DISCLAIMER: Buffy, Spike and all things related to the BtVS series belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and many others who, sadly, are not me. This fiction is not intended to infringe upon the copyrights of those owners, I’m simply borrowing the characters to take them on a nice smutty romp and share the idea with others. :-)

RATING: NC-17 for Spuffy smut.

A/N & Summary: One of my favorite episodes of Buffy, even with the majorly dark undertone and that damned Spike abuse at the end, is "Dead Things." Because I so dislike the ending of the episode I’m rewriting it so that it goes the way I want. We start with the balcony scene at the Bronze (with a few creative liberties taken with the scene) and go to the cemetery the following night with Buffy going to Spike’s crypt (for reasons I will have Buffy go into with some angst), just like things went in the actual episode. I come in and take us all into 'the way it should have been' dreamland' by writing over Joss’s work at the moment when I have Buffy still be there when Spike opens the door.

I'm thrilled to announce that this fic has been nominated for "Best Episode Stealer" at the Love's Last Glimpse awards - http://www.loveslastglimpse.com/awards/index.html Great Spuffy fanfiction award site, be sure to check it out and thanks for the nomination!

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He’s here.

Somewhere among all the happy shiny people she can only pretend and remember how to be now, he’s here.

Her slayer senses tell her it’s a vampire lurking among the shadows. Her body tells her it’s Spike and from those shadows he’s watching her. Knowing her every thought as she watches her friends have fun around her.

The refill she’d been waiting for no longer held any appeal to Buffy and she leaves her empty cup on the bar to make her way up the stairs to the Bronze’s balcony. There weren’t many people up here tonight she was glad to see as two people pushed their way down the stairs while she moved up off the last step then over to the railing.

With a sigh she folded her arms over the metal bar and looked down over the crowd on the dance floor. Her green eyes found her friends among the strangers moving mindlessly to the music playing and a small part of her was envious as she watched Anya, Willow and Xander doing their own silly movements to the song. They were having fun and in a world of their own, oblivious to the people around them who might look at them and laugh at the old fashioned moves the trio made to the swing music.

Just like they were oblivious to her. To what they had done by bringing her back. To what she had to do now to feel anything remotely like the happiness she saw them feeling as they ignored the everything but each other and just danced for the sheer fun of it.

Had she so perfected the mask she wore that those three people who supposedly knew her so well knew nothing about what she was going through?

"You see," she’d been so lost in her thoughts she’d forgotten to expect him, "you try to be with them," she fought to control her breathing, to show no outward sign of reaction as he moved closer, "but you always end up in the dark," she felt him right behind her, his ever present erection pressing against her ass and his scent of leather and tobacco and darkness and Spike threatened to overwhelm her senses, "with me."

Dear God, what kind of sick joke was being played on her that he had to be the only one who really saw her now? Who understood and seemed to care and know and be there? Why was he the only one she felt anything real with?

She hated him in that moment. For knowing her better than her friends did. For knowing about the darkness and making her crave it so much as she tried in vain to deny that just the sound of his voice, the feel of his undead body and the combination of scents that was distinctly him were making the thong she wore sopping wet. That her heart was fluttering with needs and emotions in her chest just because she was near him.

"What would they think of you," he continued to torment her with that voice and words that fell like salt in the gaping wounds she’d been trying to deal with since being pulled from Heaven, "if they found out all the things you’ve done?" he placed his cold rough hand on her shoulder then ran it gently down her arm leaving every inch he touched tingling with life and sensations she so desperately needed to feel.

Like they’d believe a word of it, she thought as she looked down at her dancing friends. They could look up right now and not have a clue. If they even saw Spike behind her they’d probably make excuses for it. For her. Everyone made excuses for her now.

Everyone but him.

Damn him.

And damn that hand that wasn’t stopping it’s downward decent, she thought with a shuddering sigh escaping her at his touch.

"If they knew who you really were?"

That’s one thing he has to be wrong about and she prayed Tara would give her the proof to make him see she wasn’t a demon regardless of what that damned chip indicated. She just couldn’t be evil like him. She still fought the good fight and did normal human things. She wasn’t a demon.

Even if she felt like one.

"Don’t," she makes a weak attempt as protest as his hand glides down over her hip and thigh.

"Stop me," he countered knowing she wouldn’t.

She wanted to, somewhere inside she wanted to, but she couldn’t.

And as his fingers curled under the hem of her skirt and began dragging the fabric upward she knows why she can’t.

Because she wanted this more than she wanted to obey her inner voice of reason and deny or protest or fight it.

She’d known, or maybe just hoped, that he would be here tonight, stalking her as he still did and she’d been waiting for it. She’d worn the skirt and flimsy thong for it. She’d been moist all night anticipating it.

Her eyelids fell shut and she hoped that his insight into her character didn’t make those facts obvious to him.

It was one thing to allow this to happen, she knew as she heard his zipper rasp downward and felt him push the thin barrier of cloth covering her pussy aside to bury himself inside her with one hard, sudden thrust without any preliminaries aside from making sure she was wet for him, but for her to anticipate and prepare for it? That was wrong on so many more levels than her just letting him have his way with her.

Her hands grip the railing before her hard, her body instinctively beginning to undulate against his and she curses the gasp of pleasure that escaped her at feeling his cool, thick cock driven deeper into her wet heat than she’d ever had anything go.

He was angry at her, it was clear in the way he was doing this. Part of him hated it as much as she did, but she never dwelled on that thought because it gave them more common ground to share and there was too much of that now as it was.

"No," he orders his tone cold and controlled, "don’t close your eyes,” he commands as she began to do just that. "Look at them."

Damn him, she thinks again as she obeys without hesitation and opens her eyes. Through the passion beginning to fog her gaze she looks down on her friends and watches them continue dancing unaware of her presence and activities in the shadows above.

"That’s not your world," he confirms what she already knows and part of her stubbornly clings to the argument that it had been her world not that long ago and always would be no matter what she went through. "You belong in the shadows," she held her breath knowing what he would say next and prepared every internal denial she’d been working on for so long now to combat the words, "with me."

Oh, God, she prays silently as Spike’s thrusts and whispered words in her ear are making her body quiver and her breath hitch in her throat, let that just be wishful thinking on his part. Give me some sign that it isn’t true. Tell me my heart isn’t pounding and my blood boiling with agreement at that statement. Please, just don’t let it be true.

"Look at your friend," the vampire behind her continued to taunt in time with his cock’s movements inside her, "and tell me," he thrust into her a bit harder with those three words, "you don’t love getting away with this," her mouth twitched over the words to deny his statement, but she feared she’d been given the sign she’d prayed for when nothing but gasps and more labored breaths of pleasure escape her parted lips, "right under their noses."

That’s not what it’s about, her mind protests as she watches the trio dancing on on the dance floor below, getting away with it, pulling one over on them has nothing to do with it. Not really. It’s about feeling. Making me feel again.

Because this is the only time she feels anything she likes feeling. In these moments that he’s inside her she felt so many things they overwhelmed her – cold and hot, empty and so full, needy and satiated. She doesn’t feel the anger or hatred or guilt or shame or bitterness or envy or sense of loss and confusion she feels when she’s around them trying to be normal and knowing inside she’s failing even if her friends are too oblivious to see it.

"Tell me," the devil has not finished tormenting her with his words, "that you don’t love this."

All at once she knows she can do that and she moistens her pink glossed lips with her tongue then turns to look at him over her shoulder. His face is right in hers when she does so, his stunning blue eyes looking straight into her green one and his lush lips so close to her she’s tempted to forget about speaking and just devour that mouth with her own.

"I don’t," she manages to say quietly and with enough conviction that he believes her and stops his thrusts. "I don’t love it, but," she moves one hand from the railing and slides it back behind her to clutch at his denim covered hip and keep him inside her when he begins to pull out, thinking her to be rejecting him, "I need it."

He freezes with his only half his length inside her and looks at her with a hint of uncertainty that she hadn’t seen in his eyes since their first time - that moment she’d surprised them both by fucking him instead of continuing to try beating him senseless in that abandoned house.

