CHAPTER ONE




Buffy checked her hair and makeup in the mirror. She couldn't believe that she was back stateside and in Las Vegas of all places, but the Immortal had insisted on showing her Caesar's Palace and was making a big deal about introducing her to the hotel’s headliner. He was keeping the act's identity a secret, laying on a big dinner, champagne, orchids, the works.




To be honest, she hadn't really wanted to go, but it seemed rude when he'd gone to so much trouble. Another clue, if she needed one that it wasn’t working out between them. Let’s face it, it never really had. But she was just desperate to put the pain behind her and start living her life. It had been the Immortal’s good fortune that he'd come along at a time when she was at her lowest and grasping for something to focus on.




Dawn hated him. Willow didn't trust him. Giles stuttered and stumbled over his begrudging acceptance of the Immortal being in her life, pointing out that the dark-haired demon had a long and chequered past that involved human sacrifice and demon followers, and that his very nature was unknown. Buffy had held the telephone away from her ear and made faces while he’d delivered his lecture. She knew all this; she didn't intend it to be a love story, just a distraction, a 'getting back on the horse' thing. In fact, one of the main reasons she'd accepted the Immortal's increasingly ardent invitations to dinner was that Giles had informed her that he'd come up against both Angel and Spike in a well-documented face-off.




She figured that at least she'd get to talk about him that way, the Scoobies and her sister all seeming to zip their lips at any reference to Spike. At first it had been because she dissolved into tears at any mention of him; then she got angry and snarled at them when she thought about all of the years she’d wasted before she'd realised how she truly felt about the blond vampire. After she'd bitten their heads off a few times, all mention of him was suppressed. She missed it, though, the little references to 'Spike said' or 'do you remember when Spike…’ Despite their protestations, it was amazing how often the lot of them had spoken of him and smiled before their forced agreement to avoid his name. She missed those casual mentions.




And so here she was in Vegas, waiting for the Immortal to come pick her up for their hot date.




She'd insisted on separate rooms. Everyone just assumed they were doing the horizontal mamba but they hadn't. Not that it was for want of trying on his part, but Buffy had a niggling worry that he'd be expecting his money’s worth for this trip.




Well he could expect away because he wouldn't be getting it. Some locking of lip she could handle, but the clothes were staying on. The first time he'd slipped his hand inside her blouse she'd knocked him out cold. He hadn't tried again, but he was constantly giving her sad puppy eyes and hopeful sighs – that had got old very quickly—in fact she had been looking for a way to dump him when he came up with the Vegas trip. Wouldn't do any harm to let him spoil her one last time then she'd just have to be an adult and ‘fess up.




Hell, it wasn’t like she’d lead him on with promises or asked for anything. It flattered his ego to be seen around with 'the Slayer' at functions and it meant she got out of the house. It took her mind off what she really wanted to think about.




But whenever she had a moment to dwell on it, her mind was drawn to the subject that filled her dreams. Spike. Her feelings for him. His sacrifice. Why the hell she'd left it so long to tell him that she loved him.




“You were an idiot, Buffy,” she muttered just as the knock on the door signalled the arrival of her date for the evening. With a final glance in the mirror, she stood and walked to the door.




“Cara mia! You are bellissima. We will be the most gorgeous people in the room, no? Come, let us eat.” In elaborate fashion, he offered her his arm and plastering on her best fake smile, Buffy linked her arm through his and accompanied him to the elevator. Soft mood music played in the elaborately decorated interior – he'd installed her in the penthouse suite, of course - and she chuckled to herself as she thought on how it would piss Spike off.




“You are finding something amusing, Buffy?”




“Oh... no, not really. Just thinking about somebody; I was imagining what he would have had to say about this music.”




The Immortal knew precisely whom she was thinking of. An old adversary, one who had been truly trounced by him in the past. And one who, despite the fact that he was buried beneath the rubble of the Hellmouth, still managed to come between him and the Slayer. He was under no illusion that Buffy Summers was at all attached to him, but she was the best that there was, formerly the one and only Slayer, and therefore he had to have her. He'd lived for so long, done everything and then some, so jaded that his only pleasure now was to collect things that were one of a kind or the most expensive or the most rare. Buffy Summers was at the top of the list.




So far, she'd been able to resist his advances. But tonight, he determined, would be the night she would put away her metaphorical widow’s weeds for good.




The elevator pinged as they reached the second floor where the restaurant was. As the doors opened, the Immortal stood to one side to allow her to precede him onto the plush carpet leading to the dining room. His hand spanned her bare back and Buffy barely managed to suppress the shudder as her skin tried to retreat from his touch. She really did need to tell him it was over; this wasn't her at all.




Spike might be gone, but he still had her heart.




+ + + +




Spike patted his duster pocket for change; he didn't have much, so he headed over to the door connecting his room to Angel's and pressed his ear to it. Nothing – didn't necessarily mean Angel wasn't inside. Peaches truly did sleep the sleep of the dead. Warily, he pushed on the door, shoving his face up against the crack to look through the gap. The bed was empty, obviously slept in but the sheets were smoothed. Spike pushed the door fully open and stepped through.




