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Author's Chapter Notes:
The half-forgotten song lyric Spike sings is a line from "Once More With Feeling."
The song Buffy has in her head is "Gett Off" written by Prince.
Buffy knew she should not be picking her way through his cemetery. At the very least she should change out of the dress. Spike would know everything, he'd smell it. Maybe that's what she wanted after all; to be found out finally. To be known.


Spike was sitting in his television chair with an acoustic guitar across his lap. The instrument was one of Harmony's finds. She'd eaten a busker and thought they might be able to sell the guitar for a little petty cash, at least he thought that's what she said. Never listened very closely when she'd go off on a tear.

If Sid Vicious could teach himself to play in one night, Spike reasoned he ought to be able to do it in half the time. Highly attuned vampire senses and all that.

“I think this line is mostly filler,” he sang under his breath as he tried to pluck out a half-forgotten tune.

Then he sensed her, heels sinking in the earth, skirt rustling against her thighs; the silk whispered to him, chanted his name. And the scent. Her skin was awash in a chemical garden that he could feel buzzing in his back teeth. Fucking chip. There was another smell, too, one that turned the handle of the guitar he was holding into splinters.

Spike stood up and threw the instrument against the stone wall of his crypt. It shattered just as Buffy walked through the door. She jumped. He made The Slayer jump.

“Bad time?” she asked.

No snark. Huh.

“No, love, I was finished practicing,” he said.

“So, when will I see you and your pile of garbage at Carnegie Hall?”

There it was.

“Date not go so well, or very well?”

“What, I didn't. It wasn't a date,” Buffy said.

“Well you sure reek of another man. Could smell the flop sweat and the Polo Sport pouring off you before you made it past the threshold,” Spike said.

Buffy looked at the shiny, silver purse she was holding. It was shaped like a puffer fish on a string.

“I danced with a boy at the Bronze,” she said.

Her embarrassment got Spike's attention. He moved toward her slowly. She sounded like a little girl who'd just been caught at something naughty.

“You like it, dancing with him?”

“It was nice. He was nice. We used to have a class together,” she said, still focused on her bag, her hands, anything but his eyes.

“Make you laugh, did he?” Spike asked. His voice had gotten lower, and he took another step toward her.

“He did.”

Spike took another step.

“S'why you let him kiss you, shared the laugh, thought you might have something in common, didn't you?” He asked.

He sounded almost sympathetic.

Spike took another step. He was so close, within arm's reach.

“I did, I kissed him,” Buffy said.

Spike ran his cold fingers across her clavicle.

“What did you feel?” he asked, his voice held quiet menace and his nostrils flared.

Buffy finally met his eyes.

“What did you feel, pet?” he asked.

“Nothing, just alone,” she said.

He stroked the hollow of her throat with one hand while he took her waist with the other.

“And you want me to make you feel something, because I'm the only thing who can anymore, that right?”
He added an emphasis to the word, thing.

She couldn't even say yes, she only nodded.

He smirked at her and continued lightly touching her chest.

“You look so beautiful tonight, frock really suits you. Should buy one in every color,” Spike said.

He fingered the tie at the back of her neck. It was ticklishly thrilling.

“Can't afford it,” Buffy said.
He leaned in close to her ear.

“Shame, that. I'm gonna make you feel everything, make you scream, and the only thing I want in return is to be the last man ever to see you in this dress,” Spike said.

Buffy froze. This was the moment that their whatever-it-was, had always been leading to. He was going to kill her. He was going to kill her and she was going to let him because of all the things she'd done that night, this was the only thing that felt remotely real.

Spike grabbed a handful of her hair and bent Buffy's head back. He licked her neck and then kissed her open mouth. She closed her eyes. Then Spike tore her dress off like, well like a Peter Paul's Almond Joy.

Let me show you, baby, I’m a talented boy.

One minute she was sure she was dying, the next she was acting out smutty Prince lyrics with her mortal enemy. God her existence had become so strange; she didn't even like Spike. She didn’t even like Prince. Although, at that moment both of them seemed entirely appropriate.

Buffy was standing in front of him naked save for her black panties and matching, muddy heels. It was almost perfection. Who was he kidding, the dirt made her better. The blue dress had parted and she'd emerged as if from deep, churning waters; his Aphrodite. The grave clinging to her shoes made her Buffy.

The dress was a bright rag, forgotten like ticker tape after the parade, streamers after the party. The panties followed and then he was lifting her up.

Buffy draped her legs around his shoulders and dug one filthy stiletto heel into his back. He groaned happily into her beautiful, flower-like, flowery cunt. He was working his fingers inside her, and she could feel the cold bite of his skull ring, the stupid ring he’d given her when they were fake-engaged. Now that he really loved her that moment felt even more remote, Buffy thought.

The real thing hurt for both of them, but at the moment it felt so good. His tongue was pulsing against her clit and his fingers were moving in concert, moving inside her. Her torso bowed over his head and her blonde hair spilled over her face, tickling the nape of his neck. She was gripping the back of his head so tight and he didn’t have to stop to breathe; one of the other perks of vampire sex besides the super-duper, gravity-defying strength.

She came, and then slowly dripped down his body until her heels were hooked behind his head, she was folded almost in half and they were face to face. He kissed her lips with her taste all over him. Marked.

Then they were on the stone floor and he was driving into her. Buffy didn't know where his clothes went, they were just gone and she was sandwiched between cold and hard on both sides. Spike roared. He was holding her crossed ankles, then her legs were involuntarily acting like a springboard and he was flying across the crypt.

Something broke, but it wasn't either of them, so they kept going.

He made her scream and moan. She returned in kind. At some point she chipped one of his teeth and then watched it grow back while she was bouncing in his lap. Like time-lapse photography. He was eagerly lapping along the length of her skinned shins, but then they were kissing, but then they were falling asleep and light was burning through the cracks in the crypt door.

Light. Daylight.

Buffy had to get to work, but at least Dawn was still with Tara, right? All she needed was to find her...her clothes were thrashed. Like they'd been through a thrasher thrashed. This would be an epic walk of shame.

Buffy crawled over Spike's sprawled body and retrieved the tatters of her magical, perfect dress. Yesterday she'd thrown away $99.97 on nothing; today she was on her hands and knees cradling less than nothing. It was all because of a monster created by another monster to love her.

Dawnie was eating Ramen noodles and they couldn't even afford the brand name mac 'n cheese. What the hell had she been thinking? She hadn't, just reacting, just existing.

Spike woke up to the sound of Buffy sobbing.





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