strawberry boobs."
"They're amazing," Spike said, molding a mound of suds into a cone shape. "Sweet, tasty cream puffs."
"I'm your candy girl. Wait, cream puffs are a pastry."
"You are everything sweet. And savory."
She touched his lips. "You are."
"No, you." The air thick with arousal, their mouths met again.
Calmly, Giles stepped back, closed the door, walked to his weapons chest, picked out a mace, and smashed the offending paper weight to bits.
Looking at his watch, he counted, "One. Two. Three..."
"OH MY GOD!"
"OH, COME ON!"
Giles nodded, and put the mace down.
"Get off me, you ...pig!" "Me off you? You're on me!" "What did you do? What the hell did you DO?" "Me? Ask your meddling witch friend!" "I can't believe this--"
The door slammed open, and Buffy monsooned through the living room in a towel, clothes in hand, suds and water flying in her wake. "Why does this keep happening to us?"
He shadowed her, naked. "Don't ask me! I don't remember a sodding thing!"
"Me either, and thank god for--" She got an eyeful of his substantial, glistening erection. The word glorious came to mind before she shooed it right out, shielded her eyes and threw him his pants. "Will you put some clothes on, please?"
He didn't catch the pants. He was too busy licking his lips and noticing a very distinct, highly intoxicating flavor and aroma. Wow, had he really? And if he'd done that... He squinted. "Did we...?"
He did feel knackered.
She did feel abnormally satisfied.
Though, they both craved ...strawberries and cream?
"Wipe that smirk off your face. If no one remembers, it didn't happen."
After a short pause, he said, "Yeah. Fair enough."
"Now get dressed before Giles gets home and--"
That's when she noticed Giles, standing on the staircase, wielding a crossbow.
"Oh. Hey! ...Giles." Nervous, she tightened her towel. "Been there a while?"
With Ripper-esque intensity, he kept his sights on Spike. "Quite long enough."
"Rupert." Spike couldn't get his pants up his legs. "Uh, Buffy, these aren't..."
"Oh." Redfaced, Buffy switched jeans with him. Sitting on the couch and wiggling into them under her towel, she said, "Giles, I don't know what happened. One minute I was here, fully dressed, looking at a book, and..." She pointed at Spike. "There was a demon. You knew what it was. Sucks Alot!"
"Never heard of it," Spike said, zipping up his pants.
"Sa'Q So-lat," Giles said, using the correct pronunciation, with the clicky noise. Crossbow aimed at Spike's heart, he descended the staircase with a murderous glare. "You conjured a demon so you could take advantage of Buffy."
Head popping out of her shirt's neckhole, Buffy gasped. "You did?"
"No!" Spike held his hands up as Giles got close. "Well, not in the way you think!" He bargained, "I only wanted to get my bite back, with her help -- I swear it! Something went horribly wrong! Last I remember she jumps me, then tells me I'm slathered in delicious hard candy!"
"Oh, puh-leeze! I would never say that."
"Wouldn't you?" He gave her a cocky head-tilt. "Red lollipop Santa, your favorite?"
Her eyes widened. The red lollipop Santas were her favorite.
"Just admit you've wanted me from day one, Poptart--"
"Do shut up, Spike," Giles barked, while Buffy said, "Wanted you dead! Give me that, Giles. I'll kill him."
"No, you won't," Giles kept a firm hold on it. "You'll taunt him and get him worked up."
"What? I don't do that!"
"Do, too." Concerned that Giles' finger might slip, Spike said, "Look, I won't do it again, all right? I promise! No more magic. Learned my lesson, I did. And... besides, it's your fault for leaving demon charms and facebooks about for any resident evil to get his surly mitts on!"
Heaving a sigh, Giles lowered the crossbow. Spike had a point -- such volatile ingredients in the hands of a physically powerless evil creature was a recipe for disaster. He just hadn't pegged Spike for much of a reader, or planner. Of course, if Spike had read a little further, planned a bit smarter, he could have summoned far worse. He'd also know this: "Sa'Q So-lat venom is transmitted through saliva. If there was any ...contact, you would have been infected instantaneously."
"Ha!" Spike said, excitedly accusing her. "I remember it now! You licked my tongue!"
"Oh, in your wettest dreams! You probably made me do it!"
Tuning them out, Giles put the crossbow down, sat at a bar stool, polished his glasses and fixed himself a drink.
"Oh, right," Spike was arguing, "because I'm that desperate for a snog with a chastity-belted priss like you!"
"Hey, you said it, Mister, I didn't!"
"No, see," he poked his chest, "I asked you what you wanted to do, and you said you wanted to bite me!"
Her arms fanned out. "I was high!"
"'I was high!' 'I was under a spell!' What's next? 'I was itchy'?"
"You--!" She slapped him across the face, hard. It felt good. Primly, she pulled the hem of her shirt down over her hips and announced, "I'm leaving."
"Good. Leave! I hope something eats you."
"As long as its not you," she grumbled.