“Angel! You in here, ya poofter? Not in the bathroom, are you, fixing your bloody hair again? Hello?” Spike was striding around the room as he shouted, lifting up the flap of Angel's suitcase and opening the wardrobe. God, his grandsire was so anal – all his clothes were hung up neat and tidy, not a crease out of place. Spike chuckled; it was good to know that some things never changed. And jackpot! Angel had emptied his spare change onto the dressing table where any needy vamp could find it. Pocketing the lot, Spike let himself out of Angel's door and headed for the casino.




He scented a mix of humans and demons as he made his way through the busy hotel. No sign of Angel though, although to be honest he was hardly likely to find him at the casino tables. He’d be off getting his jollies digging around the city for the homeless shelters or something and offering his assistance. Spike chuckled as he reached for a cigarette and his Zippo. Where was the fun in that?




“Ahem, sir? Sorry, smoking is only permitted in designated areas.”




Spike snarled, about to flash the fang and the finger, but reined himself in. What was the point, after all? He'd moped around for a fortnight back in LA after he and Angel had found Buffy in Rome. It came to something when his grandsire was so pissed off with him brooding that he proposed a trip to Vegas. Lorne said he'd come along too and meet up with some old pals, and the last he'd seen of the green demon, he was heading for a karaoke bar wearing his gold lamé Elvis suit and cool dude crocodile shoes.




Spike hesitated by the elevator waiting to catch a ride, but noticing that the car was way up on the top floors he opted for the stairs. As he turned away, his steps faltered and stopped, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled a familiar scent. It took him a second or two to place it before he smiled sadly to himself and dismissed it as wishful thinking. It wasn’t as if the Slayer would be in Vegas now, would she? Calling himself all sorts of pathetic wankers, he pushed open the stairway door and almost leapt down the stairs to the casino.




At first he was overcome by the sheer number of beating hearts that deafened him as he walked through the ornate doorway. Slot machines filled his vision; all kinds of scents – human and not so much -- invaded his nose and knocked him off kilter, his ears buzzing with the clang of coins and cacophony of voices. It was a huge area, bank upon bank of slot machines, roulette wheels, gaming tables, and craps. It appeared to go on forever, at least that he could see, and he applied himself to batting down the demon that was eager for some blood and death action, instead heading for the slots and ordering a JD from a passing waitress.




Spike passed a half hour feeding coin after coin into a number of machines, coming away with just a handful when he'd finally had enough. Having failed to win the big jackpot, he decided to find a bite to eat then try his hand at poker, see if he could give the opposition a lesson in the art of the bluff while relieving them of their hard-earned readies.




+ + + +




The meal was interminable. Buffy smiled and nodded at suitable pauses. She'd long since stopped listening to her date's ‘riveting’ monologue, naturally mostly about his fascinating self, and as he didn't like to be interrupted when he was in full flow about his favourite subject, Buffy could afford to let her mind wander.




It was kind of weird, Las Vegas. So many people all thrust closely together and yet seeming so alone. They were supposed to be having fun but most looked like they were in a not very happy trance. She let her eyes wander across the other diners who packed the busy restaurant, lingering on some and skimming over others. She had the slight tingle that heralded a vampire presence but just this once she was letting it go. It was likely that she'd head out later to work off some angst with a short patrol, taking in the night sights of the twenty-four hour city and seeing to it that the patrons were a little safer in their beds. The vamps could wait until then.




Vampires. Vampire. One vampire. Spike. Once again, her mind flooded with images of him, the scent of him, his voice. /No you don't, but thanks for saying it./ God how that haunted her still. If only she’d told him sooner. Sometimes she could convince herself that he only said it to make her leave and live, deep down he knew she really did love him. But at other more desperate times, she was convinced he’d spoken truthfully. He went to his death in the belief he was unloved. And she’d never be able to prove to him how wrong he was. Those were the worst times, the waking up in a sweat times, the dry-sobbing and desolate times.




The Immortal was leaning towards her, seeking a reaction to whatever it was he’d just finished saying. Buffy guessed he was asking her if she wanted more champagne so she nodded, trying to clear her mind of her vampire and her loss. She could handle a sip or two, but no more. They sipped their drinks in silence, Buffy glad of it.




“Dance with me, cara mia.”




The music was soft and intimate, the lighting and décor all designed to create a romantic ambience – just the exact opposite, in fact, of what Buffy was feeling. But she could escape soon enough. She took his outstretched hand and followed him onto the dance floor. It was pleasant; he was an accomplished dancer, leading her but not aggressively, and allowing her to dictate the pace.




But the hands that were holding her didn't have chipped black nail varnish, the bulk of his body was too much, he was too tall, the eyes were brown and not blue. She really couldn’t do this any more. In a moment of clarity, she came to a decision.



Buffy leaned into his embrace, the Immortal smiling as he anticipated the kiss and the surrender that followed. The fact that Buffy dodged his lips and instead moved to whisper in his ear did not please him. When he actually caught what she was saying, his smile turned to a snarl of anger. No woman told him it was over! She may be the Slayer, but he was the Immortal and he could not be tossed aside like pet. She would be his – and tonight.




Buffy gasped as the Immortal grabbed her upper arm roughly and marched her out of the dining room. People shuffled out of their way as he strode through the dancing throng and past the stunned diners. Las Vegas was the entertainment capital of the world, and there was nothing more entertaining than a lovers' tiff. As they passed through the foyer, she wrenched her arm out of his grasp and turned to face him, eyes alive with anger.




