---

“Will, this is unbelievable. Remember that piddley-ass work-study job in the admissions office that I had to take to qualify for financial aid? It wasn’t bad enough that they took most of what I made in taxes. Now they expect me to send in a stupid tax return too!” Buffy slumped next to Willow at a picnic table in the quad of UC Sunnydale, hands fisted in her hair and staring disconsolately at the crumpled envelop in front of her. “This WD-20 thingie says how much they’ve taken -- like I needed to be reminded that I ended up spending more on lattes to stay awake than I actually got to take home. I really don’t want to bother Mom, but how am I ever going to figure out how to fill out a big hairy tax form? Couldn’t I just slay something instead?”

Without lifting her eyes from her textbook, Willow replied. “Hey, Buff, I don’t think it’s that big a deal, really.” She scribbled something in her notebook and then looked up at Buffy. “I bet Giles has to do it too. I bet he has to do all sorts of tax paying and form filling and other stuff like that all the time. Just ask him what to do,” she said, returning to her studies, “I’m sure he knows.”

“You’re right. I’ll go see him at the Magic Box right after class. Hey, Will. I bet this is the first time a Slayer ever lived long enough to need to do a tax return! Something new for his Watcher’s journal. Could I be more boring?”

***

“Buffy! Stop whining for thirty seconds, and I’ll explain what you need to do,” Giles pleaded with the disgruntled Slayer. “You don’t have to fill out the long form. The short form will take you three minutes to complete if you have a W-2. Then you mail it in, and the IRS will send most of your taxes back to you in a few weeks.”

“Huh? They send me the money back? Why the hell did they have to take it to begin with if they are just going to send it back? This has got to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of. But, hell, I get the money back. Who knew? That’s so cool. Boy, I can really use some money. Thanks Giles, you are the coolest.” Buffy gave Giles one of her 1000-watt smiles, and although she had just spent the last ten minutes getting on his last nerve, he took one look and forgave her.

“Think nothing of it Buffy. All part of the Watcher’s duties, I suppose.”

“Well, thanks anyway. So, where can get the form?”

***

Minutes later, Buffy burst into the public library, asked the librarian for her tax form, and was directed to a table in front of the reference section. Buffy found the stack of forms, but within a moment of closing her hand on the desired item felt a familiar tingle on the back of her neck.

‘Well, well, well,’ she thought, ‘looks like I’m going to get to kill something after all. That’s just what this taxpayer ordered.' Buffy reached into her pocket for her stake and gleefully began to stalk her prey. ‘I guess one of my little vampire friends thought he might find a yummy snack in the stacks. Well I’ve got a little surprise for him. And I’m not sorry to say that it isn’t going to be the least bit tasty.”

Buffy moved silently around the perimeter of the room, glancing down each aisle of books as she passed. She could feel the tingles growing stronger as she closed in on her target smiling smugly to herself as she realized that she had the vampire cornered. Then, just before she moved in for the kill, Buffy caught a glimpse of a familiar head of platinum hair in the warm glow of a reading light.

She froze.

Her first reaction was frustration. ‘Oh crap! It's Spike! I thought I was going to get to kill something.' But that was quickly followed by curiosity, and she took a step back, dropping the hand holding her stake to her side and positioning her body so she could watch him without being seen. The picture he presented was certainly compelling. Spike projected the usual mega dose of masculine sexuality -- his posture simultaneously relaxed and taut. He leaned back in one of the library's oak armchairs, one foot on the seat of the chair next to it. He held a dark red book open in his hands, his eyes appearing half closed as he gazed intently down at the page. Buffy found herself transfixed by his eyelashes. ‘When did Spike get the long, thick eyelashes?’ she thought, ‘And his lips. Is he pursing his lips as he reads? Is that why they look so, what, plump?’

Suddenly aware that this was a rare opportunity to simply gawk at Spike without being on the receiving end of his typical snarky comments, Buffy settled in for a nice long look. Letting her eyes descend from his surprisingly full lips, Buffy took in the way his black T-shirt hugged the planes of his chest. Appreciating that, for once, his duster was nowhere to be seen, Buffy carefully assessed the way the sleeves conformed to the shape of his shoulders deciding that they left nothing of importance to the imagination. His arms looked like carved ivory from where she stood; tapered, graceful and strong. That area covered, she allowed her gaze to shift a little lower to where his shirt was tucked neatly into his pants. The silver buckle on his belt gleamed in the light from the reading lamp. The area immediately below that was obscured by the leg he had raised on the chair, but his black jeans clung nicely to his legs all the way down to his clunky Doc Martens. It was nothing she hadn’t seen countless times, and yet she’d never really noticed that her own personal pain-in-the-ass vampire was so perfectly proportioned and just plain hot.

'God,' she thought, 'I’m standing here totally ogling Spike. What is up with that?’ But even though she acknowledged the strangeness of it, she wasn’t done. Having finished the leisurely visual tour of Spike’s physique, Buffy took in the whole scene and realized that she’d never seen Spike so still. Even when he wasn’t pacing, Spike was a coiled spring. She was certain she’d never seen him this tranquil and calm. ‘He looks so comfortable,’ she thought, 'like he’s at home here.'

At that moment Spike turned the page, licking his lips deliciously as he fixed his eyes back on what he was reading. He showed no sign of leaving anytime soon, and Buffy couldn’t decide what to do. She didn’t really need to disturb him, but somehow just leaving the way she had come didn’t satisfy. Still, she had no idea what she could say to him and based on past experience, she fully expected him to do everything he could to embarrass her if he noticed she was there. Confused at her reluctance to simply go, Buffy was nonetheless preparing to leave when Spike suddenly lifted his head and looked directly into her eyes.

Tbc…
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Many thanks to the incomparable Addie Logan for giving me lots of great advice on this fic. Please review.

---

Since being chipped by the Initiative, and therefore permanently cut-off from not only his own vampire family but most of the demon world, Spike spent a great deal of his time alone. Soap operas could occupy only so many of his solitary hours and he soon returned to habits and pastimes of his youth. The library became his refuge both from loneliness and boredom. The stacks of Sunnydale Public Library once attracted the occasional vampire looking for a meal. But those unwise enough to hunt in Spike’s new ‘home away from home’ met a swift end. Once word got out his idylls were no longer disturbed by predators. The library was a peaceful place where Spike could escape into a world of fine literature.

He’d arrived at the library that afternoon, as usual, through the sewers. This time of day was his favorite. The sun’s rays slanted in through the high windows without any risk of touching him. He found his preferred spot blissfully free of annoying pulsers and pulled the book of poetry from the shelf where he’d left it. When he slipped into the chair he’d had every intention of staying until the library closed. But that was before the Slayer showed up.

He sensed her the moment she came through the door. He even heard her ask the librarian for help finding her tax form. He picked up an elevated heart rate when she noticed that a vampire was somewhere nearby. Since then he’d amused himself by witnessing as she stalked her prey only to balk when she discovered who was causing her tinglies.

Spike decided to pretend he didn’t know she was there in hopes that she might leave without punching him in the face. He was harmless, after all, so she could just take her little stake and go away. But when she took up her position in the stacks and stood there watching him, he was fascinated to hear her heart rate increase.

‘Could it be,’ he wondered, ‘that she’s hot for me?’ He didn’t know what to make of this development but decided to play it cool rather than spook her by letting on that he knew how watching him was affecting her. Minutes passed, and Spike tried without success to plan his next move. When his vampire senses told him that she was about to withdraw he knew he had to act. That’s when he looked up.

Buffy was riveted to the floor by Spike’s eyes. She found herself practically swimming in the blue depths of his gaze. Why had she never noticed his beautiful eyes? Several beats passed before she managed to pull herself free.

“Spike?”

“Slayer?”

“Um, hi?”

“Yes, hello Slayer. Bit surprised to see you at the library. Looking for something to read?”

“No, not exactly”, she said, stepping forward, her eyes narrowing as she decided to take offense at his comment. “But I do read, you know! I’m not stupid, I just don’t get a lot of time for reading and stuff. What with saving the world all the time and slaying and everything.”

He actually hadn’t meant to offend her this time, but she was so accustomed to being baited that she perceived an insult even when there wasn’t one. He was going to have to make a real effort to avoid any more inadvertent jabs or he’d lose any chance of getting her to drop her guard a little. He wasn’t prepared to consider why, but he desperately hoped that she would sit down and talk with him. Keeping his eyes on hers, he slowly removed his foot from the chair and pulled it out.

“Not planning to use that stake, are you?” he asked, gesturing to her to take a seat.

Buffy was flustered when she realized that she was still holding a stake in her hand. She quickly replaced it in her pocket and sat down rather stiffly next to Spike.

“I - I, you know, I sensed a vampire, and I thought I’d need to do a little dusting,” she stammered looking down for a moment before finding his eyes with hers again. “But then it turned out to be you.”

“Yes, here I am, terrorizing the neighborhood by reading quietly in the corner.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” Buffy looked down at the floor again sighing and looking so like a sad little girl that Spike wanted to reach out, take her hand, and tell her it would be all right. But of course he couldn’t do that. Not if he wanted to keep any semblance of his Big Bad reputation.

“I guess I’m a little keyed up.” Buffy looked at her feet, finding nothing there but her shoes, and feeling incredibly awkward alone in the library with Spike, she realized it had been a mistake to sit down. “I really shouldn’t have bothered you. I’m sorry. I’ll just go and let you get back to your reading.”

Spike took a quick unneeded breath as he tried to cover up the slight panic that accompanied Buffy’s decision to leave. She was already rising from her chair when he realized that he had to say something, now, or she’d be gone.

“That’s okay,” he lied, “I was getting ready to go myself. But I’m not exactly in a hurry.” And then to himself he thought, ‘Bugger all, I’m just going to have to do it!’ “What’s troubling you Slayer? I mean, aside from the usual impending apocalypse?”

Buffy stopped halfway out of her chair and stared at Spike. All she could say was, “Huh?”

“You said you’re keyed up,” Spike explained, “Just wondering what could possibly be bothering Buffy the Vampire Slayer.”

The look on her face betrayed a series of feelings: confusion, suspicion and, finally, resignation. With a “what have I got to lose” sigh, Buffy sat back down in the chair and looked into Spike’s eyes again, her mouth twisting into a crooked smile.

“You’re going to think this is stupid,” she said.

Tbc...

****************
Please review. I love reviews!!

---

The previously forgotten tax form lay on the table in front of her as Buffy told Spike what had actually brought her to the library. Somehow telling Spike made her realize that her grumpy reaction to the whole tax business was really about a lot of other things too. As she talked she remembered that Willow had been pretty dismissive about her tax worries and Giles had accused her of whining. So, instead of talking with one of her friends, here she was spilling her guts to Spike of all non-people. How strange was that?

“I’m just so tired of not being able to be anybody but the Slayer. I’m supposed to be a sister, but I never have any time to be with Dawn. And when I am around I’m too tired to be any good at it.” Buffy struggled to keep her voice even. It felt good to say it out loud, and she just didn’t care that her sounding board also happened to be her archenemy. “And I’m supposed to be a student, but I barely make it to classes. I’m taking a class on poetry. Okay, I admit I took it because I figured I’d have a better chance of doing the reading because poems are way shorter than books, but I don’t think I’ve been to two classes in a row, and I’m behind on at least one assignment that I know of. I was supposed to read a poem and analyze it. Of course, I had to clean out a nest of Gorblek demons the afternoon I would have learned how to analyze a poem. So I didn’t do it.”

Spike didn’t say anything. He just looked at her in this odd, kind of open way that made her want to continue talking. Buffy was keenly aware that nothing in his demeanor suggested that he would judge her or try to minimize her complaints. He was just listening, attentively -- as though he had all the time in the world.

Buffy looked down at her hands. “It just doesn’t seem fair that I have all this responsibility for keeping the world safe all the time. I don’t expect to have a normal life. I know that’s so not in the cards for me. But I’d like at least a little normal every once in awhile.”

She looked up again and was a little surprised to find Spike still looking at her in the same accepting, uncritical way. ‘This is weird,’ she thought, ‘but also good. He’s acting so… Oh, my God! He’s acting like he cares about me!’

The revelation hit her with sudden force. He was giving her his full attention without any qualifications. She didn’t have to be strong for him. She didn’t have to be the Slayer. Feeling cared for -- without conditions -- was so completely unexpected, so not of the normal, that it broke the dam holding her carefully controlled emotions in check. If she’d had time she would have run away before he could see what this simple act of warm regard could do to her. But she didn’t have time. There was no warning. Before she could bolt and protect her tough girl reputation, the tears were falling fast, her body doubled over with sobs.

The whole time Buffy was talking Spike experienced waves of turmoil. She’d sat down. She was sitting right there. God she was beautiful. And sad. She was so sad about not being able to just be a girl. His impulse to comfort her was overwhelming. But it made no sense. ‘I’m a fucking master vampire. She is the vampire slayer. There is no universe in which it makes sense that I want to make her feel better. Except this one, apparently.’

Buffy looked up at him again. Her eyes were a little shiny, and it looked like she was trying to smile. But then her face just crumpled as her body convulsed. For a fraction of a second Spike thought she’d sustained some sort of physical attack. It wasn’t until he registered her tear-streaked face that he realized Buffy the Vampire Slayer was crying.

Spike’s vampire speed betrayed his better instincts, and before he knew what he was doing he had his hand curled over hers and was already speaking, “I could help, you know.”

Buffy’s sobbing stopped almost as quickly as it had begun and she tried to imagine what he could have said that sounded so much like, “I could help.”

She pulled her sleeve over her free hand and used it to wipe quickly at her tears before she looked at him in confusion. “What?”

“I could help you, you know, with the assignment.”

“Assignment?” Buffy had already forgotten what she was talking about just before she looked up and got the catharsis-inducing care-o-gram. But Spike didn’t know that she was crying about being the recipient of a little unconditional love and not about failing her poetry class.

“I-I’ve read a bit of poetry in my day,” he tried to explain, “That’s what I was reading when you barged in.” Spike indicated the book he’d set down, still open, on the library table. “I could show you how to analyze a poem. Then you could do the assignment that you missed. Be all 'normal girl,' as you might say.”

His hand was still over hers. Her pulse was going mad, and he longed to just keep holding her slender fingers. But the intense wrongness of the picture they made was undeniable. With a sheepish look, he slowly retracted his hand as he tried to create a distraction to cover the fact that he’d touched her at all.

“But there’s one condition,” he began, straightening in his chair and leveling Buffy with a decidedly cooler gaze. “You can’t tell a soul. It’s bad enough I can’t hunt humans anymore, but if word got out that I’m helping them with their homework it would shoot what little rep’ I’ve got left all to hell.”

Buffy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Y-you read poetry?”

“Yes, Slayer, that's what I was just saying. See, this book right here? Poetry.”

“Read me some.”

Now it was Spike’s turn to be surprised. “Huh?”

“Please. Just read me the poem you were reading. I agree to all the conditions. I won’t tell anyone. I promise. Wouldn’t do my reputation much good either, would it? So, will you read to me?" Buffy leaned slightly forward in her chair and fixed Spike with an expectant, almost pleading expression.

“Y-you mean you want to start right now?”

“Why not?” She straightened and looked at him with resolve. “Like you said, I don’t have any time to waste, expiration date and all.”

He started at Buffy’s matter-of-fact acknowledgement of her mortality. “Oh, Buffy, don’t say that.”

“Why? It’s true isn’t it?” Buffy squinted at him intently. “And what’s with calling me Buffy all of a sudden?”

Surprised himself at the use of her given name, Spike tried to suppress a stutter when he answered. “I-I don’t know. You’re not like any other Slayer. Maybe it doesn’t apply to you.”

“Doesn’t matter, I still want you to read to me.”

“Okay, but let me find something else…” Spike started to reach for the book, determined NOT to read the poem he’d been reading to himself. But Buffy was too quick, and she had it in her hands before he got to it.

“No,” she insisted, “I want the one you were reading. I could tell you liked it a lot. I’d like to understand why.” She looked down onto the page before her. “It’s called ‘The Triple Fool,’ see, this is great, I’m already lost. I have no idea what even the title means.”

“Oi, Slayer, it’s not the best choice for what we’re doing.”

“Why not? It’s a poem. Read it. Come on, you said you’d help.” Buffy thrust the book toward him on the table.

“Bossy bint, aren’t you? Don’t you need your notebooks and pens and whatnot?”

“Spike, stop stalling. This can just be a warm-up. You can start with the serious teaching later. Just read it to me. Please?”

Tbc…

---

As Spike finally appeared to acquiesce, Buffy felt a profound sense of relief. Her crying jag had caught her unprepared, and she knew that it would have gone on much longer if Spike hadn’t rescued her. Were a powerful Maj to appear and put the truth mojo on her, Buffy would have to admit that it was his touch that had done the trick. Even as she argued with Spike about reading to her, Buffy could feel the path that a tiny bolt of lightening had taken from her hand directly to her very center. Although he’d already removed it, an echo remained of his cool hand on her fingers, and she felt equal parts delight and dismay at the pleasure it gave her. But nothing short of big magic was going to get her to acknowledge a truth so strange and disturbing. Without missing a beat, Buffy seized onto Spike’s offer of academic help both to end the emotional tailspin that had her blubbering like a two-year old in front of William the Bloody and to cover the real reason she was able to stop. In possession of a face-saving way to staunch the embarrassing tears, Buffy wasn’t about to let go without a fight -- all the more so because she saw an opportunity to satisfy some of her curiosity about him.

Spike, too, was relieved, although her insistence on reading that particular poem felt a little like jumping out of the frying pan into the fire. He was happy to focus Buffy’s attention on anything but the aberrant actions that had brought them to this bizarre but companionable interlude. Though he could feel his grip slipping with every passing second, Spike was trying mightily to hang onto a shred of his Big Bad persona.

“Right then, Slayer. I’ll read you the bloody poem,” he sighed as he reached for the book. “Now don’t worry if it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense the first time through. Just listen and try to get a feel for it. It’s not written in the kind of language you're used to, but you’ll get the sense of it alright if you give it a chance. Ready?”

Buffy wiggled around a bit and made a show of getting comfortable in her chair, raising her eyebrows expectantly to indicate that she was indeed ready. Spike silently gasped at the fission of excitement that her movements sent coursing through him. Then he picked up the book, looking down at the page for a moment to steady himself.

“This one’s called ‘The Triple Fool,’” he said, “It’s by John Donne.”

Spike took a deep breath, cleared his throat and, finally, he was reading.


I am two fools, I know,
For loving, and for saying so
In whining poetry;
But where's that wise man, that would not be I,
If she would not deny?


Spike kept his eyes locked on the page, afraid they would betray the extent to which he identified with the poem. For her part, Buffy had no clue what the words mean, but she was immediately arrested by his voice. He was speaking in a lower register than usual, with a resonance she’d never heard from him before. It was a different accent, rounder and more lyrical than how he usually spoke. This voice wrapped around her like an embrace. She started to wonder if this was how he’d sounded before he was turned.

Spike read several lines before he noticed that he’d slipped effortlessly into his original diction, the voice of a young Victorian gentleman with an Oxford education. Reading a poem in that voice let him re-inhabit a part of himself so long dormant he’d nearly forgotten it existed. Back then, so long ago, he’d longed to read a poem like this to a beautiful girl. He read to his mother many evenings, but she preferred pastoral and spiritual poetry, nothing of romance or passion. While Dru loved to hear him read, she had no patience for real poetry, preferring nursery rhymes, doggerel, or the occasional limerick. Spike had learned them all for her, but never found her a willing audience for any of the many love poems he’d committed to memory.


Then as th' earth's inward narrow crooked lanes
Do purge sea water's fretful salt away,
I thought, if I could draw my pains
Through rhyme's vexation, I should them allay.
Grief brought to numbers cannot be so fierce,
For he tames it, that fetters it in verse.


In order to concentrate better on Spike’s voice, Buffy closed her eyes. Lost in his deep baritone, she noticed that this more cultured pronunciation sounded almost exactly like Giles, just deeper. Listening to this voice made it possible to imagine Spike in tailored tweeds, maybe some sort of cravat tied at his throat, instead of black denim and cotton jersey. She still had only the slightest notion of the poem’s meaning, but she wouldn’t have interrupted him with a question for the world.

If it was possible for a vampire to blush Spike was sure his face would be flaming. Luckily for him, borrowed blood doesn’t work like the native article. He heard Buffy’s increased heartbeat, but wasn't sure what it meant. He didn't want to underestimate her, but he doubted she’d twig to the meaning of the poem, at least not on the first pass. Part of him hoped she’d never figure out why this was among his favorites.


But when I have done so,
Some man, his art and voice to show,
Doth set and sing my pain;
And, by delighting many, frees again
Grief, which verse did restrain.


Spike glanced up from the page to steal a look at his audience. He was stunned to find Buffy’s eyes closed. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought she had a delicious piece of chocolate melting in her mouth. Her expression was one of intense concentration and pleasure. Had he known she was responding almost entirely to his voice, rather than to what he was reading, he’d have been even more confused. Unable to tear his eyes away from her face, he recited the final lines of the poem from memory.


To love and grief tribute of verse belongs,
But not of such as pleases when 'tis read.
Both are increasèd by such songs,
For both their triumphs so are published,
And I, which was two fools, do so grow three.
Who are a little wise, the best fools be.


Several beats of silence followed the echo of the last word. Buffy’s eyes fluttered open to find Spike’s staring straight into them. She was motionless, her eyes never leaving his as the silence seemed to blossom between them.

She had admired his beauty earlier when she had watched him reading to himself. This was different. When she looked at him now, it was as if he were completely exposed to her, as if all his masks were removed. She could detect not one molecule of guile, no pretence, and most surprisingly, no protection. The ultimate predator had let down his guard and bared himself to the one creature on earth pledged to destroy him.

Buffy was a little lost, bereft even, now that he had stopped reading, but Spike remained motionless. Paralyzed, he waited for her to say the cruel or indifferent word that would stab a metaphorical stake through his heart. Even with the certainty that she would relish this opportunity to crush him, he was still powerless to replace the swaggering armor that he usually wore.

“Is that all?” Buffy asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“Yes.”

“More tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Same time?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Buffy brought her fingers to her mouth, kissed them and reached out to press the kiss onto Spike’s lips. Then she was gone -- out of her chair, across the library and out the door in the blink of an eye.

Dumbfounded, Spike touched his fingers to his mouth for a moment. Then he picked up the tax form, folded it, and placed it in his hip pocket.

Tbc….

---

After pocketing the tax form, Spike took a deep breath, inhaling Buffy’s faint scent. For several moments, he stood still, eyes closed, as he tried to memorize the combined fragrances that filled his nostrils: vanilla, berry and just the tiniest bit of arousal. This utterly unique set of smells had such mnemonic power that it was as if he could still see her staring like a doe caught in headlights, her green eyes flecked with gold. The memory of her pulse going wild when he’d touched her hand made him start to shake his head. It was slow at first, but then the motion accelerated until he looked like he was trying to wake up from a bad dream.

“What in bloody hell just happened?” he thought. “I was minding my own business, when in she barges and there was some crying and now I’m to be her poetry tutor? Who does she think she is -- the bossy bint? I’ll be buggered if she thinks I’m going to tutor her for nothing. I need to track her down and settle on some terms before tomorrow.”

Armed with a plausible reason for wanting to see the Slayer before their appointment the next day, Spike left the library the way he’d come, through the sewers, taking the volume of poetry with him. As he made his way back to his crypt to wait for nightfall, it was not lost on Spike that borrowing the book from the library - without actually checking it out - was the evilest thing he’d managed to do in some time.

***

The sun had only just slipped beneath the horizon when Spike popped his head out of his crypt to scan for signs of life. It had been several very long hours since the Slayer had sprinted out of the library, leaving him in a state of confusion. He’d tried to distract himself by watching his favorite soap opera, Passions. But the moment it ended he was up again, pacing the crypt, painfully aware that sunset was still hours away.

Spike had shadowed the Slayer long enough to know that she would make at least a perfunctory sweep of Restfield Cemetery at some point during her patrol. Although she never encountered more than one or two fledgling vampires, that was enough to warrant a stop during her nightly rounds. This was no accident. Spike was careful to take care of any truly nasty characters but always saved one or two newbies for when the Slayer swung by. He may not have been willing to admit it, but he didn’t want her to stop visiting his neighborhood for lack of action.

Now that night had finally fallen, Spike took his vigil outside. He’d smoked half a pack of cigarettes and practically worn a path in the turf before he realized that he wasn’t the picture of nonchalance that he hoped to present when the Slayer arrived.

“It’s not like I don’t have better things to do than hang around waiting for Her Majesty the Slayer to make an appearance,” he huffed, ducking into his crypt to look for a diversion.

***

Buffy shot out of Sunnydale Library as though she was being pursued by the Biggest Big Bad demon yet. She didn’t stop, or even slow down, until she was home. Once in the house, Buffy bounded upstairs to her room where she grabbed several piles of dirty clothes before plunging into the basement to start a load of laundry. She then charged back upstairs to the kitchen and used every available pot to make a huge pan of macaroni and cheese. After eating dinner with Dawn and Joyce, Buffy cleaned up the kitchen, started another load of wash and then jumped in the shower. When she returned downstairs, meticulously made-up and dressed in black leather pants with a lacy knit top, she looked out the window, noted that it was still light out and immediately picked a fight with Dawn about who had used the last of her shampoo.

"Geez, Buffy, who put the bee up your butt?" Dawn asked. "I've never see you like this. So I washed my hair. What's the big deal? Mom has a bottle of shampoo in her bathroom. We can use that until somebody goes to the store. And, hey, why are you so dressed-up? Do you have a date with Riley?"

Buffy's expression went from anger to panic "NO! I mean, yes. I mean, what day is it?"

"It's Thursday," Dawn replied. "It's been Thursday, like, all day. Where have you been?"

Buffy's eyes got big. "Oh shit! I mean, shoot. I completely forgot that Riley is supposed to be taking me to some fraternity thing."

Dawn grinned, "So, then who are you going out with?"

Buffy blanched under her blusher. "No one, I'm not going out with anyone. I'm just going on patrol!"

"Yeah, like you dress like that to dust vamps! You can tell me you know. I don't like Riley that much. Of course, I could use it to blackmail you...

Before Dawn could refine the terms of her potential extortion, the phone rang. Buffy jumped at the chance to escape her sister's disturbing line of questioning and ran to answer. "Hello. Oh, hi Riley… Yeah… Oh, alright. That's okay. No, really, it's cool… I totally understand. You know, duty calls and all that… Yeah, okay. Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow… Bye."

Buffy returned the phone to its cradle and turned to Dawn, smiling. "I guess I don't have that date after all.” Then her expression turned serious. “Which is good because, you know, I want to get out there early and get my slaying over with so I can come home and study."

“So, are you going to change your outfit?” Dawn asked with mock innocence.

****

Never a patient man, Spike was about to completely lose his cool. He’d played a dozen games of solitaire, chipped most of the lacquer off his nails, and practiced all his favorite card tricks. And still no sign of Buffy.

Fresh out of fags, he was about to slip into his crypt for another pack when he caught the unmistakable scent of the Slayer. “Well it’s about bloody time,” he grumbled as he carefully arranged himself to look as relaxed and indifferent as possible. After several minutes he realized that she was actually patrolling for vamps and roused himself to see if he could catch a free show.

Before coming to Restfield, Buffy had visited all of the other Sunnydale cemeteries. The whole time she’d run into only a handful of fledglings, none of whom required her to work up the slightest sweat before their dust sifted down into the grass. After the events of the day, coupled with the considerable effort it took to deny the real reason she had set out on patrol only minutes after sunset dressed to kill -- in the metaphorical sense -- and wearing her good boots, Buffy was definitely in the mood for a fight.


Tbc…

---

Spike hung back to watch the Slayer as she approached the middle of the cemetery. He was careful to stay outside of Buffy’s tingle-sensing range and sheltered from view by some convenient foliage. He observed as she walked with purpose through the first few rows of tombstones only to slow her pace dramatically, looking around with slightly narrowing eyes. “Come out, come out wherever you are little vampires,” she chanted quietly to herself. “I’ve got a very nice pointy stake just waiting to make your acquaintance.”