"Hmph. Pretty sure it's too late for that," he licked his upper lip for emphasis, "Juicy Squirts."
Buffy turned candy apple-red as he heartily inhaled her scent. Oh. God.
Sick to her stomach, she marched up to Spike and said, teeth grit: "Nothing. Happened. Repeat after me--"
"Like I wanted anything to happen? I get my jollies killing slayers, remember? Not f--"
With eyes that could slay, she clamped a hand over his mouth. "Nothing. Happened."
He nodded, and said, words muffled against her palm, "Nothing happened."
She stepped back, took a deep, brainwashing breath, and turned away.
As the door closed behind her, she thought of a butterfly-shaped candy dish.
As he watched the door close, he thought of a U-Boat cracking a polar icecap.
* * *
EARLIER THAT NIGHT...
"Unh! Unh! Uunh!" Buffy rocked back and forth in the cool, dark ocean, a multi-tentacled sea beast having its wicked way with her. "Oh god! Oh, god, oh my fucking ghunh! Hunh! Hu-UNH! Yeah! Yeah. Yeah..."
When her body went slack at last, Spike emerged from the depths, shaking the water and butterflies off his head with a grin.
Panting, she said, "Sorry I kept you down so long this time."
He pulled her close and kissed her breathless. "I could eat you all night, Sweet Tart."
"You are so amazing," she awed, head rolling back, then forward again. "Vampires are amazing. My little undead submarine."
A scarred, wet brow shot up. "Little?"
She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Little for a submarine. Big for a... what's that thing?"
She smirked. "Periscope."
He grinned. She'd started to slide against it. "Getting bigger."
She waved her hand over the surface to peer into the depths. "It's gonna break through the candy ice."
"Uh oh. Better run, or I'll catch myself an Eskimo Pie."
Squealing, she shot to the opposite end of the tub.
He pitched his pelvis up until the tip surfaced. "Spotted. What are you gonna do?"
"Surrender," she replied with a glint in her eye, and leaned in to lick it, coil her tongue around it.
He tremored, and reached out to touch her golden-honey hair, disturbing some of the phosphorescent butterflies. For the hundredth time that night, he congratulated himself for summoning that demon. "Best plan I ever botched."
She raised her head. "The plan! I forgot about the plan. What did you want me to do first?"
"Later, Candy Cane." He slid his thumb over her cheek. "First we brave the Arctic Seas and find your favorite lolly in the North Pole."
One corner of her mouth turning up, she squeezed his cock. "Found it."
Exactly what he hoped she'd say... and do.
"Fuck..." Spike's neck hit the lip of the tub, and he settled in for another first-rate blow job. That, plus the sweet taste of Slayer on his tongue, and the Northern Lights dancing in the ceilingless sky above?
Stick a cig between his teeth, and he'd get religion.
He watched that starry light show for what could have been an hour, could have been a minute, all while being worshiped by her eager mouth and hands, and being cradled by the ocean's gentle lapping waves.
Misty-eyed, he proclaimed, "This is the greatest night of my entire unlife."
"Mm mmn," she said, in lieu of me too. No candy on earth could compare to the yumminess of Spike. Not even the lollipop Santas. She had to stop to tell him so.
He laughed. "Come sit on Santa's lap."
Happy to oblige, she floated into his arms and poised herself over his lap. Traded nibbling kisses with him while he teased his cock against her slick, open pussy.
"Now. What would little Buffy like for Christmas?"
"You." She touched his cool, shiny chest. "Forever and ever."
"Yeah?" He ran the back of his hand down her collarbone. "I don't know, love. I don't think you've been naughty enough..."
"I am too naughty," she insisted, and sat on the tip of his cock to prove it.
"Hohh..." Religion. There it was.
Her eyelashes fluttered, and she breathed out three times before whispering, "Wow..."
She clutched his shoulders. He clutched her ass, but didn't push.
Stars and butterflies and Pixy Stix dust burst all around their heads as she slowly sank down.
Spike stared at her, wonderstruck. This was like sliding his cock into a warm, somehow airtight, fresh-baked cream puff. A cream puff shaped like a golden-skinned snowbunny with ripe strawberries at the end of her pert tits...
Could this possibly be real? He hoped to Hell it was.
At the bottom of the ocean, Buffy stilled, savoring the sensation. He filled her up so well, fit just right, and it all made perfect sense now: He was what she'd been missing all along.
Yes. It all made perfect sense now: She was what he'd been missing all along.
They stared at one another, hair billowing in the deep blue sea, and she began to move.
It was everything he'd imagined, and more. At the top of each rise, she'd contract her interior muscles, suctioning the tip of his cock. At the base of each fall, she'd open up, and coat him with warm, sweet honey.
Buffy was elated. Maybe it was his shape, or maybe she hadn't learned how good this position could be, but the head of his cock was massaging a sweet spot on every upstroke.
At each downstroke, he held her fast and thrust his pelvis up to meet hers, spearing her center and forcing a gush of silken seawater over her clitoris.
