The saying goes: Dream long, and dream hard enough. You will come to know that dreaming can make it so. Nevertheless, despite his wealth of Buffy-centric fantasies, Spike was unable to recall even one that paralleled this moment. Invariably, his sleep-filled hours teemed with lust-fuelled images of his slayer. Granted at the beginning they were of the ‘fight, fuck and drain’ variety, but over the years they had become the one constant in his ever-changing existence.


His obsession was twisted. Deviant. Even for a creature that spat in the face of convention. They were vampire and slayer. Mortal enemies. She should mean nothing more than a spot of violence and crimson-hued carnage. And yet in spite of this, it wasn’t the thought of Buffy’s powerful blood that got Spike’s taste buds watering. It was wrong. Vampires were supposed to dream of ripping a slayer’s throat out, not peppering it in kisses as they pounded away between her thighs.


Spike was convinced the Powers had devised a new way to torment him. Ruthlessly torturing him at night with images of that which he was denied in the light of day. Dreams of golden skin, writhing bodies, and cries of passion assaulted his psyche. His focus was single-minded, and no amount of hardcore porn or self-abuse of his aching manhood could erase the Slayer’s image from his mind. He wanted to feel Buffy’s naked flesh beneath him. Wanted to taste her nipples as he buried his cock so far inside her pussy she forgot that anyone or anything existed...


He wanted to worship her like the goddess she was.


In a process so gradual, so effortless, Spike’s dark obsession transformed into something unprecedented. And in doing so, his entire existence went spinning arse over tit. He’d fallen in love. Real love. Not the naive, besotted delusions of his past. Loving Buffy wasn’t something he chose to do. It simply was. In Spike’s mind, the how’s, when’s, and why’s had long since ceased to be important. All that mattered now was the fact Buffy loved him too.


Stretching awkwardly, Spike stifled a yawn as the Slayer shifted restlessly in her sleep. Buffy’s head was pillowed on his bicep, her regular breaths tickling the pale skin of his forearm, and powerless to resist, Spike nuzzled his face into the mass of honey-blonde hair. Reassured that he wasn’t hallucinating, the vampire rubbed his eyes before returning his free arm to Buffy’s waist, urging her back on the couch until she was flush against his t-shirt clad chest. Spike was amazed by the depth of contentment he found simply by holding Buffy in his arms. And despite the vividness of his very colourful imagination, it was clear that the emotions felt within his fantasies, bore no comparison to the reality in which he awoke.


For the first time in countless years, Spike’s body was suffused in warmth. It was a feeling so rare, so precious that he refused to let it go. A sensation only possible due to this one fragile woman who offered him the world, and opened him up to thoughts and feelings that as a vampire he had no business experiencing.


He felt safe. He felt loved. He felt... alive.


And for a being that’d been dead since Victoria reigned supreme, this was no insignificant feat.


The fragrant scent of perfume, coupled with the potent aroma of the Slayer’s earlier arousal teased Spike’s enhanced senses. The steady pulse of her heartbeat echoed throughout his chest, and his clothes were saturated by the essence of all things indescribably... Buffy. Memories of the previous night rushed over him. The spell. The kisses. The tears. A growl rose in his throat, and Spike felt an overwhelming surge of protectiveness as he pictured Buffy’s tear-stained face.


Never again.


Never again would he allow anyone—scoobies included—to hurt his slayer. Bollocks to the chip. There were ways around anything if you looked hard enough, and after last night, Spike had more incentive than ever before. He didn’t earn his name just because of his bloody awful poetry—although, as torture methods go, it would certainly be an innovative approach.


Wonder if I could make the stupid git’s ears bleed with a verse or two, he thought with a sardonic grin. That’d teach ‘em for messin’ with my girl.


He was William the Bloody. Feared and revered amongst his kind. He may have a piece of plastic buggering up his brain, but that didn’t stop him from ripping apart any demon who dared to piss him off. Nobody harmed the woman he loved and walked away unscathed. And it was about time certain people learned that lesson the hard way.


Absent-mindedly, Spike ran his tongue across his bottom lip. The taste of Buffy’s kisses still lingered in his mouth, and a powerful rush of arousal swept through his veins as his mind provided a montage of recent events. Desperate kisses in the Bronze, comforting her in the park. Spike remembered holding the Slayer in his arms; distraught that the best thing he’d ever felt, came as a direct result of Buffy’s misery. All-in-all, the night had been a bloody revelation. It was awkward, painful, and at times, utterly surreal. But it was worth it.


Bleedin’ hell, it was worth it!


A wide grin spread over Spike’s face when he remembered how close they’d come to ripping each other’s clothes off, right there on a slide of all places! If Mother Nature hadn’t made her presence known with a cold shower of the literal form, Spike had no doubt that things would have progressed further.


As it turned out, the rest of the night far exceeded his wildest expectations. Buffy not only invited him into her home, but begged him to stay. She curled into his side, and confided in him the truth of her nightmares. She declared her independence from her mate’s opinions. She kissed him. She held him. She said she loved him! It was everything he wanted, and so much more than he deserved. Nevertheless, gazing down at the woman lying peacefully in his arms, Spike swore he would spend the rest of his days making sure she never regretted her decision. Buffy had given him the chance to be the man he so desperately wanted to be—the man she deserved—and hell would freeze over before he let her down again.


They’d fallen asleep shortly before sunrise. Spike had settled behind her on the couch, awash in her scent, and completely overwhelmed by the wealth of emotion that buzzed throughout his mind. He’d fully anticipated spending the next few hours simply watching her, holding her. Memorising every facet of the moment, and filing it away for safe-keeping, lest all this be cruelly ripped away with the light of a new dawn.


To Spike’s amazement, a combination of both mental and physical exhaustion caused him to quickly follow Buffy into slumber—and a peaceful one at that. He shook his head, refusing to think of the images that had haunted his nights since her selfless sacrifice all those months ago. Refusing to give life to the shadows of the past, when his future lay sleeping in his arms.


A soft whimper pulled Spike from his thoughts as Buffy stretched and shifted against him. Warm, steady breaths verified her still-sleeping status, and Spike whispered soothing nonsense into her ear until she was once again resting peacefully. Unfortunately, Buffy’s innocent actions focused the vampire’s mind on the rather persistent physical evidence of his longing. Despite the intimacies they’d shared last night, Spike had summoned never-before-seen amounts of willpower to prevent them from taking that final step.


Not that the opportunity hadn’t been there. Less than two hours earlier, the love of his unlife was writhing in his lap, stoking the flames of her desire, whilst Spike tried desperately not to spill himself in his jeans like a bloody horny teenager. For once, he was grateful that the Victorian gent he tried so hard to silence had won through. Spike wanted to do right by her, and he’d be buggered if their first time would be remembered as an awkward fumbling on a couch.


Judging by where he was now, he’d obviously made the right decision.


As Spike held his silent vigil, he wondered if Buffy truly understood the power she held over him. If she honestly knew that each smile and tender kiss rendered him a willing and irrefutable victim of her unique charms. He wondered if he would ever grow accustomed to the feeling of bliss that burned inside him—or if he even wanted to.


No. There would be no getting used to this. Just as there would be no turning back. He wouldn’t forget, and he wouldn’t let go. In one glorious night, Spike had been offered his chance at redemption. And as he lay in the subdued light of the Summers’ living room, he was unable to tear his gaze from the undeniable face of his salvation.


Buffy.


Buffy asleep in his arms.


Buffy who loved him.





“Well...” the smug voice drawled, “isn’t this a Hallmark moment?”


Spike was so lost in his thoughts that he’d failed to sense the approach of the lone figure in the doorway. Warlocks, Hell gods, and every creature in between, Spike faced them all with an arrogant smirk and scathing comeback. And yet, under the scrutiny of a highly amused fifteen year old girl, the vampire was rendered speechless.


Swallowing hard, Spike forced a response past the lump in his throat, whilst simultaneously disentangling himself from the oblivious slayer. His jostling caused a soft moan of protest from his couch partner, and he was forced to remind himself that now was definitely not the time to lean down and kiss her senseless.


“Niblet,” he whispered, “this isn’t what it—uh... You see, long night an’ all. Big sis was tired an’ so—”


“And so... instead of going to bed, she crashed on the couch with a vampire shaped pillow?”


Bloody hell. That kid could take sarcasm to a whole new level. Spike would have been proud if her victory hadn’t come at his expense. Luckily, he was saved the trouble of coming up with a plausible excuse when Dawn, unmindful of her sister’s sleeping state, suddenly clapped her hands together and released a squeal that was bordering on ultrasonic.


In a blink, Buffy was awake and sitting up on the couch. She took in the bewildered, and somewhat pained expression on the face of the vampire beside her, before swiftly locating the source of the disturbance. “Dawnie?”


“Oh my God! Please tell me that you doofs finally quit with the moon-eyes and made with the smoochies?”


“Hey!”


“Oi!”


A duet of indignant objections filled the air, though whether either voice was heard by the animated teen was doubtful. Buffy leaned forward, rubbing her eyes as she stole a quick glance at the clock. “I was kinda hoping to have this conversation after a few hours sleep,” she muttered, “or a few cups of coffee.” Another squeal pierced the air and Buffy yawned loudly, raising an eyebrow at her sister who had crossed the room and was practically bouncing before her. “Yep. Caffeine would definitely be of the good, right about now.”


“So it’s true?” Dawn asked, her voice raising another octave. “You’re really together? Like... together, together?”


Her excitement was infectious. Spike could feel the grin tugging at his lips, as a wide-eyed Dawn looked between them expectantly. As much as he wanted to shout the validity of her words from the rooftop—Christ, at this point he was close to jumping up on the soddin’ coffee table and breaking out his happy dance—Spike figured it best to let Buffy answer the question herself. As certain as she had seemed last night, Spike was acutely aware that Buffy’s emotions were volatile at best. He didn’t doubt the sincerity of her words, but he wasn’t sure how she would react to her sister’s fervent curiosity. To Spike’s surprise, he noticed an adorable blush stain the Slayer’s cheeks as she nervously reached across to take his hand in her own.


For her part, Buffy was surprised how easily the answer came to her lips. She’d always imagined that telling people would be insanely difficult. However, in light of recent witchy events, a sense of rebellion rose within her, and she found the experience to be almost liberating.


“Yes, Dawn,” she replied, meeting Spike’s gaze and smiling shyly. “We’re together. But—oomph!”


“Oh my God!” In a blur of movement, Dawn threw her arms around her sister, effectively cutting off her words... and her air supply. “Oh my God! Oh my God!”


“You stuck on repeat there, niblet?” Spike asked, finally relaxing now that Buffy had answered the potentially explosive question. He couldn’t help the chuckle that burst from his throat at seeing both his girls happy and smiling.


“I just can’t believe it took you so long,” Dawn replied. “And you!” she said, turning to point an accusatory finger at the snickering vampire. “I told you she’d come round, didn’t I? This is so cool!”


“Well, at least we know there’s one person on our side.” Buffy’s words were muffled behind the tangled embrace of her sister. Relieved, she gave Spike’s hand an apologetic squeeze as she regained Dawn’s attention. “You’re not freaked out? I mean, what with the whole vampire thing?”


“Are you kidding?” Dawn finally pulled back and released her sister from her python-like hold. “Hello! You’re talking to a former mystical ball of energy. Not really in a position to lecture anyone about normal. And besides, it’s not like you’re dating an evil ‘grr’ vampire,” she said with a shrug. “It’s just Spike.”


“Oi! Watch your mouth, pintsize.” Regardless of his elated mood, Spike wasn’t about to let that one slide. “I’m not some harmless bloody pup. I’m still evil. I’m the big bad and don’t you forget it!”


An inelegant snort and patented Summers’ eye-roll were his only response.


“Tell her, slayer!” A sideways glance revealed that Buffy was barely containing her laughter, so clearly no help was coming from that corner. Muttering about overconfident chits and bad-ass vamps, Spike rose to his feet, and glared at the highly amused females.


“Sure, Spike.” Buffy’s giggles finally broke free as she met his affronted gaze. Biting her bottom lip to stifle her amusement, the Slayer grinned up at him from the couch. “You’re the evilest.”


Spike scowled. “Real convincin’ there, love.”


It felt good to hear his girl teasing him—not that he was going to tell her that of course. Folding his arms, the vampire threw himself back against the cushions for a much-warranted sulk.


Bloody women! Love’s bitch to the end.


“Ooh pouty.” Buffy stuck out her own bottom lip, mimicking Spike’s childlike appearance. “And here I thought Angel had the monopoly on the brood-fests.”


“Oi! Watch your gob, Summers.”


“I don’t know what you’re getting so upset about.” Dawn sat down on the coffee table and grinned at the disgruntled vampire. “It was a compliment! So, okay... I may not know as much about the whole vamp boyfriend thing as Buffy, ’cause, hey! Been there, done that... thrust a sword through the seriously annoying t-shirt—”


“Dawn!”


“—but I do know that you’re way cooler than Angel, and you don’t come with a side order of crazy—well, unless you count Dru... Which I’m so not. Plus, you don’t treat me like a little kid and that’s always a bonus!”


The sound of Buffy’s embarrassed laughter filled the air as she buried her burning face in his shoulder. The action felt so natural that without thinking, Spike wrapped his arm around his girl, drawing her closer and eliciting another squeal from the delighted teenager.


“Much as I appreciate the vote of confidence, bit, you might wanna keep the volume down, yeah?” Spike indicated towards the stairs. “Don’t rightly fancy a showdown with the Red Witch of Sunnydale this early in the day. Somehow I doubt she’ll take the news as well as you are.”


A small frown appeared on Dawn’s face as the sound of a car door slamming carried from outside. Leaping up, she carefully peered around the curtain before turning around to face the rooms other occupants. “Speaking of non-dealing scoobies, Xander’s coming up the driveway.” The name brought an instant smirk to the vampire’s lips, and Dawn quirked an eyebrow in response. “He hates you enough as it is,” she said stifling a grin. “So unless you want to witness a major hissy fit, you might wanna make yourself scarce.”


Snickering, Spike squeezed Buffy’s hand and rose from the couch. “Don’t bloody tempt me,” he replied. “Sounds like a right laugh.”


In all the excitement, he’d forgotten that the whelp had made a habit of taking Dawn to school, and by the apprehensive look on Buffy’s face, it appeared she had too. Reassuringly, he brushed his thumb over the back of her hand as he led her towards the kitchen, but before they reached the door, Dawn’s voice had them both spinning around like scolded children.


“And don’t think I’m letting you off that easily,” she said, grinning mischievously as she tossed Spike his leather duster. “I’m gonna want details… only… not too much, yeah? Cos, really, teenage mind here. And as happy as I may be, the thought of you two bumping uglies is beyond gross!”


The Slayer’s face immediately lit up in a fiery blush, but any retort was cut off by the sound of the doorbell. Chuckling merrily, Spike led Buffy into the kitchen. He flung his coat onto the center island, before turning and pulling her towards him. His arms banded around her waist, and he brushed a soft kiss across her lips. However, upon noticing her rigid posture and frantic heart rate, Spike leaned back to cup Buffy’s chin in his hand, forcing her eyes to his.


“You alright, kitten?” he asked, gently swiping his thumb across her bottom lip. “Only I can’t help noticin’ you’re stiff as a board… an’ that’s usually my area of expertise.”


His joke brought a small smile to Buffy’s lips, and she raised her hands to rest at his waist. “I’m fine,” she replied, taking a deep, calming breath. “I’m fine. I just… I wasn’t expecting that. I thought—God, I don’t know what I thought… but that went well… I think... Don’t you think it went well?”


Spike tightened his grip around the Slayer’s waist and dropped a tender kiss to her forehead. “Buffy. Calm down. Just relax, yeah? The niblet’s happy as long as you’re happy. And the others… well, I wager we’ll find that out soon enough.”


“I just wish…” Buffy sighed heavily and rested her head against his shoulder. “They won’t understand, Spike. I know how they’re going to react, but I don’t… I don’t want to lose them. Despite everything they’ve done… they’re still my friends.” Buffy’s fingers fisted in Spike’s shirt, and he held her trembling body as her hot breath bathed his neck. “I still love them.”


Her gentle exhalation sent a shiver racing down his spine, but Spike could feel the knot in his stomach tightening with each word that passed her lips. He knew it wouldn’t be easy. The years had conditioned Buffy to constantly seek approval from those around her. And he was still terrified that in the face of their condemnation, Buffy might buckle and be lost to him forever.


“I know, pet... I know.”


“Spike?” The inquiring tone of her voice summoned the vampire back from his dark thoughts. Evidently, his feelings of fear and doubt must have conveyed in his words, because Buffy offered him a reassuring smile and whispered a lingering kiss across his lips. “I meant what I told you last night,” she said, taking his hands in hers. “I’m scared, but I’m not going to hide our relationship. I want—I need to tell them properly. I just… I just need a little time.”


“How much time?” Spike was painfully aware of the note of desperation in his voice. He could hear Dawn talking to Harris in the living room. No doubt his niblet was giving him time to escape unnoticed. If he were smart, he would use this opportunity to steal a parting kiss and make for the sewers. Well, Spike had been accused of many things over the years, but being smart wasn’t high on the list. He was ruled by his heart—and his heart was telling him to grab hold of his girl, and never let go.


“I told you I won’t hide how I feel, pet. Not anymore. Not after last night.”


“Spike, please,” Buffy was torn between easing his fears, and the overriding need to organize her turbulent thoughts. “I’m not asking you to, but—”


“Don’t do this to me, love.” Barely listening to her words, Spike’s mind flashed to their kiss in the alley just days earlier. “Don’t run from us again. I’m beggin’ you.”


Releasing her grip on his hands, Buffy reached up to cup Spike’s face, urging him to meet her imploring gaze. “Spike, listen to me. I just need to get my head together. Figure out the best way to approach it. That’s all.”


For endless seconds his eyes burned into hers, wordlessly seeking for answers and reassurance. Finally, Spike released a deep sigh, reluctantly nodding his acquiescence. If time was what Buffy needed, time she would get. He had to trust that she would fight for her independence. Trust her to fight for them.


Buffy couldn’t blame him for his apprehension. After all, her track record when it came to confronting her friends wasn’t much to write home about. Nevertheless, the idea that her brash, over-confident vampire could be so insecure when it came to trusting her convictions was a painful awareness to have. In that moment, the Slayer resolved to erase any lingering doubts from his mind.


“Tonight.” Buffy couldn’t help smiling when a look of surprised relief washed over his features. “We’ll tell them tonight. Together.”


Spike was grateful that vampires were incapable of blushing. “I’m sorry, love. I didn’ mean to react like that. Sometimes my mouth starts runnin’ before my brain gets a chance to catch up is all. The thought of losin’ you drives me a little batty.”


“I noticed,” Buffy replied. “But I love you, anyway.”


“Say it again”


“I love you.”


In an instant, Spike hauled her against his body as he attacked her mouth with a ravenous kiss. One hand twisted in her hair as he angled her head, allowing him to deepen the embrace. Oxygen was fast becoming an issue for the surprised slayer until Spike released a frustrated growl and pulled away, panting needlessly.


“Bloody hell,” he whispered. “I’d better go before Harris finds me corruptin’ you on the kitchen table.


Buffy grinned. “I suppose that’s one way of breaking the news.”


“Short an’ effective.”


“Huh, kinda like you.”


“Bitch”


“You love it.”


Advancing slowly, Spike backed her against the sideboard. “Too right I do.” His fingers ghosted down her arm. “Have I told you today?”


Buffy giggled and batted her eyelashes, the picture of innocence. “I’m not sure,” she replied. “Maybe you should tell me anyway? In the interest of fairness, of course.”


“Of course.” Spike leaned in, stopping mere inches from her lips. “I—”


“Good Godfrey Cambridge, Spike!”


The addition of a third voice made them both jump apart as Xander appeared in the doorway.


“Still trying to mack on Buffy? Wake up already. Never gonna happen!” Xander was on a roll and carried on oblivious to the twin glares aimed in his direction. “Only a complete loser would ever hook up with you. Well, unless she's a simpleton like Harmony, or a nut sack like Drusilla.”


Spike suppressed a chuckle at the brassed-off look that flashed across his slayer’s features. It was a look that had been aimed in his direction on numerous occasions, and the thought of seeing Buffy let loose on the whelp brought a smile to his lips. Nevertheless, before either had a chance to respond, Dawn entered the kitchen, blanket in hand. Blatantly ignoring the self-righteous scooby, Spike aimed a pointed glance in Buffy’s direction before heading for the door.


There were very few moments in the Slayer’s bizarre life where everything seemed to fall into place. And yeah, maybe it was just childish insurgency, but Xander’s blind prejudice in regards to Spike pissed her off. Screw waiting for the right moment. In her experience actions spoke louder than words anyway.


“Hey, Spike! Wait up.” Buffy smirked and crossed the room. “I think you forgot something.”


He turned to face her, confusion etched on his face, as she placed her hands on his waist and claimed his mouth with a hard, possessive kiss. Telling him with that one, bold gesture that whatever happened, wherever this led, she wasn’t afraid. She wanted this. She wanted him.


“Thank you for last night,” she whispered against his lips. Her eyes shone with devilish delight as she brought a hand up to free his platinum curls. “You were amazing.”


Recovering quickly, Spike glanced over Buffy’s shoulder and smirked at Xander’s appalled expression. “The pleasure was all mine, goldilocks. Patrollin’ tonight?”


“You betcha.”


Unable to wipe the idiotic grin from his face, Spike stole a parting kiss before taking the blanket from an equally ecstatic Dawn. “Later, niblet,” he said, throwing it over his head before darting out the door and running towards the closest sewer entrance.


“Bye, Spike.” Smiling, Dawn turned towards her sister, but her good mood faded when she noticed the dark expression on Xander’s face.


“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?” Xander’s voice rang out through the kitchen, causing the Slayer to spin around to face him. “Buffy? What—”


“Not now, Xander.”


“But—”


“I said not now. I’ve had a long night, and all I want to do is take a bath and catch up on some sleep.” Gathering Spike’s forgotten duster, Buffy left the kitchen feeling like a huge weight had lifted from her shoulders. She paused at the bottom of the stairs and turned to face her irate friend. “There are things we need to discuss,” she said, her tone steady and uncompromising. “You may not like what I have to say, but one way or another, things are going to change around here.”

<

She kissed him.


Right in front of her sister and that obnoxious prat, Harris. She’d walked straight up to him and snogged him senseless! Ha! Spike was certain he’d never forget the look on the whelps face when Buffy declared their relationship for the world to see. Bloody priceless, it was! Chuckling, he darted into the safety of the sewer tunnels and removed his blanket. Not one for subtlety, my girl.


Unfortunately, Spike didn’t make it far before his euphoric high dwindled and his feet lost their forward momentum. Glancing back into the murky tunnel, Spike could easily imagine the scene that was unfolding in Buffy’s kitchen. She seemed so determined, so self-assured, but despite her best intentions, Spike wasn’t fool enough to believe Buffy could so easily dismiss her friends opinions.


Bugger it. I outta go back an’ grab her before they go an’ change her mind. A scowl marred his features, as instinctively, Spike’s hands went in search of his cigarettes, belatedly realising that he’d left his duster at Buffy’s house. Self-righteous wankers are prob’ly fillin’ her head with more of their holier-than-thou bollocks. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll march right in there an’—likely piss her off good an’ proper.


“Bloody hell, I need a smoke.”


It was only the knowledge that Buffy would resent his interference that urged Spike to continue the trek towards his crypt. He could easily picture the two scoobies staging a little intervention on behalf of their confused friend. God forbid either of them admit responsibility for their part in Buffy’s obvious suffering. But then, who cares about the truth, when there’s a convenient vampire scapegoat to focus on?


These unsettling thoughts weighed heavily on Spike’s mind as he emerged into the lower level of his crypt. Cursing the loss of his lighter, he rummaged through his cabinet in search of a box of matches, and after lighting a few candles, sat down on the side of the bed. So much had happened in the space of one night, and two hours’ sleep had done little to help his brain process the information. With a weary sigh, the vampire unlaced and toed off his boots, then lay down to rest his head on the pillow.


A detailed slideshow of last night’s erotic highlights ran through his mind, and Spike chuckled as his lips curled into a lascivious grin. The image of his Slayer, breathless and moaning against him, was accompanied by a familiar tightening in his jeans. Absent-mindedly, Spike ran his hand down his stomach to squeeze his aching erection. A night of unfulfilled longing meant that his problem wasn’t going anywhere soon, and if Spike wanted some relief, he’d have to take matters into his own hands. Literally.


It was with a degree of urgency that the vampire popped the top button of his jeans and tugged down his zipper. Spike released a ragged breath as he wrapped his shaft in his firm grip and proceeded to slide his hand in rough, practised strokes. Within moments, his cock was wet and glistening as he swept his thumb over the belled end on each upwards journey, using the sticky fluid to lubricate his movements. Gasping, Spike arched his neck back into the pillow as an ever-increasing litany of growls and moans fell from between his lips.


Does that feel good, pet? Do you like what I do to you?


He closed his eyes and recalled Buffy’s face as she ground her needy centre against his denim-clad erection—remembering the words she’d whispered in his ear.


Don’t stop... Oh God, Spike. So close... so... Oh!


Buffy’s scent lingered on his clothing, and Spike desperately wished she was there with him now. His hips lifted from the bed, thrusting rhythmically into his hand, as he imagined the feel of Buffy’s fiery body enveloping his length.


You’re so hot kitten... Gonna burn me to ashes, you will.


“Bloody... Fuck yes! That’s it, my scorchin’ little slayer. Gonna fill you up. Make it hurt in all the right places.” Spike’s free hand slid lazily over his chest, pinching his nipples, before continuing southward to cup and squeeze his sac. “God, Buffy... My Buffy... Mine!


I love you, Spike.


With a roar that reverberated throughout the darkened chamber, Spike’s body jerked uncontrollably as thick streams of his release landed on his exposed stomach and clothing. Panting erratically, Spike’s eyes closed in repletion, as he held his softening cock and struggled to catch his useless breath. “Mmm... Just you wait till tonight, love,” he whispered to the empty room. “My little kitty’s gonna be purrin’ by the time ’m through with her.”


Spike chuckled as he pulled his t-shirt over his head and used it to mop up his spendings. Too tired to bother undressing, he tucked himself away, then balled up the soiled garment and tossed it towards the corner of the room to deal with later. With his last vestige of energy, Spike wrestled the sheet from beneath him and collapsed back on the bed. He released a contented sigh and closed his eyes, incapable of removing the silly grin from his face.


“Oh yeah. Once I get you in this bed, goldilocks, you’ll never want to leave.”





Wow. Colour me surprised. As in, not!


Buffy rolled her eyes in annoyance as she heard hushed voices coming from her living room. She’d spent the last hour soaking in the bath and attempting to fall asleep. However, each time she closed her eyes, she was bombarded with images of a certain bleached vampire hottie, and despite her best efforts, Buffy was finally forced to admit defeat. A timely growl of her stomach provided a good excuse to leave her bedroom, but a prevailing sense of dread shadowed her every step as she descended the stairs.


Given the nature of Buffy’s dramatic exit, the scene that greeted her was wholly unsurprising. Willow was seated on the couch, nervously wringing her hands, as Xander paced the room in an obvious state of agitation. Fantastic, thought Buffy. Intervention vibes. Just what a girl needs. As tempting as it was to slip away and avoid the scene that was sure to unfold, Buffy knew this confrontation was inevitable.


“What the hell is she thinking?”


A resigned sigh passed Buffy’s lips as the sound of Xander’s raised voice spurred her into action.


“I don’t know, Xan,” Willow replied. “We just need to—”


Buffy leaned against the doorframe. “Hey, guys.”


A sombre air fell over the young witch as she turned to greet her friend. “Buffy. Hey, how long—um... How are you feeling?”


“Better.” The Slayer decided to play it cool as she breezed into the room. “Not quite Sound of Music better, but a vast improvement. Kinda hungry though... And I could really go for a double-shot of caffeiney goodness.” It was impossible to miss the uneasy glances that shot between her fellow scoobies, and with a deep sigh, Buffy turned to face them, arms folded. “Okay, spit it out,” she said, “You’ve obviously got something you want to say to me, so let’s just get this show on the road.”


Willow’s smile slipped as she patted the sofa cushion. “Why don’t you take a seat? We’d like to... uh... talk to you for a minute.”


Buffy refrained from rolling her eyes as she considered her best friend. These interventions were beyond ridiculous. How had she not realised that before? More importantly, how had she ever allowed them in the first place? The Slayer could feel the resurgence of her anger and resentment despite her composed outwards appearance, and she met the wiccan’s gaze, refusing to back down.


“You know what? I think I’ll stand.”


Surprised, Willow nodded slowly and a small frown formed on her lips. “About what happened last night—”


“Which part in particular?” Buffy asked. “The part where you screwed up another spell? Or the part where you tried to take my memories from me?”


“Buffy, that’s not what I—”


“How about the part where you’re macking on the evil undead?” Xander’s derisive tone filled the air. “What’s up with that, huh? Didn’t you learn your lesson the first time?”


“How dare you?” Buffy glared across the room at the incensed scoobie. “Who the hell do you think you are?”


Ever the voice of reason, Willow leapt from the couch and attempted to avert the animosity simmering between her two friends. “Okay, I think everybody needs to stop and take a deep breath,” she said. “This is clearly a... awkward situation, but it’s not going to help anyone if we start with the negative.”


Willow aimed a pointed look over her shoulder, and Buffy turned in time to see Xander raise his hands in defeat. “You’re right, Will,” he replied, still staring at the pissed-off slayer. “I’m sorry, Buff, but lately you’ve been so—look. We can’t just stand by and watch you make a huge mistake, okay?”


No, but you can stand by and watch me self-destruct, Buffy thought. Way to get your priorities straight, Xan.


Incredulous, Buffy took in the earnest expressions on their faces and tried to control her emotions. At this point she was torn between laughter and kicking their presumptuous asses. Luckily for them, her mirth won out, and Buffy threw her arms in the air as a hollow chuckle burst from her throat.


“God, this is ridiculous!” Buffy shook her head in disbelief. “I’m so sick of this intervention crap. As soon as I do something that doesn’t meet the scooby seal of approval, you both gang up and tell me how wrong I am.”


“We’re not ganging up on you,” Willow replied. “We’re just trying to help.”


“This isn’t helping! Talk to me and I’ll listen, but I'm through being told what to do. This is my life!”


“We know that, Buffy.” Willow was desperate to regain a sense of control over the conversation. “This isn’t about telling you you’re wrong.”


“Speak for yourself.”


“Xander!”


“Oh, come on, Will. Someone has to say something!” Xander folded his arms and turned towards the Slayer. “You’re not thinking straight. Damn it, Buffy. You kissed Spike! You remember Spike, don’t you? The vampire who’ll kill us the first chance he gets?”


Buffy raised an eyebrow. “Gee, Xan, paranoid much?”


“God, will you listen to yourself?” Xander stepped forward. “He’s taking advantage of you. Why can’t you see that?”


“Enough!”


“He’s a killer, Buffy.”


“When are you going to understand that my personal life is my business?” Buffy glared at her friend. “I’m sick of your constant interference. Yeah, I care about Spike. So what? In case you’ve forgotten, Xander, you happen to be engaged to a Vengeance Demon!”


“Ex-Vengeance Demon”


“Whatever!” Buffy turned in Willow’s direction. “What about Oz?”


Confusion washed over the redhead’s features. “Wh-what about him?”


“Oh come on, Will. Smart, musical... slight case of the big and hairys around the full moon. Ring any bells?”


Bloody hell this feels good... and Oh my god! Since when did I start thinking like Spike?


Buffy glanced between their faces, feeling her anger rise at the blank expressions that greeted her. “I have never judged either of you or interfered with your private relationships. So what gives you the right to constantly interfere with mine?”


Arms folded, Xander’s words were drenched in revulsion. “You can’t compare my relationship with Anya to whatever the hell this thing is with the bleached wonder.”


“I can’t?” Buffy replied.


“Of course you can’t! I love Anya.”


The Slayer paused, tamping down her emotions in anticipation of the reaction to her next words. “I love Spike. Deal with it.”


And, oh! It was worth it.


Willow’s hands flew to her mouth, and Xander turned an interesting shade of puce as he choked on his words. “You... You can’t be serious!”


“Oh, Goddess.” Reaching out, Willow took Buffy’s hand’s in what the Slayer assumed was supposed to be a comforting gesture, but in reality, came across as patronising. “I know things are difficult at the moment,” she said, “but turning to Spike for comfort is just wrong. A lot happened last night. Nobody knew who they were or—”


“Exactly!” Buffy’s eyes blazed with an intensity that hadn’t been seen for months. “Nobody knew, Will. And even with a blank slate there was a connection between us. Spike loves me. He has for a long time, but I was always too blind to see it.”


Willow squeezed gently and offered her most reassuring smile. “Buffy, you’re confused. Under the circumstances that’s totally understandable, but you don’t love Spike. Maybe... maybe you think you do but—”


“He’s a soulless vampire. Spike has no idea what love is.” Xander stormed forward, and Buffy suddenly felt crowded by their overbearing presence. “He’s just using his sick obsession to mess with your head.”


The Slayer pulled her shaking hands away from Willow’s grasp, backing away, desperate to put some space between her and the united front of scooby oppression. “You’re wrong.”


“Like hell I am.” Xander followed her retreating form. “So what is it then? Dead boy Junior offers you a shoulder to cry on. Makes you feel sorry for him—convinces you he cares. And now what? You’re gonna offer him a sympathy fu—”


“STOP!” Buffy raised her hand, causing him to wisely halt mid-word. “If I were you, Xander Harris, I’d think long and hard about whether I want to finish that sentence!” Buffy took a calming breath and relaxed her stance. “Dawn told me what happened over the summer. How can you—After everything Spike did for you guys... for Dawn... How can you stand there and just dismiss it? He’s the only one who's helped since you brought me back, and all you can do is put him down!”


A humourless laugh rumbled from Xander’s chest. “Well excuse me. I guess I missed my invitation to join Spike’s fan club. It’s not like you’ve bothered to tell us any of this stuff.”


“I shouldn’t have to!” Buffy replied in exasperation. “God, Xander, use your eyes. Spike’s changed. He’s been changing for a long time, and we’ve never given him any credit for it.” She heaved a deep sigh and glanced between the stunned faces of her friends. “I’m as guilty of that as you are. Maybe more so, because I knew what Spike was capable of becoming. For so long he’s been right by my side—doing whatever it took. Fighting the good fight. He even got himself tortured to save Dawn’s life, and I still didn’t...”


She shook her head. That’s all in the past. Time to move on, Buffy.


“He lets me be myself. I don’t have to pretend with him.”


Willow frowned. “Nobody asked you to pretend with us.”


“It’s not just that,” Buffy replied, finally feeling that she was getting somewhere. “He helps me.”


“With patrol?” Xander asked.


“Well... yes, but it’s more than that. He—”


“You don't need him for patrolling.” Xander saw his opening and ran with it. “Me and Willow helped you out for years before he came along. The three of us managed just fine.”


“You’re right,” Buffy replied, nodding her head in acknowledgment. “But that was then. We were young and stupid. God, we were so over-confident it’s a miracle it didn’t get either of you killed! I don’t have to worry about patrolling with Spike. He’s got vamp strength and he’s as quick as me. He’s my equal.”


Xander’s scornful snort echoed in her ears. So much for progress.


“Oh, come on, Buffy!” he said, throwing his arms in the air and resuming his pacing. “Spike’ll ditch the helpful act as soon as he’s gotten what he wants from you. ‘Cause you know this is an act right? Let’s see how long it takes ‘til he turns on you and you’re begging for our help again.”


“You arrogant...” Flames of fury ignited in Buffy’s eyes at his superior attitude. “Excuse me while I try to remember the last time you even offered to patrol. Yes, you helped back in high school, but you’re not exactly eager now are you?” Walking forward, Buffy stepped into his path. “You act like this is a game. It’s not. This is my life... and obviously one I can’t escape from. So unless you plan on helping me slay by getting knocked unconscious, or magicing away the nasties, you can keep your offers to yourself!”


“Buffy!” Willow grasped the Slayer’s arm, breaking up the furious exchange. “This isn’t like you.”


“No, that’s where you’re wrong,” Buffy replied heatedly. “This is me, Will. This is my life, and from now on I’m going to live it for myself. It’s about time I made my own decisions, and stopped worrying about what everybody else thinks. Spike makes me happy. Why can’t you just be happy for me?”


“Because it’s Spike!” Willow cried. “He’s done something to make you act this way. We just don’t know wha—”


“And again with the ridiculous,” Buffy muttered. It had never been clearer just how little her friends valued her opinion. Sure, when it came to demons or the latest apocalypse they were happy to let her lead the charge, but woes betide if she dared to take control of her own heart.


Willow stiffened beside her. “Thrall!” In a blur of movement, the redhead rushed towards Xander, smiling the smile of one who’d just solved one of the mysteries of the universe. “It has to be a thrall. Drusilla did that weird thing with her eyes, a-and she’s Spike’s sire. I bet she taught him how.”


You have got to be kidding me, thought Buffy. What? You don’t think that talent might have proved useful back when he was...oh, I don’t know... trying to kill me!