Spike couldn’t help chuckling to himself thinking, “Bint really is one of a kind isn’t she?”

Buffy pivoted quickly to her right, hiding her stake behind her back as she turned. “Oh, hi there big fella,’” she said to a large fledgling vampire who was laboriously emerging from a fresh grave. “I so hoped I would run into someone just like you tonight in the scary, dark cemetery.”

The newly risen vampire squinted at her in confusion, but his hunger overwhelmed his caution, and he tried to lunge at her. Buffy feinted easily to one side, still keeping her stake out of sight. “Hey, I know we’re going to be great friends,” she pouted. “But I think you should hold off on the grabbing until we’ve gotten to know each other a little bit better.”

The vampire ignored her comment and lurched forward once more. Buffy swung her leg around in a wide arch, knocking him to the ground where she planted her foot on his throat. Spike admired the move from his observation spot, noticing with appreciation how her leather pants and knit top hugged every curve.

“I don’t think you heard me,” she said, her patience strained. “I was hoping for a little foreplay. Nothing fancy, you know, I don’t expect you to take me out to dinner, or bring flowers, or candy or anything like that. I was just hoping for a few rounds of fist and fang.”

Buffy sighed, “This sad excuse for a performance just doesn’t do anything for me. And to think, I thought you might be the one.” She brought the stake from behind her back and just a split second after he realized that his very short unlife was about to be over, Buffy thrust the stake into the vampire’s heart. Dust fell on her boots and clung unattractively to her leather pants.

“One great thing about these pants,” she said to the dusty remains, “you just brush right off.”

As Buffy turned away from the pile of dust, ready to resume her patrol, Spike beat a speedy retreat toward his crypt. Nearing his lair, he jumped up onto a tomb and stretched out, propped against a pair of cement cherubs. By the time Buffy came around the corner, following her Slayer senses to the one remaining source of tingles, he looked like he had never moved, the picture of relaxation, an open book in his hands.

“Hey, look at the bookworm. This makes twice in one day, Spike. You sure read a lot.”

“Have a bit of time to kill, don’t I, Slayer, and I haven’t much in the way of company these days.”

“No? What ever happened to Harmony?”

“Well, first off, that’s over. And, second, I think it would be stretching the definition beyond recognition to call Harm’ company. She’s a bit more like leaving the telly on for background noise.”

Spike almost missed the trace of relief reflected in Buffy’s expression upon hearing that Harmony was out of the picture. But he didn’t get a chance to dwell on it because he noticed that she was still holding a stake in her hand.

“Hey, Slayer, I’m not going to try anything. I couldn’t hurt you if I wanted to. So, once again, you can put away that stake.”

Buffy looked at the stake for a beat and then at Spike. “You’re never going to believe this.”

Spike’s brows perked up expectantly. “Try me Slayer, I’ve been around for quite a while, you might be surprised what I could believe.”

Buffy’s expression changed as she tried to decide if she should confide in Spike. Finally, she took the plunge. “Sometimes I wish you didn’t have the chip so I could fight you again. I miss brawling with someone who has the first clue how to fight.”

“That’s right flattering, Slayer,” Spike replied genuinely touched. “I’d have to agree that our battles were usually quite satisfying.” ‘Or nearly so,’ he thought, ‘I’d get so hard fighting you I’d be afraid I might tear a hole in my trousers.’
Buffy sighed and sat down on a nearby tombstone. “It’s just not the same.”

“What’s not the same, love?”

“Slaying, I used to be able to go out most nights and get into a couple of good fights. Now it’s nothing but fledglings. It’s too easy.”

Spike smiled a wicked, knowing grin. “You’ve got needs, Slayer,” he began. “Needs, I might add, that aren’t being met.”

Buffy put her head in her hands. “Why am I even talking to you? You are the very last person-like thing I should be talking to.”

“Face it, Slayer,” Spike jumped down from his perch to stand directly in front of Buffy. “You talk to me because I’m the only one who understands. I get you like nobody else.” His voice was angry when he’d begun, but he couldn’t ignore the Slayer’s defeated posture. Against the whole nature of his demon being, his voice softened to a tone that was more about comfort than challenge. “Now that I’m chipped, I can only get my spot of violence fighting other demons. It’s better than nothing, but you can believe me when I tell you that it is not the same.” The touch of sadness she heard in his voice made Buffy look up, finding his eyes on hers. “I miss it too,” he admitted, very softly.

Buffy stared at him, her mouth opening and closing in a fair imitation of a fish as she tried to come up with a response. He was right and she knew it. She also knew, even though he couldn’t quite bring himself to say it, that he missed fighting her most of all. It was all just too weird.

Seeing her so nonplussed, Spike felt guilty. He realized that meeting his own needs for violence had left little for the Slayer to slay. He understood too well how it felt to be unable to scratch that particular itch, wanting to kill something and not being able to. And while he still didn’t comprehend why, he’d stopped pretending that he didn’t care. Buffy was frustrated and he didn’t like it.

“I suppose verbal sparring wouldn’t help?” he asked, just the hint of a smile curving his lips. “I could call you names; insult your taste in clothes. Maybe you could toss a few barbs my way?”

The tension that had been building between them broke when Buffy had to laugh, “No, I don’t think that would work. Don’t get me wrong, the snarky comments can add a lot to a fight. But without the punching and the kicking and intent to harm, I don’t think they can really hold up on their own.”

“Never mind then,” Spike said. “It was just a thought.” He started to move away. By now he’d completely forgotten his plan to demand compensation for his tutoring services.

Tbc….

---

Spike turned to go. He was struggling mightily with how wrong it all felt. He had absolutely no desire to torment her, to kick her when she was down. If he was any sort of normal vampire, even one who happened to be deprived of the ability to hurt her physically, he could at least attempt to give her a hard time. His traitorous thoughts, however, had turned to something else that was now painfully hard in his pants.

It was her laugh, he thought, that was at the root of the problem. He was sure he’d heard her laugh before, but he realized now that in the past it had always been a sarcastic snicker, a derisive cackle, or an exhausted, ironic snort born of gallows humor. Her laugh had never sounded like this, the very essence of genuine mirth. This laugh bubbled up like foaming champagne. This laugh was light and effervescent -- so lovely that he felt a deep craving to hear it again.

‘I’m obviously very ill,’ Spike thought. ‘But vampires don’t get sick, so this must be a spell or maybe I’ve been poisoned. There’s got to be an explanation. I’ve been a right git in my day – William was a poor substitute for a man – but this is an abomination. I have feelings for the Slayer!’

Spike was still just a few yards from where he’d left Buffy sitting on a tombstone. ‘I’ve got to go before I do or say something truly stupid. I should hate her. I should want her to hate me. This is a million kinds of wrong.’

“Good night, Slayer,” he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then, at the library?”

As he spoke, Spike turned and looked at Buffy. She was now perched on the top of the wide tombstone, her feet tucked under her. She reminded him of the little mermaid sculpture that he’d seen bathed in moonlight and splashed by icy waves in the harbor at Copenhagen. ‘She might as well be a statue,’ he mused bitterly, ‘for all the chance I’ve got with her.’

“Spike, wait,” Buffy called after his retreating form, “I’ve been thinking about the tutoring. It… well… it makes me uncomfortable, you know…”

Spike wasn’t surprised. Spending time alone with him obviously didn’t hold much appeal. He’d had to admit to himself that he was looking forward to the intimacy of it, even knowing that it would leave him all the more heartsick when she finally passed her poetry class and no longer needed him. This was probably better; just end it before it really begins. Why feed hope to the hopeless?

“S’alright, Slayer,” he interrupted her before she could finish, “you don’t need to explain. Forget about it. I’m sure you can find a more suitable tutor.” He kept walking away. A little surprised at the intensity of the pain in his gut – an indication of just how far he’d let his feelings go.

“No, Spike, wait.” Buffy had to sprint after him, his deceptively relaxed looking stride carrying him away at a rapid rate. “Please wait,” she called after him, “I don’t want another tutor. I want you.”

Not quite believing what he’d heard, Spike nonetheless stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face the way he’d come. His abrupt halt caught Buffy off guard, and she careened into him, her momentum carrying both of them off their feet and down onto the grass. Buffy landed on top of Spike with a loud, “Oof!” the breath knocked out of her.

Buffy’s face was just inches from his when she raised her head, pressing her hands into Spike’s chest for leverage. He might have missed seeing her blush in the dim light, but he couldn’t fail to notice the warmth radiating from her. Still, much as he wanted to wrap her in his arms, Spike kept them at his sides, inhaling her scent and waiting to see what she would do.

Buffy was speechless. She gasped, tried to regain her breath, and then just stared into Spike’s eyes her lips slightly parted, but not moving.

“Did you say that you want me, Slayer?” Spike asked with mock innocence. “‘Because I’m right here, you know, you don’t have to knock me down.”

Buffy blushed an even deeper shade of red and tried rather feebly to push herself off of Spike. She only succeeded in confirming that the long, hard shape pressing into her thigh was exactly what she had feared it was and Spike’s chest, while yielding a bit to the pressure of her hands, was appealingly firm as well.

“I just meant…I mean…I meant to say that I’m uncomfortable accepting your help without paying you anything,” she finally stammered out.

Spike was acutely aware of the fact that Buffy hadn’t already jumped off of him. The sensation of her weight pressing his erection into his leg was muddying his thinking, but he knew enough to choose his words very carefully. “I’d been thinking something along the same lines, Slayer,” he began cautiously, “but I’m not going to be able to take any money from you. I know that your Mum is sick. The gallery does alright, but it’s not going to be a good month with her away so much.”

Buffy’s brow furrowed and her mouth turned down a bit. “That’s why you’re being so nice to me, isn’t it?” she asked, her lower lip protruding in a slight pout. “It’s because my Mom is sick.”

Spike was transfixed by Buffy’s mouth. ‘She has absolutely no idea what that lip is doing to me,’ he thought. He managed to drag his eyes away from the succulent sight long enough to see the hint of hurt in her eyes. “No, no, love, not a bit. I’m being nice to you because I can’t help it. Something very strange and disturbing has happened; I just can’t bring myself to be nasty to you anymore.” As he said this Spike slid his hands up and placed them lightly on either side of Buffy’s waist. He waited, holding his breath, to see if she flinched. She didn’t.

Instead of leaping up, punching him in the nose or running away, Buffy looked down at Spike’s chest for a moment before raising her eyes again to meet his. “Good,” she said. “I’m glad it’s not just because of my Mom. The whole mortal enemy thing seems to have gone bye-bye. It’s the strangest thing ever, but I feel safe with you.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say,” Spike replied, his voice husky, his hands holding her waist just a little more firmly than before.

“I know,” Buffy said, her voice barely a whisper. “I can’t help it.”

Spike reached up with one hand and pushed a lock of Buffy’s hair behind her ear. It was a gentle gesture, his fingers barely touching the shell of her ear. “I can’t take any money,” Spike said. “But I think I know what I’d like as compensation.”

Buffy said nothing but just looked at him expectantly, her eyes wide.

Tbc…..

*********
Don't forget to review. Lots of people seem to be reading this fic but I don't get many reviews. I'm trying to decide if I should end it in the next couple chapters or develop a whole new sub-plot to keep it going a bit. What do you all think? Oh, yeah, it may be a bit before I post again. The next chapter will be a big challenge for me. Sd

---

Her heart racing and mind spinning, Buffy tried to process what Spike had said. ‘He knows what he’d like as compensation.’ she thought. ‘What does he want? Is it a kiss?’

Ever since she’d taken a really good look at Spike’s lips earlier that day, Buffy had been wondering what it would feel like to have them pressed against hers. Prone on his chest, her face just inches from his, it was difficult not to think about it. If that was what he wanted, she’d have a hard time saying no. But what if it wasn't a kiss that he wanted, then what? ‘Not a bite,’ she thought. 'He would never ask me to let him bite me, would he?'

That’s when Buffy remembered there was still a long, hard shape pressing into her thigh and another worry took form. ‘Oh no!' she thought. ‘He can’t possible want that…’

Spike broke into her thoughts. “Let’s get up, love,” he suggested, just the slightest smile on his lips. “Then I’ll tell you what it is I want and you can decide if you’re willing to meet my price.”

With almost no effort, Spike lifted himself gracefully from the ground, bringing Buffy with him. Making a show of brushing bits of grass from his duster, Spike made sure to arrange it carefully over the front of his jeans. Buffy looked away demurely, her blush darkening a bit. Despite missing the warmth and pressure of Buffy’s body on his, Spike was relieved that they were standing again. He couldn’t think straight with the combination of her scent, now laced heavily with traces of arousal, and the sudden increase in her heart rate following his declaration. He was afraid that another second lying under her would prove too much for his demon. He could usually maintain control, balancing his evil and impulsive vampire nature with doses of the humanity he had somehow retained, but he couldn’t be sure of himself with his nostrils full of Buffy’s unique aroma and his ears pounding with the sound of her blood pulsing just beneath the surface of her skin. The fact that her body was clearly responding to his while her demeanor remained diffident only intensified the allure.

Spike looked directly into Buffy’s eyes, “Ready then?” he asked.

He heard Buffy’s heart rate jump slightly as she returned his gaze with considerably more calm than she was feeling. “Sure.”

“I want you to let me call you Buffy,” he stated, his low voice betraying none of the cautious hope embodied by his request.

Buffy couldn’t conceal her surprise. “What? Is that it, that’s what you want?”

“Yeah, I want to call you Buffy,” he repeated, encouraged by the fact that her fist had yet to connect with his nose.

“But I never said you couldn’t…” Buffy began to protest.

“Well, perhaps not in so many words,” Spike injected before she could continue. “But today, at the library, when I used your given name, you made an issue of it. You do remember that, don’t you?”

Buffy looked away from Spike for a moment as she experienced an odd combination of confusion, disappointment, and even a little hurt. Spike watched all of this play across her face as he waited for her reply.
She finally met his eyes again. “Yeah, I guess I did. It surprised me is all. You’ve always called me Slayer. But sure…I mean, why not? After all, I call you Spike don’t I, not ‘William the Bloody, Master Vampire’?” Pushing the uncomfortable mix of emotions out of her mind, Buffy managed to finish her statement with a matter-of-fact tone that might have fooled most people. Spike wasn’t fooled, but he was determined to play along. He was convinced that if he could just manage to behave for a bit longer he could get to see where this very unnatural rapport between a vampire slayer and a master vampire might lead.

“Alright then, I guess we’ve come to terms,” Spike said, smiling. “So we can keep our appointment for tomorrow.”

Buffy nodded slowly, clearly distracted. Spike cocked his head to one side and leveled her with narrowed eyes.

“What’s up, love…I mean, Buffy? You look…I don’t know…perplexed?”

“I guess I’m just a little surprised that that’s all you want,” she admitted, her eyes darting away as she spoke. “I thought it would be something, you know, more.”

Internally Buffy's reaction had been quite a bit stronger than mere surprise; the unexpected request had thrown her totally off balance. Now she could practically kick herself for giving Spike an opening to ask her what she had thought he might ask of her.

While he was fully aware that Buffy was attempting to veil her true feelings, Spike was ready to move on, he appeared thoughtful for a moment, as he seemed to weigh his options. When he finally replied, his voice sounded different. Buffy immediately recognized the more refined tone and syntax he’d used that afternoon when reading the poem. “Buffy,” he said, “I can assure you that while I may indeed want more, I am asking only for the privilege of using your given name. I hope you understand I intend to call you Buffy even when there are others who might make note of it. I hope you won’t find it necessary to renege on our agreement.”

It was true that Buffy, totally unprepared for the Spike’s request, hadn’t considered what her friends might think if he called her by name. But hearing his reply she really didn’t care, this special voice of his was proving to be a seductive ambush and she could only stare at him in stunned silence.

“Buffy, are you all right?” he asked, snapping her back to attention.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she laughed nervously. “And yes, of course, I understand you’ll call me Buffy when my friends are around. I’m okay with that and I promise not to tell them why. Your generosity will be our little secret.”

Spike smiled, bobbing his head and shoulders in a small bow. “Then I guess it’s time for you to toddle on home isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Buffy replied slowly, regarding him with curiosity, “I think I’m all done slaying for the night.”

“Do you mind if I tag along?”

Buffy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, “What, you mean you want to walk me home?”

“If you don’t mind, yes I would.” Spike replied, trying to sound as if offering to escort the Vampire Slayer to her home was the most natural thing a Master Vampire could do.

‘Ha!’ Buffy thought, feeling both relief and vindication. ‘He’s does want something else!’ But she did her best to mask her renewed enthusiasm with a bland response.

“Oh, sure, I guess that would be okay.”

“Well, then,” he said, offering his arm, “we should be off then.”

Speechless again at the formality of Spike’s pose, Buffy nonetheless slipped her hand around his arm, placing it lightly on his sleeve. Thus linked, the two blonds walked out of the cemetery.

Tbc…

---

After exiting the cemetery, Buffy and Spike walked in silence for several minutes, each stealing occasional glances at the other. Buffy tried to think of something to say, but the situation didn’t seem to call for quips and banter. Walking side-by-side, her hand on Spike’s arm, felt intimate and formal at the same time. She finally turned her head to look at him and smiled nervously. He smiled back at her. “Cat got your tongue?” he asked.

“Yeah, that must be it. Did you see where it went?”

He laughed, “Listen, Buffy, I know this seems more than a little strange to you, but back when I was a human I escorted my sisters whenever they went out. As weird as this may seem to you, it feels oddly familiar to me.”

“Oh, I see, I remind you of your sisters.” Spike couldn’t help noticing that Buffy looked crestfallen as she said this.

“No,” he replied, “not at all. You are so unlike my sisters.” Seeing Buffy’s brow begin to furrow, he quickly went on. “They were both very frail. Rebecca was never strong. Eventually they both suffered from consumption. And they were timid. I can’t imagine either one even speaking to a man unless he was a relation, and even then they were terribly shy.”

Buffy stopped, turning to look at Spike she asked, “Do you miss them?” He looked puzzled.

“I don’t know, I haven’t thought of them in so long. I don’t remember the last time I even spoke of Rebecca and Emma. It’s just walking with you like this brings it all back. You can’t imagine how many times I took one or both of them out on my arm just like this.” At this Spike put his hand over Buffy’s where it remained on his sleeve.

“So I do remind you of them,” Buffy said again, looking directly into his eyes this time, more curious than disappointed.

“Maybe just a little. Emma did have green eyes, and she was about your height, but I think it was that bloody poem you made me read aloud. Since this afternoon it’s as though parts of me I’d thought long dead are somehow still alive here inside.” Releasing Buffy’s hand, Spike pointed to his chest, his eyes betraying confusion.

Suddenly uncomfortable with how close they were standing, Buffy started to move away. Spike reacted with vampire speed, catching her hand gently and placing it back onto his arm. “I was supposed to be walking you home, wasn’t I?” he said, falling into step beside her again as though nothing had happened. “Shall we proceed?”

As they resumed their stately pace, Buffy realized it was easier when they were in motion -- the surreal quality of the experience just carried her heedlessly along. The dark streets were deserted, as usual, few Sunnydale residents daring to venture out after dark. She was the only witness to this unprecedented pairing, and then only when she stopped moving long enough to notice what she was doing. Spike had acknowledged out loud what she had already noticed. He was different with her now; gentlemanly, protective, and controlled. ‘That’s it!’ she thought. ‘He’s restrained.’ As courtly as his manners seemed, it was her awareness of the underlying tension, the barely bridled desire that was so compelling. She’d seen Angel struggle against his desire, but he’d gone all sullen and broody -- withdrawing even to the point of appearing hostile toward her. In marked contrast, Spike contained himself within a smoothly polished demeanor that left her feeling cherished rather than rebuffed -- his regard for her never in question.

'I’m bloody well buggered now,' Spike thought, as he walked beside Buffy. 'I gave my inner William an inch and he’s taken a bleedin’ mile! I can hear her heart pounding away and her scent is driving me mad. If I was me I’d drag her under that tree and shag her until she couldn’t walk straight. But apparently I’m not me. So we’re taking a promenade instead. Please, can’t somebody just stake me so I don’t have to face an eternity of unlife trying to live this down?'

Neither one spoke again until Buffy’s house was in sight, the windows all dark. Spike was first to break the silence. “Looks like everyone’s in bed.”

“Makes sense,” Buffy replied. “Mom goes to bed right after dinner these days. The treatments pretty much wipe her out. Dawn probably gets bored with no one around and ends up going to bed early too.”

“Well I’m sure she could use the sleep,” Spike muttered. “She was out until nearly daylight.”

Buffy stopped dead and stared at him. “Excuse me? She was what?”

‘Bollocks,’ Spike thought, 'I’ve gone and put my foot in it now.’ “What, you didn’t know?” Spike asked, trying to sound as innocent as possible.

“No! I didn’t know!” Buffy said, suspicious now. “And how is it you know when Dawn’s is coming and going?”

“I was…you know…around and I saw her…climbing out her window.”

"What were you doing ‘around’ here?” Buffy asked, her distrust growing with every second.

“I, well I…sort of…you know…followed you home.”

“You followed me home? Are you stalking me now? And how do you know what time Dawn got back? You said you saw her climbing out of her window. Are you stalking her too?” By now Buffy was really wigging.

Spike took a step back and tried to keep his voice calm. “Buffy, it’s not how you think. I was here to see that you got home all right. That’s all. When I saw Dawn leaving, I followed her to make sure she didn’t run into any trouble.”

Buffy was reeling. “This is great, so great. There’s a hell god after Dawn, she’s out traipsing around after dark, and I don’t even know it – the person who is supposedly protecting her. But that’s okay, that’s not a problem, because she’s got a Master Vampire as her guardian angel!”

“Buffy, please don’t use that word to describe me. Okay, I did follow her. She went to her friend Janice’s house. I don’t think the parents were at home. There was some sort of party. So I just hung around until she came out again, and I followed her back. Once I saw she was safe inside I left. That’s it. That’s all, really.”

Buffy stood very still looking at Spike as though he had just landed from outer space. “Who are you? And what have you done with Spike?”

“Very funny, Buffy. Listen, I’m really sorry that this is coming out this way. It’s my fault but please just let me explain.”

“No, I don’t think so. I think I’ve heard enough,” Buffy said, backing another few steps away from Spike. “Something is very wrong. I should have known when you started being nice to me. I think you should go now. And you can forget about our deal. That’s off. No poetry, no first name calling. We’re back to being enemies again. Good night, Spike.” Her voice was cold as ice.

Buffy turned on her heel and sprinted the last few yards to her porch. She was inside, her back pressed against the door in a matter of seconds, her heart was pumping wildly and her face was streaked with tears.

Spike stood disconsolate under the street light his hands shoved deep in his pockets, staring at the pavement. He waited until he heard Buffy ascend the stairs. His vampiric hearing let him hear as she checked Dawn’s room, although he already knew Dawn was asleep in her bed, as was Joyce just down the hall. When he heard Buffy close the door to her room Spike turned and stalked back toward his crypt, missing by seconds the sob that escaped her lips as she threw herself onto her bed.

“Bollocks, bollocks, nothing but sodding bollocks!” Spike repeated as he lurched toward the cemetery. “I knew I was saving that bottle of Jack for a special occasion,” he said, bitterly. “Well this is about as ‘special’ as it gets!”

Tbc…

---

Buffy’s first thought upon waking was that the same qualities that made her butt look so good in these pants also made leather the absolute worst choice of material for pajamas. Lifting her head from the pillow into which she’d cried herself to sleep, Buffy rolled over and carefully began to peel the offending garment off her legs. Finally free of the unpleasant constriction, she flopped back onto her bed and stared at the ceiling.

Reviewing the events of the previous night in the light of a new day, everything looked different. ‘I might have over-reacted just a little,’ she thought. For the next several minutes Buffy tried to come up with anything truly nefarious she could blame on Spike.

“I’ll make a list,” she said, sitting up to open the drawer of her bedside table and pulling out a notebook and pen. “He was reading in the library,” she said aloud, writing the first item into her notebook, her expression serious. Staring at the entry for a moment, she shrugged and wrote “Not evil.” next to it.

“Okay, what else then? He listened to me like he really cared.” Again Buffy scribbled in her notebook. When she’d finished the second entry she shook her head. “Definitely not evil,” she said, checking off item two.

“He offered to help me with school,” she continued, again recording the non-offense on her list. “That wasn’t evil either,” she admitted, exasperation beginning to build.

“Okay, what else? He read poetry to me,” Buffy recalled, writing just two words, “read poetry” on her list. “That was so very, very not evil.” At this point the whole list idea was looking like a complete bust, but she persevered. Nobody does perseverance better than a Slayer.

“He didn’t take unfair advantage of me when I landed on top of him,” she said, but she wrote ‘no groping’. She smiled slightly thinking about how Spike’s hands had felt on her waist, how close their lips had been and the way he tried to hide his erection when they stood up. Writing ‘not evil’ in large letters, she said, “Both surprising and not evil.”

Buffy grimaced; realizing the slim possibility her behavior had been warranted was growing slimmer by the second. “He agreed to tutor me in exchange for being allowed to call me Buffy. Okay, that was odd, strange, bizarre, but not evil.”

Lifting her pen, Buffy added another item to her list, “He walked me home like a proper gentleman. Okay, that was confusing as all hell, still not evil. But he had followed me home the previous night after patrol, kind of stalker-like. Only he said it was ‘To see that you got home alright.’ So I’m going to have to go with confusing, again, not evil.”

Pursing her lips and squinting slightly at the less-than-convincing proof of Spike’s evil intentions, Buffy added the last thing she could think of that could, perhaps, maybe count against him. “He followed Dawn when she snuck out. That was what really creeped me out. But then he waited so he could make sure she got home safely. Kind of sweet, actually. Not evil.”

As hard as she tried to find something, there simply wasn’t anything he’d done that qualified as remotely bad, much less truly wicked. “Oh god,” she said, “I am such a paranoid jerk! I’ve got to fix this.”

Grateful the bright sunshine outside her window would probably keep Spike from wandering far, Buffy sprang from her bed, pulling her sweater off as she headed into the bathroom for a quick shower.

**********

Still conscious after consuming two fifths of bourbon, Spike remained determined to best his vampire constitution and drink himself into a complete stupor. Unfortunately, the means to that end was in the lower portion of his crypt. Making his way laboriously across the room, Spike noticed with satisfaction that the alcohol had impaired his motor skills to the point of lurching and staggering. On the third try he succeeded in moving the stone away from the opening to his subterranean boudoir. Exhausted from his travels across the floor, Spike decided to take a short break before descending to retrieve the bottle destined to complete the job of numbing all his pain.

***********

The late morning sun danced across the tombstones of Restfield Cemetery lending it an almost cheery air when Buffy arrived. She had to stop herself before she barged into Spike’s crypt as usual. ‘That probably wouldn’t be the best way to begin,’ she thought. ‘I’m just not very good at this whole “treating Spike like a person” thing. I guess I should knock.’ Buffy’s first tentative rap echoed mournfully. The sound reminded her that the sunshine would most definitely not be following her inside, literally or metaphorically. This thought threatened to make her turn tail and run, but she pushed it out of her mind, made a fist again, and knocked once more. The expression on her face betrayed a now grim resolve to see through her intention to mend the relationship with Spike. She waited for a response with her mouth pressed into a straight line. ‘I’m going to make this right,” she thought. ‘I blew it big time and I have to figure out a way to take it all back. I don’t know how, but if I think about this too much I won’t go through with it.’ Instead of thinking she simply waited, shifting her weight nervously back and forth, from one foot to the other. Nothing. Buffy knocked again, this time hard enough to rattle the hinges and send several spiders scurrying. Still nothing.

Buffy slowly pushed the heavy door ajar and stuck her head just inside. “Spike,” she called out. “Are you in there?” There was no response.

“Come on, Spike, I know you’re mad at me. You should be mad at me. I was a jerk! I’m…I’m…you know, I wish I didn’t say all that…you know…stuff.” Still nothing.