"I need it," she repeats in little more than a whisper as she clenches her muscles around his cock and uses the squeezing wet warmth of her cunt lure him back in case the words fail to do the job.

"That’ll do," he says quietly to himself and she knows the words weren’t meant to reach her ears even though they had.

His hips slam forward again, the metal teeth of his zipper leaving tiny impressions on the soft skin of her thighs as he holds himself still for a moment to relish the sensation and knowledge that she had finally conceded something to him by acknowledging a need.

She moans and her eyes drift shut once more at the sensation, but again, after taking time himself to savor the feelings, he orders her to open them.

"No, look at me," he commands when she automatically returned her gaze to the floor below after opening her eyes.

Despite the crick she feels forming in her neck from the way she has to twist to keep her attention on his face, Buffy obeys and watches him as he grips the rail in front of them on either side of her body and begins thrusting harder. She latches onto the metal bar’s support, as well, to be able to meet his thrusts and watches the way his jaw clenches every time he drives his cock inside her. Watches the way his eyes are darkening with lust and need and hunger and the love she can sometimes believe he really feels for her as they look deeply back at her without any of the barriers she feels the need to erect against him. Watches the way his lips and nostrils move to take in unnecessary breaths as he pushes them both on to the ecstasy they only find together.

Unable to resist she again licks her lips, this time in a silent plea that he kiss her, and Spike quickly presses his mouth against hers. His kiss is hungry, consuming and still just a bit angry, causing his lips to grind down on hers in a way that would make them swell and bruise later.

And she loved that. Loved when his actions were so desperate or hungry or needy or passionate that they marked her with bruises or scrapes or sometimes cuts. The hurts lingered and the fact that she felt the sting of pain from them proved she was alive and somewhat normal.

What was she becoming, she wondered at her thoughts as he tears his mouth away and begins moving it down her neck.

As his lips bite and suck at the sensitive skin along the side of her throat and her body clenches uncontrollably around him at the exquisite touches, she wonders if perhaps the correct phrasing of the question should be what had she become?

His climax was fast approaching, she knew, when he worked his right hand down into the front of her skirt and underwear to shove his fingers through her moist curls and find her engorged clit. He almost always made her come first no matter how much she didn’t want to come at all because the way she lost her control of her body to him was just too much. There had only been two occasions where he’d allowed himself to come first and both those times had been her fault. She’d been in control and determined to make him lose his. Memories of those times made her feel hollow and cold, so she shook them off firmly and focused on the present. On the fullness and heat she felt right then as he drove his length into her and worked the sensitive nub of nerves between her legs to drive her into the welcoming oblivion of orgasmic bliss.

When his mouth moved from her neck to her shoulder and she felt the sting of his blunt teeth against her skin through the barrier of her top she did something that would stun them both later when they thought of it without the blinding haze of desire disrupting their normal trains of thought.

Though she was moaning and gasping in delight from his fingers plucking at her clit and the tip of his cock pounding against her womb on every inward thrust she needed more to make her climax this time. Without really realizing it she raised a hand to push the fabric of her white shirt aside to bare her shoulder to his teeth and breathlessly ordered him to bite her.

She whimpered protestingly at the feel of his blunt teeth nipping harshly at the tanned flesh, only making faint impressions on her skin rather than breaking the surface, and after a second’s hesitation as he considered the meaning of that noise she made he vamped out and gave her what she was really needing. Spike’s hand flew up to cover her mouth and stifle the scream that escaped her lips as the brief stinging pain of his fangs entering the soft back of her shoulder followed by the unbearably erotic sensation of him draining the blood from her body sent her careening into the most intense orgasm she’d ever had.

She must have blacked out a bit from it because the next thing she was consciously aware of was his arms wrapped lovingly around her waist, holding her slightly limp body up, as his tongue slowly licked over the two tiny puncture wounds in her otherwise flawless skin.

"You could have killed me," Buffy was so stunned by the stupidity of her request in those frantic moments before climaxing that she felt a bit faint.

"Never," he said firmly and whipped her around in his embrace so she couldn’t escape his open, honest and piercing stare. "Push me all you want, I still could never kill you now."

"Because of this?" she falls back on scorn to try and change the emotion in his gaze to anger.

"No, Buffy," a steely glint of determination mixes with the love she sees, but there’s no anger at her words, "because I love you."

Unable to maintain eye contact she looked away with a slight gulp of emotions she refused to acknowledge or define and in doing so noticed that Anya, Willow and Xander were no longer on the dance floor below.

Reading her mind or body language or both as only he could, Spike quietly straightened her clothing with a lingering touch over her shoulder.

"All right, then," he stepped away and straightened his pants. "All good and proper looking again. Lipstick’s a bit smudged," he raised a hand and roughly scrubbed her kiss swollen lips clean of any makeup with his thumb. "Off you go to play normal for your Scoobies."

Without responding to the taunting in his tone she turned to make her way down the stairs, pausing with a slight gasp after one step as she felt a trickle of their combined come run down her inner thigh.

"Next time you … ‘need it,’" he said quietly from behind her, "you know where to find me."

Her head snapped around with some unformed threat on her lips in response to his callous offer, but her mouth snapped shut in surprise when she saw nothing there when she turned.

With an adeptness he’d long ago mastered he’d vanished without a trace knowing his words would ‘put her knickers in a knot,’ as he would say, and he’d left before she could retaliate.

She couldn’t sense him anywhere in the Bronze with her anymore and she hated that a slightly disappointed sigh escaped her at the realization.

Double damn him.

Unlife was bloody good tonight, Spike thought as he ducked the fledgling’s punch, used the attempted blow to get the other vampire turned around then tore it’s head off with his bare hands.

He could still feel Buffy’s blood running through his body, supercharging ever cell of his being and practically making him vibrate with a new kind of power. He’d only taken a sip, just enough to fulfill her request for a bite and satisfy his craving for a taste, but her being the slayer made even that as potent as draining every ounce of the ruby red from a normal human.

Leaving behind the dusty remnants of the fanged young man he’d found rising from it’s grave on a sweep of the cemetery Spike continued to search the darkened grounds for more things to kill, more ways to work off all this bloody energy.

A little devil was whispering in his ear to go back to the source of that energy and shag her until neither of them could walk for days, but he was definitely waiting for her to make the next move.

She needed it.

Wasn’t a return of the love he felt, but as a lot of that love was need for him too, it was a bloody victory for him to hear that much from her lips.

Those lips, he felt his cock harden and rise in his jeans and chucked the kill things idea to relieve the tension.

Entering his crypt a few minutes later he fished out his lighter, hopped down to the lower level and lit a few candles to cast some light into the dark chamber. With fond memories at how they got there he sidestepped the broken glass and scattered items on the floor to remove his duster and lay it over the sarcophagus before moving to sit on the bed. He lit a few more candles on the bedside table then removed his boots and black tee.

Leaving his jeans on he settled back on the bed reclining against the headboard and surveying the crypt with a self-satisfied smirk.

When she let go of all her little denials and moral dilemmas, his Buffy truly was an animal. More raw and passionate than he ever would have dreamed.

In his fantasies before actually having her he’d imagined her being a bossy little bit in bed, riding him all hard and angry and controlled because ‘it was wrong’ what they were doing, but not stopping it until he did that ‘popping like warm champagne’ thing she’d boasted she could make him do so long ago. Other dreams had had him controlling her, the whimpering and still somewhat innocent slayer mindless beneath him with desire and obeying his every command until she came screaming his name and her love for him. Most of the fantasies, though, had been of making love to her as he had thought she’d want. All soft candlelight and romantic music and roses and loving kisses and caresses that brought them both to gentle climaxes that seized their bodies slowly and wrung light pants and moans from her lips. Things the bloody poof she still seemed to love so damned much would have done for her.

Reality had been a thousand times sweeter and he carefully opened his jeans to pull out his hard cock and stroke it as the memories began playing in his head. His dry hand encircled the base of his equally dry shaft then moved roughly up to the tip as he remembered sinking into her wet heat the first time.