“Of course!” Xander’s face melted into a picture of relief. “Why didn’t I think of that?”


Gee, maybe ‘cause your acting like an idiot?


With an objective in sight, Willow glanced towards her books. “We need to do some research. Find a way to break—”


“Stop it, both of you.” Buffy had officially reached the end of her patience. One more word from either of them, and she was likely to forget the bonds of friendship, and say something she’d later come to regret. “There is no thrall. Though it’s good to know my friends think I’m that gullible. This isn’t up for discussion. I’ve had my say, so you can either deal with it or... well... You know where the door is.”


Evidently, Willow wasn’t listening, and shaking her head, the young witch forged onwards. “Buffy, we know you're upset about coming back but—”


“You say that as if it was my decision. Did I ask for this? Do you honestly think I’d have ever wanted this?” Tears sprang to the Slayer’s eyes, but she fought them back, refusing to show weakness in the face of their opposition. “I was finished, Will. It was over. Did you even think about that before you waved your magic wand and decided to bring me back?”


“Buffy, please. We’re your best friends!”


“Are you? Are you really?” The Slayer needed to end this soon. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, and a sob clawed at her throat. “You don’t get it do you? Both of you are so blind! You brought me back and carried on like everything’s fine, just ignoring the damage you caused in the process.”


“That’s not fair!” Xander replied, cringing as guilt washed over his pallid features.


“No, I’ll tell you what’s not fair.” Buffy swallowed hard, reigning in her riotous emotions. “What’s not fair is the fact that my life stopped being my own when I was fifteen years old. What’s not fair are the sacrifices I’ve made to save the world, save you guys, and keep everybody else happy whilst I was doing it! And do you know the best part? When I finally, finally thought it was over... you brought me back to do it all over again. That's not fair!”


Feeling defensive, Willow clenched her fists and stepped forward with a steely gaze. “It’s all about you isn't it?” she asked. “How hard your life is? Well life hasn’t exactly been peachy with a side of keen for me either you know. Tara moved out last night!”


“And whose fault is that, Will?”


Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, is it?


“You’re abusing magic. You can’t keep using it to manipulate your life and the people around you.” Buffy paused, casting her eyes downwards as she allowed her words to sink in. “Spike told me that magic always has consequences. He was right. And now you’re paying the price.” She turned to look at one of her oldest friends, and didn't miss the little flash of black that passed through the redhead's eyes. “This has to stop. You need to back off and stop using spells for every little thing.”


Willow narrowed her eyes. “I seem to remember you being just fine when I was your ‘big gun’,” she replied. “If it weren’t for me, Angelus could still be out there terrorizing innocent people. And what about Adam? You think you could have defeated him without me? Your slayer strength didn’t stand a chance then, did it?” Willow stood defiantly, as if daring someone to cross her. “How many times have my spells saved the day, huh? A little gratitude wouldn’t go amiss… a-and besides… You should be grateful I brought you back.”


“Grateful?” Buffy’s voice was a deadly whisper as she glared at the ego-driven imposter inhabiting her friend’s body. “Perhaps you’re right, Will. Perhaps I should just pull myself together and get the hell over it. Would that make you happy?”


She spared a glance in Xander’s direction and noted with some satisfaction that he at least had the decency to look ashamed. Nonetheless, Buffy’s anger was in the driving seat, and she refused to let his demeanor sway her off course.


“You’re so full of it,” she said, “Both of you. God, sometimes I wonder why you even bothered to bring me back in the first place. Let’s face it. You don’t want me, you want the damn bot. Something that’ll smile, and slay, and save your asses night after night, without the inconvenience of these pesky emotions.”


Without a second thought, Buffy headed for the hallway, grabbed Spike’s duster from the banister, and glowered at the pursuing scoobies.


“I was in heaven, Will. Don’t you get that? I was safe, and I was loved, and you ripped me out so that I can spend the rest of my life fighting and killing. You can never understand what you’ve done to me. So don’t you dare stand there and tell me to be grateful!” She turned, anger radiating off her body, and allowed the slamming of the front door to punctuate her departure.

“Buffy needs our help.” Willow’s gaze was fixed on the door, her mind reeling from the Slayer’s dramatic exit. “We can’t—this isn’t right. We have to make her listen to reason.”


“And here I thought we’d just tried.” Xander walked back to the living room and slumped wearily on the couch. “I don’t know about you, Will, but I’m practically glowing from the warm fuzzies.” Groaning, he leaned his head back and massaged his temple. “I had no idea Buffy felt this way.”


“She doesn’t—she would never...” Willow sighed and sat down beside him, a grave expression on her face. “Something is very wrong here, Xan. We need answers. Now. That wasn’t our Buffy. I don’t know what’s making her act like this, but if it’s not a thrall then there has to be another supernatural explanation.”


“Such as?”


Willow frowned. “A spell, perhaps... Or maybe...maybe a wish gone wrong.”


Xander straightened. “What sort of spell? Did you—”


“No!” Willow’s cheeks lit up, nearly matching the colour of her hair. “I haven’t cast anything since the Tabula Rasa. Believe me, that lesson was very much of the learned.” Scowling, she searched her brain for a possible cause to Buffy’s behaviour. “But even so, that spell wasn’t about control, it was more of a... a gift. I just wanted to help Buffy deal with the painful memories, I would never...”


She paused as the Slayer’s condemning words echoed in her head. Manipulative. That’s what she’d called her. Shaking her head, Willow dismissed the idea. I’m not like that, she thought. I was doing Buffy a favour. It was for her own good. She just can’t see it yet. She looked up, resolve face firmly in place. “And besides, my spell ended the moment the crystal smashed.”


“What if there were side-effects?” Xander asked. “What if—”


“There weren’t.” Willow was convinced of her innocence, and nobody could tell her otherwise. “It didn’t work that way. I’m telling you, Xan, this isn’t my fault.”


Sighing heavily, Xander leaned forward on the couch. “So what are you saying?” he asked meeting her steady gaze. “You think someone else has worked some witchy mojo on the buffster?”


“What I’m saying is...” Willow hesitated, taking a moment to steady her voice. “Buffy isn’t acting like herself, and if Spike’s involved, we have to find out what he’s done, and how to stop it.”


Xander’s brow furrowed in consternation. “I don’t know, Will. I just can’t picture the bleached idiot being able to pull something like that off.”


Despite the infamous bottle-in-the-face incident of senior year, Spike had never been shy in admitting his aversion to magic, and Xander could easily remember his heated words on the night of Buffy’s resurrection. He was more of a fists and fangs type of guy—brains weren’t exactly his strong point—and Xander seriously doubted that the pain-in-the-ass vampire would dabble in witchcraft, regardless of the ultimate prize.


“It has to be a thrall,” he said. “There’s no way Buffy would want a disgusting thing like Spike anywhere near her, let alone...” He couldn’t finish that sentence. The image of this morning’s kiss forever burned into his retinas.


In a flurry of excitement, Willow stood up and proceeded towards the bookcase. “We should try to contact Giles. He’ll know what books to—”


“We don’t have time for that.” Xander rose from the couch and resumed his pacing. “We need answers now. God knows what else Spike has planned for Buffy. We have to stop him before...”


Hurriedly, the young witch selected a large, leather bound volume from the shelf and flipped to the index. “I’ll do a disclosure incantation,” she said, “It’ll reveal any active spells or residual magicks that are at work. All I need is a piece of jewellery or an item of Buffy’s clothes. It should—”


Xander stepped forward, a frown on his lips. “Buffy said no more spells.”


“Buffy won’t have to know,” Willow replied, quickly turning the pages.


An uneasy feeling washed over the male scooby, and he made a hasty decision. “I’ll phone L.A.”


Willow raised an eyebrow in question. “You want to speak to Angel?” she asked.


Xander snorted. “Yeah, about as much as I fancy another case of Syphilis.” He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head in frustration. “Look, the way I see it, they’re part of the same blood-sucking family. And as much as the thought of chatting it up with Captain Charisma, makes me wanna rip my own arm out, just so I’ll have something to beat myself over the head with, I don’t have a choice.” He sighed, hands clenched by his sides as he met his friend’s gaze. “We need to know if Spike has a thrall, and Angel is the best person to tell us.”


Willow had to admit he had a point, although she still thought her idea was quicker. “And what if he doesn’t?” she asked.


“Then we’ll go the spell route.” Xander’s voice was low as he reluctantly gave his approval. A smile crept over his best-friend’s lips, and he quickly rushed to amend his statement. “But only if we talk to Buffy first. We can explain why we need to do it. We have to know if there are outside forces at work here or...or if she's with him of her own free will.”


“Xander?” Willow’s voice was soft, almost apprehensive, as she placed her hand on his forearm. “What if Buffy really does love Spike? What do we do then?”


He stopped mid-stride and met her anxious gaze. “I don't know, Will,” he whispered, “I just don’t know.”


Xander had to believe his friend was under a mystical influence, because if she wasn’t, if Buffy was indeed thinking clearly, then that meant her angry words came straight from the heart. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Xander squared his shoulders and headed for the phone. He forced a smile to his lips, as he glanced at the dog-eared scrap of paper that was tacked to the corkboard and carefully dialled the number. As he waited for someone to pick up, Xander was confident that he was acting in Buffy’s best interests.


Three minutes later, with Angel’s furious roar thundering down the phone line, Xander was confident he’d just made matters a whole lot worse.





The autumn leaves skittered around Buffy’s feet as she wandered along the sidewalk. She had no conscious destination, her mind too busy rehashing the heated argument to care where she ended up. As she turned into a back alley, an icy gust of wind chilled her to the bone, and absent-mindedly, the Slayer shrugged into the duster she’d been carrying since her impressive departure from Revello Drive. Willow and Xander wanted her to be the girl she was before—the happy, fun loving Buffy who asked no questions and always got the job done.


How was she supposed to tell them that the Buffy they knew no longer existed?


How did things ever get this bad? she thought , as she breathed in the scent of the aged leather, gaining comfort from the familiar masculine scent. How could I have allowed them to boss me around so much that they just expect me to jump through their hoops?


It was a hard concept for Buffy to come to terms with. These were her best friends, and yet, over the years she had repeatedly let them control her life. They rarely supported her decisions, instead, imposing their views, and pressuring Buffy into believing they knew what was best for her. And to her shame, she had allowed it. Buffy could blame noone but herself, for obeying them without question. She was the Slayer. The Chosen One. The idea that she could keep Sunnydale’s demon population under control, but was somehow incapable of managing her own love life was laughable. Clearly, Willow’s prior matchmaking skills left a lot to be desired. Sparkage and good arms aside, Buffy had known from the start that there was something missing with Riley. If it weren’t for her friend’s insistence that she give normal a try, Buffy was certain her relationship with the T.A would have fizzled and met an early demise.


If there was one thing that Buffy and her inner-slayer agreed on, it was the belief that real love and passion went hand in hand with pain and fighting. She needed that intense range of emotions, and Buffy regretted that she’d ever thought of settling for less. In her quest for that elusive normality, Buffy had tried so hard to make the relationship succeed with Riley—so consumed with what logic dictated she should want, that she stubbornly ignored the wishes of her own heart.


Well not anymore, she thought. At long last, Buffy knew what she wanted, and she was determined to grab the bull by the horns. Or more accurately, Spike by the— Stop it! Bad Buffy! Her lips formed a bittersweet smile as she remembered the vampire’s creative, if somewhat misguided, declaration of love. “I’m drowning in you,” he’d said.


Score one for intensity.


How many times had Buffy longed to revisit that day? If only she’d had the courage to stand up and fight her deep-rooted insecurities, who knew what could have happened. Spike had stood there, solemn and exposed, daring her to deny the feelings that simmered between them. What could have happened if she'd been brave enough to give him that crumb he so desperately sought?


Instead, she’d denied his feelings, denied his ability to love, and thrown in his lack of a soul for good measure. All Spike had asked for was a chance, and she’d been too much of a coward to do anything but attack. Buffy shook her head at the painful memory. Okay, at the time it wasn’t love. At least, not for her anyway. But it was something. A spark—the recognition of a kindred... well, not soul obviously, but they’d shared an understanding.


And wasn’t that just the ultimate kick in the teeth?


Spike—card carrying member of the soulless brigade—was capable of such depth of feeling that he could love her more completely then any man she'd ever known.


As far as Buffy was concerned, the less said about Angel and his ‘James Bond-esque, licence to brood, here today, gone tomorrow’ soul the better. However, both Parker and Riley had met her checklist of normality—human, souled up, very much with the pulse having—and both had hurt her beyond the telling. Her previous lovers were instrumental in creating the icy tendrils that gripped her heart, and she was thankful that Spike’s dogged persistence had finally melted through her defences.


After everything they’d seen, all the dangers they’d overcome, it was astounding that her friends still didn’t understand the complexities of her life. Spike did. He’d told her all those months ago that death was on her heels, that a part of her was desperate to know what it was like, where it led. Well, thanks to an obsessed Hell God with a bad perm and lop-sided ass, Buffy had chosen to make the ultimate sacrifice. She now knew first-hand what waited on the other side, and for better or worse, a new life stretched out before her. Regardless of the turbulent start to the day, Buffy wasn’t going to give up a chance of happiness with the man she loved.


Not for the scoobies. Not for anyone.


Not again.


The Slayer made a cursory traffic check, before crossing the street and absent-mindedly continuing along her patrol route. An almost giddy smile blossomed on her face as she thought about the events of the previous night. The kisses they’d shared in the park had awoken a passion that had lain dormant for far too long. Nevertheless, once they’d returned to the house, she'd told Spike that she wanted to wait. Despite the fire that raced through her blood, the frightened girl inside was afraid of rushing in and ruining their burgeoning relationship.


She’d half expected Spike to protest, or at the very least try to change her mind in his usual unsubtle way. Instead, he'd accepted her decision and held her with such unguarded tenderness, that it hadn’t taken Buffy long to throw caution to the wind. She wanted him. All of him. And as Spike held her writhing body in his arms, a look of wonder etched on his face, the Slayer knew she wanted that connection with him on all possible levels.


Surprisingly, as Buffy’s questing hands reached for his zipper, Spike had halted her actions, insisting that when he made love to her, it would be in his bed, and not on her couch. Forgoing his obvious discomfort, Spike held her as he stroked and teased, whispering such naughty things in her ear that Buffy’s body shuddered into orgasm right there in his lap. It was incredible. And if that made her a tease, well... she’d just have to make it up to him, wouldn’t she?


The thought alone sent a wave of heat coursing through her veins. It wasn’t like she’d never imagined it before. Buffy had a stash of secret fantasies starring the snarky vampire that no slayer should ever admit to. On countless occasions in that previous year, whilst her missionary—literally—was dutifully plugging away between her thighs, it was the image of bleached curls and piercing blue eyes that pushed Buffy over the edge into oblivion.


As the Slayer imagined what it would be like to give herself up to Spike’s more-than-capable hands, she failed to notice the familiar grave markers and derelict crypts of Restfield Cemetery pass her by. Would it be soft and gentle caresses that carried them to the dizzying heights of passion? Or more likely, a wild, explosive coupling that brought the walls crashing down around their ears.


Whatever the reality, one thing was certain. Buffy needed to know, needed him...and soon.

“Honestly, Xander. I don’t know why you’re so surprised. A blind Fyarl demon could see the sexual tension between those two.” Anya stood behind the cash register, fastidiously counting the morning’s takings, amazed that her fiancé could be so oblivious. She’d always known that Spike and the Slayer would eventually quit their ill-disguised flirting and enjoy the mutual orgasms they both badly needed. “I’m amazed it didn’t happen sooner,” she said. “It was rather obvious.”


The troubled expression on Xander’s face suggested otherwise, and he was immediately grateful that the shop was free of customers. This wasn’t a conversation the scoobie wanted to have in front of an audience... or at all.


“Sexual...” The words refused to pass the lump in Xander’s throat, and swallowing hard, he tried again. “No. There is no tension of any kind, and especially not... This is a thrall, or a spell or...”


His voice faded away upon noticing Anya’s sceptical expression.


“Xander, you seem very interested in Spike and Buffy’s sexual activities. Why do you care so much? The only orgasms you should be concerned with are the ones that are your duty to provide me. Your fiancé.” Nodding decisively, Anya closed the cash drawer, picked up a misplaced Orb of Thesulah, and promptly returned it to the shelf. “Which, I’m pleased to say, you do to a most satisfactory standard.”


Xander stood dumbstruck for several seconds, mouth gaping, as he watched her go about her business like any other day. “This isn’t about Buffy’s orgasms!” His voice rose in conjunction with his growing frustration. “This is about Spike.”


“Oh… I see,” Anya said, frowning thoughtfully for several seconds. “Well, Xander there’s no need for you to be jealous. Spike is certainly good looking, so I can see the attraction. I’m sure you could work something out.”


“What are you—”


“I must say it’s been a few centuries since I had a threesome with a vampire,” Anya continued excitedly, completely unaware of Xander’s extreme bewilderment. “I didn’t know men were your thing, but I bet if you asked Spike nicely—”


“Anya, please!” Xander added that particular mental image to the growing list of ones he wished he didn’t have. The wide-eyed look of horror on his face was almost comical, and shuddering, he met her gaze with pleading eyes. “I’m begging you not to finish that sentence. I don’t—I’m not—that isn’t what this is about!”


Anya sighed, her patience having run out. “Then what is it, Xander?” she asked. “What is so important that you’re here with me, instead of out earning money to pay for the bridesmaid’s dresses? Raxlorian silk doesn’t come cheap you know?”


“He’s a vampire!” Xander said, staring at her as if that one word should be enough.


“And?”


“And, we have to do something.”


“Like what?” Anya decided it was a good thing that men had pleasingly shaped parts, because apart from that distinct advantage, they were generally hopeless. “Do you really want to tell a slayer that she’s incapable of making her own decisions?” she asked, shaking her head. “Because personally I’d prefer it if you kept your manly bits intact. I don’t want you covered in purple bruises for our wedding photos.”


Xander scowled. “This is wrong.”


“Why?”


Why? Wasn’t it obvious? Leaning back against the counter, Xander returned her scrutiny. “How can you even ask me that? Spike’s an evil bloodsucker. He’s killed thousands of people... he’s tried to kill us!”


Anya arched a brow. “Like me?”


“No,” Xander rushed to explain. “Spike is nothing like you. You don't kill people... a-anymore.”


And the award for lamest comeback goes to...


Anya doubted she would ever get to grips with human logic. “But neither does Spike,” she replied. “He’s fangless now, remember?”


“The only reason that Spike isn’t killing is because of that chip in his head. He’s a demon. He’ll never change.”


Anya hid her wince at his cutting words. “I did,” she whispered.


“That’s different,” Xander replied, missing the hurt tone in her voice. “You have a soul. You’re good now. I don’t know why Buffy didn’t just stake him years ago.”


Anya had her theories, but Xander was in no mood to listen. She watched as he crossed to the research table and sat down, dejectedly holding his head in his hands.


“At least Angel had a soul,” he said. “It didn’t make it right, but it was something.”


“Yeah,” Anya replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because that worked out well for all involved.”


Xander’s head shot up, and he fixed her with a tired stare. “That's not the point.”


Sighing, Anya crossed the room, and gave his shoulders a comforting squeeze. “Then what is?” She ran her fingers through his hair before placing a kiss on the top of his head. “This is Buffy’s life, and Buffy’s decision. You can’t tell her what to do.”


The sound of a bell echoed throughout the shop heralding the arrival of a customer, and Anya pasted her best retail smile on her face before leaning down to his ear. “Personally, I think a happy slayer is a productive slayer,” she said, “and with Spike’s vampire stamina, I guarantee that Buffy will be very, very happy.”


With those parting words of wisdom, Anya returned to cataloguing a new shipment of Parloric dream charms, leaving Xander to his thoughts. He was still no closer to finding answers, and his fiancé’s words had left him more confused than ever. The brief phone call to Angel had been less than helpful. He hadn’t even had the chance to ask about a thrall. All it took was the mention of this morning’s kiss and the brunette vampire had lost all sense of reason.


“Damn it.” Xander glanced at his watch and realised just how late for work he was. He wasn’t going to achieve anything by sitting here. With a deep sigh, he rose from the chair and headed for the back room to give Anya a parting kiss. He resolved to hit the books later that night, and if that failed, he’d try to contact Giles in England. Xander hoped they wouldn’t have to resort to a spell. He was already feeling nervous about Willow’s casual attitude towards witchcraft, and Buffy’s words had struck a chord within.


Maybe she is getting out of control, he thought. She was pretty quick to jump to the magic solution after all.


Xander frowned as a twinge of disloyalty stopped him in his tracks. Willow was his best friend and had been since the Barbie stealing days of kindergarten. They’d been through a lot together, but maybe... Maybe Buffy had a point.


She has sacrificed more than anybody. Of course she deserves to be happy. And if Spike makes her happy then—no! Xander shook his head, derailing that uncomfortable thought before it reached fruition. This is Spike. Something is wrong with Buffy, and we have to fix it.





Buffy stood before the imposing granite entrance to Spike’s crypt, fists clenched, unsure of what her next move should be. She’d never knocked before. Would he consider it strange if she did now? Come to think of it, would he think her clingy for turning up unannounced so soon after they’d said goodbye.


Oh, please! This is Spike, thought Buffy. The vamp who redefined stalkerdom. He’s not going to mind me being here.


Raising her hand, she rapped firmly on the door and called out his name. Several seconds passed with no response from the other side, and Buffy felt foolish when she realised she was inexplicably holding her breath. Shaking her head, she pushed it open and cringed as the loud scrape of the solid stone slab filled the chamber. As her eyes gradually adjusted to the obscure light, Buffy saw that the upper level was deserted. Closing the door behind her, she carefully made her way across the room, located the hatch, and slowly descended the ladder to the bedroom below.


Buffy’s breath caught in her throat as she moved to the foot of the bed, openly admiring the sight that greeted her. She’d expected Spike to be asleep. What she hadn’t expected was the display of pale chest and washboard abs that normally hid beneath a layer of cotton.


Well what did you think he’d be wearing? her inner voice piped up. Flannel pyjamas and carpet slippers? She should have known Spike wasn’t a ‘yummy sushi’ kind of guy.


Instead, her vampire lay surrounded by black silk, one hand resting on his bare stomach, the other draped behind his head. A rumpled sheet was tangled around his legs, covering him from the waist down. Buffy stood transfixed, taking in the inherent beauty of the man before her. Smiling softly, she shrugged out of the leather duster and hung it over a rung of the ladder for safe keeping. Her eyes travelled possessively over his body as a single word resonated in her head.


Mine.


An ornate candelabrum sat on a side table, its flickering candles illuminating Spike’s features, whilst simultaneously casting shadows over the plains of his upper body. She stepped closer, eager to see his face in this unguarded moment. He looked so young and innocent in sleep—stripped of his leather and attitude—that Buffy couldn’t help reaching out to ghost a finger across his cheek. An unintelligent murmur filled the air between them, along with something that could have been her name. Exhaling softly, a smile dancing on his lips, Spike rolled to his side and nuzzled his face in the pillow.


His platinum curls stood out in stark contrast to the bedding, and Buffy realised he must be deeply asleep not to react to her presence. Neither of them had gotten much rest lately, and even if Spike was technically a creature of the night, the emotional upheaval had taken a toll on them both. Buffy had intended to take a nap after her bath, however, her mind was buzzing too much to sleep, and a constant replay of cool hands and dark promises did little to induce a state of calm.


Time stopped as Buffy crouched beside the bed and studied the sleeping vampire’s face. She was certain she hadn’t slept that peacefully since her return. Night after night, vivid, suffocating nightmares jerked her from her slumber, and it had gotten to the point where she was afraid to sleep for fear of reliving the horror of waking up in her grave. There was some consolation to be found in the serenity that softened Spike’s features. As a vampire he understood what it was like to fight and crawl your way out of a coffin, and if Spike was able to gain some measure of tranquillity in his dreams, then maybe there was hope for her too.


A lengthy yawn pulled the Slayer from her musings, and seeing no reason to resist, she eased herself onto the bed beside him. Immediately, Spike shifted in his sleep, wrapping an arm around Buffy’s waist, and pulled her back against his naked chest.


Huh, Spike’s a cuddler, she thought, as he buried his face in her hair, instinctively trying to get closer. A girl could get used to this.


Buffy smiled as she realised she already was. One night of sleeping in Spike’s arms and it already felt so natural that she wondered how she’d ever managed without it. A feeling of contentment settled throughout her being, and within moments, her eyes fluttered closed as she surrendered to the tempting lure of sleep.


“Mine…” Spike’s half-coherent murmur belied his waking, and a gratified sigh fell from Buffy’s lips as she whispered her response in the comforting silence of the crypt.


“Yours.”

She’s suffocating.


Alone in the darkness, trapped, terrified, she flails desperately within her prison. Bloodied fingernails tear at velvet soft walls. Clawing, ripping—her hands the only weapons at her disposal. Except—


I can move my feet. I can kick. Kicking will—not enough. Oh god, I can’t—This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. I can’t breathe. I can’t... Where am I? I can’t see!


Her heart pounds in her ears. Wave after wave of panic surges through her. She thinks maybe she’s drowning. This isn’t working. She has to get out. Unseen forces press in on all sides. Restraining her. Smothering her. Her blows are weak, hampered by her limited movement.


Cold. Why am I cold? What’s happening? How did I get here? I don’t—God, help me. Somebody please...


Her mouth opens in a silent scream. Stale, fetid air fills her lungs.


I have to get out. I need to breathe. I can’t—Help me!


Pounding fists. Thrashing legs. A creak. A crash. Pain radiates through her fingertips. Tiny slithers tearing into soft flesh.


Splinters. Wood. Oh God, it’s a coffin. I’m dead... I died... I—No! Please, no!


Her lungs are burning. Scalding tears scale down her cheeks. A hand breaches the confines of the damaged casket and damp soil streams against her face. She starts to choke.


Dig. Don’t stop. Keep going. Dig. Don’t stop. Keep going.


She repeats the mantra in her head. Abused fingers claw frantically at the musty earth bearing down upon her, resisting her progress inch by laborious inch. The pitch black of her surroundings switches to various shades of muddied browns. A vague light merges with the shadows. She has a direction—a slim source of hope to cling to in her desperation.


Dig. Don’t stop. Keep going. Dig. Don’t stop. Keep going.


One arm breaks the surface. She clutches the wet grass between her fingers. Gasping, choking, she surges forward. With both arms she hauls herself free and crawls away from the horror of her confinement.


Where am I? This is all wrong. I shouldn’t be here. Take me back. Please, just... take me back!


Wretched, sobbing, she lies on her back, staring at the tiny pinpricks that shine above. Everything is too loud here in this place of chaos. Her ragged breaths echo in her ears. Shrill sirens and screams fill the night air. The acrid smell of smoke invades her senses.


... So this is hell.




Spike’s eyes shot open as a pained whimper ripped him from his peaceful slumber. He knew he’d fallen asleep alone, and yet somehow Buffy was in his bed, tangled in his sheets, and in the grips of a nightmare so hellish that Spike had no doubt about its origins. Her heart was racing erratically, and he could smell the fear that surged throughout her body. Clearly she was under a severe amount of stress. Her face was fraught with turmoil and anguish, and her chest heaved as she fought to drag air into her panicked lungs.


“Buffy, love. Wake up!” Instinctively, Spike grasped her by the shoulders and held her down in a bid to still her thrashing limbs. “Buffy!” Her eyes snapped open, but sightlessly, they stared straight through him, still lost in the haunting spectre of her dream. Too terrified to make a sound, her lips parted in a soundless scream and a ghastly wheezing began in her chest.


“Come on, up you get.” Spike leaned back against the headboard, hauling her up until she was slumped between his legs. “Breathe with me, sweetheart,” he whispered against her ear. His hands slid under her ribcage, encouraging her inhalations as he mimicked the pattern behind her. “That’s it... and again... good girl.” After several agonising seconds, Buffy took up the rhythm on her own, as the final vestiges of her nightmare gave way to lucidity. “You’re okay, I’m here,” he said. “Spike’s got you now.”


“Spike...”


His arms wrapped around her waist, and he dropped a kiss to her hair. “Sshh... it’s okay. Let it out.”


“Oh god...” A tremor wracked Buffy’s tiny frame as she surrendered to her tears. Turning in Spike’s embrace, she buried her face against his chest and held on so tightly it was as if she wanted to crawl inside him. For endless minutes she stayed there, wrapped securely in his arms, until eventually her sobbing quietened and she pulled back to offer her vampire a watery smile. “Thank you,” she whispered. “That was... just, thank you.”


Spike cupped her face, and using his thumbs he rubbed the errant moisture from her cheeks. “Nothin’ to thank me for, pet” he replied. “I reckon we’re beyond that now, don’t you?” Concerned, he leaned down to kiss her forehead. “No more tears, yeah? Seein’ you cry does funny things to a vamp, an’ my bad-ass reputation is buggered enough as it is.”


Sniffling, Buffy lowered her eyes to his chest, and immediately flushed an enchanting shade of pink when she noticed the mascara streaks marring his pale skin. “Oops,” she said sheepishly, as she reached out to brush her fingertips over the offending smudges.


Spike swallowed hard, certain he’d just felt an unfamiliar fluttering in his unbeating heart. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. I'm washable.” Meeting her gaze, Spike’s eyes swam with concern as he studied her ashen features. “You okay, love?” he asked, before immediately giving himself a mental bollocking.


Stupid question, you git! Of course she’s not soddin’ alright!


Straight away, a blank mask fell over Buffy’s features. She shrugged noncommittally, and looked to the side, avoiding his all-too-knowing gaze. “I... I’m fi—”


Unimpressed, Spike caught her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “You don’t have to pretend around me, Buffy. It's just you an’ me now. You don't have to do this alone.” He smiled gently and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Don’t try to shut me out, ‘cause I won’t bloody well allow it.”


“Spike—”


“Just let someone take care of you for a change, yeah?”


There was a long pause wherein Spike could practically hear Buffy’s mind working as she recalled the details of the nightmare. Reluctantly, she returned to her original position and pulled Spike’s arms around her waist as if hoping to shield herself from the truth. After a while she sighed in defeat and began to speak in a dull whisper. Her words, when they came, were of little surprise to the astute vampire.


“I thought I was in my coffin,” she said. “It’s always the same dream... One minute I’m safe, and the next... it’s pitch black and I can’t see, can’t breathe... can hardly move...” Buffy’s voice failed her, and she suppressed a sob as Spike’s hands slid up her arms and proceeded to massage the tension from the taut muscles of her back and shoulders.


Buffy loved this side of him—the side that no one else, barring Drusilla ever saw. That bitch must have been all kinds of crazy to give him up, she thought with no small degree of jealousy. Well tough luck, looney tune, he’s mine now. She moaned softly as Spike’s hands ran over her body, touching her with such gentle reverence that she couldn’t help but smile. It was a relief to let her guard down. To allow this measure of peace in an otherwise fraught situation.


Eventually, Spike slid his palms down Buffy’s arms. He entwined their fingers and rested their hands over the warm skin of her stomach. “I remember it well,” he said, stroking her wrists reassuringly. “Not the sort of thing a bloke can just forget... as much as he’d like to. Don’t get me wrong, love, I enjoy a good spot of pain as much as the next vamp, but that...” Spike shook away the thought when he noticed how quiet Buffy had become. “You know you're alright now, don't you, kitten? You’ve got me, an’ whatever happens I’ll be right by your side... It mightn’t mean much right now but—”


Buffy smiled and leaned back against his chest. “It does mean something, Spike,” she replied. “More than I...” Sighing, she snuggled closer. “I just want it to be over. I want to forget.”


Instinctively, Spike’s arms tightened around his fragile bundle. His angel was in his arms, loving him, trusting him to help her through the darkness... and he’d never felt so undeserving of that precious gift. Trembling, he dropped a kiss to her shoulder. “I’m sorry, love. I wish I could take away the nightmares, but I reckon this is one of those soddin’ cliché moments. It’ll get easier, I promise... but time’s the only cure.”


Buffy turned to face him, a patented Summers pout on her lips. “I know,” she replied, before offering him a weak smile. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it though.”


Spike grinned. “Bloody adorable, you are.” Leaning down, he brushed a kiss across her cheek. “You’re safe now, pet. I’ve got you. I won’t let anythin’ hurt you again.”


“I know I'm safe,” Buffy whispered. “I'm in your arms, and—” She blushed profusely as if suddenly remembering her position and the state of his undress. “...And in your bed.”


“Mmm... so you are.” A rakish grin curled his lips as Spike grasped Buffy by the waist and urged her to lie down beside him. “Not that I’m complainin’ or anythin’, but to what do I owe this pleasure? I distinctly remember fallin’ asleep without your luscious company. Just couldn’t keep away from my sexy bod, huh?”


Buffy raised an eyebrow, thankful for his attempt at lightening the mood. “Maybe I just wanted to return your coat,” she replied, eyes dancing, as a long forgotten memory floated to the surface. Her lips formed a smirk to rival his own as her hand plucked teasingly at the sheet that still covered his lower body. “Or maybe... I wanted to know if you were naked under there.”


Spike’s eyes travelled over her in a lazy caress. He smoothed his hands over Buffy’s hips, then released her long enough to flip the sheet back, revealing his jean covered legs. Amused, he watched Buffy’s cheeks flush again as her gaze fell on his unfastened top button before skimming over the growing evidence of his arousal.


“What’s all this then?” he asked, reaching out to run his fingers through her hair. “Don’t tell me that after everythin’ we shared last night, you're gonna start blushin’ like a virgin at a hint of the goodies.”


His words only served to ratchet her embarrassment further. “Yeah, a-about that,” she muttered. “I kinda wanted to apologise. I didn't mean to turn into a raging ho-bag in your lap... especially after saying I wanted to wait.”


“Did you hear me complainin’?”


“Well... no, but still—”


“Trust me, kitten,” Spike said, rolling to his back and settling her against his chest. “Those memories came in real... handy, if you get my drift.”


“Spike?”


“Hmm?”


“You’re still a pig.”


“And don’t you forget it.” He kissed the top of her head. “Now tell me what happened with your mates. I’m surprised they don’t have you under lock an’ key.”


Nervously, she shifted against him as a deep sigh fell from her lips. “Let’s just say that phase one of Buffy’s bid for independence didn’t go quite as smoothly as I’d hoped.” She frowned and stretched her thigh over his knee, entangling their legs in the process. “After you left this morning, I took a bath... they were waiting for me when I came downstairs.”


“Waitin’ for you?”


“Yeah,” Buffy replied, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s this thing they do. Whenever I do something they don’t agree with, they spring an intervention on me and tell me how wrong I am.”


“You’re kiddin’ right?” Spike tone was equal parts contempt and disbelief.


“I wish I was,” Buffy whispered. “Anyway, things got pretty heated and I had to get out of there.”


Spike’s arms tightened protectively. “You should have woken me.”


“I couldn’t,” she replied. “You look so peaceful when you're asleep. I couldn’t bring myself to disturb you.”


Spike’s brow furrowed in consideration. She'd watched him? He wasn’t sure what to think about that. Knowing she'd seen him without his defences in place made him feel exposed in a way he rarely experienced.


“So,” he said eager to change the subject, “should I be sleepin’ with one eye open just in case your flabby friend decides to get a bit stake-happy?”


Buffy smiled against his chest. “I made it clear that they’ll be in for a world of hurt if they come after you.”


“You think they’ll listen?”


“I don’t know,” she whispered. “They’re my best friends. I have to believe they will, because if they don’t...” Buffy was unable to finish that sentence. Agitated, she pulled away from his embrace and wrapped her arms around her stomach. “I know I expected them to react this way, but still... it hurts, you know?”


Spike immediately missed the feel of her in his arms. Rolling onto his side, he propped his head on his fist. “You know, love... my offer still stands. ‘m sure I could find a demon to chow down on Harris... Course, the whelp’d probably give the poor git indigestion but it’d be worth it.” His comment earned him a small smile, and he moved so that he half-covered her with his body. “Buffy, listen to me,” he said, cupping her cheek in the palm of his hand. “Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it. Even if we have to take it day by day, hour by hour... hell, minute by soddin’ minute if needs be.”


“The things they said...”


“I can bloody well imagine.”


Buffy’s hand moved instinctively to touch his bare chest. “They think you have me under a thrall.” Her fingers travelled lower, fanning out over Spike’s abdomen. Teasingly, she grazed her nails against his defined muscles, delighting as he hissed in a breath and his abs clenched beneath her touch.


“Y-yeah?” he replied, swallowing audibly. Good one mate, could you sound like more of a ponce?


“Uh huh.” Buffy giggled. “They think I’ve been brainwashed so I’ll let you have your wicked way with me.”


Spike leaned closer, his eyes full of dark promises, and it was all Buffy could do to remember to breathe. “Is that so?”


“Mmm hmm…”


Gently, Spike’s hands brushed the veil of hair back from her face, his fingers tangling in the silken tresses as he ghosted his lips across her cheek. “I think it’s the other way round, love,” he said, nudging a knee between her legs. Needing no further encouragement, Buffy allowed him his rightful place between her thighs and he aligned their lower bodies, settling his weight upon her. “Bloody well bewitched me, you did.”


