Before we start, let me defuse some land mines:

The next couple of stories will be dealing with finding the secret to creating the Gem of Amarra. We will be dancing around the land mines of nomenclature for descendants of the people who occupied North America before ‘modern’ Europeans arrived. As we all know from grade school, Columbus mislabeled them ‘Indians’, since he had been searching for a shorter route to the Indies (what we now call Asia), and he’d thought he’d found it.

‘Indian’ has become a politically incorrect term, even though many of the descendants of these people use it to describe themselves even now.

‘Native American’ came into vogue during the 1960s, but there are a few problems with it too:

Technically speaking, anyone born in America is a ‘Native American’, regardless of heritage. Additionally, some archeologists believe the ancestors of the ‘natives’ that met Columbus were immigrants from Europe, Asia, Australasia, and India who migrated using a land bridge between Russia and Alaska, or possibly via boats over the oceans. Genetic evidence also supports the idea of multiple migrations of people coming from distinctly different genetic populations: perhaps as many as four or five different genetic populations.

So, if you want to use ‘Native American’ to mean people that rose from the primordial ooze on what is now North American soil, that doesn’t work.

Russell Means, the Lakota activist and founder of the American Indian Movement (AIM), has strongly rejected Native American in favor of Indian:

“I abhor the term ‘Native American’. It is a generic government term used to describe all the indigenous prisoners of the United States. These are the American Samoans, the Micronesians, the Aleuts, the original Hawaiians, and the erroneously termed Eskimos, who are actually Upiks and Inupiats. And, of course, the American Indian.

“I prefer the term American Indian because I know its origins . . . As an added distinction the American Indian is the only ethnic group in the United States with the American before our ethnicity . . . We were enslaved as American Indians, we were colonized as American Indians, and we will gain our freedom as American Indians, and then we will call ourselves any damn thing we choose.”

A 1995 Census Bureau Survey of preferences for racial and ethnic terminology (there is no more recent survey) indicated that 49% of Native people preferred being called American Indian, 37% preferred Native American, 3.6% preferred "some other term," and 5% had no preference. As The American Heritage Guide to English Usage points out, "the issue has never been particularly divisive between Indians and non-Indians. While generally welcoming the respectful tone of Native American, Indian writers have continued to use the older name at least as often as the newer one."

The 2010 Census uses the terms: “American Indian or Alaska Native” as one choice, allowing a place for the tribe to be written in; “Native Hawaiian” is a separate choice.

So, what is a writer to do? Well, here’s what this writer is going to do: Use all these terms interchangeably. Indian, American Indian, Native American, and First American will be used over the course of the next couple of stories to mean the same thing, with no disrespect intended or implied, and I hope none taken.

Note 2:

The people that are said to have created the Gem of Amarra in my world, the Ramaar Nation, are completely fictional. I will be taking legends and actual events from history and adapting them to this tribe over the course of the next two stories. The story is a work of fiction, of course, but I will strive to use as many real-life situations as I can within that framework. When possible, I will cite the actual event I’ve used as inspiration for events in this work of fiction.

Note 3:

As I understand it, centuries-old Ben Wa balls are suddenly the rage again because of the Shades of Grey erotica novel(s). I didn’t know this when I began this story; I haven’t read the book. In fact, the initial inspiration for my incorporation of them in here was a story by Damperandspoons called ‘Teach Me How’ which I found … {{fans self}} hot. By the time I realized I was on the ‘Grey Bandwagon’, a place I never intended on being, it was too late; my muse’s mind was already made up.

Ok, let's get started ...

**~**

A few days after Troy’s identification of the language of the Gem of Amarra book, Saturday, September 17th, 2011:

Spike finished packing his backpack by laying a stake and a dagger atop the copied pages of the decoded Gem of Amarra book, which sat atop his clothes, and pulled the zipper closed.



“You really think you’ll need weapons?” Buffy asked, eyeing him worriedly.

Spike shrugged. “Kinda like condoms, pet, rather ‘ave ‘em and not need ‘em than not have ‘em and need ‘em,” he replied casually.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "You’re going to see an old … Medicine Man or Shaman or something. I seriously doubt he’s gonna attack you,” she pointed out. “And Troy will be with you.”

Spike snorted. “Boy’s still wet behind the bloody ears,” he scoffed. “And old Shaman-types can conjure things … big, nasty bears and whatnot. If he does know anything ‘bout the Gem, he might know just the thing to conjure that can beat it. Not all Indians ‘ave forgotten who kicked their bloody arses, ya know. Might be lookin’ for a little pay-back or want the damn artifact returned.”

“Not Indians: Native Americans,” Buffy corrected, scowling. “And he’s from the Quechen Tribe, not the Raamar. The Gem wouldn’t be his artifact to claim, according to Troy.”

Spike sighed and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well … maybe I just feel more manly with my … weapons, luv.”



Buffy snorted and shook her head. “Yeah, that’s what we need – you feeling more manly.”

He gave his wife a sexy smirk and stalked around the bed to stand in front her. He pushed her from sitting to lying on her back, her legs dangling off the side of the bed, then pressed his body between her thighs and down against her. He devoured her lips in a desperate kiss that left her gasping and weak-kneed. Buffy’s arms and legs snaked around him automatically, as she responded to his touch and to the feel of his body against hers.



“What … was … that … for?” Buffy panted from beneath him when he finally allowed her to breathe.

“Need ya t’ make me a promise,” he murmured against her neck.

Buffy tilted her head to give him better access and moaned as his lips brushed over her heated skin. “Anything…”

“No pleasurin’ yourself while I’m gone. Don’t cum without me,” he requested, his lips and breath cool against her neck.

“Okaay,” she agreed as she slipped her hands up under his t-shirt and caressed the soft skin and hard muscles of his back.

“Swear to it,” Spike pressed as he nibbled on her earlobe.

“I swear,” Buffy breathed, writhing under his touch, pulling his body against hers harder.

“You remember that night under the moon … that supercali-night?”

“Yeah…” Buffy replied slowly as the memory of it tingled her loins and flushed her whole body with warmth.

“You remember I told ya I’d make ya pay for torturing my dangly-bits?” he continued, his voice a smooth, low timbre against her ear. Spike’s hand grazed down her body, across the swell of a breast, to the curve of her hip, settling against her thigh as he spoke.

“Yeah,” Buffy breathed, her chest heaving now as his fingers delved under her skirt to find the bare skin of her thigh.

“Payback ‘as come, luv,” he whispered as his fingers found the damp fabric of her panties and rubbed against her now tingling flesh with wispy, gentle strokes.

“It has?” Buffy asked, trying to arch into his touch.

“Mmmhmmm,” he rumbled. “Who does this belong to?” he demanded, suddenly grabbing her mound roughly.

Buffy squealed and jerked. “You,” she breathed, willing him to go further.

“Too right. Not yours: Mine,” he agreed, his voice dangerous. He finally raised his face up to look into Buffy’s eyes. She saw wild, lustful, gleeful evil in the blue depths of his gaze, and she shuddered as her heart skittered in her chest like a frightened bird.

“And … what are you gonna do with it?” she wondered tentatively, a thousand erotic ideas dancing through her mind.



Spike smirked. Oh God … that smirk. That ‘I’ve got you now’ smirk that she’d seen leveled at more than one unlucky tosser that dared challenge Big Bad. Buffy felt her heart skip a beat … or three.

His fingers had found the edge of her thong and were sliding between the silken fabric and her glistening skin. His fingertip snuck between her folds and grazed her clit and she jerked under him.

“Nothing,” he whispered against her ear.

His voice was warm and thick like honey pouring over her and, oh God, it sounded sooo good …. Wait. What did he say? Nothing? What did he mean by 'nothing'?

Spike produced a small velvet case from one pocket and held it up for her to see. “Found your toys,” he continued in the same, deep timbre that always sent her senses reeling.

Buffy bit her bottom lip. He was holding the weighted Ben Wa balls that she’d used to make herself even stronger … down there. Hey – after four kids, even the Slayer could use a little help. Maybe she’d taken it a little too far; worked out a little too enthusiastically. She’d never remembered Spike’s eyes actually rolling back in his head before like he had that night in the backyard when she’d tightened around him.

“No fair playing with toys and not tellin’ Daddy,” Spike continued, his voice becoming harder, a warning evident in it.

“I’m sorry, baby – it was a surprise. I only did it for you,” Buffy played her part, a whine in her voice.

Spike cocked a brow at her. “Well, I got a surprise for you now, kitten.”

Buffy bit her bottom lip. Spike’s eyes glittered, absolutely sparkled, with evil glee. What the hell was he talking about? Her heart thudded in her chest, and she wondered how long they had before someone would come looking for them.

Spike shifted to one side of center to give his fingers easy access to her pussy. He continued to trail that one finger up and down under the edge of her panties, caressing her slick, heated flesh beneath.

After a breathless moment, his hand stopped moving beneath her thong. He suddenly jerked down hard, ripping the lace of her panties in two with one hard snatch of his hand.

Buffy’s eyes went wide and she squealed in true surprise; her heart lurched, then sped off at a gallop again.

Spike opened the little case and took out the two gleaming, silver balls. He rolled them around in his hand a moment in front of her, like they were marbles … or maybe eyeballs he’d plucked out of some poor victim.

“’Ere’s what’s gonna happen, Slayer,” Spike began, his voice barely concealing the wicked delight he was feeling. He slid off her and pushed her knees up and apart. “You’re so bloody fond o’ playing with these little baubles without me, you’re gonna wear ‘em … the whole bloody time I’m gone,” he informed her as he pressed the first one into her throbbing hole. “And, while you’re at it, you’re gonna remember the promise you made: no cumming.”

Buffy moaned as his finger entered her and she felt her muscles clench around the little ball, pulling it inside further. “You feel yourself getting close to a climax, you stop whatever you’re doin’ and let the feeling pass. Got me?” he asked as he pressed the other ball in. It grazed over Buffy’s G-spot and she writhed, willing it to stay there, but it had already moved.

Buffy’s chest heaved and she met his eyes. God, he looked so fucking … devilish. And hot. “Y-you want me to keep these in for…”

“As long as I’m gone,” Spike confirmed. “And no touchin’ yourself. This body is mine. You bloody well won’t be pleasuring it while I’m not ‘ere. You promised.”

“I … promised?” she stammered, unable to recall why in the world she would’ve done something so stupid.

Spike smirked that smirk at her. “You did.”

Spike leaned over her so his mouth was next to her ear. “Don’t be breakin’ your promises t’ me, Slayer,” he purred against her, his breath cool on the shell of her ear. “I’ll take it right personal.”



Buffy shivered and nodded. Oh, this was gonna be a long couple of days.

"I’ll make you a promise, too. Keep your word an’ I’ll reward you, just like you done me. A spot o’ torture makes the reward all the sweeter,” Spike whispered against her ear.

Buffy’s whole body shuddered and she swallowed hard. He already had her heated up, longing for release. She was supposed to stay like this the whole time he was gone? That was beyond payback for what she’d done; this was payback with interest.

“I love you, Buffy,” he whispered against her before disentangling himself from her arms and legs and standing up.

She sat up as he picked up his bag, and felt the balls move inside her. She started to tell him she loved him too, even though he was evil, and to be careful, but one of the little balls roamed over her G-spot again when she moved. She felt a bolt of need shoot out from her loins as her muscles spasmed around the little orb. Her eyes closed and whatever had been on the tip of her tongue to say simply vanished. Oh man …

Spike opened the door to their room and turned back over his shoulder to look at her a moment. “Middle name,” he said simply, and gave her a small wink before disappearing through it and pulling it closed.

Buffy flopped back down on the bed. She just had to do something to release the tension he’d built in her. How was she supposed to function like this?

You promised, Spike’s voice reminded her, wafting into her mind through the bond. No touching that sweet body without me.

Buffy let out a small scream of frustration, then began to giggle uncontrollably. At least it was some kind of release, if not the actual one she wanted.

**~**

“Right, then,” Spike began as he stuffed his backpack into one of the saddlebags of the Harley. “You know where we’re goin’, Indy?”



Troy wasn’t sure whether to be happy with the nick-name or if it was a jibe. He decided to just leave it be, at least until he knew. “Yeah,” he replied, tapping a finger on the GPS mounted on his own motorcycle. “Fort Yuma-Quechan Reservation. Just across the Arizona line near Yuma.”

“And this injun’s name is?” Spike continued as he mounted his bike.

Troy winced. “The Native American who may be able to help us is named John Bryant.”

“Don’t sound like a proper injun name, that,” Spike pointed out as he pushed his motorcycle off its kickstand. “Shouldn’t it be somethin’ like … ‘Runs Like a Turtle’ or ‘Pisses in the Wind’?” Spike asked, leveling his gaze on the younger man who was going to be his traveling companion.



Troy drew in a deep, calming breath. “Many Ind… Native Americans took Christian names when the Spanish Missionaries converted and baptized them.”

“Yeah, those that didn’t bloody die from being … converted,” Spike tossed back.

“Yeah … well,” Troy shrugged. There wasn’t much arguing with that. “Anyway,” the younger man continued, “It should only take about four hours to get there.”

“More like three, by my reckonin’,” Spike retorted, kick-starting his bike to life. “Race ya,” he challenged as he toed the bike into gear and gunned the engine. He’d hit Crawford Street and was halfway down the block before Troy got his own bike out of the driveway.

“This should be fun,” the younger man ground out, a sarcastic snarl between clenched teeth, as he raced after Spike, jouncing over a dip in the road. He’d never wished more that Bess could’ve come with them than he did at that moment. Since that little ‘talk’ he and Spike had had last spring, Troy never really felt completely comfortable around Bess’ father, and his nerves made him say and do stupid things while in the man’s company. But Bess couldn’t come; she couldn’t travel in the daytime. That was what they were trying to fix.

He remembered the defeated look on his girlfriend’s face when he told them no one spoke the Raamar language any longer, and felt his stomach twist in renewed pain at the memory. He felt like he just needed to find a way to fix this for her. He sighed heavily as he sped down the quiet neighborhood streets after Spike, traveling double the legal speed limit. What had he gotten himself into?

Since identifying the drawing of the Great Protector Spirit of the Raamar Nation, Aurelius, in the mysterious book, he’d shown it, and other drawings in it, to his professor at UC Sunnydale. She, in turn, had shown them to other friends and colleagues, and they all agreed that the language the mysterious book was written in was most likely that of the extinct Raamar people.



That tribe of the American Southwest had been gone for well over a hundred years. However, one of his professor’s contacts put them in touch with a very old Quechan Shaman whose great-grandfather had been a Raamar. The Raamar had married into the neighboring Quechan tribe and had taught his eldest grandson the language, and he’d passed some of the legends and myths down, as well. It was a real long-shot, this old Quechan, but it was the only lead Troy had been able to dig up through both his own contacts and those of his professor at the college.

**~**

Eastbound on I-8, Spike settled into a steady pace right at ninety miles an hour, just to see if the git could and would keep up. Troy did. Easily. Not finding any fun in that, Spike throttled back to eighty and relaxed – no sense getting an expensive speeding ticket for no good reason.

About an hour out, he got a strange tingling sensation coming to him through the bond with Buffy. What do ya think you’re doin’? he asked her in his best Big Bad voice.

He could almost feel her jump nervously and he smirked. Busted.

Nothing, she shot back. Laundry.

Which is it, pet? Nothing or laundry?

Laundry … Which was not on your … ‘do not do’ list, she replied huffily.



Then quit leaning that sweet quim o’ yours against the bloody washin’ machine. I told ya: no touching – it’s mine. You agreed.

He could feel Buffy’s eyes narrow and her head swivel around the basement, as if looking for a hidden camera or a spy. You’re a creep, she scowled back at him.

Spike laughed, but to her his voice was firm and decisive. Nooo, lord and bloody master. Do as I say and you’ll get your reward.

Tell me about this reward, oh lord and master, Buffy cooed back to him.

The reward, oh little minion o’ mine, is you spread-eagled on the bed with my hard cock buried so deep in your pussy that you’ll think I’m gonna tear you in two.



Buffy moaned a sensuous reply.

You like my cock inside your hot, sweet quim, don’t ya?

God yes… Buffy breathed back. Spike could feel her getting even more aroused.

You like me slamming against your hot flesh, pounding that pussy into submission.

Buffy moaned. Yes.

What about down your throat and up your arse? Tell me you want that, too.

Anywhere. Everywhere, Buffy agreed and Spike could feel the tension in her rising higher. It wouldn’t take much more and he could have her writhing against the soddin’ washin’ machine pledging the hulk of metal her undying love.

You get none of it if you cum one time without me there. I’ll punish you for days if ya break your promise. You got no idea what tortures the Big Bad can lather on your poor, aching body … and not a climax t’ be seen.

Buffy groaned in frustration. Her whole body was tingling with anticipation. Her inner muscles were squeezing the little balls in there, rolling them over her G-spot and swelling her loins with lust beyond all reason. If she wasn’t careful, she’d shoot one of those little things out of her slit like a bullet from a gun; she could put someone’s eye out.

Why are you being so cruel? she asked him in her best damsel-y voice. It wasn’t that hard to conjure; she was feeling sort of whiney and very needy just now.

Payback is hell, Spike replied, smirking. Now keep your promise. Keep your pants on and your pussy away from anything that vibrates. I’ll know if you don’t. I always know, he warned her before closing the bond.

Spike shifted uneasily on the seat of the rumbling Harley. He’d intended this as a fun game of teasing-torture for her, but it was turning into just as much of a torture for him. It was impossible to talk dirty to the Slayer and not get a raging hard-on himself. By the time he got home, they’d both be well overdue for a whole night of Wild Backyard Monkey Sex.

**~**

After driving another hour and a half, the two men stopped at a gas station on the outskirts of a nearly forgotten, swayback town that could’ve just as easily been on the southern side of the Mexican border than the northern. After a quick and dirty assessment of the area, Spike decided he’d stay with the bikes while Troy went in to get them something to drink and use the facilities. Oh, don’t get Spike wrong, it wasn’t the large Hispanic population of the area that worried him. He’d traveled all over the world and found that people were people; with some allowances for diet, they all tasted pretty much the same. Speaking a different language or being a different color didn’t make you automatically good or bad. But, he was a realist, too and this didn’t look like a place frequented by a lot of doting grandmothers or cheerful Polly Annas; there was no sense inviting trouble.

Troy returned and tossed Spike a bottle of Gatorade as he twisted the top off his own and began to chug it down.

“What the bloody hell is this?” Spike demanded. “Asked for a Coke.”



“We’re getting ready to cross the sands, man,” Troy replied. “This is better for you … Keeps you hydrated.”

Spike cocked a brow at the larger man. “It’s … blue,” he stated with obvious scorn. “I don’t drink things that are blue. And I’m a vampire. I don’t dehydrate, you dolt.”

“Oh,” Troy mumbled, dragging his hand and arm over his damp lips. “Uhhh … didn’t think about that. Bess drinks it.”

“Might want t’ make a note: also not your girlfriend,” Spike drawled back, tossing the unopened drink back at Troy and heading into the store. “Stay!” Spike called back over his shoulder as if to a misbehaving dog.

Troy rolled his eyes and sighed as he leaned against his bike. “Nothing right,” he mumbled to himself, blowing out a frustrated breath as he tucked the other Gatorade into his saddlebag. He really wanted to get on Bess’ dad’s good side – if the vamp had a good side. This trip seemed like the perfect opportunity to show Spike that he was capable, smart, willing to work hard, and genuinely cared for Bess. A lot. A whole lot. He wanted Spike to know that he’d do anything for Bess, and that he wanted to be part of the family. So far, it wasn’t really working out.



“Oye! Maricón!” a male voice called from behind Troy. He turned to find a group of young men – younger than him but old enough to be dangerous – walking toward him and the bikes. They all had red bandanas tied around their heads. Troy had seen the look before, on gang members in L.A.

“Shit…” he muttered under his breath, settling his drink into the cup holder on his bike. “Sorry – I don’t speak Spanish,” he said in as calm and friendly a voice as he could muster. “Olelo Hawai’i’oe?” he threw in just for spite. (Do you speak Hawai’ian?)

“I speak Spanish,” Spike said from behind Troy. “They just called you a right poofter.”

Troy turned slightly and eyed Spike. “I don’t speak English either, apparently.”

Spike cocked a brow at him. “Nancy boy? Flamin’ fairy? Gay would be the P.C. version, I reckon.”

“Oh.” Troy rolled his eyes and turned back to the half-dozen young men. “That really hurts,” he told them, holding a hand over his heart as if wounded, and flexing a bulging bicep against his t-shirt in the process.

“No quiero problemas contigo,” Spike told the group calmly, trying to figure out which one was the leader.

They laughed mirthlessly. It was, Spike knew, supposed to sound evil, send chills of terror down his spine, leave him and Troy quaking in fear. He barely contained a laugh of his own. These prats had no idea what evil was.

“No es importa lo que quieras,” the tallest of the group replied, the expression in his dark eyes suddenly serious. The five young men fanned out in a circle, surrounding Spike, Troy, and the bikes.

Spike hazarded a glance at his traveling companion. Troy wasn’t showing any outward signs of fear, which was good, but Spike could hear the younger man’s heart speed up and smell the adrenaline beginning to course through him. Troy was big and he had plenty of muscle, but that didn’t mean he knew how to use it properly.

“How you in a fight, Indy?” Spike asked as he slowly, nonchalantly, set his Coke down on the ground near the Harley.

“I’ve got a scholarship for wrestling,” Troy reminded Spike.

“Watch for guns … knives,” Spike warned. “Don’t reckon they care ‘bout points, stayin’ in the circle, and fair take-downs,” Spike pointed out as he turned and faced the one that appeared to be the leader of the antagonists. If Spike could take him out, chances were at least 50/50 that the others would simply bolt.

With a sneer, the man nearest Troy reached out and plucked the Gatorade out of the cup-holder on Troy’s bike. Before the thief could even start to twist the lid off, Troy hit him with a right hook that dropped the smaller man to the ground in an unconscious heap with one perfect blow to the jaw.

“Neither do I,” Troy shot back at Spike.

When he saw his friend go down, one of the other men near Troy let out a scream of fury. In the next instant, the screaming man launched himself at the wrestler, teeth bared and fists flying wildly.



Spike took the opportunity to spin his body around, building speed, and crack the leader squarely in the teeth with a booted round-house kick. A geyser of blood and broken teeth flew from the leader’s mouth as he sailed backwards through the air. The man’s back hit the wall of the little store with a dull thud and he slid down, landing in a limp, bloody sprawl on the needle-and-condom-strewn sidewalk. A gun fell from the waistband of his pants where it had been hidden under his baggy shirt.

Troy ducked a wild punch of the angry, screaming man that came at him. The attacker had gotten too close for Troy’s long arms to hit effectively, so the wrestler kneed him in the gonads – hard. Adding insult to injury, he stomped his heavy boot down with all his considerable strength and weight on the instep of the man’s foot.

The man’s yell of rage morphed into a screech of agony. He let out a litany of curses in Spanish as he fell and began writhing on the ground, clutching his crushed dangly bits.

“¡Déjame!” Spike snarled at the two remaining young men, letting his demon rise. The two that were still standing were smaller and younger than the others, and had hesitated before wading into the fray. They froze in place, looking wide-eyed around at their fallen friends. One of them eyed the gun that was lying useless on the sidewalk near their unconscious leader, trying to figure if he could get to it in time. Sirens could be heard somewhere in the distance – the store clerk had probably called the police.



“Boo!” Spike spat at them, raising his hands up claw-like in a classic ‘scary monster’ gesture and lurching forward. That pretty much sealed it; all thoughts of retrieving the gun vanished. The two would-be thugs nearly fell over backwards in their attempt to get away, scrambling like frightened rabbits caught in a briar patch with a fox hot on their trail.

Troy retrieved his Gatorade bottle from the ground near the still-unconscious man, and put it back in his bike’s cup-holder. “Ready?” he asked Spike as he swung a leg over his bike and started it up. “Probably don’t need to be here when the cops show up.”

“Too right,” Spike agreed, shaking off the demon as he walked over and picked the gun up off the ground. It was a small .38 revolver – a Saturday Night Special. He opened the cylinder and dumped the bullets out before breaking it completely off the gun. He tossed the now useless weapon into a nearby garbage can before striding back to his own bike.

He paused to pick up his Coke from the ground and take a drink before mounting the Harley. “Not bad for a maricón wrestler,” he told Troy, jerking his head towards the two men on the ground near the younger man.

“I might’ve forgotten to mention that I also play football, box, and hold a second-degree black-belt in Taekwondo,” Troy divulged. “I’ve never been mistaken for Tinker Bell, and my name’s not Nancy.”

Spike kicked his bike down off of its stand and walked it around the prone bodies on the asphalt before kicking it to life. “In that case, I reckon I shouldn’t a’ had to get my best boots bloodied up,” he told Troy flatly before rumbling out of the parking lot and back to the street.

The big man blew out a frustrated breath, shaking his head as he followed. “Still not good enough…”

**~**

John Bryant lived with his eldest son’s family in a modest ranch-style house on a plot of land on the reservation. There were a total of four houses on approximately five acres, all owned by relations. His son worked at the tribe’s Quechan Casino and Resort in nearby Yuma, and was just heading out to work when Troy and Spike arrived that evening.



“His mind’s not that great late in the day,” the younger Bryant told Spike and Troy as he led them into the house. “Better in the morning … with the memory,” he continued, tapping a finger to his temple. “But, since you’re here, you can give it a try.”

“’Preciate it,” Spike replied as he followed the man into the house. After introducing his wife, the younger Bryant showed Spike and Troy into his father’s room and left them alone.

“Mr. Bryant,” Troy began, his voice cajoling and smooth. “I’m Troy Malu and this is Mr. Weckerly – I think your son told you we’d be coming.”

The old man had long, straight, iron-gray hair pulled back into a single braid at his back. He was, in Spike’s estimation, the quintessential, elderly American Indian. Deep wrinkles lined the bronze, leathery skin of his face, arms, and hands from years spent in the desert sun. He had dark brown, nearly black, eyes which scanned over the two visitors, but didn’t seem to focus on them.

“Mr. Bryant?” Troy tried again, moving a little closer. “We wanted to talk to you about what you remember about the Raamar,” he continued, still talking in an even tone so as to not frighten the man. Troy pulled out a copy of the drawing of the Great Spirit Aurelius and handed it to the old man.

Mr. Bryant looked down at it for several moments, then began rocking gently in his chair and murmuring in a language neither Spike nor Troy could understand.

“Mr. Bryant? Do you … recognize that?” Troy tried, crouching down on his haunches in front of the man.

The old man’s eyes seemed to come to life in front of them; from flat, uncomprehending orbs to something with fire and spark in them, as he must’ve had in days long gone.

“The Great Protector,” Mr. Bryant nodded. “Tales of his bravery are legendary.”

“Just who the bloody hell did he protect ya from?” Spike had to know.



The Indian’s eyes flicked up to Spike and locked onto the vamp’s. He held his gaze locked on Spike's for several long moments before answering. “From those that would have our ancestral land, drive us away from our river, starve our women, kill our braves, steal our children. Have you come to take up your great father’s cause?”

Spike’s brows shot up. “Uhhh … hadn’t actually planned on that t’day, no.”

Troy cleared his throat, pulling the man’s attention away from Spike. “We were wondering if you would be able to translate some words for us.”

But it was too late. The old man’s eyes had settled on the drawing of Aurelius, but they were unfocused again, not really seeing it. He began to murmur again under his breath as he rocked gently in his chair, his consciousness lost in some corner of his aged mind.

“Mr. Bryant?” Troy tried again, but the old man didn’t seem to realize he was there.

Spike frowned as Troy stood up, shrugging. “What do you want to do?”

Spike sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Reckon we can come back in the mornin’ and see if his elevator’s going to the top then.”

The two visitors left the old man alone, thanked his daughter-in-law, and asked her if it would be alright to come back the next morning. They agreed on ten o’clock and Spike and Troy headed for the front door.

“I brought camping gear; we could stay in the dunes outside of town,” Troy offered.

“Pfffft,” Spike snorted. “Only Dunes I sleep in is the one on the strip in Vegas. You can do what ya want, but I ain’t freezin’ my arse off out in the desert with the bloody rattlesnakes.”

Troy stopped just before his hand reached the doorknob, and turned around to face Spike. “Is there anything I can do that would make you like me the least little bit?”



Spike considered this a minute, putting on a serious, thinky-face, then shrugged. “Not bloody likely,” Spike told him flatly as he slid by, opened the door, and walked out past the younger man.

Troy threw up his arms in frustration before turning on his heel and following in Spike’s wake. “Why?” Troy demanded when they’d gotten outside. “What the hell have I done or not done to make you dislike me?”

“Don’t dislike you, Indy. Just known more than one like you in my day an’ I don’t rightly like your intentions,” Spike admitted.

“My intentions?” Troy stood there gape-mouthed for a moment, taking that in. “My intentions?” he repeated. “I don’t have any … intentions. I think we covered this once before.”

“Bloody right, we did,” Spike snarled back. “Every git has intentions, Rock-boy. Until I know what yours are, I won’t bloody trust ya.”

“Fine. Ok … fine,” Troy retorted angrily. “You want my intentions?! Ok … let’s see … I intend on graduating from UC Sunnydale with honors. Then, I intend on transferring to UC Berkley to get my graduate degree … and possibly go on to get my PhD. While I’m doing that, I intend to spend as much time as I can with Bess. After that, I intend to get a job doing something that makes a difference in the world. I intend to ask Bess to come with me, wherever my education and job takes me – to marry me if she will.  

“I intend on being in charge of my own dig one day. I intend on finding amazing artifacts that no one else has even dreamt of. I had intended on getting my girlfriend’s father to like me or at least not hate me before asking her to marry me, but I’ve pretty much given up on that one because her father is a complete asshole.”

“Her father is also a vampire that could tear your lungs out without breakin’ a sweat,” Spike snarled back at him, his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.



“Yeah, well whoop-de-fucking-do for you. Apparently you don’t sweat, so that’s not really all that impressive, is it?”

Spike glared daggers at the larger, taller man, hands clenched into fists at his sides. Troy didn’t flinch from Spike’s gaze. He strove to keep his breathing even and calm as he stared Bess’ father down. The two men stood there for several moments, neither giving ground nor advancing.

Troy briefly wondered how long it would take for Spike to tear his lungs out, and what the police and ambulance response time was for the reservation. He didn’t really like his odds on that one. He drew on his martial arts training and kept his gaze steely, not showing any fear. He was no lightweight and he could fight well enough, but he also knew how strong Bess was and had to assume her father would be even stronger. That could be bad.

Suddenly Spike laughed a genuine, hearty chortle, dropped his gaze, and began shaking his head. “Never thought o’ that sweat thing – need t’ change m’ idiom, I reckon.”

Troy let out the breath he hadn’t actually realized he’d been holding and he felt the overwhelming tension flood out of him, along with nearly all his strength. Pure adrenaline had apparently been the only thing keeping him upright.

Spike clapped a hand on the younger man’s shoulder and turned back to the bikes. “Let’s go get some kip; been a long bloody day.”