They’d gone from beating and punishing each other with insults to kissing hard and deep so fast his head had swum with all the things she always made him feel. He remembered just kissing her with all the anger and passion and love and hate he felt for her as he leant back against a wall in that crumbling house with her legs locked around his waist like a vise and his hands filled to overflowing with a hot, writhing Slayer. Then suddenly her hand had somehow worked itself between their tightly pressed bodies to tear open his pants and guide him into her hole with her hot little fingers wrapped around his cock.

He remembered her grunting little breath at feeling him there for the first time, stretching her little cunny wide and deep to take him all. Remembered the unbearably tight clasp of her muscles shuddering along his length as she rode him. Remembered the look in her eyes - the surprise, pleasure, fulfillment, need, fear, uncertainty and, though she may deny forever, love - as she slowly adjusted to his cock then began riding it. Remembered how he had wondered then if he was dreaming, if he’d wake up from the moment calling out her name and his love for her with come soaking his sheets from another vivid, but all too empty fantasy. Remembered kissing her slowly, hesitantly as their bodies easily found a rhythm in moving together that was so bloody natural. Remembered the way her blood had been pumping and racing through her body, just beneath skin he was finally able to touch and taste and it had been the hardest thing he’d ever done to resist the demon inside him that had screamed for him to sink his fangs into that flesh and take that rich hot liquid into his cold body.

He had resisted, though, and his patience had paid off tonight, he thought as his hand spread the precum leaking from his slit over the rest of his cock to speed up his stroking. In his mind the cool lubrication became her hot slick juices coating his length and he began thrusting into his hand harder and harder as he imagined it’s tight grip being her core.

Finally he allowed the newest and most vivid memories to overwhelm him. Her green eyes clear and steady as they looked into his and her soft shining lips tell him that she needs what he gives her. What only he can or will give her. Those lips pressed hard and hungry against his as he drives into her from behind, feeling her half bared ass against him as he greedily takes all she offers. Her letting him do it to her right there in public where they could be caught by her pathetic little friends or a complete stranger who wandered up on the balcony with them and realized what they were doing despite the way he’d tried to conceal their joined bodies from prying eyes with his coat.

“Bite me. Please.”

Shouting out her name now as he had been unable to when she made the request he released himself with rapid, rough jerks of his hand milking the copious liquid from his length, wondered if she realized yet that she had said ‘please’ and remembered the taste of her blood.

Blood she’d given to him. Begged him to take and taste.

Blood that now tied them together in ways his little slayer would duck and cover from, but some day she’d know what it meant. Know that it started a link forming between them that all her denials would never break. Know that she had made the request because she loved him and wanted only him as her mate. Her love.

She’d know it.

And soon.

~*~*~

Alone in her bedroom, in a home that felt so empty even though she and Willow were in it tonight while Dawn slept over at Janice’s, Buffy sat on the edge of her bed wearing her robe and staring at the white shirt in her hands.

How could they not have seen them? she wondered, unable to take her gaze from the two tiny, but glaringly obvious bloodstains on the fabric. Two tiny little dots of blood set about three inches apart. Dots identical to the bite mark on her shoulder that the shirt had been covering to get the stains.

And they hadn’t seen them.

She’d stuck out another hour with them, even joining them on the dance floor and managing a few genuine laughs at her attempts to mimic their goofy dance moves. Sixty minutes for Anya to notice and comment about the bite or the air of satisfaction that always surrounded Buffy after even the coldest, most passionless fucking with Spike like the time in the alley behind that horrible place she worked. 3600 seconds during which Willow and Xander could have – should have – noticed the traces of blood and started with the major wiggins about there being blood on her shirt and how did blood get on her shirt like that and why did that mark responsible for the stain look a lot like a vampire’s bite.

But in all of that time her ‘friends’ hadn’t seen the stains. Just more proof that they didn’t see her anymore.

Why was she fighting so hard to cling to them? To what she’d been before?

All it brought her was pain and uncertainty like she’d never felt before. The inner debate between what she had been before dying and what she was now after being brought back was tearing her in two.

Why was she even bothering?

That Buffy had died. There was still a tombstone in the cemetery that bore the proof of that.

All she got for trying to go back to who she’d been or pretend that that was still her was feelings she didn’t need to deal with. She felt so alone, ashamed, confused, hurt, isolated, cold, guilty and wrong for being the only thing she could be now after having known Heaven and pure peace then been torn from that to come back to … this.

She would never be able to make them understand it.

There was only one person in all that she knew who even had a clue.

Letting the shirt she held fall forgotten to the floor she laid back on the bed and let her thoughts drift to the only place they felt … anything.

Spike.

He had earned that name through acts of pure evil against innocent people who’d been foolish enough to venture into his path while he was letting his demon play. He still earned it by using that demon to take out his own kind. Fighting at her side for so long now she couldn’t remember him not being there with her.

For her.

She remembered his eyes when he realized it was really her walking down the steps that first horrible night back. He’d been stunned and utterly awestruck and the love she’d felt directed toward her still had the power to steal her breath. He hadn’t been happy, though. He’d known, in that very first instant, that things weren’t the same as they had been. That she should have been left wherever fate had taken her after death. He had loved her and part of her had believed it since he first made the declaration, despite the rather obsessive and unhealthy moment he’d chosen. Despite that love, though, unlike the others he had let her go. He’d been the only one to grieve for her, but know and accept that she was really gone.

He’d viewed it as the greatest failure on his part.

Her dying.

“I want you to know I did save you,” she remembered the moment in his crypt would he had confessed that to her. “Not when it counted, of course, but … after that. Every night after that. I’d see it all again do something different. Faster or more clever, you know? Dozens of times, lots of different ways … Every night I save you.”

147 nights he had put himself through that kind of torment, she thought with a tear slipping from the corner of her eyes.

Was it really so wrong to need him?

She raised a hand to brush the moisture from her face and after doing so found the hand unconsciously drifting to her shoulder.

Her first reaction to the feel of the puncture wounds under her fingertips was how stupid she had been, how he so easily could have gone for her jugular and killed her, but that reaction was crushed by the memory of him stating that he could never do that.

The old Buffy inside tried to call her a fool for believing that for a second, but she lacked any real conviction as even she could not deny that he had meant it. He had vowed it and, regardless of the cost to himself, Spike continued to prove that he would keep his promises to her.

She laid there for a long time staring up at the dark ceiling and aching to go to him, but all he’d give her now was the physical release she needed.

She wanted to be able to go to him like she had when she’d first come back. Go to him to just talk and be comforted by his listening or offering some slightly painful truth that made her strike out at him to pretend that the words hadn’t been accurate and just what she needed to hear.

A few kisses that she just couldn’t stop herself from having and that connection seemed to have been lost.

And, God, did she need it right now.

But, then again, what good would it do to still have him as her confidant when he was the very thing she so desperately needed someone to confide in about. She couldn’t tell him all these things inside that scared her so much. He’d put his own spin on them all to tighten his hold on her.

Laying alone in the darkness, feeling empty and lost and alone, she wondered why the hell that would be so wrong. She lo-liked the hold he had on her. She needed it. She wasn’t alive without it – just barely surviving in a world she almost hated now.

Finally, thankfully, that train of thought – thinking of his hold on her – led her to thinking of him holding her and much more pleasant thoughts.

Well, she corrected herself with a sad little smile, not always pleasant, but at least satisfying.

Wanting to focus on something that just then she deliberately called forward the memory of a just last night in his crypt. Not the memory of handcuffing him to the bed and watching the pleasure with which he submitted control to her or of after that when she had allowed their positions to be reversed despite her declaration of never trusting him. Her mind drifted further back to the moment they had collapsed to the floor after slamming each other into surface after surface trying to get the upper hand and drive each other to yet another mind-blowing, bone-melting, argument ending orgasm.

Her hand drifted down her body, parting the robe she wore, as she remembered the driving, mindless thrusts of his cock inside her in that moment before collapsing. Her fingers slid between her legs, which parted as easily for the digits as they did for the man – vampire, she corrected firmly – she thought of.

She imagined she could still feel him buried inside her as her fingers tried to fill the void left in his absence.