“You want to tell me what the hell you think you're doing?”




“I might ask you the same – Slayer .” He spat the word at her like an insult. “You tease me for so long, you let me shower you with gifts and my attentions, and then you tell me there is no more, that you love another? Nobody does that to me. Nobody! I will be the one to decide when this is over, Buffy, not you. Not only am I more powerful than you can imagine, but I am male, and naturally your superior. You will acknowledge this before the night is over.”




Buffy blinked, shocked to her core. He genuinely believed that he was the boss of her? What century was he living in, and hello! Slayer! Enhanced strength, agility – the very definition of girl power. Once again, a meaty paw closed around her arm as he made to drag her away.




“I don’t think so,” she snapped. “Get. Your hands. Off me.” The words came out in a staccato burst of venom, and despite his assertion that he was the one in charge the Immortal felt a twinge of disquiet at the rage blazing in her eyes. Still he held on, unwilling to cede the victory to a mere female.




“I said...let go. Or do I have to break your fingers?”




A maid squealed as she turned the corner and jostled the pair, running on past as quickly as she could to escape the dangerous tension. She wasn't paid enough for this shit but thankfully her shift was over in ten minutes and she'd be well gone before whatever was going to happen kicked off.




Hurrying to get away, she collided with a man in a long, black leather duster and startlingly white hair, the two of them meeting with a thud.




“Hey, watch it! Nearly spilled my bloody drink!”




“I'm... s-s-sorry, sir, please excuse me. I have to... I'm sorry.”




Spike stood to one side and shrugged as he beckoned the maid past. “S'okay, love. No harm done – just shocked me a little, that's all. You okay? Look a little shaken – no nasty thing after you, is there?”




“No, sir; I'm fine. Please excuse me, I have to get going.”




Spike waved his arm and turned to watch her go. She was in a hell of a hurry, heart racing like buggery. Pretty little thing too, reminded him of Buffy in a way. He groaned.




“Get a grip, mate. You had her, you didn’t deserve her, and she’s better off without you. Let it go,” he muttered to himself as he rounded the corner to the restaurant. He'd heard they had spicy wings in six different flavours and there was a rumour of a blooming onion too; he was a mite peckish right now. His steps slowed as he inhaled again, the scent of Buffy Summers – never to be duplicated by anybody else. It must be her... mustn't it? Was she...could she be here? The aroma was fresh, as if she'd been standing on the same spot not two minutes before. Spike closed his eyes and concentrated; sniffing the air in an attempt to pinpoint which direction she'd left in.




Before he chuckled and shook his head. Wishful thinking, that's all it was. Angel had tabs on the Slayer and if she were in Vegas they'd know about it. Was somebody else, maybe there was one of the new Slayers among the crowds, and he was just confused by the half bottle of JD he'd drained -- and the fact that he wanted it to be her so much.




What he needed was more bourbon and a good poker session, lack of kittens notwithstanding.

 

TBC...

CHAPTER TWO




Buffy had her hands round the Immortal's throat as she bashed him into the wall. She'd never been so furious, her rage lending even more strength to her punches and kicks. He never had a chance; immortal he may be, but he could bruise and had delicate parts just like anyone else. With a free hand, Buffy roughly grabbed at his testicles and got a good hold of them, squeezing hard.




“Aiieee! Careful... my jewels”




“What? It’d be no great loss to the world if I ripped these off and stuck them down your throat, Slimeball! And you thought you could buy me? The only chance you had with me...well, to be honest you never had a chance with me. Face it, buster, for all your fancy clothes and smoothy smooth charm you're just a dirty old man – with bad breath! Now, if I let go are you going to turn tail and leave or do I have to teach you some manners?”




Buffy slammed his head against the wall one more time to make sure he got the message. The Immortal glared at her, but as she tightened the vicelike grip on his throat and at his groin he went slack and nodded.




“You'll go, leave me alone?”




“Si.”




“Okay then.” Buffy let go and took a step away from him, poised to whack him again if he showed any sign of reneging on the deal. He stood, rubbing his neck and eyeing her warily. He would not be beaten by a mere woman; but there was merit in the saying that revenge was a dish best served cold. He would retreat and plan the Slayer's downfall. Also cancel her room so that she had to pick up the tab.




Buffy let her shoulders relax as the Immortal stalked off down the corridor and away from her – forever. What a jerk! She'd always thought he was the perfect gentleman, never pressing her for more. Yeah, right. Prick! She smiled – that was a Spike word, right there at the forefront of her mind. Where he always was.




It was barely 9:00 pm. She should really go pack and make arrangements to return to Rome. She figured she wouldn't be welcome on the private jet that had brought them here so would have to find another ride. Maybe she'd go visit Angel while she was back home, catch up with his life and his career. Giles was not a fan of Angel's move to Wolfram and Hart but she'd had a long talk with the vampire after the Hellmouth collapsed and he'd assured her he knew what he was doing. It was up to him.




But for now, she had time to kill. Buffy headed away from the restaurant, skipping the elevator and following the signs for the casino. Maybe she could learn to play poker in Spike's honour.




+ + +




He'd spent some time at the roulette table, cursing every wrong ball while he waited for an opening at the poker booth. A couple of rounds on the enormous Wheel of Fortune had left him fifty bucks down and in a foul mood. So now he was about ready to play poker.