“I love her, ya know,” Troy offered tentatively to Spike’s back, not yet moving. He was afraid his knees might give out if he tried to take a step.

“Tell ‘er that?” Spike wondered as he swung a leg over his bike and turned back to face the younger man.



“Not yet. She … seems … She changes the subject anytime I get near it,” Troy admitted, finally trusting his legs to actually walk again without buckling.

“Only three words, Indy. Can’t change the bloody subject in the middle a’ three words,” Spike pointed out.

Troy sighed and got on his bike. “Bess can feel it coming – it’s like … radar or something.”

“So, instead o’ a big, lumberin’ hurricane, come in like a soddin’ tornado. Hit ‘er with it, hard and fast – then back the fuck up. Bloody hell, what do they teach you gits at that University?” Spike wondered as he kicked his bike to life.

Troy snorted and rolled his eyes. “There are no classes about dealing with people from Venus. If there were, I’d take them all,” he admitted.

Spike grunted. “Only one problem, Indy: Summers women aren’t from bloody Venus. That’d be right easy. Summers women are from Krypton.”



**~**

{{  Click here to hear Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus, Regina Belle & Jeffrey Osborne on YouTube  }}

Later that night, Saturday, September 17th, 2011:

After getting checked into the Yuman tribal casino/hotel in Yuma, Spike took a seat in the lobby to wait for Troy to do the same. While he waited, he pulled out his phone and texted Buffy, What R U doing?

**~**

Buffy fumbled for her phone when it binged at her, balancing a fussy MacKenzie on one hip as she dug it out of her purse with the other. She continued pushing the grocery cart ahead of her down the aisle with her hips, stomach, and elbow as she read the text from Spike.

groc shpng. U? she sent back one-handed.

Wishing I was kissing U nw. My tongue pressing btwen yor lips. Warm, soft, sweet. mmmm U taste so good, Spike replied, smirking to himself.

Buffy groaned aloud as a wave of heated prickles danced over her body. She stopped walking and closed her eyes a moment, jiggling the redhead lightly to try and soothe the baby’s bad mood. Suddenly, all she could think about were Spike’s lips against hers. She unconsciously licked her lips. She could almost feel his breath against them, cool and sensuous. She shuddered and her inner muscles contracted, moving the little balls around inside her, which only made it worse.



Her phone binged again. She opened her eyes and looked down at it, her breath quickening.

can't W8 2 feel U against me. yor bod writhing undr me. my tongue deep inside U. licking yor sweet cum. U tste like hvn.

“Damn it,” she groaned, biting her bottom lip. She tried desperately to stop her mind from envisioning it, but it was too late. She could feel her nipples harden against her bra and she visibly shuddered right there under the florescent lights of the grocery store.

Bing!

can't W8 2 grind my hot, tight ltl bod against yors. wnt 2 fuck U deep n hard. do U wnt it? can U feel it, pet?

“You are evil,” Buffy groaned breathlessly to the phone, drawing a funny look from an elderly woman walking past. Buffy gave the woman a wan smile and began to stuff her phone back into her purse. “Husbands,” she breathed, as if that said it all.



Bing!

want my cock deep inside U,  filling U 2 overflowing. Thrusting in, hammering yor pussy. so hot U R. could cum just thinking bout yor tight quim. R U wet thinking bout my hard cock inside U?

Buffy growled as her loins clenched and she felt one of the little balls slide down close to her throbbing opening. Her eyes went wide and she held her breath as her knees and thighs came together automatically, like a small child trying to hold their pee.

“Spike…” she growled, trying desperately to pull the little ball back in instead of pushing it out. That was all she needed: her torturous sex toys to drop onto the floor in the grocery store and roll down the aisle. Or worse, shoot out, ricochet, and shatter something, like the giant glass windows at the front of the store.

Buffy tried to breathe, to relax, and concentrated on drawing her pelvic floor muscles tight and narrowing her opening. Then she felt it. Oh God yes! She was going to cum standing there next to a wall of spring-fresh laundry detergent with her baby on her hip! She was overcome with almost giddy relief – he’d pushed her to the very edge, just one more text and she’d...



She swallowed hard. She couldn’t come in the middle of the freaking laundry aisle with a baby on her hip! Shit! He was turning her into a degenerate … or, well, more of a degenerate. That familiar tingling, that burst of endorphins and … whatever else burst inside when you came, was gathering strength as surely as a tidal wave gathered after a powerful, off-shore earthquake.

Bing!

Don’t U dare cum, womn! Kp yor promise! xoxoxo

“Argh!” Buffy exclaimed in frustration, her cry coming out louder than she’d intended. She could feel more eyes on her from either end of the aisle. They’d be calling the nice men in the white coats any minute now.

U R evil, she quickly texted back to him.

She stood there another few moments, trying to calm her breathing and slow her pulse by thinking unsexy thoughts: kitty litter, dirty diapers, broccoli, algebra. MacKenzie helped by yelling, “NO!” in her loudest voice, and yanking down on a lock of Buffy’s hair, which the baby had tangled in her small fist.

Keeping the unsexy-thoughts going, Buffy finally managed to work the little marble back away from its precarious perch near her opening. After considerable effort, she got her hormones and body back under control. The feeling of being too close to the edge faded slightly as she reluctantly took a step or two back from the precipice of bliss, and her pulse returned to nearly normal. She took several deep breaths to calm further. Spike was sooo gonna pay for this later.

“What was I supposed to be getting?” she asked her fiery daughter after a few moments. ‘Kenzie made a face, scrunching her nose, eyes, and mouth up into a less-than-helpful reply.

Bing! her phone chimed again. Buffy didn’t even look at it. She just dropped it back in her purse and began moving down the aisle. Maybe if she saw what it was she’d come here for, it would jog her jangled memory.

**~**

Spike read the text she sent back, U R evil, and grinned wickedly. He knew he’d gotten her, and that filled him with evil glee.

U R 2 cuz U luv it, he texted back to her just as Troy walked up to him.

“All set, then?” Spike asked, looking up as he tucked his phone away.



“Yeah, just a couple doors down from you,” Troy replied, showing Spike his room number that the clerk had written on a pamphlet for the casino.

Spike slung his backpack over his shoulder and nodded as the two men started for the elevators.

“You want to get some dinner in the restaurant?” Troy asked as they waited for the elevator.

Spike considered it a minute, then nodded. “Yeah, let me get cleaned up a bit. Meet ya down there in fifteen?”

Troy nodded. He was at once glad the man had accepted the invite and filled with trepidation about spending an hour or so sitting across from Bess’ unsatisfiable father – whom he’d just called a ‘complete asshole’ not half an hour ago – trying to make small talk.

**~**

“So,” Spike filled in the silence after the waitress took their dinner orders and left. He took a sip of his beer and nodded approvingly before he continued. “What do ya know about this so-called Great Spirit Aurelius?”



Troy shrugged and took a deep drink of his own beer, trying to calm his nerves a bit. He swallowed and set the glass down slowly, gathering his thoughts. “Well,” he began, “there are different variations of the tale, depending on who's telling it, but you have to go back to the Raamar’s legend of creation to get the whole picture.

“According to legend," Troy continued in his rich basso, "the Earth was created by the Great Creator. He gathered material from the universe and formed the Earth from it like a sculptor would make something from clay. He created the oceans and land with his hands, but it was dark and barren. Unhappy with this, but not certain how to shape it into something more pleasing, he turned to his wife, the Great Spirit, for help. She was pregnant with their first child. She was apparently pretty far along, but seeing her husband’s distress, she came down to his creation to see what she could do.



“The story goes that she had just finished creating trees, flowers, and all types of plants to decorate her husband’s creation, when she went into labor. She bore twins, which, if you don’t know, is something seen a lot in American Indian myths and legends. Some ancient societies look on twins as having special, even supernatural powers; others look at them as abominations – of one soul sharing two bodies – and they’ll actually kill one or both of them at birth … or would … back then,” Troy explained as he settled into relating what he knew to Spike. This he could do. This was something he’d studied since he was a kid and was comfortable with.

“Almost always they’re portrayed in legends and myths as one being all bad and one being all good,” Troy related.

“And I’m guessin’ this is no exception,” Spike interjected.

“Safe guess,” Troy replied, taking another drink of his beer before continuing.

“So, since the Great Spirit bore her twin sons on the Earth, they were now of the Earth and bound to it – they couldn’t leave, so the Great Spirit didn’t leave either. But, eventually, the Great Creator wanted his wife to return to his side in the universe. So, he relinquished his power over his creation, the Earth, to his sons and allowed them to work together to complete what he’d started. They could make anything out of it they wanted or desired.”

“This can’t end well,” Spike murmured. “Leavin’ the bits in charge? Never a good idea.”



Troy smiled, flashing bright white teeth against his latte-colored skin. “So, the two spirit-brothers grew up, pretty much unsupervised, using the Earth as their playground. Their heavy footsteps created lakes, their fingers traced snaking lines across the ground, creating rivers. When they fought, their scrabbling and tumbling created mountains and valleys. You get the idea.

“So, the story goes, these two brothers became more and more different and grew further apart the older they got. One was kind and honorable; the other was cruel and wicked. After a time, they found no joy in the company of the other, so they decided that they needed more inhabitants to keep them company on the earth.

The Honorable Brother created humans in his image so he would have people like him to spend time with. He created the Raamar first, then, happy with how that worked out, he created other tribes and peoples with whom the Raamar could trade. He created buffalo and deer and rabbits, etc. for the Raamar to eat, and showed them the plants that his mother had created that they could grow along the river for food. The Raamar loved the Honorable Brother and held him in highest regard.

“The Wicked Brother, on the other hand, had spent his time creating things like lizards and snakes, scorpions, bats, and … mosquitoes, no-see-ums…”

“No-see-ums? Always wondered where those nasty little buggers came from,” Spike snorted.

Troy grinned again. “Now ya know – blame the Wicked Brother.”

The waitress showed up with their meals. “Sixteen-ounce prime rib, extra rare, with steak fries,” she announced, sliding a plate in front of Spike. “And twenty-ounce sirloin, medium, with baked, all the way. Can I get you boys anything else right now?” she asked as she sat bottles of steak-sauce on the table.

“Couple more beers … Second thought, just bring a pitcher,” Spike requested.

“Will do,” the waitress acknowledged, giving the men a flirty smile which neither man even noticed. Gay. She sighed and headed off to get the beer.

“Right then,” Spike began as he tucked into his bloody slab of beef. “The good, the bad, and the ugly are all on Earth now …” he prompted.

Troy doctored his steak with some A-1, then took a bite and nodded as he chewed, holding a finger up to request a moment. He washed his steak down with some more beer, then continued the tale.

“Now, keep in mind, all this is going on basically in the dark – no one’s created the sun or moon yet,” Troy continued. “I suppose there are stars out in the universe, but nothing else.”

“A world full o’ plants growing in the dark?” Spike questioned, cocking a skeptical brow. “Not bloody likely, that.”



“Hey,” Troy objected, holding his hands up in surrender. “I don’t make it up, just telling you how the folklore went. It’s not much more outlandish than Noah gathering all the animals in the world, two-by-two, for a forty day, forty night pleasure cruise. That’s roughly six and a half million species of land animals – herbivores mixed with carnivores, lions with lambs. Not even considering the decimation of the gene pool each species would suffer if they survived the trip, the resulting carnage would make the ‘Texas Chainsaw Massacre’ look like a cheerful, romantic fairy tale. And that’s assuming it was even possible to gather thirteen million animals onto one hand-built, wooden boat without it sinking.”

Spike shrugged and nodded. “Given this a bit of thought, ‘ave you?”

Troy shrugged his massive shoulders. “I’m an archeologist, a scientist … or will be. I’ve studied lots of different myths of creation – from the Hebrew Bible and translations of the New Testament, to the Koran, to the legends of the Greek Gods – they all have plenty of so-called miracles or just flights of fancy. Ya gotta wonder sometimes if the authors were just very stoned or if they were trying to see if their audience was.  I guess I’m a little geeky – I love debunking them with logic and science; it’s kind of a hobby.

“Did you know, for example, that the famous Noah’s Ark story is just a copy of a myth from the Ancient Sumerians from about 2,000 B.C, with only slight variations? I mean – they couldn’t even come up with something original,” Troy continued, clearly getting engrossed in his topic.

“Whatever floats your boat, Indy,” Spike snorted before taking another bite of his quite literally red meat, encouraging Troy to skip back to the Raamar story by circling a finger in the air in front of him in a ‘move it along’ gesture.

“Okay, right. So, Wicked Brother sees these people that Honorable Brother has created, he sees how well they’re treating his brother, and how happy is brother is, and he gets jealous. So, first he sends in his snakes to kill the people, but they defeat the snakes. Then he sends in the scorpions, but they defeat them, as well. After trying a few different things, he decides to create a whole new being that will surely wipe his brother’s admirers out.

“This is where things get a little fuzzy,” Troy admitted. “Most of the versions I’ve heard call the being a ‘Criatura de Sangre’...”

“That’s Spanish: Creature of Blood,” Spike translated.

Troy nodded. “A lot of the tribes down here traded with the Spanish and the Mexicans, so they spoke the language to some degree. There were some other names, but that’s the one most of the books I’ve read used to describe this cruel, bloodthirsty killing machine.”

Troy gulped and looked down at this plate. Shit. Things had been going so well tonight! Why don’t you just keep calling him names, I’m sure that’ll make him warm up to you!

“Been called worse, Indy. Shoe fits and all …” Spike offered with a shrug.



Troy sighed in relief.  He cleared his throat a little uncomfortably, then continued, “Obviously now that we know that Aurelius was a vampire, it makes a lot more sense. Everyone just took it to mean that the creature killed by exsanguinating the victims or that maybe it painted blood over the bodies afterwards. Of course, no one thought that the exsanguinations came at the fangs of a vampire … since vampires aren’t real.”

Spike snorted but nodded his understanding.

“So, Wicked Brother creates this ‘Criatura de Sangre’ with the speed and strength of ten men, an unquenchable bloodlust, and the same pure-black, wickedly-evil heart that he has.” Troy gulped again, wondering just how many times he could insult Spike and not suffer some retribution. When Spike just kept eating and didn’t react, Troy kept talking, “He aims this thing at his brother’s tribe like a loaded cannon, lets it go, and sits back on the highest mountain to watch the destruction.”

“By my reckonin’, it didn’t turn out the way the Wicked Witch expected,” Spike interjected as he dipped some fries into the bloody steak juice, and stuffed them into his mouth.

Troy snorted and nodded. “It started out pretty good. He’d catch women and children in the fields or a lone brave off hunting and kill them. When the tribe went to their benefactor with the news, Honorable Brother knew immediately who was responsible.



“He went up to the highest mountain and attacked Wicked Brother. There was a battle so fierce that the legends say it shook the ground. The Wicked Brother threw spears of ice at his brother; Honorable Brother conjured balls of fire to counter the attack. The legends say the brothers destroyed mountains and created craters deeper than the land is wide with their fury.

“When their mother, the Great Spirit, came back and saw how her sons had turned out – how they were trying to destroy each other – she demanded that her husband, the Great Creator, find a way for them to co-exist.

“Knowing that his sons would never be able to live together, but wanting to do as his wife asked, he took Honorable Brother and his fire, and lifted him into the sky to become the sun. Wicked Brother and his silvery-white ice were made into the moon. The two co-exist, but rarely meet – when they do, during eclipses, it’s a time of great celebration, showing the cleverness of the Great Creator to please his wife and allow his sons to live in peace.

“Of course, the two brothers, being polar opposites, continued to struggle against each other even in their new forms. This is evidenced by the fact that part of the year Honorable Brother – the sun – reigns over the Earth for more hours each day than Wicked Brother, and vice versa during other times of the year. Their eternal struggle, it is said, is what created the seasons. In the winter, Wicked Brother has the upper hand; in the summer, Honorable Brother.”

Troy stopped and ate the last bite of his steak while Spike sat back in his chair and downed the last of his beer. They’d gone through the pitcher over dinner and it had taken a little of the edge off Spike’s mood.

“That doesn’t explain how the vampire got t’ be their protector. Sounds t’ me like it was the antagonist in this little fairy tale,” Spike pointed out.

“Not done…” Troy garbled out through a mouth-full of steak, holding a finger up for Spike to wait.

When he swallowed and downed the last of his beer, Troy resumed, “The vampire … or Creature of Blood, being made of all the evil and darkness of the Wicked Brother, was thrilled with the new status-quo. With Wicked Brother gone, he was the biggest bad on the planet. He thought he would become the leader of the Raamar people; he could have anyone he wanted with just a snap of his fingers. There would be no need to hunt the vermin down any longer. He could choose the tastiest morsels, the most beautiful maidens, and the tenderest children for himself.

“There was just one problem he hadn’t expected. When his creator, Wicked Brother, left the sky and the Raamar’s creator entered, he began to smolder and burn. Even cast away from his people, Honorable Brother continued to offer the tribe protection from the creature his brother had created.

“The Great Spirit saw the creature’s torment and, being unwilling to allow anything her sons had created to fall to harm, she demanded her husband create a cave for him, to shelter him during the reign of the sun. Of course, the Raamar were outraged and pled their case to her, begging her to cast the creature out into the light of the Honorable Brother.

“The Great Spirit was sympathetic to their plight, but she remained unwilling to destroy anything her sons had created, so the Great Spirit went to the Creature of Blood and struck a bargain with him. He would be given shelter and not cast out into the light, but he must never prey on the Raamar again and must offer them his protection if ever they call on him. If he, and all that follow in his line, abide by this, then any that are called on by the Raamar people for assistance will be given the Great Spirit’s talisman, which would provide unwavering protection from the Honorable Brother. The Creature agreed.”

Troy stopped and wiped his mouth on his napkin, letting the last of the tale hang in the air between them.

After a moment, Spike summarized, “So, any vamp that these people ask to help them would be given … immunity from the effects of sunlight. A talisman … maybe like a gem, that would protect them.”

Troy cocked a brow and shrugged one shoulder.

“And how many Protector Spirits did they call? Any other than Aurelius?” Spike wondered.

Troy shook his head. “We really don’t have a lot on the Raamar, but Aurelius is the only one that I know of. Doesn’t mean there weren’t more …”

“So, there might be more Gems floatin’ around,” Spike mused.

They both sat in silence a moment as the waitress came, cleared their plates, and left the bill. Spike noticed that Troy didn’t make any move to pick it up. Troy gulped nervously but did start reaching for his wallet when Spike opened the vinyl folder and scanned the check inside.  Spike suppressed a smirk – the bloody kid was probably strapped for cash. Workin’ on cataloging artifacts at the University probably didn’t pay much.

“I got it,” Spike told him as he pulled some bills out of his pocket.

“Are you sure, because I’ve got…” Troy began, but Spike waved a hand dismissively, silencing him. “Thanks,” the younger man sighed, stuffing his anemic wallet back into his pocket.

“No worries.” Spike shrugged and leaned back in his chair again, stretching his legs out under the table. He studied Troy a few moments before commenting, “You know all this folklore bollocks about every tribe by heart?”



“No, just a few of them,” Troy admitted.

“But you knew this one…” Spike prodded.

Troy shrugged. “Looked it up after … you know,” he offered.

“Why?”

“Why?” Troy parroted.

“Simple question: why?” Spike repeated. “Why go t’ all this trouble? Musta took a bit o’ time looking up that legend bollocks and finding this old man Bryant. Why?”

Troy shrugged. “I told you before. I love her. It means a lot to Bess, so … that makes it mean a lot to me.”

“And if we can’t ever get ‘er a Gem, then what?” Spike wondered.

Troy shook his head. “It doesn’t matter to me about the daylight. I worry about her – about her safety – but I love her just as much in the moonlight.”

“You know, she’s never gonna get old. When you’re ninety, she’ll look like your bloody great, great, great grandchild,” Spike pointed out. “You’ll be pissin’ in a bag and she’ll be just the same as she is now – just as young … just as horny.”

Troy shifted uncomfortably. Fathers describing their daughters as 'horny' was just ... scary wrong. “I know it’s not perfect…” Troy began.

“That’s a bloody understatement,” Spike cut in, leaning forward.

Troy gave him a determined look. “Not perfect, but few things ever are. All relationships have challenges, ours will just be a little different than most.”



“That’s where you’re wrong, Indy. You’ll have all the same bloody challenges and, on top o’ that, you’ll have more. She’s a bloody vampire – she’s not gonna age, not gonna ‘ave kids, not ever gonna be normal.”

“I knew she wasn’t normal the first time I laid eyes on her, standing there in the street fondling my bike. Don’t you get it? That’s the thing that makes me love her: she’s not a fucking lemming … she’s not normal. She looks at the world and sees beauty and wonder in the smallest things. She has no idea how beautiful she is; how heads turn when she walks into a room or how she can light up the night with her smile. She’s smart and funny and just the most amazing woman I’ve ever known. She can kick my ass, but when she touches me, s he can be as gentle as a butterfly. The only thing that scares me about her is … she’s so afraid of love.”

Spike studied the larger man for a few silent moments. Troy’s aquamarine eyes seemed to glow with the sincerity of his words. Finally Spike nodded and looked away from the young man, his eyes seemingly focused on something, or some time, far away, before he spoke again. “She’s got what ya’ might call ‘abandonment issues’. How much has she told ya about her life before comin’ to Sunnydale?”

Troy shook his head. “Not a lot. She says what’s done is done, that there’s no sense in re-hashing it, but I can tell whatever it was, it’s still there, underneath, holding her back.”

Spike looked back and met Troy’s eyes. “It’s not my place t’ tell her story. That’s up to her if she wants ya to know. What I can tell ya is this: she’s a Slayer and a vampire … and Summers besides. Stubborn don’t begin to describe that deadly combination. By my reckoning, if you want ‘er to open up to you, you’re gonna have to push – hard. Pushing a Summers girl that hard could get ya a right thrashing; pushing a Slayer-vamp-Summers girl could get ya killed.”



Troy gulped. He was pretty sure Spike wasn't speaking in metaphors. “S-so … what are you advising?” Troy asked, looking at Spike questioningly.

“Death or stubborn silence, take your bloody pick.”

Spike pushed his chair back and began to rise.

“That’s not much of a choice,” Troy pointed out.

Spike gave him a wry smile. He tossed Troy’s words back at the young man, “Nothin’s perfect.” Then Spike sauntered away towards the lobby, leaving Troy sitting there alone in stunned silence.

**~**

{{ Click here to hear Sexting by Ludacris on YouTube }}

So I'm just sitting in this rehab class
Trying to get myself unhooked on ass
So then my teacher asked me a question
Like Ludacris are you over there sexting
Ha ha OMG lol KIT Smiley faces X and O's LMFAO
My girl went through my cell phone
My girl went through my cell phone
My girl went through my cell phone
My girl went through my cell phone
I said my girl went through my cell phone

So I'm getting treated for my sex addiction
In a private clinic and I need you to be sensitive about my condition
Cause I'm in it to win it and I really don't want to further disappoint my fans
And my teachers a cougar so I wish she'd lend a helping hand
Damn, calm down, BBC TXT or MSG
After class come with me and can I get a little bit of TLC
She replied what the f-ck
FYI you're gonna flunk
SMH it's such a shame
You ain't learned a damn thing

So I'm sitting in the crib just chillin and I'm minding my business
Got a text with a tongue out from a number I didn't recognize
I replied who is this
Quick back got a hit back
Said this is Stacy and I've been missing you
Had to change my number so I went and got a new phone and new tattoo
A what, a new tattoo wow,
Arrr yeaah, hurry click
Can you send a nasty pic
So I can see right where it is
and I promise I won't show my friends (yeah right)
She replied, well ok BTW by the way
SMH it's such a shame that you ain't learned a damn thing

So I pull up to the club stunting in a Yellow Lamborghini
Half bent, black tint, fine pussy make it a little hard to see me
Stepped out, fresh out headed straight for the door and to the VIP
Next thing I got a text from a freaky Latina saying is that you I see
Is that you papi
So I bbm'ed abbreviate yep and before the night gets too late
Let me hit you with a little Q&A
Can I tap that ass tta
She replied it all depends
It's me plus one can I bring my friends
And all I can think was that it's such a shame
That I ain't learned a damn thing

Later that night, Saturday, September 17th, 2011:

After dinner, Spike laid down on the bed in his room, still dressed, and called home on his cell phone.



“Don’t even start,” Buffy growled in greeting when she picked up.

“What?” Spike asked innocently.

She could hear the smirk in his voice. She took a calming breath and tried to act civilized, if for no other reason than all her children were looking at her like she’d lost her last marble. “How was the trip? Did you talk to the guy?”

Spike gave her a quick run-down of the day’s events, including the fight at the gas station, the disappointing visit with Mr. Bryant, and an abbreviated re-telling of the creation myth that Troy had related to him over dinner.

Buffy sat on the couch and listened, interjecting ‘uh-huhs’ and ‘mmm-hmms’ in the appropriate places. She fidgeted as he spoke, crossing and uncrossing her legs, tucking them up and under her to one side, then the other. She tried to concentrate on the words he was saying, but mostly she just heard his voice gliding over her, deep and silky, caressing her like a warm, velvet blanket of sound.

She’d played his little game all day, but it really was getting to be a bit too much. She let herself drift off into the sweet honeyed thickness of his voice, wishing he were right there, whispering in her ear rather than hundreds of miles away. Her body tingled all over with pent-up desire, and just the low rumble of his completely innocent words had her teetering on the edge of …

“Are you listenin’ to me?” he asked sharply, pulling her from her daze.



“What? Sure. Of course,” Buffy stammered, as the vision of his lips whispering over her like his words shattered abruptly, almost painfully. “Why don’t you … ummm …” Buffy cleared her throat a little uncomfortably, “… talk to Annie. Love you – here …” she said quickly.

“Slayer,” Spike rumbled, stopping her in the middle of handing the phone to her daughter.

“Vampire,” she grumbled, pulling the phone back to her ear.

“No touchin’ without me,” he warned. “See ya tonight – got a brilliant dream for ya,” he purred.

Buffy nearly groaned aloud in relief, but instead tittered giddily for a few moments before finally clearing her throat and composing her scrambled emotions. He wasn’t gonna torture her with this much longer. “Right. See you soon. Here’s Annie…”

**~**

Even with the promise of a rapturous night of decadent dreams with Spike, Buffy had a hard time falling asleep. Her body was wired, revved up beyond reason. She tossed and turned, but that only made the little balls she had inside her – which had at one time been pleasurable, but were now torture devices – move around and key her up even more. She got up and made some warm cocoa with lots of milk, she tried putting on some relaxing music, she even burnt some candles that Willow had given her that were supposed to be soothing. Nothing seemed to work.



If she could just let a little of the tension out of her body, she was sure she could get to sleep. Spike was probably asleep – he wouldn’t know … right? Even if he did, it was just a game. She’d made that promise under duress – that didn’t count, did it? Wasn’t that what they always said on ‘Law and Order’? Confessions under duress wouldn’t stand up in court? Surely that was the same for promises. Anyway, what evil torture would he really rain down on her if she broke it?

Don’t be breakin’ your promises t’ me, Slayer. I’ll take it right personal, Spike’s warning from that morning echoed in her mind.

Buffy shivered. Everything she did, every sound she heard, everything she touched, every move she made was having that effect on her. Everything she looked at or even thought of somehow got twisted into some sort of phallic symbol. She was going mad.

“Fuck it,” she murmured under her breath, closing the bond with her husband completely. She stood up quickly, before she could change her mind, and bore down – just like she’d learned in Lamaze class. The two little torture devices dropped, slick and glistening, into her palm.

As she opened the bedside drawer and removed her favorite vibrator, she felt Spike pounding on the closed bond. Shit! Not two seconds later, the phone began to ring. Double shit!

She picked it up before it could wake the kids. “Yeah…” she answered, trying to make her voice sound like she’d just been suddenly awoken.

“What the bloody hell do ya think you’re doin?”

“Huh? … Nothing … sleeping,” Buffy muttered, trying to sound groggy. She was so busted.

“Like hell,” Spike snarled. “Put ‘em back in, Slayer. Put the soddin’ vibrator away and … Go. To. Sleep. You bloody well promised, minion-mine. You break that promise, you won’t get the reward,” he warned.

“You are a freak, Spike … a mind-reading, evil freak of nature,” Buffy growled back at him as she tossed the vibrator back in the drawer. “I’m too keyed up to sleep,” she offered as an excuse, putting a little whine in her voice for good measure. She would’ve pouted, but it would be lost on him over the phone.

“Sleep will be the only way t’ get that taken care of t’night,” Spike informed her. “Now get to it.”

Buff heard the line go dead and sighed as she hung up. She flopped down on the bed and took as much pleasure as she could at re-inserting the torture devices into her soaking core. As good as it felt, it wasn’t nearly enough. She lay as still as she could, tried to push everything out of her mind and ignore her body; she closed her eyes and envisioned herself floating in a cloud of peaceful sleep. It took a while, but finally exhaustion overtook her…

**~**

Buffy was still lying prone when she awoke within Spike’s dream – but she wasn’t in bed any longer. Well, that’s not entirely true; she was in a bed, a riverbed. Rushing water sluiced over her bare body, flowing over and past her in a sheet of liquid silk. Although the water was cool, it felt refreshing rather than chilling, like it would feel on a hot, summer’s day.



As she looked around, she could see that she was laying on a large, flat rock in a shallow part of the river. Her arms were up above her head, palms pressed together as if she were getting ready to dive into a pool. She couldn’t move them, although she couldn’t see anything holding her. Her legs were also immobilized, neither spread wide nor pressed together, just straight down from her hips in a natural position. She’d been positioned so that her body was basically a straight line, offering the least resistance to the rushing water.

The water flowing over her rock wasn’t deep, a few inches at most. It rolled over her like silken ribbons, touching nearly every inch of her skin on its way downstream. Her rose-tipped breasts cut the water like volcanic islands jutting up from the center of the earth. The water tickled her nipples, lapping at them as it parted and flowed around the obstructions, before ebbing back into a perfect sheet of crystalline liquid beneath them.

The entire bed of the river was littered in smooth rocks in various sizes and shapes; all in warm shades of brown, ochre, and tan. On either side of the stream were tall evergreens and beyond the trees were majestic, snow-capped mountains. The sky above was a clear, cerulean blue, and the sun shone down brightly, glinting off the water like diamonds, but not blinding her like a real sun might. Buffy could actually smell the freshness of the evergreen trees, and feel the sun warm her skin and try to dry spots the water had ignored for too long.

The water burbling over her tingling, sensitized body was like a million soft fingers gliding over her. All-in-all, it felt really good – or it would’ve felt really good if she wasn’t already teetering on the verge of insanity. The silky tendrils of water teased and taunted her skin, lapped gently at her lips and breasts, kissed her aching mound, but did nothing more. It was a new form of teasing-torture, designed to keep her hovering close to the edge, but not allow her to fall.

“’Ello, pet,” Spike purred in her ear.