Those fingers moved slowly in and out as she remembered the way they had broken apart to lay limply under his carpet and try desperately to draw breath into their lungs. At moments like that she loved that unlike other vampires – like Angel a voice whispered somewhere inside her, but it was squashed furiously by the thoughts of Spike she needed just then – he hadn’t lost the habit of breathing even though his lungs had long ago stopped working or needing the oxygen. His labored breaths allowed her to forget that he wasn’t a normal guy who it was ok for her to do those things with and love.

Her fingers froze inside her then slowly pulled out as eyes she didn’t remember closing suddenly opened wide in horror.

She had NOT just thought that word, she closed the robe around her and leapt from the bed to pace her room. She did NOT … that word … him. She couldn’t.

The loosened garment she wore began to slide down off her shoulders at her distressed movements and suddenly she stopped dead in her tracks as she caught the reflection in her mirror. Detachedly she watched the reflection, as if it were someone other than herself looking back at her, lift a hand to caress the bite mark just visible to her at the angle she stood facing the mirror.

Why couldn’t she? a tiny little voice inside asked as she traced the mark of each fang with gentle fingers.

Because it’s wrong, the old Buffy inside screamed self-righteously. He’s not a man or a lover or a friend to you. He’s nothing but a demon, a danger, a dead, evil, soulless thing. That bite isn’t the mark of someone you could love, it’s the bite of an animal.

Those last two words snapped her attention sharply away from the mirror and she yanked the robe up to cover her body then fled to the bathroom.

After turning on the faucets and starting a shower she threw off the robe and leapt into the tub without giving the water time to heat up. The initial cold sinking into her flesh from the showerhead made her think fondly of the way Spike’s body sometimes felt against hers then the water began to warm and she remembered painfully why she was in there.

Picking up her bath sponge and lathering it up with soap she started scrubbing furiously at the bite on her shoulder, as if she could erase it’s presence on her body or memory that easily. When the skin there was too raw to continue bearing such treatment she turned the punishment to the rest of her body until it was all red and raw and the water was again running cold over her shuddering frame.

When she turned the faucets back off and stumbled out of the tub to begin toweling her body dry she knew that damned old Buffy inside had won again.

She felt empty and cold to the core.

Yet again wondering why she kept putting herself through these inner battles and torments she put her robe back on then returned to her bedroom.

Tired like she always seemed to be when she was alone she curled up in her bed, on top of the blankets, and tried to shut off all thoughts and just sleep.

It wasn’t until her right hand curled over her left shoulder, with her fingers once again touching Spike’s bite, though, that she succeeded in getting rest that night.

A/N: Once again there’s music serving as inspiration to my writing and I use one of the songs I’ve been listening to in this and the next chapter. The song is Michelle Branch’s “I’d Rather Be In Love” from her “The Spirit Room” CD. Song lyrics found in // //

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“Tara,” Buffy looked up from the cash register to greet her next customer and was surprised to see the familiar Wiccan standing before her.

“I thought I might catch you here,” Tara said quietly while tucking her hair behind her ear like she’d been caught doing something wrong.

“You have news?” when the other woman nodded shyly Buffy turned to her manager, “I’m taking my break now.”

The Slayer gladly took off her stupid cap and fluffed her short hair before moving from behind the counter to lead the young woman back to the table they’d sat at just yesterday.

Had that really been all the time that had passed, she wondered as they sat down, one day?

“I wasn’t expecting to hear back from you for a few days yet,” she hated that she actually felt nervous about what she was about to hear.

“There really w-w-wasn’t much to it. I just double-checked everything we did and that h-happened and,” she smiled reassuringly, “there’s nothing wrong with you.”

Ok, Buffy sighed inwardly and accepted that news. She’d been expecting to hear it.

Hadn’t she?

“Then why can Spike … hurt me?” the million dollar question was finally asked aloud.

“Well, I said that there was nothing ‘wrong’ with you, but,” Tara paused and Buffy knew she wouldn’t like this but, “you are different. Shifting you out of … f-from w-where you were, funneling your essence back into your body … i-it, it altered you on a basic molecular level. P-probably just enough to confuse the sensors or whatever in Spike’s chip. But it’s all just surfacey physical stuff. You’re still you, Buffy. The difference wouldn’t have any more effect on you than … than a bad sunburn,” she smiled with a bit of satisfaction at her conclusions.

With eyes that no longer saw anything, Buffy sat there and continued to look at the girl across the table from her.

She wasn’t in shock, she told herself. She’d known all this before Tara had … just confirmed all her fears.

Breathing … her chest started rising and falling more rapidly as she forcibly remembered she needed to breathe. She sensed the Wiccan growing tense with worry and concern across from her, knew that the girl was saying something more to her, but she couldn’t hear anything.

Her body wasn’t working right now.

Her mind was too focused on one thing for it to worry about the little things like breathing or listening or trying to slow her suddenly rapid heartbeat.

“You are different.”

“Buffy,” Tara was suddenly reaching across the table to grab her shoulders and shake her firmly.

“I didn’t come back wrong,” she said dazedly, half hoping she’d heard wrong.

“No,” Tara sat back and smiled reassuringly to try and cheer her up, “you’re the same Buffy,” her tone got a bit lighter. “With a deep tropical cellular tan.”

She shifted her stunned gaze to the table they sat at for a silent moment then whispered without looking up, “You must have missed something. Will you check again?”

“Buffy,” her tone had Buffy looking up, “I promise, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

But there has to be, she protested silently as her eyes continued to dart around looking at nothing. Has to be something wrong with her. Why else did she …

“Oh God, no,” she whispered aloud as a single word from her thoughts last night reappeared and she feared she had the answer to that unspoken question.

“Buffy, w-what’s w-wrong?”

“I have to go home,” she told the other woman before rising to go tell her boss the same thing.

“Buffy,” Tara said to announce that she had been waiting for her, “t-talk to me. W-what’s going on?”

“I,” Buffy looked at the witch then away, “I can’t talk about it. Not,” her green eyes pled for understanding as they met Tara’s, “not yet.”

“W-when you’re ready you c-can t-talk to me i-if you w-want and wh-whatever it is, I’m sure it will be ok.”

“I hope so,” she said under her breath before wrapping her arms around her waist and turning to walk home. “Tara,” she turned back for just a moment to face the other woman, “thank you.”

~*~*~

Her bedroom was dark when she awoke from the nap she’d found herself needing desperately when she arrived home and part of her wanted to call everything she remembered of her day upon waking a dream, but she still wore the uniform she’d fallen asleep in and knew it had really happened.

Rolling off the mattress she moved to pull some clean clothes from her closet and dresser then made her way to the bathroom to wash the grease from work out of her hair.

When she stepped back into the hallway in blue jeans and a black mock turtleneck a bit later she felt better physically, but her mind was still so jumbled she doubted she could tell left from right or up from down. All the showers in the world weren’t going to help her with the realizations she was coming to about herself.

Suddenly the sound of music coming from Willow’s room reached her ears and caught her attention as she recognized the song. It was one of the kind of sad, slow rock songs that her friend had been listening to a lot since her breakup with Tara, but the lyrics caught at Buffy as she listened to them, unmoving just outside the bathroom.

//I cannot help it, I couldn’t stop it if I tried//
//The same old heartbeat fills the emptiness I have inside//
//And I’ve heard that you can’t fight love, so I won’t complain//
//’Cause why would I stop the fire that keeps me going on?//
//’Cause when there’s you, I feel whole//
//And there’s no better feeling in the world//
//But without you I’m alone//
//And I’d rather be in love with you//
//Turn out the lights now//
//To see is to believe//
//I just want you near me//
//I just want you here with me//
//And I’d give up everything only for you//
//It’s the least that I could do//
//’Cause when there’s you, I feel whole//
//And there’s no better feeling in the world//
//But without you I’m alone//
//And I’d rather be in love with you//
//And I feel you holding me//
//Why are we afraid to be in love?//
//To be loved//
//I can’t explain it//
//I know it’d tough to be loved//
//And I feel you holding me//

“Buffy?”

She was so lost in thoughts brought on by the music that it took Willow repeating her name two more times for her to fully realize the redhead was there trying to talk to her.

“Are you ok?”

“I think I will be,” she said quietly, not really focusing on her friend.

“Tara called about your having a bad day at work,” Willow was looking at her with concern. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I can’t yet. There’s something I’ve gotta do.”