Closing the scant distance between them, Spike took her mouth in a searing kiss, hoping to convey his feelings of devotion and desire in the best way he knew how. To his delight, Buffy returned his attentions with unrestrained zeal, nipping at his bottom lip, claiming dominance with her tongue, until she was forced to pull away and gasp for air. Her face was flushed, her lips, parted and swollen, and Spike decided that the freshly-kissed look suited her, especially when he was the one doing the kissing.


“Mmm... Spike lips,” she whispered before dissolving into riotous laughter. “Lips of Spike!”


“Oh, you’re gonna get it, little girl.”


Buffy grinned. “And I bet you think you’re just the vamp to give it to me, huh?”


A low growl was her only response as Spike lunged forward, reclaiming her lips, and showing her in no uncertain terms that he was indeed the right man for the job. His touch was firm and confident, as his hands crept under her top, craving the warmth of her body. Determinedly, his fingers moved over her skin, painting invisible words of love and possession, until he reached the lacy trim of her bra.


A quick glance revealed the pleasure etched on her face, and Spike brushed his thumbs over the smooth fabric, revelling in the pleasure-filled sigh that painted the air as he brought Buffy’s nipples to rapt attention.


“Spike...” Her legs coiled around his waist as her fingers toyed with the surprisingly soft curls at the nape of his neck. “Spike, please...”


No one had ever said his name like that before, and a wave of thoroughly male pride swept through him as he continued to move against her. His erection, locked away behind denim and zip, and hard with the promise of what lay ahead, begged for freedom as he ground against her heated centre.


“God, Buffy... you feel so good. Touch me, kitten... I wanna feel those hot little hands on me. That’s it... don’t be shy.”


Being the proactive slayer that she was, Buffy didn’t need to be told twice, and her hands returned eagerly to his chest, impatient to explore the sculpted body that she’d denied herself for so long. She’d been a fool. She knew that now. But even as Buffy proceeded to trail soft kisses along his shoulder, learning the intimate taste of his skin, a nagging thought at the periphery of her consciousness was making its presence known. There was something she had to do... something that—


Oh!


In one fluid movement, Spike twisted above her, turning them so that she was straddling his body. He arched his neck back into the pillow, groaning loudly, as his hands grasped her hips, rocking her just there. “Need to see you,” he said, panting as he reached for the hem of her top. “Need to feel you pressed against me. ‘m gonna worship every golden inch of your skin, kitten. Can’t wait to taste you, feel you... Surroundin’ me— ah, fuck yes... squeezin’ me.”


“Oh God, Spike!” His words caused Buffy’s breath to hitch in her throat, and she wanted nothing more than to let him—to give her body over to Spike completely, and lose herself in his arms. But there was this thing... this thing she had to do... If she could only—


“You want that too don’t you, love?” Spike’s hands smoothed up her sides, bunching her top and sending shivers racing down her spine. “You want me to show you all the things those other wankers couldn’t.”


She nodded. Was there ever any doubt? Buffy’s hands covered his, guiding them to her breasts whilst simultaneously regretting the words she needed to say. “Spike, please.” She gasped as he tweaked a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “I have to... I need—”


“I’ve got what you need, baby.”


Baby? Okay, melting now...


Spike sat forward, bracing himself on one arm as the other wrapped around her waist. “Let me show you how good it can be,” he whispered behind her ear, before placing a kiss on the sensitive skin. His cool breath ghosted over her cheek as his lips journeyed along her collarbone, intent on lavishing attention on the swell of her breasts. “Slayer... Buffy, let me make love to you.”


Gah! This isn’t fair.


“Spike, I—Oh, feels so good... but we have to...”


Buffy was torn between the demands of her body and that annoying little voice, otherwise known as a conscience. She’d made some decisions whilst lying in the tub that morning. Her relationship with her friends wasn’t the only one that needed to change. Determined to turn over a new leaf, Buffy had resolved to clear the air with her sister. And so despite the overwhelming urge to tell her brain to go away and shut the hell up, she knew what had to be done.


Summoning the entirety of her self-restraint, Buffy reached down and cupped Spike’s cheeks, urging him upwards until she could sample the sinful delights of his mouth. “We have to... Oh, god,” She moaned and kissed him again. “I’m sorry... We have to... stop.”


Stop? Oh, buggerin’...


For several seconds Spike’s mouth hung open as his brain struggled to process the words he’d just heard. Had he pushed too far? Asked for too much, too soon? No, that couldn’t be it. Vamp senses never lied, and he knew for a fact that Buffy was enjoying herself as much as he was. He’d wager a week’s worth of fags and booze that her knickers were soaked with the evidence of her desire.


So what was it then?


“I’m sorry,” she repeated, upon seeing the confusion in his eyes. “I want this... believe me, I really, really want this, but I have to go.” She kissed him softly, hoping to diminish his uncertainty. “I want to catch Dawn as she leaves school. With everything that happened this morning I didn’t get the chance to talk to her properly, and there are things we need to...” Buffy sighed as her frustration mounted. “I don’t know if Will or Xander said anything to her, and I need to give her a heads up before she walks in on part two of a major scoobie hissy fit.”


Reluctantly, Spike nodded his acceptance and exhaled a shaky, albeit unnecessary, breath. “You’re right,” he said, resolutely ignoring his protesting demon. So yeah, maybe Buffy had a point, but the fact remained he’d be left with a serious case of blue-balls and only his left hand for company... again. “Snack size needs to know what’s goin’ on.”


Buffy smiled as she cocked her head to the side, unwittingly mimicking his pose. “I’ll make it up to you,” she said, meeting his gaze. “And when this happens, and I promise it will happen, none of this stuff is going to matter. It’ll just be me and you. Buffy and Spike... and it’ll be—”


“Bloody magnificent.”


She smiled. “Exactly.”


Spike feigned a put-upon sigh, and lifted her so that she was kneeling beside him. “You’d better run along then,” he said, winking as he returned to his usual cocky demeanour and trailed a hand down the length of his stomach. A smirk formed on his lips as he ran his tongue over his teeth, and with an exaggerated pout, he lay back on the bed. “Don’t you go worryin’ ‘bout me, kitten. I’ve got matters well... in hand.”


Spike’s eyes swept over her body, and Buffy was unable to tear her gaze from the temptation of that full bottom lip. Oh, no... Not the pout! she thought. Anything but that!


Helplessly, the Slayer grinned at his playful antics and reached down to ruffle his already mussed hair. “You know, as far as evil vampires go... you’re just too cute to be bad.”


“Oi!” Spike replied, insulted. “I’m not soddin’ cute! Dangerous, more like...”


Buffy laughed, once again casting her legs across his prone hips. “How about handsome?” she asked.


“Irresistible.”


“Hot?”


“Shaggable.”


Grinning, she leaned down to whisper against his lips. “Mine?”


“Yours.” His hands fisted in her hair, holding her in place as he plundered her mouth in a kiss that stole her breath away. “Completely... and utterly... yours.” Spike’s words rode out on a groan, as he bucked upwards, grinding his aching erection into the cradle of her warmth. “You’re a bloody tease, Summers,” he said, giving her arse a playful slap. “Now get out of here before I dig out the ‘cuffs, an’ show you just how bad I can be.”


A slow-born smile lit up Buffy’s face. “There are handcuffs?”


“Go!”

“Okay. Who are you, and what have you done with my sister?”


Buffy rolled her eyes as they strolled along the main street, leaving the school building behind them. “I’m serious, Dawn. I know I haven’t exactly been sharing girl since I came back, but—”


“Buffy. It’s okay.”


“No, it’s not.” She stopped walking and turned to face the stunned teenager. “I’ve been keeping my distance from everyone—cutting myself off, and that needs to change. It’s not fair to punish you and Spike for what the others did to me.” Taking Dawn’s hands firmly in her grasp, Buffy sighed and exhaled a shaky breath. “We’re family,” she said, “and unless Dad comes down with a belated case of parental responsibility, it’s just the two of us now. We need to stick together.”


“Three.”


Buffy frowned. “Huh?”


“Not two, three. You, me and Spike.” Dawn studied her sister’s reaction, and couldn’t help but notice the multitude of changes since the day before. Her eyes shone with a new lease of life, and it was a relief to see a genuine smile on her lips. “You didn’t see him over the summer, Buffy. He was devastated, but he was always there for me. We leaned on each other, you know? For a while there—after the funeral—I was afraid he’d go and dust himself. But he pulled it together and took care of me, made sure I wasn’t alone, that I ate properly... stuff like that. If it weren’t for Spike, I don’t know what I’d have done.”


“He promised he’d take care of you.”


“Till the end of the world... yeah, he told me.” Dawn sighed, squeezing her sister’s hands before continuing their journey along the sidewalk. “Do you know what bothers me the most?” she asked, shaking her head and not waiting for a response. “The others... It’s like they’re just pretending it didn’t happen. As if now that you’re back, they can treat him like dirt and it doesn’t matter. Well it does! It’s not fair. He deserves better than that.”


“I know,” Buffy replied with a smile. “Spike is... one of a kind, that’s for sure. I promise you, Dawnie, things will be better from now on. I won’t let anyone ignore what he did for them... for you.”


Dawn grinned as she cocked her head to the side, leaving Buffy in no doubt of where she’d picked up that particular trait. “He really does love you,” she said. “I’m just glad you finally woke up and smelled the undead roses. Spike’s like the big brother I never had, which, when you think of it that way...” She wrinkled her nose, and dissolved into giggles. “Eww... Forget I just said that, okay?” They settled into a comfortable silence, until Dawn, unable to resist, burst forth with the question that had plagued her all day. “So,” she said drawing out the vowel sound to epic proportions. “Have you told him yet?”


“Told him what?” Buffy replied, immediately suspicious of her sister’s tone.


“Well duh! That you love him.”


“H-how do you—”


“Oh, please.” Dawn raised an amused eyebrow. “Apart from the major UST, it was so obvious you were crushing on him... even though you’d never admit it.” She schooled her features into a mask of innocence, sensing an opportunity to play the bratty kid sister. “I saw the way you watched him when you thought no one was looking. I’m not completely clueless you know. It’ll be nice to see you happy again.” Grinning, Dawn increased her pace as she anticipated the reaction to her next words. “...Plus, you just know he'll be great in the sack.”


“What!” Buffy froze mid-step, a look of utter shock and disbelief written all over her face. Great, she thought. I’ve officially lost it. There’s no way I just heard that...


“Well, come on,” Dawn said, turning to face her. “He’s been around since like forever. He must have learned a thing or two in that time.” She suppressed a laugh at her sister’s pole-axed expression. She was a high school student for crying out loud. Oversexed, hormonal teenagers were the norm, and she couldn’t understand why Buffy tried so hard to shield her from it.


Stunned, the Slayer’s mouth hung open for several seconds as she struggled to force a response past her suddenly dry throat. “That’s not... I—We... No!” Okay, so it wasn’t the greatest response in the world, but under the circumstances Buffy was fairly impressed with herself.


“No? He isn’t?”


Buffy stared in horror at the Dawn-shaped creature before her. “No! I mean... no, there is no sack.” She cringed. “I mean sex... There is no sex... or sack... of any kind!”


Dawn grinned as a flush spread over Buffy’s cheeks. “Ah, but there have been smoochies?” This is just too easy. With a casual shrug, she crossed the street and waited for her sister to snap out of her stupor and catch up. “So what are you waiting for? Go jump his gorgeous bones, already!”


“Dawn!”


“What? I have eyes!”


Buffy folded her arms across her chest, and affected her best no-nonsense stance. “This conversation is over,” she said. “There is no way in hell I’m discussing my non-sex life with my little sister.”


“Fine!” Dawn pouted as she shrugged airily. “Spoil my fun why don’t you.”


Incredulous, Buffy shook her head. “That isn’t... Wait. You’re fifteen years old. You shouldn’t even be thinking about sex!”


“I’m not,” Dawn replied. “Well not in the, I’m gonna rush out and boink the first hot guy I see way, at least.


Oh, God, thought, Buffy. This isn’t happening. Please tell me I’m not about to have ‘the talk’ today of all days. This is so not in my job description.


She eyed the teenager warily, having no idea how to proceed, and even less of how they got here in the first place. “Good,” she said eventually, “because for one thing, you’re too young. Way, way to young... and for another—”


“Says she who gave it up at seventeen...”


Exasperated, Buffy threw her arms into the air. “Oh, yeah, ‘cause that turned out to be all puppies and rainbows, didn’t it?”


As much fun as she was having, Dawn decided to take pity on her increasingly flustered elder sister. Not wanting to run the risk of a slayer sized noogie—or worst case scenario, a grounding—she let her genuine smile shine through, giggling as realisation set in, and colour slowly returned to Buffy’s face.


“Relax,” she said, amidst her laughter. “I’m just kidding. Honestly, I have no intention of having sex in the foreseeable future.” Dawn got herself under control and grinned even wider as she saw the panic leave Buffy’s eyes. “You should have seen the look on your face!”


“That wasn’t funny, Dawn!” The Slayer breathed a sigh of relief and pointed emphatically. “From now on, just consider yourself the poster child for ‘just say no’, okay?”


“Isn’t that for drugs?”


“You’re my little sister,” she replied, “believe me, it covers everything.” They shared a smile of mutual understanding, and Buffy decided a change of subject would definitely be of the good. “So, what did I miss this morning?” she asked. “I came downstairs to face the firing squad, but I don’t know what happened before that.”


Dawn shrugged. “Not much really. You flounced off with the Joan Collins ‘tude—which, FYI, seriously cool by the way—then Xander grabbed some Pop Tarts and practically shoved me out the door. He didn’t say much in the truck, I kinda got the impression he was in a rush to get back to Willow.”


“Yeah,” Buffy replied, quietly. “I got that memo.”


A tense moment passed between them, before Dawn’s timid voice broke the silence. “She’s getting out of control, isn’t she?” There was no doubt of whom she spoke, and the teen began to wring her hands together nervously. “Willow’s ego is getting bigger every day, and yesterday’s spell...” Dawn sighed, and met her sister’s gaze. “I hate that she can do that to us. It’s like we’re not in control of our own lives anymore, and now Tara...” She paused, inhaling sharply. “How—after what Glory did to her, how could Willow mess with Tara’s head like that? It’s just so... wrong.”


Buffy listened carefully to her words, experiencing a newfound appreciation for the young woman before her. At some point, the whiny little brat who stole her clothes and read her diary had grown up. Dawn was smart, and she deserved more credit than Buffy usually gave her.


Huh, she thought. I guess Spike isn’t the only underappreciated one around here.


“I know how you feel,” Buffy said, meeting her eyes. “And for what it’s worth, I told Willow she was using too much magic this morning.”


Dawn lips curled into a half-hearted smile. “I bet that went down well.”


“Trust me,” Buffy replied, in a flat deadpan. “You don’t wanna know. Definitely the kind of fun that’s not.” Her eyes scanned the street, before returning to Dawn’s face. “Let’s just say I had to get out of there before I did something I’d regret.” An opportune growl of her stomach reminded the Slayer that she hadn’t eaten all day. Admittedly, since her return, food had barely registered on the radar, but right at this minute, Buffy was certain there was a bag of fries somewhere with her name on it. “Are you hungry?” she asked the despondent teenager.


Dawn shrugged. “I wouldn’t say no. What do you have in mind?”


“The Doublemeat Palace is just down the block,” Buffy said, before continuing somewhat reluctantly. “They’re always advertising for jobs, and the way things are going...”


Dawn’s expression spoke volumes. “You’re not serious?”


“The bills aren’t going to pay themselves, Dawnie,” she replied. “The mortgage is overdue, and I have zero money in my account. So unless I have a fairy-godmother who’s been holding out on me for the past twenty years, I don’t have much choice.”


“I can’t believe all the money’s gone.” Dawn muttered as she walked away. “What about Mom’s life insurance payout?”


“I guess the medical expenses used a lot of it up,” Buffy replied as casually as possible. She didn’t want to worry her sister, but she knew the financial situation was dire. If she didn’t find a regular source of income soon, there was every chance they could lose the house, and Buffy refused to let that happen. A familiar sense of resentment surfaced within her. Why was this solely her responsibility anyway? Willow and Tara had been quick enough to move in after her death. Why hadn’t they contributed any money whilst literally eating her out of house and home?


Frowning, Dawn glanced back at her sister. “What about the ugly uniform?” she asked. “Flame retardant polyester is not your friend. Not to mention you’ll reek of burger grease—”


Buffy raised an eyebrow. “As opposed to the fragrant scent of eau de demon guts, you mean?”


Dawn rolled her eyes as she considered the alternatives. “Hey, maybe you could charge for being a slayer?” she said. “You could be like a bodyguard or... ooh—a bounty hunter. How cool would that be?”


Buffy laughed at her sister’s enthusiasm. “I can’t charge people for saving their life, Dawnie, even if they are stupid enough to be wandering around a vamp-infested cemetery after dark.”


Sighing, Dawn raised her hands in defeat. “Alright, alright, it was just a suggestion. Why don’t you just charge Willow for room and board instead?”


“It’s crossed my mind, but I felt weird about asking.”


Dawn arched a brow at her sister. “Well, she’d be paying rent if she still lived at the dorms or had her own apartment, so what’s the diff? It shouldn’t all be down to you.”


“I know... I know,” Buffy replied. “I’ll think about it, okay?”


“Deal.”


Buffy smiled at her sister. “Spill it, wise one. Since when did you get so smart?”


Dawn giggled. “Yeah, I’m a regular Yoda. Remember that the next time an apocalypse comes a-calling. Just call me research-girl.” They walked in companionable silence for several yards as the garish entrance of the DMP beckoned them onwards. “So, are you seeing him tonight?”


“Spike?”


“No, Jango Fett... Of course Spike!”


“Jenga who?” Buffy held the door open for her sister, and they joined the queue of jostling teenagers waiting to be served. “And in answer to your question... Yes, I’m meeting Spike later for patrol.”


“That’s probably for the best,” Dawn replied as she squinted at the grimy menu board. “Tara said she’d be round to pick up some of her stuff tonight, so it’ll be a whole world of awkward at home. You wouldn’t want to be there for that.”


“No,” Buffy agreed. “That’s going to be rough on both of them. I don’t think they’d want an audience.” A slow-born smile lit up her sister’s face, and the Slayer had the distinct impression that she’d just missed something important.


Rubbing her palms together, Dawn assumed her best pleading expression and gazed at Buffy expectantly. “And on that totally coincidental note,” she said, rocking on her heels, “how would you like to approve a sleepover at Janice’s as your first official act of sisterly love?”


Buffy chuckled and raised a knowing eyebrow. “I walked straight into that one, didn’t I?”


“Yep.” Dawn nodded.


Sighing, Buffy put her arm around the delighted teen’s shoulders. “Come on Obi-wan,” she said stepping up to the counter. “Let me think about it over a bag of high-calorie goodness. Oh... and the milkshakes are on you.”

The echoes of Spike’s raucous laughter rang into the night. Bent double, with hands on his knees, the vampire fought to drag deep lungfuls of unnecessary air into his shuddering body. It’d been a bloody fantastic day all round, and tonight’s patrol—having barely covered half of Shady Hill cemetery—was shaping up to be one for the record books.

“Go ahead. Laugh it up, why don’t you?” Buffy sat in a bedraggled heap on the ground, glaring daggers at the highly amused vampire. She teased an unidentifiable sticky mass from her hair and grimaced at the colourful array of iridescent demon guts that saturated her clothing. “At least someone’s enjoying themself!”

“Hey now,” Spike replied, failing miserably at controlling his sniggers. “To be fair, pet, I did tell you not to attack it. G’runacks are ugly buggers I’ll grant you, but they’re completely harmless unless provoked.”

“Excuse me?” One eyebrow arched in disbelief. “That walking slime factory was all with the growly screechiness. If anyone was provoked it was me!”

Snickering, Spike searched the pockets of his beloved duster and retrieved his packet of cigarettes, lighting up in the vain hopes of regaining some composure. “That was a sneeze, love... not a declaration of war.”

Buffy huffed indignantly and folded her arms. “Well how was I supposed to know it had a cold?” Her mouth formed a practiced pout as she refocused her attention on the secondary source of her irritation. “Anyway, I didn’t see you running to my rescue.”

Unsurprisingly, Spike’s eyes were riveted on the temptation that was Buffy’s bottom lip. “I was distracted,” he said, hurriedly thinking of a way to get back into his Slayer’s good books—and reacquainted with the delights said lip had to offer. “Knew you could handle yourself, didn’ I? An’ judgin’ by the evidence I was correct.”

“Yeah, right,” Buffy muttered. “You could have warned me these Gunk things have a tendency to explode. That little titbit might’ve come in useful before I ruined an entire outfit. How was I supposed to—” She frowned. “Distracted by what?”

Rolling his eyes, Spike ignored her deliberate mispronunciation of the ill-fated demon. “By you, of course.” He sent her a flirtatious wink. “You’re bloody glorious when you fight, love. A real work of art. Add in the fact my coat is covered in your scent an’ well...” He chuckled. “You’re lookin’ at one very happy vamp.”

Buffy sighed and raised a gloopy hand into the air, watching as the viscous fluid slid between her fingers and landed on the moonlit grass below. “Remind me again why I put up with you,” she said, as her lips surrendered to a reluctant smile. “I must be as demented as you are.”

“No arguments here.” Spike grinned and stepped forward. “I’m sorry love, but even you’ve gotta admit you look a right state.”

Wow, what a charmer.

Unimpressed, Buffy raised an eyebrow and scowled. “Just what every girl likes to hear,” she said. “And only last night you were telling me I was beautiful no matter what!”

“Well, yeah,” Spike drawled, as his eyes lit up in devilish delight. “But mascara an’ tears are one thing, kitten. Snot and demon guts are somethin’ else entirely.” Chuckling, he darted to the side, narrowly avoiding an airborne clump of recently deceased G’runack. “Oi!” he cried, warily toeing the suspicious looking appendage with his boot. “Watch the leather! I just cleaned this coat.”

Buffy offered him a saccharine smile as she wiped her palms clean on the damp grass. “But you'd look so pretty,” she said in a sing-song voice. “There’s nothing like a man covered in glittery entrails to get a girl all hot and bothered.”

Affronted, Spike huffed in disgust. “Vamps don't bloody well sparkle,” he muttered, taking Buffy’s outstretched hands and pulling her to her feet. “What do I look like? Soddin’ Tinkerbell?”

Buffy wrinkled her nose as if seriously mulling it over. “You’re right. I can’t really picture you with wings. You’re more like Peter Pan,” she replied, grinning widely. “The boy who never grew up.”

Smirking, Spike ran his tongue over his top teeth. “I’m far from a boy, love.”

“And don’t I know it.” Buffy frowned and looked down at her G’runack covered outfit. The foul smelling substance was starting to harden, and she didn’t even want to think about what was dripping down her neck. “It’s still early,” she said. “I can’t blow off the slayage again, but there’s no way I can patrol like this. I look like a disco ball—not so big with the stealthy over here.”

“You could shower at my crypt,” Spike suggested hopefully, as images of a wet, naked slayer assaulted his mind’s eye. Smirking, he raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side. “Ask me nicely an’ I’ll even scrub your back for you... make sure you’re squeaky clean an’ all that.”

“Tempting,” Buffy replied with a matching grin. “But this top is a goner. I think a complete wardrobe change is a must.”

With a sigh, Spike tugged on her hand and headed towards the cemetery gates. “Come on then,” he said. “Sooner we get to your place, the sooner we can get back to pummelin’ the nasties.”

He wanted to suggest loaning her one of his shirts. However, if Buffy was set on patrolling, then persuading her to strip off in his crypt was probably not conducive to her plan. A mental image of his girl wearing nothing but a black tee was enough to send Spike’s borrowed blood rushing southward, and ignoring his burgeoning erection, the vampire’s mind drifted to thoughts of a more domestic nature as they headed towards Revello Drive.

Evidently, patrolling was messy business, but personal hygiene aside, Spike intended for Buffy’s presence at his crypt to become a regular fixture. He was going to have to clear some space, maybe find her a drawer for some clothes, and stock up on the human-friendly food. Spike had noticed the rounded curves of his dreams were somewhat lacking since Buffy’s return, and the fierce growl of her stomach was an alarmingly frequent occurrence. He was certain she wasn’t taking care of herself, which, whilst understandable given the circumstances, couldn’t be allowed to continue.

Not on my watch, he thought. I’ll be buggered if I’m gonna let my girl waste away. Gotta help her through it. Get her fit an’ healthy again.

The openness they had embraced since just last night would certainly make his task easier. Spike was determined to help Buffy in whatever way he could; even if it was something as mundane as making sure she ate right. Granted, his knowledge of catering to the culinary needs of human females was somewhat limited to BBQ wings, pizza, and the occasional doughnut, but he could learn. He’d keep it simple, nothing too adventurous at first—bread, milk, fruit, veggies—items that would stay fresh in his fridge. Chocolate. All women liked chocolate, right? Times hadn’t changed that much since his youth.

It was whilst debating the benefits of Persian rugs—carpeting not being a standard feature in most crypts—and the likelihood of diverting a hot water supply to his shower, that Spike realised what he was doing. The idea of a cosy little crypt for two brought a smile to his lips, but was it even possible? Could it work? Would Buffy be willing to take that daunting step? Shaking his head, Spike broke from his reverie and glanced around to gain his bearings, noting to his astonishment that they’d already reached Buffy’s front lawn.

The house was shrouded in darkness, and the Slayer glanced indecisively between the porch and the tree standing tall and proud beside her bedroom window. She was relieved that everything seemed quiet, but she wouldn’t put it past her friends to be waiting inside regardless. Despite her words to the contrary, Buffy didn’t really believe it was over. If they were inside, Willow and Xander would try again. She was sure of it. And as painful as any confrontation might be, it was a comfort to know Dawn wouldn’t play witness to the potential dispute.

“You alright, kitten?” Buffy had fallen eerily still, and an anxious look marred her features. Stepping closer, Spike rubbed his thumb along her furrowed brow, causing the muscles to relax under his gentle touch. “What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” he asked, cupping her cheek.

Comforted by the gesture, Buffy sighed and nuzzled into his palm. “I just don’t want to walk in on another intervention,” she said, meeting his eyes. “This morning was bad enough. I don’t think I can handle another one so soon.”

A low growl rumbled through the vampire’s chest as his protective instincts rushed to the forefront. “Let ‘em try.” His voice was a deadly whisper as he dropped a kiss to her forehead. “I doubt either Red or Harris’ will have the stones to run their mouths off again... not with me here, at least.” He scanned their surroundings. For once, Xander’s truck was nowhere to be seen, and a quick glance towards the house revealed no obvious signs of activity. “I tell you what,” Spike said as he pulled back to look at her. “How’s about you put those years of sneakin’ around to good use, yeah? We’ll scoot through the window an’ your chums’ll be none the wiser. You can wash up; change into somethin’ short an’ flimsy—”

“Spike—”

“Fine,” he amended off her admonishing look, “practical an’ borin’... Then we’ll leave. No harm, no foul.” He paused, thoughtfully. “You know, that’s twice in twenty-four hours I’ve suggested that. A bloke might start to think you’re tryin’ to seduce him with costume changes and the lure of naked slayer flesh.”

Buffy laughed, her eyes dancing in wry amusement. “Somehow, Spike, I doubt you’d take much seducing.”

“Oi!” His hands fell to her waist, deftly avoiding the clump of solidified demon guts that refused to relinquish its hold on Buffy’s top. “Are you callin’ me easy?”

Her hands came to rest against his chest, before slowly tracing a path to his waistband. “Maybe we’ll find out later,” Buffy replied, brushing a barely-there kiss across his lips. With practised ease, she darted up the tree, and poked her head out the window. “I owe you one, remember?”

“Actually, you owe me two,” Spike muttered, grasping a sturdy branch and hauling himself upwards. Gracefully, the vampire scaled the tree and followed her into the bedroom. “But who’s countin’?”

With a sly grin and an armful of fresh clothes, Buffy headed for the bathroom. “Good things come to those who wait,” she said, closing the door with a cheeky wink.

Within seconds the sound of running water filtered through to the bedroom, and Spike took the opportunity to savour his first sanctioned visit to Buffy’s inner sanctum, completely oblivious to the freshly lit candles that flickered in the room below.



Determinedly, the young wiccan circled the living room, her mind focused solely on the task as she left a trail of softly glowing candles in her wake. Xander had told her to wait—that they needed Buffy’s permission before performing the spell—but seriously... Why bother? It was just a basic incantation. She could probably perform it blindfolded with one hand tied behind her back. Simply put, it was your everyday fact-finding mission. No big deal.

Willow knew her oldest friend was prone to over-reacting, and the sight of Buffy and Spike’s passionate lip-lock had bought him a one-way ticket on the crazy train. Obviously he wasn’t thinking clearly or he would have seen the merit of her plan. She was only trying to help. Under normal circumstances, Tara could have performed a comprehensive aura reading and saved her the trouble—but Tara wasn’t here, was she? So really, what choice did she have?

The circle of candles shone brightly, and Willow ignored the twisting sensation in her gut at the thought of her estranged girlfriend. Bringing the match to her lips, she extinguished the flame then placed the blackened remnants in a tarnished silver dish. She would use this opportunity to prove her magicy competence, and by tomorrow morning everything would be back to normal.

Nothing can go wrong, Willow thought as she crouched by the cupboard. I’m just going to check for residual energies. Kinda like a mystical x-ray, Buffy will never even know, so what’s the harm in trying?

Her resolve stronger than ever, the witch retrieved an inconspicuous looking rucksack from the bottom shelf and moved to sit on the couch. Hurriedly unzipping the bag, Willow reached in and began to assemble the necessary ingredients on the coffee table. She removed a bag of pungent herbs, several feathers, and a vial of black powder, then rummaged through an array of crystals until she found a small scarlet-tinted gem.

Undoubtedly, Buffy was having a tough time of late, and it would be unfair to burden her further by mentioning the spell—if you could even call it that. In truth, it was more of a chant. Merely some fancy words and a few candles. One way or another, Willow would have definitive proof. If there was an outside source affecting her friend then she would discover its origins. And if not, if Buffy truly was of the influence-free persuasion, then she’d never be any the wiser, right?

In her haste to get started, Willow carelessly returned the spare stones to her pack, never noticing the amber-like gem that fell to the floor and bounced beneath the table.

Everything will be back to normal soon. Just wait and see.

With a confident air, Willow crossed the room and selected the leather-bound volume from the bookshelf. She traced her fingers over the embossed lettering before reaching into her pocket and retrieving the final ingredient—a silver necklace from the Slayer’s jewellery box.

Ha! Take that, Mr Billy-Idol-stole-my-look! I’ll show him practical and boring…

Buffy stood in the sultry heat of the bathroom, studying her reflection in the full length mirror. As a result of Spike’s earlier teasing—the same Spike who owned a grand total of two outfits, and had embraced the wonders of tight black denim for the past thirty years, thank you very much—she’d climbed through her window with a specific goal in mind. Hastily, she’d crossed to her wardrobe and gathered a suitable guh-inducing outfit before the vampire in question was able to spoil her surprise.

Not bad, Summers, she thought with a sly grin. You’ve still got it.

Admittedly her low cut top revealed more cleavage than it hid. And yes, the mini-skirt she’d squeezed into hadn’t seen the light of day since high school, but so what? She looked good. Better than good. Certainly good enough to render the cocky vampire currently loitering in her bedroom a slobbering mess. Smiling, Buffy shook her head at the absurdity of her thoughts. Who was she kidding? She could emerge in a potato sack and Spike would still find her drool-worthy. A carefree giggle passed her lips, and with a final appraising glance, Buffy switched off the bathroom light and entered the adjoining room.

The sight that greeted her was utterly surreal. Spike was lying on the bed, a black thong in one hand, a stuffed pig in the other. Shaking her head, Buffy paused by the dresser as she studied the unique vampire that lay before her.

“You’d better not be corrupting Mr. Gordo,” she said with a smile.

Spike frowned, forcibly dragging his attention away from her purloined undergarments. “Who?”

“The pig.”

With a teasing smirk he tossed the toy in Buffy’s direction. “Don’t worry, love. I wouldn’t dream of sullyin’ your stuffed piggy’s reputation.” Spike’s attention returned to the flimsy scrap of lace in his hand. “I don’t know why you bother with these dental floss knickers,” he said, twirling them around his index finger. “Bloody things are a waste of time if you ask me.”

Buffy shook her head as she caught the airborne porcine and placed him safely on a shelf. “Sometimes I forget you have intimate knowledge of my underwear drawer.”

Spike smirked. “Not as intimate as I’d like, lamb.” His arrogance faltered as he swept his gaze over her body, gaping openly as he finally noticed what she was wearing.

“You like?” Buffy asked as she gave a little twirl, delighting in the glassy-eyed, slack-jawed, speechlessness that washed over his face.

Swallowing audibly, Spike sat up straight on the bed. “You’re gonna patrol wearin’ that?” he whispered as his borrowed blood rushed towards his straining erection.

“Sure,” Buffy replied. “Why not? I managed it before. In fact, the last time I wore this skirt I was rendering your ass very much of the kicked on a nightly basis.” Slowly, she stalked towards the painfully aroused vampire. “Or is your memory fading in your old age, Spikey?”

Cheeky bint. The spark of a challenge flashed in the vampire’s eyes, and Spike growled playfully as Buffy reached the foot of the bed. “Oh, I remember all right,” he replied, reaching for Buffy’s hand and urging her to join him. “Do you have any bloody idea how difficult it was tryin’ to fight you with a ragin’ hard on?”

“Excuses, excuses...”

“It’s true!” Spike ran his tongue over his teeth. “How’s a bloke supposed to put up a decent offence when there’s a perky little blonde slayer drivin’ him to distraction? You made me forget myself, love. I never stood a bleedin’ chance.”

Buffy grinned as she straddled his legs and slowly prowled up his body, never once breaking eye contact as she settled over his thighs. “Well there you are then,” she said, splaying her hands over his chest. “Practical slayage attire without a hint of boring to be seen.”

Spike raised an amused eyebrow. “Practical?”

“Uh huh,” Buffy replied, circling her hips and eliciting a tortured groan from the supine vampire. “Distraction techniques are grossly underrated.”

“Is that so?” Reaching forward, Spike grasped her by the forearms and unexpectedly twisted the Slayer beneath his body. Chuckling at her surprised squeak, he dropped a lazy kiss to the corner of Buffy’s mouth, before trailing his lips along her jaw line towards her ear. Tracing his tongue around the outer shell, Spike’s cool breath tickled the fleshy lobe before nibbling it with his teeth, delighting at the full-body shudder of the woman in his arms.

“So what you’re proposin’,” he said, pulling back to meet her eyes, “is you stand there lookin’ like a nummy treat, an’ I’ll whip out a stake whilst the beasties are cross-eyed an’ droolin’?”

“It could work.” Buffy panted breathlessly.

Spike’s hands fell to the smooth skin of her thighs, his determined fingers sending chills racing up her spine. “But you’re forgettin’ one thing, love,” he said, toying with the hem of her skirt. “No other bloke will ever get close enough to see your goodies.”

With a possessive growl he attacked her lips in a kiss designed to leave Buffy aching for more—more of his words, more of his touch. More of him. “You’re mine,” Spike said as he nipped at her bottom lip and soothed it with his tongue. “You’re mine, Buffy, an’ once I get you in my bed I promise you’ll never want to leave. I’ll make your body crave my touch. Make it so you see stars by the time we’ve shagged each other into exhaustion.”

The Slayer grinned cheekily. “Bit full of yourself, aren’t you?

Confidence soaring, Spike ground his denim-clad erection against the thin material of Buffy’s panties, leaving her in no doubt of just how full he could make her. “Stay at my place tonight,” he coaxed as his gentle rotations worked miracles between her thighs. “You an’ I have some unfinished business to take care of, an’ I don’t fancy any more interruptions spoilin’ our fun.”

He kissed her again, long and hard, and oh-so-deeply, that Buffy was certain she was going to melt into a puddle of slayer goo at any moment. “Okay,” she whispered, flushed and exhilarated. “Okay, I—Oh, Spike... yes!”

Buffy hissed at the delicious friction caused by his jeans, and Spike was certain that the inexplicable warmth spreading throughout his chest, could only be attributed to the boundless joy radiating within him. “God, Buffy,” he groaned, bucking against her heated centre as his fingers dipped beneath her skirt and brushed over the damp crotch of her underwear. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, kitten. Treat you right, I will.”

Buffy gasped at his first tentative explorations, torn between letting him continue, and halting things whilst she was still capable of rational thought. Reluctantly, she locked her knees around his waist, reversing their positions and breaking the heated embrace. “Ah-ah,” she said between panted breaths. “Patrol first, smoochies second.”

Steadfastly ignoring the pouty vampire beneath her, Buffy batted away his questing hands and scrambled from the bed. “Don’t give me the kicked puppy look,” she said, trying not to laugh at his chagrined expression. “The sooner we get going, the sooner we can make with the loving.”

Awkwardly, Spike rose from the bed and blatantly adjusted his throbbing length—something he’d been forced to do with maddening regularity of late. “Right then,” he said. “Lead the way, love. Demon’s to kill, world’s to save, an’ all that rot.”