Buffy jerked her head to the side to see Spike kneeling next to her in the river, wet and naked. Her heart jumped and she shivered at the sight of him. Her husband’s hard body glistened in the sunlight, muscles tensing and undulating with every move. Water dripped from his blonde curls and created rivulets that ran down his shoulders, over his pecs and abs, and down to his cock, which stood out from his body in defiance of gravity, hard and thick and oh so tempting.

“Spike…” she breathed, barely able to get anything out past the shallow gasps for breath that he’d reduced her to.

He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. Although the water was cool, his lips were warm – fevered even. She lifted her head up to deepen the kiss, but he pulled back, out of reach.

“Been a naughty girl, you ‘ave,” Spike chastised her.

“No … no, I didn’t break my promise,” Buffy argued.

“Nearly did … you were gonna pleasure that sweet quim without me,” he accused. “Sorry t’ do it, but gonna ‘ave to punish you, pet.”

Buffy thought that he didn’t actually sound all that sorry. His voice came out thick and rich, and suddenly the water changed from a rushing sheet of soft silk to a slowly flowing blanket of warm caramel. A moment before she’d been cool as the clear water rushed over her skin, but now she was warm, wrapped in a river of thick, sticky caramel. It engulfed her, oozing over her skin slowly, deliberately, coating her like an apple at Halloween. It was heavy against her body, forming to her like a glove, as it slowly made its way downstream. She wasn’t actually sure which she liked better – the cool, silken rush or the warm, syrupy glove – they were both wonderful in their own ways.



“I didn’t mean to be naughty,” Buffy cooed, giving Spike her best pout. “I just needed you so badly.”

“Did ya, now?” Spike replied as he dipped a finger in the thick caramel, lifted it up over her, and let a drop fall down onto one hard, uncoated nipple.

Buffy squirmed as the thick, warm liquid fell onto her sensitive flesh, then rolled slowly down her breast like a gelatinous dewdrop to rejoin the thickly flowing stream. Spike repeated it on her other breast and Buffy groaned in pleasure.

“Got beautiful tits, you do,” Spike murmured as he watched them sway gently with her gasps of delight. “Perfect, ripe melons, they are.”

“Maybe … you’d like to … kiss them,” Buffy suggested breathlessly.

“Mmmm … maybe,” he agreed. He leaned forward slowly and touched a tongue down onto one sugar-coated nipple. When the tip of his tongue met her hard nub, the warm caramel that clung to her dusty-pink skin transformed into cold, bubbling champagne.



Goose bumps exploded over her flesh.

Buffy gasped and her back arched up from the rock below as the cold liquid fizzed against her breast, tickling and teasing her unmercifully. She pulled against her unseen restraints as streaks of red-hot lust lanced between her breasts and her loins with bolts of pleasure. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t get away. Whatever Spike had holding her was stronger than she was – it didn’t give.

“Brilliant that,” Spike smirked as she wriggled and writhed beneath him. He curled his tongue around her other nipple, gentle as a butterfly, transforming the sweet, golden syrup upon it into sparkling wine which tickled and chilled her heated skin.

“God, Spike … please!” Buffy begged. Her pussy throbbed in need, her body thrummed with desire, her mind fogged with desperation.

Spike touched a syrupy finger to her lips. Buffy’s tongue darted out and licked the sweet caramel from his digit, then sucked his finger into her mouth hungrily. Spike watched her luscious, pink lips move over his finger and added another for her to suck on. His cock jumped, growing even harder as she lapped at the sticky liquid, sucking his fingers wantonly.

He pulled his fingers from her sweet lips and touched his tongue down on a bit of caramel at the corner of her mouth. More champagne bubbled, spilling into her mouth and down her neck. Spike lapped at the tickling liquid, drawing his tongue down her neck and pausing over her jugular.

“Bite me … yes …” Buffy moaned, still struggling to get free of the restraints that held her.

Spike nibbled on her skin with blunt teeth. He could feel her pulse racing just below the surface, smell the lust that’d been building in her all day. It was all he could do to not bite her at that moment. Every hormone in him screamed at him to bite her, to fuck her, to give her what she was begging him for. But it wasn’t time for that yet. When he gave in to her demands, it wouldn’t be in a dream, no matter how real it felt. He wanted to actually be there. He wanted to send her rocketing to heaven and keep her there for hours. He wanted to make her cum harder and longer than she’d ever done before. He wanted to make her scream. That would be her reward … and his.

Spike pulled his lips away from her neck and trailed his tongue down her body, leaving a path of sparkling, cold wine in its wake. Buffy shrieked and shuddered as warm turned to cold on her skin; thick richness turned to bubbling lightness. The wine fizzed against her tingling flesh, drawing more goose-bumps to the surface from somewhere deep inside her and causing her to shiver uncontrollably.

There were so many sensations bombarding her she felt sure the tidal wave of ecstasy would break over her any minute, but Spike knew just where to draw the line. He kept her teetering right on the edge, never letting her topple over.

“Spike, please!”

“Please what?” Spike prodded before licking her belly button and turning the warm syrup there into more chilling, bubbling champagne.



Buffy’s hips jerked and bucked. “Please fuck me. Need you inside me. God, make me cum!”

Spike clicked his tongue reproachfully. “Oh, minion-mine, your lesson’s far from done. Naughty Slayers must learn t’ mind their masters and keep their promises.”

“You’re trying to kill me!” she accused.

Spike chuckled lightly. “Is that what I’m doin’?”

Buffy whimpered when Spike licked the thick liquid from her mound and cold bubbly appeared. She screamed out when he licked down again, trailing his tongue languidly over her outer folds, and her clit was engulfed in freezing bubbles that popped against her bundle of nerves. She could feel it growing stronger, that tidal wave. It was right there. She could almost see it: a nearly-tangible wall of crimson-lust ready to crash down on her and crush her with bliss.

“Jesus Christ! Spike! Fuck!” she exclaimed as even more goose-flesh rushed over her body. If he’d only touch his tongue down on her clit, lick her throbbing hole, fill her to overflowing with sparkling champagne, she would explode like a bottle of Brut after a NASCAR race.



Spike laughed an evil, wicked laugh that made Buffy shudder, and he simply stopped touching her. Buffy shrieked and begged and bucked, desperate to touch him, desperate to have him inside her, desperate for release.

“You think I don’t know your body, naughty girl?” Spike wondered idly. He began stroking his cock as he watched her body heave and quiver with unbridled need. So beautiful, even topped with caramel syrup.

Buffy lifted her head as far as she could with her hands tied above it so she could look at him. She licked her lips as she watched him stroke his caramel-coated shaft. It should make it sticky, but instead the liquid on him was slick and glistening.

“I could … that is … uhhh … clean that for you,” she offered, eyeing his rod hungrily.

Spike curled his tongue over his teeth and sucked in a hissing breath. Oh, that would feel like heaven.



“Just … uhhh … untie me and…”

Spike barked out a laugh. “Not gonna untie you, pet. Hold me down and use m’ hot, tight little body for your pleasure, you would.”

“I would not!” Buffy objected adamantly. “I might suck and lick your balls and cock until you begged me to use your body for my pleasure, but I’d never force you. I can’t believe you’d think I’d do that. ‘Champion of All That’s Good and Just’ here, ya know! I’m totally insulted.”

Spike cocked a brow at her. “You think ole Spike would beg?”

Buffy licked her lips seductively. “Oh yeah, you’d be a beg-a-thon.”

“That a challenge, Slayer?”

Buffy shrugged with her head, a small tilt to the side, since she couldn’t really move her shoulders. “Take it how you want. You aren’t the only one with a talented tongue in this marriage.” Buffy’s pink, wet tongue darted out and flickered over her lips like a snake’s as proof.

Suddenly the rock she was laying on began to move, the top of it rising up and lifting Buffy’s head and shoulders with it. The caramel continued to flow down over her like sticky, heavy hands tugging at her body, but now it was more of a waterfall coming down from above.

Spike got up and stood over her, one foot on either side of her. When her face was even with his pelvis, the rock stopped moving. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the now elevated rock-bed at her back.

When his caramel-coated rod came within reach, Buffy licked a line from his balls all the way up to the tip. The thick, warm goo morphed into light, bubbly wine at the touch of her tongue. Spike moaned his approval as the bubbles burst against his sensitive flesh and dripped off. When Buffy’s mouth closed around the engorged head, her mouth filled with the cold, fizzing liquid, and Spike’s body jerked against her uncontrollably.

“Bloody hell!”

Buffy lowered her mouth over his shaft slowly. Each time her tongue found more caramel to lick off, more bubbles burst to life inside her mouth and around his cock. Spike’s knees quavered and nearly buckled under him as she slowly, but surely, enveloped him with thousands of small exploding bubbles of bliss. The cold liquid filled Buffy’s mouth and spilled out, covering his balls with the same eruptions of pleasure.

He couldn’t stop his body from reacting; his hips thrust forward of their own accord. He couldn’t stop his mouth calling to God Almighty as she undid his resolve. He was on the verge of untying her and fucking her senseless when she pulled off abruptly and leaned her head back against the rock.

His hips thrust, finding only empty air now, and he moaned his displeasure. “What the bloody hell?” he demanded, looking down at her in disbelief.





Buffy smiled up at him sweetly. “Beg.”

A growl of frustration erupted from his throat as he stepped back and away from her. “You bloody evil vixen,” Spike ranted as he paced next to her with noisy ‘plops’ in the thick, caramelized river, running a sticky hand through his curls impatiently.

“What’s the matter? Can dish it out but can’t take it, master?” Buffy chided him. “Untie me. I could do so much more if I had my hands too,” she cooed. “I’d have you begging in another minute,” she promised.
Spike stopped and looked down at her scornfully. How had he let her turn this around on him? That wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all.

Spike waved a hand, and the flowing river of cool water was back, the champagne and caramel gone.

Despite trying to act nonchalant and wholly unperturbed by the bubbly blow-job, Buffy was breathing hard, her chest heaving from her own arousal. The sudden change in sensations felt like heaven. The rushing water glided over her skin like the lover Spike refused to be just then. She closed her eyes and let herself get lost in the feeling, imagining Spike’s hands, his mouth, his body flowing over her, sliding against her like the water.

Spike watched her as the water came down in a sheet, flowing over her head, her shoulders, and across her heaving chest like a waterfall. It bounced into her lap and he could see her trying to open her legs further to allow the silken drops to caress her clit. Her skin shone golden in the sunlight, her hair trailed down and danced over her shoulders in waves with the cool water; diamonds glinted off the water where it pooled beneath her. She was as beautiful today as she was the very first time he’d seen her.

“What are you thinking of, luv?” Spike whispered from above her, his voice barely audible over the rushing water.

“You … inside me, touching me,” Buffy breathed back, never opening her eyes.

“Like this?” Spike wondered as he knelt next to her and grazed his fingers over her erect nipples.

“God, yes,” Buffy affirmed, her back arching, pulling against her restraints to press her breasts harder against him.

“Or this…” he continued. He slid his hands over the curve of her full breasts and dipped them under the surface of the water. The water seemed to rush faster, a thin layer of velvet softness between his hands and her hungry flesh. He was so close, close enough that she could feel that same fever-like heat radiating off his hands, heating the water, but he wasn’t actually touching her. His hands slid down her torso, his thumbs under her breasts, his fingers splayed along the side of her ribcage as the water poured down.

“If you stay perfectly still, I’ll reward you. Tomorrow night, when I’m home, I’ll touch you everywhere,” he promised.

Buffy looked up into his blue eyes. There was a glint of evil glee there, but beneath it there was a bright fire of longing. At least it wasn’t just her that was suffering; she took some satisfaction in that.

Spike continued to trail his hands down, over her slim waist to the hour-glass of her hips. Never touching, only hydroplaning over her body, close enough to feel the heat and lust she radiated. His cock throbbed in rhythm with her thudding heartbeat and he once again considered chucking this game and taking her right now, right there in the rushing water.

“When I get home, I want you so wet, so bloody horny, that all I have to do is whisper in your ear and you’ll cum,” Spike revealed as he watched his hands move over her body.

“I think I’m there now…” Buffy admitted as his hands slid down her body, turning the layer of water that separated their skin to warm, soft velvet.

“You can take more. Waiting will only make the reward that much sweeter. I’m going to take you past heaven, pet. I’m going to make this beautiful body sing for hours and hours.”



Buffy moaned in half-protest and half-lustful-anticipation and her eyes slid closed again, but she didn’t move as his hands continued gliding over her gently. The thin film of rushing water that separated them felt soft as a downy pillow, wispy feathers teasing her flesh. A wave of goose-bumps rolled over her body, following the path of his hands. She had to stifle a shudder lest she move too much and make contact, and possibly delay the promised reward.

Spike slid across the boulder beneath them effortlessly as he continued his almost-touching exploration of her golden body. He passed her hips and continued down her shapely thighs, toned and tan. Past her knees, her calves, her ankles, the thin layer of rushing water never wavering, still separating them. She threw giggling protests at him when he tickled the bottoms of her feet with a swirl of the cool, feather-soft water before starting back up slowly.

When he got back to her hips, he trailed his fingers across her hipbones to the mound of curls nestled between her thighs. “I’m going to slide my fingers into you and fuck you with those little baubles still inside,” he murmured to her. “Got any idea what that would do, luv? Gonna cover me with your sweet cum like never before, you will.”

Buffy moaned in reply, trying to tilt her hips up to him now. She didn’t want to wait any longer. Not tomorrow! Now!

Spike shifted positions, lifted a leg over her thighs, and sat astride her. Buffy’s eyes opened at the contact; his flesh was so hot it felt like it would burn her in the most delicious way. She met his gaze and held it as he continued talking. His voice dripped out as a low, sensuous baritone. She half-expected the caramel to reappear, but it didn’t.

“When you stop quiverin’ and can breathe again, I’ll slide the toys out and slam my cock into you deep and violent-like, like a bloody animal. So hard for you, Buffy. Oh, what you do to me. Make me crazy, you do. Can ya feel it?” he asked, as he guided his cock down toward her mound, almost touching – only a thin stream of water between them.

“God yes,” she whispered between gasping breaths. “You feel so hot … like an oven … like a fever.”

“It’s you … you do that to me,” Spike admitted as he stroked his cock. All he’d have to do is release her legs, drive his hips forward, and he’d be inside her. God, how he wanted to do that.

“When I’m covered with your cum – all slick and juicy – I’m gonna get that vibrator you wanted so badly and …” Spike paused, bit his bottom lip, and moaned, never letting his gaze waver from her eyes. “… and I’m gonna fuck your sweet ass and your pussy at the same time. Gonna drive deep into you, thrust against you hard and fast. Gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t scream … can’t make another bloody sound – then I’m gonna fuck you some more.”

“God, Spike … please … now. Do it now,” Buffy begged. Damn it! He was supposed to be the one begging!

Spike was still stroking his cock slowly and deliberately. “You want to suck my cock again, doncha?”

“Yes … yes!”

“An’ you want my cum dripping from your tight pussy?”

“God yes!” she assured him.

“Want my cock up your sweet ass? Hammerin’ into you?”

“Yes!” Buffy screamed, once again pulling against her restraints with all her strength.

Spike moved faster than humanly ... or even demonly possible. In a blink of the eye, his face was right next to hers, his mouth at her ear, his torso supported on strong arms, not touching her. He was close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off him, warming the water that flowed and splashed over and between them.

He trailed the sharp tip of his tongue over the shell of her ear. It left a searing, heated path behind, and Buffy could’ve sworn she heard steam hissing from where it touched the cool water there. Buffy’s whole body quivered from the contact.



“Then keep your promise an’ be a right good Slayer the rest o’ the night and tomorrow, and you’ll ‘ave it, minion-mine. I want you hornier than you’ve ever been in your life. Give me that, an’ I promise you the sun, the moon, and the stars.”

And with that, he simply vanished.

Buffy’s restraints were suddenly gone and she began to glide down the river with the silken water, sliding easily over the smooth stones, like a feather carried on the tide.

“You really are evil…” she muttered to him as she whispered smoothly down the rapids towards the waterfall. She hadn’t seen it or heard it, but there had to be a waterfall for her to drown beneath. Being dead was the only way she’d make it through the rest of the night with a shred of sanity. She wasn’t sure how she’d make it through the day tomorrow, though.

 “Evil.”


 

**~**

{{  Click here to hear Mamas and Papas, Dream a Little Dream on YouTube  }}


Stars shining bright above you;
Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you."
Birds singing in the sycamore tree.
Dream a little dream of me.

Say nighty-night and kiss me;
Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me.
While I'm alone, blue as can be,
Dream a little dream of me.

Stars fading but I linger on, dear,
Still craving your kiss.
I'm longing to linger ‘til dawn, dear,
Just saying this...

Sweet dreams ‘til sunbeams find you,
Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you.
But in your dreams, whatever they be,
Dream a little dream of me.

Stars fading but I linger on, dear,
Still craving your kiss.
I'm longing to linger ‘til dawn, dear,
Just saying this...

Sweet dreams ‘til sunbeams find you,
Sweet dreams that leave all worries far behind you.
But in your dreams, whatever they be,
Dream a little dream of me.

The next morning, Sunday September 18th, 2011:

Spike and Troy arrived at the Bryant house a couple of minutes after ten the next morning. The family had just finished breakfast and the old man was still sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee.

The two visitors accepted coffee as well and sat down at the table with the elder Bryant and his son.

“Father, these men are looking for information about the Raamar,” the younger Bryant began.

The old man waved a hand, agitated. “I know that. They were here last night.”

“I just didn’t know if you remembered,” the younger man explained.

“I’m not a blithering idiot,” the elder Bryant snapped at his son.

John Jr. sighed and extended his hands, palms up, in supplication as he left the kitchen.

“Would you boys care for some breakfast? Coffee?” the old man asked them, his coal-black eyes alert and focused as he cast his gaze over Spike and Troy.

"No, thank you, sir. We’ve eaten,” Troy replied.

“It’s no trouble…” the old man continued.

“No – really, sir. Thank you. We had the buffet at the hotel – we’re stuffed,” Troy assured him.

The wizened old Indian seemed satisfied with that. “What is it you boys needed, then?” he asked, looking from Troy to Spike.

Troy pulled out the pages of the decoded book that seemed to outline the spell to create a new Gem, and slid it across the table to the elder man. “We were wondering if you would be able to translate this for us.”

Mr. Bryant pulled a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket and put them on with slightly shaking, grizzled hands. He fumbled a moment with the papers, his arthritic fingers not as nimble as they had once been, before picking them up. He studied the pages for a long while before looking back up and meeting Spike’s gaze.

“This is only for those that have given the Raamar people protection. There are few Raamar left to protect, and what there are have scattered to the four winds: half-breeds, like me,” he told them, laying the pages down.

“We understand that, Mr. Bryant,” Troy cajoled. “But we would be eternally grateful if you could see fit to…”

“This is dangerous medicine … powerful. Not meant for just anyone. The one must be courageous and brave … true of heart. It is not a gift; it is a right to be earned,” the elder interrupted him sternly.

The Indian’s eyes seemed to grow confused for the briefest of moments, then focused again as he asked amiably, “Would you like some breakfast? It wouldn’t be any trouble.”

Troy shook his head. “No … thank you, sir,” he stammered before getting back to the point, “We know how powerful the magic is. We would gladly earn it … if there was some way to. I assure you, we would guard the secret with our lives …” Troy assured him.

“You? You would guard this from those that would have it? You would earn it? You are a mortal! Not even of this land. It is not your word that has any meaning,” Mr. Bryant shot back at Troy. Then, turning his gaze to Spike, he said, “It is the ancestor alone that stands any chance of earning it or guarding it.”

“I’m more American than he is,” Troy argued, jabbing a thumb towards Spike, clearly insulted.

“As I said: not of this land. Not a Raamar; not a Quechan … not even a Mexican,” the old man agreed, looking back at Troy. “He …” Mr. Bryant continued, pointing an arthritis-twisted finger at Spike, “… is one of the Great Protector’s descendants. Is that not true?”

Spike nodded. “Reckon that’s true enough.”

“And yet you are not of the darkness,” the elder man observed, waving a hand at the bright sun shining in through the window. “You have the Great Spirit’s talisman. Why, then, do you seek another?”



“Got a daughter like me. A champion … a warrior, protector,” Spike explained.

“And she is also of the Aurelius line?” the old man queried.

“My blood, so … stands t’ reason, don’t it?” Spike replied, avoiding actually answering the question. He had no idea what line Bess was of; no one did. All the vamps involved in her turning had long been dust.

The old man considered this a few moments, looking back down at the pages again, studying them carefully. After a long, drawn-out silence, the elderly man removed his reading glasses and set them aside, then slid the pages back across the table to Troy.

“Would you like some breakfast? I’m sure I can get something whipped up…”

“No, sir. Thank you,” Troy interrupted him. “Will you help us with the spell … the translation?”

“I’m afraid it is not my place to judge the worthiness of a Great Protector. I am not fully Raamar and there are no Raamar tribal lands left to defend, in any case.”

“Please, sir,” Troy pleaded. “If anyone deserves this, it’s his daughter. She’s a Champion – a Slayer as well as an Aurelian. Do you know what that is? A Slayer?”

“Of course. Blood of the Slayer. The spell calls for…” the old man stopped talking abruptly. “Yes, I am familiar with this Champion,” he revised.

Spike cocked a brow at him. “The spell needs the blood of a Slayer?”



“I’ve said too much. I’m an old man. My mouth runs on at times, leaving my time-addled brain behind,” Mr. Bryant admitted.

“What can we do to convince you to help us?” Troy wondered. “If anyone deserves your trust, it would be Bess. She’s special …” Troy’s voice cracked slightly and he cleared his throat. “... a very special person. She is a Champion, a protector in every sense. If she could earn it, she would.”

The old man studied Troy’s pleading face, then looked at Spike’s grave expression. After a moment, he nodded solemnly. “It is not my place to offer the talisman of the Great Spirit, however …” he pulled a lanyard of worn leather off over his head upon which hung a heavy pendant of polished malachite – a brilliant green opaque stone with darker green, nearly black, striations. “... it would’ve been my Raamar ancestor’s place. Have your Shaman use this talisman to call up the spirit Mingan. He can guide you in this. He may bestow a test upon you and allow your Champion to earn the blessing of the Great Spirit.”

The old man handed the pendant to Spike somewhat reluctantly, his hand pausing halfway across the table, before fully extending to the vampire.

 

Spike took the necklace from the man’s hand and slipped it over his own head. The primary color of the stone was hauntingly familiar to Spike. If not for the opaqueness and the bands of darker green, it may have been a Gem of Amarra.

“Mingan?” he repeated, looking up at the old man.

Mr. Bryant nodded.

“’Preciate it. I’ll return this as soon as I can.”

The old man inclined his head, acknowledging Spike’s gratitude. “Can I offer you gentlemen some breakfast?”

“No … ta ever so,” Spike replied. “Can I ask ya somethin’ else?” Spike continued as he straightened the pendant on his chest.

“It has been said that asking questions is the only way to find the answers you seek,” Mr. Bryant agreed.

Spike nodded. “How many times were Aurelians called on to help protect the Raamar?”

Mr. Bryant furrowed his brow in thought for a few moments. “My great-grandfather’s stories are many winters away now, but I seem to remember him telling the tales of two such requests.”

Spike’s brows went up, but he tried to not sound or look too overly-excited. “The first I reckon was Aurelius himself, yeah? Do ya know who the other was … anything about it? What year it was?”



The old man shook his head. “Years had no meaning to the old ones. There was no calendar; there were only seasons passing, one into the next, moons waxing and waning. No one knows how many had passed since the Great Creator cast his sons into the heavens.

“The first calling to the Great Protector brought a swift and bloody end to the Spanish mission. They promised great gifts – but delivered only a handful of trinkets. They took the food from the mouths of our babes, and the land from beneath our feet. They promised a one true god to protect us, but we suffered illness and death at the hands of their ‘one true god’, unlike the Great Creator and Great Spirit who had provided health and abundance for our people since the dawn of time.

“The second calling was later; the great white army came and took over our river crossing. We fought them back once on our own merits, but they returned some time later. They built a fortress, reclaimed our river crossing, and took all the fertile land along the river for themselves.

“Our braves fought again, but there were too many. The Great Protector heard our call and came but …” the old man paused, thinking a moment, lost in some distant memory. “It did not go well. The story goes that he thought to cheat our people of the talisman and not give us the requisite assistance.

“It was the beginning of the end for the Raamar. Our braves attacked the fort and ambushed patrols of soldiers, expecting the Protector to come and fight at their side. But, he instead chose to attempt to obtain the talisman through deceit. While our braves were fighting for their lives and the lives of our people, the Protector tortured the Medicine Man to force him to create the talisman for him.

“It is told that this Protector took great joy in the act of torture – much more than in warfare, for which he’d been called. When his devices did not have the desired effect on our Medicine Man, he began killing the unprotected women and children that had gathered. Their blood ran freely; it is said the river was stained red with the blood of the innocents. At last, desperate to save what few of the tribe that remained, the Medicine Man agreed to create the talisman.
 
“It is said that the spell was never completed. The Medicine Man died of his injuries before the blood of a Slayer could be obtained,” the old man concluded.

Spike’s hope that another Gem existed somewhere, just waiting to be found, collapsed inside him painfully. “Bugger…” he muttered under his breath, then his brow furrowed as a thought occurred to him.



“You don’t know the name o’ this blighter … the one that enjoyed torturing women and children and whatall?” he asked the old man.

The Indian shook his head. “If it was passed to me, I don’t remember it now – too many seasons have fogged my mind.

“Where is my hospitality? I should offer you breakfast … certainly you must be hungry after your long trip,” the old man offered yet again.

“No, thank you, sir,” Troy answered, his tone patient. “We ate just a little while ago.”

“Don’t reckon the name Angelus rings any bells for ya …” Spike wondered.

The old man shook his head. “Too many seasons,” he repeated.

Spike pursed his lips but nodded. “An’ you don’t know what year it was?”

“The Year of the End," the old Indian related.

“Would’ve been in the mid-1800's,” Troy offered. “That was when the tribe seemed to … disperse … vanish. Sometime during that decade … around the time of the gold rush.”

“Before my time,” Spike muttered. “Before Dru’s …” he thought aloud.



“You think it might’ve been this Angelus guy?” Troy asked Spike.

Spike shrugged. “The M.O. fits. A master o’ bloody torture, he is.”

“Is? As in … still is?” Troy shot back, dark eyes wide.

Spike smiled ruefully. “Leopards don’t change their spots … even after a couple o’ centuries. Might fade a bit, harder t’ notice with a soulful camouflage, but they don’t bloody change.”

“So … this guy is still alive?” Troy questioned, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Undead, more like,” Spike confirmed.

“And you know him? We could talk to him?” Troy asked, growing more excited.



“Know ‘im. Don’t rightly fancy talkin’ to the wanker.”

“But … he might know something. He might have…”

“He don’t have the bloody Gem or know how t' make one,” Spike cut Troy off.

“How do you know?”

Spike snorted. “If he had one, he’d bloody well be usin’ it. Wouldn’t let me have one up on him, would he?”

“Oh, ok. Well … but still, he might know something useful,” Troy suggested.

“Might … might not."

“If the Medicine Man did the spell in front of him, he might know a good bit about it,” Troy pointed out.

“Even if he did, he ain’t big on sharin’ – especially not with me. He and I have a kinda … hate-hate relationship. Not sure why – I’m so bloody lovable … easy-goin’ and whatnot. He, on the other hand, is a right prat.”

Troy rolled his eyes.

“Would you boys like some breakfast? Perhaps a cup of coffee?” Mr. Bryant asked again. “I don’t know where my manners have gone in my old age…”

“No, sir,” Troy replied, standing up. “I think we’ve got what we need,” he offered tentatively, looking at Spike for confirmation.

“Right. Got your bauble here … we’ll ring up Mingan and give that a go,” Spike agreed as he stood up also. “Errr … don’t need any … offerings or … sacrifices for this spirit o’ yours, do we?”

The wrinkled old Indian’s dark eyes twinkled as he pushed himself to his feet stiffly, bronze, gnarled hands pressing heavily against the table for support. “He always appreciates some fine tobacco and bottle of whiskey.”

Spike nodded. “Can’t rightly blame a ghostie for that…”

Before they left, Spike and Troy shook hands with the old man, declined breakfast again, and promised to bring his ancestor’s amulet back to him as soon as they could.

**~**

The trip back to Sunnydale was uneventful. When they reached the city limits, Troy headed back to the mansion where Bess waited; Spike turned the opposite way and went to the ballpark where Dani’s Minor League baseball team was playing in a county-wide tournament.

Spike pulled up in the dusty parking lot, sneaking his bike in a spot next to the Blue Bomber which was almost directly behind home plate. He wasn’t actually in a parking spot, but parked on the line – if there had actually been lines in the dirt lot – between Buffy’s minivan and another parent’s car. He killed the engine of the Harley and kicked it up onto its stand just as Dani came out of the dugout. She was swinging her aluminum bat around her shoulders, taking practice swings as she had seen the pros do as she walked to the plate.

At the sound of the rumbling bike, she looked up and saw him. Her bright, blue eyes widened and she let the all-business, grim line of her mouth curve into a toothy grin. She looked over to where her cheering-section sat in the bleachers, and yelled, pointing at Spike, “Papa made it!”



Spike’s eyes followed Dani’s gaze and found Buffy’s golden hair, trussed up in a long ponytail, just before his wife turned and looked in the direction Dani was pointing. She smiled at him, clearly delighted that he’d made it – probably for more than one reason – and waved him over. Spike held her gaze for a long moment, drinking in the sight of her, before holding a finger up, silently saying he'd be there in a minute.

Spike got off the bike and walked up to the tall chain-link fence behind home plate as Dani took her place in the batter’s box. She adjusted her feet, scuffling up red clay, digging her back foot into the hardpack, then she swung her bat back and forth over the plate a couple of times before bringing it back and resting it on her back shoulder.

“Hold the bat up, Lemon Drop – don’t rest it on your bloody shoulder,” Spike coached from behind her. “Can’t hit anythin’ like that. Hit it like we practiced.”



Dani re-shuffled her feet, re-straightened her helmet, re-swung her bat back and forth over the plate, and then finally stilled it near her back shoulder, but not resting on it.

“Elbows up,” Spike instructed, and Dani raised both elbows so they were parallel to the ground. “Wait for yer pitch. Don’t forget t’ follow through,” Spike continued to coach from behind her.

The first pitch came at her. The players in the other dugout were jeering, chorusing the ever-popular, ‘Swing, batta’, batta’, swing!”

Dani swung. And missed.

“Alright. No worries,” Spike told her, clapping his hands encouragingly. “Don’ chase it, pet. That was a ball … wait for your pitch.”

Dani went through her ritual again: shuffle feet, set stance, dig cleats into clay, straighten helmet, swing bat, ready it near back shoulder, raise elbows, look at pitcher, wait for pitch.

The second pitch came at her and she watched it go by. “Steee-rike,” yelled the umpire from behind the base.

“Like bloody hell! That was low and away!” Spike yelled at the umpire. The umpire didn’t even hear him – he’d heard it too many times before.



“Alright,” Spike assured his daughter again as she stepped out of the batter’s box. “That wasn’t your pitch – bloody ump’s blind is all. If it’s anywhere near the plate, swing this time, yeah? Knock it down their throats, Grasshopper.”