Finding an opening, Spike sat down at the table for the next round. He was getting a feel for the cards, betting conservatively for now. Weird without the kittens, though. He signalled the waitress, turning to catch her eye. Something tickled at his senses, a familiar voice, a scent. But it was gone before he could identify it and he turned back to the hand in front of him. He folded. Lady Luck just wasn't with him tonight.




He nodded to the dealer, chucking in a few counters for his next cards. The dealer threw down the ace of Spades and the ace of Clubs; Spike nodded for more and added two more counters to the pot. His eyebrow shot up as the next card that hit him was the eight of Clubs. Hell, all he needed was the eight of Spades and he had the makings of the Dead Man's Hand. And bugger all to eternity, didn't the dealer hand him that very card next! Spike laughed; he was, after all, a dead man and this was his hand so...




The dealer grinned; he liked it when a punter showed some emotion, and this strange looking guy was kinda hot. Just his type – lean and mean. Maybe he could make arrangements to meet later. There didn't appear to be a girl in tow, so he could flash him the eye, see if he bit. Oh, he hoped he did bite...




“Hey, another card here, mate. You nodding off on me?”




With mumbled apologies, the dealer passed Spike another card.




Spike snorted and knocked back two fingers of JD. Deuce of Spades. He was holding Wild Bill Hickock's classic hand, the one he'd been clutching when he was shot at Deadwood in 1876. Just to be sure, Spike looked round for hidden assassins. What he saw had his heart lurching in his chest.




Buffy...




“Fold, mate. Cards aren't going my way tonight. Catch you later.”




Reluctantly, the dealer gathered up the abandoned cards noting the famous spread and watched the blond hotstuff stride off through the casino. Maybe he'd be back.




Buffy shivered; there was a vampire in the casino. Giles would be proud of her for picking up on the vibes and also crowing that he had been right to have her 'hone her skills' all those years ago in Sunnydale. Would have been strange not to find a vamp among this many people. She started to scan the crowds, eyes distracted by every blond head. If only...but he was dust now, lost in the rubble in the Hellmouth.




She'd eventually found the casino after wandering aimlessly for a half hour, drawn by the noise and the light. She really didn't want to be alone right now and maybe a little gambling with the money the Immortal had given her to 'fritter away on what you will, cara mia' would fill a gap until she could get a flight to LA. She had no clue what to do, however, but a nice young man had answered her questions and suggested she try the Wheel of Fortune as an opener. Strangely, as she was talking to him she had the oddest feeling that if she looked just over his shoulder she would see...




She had to stop doing this to herself. Had to stop seeing him on every street corner, in every crowd. Like now, a guy with his back to her, playing over at a gaming table. Blond hair, bad boy leather. Thanking the helpful guide, Buffy turned and walked away, muttering to herself.




Spike couldn't stop the grin from spreading over his face. Buffy, here. And seemingly alone. The grin faltered as he thought on the last time he'd seen her back in Rome with the slimy git looming over her on the dance floor. Maybe he was around too. He stayed back, stalking her but not too close, not knowing what the hell he was going to do when – or if – he actually spoke to her.




Buffy half turned as she sensed a vamp was following her. It happened all the time, turn up in a new place and the local demons wanted a piece of her. Well, bring it on, a bit of heated slaying before bedtime would do wonders. She deliberately slowed her pace so the vamp could catch up.




Spike was only a few paces behind her now; he could almost reach out and touch her. Still he hesitated. What was he supposed to say? 'Hey Buffy, you know that noble sacrifice I made in the Hellmouth? Well, guess it didn't stick. How've you been?' Yeah, that’d go down well. 'Oh, and the I love you? Sorry for not believing you but look how right I was. How's your new honey working out for ya?'




Buffy stopped dead and turned, hand gripped around the stake she'd retrieved from her purse. It clattered to the floor, the quip on her lips unspoken as she came face to face with Spike.




Spike.




Spike.




Her mind was on replay, not moving away from that thought any time soon. Was he real? Maybe it was the First again. Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe she'd finally gone insane. She'd seen him burn up in the Hellmouth, felt the heat as their joined hands caught fire.




Spike.




“Hello, Buffy.”




Her knees went and she stumbled. When he reached to steady her, Buffy slapped him, the crack as her palm met his cheek causing a few turned heads.




Spike rubbed the livid mark of her fingers, secretly delighted at the feeling. Buffy, touching him. Him being able to feel her. Still, couldn't let her get away with it.




“Hey, lay off, Slayer! What happened to 'I love you'? I seem to remember they were the last words you said to me?”




Buffy took a step forward, hand outstretched to run her fingers across his face. He was real.




“Spike? Is it...you?”




“In living colour, pet. Miss me?”




“Miss you? You were dead! You are dead! Are you dead?”




He took her hand and placed it over his heart. “Still a demon, love. Cold, stone dead last time I checked.”




They stood in the middle of the thronging masses, a still life of disbelief and unresolved feelings. Buffy let her hand linger on his chest, drinking in the feel of his cool skin. Spike leant into her touch, eyes searching hers for a clue as to her thoughts.




“You bastard. How could you let me think you were dead?”




“I am dead. We've just established that, pet.”




“Dammit! You know what I mean! What happened? Where have you been? Why are you back?”