After what felt like an eternity of waiting, Spike was finally going to have his every fantasy fulfilled. He almost pitied any unsuspecting demons with the misfortune to be on the prowl tonight. Nothing was going to stand between him and his Slayer.

Nothing.

Buffy crossed the room to retrieve a jacket from the hook behind her bedroom door, and feeling like a complete ponce, Spike was helpless to do anything but follow her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, releasing a sigh of pent-up yearning. “I love you,” he breathed into her hair, as his inner-William fought to the surface.

Taken aback, Buffy turned to meet his eyes, cradling his cheeks in her palms. “I love you, too,” she whispered.

For endless seconds they gazed at each other in tacit understanding, until the enormity of the situation became too much for Spike, and he ducked his head at the sheer force of emotion that passed between them. Calling on his Big Bad persona, Spike desperately tried to get himself under control. The last thing he wanted was to start blubbering like a prat—he still had some dignity left.

“Come on, kitten,” he said, nodding towards the open window, “let’s get out of here before—” He paused, head tilted to the side as a low murmuring reached his ears. “What the bloody hell is that?”

Buffy frowned. “What?” she asked, unable to detect what had Spike so ruffled. “I can’t hear anything.”

Spike’s eyebrows knitted together as he quietly opened the door, and hand-in-hand, they crept warily onto the landing. A faint glow emanated from the living room below, and from their vantage point, Buffy could hear a rhythmic series of words, spoken with such inflection that it could only mean one thing.

“Oh god.”

A spell.

Releasing her grip on Spike’s hand, Buffy launched herself down the stairs. She skidded to an abrupt halt at the sight of her best friend, kneeling on the floor, surrounded by a shimmering ball of energy. A series of candles had been arranged to form a sacred circle around the room, and on the table sat a silver bowl and a crystal that appeared to be the primary source of the hazy light.

“What the hell are you doing?” Buffy cried as she confronted the stunned wiccan.

Clearly Willow hadn’t expected to be interrupted. With an anti-climatic pop, the vaporous sphere fizzled to nothing, and it took the young woman a few moments to gather her wits about her. “Buffy, I—”

In an instant Spike’s solid presence was at Buffy’s side. A low growl tore from his throat as he stalked forward, and with one swift moment, swept the varied items from the coffee table, scattering them across the floor. “What’s all this, Red?” he asked angrily, glowering at the young witch. “Afraid the Slayer’s got a thing for the Big Bad?”

“Stay out of this, Spike!” Willow leapt to her feet, arms spread wide as she implored her friend to listen. “Please don’t be angry, Buffy. We had to know if—”

The Slayer was having none of it; her gaze was fixed on the curious looking object that lay beside her boot. Holding a hand up for silence, she reached down to pick up the elaborate bundle of feathers and string, instantly recognising the entwined necklace that Angel had given her years prior.

“Buffy, this isn’t what it looks like. I was just—”

“Save it!” The Slayer ripped the talisman apart and stormed forward, silver chain gleaming in the candle light. “I can’t believe this, Will. Did you listen to a word I said this morning?”

“Please, Buffy, you don’t understand—”

“Trust me,” she replied in an icy tone. “I’m getting the full of this understanding.” Glaring at her friend, Buffy stuffed the necklace into the back pocket of her skirt. “I told you to back off from the magic. How dare you cast another spell in my house! A day, Will... You couldn’t even go a whole day without—”

Her words were cut of mid-sentence, as the front door swung open, heralding the missing scoobies arrivals.

“What’s all the yelling about?” Xander asked as he strode into the fray. His eyes widened as he cast his gaze around the room, and the cause of the dispute became apparent. Frowning, he turned to meet Willow’s wide-eyed stare. “We agreed to wait,” he said, stepping forward. “We said—”

“You knew about this?” Buffy’s voice was barely a whisper, and Spike returned to her side, offering his silent support as the Slayer struggled to accept her friend’s newest betrayal.

“No,” Xander replied, shaking his head. “We talked about it, yes, but we weren’t...” He glanced down, shame coursing through his body. “I wanted to explain it to you first before—”

Willow stepped forward. “Buffy, it was for your own good.”

“It always is, isn’t it, Will?” The Slayer folded her arms across her chest. “It’s funny— people are always doing what’s best for me, and yet my life is majorly of the screwed! Why is that, d’ya think?”

Side-stepping that particular minefield, Xander focused on the here and now. “Buffy, this isn’t like you,” he said, staring at the vampire with clear hatred in his eyes. “Something is—There’s no way the Buffy we knew would ever let a thing like Spike touch her. It has to be some sort of thrall, and this morning we—”

“Spoke to Angel, and he said—”

Spike scoffed at the mention of his pansy-arsed grandsire. “Well,” he drawled, “if Angel says something it must be true.” Bloody idiots.

“Stay out of this, dead boy.”

“Easy there, whelp. You almost hurt my delicate feelin’s.” Spike stalked forward, staring down the belligerent scoobie. “You an’ Red make a right pair, you know that? Blunderin’ in—La-di-da-ing your way through life, just expectin’ the Slayer to pick up the pieces every soddin’ time you screw up.” His eyes were a feral yellow as he leaned closer, revelling in the trace of fear that lurked in the other man’s eyes. “You don’t have the first bleedin’ clue what you’ve put her through, do you? Well hear this, cos I’m only gonna say it once. I won’ let you hurt her again. If any of you lot tries somethin’ I swear it’ll take more than this bloody chip to hold me back.”

Buffy stepped forward, gently wrapping her hand around Spike’s clenched fist in an attempt to derail the impending train wreck. Testosterone levels at an all-time high, the Slayer placed herself between the warring males, as Anya—who until now had wisely held back in the hallway—pulled Xander away to a safe distance.

Reaching up, Buffy traced her fingers over Spike’s cheeks. “Hey, come back to me,” she whispered, smiling as the intense yellow gaze of his demon melted into familiar shades of blue. “Hi, there.”

Soothed by Buffy’s gentle actions, Spike fought back his predator instinct and glanced irritably between the room’s other occupants. “I don’t have a thrall, you pillocks. That was Dru’s thing, not mine. Don’t tell me the Magnanimous Forehead forgot that little detail?”

Willow blushed under Spike’s unwavering gaze. “W-well actually... we didn’t... um... get to—”

“What exactly did Angel say?” Buffy asked, aiming a secret smile at her vampire. “I’d like to get my facts straight before I kick his interfering ass all over L.A.”

A nervous glance passed between the two conspirators, and neither was keen to admit that calling the brunette vampire had proved fruitless. Anya witnessed the exchange, and thinking enough was enough, decided it was time to point out the obvious to the clueless scoobies. She was more than annoyed that Xander hadn’t mentioned this phone call earlier. As a former demon, she could have provided some answers herself, and maybe then her evening would have consisted of far more pleasurable activities, than preventing her fiancé from getting pummelled in the Slayer’s living room.

“What does it matter?” she asked, boredom mounting, and once again surprised by the trivialities of the human mind. “You can’t trust anything Angel says. He’s obviously jealous that Spike can share orgasms with Buffy when he’s cursed to be alone.”

Spike snorted. “Bloody eunuch.”

“It’s quite understandable really,” she said with a longing glance at her fiancé. “He must be very frustrated. I don’t know what I’d do without my Xander and his big, strong hands.”

“Anya, please!” Xander threw the aforementioned hands into the air. “No one wants to think about Angel’s sex life.”

“Amen to that,” Spike muttered as a collective shudder ran through the room. He’d endured enough of Dru and the poof shagging each other’s demented brains out to last him an eternity.

Stifling a chuckle, Buffy gave his arm a playful slap. The action caught Xander’s attention and he returned the full brunt of his anger to the blonde couple. “She wouldn’t look twice at you if Angel was still around,” he said, his voice dripping with uncharacteristic venom. “Admit it, Spike. You’re just... convenient.”

Buffy felt her vampire flinch at the cutting remark. Evidently, it would take more than one night to allay Spike’s deep rooted fears and insecurities. “That’s not true,” she said softly, and her heart sank as he looked down, avoiding her eyes. Buffy reached up, framing his face between her hands, and forcing him to see the truth of her words. “Spike, it’s not true. You know it’s not... I love you.”

A hesitant smile formed on his lips, and maintaining eye-contact, Spike turned his head to place a kiss into her palm. “I love you too,” he whispered, ignoring the outraged exclamation from behind him as the rest of the world fell away, leaving nothing but Buffy and her sweet words of reassurance.

Willow stepped forward, effectively bursting the bubble they’d formed around themselves. “Buffy, this is wrong,” she said, placing a hand on Xander’s chest to hold him back. “This isn’t healthy for you. We don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Furious at the intrusion, the Slayer span to face the room, refusing to leave the side of the man she loved. “What did I tell you this morning?” she said, folding her arms. “My private life is my own business. I'm not like the other girls, Will. I’ll never get to live the normal life that everyone expects of me. So guess what? From now on I’m going to seize every chance at happiness I can get.”

“Good for you, Buffy,” Anya said with a sympathetic look. “Human’s just can’t keep up, can they? But don’t worry; Spike will make you very happy indeed. Vampire stamina and zero refractory time are a major bonus when it comes to finding a suitable lover.”

“Thanks, pet.”

Ignoring that disturbing mental image, Xander stepped forward, shoulder-to-shoulder with the only like-minded person in the room. “You'd choose him over us?”

“Yes.” Buffy didn’t miss a beat. “He makes me feel good about myself, which is more than I can say for you guys.”

Spike was positively chuffed. Buffy was a free spirit—wild, untameable. Yet, here she was, laying claim to him in a way he’d never dared to dream. His demon purred in satisfaction, and his ego stood ten feet tall as the two scoobies blanched under Buffy’s intense gaze.

Hesitant, Willow wrung her hands together as she raised her watery eyes towards her friend. “What’s wrong with you?”

“You’re the Slayer,” Xander whispered. “He’s a vampire. It’s your duty to stake him, not... Do you have any idea how many people he’s killed? How many innocents he’s tortured before ripping out their throats?”

Spike snickered. “Take a look behind you, mate. Your bird’s got a higher body count than me an’ Peaches put together.” He smirked at the barely-restrained fury on Xander’s face before nodding in Anya’s direction. “I bet you’ve got some stories to tell, eh, love? Some real toe-curlers, yeah?”

“Oh, that’s true,” the former demon replied, grateful for the rare opportunity to relive her glory days. “You’ve got a long way to go before you catch me up, Spike. I’ve started a few revolutions in my time, but I always preferred the personal touch myself. There was this one time in 17th century Venice; a wife caught her husband cheating with the butcher’s daughter and...” She trailed off at her fiancé’s horrified expression. “What?”

“H-How can you—”

“How can I what?” she asked annoyed at his naivety. “I was a Vengeance Demon for a very long time, Xander. It was my duty to bring justice to wronged women. Can I help it if I was creative? It wasn’t all sunshine and roses, you know?”

She glanced at Spike and they shared a look of understanding. Despite her current human status, Anya had been around long enough to still see things from a demon’s perspective. “What is the big deal with you humans and the whole soul thing, anyway? Just because someone has a soul, it doesn’t make them a good person.”


“Anya, honey, can we talk about this later?” Xander felt like he’d turned over two pages at once. This conversation was rapidly going off-topic. “Nobody wants to hear this now.”

“I do.” Buffy was watching Anya intently as she slowly realised how often they’d repressed her demonic history. “Let her talk, Xander.”

“Thank you, Buffy.” She turned back to her fiancé. “Every killer and rapist in this world has a soul. Does that make them better than demons?”

“Yes!” Xander cried in exasperation.

Anya froze, the hurt evident in her eyes as Xander realised what he’d said.

“Anya, I’m sorry... I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did.” Her voice was low and dangerous. “It doesn’t matter what I do,” she said, backing away from Xander’s entreaties. “This isn’t easy for me, you know? I have all these stupid human emotions now. I’ve tried so hard to master your ridiculous customs and repressed attitudes towards sex, and what thanks do I get? Nothing! That’s what! I’m doing my best here, Xander. What more do you want from me?”

Her anger rising, Anya paused to look around the room. “I’m sick of being treated like a second class citizen. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m over 1100 years old! Just because I prefer to talk about money and orgasms, doesn’t mean I’m stupid!” Anya took a deep breath as her gaze fell on her shocked fiancé. “I deserve better. Maybe you should think about that, Xander, because if things don’t change, then we’ll never make it down the aisle, and I’ve spent too many hours organising those place settings to let it go to waste!”

With an exaggerated hair flick, she turned and headed towards the hallway.

Temporarily stunned, Xander made as if to follow her. “Anya, wait!” he cried, as he forced his uncooperative limbs to comply. “Honey, please I—”

“And don’t even think about following me until you are prepared to do some serious grovelling. Sweaty make-up sex isn’t going to cut it this time.” With one hand on the door Anya turned to face him. The glint in her eye made Xander glad her vengeance days were over. If not, he wouldn’t have been surprised to wake up with boils on his penis... or no penis at all.

“For your information you will be sleeping on the couch until I decide to forgive you,” she said, folding her arms. “And that may take some time!” With a final dismissive scan of the room, Anya walked out the door, leaving her speechless fiancé behind her.

“She’s right, you know?” Buffy’s anger burned so fiercely that she refused to cut him any slack. “Either you accept Anya as an ex-demon and deal with it, or go find yourself a human girlfriend. You can’t have it both ways, Xander.”

Spike smirked, unable to resist taking a shot of his own. “Don’t worry, Harris. Beggars can’t be choosers. If demon bird gives you the old heave-ho, I’m sure you’ll find someone else desperate enough to let you take a poke.”

The vampire’s words snapped Xander out of his stupor. “You’re just loving this, aren’t you?” he said, tamping down on his guilt and focusing on the bleached menace that was the root of all his troubles. “This is all your fault. You’ve turned Buffy against us with your lies!”

Spike had heard enough of the whelp’s gob for one night. Storming across the room he squared up to the arrogant pain-in-the-ass. “For Christ’s sake, Harris,” he said, clenching his fists as he fought the urge to say bugger the chip and rip his obnoxious head off. “Why don’t you grow a pair, and take some fucking responsibility for once in your miserable life!”

Xander’s lips curled into a corresponding sneer. “I know what you’re up to,” he replied. “Buffy’s vulnerable right now and you’re taking advantage. I won’t let you use her in your sick games.”

Nodding in agreement, Willow hazarded a glance towards her friend. “Spike hasn’t changed, Buffy. This is just a way to make you another notch on his belt.”

“Or his bed post!” Xander glared over Spike’s shoulder, meeting Buffy’s anxious gaze. “Do you really think he cares about you? This is just a way to get in your pants!”

Furious, the vampire stepped forward until he was chest to chest with the incensed scoobie. “What’s got your knickers in such a twist, Harris?” The words rode out on a growl as his eyes shifted to a predatory stare. “You’ve got your own girl—for now at least, but I reckon we both know the reason you've stuck around this long. All these years, sniffin’ round the Slayer’s coat tails... and for what? Admit it. You’re jealous that Buffy would choose a vampire over you... again.”

Xander baulked. “That’s not what this is about!”

“Like bollocks it isn’t.”

“That’s enough!” Buffy had to break them apart before the argument got physical. Theoretically, the chip would put Spike at a disadvantage, but the vampire was so livid that he’d probably act first and suffer the mother of all migraines as a consequence. “Both of you need to back off!” she said, pulling them apart and taking Spike’s hand in a firm grasp. Determined, she glanced between the two remaining scoobies. “I love Spike,” she said, her voice fraught with emotion. “You guys need to drop the intervention crap and deal with it because we will be together whether you like it or not.”

With a deep sigh, Buffy summoned up her courage as a feeling of dread rose within her. They weren’t listening. What if they never did? What if this was the end of the long-standing friendships she’d held so dear?

“This is my life,” she said, her tone quiet and imploring. “If you could just open up your eyes, and look beyond your own prejudices you would see that this is what I want—Spike is what I want. You guys... Ever since I was called, I’ve given up everything for my duty... I wish you could see what my life has been like. How your actions have—”

No sooner had her words met the air than a shower of sparks and a loud crackling sound were heard from the direction of the coffee table. The room’s occupants span as one to witness an amber crystal hovering in mid-air as it emitted an eerie radiance. Speechless, they watched the feathery tendrils expand, spreading out and twisting, to form a shimmering orb that floated about four feet above the carpet. Buffy cringed and took a step back as the pulsating light continued to expand before her eyes. Seeking reassurance, she pressed against Spike’s side, anxious and fearful of what her words had unleashed.

“Whoops...”

“Whoops?” Spike stared at her in disbelief. “Bloody hell, slayer, you outta know by now not to be sayin’ ‘I wish’ on the soddin’ Hellmouth!”


A cacophony of sound droned in their ears, as the vibrant ball pulsed and grew to such magnitude that they were forced to throw their hands up, shielding themselves from a sudden burst of blinding light. At once it felt as if the air had been sucked from the room, and Buffy gasped as vague shapes began to form inside the captivating sphere.


Entranced, she leaned into Spike’s arm, squeezing his hand compulsively as the wraithlike figures twisted and arched in their seamless dance. “What is it?” Buffy whispered in a tremulous voice as the ghostly spectres solidified, and she recognised the distinct image of her much-younger self. In a rush her words came back to haunt her, and Buffy’s stomach twisted into knots as she realised exactly where this was heading.


I wish you could see... Stupid literal interpretation! Why didn’t I wish for a million dollars... or a Prada gift certificate?


Willow stared at the unfolding scene with confusion clearly etched on her face. “I don’t know what’s happening,” she said, slowly backing away. “It was just a simple spell. How is this possible?”


Ignoring the Wiccan’s question, Spike squinted at the amber gem and leaned down to whisper in Buffy’s ear. “Looks like our Sabrina’s got herself a B’traxic crystal,” he said with a chuckle. “Best hold on tight, love. This could be an interestin’ ride.”


Buffy frowned at his obvious amusement. “You think this is funny?” she asked turning to face him. “There’s a mystical ball of this-is-my-life cheesiness playing out in my living room and you’re laughing?”


Spike shrugged as he watched the impromptu slideshow enfold. “You made a wish, pet. Said you wanted ‘em to see, an’ there it is... in full Technicolor glory—nice pigtails by the way. The Dorothy look suits you.”


“Oh, shut it, Toto!”


A sensuous growl rumbled beside her ear as Spike’s lips curled into a practised smirk. “So I’m a naughty dog, huh?” he asked with a devilish glint in his eye. “And all these years I thought I was a pig... Though if you wanna stick with the barnyard talk, I s’pose I am hung like a horse...”


“Spike!”Buffy cried, giving his arm a none-to-gentle swat. “Stop being a perv, and tell me about this toxic thingy.”


“B’traxic,” he replied with an exasperated eye-roll. “Rare beastie—runs in the same circles as demon girl and her vengeance lot. That pretty gem over there is s’posed to be part of an amulet.” Spike paused as the image of his girl skating around an ice rink appeared in the orb. She was wearing something pink and frilly, and it immediately inspired all manner of debauched fantasies. “Nice outfit, slayer, the judge’s approve.”


“Spike, focus.”


“Right. Yeah, sorry. So anyway, a B’traxi has the power to grant wishes. Problem bein’ they’re thick as two short planks, and these beauties,” he said, nodding at the aforementioned amber stone, “have a tendency to get mislaid. Hence the reason this little wish-granter ended up in Red’s not-so-capable hands.” Willow blanched under the weight of his sarcasm, and Spike’s lips curled into a victorious smirk. “It’s a bloody shame really. If I’d ‘ve known about that gem, I guarantee the whelp’d be talkin’ out his arse in more ways than one.”


Xander should feel blessed that the crystal had already activated, because otherwise Spike would have been sorely tempted to wish the bug zapper out of his brain and really shake things up a bit.


Unyielding, Buffy met his gaze. “What do we do now?” she asked, folding her arms as she entered full slayer-mode. “How do we stop it?”


Spike arched a brow at her indignant glare. “There’s nothin’ we can do, love. I’ve seen ‘em before. You’ve just gotta let these things run their course, an’ be grateful you didn’t wish for anythin’ worse.” His features hardened as he glanced between the two scoobies. “All things considered I’d say they got off lightly. There’s plenty of hell dimensions would love to boost their numbers with these two pillocks.”


Sensing a dangerous shift in her vampire’s mood, Buffy attempted to distract him. “Okay, percepto-vamp,” she said, subtlety manoeuvring into his eye-line. “You’re just a fountain of demony knowledge tonight aren’t ‘cha?”


Spike grinned. “Don’t look so surprised, pet. I’ve been around a fair few years. ‘m not just a pretty face, you know?”


Rolling her eyes, Buffy smiled in spite of herself. Her attention returned to the orb as images of her carefree childhood were rapidly replaced with those of a more familiar nature. Merrick, vampires, and the burning gym of Hemery high school, all flicked by like pages of a book. Her parent’s acrimonious divorce, Willow, Xander... Jesse—the first Sunnydale resident she’d failed to save from Darla’s clutches.


Come on, slayer. I like it when you're scared.


Buffy inhaled sharply as she saw herself pinned beneath a hyena-possessed Xander.


The more I scare you, the better you smell.


Everything happened so quickly.


A territorial growl filled the air, and in a blur of motion, Spike crossed the room and shoved Xander against the wall. He flinched as the chip fired, but his sights were set on the cowering human in his grasp, and his demon was clamouring for retribution. “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?” he shouted, tightening his hold on Xander’s clothing and shaking him violently. “You tried to attack her? You tried to—” Snarling, Spike fisted his hands in the whelp’s shirt, and lifted the terrified scoobie into the air. “What good did your precious soul do then, boy?”


“Spike, no!” Buffy wasn’t sure to what extent the chip could debilitate the vampire, but she was desperate to separate them before Xander suffered a serious case of deadness, and she was forced to witness first-hand the damaging aftermath.


Unnoticed by the trio, Willow slumped backwards onto the couch. Her hands covered her mouth as she shook her head, transfixed by the images that flashed before her. The Master, Acathla... Angelus.


Now that's everything, huh? No weapons... No friends... No hope. Take all that away... and what's left?


A trickle of blood ran from Spike’s nose as his chip protested his violent actions. “How dare you question me?” he demanded. “You’re supposed to be her friend, and all you lot do is upset her. I may be a goddamn vampire but I’d never hurt her like—”


Buffy’s small hand closed around his forearm. “Please, Spike,” she said, gazing at him with pleading eyes. “Let him go. He didn’t know what he was doing.”


“Yeah, that’s right,” Xander replied hoarsely, as he was dropped unceremoniously back to his feet. “I was possessed... it wasn't my fault!” Shamed, he hung his head, unable to face the disgust in the vampire’s eyes. “I-it was the hyena. I didn’t—”


“Oh, cry me a bloody river.”


Giles’ reassuring tone echoed from the sphere, and Buffy spun at the sound of her watcher’s voice.


I've been reading up on my animal possession, and I cannot find anything, anywhere about memory loss afterwards.


Did you tell them that?


Your secret dies with me.


“You told me you couldn’t remember...” The Slayer’s voice was a timid whisper as she trembled before her friend. “Giles said... Oh god, he lied to me too...”


Xander’s head jerked up at the defeated quality of her voice. Swallowing hard, he moved to grasp her arm. “Buffy, I’m sorry. I—”


Visibly shaking she stumbled back, avoiding his touch, as the raw pain of yet another betrayal brought tears to her eyes. Instinctively, Spike reached for Buffy’s hand, entwining their fingers as he drew her behind him. “Word of advice, Harris... one more step an’ I’ll tear you limb from bloody limb.” The vampire’s voice dripped with contempt, as his demon fought to protect what was his.


“Y-you can’t,” Xander whispered in wide-eyed fright. “The chip—”


“Means sod all.” Spike looked him up and down appraisingly, and couldn’t help but wonder just how close the boy was to pissing his pants. “It’ll put me outta commission for a while, I’ll wager, but somethin’ tells me you'd be dead a whole lot longer than that.” Spike could feel the bloodlust rising for the first time in countless months, and his head was pounding just from the thought of extracting his revenge on the cowering human. His free hand clenched at his side, Spike leaned forward as he stared at Xander with a feral gaze. “You’d do well to remember 'm not some harmless pup with a soul stuffed up his arse,” he whispered menacingly. “An’ if you ever hurt her again, I swear by all things unholy, I will rip you apart... Are we clear?”


Xander’s gaze sought her out—desperate, imploring—but Buffy barely noticed his frantic nod as the sound of her watcher’s voice once again drew her attention to the orb.


I think we should start with the grounding crystal... large blue stone. Now look very carefully for the tiny flaw at its core...


Helplessly, Buffy could only watch as her surrogate father brought the hypodermic needle to her arm, and injected her with the yellow liquid. The ensuing fight with Kralik passed by in a blur, melded as it was, with countless other scenes from her life. Riley, the Initiative, Dracula. One-by-one, the images washed over her, ebbing and flowing, until Buffy was certain she was going to do the girl thing and faint from the relentless onslaught.


Come on. Say it. We're bloody well talking about this. Tell me to kill my sister...


Releasing Spike’s hand she slowly stepped forward, her legs leaden and sluggish, as if in a trance.


You'll fail. You'll die. We all will.


“Buffy?” Xander made as if to follow her, but Spike wouldn’t allow it. Grasping him by the collar, the vampire shoved him away in disgust. However, it was Spike’s own legs that threatened to buckle as the First Slayer’s voice filled the room.


Death is your gift.


It was too much, too fast, and Buffy was powerless to stop it.


The hardest thing in this world... is to live in it.


She saw Dawn at the top of Glory’s tower as the portal raged and flared into life; saw her own broken, crumpled, body lying on the ground. Blinking slowly, Buffy fought the dizziness that threatened to consume her. She took a few steadying breaths and opened her eyes to see... nothing.


The sphere was silent.


Black.


Waiting.


Buffy glanced around the room as she struggled to calm her erratic breathing and frantic heart rate. In his haste to escape the severely pissed off vampire, Xander had stumbled over his feet, and was awkwardly crawling backwards towards the hallway. Willow was sat on the couch, tears streaming down her face as she tried desperately to erase the distressing images from her mind.


“Is it over?” The young witch whispered between ragged breaths. “Is it—” She froze as a tortuous gasp ripped through the room.


“No...” Buffy’s voice was barely audible as a distinct scratching sound, and harsh, panted, breaths, emanated from the pitch black orb. “No, no, no, NO!” Each successive denial rose in volume, until Buffy was shaking her head and on the verge of hysteria.


Rushing forward, Spike took her in his arms, as he forcefully shucked off the despair of once again seeing her lifeless body. “It’s okay... It’s over. I’m here.” His arms cocooned around her shivering form, protecting her from the horrendous sight of her living nightmare. “They’re nothin’ but shadows of the past,” he said, threading his fingers through her hair as she burrowed against his chest and sobbed. “They can’t hurt you now, kitten. Spike’s got you an’ he’s never lettin’ go.”


Horrified by the enfolding scene, Xander struggled to his feet and stepped towards the distraught slayer. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words stuck in his throat, unable to reach fruition. There was no hope of denying his role in this horrendous situation, but what could he possibly say to make it better? With a resigned sigh he watched his friend being comforted by the one person she should hate, and it galled him to know it wasn’t the vampire in question that had caused her such pain. The full extent of Buffy’s misery was plain to see, and unable to take any more, Xander let his tears fall as he staggered down the hallway, stopping only once to look back over his shoulder.


“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he closed the door behind him.


As the myriad of images came to a close, the sphere began to vibrate, waning in intensity, before suddenly collapsing in on itself and allowing the B’traxic crystal to drop to the floor. Shell-shocked, the three remaining observers watched as the innocuous looking stone rolled across the carpet, and was promptly caught under Spike’s boot.


“Bloody things are more trouble than they’re worth,” he muttered, crushing it beneath his heel as Buffy clung to him in her grief. Enough damage had been done for one night, and Spike wrapped his arm around the Slayer’s shoulder as he guided her towards the hallway. “We’re leaving,” he said firmly as he spared Willow a withering glare. “It’s been a blast, Red, but I reckon we’ll skip the encore.” Spike’s only objective was to get Buffy away from the house and back to the safety of his crypt, however, as his hand closed around the door handle, a broken sob came from the direction of the couch.


“B-Buffy...” Spike felt his girl tense against him as Willow’s anguished tone filled the room. “I-I’m s-sorry. I never meant—I didn’t know...”


Wiping her eyes, Buffy turned to look at her friend. Spike was practically vibrating with pent-up fury, and she wanted nothing more than to leave—lose herself in his arms, and forget this whole sorry mess ever happened.


“Of course you didn’t know!” Spike’s arm fell to her waist as his temper flared at the alarming naivety of the young witch. “You never bloody do, do you? What’s it gonna take, Red? How bad does it have to get before—”


“Spike?” Reining in her turbulent emotions, Buffy turned to face him with a wavering smile. There was a note of finality in her friend’s voice that gave her pause for thought. Maybe all was not lost after all. Tentatively, the Slayer sought out Spike’s hands, interlacing their fingers as she leaned in and rested her forehead against his own. “Can you give us a minute?” she whispered.


Spike scoffed as he trained his eyes on Willow’s snivelling form. His girl was too bloody soft-hearted for her own good—but wasn’t that one of the things he loved most? He’d learned long ago that Buffy came as part of a package deal. Just as being a slayer was an inherent part of what she was, so it seemed were the friends she surrounded herself with. Tamping down his frustration, Spike released Buffy’s hands and patted down his duster. “Right,” he said tightly, retrieving a packet of Marlboro’s before tucking a lock of hair behind Buffy’s ear. “I’m goin’ for a smoke. Come find me when you’re done chin-waggin’, yeah?”


Surprised, Buffy breathed a sigh of relief at his easy compliance. “This won’t take long. I promise.”


With a cigarette half-way to his lips, Spike glanced apprehensively towards the last remaining scoobie. “Gonna hold you to that one, love,” he said, before stealing a quick kiss and disappearing out the door.


From her position on the couch, Willow observed their simple interaction with keen interest. Far be it for her to frown upon non-conventional relationships—she was, after all, in no position to cast stones—but vampire and slayer... it just seemed wrong. Admittedly, Spike wasn’t the first vampire that Buffy had fallen in love with, but after the whole Angel/Angelus nightmare, Willow was amazed that her friend would want to open herself up to another world of heartache. Maybe if she’d made more of an effort to reach out to Buffy in those first formative days then she wouldn’t have turned to Spike as a source of comfort.


Maybe she wouldn’t be watching relationships fall apart because of her own heedless actions.


Nevertheless, the fact remained that Buffy’s new beau was a soulless vampire who’d killed thousands of innocent people. The only thing preventing Spike from making a smorgasbord of the general populace was a government issued chip. Bottom line, he was evil. Okay, maybe not Angelus evil—sucking the world into hell had never been on the bleached vampire’s to-do list—but he was bad... and rude... and... really, really annoying.


Willow frowned. Maybe she was being all with the judgemental. Against all odds, Spike had stuck around after Buffy’s death. What could he have hoped to gain from that? They certainly hadn’t informed him of their plans to bring Buffy back, and yet, he’d made it his mission to take care of Dawn, oftentimes being the only one who could get through to the traumatised teenager. He’d continued his nightly patrols despite Xander’s constant jibes and the less than welcoming reception they gave him—but it was plain to see that Buffy’s death had affected him deeply.


He was a different vampire.


Spike’s fire and passion had died alongside Buffy, and Willow could still picture the anguish in his eyes whenever he looked upon the Bot. Soul or not, Spike was in love, and if her friend returned the feelings, then who was she to stand in their way? What else was there to do but push her apprehensions aside and be there for Buffy if it all went wrong?


“Just answer me one thing,” Willow said as the Slayer cautiously approached the couch. “Does he make you happy?”


With a bone-deep sigh, Buffy took the adjacent cushion. “Yes,” she replied. “You may not believe it, and trust me; I never thought I’d say it, but Spike makes me feel... alive.” She giggled. “Wow. I can almost hear the ‘Good Lord’s’ all the way from England.” Buffy sobered as she turned to face her friend. “This isn’t just a fling, Will. I love him... and as crazy as this may sound, I know we’re meant to be together.”


Willow frowned. “But why didn’t you tell me sooner? I’m not saying I would have handled it any better,” she said with a depreciating smile, “but I’d have been bound by the laws of best-friend-dom to hear you out.”


“Honestly?” Buffy replied. “Because until last night I wasn’t ready to admit it to myself, let alone you guys. I’ve always felt something for him, but I was being all denial-girl and refusing to face it.” The Slayer sighed and leaned back in the couch. “But I can’t go back to that place. I’m happy. For the first time in years I know who I am, and what I want... and I want Spike. He’s changed, Will... and so have I.”


“Yeah,” Willow whispered, “I can see that.” Garnering her courage, she took a deep breath and threw caution to the wind. “Okay.”


A raised eyebrow. “Okay?”


“Okay. I’m not saying I understand it, cos to be honest, I’m kinda freaked with a side order of wig... but I’m here for you.”


Buffy grinned. “Thanks... I think?” The familiar sight of Willow’s ‘resolve face’ caused her heart to soar, as she anticipated her friend’s response.


“But you can tell Spike from me that if he doesn’t treat you right, I’ve got a ball of sunshine with his name on it.”


The harsh words were offset by her tell-tale smirk, and Buffy couldn’t help but tease her with one of Spike’s cautionary tales. “Well, from the way he tells it, that wouldn't be the first time,” she replied with a giggle.


“Hey!” Willow cried in righteous indignation. “That was a mistake. The Orl’ck moved too quickly—a-and anyway he was only slightly singed.” She folded her arms and pouted. “Big vampire baby.”


Buffy nudged the redhead with her shoulder. “So we’re good?”


“Yeah. We’re good,” Willow replied. “I can’t speak for Xander though.”


A frown marred Buffy’s features as she recalled his hasty departure. “He was majorly wigged by that orb, wasn’t he?” she said. “Not that I was the poster child for cool acceptance, but Xander was entering crazy town long before that.”


“Give him some time,” Willow replied. “You know how he feels about Spike.”


“What? The whole insane hatred thing?”


“Yeah, that.” Willow shrugged. “But if there’s one thing I know about Xander, it’s that he always comes through in the end.” Smiling, she shook her head. “And besides, I don’t think Anya’s through with him yet. I’m sure she’ll talk some sense into him.”


“I hope so,” Buffy whispered. “I know it sounds strange, but even though I’ve been here, I haven’t been here, you know? I’ve missed you guys.”


Willow looked up, hopeful. “So you don't hate us?” she asked. “I-I thought… We’ve been such bad friends and—”


“What? No!” Buffy cried. “I mean, sure, you weren't my favourite people for a while there, but I’m not about to strike you off my Christmas card list. I just… I need you to promise not to work anymore spells against me, Will. No matter how well-meaning you think they are.”


Willow nodded. “I promise, Buffy. A-and I’m sorry... for everything.”


“I know.”


It felt good to finally reconnect with her friend, and Willow would be remiss if she didn’t seize the opportunity for a little girl-talk. “So… You and Spike, huh?”


“Yeah.” Buffy ducked her head and blushed. “Me and Spike.” She glanced towards the front door and was reminded that said vampire was likely chain-smoking and pacing a trench on the other side—no doubt fretting needlessly that she’d changed her mind.


Not a chance.


This conversation would have to take a rain check.


The man she loved was waiting for her, and they’d already waited long enough.

For the second time that night, Buffy found herself staring at the reflection in her bathroom mirror. She’d left Willow with a parting hug and a promise to be careful, before darting upstairs to reapply her make-up and—however inappropriately—change her underwear. The sight of her vampire in game face never failed to turn her on, and tonight had been no exception. Over the years, Spike’s sinister attraction had ruined more of Victoria’s best kept secrets than Buffy cared to mention, and tonight’s display of growly possessiveness had seen her squeezing her thighs together in a bid to create some much needed friction.


If it weren’t for the gravity of the situation, Buffy would have said to hell with it and dragged Spike towards the closest bedroom. Impropriety aside, it was undeniable that she’d wanted to get out of there. Wanted to be held and cherished. Wanted the sanctuary that only Spike’s arms provided. Nonetheless, self-control had won out, and she’d forfeited the easy option for the greater good.


Despite the fresh wounds of betrayal still tearing at her heart, Buffy believed the pain had been worth it. Grievances had been aired, and through an innocent slip of the tongue, progress had been made. Undoubtedly there was still a long way to go, but Willow had accepted her decision, and bridges had been rebuilt. Only time would tell if those fragile foundations held up under the strain, but for tonight, Buffy’s thoughts were centred on the man who’d turned her world upside down.


Pursing her lips, Buffy placed the tube of lip gloss on the counter and nodded in approval. She’d had the appetiser, now it was time for the main course. The sodden material of her panties made her squirm with anticipation, and a wicked smirk found its way to Buffy’s lips as she eyed the confident young woman staring back at her.


That vampire’s not going to know what hit him.




What’s the bleedin’ hold up? Spike’s discarded cigarette arced through the air as he paced across the decking. It had been ten minutes since Buffy went upstairs and his patience was wearing thin. ‘Won’t take long’, she says. ‘Makes me feel alive’, she says... That chit’s gonna be the death of me... or undeath... or—sod it. Where the bloody hell is she?