Dani nodded, never looking at her father. She took a deep, calming breath then stepped back in the box and began her ritual again.

The other team continued to heckle her with cries of, “No batter! No batter!” and “Easy out!” and “Cinderella can’t find the ball!” Of course, they also continued to encourage her to ‘swing, batter!’

On the other side of the field, Dani’s team, the Sunnydale Slammers, chanted, “We want a pitcher, not a belly itcher!” and shouted words of encouragement to their teammate. “You can do it, Dani! C’mon, Dani!”

For the first time, Spike looked up at the scoreboard. It was the bottom of the sixth, and final, inning and there was one out. The other team was ahead by one run.

Spike looked back just in time to see the pitcher throw. Dani began her swing, but stopped just in time for it to not count as a strike. The ball went well wide of the plate, past the catcher’s mitt, and hit the backstop. Dani backed away from the plate as a runner on second advanced to third and turned the corner toward home, but the third-base coach stopped him. The pitcher had come up to cover home plate and the catcher was already tossing him the ball.

“Be alert! Bunt or sacrifice fly! Come in closer!” the coach of the other team yelled at his players, motioning them all to come in closer to the infield.

Dani’s coach jogged out and spoke to her quietly before she stepped back into the batter’s box and began her ritual all over again.

When the pitcher let the ball go, Dani slid her top hand down the bat to get ready to bunt it down the first-base line, but she didn’t bring the bat down over the plate, stopping at the last moment. The ball bounced in front of the plate one time and the catcher trapped it with his glove and kneepads.

Spike frowned. He hated bunts. It seemed like a cop-out. He knew a good bunt wasn’t as easy to do as it might seem and he knew it was a strategy, but so was hitting the sodding thing out of the park. Dani could hit – he knew she could. She’d never hit a home run or anything like that, but she was a decent hitter and had a good swing for a seven year old.

He looked over at Buffy, who was now standing, along with everyone else in the small set of bleachers. All eyes were on Dani. Annie and Buffy looked like twins: their hands covering their mouths and noses, worry in their eyes. Billy and Xander were yelling encouraging words to Dani, shaking their fists and jumping on the aluminum stands to make even more noise. Spike’s eyes scanned to the Slammers’ dugout, where he found JJ and the rest of the team banging their gloves on the chain link fence they stood behind, and also shouting and cheering.

Dani looked back at her coach again, who simply nodded at her. His meaning was clear to her: same play, bunt. Then she looked at her dad for just a second before stepping back into the batter’s box.

“Three and two,” announced the umpire, holding up three fingers on one hand and two on the other.

“Hit the soddin’ thing,” Spike said in a low voice from the other side of the backstop. He wasn’t the coach, but he couldn’t help himself. “I know you can do it.”



It seemed Dani had just finished her pre-bat routine and turned her head toward the pitcher when the ball came out of his hand. There was no time to think – only time to react.

In a fraction of a second she decided. Hit the soddin’ thing. She swung at the ball with all her strength. The baseball cracked against the aluminum bat with a metallic ringing-thud. It flew over the heads of all the outfielders, who had moved in to cover a sacrifice or a bunt. And then … it just kept flying.

The centerfielder and leftfielder turned and gave chase, but it was useless. The ball cleared the four-foot fence at the back of the field by two feet and landed in the tall weeds on the other side.

Dani had dropped her bat and begun running as fast as she could to first as soon as the ball was away, not even realizing she didn’t have to run. She stopped at first and looked around, waiting for the ump to call her out. It was only then that she saw everyone in their stands going wild and her teammates streaming out of the dugout. She looked at Spike, confusion covering her features. Her dad was smiling proudly, twirling his finger in a circle – telling her to keep running.



“Home run! You hit a home run!” the Slammers’ first-base coach told her. “Go! Take your bases!”

Dani’s eyes went wide. She stood there a moment in complete and utter shock before the coach repeated her instructions a second time. Dani ran around the bases, touching each in turn, and jumping down with both feet on home plate before being mobbed by her teammates. She’d never been more happy in her entire life. This was, undoubtedly, the best day ever.

After the two teams slapped hands, muttering ‘good game’ to each other, they had a short meeting in the dugout with the coaches, who announced the victory party would be at Chuck E. Cheese in half an hour. They would be going to the regional fall tournament in Torrance and might even make it to state. The kids cheered giddily, jumping up and down, arms raised in the air in victory, Rocky-style.

The team gathered up their gear and rushed out of the dugout where they were greeted by their friends and parents. Dani found her dad instantly and hurtled towards him, throwing herself at him when she got close. Spike caught her under her arms and twirled her in a circle, using her own momentum to swing her around.

“Did you see!? I did it! Did you see!? We won! I hit a home run! Did you see!?” she babbled, not letting him answer.

Spike hugged her to him, finally able to answer when she ran out of breath. “Everybody in the bloody place saw, Grasshopper! Bloody brilliant! Knew you could do it.”

Buffy, who was carrying MacKenzie, came up to the group of players, followed closely by Annie, JJ, and Xander. They all congratulated Dani, patting her back enthusiastically. Dani was on top of the world. Her face hurt from grinning so widely, but she couldn’t stop. Her eyes absolutely glittered with joy as the group began walking out to the parking lot.

“Where’s Billy?” Buffy asked, realizing they were one child short. It’s some sort of innate Mom-thing; without even counting, they can sense that there just wasn’t enough noise or something.

“He went to get the ball…” Annie offered, pointing towards the outfield. Billy was just climbing back over the fence with the ball in hand.

Spike set Dani back on her feet when they reached the minivan and Billy caught up to them. “Here,” he offered, holding the ball out towards his twin. “Your very first home run. One day, this ball will be worth a million-gazillion dollars!” he asserted, smiling at his sister proudly.

Dani laughed as she grabbed it from his hands. “Awesome! When I’m a rich and famous baseball player, I’ll buy you a puppy and … a real light saber and … an electric guitar!”

“Cool!” Billy grinned back at her.

"You can’t be a baseball star,” JJ pointed out. “You’re a girl.”

“Girls can do anything they want, right Mama?” Dani contended, narrowing her eyes and sticking her tongue out at her cousin.

“That’s what they tell me … it’s a law or something,” Buffy agreed. “All you have to do is be twice as good as the guys to get a chance – luckily, that’s not all that hard.”



"Hey!" Xander objected. "I resemble that remark!"

Buffy laughed as Dani scrunched her face up in a sneer at JJ. “See? Girls rule, boys drool!”

“Do not!” JJ shot back, displaying his rapier wit.

“Do too!”

“Not!”

“Too!”

A shrill whistle cut the air and broke up the all too familiar ‘Not/Too’ argument. “Right, then,” Spike began when everyone was quiet. “Who’s for the indigestion party with Chuck?”



“Me!” chorused all the children, hands in the air.

Buffy sighed and rolled her eyes before meeting Spike’s gaze over the heads of their children. Spike smirked at her as the children began piling into the minivan. When the path between them was clear, Spike stepped forward and took her in his arms. He swayed with her a moment, holding her against him as if dancing.



“Can’t wait t’ get you home,” he whispered in her ear. “Missed you.”

Buffy moaned against his shoulder and lifted her lips up to his for a kiss. Spike’s lips touched hers gently, still teasing and taunting her. His tongue darted out and pressed between her lips quickly, then pulled back. He started to pull back from the kiss, but Buffy wasn’t that easily deterred. She put a hand behind his head and pulled him back against her, crushing her lips to his hungrily. She devoured his lips, her tongue snaking into his mouth and swirling around his, tasting him, devouring him.



“Mooom!” Annie moaned. “Geez, you’d think he’d been gone a year! We’re gonna be late for the party!”

Buffy released her hold on him, but raised up on her tiptoes and whispered in his ear. “I’ve kept my promise – you better deliver.” A more deadly, threatening tone Spike had never heard from her. He leaned down and planted a knee-weakening kiss on her lips, pulling her body against his even harder.
 
When the kiss broke, leaving Buffy panting and breathless, he gave her his most charming, innocent smile and said, “Why Slayer, whatever are you yammerin’ on about?”

Buffy actually growled. Spike thought he’d never been closer to being staked than that moment. He laughed and winked at her. “Ole Spike always keeps ‘is promises, luv. See ya at the party.”

Spike turned and threw a leg over the Harley, then pushed it back out away from the Blue Bomber before starting it up. Buffy watched him rumble away on it, wishing to God she was on it with him.

Damn! She could’ve gone with him! She could’ve let Xander drive the Bomber, she thought too late. She rolled her eyes and sighed. He probably wouldn’t have let her ride with him – too much vibration on the Harley. It was waaay better than the washing machine.

“Mama! Can we go? We’re gonna miss the party!” Dani prompted.

Buffy blew out a breath and climbed into the driver’s seat. She squirmed a little bit as she turned and pulled the seatbelt across her body. Those Ben Wa balls always did the craziest things when you sat down or stood up … or walked, or stood still, or twisted or laid down or…

“You ok, Buff?” Xander asked, giving her an odd look.

Nothing a night of Wild Backyard Monkey Sex won’t fix, she thought, but aloud she said, “Are you kidding?  Children’s pizza and arcade party at restaurant that has a rat as its mascot?” She widened her eyes as if the giddy anticipation of it was about to kill her. “Yum! Life doesn’t get any better than this.”  



“I know, right?” Xander agreed, grinning like a wild man. “Anya’s gonna be so upset she missed this. It’s crazy how often she has to do inventory at the shop. I don’t think she’s been to Chuck E. Cheese in … gee … over a year.”

Buffy rolled her eyes as she put the van in reverse and headed out after Spike and the rest of the team to celebrate. Maybe she could help Anya with inventory next time…
 
**~**

{{  Click here to hear Undefeated, Jason Derulo on YouTube  }}

Wish I knew then what I know now
But I, I,
Can’t change the past
No matter how, I try I
So I’mma get up and dance,
 
You know,
Cause this might be my last chance
Like there’s nobody around,
Even gravity can’t keep me down
Everybody, get it started
I’m on top of the world, what a feeling
Whoa, oooo, oooo…

I’m undefeated, undefeated, yeah

No one told me what I can’t be
Now I’m walking on air, what a feeling
Whoa, oooo, oooo…
I’m undefeated, undefeated, tonight
Whoa, oooo, oooo…

Undefeated

No looking back, can’t live that way
Right now.. ow.
Yesterday’s gone, I found my way, somehow
 
So I’mma get up and dance,
You know
Cause this might be my last chance
Like there’s nobody around, even gravity can’t keep me down
 
Everybody, get it started
I’m on top of the world, what a feeling
Whoa, oooo, oooo…

I’m undefeated, undefeated, yeah
 
No one told me what I can’t be
Now I’m walking on air, what a feeling
Whoa, oooo, oooo…
I’m undefeated, undefeated, tonight
Whoa, oooo, oooo…

Everybody, get it started
I’m on top of the world, what a feeling
Whoa, oooo, oooo…
Please believe it, I’m undefeated.
What a feeling …

I’m undefeated, undefeated, tonight
Whoa, oooo, oooo…
Undefeated. 

That same afternoon, Sunday September 18th, 2011:

Troy parked his bike in the driveway of the mansion and cut the engine. As was his habit, he waved at the window of the house next door that had the curtain pulled back just enough for someone to peek out. He couldn’t actually see Mrs. Katz, but he knew she was there. The curtain fell suddenly when he waved – just like it always did. He snorted out a laugh as he got off the bike and headed for the garden doors.



He wished he had better news for Bess, that they’d gotten the answer in Yuma rather than just another lead – a rather flimsy lead at that. Summon a spirit? That was about as flimsy as it got. I mean, really? Ghosts? Maybe they should just call in Miss Cleo and get a free tarot reading.

Troy still wondered about this Angelus guy and if he might have some information that would help them. The old vamp might know something and not even realize its significance. Maybe if he, Troy, went and talked to him, without Spike, he could get some answers. Maybe Bess knew who and where the Aurelian was. If Troy could come up with the solution, produce a Gem … or at least produce the spell to make it, Spike would be forced to like him, or at least respect him … right?

“Hello?” Troy called as he entered the great room. "Bess?"

“Troy!” Bess exclaimed from the kitchen. She shoved her mug of blood behind some cereal boxes on the counter and quickly ran some water in the sink and rinsed her mouth out. She was just wiping her lips on a paper towel when he came in from the great room.

He gave her a brilliant smile and wrapped her in his arms, lifting her off her feet like she weighed nothing. Bess wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, hoping to the heavens she didn’t have blood-breath.

“How did it go?” she asked when he released her and she slid the considerable distance back down to the floor.

Troy shrugged and sank down into one of the chairs at the table. “Your dad hates me.”

Bess laughed. “I’m sure he doesn’t hate you. He was probably just grumpy ‘cos he wasn’t getting any. Mom was acting all … horny and weird too.”

Troy snorted and shook his head. “No – he truly hates me.”

Bess sighed. “Spike’s just over-protective. He hates all boys that aren’t Billy … and possibly JJ. But that’s not what I meant, anyway. Did you get any more out of the guy this morning?”

Bess pulled out the chair next to him, turned it sideways, and sat down facing him.

“A little – a lead, maybe. He wouldn’t translate it for us, said it wasn’t his place to judge if we were … worthy of it. He gave your dad an amulet to use to call up some spirit.” Troy shook his head and looked at the floor. “Seems a bit … farfetched, even for your family.”

Bess furrowed her brow and nodded, trying not to show her disappointment. “Willow and Tara can probably … summon spirits, I guess. I’ve never actually seen anyone do it, though.”

“Do you know someone named Angelus?” Troy asked, looking up to meet Bess’ blue eyes.

Bess frowned. “Angelus? You mean Angel,” she corrected. “You know Angel,” she informed him. “Spike and I did that mission with him for the government. That submarine thing…”

Troy rolled his eyes and slapped a palm against his forehead. “Duh! He changed his name. I didn’t put it together.”

“Yeah – when he got a soul he changed it. From what I hear, he goes back now and then,” Bess teased. “What does he have to do with it?”

Troy shook his head. “Not sure. Apparently he was called to help protect the tribe back in the 1800’s. The old man said he didn’t actually help them, so he didn’t get a Gem, but he might know something. Spike didn’t want to talk to him … now I understand why. Angelus is Angel. Another in your dad’s long list of people he hates.”

“Well, I think that one’s well deserved,” Bess sighed. “He’s not very … trustworthy. Faith and Wes have told me some stories about him. He’s not really someone you want to be messing with,” she warned.

Troy nodded, disheartened, and focused on the sky outside the window. “Well, I guess that leaves the séance.”

Bess gave Troy a wry smile. “And we can’t do that without a witch. There is something we could do without a witch though,” she hinted. “There’s still a couple of hours before I have to go on patrol. I’d hate to go out and be all grumpy with the mean-ole demons. They might think I hate them or something … it would hardly be fair,” she teased.

Troy met her eyes again and grinned at her. “Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

Bess shook her head solemnly, her face a serious mask, although her eyes gleamed with sensuous glee.

“I love you,” Troy blurted out suddenly, taking Spike’s advice to hit like a tornado instead of a hurricane.

Bess stopped moving. The gleam faded from her eyes like a fire that had been doused with a barrel of water. The fake look of solemnity morphed into a real one. Her teasing tone fell into one of anger, words whispered from her lips in a low growl. “Don’t say that.”

“I love you,” Troy repeated, capturing her gaze with his and not wavering. Her eyes seemed to blaze with some mixture of anger and fear, sparks of hot gold shattering the cool, cornflower blue.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Don’t say it,” she snarled as she stood up abruptly, knocking the chair over in the process. She turned and stalked away from him, heading towards the formal dining room.

Troy jumped up and lunged for her, grabbing her arm and spinning her back around. “I. Love. You,” he repeated emphatically.

“You don’t know me! You don’t know anything! Stop saying that!” Bess screamed at him, her voice so shrill he thought his eardrums would burst.

“I don’t …” he repeated in a confused mutter, his brow furrowed. “Bess – I know you and I love you. I know you love me too. I can feel it …”

“I don’t! And you don’t! Just don’t!” she screeched, pulling free from his grasp. “You don’t know me!”

“Fine. I don’t know you. Then tell me what I don’t know!” he demanded. “I know you’re a vampire and a Slayer,” he began. He took one long stride over to the kitchen counter, shoved the cereal boxes away, and retrieved the mug of blood she’d hidden there. “You drink blood to live,” he continued, shoving the mug at her. “You think that matters?”

“I’m not doing this,” Bess announced, slamming the mug of blood down on the table, shattering it and splattering the crimson liquid everywhere. She pushed past Troy, shrugging his grasping hands off like water, and stormed into the living room.



“We are doing this, goddamnit!” Troy asserted as he strode after her, his long legs making up the distance quickly.

He grabbed her upper arm again and spun her around as he’d done in the kitchen, but this time she led with a fist, bringing her free hand around and slamming into his face when he spun her. He may have weighed more than her, had more mass, more muscle, but he was no match for her strength. He stumbled backwards, but kept hold of her arm. He tripped over the edge of a throw-rug and went down on his back hard, pulling her down with him.

Bess yanked her arm free and began to stand up. On pure instinct, Troy kicked her legs out from under her and she fell again. His brain spun like a buzz-saw and stars dotted his vision. He felt blood pouring from his nose, coating his mouth and lips. Bess was screaming something at him, but the connection between his ears and his brain seemed to have been broken – only garbled sounds came through. Somehow, his jumbled mind could guess at her words, “Let me go! Don’t make me hurt you!”

Troy scrambled atop her, trying to clear the spinning in his head. Bess twisted and writhed like a slippery eel, her smaller frame able to move more quickly than his. They struggled on the floor for a while, her sliding away from him and him scrambling after, pulling her back. He kept saying the only thing his rattled mind could think of, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Troy finally got the upper hand, pinning her arms between them as they grappled. His wrestling acumen helped him gain some measure of leverage over her and he finally had her trapped beneath him. He blinked his eyes a few times and swallowed a mouth-full of blood as the world finally stopped spinning and her face and words came into focus. When he looked down he realized she was sobbing, shaking her head and muttering, “You don’t know…” over and over again. Blood dripped down from his most-assuredly broken nose and splattered against the milk-white skin of her neck and face.

“Bess, please,” he begged gently, his voice muffled by the blood. “Tell me what I don’t know.”

She shook her head as tears met drops of blood and rolled in pink ribbons down her face.

“I won’t love you any less,” he promised, releasing the hold he had on her. He realized he wasn’t actually holding her still, she had simply stopped fighting.

“You’ll leave … If you knew what I’ve done,” she whispered, barely audible past her tears.

“I …” Troy started to say, ‘I won’t. I’d never leave,’ which he knew was true, but also knew she’d never believe. Instead he said, “I deserve to know. I love you and … I deserve to know everything.”

“Don’t love me,” she pleaded. “Please just … can we … not do this? Can’t we … go back?”

“There are no do-overs. We can’t go back – only forward. I can’t change what I feel, Bess, and I don’t want to even if I could. Please,” he pleaded with her, wiping at her tear-and-blood streaked face with the pad of his thumb. “Please let me love you.”

Bess closed her eyes, but her tears continued to trickle through her blonde lashes, making them look darker. Troy pushed up off her, his head spinning again as he rose. He sat with his back against the sofa, which had gotten overturned during their struggle, and pulled Bess up to him. He wrapped his arms around her and tucked her head under his chin. Blood still dripped from his nose and spilled into her silken blonde hair, staining it with crimson rivulets.

Bess leaned against his strong chest for what she knew would be the last time. His arms were like heavy tree-trunks against her small frame, surrounding her with warmth and comfort. She should’ve never let him get so close. Should’ve kept him at arm’s length; never let him love her. Now she was going to lose him. How many males had she screwed in the dungeon, men and vampires alike? She had no idea. Hundreds? Thousands?

It wasn’t like she could even say she was raped. She had been before, when she was human, by the ones that changed her, but not in the dungeon. In there she welcomed the trips to the white room, longed for them. It was her only escape from the dreary boredom, and she reveled in the depravity of it. No fighting. No biting. Keep the demon down. Vaginal first, then whatever you wanted to do for as long as you wanted to stay. Screw the guards and get more time in the room. Mac liked giving it to her in the ass; Smitty preferred blow-jobs; Artie liked to spank her first, then fuck her pussy. She knew what they all wanted and had no problem giving it to them.



She was a whore. Not for money – not that time, anyway – but for a small taste of freedom from the monotony of the cells. She’d been a whore for a century. Then, when she’d finally been free, what had she done? Turned back to the only thing she knew how to do. Even if Troy could forgive her the dungeon, how could he forgive her for that? Life was not a romance novel; life was not ‘Pretty Woman’. Men might be perfectly happy to fuck a whore, but they didn’t fall in love with them and they didn’t bring them home to mother.

“Bess, please. Please tell me,” Troy prompted after a time, pulling her from her thoughts.

Bess wiped her face on the sleeve of her t-shirt, staining it with streaks of red. Troy’s nose had finally stopped bleeding, but they were both covered in scarlet gore.

Bess took a deep breath, let it out slowly and said, “I’m a whore.”

Troy narrowed his eyes in confusion, shaking his head slightly as if he hadn’t heard her correctly. “You’re a … what?”

“A whore. You know what that is, right? Someone who fucks for money or favors?” she shot back angrily as she pulled away from his embrace.

“Bess … I don’t understand,” Troy stammered, letting her go without protest.

She stood up, moving away from him. “Whore! Prostitute! Harlot! Lady of the Evening! You’re in college – look it up!”

Troy struggled to his feet, using the couch for support as his head spun again. “Bess, that’s … impossible.”

She cocked a brow at him, her fists planted on her hips angrily. “Really? I screwed you up there on that bluff over the PCH so I could get you to teach me to ride a motorcycle. You remember that right? We’d known each other an hour at the very most. What did you think, that it was love at first sight?”

Troy looked confused and crestfallen and angry all at once. “So … when you go on patrol at night you’re actually … what? Screwing other guys … for money? But you have money – you have the money from the sub…”

“You don’t get it!” she cut him off, waving a hand at him dismissively. “Just go! Get the fuck out!”

“No! I don’t get it!” he agreed, taking a step toward her. “And I don’t believe you, either. You love me – I … I know it.”

Bess snorted sarcastically. “You don’t know anything.”

“Because you won’t fucking tell me anything!” he screamed back at her, taking her by the shoulders and holding her slender frame with his large hands. “Tell me what you’re talking about, damn it!”

Bess lurched out of his grip and began to swing another fist at his nose, but he blocked it. He engulfed her fist in his shovel-like hand and twisted, turning her around and wrenching her arm up behind her, lifting her off her feet. “Stop fighting me!” he demanded angrily. “Talk to me.”

Bess dropped her head forward and flung it back in one quick motion, cracking him soundly on the chin, rattling Troy’s teeth, and splitting his lip soundly. He dropped her on reflex, but lunged at her and they both hit the floor again, with him landing atop her. It would’ve driven the air out of a normal girl’s lungs, but Bess didn’t have need for air; it barely slowed her down. She kicked and clawed and scrambled atop him like an ant atop a rhino, raining down venomous blows to his chest and face. He got his arms up over his head and her fists slammed against his forearms.

“Bloody hell!” Spike exclaimed as he entered the great room. He’d left the celebration party a little early – there was just so much Chuck E. he could take, plus he had a night of Slayer torture to get ready for.
 
Spike sprinted the distance from the garage door to where Bess and Troy were fighting … or, well, Bess was fighting and Troy was trying to not die. He grabbed his daughter, encircling her torso with his arms and pinning her arms against her sides. As soon as he had a firm grip on her, Spike hauled her off the downed and bloodied man. She kicked and screamed and struggled against Spike, but he kept hold of her long enough to shove her into the training room and pull the door closed.



“Stay!” he ordered, just before the door slammed shut. There was no lock on it. He waited a moment … two … three, but she didn’t open it or try to escape. It sounded like she was sobbing on the other side, pounding her fists down on the mats that covered the floor.

He turned back to Troy, who was trying to push himself up, but failing spectacularly. “You too,” Spike ordered. “Stay!”

Spike went to get some ice and towels from the kitchen and came back to find Troy following orders, mostly because he was bordering on the verge of unconsciousness. Spike cleaned as much of the blood off the big man as he could and put ice on the worst of the bruises and swellings, including Troy’s nose, mouth, and eyes.

“What the bloody hell did ya do t’ set her off, Indy?” Spike wondered as he tended to him.

“Told her … I loved her,” Troy managed, swallowing a mouthful of blood in the process.

“Dolt. I told ya to hit fast and back the fuck up. Ya obviously didn’t back up.”

“Obviously…” Troy agreed with a grimace of pain.

“Need t’ get you to hospital,” Spike told him.

Troy shook his head woozily. “No… I’m …ok,” he stuttered out.

“Like hell! Your pupils are big as saucers. Got head trauma, you do. Not that it’d hurt that pigheaded brain o’ yours, but…”

Troy started to snort out a laugh, but grabbed his chest and winced in pain at the effort. Spike moved the big man’s hands and found a broken rib. “Sorry, mate – no choice: hospital.”

Troy’s brain wobbled and he nearly retched from the spinning and the sharp, knife-like pain that stabbed his chest. He didn’t argue further. Spike called 911.

“My God. What happened to him?” asked one of the paramedics that responded.

Spike shook his head. “Got home, found ‘im like that. Beat up pretty good.”

The paramedic huffed out a breath. “Yeah, by a Mack truck by the looks of it.” The paramedic knelt down by Troy and began checking his injuries, taking his blood pressure and pulse, checking his pupils, and other vitals.

“Who did this to ya, man?” he asked Troy as he worked.

Troy shook his head. “Didn’t see.”

“Do you know where you are?” the medic asked.

“Crawford Street.”

“What’s your name?”

“Troy Malu.”

“What year is it?”

“2011.”

After several more questions, the other paramedic arrived with the gurney and they got Troy onto a backboard and onto the gurney. Spike walked them out to the street and watched them load the man into the ambulance.

“The police will probably be by to talk to you,” the first paramedic told Spike before he headed for the driver’s door.

Spike nodded. He watched the ambulance drive away before heading back into the mansion.

Bess was huddled in one corner of the training room, her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms folded tightly around them, her head resting atop them. Spike sighed heavily, caught between anger, frustration, pity, and guilt. He walked over to her and squatted down on his haunches next to her.



“Is he … alright?” Bess asked, her voice strained and cracking with emotion.

Spike half-shrugged. “Will be, I reckon. What the bloody hell happened?”

Bess shook her head against her knees. “He … wanted to know … who I am. I … showed him.”

“Bollocks!” Spike exclaimed, standing back up. “He told you he loved you and you went off the bloody deep end,” he growled, jabbing an accusatory finger at her. “What the bloody hell?”

Bess jumped up from her position and started for the door. “It’s none of your business!” she snapped as she pushed past him.

“Hate t’ disappoint, but it is my bloody business. Beatin’ him up in my livin’ room makes it my business,” Spike asserted, grabbing her arm.



Bess tried to pull away, but Spike gripped her harder. “You wanna fight someone? Fight me. I’ve beat your arse before and I’ll bloody well do it again.”

“I’m stronger now,” Bess warned, looking down at where Spike gripped her arm.

“Yeah, but I got the Gem. I can go all bloody night an’ won’t have a scratch t’ show – how ‘bout you?”

“I could take it from you,” Bess warned.

“You could try…” Spike snarled back. “Or you could tell me what the bloody hell is wrong with you and save yourself a lot o’ pain.”



Bess snorted derisively, but looked up to meet Spike’s eyes. “He thinks he loves me. He doesn’t know … me. He … doesn’t know what I am.”

Spike’s brows went up. “Musta been awful confusin’ for him going on that mission then – not knowing you were a vamp and a Slayer.”

Bess pursed her lips together angrily. “He doesn’t know I’m a whore … or he didn’t until today.”

“Were,” Spike corrected. “Past tense. What happened wasn’t your fault. The bloody bastards forced…”

“I wasn’t forced – I chose … mostly I chose. Anyway, men don’t want to hear how many guys their girlfriend fucked before – certainly not when the number is in the thousands. They don’t want to know that you traded the only thing you had for money or the smallest sliver of freedom or food, and that you enjoyed it, that you’d do probably it again given the same circumstances. He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t know me.”

“You aren't the same girl you were then. You don’t know what you’d do now, Elizabeth Anne. You’ve changed. People bloody well change. You owe him a soddin’ explanation, not a beating! Let the dolt make up his own mind ‘bout it,” Spike argued.

Bess flinched slightly at the use of her full given name. No one had ever called her that – not even when she was a child. She recovered quickly, though, shooting back angrily, “What do you care? You don’t even like him.”

“Not the point: you do. I reckon he’s sincere about lovin’ ya,” Spike countered.

“And that brings us back to: he doesn’t know what I am. He can’t love me,” Bess asserted. “Please let go of my arm now. I need to change and go on patrol.”

Spike stared at her for a few long moments, then released the hold he had on her arm. Finger-shaped bruises had already sprung up under his grip, but Bess didn’t rub at them or even seem to notice.



“He deserves the whole story, pet,” Spike said softly as she turned to walk away.

“Yeah … maybe. But he won’t be back, so it doesn’t matter,” she sighed, resigned, as she left the training room.

**~**

Later that evening …



“I used to like to sit next to that mausoleum too,” Buffy offered idly as she walked up to where Bess sat in the Restfield Cemetery. “You can see nearly the whole cemetery from there, and the wall at your back keeps baddies from sneaking up on you. You do have to watch for them climbing over the top though – found that out the hard way once.”

Bess shrugged, never looking up, and petted Angelpie with one hand as she twirled a stake lazily in her other hand.

Buffy sat down on the bench next to her daughter and scratched under the perpetual-kitten’s chin. “Didn’t know she still came on patrol with you,” Buffy commented.

Bess shrugged again, her eyes downcast. “Sometimes.”



The two blondes sat in silence for a while, petting the purring kitten and looking out over the familiar tombstones. It was still, even after all this time, a place that felt comfortable to Buffy – like an old t-shirt and jeans. She’d spent many nights here in her youth, patrolling alone or with her friends, or Angel, then later with Spike. She’d honed her fighting skills and her witty banter within this marble and granite garden.

Buffy finally cleared her throat and looked over at Bess. She looked so young – too young to have been through everything she’d endured. “You know that when you and Spike went with Angel on that submarine rescue … something happened to me … and Annie … and you. Something different than what we all remember now. It’s how we got the scroll to decode the book.”

Bess looked up at her, but didn’t say anything as she kept petting Angelpie. “Spike knows the details about it, but no one else remembers and I hadn’t actually planned on telling anyone the specifics. It was … painful and … didn’t really turn out too well. Or, I guess in the end it did because everything got fixed, but … anyway, the point is, what happened to you.

“You got dropped into that same dimension where Annie and I were, but we didn’t know you were there right away. There were demons there that were tons stronger than me – even stronger than you – and there were lots of them. They ended up capturing you – taking you prisoner to use as bait to lure Spike … not your dad – a different Spike – to them.”