“Spike! I know you’re in there.” Buffy could feel the tingly sensation telling her a vampire was nearby. And even more, she could feel that Spike was nearby. His particular signature was now familiar, indeed unmistakable to her. “Come on Spike! What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry? Okay! I’m sorry! There, I said it! Now you say something!” Nothing but resounding silence. Sobered by Spike’s lack of response, Buffy’s voice softened and her tone turned to pleading, “Can I please just come in?” But there was still nothing.

The crypt door squeaked loudly as she pushed it open just far enough to slip through. “Oh man!” she said. “What a mess!” Even in the dim light of only one candle, Buffy could see enough to know Spike had been there, he’d been drinking, and he was royally pissed off. Scanning the room, Buffy saw many signs of a struggle. Spike struggling to destroy his TV, Spike struggling to knock over his couch, Spike struggling to break, bend or at least overturn everything not bolted to the floor of his crypt. The remains of two whiskey bottles lay on the floor at the foot of the wall against which they’d been thrown. Buffy inspected the shattered glass fragments confirming the bottles had been empty. “Hmm, I know he can hold his liquor, but two bottles? That’s a lot of alcohol, even for a vampire.”

Completing her survey of the damage, Buffy noticed a dark spot on the floor. Encouraged by the steadily increasing intensity of her tinglies as she approached, she came right up to the edge and peered down into the opening.

When Buffy first arrived at his crypt, Spike had lain peacefully unconscious at the foot of the ladder. He’d tripped at the beginning of his descent and the resulting abrupt landing on his head knocked him out. Without tasting so much as a drop of the reserve whiskey, he’d reached his objective – oblivion. But the longer Buffy remained in close proximity the more awareness of her presence began to intrude on his tranquility. Rousing from his coma enough to draw a deep unneeded breath, he winced in pain. “Bloody hell!” he muttered, eyes still closed. “Now I’m dreaming I can smell her. I really must get away from here. Somewhere I can forget everything about her, including the fuckin’ brilliant way she smells.”

Spike took another deep breath. ‘Aww,’ he thought, ‘at least it’s a wildly implausible dream. She’s here is she? All clean smelling with her bouncy shampoo commercial hair and her shiny berry flavored lips? Well, that’s just fine! At least it’s a bloody entertaining dream. After what she’s put me through I deserve a good fantasy sequence or two. Maybe she’ll come down here and tuck me into bed all cozy like my Mum used to do when I was small. Too bad I didn’t save any of my nursery books or she could read me a bedtime story!’ Lulled by the comforting narrative, as well as the persistent effects of his old friend Jack Daniels, and significant blood loss from a gash to his head, Spike slipped once more into unconsciousness. By the time Buffy stepped off the last rung of the ladder -- nearly planting her foot on Spike’s neck in the process -- he was out cold again.

Tbc…

---

Turning from the ladder, careful not to extinguish the candle she’d brought from upstairs, Buffy gasped at the sight before her. Spike’s body lay on the floor, twisted in an unnatural pose and still as death. Copious amounts of blood pooled in the gritty soil under his head and clotted in his platinum hair.

"Oh god!” Buffy cried. “This is my fault. I made him do this! Who’s the monster now?” Leaving her question unanswered, Buffy quickly lit several of the candles she found scattered around the chamber. She then returned to Spike’s side, touching the back of his head gingerly to assess the damage. She was relieved to discover the bleeding had stopped and the blood was beginning to congeal.

Buffy knew that Spike was in no danger of dying, but losing so much blood would leave him very weak and vulnerable. She couldn’t just leave him like that. As gently as she could, Buffy moved Spike out of the pool of blood, laying him on the floor over a clean towel she found in an alcove. She then set about cleaning his wound using a basin of water she filled from Spike’s makeshift shower. Once she was sure the gash, though nasty, was indeed superficial, she sat back on her heels to consider her next move.

Now that she’d cleaned the gore from his face and hair, Buffy could see just how pale Spike appeared in the candlelight, pale even for a vampire. “He needs blood,” she thought. “He won’t heal unless I can get some blood into him.”

Buffy left Spike where he lay on the floor and climbed up the ladder. She searched through the ruins left behind after Spike’s drunken demolition derby until she found the refrigerator. He’d tipped it on its back but it was still plugged in. Buffy sighed with relief when she found two undamaged bags of blood inside, then frowned when she saw what was left of the microwave. Unfortunately, Spike had ripped the door off of it during his rampage. She spent a few minutes trying to make it work, but when she heard moaning coming from below she wasted no time, grabbed the two pints, and headed quickly back down the stairs.

Spike was still unconscious when she returned, but appeared agitated as if he were having a bad dream. He stopped moaning and seemed to calm as Buffy approached. She knelt next to him, putting her hand very lightly on his forehead. Without rousing further, Spike turned his face toward her and drew a long, slow breath, visibly relaxing as he did so. Buffy stayed very still, reassured that he was able to move, make noise, and breathe. “Okay, Spike,” she said aloud, “now I get to see if I can feed a vampire. Funny thing, they didn’t really cover this subject at Slayer school!”

Hefting one of the blood bags in her hand, Buffy worried its cool temperature would fail to tempt Spike in his weakened state. Bracing herself for the shock, she shoved the chilled bag under her shirt, placing it directly against her warm skin. Not prepared to heat two bags at once in this way Buffy placed the second bag in the pocket of her jacket, hoping that would be enough to take off the chill.

It was just as well the blood needed time to warm. Buffy didn’t have a clue how to go about getting an unconscious Spike to drink. “This would be a whole lot easier if you had your fangs out,” she said to his lifeless form. As she mused upon the challenge before her, Buffy’s gaze came to rest on Spike’s face. Now that she’d cleaned him up, he looked a little better. She could almost imagine that he was just sleeping, not out cold. Usually distracted by his constant chatter or his stunning blue eyes, she took the moment to take a good long look at the whole picture. Buffy was reminded of how she’d watched him when he was reading in the library. With a sigh she realized how much had changed between them in a short time. ‘Was that really just yesterday?’ she thought.

Once again, she took the opportunity to gawk at Spike. ‘God he’s gorgeous,’ she admitted to herself. ‘Don’t suppose there’s any point in pretending he’s not the hottest thing on two legs. It was more than obvious last night he’s attracted to me, I don’t know why I bother telling myself it wasn’t mutual? I wonder what it would feel like to kiss him.' His lips look so soft, almost feminine. 'Whoa, Buffy, that’s way too much thinking.'

Buffy shook herself. ‘Just focus on the problem, Buffy,' she reprimanded herself. 'Gorgeous or not he’s got to drink some blood, and soon. Forget kissing, how am I going to get him to eat?'

Trying hard to focus on the task at hand, Buffy scanned around her for the first time. Since finding Spike sprawled on the floor, she’d been so busy she’d barely registered the rest of the room. Now she looked, open mouthed, at the sumptuous surroundings. The rich furnishings created the feeling of a bedchamber in a Victorian manor. Thick hangings covered the walls in one corner, forming an alcove for a four-poster bed. The bed’s cream-colored comforter was piled high with fringed, brocade pillows. Candles bathed the whole space in a warm glow, which was reflected in the polished mahogany of a heavy dresser, an armoire, and a large trunk.

Buffy crossed the room to the trunk, not sure what she was looking for, and lifted the lid. While not surprised to find it full of weapons, Buffy was amazed to see each item was immaculately polished and arranged carefully inside the deep trunk. Before exploring the cache further she regarded the room again, noting that everything in it was clean and orderly. ‘The vampire makes his bed,’ she thought. ‘Who knew?’

Turning back to the trunk, a dagger caught Buffy’s eye. Handling it by its intricately carved handle, Buffy examined the knife closely. The blade was honed to a razor-sharp edge. She smiled remembering what Spike had said the first time they’d met. Something about weapons making him feel “all manly."

Holding the dagger in one hand, Buffy looked down at Spike’s still form. She suddenly knew how she to get the unconscious vampire to bare his fangs. ‘Don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner,’ Buffy thought. Turning the bag of blood to place its other side against her skin, she knelt back down next to Spike. With a sigh she drew the dagger’s blade across her palm. When the red line had grown to the thickness of a piece of yarn she tipped her hand to place a single drop of blood on Spike’s lips. Then she waited, holding her breath. “Come on, Spike,” she said softly. “You know you like Slayer’s blood.”

Tbc…

---

“Two fifths of Jack Daniels with acute head trauma,” Spike thought. “I’ve really got to remember this recipe because, fuck me, these are the best damn dreams of my unlife. I thought the Smell-o-rama was good when I dreamed I could smell her shampoo, conditioner, lip gloss, and the bubble gum she was chewing. But this, this is abso-fucking-lutely brilliant. I’m can smell her blood. I’m going to nominate my imagination for a fuckin’ Academy Award for Best Olfactory Effects.”

Although Buffy didn’t know it yet, the drop of Slayer blood she’d smeared on Spike’s mouth was beginning to have the desired effect. Still without regaining consciousness, Spike’s demon was becoming aware of the crimson elixir staining his lower lip. Frozen on her knees beside his still body, Buffy watched and waited. The first indication that her plan might work was a growl she felt more than heard as it rumbled in his chest. Only then did Buffy even consider the risk she was taking: alone with a nearly drained vampire -- a Master vampire at that -- and her only escape route up a ladder.

Despite the apparent peril, Buffy felt no fear. “He’s weak,” she thought. “Too weak to hurt me. But even if he could, I don’t think he would.” Giles’ likely expression, should he witness Buffy crouched over Spike waiting for his fangs to descend, flashed across her mind for a second. Starting to smile at the visual, she was abruptly brought back to the task at hand when she heard the unearthly sound of Spike’s features shifting into game face. Buffy watched transfixed as the skin of his forehead thickened into bumps and Spike’s fangs first appeared and then lengthened into jagged points. Within a heartbeat Buffy had the bag of O negative in one hand, while she slipped the other behind Spike’s neck to gently urge his head up from the floor.

Her plan, such as it was, called first for fangs and then getting Spike to bite the bag. Now that she’d managed step one, Buffy didn’t know exactly how she was going to accomplish step two. Fortunately, Spike’s demon had a clue. His body snapped forward like a mousetrap closing on its quarry. The bag, now coated with blood from Buffy’s hand, ended up pinned between their chests. Driving panic from her thoughts, and thanking the Powers That Be for her Slayer strength, Buffy pushed up to wedge the unit of blood between her collar bone and throat. Her face mere inches from his, Buffy watched Spike inhale deeply. For the duration of a heart beat he wore an expression of sheer rapture. Then, just as quickly, the demon fully asserted itself. But as Spike’s fangs came down toward Buffy’s jugular, they found the bagged blood instead. The razor-sharp points easily pierced the plastic and he began to draw the thick red fluid down his throat in gulps.

After a few swallows, Buffy felt Spike’s body stiffen slightly. His eyes were still closed, but Buffy thought she saw him register confusion for just a moment before his hunger took over again. He’d just emptied the bag when his weakened state became apparent once more and he slumped back to the floor. Buffy exhaled, only then realizing that she’d been holding her breath, as she too collapsed with relief.

Still not fully conscious, Spike continued to revel in what he thought was a dream. He experienced a brief moment of dissonance when the flavor of the blood didn’t match its aroma, but it wasn’t enough to ruin the moment. Even Academy Award winning special effects aren’t exactly like the real thing. Nor was he able to wonder how an imaginary meal could make him feel so full, and even a little warm. Before he had time to dwell on any of the contradictions contained in his dream, Spike’s demon -- now satisfied – retreated, leaving him far to drowsy to care.

Buffy rested on the floor for a few minutes while her heart rate returned to normal. “Well," she thought, "that could have gone a lot worse. For one thing, I’m still alive!” Pushing up from the floor, she looked down to find her front covered with blood.

“Ewww!” she said aloud. “For a guy who keeps such a tidy house, you sure are a slob when you eat.” Spike was also daubed with red, but she’d definitely gotten the worst of the spillage.

"Okay,” she thought, “Plan A was a complete, if slightly messy, success. Now what?” Spike’s color already looked better. His failure to regain consciousness had Buffy worried, but she noted with some satisfaction that the gash in his head was beginning to heal.

“So far, so good, but he’s still weak," she thought, frowning as she remembered her role in the events leading up to his drunken fall. “I can’t leave him until he can defend himself. It’s the least I can do.”

Buffy resolved to finish the clean-up she had begun earlier. Her goal this time was to remove all Spike’s blood soaked clothes and put him in bed where she hoped he would be more comfortable. Keeping herself busy was also a good way to avoid thinking too much. Right at this moment thinking about what a vampire Slayer was doing nursing a notorious Master vampire back to health was something she wasn’t prepared to dwell upon.

At first, Buffy tried to be as gentle as possible as she attempted to remove Spike’s over shirt from his arms. But as she worked, it became clear that all her tugging and pulling wasn’t going to disturb him in his current state. Once she’d realized this, the project went much faster. But when she’d peeled off first the over shirt and then his still damp tee shirt, Buffy had to face the problem of Spike’s jeans.

One whole leg was thoroughly caked with blood, so she couldn’t see putting him into bed with them on. But removing Spike’s trousers presented obvious difficulties. Buffy occupied her hands with loosening the laces on Spike’s boots as she thought through her options. Indulging in a little wishful thinking, Buffy took the liberty of peeking an inch or two inside his waistband just on the off chance that Spike wore underwear. She was not surprised to find nothing between Spike and his Levis.

“I guess it’s too much to expect,” she harrumphed, “for the surprisingly fastidious vampire to wear boxers.”

Still trying to come up with a solution, Buffy scanned around the room. That’s when she noticed a paisley afghan on the arm of the overstuffed chair next to the bed. Draping the throw over Spike’s lower body, she reached beneath it to loosen the buttons of his fly and then slipped his pants off after carefully tucking the corners of the blanket under his arms to keep it in place. Feeling quite proud of herself, Buffy turned down the bed and hoisted Spike’s inert form up by armpits, the afghan still strategically in place. But as she stepped forward to deposit him onto his bed, Buffy stepped on the trailing edge of the cloth. As it was held in place only by friction, the blanket fell instantly to the floor, leaving Buffy with her arms wrapped around Spike’s nude body.

There was nothing to be done about it. She’d outsmarted herself real good this time. Buffy smiled thinking how much mileage Spike would get out of this if he ever found out. That thought alone propelled her to get him out of her arms and under the covers as soon as possible. Moving to place the back of Spike’s legs against the edge of the mattress, Buffy leaned forward, slowly lowering him down onto the dark red stain sheets, her body still flush against his.

“Now,” she thought, “this is the moment of truth. I’ll just grab the sheet and pull it over as I stand up.” And that’s pretty much what she did. Except for a brief pause between grabbing, rising and pulling during which she took just a tiny peek that stopped her cold.


Tbc…

---

The art history class Buffy failed to complete senior year had introduced her to classical sculpture. Most of the statues she’d studied were carved in pale marble. Before suspending her studies to save the world, she’d come to appreciate the beauty that could be expressed through the unadorned human form. What lay exposed before her on the satin sheets surpassed all the masterpieces pictured in her text book.

This form was sculpted not in marble but alabaster flesh. The smoothly muscled planes of Spike’s chest silently communicated his strength while the long curves of his arms and legs suggested fluid, catlike motion, even in repose. That combination alone was stunningly beautiful. But the unguarded vulnerability of his face, lips soft and slightly parted, took Buffy’s breath away. She didn’t feel the least bit shy as she swept her gaze down the length of his body. The generous size of his manhood, even as it lay soft against his thigh, was no surprise. She had felt its length and girth pressed against her when she lay atop him at the cemetery. She guessed Spike wouldn’t bother to cover himself if he knew she was looking at him. He didn’t strike her as the modest type. But once she’d taken a good look she knew it was unfair to take advantage.

Moving mechanically, but still without averting her eyes from the art object before her, Buffy completed the motion she’d planned, finally stretching the red stain sheet over Spike’s hips. Buffy sighed audibly and tore her eyes from his torso before adjusting the pillow under Spike’s head. As she did so, her face was once more only inches from his. Again she couldn’t help thinking what it would be like to kiss him, but all she did was stare longingly at his mouth.

“I can’t very well take advantage of you now, Sleeping Beauty,” she said, “not after the way you behaved last night when I fell on top of you. I’ve got to show at least as much restraint as a soulless vampire!”

Now that Buffy had completed her clean-up project and had Spike in his bed, she didn’t know what else to do. She decided against trying to feed him again, convinced the blood he’d drank was enough to begin healing his injury. Reasoning that it was just a question of time before he would awaken, she curled up in the armchair to wait. Buffy wrapped herself in the paisley afghan against the damp chill of the crypt, the remaining bag of blood tucked unto her shirt. He’d be hungry when he woke, she thought, and she wanted to have some warm blood handy.

Looking around for something to amuse herself until Spike should wake, Buffy spotted a book on the bedside table. Picking it up, she recognized the volume of poetry from which Spike had read to her in the library. Buffy opened the book and began to read, but it wasn’t long before her eyelids grew heavy and she fell asleep, the book open on her lap.

Swimming groggily toward consciousness, Spike’s dream continued. “Ah, here I am now just as I imagined, tucked neatly in my bed, snug as a bug.” Instinctively, Spike sniffed the air, checking his immediate surroundings for intruders. “That’s odd,” he thought. “I can still smell her, and her blood is mixed with the other.” More aware of his surroundings by the minute, Spike noted the warmth of candles burning in the room as well as the unmistakable sensation of cool satin against his skin. As he recovered even more consciousness, Spike detected the sound of a heartbeat – and not just any heartbeat. “I’m going to finally understand the meaning of ‘a rude awakening’,” he thought, “when I open my eyes to a dreary crypt, where I lie alone on the floor, hung over, in smelly clothes, just as unloved and miserable as ever.”

Spike was about to slip back into sleep, but he couldn’t ignore the slow, even thump of Buffy’s heart. It was her heart that succeeded, finally, in pulling him out of his imagined dream. “I’ve heard Buffy’s heart race like a doe pursued by a wolf, and I’ve heard it pound with anger – usually at me,” he thought, ruefully. “I’ve heard it hammer with the excitement of battle and I know what it sounds like when she’s aroused. But the only time I’ve heard it beat like this is when she’s asleep in her bed. I’ve certainly heard it enough times when I’ve gone by Revello Drive to see that she’s safe at home. There’s no chance I’d mistake the sound. But why am I dreaming that she is asleep when I could have her any which way I want?”

Troubled by the illogic of his dream, Spike fully resurfaced for the first time since falling on his head. “Bugger it all,” he sputtered to himself, finally sweeping the last of the cobwebs from his mind, “that was one bloody wonderful dream. Shame it had to end, but that bit at the end made no sense. I’ve never been one for obscure metaphors and symbols. Maybe that’s why I wrote such appalling poetry.”

Spike opened his eyes. Awake now he knew that he was in fact in his bed, and the sheets under him were entirely real. Eyes wide open, and staring straight ahead, Spike observed the gentle dance of the candle flames as they threw shadows on the ceiling. Candles he was sure he had not lit. Without moving a muscle, he inhaled, bringing the rich scent of Buffy’s blood combined with some generic O negative into his nostrils. All this time the tattoo of her heart never subsided.

Spike was torn. On the one hand, he was thrilled that so much of his dream had turned out to be true, but he was also suspicious. If he sat up and looked around he’d surely discover the source of the cruel trick someone was playing on him. It was inevitable, just as the dream finally ending had been inevitable. Still, that didn't mean he wanted it to end.

Spike lay in his bed, still as a corpse, pondering the question of who would go to the trouble of pulling such an elaborate gag when Buffy snorted loudly in her sleep.

“What the fuck?” Spike uttered aloud as he sat up fast enough to send his bruised brain crashing against the inside of his skull. Intense pain shot through his head, blurring his vision. When he could finally see again, he sucked in an unneeded breath at the sight of Buffy asleep in his chair. Stunned for a moment, Spike recovered quickly.

“Hello, cutie,” he said, a small smile quirking his lips, “does this mean I’m allowed to call you Buffy?”

Buffy lurched awake at the sound of Spike’s voice, the book falling from her lap onto the floor with a thump. Her wide green eyes met his as the paisley afghan slid off her shoulders. She was instantly flooded with relief to see him awake and apparently in good spirits. But Spike’s amused expression dissolved almost as quickly and he gave a strangled scream when he his eyes fixed on her blood soaked top. Before Buffy could say a word, he was standing over her frantically brushing her hair away from her neck.

“What have I done?” he choked out, searching her throat for a wound. “Buffy, oh God, love, I’m so sorry; I didn’t know what I was doing. I never meant to hurt you; I swear I thought it was a dream. Thank the gods you’re alive. Oh, please, just tell me you’re okay and I’ll go away. I’ll never come back.” he sobbed, still unable to find his mark on her neck, he looked at her in confusion. “Where is it?” he asked, his voice harsh with self-loathing. “Where did I bite you?”

“No, no, Spike, please stop,” Buffy put her hands on either side of his face. “You didn’t bite me. It’s all right. I’m all right. You didn’t do anything to me.”

Staring straight into Spike’s panic-stricken face, Buffy could see he was too distraught to hear her. “It’s not my blood,” she stammered. “Well, not most of it anyway. Here, look,” she said, pulling the reserved unit of blood from under her shirt. “I fed you some bagged blood. I just used a drop of mine to get you started.”

Spike sat back, eyes locked with Buffy's, his head tilted to one side. Understanding and then relief flashed across his features to be replaced almost immediately by rage. “You did what? You daft cow! I could have drained you. What are you, completely mental?”


Tbc…

---

Buffy sat absolutely still in the armchair as Spike continued to rage. “Do those wankers who call themselves Watchers teach you nothing at all about vampires?” His eyes flashing with sparks of amber, Spike seemed wholly unaware that he was stomping back and forth in front of her in a state of complete undress. “It’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long if that’s all the care you take with your life.”

The sight of Spike, quite naked, pacing manically and waving his arms to emphasize his monologue was truly arresting. Buffy’s eyes never strayed from him as he lurched from one side of the room to the other. Any normal person would have been terrified. Buffy was, after all, cornered in a crypt with an angry vampire. But Buffy’s reaction, while intense, was anything but fearful. At first she could control her prevailing emotion by pressing her lips together in a straight line. She soon found it necessary to form her hands into fists, her fingernails stabbing fiercely into each palm. Finally she tried biting her lip. None of it worked for long.

Spike neared his turning point as he posed yet another rhetorical question. “Do you have any idea what just the smell of Slayer’s blood does to a vampire?” Turning sharply to his left to resume marching in the opposite direction, Spike opened his mouth to continue but stopped when he saw Buffy doubled over on the chair, her hands clamped over her mouth.

Dropping instantly to his knees in front of the chair, Spike put his hands on her wrists. “What’s this then? I’m just yelling, you know. I’m not going to hurt you, even though you are a silly cow! Come on then, sit up. Are you alright?”

Without lifting her head, Buffy shook it violently from side to side to indicate that she was most definitely not alright. “Come on, Buffy, what is it?” Spike was pleading with her now.

Buffy couldn’t take it, unable to contain her mirth a moment longer she burst out laughing. Standing up again, Spike stared in astonished silence as Buffy was beset by gales of laughter, tears streaming down her face.

“What are you laughing at, you crazy bint?” Spike asked, clearly exasperated. “I’m taking you to task for risking your bloody life on the worthless likes of me and now you’re laughing? I believe you've gone completely off your nut.”

Buffy tried to answer, but she was still giggling too hard to speak. She finally had be satisfied with pointing at Spike’s nakedness before she buried her face in her hands again, convulsed with spasms of amusement.

Spike followed Buffy’s finger to his nude body and immediately reached behind him to grab the sheet off the bed. Wrapping the red satin around his waist he stood, glowering at Buffy, and waited for her to contain her merriment. She didn’t stop.

“Come on now, love, that’s enough. Stop it. I’ve covered up, see, nothing more to be laughing about. Not that there was anything really funny before…”

Buffy looked up at him, her eyes still wet with tears of hilarity. She really was trying to stop, but it was just too much. Spike, the notorious Master vampire, the Slayer of Slayers, yada, yada, yada… And here he was bellowing at her, giving her hell, wrapped in nothing but a sheet. She couldn’t help it, this was the funniest thing she’d seen in a very long time. She ducked her head, trying to quell her amusement by clearing her mind of the scene before her.

Feeling a little less hysterical, Buffy dared to steal another glance at Spike. The muscle in his jaw jumped and it was apparent that he was barely containing his temper. Buffy closed her eyes in an attempt to solidify her control. When she opened them again she focused on the floor, Spike’s bare toes and the folds of the sheet all she could see. Slowly lifting her chin, Buffy held her breath and willed herself to remain composed. Slowly she raised her eyes to his and totally lost it again. This time she didn’t even attempt to restrain herself. “I’m sorry,” she managed to croak through her laughter, and then she was overcome.

Spike had been very close to exploding. But when he saw that Buffy was trying to stop, he realized that he couldn’t hold her responsible for her behavior. Even in his depleted state, he could tell from her pulse that she was hungry, dehydrated, and exhausted. That, and the fact that Buffy’s laughter had to be one of the most delightful sounds he’d ever heard – even if it was directed at him – quickly melted his irritation.

Hiccupping now, Buffy continued to giggle helplessly. Spike shook his head, smiling to himself as he watched her. Despite all her Slayer strength and the responsibility for the wellbeing of the world that went with it, seeing her like this made it clear that she was still just a girl -- an adorable, desirable girl.

Before he had time to second guess himself, Spike leaned down and pressed his mouth against hers. It was a chaste kiss, his mouth remaining in contact with hers for a second or less, lips soft and yielding. The giggles stopped. Buffy stared at him, wide-eyed with surprise. Then she reached up, pulling him down to meet her lips again.

Clutching the sheet with one hand, Spike returned Buffy’s kiss, his tongue gently prodding for entrance as his free arm wrapped around her waist and lifted her a few inches off the floor. He was distracted briefly by errant thoughts, but before he could catalog the long list of reasons why William the Bloody and Buffy the Vampire Slayer should not kiss, a deluge of pleasant sensation swamped his intellect and it simply gave up. He was surrounded by a warmth he’d only imagined, inundated with flavors and scents to which he was instantly addicted, and thrilled by the urgent beating of Buffy’s heart against his chest.

The only false note in this sensory symphony, from Spike’s perspective, was the intrusive presence of the non-Buffy blood staining her clothes. Spike was still short at least a pint after nearly bleeding out on the floor. His demon could not ignore the thick funk of the blood now drying on Buffy’s top and jeans. When their mouths separated long enough for Buffy to gulp a lungful of air, Spike lowered her feet to the floor and put his fingers on her lips. “Buffy, love, I can’t…” The look of hurt in her eyes caught him completely by surprise. “No, love, no, I don’t want to stop! God, I want you like nothing I’ve ever wanted before – not in my unlife or before. But this blood,” he said, gesturing at her soiled clothes, “it’s got my demon right riled, and I’m too weak to fight it. It’s not safe…wouldn’t hurt you for the world…”

Alarm quickly replaced the hurt in her eyes and Buffy scrambled behind her on the chair until she found the forgotten bag of blood. Holding it out to him she dropped her eyes suddenly to the floor. “Spike, please drink this. I’m so sorry. You lost so much blood. You must be starving. Oh, God, Spike, this is all my fault. I shouldn’t have sent you away like that. None of this would have happened…” He didn’t let her finish. Now it was his turn to draw back.

“You regret this, then?” he said a little icily.

“Buffy’s head shot up, finding his eyes with hers. “No, what? You mean this…the kissing? No. I don’t regret this. It’s just…”

“Then forget what happened before. Doesn’t matter,” he said very softly, the chill gone from his voice. He brushed a stray lock of hair away from Buffy’s tear-stained face and tucked it behind her ear. “Just let me drink that and maybe you could change out of those clothes.”

Buffy looked into Spike’s eyes again, this time seeing something she’d seen there before but had never understood. The bravado he projected was just a front. Underneath was a tender, sensitive…well, not a soul, but something vulnerable and kind, something he hadn’t shown to anyone in a very long time. And he was risking it, showing her his soft, unguarded self. He was asking her to change her clothes so he could be close to her without wanting to devour her -- at least not in the “drain you ‘til you die” kind of way. Every time she thought she had him figured out, Spike surprised her again.