She wasn't sure what was more exquisite: up or down. Good thing she could keep doing both. Forever, if she wanted. Here at the bottom of the sea. And why would she ever want to come up for air?
Why would he?
Candy-colored fish darted past their heads. Soft seaweed enveloped them, tethering them to one another and the ocean floor, and all the while, they danced a slow motion duet.
She mouthed his name. He mouthed hers. Lost in this faraway sea of desire, this haze of ignorant bliss, Buffy and Spike found each other.
Their eyes met, and they kissed, deeper than ever before.
Lips fused, tongues mingling, they danced this way, in suspended animation, for an eternity. Oblivious to the world around them, all they could feel was euphoria; all they could hear were their own moans and sighs. It was the most thrilling experience either one of them had ever known.
Buffy wasn't sure if she was about to come, or if she had already, or if she was coming at the moment, but any one of those things were fine by her. As long as she could keep feeling this way, cradled and stimulated by water and colors and seaweed and Spike...
Spike, on the other hand, knew that they were both approaching a climax they may never recover from. And he was ready to face it.
Breath quickening, hands grasping, bodies thrashing, they tore away from their restraints, rose up out of the depths, broke the surface... and kissed the sky.
Buffy got there first, and inadvertently squeezed him to his peak. A kaleidoscope of lights swirled around them, transporting them through space and time and dimensions, windows upon windows into worlds they were never meant to see...
They were both a little hoarse when they finally stopped shouting, both a little bruised when they relaxed their entangled limbs.
"Oh, my god," Buffy breathed, searching his stunned expression. "Did you see that?"
"All the dimensions?" At her nod, he nodded, too. "Alternate realities, future, past... Like dying, only..."
"...without the death part," she finished his sentence. "I saw you burn."
She made a face. "I saw us married."
"Me, too. Three kids." He frowned at the memory, "And a bunny..."
She saw the bunny, too. "That was weird."
That said, when the powers that be sent her messages, Buffy had learned it was best to listen. "We're supposed to be together, aren't we?"
"I think so."
She smiled, feeling surprisingly okay with that. At least she knew she'd be having fun. "This better not be the one where you burn."
"Nah," he said. "Couldn't be me. Too noble."
"True," she said. "You're gonna have to stay evil."
"Done," he said, pulled her close, and nipped at her neck.
"Guess you'll have to change me."
"Mmm," he breathed in her blood's irresistible scent. "The second I can. You can count on it."
She looked down at their joined laps. "Where'd all the water go?"
They were sitting in about five inches of water. He cast a glance at the shiny floor. "That way."
She pouted. "All the bubbles are gone, too."
Spike reached behind him, turned on the faucet, and grabbed the shampoo. "One fresh bubble bath, coming right up."
They kissed as the tub filled again, this time with a huge, fizzy layer of bubbles. Not snow. "Did the haze wear off? I feel like it wore off."
"Maybe. Maybe all that interdimensional rifting shorted a fuse."
"Or the mind-blowing orgasm did."
"Yeah, that was my euphemism."
She splashed him, chuckling. "Too bad. It was kind of fun, playing vampire submarine with you."
He slid a finger into her. "Don't need a haze for that, Eskimo Pie."
Head rolling back, she moaned. "I think I'll miss the sweet talk most of all."
"Oh, Buffy..." he whispered, working his fingers into a steady rhythm. "You're my cream puff, with cherry charm lips 'n... strawberry tits... and... you're perfect."
"Even though I don't have... mmmnh... 'zeppelin-sized' boobs?"
Before his eyes, her perky B-cups inflated to twin Hindenburgs and bounced on the snowy water. "Oh, the humanity."
"Why are you licking the bubbles?"
"'S'where the strawberries are."
One strawberry floated to the surface. Then another. "Oh. Strawberries and cream."
Buffy was delighted to find that the haze wasn't gone, after all. It was just resting.
Spike stopped fingering her to wrap her giant breasts around his cock.
"What are you doing?" she said, swatting him on the head. "You're so freaky deaky."
He gave her an arrogant smirk. "You love it."
She straddled his lap. "How do you know I love it?"
"Because we belong together, you and I. Like strawberries and cream."
She smiled, biting her lip.
"And I'm in love with you," he confessed.
Buffy's smile fell as she met his surprisingly heartfelt gaze. Oh. She opened her mouth, but didn't know what to say.
"It's all right," he assured her, eyes warm. "Some day you'll tell me."
"I know I will," she whispered, and kissed him with all she could give.
And a little hip shimmy that she couldn't control.
When they broke apart, he breathed in and said, "Enemy sub approaching."
She shrugged. "I'm not afraid. It's made of candy."
"How will you know for sure," he said, voice soft and reedy, "'less you taste it?"
"Good point." Buffy submerged to deep-throat him, and came up, gasping for air. "I'm not a very good vampire yet. You'll have to teach me how to stay under."
"It's easy." He breathed in to demonstrate. "Deep breath, and..."
She took in a long, deep breath, and pinched her nose.
He grinned, and yanked her swiftly by the ankles. "Down we go..."