Bess’ hand went still on Angelpie’s back. The kitten sensed the change; she stopped purring and curled up against Bess’ leg on the bench between the two Slayers.

“What happened?” Bess asked, her voice small and unsure.

Buffy stopped looking out over the graveyard and met Bess’ eyes. “You fought.”

Tears stung the girl’s eyes and her chin quivered as she blinked them back.

“You fought with everything you had. You didn’t give up. You didn’t give in. You didn’t bargain, you didn’t … sell yourself to them. You. Fought. Tooth and nail, fang and … claw. You fought.”

Bess looked away, lifting her face up and gazing unseeingly at the stars above, willing her tears to not fall.

“Bess, you are not a whore. You did what you had to to survive in that dungeon; it doesn’t make you a bad person. It doesn’t mean that’s all you are forever,” Buffy assured her.

Bess shook her head and her tears fell down her cheeks in wide rivers. “But later … I …”

“We pushed you too hard,” Buffy interrupted. “We thought … I don’t know, we thought if we could just give you ‘normal’ that everything would be fine. We tried to treat you like you were fourteen – it was the wrong thing to do. We tried to erase a century in a few months and … obviously a century can’t be erased that easily, can it?”

Bess shook her head again. “I don’t know if it can ever be erased,” she admitted, her voice strained.

Buffy nodded. “Probably not, but if you let it control you, then you let the bastards win. Dawn told me something when she was here. She said that she couldn’t control everything that happened to her or around her, but she could control how she dealt with it, how it made her feel; she could choose to not let it defeat her or control her.



“I don’t know how you take everything you’ve been through and just decide to not let it defeat you, but, I can tell you one thing: you are not the same person that lived in that dungeon. You are not the same girl that came out of there. I saw it.

“You’re strong and smart and brave, and you’re a fighter. You are not a whore, Bess.”

Bess dropped her face into her hands and sobs wracked her body as she wept. Buffy laid a hand on her back and let her cry, let her get it out.

After a long while, when her tears subsided, Bess said, “It doesn’t change what I’ve done. What man is gonna love me if he knew?”

“There’s only one way to find out: tell him,” Buffy advised. “If he walks away, then he didn’t really love you. He fought, literally fought you, for the truth, Bess. Even though he had to know he could never win, he fought. To me, that says something about him.”

“Yeah, he’s dumber than a box of rocks,” Bess scoffed as she sat back, wrapping her arms around her torso protectively.

Buffy shrugged. “Well, yeah, there’s that.”

“Or he as a death wish,” Bess continued.

“Could be,” Buffy agreed.

“Or he’s totally mental,” Bess offered.

“That’s a possibility,” Buffy concurred. “Or, it could mean, he really cares – he really loves you – and what happened in the past won’t make him love you any less.

“What you need to decide is this: do you love him enough to trust him with the truth?”

Bess picked Angelpie up and held the kitten against her chest. The little fur-ball banged her head against Bess’ chin and began to purr again. After a long silence filled with only the sound of the kitten’s rumbling, Bess said in a low voice, “I’ve never told anyone about … that. Not even Sue-Ann knows the whole story. Only you, Spike, and Giles really know everything that happened there … and Angelpie. I told her. Faith probably figured it out … I hope the other Slayers that were there didn’t.”

Buffy nodded and ran a hand over the kitten’s twitching tail. “Maybe it’s time you trusted someone other than your cat with your secrets, Bess.”

Bess sniffed and rubbed a hand across her face. “I’m so scared…” she admitted, tears swimming in her eyes again. “I … I do love him, but I’m so scared. And I beat him up! God, I … totally freaked out and he just wouldn’t stop saying it and…” Bess’ voice trailed off and she buried her face against the softness of Angelpie.

Buffy sighed heavily and pulled Bess and Angelpie against her, wrapping her arms around them both. “I know, baby. Love is so scary … it’s frightening to give your heart away, to trust someone else with something so fragile. But it’s worth the risk … when it’s right, it’s so … just … indescribable. It’s like flying. Remember how you felt on the plane when we left England?”

“Frightened out of my mind?” Bess wondered.

Buffy snorted a laugh. “Yeah – but also giddy with excitement and wonder and joy.”

“Yeah, I was especially giddy when you started talking about crashing and burning,” Bess reminded her.

“Yeah, well … sometimes when you fly, you crash and burn,” Buffy admitted. “But sometimes, you don’t. But you can never feel the joy of flying without taking the risk of crashing. Believe me, the ones that don’t crash make the risk worth it.

“Bess, the first man I loved was a giant disaster – it was Red Cross and FEMA worthy. I think my friends were getting ready to do a telethon for me or something. It was an epic crash and burn, leaving scarred earth and ruined lives in its wake. But … then I found Spike, and we had Annie, and somehow it made all that trauma that came before seem less … traumatic.

“Spread your wings and take a chance, Bess,” Buffy advised. “He was willing to fight a Slayer-vamp to get you to talk to him; I think he deserves to know what he was fighting for.”

Bess heaved a heavy sigh and straightened, pulling out of Buffy’s embrace. Finally she nodded. “Okay,” she agreed. “If he still wants to know, I’ll tell him.”

Buffy gave her a reassuring smile. “He’s still in the hospital. They’re keeping him overnight for observation.”

Bess grimaced guiltily. “Maybe tomorrow…”

“No – go see him tonight,” Buffy ordered sternly.

“But … he needs his rest and…”



“Bess. Go tonight. The longer you put it off, the more excuses you’ll have.”

Bess nodded reluctantly. “Can you take Angelpie home?”

“Sure,” Buffy agreed, taking the kitten from Bess’ hands.

Bess steeled herself and stood up, blowing out a deep breath of air as she did so. “Okay … I’ll … go tonight.”

“Now,” Buffy amended, standing up as well.

“Now,” Bess agreed with a roll of her eyes.

“Right now,” Buffy provided when Bess didn’t move. “I’ll walk you.”

Bess nodded. “Thanks.”

**~**

Buffy held the kitten as they watched Bess walk into the hospital through the emergency room entrance. The girl stopped at the triage desk and spoke with the nurse there, then turned back to Buffy and gave a little wave before heading deeper into the maze of sterile hallways.

Buffy stuffed the kitten up under her shirt, pulled her jacket closed over the bulge, and followed – just to make sure. Bess was just too Buffy-esque and avoidy in some ways. She might duck out the backdoor and never go to Troy's room. Buffy got Troy’s room number from the nurse just as Bess had, and headed off after her daughter, Angelpie purring gently against her skin under her shirt.

The door to Troy’s room was opened a few inches, so Buffy stopped outside and listened. She didn’t hear anyone talking. She pushed the door open slowly and found Bess sitting in the chair next to his bed, holding his hand. Troy was asleep – probably on pain killers.

Bess’ eyes went wide when she saw Buffy. She laid Troy’s hand down gently and came out into the hallway. “He’s knocked out …” she whispered. “God, did you see his face? I can’t believe I did that!” she continued in a low voice. “His arm is broken and I think he has broken ribs, too. God, Buffy … I screwed up sooo bad.”

“Yeah, you did,” Buffy had to agree. “I don’t know if you can fix this, Bess.”



Bess nodded forlornly, fretting her bottom lip with her teeth. “I’ll stay until he wakes up and …” her voice faltered. She didn’t really know what came after ‘and’.

Buffy nodded. She put a hand on the side of Bess’ face, and touched her lips to the girl’s forehead. “Good luck.”

“I’ll need it,” Bess admitted.

Angelpie pressed her head out from under Buffy’s shirt, stretching the neckline. The kitten had stopped purring, and now regarded Bess pensively. Bess stroked a finger over her little friend’s forehead and ears, trying to reassure the too-smart kitten, then she turned and went back into Troy’s room.

Buffy pulled the door nearly closed and headed home with Angelpie. There wasn’t anything else she could do for her daughter – it would be up to Bess now.

**~**

{{  Click here to hear Fight For You, Jason Derulo  on YouTube  }}

It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you...
There's nothing that a 100 men or more could ever do
Just like the rain down in Africa
It's gonna take some time but I know you're worth fighting for!

I'd fight for you
Eh ba bam ba eh eh eh ba bam ba eh
I'd fight for you
Eh ba bam ba eh eh eh ba bam ba eh
I'd fight for you
Let's go!

Friends are cool
But we both know
They don't wanna see us together
Don't wanna lose
What I live for
I'm willing to do whatever

'Cause I don't wanna see you cry,
Give our love another try,
I bet we get it right this time,
As long as you're prepared to fight, prepared to fight

I don't wanna live another day
Without your body next to mine
I'm not gonna let them break us down
'Cause baby I know now, know now

It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you
I'll fight for you
There's nothing that a 100 men or more could ever do
I'll fight for you
Just like the rain down in Africa
I'll fight for you
It's gonna take some time but I know you're worth fighting for

Let’s go
What they say it don't even matter
They don't really understand
Without each other we are barely breathin'
Let’s get air in these hearts again
'Cause I don't wanna see you cry, cry
Give our love another try, try
I bet we get it right this time, time
As long as you're prepared to fight, prepared to fight

I don't wanna live another day
Without your body next to me
I'm not gonna let them break us down
'Cause baby I know now!

Know now, know now

It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you
I'll fight for you
There's nothing that a 100 men or more could ever do
I'll fight for you
Just like the rain down in Africa
I'll fight for you
It's gonna take some time but I know you're worth fighting for

Eh ba bam ba eh eh eh ba bam ba eh
I'd fight for you
Eh ba bam ba eh eh eh ba bam ba eh
Vini non, vini non sak pase!

If you got someone that's worth fighing for
Don't let nobody hold you down let me hear say,
Whoa-oh-oh-oh(Whoa-oh-oh-oh) whoa, Oh whoa
And if you found someone that's worth dying for
The one you can't live without, let me hear say, whoa, oh Whoa

It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you
There's nothing that a 100 men or more could ever do
I'll fight for you
Just like the rain down in Africa
I'll fight for you
It's gonna take some time but I know you're worth fighting for

Whoa

It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you
I'll fight for you
There's nothing that a 100 men or more could ever do
I'll fight for you
Just like the rain down in Africa
I'll fight for you
It's gonna take some time but I know you're worth fighting for

Whoa whoa whoa

Later that night, Sunday September 18th, 2011:

Buffy left the hospital with Angelpie under one arm and a heavy heart in her chest. She wished she could do more for Bess, but honestly, she didn’t know what. Bess really needed to find it within herself to talk to Troy. Buffy couldn’t do it for her; Buffy couldn’t pull trust out of thin air and give it to Bess like a gift. As she knew all too well, the strength to trust another person had to come from within.

Buffy fretted her lower lip as she walked back towards the mansion. What if Troy rebuffed her? What if Bess found the courage to tell him everything and he broke her heart? Spike had always worried about Bess and trust issues – right from the very first – and Spike usually read people pretty well.



About half-way down the garden steps at the mansion, Angelpie began to struggle in Buffy’s arms. Not wanting to hurt the kitten, Buffy released her, and the fur-ball hit the stairs running.

“Angelpie!” Buffy called after the calico blur, but the kitten streaked away from her, back up the steps, and into the night.



“Damn it…” she muttered, jogging back up to street level, but the kitten was nowhere to be seen. Buffy sighed, peering into the darkness a few moments for any sign of her before tromping back down the steps. The kitten had been out with Bess many times; it wasn’t like she didn’t know her way around the area. She’d come home when she got hungry or tired, Buffy reasoned.

Despite Angelpie’s street-savvy, Buffy came into the house feeling even worse; she’d promised Bess she’d bring the kitten home. Spike had gotten the living room straightened back up and most of the blood mopped up while she’d been gone. All the kids were in bed, no doubt dreaming of long-whiskered rats running around delivering pizza, or something equally nightmarish, from their celebratory team party earlier.

Buffy plopped down on the sofa, leaned her head back against the cushion, and closed her eyes.
 
“Ghirardelli’s or Jack?” Spike asked from the door of the kitchen.

Buffy opened her eyes and heaved a sigh. “We don’t have any chocolate whiskey, I suppose…”

Spike snorted a laugh. “Reckon not. Could spike some cocoa with Kahlúa or Amaretto ... or crème de menthe,” he suggested.

“Mmmm … yeah, that all sounds good. Try the Amaretto first,” Buffy agreed, closing her eyes again and rubbing them tiredly.

Spike cocked a brow. “First? How much cocoa should I make, then?”



“A gallon,” Buffy replied, never opening her eyes.

“Right – comin’ up.”

A few minutes later, Spike handed Buffy a large mug of steaming hot chocolate laced with a generous helping of alcohol, keeping the one with extra marshmallows for himself. She took it gratefully, and tucked herself against his side and under his arm when he sat down next to her.

“So, where’s our Buttercup?”

“Hospital, waiting for Troy to wake up,” Buffy told him, before taking a sip of the liquid. “Mmmm – this is really good.”



“Course it is – I made it, didn’t I?” Spike pointed out as he took a sip of his own.

“Silly me…” Buffy sighed, closing her eyes as he rubbed the back of her neck gently. “I’m sorry about … all this. It ruined your wicked, dastardly plan. Funny how having your daughter try to kill her boyfriend takes the wind out of your sails and all the fun out of sexual deviance and torture.”

“Yeah, funny that,” Spike agreed, resting his cheek against the top of her head. “You think she’ll be alright, then? Not gonna attack the git in the bloody hospital, is she?”

Buffy barked out a short, tired laugh. “Let’s hope not,” she only half-joked. “I really thought she was … past all that. I thought everything was fine with her. She’s still a frightened little girl inside.”

“Who can beat a chop-socky-black-belt, twenty-stone wrestler git to a bloody pulp. Brilliant,” Spike groaned.



“Troy has a black-belt? In what?”

“Bloody hell if I remember now. One o’ those Bruce Lee things everybody fancies these days.”

“Huh … I guess all I ever ask him about is school and wrestling. He never mentioned it,” Buffy mused as she took another sip of her drink.

“Do you think he really … loves her?” Buffy asked hesitantly.

Spike sighed. “Reckon he does.”

“So, when she tells him everything he probably won’t …”



“Break ‘er heart? Crush ‘er? Make it so she’ll never trust anybody again?” Spike filled in bleakly. “Dunno.”

“You apparently know more about him than I do – so spill,” Buffy insisted, turning her face slightly to look at her husband.

Spike shrugged, took a deep drink of his liquored-up cocoa, and then set his mug down on the coffee table. “He plays football … American football, mind you, boxes, has a decent right hook, eats butter and sour cream on his baked potato, takes his steak medium and pours A-1 on it, can’t speak Spanish, drinks blue Gatorade, and thinks it’d be a slap and a tickle to talk to Angelus.”

“What?!” Buffy exclaimed, sitting forward so she could look at Spike full in the face.

“I know – who the bloody hell needs butter and sour cream…” Spike began.

“Spike!” Buffy chastised, cutting him off. “What does Angelus have to do with anything?”

Spike pulled her back against him and told her about the meeting they had that morning – was it just that morning? – with the old Indian, John Bryant. He pulled the polished malachite amulet out from under his shirt and showed it to her, giving her the full run-down of the conversation.



“So, you think the Aurelian that tried to cheat them was Angelus?” she asked when he was done.

“Fits,” Spike pointed out. “Course, I got no idea how many Aurelians there were then – could a’ been someone else.”

“Probably Angelus. It’s sooo like him to try and cheat instead of just living up to the bargain,” Buffy agreed. “But you don’t think he knows anything … not worth talking to him.”

Spike shook his head. “If we go start asking questions, he’s gonna get suspicious. If he does remember something helpful, he bloody well won’t tell us, now will he? The only thing we’d do is stir his bloody curiosity, get him looking into … stuff he don’t need t’ be looking into,” Spike explained.

Buffy nodded. “If he knew anything, he would’ve already used it to get a Gem for himself.”

“Too right,” Spike agreed.

“Unless he didn’t know that what he knows is worth knowing,” Buffy continued.



“Oh, bloody hell – now you sound like the git,” Spike groaned.

“Well … it’s possible…” Buffy began.

“Not talkin’ to Peaches ‘bout this,” Spike cut her off. “Royally bad idea.”

“Right. Bad idea,” Buffy agreed. “Unless we run out of other options.”

Spike sighed. “Last bloody resort.”

Buffy nodded and drank the rest of her alcohol-laced cocoa in three long gulps. She held the mug out to her husband and gave him a coquettish smile. “Maybe one with the menthe now… you know, to clear my palette before the Kahlúa.”

Spike dipped his head and kissed her as he took the mug from her hand. “I really wanted to ravage you t’night. Torture you ‘til you ‘ad no scream left in ya,” he admitted sadly when the kiss broke.



“And you have no idea how I’d been looking forward to the ravaging and torturing,” Buffy agreed with a sigh. “Do you think it’s possible for something good to happen to us and not have something bad happen in the same day? I mean, we should still be stoked about Dani’s first homerun and instead we’re …”

“Worried sick ‘bout our other girl,” Spike filled in.

“Yeah…” Buffy sighed.



“Reckon we got too many bits? Maybe we could give some t’ Harris and the witches,” Spike teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Buffy smiled and played along. “That’s a solid plan. We should work on that. Put it on the ‘to-do’ list.”

“Right,” Spike agreed as he stood up to go get her a refill. “Should it come before or after ‘Avert Apocalypse … Again’?” he wondered.

Buffy made a thinky-face, then said, “Before; but after ‘Wash the Windows’ and ‘Vacuum Under the Beds’ – I might be able to get them to help with those.”

“Brilliant.”

**~**

Bess stroked her small fingers soothingly over Troy’s large hand as he floated in pain-killer induced sleep. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured to him, studying the lines and calluses on his palm. “I was just so afraid … I’m still afraid, and when I’m afraid I … just … strike out. Mom told me once that Spike is like that: cover your fear by going on the offensive. I never meant to hurt you. I’m so sorry,” she repeated.

Troy’s fingers curled gently around her hand and she looked up at his face, but he still seemed to be asleep. “I know it doesn’t make any sense. I was afraid of losing you so I … wanted to drive you away. It’s crazy. I’m crazy. You shouldn’t love me … I’m totally, completely insane.

“Remember you said my dad was scary-crazy? Well, you should’ve figured it out: the apple doesn’t far fall from the tree.”

Bess sighed heavily and grew quiet.

“But I … love you too,” she whispered after several silent moments, tears spilling from her eyes as she held his hand tighter. “And that scares me so much because when you know … when you know what I’ve done, you … won’t love me anymore.”



Bess dropped her forehead atop their clasped hands and cried. Her tears ran in rivers across palms and fingers, soaking the clean, white sheet of his hospital bed beneath.

She didn’t know how long she stayed that way. While she sat waiting for him to awaken, her emotions began battling within her again. Fear and hope grappled for dominance. Trust and doubt wrestled each other valiantly. Soon, regret, shame, and sorrow jumped into the fray, burying hope and trust under an unmovable mountain of self-loathing and dread.
 
Tears still trickled down Bess’ cheeks as she lifted her head and looked down at their clasped hands. One was the darkly-tanned color of a Pacific islander, the other the creamy white of an island in the North Sea; one large and calloused from years of hard work, the other soft and small, bearing no sign that they’d ever touched anything but silk and lace; one was warm, like the tropics in summer, the other as cool as the winter winds of Dover. Both were so very different, and yet both powerful in their own ways.

Bess tried to only see the similarities, but the differences seemed too overwhelming in that moment. The doubt and fear in her heart blinded her to anything else. She laced her fingers between his, very much aware that it would probably be the last time she ever felt the warmth and the overwhelming sense of stability and comfort those large, masculine hands offered.

“I’ll never hurt you again,” she whispered to him. “I’m so sorry, Troy.” Bess kissed the back of his large, warm hand and released it. She immediately felt more alone, completely unanchored, but that, she told herself, was better than being utterly destroyed.

She rose from the chair silently and slipped out the door.

She was several feet down the hallway when she heard a deep, rasping call of, “Bess?”

Her heart lurched in her chest – or it felt like it did, at any rate. She stopped and turned back, but her feet refused to take a single step toward the open door of Troy’s room.

“Bess?” she heard again, a little stronger this time.

“I’m sorry, Troy,” she whispered before turning and fleeing down the sterile hallway like a frightened rabbit.

**~**

Bess ran out through a fire exit that opened onto an alley at the back of the hospital. The heavy metal door clanged shut behind her loudly, the sound echoing down the alley with a sense of finality.



Once outside, Bess flew into a rage. She screamed and pulled at her hair, spinning around wildly. Then she lashed out at a helpless dumpster, kicking it and punching it until her knuckles bled and her feet were bruised through her shoes. Exhausted, she finally dropped down onto the filthy ground, sobbing. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” she repeated over and over as she sat with her back against the stinking, dented dumpster, her head in her hands.

A chilly fall breeze kicked up suddenly and blew paper and debris down the narrow alleyway. Bess closed her eyes, lifted her head, and turned her face into the cool zephyr as she tried to calm down and think what to do now. If she went home, Buffy and Spike would be disappointed in her for chickening out. Even if they didn’t say it, she’d be able to see it in their eyes. Their daughter: the scaredy-cat-Slayer. She could just leave – go see Sue-Ann. Not like she hadn’t done that before. Run away. That’s certainly a very mature thing to do. Definitely an option.

Bess smelled and heard the homeless person before she saw them. The stench of days-old B.O. and rotten garbage wafted down on the cool breeze and forced Bess to stop breathing. She opened her eyes to see an elderly woman of average height and indeterminate weight slowly pushing a creaking shopping cart down the center of the alley. The woman had on so many layers of ragged, dirty clothes that Bess couldn’t really tell if she was stick-thin or slightly obese. The rag-woman leaned heavily against the wobbling cart as she poked along, scanning the ground for treasure to add to her collection.

The woman had on a stocking cap that hid most of her hair, but what stuck out beneath it was grey, stringy, and lank. Her face was in shadow. Bess squinted, but even with her vampiric sight she couldn’t make out her features. One wheel of the shopping cart made a grating sound on the pavement. It had been damaged – maybe hit by a car or just worn down with age – and stood at an unnatural angle so it didn’t actually roll like the other wheels, but rather scraped along. The sound gave Bess the chills – like fingernails raking down her spine.

The woman stopped, left the cart in the middle of the alley, and shuffled slowly over to a Coke can that lay on the ground near one wall. She pressed down on it with the heel of an obviously too-big and very worn combat boot that looked like it was a decade-old castoff from Desert Storm. The aluminum creaked and bent in the middle. With grunts of effort, or perhaps pain, the woman pressed down twice more until it was flat. That task accomplished, she bent over slowly, as if it were a great effort to do so, and picked it up. She limped slowly back to her cart and placed it into a sagging, plastic laundry basket, which was half-full of similar booty.

Once satisfied that her find was secure, she began pushing the cart again. As she moved, she constantly scanned the ground for more discarded treasures, making her way slowly towards Bess.

Bess looked around and noticed a few cans that had been rolled under the edge of the dumpster by the breeze. She got up and rolled the wheeled-dumpster down a couple of feet to expose the bounty, then crushed them as she’d seen the woman do, but with considerably less effort. The woman and her cart had nearly drawn even with Bess by now and the Slayer-vamp picked the cans up and dropped them into the basket for her.

“God bless you, child,” the woman rasped in a voice almost as grating as the cart wheel grinding on the asphalt.

“No problem,” Bess replied. “I can … ummm … fix that wheel if you want. You know, so it will roll easier,” she told the woman, pointing to the damaged wheel.

“Don’t trouble yourself, child. You must have more important things to do than worry with an old woman and her borrowed grocery cart,” the woman replied.

Bess looked at her face – she was right there, not three feet away – but her features still seemed blurred and shadowed somehow. Bess blinked and rubbed her tired, tear-swollen eyes, but it didn’t seem to help. She gave up and looked down at the wheel – it was in perfect focus.

“It’s no problem – I’m really just in the middle of ruining my life again and having a mental breakdown. I’ve got plenty of time for that later,” Bess offered, kneeling on the ground next to the cart.

Bess lifted the corner of the cart off the ground a couple of inches and gently pressed the off-kilter wheel back into position. The steel holding it screamed in protest, but gave to her strength, and when she set the cart back down, the wheel was nearly straight. “Try that,” Bess offered, standing back up.

The old woman leaned on the cart and took a step forward. The wheel rolled; the horrible, bone-chilling grating was gone. Bess smiled, feeling somewhat better for the small deed.

“You’ve got a good heart, child,” the old woman told Bess. “Most people don’t even see me … cross to the other side of the street if they do.”

Bess shrugged, still looking down at the repaired wheel. “We all need help sometimes, right?”

“Indeed we do, child; even you,” the old woman advised. Her voice was suddenly softer, no longer shrill or raspy, but friendly and comforting, and vaguely familiar. “You should let the young man help you, sweet Bess. Angelpie is a good friend, but she can’t share your burden like he can,” the old woman advised. “You need to trust in those you love; take help from your friends, give the young man a chance.”

Bess’ head shot up, her eyes wide, and she looked into the woman’s indistinct face. “Mommy?”

The woman’s dirt-streaked features slowly came into focus for Bess. Wanda, Bess’ adopted-mother turned Guardian Angel, smiled and nodded. “Your little friend was frightened for you, child,” Wanda told her, as she reached into the shopping cart and retrieved Angelpie from under a pile of rags. “She’s a good friend, no doubt, but your heart needs more, dear. Your mother imparted good advice: open your wings and fly.”



Bess lunged forward and wrapped Wanda and Angelpie into a tight hug. “I’m so scared. The things I’ve done…” she cried against Wanda’s shoulder.

Wanda patted a soothing hand on the girl’s back, holding Angelpie between them with the other. “We cannot undo what’s done, child, only move on and resolve to do better. You cannot keep running from life or one day you’ll find you have run so far that all you hold dear has become lost. You must give love to receive it; give trust to be trusted in return.”

“But what if … What if I crash and burn? What if he can’t … forgive me for what I’ve done? I’d rather not know … I’d rather just … stay on the ground and not know … not fly. I don’t think I could bear it if I see disgust and revulsion for me in his eyes.”

Wanda pushed Bess back slightly to look into her eyes, stroking her soft, blonde hair with a gentle hand. “And what if he doesn’t? What if he loves you all the more for the mountains you’ve moved and the challenges you’ve conquered? Isn’t that worth the risk? If he is worthy of your love, then is he not worthy of the chance to decide for himself?”

Bess bit her bottom lip and averted her shimmering eyes from Wanda’s. She took a deep breath and her lungs were filled with the old scent of Lily of the Valley that she remembered from her childhood; the homeless stench that had come down the alley with the Guardian Angel was now completely gone.



“You carry a heavy load in your heart, child. William and Buffy can only bear so much of it for you – no matter how much they wish they could take on themselves. It takes a different kind of love to truly ease the weight of your past from your soul. Give the young man a chance to show you the joy of flying, dear girl.”

Bess nodded solemnly and pulled Wanda back into a hug. “Can you stay … in case…” she asked her Guardian Angel.

“Alas, I cannot. There are many heavy hearts, many lost children in need of a shoulder. I have faith in you, sweet Bess. You have a good heart – do not hide it behind your fear,” Wanda advised.

From down the alley, Bess heard the exit door she’d come through earlier open and slam shut again with a sharp clang. She looked up to find Troy leaning heavily against the wall next to it. One arm was in a cast from the elbow to the wrist, the other was wrapped around his broken ribs. He was on the verge of hyperventilating and looked like he would collapse at any moment.

“Troy!” Bess exclaimed, releasing Wanda and rushing over to help him.

“Bess …” Troy rasped out, his voice rough from sleep and slightly garbled from the pain-killers and the exertion of following her. “Please … stay,” he pleaded, wincing from the simple effort of staying upright.

Bess steadied him against the wall with an arm around his waist, trying not to hurt him further. She looked up and met his heavily-lidded eyes with hers. She swallowed nervously, but nodded. “I’m not leaving,” she assured him.

“We need to get you back into bed,” she told him, pulling on the heavy fire-exit door with one hand. It was locked. She pulled harder, but there was only a small handle on the outside and it simply broke off in her hand.

“Damn it…” she muttered, looking around to try and figure out the best way to get him back into the hospital. If he weren’t so injured, she could easily carry him over her shoulder, but with his broken ribs, that would be not of the good.

Wanda and Angelpie had made it up to where the couple stood near the door and, as if by magic or divine intervention, the door swung open. Two orderlies stood there, looking a bit surprised and confused.

“Help me!” Bess screamed at them, relief flooding her. One stepped forward and helped her support Troy without doing further damage to his ribs while the other held the door open. Just before the door slammed closed behind them, Bess heard Wanda say, “I’ll make sure our little friend makes it home safely, child.”

Bess gave the other orderly her spot at Troy’s side and pushed the door open again. She peered out just in time to see Wanda, walking in the slow, pained gait of the homeless woman, push the wobbling, but no longer screeching, cart around the corner of the building.

“Thank you. I love you, Mommy,” she whispered into the night before turning and following the two orderlies and Troy back to his room.  
 
Once they had Troy re-settled into bed and his IV hooked back up, Bess sat down in the chair next to him and took his hand back in hers.

“Are you ok?” she asked, looking at him guiltily.

“I am now,” he whispered, catching and holding her gaze with his piercing, aquamarine eyes.

“I’m so sorry … I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just totally freaked out and …”

Troy squeezed her hand. “I love you, Elizabeth Anne. It’s gonna take more than this to get rid of me,” he assured her.

Bess bit her bottom lip and nodded solemnly. “Well, I have more…” she revealed quietly.

“Tell me,” Troy whispered back to her, just as quietly.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly before beginning her story. She couldn’t look him in the eye as she spoke, though. She dropped her gaze down to their clasped hands and started, “I told you that I was a Slayer and I got turned, but what I didn’t say was … what happened before they … turned me and…” Bess took a shaky breath and let it out again. “And what happened – what I did – in the hundred years between then and … now.”

“It’s ancient history,” Troy grated out, his voice a little stronger than before. “I don’t care about the past. I love what you are now.”

Bess shook her head. “It’s not past for me … it’s … part of me and … you’ll care.”

Troy took a breath and started to speak, but Bess cut his objection off.

“I’ve never told anyone this whole story before,” she said quickly. “I need to …” her voice faltered a moment then she said, almost pleading, “Let me tell you. Please don’t … don’t say anything or ask anything until I’m done. I may not be able to finish … I just need to get it out.”

Troy grew quiet as he watched her. In the last few hours she’d gone from a homicidal, century-old Slayer-vamp to a frightened girl who was plucking up every ounce of courage she could muster to just stay seated next to him. He squeezed her hand again to reassure her – and also to keep her from bolting.

“You can tell me anything; it won’t change how I feel,” Troy pledged.

“We’ll see…” she murmured, still looking down at their hands. She took another deep breath and began her story, including all the gory details she’d never shared before.

**~**

“So…” Bess concluded after telling Troy her story as dispassionately as Joe Friday might talk about ‘just the facts’ – it was the only way she could get through it all – “… to top everything off, while I was gone I was arrested for prostitution and spent time in jail. On the plus side, it wasn’t within 1,000 feet of a school, so it was only a couple of months, not years.”