Not that he’d been intentionally eavesdropping of course. Hello! Vampire here. Was it his fault his enhanced hearing picked up every word that was said? And besides, he’d needed to make sure it wasn’t another ploy to separate him from his girl.


Don’t know why she bothers with ‘em. Only thing her mates are good at is causin’ heartache.


Agitated, Spike patted down his duster in search of the elusive packet of Marlboro’s. He was still reeling from Willow’s apparent acceptance of their relationship. Personally he didn’t give a rat’s arse what the Scoobies thought about him, but their opinions mattered to Buffy, and in the grand scheme of things it was beneficial to have them on side.


Even so, it would be a cold day in hell before Spike got up close and personal with another one of Willow’s ‘little balls of sunshine’. He doubted he’d ever forget the embarrassment of walking into Willy’s bar one night after patrol, and ordering a pint of O-Neg, with charred eyebrows and a prominent limp.


Bloody idiots couldn’t organise a gang-bang in a whorehouse, thought Spike, as his eyes fell upon the tree in Buffy’s back yard. Frustrated, he stuck a fresh cigarette between his lips, and snapped open his Zippo, lighting up by means of keeping his hands occupied. That’s it. Five more minutes an’ I’m goin’ in after her. Screw waitin’, I’ll carry her out if needs be.


Taking a deep drag, Spike blew a steady stream of smoke into the air as he attempted to calm his frayed nerves. This was ridiculous. Self-respecting vampires did not tremble like a virgin on a first date, and they certainly didn’t fall to pieces just because the object of their affection was off doing God knows what, when she should have been—Bugger all. Spike’s eyes bore into the wood panelling of the door, as if by sheer will alone, it would open and return his goddess to his side.


Sod self-respect. What kind of vampire fell in love with a slayer in the first place?


The answer was simple.


A bloody lucky one.


With a resigned sigh, Spike resumed his pacing. “Who’re you tryin’ to kid, mate?” he muttered whilst stomping his way through an impressive collection of fag ends. “That girl’s got you by the short an’ curlies. Next thing you know, you’ll be quittin’ the booze an’ earnin’ an honest wage. Love’s bitch to the end, you are.”


And he would do it. Without question, Spike knew he’d do whatever Buffy asked of him, and yet surprisingly, the idea of going against his nature wasn’t as galling as it should be. He’d already committed the ultimate betrayal—he was a killer of his own kind—a white-hat for pity’s sake. What was one more nod to conformity if it kept him the love of his Slayer?


“H-hey, Spike.”


Startled, the vampire released an unmanly squeak and spun to face the figure on the front lawn. “Glinda,” he said, trying to regain some sense of composure. “Didn’ anyone ever tell you not to sneak up on a vampire?”


Bloody hell. How much did she hear? That’s what I get for yammerin’ on like a nancy boy.


Tara merely smiled in response. “Shouldn’t it be the other way round?” she asked, completely unaffected by his posturing. “What with the whole evil creature-of-the-night thing.” She paused, eyes shining with good-humour, and it was impossible to miss the curve of her lips as she studied him intently.


“What’s so bleedin’ funny?” Spike asked, suddenly self-conscious. He ran his hand over his head to make sure his hair was at its slicked back best. Buffy had a fondness for freeing the unruly curls— much to his annoyance—and then checked his clothing for any glaring abnormalities. “What are you grinnin’ at?”


“You,” Tara replied. “Your aura... it’s beautiful.”


Spike scoffed. Beautiful, huh? “Wanna run that by me again, pet?”


“It’s changed,” Tara said with such reverence that Spike dropped the attitude and gave her his undivided attention. “It used to be a mixture of dark greens and blues. Anger... resentment... blame... fear—”


“Big Bads don’t get afraid.”


“Fear of the future,” Tara whispered, fully aware of the significance of her words. “The fear of what’s to come.”


“Right.” Spike swallowed hard. There was no arguing with that. “An’ now?”


“Now it’s showing as yellow and pink,” she replied, ignoring his obligatory eye-roll. It seemed that dead or alive, men responded the same way at a perceived slight on their masculinity. “Optimism, hopefulness... excitement.” Tara paused to admire Spike’s deer-in-the-headlights expression, and then climbed the porch steps to stand beside him. “Pink is good,” she said. “Pink symbolises love... purity... the start of a new relationship...”


Busted. Spike ducked his head nervously, unwilling to meet her eyes. “You don’t seem too bothered by the fact,” he muttered. “How come you’re not readin’ the riot act like the others?”


Tara blushed. “I suppose I had some inside knowledge.”


“Come again?”


“Yours isn’t the only aura that’s changed, Spike.” She smiled as a look of understanding dawned on his face.


“Buffy,” he whispered as he tossed his forgotten cigarette.


“Yeah,” Tara replied softly. “You weren’t the only one harbouring anger and resentment—n-not that I blame her for that,” she hastened to add as Spike’s eyes narrowed in warning.


Tara was well aware of her role in Buffy’s resurrection, and she was determined to do everything possible to make it up to her. Glancing towards the door, a frown marred the white witch’s features as she put two-and-two together. Spike had been in an obvious state of agitation when she arrived, and there was a residual trace of powerful magic lingering in the air. Tara’s heart sank as she realised the probable culprit.


“What happened here, tonight?” she whispered, not really wanting to hear the answer.


Burying his hands in his pockets, Spike sighed heavily and turned to face her. “Brain trust found out about the Slayer and yours truly. Needless to say they weren’t best impressed—figured I had her under a thrall or some bollocks. Anyway, Red tried to work some mojo an’ it backfired. Harris an’ his demon bird had a bust-up an’ now Buffy’s...” He scowled. “Actually, bugger if I know what Buffy’s doin’. Told me she wouldn’t be long. Wanted to try an’ hash it out with your girl, but I figured she’d be done natterin’ by now.”


Tara winced. “Willow’s not my g-girl... n-not anymore.”


Shaking his head, Spike breathed a dry chuckle. “Not that simple is it, pet? Can’t stop lovin’ someone overnight.” He paused as his lips curled into a rueful smile. “Hell, I should know that better than anyone.”


“I still love her, but...” Tara’s words rode off on a sigh. “I can’t be with someone who uses magic against me, Spike. She thinks I’m jealous of her powers. And that’s just... If she won’t listen to me then what am I supposed to do?”


Whether it was the heightened emotions of the night, or maybe just the desolate look in the young woman’s eyes, Spike felt a powerful urge to console the only scoobie he could stomach to be around. Anya, with her unique perspective, was good for a laugh, but the constant references to bumping uglies with the whelp were enough to make him dry-heave.


Spike shrugged, his mouth tightening into a knowing smirk. “Keep tryin’ till she does. Trust me, pet, I know a thing or two ‘bout dealin’ with stubborn bints. Was bloody tempted to tie the Slayer up an’ make her hear me out...” He frowned. “Not that it was overly successful the first time I tried it.” A delightful flush appeared on Tara’s cheeks and Spike levelled her with a steely gaze. “Red’s got herself in deep with this witchy business. The power’s gone to her head, and she’s gonna need your help to find herself again. Stick with it. I reckon she’s had a wake-up call tonight.”


“You think so?”


“Yeah,” Spike replied. “Live as long as I have, an’ you see all sorts of things in this world. Good and bad. The way I figure it, you’ve gotta hold on to the good when it comes around.” His eyes became distant as a wistful smile graced his lips. “Never give up on love, pet. No matter what.”


Bloody hell, mate. You’re turnin’ into a regular ‘Dear Abby’. Oh, how the mighty have fallen!


Tara looked doubtful. “And it works?”


Spike winked. “Got me the girl, didn’t it?”


His happiness was contagious and a corresponding grin was mirrored on Tara’s lips. “I think you’re right,” she said, stepping forward and placing a spontaneous kiss on his cheek. “Goodnight, Spike... and thanks.”


Stunned, he could only watch as she disappeared into the house. Well, what do you know? One-hundred-and-twenty-something years and this world was still capable of surprising him. Shaking his head, Spike turned to rest his arms on the wooden railing. His gaze swept aimlessly down the street, and it wasn’t long before the quiet click of the front door reached his ears, and a pair of arms banded around his waist.


“Miss me?” Buffy whispered as she rested her chin on his shoulder.


“What do you think?”


Spike turned his head to catch her eye. The dim light made it awkward to read her expression, and her voice was giving nothing away. From the moment they’d happened upon Willow’s spell, their plans for the night had gone up in smoke, and once again, Spike found himself on unsteady ground. He didn’t want to push Buffy into something she wasn’t prepared for, but likewise, he didn’t want to allow outside factors to dictate their relationship. Pasting a smile on his lips, he turned to face her, resting his hands on her hips.


“How’re things in Scoobyville?” he asked, feigning ignorance. “You two get everythin’ squared away?”


Keep it casual, mate. Let her set the pace.


“Better,” Buffy replied. “Never underestimate the power of a girly blub-fest. Things are far from perfect, but it’s a start.”


Absent-mindedly, Spike’s fingers smoothed over the fabric of her skirt as he pulled her flush against his body. “We all set then?” he asked with barely disguised optimism. Buffy was making no move to pull away, and he allowed himself to hope that maybe things were still on course. “Vamps to slay, world to protect, you know the drill, love.”


A small frown formed on Buffy’s lips as she gazed at him through heavy lashes. “Can we take a rain-check?” she said, leaning in to ghost a kiss across his lips. “After all the excitement, patrolling isn’t very high on my list of give-a-damn right now.”


Bollocks.


Exhaling deeply, Spike resigned himself to the fact that his only bed fellow would be a bottle of Jack Daniels and his left hand. “Right,” he said. “Rough night an’ all... Expect you’ll want to get some shut-eye.” He paused, suddenly fascinated by the scuffs on his boots. “Guess I’ll be headin’ off then.”


Silly vampire. Buffy pouted as amusement danced in her eyes. “But I thought we had a date?”


Mesmerised by the fullness of her bottom lip, it took all of Spike’s self-restraint to keep from backing her up against the door and nipping it between his teeth. “What’s that?”


“A date,” Buffy repeated, gifting him with a winning smile. “I thought you were planning to give me a proper introduction to that bed of yours.”


Confidence restored, Spike’s lips curled into a predatory grin as his eyes raked over her body. “Oh yeah, kitten, I’ve got plans for you, alright.”


Buffy’s warm breath tickled his ear as she traced a series of teasing kisses to his cheek and neck. “Well that’s a relief,” she said, sliding her hands down Spike’s arms and pressing a bundle into his clenched fist, “because I’ve got a little something for you, too.”


Confused, Spike glanced down between them, instantly recognising the damp scrap of lace between his fingers. “Minx,” he growled as Buffy giggled and slowly backed away. He brought the fabric to his face and inhaled deeply of the intoxicating scent, chuckling as the Slayer wrinkled her nose at his antics. “Oh, you’re gonna get it, little girl,” he said, raising his eyebrows whilst running his tongue over his teeth.


In the blink of an eye, Buffy vaulted down the steps and was half way across the lawn. “You’ll have to catch me first,” she called over her shoulder as she took off running down the street. Not needing to be told twice, Spike stuffed the thong into his duster pocket and gave chase, exhilarated, as the combined laughter of vampire and slayer rang into the night.




“What’s the matter, Spikey? Getting slow in your old age?”


They’d been running for several minutes and had finally made it to Restfield cemetery. Throughout the chase, Buffy had teased him mercilessly by slowing her pace and allowing him to within a hairs breadth, before putting on a burst of slayer speed and leaving him trailing behind her.


“Don’t you worry ‘bout me, Goldilocks!” Spike’s pursuit was considerably hampered by his chafing erection, however, his eyes were fixed on the lithe form of the nymph darting and weaving between the neglected head stones. “You can run all you like. It’s just gonna make my victory that much sweeter when I catch you.”


His blood was singing from the thrill of the hunt, but as far as Spike was concerned, he’d follow her forever if he had to. Without breaking her stride, Buffy darted to the left and took the path towards the Peterson mausoleum, but this time he was ready for her. Biding his time, Spike waited until she slowed down to dodge a grave marker, and then moved in for the strike.


“If you’re not careful you won’t have any energy left for—eep!” Buffy squealed as a pair of strong arms banded around her waist, and suddenly, she was spinning in the air, laughing and breathless, with Spike’s solid presence at her back.


“Gotcha,” he whispered into her ear.


Shamelessly, Spike ground his hardness against the curve of her ass, his tongue, tracing intricate patterns along her neck. The resultant tremor that raced up Buffy’s spine brought a devilish grin to the vampire’s lips, and he couldn’t help but wonder what other responses he could draw from her nubile body. With that thought in mind he blew gently against the sensitised skin, causing Buffy to gasp when he nipped at her ear lobe.


“So,” she said in a voice heavy with invitation, “now that you’ve caught me, what are you going to do with me?”


A dark chuckle filled the air as Spike nuzzled at her collar bone. His hands slipped under her top, and Buffy shivered as he smoothed his cool palms over her hips. “Somethin’ wrong, precious?”


Buffy could hear the smirk behind his words. “Y-your hands are cold,” she replied unsteadily, as his thumbs rubbed small circles into her skin.


“You’ll warm me up soon enough.” Spike was sorely tempted to lay her down on the ground and shag her senseless, nevertheless, he fought down his demon and curbed his baser instincts. He could appreciate a wild rutting as much as the next vamp, but that wasn’t what he had in mind for their first time. “You’re a naughty little tease,” he whispered as his hand slid up her thigh. “Runnin’ around a graveyard with no knickers on... What would people think?”


Panting mindlessly, Buffy let herself be swept away by his words. With his deep baritone rumbling against her ear, she couldn’t give a damn what people thought. Hell, the entire Watchers Council could wander by on a field trip and she’d be quite willing to demonstrate the finer points of vampire stamina. One of Spike’s arms wrapped tightly around her waist, the other, abetting his hand’s explorations of the curves of her body, and Buffy suppressed a whimper as she rocked back against his denim-clad erection.


“I can smell you,” he said, giving her arse a goodbye squeeze as he slipped between her legs. “Do you taste as good as you smell, love?” He swiped his finger along the length of her moist heat and flicked her clit, causing Buffy’s legs to buckle beneath her. If it weren’t for the presence of his iron grip she would have tumbled to the ground, and Buffy could do nothing but groan as she watched him bring the glistening digit to his lips and savour the evidence of her arousal. “Delicious.”


“Oh God...”


Spike chuckled darkly in her ear. “I’ve got plans for you, kitten. ‘m gonna lie you down in my bed and worship you. Make you come with my fingers and mouth. An’ then when you think you can't take anymore...” he said, biting down lightly on her earlobe with his blunt teeth, “…I’m gonna make you come, screaming, on my cock.”


“Mmm... Spike.” She was burning up. He’d barely touched her, but Buffy was starting to wonder if it was possible to be talked into an orgasm.


“Yeah, that’s right. I love it when you say my name like that. All breathless like.”


Spike growled low in his throat and inhaled deeply, revelling in the scent of Buffy’s desire. He’d experienced it many times before—last night notwithstanding, their previous encounters always left them panting in more ways than one—but never to this extent. And this... bloody hell, this, was a gift from the gods. His wet finger trailed down the length of Buffy’s arm before returning to her waist.


“The Big Bad’s got you now,” he whispered. “And he’s gonna eat you all up.”


Get a grip, thought Buffy as she tried to steady her erratic heart rate. You’re the Slayer, not the bosom heaving damsel in some trashy romance novel. Show him who’s in charge here.


Straightening her shoulders, Buffy turned her head to meet his cocky smirk. “Is that so?” she said, resolutely ignoring the fact that her vampire’s attention was fixed firmly on the aforementioned cleavage. “Because the last time I checked—Oh my God! Put me down!” Without warning, Buffy found herself thrown over Spike’s shoulder as he headed in the direction of his crypt. Awkwardly, she squirmed in his grip, tugging at the inadequate coverage of her clothing, and painfully aware that there was now an additional full moon on show tonight.


“Relax, slayer.” Spike raised his hand to hold her skirt down, mercifully preserving whatever modesty she had left. “I’m not gonna let any beasties get a glimpse of your luscious arse.”


Unimpressed, Buffy continued to beat her fists ineffectively against his duster until Spike delivered a quick slap to her backside, causing her to yelp in surprise. “Oh my God! You are so going to pay for that!”


Spike chuckled and smoothed his palm over the tingling flesh. “Of that, I have no doubt, love. But if you’re a good girl an’ quit wrigglin’, I promise to kiss it better soon enough.”


Strangely, Buffy no longer felt the need to protest, and soon found herself at the door to Spike’s crypt. He lowered her to the ground and hauled her into a passionate embrace as they stumbled over the threshold. However, within seconds, Buffy felt his muscles tense as he broke the kiss and pulled her behind him. Morphing into his game face, Spike glared into the shadows of the dimly lit chamber, and with demonic eyes, he growled out his infuriated demand.


“What the bleedin’ hell do you want, Angelus?”

It was a soddin’ conspiracy. Had to be. Why else would his ponce of a grandsire be stood there in all his hair-gelled glory? Spike was willing to bet good money the PTB were having a right laugh at his expense. Maybe they were hoping to drive him completely carrot-top with pent up frustration? Either way, Angel’s unwelcome presence in his crypt had put a serious damper on his good mood.

“So what is it?” Spike said, slipping back into his human countenance as Buffy moved to his side. “Did you lot band together to be a pain in my arse? Or is there some sacred prophesy regardin' my sex life we should know about?”

Angel’s face was a study of control as he stepped forward. “Buffy, are you okay?” Disregarding his wayward childe, he stared intently at the Slayer. “Xander rang the office this morning. He was worried about you. He thinks that...” Trailing off, Angel shook his head. “I thought he was mistaken, but now...”

Spike felt Buffy stiffen, but to her credit, his girl refused to back down from Angel’s unwavering gaze. Smirking, he wrapped his arm around her waist in a deliberate act of provocation. “I asked you a bloody question,” he growled. “What do you want?”

To the untrained eye, Angel appeared unmoved by his grandchilde’s defiance, but Spike didn’t miss the tightening of his jaw—a sure-fire indicator that he was getting to him. “I had to see it with my own eyes,” he replied, glaring at the younger vampire before returning his full attention to the woman at his side. “He’s done something to you, Buffy. Can’t you see that he’s messing with your head?”

Undeterred, Buffy moved closer into Spike’s embrace. Her eyes shone with defiance, but any response was pre-empted when the Brit burst into unexpected peals of laughter. “Oh, that’s rich.” Cocking his head to the side, Spike sized up the other man. “I s’pose you'd know all about that, huh? I think you’re gettin’ us confused, mate. Mind games were your speciality, not mine.”

His words were enough to break Angel’s composure, and with a deep growl the brunette vampire stormed forwards with both hands fisted at his sides. “You’ll never change, Spike,” he said through clenched teeth. “I know you. I know what you’re capable of—how you think. I won't stand back and let you destroy her life!”

“I love her you pillock! I won’ let anyone hurt her again. Especially the likes of you.”

The threat was evident in his tone, and a growl rumbled throughout the room as Angel dismissed him with a scoff. The enticement to lash out was almost tangible, but Spike was keenly aware of the mounting impatience in the Slayer beside him. Biting his tongue, he took a calming—albeit unnecessary breath—and allowed the great poof to dig himself into a pit of his own making. Knowing his grandsire’s overinflated ego, it wouldn’t take him long to push his girl over the edge.

“Buffy, I left so you could have a normal life. This isn’t what I wanted for you!”

Spike chuckled. Nope. Not long at all.

In an instant, Buffy’s eyes flooded with righteous indignation as she glared at her first love. “How dare you show up like this,” she said, crossing her arms. “You have no right to question my decisions, Angel. This is what I want—”

“This is wrong!” Taken aback, Angel gestured between the two of them, seemingly oblivious to the fury on Buffy’s face. “If you can’t see that then...” He paused, sighing heavily. “This isn’t you. Something is... I don’t know, maybe you came back—”

“Wrong?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you thought it?”

Angel’s silence cut deeper than any knife, and the insinuation caused Buffy to flinch as his words breathed life to her deepest fears.

“You arrogant sod.” Spike had heard enough. Wilful abstention was one thing, but he wasn’t going to stand by and let anyone insult his girl. “There’s nothin’ wrong with her. She’s bloody perfect. Just ‘cause you weren’t man enough to love her the way she deserves, doesn’t mean you can barge in here and bugger it up for me.”

Angel snarled, stepping forward until he was chest to chest with the younger vamp. “Think whatever you like, boy, but my Buffy would never lower herself to your level.”

Shaking her head, Buffy grasped Spike’s hand, seeking reassurance with the fusion of their fingers. “This is my life. How I choose to live it is none of your business. Not anymore.”

Angel baulked, clearly unnerved by the conviction in her voice. “You’ll always be my business.” Straightening, he drew back to better meet her gaze. “This thing,” he sneered, glancing between them, “it’s nothing. A joke. The Powers have a plan for us, Buffy... You’re mine.”

Incensed, Spike’s demon rallied to the forefront. It was bad enough his grandsire was asserting a claim over his Slayer, but the way Angel’s eyes kept travelling over the golden expanse of Buffy’s legs made him want to stake the overgrown git on the spot. His limbs trembled with pent up rage, and Spike tempered his voice to a guttural whisper.

“She was never yours, you sanctimonious prat. Now do us all a favour an’ bugger off before I remove you bodily.”

“I’m not going anywhere without Buffy.” Uncaring of the warning growls emanating from his delinquent progeny, Angel moved to grab the Slayer’s arm. However, before he was able to find purchase, Spike grasped him by the lapels and hurled him across the room.

“YOU DON’T TOUCH HER, YOU HEAR?” Angel skidded backwards across the floor, finally coming to rest in an undignified heap by the crypt door. Spike was upon him before he had chance to recover, hauling him upwards as he landed a solid punch to the nose. “Buffy’s mine! You’ll never lay a finger on her again.”

Dazed, Angel staggered to his feet, wiping a steady stream of blood from his nose as he glared at the younger vampire. “You presumptuous little shit.” He ducked a punch and rammed his shoulder into Spike’s stomach. “I should have dusted you years ago. You’ve been nothing but an embarrassment since the night Drusilla brought you home.”

Panting, Spike brought a knee up to connect soundly with his chin. “Ooh, I’m shakin’ in my Docs. What’s the matter, gramps? Didn’ I live up to your high standards?” He fisted his hands in Angel’s shirt and pinned him against the wall. “Never was good enough for you, was I? You were my Yoda, man. Everythin’ I did back then was to prove myself to you—tryin’ to live up to the legendary fucking Angelus. And for what? Look at you! Even with that namby-pamby soul stuffed up your arse you’ll always be second best.” He grinned, victorious, when Buffy made no move to intervene. “You’re not welcome here,” he said, revelling in the convoluted emotions in his grandsire’s eyes. “The girl is mine.”

As fists and fangs battled for supremacy, Buffy stood spellbound by the ferocious mêlée enfolding before her. She knew she ought to step in and put a stop to it, but then again, it wasn’t everyday a girl had a pair of vampire hotties fighting over her. Surely she was entitled to a bit of an ego boost? The opportunity was short-lived however, because irrespective of the size difference, Angel was getting his ass handed to him, and despite the thrill of seeing her man all with the grr, Buffy decided to intervene before her ex was rendered very much of the dusty.

Bringing his arms up, Angel attempted to break Spike’s unyielding hold. “You don’t deserve her!” he growled, struggling ineffectually in the younger vampire’s grip. “She’s too good for you.”

“An’ don’ I bloody well know it,” Spike replied, “but she’s willin’ to give me a chance, an’ I’ll spend the rest of my days provin’ myself worthy.” His hands clenched as he resisted the urge to wipe the smug grin off Angel’s face permanently. “You had your chance and you blew it. You walked away. An’ unless you want the stuffin’ ripped out of you, I suggest you hit the road again.”

Soulful eyes turned towards the Slayer. “Buffy? May I speak to you alone?”

You arrogant... “No, you bloody well can’t!”

“Spike, wait!” Buffy rushed forward to separate the snarling vampires. Closing her hand around the sleeve of his duster she pulled him away, affording Angel the opportunity to right his clothing and advance towards them. “That’s enough!” Buffy stepped between them, one raised hand stopping Angel in his tracks, as the other pressed against Spike’s chest. “One more display of testosterone and I will personally kick both your undead asses.”

The blow of Buffy’s words was softened by the way her fingers absent-mindedly stroked his t-shirt, however, Spike’s eyes bored into his rival with such fiery intensity it was a wonder that Angel didn’t combust on the spot. Turning to face him—and fully aware of the merits of vampiric hearing—Buffy lowered her hands to wrap around his clenched fists.

“Give me five minutes and I’ll be back.”

Spike wouldn’t meet her eyes. With tunnel vision, he glared at Angel, his body tightly wound, coiled to strike at the slightest provocation. Releasing his hands, Buffy reached up to cup his cheeks, forcing his gaze to meet hers, determined that he hear the truth of her words. “I swear,” she said before covering his mouth in a kiss filled with the promise of things to come.

Dimly, she was aware of the slamming of the crypt door as Angel stormed away from the passionate display. An immense feeling of satisfaction rushed over her, but Buffy couldn’t ignore the barely restrained tension housed within the man she loved. “This doesn't change anything,” she whispered, pulling away from the temptation of Spike’s lips. His arms wrapped around her waist, causing her to moan as he hauled her against the evidence of his arousal. “Angel is my past. You’re my future, Spike. Not him... Never him.”

Spike sighed, exhaling a shaky breath as he rested his forehead against hers. “I can’ help goin’ a little batty, pet. I hate the hold that ponce has over you. Always have done... An’ the thought of you two bein’ alone... ” Trailing off, Spike raked his fingers carefully through her mussed hair, the tender action at odds with the stormy darkness that raged behind his eyes. “I see the way he looks at you. Arrogant sod thinks he can jus’ waltz in here an’ take you from me—”

“What about the way I look at you, Spike?” Buffy tilted her head to the side, nervously licking her lips as her hands danced along the collar of his duster. “Doesn't that count for anything?”

A low growl rumbled in the space between them. “Dirty pool, slayer.”

Buffy released a shaky breath, glancing down, as she struggled to find the appropriate words. The brain-of-Buffy and the English language were unmixy at the best of times, add in a shot of ex-boyfriend angst and things had the potential to go pear-shaped very quickly. It wasn’t like she wanted to have the upcoming conversation, but she knew Angel wouldn’t give up easily. For whatever reason he would always see her as the perpetual damsel in distress—the delicate flower that needed protecting from the harshness of the world—regardless of the fact that she’d gone and died twice already. It was important that she did this. Not just for her, but for the both of them. In any case, it wouldn’t do their blossoming relationship any good to be under the constant threat of Angel’s hulking shadow.

“I'm just going to talk to him,” she said, once again raising her eyes to meet Spike’s perturbed gaze. “I’ll be back before you know it, and Angel can take his broody self off to L.A where he belongs.” The raised eyebrow she got in response made her vampire’s opinion more than obvious, and Buffy sighed heavily as she wrapped her arms around her waist. “Spike, I need to do this on my own. Can you please just trust me?”

Bloody hell. That pout would be the undeath of him. How was a bloke supposed to come up with a worthwhile argument when all he could think about was how it felt to nibble that lip between his teeth?

“Five minutes... then I’m yours for the rest of the night. No more interruptions... even if I have to bar that door shut myself.”

Defeated, Spike rolled his eyes and accepted the inevitable. “Fine,” he muttered, “Go an’ send the poncy git off with a flea in his ear. But I’m warnin’ you now, he tries anythin’ and I’ll stake his over-bearin’ arse myself.” His lips curled into a teasing smirk, but the sobriety in his voice made it clear he was deadly serious.

“Thank you.”

Buffy felt a wave of gratitude rush over her. Leaning up, she kissed him softly, hoping to convey her appreciation of his reluctant gesture. As the embrace deepened, Spike’s arms fell to her waist. His hands slid down to the curve of her ass and Buffy was suddenly very much aware of how much clothes she wasn’t wearing. Blushing profusely, she took a step back and glanced down at her this’ll-make-him-drool outfit, suddenly wishing for the plain coverage of jeans and a t-shirt.

“Okay,” she said, tugging ineffectively at the hem of her skirt. “Suddenly feeling very much underdressed over here. When I put this on, I figured you’d be the only vamp that got to eye-up my goodies.”

A slow-born smirk lit up Spike’s features as he tilted his head to the side. “Well by all means, love, we’d best get you wrapped up then, hadn’t we?” His eyes sparkled with amusement as he shrugged out of his duster and moved behind her, holding it open so that Buffy could slip her arms into his beloved coat. “It’s a cold night an’ all... Wouldn’ want you to catch a chill whilst you’re performin’ your sacred duties.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, unable to fight the smile tugging at her lips. Spike was practically giddy at the thought of her wearing his duster in front of her ex. Talk about marking his territory—why didn’t he just pee on her leg and get it over with? She supposed she ought to be annoyed with him, but in all honesty, the idea of flaunting their relationship did sound appealing. And as one of her college professors once told her—men are visual creatures. If Angel wanted to be all with the caveman act, then a little visual representation could go a long way.

“You are so obvious, you know that?”

“I dunno what you mean, pet.”

“Yeah right.” Buffy spun to face him, the black leather lapping against her calves. “I take it all back. You are still evil.”

Spike chuckled. “Glad to hear it.” His eyes wandered over her face, coming to rest at the slight quirk of her lips. “What’s all this then?” he asked, brushing his thumb across her cheek and causing her smile to widen. “Looks to me like I’m not the only one wantin’ to stick it to the poof.” Smirking, he reached out to straighten the jacket’s lapels. “An’ anyway—vampire here. I’m s’posed to be treadin’ on the dark side. What’s your excuse?”

Buffy flashed him a grin. “I think you’ve corrupted me.”

“Yeah.” Spike dropped a kiss to her forehead. “Sounds like somethin’ I’d do.”

There wasn’t a man alive—or undead for that matter—that didn’t get hard at the sight of his girl wearing his clothes. Spike was no exception, and the fact that Peaches would appreciate the gesture like a kick to the happy-sacks only made it all the more delicious.

This’ll serve the wanker right for taunting me with Dru all those years, thought Spike as he watched Buffy settle into the duster, unconsciously snuggling into it, and inhaling the scent of worn leather. “I’m never gettin’ that thing back am I?”

She glanced up shyly, as if she’d been caught doing something improper, and the image of child-like innocence damn near floored him.

“I thought you said it looked better on me?”

Spike sniggered. “No arguments here, sweetheart.”

“Do you want to hear a secret?” Buffy stepped forward, her hands splayed against Spike’s stomach, as she whispered her words against his ear. “The first time I saw you—in the alley behind the Bronze—I remember thinking, who’s the hottie in the cool coat?”

A contented purr rumbled through his chest. “So you had your mind squarely on the job then?”

“Uh-huh.” Buffy nodded as a slight pout formed on her lips. “And then you were all about the vague threats and being a general pain in my ass. When I realised you were a vampire I felt...”

“Hmm?”

“Disappointed.” Buffy giggled as his surprised gasp tickled her neck. “Not that it would’ve stopped me from turning you into itty bitty pieces of vamp dust, but yeah... for a second there was definite mopeage.”

Spike was staggered by her admission, but rather than start to ramble like a ponce, he fixed a trademark smirk on his lips, hoping to safeguard his emotions. “Aww, pet, I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be.” She pulled back to playfully poke him in chest with her index finger. “As always, you opened your big mouth, words came out... and by the time you’d launched into the I’m-gonna-kill-you rhetoric, the warm fuzzies were forgotten.”

Grasping her by the arms, Spike returned his lips to her fluttering pulse point. “What can I tell you, baby?” he muttered against her neck. “I’ve always been bad...Though if I’d known the coat got you all hot an’ bothered I’d have used it to my advantage long ago.” His hands coasted over the smooth leather, finally coming to rest at her hips. “You have no idea the dreams I’ve had starrin’ me, you an’ that duster.”

Buffy grinned. “Really? So I’m not the only one with the leather fetish?”

Bloody hell, thought Spike, as the image of a leather-clad slayer almost brought him to his knees. I wager my girl’s got a dominatrix streak just waitin’ to be unleashed.

“Oh, kitten,” he replied. “You name it, I’ve imagined it.”

Buffy’s hands travelled to his belt buckle, her fingers dipping behind denim and cotton to graze against his bare stomach. “Play your cards right,” she said, nibbling against his siring mark, “and we’ll see about making some of those dreams come true.”

Jesus Christ, this girl was going to kill him. If he got any harder he’d be risking permanent damage, and Spike didn’t fancy the idea of buggering up his sex life before it’d even begun. Swallowing hard, he reluctantly eased Buffy away from his neck, but apparently his traitorous hands missed the memo, and were intent on tangling themselves in her hair.

“Right then,” he replied, torn between pulling her closer and urging her back. “You’d better run along an’ tell Peaches to toddle off on his not-so-merry way.”

Buffy frowned. “Somehow I doubt it’ll be that simple.”

“Just tell him he’s standin’ in the way of the best shag of your life.”

“Spike!”

“Yeah, you’ll be screamin’ that a lot too.”

“Oh my God!” Buffy marvelled at his ability to shock her even after all these years. “Has anyone ever mentioned you have the tact of a Polgara demon?”

Chuckling darkly, Spike flashed his best shit-eating grin. “Can’t help it, love. I’m a bad, rude man.”

Oh well, Buffy thought, at least he’s smiling again. Time had accustomed her to Spike’s mercurial mood swings, and as the chosen guardian of all things Hellmouthy, she was more than equipped to manage one PMS-ing vampire when necessary.

“Remind me again why I put up with you?” she asked, rolling her eyes in mock disapproval.

Spike’s tongue flicked over his teeth. “Cause you love me?” There was such liberation to be found in those words, that he couldn’t help pulling her into a quick kiss. “An’ I’m the only bloke that can handle a woman like you.”

One eyebrow raised in response as Buffy adopted the worst British accent Spike had ever heard. “Well you always said I had bleedin’ tragic taste in men.”

“Oi!” he cried. “I don’ bloody well sound like that!”

Buffy burst into fits of giggles at his indignant expression. “Oh please,” she said wiping the tears from her eyes. “All I ever hear from you is bugger this, or bollocks that. Things would be a lot easier if you just spoke—”

“English?”

She blushed. “Shut up.”

They both knew they were postponing the inevitable, and so with one final kiss, Buffy pulled away from his arms. “I won’t be long.” Was she saying it for Spike’s benefit or her own? Either way, the words did little to diminish the tension in her vampire’s body as she headed towards the door. Loitering on the threshold, afraid of what was to come; Buffy couldn’t help glancing back over her shoulder. “Five minutes,” she repeated. “And when I get back, I promise you can shag me rotten.”

As Spike’s chuckle echoed behind her, Buffy pushed open the door and stepped into the night. Shrouded in the protective armour of the duster, and reassured by its familiar scent, she set forth, intent on diffusing the wrath of her damage-bound ex-boyfriend. She wasn’t stupid. Six years of slaying had ensured Buffy never went anywhere unarmed.

She just hoped the stake in her boot would prove excessive.

“You’re covered in his scent.”

There was an edge to Angel’s voice that made Buffy falter in her step. Like a phantom, he emerged from the shadows of a derelict tomb, and erring on the side of caution, the Slayer halted at a safe distance, resting her arms at her side. If Angel wanted to try something stupid she’d be ready for him—whether he’d be ready for her was a different matter. His eyes hardened as he swept his gaze over her duster-covered body, and Buffy struggled to hide her discomfort at the obtrusive act.

“Okay,” she said, watching him warily. “Just for the record—the whole vamp smelling thing, really gives me the wiggins.”

Angel didn’t even blink. “Have you—”

“Don’t!” Irritated by his attitude, Buffy’s defences were running at an all-time high. She tightened her stance, swallowing hard in an effort to clear the sudden lump in her throat. “I’m not going to answer that question, because quite frankly, your continued interest in my personal life is beyond creepy. I’m capable of making my own choices, Angel. And if that choice happens to involve Spike—that’s your business, how?”

“He can’t love you without a soul, Buffy.”

“No, Angel. You couldn’t love me without the soul; Spike is more than capable of it.” She took a deep breath, hoping to calm her erratic heart rate. “I’m through being told what to think by you and the Council. The truth is you didn’t love me enough to stick around—to fight for us when things got tough. Well you know what? Soulless he may be, but Spike can love. He loved Drusilla—loved her for over a century—you can’t even try to deny that.”

“Buffy—”

“You can’t keep doing this, Angel. In case you’ve forgotten, you walked out of my life, and you lost any say in how I live it the moment you did. You can’t keep coming back and interfering whenever I do something you don’t approve of!”

Indignant, Angel threw his arms into the air as he stalked forward. “That’s not what this is about,” he replied, intruding into her personal space. “I’m not just going to stand by and watch you get hurt!”

Well, that’ll be a first, Mr. Bearer-of-cryptic-doom.

Folding her arms defensively, Buffy straightened her back and refused to back down from his looming presence. “Oh, please,” she said, proud of the evenness in her voice despite the quivering in her limbs. “The only reason you’re here is because you're jealous.”