“Buffy,” the redhead reached out to stop her when she turned to go to her room and get ready to go out, “if something were wrong, you’d tell me wouldn’t you?”

“There’s nothing wrong,” and with a sudden certainty she knew that wasn’t just some empty reassurance for her friend.

It was the truth.

“There’s nothing wrong,” she smiled and gave Willow a hug. “I’ll try and explain it all when I get back.”

“You coming back tonight?”

“It’ll probably be late, so don’t wait up. We’ll talk tomorrow,” she promised then paused again before going to her room. “That song … the CD … can I borrow it?”

Her friend blinked in surprise at the request then nodded and said slowly, “Yeah, sure.”

~*~*~

No pun intended, but this place was dead tonight, Buffy thought as she walked through the cemetery with a trusty stake ready to dust vamps but she was finding none.

Guess nothing was going to let her put this off any longer. With a sigh she made her way slowly to Spike’s crypt.

She could so this, she told herself as she arrived at her destination and went to the door.

And just stood there.

He was in there probably waiting for her to show up for another tumble as he called it. That wasn’t what she was there for tonight, though, and she didn’t know how to proceed.

Usually she just stormed in like she owned the place, but she couldn’t do that this time.

She raised a hand to knock on the wood, but found she couldn’t do that either. With another sigh she leaned against the barrier between her and him and placed her hand against it, feeling suddenly like it was an insurmountable barrier.

Was she really ready to do this? Did she really even know what she was doing?

As she stood there wondering that she began to sense him on the other side of the door.

She waited breathlessly for the entrance to be whipped open by him, but it stayed closed even though she knew he was there and he knew she was there.

Was he as nervous as she was?

Her gloved hand caressed the wood between them and wished it away even as she was grateful for it’s presence.

What if she couldn’t tell him?

What if he wouldn’t listen?

What if it didn’t change anything?

Then suddenly she found her gloved hand pressed against Spike’s bare chest as he stood in the now opened doorway wearing his black jeans and an unbuttoned black shirt.

She looked up hesitantly and found his piercing blue eyes looking right back at her and knew this was it.

No more ‘what ifs.’

It was show time.

“Bit bundled up for a slap and tickle,” Spike leant casually against the doorframe as he slowly ran his gaze over her, smirking at the layers of clothing that covered her completely from the neck down.

“I’m here to talk,” her eyes darted from him to the crypt behind him in a silent request to come in.

Surprised again, as he had been when he sensed her presence outside his crypt moments before opening the door, by her not just barging in like she always did he stepped to the side and waved for her to enter.

“What little speech have you prepared this time, luv?” he asked sarcastically as he shut the door and went to pick up the glass of blood he’d been preparing to drink before her arrival. “This gonna be more whining about how you think ‘I’m beneath you,’ ‘it’s wrong,’ or ‘we can’t do this anymore?’”

“Why do you love me?”

He nearly spit out the blood he’d taken a gulp of when he paused to give her a chance to start her little diatribe.

“Come again,” he said after a moment as he put down his glass.

“I’ve never been good to you. We always only seem to hurt each other and I still have no idea how I manage to actually hurt you being that you have no soul and your heart is dead, but I know I do hurt you. And that you do love me,” she looked at him with a genuine need to know in her eyes. “Why?”

“Dunno. Just do,” he moved toward her with a slight frown. “What brought this on?”

“I’m not a demon. I didn’t come back wrong,” she looked around for a place to sit then sat down. “I had Tara check the spell and all and she told me. There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m just different enough after … everything to confuse the chip.”

“I’d imagine that news would have you doing cartwheels,” he stood before her and looked down at her uncertainly. “Why aren’t you?”

“Because it means this is me,” she looked at him then away. “All this that I’ve been doing and feeling since coming back is really me. What I, Buffy Anne Summers, have been doing and feeling.”

“Truth hurts, dunnit?” he said callously.

“Denial hurts more,” she looked up into his eyes with something in her gaze that made him go still. “The whole time I’ve been back, a part of me has been denying everything. That I was really in Heaven, that I’m actually back from it. That any of this is real or matters. I’ve been telling myself that somehow I can just pick up right where I left off when I died and denying that this is where I left off. I was disconnecting from it all before I died. I think that’s what made it so easy to jump. And I’ve been trying to hide all that. Making excuses for everything I’m doing and now I can’t anymore. I didn’t come back wrong. This is me and I can’t deny that anymore. I don’t want to. It hurts too much.”

“What’s that mean then?” he fished a cigarette out of his pocket and looked around for his lighter just for something to do with his hands.

“I’m still not completely sure,” she rose and stopped him from lighting the fag when he found his lighter. “That’s why I need a real answer from you. Why do you love me?”

“Because I can't do anything else anymore,” he looked into her eyes hoping that would be answer enough.

“The chip doesn’t work. You can kill me. You can go back to hating me and being evil and kill me.”

“Don’t want to.”

“Why don’t you? It’s still in you. I know it is. Sometimes when we’re together I feel your hate for me. Sometimes when we fight I know how close you come to not pulling back on a punch that would kill me. There’s nothing to stop you now so why don’t you?”

“I stop me,” he whispered and raised his hands to stroke her face. “I lived one hundred and forty-eight days in this world with you dead and gone from it. Knowing I’d failed you. Remembering the way you looked lying there so still and lifeless when you’ve always been the most vibrant and beautiful bloody creature I’ve ever seen. I’ll never go through that again. I’ll walk nude into a sunrise before ever trying to really harm you or ever letting you die again. I don’t hate you, luv. I hate myself for loving you. I hate the bleeding chip in my head that’s made me such a bloody wanker. I hate that you’re ashamed of what we have even though I don’t exactly wanna go bragging to my brethren that I love the bloody Slayer, but I haven’t hated you for a long time now. I’m angry as hell at you when we fight, but I’ll always pull those punches. Loving you started as a bleeding nightmare for me. Literally. Had this really good dream where you were kissing me like there was no tomorrow and nothing on earth you wanted more than me then it turned into a bloody nightmare when the wanker playing me in the dream said he loved you. And I woke up to find the nightmare was just beginning because it was true. I’ve fought it, I’ve denied it, I’ve hated it, but from that moment I’ve never once stopped feeling it. I love you, Buffy, but I can’t tell you why. Part me had no bloody idea and the rest doesn’t even know where to bloody begin or how to find the right damned words.”

“I was listening to a song before coming here,” she surprised him by changing the subject. “Well, I wasn’t really listening to it. Willow was and I just kind of heard it from her room, but I knew the song. I think … Tonight’s the first time I ever actually listened to it and I really heard the lyrics and they ...,” she looked away from him to dug a CD from her coat pocket, “have you still got that stereo downstairs?”

Wondering how the hell they went from him pouring his bloody heart out about how he loved her to her asking about a bloody radio he just nodded slowly to let her know that he still had it.

“Let’s go there then,” she moved to the hole he’d left uncovered between the crypt’s two levels and quickly disappeared below without even checking to see if he followed.

After nervously lighting his cigarette and taking a few puffs before tossing the fag aside with a sigh of disgust he leapt down through the opening to land with a slight grunt on the hard ground of the posh lower level of his crypt.

He saw her standing at the small battery operated boom box on a sarcophagus near the bed, fiddling with the controls with a slight frown on her face. Just as he was about to offer some assistance she smiled a bit and turned up the volume as she apparently found the track on the disc she’d been looking for.

“I want you to listen to this,” she turned to order before removing her coat and lying it next to the stereo. “Listen closely,” she looked him in the eyes and said when she sensed he was going to make some snarky comment about the song, “to the lyrics.”

//I cannot help it, I couldn’t stop it if I tried//
//The same old heartbeat fills the emptiness I have inside//
//And I’ve heard that you can’t fight love, so I won’t complain//
//’Cause why would I stop the fire that keeps me going on?//
//’Cause when there’s you, I feel whole//
//And there’s no better feeling in the world//
//But without you I’m alone//
//And I’d rather be in love with you//

“You tryin’ to tell me something, pet?” he moved toward her cautiously and asked cockily to try covering the hope he felt blossoming inside him as he heard what the song was saying.