Buffy’s mouth curved into a crooked smile as she handed Spike the bag of blood. “You have something else I can wear?” she asked. “I didn’t exactly pack an overnight bag.”

“No, I don’t suppose you did,” he answered, with just a trace of his signature smirk. “You’ll find t-shirts and jeans in that dresser right there. Help yourself.”

Tbc….

A/N: Okay, I know this is going very slowly. My only excuse is that I’m new to this and getting our two lovers into a sweaty situation isn’t as easy as I thought it would be. Still, progress is happening. Show some love.

---

“We look like the Bobbsey Twins,” Buffy said, as she sat next to Spike on the edge of the bed. Like Spike, she was wearing a black T-shirt and jeans.

“The who?” Spike asked.

“The Bobbsey Twins," Buffy repeated. "I have no idea who they are either. My mom would always say Dawn and I looked like them when we wore matching outfits.”

“You and Dawn wore matching outfits?” Spike asked, looking incredulous.

“Well, not really, I guess. I mean, all those memories are fake. But they still seem real.”

“Yeah, I even have memories of Dawn before she existed. But I don’t remember her when she was young enough to be caught dead in the same clothes as you!”

Buffy laughed. “Wow, those monks did a pretty thorough job didn’t they?” she said, glad she and Spike had something to talk about. Now that they were both dressed, and he had taken the edge off his hunger, she felt unaccountably self-conscious.

“So your mum used to say you two were like these twins?” he asked, turning slightly to look at Buffy.

“Yeah, at least that’s how I remember it,” Buffy replied, a little sadness in her voice.

Spike looked into her eyes and saw the traces of care and worry written there. “It's hard on you that your mum is sick, isn't it?” he asked.

Buffy returned his gaze, suddenly feeling less awkward. “Yes, I just feel so...helpless, I guess.”

Spike reached out to place his hand over hers, where it rested on her knee. “Me too,” he said. “Joyce is a right fine lady. She has always been kind to me. I miss our talks, and the hot chocolate, of course.” The sensation of his cool hand on hers sent a thrilling jolt right through her, but Buffy sat very still, not moving her hand, her eyes still fixed on his. She really didn’t know where this was going, yet she knew she didn’t want to blow it again. Doing a lot of nothing seemed like the safest course of action, at least for the moment.

They sat in silence for a couple of beats, then, at precisely the same moment, they both started to speak.

“Spike,” she began just as he said, “Buffy.”

They both laughed. “You go first,” he said.

“No, no, please, you go ahead,” she replied.

“All right then,” he said. “Now, if what I’m about to say sounds less than spontaneous, well, it is. I’ve been mulling this speech over for quite a long time. I just never thought I’d ever get the chance to deliver it to its intended audience.” Spike raised his eyebrows as if asking permission to go on. Buffy smiled an encouraging, if slightly nervous, smile and nodded for him to continue.

“You need to know that you’re not just any chit to me, Buffy,” he began. “I’ve been paying more than just the ordinary attention to you for some time. Really listening to what you say – and sometimes what you don’t say – and noticing what you do and how you do it and whom you do it with,” Spike stopped again. “Bollocks! I really should have practiced this more. It’s coming out all wrong. I sound like a bloody stalker.” Spike turned to face Buffy squarely, taking both her hands in his and looking deep into her eyes. “I swear I haven’t been stalking you. It’s different to that. I just want you to be safe, you know?” Buffy nodded again, conscious that Spike had yet to get to the point, she demurred to speak, afraid it would just take him longer to get to whatever it was he was trying to say. He breathed an audible sigh of relief and forged on.

“I know a bit of your history with men: a vampire who turned on you the morning after, a human who did much the same – though admittedly that wanker Parker didn’t kill anyone as a result – and then there’s Farm Boy, who may be wholesome, but he’s none too exciting.” At this point, Spike, still holding Buffy’s hands, grew even more serious. “I think …no, I know you can do better than that, Buffy. I know because, if you give me the chance, I’m going to make absolutely sure you never have to wonder if you are desirable, never have to settle for being less than completely satisfied, and never question that you are worthy of respect, admiration and...” his voice trailed off as looked at the floor for a moment. When he lifted his eyes to lock with hers again they seemed to overflow with emotion. “If you give me the chance, that is. I’m not going to presume anything, Buffy. I wasn’t raised a Victorian gentleman for nothing. It’s all still in here,” he said, pointing to his chest. “I’ve still got the manners and the diffidence of a right ponce, deep down. Admittedly, it’s been buried deep under the skin of a truly evil vampire. But as impulsive as you’ve known me to be, you won’t recognize the bloke who’s going to engineer the most romantic seduction this century has ever seen. You may think that I’m impatient, but this is one project I intend to draw out until neither one of us can stand it a moment longer,” he said, his voice now husky with desire. “But only if you let me, Buffy.” He dropped her hands then and leaned back against the bedpost.

Buffy chewed her lip, eyes big as saucers, as she processed Spike’s proclamation. There he is again, she thought, the man behind the demon -- so earnest, so eloquent, so dead on sexy!

“So, you really didn’t just want to call me Buffy then,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper.

“No, love, but saying your name, over and over and over again, does enter into many of my fantasies,” he replied, leaning forward again, the tip of his tongue just visible as he drew it along the bottom of his front teeth. “So I figured it was a good place to start.”

Buffy laughed. “Good, for a minute there I thought you’d done something with the real Spike. Now I can be sure it’s really you.”

He was close to her again, so close she could smell the blend of tobacco, leather and whiskey that was so distinctly his, and he was looking at her with a fierce intensity.

“W-w- what?” Buffy stammered, suddenly nervous.

“Well, love, I know I rambled a bit,” Spike said, his smile gone. “But there was a question hidden amongst the prose. What’s your answer? Will you give me the chance?”

Buffy suddenly felt dizzy. Her mouth went dry and it was almost painful to swallow. Here it was, at last, the very issue she’d assiduously avoided thinking about while barreling headlong into a collision with her own mixed emotions. Was she a vampire slayer or a vampire lover? Both a vampire slayer and a vampire lover? As usual, Buffy didn’t want to face the difficult choice. But she didn’t want to run away either. That would mean leaving unexplored all the promise she had felt in Spike’s kiss. Meanwhile, he was still waiting.

“I think I’d like a little more time to think about it,” she finally replied.

Spike blinked, his jaw clenched as disbelief registered in his expression. “Please, pet,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “take all the time you need.” Turning away, he fought to hide the disappointment and hurt. “But don’t assume I’ll still be here if you decide to come back,” he continued, his tone flat and controlled. “I may just clear out.”

“Come back?” Buffy said to his back. “I wasn’t planning on leaving. I thought maybe we could just…you know…sort of…consider the situation.”

Spike whipped around to look at her, perplexed. “So you’re not saying no, but you’re not saying yes either? What, exactly, am I supposed to do now?”

Buffy smiled at Spike’s obvious confusion. “You’ve given a really great sales pitch, Mr. Bloody,” she said crossing her arms across her chest and trying her best to look like a discerning shopper. “But I’m the sort of customer who likes to try before she buys. Otherwise I don’t know if I’m really getting everything that’s been advertised.”

Spike cocked his head to one side, a sly smile curving his lips. “So, you’re talking about a test drive then?”

Buffy thought for a moment before she said, “Yeah, something like that!”


Tbc….

A/N: Addie Logan created the beautiful banner that now graces each chapter. Many thanks for all the reviews. I love hearing from readers! Please take a moment to visit http://spuffyawards.jaded-paradise.net/vote.php where you can vote for your favorites among the nominated Spuffy fan fiction. This story has been nominated in three categories: Best General Romance, Best Spike Characterization and Best Buffy Characterization. Voting ends September 16, so don’t delay.

---

‘So it’s a test drive she wants, is it?’ Spike thought with glee while marshalling every bit of his control to maintain a cool exterior. Inside he was singing. ‘She thinks she’s going to check out the merchandise. But I’m going to turn the tables on our little Slayer, and she’s not going to know what hit her until it's too late.’

If she had given him permission to court her, Spike’s plan had been to slowly and methodically tease the Slayer into a fever of arousal. Buffy’s prior impression of Spike as impatient, impulsive, and impetuous was largely accurate. But there was one exception: sex. He had learned from decades of practice with Drusilla, his dark princess, that in the art of love, slower is most definitely better. Amorous play between the two vampires had often spanned days, ultimately culminating in an explosive completion that left them both totally spent.

By denying him her permission, and attempting to play coy, Buffy had given Spike a gift. His one worry about initiating this seduction was that he might lose control. Playing this game with an experienced partner was one thing. Drusilla had always been as invested as he was in prolonging the excitement. But Spike couldn’t be sure Buffy would play her part in what had always been a game of cat and mouse, the roles switching constantly back and forth from predator to prey. He simply didn’t know if he could hold out if Buffy offered herself. It wasn’t a risk he wanted to take; he’d come too far to settle for a one night stand.

But Buffy’s request that she ‘try before she buy’ created a perfect safety net for Spike. With a test drive you don’t get to do your grocery shopping, go out to dinner, or commute to work. There are restrictions when you test drive a car and there would be restrictions for this trial as well. Within these parameters Spike could safely build the sexual tension without the risk. He was determined not to consummate their relationship before he persuaded Buffy that she wanted him even more than he wanted her.

‘I already know I can get her body going,’ Spike mused. ‘Her scent has given that much away on several occasions. What I’m wanting now is the whole package. Aw, bollocks, you hopeless git, you might as well just face it, you want her bloody heart.”

Speaking of Buffy’s heart, Spike suddenly noticed the steady beat of said heart very nearby. He started as if from a dream and found Buffy, still seated at his side on the bed, staring at him with curiosity.

“Hello!” she said, prodding him in the ribs with her finger. “Anybody home?”

“What? Was I lost in thought then?”

“If the thousand mile stare is any indication, pretty much,” she replied, clearly amused. “Care to tell me what you were thinking?”

For once, Spike was speechless. “Thinking?” he asked. “Oh, well, yes…just that…that is…that a t-shirt and jeans never looked so fetching. That’s all.”

Buffy squinted at him, not really believing his cover story, but flattered nonetheless. “Thank you. I have to admit they fit a lot better than I would have guessed.”

“Yes, yes they do,” Spike agreed. “Well, I like the way they fit anyway. I don’t know who those twins you mentioned might be, but you don’t look anything like my twin in those clothes.” Initially unnerved at being caught in deep day-dream, Spike quickly regained his footing. “And speaking of clothes, I’m thinking we need a few guidelines for this test drive you’ve suggested.”

Buffy proved easily distracted and quickly took Spike’s bait. “Guidelines? You mean, like, rules?”

“Yes. Rules, guidelines, same idea.” Back on track now, Spike smiled at her. “For example, clothes stay on – assuming, that is, that what you mean by a test drive involves the possibility of some…”

Not really wanting him to finish his sentence, Buffy interrupted. “Yes, I mean, yes there could be some, you know, touching. And yes, clothes on seems like a good idea.”

Spike noticed, despite Buffy’s prim pose perched on the edge of the bed, that her heart rate took a little jump. ‘Clothes on or off this is getting to be fun already,’ he thought. Emboldened by her quick assent to his first guideline, Spike continued.

“And I suppose we should also establish, just for the record, that ‘no’ means ‘no’ and ‘stop’ means ‘stop,’” he said, his expression innocent.

Buffy looked thoughtful for a moment. “That sounds good,” she said. “’No’ and ‘stop’ with the usual Webster’s definitions. Anything else?” she asked.

“That’s it for me,” Spike answered. “Any guidelines you’d like to add?”

Buffy looked away for a moment. When her eyes returned to his Spike could see just a trace of insecurity. “Yeah, just one,” she said, hesitating.

“And what would that be?” Spike asked, his light tone belying the excitement he felt that she was playing along.

Buffy took a deep breath. “You don’t call me Slayer…and I don’t call you vampire.”

“We’re Buffy and Spike then?”

“Yeah, just Buffy and Spike,” she said, blushing.

“Isn’t that really two rules, love?” Spike said, totally charmed by the pink tint of her cheeks.

“You had three,” she said, laughing. “Can’t I have two?”

Spike reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “No problem, love,” he whispered. “You can have all the rules you want.” His fingers remained pressed very lightly against her check.

Buffy swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, as a shiver ran the length of her spine. “I can’t think of any others right now,” she said in barely a whisper.

“That’s okay,” Spike said, slowly tracing the curve of her jaw from her earlobe to her chin. “If you think of one you’d like, we can add it later.”

Buffy just nodded agreement, her eyes never leaving his. Spike’s thumb came up to rest on her mouth, lightly outlining the shape of first her upper and then her lower lip.

“Would it be alright if I kissed you now, Buffy?” he asked.

Buffy answered, her voice so soft it was almost as if she had only mouthed the word, ‘yes,’ against Spike’s thumb. Of course, he heard her. As his fingers slid back to tangle in her hair and gently curved around to cup the back of Buffy’s head, it seemed that everything was moving in slow motion. His eyes darkened to a stormy blue and his cheek bones became even more pronounced as he took a deep inhalation of completely unnecessary air. When Buffy blinked it felt like she was taking a picture with a camera set at a very slow shutter speed. Her heart rate dropped to a sluggish pace and throbbed loudly in her ears. It took forever for his lips to descend toward hers. But then the cool, yielding urgency of his mouth was suddenly pressed over hers. Buffy closed her eyes as she savored the sensations: the texture, the taste, and the temperature. He quite literally took her breath away. And before she had time to gasp for air, everything went black as she passed out.

**********

“Would it be alright if I kissed you now, Buffy?” he heard himself ask. She said ‘yes,’ although anything less than vampire hearing might have missed it. Spike plunged his hands into her hair. He’d wanted to touch it for so long now he’d lost track of when the craving had begun. The silky strands were warm to the touch and fragrant. The pleasant realization his hands would wear her hair’s perfume flashed through his mind. He returned her intense gaze, wondering if he could drown in her eyes. The longer he looked the more colors he saw: flecks of gold and grey mixed with greens from pale sea foam to deep jade. He knew he was awake this time, but he couldn’t stop expecting to wake up and find himself alone.

Spike dipped his chin, bringing his lips close to hers while he inhaled to fill his nostrils with her scent. Already intoxicated, he finally brought his lips in contact with hers. He felt her mouth melt against his and relief poured over him. This was not a chaste thank you or a fleeting tease of a kiss. This kiss wasn’t a whim or a taunt. This was a deliberate kiss, exploratory but intentional. This kiss was premeditated. “To hell with my stupid plan,” he thought. “She can have me any way she wants me.” But just as he resolved to abandon his plans for a torturously long seduction, Buffy’s body slumped unconscious into his arms.

Tbc….

*******************************************************************
A/N: I know some of you will think this is just too evil. But this story is writing itself and this is what had to happen. Don’t worry, it’s just small a case of hunger and dehydration exacerbated by close proximity to a very hot vampire.

---

Spike carefully laid Buffy’s inert form back onto the bed and then dragged her dead weight gently across the red satin sheets until her head rested on the pillows. “I know I’m the Big Bad and all, love,” he said, drawing the paisley afghan over her, “but I never imagined one kiss would knock you out.” Ducking for a moment into his makeshift bath, Spike returned to Buffy’s side with a washcloth in hand. “Here, love,” he said, placing the damp cloth over her forehead. “Good thing I was once a Victorian gentleman, ‘cause I know a thing or two about swooning. I’m fresh out of smelling salts, but this should do the trick.”

“Come on sweetheart,” Spike said, stroking Buffy’s fingers with one hand while he turned the cloth over to its cool side with the other. “Time to wake up now, love.”

Buffy’s eyelids fluttered open, and she fixed Spike with a confused expression.
“What happened?” she asked.

“You mean besides the kiss?” Spike replied, unable to keep from smiling.

“Mmm, yeah, I was kind of liking that. Then what?”

“Maybe you can tell me,” Spike said, his eyes narrowing. “One minute I was thoroughly enjoying myself--and I’m pretty sure you were enjoying yourself, too--then, bam, you’re out cold. Was it me, love? Too much for you, am I?” Spike asked, smug smirk firmly in place.

“I don’t know,” Buffy said, pointedly ignoring his questions. “Everything slowed down, and I heard my heart thumping in my ears. Next thing I know, I’m laying here talking to you. How long was I out?”

“Only a few minutes. Barely long enough for me to get you this cloth, really. How do you feel now?” Spike asked, concern apparent in his tone.

“A little fuzzy, but otherwise, okay I guess.”

“So tell me, Slayer…” Spike began.

“Buffy,” she corrected.

He smiled. “Right then, Buffy. When did you last have a bit of tiffen?”

“What-en?”

“Tiffen, you know, lunch, snack, food, nosh, whatever you want to call it. When did you last eat, love?”

“Eat? Well…it was…let’s see. It was before I went on patrol. I made macaroni and cheese for dinner.” Buffy noticed Spike’s incredulous expression. “Well, you know, it was from a box. But it’s Dawn’s favorite.”

Spike shook his head. “That makes it close to 24 hours without food or drink, Buffy. I think we might have an explanation for your swoon. Even Vampire Slayers need to eat a little now and then.”

“Twenty-four hours?” Buffy said. “How can you tell what time it is? I mean, there’re no windows or anything.”

“Vampire here, remember?” Spike answered. “The sun goes down, I get up. I can feel when the sun nears the horizon. It’s just shy of sunset now.”

As if to confirm Spike’s pronouncement, Buffy’s stomach chose that moment to gurgle loudly. “Somebody needs her dinner,” Spike said, pulling Buffy to a sitting position. “How’s that, then? Any dizzies?”

“No, I’m okay.” Buffy replied slowly. “You don’t happen to keep any food here, do you?”

“Just junk, not anything worth eating, love. You need something with some nutrition in it. All I’ve got is Pringles and Twizzlers. You need to go home where you can get some decent food. But first I’m going to get you a glass of water, and I want you to drink it. I think you’re dehydrated as well as starved.”

When Spike returned, holding a tall glass of water, he noticed Buffy’s lower lip was protruding. “What’s up, love?” he asked, putting the glass into her hand, his eyes glued to her luscious pout. “You look a bit pensive.”

Buffy quickly sucked her lip back in. “Oh, it’s just that we were…you know… the kiss and everything was going so well, I mean, before I conked out.”

Spike’s graced her with a simultaneously wicked and sexy smile, something Buffy hadn’t previously known to be possible. “I know what you mean, pet. But the fact it might have been the best kiss of my unlife doesn’t change the fact that you need a good meal and perhaps a bit of a bath. And you’re not going to get either one down here in my crypt.”

Buffy’s looked stricken. “Y..y..you think I need a bath?” she stammered. “Do I smell? Oh, god, I stink!”

Spike couldn’t help laughing. “Relax, Buffy,” he said. “You smell positively delicious to me, except for a few traces of God- knows-whose blood. I’m just saying you’ve had quite a day of it. Dragging me around, getting splattered with gore, passing out from hunger. Thought you’d like a chance to freshen up. We can pick up where we left off afterwards.” He reached up and gently traced the contour of her lips with his fingers, the pitch of his voice dropping at least an octave. “I promise you I won’t forget where we were.”

Once again, the mere sound of his voice sent chills up Buffy’s spine. ‘How does he do that?’ she thought. But out loud all she said was, “Okay, I guess I’m going home then.”

“There’s a good girl,” Spike said, smiling. “But you need to drink this first, and I’m not sending you home alone. I’ll take you there, like a proper gentleman.”

Buffy brightened, “Can we do it like we did the other night?”

“Arm in arm?”

“Yeah, like you used to do with Rebecca and Emma.”

Spike, stunned that Buffy remembered his sisters’ names, simply stood and offered his arm. “Might not be a bad idea to keep a hold of you, in case you decide to go night-night again without warning,” he said, winking at her.

The wink made her heart skip, but Buffy took a quick gulp of air and resisted the impulse to swoon again. Instead, she scooted to the edge of the bed and used Spike’s arm to steady herself as she too stood. “I think that glass of water helped,” she said. “I don’t feel at all woozy anymore.”

“Good, but let’s hope we don’t run into any demons. I’d rather not see how well you can fight on nothing but water.” Placing his hand over hers, Spike walked Buffy to the foot of the ladder. “Go on up,” he said. “I’ll grab a candle and follow at a safe distance.”

Buffy did as Spike asked, impressed again with his courtly manners. Meanwhile, Spike took the opportunity to admire the shape of Buffy’s butt as she ascended to the crypt’s upper level. ‘I may be tame,’ he thought, ‘but I’m still evil.’

They waited just a few minutes for the sun to set before setting out, arm in arm, across the cemetery in the direction of 1630 Revello Drive. It was early yet for demon activity, and their walk was entirely free of attacks of any kind. Anyone observing the couple from a distance would never guess the two blonds, completely engrossed in conversation and looking almost entirely at each other, were, in fact, a vicious and notorious vampire and a girl imbued with demon-destroying superpowers. The illusion of two perfectly normal young people returning from an early date was only enhanced when they reached Buffy’s house.

“Well, here we are,” Spike said as he accompanied Buffy up the steps to the front door. He gently removed Buffy’s arm from his, dropping his hands to his sides and stepping back as he looked down at his feet. “I guess I’ll be saying good night, then.”

Buffy was about to say something, anything really, to convince him to stay, when the door swung open.

“Buffy! Where the hell have you been?” Dawn said, obviously pleased to see Buffy wasn’t alone. “Hi Spike! Hey, come on in. Your timing is perfect. Mom’s gone to bed and I hate watching TV alone.”

Buffy saw her opportunity and grabbed Spike’s hand, pulling him across the threshold. “Okay, Dawnie, what are you watching?”

Tbc……

A/N: I think I promised some Spuffiness. It will come, eventually. I just write ‘em as they unfold. And now that I have a life-size cardboard cutout of our peroxide hero, I have plenty of inspiration. So hang in, I’ll get them there in time.

---

It was a beautiful night, not a demon in evidence, as they walked the shadowy streets of Sunnyhell, Buffy’s arm wrapped around Spike's. With her free hand, Buffy gestured to punctuate a story, interrupting her narrative to laugh, a light-hearted, musical sound that made Spike’s dead heart want to sing. But, much as he was enjoying himself, dread still grew in Spike’s gut as each step brought them closer to 1630 Revello Drive. He couldn’t forget what had happened a scant twenty-four hours earlier on the very porch they now approached.

When the house finally loomed ahead, his steps slowed and he braced himself for potential disappointment, again. Despite the apparent progress they had made in the last several hours, he couldn’t forget Buffy had turned on him, banishing him with bitter accusations born of nothing more than suspicion. He’d done nothing wrong then, and, except for getting piss drunk and falling down the ladder, he’d done nothing wrong now. But he still couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t suddenly question the rapport they had found. Would she reassess all that had passed between them and reassign it an evil interpretation? Would she push him away again, sending him back to his lonely crypt, now that much lonelier for having imagined something between them?

Spike’s pain from the rejection of the previous night had spiraled into despair. If he’d had the means to dust himself, he might have considered it. What was the point, after all, of an endless, friendless unlife? Because, much as it pained his evil undead self to admit it, the loss of Buffy’s friendship hurt even more than abandoning the lustful fantasies of possessing her physically. “Bloody hell!” he screamed silently at himself. “Could I be any more pussy whipped?”

But despite all the emotion boiling within, Spike appeared calm on the outside. He watched the animation in Buffy’s face as she chattered along, oblivious to the black cloud of apprehension that had descended on her companion. “Maybe this time she won’t kick me in the ribs,” he thought wistfully. “But, then again, just to be on the safe side, I think I’ll skedaddle on out of here. Can’t stop the weather from changing, but I can seek shelter before the storm hits.”

Resolved to say his goodnights and depart as quickly as he could, Spike untangled his arm from Buffy’s the moment their feet hit the porch. “Well, here we are,” he began, keeping his eyes cast down to avoid provoking anything. “I guess I’ll be saying good night then.”

Spike was surprised when he heard Buffy’s heart begin to race and her scent, which had mildly intoxicated him only moments before, got suddenly tangy. “What’s this then?” he wondered at her reaction. “She can’t be afraid I’ll leave? Well that’s a change in the climate, all right!”

The next thing he knew, Dawn was standing in the brightly lit doorway demanding an explanation from her sister. And before he had a chance to reconsider his plan to retreat, Buffy had pulled him over the threshold.

Confronted now with two Summers women insisting he stay, Spike decided he might as well take his chances. At least with Dawn’s presence he’d have a witness if Buffy went that mercurial again.

“Okay, Dawnie, what are you watching?” Buffy chirped as Spike blinked to adjust his eyes to the bright lights. Dawn, uncharacteristically silent, looked first at Buffy and then Spike, a small smile forming as both eyebrows cocked.

“Hey, you too look just like…” she began, but both Buffy and Spike interrupted her before she could finish.

“Don’t say it!” they said together.

“Say what?” she demanded, staring at Spike. “You can’t possibly know what I was going to say.”

Buffy and Spike exchanged a look before Buffy turned to Dawn and said, “Do you want to bet?”

“Yeah,” Dawn answered. “But I want to bet Spike, not you.”

“Okay, lil’ bit,” Spike drawled. “What will it be?”

“Huh?”

“The bet. What is it you want to wager?”

“What did you win off me last time we played poker?” Dawn asked, giving him a smirk that struck Buffy as oddly familiar.

“Seven dollars and twenty-five cents,” he replied, grinning.

“Okay, then, the bet is for seven dollars and twenty-five cents,” Dawn announced, with a smug smile. “What was I going to say?”

“Wait a minute,” Buffy interjected, her voice rising. “You two play poker? For money?”

Spike froze on the spot. Here it comes, he thought. However, Dawn brushed it off. “Yeah. Spike’s teaching me. He says you have to play for money to learn.” Then, turning her back on her sister, she again demanded of Spike, “What was I going to say?”

Spike shot a look at Buffy and was surprised to see Dawn’s tactic had worked. Buffy looked slightly dazed, but definitely not steaming mad. Reassured that he wasn’t about to be booted out on his arse, his attention snapped back to Dawn.

This time it was Spike’s turn to divert Dawn from her question. “Hold on, bit. How do I know you won’t just say I’m wrong, even if I get it right? You have to write it down and put the paper in a safe place first.”

Dawn huffed as she stomped over to the desk for a piece of paper and pen. “Here,” she said, scribbling onto the paper and pressing it into his hand after folding it in half, “you can hold it. Is that safe enough for you?”

“Most definitely,” he said, smiling. “Safe as houses.”

“So, what was I going to say?”

Spike screwed up his face in a bad imitation of someone thinking really hard. “Let’s see,” he said, “You were going to say that we look just like the Bobbsey Twins!”

Dawn screamed until Buffy clamped a hand over her mouth. “Shush, Dawn! Mom’s sleeping!”

Dawn mumbled an apology through Buffy’s hand, before she would withdraw it. “Sorry,” she said very softly. Then, turning again to Spike, she asked, “How the hell did you know that?”

“I told him,” Buffy answered.

Dawn looked at Buffy like she had two heads. “I think I better call Giles,” she said, backing toward the phone. “Something is so not right about this. I thought it was strange when you showed up at home with the evil undead here, the guy who is supposed to be your mortal enemy. But then I see that you’re dressed exactly like him, Buffy, and he knows about the whole Bobbsey Twins thing…”

“You know, bit, you’re right,” Spike said, in his most soothing voice. “This is all more than a tad odd. But your sister is right starved just now. Could we tell you the whole story over some grub? Please?”

Dawn looked skeptical, but on the scale of strange things that happen on the Hellmouth the fact that her sister was dressed like the friendly neighborhood Master Vampire barely registered on the weird-o-meter. “Okay,” she agreed. But I don’t think there’s much to eat here.”

Buffy and Spike followed Dawn into the kitchen and commenced to forage for food. Buffy opened the refrigerator and started moving things around in search of something edible. “What happened to the macaroni and cheese I made last night?” she asked, her voice echoing slightly as she explored the shelves.

“I guess it’s all gone,” Dawn said.