Angel baulked. “That’s not true. Jealousy has nothing to do with this, and you know it. Spike is dangerous, Buffy. You’re vulnerable right now and he’s twisting your mind—putting ideas in your head. I’m only looking out for you here.”

“I don’t need you to look out for me, Angel. Why are you not getting this?”

Good Lord, it’s like talking to a brick wall.

Buffy knew that things were of the wacky if she was channelling her inner-Giles. Had it always been like this? They say that time views the past with rose-tinted glasses—and yes, Buffy knew she’d loved him once—but she was becoming increasingly certain that the owner of her teenage heart was as undeserving of her affections as the two men that followed.

“I swear to God, Angel, if you start with the ‘it’s for my own good’ speech…” Buffy’s words ended on a sigh as she pinched the bridge of her nose, hoping to avert the headache that was beginning to pulse behind her eyes. “How many times do I have to say it?”

Glowering, Angel folded his arms across his chest. “Until I believe it.”

His eyes smouldered with fierce intensity, and Buffy froze at the sheer conviction in his voice. “I don’t owe you anything, Angel. Spike is—”

“Believe me,” Angel’s eyes narrowed to slits, as he spat the words with such force that the Slayer felt a sliver of fear race up her spine, “I’m perfectly aware of what Spike is!” Instinctively, Buffy’s thoughts leapt to the stake in her boot as Angel began to pace, seemingly ignorant of the potential threat to his undead status. “He’s soulless and—how did this even happen?” He turned to face her, his cool composure long since replaced by a mask of confusion. “This isn’t what I wanted for you. You were supposed to find a normal guy.”

“And to hell with what I want, huh? Newsflash, Angel. I’m not normal. I will never be normal. I gave it a shot and do you know what I found?”

“What?”

“Normal isn’t enough for me. I was fooling myself with Riley, and the worst part?—I knew it right from the start. That normal life you’re so fond of... it doesn’t exist. Demons, bloodshed, stopping the next whack job who tries to jump-start an apocalypse—that is my normality... and nothing I can do will ever change that.”

Angel’s gaze fell to the ground. “Why him?” he asked after a long beat. “I can understand why you fell for me but—”

“Oh my God!” Buffy stared at him in disbelief. “Arrogant much?”

“I won't lose you to him.”

Buffy’s patience was wearing thin, and she couldn’t help thinking they were going around in circles. Maybe Spike’s not-so-subtle approach was worth considering after all. “You didn't lose me, Angel,” she replied after a calming breath. “You abandoned me. Spike didn't. He stuck by my side and never gave up. Even though I’ve been a total bitch to him, he’s been there for me and Dawn.”

With each word out of her mouth, Angel could feel his long-held aspirations slipping further out of his grasp. Buffy was carrying herself with a newfound confidence—a determination that he’d rarely glimpsed in the past—and Angel flinched at the certainty behind each accusation. Given time, maybe he could accept that his destiny wasn’t as foregone as he’d believed. Maybe he could accept that their lives were indeed fated for two separate paths—but he’d be damned all over again if he let Buffy’s journey end at Spike’s door.

“This is just a game to him,” Angel said, stepping forward so that Buffy had to crane her neck to look at him. “He’s playing with your emotions—taking advantage of your weaknesses. Clearly he’s good at it if you’ve developed... an attachment... but don’t kid yourself that it’s anything more than a ploy to drag you down to his level.”

Okay. Be kind. Rewind.

Was that acceptance in his eyes? Was Angel finally grasping the fact that her feelings were real? Buffy supposed it was a start... even if he did think she was of the massively confused and brainwashed. Stealing herself for the potential return of caveman vamp, the Slayer clenched her fists and met his stormy gaze.

“I’m not weak, Angel... not anymore.” Her breaths were coming in rapid bursts, and it was all she could do not to walk away and leave him to his delusions. “If anything, Spike makes me feel strong. He helps me. He listens to me. He holds me when it all becomes too much... and do you know what? He makes me feel alive.” Buffy paused just long enough to let her words settle between them. “And that’s something that nobody else was able to do.”

Angel frowned as she backed away, obviously uncomfortable with his close proximity. “You could have come to me,” he whispered. “If you’d let me help you, I could have—”

“It wouldn’t have been the same.” Shaking her head, Buffy stopped pacing and turned towards him. “I’m not the same girl you knew, Angel. I’ve grown up—I had to. I’m sorry if that hurts you, but you need to take me down off that pedestal. I’m not perfect... nobody is.”

Whether it was deliberate, or purely subconscious, Angel didn’t miss Buffy’s sideways glance towards the crypt with those last whispered words. “What if his chip stops working?” he asked. “Have you thought of that?” Angel’s gaze was fixed on the home of his pain-in-the-ass grandchilde, and once again missed the dangerous glint in the young woman’s eyes. “One day Spike will get bored of behaving himself. He’ll turn on you without a second thought. What happens then, Buffy?”

“Well, for one thing I doubt the good folks of Sunnydale will need to lock up their goldfish.” The retort was through her lips before she knew it. “I’m sure the local pet shops will breathe a huge sigh of relief.”

“I’m serious!” If the furrowed forehead didn’t underline his complete lack of fun-having, the puppy dog eyes sure did. “He's not good for you. He’ll only hurt you in the long run.”

Hello, pot. Meet, Kettle.

Buffy was furious. She’d spent far too much time justifying herself today, and she was damned sick of having her relationship judged by people with no business casting stones. “Why are you still under the delusion that I need to be protected?” she asked, crossing her arms and standing at her full not-so-intimidating height. “Seriously, Angel, what gives you the right to question my decisions?”

Sighing, Angel ran his hand over his hair as his frustration simmered to melting point. “Buffy, you don't know the things Spike’s done—what’s he’s capable of... I’ve seen it. Hell, I've lived it.”

“Yeah?” Buffy raised an eyebrow. “And where did he learn it, huh? You taught him how to be a vampire, Angel. You moulded him to your image—tried to make him just like you... Well it didn’t work.” She released a shuddering breath then tilted her head back to watch the starlit panorama above. “Don't you think I've asked myself the same questions?” she said, never once lowering her gaze. “Sure, the chip stops him from hurting humans, but so what? Spike’s not stupid. If he really wanted to, he’d have found a way around it. If he wanted his meals fresh from the tap, he could have left with Drusilla. But no—he stayed. He protected me and Dawn when he didn’t have to. He withstood torture to keep our secret. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

As her voice began to crack under the raw strain of emotion, Buffy turned to face him with a look of sheer determination on her features. “You only see things the way you want to see them,” she whispered. “It’s not just about the chip, Angel. Spike’s changed. He changed for me… maybe you couldn’t, but he did.” Tears sprang to her eyes as a rueful smile formed on her lips. “I didn’t want to admit it. I tried to ignore him—pretend he was just another vampire—but it’s true. Spike’s different. I should have realized it the minute he came to me for help against you and your stupid rock.”

Angel’s eyes flashed to feral amber. “You can’t be serious?” he said, nostrils flaring as his lips curled into a sneer. “If I didn’t know first-hand of Spike’s limitations I’d say he had you under a thrall.”

“And I’d be forced to say that you’re as clueless as Xander!” Buffy replied heatedly. They stood rooted to the spot, gazes locked, as both refused to back down. After countless seconds, the tense silence was broken by a howling gust of wind, and Buffy used the opportunity to step back and perform a cursory sweep of her surroundings. “Were you always this much of a control freak, or was I just too blinded to see it?”

“I helped you.”

“No, you told me what to do. That’s not the same thing.” Buffy took a deep breath as she attempted to rein in her disorderly emotions. “You were all about the cryptic messages, and doing things for my own good. You never asked my opinion, or listened to what I wanted.”

Angel scoffed. “And you think Spike does?”

"I know he does.”

“Buffy—”

“You know what?” Enough was enough, and the Slayer had better places to be. “For someone who has so much to say, you don’t have anything I want to hear. Spike may not be perfect, but neither am I, and he loves me anyway...” Buffy could almost feel that pedestal toppling beneath her as she uttered the final death knoll to Angel’s misguided dreams, “...and I love him too.”

With a ferocious roar, Angel morphed into his demonic facade and turned towards the crypt. “I'll kill him,” he snarled around glinting fangs, only to find himself spun around by the arm when he attempted to move towards the shadowy residence. Stunned, he shook off his game face and stared down at the petite blonde blocking his path, her stake poised in mid-air.

“Don’t even think about hurting him,” Buffy said in a deadly whisper. “I've killed you before, Angel, and I loved you at the time. If you harm Spike in any way, I won’t think twice about doing it again.”

It was clear by her tone that she was serious, and Angel brought his hands up as he slowly backed away. “The things you’re saying... the way you’re acting...” He trailed off, shaking his head in resigned acceptance. “You’re not the Buffy I fell in love with.”

“No, I’m not,” she replied. “The Buffy you fell in love with doesn’t exist anymore. She grew up, and you’re in love with the naïve little girl you still think I am.” Gathering her resolve, Buffy lowered her stake, refusing to be swayed by the anguish in his eyes. “You don’t know the real me, Angel. I'm bitchy and hormonal, completely neurotic, and impossible to live with… but you know what? That’s just me… and Spike loves me for it.”

Angel’s lips pressed into a tight line. “You’re right,” he said, his voice cold and detached. “I don’t know you anymore.”

“I don’t think you ever did.” Buffy heaved a heavy sigh, and offered him a conciliatory smile. “Look, if there’s an apocalypse, pick up the phone, otherwise we’re done here. There’s too much history between the three of us, and you showing up unannounced doesn’t help anybody. I love Spike, and I’m not gonna hurt him anymore... I’m done with that.”

Buffy’s hands fell to the small of her back, and her brow furrowed as she felt an irregular protrusion pressing through the soft leather of the duster. Suddenly remembering Willow’s spell, she removed the silver necklace from the pocket of her skirt, giving it one last thoughtful look before tossing it in Angel’s direction. “Catch.”

His hand shot out, deftly catching it by the chain and avoiding the decorative cross. “This was a gift,” he whispered. “I want you to have it—to keep you safe.”

A telling smile lit up Buffy’s face as she glanced back over her shoulder. “I won’t need it anymore,” she said, holding her hand up to silence the reply that danced on her ex’s lips. “Goodbye, Angel.” Without another word the vampire turned, disappearing into the night from whence he came, and Buffy felt almost giddy as she made her way back to the crypt, and the man she loved.

What the hell did I ever see in him?

Buffy shook her head as she closed the heavy door behind her. Why had she wasted so much time pining after a man who had zero respect for her abilities as a slayer—let alone that of the woman? It was a relief to know that Spike understood her. That this man who touched her on so many different levels, loved her for both who, and what she was... not in spite of it. He always seemed to know what she needed, even when most of the time she didn't know herself. Spike didn’t think she needed protecting. Spike was a man who thought—

Buffy froze.

...who thought he didn’t deserve her.

The grating sound of a rusty hinge echoed throughout the chamber, as the top of Spike’s bleached head emerged from the lower level. “Did you send the big git packin’?” he asked, hauling himself upwards and studying her intently. Buffy had yet to acknowledge his presence, and her continued silence was making him nervous. “Sweetheart?”

Distracted, Buffy’s eyes narrowed at the memory of his admission. “You're a doof.”

Spike stiffened at her matter-of-fact tone. “Excuse me?”

“You heard.” Buffy folded her arms, tapping her foot impatiently as he struggled to pinpoint the source of her irritation. “You’re a doof, and—Hey! Look at me, you big, dumb... guy.”

Incredulous, Spike returned her glare. “Oh that’s nice, that is. How long did it take to come up with that sterling insult?” In the seemingly endless minutes since Buffy’s departure, Spike had tortured himself with mutinous thoughts of what was happening outside his crypt, and despite the underlying knowledge that his girl would stay true, her current disposition was doing little to alleviate his unease. “What’s crawled up your arse?”

Swallowing her frustration, Buffy strode forwards and took his face between her palms. The flames of desire raged in his eyes, but beneath them lay the fraught and uncertain confirmation that he still thought himself unworthy of her love. “You said you didn't deserve me,” she whispered, running her thumbs over his cheekbones. “You said—”

“I don't.”

“Spike—”

“Kitten, please... just hear me out.” With trembling hands he removed Buffy’s palms from his face, holding them in a loose grip between their bodies. "I can't change the past, love. It’s there—it happened...and I can't pretend it didn't.” Spike’s head hung low, his gaze, fixed on their entwined fingers. “I became a vampire, and I killed people,” he said, squeezing gently when he felt Buffy start at his blunt tone. “A lot of bloody people, an’ no amount of wishful thinkin’ is gonna change that. We’ve got a rough history, you an’ I—don’ forget, I had my fair share of appearances in tonight’s little show an’ tell.”

Her heart aching, Buffy sighed as she stepped forward, closing the gap between them. “That’s true,” she whispered, “but did you see me crying over anything you’ve done to me?” Spike’s brow knitted into a quizzical frown, and tilting her head to the side, Buffy offered him a gentle smile. “I hate to burst your bubble, Big Bad, but other than ruin parent teacher night and insult my taste in men, you’ve never really hurt me that badly. I’ve been betrayed by my friends—the people I trusted... but you? You were always upfront. You either hated me or loved me. I didn’t have to worry about a hidden agenda.” She paused. “Well... apart from that whole Adam business...”

Spike grimaced at the memory. “What can I tell you, pet? I was an idiot.”

“Was?”

“Watch it, Summers.” The idle threat was lacking in its usual panache, and releasing her hands, Spike’s palms settled over Buffy’s hips as he looked her square in the eye. “I love you,” he said. “I love your kindness and your strength. I love the way you never give up... even when you’re bein’ so bloody stubborn it makes me wanna knock some sense into you.” Spike paused, swallowing hard past the lump in his throat. “You're a hell of a woman, Buffy, but I’m not blind. I know what I am. Lovin’ you has changed me, but when all’s said an’ done, I’m still the monster that lurks in the shadows.”

Even if he lived to be a thousand, Spike would never admit to sharing some of Peaches concerns. Despite his newly acquired less-than-evil perspective, he was, after all, still a demon. He wanted to be a man worthy of Buffy’s love, but similarly, he wanted acceptance for the fundamental things about himself that he couldn't change.

“I've seen things you couldn't imagine, and done things I prefer you didn't. Sweetheart, I...”

His voice broke as Buffy brushed a lingering kiss across his cheek. “I know who you are, Spike,” she whispered in the air between them. “You’re brave, and you’re loyal... and you’d do anything for the people you love.” She pulled back to meet his disbelieving gaze. “You are so much more than just another vampire.”

“Buffy—”

“And don't make me out to be a martyr here. I'm not perfect... far from it. You more than anyone should know what a complete bitch I can be.” Her words earned a slight smile, and encouraged, she continued. “We’ve both made mistakes.”

Spike sighed. “Probably gonna make a lot more of ‘em too.” He searched her face, finally losing himself in the trust he saw behind Buffy’s eyes. “I don't exactly have a reputation for being a thinker,” he said. “I follow my blood, which doesn't exactly rush in the direction of my brain. I’m impulsive, so I make a lot of wrong bloody calls, but I promise you, love, I’m not gonna bugger this up.” Leaning down, he rested his forehead against hers. “I can’t lose you... not now that I’ve finally found you.”

“You won’t.” Buffy blinked back her tears. “This is where I want to be.”

Overwhelmed, Spike tucked an errant blonde lock behind her ear. “How went the chat with Tall, Dark and Forehead?” he asked, eager to steer the topic of conversation away from his supreme poncyness.

“Pretty much what I expected. Spike evil, Buffy confused, blah, blah, blah.” The Slayer looked up, her eyes shining as a wicked smirk curled her lips. “I think I may have slipped a few notches down that pedestal.”

“I bet you did.” A wave of pride swept over him at Buffy’s triumph. “Wish I could’ve seen the look on his face when you set him straight.”

Sobering, Buffy glanced away shyly, before returning his gaze. “I need to ask you something,” she said in a tone that was equal parts hesitant and apologetic. “What would—I mean...” Buffy sighed, exasperated at the need to voice her concerns. “Spike, what would you do if the chip stopped working?”

The silence was deafening. Tilting his head, Spike’s all-too-knowing gaze saw straight through her. “You want to know if I’d start feedin’ again.” His eyes narrowed as anger washed over his features. “You want to know if I’d hurt you?”

“No,” she replied instantly. “No, but—”

“Bloody hell, Buffy.” Spike pulled away from the embrace, growling, as he paced across the darkened room. “I’m not a complete dolt. I know the difference between right and wrong, okay? It just didn’t matter to me before.” He turned to face her, his arms folded as he leant back against the sarcophagus. “Do you honestly think that I’d throw all this away, if snackin’ on co-eds was back on the menu?” Spike’s body was rigid with tension, and gesturing wildly, he didn’t give Buffy the chance to respond. “You said I had your trust, and believe it or not, that means everythin’ to me. This chip could pack up tomorrow and it won’t make a blind bit of difference. I wouldn’t start killin’ again ‘cause it would hurt you. End of soddin’ story.”

Driven by the need to soothe his wounded pride, Buffy moved to stand before him, gingerly reaching out to place a hand on his arm. “I never doubted that you would hurt me,” she whispered. “Not for a second. I just—I needed to hear you say it... I’m sorry.”

Spike sighed as he begrudgingly accepted her apology. “I swear to you, love, chip or no chip, humans are off limits. I wouldn’t lay a fang on anyone unless...”

“Unless?” Buffy held her breath as she waited for Spike to elaborate.

“I won’t lie to you, kitten. When it comes to protectin’ you or the Niblet, then all bets are off. I’ll fight to the end for you—both of you. An’ if any bugger tries to hurt my girls, I’ll tear ‘em limb from limb. Demon or human—it won’t make a lick of difference when it comes to your safety.”

Spike was so incensed by the idea that the overgrown sod had planted seeds of doubt in Buffy’s mind, that he was barely registering the fact that it hadn’t worked. “So,” he said, tamping down the urge to hunt Angel down and add a little injury to insult. “Was that his grand plan? Tryin’ to make you doubt me?” His demon threatened to surface as years of pent-up resentment raced through his veins. “Arrogant prat thinks the whole world revolves around his enormous soddin’ forehead. After all this time, the bloody git still doesn’t realise I’m not like him. Just ‘cause he’s too weak to control his demon, doesn’t mean I can’t.”

“I know,” Buffy’s hands slid to his wrists, encouraging him to relax his stance, “I believe you.” Releasing an unsteady breath, she placed her palms in his and rubbed her thumbs over his cool, roughened skin. “Look, what do you say we hightail it over that bridge when we come to it?” she asked, and grateful for the out, Spike nodded his agreement. A dark cloud had settled over their evening, and Buffy sighed at the disheartening turn of events. “Wow, Angel really knows how to spoil the mood, doesn’t he?”

Spike cocked his head to the side. It would take more than a visit from his poncy grandpap to ruin his hard-earned plans. “Oh, pouty,” he said, tangling his fingers in Buffy’s hair, as a dark hunger stormed in his eyes. “Look at that lip.”

She grinned, encouraged by his playful manner. “You gonna get it?”

Exhaling softly, Spike dropped his arm to Buffy’s waist. “Are you sure?” he whispered, all traces of humour gone in an instant. “If we do this, I’ll never let you go. This is it for me. You’re it for me. Slayer... Buffy, you’re the one.”

For endless seconds she stared into his eyes—tearful, dumbstruck—in awe of the raw emotion that overwhelmed her. “Nobody’s ever made me feel the way you do.”

Spike shrugged, unrepentant. “That’s because nobody’s ever loved you the way I do. When a vampire falls in love, the woman becomes everythin’—his reason for bein’. You’re more important than my demon, more vital than the blood, an’ I’m gonna sound like a right poof for sayin’ this, but when I fell in love with you, I knew it was forever.” His grip tightened as he pulled her flush against his body. “No one’s ever taken me up like you have... I love you, Buffy.”

“I love you too.” Suddenly the words were no longer enough. She was never any good with them anyway, and Buffy decided she would much rather show him. Glancing up, she allowed a wicked smirk to dance on her lips, as she wound her fingers through his gel-slicked curls. “Now shut up and kiss me... you big poof.”

“Bossy bint.”

Spike growled in triumph as his lips melded to hers, his tongue seeking entrance as he stole the breath from her lungs. Impatiently, his hands wandered to the firm muscles of Buffy’s thighs, lifting her up, so that she had no choice but to wrap her legs around his waist as he guided her towards the lower level.

Blunt teeth nipped at her ear lobe, and Spike’s voice was a sensual purr—promising, teasing—burning through her veins. “Come with me,” he rumbled against her throat as he effortlessly dropped through the hatch, and Buffy couldn’t help thinking that if he did it again, she probably would.

Clearly, Spike had been busy during her absence. The sheets adorning his bed were now a deep scarlet, and a sultry, golden glow pervaded the chamber due to an impressive array of candles and tea lights. Buffy gasped at the unexpected sight, and Spike lowered her to her feet—riddled by insecurity—as she surveyed his grand romantic gesture. Admittedly, it was a right poncy thing for him to do, but he hoped his girl would appreciate the sentiment, and not laugh him out of the building like he probably deserved.

“Oh my God,” Buffy whispered, bringing a hand to her mouth. “It’s—I... You did all this for me?”

Spike rolled his eyes, smiling at the woman who’d unwittingly wrapped his undead heart around her little finger. Overcome, he gathered Buffy in his arms and lifted her up, pressing her against the nearest wall. “Wanted it to be special,” he muttered, planting a series of kisses along her neck as his hands worked to slip the duster off her shoulders. Buffy’s legs were anchored around his hips, and as Spike endeavoured to free her arms, his mouth was at her ear, whispering seductively of all the ways he planned on making her his. Again and again and again…

“I want to make love to you.” Forgotten, the coat dropped to the floor, and Spike’s hands travelled to Buffy’s waist, his pale fingers spanning out over the tanned skin of her stomach as his lips brushed over her fluttering pulse point. “Gonna kiss every inch of your body,” he promised. “Want to taste you on my tongue ‘til you’re beggin’ to have me inside… an’ then I want to feel you tremble as I slide my cock into your juicy little quim.”

“Oh god.” Brain melting now... Buffy shivered as Spike nipped at her ear, his sinful tongue dancing patterns over the fleshy lobe. “I’m not the—ah... begging kind,” she gasped, even as her body seemed hell-bent on proving otherwise.

Each whimper and moan was music to Spike’s ears, and a dark chuckle rumbled between them as Buffy grasped desperately at his hair, shivering in his arms. “We’ll see,” he whispered, laving his tongue along the column of her neck. “Either way, you’ll be screamin’ my name when I make you see the stars.”

With a renewed sense of urgency, Spike ran his hands up Buffy’s torso. His fingers were clumsy and awkward as he struggled to remove her top, and in his haste to sample the golden skin hidden from his view, Spike tugged impatiently at the hem, causing the buttons to fly off in several directions. A heady groan fell from Buffy’s lips, and the vampire stole another kiss as her satin-clad breasts were revealed to his hungry perusal.

The way his eyes travelled over her semi-nude form made Buffy feel desirable in a way she never had before, and she squealed in surprise when Spike spun them around and lowered her to the bed, where she landed with a bump.

“Impulsive, huh?”

With a tell-tale smirk, he quickly removed her affordable, yet oh-so-stylish boots, and Buffy giggled as he prowled up the bed with a sleek, feline, grace. “An’ don’t you forget it.” Spike settled between her legs. The image of his girl laid out before him was enough to inspire volumes of badly written poetry.

Rising up on her forearms, Buffy eased herself further up the bed. Her hair tumbled over the pillow like a silken halo, and as Spike raked his eyes over her body in a slow, deliberate caress, she swore that she could feel his touch on her flushed skin.

“What are you thinking?” she whispered.

Spike smiled—an easy, slow-born smile that lit up his eyes, and lent his features a boyish charm. “I’m thinkin’,” he replied, trailing a finger across her cheek, “that you look like an angel spread out before me. Everythin’ I want... everythin’ I’ll ever need...” His other hand swept through Buffy’s hair, teasing out the separate strands as his fingertips ghosted across her mouth. “An’ I can’t believe you’re really mine.”

Buffy studied the openness on his face. The pleasure Spike found in the simple act of touching her was evident in the softening of his sharp features, and when she parted her lips to nip at his exploring digits, a guttural growl rumbled from deep in his throat. “Make love to me,” she whispered, eager to experience first-hand the sinful promises her vampire had sworn against her heated skin.

Never one to refuse a lady, Spike cradled her cheeks between his palms and brushed a feather-light kiss across her lips. He refused to break eye contact, enraptured as he was, by the stormy clouds of arousal which were no doubt mirrored in his own impassioned gaze. Buffy’s pulse quickened and he gradually increased the pressure, running his tongue along the seam of her mouth as he sought entry. Her lips parted on a sigh, and Spike nipped at the tender flesh before snaking out his tongue to explore her mouth in a slow, tortuous kiss.

The rest of the world fell away as they lost themselves in the steady rhythm of their embrace. Soft murmurs and whispered praises filled the air as Spike’s hands scaled down her body—each light touch and delicate caress bringing another of Buffy’s ingrained defences crashing to the ground, leaving her exposed and vulnerable in his arms.

“You taste so good, love,” he muttered, placing a series of butterfly kisses along her collarbone. With practiced ease, Spike’s hands slipped beneath her back, unclasped her bra, and drew it down her arms before Buffy had the chance to realize his intentions. A heated moan tore from her lips as he sucked a nipple between his teeth, and Spike swore that from this moment on, his sole purpose in unlife would be to cause her to make that sound as often as possible.

Eagerly, the Slayer’s legs wound around his waist, her hands sliding over the sinewy muscle confined under a layer of black cotton. Desperate to feel his bare skin, Buffy clawed the t-shirt up Spike’s back, and reluctantly, he pulled away from her breasts to tug the offending item over his head. A wealth of fantasies blossomed into reality, and Spike’s hands trembled as they fell to Buffy’s hips, where he swiftly drew down the zip, and eased the skirt down her legs.

Her last remaining item of clothing was tossed unceremoniously towards the shadows, and Buffy slammed her eyes shut as a wave of self-consciousness threatened to consume her. The crypt was silent, save for her ragged breaths, and summoning her courage, the Slayer forced herself to crack open an eyelid and face the inevitable. She was met by the raised eyebrow and cocky grin from the vampire kneeling between her thighs, and feeling defensive, Buffy began to squirm under his penetrating gaze.

“Are you just gonna stare at me all night?”

Spike chuckled. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

Too bloody right he was gonna stare at her. The Aphrodite of his dreams was here, in his arms—in his bed—and he was duty bound to savour every moment.

Buffy was unaccustomed to such intense scrutiny, and the way Spike’s tongue slid out to wet his bottom lip made her feel like she was a meal to be devoured. A feast for a starving man. And she supposed in many ways she was. It was funny how a pair of fangs had never inspired anything more than abject terror, but the thought of sharing that part of herself with Spike—willingly, and not through necessity or fear—made her long to feel those ivory incisors sink into her vulnerable flesh. Shaking off the thought, Buffy moved to cover herself when his silent appraisal became too much to bear.

“Ah-ah. None of that now.” Spike grasped her by the wrists, smiling gently as he placed a kiss to each palm and raised them to the pillow beside her head. “You’re beautiful, love. Let me see you.” Once again, his gaze swept over her with such blatancy that it made her blush. Unapologetically, Spike drank in every line and curve, nevertheless, his eyes softened as they finally settled on her anxious face. “Bloody perfect, you are.”

“Perfect?” Buffy frowned. “I thought I was done with that pedestal.”

“Perfect for me.” He leaned forward to cover her mouth in an ardent kiss. “Buffy...” Her name was a whispered prayer, and Spike’s hands ran over her body with such gentle reverence that she wanted to weep. “God, Buffy... the things you do to me.”

The time for teasing was at an end, and Spike sighed in awe as he moved further down her slender form, leaving a trail of lazy kisses in his wake. Inhaling deeply, his senses were assaulted by the wondrously complex scent of Buffy’s arousal, and as his hand drifted over her thigh, he couldn’t help wondering what he’d done to deserve this precious gift from heaven—how it was possible that a sinner such as he, could find an angel lying in his arms.

Unhurriedly, Spike’s fingers slipped between her legs, gathering up the evidence of Buffy’s desire, and spreading it over her engorged clit. “Are you always this wet for me?” he asked, silencing the voice in his head telling him to take what was his. As much as he wanted to bury himself inside her welcoming body, Spike wasn’t about to rush ahead and cut short the best sexual experience of his existence—and that was saying something.

Reaching up, he brought one of Buffy’s hands to his lips, absent-mindedly stroking it with his thumb. “Do you think of me when you’re lyin’ in bed at night?” he whispered, eyes darting between her face and the delicate hand in his grasp. “Tell me, kitten, have you ever used these fingers to get yourself off? Wishin’ it was me—wishin’ I was there to catch you when you came with my name on your lips?”

“Spike, I—I...” Can’t form a decent sentence obviously...

Luckily, her vampire appeared to be fluent in the pleasured groans of half-coherent women—a thought that both thrilled Buffy to the core, and brought the green-eyed monster surging to the surface. “I want to watch.” Spike uncurled her fingers and placed them over her throbbing clit. “Next time,” he said, guiding her in a leisurely pattern of flicks and half-circles, “I want you to show me. Can you do that, love?” He chuckled at the adorable look of panic that blossomed on Buffy’s face, before her eyes lit up with defiance, and she leaned up to nip at his earlobe.

“Only if you’ll show me too.”

God, he loved this woman. Spike decided that it’d been too long since he’d tasted Buffy’s kiss on his lips, and quickly remedying the situation, he slid two fingers inside her slick channel. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, swallowing her surprised gasp. “I knew... I knew you'd be hot but... bloody hell...”

As Spike’s thumb brushed away her own soaked digits, Buffy couldn’t help noticing that he was the first lover to even attempt to find her clit, yet alone know what it was for. Breathless, she writhed beneath him, fingernails scoring down his back as she cursed his jeans for preventing her continued exploration of his ‘tight little body’.

“Does that feel good, pet?” He pulled back, allowing her to draw in a ragged breath. “I want to taste you—bury my face in your hot little quim... lick and suck that hidden pearl ‘til you come in my mouth.” Spike grinned against Buffy’s neck when he felt her pulse race beneath his lips. “You like that, don’t you? You like imaginin’ my head between your legs... such a naughty little girl, you are.”

His gentle ministrations were a stark contrast to the words of filth he whispered in her ear, and the Slayer found herself quickly spiralling towards release. Sensing her impending orgasm, Spike entered a third finger into her snug passage, and a womanly moan filled the room as she trembled in his arms.

“That’s it, pet... so bleedin’ beautiful.” He doubled his efforts, flicking her clit in rapid succession. “Jus’ focus on that feelin’—that ache that’s buildin’ inside you. I want you to come for me, Buffy, an’ I want you to scream my name when you do.”

“Oh god... ”

“Do you love this? Do you love what I do to you—the things I make you feel?”

“Yes, I—I...” Buffy gasped, unconsciously grinding herself harder against his hand. “Spike, please...” She was close. So close, and it wouldn’t take much to send her soaring over that precipice.

Her internal muscles began to flutter, and Spike buried his face in her shoulder, giving her clit a brutal twist. “I love you, Buffy.” White lights flashed behind the Slayer’s eyes as her fingers clenched in his hair, no doubt pulling a few out by the roots. Gasping, she keened against him, Spike’s name echoing throughout the room as her climax ripped through her over-sensitised body.

“That's my girl.” Spike chuckled against her neck, carefully withdrawing his hand from between her legs. “You’re drenched, kitten,” he said, moving down her body and resting his chin on her stomach. “Are you gonna let your Spike have a taste?” Without waiting for a response, he swiped his tongue over her glistening pussy, groaning throatily, as he savoured the ambrosia of her spendings.

“Spike, please...” Buffy’s breathing was laboured as he positioned her leg over his shoulder. “I need—”

Grinning, he ghosted a kiss across her thigh. “What is it that you need, pet? Talk to me. Tell daddy what you want.”

“You.” Her body arched in unspoken offering. “Just... please...”

A devilish smirk curled Spike’s lips as he leaned in to trace his tongue along her folds, never exerting enough pressure to satisfy her demands. “Such a pretty little quim,” he said, blowing a cool stream of air against her heated sex. “All pink an’ wet... just beggin’ for my mouth, isn’t it, love?”

An inhuman growl tore from Buffy’s throat as she glared at the self-satisfied vampire. “Touch me,” she said with as much authority as she could muster, given her post-orgasmic haze. “Quit with the teasing and touch me already.”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “I am touchin’ you,” he replied, nipping at her sodden flesh. “Maybe you oughta be a little more specific?” He knew his girl wasn’t particularly verbose when it came to matters of the bedroom, however, he didn’t want her to feel shy about making her desires known. “Where do you want me, Buffy?”

Bastard. “You know where.”

Chuckling, Spike brought a finger down to tease her entrance. “Gonna have to do better than that, love. Do you want me here...” he said, nuzzling at the crease of her thigh before nibbling at her wet folds, “...or here. Or maybe...” His finger dipped inside her core, making her buck against his hand. “Maybe you want me here, lappin’ at that pretty puss till your juices spill down my throat.”

Was it possible to combust from sexual frustration? Buffy was certain her skin was ablaze, and Spike’s words, spoken in that infuriatingly calm tone, were doing little to cool the flames of passion. She knew what he was trying to do, but even in her wildest fantasies she’d never pictured herself as the type to talk dirty without coming across as foolish. “I really, really, hate you right now.”

“No,” Spike glanced up, smirk firmly attached to his lips, “you love me, said so yourself.” Finally taking pity on the young woman, he ran his tongue along the length of her sex, relishing the tangy flavour as she whimpered beneath him.

Buffy longed to watch his explorations, but she was unable to fight the instinctive arc of her back when his cool mouth latched on to her burning flesh. Reaching up, Spike placed a hand on her stomach, his thumb rubbing in counterpoint to his tongue as he soothed her. “Look at me,” he said, his piercing blue gaze drawing her in. “Don’t turn away. I want to see those beautiful eyes watchin’ me.”

A shaky nod was all she could manage, and Spike set to work with renewed vigour, licking, sucking, but all the while avoiding the one place she needed him most. For her part, Buffy was convinced that this was how he planned to do in his third slayer. Wantonly, she writhed on the bed, hands clenched in his sheets, as her breathless lungs fought to drag much-needed oxygen into her body.

A litany of muffled pleas fell from Buffy’s lips, and Spike could feel himself throbbing with each desperate word as he steadily thrust two fingers into her pussy. He could feel the blood thundering through her veins, hear the erratic beat of her quickening heart, and it was all Spike could do to keep himself in check. Dedicated, his fingers kept up a steady rhythm as his tongue sought out her copious juices.

“Never gonna tire of your taste,” he said, eyes fixed on the sight of her body swallowing his soaked digits. “Could eat your quim all day an’ still be hungry for more.” Absent-mindedly, Spike ran his tongue over his lips, unwilling to spare a single drop. “Your greedy little pussy’s squeezin’ me. It wants my cock, pet... wants me to come inside it and make you mine.” Mewling, Buffy threw her head back into the pillow as a ragged sob tore from her throat. “Bleedin’ Christ...” Spike hissed in a breath. “That’s it... purr for me, my little kitty.”

“Oh god!”

“Praisin’ the wrong man, sweetheart.”

“Spike!”

“That’s better.” He flashed a shit-eating grin and blew against her engorged nub. “An’ you still haven’t answered my question.”

Buffy swore she would wipe that smirk off his face if it was the last thing she ever did. “My clit,” she whispered through ground teeth, cheeks flaming in embarrassment. “Please... touch my clit.”

Without further delay, Spike wrapped his lips around her swollen pearl, sucking harshly as the tension coiled tighter within her body. “Come for me, sweetheart,” he whispered against her quivering flesh. Impulsively, he nipped at the aching bundle of nerves, and the unexpected burst of pleasured-pain sent her flying over the edge into a second blinding orgasm.

Trembling, Buffy fell back to the mattress, her sweat-slicked skin shimmering in the candlelight, and, grinning like a madman, Spike crawled up the bed to lie beside her. He rested his head on his fist and smoothed the other hand over Buffy’s stomach, calming her down, whilst simultaneously keeping the flames of passion simmering beneath the surface. Oh yes. She was his angel alright—his perfectly debauched angel... and she’d never been more beautiful.

Buffy smiled up at him, looking every inch the canary-stuffed cat. “Could you look any more pleased with yourself?”

“What can I say, love?” Spike replied with a wink. “You’re a vision.” Reaching up, he brushed the damp hair back from her brow. “So bloody beautiful when you come... I bet you never burned like that for those other nancy boys, did you?”

Buffy arched a tired brow. “I am so not answering that.”

“Admit it,” Spike said, circling his finger around a rosy nipple. “I’m the best you’ve ever had.”

“You’re so full of it!”

“You're fixin’ to be full of me pretty soon.”

“Pig.”