“Yes,” she placed her still gloved hands on his chest then slid them under his arms and around his back until she was hugging him.

//Turn out the lights now//
//To see is to believe//
//I just want you near me//
//I just want you here with me//

“That really what you want?” he hesitantly placed one hand on the nape of her neck and the other on her back.

“Yes.”

//And I’d give up everything only for you//
//It’s the least that I could do//
//’Cause when there’s you, I feel whole//
//And there’s no better feeling in the world//
//But without you I’m alone//
//And I’d rather be in love with you//
//And I feel you holding me//

They both tightened their holds on each other with the last line and Buffy pressed a kiss against his bare chest.

//Why are we afraid to be in love?//
//To be loved//
//I can’t explain it//
//I know it’d tough to be loved//

“I’m not afraid anymore,” she pressed another kiss against his skin, not daring to look up as she said the words.

“You sure about that,” he had to know and tipped her head back to look into her eyes for the answer.

“Yes.”

“You sure about this,” his eyes shifted from hers to her lips then to their bodies pressed so closely together then back to meet her gaze.

“Yes,” she moved one of her hands from behind him and used her teeth to get the glove off then placed her warm palm against his cheek. “Show me that you love me.”

For a moment he froze at the request, not really knowing what to do with it.

She was asking to be made love to, like he’d often thought she would. She finally wanted the soft music, candlelight and flowers in the background as he kissed and caressed her slowly and lovingly in a physical demonstration of the things he, as a soulless vampire, shouldn’t be feeling. He’d imagined doing just that often enough, but now that the opportunity was presenting itself he wondered if he could pull it off.

“Spike,” she whispered as his hesitation caused her to stiffen with doubts and remove her hand from his face.

He looked into her suddenly nervous eyes and grabbed the hand to press it to his lips, knowing in that moment that he could do anything she ever asked of him.

“Don’t scare me like that again,” she sighed at the feel of his lips on her skin then slid her hand free of his to move into his hair and bring their lips together.

“Thought I was supposed to be showing you, luv,” he whispered against her lips as he grew hard smelling her arousal and feeling her so close.

“You don’t expect me to just lay back and let you do all the work, do you?” she smiled up at him and he smiled back as he raised his hands to pull the scrunchie from her hair and begin playing with the short strands.

“Perish that thought,” he tangled his fingers in her hair and kissed her closed, smiling lips softly.

She gave a little sigh and parted those lips, inviting him inside her hot mouth and it was an invitation he couldn’t resist. He took his time parting his own lips to allow his tongue to venture forward and touch hers, waiting for her to press herself closer and whimper a bit before he deepened the kiss that much. Her hand at his back dug into the firm muscle there as their tongues met almost shyly in her mouth and he could feel in her the hunger for more – right now - that they always felt after going more than an hour or two without each other, but this time he wasn’t giving in to that hunger.

They both needed this to be more than sex this time.

When they broke apart so she could breathe he looked down to find her lips wet from their kiss and trembling with emotion at every breath she took and he couldn’t resist diving back in for quick, hard kiss to stop that little quiver. There was a gleam in her eyes as he pulled away again and he could feel her hardened nipples against his chest, again it was almost enough to make him forget the ‘making love’ idea until later.

Maybe after the fourth or fifth time when they’d taken a bit of the edge off their hunger with some wildly uncontrolled screwing, he thought with his own eyes becoming more lust filled.

Suddenly the new song playing reached his ears and he looked away from Buffy to frown at the stereo where the female singer was now going on about saying goodbye to her lover or someone or something.

“That’s not exactly a seductive tune,” he turned back to her with an arched eyebrow and crooked smile. “Trying to tell me something else?”

“No,” Buffy denied quickly with her eyes wide at the very thought. “No saying goodbye,” she assured as she heard the lyrics herself, “not by me.”

“I think that’s enough of,” he moved to the radio and picked up the CD case next to it, “Michelle Branch then,” he read the artist’s name before stopping the music.

“Yeah. Definitely,” she gave him a little smile then looked down at her hands which were suddenly fidgeting in front of her. “I really only wanted you to hear the one song ‘cause … you know,” she noticed she still had a glove on and occupied herself with slowly removing it.

“Yeah,” he returned to stand in front of her and run his hands over the black turtleneck she wore, “I know. Couldn’t work up the courage to actually say you loved me so you picked a little ditty to do it for you.”

“I worked up the courage,” she argued breathlessly as he began gently tugging the shirt from the jeans she’d tucked it into.

“I’ve not heard the words,” he paused with his hands on her stomach under the top he’d just worked free of her pants.

“Wasn’t the song enough?”

“Coward,” he couldn’t help but smile at her as he let the matter slide in favor of removing her shirt.

“Am not,” she argued with a pout of her lush lower lip after the turtleneck was pulled over her head and dropped to the floor.

Without getting into the childish little spat she now seemed to be wanting he quietly turned her around the stood staring at the dips and curves of her back, the deceptive daintiness of her lightly toned muscles and finally settling his gaze on the bite mark on her left shoulder.

“Do you regret it?” he whispered into her ear before placing his lips against the puncture wounds and sliding his hands around her waist.

“I tried to,” she tipped her head to the right and pressed herself back against him, “I couldn’t.”

“Did you really want to?” he skimmed his hands up over her stomach and ribs to cup her firm little tits and roll her nipples between his thumb and forefingers.

“No,” she moaned and began grinding her ass against his cock until he had to lower his hands to her hips to still the movements or give up all hope of keeping this under control.

“Patience, luv,” he sank his blunt teeth lightly into her earlobe and flicked his tongue over the small stud earring she wore.

Her arms lifted to wrap around his neck, arching her back and thrusting her breasts forward as her fingers sank into his hair to hold his head against her when he moved his lips down the side of her throat.

“If I wanted to bite you here,” his blunt teeth nipped at her jugular, “would you let me?”

He was testing his limits and when she stilled at his question he bit back a sigh as he assumed he’d managed to cross a line like he always did.

But she surprised him by removing her arms from around his neck to turn and look him in the eye as she said quietly, “Yes,” before tipping her head to the side to give him access to her life’s blood.

When he bent his head to nuzzle his lips against her throat she didn’t tense with any kind of fear at being bitten, even though he was still in human façade, and she moaned then arched toward him to encourage him to take what he wanted.

“This,” he nipped the skin under his lips then straightened to look into her eyes, “is why I love you.” He ran his hands over her hair then allowed his fingers to stroked slowly over her exquisite features. “No half measures,” his fingers skated down the column of her neck. “Whether you’re kicking my ass or shagging my brains out, you do it with all you’ve got.”

“Only with you,” she began moving backward toward the bed pulling him along with her grip on the edges of his opened shirt. “You’re the only one who sees me,” the backs of her legs hit the edge of the mattress and she sank down on it while pushing the material from his torso. “All of me,” she gripped his shoulders and laid back on the bed, bringing him down on top of her, “and doesn’t look away. Run away,” her arms wrapped around his waist with her hands clutching at the cool firm skin at his back almost desperately. “Promise me,” he looked and found a hint of tears in her stormy green eyes, “you’ll never run away.”

“The only way,” he held her head still so she could not look away from his intense blue gaze even if she wanted to, “I will ever leave you is death and I haven’t lived this bloody long to die anytime soon. I love you, Buffy,” his lips touched hers briefly, “and I swear I will never run away from you.”

“You even try to break that promise,” she said with a grave expression as she rolled him onto his back and straddled him, “and I’ll turn you into Mr. Big Pile O’ Dust before you even have time to blink.”

“That’s my Slayer,” he cupped her denim covered ass in his hands with a satisfied grin them moved his palms up her spine to bring her face down to his.

“Yes,” she looked into his eyes before their lips met, “this is your Slayer. Never forget that just because I love you I still can’t or won’t kick your tight, edible little ass.”

“Edible?” the word was muffled by her lips.

“Yes and I should know. I’ve bitten it,” she pulled back and they exchanged smiles. “Are we done talking yet?”

“Almost,” he flipped her onto her back and began kissing his way down her body, “just say it again.”