Bess had never looked up at Troy’s eyes the whole time she’d been talking. She couldn’t bring herself to see what was in them. She detached herself from the words, making them sound like a documentary on common fungi growing in a Petri dish, not her life story. If she let herself feel the words, relive the emotions, she’d never get through this. She just had to keep talking – plodding along – moving forward. Cold. Clinical. Stoic.

She’d told him everything, beginning with the gang of vamps that had captured, raped, and turned her, to the things she did in the white room in the dungeon, to the things she did to gain favor with the guards, to her failed attempt to have sex with Spike under the watchful eyes of their captors, to staking Kralik, and their escape. She’d told him about the boy at the hotel in London who had been the first boy she’d slept with of her own choosing, ‘just because’, with no ulterior motives. She’d told him about trying and failing to find a job in Sunnydale. And finally, desperate for some independence from what she saw as overbearing and overprotective parents, she’d told him how she’d turned back to the only marketable skill on her long resume: prostitution.

When she finished speaking, the silence in the room was deafening. Troy still held her hand and Bess still stared at their intertwined fingers. It was a good sign that he hadn’t pulled away – wasn’t it? But why hadn’t he said anything?

She summoned the last speck of courage she had and asked, “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

She could hear Troy swallow – she still dared not look up. “You told me not to … until you were done,” Troy reminded her, his voice was thick with emotion. It sounded like all the emotion Bess had purposely left on the doorstep and not allowed entry into her story had been infused into his words.

“Oh … uh … The end,” she announced quietly, keeping her head bowed, her eyes downcast.

“Not the end,” Troy countered, his voice still thick with emotion. He cleared his throat and tugged on her hand. “Look at me,” he requested.

Bess hesitated. After a moment she took a deep breath and lifted her head and gaze up to his. The light in the room was dim, but she could see tears swimming in his eyes and dampness on his cheeks.

“Not the end,” he repeated, his deep baritone cracking slightly. “The beginning. Now you can leave the past in the past and begin. I’d like to help you, Bess … help you really begin to live, if you’ll let me.”

Bess blinked tears that sprang suddenly to her eyes. “But … you don’t care about …”

“I care,” Troy cut her off, his voice coming out angrier than he’d intended, making her flinch slightly. He took a breath and continued more calmly, “I care about what happened to you. I care that you had to endure that. I care that … no one was there to help you and you had to make your own way. But you have a family now and you have … me – if you want me. I love you, Bess.”

“But, Troy … don’t you understand what I did? Don’t you … get what I am?” she demanded, all the pent-up emotion starting to break through.

“Yes! Yes, I get it, Bess,” Troy shot back. “I understand that those vamps changed you and then those Council bastards took a fourteen year old girl and tossed her into a world that she was incapable of surviving – and, yet, she survived. You survived. You did what you had to to survive…”

“No!” Bess argued. “I did … I … Troy … I screwed those vamps, those men … I looked forward to it – I enjoyed it. Don’t you get it?”

“Bess, I’m no expert on hostages and people kept prisoner, but I know that it does strange things to people’s minds – even adults. You were fourteen when you went in there, for Christ’s sake.

“Have you ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome?” he asked.

Bess shook her head.

“People, like, bond with their kidnappers to the point of defending them or even not wanting to leave. They know their survival depends on the welfare and mood of the guards and they’ll do anything to make sure the guards are happy. It’s a survival response.”

Bess kept shaking her head. “It wasn’t like that…”

Troy sighed. He didn’t want to argue with her. “Ok … ok … fine. Let’s say … it wasn’t like that. Did you love them? All those men, did you love them?”

“I didn’t … know them … I … No,” she admitted. “I just fucked them – for fun.”

Troy bit down on his tongue but didn’t wince at her words, which he knew were supposed to make him pull back. “Yeah? Well, here’s a news flash: people fuck people they don’t love all the time, just for fun. I may have even done it once or twice …”

“I’ve done it … thousands of times,” Bess pointed out.

“It’s not a contest, Bess. There’s no prize for most or least number of meaningless screws.”

“I did it for money and favors…”

“I bought girls drinks … dinner, gave them favors in hopes that they’d screw me,” Troy countered.

“I lost my virginity to a pack of vampires in the dirt of some park in London. I was fourteen. I don’t even know which one was … first,” Bess shot back.

“I lost my virginity in the sand on the North Shore to a tourist girl with long, brown hair whose name was either Marilyn or Marion … or possibly Madelyn. I knew her one weekend, then she went home. I was fifteen,” Troy offered in rebuttal.

Bess jumped up, pulling her hand from his, and sending the chair she’d been sitting in sliding across the floor and banging into the wall. “That’s not the same!” she exclaimed as she began pacing back and forth next to his bed.

Troy tried to sit up further and reach out for her, but his broken ribs stopped him cold. After a moment, he ground out through the pain, “I know it’s not the same. I didn’t hunt her down and kill her.”

Bess stopped and glared at him. “You think this is a joke?”

“I know it’s not a joke. If those guys were still alive or … whatever, I’d hunt them down and kill them myself. Bess, all I’m trying to show you is … we all have pasts and yours is not scaring me away.”

She hugged her arms around her stomach and turned away from him. “It should,” she murmured almost too softly for him to hear.

“Why?” Troy asked, just as softly.

“I’m damaged…” she replied, still not looking at him. “Dirty … sullied … despoiled.”

“Bessss…” he pleaded, drawing her name out over his lips. He sighed as she just shook her head, still not looking at him. He studied her back; her slim shoulders had borne too much for too long. He had to get her to see …

And then her words rang some dim bell in his drug-fogged brain: despoiled, sullied. Those were strange words to use; old-fashioned words. Was ‘despoiled’ even on the GED test? ‘Spoiled’, maybe; but ‘despoiled’? He doubted it.

“Bess, please come sit down,” he said gently. “Pulling this IV out really hurt before – I don’t want to do it again… but I will,” he added as encouragement – or threat.

Bess’ shoulders slumped as she dropped her arms to her sides and turned back around to face him. Troy beckoned for her to sit on the bed next to him. There wasn’t much room, but she wasn’t very big.

Bess trudged the couple of steps to him and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, facing away from him, looking at the wall.

“Bess, who told you you were … sullied and despoiled?” he asked, laying his good hand on her shoulder.

She shrugged. “Everyone knows that…”

“Uh-huh,” Troy grunted out, brows furrowed in thought. “Because you weren’t married and … you lost your virginity. So … you were damaged goods,” he postulated.

She shrugged again.



“And no one would ever want a girl that was damaged like that. No one would ever … love you. You were a … disgrace, right? In 1900, that would make you a …”

“Harlot … a whore,” Bess filled in, tears filling her eyes and spilling down her face.

“Bess…” Troy cajoled softly. “I … I’m sorry; I didn’t get it before. I … understand now.”

Bess nodded. She knew he’d figure out what she was eventually. Better now before things got even more complicated. She started to rise, to go, to crash and burn on her own – in private. She didn’t want to see that look of disgust in his eyes, and she didn’t want him to see how ashamed she was and how much she hurt.

Troy tightened his grip on her shoulder, attempting to hold her in place. If she’d really wanted to go, he knew he couldn’t stop her, but she was tired and emotionally drained – she wasn’t trying that hard.

“So, it’s a good thing I’m not a Victorian or even a baby-boomer,” he continued. “Let me ask you something. Have you ever been in love before?”

Bess shrugged slightly, then said, “Jacob Malconi.”

Troy frowned. “Who's that?”

“He had the fastest sled in the whole neighborhood – you could steer it and everything. He let me ride it down the hill near our house. I fell in love. I was eight.”



Troy let a smile quirk the corners of his mouth. “Anyone else?”

Bess shook her head, still not looking at him.

“Do you love me?”

Bess swallowed hard and closed her eyes. A new flood of tears burst from her eyes and her arms tightened around her stomach as if to hold the hurt inside. Finally, she nodded.

Troy closed his eyes and a breath of relief tore from his throat. “Apart from Jake and his awesome sled, I’m your first love?” Troy prompted, opening his eyes again to look at her.

Bess nodded again.

“Bess, I’d rather be the first man to touch your heart than the first one to touch your body. I never knew what love was until I met you. I thought I did, but I was wrong. Now I know. And I know I love you. I love you enough to go into the desert on a mission with your father, who, by the way, hates me and scares the shit out of me. I love you enough to stand up to him and mock him when he threatens to rip my lungs out. I love you enough to fight for you – even if that means a broken nose, arm, and ribs.”

Bess turned damp, wide eyes to Troy. “Spike threatened to rip your lungs out?”

“Out of that whole speech, that’s what you pick up on?”

Bess’ expression softened. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, and she reached a hand out to touch Troy’s battered face.

Troy took her hand in his and pulled it to his bruised and cut lips. He dropped a soft, gentle kiss on her palm, like the wings of a butterfly fluttering over her skin. “Your heart is pure, Bess, and that’s the most important thing to me. Give me a chance and I swear I’ll treasure it.”

Bess bit her bottom lip as she watched him. His eyes lifted from her palm and met hers in the dim light of the room. There was no scorn or disgust in their bright, blue-green depths, just sincerity and a hopeful, boyish sparkle.

Bess leaned in until she could feel his breath tickle her lips. “I love you, Troy,” she whispered against his mouth before touching her lips to his in a chaste kiss, afraid of hurting him further.

Troy tugged on her shoulder gently and Bess turned on the bed and settled against him as lightly as she could. He tucked her under his arm and drew in a deep, and unfortunately agonizing, sigh of relief and happiness.

“It’s good to know your dad can be wrong sometimes,” he said after taking a few moments to recover from the pain in his ribs.

“Spike? Wrong about what?” Bess wondered as she snuggled her head against his shoulder.

“He said you’d kill me if I pushed you to open up to me. I feel oddly victorious that you only temporarily maimed me.”

Bess felt guilty about lashing out at him and vowed to never do anything like that again – it was wrong on so many levels. But his tone was light and teasing, so she kept her reply light as well. “Well, I was interrupted, if you recall.”

“True, but still … I think we’re off to a good start. Relationships that start with death are usually doomed, but temporary maiming can be overcome,” Troy observed.

“You’re taking this whole ultra-violent-overreaction awfully well. Are you sure you don’t have Slayer blood in your family somewhere?” Bess wondered.

Troy snorted a laugh. It hurt. He stopped. “I dunno, but one’s needled her way under my skin and into my heart. Does that count?”

Bess smiled and cuddled closer to him. “Slayer by proxy … yeah, I think that counts.”

**~**

{{  Click here to hear You’ve Got a Friend, Carole King on YouTube  }}


When you're down and troubled
And you need some loving care
And nothin', nothin' is goin' right
Close your eyes and think of me
And soon I will be there
To brighten up even your darkest night

You just call out my name
And you know wherever I am
I'll come runnin' to see you again
Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you have to do is call
And I'll be there
You've got a friend

If the sky above you
Grows dark and full of clouds
And that old north wind begins to blow
Keep your head together
And call my name out loud
Soon you'll hear me knockin' at your door

You just call out my name
And you know wherever I am
I'll come runnin', runnin, yeah, yeah,
to see you again
Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you have to do is call
And I'll be there, yes I will

Now ain't it good to know
that you've got a friend
When people can be so cold
They'll hurt you, yes, and desert you
And take your soul if you let them
Oh, but don't you let them.

You just call out my name
And you know wherever I am
I'll come runnin, runnin', yeah, yeah, yeah
to see you again
Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you have to do is call
And I'll be there, yes I will
You've got a friend,
you've got a friend,
ain't it good to know,
you've got a friend,
ain't it good to know,
ain't it good to know,
ain't it good to know,
you've got a friend,
oh yeah now, you've got a friend,
yeah baby, you've got a friend,
oh yeah, you've got a friend.

Warning: Absolutely, under no circumstance, should you do what Buffy does to Spike in the next couple of chapters! Always read and follow the directions and safety precautions on all sex-toys before using them!! This is a work of fiction and Spike is a vampire, not a human, so I'm not applying the same rules to him. In the same vein, using Ben Wa balls for extended periods of time is probably not a good idea either – again, Buffy's not a normal human, this is fiction, real life rules are not applied. Have fun but be safe!

**~**

Five days later, Friday, September 23rd, 2011:

Spike looked up from the telly, cursing under his breath as he heard someone coming down the garden steps. Buffy, Bess, and Faith were supposed to be at one of the innumerable meetings in the Slayer Salt Mines … err, the Council, that is; the kids were all supposed to be in school. He and his little Testa Rossa were supposed to have the afternoon alone. Free to watch the telly in peace and bloody quiet!



“No!” ‘Kenzie squealed with a delighted giggle – her voice joyful rather than stern – when Spike paused his recording of the season premiere of ‘The Walking Dead’.

“Agree with ya on that one, Princess,” he muttered as the screen froze in a moment when a half-rotted corpse was tearing out someone's throat. Spike looked at the on-screen vision and smiled a bit in reflection. Ahh, the good ole days. He briefly thought of reclaiming a bit of his youth with whoever it was about to disturb his ‘gore-time’.

“Papa! No!” MacKenzie admonished him, reaching a hand out from her perch on his knee towards the TV.

“Shhhh, pet,” Spike cajoled, bouncing her lightly. “Now what ‘ave I told ya ‘bout that? If your mum hears ya saying that, it’ll hurt ‘er feelings. C’mon now, try again: ‘Mama’ … You say it now,” he instructed firmly.



“Papa! T.T.!” the nearly-year-old red-head retorted, giving him a dour frown, still reaching toward the T.V. … not the T.T.

Spike sighed and shook his head. “Most stubborn Summers yet, I’d wager,” he reflected as the door to the garden opened and Troy hobbled inside.

Spike stood up, cradling the baby on his forearm, and started toward the larger man. “Bess ain’t ‘ere – got one a’ them Slayer pow-wows,” he announced as he walked.

“I know,” Troy replied, holding a hand over his ribs. “Man, those steps are killer with broken ribs.”

Spike snorted. “Tell me about it,” he agreed.

Troy staggered to the nearest chair, half bent over protecting his ribs, and sat down with a moan of relief and pain. “How many times have you had your ribs broken?” he wondered as Spike leaned on the arm of the chair opposite Bess’ beaten and bruised suitor.

“Can’t count that high,” Spike replied.

“How many times by a Summers?” Troy continued.

Spike snorted. “Still can’t count that high.”

Troy started to laugh but caught himself. “Man, that hurts.”

“Didn’t they give ya any feel-good pills?” Spike wondered.

Troy nodded. “Yeah, took one … four days ago. It’s hard to go to class when you keep seeing giant butterflies dive-bombing VW Bugs.”

Spike quirked a brow. “Good stuff, that.”



“No doubt,” Troy agreed. “I just hate seeing innocent Volkswagens getting indiscriminately mutilated.”

Spike smirked at him, then settled down into the chair he’d been leaning on, jiggling the baby idly against his chest. “So, ya know Bess ain’t here, reckon that means ya came to see someone else.”

“You reckon right. Came to see you,” Troy agreed.

“So you’ve accomplished your mission. Congrats! If you’re done ogling me, I got a show t’ watch,” Spike dismissed him, standing back up.

“Mr. Weckerly, I … Please, I know you don’t like me, but … could I just talk to you a minute … about Bess?” Troy asked in earnest.

Spike sighed, rolled his eyes, and settled back into the seat across from the beaten man. Both of Troy’s eyes were purplish-black all the way around, but they were no longer swollen shut, his nose had been broken, his jaw was swollen and bruised, as were his lips. His arm was in a cast from wrist to elbow and, though Spike couldn't see it, he knew he must have some sort of wrap around his ribs. The big man looked like death warmed over. Spike had looked that way a time or two in his life.

“I told ya before that Summers women weren’t t’ be trifled with. Lucky she didn’t kill ya, Indy.”

“I get that,” Troy agreed. “She … says she’s sorry about it. Says it won’t happen again. Says … she loves me.”

Spike’s brows rose, wrinkling his forehead. “Does she, now?”



“Yeah … I just … Well, I was wondering … she seems sincere, but there was a lot about her that I didn’t know before, and … now I feel like maybe there’s still more I don’t know.

“So, I was wondering if you had any more … Summers women insight that you’d care to share with a novice,” Troy finished with trepidation.

Spike pursed his lips to conceal a smile. “Ya didn’t take the advice I gave ya before,” he pointed out.

“I see the error in my ways and assure you I’m not one to repeat my mistakes,” Troy replied seriously.

Spike nodded thoughtfully for moment, then looked down at the confounding baby in his arms. He wondered momentarily if one day he’d be having a similar talk with another young man who’d been beaten senseless – with either words or fists – by his youngest. It seemed almost inevitable.



Spike sighed and looked back at Troy. He didn’t really hate the git, in fact, he’d gained a modicum of respect for him since the mission to Arizona. He just didn’t want Bess hurt, her trust destroyed, her self-esteem crushed.

Finally, after being silent for a full five minutes, long enough that Troy had begun to think he wouldn’t get any answer at all, Spike spoke, “Summers women are smart as bloody whips – not always book-smart, but cunning, could even say devious at times. They’ll look ya in the eye and lie to you straight out – if it serves some purpose they deem worthy. Mostly that means they’re trying t’ save the world or some rot like that.”

Troy cast a questioning glance at Spike.

Spike shrugged and sighed.

“That’s about the only time they’ll flat-out lie to ya – for the greater good and all that. Or at Christmas,” he added hastily. “Christmas is a time of tall tales, all in the name o’ the little Christ child. Never quite followed that logic, but … no matter.” Spike waved a hand dismissively.

“Generally, though, rather than lies, their strategy is silence. Try t’ make you guess what’s goin’ on in that pretty, little noggin. Got fairly good at it over the years, I did, but Buffy can still stump me at times – and Bess … well … she’s a bit of a sticky wicket.

“Reckon she told you ‘er story, start to end, so ya know she was a child o’ the Victorian age – o’ the Gilded Age in America. She lived most of her life shut away from the world – in a hell dimension of man’s own making – then she got brought back, so t’ speak, into a world so changed that she might’ve been in a different dimension altogether.

“Was like time-travel for her, I reckon; going from carts and horses t’ cars and airplanes, from town criers to the internet…”

“From the prudish, ‘Lie back and think of England', straight past free love to safe sex,” Troy interjected.



Spike inclined his head in agreement. “Outwardly, she handled it brilliantly. Bloody fool I was on that. Was just that patented Summers-silence, and when it finally exploded – which it always does sooner or later – it took a long while t’ clean up the fallout.

“Add to the Summers’ stubborn silence the power and aggression of a Slayer and you got yourself a handful o’ deadly wildcat. Top it off with the violence and strength of a vamp, and you’ve got a rabid wolverine on your hands, mate.

“So, you want t’ know if you can trust what she tells ya now, that it, Indy? Wonder if she really loves ya or if she’ll turn on ya again?”

Troy shrugged. “I … don’t really know what I’m asking. I believe her – I think she really means it … today. I guess I just wondered if someone like me – a regular guy – could…”

“Survive ‘er?” Spike interjected.

Troy shook his head. “No, sir. I wondered if I could really make her happy – in the long run – because that’s all I really want to do, sir.”

Spike stopped his gentle rocking of the baby in his arms a moment as he took Troy’s question in and considered it. It wasn’t until ‘Kenzie began to fidget that he remembered she was there and began bouncing her gently against him again.

Spike ran his free hand back through his hair and shook his head. “Not sure anyone can tell ya that but her, Indy. Seems to me she’s told you as much just by not runnin’ off – which I half-expected after the tiff you had.”

Troy snorted. “Tiff? That was a ‘tiff’?”

Spike shrugged. “On the verge of a row,” he acquiesced. “There was a time when I’d’ve said no way a human could make a Slayer happy … let alone a Slayer-vamp,” Spike admitted. “Got a question t’ ask you – a right personal one: has she ever bit you … drawn blood with her fangs?”

Troy furrowed his brow and shook his head. “Why would she? She eats … pig’s blood, right?”

“Yeah,” Spike agreed. “For sustenance, but there’s more to a bite than food value.” Spike’s brow furrowed as he considered this. “She didn’t even bite you when you were fightin’, did she? Didn’t even show ‘er demon to you, did she?”

Troy shook his head. “Not that I saw."

"Have you ever seen her in her full demon regalia?" Spike wondered.

"Yeah, I mean ... she showed me when she first told me about ... what she was – a long time ago."

"But not, for example, when you're practicing that safe sex you alluded to?" Spike continued.

Troy shook his head. "No. Does that mean something? Is that important?”

“Not rightly sure, Indy. Could be she was more in control than I gave ‘er credit for when she beat ya senseless – which wouldn’t bode well, t’ be honest.”

**~**

Spike caught up with Bess on patrol later that night. He’d followed her through two cemeteries, keeping his distance and watching. She’d staked two newly-risen vamps before they’d even made it out of the ground. There had been no fight, no Buffy-esque puns, no ‘spot of violence’ like he and Buffy used to revel in when they’d been the ones patrolling all those years ago.



As he watched her now, in a third cemetery, she faced a vamp that had obviously been out of the ground for more than a day or two. Likely he’d come to claim some recently-turned, but not yet risen, minions buried nearby. Bess fought well – as well as Buffy, he’d wager – but where his Slayer was invigorated – ok, turned on – by such encounters, Bess seemed stoic and businesslike.

When the vamp was dust, Bess searched out the freshest graves, and sat down to await the arrival of the now orphaned minions. Spike sauntered up to her as she waited, walking casually, as if he’d just been out for an evening stroll.

Bess looked up at him and gave her father a wry smile. “Wondered how long were you gonna watch me,” she said as he got near.



“Always been a sucker for a pretty girl kickin’ ass,” Spike excused, leaning on a nearby headstone as he tucked his thumbs casually into the pockets of his jeans, splaying his fingers out below them.

“Uh-huh,” Bess grunted. “Why do I think this is more than that?”

Spike shrugged. “Couldn’t help but notice you never go into game face when you’re slaying.”

Now it was Bess’ turn to shrug. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“No – just curious is all. That last one gave you a bit of a row. Thought the demon might’ve given ya the edge, is all.”

“I’m still here and he’s not. Don’t think I needed any more of an edge, do you?”

“Point,” Spike agreed. “It’s just that, to quote a great man, ‘Sometimes when you cage the beast, the beast gets angry’,” Spike continued.

“What great man said that? Shakespeare? Confucius? Einstein?” Bess wondered, her brow furrowed and head tilted in consideration.

“Wolverine.”

“The X-Man … from the movies?” she scoffed.

“What!? Bloody brilliant that,” Spike defended, scowling.

“Your boy came by the house t’day,” he offered, changing the subject abruptly.

“Troy? He’s not a ‘boy’.”

“Is t’ me,” Spike retorted. “He wondered if a human could make a Slayer-vamp happy. Worried that he’s not enough for ya.”

Bess rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Seems like he should’ve asked me that, not you. What would you know about it?”

“Known a few Slayers in my day – and more vamps. Haven’t known any humans that could really … keep up with their darker natures.”

“Angel and Cordy seem fine,” Bess pointed out.

“Cordy’s not all that human – even before she got the demon-upgrade from Wolfram & Hart she wasn’t all that human,” Spike insisted.

Bess snorted. “I don’t think ‘Fashionista’ is actually a demonic infliction.”

“You didn’t know Cordelia back in the day,” Spike informed her. “Bloody scary she was if ya got between ‘er and next season’s fashions.”

Bess laughed. “I guess. So, what does that have to do with me, exactly?”

“You can’t hide it forever, pet. Can’t keep the demon locked up and not expect it t’ turn on you one day,” Spike advised.

Bess looked at the ground and shrugged. “We’ll see,” she countered.

“Not all that darkness you feel is the vamp. Ya gotta know, some is the Slayer … got more than one demon inside you,” Spike continued.

“I know – I can tell the difference,” Bess asserted. “They aren’t really the same, ya know. They’re like different sides of the same coin, similar, but they are different.”

“Not really fair to the boy to keep your nature from him, is it?”

“Pretty sure I gave him a good taste of it the other day,” Bess contended.

Spike shrugged noncommittally. “Didn’t bite him … didn’t even go into game face that he recalls.”

“And again I say: I won. Didn’t need the demon,” Bess shot back.

“What are you afraid of?” Spike wondered. “He’s too bloody stupid t’ run off – why are ya hidin’, pet?”

“I’m not hiding – I’m right here, totally un-hidey,” Bess contended, holding her arms out from her sides. “And I’m not afraid of anything. I’m stronger than any Slayer on the planet and 99% of the demons. There’s nothing for me to be afraid of.”

“Drop the tough-chit act and talk t’ me,” Spike admonished. “I’m bloody tired of dancing with you.”



Bess bit back an angry retort and looked back at the ground for several long moments. Luckily, the newly-made vamp she’d been waiting on chose that moment to reach a hand out of his grave as he struggled for the surface. Bess jumped down from her perch on the headstone and took his hand in hers, helping him up.

“Thanks!” the well-dressed young man said as his vampire face cleared the soil.

“You’re welcome,” Bess replied as she slammed her stake into his chest. He looked momentarily shocked, then burst into dust at her feet. She put her stake away, clapped her hands together to remove the dust that clung to them, then calmly took her place on the headstone again.

After a moment, she drew in a deep breath and huffed it out loudly before looking up at her father. “I’m not consciously denying the demon, Spike,” she assured him. “It just … it became second nature … hell, first nature to keep it down in the dungeon. Don’t you remember the rules? I do. I can’t forget them: ‘keep the demon down, no fighting, no biting...’ It's like a mantra in my brain – ingrained in me like ... like the need to breathe is to a human.

“I can barely force myself to do anything but ‘missionary position, vaginal first’, for God’s sake! I don’t see any reason to try and change my demon’s inclination now. It’s there – I know it’s there – but it’s not fighting me, not anymore. It did for a while … like the first fifty years … but not anymore.”

Spike considered this a few moments, then asked, “What about the Slayer’s demon? You keeping that chained up with the vamp?”

“That would be kinda kinky, wouldn’t it?” Bess joked, shaking her head.

Spike cocked a questioning brow at her.

She rolled her eyes and sighed.

“Look, I’ve lived with my demons a lot longer than any other Slayer out there and I know what they need, what they want, and how to handle them. Are you telling me that Buffy has never, ever just been a girl … a woman with you? Is she always dark and violent? Always the Slayer?”

“No, not saying that,” Spike replied.

“And you – are you telling me that you’ve never been gentle and loving with her? Are you saying you go for the jugular every time you screw? That your demon takes over as soon as your dick gets hard?” Bess wondered.



“‘Course not,” Spike shot back.

“Well, so what’s the diff?” Bess wondered. “I lived a long time with cold, hard, violent sex. Sex with no feelings attached. Bodies connecting without tenderness, without love, without compassion, without warmth. It was lonely and desolate, and my demons and I have had it up to here with that crap!” she contended, holding her hand up as high as she could reach over her head.

“Can I call on my demon to help me if I need to?” Bess brought up her game face in an instant, her fangs extending, her blue eyes glowing golden. “Yeah, I can – she’s here, ready to fight if I need her.” She shifted back into her human visage. “But mostly, I don’t need her and she’s fine with that.

“I don’t know if one day they’ll want more – if I’ll want more – but right now, me, myself, and I – the girl, the Slayer, and the vamp – are all happy with exactly what we’ve got. When I’m with Troy I feel loved. I feel safe and warm and happy. I feel everything that I never felt in all those years and … it scares the shit out of me that I’ll lose it,” she admitted, wiping away a stray tear that came unbidden to her eye.

Spike took two long strides toward her and pulled her into a hug. Bess dropped her face against his chest and returned the gesture, wrapping her arms around him.

“You’ll always be loved, pet. You know your mum and me love you – your brother and sisters love you.”

Bess nodded against him. “I know. I just … it’s different.”

“I know, luv. I know it is, but never feel like you’re alone. You don’t need t’ hide from us. If you feel like … like you’re losing control o’ your demons, come to us – we really can help. Know you think we’re a bit set in our ways…”

Bess let out a very unladylike snort at that.

“… but we’ve been livin’ with our untamed demons a while. They’ve never been held in check by anything but our own will … our own souls,” Spike continued. “Had to learn to indulge them just enough t’ keep them happy, but not so much to lose control of them. One day yours might need to be given a bit o’ rein … a bit of freedom. We can show ya how to do that and not lose control. Maybe not scare off the wanker.”

Bess nodded against him again and sniffed back her tears before pulling out of his embrace and sitting back on her headstone. “I get it, I really do,” she assured him. “I'll tell you if I think things are … changing.”

Spike nodded and wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “So, he makes ya happy?”

Bess nodded.

“And you love the git?”

“His name is Troy,” she corrected, nodding.



“Yeah, yeah … still a wanker git,” Spike groaned. Then, growing serious again he said, “You know he’s gonna age and you’re not.”

“Yeah, or he could get hit by a car tomorrow or I could get staked tomorrow. I can’t … I can’t worry about tomorrow,” she told him. “When tomorrow comes, then I’ll deal with it – we’ll deal with it. I’m not gonna borrow trouble before it knocks me in the head.

“And, plus, when you married Buffy, she wasn’t all non-agey. Willow told me that happened after she died and got brought back with some hell-god blood. So … nice to meet you, Mr. Kettle.”

“Shirty little minx you are,” Spike grumbled. “‘Ave half a mind t’ turn you over m’ knee and give you a right thrashing.”



Bess laughed. “As if!”

“Don’t think I can?”

“I know you can’t.”

“Big talk for a little girl,” Spike growled.

“I’d prove it but Buffy would be mad if I beat you up too bad,” Bess contended.

“Yada, yada, yada,” Spike mocked, raising his hand and mimicking a sock puppet talking. “Some excuse is better than none, I reckon,” he declared as he began to saunter away from her.

“I love you, Dad,” Bess called after him, her voice suddenly somber.

Spike stopped and looked back over his shoulder at her. “Love you too, Buttercup. Tell that boy o’ yours … Troy that he owes me one.”

“For talking to me?” Bess wondered.

“No, for makin’ me miss my gore-fix this afternoon! Don’t know when I’ll ‘ave another chance t’ watch it. Your mum says it’s too violent for the bits, and she hates the yummy sound-effects they do when they’re ripping and tearing flesh. Says it gives 'er nightmares.”

Spike snorted and started walking again. “Bloody rich that, comin’ from the Slayer.”

**~**

Warning: Absolutely, under no circumstance, should you do what Buffy does to Spike in the next couple of chapters! Always read and follow the directions and safety precautions on all sex-toys before using them!! This is a work of fiction and Spike is a vampire, not a human, so I'm not applying the same rules to him. In the same vein, using Ben Wa balls for extended periods of time is probably not a good idea either – again, Buffy's not a normal human, this is fiction, real life rules are not applied. Have fun but be safe!

**~**

About a week later, Saturday October 1st, 2011, 4:00am:

Buffy’s hand slid gently over Spike’s hip as he slept, his back to her. She wrapped her hand around his cock and gave it a gentle squeeze, eliciting a moan of pleasure from her groggy husband.



“Time t’ get up?” he asked in a grumpy, sleepy voice.