"Maybe so,” he chuckled, “but I reckon you’ll be the one squealin’.” Spike stared into Buffy's eyes, seeing nought but love and trust shining back at him. It was in that moment that he knew she saw him—really saw him—and he thought maybe he was wrong. Maybe he did deserve her after all. “I'll make you happy,” he promised, eyes sobering as he leaned down to ghost a kiss across her lips.

“I know,” she replied, “I know you will.” Smiling, her fingers twined in his curls, pulling him down as she deepened their embrace. “Mmm, Spike? About that impulsive streak...”

“What about it?”

She grinned impishly. “Don’t ever change.” Mingled laughter filled the air as they rolled around on the bed. “Hey,” Buffy said, pushing him up with a hand against his chest. “Why am I the only one naked here? You are wearing way too many clothes, mister.”

In a feat of vamp ingenuity, Spike disentangled himself, leaping off the mattress in a blink of an eye. Eagerly his hands fell to his belt buckle, yanking it apart as the pressure of his restrained erection urged the zipper down. Spike sighed in relief when he finally stood before her, proud, naked, wanting—always wanting when it came to her. Tossing his jeans, he re-joined Buffy on the bed, and with one hand fisted around his cock he knelt between her legs, slowly stroking himself as he revelled in the sudden acceleration of his girl’s heartbeat.

“See somethin’ you like?”

Was he serious? At this point, Buffy was worried she was about to drool all over his sheets! Nevertheless, payback was in order, and that ever-present smirk was in need of taking down a peg or two. Rising up, Buffy mirrored his position on the bed, reaching out to wrap her hand around his hard, needy erection. Spike hissed in a breath and dropped his head to her shoulder as he watched Buffy’s delicate fingers stroke his cock. A shudder of pure, unadulterated pleasure raced through him as she rubbed her thumb over his swollen head, gathering the sticky pre-come, and using it to lubricate her movements.

“Tell me what you like,” Buffy whispered, in awe of his reaction. “Tell me what you want.”

Spike threw his head back as she gave him a firm squeeze. “You,” he gasped. “Here... with me... touching me—fuck, kitten... jus’ like that.” His eyelids fluttered as he covered Buffy’s hand, guiding her in a slow, practised motion. Chest heaving, he sank back on his haunches, eyes shooting open when Buffy’s tongue swept along his weeping tip. “Look at me, love,” he said, his fingers raking through the spun gold of her hair. “You look so fucking good with that sexy little mouth wrapped around my cock.”

Spike groaned as Buffy took him into her throat, swallowing around his length, and soon he was panting—babbling nonsense about how bloody wonderful she was, how good it felt, and how he was never going to let her go. His cool demeanour fell by the wayside as Buffy’s heavenly mouth drove him half-way to distraction, but all too soon he could feel his balls tightening, and he was forced to urge her back.

Confusion flitted across Buffy’s features as he pulled away and eased her backwards. “Don’t wanna come in your mouth, pet—well...” he grinned, lowering her to the mattress, “not yet, anyway.” Spike’s erection nudged against her sensitised core, and Buffy cried out, arching upwards. “That’s it, sweetheart. Dance with me. Show me how well we move.” Reaching a hand between them, Spike positioned his throbbing cock at her opening, gazing deep into her eyes as he nudged forward. “I need you, love... Can’t wait any longer.”

Buffy moaned, her hands finding purchase at his shoulders. “Need you, too.”

“No lookin’ back, right?” Spike supported himself on his elbow, needing her to understand the significance of this moment. “Just forget it all—everythin’ that’s happened today—it doesn’ exist within these four walls. Focus on me, an’ the way I make you feel.” Buffy nodded, her eyes drifting closed in expectation of their joining. “No,” Spike said, kissing her brow. “Look at me, precious. Don't turn away.”

“I love you, Spike.”

There were no sweeter words to be heard.

“I love you, too,” he whispered against her lips, surging forward with one sure thrust until he was buried to the hilt in Buffy’s scorching body.

In an instant, coherent thought was a thing of the past. There was only one word going through Spike’s mind, and that was just fine by him—her name was the only word he wished to speak anyhow. Buffy tensed at the initial sting of his invasion, but there was no time to think before he was kissing her again, his hips taking on a leisurely rhythm of their own. Gasping, she arched beneath him, fingernails digging into his shoulders as she trapped her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Easy, kitten.” Spike nuzzled at the abused flesh until she relinquished her hold. He was barely hanging on, and he knew that the scent of her blood would send him over the edge. As it was, he already feared his performance would match that of a bleedin’ schoolboy. “Buffy—My God… so hot… so tight.” He paused to steal a kiss, swallowing down her moans and whimpers. “Does that feel good, love?”

Buffy nodded, gingerly rising up to meet Spike’s thrusts as her hands slid over the contours of his arms. “It’s been a while,” she whispered, fingers tangling in his hair. “Just go slow, okay?”

A while? Now that was the bloody understatement of the century. There was no way of telling how long she’d spent in heaven—timeless, she’d told him once—but now Buffy was here, loving him, and allowing him to love her in return. The sensation of being one with her was almost more than he could stand. Each heartfelt murmur against his lips, each time her body trembled in pleasure, was more than he’d ever imagined or hoped for.

“Don’t stop...” Buffy arched beneath him, her teeth grazing against his collarbone. “So good... so, so good...”

“All for you, love... Only for you.” Spike let his head drop to Buffy’s shoulder, his attention flitting between the sounds she made as he slid inside her, the feel of her silky walls constricting his cock, and the beautiful sight of the place where they were joined. As tears sprang to his eyes, Spike buried his face in her neck, inhaling the scent of her hair as he placed a kiss on the vulnerable flesh. “You're mine, Buffy.”

“Yes...”

“Say it.”

“I-I’m yours... All yours, Spike.”

“How long?”

She grasped his head, forcing him to see the truth in her eyes. “Forever.”

Spike knew it was too soon to say it with blood, but he’d always been a selfish sod, and needed to hear the words from Buffy’s own lips. The fact that he was already hers didn’t need saying. Grinning, he kissed a path across her cheek, his mouth lingering at her fluttering pulse point. Buffy’s blood beckoned him like a siren’s call, and even though Spike knew he could control his demon, he didn’t want to tempt fate until he’d taken a bit more of the edge off.

“Ride me, kitten,” he said, rolling Buffy on top of him. “Much as I love the sight of you with your legs in the air, I wanna see those perfect titties bouncin’ for me.” Spike’s eyes were glued to the sight of their union as Buffy’s body welcomed his glistening cock. Groaning, his hands fell to her hips, guiding her movements as he thrust upwards. “So good, so beautiful... Love this. Love watchin’ you take me in. Can you feel that, pet? Feel me movin’ inside your tight little cunny.”

A soft whimper filled the air as Buffy’s palms fell to his chest. “You... So good—feels...” Eloquent as always, the Slayer slammed down hard against his throbbing length. “Perfect—unh... fit.”

Her walls rippled around his shaft, and Spike reached up to fondle her breasts. “You’re close again. I can feel it. Talk to me, love. Tell me who's makin’ you come.”

Buffy gasped, throwing her head back in unexpected release. “Spike! Oh god...”

Maybe he couldn't offer all the same things as a living, breathing bloke, but he could give her this. He could give her heaven on earth. Buffy’s internal muscles pulsed around him as she rode out her climax, and through no small miracle, Spike managed to stave off his own orgasm, mesmerised by the sight of his lover coming undone above him. He held back even though his body was burning for release, and rolled them over, grinding against Buffy’s mound as he prolonged her pleasure, her satiny walls strangling his dick as her body shuddered to completion.

“One more time,” Spike whispered against her sweaty brow, and her eye’s shot open in disbelief.

“I can’t,” Buffy panted. “There’s no way I can—”

Spike silenced her with a tender kiss. “Just relax,” he whispered, “let it happen. We’ll come together this time, I promise.” His eyes filled with the love and respect he felt for the incredible—if somewhat exhausted—woman in his arms. “Wrap your legs around me, kitten, I want to go deeper.”

Buffy groaned. “What legs?”

Didn’t he realise that he was already a part of her in every conceivable way? Her body, her mind... her heart. There wasn’t a part of her that wasn’t taken up by him. Eyes heavy, the Slayer fought to keep them open as Spike moved above her.

“Stay with me, sweetheart,” he whispered, as their tongues met in a languid dance. With each slow thrust Buffy’s breathing accelerated, and soft whimpers fell from her lips as she watched him, watching her. Nothing else mattered but this moment. Nothing else existed but the two of them. Each torn gasp frayed another strand of Spike’s limited restraint, and as his gaze focused on Buffy’s throbbing jugular—and the faded scars that adorned it—Spike could feel his demon rising to the surface. A growl rose in his throat and his eyes flashed amber as he ducked his head, ashamed.

“Spike?” Buffy’s hands cupped his face. “Look at me.”

“I’m sorry love... I didn’t mean to—”

“You told me not to hide,” she said, forcing him to meet her eyes. “That works both ways, Spike. Don’t turn away.”

A torrent of self-loathing washed over him as his gaze returned to her neck. “I want you so much,” he muttered. “Too much. My demon’s screamin’ at me—wants you marked as mine.” He swallowed hard, reaching out to stroke her cheek. “Sweetheart, I don’t—I can't risk hurtin’ you. I swore I'd be the man you deserved.”

If it were possible, Buffy felt herself falling just that little bit more. “Spike, I love you. All of you. Man and demon. I know you won't hurt me.” She peppered his face in soft, reassuring kisses. “It’ll be alright,” she said, before repeating his own words against his ear. “Let it happen... Let me see you.”

Buffy refused to shy away from his vampiric guise as she traced her fingers over his cheekbones and nuzzled against his forehead. Warily, Spike watched her with a golden gaze, and despite the fangs and bumpies that by all rights should fill her with terror, she saw the passion raging in his eyes. She saw the warrior. She saw the poet. She saw everything. Beneath the mask of a monster lay the man that loved her, and Buffy had nothing to fear from either.

“You’re beautiful,” she said, twining her fingers in Spike’s hair as they resumed their graceful dance. This was it. This was the kind of rapture that came with real love, and silent tears spilled down Buffy’s cheeks as she offered her body in supplication. “Bite me,” she whispered, losing herself in the sheer wonderment that flooded her vampire’s features. “Please, Spike... let me share this with you.”

There was no need for clarification, no room for fear or misgivings. Overwhelmed, Spike pressed a chaste kiss to Buffy’s jugular, before sinking his incisor’s into the chalice of her neck, drawing her life’s essence into his body as they soared together in a rapturous duet of completion.

“Promise me something.”



Buffy’s head was cradled against Spike's chest as he ran his hand in lazy circles across her lower back. Sweaty, sated, their bodies were a tangle of limbs, and the vampire's lips curled into a far-away smile as he took in his lover's appearance. With her hair in disarray, and his bite mark fresh upon her neck, Spike decided that the freshly-shagged look suited her even better than the freshly-kissed one.



“Yes,” he said, dropping a kiss to her forehead.



The smaller candles had long since burned out, and Buffy smiled, raising up to better see his face in the muted light. “You don’t know what it is yet.”



“Doesn’ matter,” he replied, “You know I can’t deny you anythin’, pet.” Spike’s grin widened when Buffy rolled her eyes in gentle admonishment, and her fingers strayed carelessly to his abdomen.



“Anything?”



“Well...” he amended with a wink, “I suppose that depends on how daft it is. You’ve been known to play some blinders in the past, love.”



An indignant huff passed Buffy’s lips as her eyes narrowed in warning. “This coming from the guy who thought chains and a cattle prod were the way to win a girl’s heart.”



“Oi! You’re here, aren’t you?” Spike murmured against her neck. “Just took a bit longer than expected is all.”



“Uh-huh. You keep telling yourself that, Mr. Glass Half-Full.”



Spike chuckled. “Come on then, slayer. Out with it.”



Buffy glanced away, reluctant to broach the subject, but equally, too jaded to leave her fears unvoiced. “I’m sorry to be all obsesso-girl but...” She swallowed hard, her gaze trained on the sight of her palms splayed over his chest. “They never stay, Spike... Every man I’ve ever let into my heart has let me down. My Dad, Angel... God, even Giles—and I know I’m a mess... but please, don’t let me push you away... Don’t let me screw this up.”



“Hey, now. Enough of that.” Spike cupped her cheek, raising Buffy’s eyes to his. “Didn’ we hash this out last night? I thought we’d agreed there’s no gettin’ rid of me.”



“We did,” Buffy replied sheepishly as she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “Can’t blame the crazy person for needing to hear it again, though.”



Shaking his head, Spike brushed a kiss across her mouth. “Trust me, love, I know crazy when I see it.” His fingers teased through her hair, letting the silky strands caress each digit. “When Dru fell out the loony tree she hit every soddin’ branch on the way down. That’s not you. You’re stronger than that. Never could stay away from you, an’ there’s no bloody way I’m about to start now.”



Spike would never tell her how close they’d been to making her fears obsolete. How in that sublime moment when he’d swallowed down her precious blood, he’d also swallowed down the words that would bind them together forever. All the same, his reply was a balm to her wounded soul, and sighing contentedly, Buffy nuzzled into his palm.



“Love this hair,” he whispered, luxuriating in the freedom to touch her so overtly.



“I thought it was stupid hair?” Buffy teased. “Not that you’re in a position to talk...”



Spike’s eyebrow shot up in mock offence. “Less of the cheek, Summers, or I’ll put you over my knee.” One hand slid down her back, settling protectively over the curve of her backside, as the other proceeded to trace invisible words of poetry against her shoulder blade. “I’m in this for the long haul, pet. Those other blokes were idiots. It takes a real man to love you the way you deserve.”



Spike suspected that when it came to sex, his poncy grandsire needed an instruction manual to fit tab A into slot B, and if tonight was anything to go by, Buffy must have held back with her human lovers to avoid any lasting damage.



“Come here,” he said, urging her impossibly closer. “I know where you live now, kitten. Know how to make you scream. What do you say I use that famous vamp stamina an’ show you what else you’ve been denied by those other gits?” His sinful tongue snaked out to lick his lips as his eyes wandered over her body. “Oh, the things I could teach you...”



“Hey!” Buffy replied, pushing herself up. “I do know about different positions and...stuff...” Spike chuckled, one eyebrow arched in wry amusement. “Okay,” she shrugged, “three, but—” Her words were swallowed by a ravenous kiss as she found herself sat astride his prone hips. After spending the last two hours getting to know each other in the very biblical sense, Spike was amazed that Buffy was still capable of blushing when he bucked beneath her.



Surprised, the Slayer glanced down as his burgeoning erection twitched against her heated core. “You can’t be serious?” she said as Spike’s fingers teased her sensitive breasts. “I’m too exhausted to even think about sex, let alone...” Buffy’s objections were lost to a moan as he leaned up, swirling his tongue around a rosy nipple. “Okay... that’s cheating...”



“Never underestimate the power of a horny vamp, love.” Spike’s laughter vibrated around her aching flesh as his hands fell to her waist, encouraging the gentle rotations of her hips. “Did I ever tell you that Slayer blood’s an aphrodisiac?” He smirked as a tortured groan tore from Buffy’s lips, then rolled them over and slid into the welcoming heat of her body. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, thrusting steadily as her velvety walls constricted around his shaft. “You’ll be thankin’ me by mornin’.”






“I knew it...” Spike’s chest heaved as he fought to catch his unneeded breath. “I knew the only thing better than killing a slayer would be—”



A hand clamped over his mouth.



“Spike, trust me. No good can come from you finishing that sentence.”



Eyes dancing, he placed a kiss to Buffy’s palm before nipping at her fingers. “...Would be makin’ love to one,” he said, chuckling at the disbelieving look she shot in his direction. “My, my, my, slayer... What a dirty mind you have.”



“Me?” Buffy baulked. “I’m the dirty one?”



“Well,” Spike replied, eyebrows waggling indecently. “I admit I’m gettin’ on a bit, love, but I sure as hell didn’ imagine the little nasties you were pantin’ in my ear. Always knew you’d be a demon in the sack, an’ the things you did to me...” Spike’s smile was blinding, and Buffy’s blush only fuelled his amusement. A satisfied purr rumbled throughout his chest, and reaching out, he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Nearly drove a master vampire to tears with that greedy little mouth of yours. Came so hard I thought my balls were gonna turn inside out.”



“Always the romantic,” Buffy muttered, averting her eyes as she traced her fingers over the defined muscles of his abdomen. “I never knew it could be like that.” If Spike’s ego got any bigger there was a danger he’d float out of the room, but there was no point in denying the obvious, especially when her body still trembled from the dizzying heights of passion he’d brought her to. Sex with Riley had always felt like she was merely someone to talk to whilst he did his daily push-ups. Making love with Spike had been a total revelation—not that she was about to tell him that of course…



“I know I’m hardly experience-girl... but that was—”



“Bloody incredible.” Spike covered her hand, bringing it to his mouth where he pressed a chaste kiss to her fingers. “I knew it would be. Couldn’t be anythin’, but.” He rolled to the side, facing her on their shared pillow. “Always wondered what it’d be like to burn with you in my arms.”



Buffy felt a warmth spread through her at his admission. “Always?”



“Always.” The poet rose to the surface, refusing to be silenced. “From the first night I saw you dancin’ at the Bronze. There was somethin’ about you... drawin’ me in.” Spike chuckled, pasting his trademark grin on his face. “Course, at the time I was wantin’ to kill you.”



“And now?”



"Now, I just want to love you.” Spike paused, frowning thoughtfully. “Well, that an’ shag you seven ways from Sunday of course...”



“Of course.” Buffy giggled, moving into his arms. Their mouths met in a lingering kiss, and the Slayer found herself wondering about the diverse paths her life could have taken.



“Penny for your thoughts, love.”



Buffy blinked, banishing the images as she became lost in the fathomless blue of his eyes. “I was thinking about the past. How different things might’ve been if I’d met you sooner.” Reaching down, she laced their fingers together and brushed a kiss across Spike’s knuckles. “I wish you'd been my first,” she whispered, blushing at the absurdity of her words. “Maybe then I could have avoided all the crap it took to get to this point.”



Spike’s eyes lit up as he swept his gaze over her naked form. “Mmm,” he drawled, running his tongue over his teeth. “Sweet, virginal, Buffy.” He received a playful swat to his chest, and snickering, brought his free hand up to twine in her hair. “Delicious though the thought of deflowerin’ your jailbait self might be, pet, it wouldn’t have worked... I wasn't ready.”



“Me either.” Buffy lowered her head to the pillow. “I guess we've both grown up, huh?”



A gentle smile formed on Spike’s lips as he absorbed the perfection of this moment. “It’s never been like that for me either,” he said, his voice soft and hesitant. “Vamp sex is rough. More about pain than pleasure. Not that there’s anythin’ wrong with a bit of rough an’ tumble, mind you, but bein’ with someone warm—feelin’ their heart beatin’, their pulse racin’ beneath the skin... I’ve never felt that before.”



Buffy frowned. “I don’t understand,” she said, raising a questioning eyebrow. “I thought you’d always been bad.”



“Yeah, well...” Embarrassed, Spike averted his eyes. “About that...”



“Okay. Be kind. Rewind.” Buffy sat up on the bed, folding her arms across her chest. “Are you seriously telling me you weren’t… you know… back when you were human?”



Spike snorted, reaching for his cigarettes as he rested his back against the headboard. “Not bloody likely.” Chuckling, he lit up, expelling a plume of smoke into the air. He had no idea what inspired this sudden bout of introspection. Maybe it was the surreal virtues of the night, but regardless, Spike wanted to share a piece of himself with Buffy, safe in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be ridiculed as he’d been so cruelly in the past.



“I lied to you before,” he said, shaking his head. “That night at the Bronze? Truth is William was the biggest geek in London. With the mousey curls and god-awful poetry—Ol’ Rupes had nothin’ on him, love. He was stuffy an’ awkward... could barely talk to a woman, never mind get one between the sheets.”



The ease in which he talked of his not-so-bad days was surprising. There was a depreciative quality in Spike’s tone, but despite the vampire’s propensity to compartmentalize his life, it was clear that his humanity had held firm long after the demon took up residence in his body. William was never far beneath the surface, and Buffy was catching tantalising glimpses of his character with increasing regularity. Let Spike keep his delusions if it made him happy; Buffy already knew the man behind the monster.



“I think I’d have liked him,” she replied, grinning at his incredulous look.



“He was a ponce.” Spike took an extended drag of his cigarette then ran a hand through his hair. “Made a complete arse of myself on more than one occasion... Thought I was in love, you see. And Cecily, she—”



“Cecily?” If Spike noticed the resentment in her voice he didn’t make mention of it, preferring instead, to wrap his arm around her shoulder, and drop a kiss to her hair in wordless reassurance.



“Society girl,” Spike replied, hiding his smile in her golden tresses. “I thought she was mysterious, turns out she was just a stuck-up bitch an’ I was too stupid to see it.” Nimble fingers painted circles on her arm, and Buffy melted into the comfort of his embrace. “Anyway, one night the bint tore my heart out an’ Dru found me cryin’ in a back alley... the rest is history. She saved me from mediocrity—made me a man. I may well be the only monogamous vamp around but I didn’t want anyone else... even when she was off spreadin’ her legs for every slimy-horned wanker that crossed her path.”



In the early days of his obsession, Spike had attempted to vanquish his Buffy-lust by bedding a string of faceless blondes. In a town like Sunnydale, fledgling vamps were a dime a dozen, and there was always some tarty young thing eager to get a piece of the notorious Slayer of Slayers. Nevertheless, it hadn’t taken long to realise the futility of his actions, and there was only so many times a bloke could handle being slapped for bellowing out the wrong name in the heat of the moment to make him rethink his plan.



Buffy frowned at his surprising statement. She’d always assumed that for vampires, sex and blood went hand-in-hand. How was it possible that this man who practically exuded sexuality, had never combined the two in his pre-chipped days?



“But what about—”



“I don’t play with my food, love.” Spike scowled as Buffy arched a brow, before reaching across to tap his cigarette against the ashtray beside his bed. “You,” he said, fingers running reverently over his proud bite mark, “are not food. You’re...”



“What?”



Spike smiled. “Everythin’.”



A pink flush spread over Buffy’s cheeks as she realised what that meant. “So,” she said, her nose scrunching up in a manner that Spike found adorable. “I’m the only pulse-having woman you’ve—”



“Shagged? Screwed? Bumped uglies?” He chuckled at her disapproving glare. “Yeah, love. You get the honour of poppin’ that particular cherry.”



Buffy’s head tilted to the side as she considered him for a moment. “I like that.”



“Is that so?”



“Uh-huh.” She grinned. “The way I see it, that makes us even.”



Now, Spike considered himself an expert on his Slayer’s peculiarities, but that particular branch of Buffy-logic thoroughly escaped him. “Care to run that by me again, pet?”



Rolling her eyes, she knelt beside him on the bed. “This is a brand new start for me. It feels like I’m experiencing everything for the first time. It’s like a rebirth—this is my do-over.” Buffy offered him a grateful smile. “Does that make sense?”



“Absolutely.”



“Really?”



“No.”



Mingled laughter filled the air as Buffy smacked him on the shoulder. “Okay, let me make it easier for you.” She winked and pointed to herself. “New Buffy.” She kissed his cheek. “New life.” The other cheek. “New beginning.” Smiling, she leaned down to whisper against his lips. “That makes you my first.”



A surge of male pride rushed through him, and Spike wrapped his arm around Buffy’s waist, hauling her onto his lap in one fluid movement. “First an’ bloody only as far as I’m concerned.”



An irrational sense of jealousy flared within her as his lips caressed the smouldering cigarette. Determinedly, Buffy reached up to pluck it away, before stubbing it out in the ashtray. “So that’s the way it’s gonna be, huh?” Spike asked, eying his pilfered Marlboro. “Reckon you can fix my filthy habits now that you’ve sampled the wares.”



Buffy grinned, linking her hands behind his neck. “Nuh-uh,” she said nipping at his bottom lip. “I just figured we could put your mouth to better use.”






“Stay.” After several aborted attempts, Buffy had finally managed to extricate herself from Spike’s arms. The disgruntled vampire was currently sulking as he watched her move around his bedroom, gathering her scattered clothing. “Let your bloody mates stew for a bit. Might do ‘em some good to fend for themselves for once.”



Buffy sighed. “It’s not them I’m worried about.” She zipped up her skirt then squinted into the shadowy recesses of the crypt. “Dawn’s having a sleepover at Janice’s... I should get back before—have you seen my bra?”



Reluctantly, Spike rose from the bed and stepped into his jeans. For a brief moment his eyes shone yellow as he scanned the room, swiftly locating the missing undergarment and unhooking it from a ledge on the wall. “So what are you gonna tell the Bit?” he asked, handing it over. Spike couldn’t care less about the Scoobies’ good opinion, but Buffy and Dawn were the closest thing he had to family, and he needed to know where he stood.



Buffy frowned at the hint of insecurity in his voice. “She knows where I am, Spike. All things considered, there wasn’t much point in hiding it from her.”



Stunned, his eyebrows shot up. “You told little sis you were stayin’ over?” Bearing in mind the revelations of the past twenty-four hours, Spike supposed he shouldn’t be at all surprised by that fact. The Niblet was his biggest supporter when it came to his feelings for Buffy. She was a smart kid—too bloody smart sometimes—and she’d have figured it out soon enough anyhow. They could barely keep their hands off each other and—Wait a minute.



“You talked sex with Dawn!”



An inelegant snort passed her lips. “It was more like the other way round,” Buffy replied, fastening her bra, and smiling at the petulant look on Spike’s face. “So not an experience I want to repeat any time soon.”



Spike sniggered. “Not fun?”



“Oh, sure.” Buffy wound her arms around his waist. “In the way that’s really not.” Leaning up she stole a quick kiss from his lips. “Just wait till she gets you alone,” she said, giggling at the momentary glimpse of panic in his eyes. “Then we’ll see whose laughing.”



Spike didn’t even want to hear the words Dawn and sex in the same sentence. He had already decided to scare off any pimply faced punks who so much as dared to look at his Niblet. The idea of the youngest Summers getting up to the sort of things that—Well... the sort of things that he’d been doing for the last several hours, was more than he cared to acknowledge.



“You sure I can’t convince you to stay?”



Buffy pulled away from his arms, sighing, as she scooped her top up from the floor. “Tempting,” she replied, inspecting the damage caused by Spike’s earlier impatience, “but I really do have to go.” Not a single button had withstood her vampire’s passionate frenzy, and clearly the shirt was a lost cause. Tossing the ruined item to the ground, Buffy glanced around the crypt in search of an ulterior solution. “I don’t suppose you still have any of my clothes here, do you?”



There was a tense beat before Spike’s words broke the silence. “No, I... I gave it all back.” Perturbed, his hand came up to clasp the back of his neck. “It was too painful havin’ them here. A constant bloody reminder of everythin’ I’d lost. They were just things—I didn’ want them. I wanted...”



The sobriety in his voice made Buffy immediately regret her casual remark. Wincing, she walked towards him and cupped his cheeks in her palm. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry I brought it up.”



Spike sighed. “Don’t be. It’s in the past, yeah?”



“Yeah.” Smiling, he dipped his head and covered Buffy’s mouth in a tender kiss. The Slayer could feel that familiar ache building inside her, and summoning her rapidly decreasing willpower, she pulled away and ended their embrace. Turning, she walked over to the armoire and gathered Spike’s discarded t-shirt from the floor. “Mind if I borrow this?”



“Go ahead.” A wave of possessiveness swept over him at the sight of his girl wearing his clothes, sporting his mark on her neck. “So, what’re your plans for the day?” Spike asked, reaching up to free her hair from beneath the collar. “They oughta be pretty bleedin’ spectacular if you’re willin’ to pass up the chance of spendin’ it in bed with me.”



Buffy pouted. “First, I need to check for teenager-related mischief, then I get to spend my Saturday exploring the exciting world of gainful employment,” she said, sending a longing glance towards the infamous bed. “Lucky me.”



Spike frowned. “You already have a job.”



“Yeah,” Buffy replied, “but demon slayage doesn’t come with a steady wage or vacation days.”



“Well it bloody well should!” Spike could feel his anger rising as he thought of the thankless life his Slayer led. “Do those tweed-wearin’ pillocks think you’re doin’ this for laughs? They oughtta be payin’ you for all the times you’ve saved their ungrateful arses... not to mention the whole soddin’ world!”



Buffy could only shrug. “Apparently the Council doesn’t agree with you.”



Spike stopped his furious pacing and came to stand before her. “I can get money,” he said, placing his hands on her waist. His eyes burned with intensity as the earnestness in his voice washed over her. “You’ve already had your fill of customer service, an’ I won’t see you flippin’ burgers for minimum wage. You’re better than that, pet. Let me help you.”



Buffy swallowed hard, anxiety burning away in her stomach. “I can’t let you steal for me, Spike. I know I’m very much in the grey area of vampire and slayer relations, but that would be a step too far.”



The gentle smile that split Spike’s lips was a comfort to her overwrought nerves. “What if it was above board?” he asked, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’ve been around for a few years, sweetheart. Learned some tricks in my time—investments an’ the likes. A few phone calls an’ the money could be in your account within days.”



Buffy blinked. Hard. “Are you serious?”



A chuckle rose in Spike’s throat at the unmitigated astonishment on his girl’s face. “The gem of Amara wasn’t the only treasure down in that cave, pet, an’ I know a demon down in Texas that’ll pay a pretty penny for those other trinkets.” Grinning, he pressed a kiss to Buffy’s lips. “I’m a simple vamp. All I need to keep me happy is a packet of fags, booze, blood an’ the occasional plate of barbecue wings. It doesn’t cost much to keep me in the manner I’m accustomed, sweetling, but if a bloke’s gonna live forever, he needs a backup plan.”



Frowning, Buffy took a step back. Her mind was spinning from the unexpected news, and she was unsure of what to call him on first. “Then why have you been taking cash from us all this time?” she said, shaking her head in an effort to clear her muddled thoughts. “Why didn’t you just use your own?”



Spike smiled. “Now where's the fun in that?” He closed the gap between them, taking Buffy’s hands in his own, secure grasp. “Those initiative wankers did a right number on me. Had to get my jollies somewhere, an’ pissin’ off Rupes and the whelp seemed as good a place as any... wasn’t like I could do sod all else was it?”



“Spike—”



“No arguments.” Buffy’s words died in her throat, as he leaned forward, pressing his brow against hers. “I know how bloody proud you are—stubborn too—but I’m not takin’ no for an answer. If you won’t accept it for you, then take it for the Niblet.”



Spike wasn’t above a little emotional blackmail if it meant his hard-headed Slayer would benefit in the long run. In recent weeks he’d been trying to think of a way to alleviate Buffy’s financial worries—preferably a way that was far less hassle than peddling Suvolte demon eggs on the Black Market. A legal team as unscrupulous as Wolfram and Hart would have little trouble accessing his family’s estate, and at one point, Spike had even considered recruiting her Watcher to help construct a believable ruse—but this was perfect. This was honest. This was the way it should have been all along.



“What do you say, pet?”



Buffy’s heart was singing as the mammoth burden was lifted from her troubled mind. Nevertheless, conveying the magnitude of Spike’s generous offer was another matter entirely. To go from the possibility of repossession, to the security of having funds in the bank would take some getting used to. And for now, Buffy was too overwhelmed to fathom the transition. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered, unable to mask the gratitude that flooded her voice.



Spike shrugged. “Had to make sure you didn’t want me for my money.” The resultant eye-roll was fully expected, and he continued in a flat deadpan. “A bloke needs to be careful, you know?”



“And to that, I say goodbye.” With a reluctant glance towards the hatch, Buffy released a heavy sigh, then leaned up to cover his mouth in a searing kiss, love and appreciation flowing through the melding of their lips. “Thank you.”



In an instant, Spike’s hands fell to her waist, and with slow, faltering steps, they shuffled backwards towards the ladder. They broke apart panting, and Buffy offered an apologetic smile as she climbed to the upper level. Spike followed closely at her heels, and no sooner did their feet meet the rough floor, were they back in each other’s arms, limbs tangling as they stumbled across the chamber, finally separating when the Slayer’s back hit the cold slab of the crypt door.



Possessively, Buffy’s fingers fell to the contours of Spike’s naked stomach, then slid up, tracing over the corded muscles of his shoulders and arms. The vampire’s skin was flushed with borrowed warmth from the night’s exertions, and as Spike swooped in to plunder her mouth in another demanding kiss—drinking his full of Buffy’s lips until they could meet again—he felt a sense of déjà vu wash over him as the Slayer once again pressed something into his palm.



“Maybe you can start a new collection?” she said, grinning widely as Spike twirled the lacy thong around his index finger.

The sound of Spike’s laughter mirrored her every stride across Restfield cemetery. With aching muscles, and a goofy grin plastered across her face, Buffy walked into the early morning light, safe in the knowledge that her lover was watching from the shadows beyond the crypt door. With each trudging step, she could feel Spike’s penetrating gaze upon her, and the urge to run back into the sanctuary of his arms was overwhelming. Nonetheless, Buffy held firm, willing her feet to move, and refusing to glance over her shoulder. Knowing that if she did—if she gave in to the raging passion burning through her veins—she wouldn’t see the outside of Spike’s bedroom for the foreseeable future.

Admittedly, there were worse ways to spend a day than writhing around in the heady throes of a multiple orgasm, but if Buffy’s slight limp could attest to anything; it was that there could indeed be too much of a good thing. There was a newfound buoyancy in her heart, where previously, it had been weighed down by fear and self-inflicted restraints, and as the sun warmed her upturned face, Buffy’s thoughts were centred on the remarkable vampire she’d left behind. They’d parted with a lingering kiss and ardent declarations of love, and the Slayer found that with each repetition of those three simple words, another piece of her cumbersome armour fell by the wayside.

Neither wished to be separated for long, but similarly, both recognised that Dawn wouldn’t allow them to hide away forever... hence, the movie and pizza-fest scheduled at the Summers’ residence for later that evening. Spike had grumbled about bloody awful chick flicks, and threatened that if he heard the opening strains of Celine Dion, he’d be heading back to the crypt and his Passions tape. Buffy had merely grinned at his manly posturing, knowing for a fact, that he wouldn’t miss it for the world.

The idea of a regular night in front of the television, featuring a slayer, a vampire and a mystical key was almost laughable, and Buffy was still smiling as she crossed the lawn and approached her porch. Unfortunately, reality had an irritating habit of intruding on her daydreams, and Buffy was wrenched from her thoughts when her slayer senses kicked in, and she belatedly noticed the figure sat on the top step.

Defiant, Buffy stood firm and folded her arms as Xander skimmed his eyes over the familiar black t-shirt and healing bite mark that adorned her body. His hands were clasped around his knees, and Buffy couldn’t miss the obvious disapproval on his features. Nevertheless, he’d made the effort to come here, to reach out to her, and Buffy bit back a remark, deciding the least she could do was hear her friend out.

Several awkward seconds ticked by until Xander reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a hand-whittled stake with what appeared to be a small cloth tied around the tip, and Buffy frowned, feeling like she’d just entered the Twilight Zone. “What’s that supposed to be?” she asked, as her mind fought to reconcile the pre-school weirdness of Xander’s offering, with his clearly uncomfortable demeanour.

“It’s a white flag,” he replied. And with a hangdog expression, Xander waved his craftwork in the air. “I come in peace.”

One eyebrow arched in disbelief, Buffy took a hesitant step forward. “Really?”

“Yeah...” Xander’s fist clenched around the stake. “Really.” He exhaled a shaky breath as his lips quirked into a depreciative smile. “Anya explained a few things,” he said, meeting her gaze. His words were drenched in remorse, and a hollow chuckle burst from his throat. “Apparently I’m an idiot.”

The haunted shadows in his eyes caused a pang of empathy to pool within the Slayer. After all, it wasn’t that long ago she’d been very much on the vampire equals evil bandwagon, herself. And with the pity-party she’d indulged in since her return, it was easy to forget that her friends carried their own array of battle scars. For Xander, the most poignant reminder was the image of an old friend—Jesse. The innocent victim who’d served as a brutal and devastating initiation into the world of all things Hellmouthy. With an introduction like that, it was little wonder that Xander held a deep-seated hatred for anyone of the undead persuasion, least of all, the vampire that had secured a place in her heart.

Buffy’s hesitance did little to calm Xander’s overwrought nerves, and once again, he ducked his head in shame. The tension between them was almost tangible, but he forged ahead, knowing it was up to him to fix this situation and redeem himself in Buffy’s eyes. “She also threatened to withhold all sexual favours until I, and I quote, ‘grow up, and get the hell over it, already’.”

The mental image alone brought an instinctive smirk to Buffy’s lips, and sighing, she moved to sit beside him on the step. “Listen, Xander,” she said, keeping her voice calm and steady. “Before you say anything else, I'm with Spike. I love him. I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but if you lay one finger on him, I swear I’ll be forced to bitch-slap you into the middle of next week.”

Their eyes met, and a wealth of understanding passed between them. This wasn’t about guilt or absolution. Beneath the teasing aspect of Buffy’s words, lay a maelstrom of possibilities, and Xander knew it was down to him to choose his path. He could continue on the blinkered course that had caused this heartache, or he could suck it up and be a man—be a friend.