“You ate all of it?” Buffy asked, whirling around to confront her sister, she stood up too fast. “Whoa,” she said, tottering a bit before catching her self on the island. “That was quite a head rush!”

Spike darted forward, putting his hands under Buffy’s upper arms from behind and guiding her to a chair at the kitchen table. “Sit,” he said firmly. “I’ll find something for you to eat.” Before she could protest, Spike put a tall glass of orange juice on the table in front of her. “You can drink this while you wait.”

Buffy sighed and sat back. Dawn looked at her. “This is only getting stranger. I can’t wait for the explanation!”

“Okay, bit,” Spike snorted. “But you’ll hear it after you help me find what I need to make your sis a snack, okay?” Dawn nodded. A boring evening at home had just taken a major turn toward the wiggy.

Fifteen minutes later, Spike served Buffy a fluffy cheese omelet with a side of whole wheat toast. Flashing him a grateful smile she dug in and didn’t stop eating until it was all gone. “Wow!” Buffy said, “That was incredible. Who knew you could cook?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Slayer,” Spike answered.

“You mean Buffy, don’t you?” she said slyly.

Spike was speechless for a moment, absorbing that she’d insisted he use her given name in front of her sister. “The bit may be on to something,” he thought. “This is bloody strange. But not in a bad way.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Buffy,” he said finally.

She grinned at him as she finished her second glass of juice. “Thank you,” she said. “I feel a lot better.”

“Good. You ought to try to remember to eat now and then,” he said, basking in the warmth of her smile. “You’ll find it makes a world of difference.” Everything was going so much better than he'd feared, but Spike wasn’t one to tempt fate. While Buffy was tucking into her omelet, he’d decided to cut any potential losses by leaving the cozy domestic scene before things had a chance to go pear-shaped.



“Okay, you’ve eaten now, Buffy,” Dawn interjected. “Let’s have the explanation.”

“That’s a fine idea,” Spike responded as he stood up from his chair. “I’ll just go and you two can catch up.”

Despite her mild food coma, Buffy snapped to attention. “What? You just got here. I mean, you're going to watch TV with us. Right, Dawn?”

“Yeah, not so fast Spike,” Dawn said. “You promised to tell me what demonic forces led to the two of you dressing alike and the grand opening of William the Bloody's House of Omelets.”

“I promised you'd hear the story, nibblet,” he replied, grinning, “not that I'd tell it. Your sister can fill you in. Now that she's had some food and drink, you two can catch up. Have a chick flick and girl talk festival. You don't need me for that.”

Buffy, now in full pout, made her second attempt. “But you said you'd help me with my poetry class.”

Spike replied, tearing his eyes from the proffered lip, “And I will, but not tonight, love. Remember, you need some rest and a relaxing bath. I can't help you with either of those. Much as the idea of you in a bubble bath appeals to me...I mean…I need to nip by Willie's and see if he's got any O negative. I'm still at least a quart low, you know.”

Buffy dropped her eyes at this, feeling a major twinge of guilt.

“It’s alright,” Spike said, “I’ll see myself out. Goodnight.”

But Buffy followed him to the door. Obviously nervous, she twisted the hem of her T-shirt and barely looked at him. “So, will I see you tomorrow at the library, like we planned, only for tomorrow, instead of today, because today it already over?”

Spike laughed. “If I followed that correctly, I think the answer is yes. I can meet you there if you want to work on your poetry. Is that what you want?”

“Yeah, sure,” she replied, resigned.

“Good, then, until tomorrow,” he said. “Goodnight, Buffy.”

She looked up in time to see Spike’s boyish smile. “There it is again,” she thought. “That’s the man behind the demon. That’s what he is always working so hard to protect.” She wanted to grab him and kiss him, but she just shrugged, saying, “Goodnight, Spike. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Sighing as she watched him walk down the porch steps, Buffy made no move to close the door.

He suddenly stopped, “Hang on a bit,” he said, bounding back up the steps. "I forgot something.”

Buffy, sure he'd come back to kiss her, watched in disbelief as Spike reached into his back pocket and pulled out her tax form. "This is a bit the worse for wear,” he said, smoothing the wrinkled paper. “But you can still use it."

“Uh, thanks,” was all she could say.

“All right, then. Goodnight, Buffy.” he said as he stepped off the porch and walked off toward Willie's without looking back.

Buffy leaned against the door after closing it behind her, “Stupid vampire!”

When he was sure she couldn’t see him, Spike leapt into the air with a whoop. “I guess we’re back to Plan A now aren’t we, little Slayer,” he said aloud. “I’ll have to thank the bit someday for making that so easy.”

Tbc……..

A/N: Blame my son for changing his mind about what he wanted to be for Halloween at the last minute. I’ve been busy creating his costume instead of writing. I hope you like this chapter. Please leave reviews. I really like reviews!

---

Incensed that Spike had left before she was ready for him to go, Buffy was leaning against the door, still seething, when someone knocked. “Did he come back?” she hoped, twisting around to take a peek through the peep hole. Although she’d be forced to deny it, all Buffy felt was disappointment when she saw Riley on the other side of the door.

“Hey!” she said, as cheerily as she could as she opened the door. “What’s going on?”

“Hi, Buffy,” Riley said, obviously delighted to see her. “I came by to say I’m sorry for bailing on you last night. I would have told you today, but I couldn’t seem to find you anywhere on campus.”

“I didn’t make it to campus today,” Buffy said. “I had someone…something I had to take care of. I guess the day just got away from me. You know, busy, busy, busy.”

Buffy saw Riley glance past her into the house, making it apparent he wanted her to ask him in. However, entertaining Riley was very low on Buffy’s list of priorities just then--somewhere below cleaning out the refrigerator.

Riley reached up to touch Buffy’s cheek. He was making with the puppy dogs eyes that used to make her all melty, and while Buffy noticed the effort, she felt nothing.

“How about now?” Riley asked, unaware his secret weapon was failing him.

“What?” Buffy said, honestly confused.

“Are you busy now?”

“Busy? Uh, well, no not exactly.” Buffy shook her head, glanced behind her at Dawn and then beckoned Riley to follow her out onto the porch, nearly closing the door behind her. Once outside, Buffy stood on her tip toes to whisper into Riley’s ear. “It’s Dawn,” she said. “She’s been alone with Mom a lot, and I really need to spend some time with her. But I don’t want her to know that I’m making a point of staying home with her. She might balk, you know, if I come on all big sister all of a sudden. But she needs me. I can tell. So I guess I am busy.”

Riley shrugged, “I understand,” he said, though disappointment was written on his face.

“Thanks,” Buffy said, genuinely appreciative that he’d believed her story. “I should get back in there. You know, for the chick flicks, and the popcorn, and catching up on sister stuff.”

“Okay,” Riley said, forcing a smile. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Buffy replied, already inching toward the door. “I should be at all my classes. I’ll look for you in the quad at noon, okay?”

Riley trailed her to the door, leaning down to kiss her gently on the lips. “Yeah, I’ll find you in the quad.”

Buffy took a deep breath. All she could think was how different one kiss could be from another. There were kisses that could practically curl her hair and others that did absolutely nothing. She tried not to think about the source of the hair curling variety. “Goodnight,” she said managing a fake smile.

“Yeah, goodnight, Buffy. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Riley was already turning to go down the porch steps when he stopped and twisted back around to look at her. “By the way, who was leaving just before I got here?”

“Leaving?” Buffy said, slightly panicked that he’d recognized Spike.

“Yeah, some guy was coming down your walk when I turned the corner.”

“Oh, right!” Buffy said, pretending to remember. “That was a friend of Dawn’s. He just came by to say hi. He was leaving.”

“If he’s a friend of Dawn’s, then why were you saying goodbye to him and not Dawn?”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed. “Because I saw him to the door? What is this? Are you spying on me now?”

“What do you mean? Who else has been spying on you?”

“Nobody… I mean, never mind. Were you spying?”

“No! I just saw him, that’s all,” Riley replied, holding his hands up in the universal sign for surrender. “Can’t your boyfriend even ask about some guy leaving your house?”

Buffy never liked being cornered, not by a vampire, and even less so by Riley. “Yeah, you can ask,” she said, her voice tight. “And you can accept my answer. If you really are my boyfriend, you need to keep your jealous suspicions under control. I already have plenty of people looking over my shoulder, Riley. I really don’t need anybody else asking me to explain myself.” Leveling Riley with a defiant glare, she made it clear the conversation was over. “Now I’ve really gotta go. Goodnight.” Buffy disappeared into her house before Riley could say another word. His body slumped with defeat as he walked down the porch steps and away from Buffy's house.

Dawn looked up at her from the couch. “What was that all about?” she asked, remote control in hand.

Buffy sighed. “Just more evidence that I’m no good at being a normal girlfriend.”

Dawn smiled. “Buffy, you really need to give up on the whole ‘normal’ thing. You’re not normal now, and you’ll never be normal. Now spill! I want to know what you’ve been up to with Spike. The whole matching outfits and omelet thing has me wigged!”

Buffy dropped onto the couch next to Dawn and grabbed the remote control. “Okay, but can I just give you the CliffsNotes version for now?” she asked, slouching into the couch cushions. “If you’ll let me find something to watch, you can ask me all the questions you want during the commercials.”

Anxious as she was to hear every detail, Dawn could see her sister was both physically and emotionally drained. “Sure, Buff,” she said. “You can give me the outline. But I’m warning you, I’m probably going to have a lot more than twenty questions.”

******

By the time Buffy had finished giving Dawn a strategically edited overview of her day, Spike was leaving Willie’s. The denizens of the demon bar were barely tolerant of the turncoat vampire, but Spike felt safe enough to down a pint of relatively fresh O negative while keeping to himself in a corner. Restoring his corpse to a more lifelike condition in a demon establishment also gave him a chance to overhear news of the Hellmouth’s darker activities. Now that he knew Buffy required a bit more of the rough and tumble to keep her toned, he resolved to confide in her as he learned of threats they might meet together. It was not exactly dinner and a movie, but Spike was willing to settle for any activity that would throw him together with Buffy.

Plus, the element of violence made it that much more fun.

Full of blood and armed with useful information about the movements of his former comrades in evil, Spike headed to his crypt. There was no time to waste as he had several chores to perform to be ready for his appointment with Buffy the next day. Luckily for him, vampire speed and strength could be used for anything, even housework.

Within a couple hours, Spike had removed, repaired, or replaced all the furnishings he’d previously tried so hard to destroy, returning the upper level of his crypt to an orderly, if still austere state. Below ground, Spike changed his sheets for yet another set of red satin and gathered up his laundry, including Buffy’s clothing. Upon his arrival at the crypt hours earlier, he’d soaked her soiled top and pants in a bucket of cold water, and now as he wrung the pink tinted water from her clothes, Spike was pleased to see that most of the blood was already gone. Adding these damp items to his bundle, Spike left the crypt for the second time that night, making his way to the all-night laundromat where the attendant had learned to ask no questions of the handsome blond with pale skin.

*****

Meanwhile back at 1630 Revello Drive, Dawn and Buffy were watching The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood--with Dawn peppering Buffy with questions at every commercial break. Buffy kept her word and managed to be a good sport about answering, but she couldn’t help wincing when the Meow Mix music began. “What did he think of your outfit?” Dawn asked, punching the button on the remote to mute the obnoxious jingle.

“What did Spike think of my outfit?” Buffy asked, rolling her eyes. “I just told you, they’re his clothes. He said he thought I looked good in them.”

“No, dummy, not Spike,” Dawn said. “Riley. What did Riley think of it?”

Buffy scowled for a second. “He didn’t think anything. At least he didn’t say anything about it.”

“What? He’s all Mr. Suspicious about who’s leaving the house, but he doesn’t even notice that you’re wearing another man’s shirt and pants?” Dawn asked, incredulous. “You know I’ve never like him that much, but I didn’t know he was so far from being the brightest crayon in the box!”

“Hey!” Buffy said, yanking on Dawn’s hair without much force. “That’s not very nice!” But at the same time, she couldn’t help thinking Spike would have never failed to notice what she had been wearing. Of course, he’d also be able to smell whose clothes they were, so it wasn’t really a fair comparison, not to mention a little eew! But the kissage, that was a very different story. It could be argued Spike should be at a distinct disadvantage in that department, what with lacking a heartbeat and all. Yet there was no point pretending Spike’s kisses weren’t vastly superior to Riley's.

This line of thinking brought Buffy’s thoughts, abruptly, to the moments just prior to when she passed out earlier in the day. Since regaining consciousness, Buffy hadn’t had an opportunity to replay the memory. Setting aside the light-headedness and loud pulsing in her ears attributable to hunger and dehydration, Buffy concentrated on the last ten seconds before blacking out. Isolating the memory in this way, she quickly realized her reaction had begun before Spike’s lips ever touched hers.

It had begun when he asked, “Would it be alright if I kissed you now?” His voice, low and husky, vibrated right through her. His eyes fixed on hers, the clear blue darkening as she returned his gaze. She must have nodded her assent, because she didn’t remember saying anything. She couldn’t have spoken anyway. Then his lips met hers, simultaneously firm and yielding. So gentle and yet still demanding. How did he do that? And there was the taste… Buffy whimpered softly at the memory.

“Hello? Buffy, are you in there?”

Buffy snapped back to reality at the sound of Dawn’s voice. “Huh?”

“Are you all right, Buff?” Dawn looked worried. “Are you in pain? You had this weird look on your face…”

“No, no pain, Dawnie,” she replied, sitting up straight and rubbing her eyes. “I’m just tired. Really, really tired. I think I’ll just go to bed.”

“Yeah, Buff, you go on up. You look beat. I’ll clean up our snacks.”

Buffy gave Dawn a crooked smile as she stood. “Thanks, Dawn. Did I ever tell you you’re a great sister?”

“Hmmm, not in a while. Maybe this would be a good time to tell you about something I borrowed…”

“No, please don’t,” Buffy said, quickly crossing the room to the staircase. “I don’t want to think about anything right now but getting into bed. Goodnight!”

Dawn laughed at her rapidly retreating sister. “Okay, goodnight, sleep tight, don’t let the vampires bite!”

Buffy had to smile as she climbed the stairs to her room.

******

With his laundry done and the crypt’s décor restored to normal, Spike made a quick circuit of the Sunnydale cemeteries to keep the fledglings from causing any problems. Returning at last to Restfield, he perched on a tombstone for a smoke, tapping his foot and fidgeting as he took one drag after another.

Finally, crushing the butt into the grass as he did, he rose and started for his crypt, only to stop again, shaking his head. “Ah, bloody hell, who do I think I’m kidding?” he asked aloud. “I’ll just stroll by to see that the bit and big sis are all tucked in. I’m like a bleeding nanny is what I am!” Ducking quickly into the crypt, he emerged a moment later with a small bundle and strode across the moonlit cemetery in the direction of 1630 Revello Drive.

Tbc…….

A/N: See, Riley didn't even get inside the house! I'm not nearly as evil to him as some fan fiction authors, but now that he's made his obligatory appearance don't expect to see much more of him! I hope you like where I left it. I'm personally looking forward to writing the next chapter to see what happens next!! Please review. I've said it before and I'll probably say it again, I love reviews!!

---

Buffy finished washing her face and reached for a towel to dry off. The reflection she saw in the mirror made her realize what she’d said to Dawn about being really, really tired was all too was true. She tried to smile at herself, but could only manage a half-hearted smirk. “Oh well,” she thought, “things seem pretty under control out there. I think I can safely take one night off from patrolling to get some sleep for a change.”

Returning to her bedroom, Buffy pulled on a tank top and pajama pants and slipped under the covers. She reached to turn out her bedside lamp and sunk into the pillow, sighing deeply as she stretched her legs and closed her eyes, trying mightily to empty her mind. Tired as she was, her head was still whirring with activity. She knew there would be no sleep until she could at least slow down the synapses.

Attempting one of Giles’ meditation tricks, Buffy took a deep breath and released it very slowly as she imagined a calm stillness settling over her from the top of her head down over her face to her throat and chest and then gradually all the way to her feet. When the breath was all gone, she drew in another and repeated the process. But this time, when the imaginary wave of serenity reached her lips, the memory of Riley’s tepid kiss came rushing back. She shook off the thought, stubbornly returning her concentration to the meditation and focusing all her attention on the sensation of relaxation.

Buffy started again, taking a deep breath and initiating the wave of quiet emptiness from the top of her head once more. As her breath flowed evenly out of her mouth, Buffy felt the wave descend to her shoulders. When it reached her chest she felt her nipples stiffen. A pleasant warmth accompanied the abrupt pebbling of her sensitive flesh as Buffy returned to the memory of a very different kiss. Without premeditation, her hands found her breasts and pressed into them, attempting to alleviate the ache that suddenly asserted itself, demanding her attention. Gently chafing the hard peaks through the thin fabric of the tank top, it was impossible to ignore the surge of desire that pulsed through her body in response. Abandoning the meditation without another thought, Buffy pinched her nipples hard and pressed her thighs together to intensify the jolt of pleasure that immediately bathed her core in heat.

“I might as well just get it over with,” she thought. “The longer I pretend I’m going to go to sleep without working off a little of this pressure, the less sleep I’m going to get.” With that, Buffy reached one hand down the front of her pajama pants, brushing it gently across the soft curls at the apex of her legs. Even that subtle touch sent a throb of sensation all the way through her limbs. The other hand remained at her breast, her thumb strumming the nipple with steadily increasing speed.

The intensity of Buffy’s excitement mounted rapidly. She’d had plenty of practice giving herself pleasure, after all. Yet, despite the familiarity of the terrain she was revisiting, this time something was different. Without parting her legs, she slid two fingers into the narrow channel created by her tightly closed thighs. At the extremity of her reach, the fleshy lips of her vulva were already slippery. She dipped her fingers into the exquisitely slick wetness and spread it upward toward her clit, stopping just short of stroking the button of nerves. She could tell, even without touching, it was fully engorged. Buffy faced a familiar dilemma. Should she slide her now thickly lubricated fingers over the sensitive bit of flesh, knowing an orgasm would wash over her in a matter of seconds? Or, should she prolong the excitement, by directing her touch to areas less likely to send her careening over the edge?

Buffy continued to tease her lower folds with her fingers as she pondered these questions, her breath and heartbeat accelerating as her arousal increased. Before much longer she knew she wouldn’t need to make a decision. Eventually her fingers would go on autopilot, and she’d be biting her lips to keep from screaming as spasms of pleasure coursed deliciously through her whole body.

The pressure was building steadily now, every nerve straining for release, when a brand new stimulus brought her even closer to her release. The feeling seemed to exaggerate everything she was already experiencing. Though vaguely familiar, layered on top of her body’s growing response, it was not immediately recognizable. When Buffy finally knew what she was feeling, it was too late to stop the tsunami. Already inextricably writhing in the throes of a truly monumental orgasm, Buffy realized her Slayer senses were telling her a vampire was near—and not just any vampire.

**********

Spike didn’t rush as he crossed town to assume his post by the tree at 1630 Revello Drive. The route was familiar enough, since he had traveled it most nights for weeks, but he tried to interest himself in the passing scenery none-the-less. The least he could do, he reasoned, was take his time getting there. It wasn’t much, but his pride wouldn’t stand the implication that he couldn’t stay away. The absurdity of straggling along to convince himself he hadn’t gone totally Mary Poppins wasn’t lost on Spike. But it was, by now, an old game. The object of the game was clear enough: provide purely theoretical evidence he hadn’t gone soft. Whether or not he was winning remained impossible to judge.

Ignoring the stupidity of his attempt at self-deception, Spike sauntered at a measured pace through the dark streets of Sunnydale, pretending to examine the architecture as he passed homes and office buildings in his path. It wasn’t a long walk, and there wasn’t much of any real interest along the way. When he did finally arrive at Buffy’s house, there was no light in her bedroom window, only a soft glow in the kitchen window.

Spike scanned the ground floor first and quickly picked up Dawn’s unmistakable heartbeat. She was awake and moving around the kitchen. Satisfied that Dawn was safe, he shifted his attention to the second floor where he identified Joyce’s steady pulse next. Spike was grateful to know she was sleeping well. Medical treatments had left Joyce depleted in ways that reminded him of his own mother’s declining health so many years ago. Joyce needed her rest and he was glad she was getting some.

As he prepared to train his senses on Buffy’s dark bedroom, Spike noted it was still pretty early by Slayer standards. On many previous nights he had simply held his post, smoking in the shadow of the tree, until she returned. Ready to do so again, he reached out his vampire hearing and was more than a little surprised to hear Buffy’s heart pounding at an alarming rate. Fearing the worst, Spike leapt up the trunk of the tree and across a branch that stopped just short of her window. But instead of the struggle he expected, Spike arrived at his perch just in time to hear the unmistakable gasps and whimpers of a woman experiencing an explosive orgasm—and not just any woman.

********

In her bed, Buffy froze. Still panting slightly from her exertions, she couldn’t decide whether she was more angry, embarrassed, or excited. Her senses told her Spike was right outside her window. She knew he had both contributed to and witnessed her completion. Something Dawn said earlier filled her with an uncharacteristic resolve, ignoring all of the reasons she shouldn’t, Buffy climbed out of bed and opened her window.

“Hello, Spike,” she said, looking directly at him.

“B-b-b-b-b-buffy,” he stammered in response, a look of sheer panic in his eyes as he grabbed for the branch to steady himself. “I didn’t….I mean, I thought you…I mean…” Spike stopped sputtering long enough to notice Buffy’s smile. His expression instantly changed from terrified to confused. “Hello?” he ventured.

“What are you doing up here?” she asked, without betraying the slightest suggestion of accusation or suspicion.

Spike had to adapt quickly to Buffy’s surprisingly friendly reception. “I came by…you know… make sure everybody’s tucked in for the night.” He paused, waiting for a sign he was still on solid ground, but Buffy just raised her eyebrows, waiting. “I thought you were under some sort of attack,” he explained. “I thought you needed my help.” At this he could not restrain himself from smirking. “Guess I was wrong about that.”

Buffy blushed scarlet, but she kept her gaze steady. “That’s just it, Spike. Something happened to me… I felt something when you got here,” she said, keeping her voice even. “It seems you did help me, even if you didn’t mean to.”

Spike stared in disbelief. He had gotten used to feeling at least slightly aroused by her mere presence, but it had never occurred to him the effect might be mutual.

“What exactly are you saying?” he asked, genuinely baffled.

“I’m saying that I’m not normal now, and I’ll never be normal.”

Spike’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Huh?”

“Never mind,” Buffy answered, shaking her head. Then, noticing Spike flinch at her apparent dismissal, she added, “It was just something Dawn said earlier.”

“Bit’s a smart girl. I expect there’s something to it, if she said it.” He wanted to pursue the topic of how he’d “helped” her, but thought it wiser to let her bring the conversation back to that when she was ready. For now, he decided to go with the flow. “Do you want to be normal?” he asked, looking at Buffy with genuine concern.

Buffy thought for a moment. “No,” she replied, very quietly, looking at her hands. “I used to think I did. But now I don’t think so.”

“What happened?”

This time Buffy took a little longer to answer. She knew what had happened, she just wasn’t sure she wanted to admit it. But she was also tired of pretending to be someone she wasn’t. For once, she thought, I’ll just follow my heart. “You,” she said with a sigh.

“Excuse me?”

“You! You happened, you stupid vampire,” she looked at him like he was the densest person she’d ever met. “You know, ‘you Spike, me Buffy.’ I think there’s…like, you know…something…between us.” Buffy stopped, silently begging him not to ask her to elaborate.

She was sitting on the window sill, twisting the hem of her tank top with both hands. Stunned as he was by her admission, he didn’t want to get pushy and screw it up. Although he’d never admit it, he was content just to be with her. She looked lovely, her skin bathed in moonlight, the tank top barely covering her breasts. Without being too obvious about it, Spike inhaled, drawing in a heady dose of her scent. “Oh yeah,” he thought. “I’d happily help her produce a gallon of that musk. I’d fuckin’ drown myself in it if I could.”

“So, that’s it? That’s your reaction? You’re just going to sit there?” she demanded, snapping Spike back to reality.

“No! I mean…yes. I mean, I don’t know.” Being temporarily lost in a reverie, he didn’t remember now if she’d asked him a question. “What do you want me to do, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice very soft. “You’ve got to know by now I’d do just about anything for you.”

The blush came back in force. “Well, I can’t seem to stop thinking about that kiss,” she said, her eyes downcast. “I guess I want you to kiss me.”

“I think that can be arranged,” he purred. “But you should come out here, or I should go in there. I don’t fancy trying to catch you from here if you faint again.”

Buffy rolled her eyes ostentatiously. “I’m not half-starved or dehydrated. I’m not going to faint.”

Spike tried to look serious. “What if it wasn’t the lack of food and drink? What if it was something else?”

“Like what?” she asked.

“I think you know,” he said. “But I can show you if you like.” His voice had gone all velvet again and his eyes sparked with tiny shards of gold. When the tip of his tongue appeared, sliding slowly along the bottom of his upper teeth, Buffy caved.

“Come on in,” she said, stepping back from the window and into her room. “I don’t want to sit in the tree. It has ants.”

Spike laughed. “So the big strong vampire Slayer is afraid of ants now?”

“Not afraid,” she protested. “I just don’t like them crawling on me.” Buffy wrinkled her nose as she said this, and Spike, already pretty far gone, found the gesture adorable.

Crossing the short distance between the tree branch and Buffy’s window took Spike about a sixteenth of a second. Finding himself in her room, at last, he nearly fainted. Surrounded by her scent, Spike staggered slightly before regaining his equilibrium.

“Are you alright?” Buffy asked, touching his arm. The contact only intensified the assault on his senses. Spike blinked hard, took a deep unnecessarily breath and reached for her.

“I’ve never been so fine,” he said, sweeping her into his arms and finding her mouth with his. Buffy yielded to the embrace, and Spike wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her in leather. His lips felt firm, gentle, and urgent all at once. When his tongue traced her mouth, Buffy responded in kind, and then invited him to deepen the kiss by darting her tongue into his mouth and dragging it across his teeth. Spike’s reaction was as intense as it was instantaneous, a vampire’s canines being one of his most sensitive erogenous zones. Never releasing her lips, he reached down with both hands to cup Buffy’s bottom and brought her pelvis flush with his. There was no mistaking the hard length of his erection through taut denim. When he thrust his tongue deep into her mouth, Buffy sucked it hungrily. Then, grasping his shoulders with her hands, she wrapped her legs around his hips and practically climbed up his body. Never interrupting their kiss, Buffy’s hands plunged into Spike’s hair; her fingers busily freeing his curls from their gel.

For just a moment, Spike went completely still. Gently kissing her bruised lips, he carefully untangled Buffy’s body from around his and set her feet back on the carpet. With his forehead pressed against hers he took another useless breath. “I can’t believe what I’m about to say,” he began. Looking at her, his eyes dark with lust, he took her hands in his and held them to his chest. “I think we need to slow down.”


Tbc……………..

A/N: I know that's an evil place to stop. But I just couldn't resist. Please leave a review and let me know what you think. Happy 2007!!

---

Buffy barely felt her feet touch the floor, her body still tingling all over with desire. Momentarily dazed by the most passionate kiss of her life, she had no idea how her hands came to be trapped in Spike’s and pressed against his chest. She heard him say something that made absolutely no sense. Feeling more than a little unsteady on her feet, she tried to catch her breath and focus her senses enough to figure out what had brought their frenzied embrace to an abrupt halt. Tilting her chin, she looked up to find Spike gazing down at her, an unreadable expression on his face. Aching to touch the hard muscles of his lean body again, Buffy struggled to free her hands from Spike’s grip without success.

“Buffy,” he repeated, “we need to slow down.”

This time she heard him, but it still didn’t make any sense. “I don’t understand,” she said, insecurity flooding in to replace her willful abandon. “I thought…I mean you said…oh god, you don’t…” She tried to pull away, suddenly regretting her decision to follow her heart instead of her head. But Spike held her, simultaneously keeping her either from continuing her exploration of his body or drawing away.