“Dunno, Slayer. Asked myself the same questions a million times. Even got the eggheads at Wolfram and Hart on it, nice bird called Fred's looking into it.” He realised his mistake as Buffy paled, her eyes narrowing.




“Wolfram and Hart? Angel's firm, in LA?”




“Erm... yeah.”




“So, what you're telling me is that you've been in LA, with Angel, and neither of you thought to let me know?”




“Well...yeah. But Buffy...”




“Don't 'but Buffy' me, Spike! What the hell did you think you were doing? You just told me you remembered what I said. You know – big cavern, falling rocks. ‘I love you’ ring any bells? Did it mean so little to you? I mean, fine – you said you didn't believe me and I guess that's just the truth now because here you are, hale and hearty – well, as hale and hearty as a vamp can be, and you couldn't even be bothered to tell me you were back. I might have died for all you knew, crushed, drained, turned even. I thought you cared; that night...”




“Oh, right! So, I'm supposed to think 'that night' meant something to you when I'm barely cooled from the hell fires and you're getting it on with the soddin' Immortal? Bloody hell, Buffy – you could have charged admission for that little dance.”




The hand was removed from his chest. It was quickly folded into Buffy's crossed arms, hip kinked into 'pissed off' mode, head tilted in unconscious imitation of his.




“Excuse me?”




He realised his mistake the minute the words left his mouth. Just have to brazen it out. “Ah, well – thing is, there was this demon, right? Worked out of Rome, big threat to do with a head. So, Peaches got us over there on his jet – poor bar, tiny bottles barely enough to wet the whistle – and we go in search of the guy. We were in this club, mad beat and flashing lights and what do we see? You, that's what – making out on the dance floor with the big slimy Never-gonna-die. Gotta tell you, Buffy, I was gutted.”




Silence. A tapping foot.




Oh lord, he was in trouble now. His big mouth running away with him again. Reasons not to let the Slayer know you've secretly been to see her in Rome? Number one – right hook to the jaw. Number two – slap followed by punch followed by growl.




Despite the pain of her punches, Spike felt more alive than he had since he came back. This with Buffy was so right, despite the obvious ticks in the against column. And the growl just rocketed straight to his groin and had him hard and ready for her.




They'd always started the dance like this.




He smirked and readied himself to give back a few playful slaps when he felt the tap on his shoulder.




“Excuse me, sir, madam? There are complaints from our clientele; is there a problem here?” A nervous young man in an ill-fitting suit sweated as he posed the question, backed up by a pair of burly security guards. He'd obviously been sent over by his superior and would rather be anywhere but here.




“No problem. Back off.” Spike snarled, eyes zipping back to Buffy.




“Madam?” The nervous employee took a step away as he turned to Buffy who had her hands fisted at her side, teeth clenched with anger.




“No problem. We're just fine. Aren't we, sweetie?”




Bitch! Right, that was it. “Enough, Buffy. We need to talk. Come on.”




Spike grabbed her arm and hauled her through the crowds. He wanted to get her somewhere private so that whatever was still between them could be resolved. And he didn't want Beefy the guard to jump on the bandwagon. They made it to the corridor before Buffy pulled him to a halt.




Buffy snarled. “Get off me! Do I have a sign on my head that says 'please manhandle me'?” She snatched her arm away, but made no move to step away from him. She'd missed this. And while she vehemently denied it to herself most of the time, she got off on the rough stuff with Spike. Where the Immortal's hands on her had sent her off into a violent rage, Spike's hands on her had her hot and panting for him.




Proof, yet again, that whatever was between them was real. Not pretty, but real.




“Well, stop hitting me then! Buffy, we have to talk. I'm sorry I didn't get in touch… but there were reasons. Can't think of a soddin' one now that's making any sense, but they did at the time.”




“Yeah? Well, all I know is that if I came back from certain death I'd want to look you up. Guess you moved on, huh?”




Spike threw his hands up and paced, duster swirling behind him. “Fuck, Buffy! You drive me crazy, I swear. Wanna know why I'm here? Trying to forget about you, that's what. Drove Angel near off the edge with my babbling since we left Rome, so he bundled me here to keep me distracted. You've no idea what it was like seeing you with the Immortal. Made me sick to my stomach and that's not to mention the extreme detail of the nightmares I've had about you two in the sack. So, all in all – don't talk to me about moving on, pet, because I think you win the prize.”




“I didn't move on. I haven't.” Her voice was whisper soft, barely audible even with his enhanced hearing. Spike stopped his pacing. “I can't.”




“Buffy, don't mess with me. Burning up in fiery pain kind of focuses the mind. I wanted to come get you so much when I came back, but I couldn't due to being a tad ghostly – don't ask – but then I see you with him. Like a knife in the gut, it was. Me and him, we've got a history.”




“I know. He told me.”




“Oh, right. So, you'll see why I was royally pissed off. And why I'm finding it hard to believe that you're carrying a candle for me.”




“Well if you'd let me know you were back things would have been different. I'm not omnivorous you know.”




“Omniscient, pet. And yeah – I know.” She looked so dejected, shoulders bowed and eyes moist. Spike made a decision.




“Come on. I know I need a drink, how about it? Revisit the past a little; catch up on happenings in Buffy Summers-land? I'll fill you in on what I can about my miraculous comeback. Maybe we can work this out.”