With a deep sigh, Xander chose the latter.

“I get that,” he replied, running his hand through his hair. “Believe me, that memo was very much received and understood. It’s just...” Xander paused, frowning as Buffy stiffened in response to his nervous fidgeting. “He’s a vampire.”

Now was not the time for sarcasm, and Buffy fought valiantly against an impending eye-roll. “I know that,” she replied. “I know Spike has a demon, but let’s be honest, Xander, who hasn’t? We’ve all got our monsters inside of us. That darkness we try to ignore. Fear, doubt... loathing—they’re all demons too... just different kinds.” Exhaling a shaky breath, Buffy turned to face him. “Spike fights his demon every day, and every day he beats it back—defies his nature. He loves me, Xan, and that love makes him stronger than the demon... makes him... I dunno... better. ”

“But that doesn’t change what he...” Xander trailed off, knowing his argument was redundant. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I won’t.” Buffy reached across to take his hand. “I’ve realised some things since I came back,” she said, smiling when he offered no resistance. “Life isn’t as cut and dried as I thought it was. Nothing’s simple. Nothing’s perfect. Yes, some things are black and white, but some things are shades of grey... and Spike is very much in the grey column... I’ve been denial girl for too long. It’s just taken Spike to make me see it.”

Xander snorted, flashing Buffy a tentative smile. “Yeah, I hear Egypt’s nice this time of year.”

Smiling, she gently squeezed his fingers. “I think it’s time we waved goodbye to that river, Xan.” This was nice. Awkward, but nice. This was what Buffy had wanted before everything went to hell the previous morning—the chance to speak openly, without the fear of reprisals. “Pruney Scoobies are not a pretty sight.”

All things considered, it was hard to disagree with her, but despite Xander’s willingness to concede defeat, there was one issue he couldn’t ignore. “What about his soul?” he asked, “Or lack of...” Xander didn’t want to derail their progress; but likewise, he couldn’t deny that he was massively wigged by the potential for disaster. “I admit I couldn’t stand Brood Boy, but at least we knew where we stood with him...” He paused. “Well, mostly... except when he went all damage-bound.” Shaking his head, Xander returned her gaze. “Spike is as far from Angel as you can get.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Buffy raised an eyebrow, smothering a grin at the look of confusion that flitted over her friend’s face. “Cause honestly, the big... not seeing it.”

Xander grimaced. “You know... that made a lot more sense in my head.”

A heavy breath fell from Buffy’s lips as she focused her attention on their clasped hands. “I think we’ve been putting way to much stock in the whole soul business,” she said, leaning against Xander’s shoulder. “I mean really—what is a soul? What does it actually do? Anya’s right. Humans have souls, but innocent people still get killed and tortured on a daily basis. In Angel’s case, all it did was make him feel guilty. He didn’t choose to become a better man. He was forced into it by a stupid curse. Well, Spike knows the difference between right and wrong—he made that change on his own—and that means more to me than Angel’s guilt ever could.”

It was hard to reconcile this new, self-assured Buffy with the same girl he’d known for the past five years. But as Xander listened to the determination in her voice, it became clear that she’d given the matter serious consideration. “I can’t argue with that,” he replied, “but I’m not going to lie to you either—I’m still with the freaked over here. I can get the whole credit where its due thing—really, I can—but how did you go from hating his bleached-blonde guts to being in love with him?”

Buffy sighed. “It wasn’t that simple... nothing with Spike ever is. It took time, and a truck load of honesty to get here, and I’m not about to give it up. I’m excited and scared, but I’m happy too... God, it’s been so long I forgot what happy-Buffy felt like.”

Xander frowned. “Scared?”

“Huh?”

“You said you were scared.” He turned to face her. “What of?”

A nervous shrug rolled off Buffy’s shoulders as her brow furrowed in consideration. “Angel and Dru taught him how to be a monster. Spike’s never had the chance to be a man. I want to help him, but...” Shaking her head, Buffy released Xander’s hand, and leaned back on her arms. “Do you have any idea how hard that'll be? Spike’s all with the stubborn and—”

The laughter that burst from her friend’s lips was wholly unexpected. Buffy blinked, shocked, as Xander fought to regain control. “You have met Anya, right?” he said, wiping a tear from his eye. “Ex-Vengeance demon. Not so big on the subtle innuendo... Trust me, Buff, I know how it feels to act as someone’s moral compass.”

A knowing smile curled Buffy’s lips. “And is it worth it?”

“Yes,” he replied without hesitation. Xander had a suspicion he’d just been played, however, the slight to his male pride paled in significance to the wide smile on Buffy’s face. “It’s worth it. If you really love him, it’s worth it.”

Tilting her head to the side, Buffy released a shaky breath. “Spike may be soulless and immoral, and yeah, half the time, he's completely arrogant, but there’s this whole other side to him that you guys never see. He’s protective, loyal... and I know he’d do anything for me. I’m so proud of him, Xan. For everything he’s achieved, everything he—I don’t know what I’d have done without him.” Tears flooded her eyes, and Buffy took a second to steady herself. “When you brought me back,” she said, blinking away her blurred vision. “I couldn’t cope. I didn’t want—it was a struggle. Every day was a struggle, but Spike understood that. He listened to me. He let me wallow in the woe-is-me-ness of my life, and he gave me what I needed to pull through. And even when I didn’t realise he was helping—even when I treated him like crap, he stayed by my side—refusing to give up on me... even when I gave up on myself.”

Gravity won the battle, and an errant tear cascaded over Buffy’s cheekbone. “I’m the Slayer, Xander,” she said, hastily wiping it away. “Happiness isn’t something I find very often. But when I’m with Spike, I can forget about everything and just be me... Not apocalypse-girl. Not the parental unit to a teenager with serious abandonment issues... Just plain old neurotic Buffy. And as twisted as the reason may be, he understands slayers. Spike gets me in ways no one else does—sometimes in ways I wish he didn’t. He sees right through the lies I tell myself, and no-matter what, I know he’ll always be there for me.”

Xander leaned forward, crossing his arms over his knees as he glanced towards her. “I’m not saying I can just forget the past,” he said, resting his chin on his forearm. “There’s too much bad blood between me and Captain Peroxide for that to happen...” He frowned, nose wrinkling as he raised his head. “Poor choice of words?”

Buffy shifted nervously. “That would be a yes.”

A reassuring smile formed on Xander’s lips when he noticed his friend’s discomfort. “But you're right,” he said, releasing a shuddering breath. “Your personal life is none of my business, and whatever my feelings towards Spike... Buffy, you mean too much to me to throw our friendship away over something stupid.” Earnestly, he reached back to take her hand. “I just need a little time to wrap my head around the idea... I’m not sure I can handle the sight of Spike getting his undead groove on just yet.”

If there was ever a time for Buffy to be thankful for her Xander-shaped friend, it was now. With a relieved laugh, she launched herself into his arms, only barely remembering to temper her crushing hold as he returned her embrace. After several heart-felt seconds, Buffy schooled her features into a mask of sobriety and pulled back to meet his eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You have no idea how—thank you, Xan. This means...”

“Forget it.” Xander ducked his head in awe of her joyful response. “Just remember our agreement, yeah?”

Buffy saluted. “Public smoochies are a no go around the Xanman,” she said with an affirmative nod. In truth, the chances of the loved-up couple being able to keep their hands off each other were negligible at best; however, Buffy felt she could allow Xander this one last foray into the land of denial.

Shaking his head, Xander could only smile helplessly as Buffy answered in kind. “He’d better treat you right,” he said, revelling in the return of their mislaid camaraderie. “No one will ever be good enough for the Buffster.”

Buffy shrugged as she affected her best no-nonsense stance. “Don’t worry,” she replied with a wicked grin. “I’m the Slayer. If he gets out of line, I can still kick his ass.”

“Yeah, and knowing Spike he’d probably enjoy it.” Xander grimaced. “Great,” he muttered, “another mental image I could really do without... I think I need to scrub my brain.”

They shared a moment of joint amusement before Buffy noticed the large white box on the step behind Xander’s back, and, more importantly, the delicious aroma coming from within. “Are those doughnuts?” she asked, as her stomach uttered a timely growl.

Xander blinked, clearly having forgotten about his back-up plan. In the sleepless hours of the previous night, the Scooby had realised the folly of his ways. He knew an apology was owed, he only hoped that if contrition wasn’t the way to melt a slayer’s heart, then high calorie snack food would suffice. “Peace offering,” he replied, a shy smile tickling his lips. “I figured if my idiocy wasn’t enough to make you forgive me, I’d bribe you with jelly-filled confectionary instead.”

Buffy laughed. “Sounds good to me. What do you say, Xan? Care to join me in a cup of coffee and a sugar-high?”

“Only if you save me a lemon glaze, missy.”

“You’ll have to ask Dawn about that,” Buffy replied, smiling. “I swear that kid inhales food.”

Chuckling, they rose to their feet and Buffy found herself enveloped in an unexpected hug. “I’m sorry,” Xander whispered against her ear. “For being an idiot... For not being a better friend...” He shuddered. “For everything...”

And there it was—the elephant in the room—or more to the point, hyena. Buffy hadn’t planned on mentioning the incident they’d been forced to relive in the sphere’s disturbing slideshow—the incident that had tipped Spike right over the proverbial edge. Sure, learning of the joint deception of her friend and Watcher had hurt, but being the Slayer, the attack itself had long since faded into the annals of my-life-is-crazy-ask-me-how. In all honesty, Buffy couldn’t muster the strength to be mad about it. This was a brand new day, a brand new life... and it was time to move on.

“I know,” she replied softly. Her words were a balm, exonerating him of his crimes against her. Pulling back, Buffy offered him a radiant smile. “The past is the past, and I’m looking to the future... and right now my future consists of doughnuty goodness.”

Without further delay, Buffy retrieved the box from the top step, and with Xander at her side, she walked through the front door. They followed the sound of voices to the kitchen, where Tara was preparing a fresh batch of pancakes, and Dawn was busy fixing the drinks. “What’s the what, guys?” Buffy asked placing the box of doughnuts on the counter as Xander sat down on a stool. “Where’s Will?”

“I thought I heard voices.” Tara turned off the stove and served the mouth-watering breakfast treats onto four plates. “She’s in her room,” she said, before admonishing the youngest Summers’ for sneaking a peak in the bakery box. “Willow’s been looking at some websites. There are people she can talk to about c-controlling her gifts.”

Buffy smiled, relieved that her friend was taking a proactive approach. “That’s good,” she replied, gratefully accepting a knife and fork from her younger sister. Dawn surveyed her appearance in much the same way as Xander had not twenty minutes beforehand. However, instead of disapproval, the teenager’s eyes shone in delight, and Buffy knew her silence wouldn’t hold for long.

Eager for information, Dawn had left Janice’s house at the first opportunity, determined not to miss out on any of the gossip. She’d received an abridged version of the previous night’s activities from Tara, and the teen was surprised to see her sister and Xander making with the friendlies. Nevertheless, a golden opportunity was sitting in front of her—one that no self-respecting bratty sister could ignore. True to form, Dawn’s lips curled into a wide grin as she waved her fork in the air.

“So,” she said, stretching out the vowel sound in a way only achievable by obnoxious teenagers the world over. “How’s Spike? Did you knock his vampy socks off?”

A wide grin blossomed on Buffy’s lips as she rolled her eyes at her sister’s decidedly unsubtle approach. “You can ask him later,” she replied. “Pizza and movie night for the Summers girls.”

The news was greeted by an ecstatic squeal, and it didn’t take Dawn long to finish her pancakes and start on the doughnuts. “Do you think there’s a spell that soundproofs bedrooms?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye. “Cos really... fifteen here. I don’t see why I should be scarred for life just because you’re boinking the undead.”

Dawn laughed as half a pancake bounced off her forehead, and Xander released a theatrical groan as he dropped his head to the table.

“Sweet mother of Zeus,” he whimpered. “Dawnie, please, spare me the visual.”

The teen giggled. “Deal with it, Xander. Looks like Anya’s gonna have to review those place settings after all… Hey, maybe Spike could be your best man!”

Her friend’s retort was cut off by the sound of the phone ringing, and as the Slayer headed for the hallway, she couldn’t help feeling a profound sense of relief that things were finally on an even keel. Only time would tell what the future held for the small group of friends, but as Buffy brought the handset to her ear, she couldn’t wait to find out.

It wouldn’t be a wedding without a brawl, and a wedding on the Hellmouth had proven to be no exception. In typical Sunnydale style, Anya’s vengeance days came back to haunt her, and amidst the non-fun having of refereeing the mismatched guest list, the Slayer had been forced to take down a demon intent on ruining her friends’ big day. Buffy couldn’t be sure if it was her superior fighting skills or the radioactive bridesmaid dress that gave her the upper hand, but either way, she’d made short work of the interloper, and the happy couple had gone on to exchange their vows uncaring of the chaos that surrounded them.


In spite of their demonic gate crasher, the rest of the day had unfolded in relative peace. The DJ appeared to be stuck in the 80’s—but for once, that could be attributed to bad taste, rather than a vampy time warp—and in the absence of impending doom, the Slayer intended to take full advantage of a rare night off. The last five months had been fraught with emotion, but inevitably her friends had shown their true colours. Nobody could deny the positive changes brought about by her relationship with Spike. Nevertheless, Willow’s immediate descent into cookie baking guilt-mode had paved the road to Scooby acceptance.


Even Xander had been forced to admit the vampire was good for Buffy. And when she broke the news to her former Watcher she could almost hear the frantic glasses-polishing down the phone line. After numerous ‘Good Lord’s’ and strained silences, it had taken the reminder that if Giles wanted her to grow up, then he’d have to respect her decisions, along with the solemn promise that no, she hadn’t ‘lost her bloody mind’ to convince him of her sincerity. Buffy doubted he would ever officially condone the relationship, but to his credit, Giles had put Willow in touch with a coven in England, and the young witch was planning to spend the summer honing her skills.


To the delight of all, things had been unusually quiet on the demon front. Apart from the typical Sunnydale nasties, Buffy had been shocked to find her latest pain in the ass consisted of a group of Star Wars nerds that were very much of the non-Hellspawny persuasion. Admittedly, Warren had all the redeeming qualities of a fungus demon, but upon the discovery of a large diamond and wads of cash in the trio’s basement, one anonymous phone call to the Sunnydale Police Department had put an end to their delusions of grandeur.


It hadn’t taken long for Spike to move into Revello Drive, and after some negotiating, they’d eventually reached a compromise on the money front. In spite of the vampire’s assurances that he would never view her as a charity case, Buffy’s pride had led her to the anything-but-burgers job that occupied her evenings four times a week. Self-defence classes were very much needed in a town like Sunnydale, and the knowledge that she was contributing to the monetary pot was enough to ease Buffy’s anxiety.


Their reluctance to be separated inspired many a jibe about being joined at the hip—or in the case of Anya, somewhere far less PG—and despite Spike’s promise to be good, Dawn was claiming mental trauma by the repeated yelling of ‘Take it, slayer!’ and ‘Who’s the Big Bad?’ Luckily for the grossed out teenager, Willow and Tara had recently taken on an apartment across town, thus providing Dawn with a refuge from the constant PDA’s. Spike had yet to surrender his crypt however, arguing that for those times when patrol was a bust, it was only common-sense to have somewhere to burn off their excess energy away from the all-hearing ears of impressionable youth.


Perhaps the most astonishing development of recent weeks was the tentative friendship that had struck up between the two males of the group. Spike had agreed—albeit reluctantly—to be civil for Buffy’s sake. However, the overabundance of oestrogen within the Scooby gang, combined with Xander’s eagerness to escape from wedding plan hell, had found them both at the Bronze one night with nothing better to do. It was amazing the difference a few beers and a game of pool could make. And though neither man would ever concede it, they’d both suffered from a serious deficiency in the male bonding department in recent years.


Over the course of an evening—and enough whiskey to get them both thrown out on their drunken asses—Xander had finally opened up about his insecurities. Admitting that his hatred of all things fangy stemmed back to Jesse’s death was the first step to reaching an understanding, admitting his fear of becoming an abusive drunk like his father was another matter entirely. If it weren’t for that little gem of knowledge, Spike might have missed the first signs of cold feet. As it were, all it took was a man-to-man, and the casual reminder that jilting a bird who’d once turned some poor sod’s family jewels into matching ear accessories was highly ill-advised.


Clearly Xander had taken those words to heart. Buffy had never seen her friend so happy. And now, with the wedding reception drawing to a close, the Slayer was looking forward to a little happiness of her own. Willow and Tara had already left with a suitably partied-out Dawn, and the majority of drunken revellers had scattered to their respective dimensions—or in the case of the Harris family, whichever bar would still serve them. The hour was fast approaching midnight, and Buffy had been reminiscing by the buffet table with the not-so-blushing bride when a flash of bleached hair caught her eye.


“Whoever invented weddings was a genius!” Anya’s spirited declaration jolted Buffy from her thoughts, and the former demon turned to her with a beaming smile on her face. “Not only do I get to wear a pretty dress, but I have a table full of gifts, and a night of guaranteed orgasms ahead of me.” Anya paused, frowning thoughtfully. “I wonder if orgasms feel different after you’re married… Oh! We should compare notes! Spike seems very dedicated to perfecting his technique, and you’re much more fun now that you have a satisfying sex life.”


Buffy giggled into her champagne glass. “Oh yeah,” she replied, blushing at Anya’s bluntness. “Spike’s a real perfectionist. He’s like the Energizer bun—um… never mind.”


The vampire in question exuded an air of confidence as he and Xander sauntered across the room, and Buffy allowed her gaze to travel over the tuxedo-clad form of her boyfriend before coming to rest in his eyes. Despite the monumental effort of convincing him to forfeit his customary jeans and t-shirt, Buffy was more than happy with the resultant yumminess that was Spike in a suit. In fact, the end result was so successful that Buffy had been forced to play the slayer card with several demon-hos who wanted to get their claws into her man. Not that she had any cause to worry—Spike only had eyes for her—but it didn’t hurt to spread the word that the hunk of vampy goodness was very much spoken for.


“Evening, ladies,” Xander said as he wrapped his arm around Anya’s waist and placed a sloppy kiss to her cheek. “I hope you’re wearing those dancing shoes ‘cause this room is dead.” Grinning, he tipped his beer in Spike’s direction. “No offence, man.”


“None taken,” Spike replied, drawing Buffy into his arms, “and besides, certain parts of my anatomy are very much alive an’ rarin’ to go… Isn’t that right, sweetness?”


Xander grimaced as Anya’s eyes were immediately drawn to the aforementioned parts. “And to that I bid you a hearty farewell. Come on, Mrs Harris. Let’s show these people how it’s done.”


Buffy caught the secretive look that passed between the two men, but before she was able to question it, Spike had taken hold of her hand and was guiding her across the room. She was vaguely aware of the DJ calling for the last dance, but Buffy’s attention was focused on the sensation of Spike’s thumb brushing over the back of her knuckles, and she almost stumbled when a familiar melody drifted to her ears.



It must have been cold there in my shadow, to never have sunlight on your face.
You were content to let me shine, that's your way. You always walked a step behind.



“Oh my God,” Buffy cried, throwing her head back in laughter. “I can’t believe you!”


A deep chuckle rumbled from Spike’s throat as he turned to face her. “Hey now, kitten,” he said with a teasing smirk, “it’s our song.” Highly amused, Spike tilted his head to the side and pulled Buffy’s body flush against his own. “I can feel it, slayer,” he whispered against her lips. “You know you wanna dance.”



So I was the one with all the glory, while you were the one with all the strength.
A beautiful face without a name for so long. A beautiful smile to hide the pain.



“You’re such a dork,” Buffy replied, sliding her arms around his neck.


“And you, my love, are murder on a bloke’s ego.”


Buffy winked. “Don’t worry, baby,” she said, fingers playing with his soft curls, “I'll stroke it better later.”


A contented sigh passed the Slayer’s lips, and instinctively, Spike’s arms tightened around her waist as they swayed gently to the music. He’d told her once that dancing was all they’d ever done, and it was true. Whether they were arguing, sparring, or making love, their bodies moved together in perfect synchronicity. They were a contradiction, and yet regardless of the exceptional circumstances, they completed each other.



Did you ever know that you're my hero, and everything I would like to be?
I can fly higher than an eagle, 'cause you are the wind beneath my wings.



“You havin’ fun, pet?”


Buffy’s cheek was pressed against Spike’s chest, and the deep rumble of his voice caused an answering throb between her legs. “Oh yeah,” she replied, slipping her hands around his waist. “My best friend got married. There’s food, dancing, and I got to beat up a demon. That’s a whole bunch of ticks on Buffy’s big ol’ list of fun having.”


Determinedly, her hands toyed with the hem of Spike’s shirt, loosening it from his waistband, until she was free to rake her fingernails over the cool skin of his lower back. Spike chuckled as Buffy nuzzled closer, sub-consciously breathing in his scent. Vamp senses never lied, and he knew exactly how he affected his girl. He’d been hard as nails for most of the day, and knowing that Buffy was more than ready for him, only fuelled his desire.


“Is my kitty feelin’ naughty?” Spike asked, grinding his erection against her hip.


Buffy giggled and met his eyes with an impish grin. “Mmm… she’s feeling something all right. In fact, I’d say it’s a very big something.”


Amazed, Spike threw his head back as unexpected laughter peeled from his throat. “I’ve completely corrupted you, haven’ I?” he asked, dropping a kiss to her forehead as Buffy gave his arse a cheeky squeeze.


“Uh-huh,” the Slayer returned her head to his shoulder. “You’re a bad, rude man, tempting me with your wicked demony ways.”


For several minutes they melted into each other’s arms, immersing themselves in the bittersweet memories the ballad invoked. Sentimentality was the order of the day, and buzzed from the champagne, Buffy placed a soft kiss against Spike’s neck, delighting when her vampire stifled a groan under her deliberate teasing.


“Don’t worry,” she whispered, nodding towards his co-conspirator. “Every eye in this hall is on the bride and groom. We might as well be… invisible.”


Little minx.


Spike’s eyes glazed over as he retreated to his new happy place. Thanks to the nerd trio, he and Buffy had spent one glorious afternoon reaching heights of kinkiness that surpassed even his wildest fantasies. The thin fabric of his tux did little to mask his arousal, and Spike was extremely grateful that his Slayer’s presence was hiding the tent in his trousers.


Maybe I should send those prats a fruit basket, he thought, suppressing a whimper as Buffy brushed against his aching manhood.


“Mmm… I think little Spikey likes that idea,” the Slayer whispered against his throat.


“ Little’s got nothin’ to do with it, love. You should know that by now.” Spike lowered his mouth to her ear, delighting in the shudder that coursed down Buffy’s spine. “Mightn’t have been able to see that hot little body of yours, but I could still hear you screamin’ my name when I pounded you into the—”


Buffy silenced him with a kiss. “Whatever you say, exercise boy, but I don’t think Xander’s fully recovered from the shock.”


A careless shrug rolled off the vampire’s shoulders. “I figure we did him a favour. The boy prob’ly learned a trick of two. Consider it our wedding gift.” Shaking his head, Spike forced his mind to the present and glanced over just as Xander attempted to moonwalk across the dance floor. “Bloody hell,” he said, eyes shining as he took in the embarrassing sight, “Harris looks like he’s havin’ a seizure.”


Buffy giggled in response, settling against his chest as the rest of the world faded away. They could have been anywhere—their house, the Bronze, the cemetery—and she wouldn't have known the difference. Here, in the circle of Spike's arms, their bodies moving in unison, and bolstered by the certainty of her feelings, Buffy knew there was no place else she’d rather be.


This was perfection. This was home.


This was forever.


“You ready to call it a night?” she asked, stealing a kiss from his lips.


Spike’s mouth curled into his trademark smirk. “Eager are we?”


“Well, I would like to get out of this dress before my eyes suffer permanent damage.”


Spike gave her cleavage an appreciative once-over. “I reckon I can help with that.”


“I bet you could,” Buffy replied with a matching grin. “Fancy a trip down memory lane?”


“The crypt?” Spike frowned. “Niblet’s stayin’ over with the Wiccas. You don’t have to worry about sullyin’ her delicate sensibilities tonight, lamb.”


“I’m aware of that, Mr. Victorian Vamp. What? Can’t a girl just embrace the nostalgia? Work with me here.”


Buffy favoured him with a pout, and knowing the battle was lost, Spike dropped a kiss to her forehead. “Anythin’ you want, my love. Anythin’ you want.”


“Does that include driving privileges?”


Spike winced, picturing his hard-won Desoto. “Anythin’ but that.”





The cool air caressed Buffy’s skin as the silken dress puddled around her feet. Her lacy underwear left little to the imagination, and for a brief moment, Spike was rendered speechless at the sight before him. A flirty smile tickled the Slayer’s lips, and with a newfound confidence she stepped out of her stiletto heels and reached for her lover, reeling him in by the belt buckle as his eyes travelled over her body in a slow sweep. His touch never failed to affect her, and Buffy’s breath hitched in her throat as Spike’s hands explored her waist in firm, assured strokes.


Leaning up, she covered his mouth in a hungry kiss, swallowing down his moans and whimpers as she slipped the tuxedo jacket from his shoulders. Nimble fingers made short work of his shirt buttons, and Spike released a husky groan at the sensation of Buffy’s nails scratching over his abdomen. Remembering himself, the vampire broke from his stupor and hauled the Slayer against his chest, plundering her lips as he poured every ounce of his desire into their embrace.


“So sweet.” A heated gasp tore from Buffy’s throat as Spike’s hands travelled to her breasts, cupping and teasing until her nipples were aching peaks beneath the lacy fabric. “Burn me right up, you do. All that heat and passion just simmerin’ away… waitin’ to be unleashed.” With a quick flick of the catch, Buffy’s bra joined her dress on the floor, and a tremor wracked her body as Spike took a rosy bud between his lips, nipping gently at the tender flesh as his thumb continued the delicious torment on its neglected twin. “My hot, fiery goddess. My love. My Slayer.”


“Oh god, Spike!” Buffy threw her head back as his tongue lavished attention on the sensitive skin. “Feels so good. No one—unh—no one’s ever made me feel this way.” An appreciative murmur rumbled against her chest, and the Slayer glanced down to meet his piercing gaze. Ego thoroughly stroked, Buffy twisted her hands through Spike’s hair as she attempted to urge him away. “Mmm… bed—need to.” Panting heavily, she gave his curls a sharp tug as he continued to suckle at her breast. How it was possible for Spike to pout with his lips wrapped around her nipple she’d never know, but with a parting kiss, the vampire relinquished his prize, and Buffy wasted no time in shoving him back on the bed. “Pants off now, mister.”


There was something different about her tonight, and spellbound, Spike revelled in the predatory gleam of his girl’s eyes as she prowled up the mattress. Settling above him, Buffy unbuckled his belt then carefully eased down his zipper. Spike’s erection strained against the thin fabric, and he quickly toed off his shoes and socks as Buffy reached inside and took him in her hand. Duel moans of relief painted the air between them, and the Slayer lifted her weight, allowing Spike to tear his trousers down his legs. There was a reason she’d brought him here—back to their sanctuary, back to the place where it all began. And as Buffy proceeded to stroke his cock in a rhythm guaranteed to make him quiver, Spike couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his girl’s mind.


“That’s it, love. Squeeze me harder, you know how I like it.” Spike’s hips lifted from the bed, thrusting into Buffy’s palm as she brought him closer to the edge. “All that strength in those little hands of yours. Bloody well unmake me you do. Just one touch and I’m done for. So hot, so soft. How can you be so soft?”


His babbled words sent her confidence soaring, and with slow deliberation, Buffy shuffled backwards on the bed. As she marvelled at the almost primal tableau spread out before her, the Slayer could feel the power of who he was—man and demon alike—and it was humbling to think that in these moments of liberation, she literally held all that power in her hands. Leaning forward, Buffy swept her tongue across his swollen head, bathing it with her warm breath, and Spike’s eyes shot open as she teased his shaft with languorous licks and kisses. This was a dance they’d perfected long ago, and within minutes, he was desperately fighting for control.


“Buffy!” he gasped, sweeping back the curtain of hair obscuring his view. “You have to… I’m gonna…” Spike’s hands fell to her shoulders but she shrugged him off, finger nails digging into his thighs as she offered him her unspoken permission.


Eyes fixed on his face, Buffy gave his balls a firm squeeze. “Come for me, Spike.”


She barely had time to wrap her lips around him before he exploded into her mouth. An inhuman roar pierced the air as Buffy swallowed around his length, massaging his cock with her throat muscles until he was spent. Panting for breaths that his dead lungs didn’t need, Spike grasped Buffy by the arms and hauled her up the length of his body. He could taste himself in their kiss, and the combined flavours had him hardening in an instant.


“Gonna wipe that smirk of your face, Summers,” he said, rolling them over and settling between her thighs. His fingers traced along the edge of her thong, delighting at the pooling moisture that greeted him. With one hand supporting his weight, Spike watched the pleasure wash over Buffy’s features as he swept the sodden fabric to the side and thrust two fingers inside her tight channel. No matter how many times they did this, Spike was always in awe of her reaction to his touch. Every time his lethal hands caressed her skin with gentility, every time he unlocked the secrets of her body, he thanked the Powers that this amazing woman had put her trust in him.


“Gotta taste that honey,” he whispered, ridding Buffy of her underwear as he slipped down her body and slid his tongue into her soaked passage. Spike’s eyes closed in bliss as her essence washed over him. If ambrosia was the food of the Gods, then truly he must be in heaven. Ripe with invitation, Spike could happily feast of this banquet for the rest of his days, but apparently Buffy had other ideas, and with a disappointed groan he gave her swollen clit a final lick.


Writhing beneath him, the Slayer arched her neck into the pillow. Her fingers tangled in his hair, traitorous hands uncertain of whether to push him away or pull him closer. “Now, Spike,” she cried, urging him up her body. “I need you now.”


Refusing to give in too easily, the vampire placed butterfly kisses against her stomach as he slowly made his way back to her breasts. In that moment, patience was not a virtue in the Slayer’s possession, and as his cool mouth latched onto her nipple, Buffy locked her knees around Spike’s waist and rolled him onto his back. His hands fell to her hips as she hovered above his straining erection, and as she began the slow decent to paradise, Spike grit his teeth as his body demanded more. Faster, harder, he wasn’t sure. But one thing was certain; he could never have enough of the little spitfire in his arms.


“That’s it, love. Take me home.” The room filled with a symphony of echoed gasps as they moved together, nevertheless, after several minutes a frustrated growl tore at Spike’s throat as Buffy continued to ride him at a leisurely pace. Each slow, deliberate movement had his demon howling. The exquisite torture of leaving the haven of her body, combined with the subsequent rapture of each return was driving him out of his mind. Spike’s eyelids fluttered as Buffy began to clench around his shaft, and without warning, his hips bucked upwards, wordlessly begging her to increase the pace.


A soft giggle reached his ears, and clarity returned in a rush as Spike noticed the smug look on Buffy’s face. Sitting up on the bed, he banded an arm around her slender waist, holding her up whilst he used his free hand to draw her legs behind him. Face-to-face, Spike stole a quick kiss from Buffy’s lips and lowered her back down onto his cock. The new angle caused a heady moan to spill from her lips, and Spike’s mouth curled into an answering smirk as she whimpered in his lap.


“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to tease a horny vamp, love?”


Breathless in his arms, Buffy was incapable of responding as the familiar quickening of her heart signalled her imminent climax. This was it. Tonight was the night. There would be no going back from this.


“Let me see you,” she whispered, resting her head against his brow. “Let me see all of you.” With a curious head tilt, Spike slipped into his game face, and Buffy smiled as his amber gaze penetrated through to her very soul. “There’s my vampire,” she said, tracing the pronounced ridges with her fingertips.


Fighting against an unmanly purr, Spike chuckled against her throat. “Baby likes daddy’s fangs.”


“Mmm…” Buffy replied, shivering as his raspy tongue laved the column of her neck. “Baby wants daddy’s fangs.”


“Fuck, Buffy!” Spike damn near lost it when she nipped at his earlobe. This girl knew just how to push his buttons, but he wasn’t about to deny her anything—not with the promise of her potent blood in the near future.Panting, his hips resumed their rhythmic thrusts. Each plunge into her body a baptism of fire as she keened and moaned against him. “Do you have any… soddin’… idea what you do to me?” he gasped, smashing his lips against hers. “Shouldn’t be possible. Look at you, all goodness and light, and me… Christ! I’m just a vampire, pet. Don’t know what I bloody did to deserve you but—”


Cupping his face, Buffy forced him to meet her eyes. “You’re not just a vampire,” she said, kissing him with such gentleness that Spike feared his poncey side was about to make an unwelcome appearance. “You’re more than that.” Uncaring of the bumpies, Buffy nuzzled against his cheek, placing soft kisses along the tense muscles of his neck. “You’re my man. My demon.” Her lips found his siring mark, and Buffy sucked at the faded scar until she was certain she’d left a bruise. “You're mine.”


Spike couldn’t contain the growl that tore from his throat as Buffy’s teeth scraped over his sensitised skin. Possessively, his arms wrapped around her waist in an iron grip, and his hips slammed upwards, forcing a moan from her throat. “Playin’ with fire there, kitten,” he whispered, sighing heavily as he fought to rein in his rampaging demon.


“Maybe I wanna get burned.”


Spike’s eyes fell closed as he tried to regain a sense of control. Not an easy task when his entire world felt like it was spinning off its axis. She couldn’t mean that… could she?


“Buffy, I—”


“Spike, I love you. I want you… and that’s never gonna change.” Buffy’s voice wavered as she was overcome by the emotion of the moment. “The First Slayer told me that death is my gift. I thought she meant me… but now…” She paused, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. “It’s you, Spike. You’re my gift. You brought me back to life. Made me whole. You made this life real again, and I don’t want to give you up. Ever.”


Spike swallowed hard, half convinced he was dreaming. “Be sure, love. Be very sure. ‘Cause I'll take you. I’ll make you mine, an’ I will never let you go. You’ll belong to me—”


“We’ll belong to each other.” Buffy refused to back down from his unwavering gaze. She supposed she ought to be offended by his possessive words, but the intense passion burning behind his eyes caused her inner-feminist to shut the hell up and melt into a puddle of slayer-goo. “I’m already yours, Spike. I want you to make it forever.”


For endless seconds he searched her eyes, and Buffy could only watch as his doubts faded away in the face of her certainty. Nodding solemnly, Spike tightened his hold on her waist. A shaky breath fell from his lips as Buffy resumed her gentle rocking, and reaching up, he brushed the hair back from her shoulders, exposing the faded marks on her neck. Hesitant at first, his tongue ran over the puckered scars, sending a jolt of liquid fire racing throughout Buffy’s veins. Reverently, his lips closed over Angel’s bite—determined to erase all traces of his grandsire from his mate’s body—and Buffy mewled as he proceeded to suck the blood closer to the surface of her skin.


“I love you, William.”


“Love you too, kitten. Always.” There was nothing else to be said. No words could ever encompass the magnitude of this moment. Effortlessly, Spike’s fangs pierced the golden chalice of her throat, and the sense of homecoming was all-consuming. Lights burst behind his eyes as his fingers tangled in Buffy’s hair. Tugging her impossibly closer, her powerful essence flowed over his tongue, and groaning loudly, Spike rolled them over on the bed. “Mine,” he said, pulling back and licking the wounds closed. “You’re mine, Buffy.”


“Yes! Oh god, Spike, I'm yours.” Their bodies moved together in perfect harmony, and through the fog of desire, Buffy felt Spike’s hand behind her head, urging her towards his neck.


“Sweetheart, I need you to complete the claim. I need you to bite me. Please, Buffy you—”


There was no hesitation. Her blunt teeth latched onto his scar and bit down hard. The coppery liquid filled her mouth, and Buffy took a few tentative sips before pulling back with blood-stained lips. “Mine.”


“Yours,” Spike replied, as his demon roared and the poet fell to his knees. “So fucking yours. Always yours.”


As the words completed the ritual, everything seemed to lock into place. A sense of belonging washed over the two lovers, and their bodies moved together in a passionate frenzy—each sensation coming in waves as the thoughts and emotions ricocheted between them. Time lost all meaning as they clung together helplessly, drowning in a sea of perception. Their echoing cries ringing throughout the crypt like the voices of a choir.


“Oh god,” Buffy whispered, slowly coming back to herself. “I don’t know where I stop and you begin.”


With great effort, Spike raised his head from the pillow and nuzzled against his claim mark—the mark that bound them together—the mark proclaiming their relationship for the world to see. “Makes no difference,” he said, enfolding her in his embrace, “I’m lost in you anyway.” Purring with contentment, Spike pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, and safe in the arms of her lover—her vampire—her mate, Buffy finally felt complete. Their lives would never simple, and the future was far from guaranteed, yet regardless of what lay ahead, the Slayer knew there wasn’t a single obstacle they couldn’t overcome. Together.


Safe in this knowledge, Buffy moulded herself to Spike’s side as she finally surrendered to exhaustion. “Never gonna leave you,” she muttered under her breath, and a lazy smile formed on the vampire’s lips as he held her closer.


“I know,” he replied with absolute certainty. “Because I’ll never let you go.”