“Yes, Buffy, please, yes, I do. I want you so much. It’s just…too fast. Oi! I sound like a girl. Please, just promise me you’ll keep your hot little hands to yourself while I explain. I’ll let you go, but you have to promise you’ll listen.”

Once she’d heard him say he wanted her, Buffy stopped trying to get away. Romantic experiences to date hadn’t left Buffy with much confidence, but she was willing to listen, as long as she hadn’t just made a total fool of herself. Taking a deep, calming breath, she looked into Spike’s eyes and found abundant reassurance that lack of lust was not the problem. His eyes, usually brilliant blue, shone dark with desire and something else: determination. She nodded her agreement, and Spike released his grip on Buffy’s hands, but never lost contact with her until he’d slid his hands up to her elbows and guided her gently to the edge of her bed.

“Here, pet, sit down,” he said, his intent gaze never leaving her face. “I’ll do my best to explain something I’m not sure I entirely understand myself.”

Buffy sat down and folded her hands in her lap, never breaking eye contact. She watched as Spike took his own deep, calming breath–despite his lack of a pulse, this was one human habit he never gave up—and closed his eyes as if to steady himself. Buffy’s curiosity was acute, but she stifled the impulse to prompt him. It was clear Spike was choosing his words with care. For reasons she couldn’t express, she felt sure the trouble he was taking to select the right ones was worth the wait.

In just the handful of words he had spoken since breaching the barrier of her bedroom window, Buffy noticed Spike had returned to the voice she’d first heard in the library. This alone brought her full attention to bear as he prepared to speak. He seemed to read her very thoughts when he finally spoke.

“Do you remember the poem that I read to you …yesterday, I guess it was, in the library?” Spike asked.

“Yes, of course,” she replied, “it was beautiful…and a little sad, I guess.”

Spike pursed his lips and quirked his brows in ironic agreement. “Yeah, luv, it is a bit sad at that,” he said, in his more typical and slightly sarcastic drawl. But, when he continued, his cultured tones had returned. “Then you remember it’s about a bloke, a young man, who’s lost his heart?”

“Well, I only heard it once,” Buffy began, “I remember how it felt…not so much what it said.”

Spike smiled softly. “Good girl,” he said.

“Huh?”

“You’ve mastered one of the skills essential to appreciating poetry, Buffy. You need to feel a poem. The words are only a vehicle.”

“Good job, Mr. Tutor. I didn’t even know I was studying!”

Spike’s smile was wide this time. “So, shall I tell it to you again?”

“Only if you know it by heart,” she answered, innocently, “I don’t have the book.”

Spike’s shoulders visibly relaxed as he sat down next to Buffy. “Don’t know if it’s in my heart, seeing as it doesn’t beat, but I know it just the same. Shall I?”

“Well, color me impressed!” Buffy said brightly. “Yes, please, if it’s going to be on the final I could definitely use a refresher course.”

Spike looked down as he wrapped his cool hands around hers. When he recaptured her eyes, Buffy knew she was seeing his unguarded self once more. The sight of Spike’s open, guileless countenance sent a shiver down her spine. If she’d had even a moment to think, Buffy would have realized he was crossing a threshold of great importance. But he began to recite and his voice washed over her obliterating mere thoughts…

I am two fools, I know,
For loving, and for saying so
In whining poetry;
But where's that wise man, that would not be I,
If she would not deny?

The words were the same, and the voice. But, without the book as a shield, Spike’s face and eyes added fathoms of significance to each phrase. Was it hope that flashed across his features? Even at his measured pace, the words tumbled too fast for Buffy to gather them up for close inspection. Anchoring herself to his open gaze, she let the sense of each stanza sluice over her.

Then as th' earth's inward narrow crooked lanes
Do purge sea water's fretful salt away,
I thought, if I could draw my pains
Through rhyme's vexation, I should them allay.
Grief brought to numbers cannot be so fierce,
For he tames it, that fetters it in verse.

There, she heard it, a flame of hope in the poet’s words, and echoed in Spike’s voice. And, just as quickly, the hope snuffed out.

But when I have done so,
Some man, his art and voice to show,
Doth set and sing my pain;
And, by delighting many, frees again
Grief, which verse did restrain.

Pressing a kiss against the back of her fingers, Spike brought Buffy’s hands to his chest as he intoned the final lines.

To love and grief tribute of verse belongs,
But not of such as pleases when 'tis read.
Both are increasèd by such songs,
For both their triumphs so are published,
And I, which was two fools, do so grow three.
Who are a little wise, the best fools be.

For just a moment, it seemed the last word hung in the air and Spike’s expression shifted to grim resolve. “There it is, luv. That’s what I needed to tell you. I’m like the bloke in the poem. I’m a fool to love at all. To take that risk is certainly foolish. But I’m a double fool for loving a creature so far above me it hurts to think about. And, finally, I’m a triple fool, for knowing all this and still daring to publish that I love—exposing my foolish heart to its harshest judge, the one who can crush it with a glance.”

Buffy stared, eyes wide and shimmering with tears about to spill. “Spike…I don’t know what to say…” she stammered.

“Don’t need to say anything, sweetheart,” he injected, sadness making his voice heavy. “I just need you to understand that I can’t just ravish you--much as my demon self would revel in it. His not-so-evil twin won’t allow a thing that might harm you in any way.” At that, he brought one hand up to Buffy’s check and touched her face as though memorizing its contours with his fingers. “I don’t want you to think I’m anything like those wankers who failed to treasure what you gave them. I wouldn’t do that for the world…for anything…I wouldn’t do that to you.”

He started to rise but Buffy grabbed his arms and pulled him back to his seat on the bed. He uttered a mirthless laugh. “Hey now,” he said, “I don’t think we need a bleeding script to know this is my cue to exit. It’s clear I can’t go forward, and I’m afraid it’s too late to go back. So I’ll just go…

“No, Spike, wait,” Buffy pleaded.

Spike squinted at her, “For what, luv, one last kiss? I don’t suppose it will make it hurt any less. That is, if you’ll allow it.”

Buffy saw her opening and grabbed it. “Yes, a kiss,” she answered. “But only if you’ll listen to me.”

“Oh, Buffy, don’t play with me now,” he said, trying again to pull away from her clinging fingers. “You’d better just let me go, and we’ll see each other again in a few days and we can go on as we always have. No harm, no foul. I promise. I won’t tell a soul. I’ll even help you now and then, you know. I’ll just keep my distance…otherwise.”

"But I don’t want you to…keep your distance,” she said, still holding his wrists to keep him from leaving, a trace of anguish in her voice.

“Ah, but that’s the problem. You think you want something now and I wish I could give it—really I do. But you’ll wake up sorry and I won’t… I can’t be a part of that. You can’t give yourself to me just for fun, Buffy. You’re not like that…and neither, I’m afraid, am I.”

Feeling a little desperate, Buffy tried another tactic. “You’re not being fair,” she said, her eyes sparking at the professed injustice. “You got your turn.”

“Didn’t know we were playing at hopscotch,” he shot back. Internally, he knew he’d relent if she insisted. Guess there’s no point pretending I’d actually deny her anything. Spike mused silently. What the hell. I’ll have plenty of time to polish my Big Bad act once she cuts me loose for good.

“Hopscotch?” Buffy replied brightly, “I didn’t know you played. I ought to challenge you to a game. You know, I was the fourth grade champ at my elementary school.”

“Never mind all that, Buffy,” he said, clearly defeated. “Here I am, then, listening.”

His body relaxed and Buffy acknowledged his willingness to hear her out by releasing the iron grip on his arms.

Now that she finally had her audience, Buffy knew herself well enough not to think too much. She knew she must plunge in, without any of the care her sad and ardent lover had taken with his words. Sitting as close to Spike as she could without touching, Buffy stepped out onto the tip of the metaphorical diving board she’d balanced on for so long and leapt headfirst into unknown waters.

“Maybe I’ve been a fool too,” she began, her voice stronger than expected, her eyes on her hands where they rested in her lap. “For ever imagining the lack of a soul could stop you from loving, when it is so plain that you love with everything you have. And maybe I’ve been a fool for denying myself the one thing I would never deny anyone else, the right to love whoever I wish to love.”

She looked up now and found Spike looking confused, even stunned. “Buffy, what are you saying?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

Tears streaming down her face, Buffy continued. “What if I’ve been a fool for pretending that I’d ever have a 'normal' boyfriend? And what if I’ve been a bigger fool for denying what I’ve felt for you for a while now? And what if I’ve been even more of a fool for lying to you… the only person who’s always completely honest with me, no matter what?”

“That brings us to a total of eight fools in this room,” Spike said, smiling cautiously, “unless I’ve miscounted.”

Buffy smiled back and reached up to catch the tear just beginning to slip down Spike’s cheek. She stared for a moment at the shiny drop captured on her finger. “I love you, Spike,” she whispered. “There’s so much I don’t know about you, but I love you and I don’t want you to go. Please tell me you’ll stay.”


Tbc…….

A/N: Okay, I’m holding my breath here until I hear what you think. Be kind.

---

The sound was unlike anything she'd ever heard; not a growl or a roar, but something in between – a low, rolling snarl. Whatever it was, it was definitely a warning. If the sound hadn’t been coming from Spike, Buffy would already be in a battle stance. Of course, that would be quite a trick as she was currently pinned to her bed with what felt like bands of steel around each bicep and Spike’s hard, muscled body pressed over the length of hers.

The sound subsided for a moment as Spike managed to choke out a few actual words, his voice tight behind clenched teeth. "You set him loose, Buffy, only you can tame him now,” his lips close to her ear. “Just tell me to stop, and I'll stop. But if you're going to say it, say it now. I can't hold the demon back much longer."

Buffy tried to calm herself with a deep breath, but Spike’s weight on her chest prevented her lungs from expanding. Settling for a shallow inhalation, she let the last vestiges of reserve fall away “What if I don’t want you to stop?” she asked, her voice thin and breathy. “What if I want you just as much as your demon wants me?”

Spike’s response was instantaneous and entirely nonverbal. He lifted his weight long enough to draw his hand over her body, slicing through both camisole and pants with one swift pass of his razor sharp claws. Buffy gasped as she felt her clothes disintegrate into shreds. Before she could draw another breath, Spike lifted her out of her ruined clothing and placed her gently in the center of the bed. He pulled back, kneeling at the foot of the bed and let his amber eyes rake over her.

Buffy had never witnessed Spike in this partially transformed state. His eyes and claws were pure demon, but his face remained smooth, his fangs invisible. She watched fascinated as he subdued the demon enough to let his human features reassert themselves, the amber glow of his eyes replaced by dark blue, leaving just a trace of gold flecks visible in the dim light of her room.

“You alright, luv?” he asked softly, drawing his now clawless fingers along the curve of her hip and following their progress with his eyes. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, I’m fine,” she answered, a bit breathless, but otherwise unscathed. “But that trick you did with my pajamas, that’s gonna be a one time thing.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I had to see you. You’ve no idea how many times I’ve dreamed of you like this. I still can’t believe it’s really happening. And now that I finally get to make love to you, I don’t know where to begin. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my unlife. Your skin…it’s like molten gold.”

Buffy blushed and Spike groaned. “Oi, Buffy, I didn’t think it was possible, but you’re even lovelier when you go all pink like that.” In a flash he left his perch at the end of the bed and was at her side. “You must be getting whiplash from watching me bounce back and forth between my demon and whoever this gobsmacked git is who keeps taking his place. You know, luv, I’m usually more integrated than this. You seem to provoke my extremes.”

Buffy reached up and placed her hand on Spike’s cheek. “I like your extremes,” she said. “And even though your demon talks tough, I don’t think he’d hurt me, would he?”

“Not on purpose, luv,” he said, inhaling deeply and nuzzling her hand. “But maybe we should have some new ground rules.”

“Hmm, yeah,” Buffy agreed, looking down at her state of undress. “I don’t think ‘clothes on’ is going to make it on the list this time.”

“I was really just thinking ‘no biting,’” Spike said, twisting a strand of Buffy’s hair in his fingers, he slowly lifted the hair from her neck exposing her jugular artery to his hungry gaze. “Unless, you’d like to try it.” At Buffy’s alarmed expression, he grinned. “Didn’t think so. But that means no nibbling of any kind, by anyone. I can’t vouch for my demon if he thinks you’ve initiated something. You understand?”

“Yes, Spike, I understand,” Buffy said. “But now I think I owe you something.”

Spike looked confused. “I owe you a kiss,” Buffy said. “Remember? I promised you a kiss so you’d listen.”

“Oh, thank god,” Spike said, sighing with relief. “Yes, you owe me a kiss. And I’d like to collect it right now and put this annoying Victorian gentleman on hiatus while I take advantage of you. Would you find that agreeable, Mistress Buffy?”

“Yes,” she gasped, a split second before Spike scooped his hands under her bottom and pulled her body against his, simultaneously finding her lips with his.

Buffy’s hands went instantly to Spike’s hair. Tangling her fingers in his curls, she held his mouth firmly against hers. She could feel him laughing as he tried to pull free. “Don’t worry, luv,” he said, barely containing his mirth. “I’m not going anywhere this time.” Then he caught her already swollen lips and set about the serious business of kissing her good and proper.

As Spike lavished attention on Buffy’s mouth, his hands began to explore the rest of her, starting with her bare bottom. He reveled in the warmth and suppleness of her diminutive yet muscled body. To think I imagined visiting heaven was out of the question, he mused before he succumbed to a passionate embrace sweeter than any he had ever known.

Buffy melted into Spike’s kiss. Totally focused on the taste, texture and teasing play of his lips, she was caught by surprise when an unexpected jolt of pleasure shot through her from another quarter. Never having experienced anything like it before, Buffy froze, her lips suddenly still against Spike’s. He, on the other hand, had observed both her reaction and its source. To confirm his discovery he repeated the motion, barely ghosting his hands over the smooth globes of Buffy’s derriere. He was instantly rewarded when her whole body trembled and another blissful frisson coursed through her.

Buffy opened her eyes to find Spike gazing down at her, gold flames flashing in his eyes. “That was new, wasn’t it?” he asked, knowing the answer. Buffy nodded, embarrassed at her naïveté. He watched as fat tears appeared on her cheeks, quickly pooled and ran down her face in twin rivers. A fraction of a second before she could lurch off the bed, Spike anticipated Buffy’s move and he wrapped his arms around her body to hold her close before she could struggle away.

“Buffy, darling,” he pleaded, “don’t run. Just tell me what happened.” She shook her head violently back and forth and pressed her lips firmly together, refusing to speak. “Please,” he begged, beside himself with regrets for what he didn’t know. “I did something, I know I did, but I don’t know what it was. I’m sorry. I would never hurt you. You’ve got to believe me. I didn’t mean it, whatever it was!”

Buffy stopped thrashing and Spike loosened his grip a little to give her a bit of breathing room. Convinced she was now calm enough to listen, he began to repeat his entreaties. But Buffy brought her hand to his lips, placing her fingers gently over his mouth. Spike got the hint and stopped talking.

Spike thought he felt his heart spasm when Buffy looked up at him with such a sad expression, her face streaked and her eyes full of still more unshed tears. Her lips parted and she tried to speak, but she had to cast her eyes down again to rally the nerve. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You didn’t do anything. I’m just…I’m…just so...ignorant. And you’ve been doing…this… for a hundred years and I don’t know anything – not even my own body - and I’m…I’m afraid that I’m not going to be very good.” She stopped for a moment and, still looking away, finally admitted the truth. “I want so much to please you…and you don’t even want to take off your clothes.”

Spike put his fingers under Buffy’s chin and tipped her face up to his. She stubbornly kept her eyes nearly closed. “Buffy,” he said, in the voice that could turn her knees to Jello all by itself. “Sweetheart, luv, you’ve got the whole thing backwards.” Grinning from ear to ear, Spike ducked his head to plant a kiss on the tip of Buffy’s nose. “Oh, little one,” he whispered, “I’m gonna have the time of my unlife sorting out all the bells and whistles on you.” He laughed, a rich, rumbling chortle. “The time of my bloody unlife!” Buffy finally looked up at him, still uncertain but a bit less embarrassed.

“The fact that I could be your first real lover – the one who gets to introduce you to all the ways we can touch and thrill each other – that’s an amazing gift. I’m surprised none of those gits noticed the dedicated circuit that goes from your luscious bum straight to your pleasure center…but the fact no one found it before me only makes it sweeter.”

Buffy managed the beginnings of a tight little smile, but remained mute. “And, as for the clothes,” Spike continued. “I’m leaving them on so I can take this as slowly as possible. Too much skin-to-skin contact and I’d be a goner. I want to see to you before I take a turn,” he said, winking at her. “You’re not the only one who doesn’t want to disappoint. Besides, a gourmet lucky enough to eat in a four star restaurant doesn’t wolf down his meal.” Loosening his arms, Spike pulled back to give himself another eyeful of Buffy’s gloriously naked body. “No, luv,” he said, bringing his gaze back to her face. “He feasts first with his eyes. Then he savors every morsel,” he added, softly brushing her lips with his. “And he revels in every mouthful,” he said, kissing his way to the spot just beneath her ear. “And he relishes every taste,” he concluded, licking up to her earlobe and worrying it gently with his lips.

Although Buffy’s blush was barely visible in the dark room, Spike could feel, hear, and smell the blood as it surged to just beneath the surface of her skin. “See, right there,” he said, nearly swooning with the nearness of all that intoxicating Slayer’s blood, “if you were more experienced and worldly I wouldn’t be able to make you blush. That is not what I would call an improvement.”

Buffy finally beamed a real smile at Spike as she stretched up to kiss him full on the mouth. Raising her eyes to his again, she asked, “What did you mean by ‘see to' me?”

His eyes darkening with lust, Spike grinned. “That, little one, is something I’ll just have to show you.”


Tbc…..

A/N: Let me know what you think!

---

Dawn lay in her bed wide awake, again. Since the onset of Joyce’s illness, Dawn remained on full alert status whenever she was the only one home with her Mom. After several nights of attempting unsuccessfully to sleep, an exhausted Dawn finally established a pattern of waiting until Buffy returned from her nightly patrol before she’d even try to fall asleep. That, however, couldn’t explain why she was sleepless in Sunnydale tonight. Buffy had been home since shortly after sunset, never even leaving for patrol.

After Buffy said goodnight and climbed the stairs, Dawn had made herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Later, when she passed Buffy’s closed door, Dawn observed no light leaking out at the threshold and assumed Buffy was already asleep. She showered, donned her pajamas and climbed into bed fully expecting to drift off without any effort. An hour later she was still wide awake. Why?

Dawn reviewed the evening. Despite Buffy’s apparent willingness to answer all of her questions, Dawn was still perplexed by her sister’s odd behavior. Showing up at home dressed exactly like her dangerously hot vampire nemesis, letting him cook for her, and then there was the whole Bobbsey Twins incident.

Dawn suddenly sat up as she realized she hadn’t gotten a good explanation for any of it. Buffy’s answers were merely plausible. Slumber was proving elusive because big sister had cheated her out of any real answers. “Inquiring minds continue to inquire,” Dawn grumbled to herself, “if all they get are bogus responses to perfectly reasonable questions!” Clear now that Buffy was to blame for her inability to sleep, Dawn slipped out of bed and went in search of answers, better answers. “Why should she get any rest when she’s the cause of my insomnia?” Dawn thought, as she padded down the hall to Buffy’s room.

Dawn’s hand was already reaching for the doorknob when she froze in confusion. The voice coming from inside her sister’s room was unmistakable. Even without understanding any of the words, the low-pitched rumble could be no one else. “Spike! What the hell is Spike doing in Buffy’s room?” Dawn thought.

But instead of bursting into the room to protect the far from defenseless Slayer from the bloodthirsty vampire, Dawn stood absolutely still. Her eyes were wide, but less in fear than fascination. “Spike is in Buffy’s room with the lights off,” she thought. “And it doesn’t sound like they’re fighting.”

******

Nearly faint from the intoxicating fragrance of Buffy’s blush, it took a few moments before Spike’s vampire senses picked up the sound of Dawn’s madly beating heart just outside the bedroom door. He instantly stopped talking and pulled away from Buffy’s embrace, simultaneously placing two fingers on her lips. Buffy whimpered at the sudden loss of contact, but he pursed his mouth to mime “shush” and pointed at the door. Instantly quiet, Buffy listened intently for a few seconds, hearing only silence. Spike placed his hand over her heart and lightly thumped it to let her know what he was hearing. Her eyes got wide and her eyebrows shot up in question. This time he mimed something she recognized as “little bit,” and Buffy sighed without making any sound.

They faced each other in the dark, not moving or speaking. Unable to talk and too distracted to do anything else, Buffy looked at Spike’s moonlit face just inches from hers, smiling when she remembered how she had ogled him in the library. Spike smiled back and then moved his lips, making no sound, but clearly saying, “I love you.”

Buffy’s breath caught in her throat for a moment, then she responded in kind. “I love you too,” she mouthed, her lips trembling a bit.

Spike blinked, shook his head slightly and then grinned. “Say it again,” he mouthed.

Buffy laughed silently, “What? I didn’t say anything!” she replied, her hands wide in an exaggerated gesture of confusion, again without sound. But she quickly relented when his eyes narrowed and he silently threatened to let Dawn in on their secret. “I love you,” she said again. He took a deep unnecessary breath and closed his eyes, his lips pursed as though he had tasted something absolutely delicious.

****

Dawn remained in the hall for several minutes. She knew without a molecule of doubt that Spike was in Buffy’s room. Dawn heard nothing and made no extraneous noise, but she was only too aware of the loud thumping in her chest. It was just as obvious Spike knew she was there in the hallway. Now what? Knowing her sister’s propensity for making a gigantic deal out of the smallest thing, Dawn decided to pretend nothing had happened. Maybe, if Buffy had a little time to think about it, she would realize Spike is the perfect boyfriend for someone like her. Moving as quietly as she could, Dawn made her way back to her room, eased the door shut and slipped back under the covers. She fell asleep moments after her head hit the pillow. Her last thought—don’t ask don’t tell has a whole new meaning.


****

Spike knew the moment Dawn gave up her position in the hall. He swooped down and gathered Buffy into his arms, covering her face with kisses and murmuring something about her golden, perfect beauty. Buffy responded by tugging at his clothes. He stopped his barrage of kisses long enough to give her a questioning look. “I thought we had an understanding,” he said, removing her hands from his belt buckle. “I planned to obliterate the memory of anyone who has ever touched you by demonstrating my vast superiority as a lover.”

Buffy pouted, her lower lip presenting Spike with another swoon-worthy object. “I know,” she said, “and I don’t want to disappoint you, but I’m not sure I can stand it another minute it you keep wearing all these clothes.”

Spike gave her a bright smile “So,” he said, shucking off his boots and releasing her hands to attack his buckle, “we’ll just save the full demonstration for another time then?” Buffy nodded enthusiastically as she finished with the belt and reached for his zipper. Spike had his t-shirt off and was crawling up her body in a matter of seconds. Buffy used her feet to push his jeans off his hips and down his legs. When they finally lay together, cool skin against warm, they sighed deeply in unison.

“If I wasn’t dead already,” Spike whispered in Buffy’s ear, “I’d swear I died and went to heaven.” He kissed her with an intensity that would have bruised an ordinary girl; fortunately Buffy was anything but ordinary. Holding her lips firmly captive with his, Spike ran his hands lightly down the sides of Buffy’s body.

She shivered with excitement when he slipped his hands under her hips and gently squeezed her bottom. “It’s right convenient you like it so much when I touch you here, luv,” he said, reveling in the realization his actions had literally raised goose bumps all over her body. “Cause I think I enjoy it as much as you do.” Watching her intently, he gave one firm globe a pinch. He was delighted when Buffy gasped and arched her back in response, but he didn’t anticipate what happened next.

Wrapping her legs around Spike’s hips in a vise grip, Buffy flipped him onto his back and pinned his arms in one smooth motion. Surprised by the move, Spike was about to laugh when Buffy shifted her weight to position her vulva directly over his erection. Even without touching, the heat radiating from between her legs was scorching hot. Spike’s amusement was swamped by a surge of overwhelming desire. His eyes rolled back in his head and he uttered a long string of incomprehensible curses through clenched teeth as Buffy pressed her slippery wet labia against the side of his length and slid herself, very slowly, from tip to base and back again.

Buffy stilled for a moment and Spike opened his eyes to find her gazing down at him with the self-satisfied expression of a person in complete control. “What happened to the blushing ingénue who was here a minute ago?” he asked, panting slightly. “Not that I mind Miss Buffy the Dominatrix,” he added, thrusting his pelvis sharply for emphasis. “I quite fancy her. Just curious is all.”

Never releasing her grip, Buffy smirked at him. “Take a memo, Professor,” she said. “If you want things to move slowly, do not pinch the horny Slayer on the butt.”

“Don’t worry luv,” he replied, laughing. “This is just the survey course. I’m taking loads of notes for the advanced seminar.” Sensing a subtle relaxation in Buffy’s legs, Spike took advantage of the opportunity to kick out from under her. Caught by surprise, Buffy tried unsuccessfully to fend him off and found her wrists trapped over her head in his strong fingers. Spike used his other hand to ghost down the side of her hip, grinning as he planted a row of soft, pretend pinches along her flank while restraining her firmly. “I think I’ll save up for a set of handcuffs too,” he added, entranced by the sight and feel of Buffy’s futile attempts to free her hands.

Short of knocking him unconscious with a head butt, Buffy had to concede she wasn’t strong enough to break is powerful grip. But while she’d lost the immediate battle for physical supremacy, Buffy had yet to deploy her ultimate weapon. Relaxing into the bedclothes, she abruptly stopped struggling and lifted her hips to maximize the pressure between her vulva and Spike’s cool, hard cock. “Spike,” she whispered, “please fuck me.”

The effect was instantaneous. Spike released her hands and began lavishing kisses all over her face and neck, suddenly stopping when he reached her chest. “I’m such a wanker,” he said, cupping a soft mound in each hand and staring with awe at her breasts. “I’ve barely given any attention to your beautiful breasts. What kind of a survey course would fail to include worship of these amazing nipples?”

“Spike!” Buffy said, fixing him with a look of complete exasperation.

“Gotcha!” he said, sliding down her body until his chin was directly over her neat triangle of pubic hair. “I may be a wanker, but I’m not going to fuck you until you’re good and ready. And you’re not good and ready until I say so.”


A/N: Yeah, I know, this was supposed to be the last chapter. But I can’t get these guys to just do it already. Stay tuned, it gets hotter! Reviews greatly appreciated.

Eyes closed, Spike inhaled deeply. Buffy watched as his countenance began to radiate pure pleasure. Had she seen his face out of context, she might have thought he was enjoying the bouquet of a fine wine or exotic flower. But she knew it was none of these scents thrilling his epicurean senses. Spike’s nose was poised just inches from the apex of her legs where he could revel in the heady olfactory proof of her arousal.

Buffy’s heart raced when Spike opened his eyes and revealed golden sparks. While she knew he had to control his demon when confronted with her blood, it was now clear she could provoke his fiendish side is other ways. Far from feeling fear, seeing flashes of Spike’s barely contained demon merely fueled her excitement.

Locking his gaze with Buffy’s, Spike instantly twigged to her reaction. Grinning, he dipped his head to gently nuzzle her mons pubis with his nose. Merely brushing across the soft flesh sent a bolt of pleasure that shook her whole body. Lifting his head again, Spike looked at her with awe. “She’s never been this excited before, he thought, "and I’m the lucky sod who gets to be here when she sees how it can be. I clearly don’t deserve this, but as long as she’s willing, it’ll take a stake to stop me.”

Still looking at her, Spike pressed his lips into Buffy’s pubic curls, simultaneously raising his eyebrows in a wordless question. Her sudden intake of breath told him everything. “Stupid wankers,” he thought, “never tasted her, never licked her into a frenzy. Guess I should be thankful Farm Boy’s a selfish prat, his tongue has warmth I can’t match.”

Buffy’s heart lurched again as a blush bloomed over every inch of her body. Despite Spike’s earlier assurance her innocence made her no less attractive, panic swelled at the prospect of what Spike was asking. She wanted what he was offering. Oh god, how she wanted it. But she didn’t know how to give her consent without feeling like a self-interested skank. “He couldn’t possible want to, could he? she thought. “He’d just be doing it for me, right”?