“I love you, Spike,” she arched as his fingers unbuttoned the button at the waist of her jeans then grasped the zipper tab.

“Spike,” Buffy whimpered as his fingers released the zipper tab and he circled her navel with his tongue, “don’t stop.”

“Not planning to, luv,” he licked across her waist, tracing the skin above her pants.

“Spike,” she groaned and grabbed at him when he moved away after a moment.

“Boots, Buffy,” he sat up and raised one of her feet to unzip the black ankle boot she wore, “gotta go.”

“Oh,” she smiled with a bit of relief and listened to the shoe thud to the floor when he removed it.

The second one quickly followed then she watched him bend forward to work open the laces of his own boots to remove them as well. Each flex and ripple of muscle at his shoulders as he tugged at the shoes intrigued her and, unable to resist, she sat up behind him to slide her arms around his waist. He froze, probably as surprised as she by her actions, when her lips and tongue began touching those muscles and her hands stroked over his washboard abs.

After a moment he realized she wasn’t going to stop and went back to yanking his boots off. The way his body moved and shifted against hers at the simple task was far too arousing for her, but instead of freaking her out like it once might have – enjoying a simple thing with Spike? Getting turned on by it? Eek. Yikes, soulless evil undead vampire there. The Slayer can’t enjoy just being with him while he takes off his stupid shoes – she loved it. She loved him and this and she’d admitted it, stopped denying it so she could actually just shut inner Buffy the hell up and enjoy anything with him she darn well pleased.

Warmth flowed through her entire being at that thought and she tightened her arms around him with a smile.

Happiness. Pure joy.

She’d thought she’d never feel that again. Was having one hell of a time trying to remember the last time she’d ever felt it.

“Buffy,” Spike was looking at her with gentle concern over his shoulder as his hands rested atop hers on his stomach, “ok?”

“Buffy,” she pressed her smiling lips against his neck and twined her fingers through his, “very ok. Buffy,” her lips moved up to whisper against his ear, “in love. Buffy,” she sucked his earlobe into her mouth and moved their joined hands up over his chest, “need Spike.”

“Going cavegirl on me, eh?” he smiled before rising to turn and press her back onto the bed. “Sexy.”

“Not really. Actually happened to me once. Had some bad beer and went all Neanderthal Buffy - sniffing guys and looking to mate …,” she noticed the way he was looking down at her as she rambled about the incident from her Freshman year at college and she trailed off with a slight blush. “It, uh, wasn’t pretty.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he smirked and shifted to lay on his side next to her, propped up on his right arm and running his left hand down her side. “You actually ‘mate’ with any of the prats you sniffed?”

“Of course not,” she couldn’t resist the little devil inside her that urged her to continue with the memory. “Although, the way he tells it, I was pretty all over Xander.”

“Oh really?” he asked with his hand coming to a stop on her hip and his scarred eyebrow shooting up toward his hairline.

Staring up at him with a smile still on her face, she totally forgot what they’d been talking about in amazement and wonder at this moment.

This, she knew as she raised her right hand to gently touch that scar then trails her fingers over his cheeks, was what she’d needed.

She’d known they could have this for longer than she cared to admit, even now that she accepted her love for him. She’d known that they could have moments like this – gentle, joking, smiling, and so loving – just as easily as they had their knock down drag out fights, body battering fucks and those gut wrenching hateful arguments.

With him she could have it all and never have to hold back one bit of herself because he took it all. Good, bad, ugly, beautiful, sweetness or pure venom. If she dished it he could and would take it.

He was a soulless thing with a dead, unmoving heart sitting in his chest while she was a flesh and blood human complete with soul yet as she laid there looking up at him staring down at her with such devotion and emotion she wondered if she could possibly love him as much as he loved her.

How could he ever love anything more than she did when he lacked the very things a person allegedly needed to feel or give love with?

Would she ever be able to surrender all of herself to him as he had her? She always held some part of herself back from everything she encountered, needing to hoard little bits from the world so she could survive it without being destroyed by anyone but herself. Spike knew that and challenged her at every turn to just let go. Give herself to life as easily as she had death.

Could she ever really do it, though?

“The hardest thing in this world is to live in it,” Buffy remembers hearing Dawn say that and remembers further back to saying those same words herself to her sister on that platform a seeming lifetime ago. She remembers ordering the crying girl to be brave and live. Remembers making it her dying wish and expecting Dawnie to obey it as she leapt into the portal to give the world her gift. Now she had to practice what she had preached to her sister and she wondered if she could do it.

Spike’s hands were on her face, drawing her attention from her erratic thoughts back to him. Helping her find a center, a focal point again so the chaos inside her stopped and she was able to make some kind of sense of this world.

God, she loved that he did that for her.

He was the only one who had ever seen her struggling to keep herself sane in the madness she lived through day in and day out as the Slayer. He saw it and threw himself in front of her to stop her cold in her tracks whenever she thought of surrendering to that madness and just giving up. No matter what she had done and still did do to him for his efforts, he never stopped saving her. Loving her.

She looks up into his silently questioning blue eyes and remembers what she came here for. To show him that she returned that love and that she believed that they could make it good and right and work.

With gentle hands she urged him on to his back then sat up to run her palms and fingers over every inch of his bared torso. She didn’t know how it was that he was able to love her like he did and she didn’t care about the how’s when all she needed to know was that he did love her and she did know that.

He sighed her name as her lips joined the explorations of her hands and she knew he was surrendering control to her, sensing that her needs had changed and letting her do with him whatever she needed to find her satisfaction.

She already had surrendered herself to him as he did her. She’d done it by coming here tonight and now she was showing him that as she let the knowledge flow through her own system and give her peace while putting all her wasted denials and protests to rest.

Lifting her eyes to look into his, allowing no barriers between them as she gazed at him with the love she felt, while her hands moved to carefully unbutton the fly of his jeans. A smile touched her lips as she slowly worked the metal fastenings open. If it weren’t for his alternating from the zipper to button fly she’d think he really did only have and wear the one pair of pants. Instead she knew by the flies that he had different styles of clothing, he just didn’t put any variation into the colors he chose.

Sure sign this is real. She always get sappy like this when she’s in love, she thinks with a shake of her head to clear out the warm fuzzies she was getting just by thinking of his clothes.

Those warm fuzzies changed to hot pulse pounding arousal when her fingers finished opening the jeans and came into contact with cold, hard Spike. Her eyes left his to skim lingeringly over his chest, which was heaving with labored breaths he took to try and maintain some control over the body she was driving to the brink of climax with her actions, to admire his length as she took it in her hand.

The black denim on his hips and rich brown curls surrounding the base of his shaft were such stunning contrasts to the pale white of his skin. With fingers that had become skilled under his guidance she ran her hand up his cock, pausing to rub at the slight bend in the shaft about two inches from the tip that curved the organ in a way that allowed it to touch places inside her she’d never known could have possibly existed, to peel back the foreskin covering the broad purplish head from her sight. A single milky white drop of moisture dotted the tip, indicating the extent of his arousal, and she used her thumb to spread the drop around until the skin it touched glistened invitingly.

Looking up to meet his increasingly hungry gaze she removed her hand to bring that thumb to her mouth and lick the trace of his essence left on the pad of her finger. When the digit was clean she shifted to her knees to pull his pants off then moved to kneel between his lightly trembling thighs. Her hands ran reassuringly over those quivering muscles, loving the slight tickle of the hairs on his skin rubbing against her palms and fingertips, and she murmured incoherent words of comfort to try soothing the need that was tensing his whole body.

As she lowered her head to run her tongue lightly over the tip of his shaft she thought for a moment that this was a bit funny, the way their positions were completely reversed. Many times he’d bury his head against her core, attempting to soothe her trembling aching body with touches and sounds much like she was doing right now, as he brought her to screaming climaxes with his lips and teeth and tongue and fingers.

She looked up at him again, feeling thrills of power and love and satisfaction run through her as she saw his hands gripping the blankets one either side of his hips as his half-closed desire darkened eyes focused on her hands and mouth at his cock. When his gaze flicked to meet hers she wrapped her lips around him and began sucking his length into her mouth.

“Christ, Slayer,” he almost shouted as his hips bucked upward at the overwhelming sensations of entering the wet heat and watching her take him like this.