Buffy looked up at him. She'd dreamt of this moment, but without the angst, obviously. In her perfect place, Spike saw her across a crowded room then ran to gather her up in his arms, everything was happy and perfect and they lived happily ever after. In her dreams.




Taking his hand, though, and feeling the cool strength of him was even better. Messy and real. Passion and fire. Buffy and Spike. Warrior and champion. “'kay, but I'll stick to soda. Remember, Buffy and alcohol are non-mixy.”

tbc...

CHAPTER THREE




Buffy sipped her soda and watched Spike knock back his second shot of JD. She raised her eyebrow when he poured himself a third.




“What? I'm kinda edgy, Buffy. Just settling the nerves a little. You sure you don't want...?”




“Uh-uh -- no thanks. I'll pass. Nice room.”




Spike looked round at the rumpled bedclothes, the floor strewn with clothes, the wet towels. He never had been a homemaker. “Yeah, well. Wasn't expecting visitors.”




Buffy was perched on the edge of the bed, her heart racing. She'd considered asking him back to her room, but there was no way of knowing if the Immortal would be waiting there and she didn't want to get into that right now. Spike stood with his back to her as he finished pouring his bourbon and she just drank in the sight of him, the nape of his neck where the curls just refused to lie flat and the coiled strength of his compact body. What on earth had possessed her to think that anybody other than Spike would ever come close to making her happy?




Spike turned around and leant back against the sideboard, making no move to close the distance between them. He sipped his drink, eyeing her over the rim. Buffy patted the bed at her side.




Slowly, Spike ambled across and sat next to her, leaving a good space between them. He really didn't know what to say now that the initial rollercoaster of emotions had stopped. 'How've you been?' didn't seem to cut it.




“So...how've you been?” Oh, well – Buffy seemed to think it did.




“Not bad, love. Dead, obviously. Burned up and spat out by the Hellmouth.”




“Yeah, how did that happen?”




“Well, not entirely sure but you remember that Liz Taylor bauble you gifted me with? Must've been a keeper 'cause it turned up in the mail at Wolfram and Hart and bam! There I was spilling out of it. Thanks for that, by the way.”




“I didn't know! How did it get there?”




“Not a clue. That's part of what Fred's looking into. You know Fred?”




“No, haven't met her. I think Willow did though; she liked her.”




“Yeah, she's great. Really cute and friendly.”




“Oh! How friendly...exactly?”




“What now, Slayer? You jealous?”




“Me? Pfft… not me.” A little nervous shuffling. “Any reason I should be?”




Spike smirked and made to tease her, until he saw her face. “No, love. We're friends, is all. She's just trying to help.”




“Great! That's…great.”




More uncomfortable silence. Clinking of ice on glass. “So, anyway. Bauble, me, Angel – who was not happy to see me, let me tell you. And did you know Harmony's working for him? Yeah, I was shocked too.”




“Harmony? Get out! Really? Is she...dating...anybody?”




Dammit! He'd forgotten about the girly radar that women have for exes. “Erm, not that I know. I've barely talked to her though...”




“Oh, yes. You didn't end on good terms, I remember. Great! I mean – right!”




He continued, thanking his lucky stars that he seemed to have gotten away with his ill thought out Harmony moment. “But at first I couldn't touch or be touched. I was like a ghost – although Fred thought it was more than that. She was working some mojo and had me all set to be solid and fully functioning when we had a run-in with some evil real ghosts and I nearly got sucked into hell. Thought that was my last chance but then again – pow! Another package arrives and I'm all solid.”




“You got something going on with the postal service I'm not aware of?”




Spike chuckled. “Yeah, seems like. Been helping Angel out ever since. Not that he wanted me to, of course. Peaches likes the solo 'I'm a hero' gig. Doesn't like to share the limelight – and I am prettier than he is, more lithe. He kicks up a real fuss.”




“I can imagine.”




“And there it is. Here I am. Here...we are.”




“Yes, here we are. But that doesn't explain why you didn't try to find me. Did you not want to know where I was?”




“Oh, Buffy. First words out of my mouth when I swirled into being in Angel's office were asking after you. Didn't go down well, let me tell you. Angel wouldn't even look at me, had to more or less haunt him to get him to say a word. Found out from Fred and the others that you were in Rome, but right then I didn't have any way of getting in touch. Couldn't pick up a phone 'cause I couldn't touch anything and didn't seem right to have somebody else translate.”




“No, I suppose not. But you wanted to?”




“God, yes. More than anything.”




Green eyes met blue, both intense and burning, both desperate to get past their self-imposed barriers.




“And when you were all with the body-having?”




“Yeah, well. That's when it gets complicated, pet.” Spike stood and reached for a cigarette, lighting up and dragging the smoke into his lungs. He paced a little, finishing his smoke before sitting back down. “I was scared. Scared you'd turn me away, scared that you regretted saying what you did. Figured you were just tossing me a bone, love – and I couldn't stand to find out that I was right. Oh, I had a ticket and everything – almost got on the boat. But I was too afraid. Less of the big bad, more of the big wuss, yeah?”




Buffy reached out a hand and placed it on his thigh, eyes fixed on his face and the sweep of his dark lashes where they rested against his cheeks. He turned his head to look at her.