Spike watched the drama played out over Buffy’s features for a beat. Then he dragged himself up the length of her body until his eyes were level with hers. Poised on his elbows, he leaned in to give her a quick peck on the lips. Buffy reacted with roughly equal parts relief and disappointment.

“Yes,” he said, smiling softly and nailing her with a look that made her knees feel weak. “I want to pleasure you with my tongue. And, yes, I want to do it because I think you will like it. Bugger that, I know you will like it. But that’s not the only reason. I also want to taste what smells so good I’ve nearly cum just from breathing you in. I want to feel you climax in my mouth and drink in your luscious juices.” He stopped, for a moment to let his pronouncement sink in. Buffy stared back at him but said nothing. “I won’t do it if you don’t want me to,” he said very softly. “But I will be very disappointed, very disappointed indeed.”

Buffy swallowed noisily. She wasn’t sure she would be able to hear herself speak over the pounding of her heart. “I d-d-don’t want to ruin your fun,” she began, trying to smile through her embarrassment. “I’m just nervous because I’ve n-n-n-ever…”

Spike caught Buffy’s chin in his hand and kissed her firmly. “I guessed as much, kitten,” he said. “And like I said before, it feels like a gift. I don’t take it lightly and I guarantee you won’t regret giving me a chance to teach you this lesson.” Buffy just nodded. “So it’s okay, then?” She nodded again, grateful she didn’t have to say anything. Within a few moments she couldn’t speak at all.

Spike retreated to his earlier position, placing another rather chaste kiss on her mons. “Just lay back, luv,” he said, anticipating her insecurity. “I’m driving for the moment. All you need to do is to relax and enjoy the ride.”

The sensation of Spike’s cool lips caressing her labia brought all of Buffy’s attention to the most sensitive square inch of her entire body. Slipping his clever tongue between her fleshy lips, Spike quickly found Buffy’s clit. Engorged and hard as a pebble, he was careful to avoid too much friction too soon. “If I take my time and do this right,he thought, she’ll never forget her first time or the bloke who made her see stars and planets using nothing but his tongue.”

Spike felt Buffy’s body tense as he lapped gently around the button of nerves already infused with heat. He began a slow, teasing dance designed to drive her closer and closer to the edge without quite sending her over. After just a few artful strokes, Buffy’s gasps and racing pulse told Spike he was beginning to have the desired effect. Her mounting response inevitably stoked his passion; the throbbing ache in his erection belying his lack of a pulse. He’d resolved earlier to gradually coax Buffy to a plateau of pleasure and sustain it until she begged for release, but Spike’s plan hit a snag when, fingers tangled in his hair, she arched her back to grind her vulva against his mouth. Mewing helplessly, Buffy persuaded Spike it was time to let her cum.

Drawing the flat of his tongue over the length of Buffy’s swollen clit, Spike wrapped his lips around the tender knot of tissue and began to suck with a slow but relentless rhythm that steadily increased. Reaching under her hips, he cupped his hands around her bottom and slid two fingers into her cunt. Buffy bucked when Spike found the sponge-like mass just inside her opening. Noting the location, he continued to suckle at her clit as he massaged the sensitive spot with his fingertips.

Buffy’s initial alarm dissolved within seconds. Swamped by waves of delicious pleasure, she succumbed to the considerable talents of her vampire lover without further reluctance. Her gasps and moans were completely unselfconscious - she couldn’t have controlled them if she had wanted to. But when the ever-rising tide of sensation began to lift her to its peak, she was aware enough to release Spike’s curls and reach for a pillow. As a result, the screams that accompanied the final crashing crescendo of Buffy’s biggest orgasm to date didn’t awaken her mother or sister. On the other hand, Spike heard all he needed to know this portion of the survey course had been very well received.

Once again Spike crawled up Buffy’s body and lay on his side next to her. Buffy, still deep in the afterglow of a truly mind-blowing orgasm, struggled to open her eyes. “Sp-i-i-ike,” she whimpered.

Spike chuckled to himself. Then, putting his fingers on her lips, he shushed her. “You don’t need to say anything,” he said. “Take a minute, luv, I’m not going anywhere.”

But Buffy was determined to pull herself together. With obvious effort, she dragged herself up onto her elbows and looked at Spike. “That was amazing,” she said, “totally amazing, but…”

Spike interrupted before she could finish. “But nothing, sweet thing,” he said. “We aren’t done here. That was just the appetizer.”

Buffy finally managed to sit up. Now that her arms were free she clapped a hand over Spike’s mouth to quiet him. “But you didn’t get anything!” she protested. “It’s not fair.”

Spike had to exert all his self control to keep from laughing out loud. He knew she would take it the wrong way and that was the last think he wanted at this juncture. Gently removing her hand, he put one finger under her chin and looked directly into her eyes.

“No, luv, you’d be wrong, very wrong about that,” he said, shaking his head in wonder. “You really haven’t been paying attention, Buffy. I’ve been undead for more than a hundred years, and in all that time I’ve never tasted or felt anything as sweet as you. If I dusted right now I would cease my existence never knowing greater pleasure. You are indeed the one and only, there is no one, nothing else, like you.”

Buffy just stared, initially unable to respond. Then, cocking her head to one side in a fair imitation of a certain bleached blond vampire, she finally spoke. “So,” she began, eyes wide and lower lip protruding, “what do I have to do to get you to fuck me?”

Spike could no longer contain himself, his hard-fought battle to maintain control snapped like a fledgling’s neck. With a strangled howl, he threw his head back, collapsing on the bed completely undone by paroxysms of laughter.

With Slayer speed, Buffy reacted, strategically placing a pillow over Spike’s face to muffle his hilarity. Then, once she was confident his gales of laughter wouldn’t wake the whole house, she had no choice but to join him.

Tbc……

A/N: Yeah, I know, this was supposed to be the last chapter. But they were having so much fun with the foreplay I just didn’t have the heart to rush things. So there’ll be another chapter, at least. I’m no longer predicting when this will end. Please review!! Sd

A dazzling sunbeam obscured Buffy’s vision as her lids fluttered open. Before she could indulge in her usual morning stretch, her brain processed she was awakening to a light both blinding and lethal. Leaping from her bed, Buffy nearly ripped the curtains from their rod as she yanked them together to block the sun’s rays.

Still breathless from her sudden exertion, Buffy’s thoughts came crashing together, banishing any remaining vestiges of slumber. “Last night…Spike…my bed….sunlight!” Turning slowly from the now covered window, relief and disappointment mingled when she found no sign of Spike, combusted or otherwise, amidst the seriously rumpled bed linens. Taking her first complete breath of the morning, Buffy’s eyes fell on a small bundle on the floor, a piece of folded paper perched on top.

Buffy sat down on the edge of her bed and picked up the note, bringing it close to inspect the elaborate script. “Wow! Who knew Spike’s talents extended to penmanship,” Buffy thought.

“Dear Buffy,” the note began, “There is only one thing I fear now. That fear induced me to leave you alone to consider our future in the harsh light of day. If the dream I experienced last night is to continue, come to the library this afternoon.” The note was signed with a fancy “S,” followed by a postscript.

“P.S.” it continued. “If the cruel dawn reveals no future for us, this will be my only goodbye. I’ll leave Sunnydale at nightfall with no plans to return.”

Buffy stared at the note for a beat. “Geez, Spike,” she muttered. “Dramatic much?” Buffy reached for the bundle, only to have it fall open revealing her clothes from the night she’d nursed Spike in his crypt. No longer worried about admitting a little sunshine, Buffy opened the curtains and held her previously blood-soaked garments up to the light. “Yeah, like I’m gonna let you leave town without showing me how you removed the blood stains from my favorite pants!”

Buffy left the pile of clothes on the floor as she headed for the bathroom. Having slept in the nude, she needed only to warm the water before stepping into the shower. Grabbing the bath gel, Buffy used it to work up a frothy lather. Her hands slipped over her body, leaving trails of bubbles. Only then, as her own fingers retraced the path of Spike’s hands, did memories of the night before came flooding back.

Buffy caught her breath as merely thinking about their lovemaking caused a rush of delicious sensation between her legs. Heart pounding, she quickly rinsed the soap from her body and reached for the shampoo. “That was no dream,”she thought, “But if he needs reassurance, I think I could handle doing what we did last night all over again.”

****
It took several minutes before Spike recovered from his fits of laughter. Removing the pillow from his face, he drew an unneeded breath deep into his lifeless lungs and reached for Buffy, wrapping her in a tender embrace. His expression was serious now as he looked deep into her eyes and carefully smoothed an errant strand of hair away from her face. “You can’t possibly know what you do to me,” he said, touching her face with something akin to reverence. “But we’re about to cross a threshold from which there will be no turning back. If we do this, Buffy, it can’t be undone. I don’t know if we’ve ever been friends, or even if we could be friends. But this will change everything, at least it will for me. I know, I must sound like a regular girl’s blouse right now. But, if you know nothing else about me, you must understand part of me is a romantic--bugger that, a hopeless romantic--just as much as another part is a bloodthirsty demon. I’ve always been an ‘all or nothing’ sort of bloke, Buffy. You’re about to find out what all of me really means.”

Buffy looked back into the smoldering blue of Spike’s gaze. “I-I-I guess you’re not just talking about the impressively large size of… things,” she said glancing down to where his unseen erection pressed against her hip. Her crooked smile betrayed the nerves her quip was meant to cover.

“No, I’m not,” Spike snorted. “But thanks for noticing.” He buried his face in Buffy’s hair and filled his lungs with her scent. “Ah, hell,” he said, brushing his lips across her throat. “What’s the point of pretending I’m not already lost? Go ahead, Buffy, have your way with me. Even if I knew this was all there would ever be I still couldn’t help myself.”

Buffy reached up to tangle her fingers in Spike’s curls. “You’re lost?” she asked. “I think I am too. And I think I’d like to stay that way. I don’t remember a time when I felt so peaceful, so safe. I haven’t thought about slaying, Glory, Mom, Dawn being in danger—unless you count pinching her real hard for lurking around my door--any of it, for hours. I know it’s all still out there. None of it will go away on its own…” Buffy’s voice trailed off. “But being here with you is like a vacation,” she said, very quietly. “Does that mean I’m using you to escape?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “And I just realized I don’t care. We both talk too damn much. I, for one, am going to shut the hell up and see if I can’t give you the best holiday you’ve ever had. What do you say to that?”

Buffy grinned, “Bon voyage?”

Spike sealed his vow of silence was a kiss so full of passion, desire, and hope it literally took Buffy’s breath away. She came up gasping for air when one of them had the presence of mind to break away, only to plunge again into their mutual source of solace. Exploring each other’s lips, teeth and tongues like the protagonist and her paramour in a romance novel, they sank into the covers, bodies molded to one another, moaning into each other’s mouths. Though surrounded by her scent for hours, Spike had yet to develop any tolerance to the effects of Buffy’s fragrance and remained thoroughly drunk. Buffy burrowed into Spike like a welcome shelter from the storm of her life. In his arms, she for once let herself accept a respite from the wearying weight of responsibility for the fate of the world.

Reluctantly parting his lips from hers, Spike planted a row of kisses from Buffy’s jaw to collarbone. Sliding his hands down her spine, Spike reached under the supple globes of Buffy’s bottom and held her pelvis firmly against his. There was no mistaking the feel of Spike’s erection pressed against her belly. Insinuating her arm between their bodies, she wrapped her hand around his cool shaft just as Spike’s lips found her nipple. A mutual shudder passed through their bodies as each reacted to the new stimuli, the sensation extended by the echo of reflected pleasure.

Probing Buffy’s quim with his fingers, Spike found the opening drenched with her juices. Freeing his other hand, he cupped her breast, raising it to his lips and eagerly suckled the pebbled nipple. Buffy made a low sound like a mourning dove as she rubbed her thumb back and forth along the slit of Spike’s cock. Successive waves of pleasure washed over her, magnified by the blissful feedback between Spike’s talented fingers in her pussy and his lips and tongue at her nipple.

For a fleeting moment, Buffy thought she wouldn’t mind if they could stay just as they were for an eternity. But the delicious equilibrium broke when a drop of pre-cum leaked out under Buffy’s thumb. With her next stroke she swirled the slippery fluid over the head of Spike’s erection. He hissed, grinding into Buffy’s hand for a moment before releasing her nipple from his mouth with an audible smack. Grabbing her under her arms, he turned over onto his back, lifting Buffy’s body effortlessly over his. Reaching down to hold a hip bone in each hand, he positioned Buffy’s pelvis just inches above his rock hard erection.

“Don’t want to hurt you, kitten,” he said, looking up at her expectant expression. “So we’ll take it slow and you can set the pace, yeah?”

Even as she nodded her assent, it was impossible to avoid making comparisons. Resting on her elbows, but with most of her weight in Spike’s hands, Buffy could see she was in an ideal position to assert control. Spike’s conscious effort to put her in charge made a stark contrast with Riley’s grudging acceptance of the rare occasion when she managed to get on top. In all things, she realized, Spike treated her as an equal—in battle and in bed. Riley was equally consistent, unswervingly betraying the belief he bettered her in strength and strategy. Buffy could no longer deny, even to herself, that she’d been deferring to Riley’s decisions and pretending to need help rather than confronting his condescending misperceptions. In all interactions with Riley she lost more than her power: she also gave up much of the pleasure, both in slaying and in sex.

Deciding in that moment to fully claim this opportunity, Buffy favored Spike with a dazzling smile. “Yes,” she said, realizing for once she needn’t worry about hurting her lover--his vampire powers made Spike a near match for her in strength and endurance. She’d always had to hold back with Riley or risk injuring him, despite the fact he was large enough to leave her feeling smothered by his bulk. Spike’s body, on the other hand, while powerful and rippling with muscle, was lithe and compact.

Once more the comparisons came unbidden to Buffy’s mind. Angel, whose massive body dwarfed hers, had treated her like a china doll the one time they’d made love. But Spike never failed to test her physical limits--whether fighting or fucking. Far from coddling her, Spike considered Buffy a worthy adversary or co-combatant.

Spike returned Buffy’s smile, “Ah, that’s a lovely sight,” he said. “Penny for you thoughts, luv?” he asked, his voice a tease.

“No,” she answered. “I’m more about the action right now. You just stay still and I’ll show you.”

Spike raised his eyebrows, but not wishing to interrupt Buffy’s train of thought, remained absolutely still. She reached down between their bodies and found his impressive erection with her hand. Squeezing it gently, she expressed another drop of pre-cum. Once again, she used her thumb to spread it slowly over the head, but this time her gazed was locked with his. Spike’s eyes widened and his mouth opened, while he remained silent and motionless. But when Buffy dragged the lubricated tip of his cock between her legs, he could contain himself no longer. His eyes closed and his head fell back into the pillow as he uttered a string of strangled curses.

Buffy stopped the movement of her hand and Spike’s eyes shot open, questioning.

“I want you to watch me,” she said.

Spike whimpered before he spoke. “I’d love to, kitten,” he said, his voice rough with lust, “but watching another second of your face while you’re doing what you’re doing and I‘ll cum. And, baby, I want so much to be inside you when I do.”

“Oh, okay,” Buffy sighed, talking as if to herself, “maybe next time.” With no further notice, she slid halfway down Spike’s shaft. Then, pulling back just enough to let her abundant juices ease his entry, she fully impaled herself.

The sheer intensity of the sensation caught them both by surprise. Never had she felt so full, so complete. When she began to move again, it was without any coherence or premeditation. Lost in passion, her body simply took over, hips rising and falling without effort, or volition. It was several seconds before she realized Spike was speaking to her.

“Buffy, baby, sweetling, darling, please,” he begged her. Buffy finally stilled long enough to hear him. “Can I move now?” he asked, voice choked with yearning.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she answered, laughing and covering his face with kisses. “Yes, you can move now.”

“Oh, thank God,” Spike moaned, and then holding Buffy’s hips steady in his hands, he began to pump into her.

Buffy floated, hovered, just above her lover. She could feel just three points of contact; her elbows--supporting her upper body with no apparent effort, her feet—just grazing the bed, and the exquisite confluence in between where her body and Spike’s merged and flowed together creating an intensity of sensation like nothing she’d ever experienced. The pleasure came in crashing waves. No sooner had one broken over her than the next was already towering above, ready to tumble down. Thoroughly undone by each cresting paroxysm, Buffy barely caught her breath before the next one hit.

Although her senses were nearly swamped by the swirling whirlpool of pleasure, Buffy knew there was still something else she wanted. Struggling to identify the elusive need, she whimpered between gasps. Spike took a while to notice Buffy’s distress, lost in his sea of bliss. But he finally slowed his thrusts, captured her lips with his for a moment, and murmured, “What’s wrong?”

Buffy opened her eyes to find what she’d been seeking. In the midnight depths of Spike’s eyes, Buffy saw all the love, desire, and respect she had always craved. Bright yellow flecks added the last, essential, ingredient; a vast reserve of primal passion matching her own—a fitting partner for the demon fused to her humanity, the thing that made her a Slayer.

Spike’s love was a deluge washing all thought from her mind. Buffy stopped trying to resist—relinquishing the last vestiges of control to plunge over an unseen edge into enveloping velvet darkness. Her orgasm erupted from deep within her core, sending jolts of pleasure through every cell in her body.

Tbc…..

A/N: Okay, they finally did it! But the ultimate resolution is still somewhere in the distance. We’ll get there soon, but I’m making no predictions how many chapters it’s going to take. I’ve been there, done that.

Please review. Finishing this chapter has been like pulling teeth. I just couldn’t figure out where to draw the curtain, so to speak. I’m not entirely thrilled with the stopping place, but I just couldn’t hang onto it any longer.

Spike sat on the couch, every dead cell of him exuding defeat. All around him, the floor was littered with crumpled paper.

After slipping down from Buffy’s window just before dawn, Spike had gone directly to his crypt. While the glow at the horizon brightened as he crossed town to the cemetery, Spike’s spirits seemed to darken with every step. By the time he arrived at the door of his home, he was unable to shake the conviction Buffy would awaken in a state of alarm, believing she’d betrayed her calling, ready to deny her own happiness and pleasure rather than disappoint her watcher and so-called friends.

“I’m completely fucked!” he grumbled, slamming the crypt door behind him as he entered. “She’ll come to her senses and I’ll be lucky to stay undead long enough to make my way out of this stinking town.”

Determined to carry out his threat to leave Sunnydale forever, Spike descended to the lower level of the crypt to sleep in preparation for his long journey. But, after lying awake for over an hour, he dragged himself out of bed.

“Can’t catch any kip with her smell all over me,” he complained aloud. Heading for his makeshift shower, Spike did his best to scrub Buffy’s scent from his body. Emerging from the bracing spray, he rubbed himself vigorously with a towel and dropped naked onto the bed. “There, that’s better,” he said, sniffing. “I can hear myself think now.”

Yet, despite the significant reduction in olfactory distraction, Spike still could not rest. After changing his position perhaps twenty times he gave up. Abandoning any hope of sleep, he climbed out of bed again, pulled on fresh jeans and a clean t-shirt, and began to throw his few other belongings into a duffle. Reaching for his small collection of books, Spike found his journal in his hand. The next thing he knew he was sitting on his well-worn couch, pen in hand, trying to capture with poetry some of what he’d experienced in Buffy’s arms.

Now, hours later, he had nothing to show for his efforts but a head full of vivid memories he knew he’d have to spend the rest of his unlife trying to forget. “Bugger this!” he snarled, throwing the pen across the room. “I’m not going to slink away as if it was I who did something amiss. If she’s too much of a coward to face me, it will be her choice. I won’t make it easy for her by not showing up.”

Moments later, Spike was sprinting through the network of tunnels that would take him to the library.

***

Once she’d managed to drag her thoughts away from the previous night, Buffy finished bathing and dressing in record time. At some point she realized that it was still several hours before noon. “He said he’d see me at the library in the afternoon,” she thought. “With all this sunshine he’s probably dead asleep. I guess I might as well go to class and see if I can dig my way out of the ‘F’ I’ve got so far.”

Buffy arrived for class, uncharacteristically on time, and slipped into her seat before the professor’s arrival.

Later, when Buffy was leaving, a classmate caught up with her as she descended the stairs outside. “What happened to you?” she asked. “Did the angel of poetry come and hit you over the head with her magic wand? You sounded like you swallowed Professor Graham’s dissertation on meter, meaning, and metaphor!”

Buffy didn’t know what to say, but the image of Spike dressed as the tooth-fairy with a giant book of poetry under his wing made her smile a little.

“I’m Tracy,” the classmate persisted, “And you’ve really got to tell me how you got smart so fast. You are not the only one looking at an ‘F’ for this class. Maybe we could get together to study, you could give me some tips.” Opening her book bag, Tracy started to root around in search of something.

Glancing at the clock tower, Buffy noticed the time and immediately started backing away. “Uh, s-s-s-sorry, can’t talk right now,” she stammered, skipping down the stairs. “I’ve g-g-g-got an appointment and I really can’t be late.”

When she finally looked up, several seconds later, Tracy was bewildered when Buffy was no where to be seen. “Okay, be that way,” she muttered, turning to leave. “I would have helped you.”

***

Spike knew the moment Buffy entered the library, possibly even a few seconds before. Hearing her heart pounding and the rapid click of heels across the floor he could almost see the fingers of her small hand wrapped around the stake as she prepared to drive it into his lifeless heart. Ironic, wasn’t it? That same hand had been wrapped around his throbbing cock just a dozen hours earlier. But that was history now. No doubt the bitch was back and he had a decision to make.

Seated in his usual corner, surrounded by books, Spike mused on his options. “I might as well just let her end me now. What’s the point of starting each day wishing I could forget she’d ever existed? I don’t need to feel this twist of pain in my chest, every hour of every day, knowing what I’m missing and missing it for an eternity. If I just read this poem and allow myself to experience the beauty it is trying so hard to convey. If I just sit here and refuse to fight back when she comes at me…what’s she going to do? If I fought, she’d beat me anyway… I’ve always known she could best me anytime she really wanted to… But then…I have to ask why didn’t she ever want to enough? Bugger that! It’s a question for another day, and I’ve seen my last. This is it, then. I’ll let her end it here. But, isn’t this a weird place for it to finally happen - a library? What will the Watchers’ journals make of this, hey? As if they’d get it right, as if they ever get anything right.”

She was close now, just a few seconds left before she’d be within striking distance. “Should I look up and take one last glimpse of her with me to my permanent place in Hell?” he thought. “I said I wasn’t going to make it easy for her. So let’s see if she can off me with full eye contact.”

Buffy rounded the last bank of shelves just as Spike lifted his chin, locking his eyes with hers. Nearly skidding into him, she paused just long enough to drop her book bag on the table and then plopped down, straddling his lap.

“Oh my God, Spike,” she said, nearly out of breath. “You won’t believe what happened!”

“B-B-B-Buffy!” he said. “W-w-w-where’s your stake?”

Reaching behind her and giving him a quizzical look, she pulled a stake out of her waistband and held it out for his inspection.. “Right here, why? Are there vampires in the library?”

Before he could respond, Buffy stood up, still straddling Spike’s lap, as she scanned for vampires with her Slayer senses. “I don’t think there any vamps here but you,” she said, looking at him with a confused expression and settling her weight again on his rapidly hardening groin. “I don’t get it. I thought you told me you cleaned this place out ages ago.”

“No, luv, I mean, yes, I did eliminate the vamps that were preying on the Sunnydale literati,” he said, speaking slowly and watching her face closely. “I can assure you I am the only vampire here,” he said, taking a deep, unnecessary breath. “I just thought you’d want to use a stake on me after…last night.”

Buffy stared at him, initially speechless, then angry. “Why? Didn’t you believe anything I said?”

“No, it’s not that, exactly,” he responded, placing his hands on hers in an attempt to calm her. “I believe you meant it at the time. But I thought you’d feel differently when you had a chance to think about it, you know, consider what your friends will say…and your watcher.”

Buffy looked down for a moment and then gazed directly into Spike’s eyes. “You’re half right,” she said. “I don’t really know what I’m going to do about my friends…what I’m going to tell them…or Giles, for that matter. I haven’t really thought about it, not yet. But I can’t do everything just to keep them happy, not if it means I’m unhappy. I mean, what sort of life is that?”

Spike smiled. “You’ll get no argument from me, luv,” he said, shifting her slightly to make sure she could feel what she was doing to him. “I’m all for you doing what makes you happy, especially if it’s anything like what you were doing last night.”

Buffy blushed and Spike closed his eyes as he inhaled the rich scent that radiated off her skin. “Aw, no fair, Slayer,” he said, nearly moaning. “I’ve told you about that trick of yours. It’s going to take all my self-control not to take you right here.”

Buffy tried to scramble off Spike’s lap, but he held her fast. “No, don’t go,” he pleaded. “I promise to control myself. I don’t want to, but I will.”

“Okay,” she said, settling again. “But it’s Buffy, not Slayer, remember?”

“Yes. Buffy. I remember.

Once he was sure she wasn’t going anywhere he reached up to brush the hair out of her face. “What were you saying when you charged in here?” he asked, introducing what he hoped would be a less stimulating topic. “It was something about me not believing what happened. What was that all about?”

“We read a poem in class today,” she began. “It was “The Silken Tent” by Robert Frost. And I knew what it was about. I just knew. It was something you said, that I could just feel the poem. And it worked. I so rocked!”

Spike looked at Buffy with an expression of awe. “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t surprised,” he said, his voice even, “because everything about you is a surprise. But I knew you’d get poetry if you could stop working so hard and just listen. It sounds like that’s what happened.”



Tbc…………

A/N: “… Spike dressed as the tooth-fairy with a giant book of poetry under his wing …” I’m just having fun now!!! This probably seems like an odd place to stop, but I’ve been so slow to update I wanted to give you everything I’ve written so far. Please do review. ;)

Buffy shifted her weight on Spike’s lap as she settled in to give him all the details of her triumph in poetry class. It was only with great effort he was able to suppress any sign of the effect her movements had on his raging erection. He didn’t want his lust to ruin this moment. Whether she knew it or not, they had just entered uncharted territory.

Buffy’s grin was apparently contagious. “So tell me,” Spike asked, grinning back at her, “what happened, exactly?”

Since their tryst in Buffy’s bed, Spike’s defenses had been on high alert. Despite the evil façade, he was still a Victorian gentleman deep down in the marrow of his lifeless bones. A relationship based solely on sex, no matter how physically thrilling, would never satisfy the gigantic romantic streak running through his psyche. Now, in little more than a day, he had gone from hoping for a few crumbs to the possibility of securing the whole bloody bakery. Never having given up the human habit of respiration, Spike held his breath, waiting to see if his wildest dream was about to become real.

“The professor read the poem aloud,” she said. “But first he told us to close our books and just listen. I freaked because I thought there’d be no way I’d get it if I couldn’t read along. But I was so wrong. It was better, easier, to just hear it.”

Spike, saying nothing, bobbed his head enthusiastically, encouraging Buffy to continue. “So he read it and I had to just listen. And it was beautiful and I felt it, just like you said. And when the professor asked if anyone had any comments I had a bunch and he just kept nodding and saying “uh-huh” like he agreed with me.”

“And then?” Spike asked cautiously, hoping there was more to the tale.

Buffy’s impossibly wide grin managed to get just a little wider. “Then he checked his seating chart and looked right at me and said, “Nice job, Ms. Summers.” Just like that.”

Spike watched Buffy’s face as she relived the moment, her slightly manic smile softening into an expression of accomplishment. He couldn’t help feeling a bit stunned. That fact she’d run to share this story with him turned all his earlier expectations and suspicions upside down. Whether or not she ever told her Watcher and friends about him suddenly shrunk in importance. This was more than he could have ever hoped for and for once the talkative vampire was completely dumbstruck.

“Hey,” she said, poking Spike in the ribs, “don’t you even want to know which poem it was?”