His use of her title didn’t anger her for once. In fact it made her smile inwardly as she lightly pumped the bottom half of erection with her hand while her mouth slurped at the top half.

She knew he called her that now to try getting control of his body. To try and hold back his urges to fist his hands in her hair, pull her head to him and just fuck her face. He’d done it once before and she’d gone wild with reaction at it. First, amazingly, climaxing at the same moment he did while he used her mouth like she left him use the rest of her body. Stunned that she’d gotten off on that treatment she’d immediately beat him up a bit then run away to try and pretend it hadn’t happened.

Ever since that one time he’d forced himself to fight that urge like he was now, but she didn’t want him to this time.

“Don’t hold back,” she raised her head to order with glistening lips.

For a moment he just continued to clutch at the covers and gulp in useless breaths before her offer sank in and, almost afraid to believe she meant it, he hesitantly moved his hands to sink them into her short blonde hair. Her tongue darted out to drag over his slit and his fingers tangled roughly in the strands as his hips arched up for more contact.

When he urged her to, she took him back into her mouth.

When he urged her to, she raised and lowered her suckling lips on his length.

Buffy slurped and bounced and squeezed and touched however his hands and body told her she needed to to bring him to climax.

As she pleasured him she found herself moving to straddle his leg and grind against it in time with the motions of her mouth. He knew what she was doing and shifted the limb to increase the friction and push her toward the same release just moments from rushing through him. To hold off that release, she gripped the base of his cock firmly between her thumb and forefinger in a way she knew would delay ejaculation and pulled her mouth away to gulp in air as she ground her clit harder against him.

When he growled deep in his throat for her to finish what she’d started now, she looked him in the eyes and whispered hoarsely, “I love you, Spike,” before taking his entire length slowly and deeply into her throat.

He started coming the second she removed her hand to replace the firm hold of her fingers with the wet softness of her lips. His hands clamped down on her head to hold it in place as his hips bucked uncontrollably beneath her, sending his cold juices flooding into her welcoming body. The convulsing of his body as he came caused the leg she rode to jerk and shift hard against her and she almost blacked out from the orgasm that went slamming through her as she pressed hard against his skin and concentrated with all her might on not biting him or forgetting to breathe and swallow as she came too.

Spike had to ease her away from his still hard, but no longer spurting length and she collapsed against him with her sweaty forehead lying on his stomach. They laid there trying to regain enough breath to speak for several moments before he began tugging her further up his body, a nearly painful hiss escaping his lips as the jeans she still wore rubbed over his sensitive cock.

“You ever do that again and I’ll be dust,” he panted out against her cheek as he wrapped his arms around her.

“Didn’t like it?” she tipped her head back to ask curiously.

“Bloody loved it, pet. Nearly did that spontaneous combustion thing ‘cause of it,” he rolled her on to her back and began moving down her body. “Now it’s your turn.”

Stretching languidly beneath him she moaned as his teeth latched on to her zipper tab and he slowly began pulling it down, his nose brushing over the panties covering her skin as the pants opened for him. When the zipper would go no lower he hooked his fingers in the material at her waist, sliding under the elastic of her underwear as well, and started urging it down. Her hips arched without prompting to ease the garments’ journey from her body and she eagerly kicked the pants and underwear away when he pushed them to her feet.

Her legs feel open with a sigh when he settled between them.

That sigh became a moan when he placed his cool hands on the soft warm skin of her inner thighs to push them even further apart and he inhaled deeply. She looked down the length of her body to see his head poised just inches from her exposed femininity. An expression of primal lust and satisfaction was on his face as he savored the smell of her sweat and arousal.

Sensing her gaze he looked up to meet it causing her to gasp and arch her hips toward him when she saw the extent of the hunger in those bottomless blue eyes. A hint of yellow gleamed in those depths and, instead of being put off by the small reminder of his vampirism, the flecks of demonic color made her whimper for him to hurry.

She was truly his now, she realized as she watched the hints of gold grow deeper before he buried his face in the moist curls at the apex of her thighs.

He parted her folds with fingers that sent shivers of delight through her body then delved into the opening with his tongue. He licked lightly, at first, lapping up the juices spread around her core and thighs from the orgasm she’d already had riding his leg. Then he began applying more pressure. Rasping the rough flat of his tongue over her slit before hardening to circle her clit with the very tip.

When he thrust that talented organ into her and curled it to lick at the sensitive tissue lining her core her thighs clamped shut as her hips pushed up for him to lick deeper. She was eternally grateful that he didn’t have to breathe like she was trying to do with desperate pants between broken whimpers of his name as his tongue thrust deeper and harder inside her while his nose ground against her clit.

For a minute she sank her fingers into his soft bleached hair and held his head even harder against her, then she relaxed her legs to free him and began urging his body to lie atop hers.

“Wasn’t finished,” he panted down at her as he braced himself above her with his elbows on the bed on each side of her ribs.

“I need you,” with one hand she urged his head down until their lips almost touched as the other slid down their bodies to curl around his erection, “in me.”

“I thought,” he hissed and his eyes drifted shut for a moment as she guided his tip into her warmth, “that I,” his eyes opened to look down at her with such heat she couldn’t breathe for a moment under it’s intensity, “was supposed to be making love to you, luv.”

With a shuddering breath she moved her hand from his cock to his butt to pull him down into her further and whispered up at him, “You are.”

He moved a hand from under her to stroke her cheek and she turned into the caress as her body opened to accommodate his length deep inside her. So deep she knew they were joined in every sense of the word.

Her hand trailed up his flexing back and her legs wrapped around his waist as he slowly pulled out then rocked back into her to start a steady rhythm to their joining.

God, she was loving that word. ‘Join.’ Joined to Spike. Joining with Spike. For once in her life completely connected to something.

Those were heady thoughts that had her clenching him convulsively within her without even knowing it until he went still above her.

“Keep that up and you can forget about slow an’ easy, Slayer,” he groaned warningly as the internal gripping threatened his control.

“We can do that later,” she repeated the contractions and wriggled her hips against his.

“Christ, I love you,” he buried his face against her neck and sucked at the skin covered the pulse pounding there as his hips began moving in and out of her faster.

She couldn’t get the words out of her gaping lips to tell him she felt the same as his increasingly hard thrusts drove the ability to speak from her so she settled for pulling his face from her neck to look into those eyes of his with all she felt showing in her green gaze.

Their gazes remained locked as he forced a hand between their pounding bodies to search out her clit and grind against the nub with his fingers in ways his groin couldn’t.

His breathing was growing as erratic as hers when he broke eye contact to press a devouring kiss against her lips. Whimpers and moans and keening sounds of pleasure she made no effort to stifle poured from her mouth when he left it to take her left breast deep into his mouth.

As he worked to draw the entire mound of flesh into his hungry opening and the noises escaping her increased in volume she knew she had the answer to the last of her self-doubting questions. This – this moment, this passion, this love, this joining and this man – was life and she was finally ready to live it with nothing held back.

Everything inside her fell into place, just as it had the moment she leapt into the portal that ended her life the second time, and crying out Spike’s name she let go of all memories of death to grab on to this moment and life with all she had.

~*~*~

“I don’t think she’s coming out,” Jonathan said worriedly as he and the others stared intently at the monitor in the van that showed them the interior of Spike’s crypt.

“What do you suppose they’re doing?” Andrew asked without taking his eyes off the screen they all watched waiting for the Slayer to re-emerge from the hole in the crypt floor she and Spike had disappeared through well over an hour ago.

“Whatever it is, it’s taking too damned long,” Warren leapt up angrily, hitting his head on the van’s roof. “If she doesn’t come out like an hour ago this plan is for shit.”

“We are so screwed,” Jonathan whined the obvious.

“No,” Warren, their currently not-so-fearless leader, snapped, “we’ve still got options.”

With gulps and wide eyes Andrew and Jonathan listened to the other boy talk maniacally about other ways to dispose of Katrina’s body now that pinning her death on the Slayer was no longer and option.

We are so screwed, the short brunette thought and a sideways glance at the blonde beside him showed that Andrew agreed.

~*~

The End