“I understand, Spike. I do. But you should have just come and got me.” He turned away. “No, look at me.” He did, swallowing nervously.




“I’ve missed you so much. I thought you knew me, Spike. I don't say those words easily. I meant them then, and I mean them now. I love you. No – let me finish!” She placed a finger on his lips when he made to interrupt. “I was a wreck, Spike. Relieved that we'd mostly survived – you heard about Anya? Yeah, Xander’s not so good. But deep down inside, I hated myself for not staying with you until the end. Dawn didn't know what to do with me, neither did Giles. So in the end they bundled me off to Rome, got us an apartment there and got Dawn into school. I hated it.”




“Seemed like you were enjoying it when I was there, love. Nice apartment by the way, although why you were sharing with Andrew is beyond me. Oh, and he's fooling nobody with the hot babes on his arm thing.”




“Andrew? He knew you were back too? Oh, he is so dead!”




“Don't blame him – he kind of got the Angelus threat thing to keep shtoom about us being there, and he's not what you'd call brave. Flash of the old broodmeister's best threat face is enough to shut anybody up.”




Buffy giggled. Andrew was a big baby. “Still gonna have words with him. Who’d have guessed he could keep a secret? Anyway, the enjoying it bit – I was starting to, a little. People kept telling me to live, you'd told me to live...but it was hard. I know the night you must have seen me because it's the only night I've been dancing. Kept getting asked, kept saying no. Figured a crowded dance floor was less intimate than a candlelit restaurant. And I will admit, I did have one or two teensy drinks.”




Spike snorted. “Looked like you'd had a lot more than that, love. I wanted to come drag the git away from you, but Angel wouldn't let me. Said we had a duty to see our job through. It's harder than I thought being a champion.”




Buffy seized his hand between hers and smiled. “It is, isn't it? But maybe...if we do it together...?” She leaned towards him, lips inches away from his when he stopped her with a finger on her pout.




“Hold on a minute, Buffy. Don't get me wrong – it's taking all the willpower I have not to tear that dress off you, but I can't just get back into this without knowing how things stand between us. Had time to think, time to work out my place in this world. Seems like I'm a white hat now in my own right. Got friends too. My friends, not your friends who occasionally acknowledged I existed. I like that feeling, somebody bothering about me.”




“But I...”




“In a minute, pet. Let me finish. Buffy – I love you. There's nothing going to change that, ever. I've tried everything, so I know. But I need to know if you truly feel the same way, because if you don't, if saying it was just a whim, something that happened because of the intensity of the moment – I can't do it. It would kill me. Much as it would hurt, I'll leave you to the Immortal and you'll never hear from me again. Because if I can't have all of you, every fibre of your being wanting to be with me, then I'd rather have nothing at all.”




“I'm not with the Immortal. I thought I'd explained.”




“You said you'd had a spat.”




“Well, it was more than that. I told him to get lost. And anyway, I was never really with him in the first place. We dated, that was it. We never...you know. Because I didn't want anybody else but you. I don't want anybody else but you. You drive me crazy but I do love you. With everything that I am. Just took me a little while to realise it. I know my timing sucked, but I was telling the truth, Spike. Didn't you feel it? I don't think joined hands going up in flames happens to casual friends.”




Buffy turned to straddle his legs as he sat on the edge of the bed, her arms round his neck and her face all but touching his. Her dress was riding high on her thighs, her ankles locked behind his back. Spike's hands came to rest on her bare back, tingling deliciously where they touched her warm flesh. He was starting to believe that maybe this could work.




“Buffy...?”




“Can we talk about this later? Only, I'm not sure I can stop myself. Can we skip it and can you just be kissing me now?”




Spike pulled her close against him, feeling her settle against him in the familiar way he remembered, their bodies fitting together so well. She gave a little sigh of pleasure. Her warm breath tickled his cheek as he brought his lips to hers, tentatively at first, savouring the taste of her tongue as it flicked against his, then harder, more intense. Her hands were winding in his hair, pulling him even closer so that she could kiss him harder, lips, tongues and teeth clashing as they both fought for dominance. Spike found the halter tie to her dress and undid it with one hand, the other spanning her lower back as she arched away from him slightly to allow the material to fall to her waist.




He released her lips to drink in the sight of her naked breasts, her nipples hard and pink against her sun-kissed flesh. Her pulse could be seen easily, each beat making her breasts quiver as it sped up. Spike looked at her in awe; she was even more beautiful than he remembered. How could he have ever thought he could walk away? He shook his head slightly before dipping his head to take one pert nub between his teeth, swirling his tongue around the way he knew she liked it, gathering up the skirt of her dress with the hand at her back. He ran his fingers around the edge of her panties, Buffy moving her leg slightly to allow him to reach between her legs. She moaned as he stroked along her curls and ghosted a finger across her clit.




“Lie down.” Her voice was husky and commanding, and Spike had no problem obeying her. She jumped off his lap, the top of her dress hanging at her waist, her high breasts bouncing tantalisingly close when she bent down to take off his boots. He helped her toe them off, whilst shrugging off his shirt, lying back down to allow her access to his belt and zipper. He watched her, leaning back on his elbows, as she tugged on his jeans, lifting up his ass so that she could pull them off. As she got back up, she flicked her tongue over the head of his erect cock, and Spike arched off the bed, growling her name.