Spike jumped at the prod, grabbing Buffy around the waist to keep from bouncing her to the floor. “Yeah, of course,” he sputtered, embarrassed at the dreamy-eyed git he could become in the presence of this little girl. “What was the poem and, more importantly, what did you say about it?”

Buffy sighed. “This is weird, you know?” she said, tilting her head and wrinkling her nose. “Here we are talking about school and poetry and stuff. I should be wigged, but I’m not,” she said, brightening again. “This is good, yeah?”

Spike brushed an errant piece of hair away from Buffy’s face. “Yeah,” he said, letting the silky strands slip through his fingers as if in a trance, “this is good, at least for now. Maybe we should just leave it at that and not think about it too much. ”

They were both silent, eyes locked, neither one moving. Spike braced himself for what seemed inevitable. Drawing attention to what they were doing couldn’t be anything but a mistake. He wanted her to see him as a man, not a monster. He had thought this was his chance, a small moment that would make or break whatever future they might have. He wasn’t fooling himself, he never thought his odds were better than one in a million, but to be so close was already a miracle so he’d stupidly hoped for more. “Oh well,” he thought. “It was good while it lasted.”

But once again Buffy was following a different script. “It was ‘The Silken Tent’ by Robert Frost,” she said. “You know it, don’t you?”

Spike laughed, mostly with relief. “No, luv. Robert Frost’s a bit modern for me. And he’s an American,” he added. “The ones I’ve committed to memory are at least a hundred years older and all of them were written by poets from across the pond. Don’t you have a copy?”

“Yeah, I have it,” she said, glancing away as though suddenly shy. “But I want you to read it. I like the way you say poems. Your voice makes them sound more…poemie.”

“I think what you mean is ‘poetic,’” he said. “Give it here, then,” he continued, feigning impatience. “Let me read it through once or twice so I can do it justice.”

Buffy produced the syllabus from her backpack and quickly found the poem in question. “Here it is,” she said, turning the page to face him.

Spike scanned the short poem, his eyes moving slowly across each line. When he finished reading it through the first time, he read it again.

“Alright,” he said. “I think I’ve got the gist. Shall I have a go then?”

“Yes,” Buffy replied, wiggling a bit in anticipation. “Please.”

Spike took a deep breath, mostly to steady himself from Buffy’s inadvertent assault on the painful engorgement in his pants. Suppressing a wince, he held the book up and focused all his attention on the printed words before him. Leaning in slightly to bring his mouth close to Buffy’s ear, he began.

She is as in a field a silken tent
At midday when a sunny summer breeze
Has dried the dew and all its ropes relent,
So that in guys it gently sways at ease,

Spike’s voice returned once again to its more cultured, formal tones. He took his time, pacing the stanzas with care. Buffy closed her eyes and let the words wash over her.

And its supporting central cedar pole,
That is its pinnacle to heavenward
And signifies the sureness of the soul,
Seems to owe naught to any single cord,

As he read, Spike tried to watch Buffy’s face in his peripheral vision. Her long lashes lay dark against the pale skin beneath her eyes. Her lips pressed lightly together in concentration. He wished he knew the poem by heart so he wouldn’t have to divide his attention between the page before him and watching her lovely face.

But strictly held by none, is loosely bound
By countless silken ties of love and thought
To everything on earth the compass round,
And only by one's going slightly taut
In the capriciousness of summer air
Is of the slightest bondage made aware.

Lifting his eyes from the page, Spike watched as Buffy sighed deeply before letting her lids lift. “That was great,” she said, dreamily. “You read even better than my Prof’.”

“Thank you,” he said in reply. “It’s a pleasure to read for someone who listens so well.” Reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her cheek, he posed the question he was burning to ask. “So, what did you say about the poem?”

Suddenly shy, Buffy looked down for a moment before speaking. “I’ll tell you, but first I want to know if you like it.”

“Like it?” he said, almost sputtering. “It’s bloody brilliant. I’ve a bit of this Frost bloke,, but I didn’t know this one. The fellow is definitely worth a read. Yes, luv, I like it a lot. And I’m grateful, really, to know about it. Thank you for bringing it to me.”

Buffy’s smile was so intense it seemed to radiate out into the room. “I knew you’d be interested,” she said, her voice a little wistful. “I’m not sure I know anyone else who would.”

“Well, I appreciate it,” Spike said, not wanting her to pursue the sad note he could hear in her reply. “Now, will you tell me what earned you that “Nice job, Ms Summers!’?”

“Oh, okay,” she said, turning the book around so she could see the poem. “First I said the poem is about a woman who the poet is comparing to a tent. That was pretty obvious, but he started nodding away so I figured I was on the right track. Then I said she has qualities that don’t seem to go together - strength and flexibility. She is someone with a clear purpose and direction, but she isn’t rigid. I think the thing that really got him was when I said she gets her strength both from her sense of herself – the pole in the poem – and also from all the ties she has to the people she is connected to through love.”

Spike felt as though he’d been kicked in the stomach. Whether or not she saw the parallels between herself and “The Silken Tent,” he could see Buffy was exactly like the woman described in Frost’s poem - her longevity alone was a testament to the power derived from her circle of family and friends. A circle he could never enter. Try as he might to mask his reactions, Spike’s body went stiff, betraying him.

“What’s wrong,” Buffy asked, her happy smile evaporating to be replaced by a worried frown. Swamped with emotion, Spike was too busy trying to hide his response to see her transformation. Anger, disappointment, and profound sadness converged and Spike was momentarily immobilized. Staring down at his boots, he tried to think of a way out with his dignity intact.

Buffy would have none of that. “Spike, look at me, “she insisted. “You are so dense, you know that?”

Surprised by her tone, Spike managed to look up from his boots, which had proven singularly uninspiring in any event. “What do you mean dense? I think I’ve got the thing pretty well sussed out,” he said, his voice hollow. “You have all the love and support you need. I don’t fit in anywhere and I never will.”

Buffy grabbed his chin and held his eyes level with hers, showing him the tears forming there. “You really don’t get it, do you. I’ve been relying on you for months. Without your help I don’t know what I’d have done,” she said, voice catching. “I may not have known why, but I knew you were there whenever I needed you.”

Spike looked totally confused. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” she started, looking down to search the poem,” I’m saying that you are one of the ‘guys,’ a ‘silken tie,’ you are one of the things that keeps me standing.”

The tide of emotion subsided as quickly as it had come over him. Grateful he hadn’t completely lost it, Spike recovered his composure, his body relaxing.

Buffy sighed. “Okay, now that we have that straightened out,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I was hoping we could get out of here and maybe go somewhere a little more private.”

Never one to dwell on the past, Spike was out of his chair, Buffy in his arms, in the space of a heartbeat. “If you don’t mind traveling via the sewers,” he said, “we can be in my crypt in ten minutes.”

Buffy’s smile returned. “Gee, I thought vampires were supposed to be fast,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “If you’ll put me down and show me the door, I’m sure I could get there in five.”

When her feet hit the floor, Buffy grabbed her backpack and stuffed the poetry syllabus into its largest compartment.

Spike shook his head in wonder as he led her to a narrow opening behind a bookshelf. “You want to race me?” he asked, incredulous. Buffy nodded.

“And what will be the prize when I win?”

Buffy pursed her lips thoughtfully before answering. “How about whoever gets there first can decide who’s on top?”

“Oy! Not fair!” Spike whined. “I can’t run with a rock hard erection.”

But it was too late. Buffy had already disappeared.

Tbc….

A/N: Please review or I won’t let you see what happens when they finish the race!

After “dressing” his uncomfortably engorged boner to the right, Spike followed Buffy into the sewers. Despite the distraction of pant leg abrading against tumescent flesh, he set off at a sprint to overtake Buffy. As it would happen, there was no real challenge to keeping up -- lacking both vampire vision and familiarity with the route, Buffy was no match for the stealthy vampire. Even with frequent detours around the beams of afternoon sun that knifed down from the manhole covers above, Spike had no trouble keeping pace. This left plenty of time to ponder the big question: should he let her win the race to the crypt?

“If I get there first,” he mused while darting silently behind a pillar to remain out of Buffy’s line of sight, “I realize my fantasy in which I get to order the Slayer about in bed. But if I lose…I experience something I’ve never had the audacity to even dream about—the Slayer ordering me about in bed.” A fleeting mental image of Buffy in fishnets, tight black lace, and stiletto heeled boots brought Spike’s decision-making process to a screeching halt just as he caught site of their destination. The vision did nothing to reduce the painful friction in his pants, but by now he was used to it.

Although he could have easily surged ahead, Spike carefully paced himself to arrive at the spot exactly one second after Buffy.

************

Slipping through the gap behind the bookshelf, Buffy dropped lightly into the sewer beneath the library. With little in the way of landmarks for orientation, she had to rely on Slayer senses and intuition. Turning her mind to that task, and paying almost no attention to Spike’s strangled protest from above, she struck off in the general direction of his crypt, heels echoing against the cement walls as she negotiated the tunnels.

Once under way, Buffy took stock of the situation. Ruining a perfectly good pair of boots tracking through a filthy sewer would never make it to her “top ten,” but, at least this time she was on her way to a sweaty tryst rather than a battle with some smelly Hell Spawn of the Week. Still, it was always a shame to destroy good footwear.

Saying a sad little goodbye to her doomed boots, Buffy divided attention between charting her way through the dark and anticipating what awaited her at the end of her journey. Feeling no ambivalence was a bit of a surprise. She didn’t much care who won this race either—whatever the outcome, she figured she’d be getting a “valuable prize” at the finish line. Truth be told, the whole thing with Spike felt so very right.

“This must be what it feels like to be free,” she thought. “When I’m with him I feel light. Being the Slayer doesn’t feel like such a heavy burden.” Buffy picked up her pace when she saw the entrance to the crypt ahead. Sure of her course now, she ran as fast as she could, reveling in the feel of her muscles as they contracted and released, heart pounding steadily in her chest, breath coming fast. Exhilaration like this had been largely missing from her life of late. For too long it had been just one night after another of slaying with random bits of classes and a little studying thrown. Her social life was next to non-existent and her love-life was a bad joke. But this, this…thing with Spike took her mind right off the slaying. Only her mother’s illness could compare as a distraction, but that was also a source of sadness and worry. The only negative with Spike was the secrecy. But if she didn’t think about it she could pretend, at least for now, that everything would work out. In the meantime, just the thought of his cool touch on her hot flesh banished all thoughts, all cares, everything except the anticipation of pleasure, acceptance and…love. She knew now he really did love her. Denying the possibility that Spike could love her had been her best excuse for ignoring her own feelings, but now she had to admit the truth—something she had to confess had been plain to see for some time. He was truly, deeply, maybe even hopelessly in love with her. It made no sense, and yet, it was completely right.

“When the time comes,” she thought, “Giles and the Scoobies will just have to deal. But this isn’t the time to think about that.” Buffy planted one muddy boot on the lowest rung of the short metal ladder and immediately felt a chilly presence behind her.

“Took you long enough,” she said, turning to flash a victorious smile while keeping both hands firmly on the ladder.

“Yes, well, you certainly did your best to make it hard for me to keep up,” he replied, glancing meaningfully down at his crotch before returning his gaze to her eyes. “But I’m here now. What do you say we get on with the awards ceremony?”

Buffy let out a little gasp when Spike reached around her to grab the ladder and simultaneously molded his body to her back. With one foot resting on the bottom rung, she could feel the entire length of his erection against her backside. The temptation was irresistible. Buffy allowed her hips to press back, ever so slightly, against Spike’s pelvis. His low growl sent a shiver rocketing up her spine.

“No, luv,” Spike whispered, his lips nearly touching her ear, voice urgent with warning. “Don’t play with me. You won the race fair and square, but I can’t vouch for my demon if you insist on provoking him. Our little footrace felt like the hunt to him and in another minute he’ll take what he wants. He won’t care if it’s here on this rusty ladder. But I do, I care very much. I’ve got a brand new set of silk sheets up there on my bed and that is where I want to take this little party, not here.”

Buffy didn’t have to see his face to know Spike’s eyes were sparked with gold. She could sense the demon’s presence barely contained beneath Spike’s more human qualities. She’d seen him nearly lose control once before, and she didn’t need another demonstration, even if it was a total turn-on. Spike was right; his bed would be an infinitely better place to cross the finish line.

Without a word, Buffy straightened up just a bit as she withdrew the slight pressure she was exerting against Spike’s crotch. He sighed audibly and let her scramble up the ladder before following her into his bedroom.

Buffy felt strangely at home as she scanned the room. It was lit only by the soft glow of one thick candle. The rich furnishings appeared warm and inviting, especially the bed which was covered with a heavy brocade spread and piled with fringed silk pillows.

“So, what’s it to be, Mistress Buffy,” Spike asked. Buffy turned to face him. Although he stood in his typical cocky pose, head tilted provocatively to one side and a smirk on his face, she could detect just a hint of insecurity in his query. “Who’s to be on top?”

Buffy shrugged off her backpack, dropping it on the floor as she took a few steps toward him. Extending one arm, she took his hand in hers and drew him toward the bed.

“No one,” she replied in a whisper, her eyes locked on his, “I want you to lie beside me, at least for now.”

“That I can do,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. However, as he began to lie down, she stopped him.

“Wait,” she said. “Let me get your boots first.”

Before he could react, Buffy was kneeling on the floor in front of him, loosening the laces on his boots.

“Oh, no, luv, you don’t need to be doing that,” he said, attempting to stop her busy fingers with his hands. “I can take off my own boots.”

She looked up at him, a small smile curving her mouth. “But I want to do this,” she said. “And I won the race, so you have to let me.”

Spike, though reluctant, ultimately relented and then sat very still, looking uncomfortable, until Buffy managed to pull off both boots.

“Now you can lie down,” she said as she removed her own boots.

Spike complied, never taking his eyes off her as he climbed toward the head of the bed and sunk into the pile of pillows he found there. “I know you’re in charge, luv,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “But I’d have thought we’d be wearing a lot less clothing by now.”

Buffy stretched out beside him, reaching out to touch the placket of his shirt. “And if you had won the race you would be making that decision,” she said, slipping a shirt button from its hole. “But you didn’t win. I did. And, although I expect we’ll eventually end up wearing nothing at all, I want to take my time getting there.”

Spike couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face. “Why you wicked little thing,” he purred. “You want to undress me?’

Buffy blushed and looked down for a moment before lifting her eyes to reveal a look of complete determination. “Yeah, I guess I do,” she said, evenly. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Whoa,” Spike responded, shaking his head in disbelief. “No, no problem at all, luv. I guess we aren’t in Kansas anymore, are we?”

Buffy opened another button on Spike’s shirt and slipped her hand under the fabric. Through his t-shirt she could feel his skin was cool to the touch, but his eyes sparked hot with passion.

“And what about you, luv?” he asked, voice husky with barely contained desire. “Do you plan to keep all those clothes on?”

“No,” she answered. “We’re going to take turns. First I’ll take off one item of your clothing and than you’ll take off one of mine.”

Spike nearly croaked his response. “Do I get to choose which one?”

Buffy smiled benevolently. “Sure,” she said, working another button out of its hole. “I don’t need to make all the decisions.”

For several seconds Spike was uncharacteristically speechless. When he finally regained his ability to speak, his voice was a whisper. “No, luv, you don’t need to take charge of everything, but I’m more than happy with the choices you’ve made so far,” he said. “You can go first and I’ll decide what needs to come off you when the time comes.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Buffy replied as she freed the last button from his shirt and started to pull it off.

Tbc….

Despite being thoroughly undead and having absolutely no need for oxygen, Spike lay on his back panting helplessly. Over the course of the past three hours, Buffy had methodically sought and destroyed every semblance of his highly prized control. If she asked him to get on all fours and bark like a dog, he would do it. Hell, it was possible he’d already done it at some point during the recent sex-capades.

“Where did I ever get the idea this chit was naïve and innocent?” he thought,, as he tried to lift his hand toward the cigarettes on the night table and failed. “I think you broke me,” he said out loud.

“Hnuh?”

Marshalling the last of his resources, Spike raised his head just high enough to catch a glimpse of Buffy’s naked body sprawled at his side. As he did so, he took note the room was either upside down or they had their heads at the foot of the bed. “I think you broke me,” he repeated slowly. “But I don’t care. It would take much too much energy to care and I haven’t got any.”

“I know what you mean,” she replied, her voice a bit muffled by the comforter. “But I really can’t stay here much longer. I have to go…slay things and think about…stuff.”

“Oh, please, Buffy, don’t start thinking,” he said, already bracing against the pain of rejection. “You know it will lead to no good.”

He was surprised when she agreed. “You’re probably right,” she slurred. “I do better when I just go on instinct. I think that’s what this is all about.”

“And?” Spike asked, waiting for the “other shoe” to drop. But there was no shoe, no footwear of any kind. Buffy was snoring.

Spike snorted softly in amusement and then followed her into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When Buffy woke up her thighs felt glued together. After gently prying them apart, she sat up and tried to focus on the details of the candle-lit room. The first thing she recognized was Spike, sitting on the floor.

“Where are my clothes?” she asked. Though she was surrounded by the cozy warmth of what felt like a cashmere afghan, she knew she was completely naked under it.

Spike sighed, “They’re over there on the armchair,” he said, a note of resignation and just a little hope in his voice. “Go ahead and put them on,” he continued. “Then come and have something to eat.”

Buffy glanced at her clothes, neatly folded over the arm of the chair, and then immediately back to Spike. She knew they had crossed a line that never should have been crossed. She knew she should just put on her clothes and leave—never mind trying to figure anything out. She could just pretend it never happened. She was pretty sure that strategy had worked before.

But Buffy was just now realizing Spike was not alone down there on the floor. He was seated on a pillow—almost primly—a surprisingly lavish spread of food arrayed in a wide swathe around him. He saw her gaze fall upon the plates and trays he’d carefully arranged.

“Hungry, Slayer?” he asked, raising one eyebrow expectantly.

“More like starving and ravenous,” she replied, dragging the cashmere blanket with her onto the floor. She took a moment to arrange it modestly around her shoulders and then reached for a little roll stuffed with salami and cheese. “Where did you get all this stuff?”

“It’s from the deli,” Spike answered without taking his eyes off her softly draped wrap. Just minutes before, he had seriously thought he was beyond all desire following their marathon sex-fest. But the combination of Buffy’s becomingly disheveled hair and her makeshift garment had already created a bit of a stir in his pants. Working to keep his voice from dropping into its telltale husky register, he tried to keep his growing arousal to himself. “Last time you were here you had that incident… with the passing out,” he quickly explained. “So I stocked the place in case you stopped in.”

The significance of Spike’s admission was not lost of Buffy. She looked at him for a moment, her expression betraying her confusion. “Not very evil of you,” she said, a small smile curving her lips. “And look, you even bought yogurt! You hate yogurt.”

“Stuff tastes like it’s gone off, of course I hate it,” he said, pushing a basket of three small containers within her reach. “I didn’t know your favorite so I bought a few different one.”

Buffy dispatched the salami roll in two bites, staring all the while at the yogurt cartons. “Spike,” she began, “I don’t know what to say…”

But Spike didn’t let her finish. “Don’t say anything,” he interjected. “You had it right before. Don’t think about it, don’t talk about it. Just let it be, whatever it is…or isn’t. Doesn’t matter, does it? Your friends won’t understand. Bugger that, we don’t even understand. Just eat some of this food and let it be. Okay?”

Part of Buffy wanted to argue with him, to tell him they had to stop whatever it was they’d started. But she knew she couldn’t do it because she’d miss it too much. Miss him too much. If she would admit the truth—which she would not, at least not in so many words—she’d have to face what she was doing in the light of day. That was not going to happen, not anytime soon.

Spike watched a series of expressions play across Buffy’s face, her gaze still locked on the basket of yogurts. He couldn’t help feeling hopeful just because she hadn’t already left, but he knew better than to expect much more.

“I…like lemon a lot,” she said, choosing the carton with the yellow label from the basket. “But I like vanilla and blueberry too.”

“That’s good, then,” he said, both relieved and disappointed. “I can put those other two in the ‘fridge for another time. If …I mean, when…you know, if you’re ever hungry again, when you’re here.”

Buffy couldn’t help feeling a pang of sympathy for the poor, confused vampire. But she was too busy ripping the foil off the yogurt to dwell for long on his simultaneously sad and bewildered expression. She threw her head back and emptied half the contents of the container into her mouth. Following a loud swallow, she finished the yogurt and was reaching for what looked like a brownie when she felt a rush of cool air and realized Spike was next to her.

“Those moves of yours can be disconcerting,” she said, looking directly into his eyes for the first time since waking from her nap.

“Yeah, well, that’s kinda the point, don’t ya think?” he answered, his eyes moving from hers to train on her mouth. “I just thought you might want to use this,” he continued, as he proffered the napkin in his hand. “Much as I enjoy watching the gusto with which you eat, you’ve left a bit of yogurt on your face.”

Buffy looked a little embarrassed as she took the napkin and dabbed ineffectually at her cheek. “I’ll get it,” Spike said, taking the napkin back. Then, catching her chin with his other hand, he carefully wiped the offending drop of yogurt from her upper lip. Still holding her face, his eyes found hers again and he froze. Even in the dim light, he couldn’t miss Buffy’s pupils dilating as she returned his gaze.

Buffy suddenly felt very hot in her blanket. “I don’t want you to think I don’t care about you,” she whispered. “That’s what I was going to say before.”

“I’m not sure knowing that really helps the situation,” Spike replied, struggling a bit to keep his voice even. “Not unless it means you’ll stay when I want you to.”

TBC…..

A long pause hung expectantly in the air as Buffy struggled to find an answer. During the elongated silence she considered employing her usual weapon of choice in such circumstances -- something sharp and snarky. “What you want me to do is so not my problem.” “Next you’ll want me to sit and shake too.” And, finally, “Caring, yes. Staying, not so much.” All three hit the metaphorical trash can instantaneously.

It was too late for that. Not even the Slayer--the chosen one, super powers and all--could look into those tortured blue eyes and tell another lie. If she couldn’t manage the truth she wasn’t going to be able to say anything at all.

More silence ensued as Buffy processed just how thoroughly cornered she felt. She’d been brave so many times in the face of terrible opponents. She’d always found courage when challenged by the countless evil denizens of the Hell Mouth. This was different. She wasn’t just putting her life on the line; she was risking the last vestiges of a treasured fantasy that any part of her life could be normal. Her friends willingly colluded in keeping the illusion alive. Only Spike refused to pretend.

She thought she’d hated him for insisting on the truth. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

Spike’s gaze never wavered from hers. His hand had dropped from her face, but he was stil just inches away, motionless as only a vampire can be. The candlelight warmed his pallor a bit. She could almost imagine him as the human he’d been before being turned. Certainly the hard edged image he worked so hard to project had slipped away, at least for the moment. What she saw was the face he usually kept hidden. The raw vulnerability of it took her breath away.

Time seemed to stop as Buffy accepted her own fears—moved by Spike’s calm anticipation of the axe waiting to fall on his longing heart. The hard reality was plain; acknowledging her relationship with Spike would test the love of everyone she cares about. Could she bear it if they turned their backs?

Buffy’s throat was dry and her voice faltered briefly when she finally broke the silence.

“D-d-do you remember the poem I told you about? The one I analyzed for my class?” she began. “The one about the tent?” Spike nodded, raising his eyebrows in encouragement, without speaking..

“I told you I think you’re one of the stakes…holding me up,” she continued. “That’s true. That’s absolutely true. But Giles and Willow and Xander and Dawn, they’re all stakes too. I don’t think my tent would stay up without all of the stakes. And I’m…I’m afraid. I can’t risk it. I’m sorry.” Buffy’s body crumpled forward as she buried her face in her hands and started to cry.

“Sh-h-h-h,” Spike tried to quiet her sobs and smoothed her hair. “Come on now, no tears, please, Buffy. I hate it when you cry.”

He heard her take a deep, shuddering breath as she forced herself to sit up again. “You’re right,” she said, her voice stronger now. “I shouldn’t cry. I’m acting like a little girl. You’re the only one who sees me this way. I hate it too. But I don’t know what to do.” Wiping away her tears, Buffy reached for another napkin and blew her nose into it. When she’d finished she looked at Spike again. His face had softened, but he still didn’t say anything.

“I’d like to be able to stay…when you want me to. But I can’t promise I will. Not yet. Maybe never…” She was going to say something else, but Spike put his fingers to her lips.

“That’s fair enough,” he said. “I can’t promise I won’t be evil. Maybe for a bit, but not forever. It’s not in my nature. I could promise to try. I do try, but that’s all I can do.”

Buffy snuffled and blinked, her eyes still sparkling with tears. Spike arranged the blanket a little higher on her shoulders.

“Maybe we should just call it even for the moment,” he said, still choosing his words carefully, but with the beginning of a smile visible in the lines around his eyes. “You can get dressed, have more to eat. You could go home for a bit, check on Dawn and your Mum. I can see you at the library…when you’re ready. We can find another poem to read. We’ve already got ourselves six fools and a tent, who knows what we’ll find next?”

Buffy was afraid she’d start crying again if she spoke, so she signaled her assent with a nod.

“All right then,” Spike said, relieved now the crisis had passed. “I’ll just pop upstairs so you can have a wash and dress. I love the way you look in that wrap but it’s not practical for travel.” He stopped and looked at her, eyebrows raised. “You okay with that?”

She smiled and nodded again, this time more vigorously. He was gone in the space of a second.

It was nearly three quarters of an hour before Buffy climbed the ladder to the upper level of Spike’s crypt. By then she was showered, dressed and comfortably full from snacking on goodies from the deli.

Spike had left the cover off the opening in the floor. When she neared the top of the ladder she popped her head up and stopped for a moment to survey the room. It was sparsely furnished compared to the plush décor of the chamber below. Since most of his visitors saw only this room full of threadbare, scavenged furniture, few would guess his tastes ran to leather-bound books and oriental rugs.

Spike sat slumped on the battered couch, his feet propped on an equally disreputable chair. He was working something with his hands, but she couldn’t see what it was in the pale light thrown off the TV. He hadn’t bothered to light any candles.

“Whatcha’ doing?” she asked as she crawled out of the hole. Spike put whatever he’d been holding between the sofa cushions and turned to face her.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” he said, with an air of resignation.

“You mean like a present?” she replied, clearly excited by the prospect of a gift. “I love surprise presents,” she added as she perched on the opposite end of the couch, squinting in a futile effort to see the object secreted under the cushions.

Spike was both charmed and dismayed by her childish reaction. “Of course she loves presents”, he thought ruefully. “She carries the weight of the world, but she’s little more than a girl. And her so-called friends are so busy worrying about themselves they never bother to give her a thought. That’s why she’s so starved for affection, so hungry for the consideration of a gift.”

“That’s why I made it for you,” he began, stalling as he braced in anticipation of exposing his heart once again. “It’s a reminder of our…agreement…what we decided here today.”

Buffy nodded encouragingly. “Do you want to wrap it?” she asked without a shred of irony. “Presents are even more fun if they’re wrapped.”

Spike hesitated for a moment before responding. “Well if you’d given me just a few more minutes I might have found something to cover it with. Though I doubt I have any actual wrapping paper. But as you’ve already twigged to the surprise, and I want you to have it before you leave…you are planning to leave?”

“Yes,” she answered, “you’re right, I need to check in at home.”

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to make do then.” Spike looked around the mostly empty space until his eyes lit on something. Buffy couldn’t see what it was until he retrieved it from the dark corner. “Here,” he said with some satisfaction, “this should do.”

He held a two page spread from the Sunday comics in his hand. “Go ahead now, turn away so I can prepare your ‘surprise’ for presentation.”

Buffy did as he asked, turning all the way around to face the opposite wall. Spike withdrew a small object from the couch cushions and quickly rolled it into a corner of the newsprint. By the time he was done, just seconds later, he’d folded it into a small neat package.

“Okay, Slayer,” he said. “You can look now. It’s all wrapped.”

She turned slowly until she was facing him again, but made no move to take the now wrapped object.

“Can I have it,” she asked, almost timidly.

Spike raised one eyebrow and she quickly added, “Don't you mean, 'May I have it please'? ”


TBC....