“Time for some things to get … up,” she replied coyly, sliding her fingers over his hardening length.

“Mmmmm,” Spike rumbled in approval as he turned onto his back, his eyes still closed.



Buffy shifted in the bed and replaced her hand with her lips and tongue, slowly teasing at least one of Spike’s heads to wakefulness.  Spike moaned from somewhere deep in his throat and his hips shifted restlessly against her, seeking the warm embrace of her lips. Buffy obliged, sliding her mouth over the helmeted glans as she swirled her tongue over his cum-slit, lapping up the droplets of pre-cum that beaded there.

Buffy felt him harden further as she slid her warm mouth down his shaft, taking him in slowly, then pulling back with the same almost-sleepy motion. She continued her slow seduction until, when she pulled off him, his cock rebounded against his abdomen with a wet slap, and he groaned in protest.

Spike was just about to snarl something about being a cock-tease at her when he felt her hands on him again. He relaxed back onto the bed and just floated in the misty nimbus between sleep and wakefulness, enjoying the feel of the temptress pleasuring him.

Then a completely new sensation hit him and his eyes flew open in surprise. “What the bloody hell?” he asked as he reached for his vibrating hard-on.

Buffy had slipped a vibrating cock-ring around his hard dick. Unlike ones he’d worn before, this one had the vibrating bit at the base of his cock where it met his balls. To add to the fun, there was another ring, also attached to the small vibrator, stretched around his balls with little gel-like nodes that tickled his perineum, as well.

Buffy grabbed his hand, stopping him, and held up a small remote control. She clicked it and the vibration stopped.



“Welcome to ‘Payback is Hell’,” she said with a self-satisfied grin. “That stays on until I say it comes off. I have control of the clicker, for once. If I think you’re getting too comfortable with it, then …” she clicked the little device in her hand again and the vibrations began again in earnest, teasing him all the way from his taint to the tip of his cock.

Spike sucked in a gasp of pleasure and surprise, but knew that the pleasure bit would soon drive him crazy. “We’ve got Lemon Drop’s tournament this weekend,” he objected. “Ya can’t expect me to be around all them kids with a bloody stiffy the whole soddin’ day.”

Buffy just smiled at him. “Wear your duster,” she advised, clicking the vibrations off again. “And you best be nice to me … minion mine,” she warned.

“B-but … these are dangerous. Can’t wear ‘em for more than fifteen or twenty minutes – it’ll damage my delicates,” Spike continued to object.

“I walked around with Ben Wa balls up my hoo-ha for two days! Your super-strength vampire ‘delicates’ aren’t all that delicate,” Buffy retorted as she got up from the bed to begin getting ready for the day. “If your dangly bits can survive no-holds-barred Slayer muscles, they can take this. Man up, Spike. Refer to above re: ‘Payback is Hell’.”

Later that morning, 6:27 am:

“If we don’t leave this bloody minute, we’ll be late for the soddin’ team meeting,” Spike warned as he waited in the Blue Bomber with the engine idling. “Coach said anybody that was late would sit out the first innin’,” he reminded his missing passenger, yelling out the window into the early morning stillness loud enough to be heard inside the house.

“Ok, gotta go!” Buffy said as she grabbed her purse and camera. She hurriedly hugged Bess, then Troy. “We’ll be back tomorrow night. Try to keep Angelpie from eating all of Miss Kitty’s food. The old girl can’t chew that crunchy kitten chow stuff.”

“Ok, Mom – we’ll handle it,” Bess assured her as she and Troy followed Buffy out to the packed and waiting minivan that idled in the driveway.

“’Bout bloody time,” Spike growled under his breath as Buffy climbed into the middle seat next to MacKenzie’s carrier. She looked at the kids sitting in the bench seat behind her to make sure they were all strapped in. They were.

Annie had her head leaning on a pillow that rested against the window and had already fallen back to sleep. Dani and JJ were playing some baseball video game on their little gaming-thingies, while Billy read something on his Kindle.

Xander was sitting next to Spike in the passenger’s seat in front of her. He was squinting at directions under the dim overhead light.

“There’s a reading light over there,” Buffy told him, pointing with one hand at a button on the dash as she pulled her seatbelt across her shoulder with the other.

“Oh … I was afraid to touch any of the buttons. Spike’s very … choosy about who pushes his buttons,” Xander jibbed as he pushed the button Buffy had indicated.

“Too right, I am,” Spike agreed as he backed out of the driveway.  “You’d be smart to keep your grubby fingers away from all my buttons.”



“Turn right, then go one hundred feet and turn left,” Xander instructed.

Spike clenched his jaw until a muscle twitched in his cheek. “I know how to get outta my own bloody neighborhood, Special Ed,” he snarled at Xander.

Xander held his hands up. “Hey – just doing as instructed here: reading the directions. You could use this handy GPS thingy, instead, ya know,” Xander pointed out, tapping a finger on the GPS on the dashboard.

“Bloody thing’s more annoyin’ than you,” Spike explained, the disdain evident in his voice.

Xander shrugged and held a hand up in surrender. “Well, keep in mind it’s not my fault that someone married to you, who shall remained unnamed, printed out the ‘Directions for Dummies’ version.”

“Should be outlawed. Anyone that can’t find their way outta their own neighborhood has no business being on the soddin’ road in the first place,” Spike snarked.

“Giles still gets lost in this area sometimes,” Buffy pointed out in defense of the directions to the sports complex in Torrance that she’d printed out.

“Case closed,” Spike asserted as he navigated to the main road and headed toward the freeway without the help of her directions.

Buffy shifted so she could look into the rearview mirror at the spot she knew Spike’s eyes would be if he had a reflection, then reached her hand into her purse and clicked the little remote device.

Spike jumped in his seat, only his vampire reflexes allowing him to not jerk on the steering wheel and crash the car, and glared at her in the mirror. Although the actual look was lost on her with the reflection-deficit, she knew exactly the look he was giving her. Buffy gave him her best, most innocent smile in return.



“What’s that noise? Do you hear a … buzzing?” Xander asked, looking around the cab.

Buffy clicked the vibrator off. “I think it’s one of the kids’ games,” she excused, smirking at Spike.

“Bossy bint,” Spike snarled under his breath as he shifted uncomfortably in the seat. This was gonna be a long drive.

**~**

Bess and Troy waved at the departing mob in the dark before dawn. When the Bomber turned a corner and was gone, Bess turned to him with a coy smile.

“Well, Mr. Malu, with Faith gone to check on a new Slayer in Chula Vista, I do believe we have the entire house to ourselves for two whole days. Whatever shall we do?”

Troy grinned, his white teeth gleaming against his milk-chocolate skin, and pulled her into a hug. His right forearm was still in a fiberglass cast, but the bone had only been cracked, not broken, and was healing well. He still bore some yellow-tinged bruises on his face, but the swelling was nearly all gone. His ribs were tender, but no longer restricted his movement, as long as no one punched him in them.

“Well, Miss Weckerly,” Troy replied in mock solemnity. “Perhaps a game of Crash Bandicoot?”

“Uh-uh,” Bess objected, shaking her head, sending her blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders.

“Ummm … Guitar Hero, then?”

“Uh-uh.”

“I know! Monopoly … old school! I get to be the wheelbarrow.”

“Nooo…” Bess crooned.

Troy puffed out a frustrated breath and shook his head as if in deep thought. “We could watch videos … a Star Wars marathon!” he suggested brightly.

Bess laughed, shaking her head, again sending her wavy, baby-fine hair swinging in golden waves around her face and shoulders.

Troy sighed. “Well … I guess that only leaves one thing then,” he admitted, sounding forlorn. “House cleaning,” he divulged, smirking. “I can tell you right now: I don’t do windows or vacuum under beds.” He suddenly bent down and scooped her up with one strong arm at the back of her knees, the broken one around her shoulders.

Bess shrieked and laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck as he started back inside with her. “That’s a good thing – I think the next thing on the to-do list after those chores is for Spike and Buffy to start giving kids away to the neighbors.”

“Oh, well … that’s to be avoided at all costs then,” Troy agreed, kicking the door closed behind them. Then he stopped a moment and furrowed his brow. “Who do you think they’d toss into the Punjab-pit that is Mrs. Katz?”

Bess bit her bottom lip and looked up at the ceiling in thought. “Ummm … probably me … or possibly ‘Kenz. They’re already taking bets on which one of the two of us will give them the most grey hairs. So far, I’m winning, but the fireball has lots of potential.”

“Oh, good. As long as it’s not Annie. I might need her help on my foreign language requirement,” Troy half-kidded.

Bess clucked her tongue reproachfully. “Better watch it, Mr. Malu. A very lonely Star Wars marathon may be looming in your future…”

Troy laughed and started for the stairs with his armful of Slayer. “Well, maybe we should just be safe and do no cleaning whatsoever all weekend. In fact, we should probably only get out of bed for food and drink … you know, just to be safe.”

Bess grinned at him. “That sounds like a solid plan.”

**~**

With barely a minute to spare before the pre-game team meeting was supposed to take place, Spike pulled up in front of the Little League baseball complex in Torrance. “Go!” Spike ordered as soon as the minivan came to a stop. Buffy slid the side door open and jumped out, followed quickly by JJ and Dani.

Buffy looked around quickly and finally saw the red uniforms of the rest of the Sunnydale Slammers. “There!” she pointed at the group as she, Dani, and JJ took off running for the meeting.

Xander had just gotten the sleep wiped from his eyes and stammered, “Are we there yet?” when Spike pulled into a parking place that he deemed to be out of range of foul balls a few minutes later.

“Some bloody navigator you are,” Spike groused as he got out and went to the back to retrieve MacKenzie.

Xander yawned and stretched his arms over his head before rolling out of the comfy seat. “It’s not my fault,” he excused his lack of actually navigating most of the trip. “I’m not a morning person.”

"Or an afternoon or a night person," Spike added under his breath. When Spike slid the rear, driver’s-side door open, Annie and Billy tumbled out past him, forestalling his mission of retrieving the baby and her carrier. As they clambered by with JJ’s and Dani’s equipment in their hands, one of them banged him in the knee with Dani’s bat.

“Oww!” he exclaimed, rubbing his knee. “There is another bloody door, ya know,” he growled at them.

“Yeah, but this one was already open,” Billy pointed out as he pulled a Slammers cap onto his head, flattening his blond curls beneath it.

Spike took a deep breath and blew it out, shaking his head. This was starting out to be a bugger of a day, and it had barely even started. With the bats, gloves, hats, coolers, blankets, snacks, chairs, diaper bag, large sun umbrella, and sunblock in hand, the five remaining travelers headed off into the rapidly growing din of shrieking children, grumbling parents, and pleading coaches to find their team and what field they’d be playing on first.

As they walked, Spike wondered how it was he’d traveled around most of the world with barely more than the clothes on his back, while a day at the ballpark with a family required enough equipment and food to seemingly supply a Mongol horde for a fortnight. Not even Dru had needed this much … stuff. A trunk for her clothes and dollies and she was happy.

Shit! Dollies! Spike had forgotten to get MacKenzie’s Whoozit stuffed toy off the floor in the car where she’d tossed it. He looked back toward the parking lot – it seemed like ten miles back to the minivan from here, and walking with his cock and balls in traction wasn’t really working out for him terribly well. Sod it. She’ll probably never miss it.

“We’re on Field Three,” Buffy informed the group as they approached, pointing at the furthest field.

Spike rolled his eyes and groaned. Hiking over hill and dale lugging a bloody ton of supplies with his jeans stressed nearly to the bursting point really wasn’t high on his list of things he felt like doing just then.

“Where’s ‘Kenzie’s Whoozit?” Buffy asked immediately when she took the baby from Spike.



Spike sighed. “In the bloody car.”

Buffy looked at him with a ‘how could you have forgotten that’ look.

“She probably won’t even miss it. Plenty t’ keep ‘er occupied, what with all the screaming bits about,” he reasoned, waving a hand vaguely at all the kids in the area.

Buffy rolled her eyes and gave him a ‘yeah, right’ look, but turned with the baby and started following the team to the field. Like the leader of an expedition up Everest, she simply assumed her Sherpas would follow – they did.



After their long walk, Billy, Annie, and Xander dropped their loads and flopped down on the grass under a lone pine tree near field number three.

“Tossers,” Spike taunted them as he put down the cooler he’d been carrying. The thing had wheels, but tended to want to topple over when it encountered ruts or divots in the grass, so he’d just carried it.

“I resent that,” Xander complained, reaching for the cooler Spike had just put down and dragging a Coke out. “I’m built for speed, not endurance.”

Spike snorted. “Yeah, that’s what demon-bird says too.”

Xander flushed, but didn’t even retort. He was too tired already, and it was barely nine am. Maybe he should start going to the gym again – get back down to his old fighting ... or running away weight.

Buffy had walked past the tree toward the bleachers, but came back when she saw that her entourage had stopped. “Are we camping here, then?” she asked, looking at the field. “Can’t really see the batter very well from here,” she pointed out. “There’s a better spot up there along the first-base line,” she suggested.

“‘Lay on, Macduff, and damned be him who first cries ‘Hold! Enough!’’” Spike quoted, picking the cooler back up. He’d be damned if he’d let her see that he was suffering from her little game. The others groaned as they got to their feet and gathered up the gear and supplies they’d dropped.

“I thought it was ‘Lead on, Macduff,’” Xander observed as they started walking again.

“That’s what ya get for thinkin’, Special Ed,” Spike retorted with a smirk. “Best t’ leave that to the professionals.”



**~**

After another half an hour, they were settled in on a patch of grass on the first-base line, and the first game of the day had started. The coach had Dani hitting cleanup, fourth in the lineup, but her first at-bat yielded a grounder right to the shortstop and a quick out at first. The game was fairly uneventful, with the most interesting bit coming when their catcher let a pitch get past him and a runner on third tried to steal home. The ensuing collision looked and sounded spectacular with dust flying and a loud thud, but no one was seriously hurt. The runner was tagged out, much to the other team’s chagrin.

As Spike sat under the big umbrella watching the game, his cell phone binged announcing a text. He pulled it out and looked at it. Meet me by the pine tree, was all it said. It was from Buffy. He looked around and saw her duck behind the tree, out of his view. He smirked and jumped up, asking Xander to keep and eye on the bits for a minute. It had taken ten years to get from the tree to the first-base line earlier; it took ten seconds for him to get back.

“What’s up, luv?” he asked, as he turned the corner around the tree and she came into view.



Buffy looked down at his crotch and raised her brows. “You tell me…” she cooed, giving him her best ‘come hither’ look.

Spike cocked a brow at her and pressed her against the tree. “Didn’t know you were this much of an exhibitionist, luv – but whatever floats your boat,” he purred against her neck just before he kissed the warm, salty skin beneath her ear. “Knew you wouldn’t make me wear this contraption all day.”

Buffy moaned and pressed her body against his. “I have them in,” she whispered against his ear.

Spike pulled back and his gaze dropped immediately to her shorts, then darted back to her eyes. “The balls?” he asked, his eyes glittering.



“Mmmhmm,” she confirmed, pulling him back against her so her mouth was near his ear. She spoke in a very low whisper so no passerby could possibly hear. “Remember what you said you’d do with them in there? How you’d make me cum with your long, lovely fingers? I can’t wait to feel you inside me, Spike. Sending me over the edge with those beautiful digits of yours; fucking me to heaven with them.”

Buffy pulled one of his hands up and drew two of his fingers between her lips, sucking down on them hard.

“Bloody hell…” Spike moaned, the discomfort in his jeans suddenly doubling.

“What feels better? My mouth or my pussy around you?” Buffy wondered, still talking low.

“Not fair t’ choose, pet. Both drive me mad,” he admitted.

She began dropping soft kisses on his fingers and across his palm. “I can’t wait to lick my cum off your fingers. Oh, Spike … I’m so wet right now. I want you inside me so badly, baby.”

Buffy clicked the remote and Spike’s hips jerked against hers where he had her pinned against the tree. “Bloody hell, woman. You tryin’ t’ dust me here or just get us arrested for lewd and lascivious?”

Buffy moaned as the vibrations pulsed against her crotch, his hardness pressing against her hungrily. “Can’t wait to fuck you with that on,” she whispered to him. “Want to feel your balls slapping against my ass, feel your quivering cock buried in me. Oh, baby … do you want me?”

Spike ground his raging hard-on against her in answer. “What do you think?” he breathed, bending down to capture her lips with his wanton mouth.



Buffy returned his kiss ferociously for a few seconds, then pushed firmly on his shoulders with both hands. Spike had to take a small step back to keep from being pushed off-balance, and when he did she clicked the cock-ring off. She gave him her sweetest smile, reached up and touched a chaste kiss on his lips, then sauntered away, back to the chairs and blankets of their ‘campsite’.

He watched her go, her hips twitching back and forth like a model walking down a runway, and his hard-on grew even more urgent. “That woman’ll be the death o’ me yet,” he muttered as he watched her look back over her shoulder at him and give him a knowing smile.

His phone binged again and he pulled it out. What’s up now, lover?

“You bloody vixen…” he groaned, as he looked up to see her watching him from one of the chairs next to Xander.

Spike pulled his duster closed around his body and began walking back to join the group. This was gonna be a long, hard day.

**~**

The Slammers won their first game with little fanfare with a score of one to nothing. Dani’s bat connected with the ball twice. She got on base once, got thrown out at first once, and struck out once. JJ had actually been the one to drive in the scoring run this day, although not with anything as spectacular as Dani’s homerun. His line drive had gone through the shortstop’s legs and rolled into the outfield. The shortstop had then run after it and collided with the left fielder when they both reached the ball at the same time. Fueled by two errors, JJ’s base-hit turned into a double and had allowed the base runner who had been on second to score.



After the game, the team, along with their entourage of coaches, parents, siblings, and friends, commandeered a large section of picnic tables and had lunch. The affair was a mish-mash of snacks and sandwiches brought from home, and hotdogs and hamburgers purchased at the over-priced concession stand. The children all talked at once about the game just past and the upcoming games, with many off-topic conversations about school, TV shows, movies, and video games tossed in to spice it up.

Spike had gotten their group a huge basket of French fires and onion rings from the concession to go with the sandwiches that they’d brought from home. He sat across the long, crowded table from Buffy, surrounded by their kids, and nibbled on the onion rings while the others ate their sandwiches and the fries.

He had just opened his mouth to tell Billy and JJ to stop wielding their fries like light-sabers and dueling with them when Buffy’s bare foot pressed against his crotch. He stiffened, his mouth snapped closed, and his eyes darted to hers across the table.

Buffy tilted her head to the side and smiled sweetly at him even as she rubbed her foot against him harder.

What the bloody hell are ya doin’, Slayer? he demanded through the bond. He’d only recently discovered if he concentrated hard enough he could force some of the blood back into his body past the cock-ring, and relieve some of the pressure on the straining zipper of his jeans. Her foot against his crotch was not helping with that endeavor.



Buffy’s smile never wavered as she stroked her toes up and down his hard length, and clicked on the vibrator strapped to his genitals. Spike growled, but the sound wasn’t even noticed by all the jabbering Jawas at the table.

We’re surrounded by bits! he reminded her, dropping a hand under the table to grab her ankle and stop her assault.

They aren’t looking, she assured him. Scoot up against the table, they won’t be able to see.

Spike’s brows shot up and he looked around. She was right – no one was paying any attention to things happening under the table. Buffy wriggled her toes against his vibrating hard-on, and Spike had to bite down on his bottom lip to keep from moaning. Ignoring his better judgment, he did as she suggested and slid forward on the bench until his stomach was almost touching the worn wood. He let go of her ankle and, for good measure he propped his elbows on the table and leaned his chest forward as well, letting his duster fall forward to help shield her groping foot from wandering eyes.



The pressure against his crotch increased immediately. Buffy’s toes curved around the head of his cock through the denim, then raked down his length roughly. He never knew she was so talented with her bloody toes. She pressed her foot under him, wedging her toes between his ass and the seat. The extra pressure against the vibrator sent even more tingling electricity up through his balls and into his cock.

His cock re-stiffened, growing harder by the second, threatening the heavy fabric that contained it against his body and, he thought, possibly even the cock ring. It was out of some flexible gel-like stuff, but still … everything has a limit. Including him. Things can only go so far before they pop. The thought of the tight band popping against his dangly bits made him wince slightly, but Buffy’s foot pressing against him drove the worry from his mind. He’d heard a quote once which said that God gave men a brain and a penis, but not enough blood to power them both at once. He was fairly certain he was proving that to be true at that moment.

Spike’s eyes closed and he stifled another moan as Buffy’s toes kneaded his balls and then began back up the length of him. She pressed the arch of her bare foot over his full length again, wriggling her foot and toes in a sensuous undulating motion, which only enhanced the vibrations of the cock-ring.

Can’t wait to feel you inside me. Can you imagine it, Spike? Can you feel my wetness squeezing around you, sliding over your cock like a velvet glove? Mmmmm… Buffy moaned to him through the bond.

“Bloody hell,” Spike groaned aloud, his eyes closed, her voice drizzling over him like liquid silk. His cock strained against the ring, forcing more blood through the restriction, making him so hard it hurt … a lot.

Are you gonna cum right now, lover? Buffy wondered, as she began pressing, then releasing, then pressing down again against his quivering hardness in a slow rhythm.

“Bloody right I am…” he murmured aloud, his eyes still closed, imagining. He no longer cared where they were or that they were surround by children or even that he was about to cum in his jeans like a thirteen-year-old virgin.



“Have an onion ring, then,” Buffy suggested, her voice changing from silk to burlap in an instant. She pulled her foot away abruptly, clicked the vibrator off, and shoved the plate of fried food against one of his elbows where it leaned heavily on the tabletop.

Spike’s eyes shot open and he glowered at her. He took a deep, calming breath as he suddenly remembered where they were.

“Did you say something, Dad?” Annie asked from next to him. She looked over at him, waiting for his answer. “Are you alright? You look … weird.”

“Brilliant. I’m … brilliant,” Spike ground out as he grabbed an onion ring and stuffed it in his mouth, his glowering eyes never leaving Buffy’s.

She gave her husband an innocent smile and took one of the French fries from the plate. She sucked it into her mouth slowly like … well … not like a French fry. When it disappeared between her luscious lips, the tip of her tongue darted out and glazed gently over them, picking up all the stray salt that had stuck there.

Spike began to choke.

Annie patted a hand down on his back from one side and Billy picked his Coke up and handed it to him from the other. Spike took it and swallowed a few gulps until the choking ceased.

“Need t’ … errr … find the boys’ room,” Spike stammered, as he began to stand up.



“Oh – honey, would you take ‘Kenz with you? I think she needs to be changed,” Buffy requested, her smile never fading. She stood up and lifted the baby, in the carrier with the sun-shade pulled down, over the table to him, then handed him the diaper bag too. “Billy and JJ might need to go too,” she suggested. “Don’t be long,” she continued genially. “We need to get to Field One for the next game pretty soon.”

You are not going into the bathroom and wank off, Mr. Weckerly. You can just forget that, she sent through the bond, still smiling at him.

“And, when you’re done, be a sweetheart and go back to the car for her Whoozit doll … she’s getting fussy and needs a nap. It helps get her to sleep,” Buffy added for good measure.

Spike growled and mumbled something under his breath about bossy bints, but took the baby and the diaper bag, and headed off for the facilities. JJ and Billy traipsed after him, each still with a French fry in their hands, taking swipes at the other like Musketeers, or Jedi Knights, as they walked.  

**~**

The ‘Dani and JJ Fan Club’ packed up their camp and moved it to Field One in preparation for the second game of the day. As the team started warming up again, their entourage got settled into the chairs and on the blanket to await the start of the game.

Between having her cherished doll back and the gentle rocking motion of Spike’s steps, the fussy MacKenzie had fallen asleep on the walk back from the parking lot. She'd also seemed to pick up a new word from Spike along the way: 'bint'. Although he wasn't sure that was what she was trying to say, it sounded awfully close – too close for comfort. His little fireball still steadfastly refused to say 'Mama' for him, however. Stubborn little ... Spike sat her carrier down on the grass and plopped down on the blanket next to it so he could keep rocking it for a while, just to make sure she stayed asleep and didn't mutter any obscenities in earshot of Buffy.

Near him, Annie had taken one of the chairs and was reading something on Billy’s Kindle. Billy had gone onto the field with the team and was running down stray balls and tossing them back to the players. Xander was watching the other team warm up and making comments about the relative talent of each player, but no one was actually listening to him.

Buffy came back from the girls’ room and settled down on the blanket between Spike’s outstretched legs, pushing them apart to give herself room. She wriggled and scooted until her back pressed against his chest and her butt pressed against his crotch.

Spike draped his free arm around her shoulder and pulled her back harder against him, still rocking the baby with the other hand. “A cheeky wench, you are,” he whispered in her ear, his breath cool under the warm afternoon sun.



Buffy grinned, pleased with herself. She put a hand behind his head and pulled him forward so her mouth was near his ear when she turned her head. She blew gently into his ear, then bit down softly onto the lobe. Spike actually shivered, despite the heat of the sun.

“Wouldn’t my tongue feel good on your cock right now?” Buffy wondered, her voice so low that only Spike could hear her. She trailed the tip of her tongue over the outer shell of his ear, just in case he’d forgotten what her tongue felt like. “I want to lick every inch of you. Taste your sweet cum as it shoots out like a geyser of bliss. Old Faithful Spike … Mmmmm…”

Buffy slid her hand from the back of his head to his cheek and turned his face to hers. She nibbled on his soft, full lips, then deepened the kiss. Spike completely forgot about rocking the baby. Both arms wrapped around her, pulling her body even tighter against his. He was on the verge of flipping them over, of ripping her shorts off, and grinding his hips against her when MacKenzie’s shrill cry broke into his hormone-driven plan, shattering it.

Buffy pulled back from the kiss, gasping, and reached out to begin rocking the carrier again.

“God, I want you. Come with me now – into the woods, back there,” Spike whispered in her ear, motioning with one hand at the stand of trees behind the complex.

“The game’s about to start,” Buffy pointed out as the baby quieted back down.

“Sod the game, Slayer,” Spike hissed in her ear, kissing her neck with urgent lips.

Buffy stifled a moan. His lips felt like heaven on her heated skin. The little balls inside her were having a ‘par-tay!’, revving her own desire up on par with his. But that wasn’t the plan. The plan was to tease. To torture. To taunt. To drive insane. Then, and only then, would the rapture be released.

“Hey! Dani’s up already,” Billy announced.

When had he gotten back? When had the game started? Buffy and Spike both turned their attention to the batter. A look at the scoreboard and the bases told Spike she was batting third now. One out. One runner on first.

“One off game and the wanker pulls her from clean-up?” Spike growled.

“You know they shuffle them around all the time,” Buffy pointed out before letting out a cheer of encouragement for their daughter.

“Bloody hell. Why doesn’t the soddin’ coach tell ‘er to keep her elbows up?” Spike groaned as he watched her. Dani swung at the first pitch and missed.



“Balls!” he growled and jumped up, nearly toppling Buffy over as her backrest disappeared. He began jogging – each step drawing a groaning wince from his lips – towards home plate, shouting at Dani to keep her elbows up before he got halfway there.

Buffy laughed. “‘Sod the game, Slayer,’” she mimicked him with an eye roll. “Yeah, right.”

Dani backed out of the batter’s box when she heard her dad yelling. She found him in an instant, running towards her through the throng of families and children. Oh shoot! Elbows! she realized what he was saying after a moment. She nodded at him, stepped back up to the plate, and began her pre-pitch ritual, making sure to add in a check of the position of her elbows at the end.

Spike hit the tall chain link fence on the side of the infield near home plate with his hands just as the next pitch came at her. He could see it was gonna be a perfect strike – right in her hitting zone. “C’mon…” was all he could get out before Dani swung.

The ball connected with the bat with a solid, ringing thump and sailed into the air. “Yes!!” Spike screamed, raising his arms in the air. “Run!” he yelled at her when she just stood there and watched it, awestruck.

Dani dropped her bat and began to run. The centerfielder began backing up, then turned and began running back. The second baseman moved out further into the outfield to help relay the ball back into play, and the shortstop covered second.

The ball dropped in the field of play, out of reach of the centerfielder, and rolled to a stop on the back fence. The first-base coach sent Dani to second as the outfielder scrambled after the ball. The third-base coach sent the other base-runner home. Dani looked up as she approached second to see the ball being tossed to the relay man. She ran faster and hit second at full speed, turning the corner and heading for third.

Everyone was screaming. The players were screaming at each other, her coach was screaming, her team was screaming, the fans were screaming. Above all the screaming she could hear her dad’s voice, though, telling her to run. She looked up at the third-base coach. He was holding his hands up: stop. Her dad was still screaming at her to run; somehow she could hear him clearly above everyone else.

She hit third and rounded the base, looking up in time to see the ball being tossed from second base to third. She’d already committed – she couldn’t get back to it before the ball got there. She kept going.

Everything suddenly seemed to go into slow motion for Dani. She could see the catcher hovering over home plate, glove out, ready, waiting for someone to throw the ball. He was yelling, she could see his mouth moving, but the words just blended in with the cacophony of voices and sounds that assailed her.

Run! was the only clear thought she had in her mind. The word seemed to solidify in her gut and urged her on. She could feel her cleats digging into the hard clay, pushing with all her might, her arms pumped, and she leaned forward, head down, running as hard as she could.

Her body was leaning too far forward to take the base in a proper slide. She would have to dive for it. She felt more than saw the ball whip past her head as it was thrown to the catcher. He was bigger than she was, and the pads and mask he wore made him look huge and unmovable as a mountain. But she was fast and nimble, and he was standing with his feet spread apart – the safety of the base between them.

Dani dove at it. Dirt and dust filled the air, covered her face, and choked her. She closed her eyes and stopped breathing as she slid across the rough ground, arms stretched out as far as they would go above her head. She felt the catcher’s mitt come down hard on her back just before she came to a complete stop.



The world stopped. Someone had pressed the ‘pause’ button. No one seemed to move or breathe for a moment. Then, just as quickly, everything started again, back to regular speed.

“Safe!” yelled the umpire, waving his hands in a sweeping motion in front of his body.

The Slammers exploded in excited joy while their opponents began screeching objections. Dani pushed herself up, nearly knocking the catcher over from where he still stood above her. She coughed and spat red clay out of her mouth, rubbed at her eyes, and patted down her uniform. Her teammates surrounded her with hugs and praise and walked her back to their dugout.

The coach looked at her a moment and motioned for Spike to come over to the dugout. When he got there, one of the assistants was washing the clay from Dani’s face and out of her eyes, but the real problem was her hands. They were both bleeding from being scraped along the hard ground.

“I’m fine,” the girl insisted, moving her fingers to demonstrate, but she winced when the assistant poured water on the wounds.

Spike looked at them. They weren’t deep – abrasions really – but they’d be painful. When they stiffened up, she may not be able to bat anymore this weekend or even field a ball.

“Got a first-aid kit in the car. We’ll be back in a bit,” he told the coach as he began leading Dani out of the dugout.

“I’m fine…” Dani objected again. “I can play.”