The dress slipped down over her hips to leave her standing before him in a red lace thong, strappy stilettos and nothing else. Her hair was twisted up on her head with wisps loosely curling around her face and she looked like a goddess. She reached up and unpinned her hair to fall in golden waves about her shoulders and Spike groaned. The minx knew exactly what she was doing because she turned around and deliberately bent over in front of him, letting him see the thong riding up the cleft of her butt and the soft curls that peeped from beneath it. With her thumbs she snagged both sides of the flimsy garment and slowly peeled it off and down her legs, stepping out of it delicately whilst still bent over. Spike started to sit up, desperate for a taste of the juices he could see glistening at her opening.




“Nuh-huh – stay down. Let me you show how I love you .” Buffy turned quickly once she knew she had his full attention, kneeling and pushing him flat with one hand while the other one wrapped around his cock and pumped it slowly. She watched him watching her as she ran her hand across his abdomen and down to squeeze his balls, keeping eye contact as she moved towards his groin and took him into her mouth.




Her mouth was hot as hell and delicious as heaven as she sucked on him, her hand continuing to pump in an increasing rhythm. Spike grunted with pleasure, almost delirious with the feeling of her lips and teeth grating along his dick. He wouldn't last more than a minute if she carried on like this; it had been so long and he wanted her so desperately. She seemed to realise as he tensed up, letting go of his cock with a soft pop, and getting to her feet. She was still wearing the strappy shoes and for some reason it sent Spike gaga.




He scooted further back up the bed at her unspoken order, reaching for her as she straddled him, her curls wet against his abdomen as she teased him by not taking him inside right away. She angled her butt so that she had his cock cushioned between her pussy lips, rubbing her cleft up and down along his length, moaning at every stroke that hit her clit. He was dying.




“Buffy, please!” He sat up slightly to grip her arms above her elbows, his eyes begging for her to let him inside. She giggled, but the throaty sound and her needy gasps left him in no doubt that it wouldn't be long. She wanted him just as bad.




With a slight movement of her hips she slid down on his cock, gasping as he filled her and staying still, eyes wide with the feeling. She let herself fall forward placing one hand on his chest and seeking out his eyes with hers as she started to move, biting her bottom lip as she felt the flutters of orgasm building already. She ground down on him, gyrating her hips as she started to move faster and faster, Spike bucking up to meet her thrusts. His nails were digging into her arms as he tried to control himself, knowing that any moment now he would shoot his load and wanting her to come before he did.




Her eyes went wide as the waves of pleasure shot through her, head thrown back and his name a prayer on her lips as her muscles gripped him tight inside her. He bucked a few more times then joined her in orgasm, growling her name and pulling her down on top of him to devour her mouth in an aching kiss.




They panted and delighted in the touch of each other's skin for a minute or two. Her hair was damp with sweat where it lay across his face, until Buffy moved, resting her head on his chest and running her hand along his stomach, twirling her fingers in the curls at his groin.




“Spike?” she mumbled sleepily.




“Yeah, love.”




“Don't ever leave me, 'kay? If the world needs another champion, can we let somebody else do it?”




Spike laughed softly, stroking her hair. “Dunno about that, love. The champion bit, I mean. The leaving – never. Not gonna let you go now, not ever. Can you say it again though? Now that I've got time to hear it?”




She lifted her head and looked him in the eyes, resting her chin on his chest. “Say what? Okay, okay – only kidding! Spike...I love you. I'll always be in love with you. I meant it in the Hellmouth and I mean it now.”




Spike dragged her up his body, kissing her again, but softly, intensely, with quiet passion and love. “And I believe you. Love you too, always will. Can't bloody stop.”




Buffy curled into his side, throwing one arm across him and nestling into his chest. Her eyes fluttered closed; for the first time since he'd been gone she wasn't dreading the dreams. Spike held her close, smiling when her breathing evened out and placing soft kisses on her head.




He was about to drop off himself when the door joining his room and Angel's cracked open.




“Hey, Spike – Lorne's got himself a karaoke gig at the Hilton – you want to come and drown your sorrows with me and a bottle or two, maybe a duet? Not that I like you, you understand – I'm just...BUFFY?”




Spike smirked. “Shhh. Poor girl's knackered, been a busy night.” He waggled his tongue and raised his eyebrow. Buffy moved and snuffled in her sleep, dragging him close.




Angel gaped in shock, his hand on the doorknob, unable to move. Thing was, he'd known that Buffy wasn't his anymore when they'd met up after Sunnydale’s demise, but knowing and accepting were two different things. She'd confessed to him that her feelings for Spike were a lot stronger than she'd admitted before and that she needed space from everybody to work things out. He'd known then that cookie dough or no cookie dough, he'd lost her.




He watched Buffy sleeping, saw the curve of her smile as she nestled into the blond vampire's caress. She was happy. He could see that. He loved her enough to let her have that happiness, and truth be told he'd changed too over the years. And Spike – well, not that he'd ever admit it to the vampire himself, but he was a good man all in all, deserving of a second chance. And he did love Buffy, with a fierceness and stubborn devotion that was all Spike.




Angel backed out, closing the door behind him and heading to find Lorne. He whistled 'Mandy' as he walked away; maybe the empathic demon could set him on the right path to happiness. Or maybe a bottle of good Scotch could.




THE END