“Quit arguing and come on,” Spike said more sternly than he intended. He knew how much she’d looked forward to playing in this tournament and he knew she didn’t want to let her team down, either.

He pressed her forward and they headed out to find the Blue Bomber.

“Papa, I’m fine,” she said again as they entered the parking lot.

“I know you are, but a little salve won’t hurt,” he insisted.

“Salve? I can’t play with salve on my hands. First of all … it’s against the rules and second…” she began.

“No worries – got a different kinda salve,” he assured her.

At the minivan, Spike opened the back hatch and sat Dani down in the floor there behind the seats. He pulled a first-aid kit out from under the bench seat at her back and opened it. “Right,” he began, running a hand through his hair nervously. “What I need you t’ do is close your eyes and don’t look.”

“What? Why? I’m not a baby,” Dani argued impatiently.

“I know that,” Spike ground out. “But … maybe I am. So do as I say so I can fix this for ya.”

Dani scowled at him. He thought she had a better scowl than Buffy – be bloody scary if she wasn’t three feet tall.



“Close. Your. Eyes,” Spike repeated emphatically. “And no peekin’.”

Dani sighed, rolled her eyes, but then closed them, squishing her lids together tightly. “No peekin’,” he repeated. “Promise.”

“I’m not…” she defended. “I promise,” she added dejectedly.

“Right. Just gonna put this … salve on now. Might feel funny, but it shouldn’t hurt,” he told her as he lifted her right hand. He looked around one time to make sure no one was about, then began sucking and licking the blood and embedded dirt from her wounds, coating her hands with his healing saliva.

“That tickles,” Dani observed, keeping her eyes closed as she’d promised.

Spike spat the blood and dirt out onto the ground and looked at her hand. It had stopped bleeding and started healing already. He licked it a few more times and the skin seemed to pull back together, closing up most of the wounds.

“Keep your eyes closed…” he reminded her as he took her other hand and repeated the process.

“Right then – how does that feel?” he asked when he was done.

“Can I look?”

“Yeah, you can look now,” he agreed.

Dani opened her eyes and flexed her hands, making fists, then opening them again. “Wow! It’s … all gone,” she observed with a tone of wonder.

“Might be a bit thin though, not tough like it was, yeah?” Spike warned her. “You go back t’ the game and I’ll see if that bloody annoying GPS thing’ll find me a sporting goods store ‘round here. Get ya some batting gloves, yeah?”

Dani looked at the untouched first-aid kit, then back at her father. “What salve did you use?”

“I … uhhh … private stock – special recipe,” he stammered as he closed the kit and slid it back in place under the seat.



“You never used it before,” she observed.

“Well … I … it’s only for special occasions, I reckon. Not for just everyday scrapes,” he explained sheepishly, not meeting her eyes.

“Go on then – back t’ the game with ya,” he demanded brusquely, waving a hand toward the field.

Dani jumped down off the back of the minivan and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Thanks, Papa.”

“No worries, Grasshopper,” he assured her, patting a hand down on her back.

Dani released him and turned to head back to the field at a trot.

“Oi! Brilliant hit an’ base runnin’!” he called after her.

Dani twirled mid-step into a graceful pirouette, grinning back at him. “Thanks, coach!!” she called back, waving, then twirled back around without missing a beat, and kept going.

**~**

Buffy met Spike not far from the dugout when he returned with batting gloves for Dani. He stopped before getting within arm’s length of her.



“Dani showed me her hands,” she said, her voice even, not exactly accusing.

Spike ducked his head and studied the gloves he had in his hand, unable to meet Buffy’s eyes. “Yeah,” he replied noncommittally.

“We don’t have any salve that would do that,” Buffy continued coolly.

“No,” he agreed again.

“Spike? Was that really a good idea?” she wondered, taking a step towards him and into his personal space.

He finally looked up at her. “I spit it out – didn’t drink it,” he defended immediately. “She wanted t’ play so bloody much … and … she wouldn’t’ve been able to. I just … want t’ fix it for ‘er.”



Buffy tilted her head and her expression softened. “I know, but…”

“I’ve never tasted any of the bits’ blood, Buffy – ever,” Spike cut her off, his voice adamant. “Just wanted t’ fix it,” he repeated.

Buffy nodded. “I know. And I know you’d never hurt them. It’s not in you, Spike. She doesn’t know exactly what you did … said it tickled. The only problem is: what happens next time? How are you gonna explain that you can’t do that every time one of them gets a boo-boo? And what if someone had seen you? How would you explain that to another parent? They’d think you were some kind of … pervert or something.”

Spike shrugged and looked back down at the ground, fiddling with the gloves in his hand. “Told ‘er it was a … a limited supply – not for everyday. I checked t’ make sure no one was around first.”

Buffy sighed, suddenly feeling bad for chastising him. “You’re a good dad, Spike,” she assured him, reaching out and laying her palm on his cheek.

“Yeah? Not sure sometimes,” he admitted as he looked up and searched her eyes for the truth of it. “Vampire and all…”



Buffy shook her head and gave him a small smile. “You’re a dad first. A good dad that loves his kids and wants to do all he can for them.”

Spike nodded and gave her an apologetic smile. “Thanks, pet.”

“C’mon. Your daughter needs those gloves. Coach has her sitting out until she gets them and she’s going crazy,” Buffy told him, touching a finger down on the small batting gloves in his hand.

Spike nodded and they began walking towards the Slammers’ dugout.

“You wanna take ‘em in to ‘er?” Spike wondered, holding the gloves out towards Buffy.

Buffy snorted derisively. “Oh no, buster. You bought pink gloves, you get to give them to her,” Buffy retorted. “Just make sure you keep all your dangly bits protected when you do. I have big plans for them later.”

“Was the only color they ‘ad small enough t’ fit ‘er,” Spike defended. Then, his voice growing thick, he asked, “Big plans for my naughty bits, eh?” He curled his tongue over his teeth lecherously. “Care t’ give us a bit of a preview o’ the coming attraction, then?”



Buffy gave him a coy smile. Her eyes went wide and she began to nod. “Nope.”

**~**

{{  Click here to hear Centerfield, John Fogerty on YouTube  }}

Well, beat the drum and hold the phone - the sun came out today!
We're born again, there's new grass on the field.
A-roundin' third, and headed for home, it's a brown-eyed handsome man;
Anyone can understand the way I feel.

Oh, put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;
Put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;
Look at me, I can be Centerfield.

Well, I spent some time in the Mudville Nine, watchin' it from the bench;
You know I took some lumps when the Mighty Case struck out.
So, say hey Willie, tell Ty Cobb and Joe DiMaggio;
Don't say "it ain't so", you know the time is now.

Oh, put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;
Put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;
Look at me, I can be Centerfield.


Yeah! I got it, I got it!

Got a beat-up glove, a homemade bat, and brand-new pair of shoes;
You know I think it's time to give this game a ride.
Just to hit the ball and touch 'em all - a moment in the sun;
(POP) It's gone and you can tell that one goodbye!

Oh, put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;
Put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;
Look at me, I can be ...

Oh, put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;
Put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;
Look at me, gotta be Centerfield.

Yeah!

Warning: Absolutely, under no circumstance, should you do what Buffy does to Spike in the next couple of chapters! Always read and follow the directions and safety precautions on all sex-toys before using them!! This is a work of fiction and Spike is a vampire, not a human, so I'm not applying the same rules to him. In the same vein, using Ben Wa balls for extended periods of time is probably not a good idea either – again, Buffy's not a normal human, this is fiction, real life rules are not applied. Have fun but be safe!

**~**

8pm that same night, Saturday October 1st, 2011:

“You have got to be bloody kiddin’ me,” Spike snarled at the harried clerk behind the desk at the Torrance Travelodge.



“I’m sorry, sir,” the young, pimply-faced man said again. It seemed like he’d been saying it a lot tonight. “But that’s all we have. We can bring a rollaway bed into the room to accommodate the additional…”

“Not the bloody point. We made the soddin’ reservation a week ago,” Spike interrupted him.

“Yes, I see that, but, they didn’t get the late check-in marked and, since you didn’t check in earlier, the rooms you reserved are gone. I just don’t have any more rooms. I can’t give you something I don’t have,” the young man said again.

Spike looked at Buffy, fuming. “Let’s go down t’ the beach. This place is a bloody roach motel anyway,” he suggested bitterly.

“But Papa!” Dani whined. “Everyone’s staying here. The whole team … almost all the teams are here. If we go somewhere else we might miss something important.”

“What the bloody hell could we miss? Being attacked in our sleep by giant roaches? Being lulled t’ sleep by the sound o’ eighteen-wheelers on the road ten feet from the room? Bed bugs?” Spike snapped back.

Dani looked up at him with big, blue, sad puppy-eyes and stuck her bottom lip out in a pout. She’d learned the puppy-eyes from Billy – he was the best at them. The pout was Annie’s best weapon. Dani took the two and blended them into a lethal combination.

“Bloody hell,” Spike moaned, looking at Buffy for help.

“It’s only one night,” she pointed out, shrugging. “We can probably fight off the giant roaches…”

Only one night!? he thought angrily. She’d been killing him all soddin’ day and now, when he’s so very close to being alone with her, she says ‘it’s only one night’? Might as well be a soddin’ year as far as his naughty bits were concerned.



“You’re a big help,” he groaned.

“Papa, pleease,” Dani pleaded, tugging on his arm.

Spike sighed and looked back at the clerk. “Fine, give us the soddin’ double with the rollaway. But I want a bloody voucher for a full breakfast for…” Spike counted heads, “five … no … seven,” he amended, adding in JJ and Xander. “And not those cold, stale pastries you call a ‘continental breakfast’ either. I want a full, hot, red-white-and-blue, Uncle Sam, American breakfast.”

“Yes, sir. That’s not a problem,” the young man agreed, happy to finally be done with this nightmare.

“And, I got a news flash for ya. No one on the bloody continent would be caught dead eatin’ two-day-old, discount pastries for breakfast.”

“I guess that depends on which continent they mean,” the young man pointed out with a genial smile as he handed Spike two room key-cards and the vouchers for breakfast.

“He’s got a point,” Buffy agreed. “There are probably some continents that would think stale, cold pastries were a delicacy … like … India. Mom always said there were starving people in India that would be happy for our wasted food.”

Spike snorted and took all the papers and keys from the clerk. “India is not a soddin’ continent, Slayer.”

Buffy frowned and looked at Annie. The girl shook her head, confirming Spike’s statement.

“Well … it should be,” Buffy defended as they started walking. “And, if it was, we could send them our stale pastries and some coffee to wash it down with. That way the people there could be well-fed and hyped-up on sugar and caffeine. Then companies would be forced to relocate their call centers back to the States. Can you imagine an Indian hyped-up on sugar and caffeine trying to tell you how to fix your computer? No way anyone here would ever be able to understand them, no matter how often they repeated whatever gobbledygook they were trying to say with that funny accent. It could fix the whole economy of the United States with that one, simple humanitarian gesture.”

Spike stopped walking and looked over his shoulder at her. “Your mind is a scary place, Slayer.”



Buffy smiled brightly. “Thanks. I don’t know why all those Harvard idiots can’t figure this stuff out. It’s not that hard, really.”

Spike laughed, shook his head, and started walking again. “Reckon they’re just daft. All them classes and whatnot probably rotted their brains. Lucky you didn’t go t’ college and get your brain turned t’ mush like that, pet.”

“Lucky,” Buffy agreed, still smiling.

**~**

“Ya know, the bits could go stay with Harris and the whelp,” Spike suggested to Buffy as they began unloading the van.

How could one night away from home require so much luggage? Spike was starting to feel like an overworked, sway-back pack mule. He shuddered to think what would be needed if they’d planned to be gone a week.

“No way!” Annie protested. “Uncle Xander snores! It sounds like a freight train running through the house – and that's from two rooms away!”

“And JJ will cover up your head with the covers and fart on you!” Dani added.

“I’ll go,” Billy offered.



“You don’t mind the farts, then?” Spike wondered, cocking a brow at his son.

Billy shrugged. “I fart back.”

“It’s a fart-a-thon. How very Y-chromosome-y of you all,” Buffy observed, shaking her head. “I think that’s something we can forego this trip.”

Spike sighed as his last hope of getting Buffy alone crashed and burned.

Nearly two hours later, the kids had all had baths and were finally, thankfully, asleep. Billy and Dani were sleeping in one of the double beds, Annie was sleeping on a rollaway the hotel staff had crammed into the small room, and MacKenzie was snoozing in a travel crib they’d brought with them.

Thus far, no giant roaches had been seen, so Buffy took the opportunity to close her eyes and let the hot water of the shower pour over her aching body. It had been a long day out at the ball park. The kids had played a total of four games since that morning, and cheering for them seemed every bit as exhausting as playing – maybe more so. The Slammers had won three of the games and lost one. It was a double-elimination tournament, so they would play on tomorrow. Yippee.



The water felt lovely as it roamed over her skin and she let herself get lost in it, imagining Spike’s hands and mouth in its stead. The little Ben Wa balls inside her danced as her muscles contracted and shuddered around them. She hadn’t realized how difficult it would be on her to tease him all day. Her body yearned for him, her pussy walls throbbed in need of release, her whole body tingled in desire. But, his torture wasn’t yet complete … so that meant hers wasn’t either.  She had a plan. She was going to stick to it … even if it killed her. It might.

Buffy smiled when she heard someone try the bathroom doorknob. It was locked. “Ocupado!” she called out over the din of the shower.

“Sod ocupado, Slayer,” Spike growled through the closed door. “Open up.”

“Thin walls and children…” she pointed out as she started to lather shampoo into her hair.

She could hear Spike growl again, a low rumble that seemed to vibrate the foggy air in the room even through the closed door, and send her senses reeling. Plan, Slayer … remember the plan, she admonished herself.

After a moment, she heard something metallic scraping against the doorknob and then the door opened. Buffy leaned her head under the spray of the shower to get the soap out of her hair and eyes, but before she could finish, Spike was there.

How had he gotten undressed so fast? He pressed Buffy’s back against the wall to the side of the shower controls, and captured her lips, soap and all, with his. Hot water rained down on them, his body was hard and demanding against hers, his lips hungry. He devoured her mouth and slipped his tongue between her lips to taste her. His hands traveled down her body like the water, smooth and silken, over the hills and valleys of her wet, soapy skin.



Buffy moaned against his mouth, her body thrumming with just as much need as he felt. Her hands began at his slim hips and traveled up the masculine ‘V’ of his torso, over hard muscle and soft skin, to his shoulders. No matter how many times her hands traversed these roads of muscle and sinew, it never got boring. No matter how many times she saw the hard lines of his body, the aching need of his manhood, it never got old. He was a classic, a work of art – like the Mona Lisa or Michelangelo’s David – something that you could gaze upon for eons and never, ever get tired of.

She loved seeing his undeniable need and desire for her. The cock-ring surrounding his cock and balls only seemed to magnify his manhood. It gave her a thrill that ran down her spine like fiery-ice, and the plan of another night and day of torture began to burn in the flames.

“Buffy, need you … love you,” Spike murmured against her wet skin as he broke the kiss and trailed his mouth down over her jaw to her neck. His fingers glided over her hip and slipped between her folds. Dampness that had nothing to do with the shower covered them with slick nirvana.

“Always so wet for me…” he muttered, moving his mouth down further, over her collarbone, and down further still.

“Always so hard for me,” Buffy replied, grasping his stiff shaft in her hand.



Buffy lifted one leg, wrapping it around his like a snake, and Spike’s finger slid inside her. She gasped when he touched the toys in there, rolling their hardness against her G-spot and over her trembling sugar walls.

Spike’s thumb rubbed against her clit as he pushed the Ben Wa balls around with a single finger inside her. Buffy’s hips jerked against him and she gasped, “Yes…” against his shoulder as the water continued raining down on them.

“You’re a naughty Slayer,” Spike purred against her breast as he teased her pussy gently. “Need a right good thrashin’, you do.”

“Oh yes,” Buffy agreed, writhing against him as she stroked his wet cock in her fist. She wished to God she’d brought the remote control for the little vibrator strapped to his cock in here with her.

“Need my cock buried in you. Need it fuckin’ you right into next week, you do,” he continued before sucking her hard nipple into his mouth and nibbling on it with his teeth.

“Yes…” Buffy confirmed, jerking on his shaft faster.

“Need my cum shootin’ in … coverin’ you, filling you. So bloody hot, you are, Slayer. So tight, so wet … Pussy like silk: slick and soft and so bloody sweet.”

Buffy’s body began to shudder, her muscles tightening as she approached the edge of ecstasy. Her back arched into him, her hips jerking uncontrollably against his hand. She was only a moment away from flying over the edge when Spike … stopped, pulled away from her and backed up.

Buffy clutched at him, pulling him back … just another second was all she needed. Spike, pried her hand off his shaft and stepped out of the shower, dripping water all over the floor in large puddles. Buffy finally opened her eyes, her chest heaving, gasping breaths tearing from her throat. “What…” was all she could manage.

Spike smirked at her and grabbed a towel. “Let me know when you’re done so I can get a proper shower,” he said calmly as he wrapped the towel around his waist. “And no touchin’ without me,” he warned, leering at her wet, naked body. “That body’s mine.”

With that, he turned, opened the bathroom door, and went back out into the other room, leaving Buffy standing gape-mouthed and quivering with need.

“Bastard!” she snarled as she pulled the shower curtain closed, turned the water to full cold, and stepped under the icy spray. She’d let him turn the game around on her and she hadn’t even seen it coming. She was slipping. He would pay for that.



**~**

Buffy came out of the bathroom a while later dressed in a long, pink nightshirt that announced: ‘I love you, but if the zombies chase us, I’m tripping you,’ in fancy script lettering on the front. She had pink and white flannel PJ bottoms on under it. She was still drying her hair with one of the less-than-absorbent hotel towels.

“All yours,” she purred to Spike as she started for their bed.

As they passed each other in the narrow space between Billy and Dani’s bed and Annie’s rollaway, Buffy grabbed his arm. “Don’t you dare think you can go in there and jerk-off, either,” she whispered, barely loud enough for Spike to hear. “If this body is yours, then that one is mine,” she informed him, poking a finger into his bare ribs.

Spike flinched at her bruising stab and rubbed at the spot a moment. He smirked and pulled her back with him to the bathroom, pressing her inside and closing the door. “What did ya have in mind doin’ with it, Slayer?” he asked in a low rumble near her ear.

Buffy shivered but kept her cool. That cold shower she’d taken had helped a bit with that. “You’ll have to wait to find out. But you have to behave or you won’t get the reward.”



“And what’s the reward?” he wondered, close enough for Buffy to feel his breath on her damp skin.

“Screams … all night long,” Buffy promised.

Spike pulled back and cocked a brow at her. “Whose?”

She smirked and shrugged one shoulder, then ran a finger down his sternum, over his six-pack to the top of the towel around his waist. “You’ll have to wait and see, won’t you?”

She pressed her hand against his cock through the towel, cupping the length of it against his body. It twitched under the pressure, reflexively jumping up to meet her touch like a trained poodle leaping for a treat.

“Mine,” she announced in a possessive growl before she pushed him away and slid past him, out of the bathroom.

“Bloody hell…” Spike murmured looking after her. He took a deep breath and pushed the door closed. He and Pavlov’s penis needed a cold shower.

**~**



Spike walked along a narrow, pine-needle covered path beneath tall evergreens. The few patches of sky above that he could see were blue, but down here under the thick canopy, the light was dim, as if twilight were falling. He moved silently along the padded trail, which snaked through the dark forest around tree trunks as wide as a small car, and boulders just as large as said cars.

The giant rocks that littered the forest had been softened with a thick growth of lichen in shades of green, yellow, and orange. The air was fresh and cool, and the evergreens made it smell like Christmas. The sound of a brook or stream tumbling gently over rocks somewhere to his left added to the peaceful ambiance of the forest, as did small birds that flitted gracefully from branch to branch, and sang like nightingales in the dim light.

He was just starting to wonder where he was supposed to be going when he saw a soft light flash ahead and to one side of the trail. He hurried forward to get a better look, but it faded before he got there. He walked around the wide trunk of the tree it had been near, but found nothing. When he got back to the trail, he saw it again, on the other side of the path, and he heard Buffy’s laughter ring out and join in with the song of the birds, melodious and gleeful.

Spike hurried forward, toward the sound and the light, but both faded before he reached them. “Buffy? Luv?” he tried, turning in a circle. “Come out, come out wherever you are…” he sing-songed.

Buffy giggled again and he caught a glimpse of something golden before it disappeared behind a boulder. He went the other way around the rock to cut her off, but she’d disappeared again. “C’mon, luv … no fun playing hide an’ seek all night.”

Buffy’s laugh made Spike jump as it suddenly came from right next to him. He lurched back and turned at the sound. A tiny, Barbie-sized Buffy was hovering a few feet above the ground, a set of translucent, fragile faerie wings shimmering on her back. She wore a sleeveless, short, emerald green dress that swirled around her when she moved, almost like it had a mind of its own. Her long, golden hair was adorned with a crown of flowers in pinks, purples, and mauves.



“Are you a troll?” Buffy-faerie asked Spike, hovering above him. Her wings shone as they fluttered at her back, keeping her airborne.

“Bloody insultin’ that is,” he answered, moving closer to her.

Buffy giggled and her wings seemed to quiver with the sound, pulsing with bright, golden light. “An ogre then?”

Spike cocked a brow at her. “Not bloody likely.”

Buffy-faerie lifted higher in the air, out of his reach, and darted around a tree, only to appear again behind him only a second later. “A goblin?” she guessed, her eyes wide.



“Goblins are short, got pointy ears, and work in banks,” Spike informed her, turning around to face her again. “Didn’ you see ‘Harry Potter’?”

“Oooo … a selkie then! I’ve heard tell of your kind!” Buffy-faerie gushed, ignoring his comment about goblins. Her eyes were wide and gleeful, proud of identifying the creature she’d found walking through the fae forest.

“And what ‘ave you heard, then?” Spike wondered as he watched her. Buffy made a lovely faerie. Her wings were like those of a dragonfly: translucent and delicately woven, like an intricate spider web. The light they cast over her made her whole body glow golden and her glossy hair shimmer and shine when she moved. Her legs were toned and shapely beneath the short dress, which now he realized was made out of some sort of lacy grass that moved in layers of soft fringe over her curves.

“Selkies are very handsome in their human form,” Buffy-faerie replied knowingly.

“That fits then, doesn’t it?” Spike agreed.

“And they have great seductive powers over human women,” Buffy-faerie continued.

“Mmmmm, and faeries too, I reckon,” Spike added, pursing his lips and sucking his cheeks in to highlight his cheekbones and strong jaw.



Buffy-faerie giggled again. Her laughter rang through the forest like sweet, silver bells tinkling in a soft breeze. She flitted around Spike, moving faster than even he could see. Her blurred form would stop every few seconds, stay still long enough for Spike to turn to face her, then dart away to another position.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” Buffy-faerie asked when she stopped finally, half-hidden behind a nearby boulder. She batted her lashes at Spike coquettishly, and dipped her head so a veil of her golden hair fell over one eye.



“Gorgeous,” Spike confirmed, his voice a deep, husky growl. He began moving towards her in a slow, predatory saunter.

“Do you mean to seduce me?” she wondered, effortlessly flitting to the other side of the boulder and peering out at him.

“Most definitely,” Spike assured her, altering his course.

“But how ever will you catch me, selkie?” Buffy-faerie wondered, flittering higher, out of his reach.

Buffy-faerie moved in a blur and was suddenly right in front of Spike. Before he even realized she’d moved, she had touched a small kiss on the tip of his nose. In the next moment, before he could react, she darted away in another blur of glittering light. “Selkies may be handsome and fair … but they can’t fly,” she called down to him, grinning wickedly.

Spike smirked up at her. “No, but vampires can,” he revealed as wings sprang from his back. They were dark and bat-like, but made from the same glittering faerie magic that the rest of her dream was constructed around. They were thin and fragile looking, as if woven from fine, black silk, and they shone, rich and glossy in the dim light.

Dream-Spike morphed himself into a vampire-faerie to match Buffy’s size. His clothes morphed into nothing more than a loincloth made of the purest-black raven feathers he’d ever seen. The feathers shone with indigo-blue and rich violet highlights in the glow of Buffy’s wings, leaving his chest, legs, and feet bare. He tested his dark, sparkling bat wings. They fluttered gracefully, lifting him off his feet effortlessly.



He gave her a victorious, lecherous, almost predatory, look and darted forward. Buffy-faerie screeched in surprise, but her laughter rang through the forest as she fled, leaving a trail of shimmering, golden dust-motes in her wake.

Spike’s basso laughter joined with hers as they darted around trees and boulders, skimmed over the babbling creek, and sent small birds fluttering up from the trees in surprise.

Buffy darted to her right around a giant Sequoia. Spike, only a few inches behind her, went left. He caught her as she circled the tree, intent on doubling back on him. Buffy squealed in surprise when she nearly smashed into him, and pulled up just in time to avoid a head-on collision. Spike grabbed her upper arms and pressed her wings back against the trunk of the giant tree, stilling them, and captured her lips with his in a ferocious kiss.



Buffy wrapped her arms around her captor and returned the kiss with just as much ferocity. Tongues battled for dominance of the kiss, tasting and tantalizing the other, while lips crashed together with a fierce hunger.

Buffy could feel the muscles in Spike’s back and stomach as they tensed and undulated with the beating of his delicate, dark wings. She pressed her body against his harder, reveling in the strength of him and the rhythm of his straining muscles.

Never breaking the kiss, Spike floated them away from the tree. Buffy’s wings were freed from the encumbrance and they began to flutter, matching Spike’s gentle rhythm. They turned in a slow circle in the cool, still air, dark entangled with light. Spike’s hands wandered down her sides, over the soft fringes of flowing green grass that was her dress. When he found the hem, he slipped his hands against the golden skin of her thighs, then around her to cup the globes of her firm ass.
 
As they floated high above the ground, glittering dust-motes erupted in a plume of sparkling light around Buffy. Her faerie-lights were joined with twinkling raven-black stars that flowed off Spike. As they turned in a slow circle, touching, kissing, and straining to pull the other closer, the sparkling snowflakes of opal and onyx mixed and mingled into a cloud of magic around them.

Buffy bit down on Spike’s bottom lip with her teeth, drawing blood in her fervor. Spike pulled back, startled, licking at the blood and staring at her in lecherous surprise.

“Looks like I’m gonna ‘ave to tame you down a bit, faerie queen,” he rumbled, touching a finger to his bleeding lip.

"Faeries aren’t that easily tamed,” she lectured him before giving him a wicked smile and darting away.

Buffy zipped out of the cover of the thick woods into a meadow of brilliant wildflowers. The lush carpet of blooms was in a rainbow of colors only possible in a dream. Purples, blues, and pinks mingled with yellows, oranges, and reds in a pattern of random, breathtaking beauty. Beneath the colors lay a blanket of green in every hue from chartreuse to emerald to deepest forest green.



Spike chased her as she giggled and flew in random patterns over the dreamy, color-wheel of flowers. She taunted and teased him by slowing down just enough for him to get nearly to her, then darting away again in a completely different direction. Spike growled and lurched to a stop more than once, changed directions, and continued his pursuit.

When Buffy floated down close enough to touch the rainbow of flowers, they came alive. Hundreds of brightly-colored butterflies fluttered up, detaching themselves from the matching blooms they’d been perched upon. Buffy flew over the meadow in a curving, serpentine pattern, trailing her fingers over the flowers, and sending clouds of brilliant butterflies soaring into the air.

Spike was engulfed in a rainbow of fluttering wings. They tickled his bare body, grazing against his skin as gently as, well … butterfly kisses. It tickled and tortured him all at once, and he wasn’t sure whether to try and fly out of them or just stay and enjoy the feeling.


The choice was made for him when Buffy appeared right in front of him amid the horde of flitting wings. Hundreds of the butterflies had landed on her dress of grass and she looked like she was clothed in nothing but the flying flowers. Careful not to press her body against his, Buffy leaned just her head over and captured Spike’s lips in a gentle kiss. Her mouth rivaled the silken delicacy of the butterfly wings against his skin and sent shivers of bliss down his spine.



Spike moaned and returned the kiss, keeping it soft with light nibbles on her lips and teasing licks of his tongue. The sensation created by the cloud of wings coursing over his body, the barely-there breeze from the fluttering butterflies, and her sweet kiss on his lips was one of the most surreal things Spike had ever felt. It was as if he were being kissed everywhere, or nearly everywhere, all at once.

His cock jumped and stiffened under the feather loincloth and the additional sensation nearly sent him over the edge. The soft feathers caressed the sensitive skin of his hardening member as his lust literally grew to new heights.

“Buffy, need you…” Spike moaned against her mouth. “Never needed you or wanted you more.”

Buffy’s fingers tickled down his chest to his abs, dancing over the hard lines of bone and muscle. The butterflies followed her touch, gliding over Spike’s skin like so many downy feathers. Her hand found his cock, now standing hard outside the veil of raven feathers, and the butterflies followed her.

Spike gasped when her hand wrapped around him and the butterfly wings kissed all that remained uncovered by her small, hot hand.

Buffy pushed on his shoulder and Spike began to fall from the sky, his wings going still as he fluttered down to the carpet of flowers like a leaf falling from a tree.

As they flitted down, bodies prone, Buffy above Spike, the butterflies that covered Buffy’s green dress began to flutter away. As they did, they each took a blade of the grass that had been covering her away with them. By the time Spike’s winged back touched down in the soft bed of wildflowers, the dress, and the butterflies, were gone.

Spike’s hands closed over her breasts as she settled atop his hips; his cock was trapped, hard and yearning, between their bodies. The sun glinted off her silken hair and gossamer wings with flashes of fiery brilliance, framing her face with radiance. Buffy’s hands roamed over his torso, his pecs, his abs. She teased his nipples with gentle strokes of her fingers and they grew as hard as his cock beneath her touch.

Spike’s thumbs roamed over her pebbled nipples, sending shock-waves of pleasure coursing through her.

“Buffy … please, luv … need you, love you. So beautiful you are. Can’t … can’t wait another bloody minute,” Spike pleaded as he teased her breasts with gentle touches.

Buffy’s back arched into his hands and she lifted her hips, reaching between them to guide his hardness into her. So much for her plan. What was the saying? ‘The road to Albuquerque is paved with solid plans’? Something like that. She could live with that.

Suddenly a raven, which stood as large as the two faeries, and who was quite bald, appeared next to them on the ground. “Chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp!” it squealed at them, looking rather put-out in its grotesque, pallid skin.

They both stopped moving to look at the ugly creature. “What the bloody hell…” Spike muttered, looking from it to Buffy.

Buffy looked just as confused. “Ummm … maybe it wants its feathers back,” she mused as her hand touched the feather loincloth that Spike still had on.

“Fine. Take ‘em and run along!” Spike offered, waving a hand at it dismissively.

“Chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp!” it shrieked again.

“I thought ravens ‘cawed’ like … crows,” Buffy mused.

“Maybe naked ravens chirp,” Spike postulated.

“Oh, look!” Buffy said, ignoring the raven, and pointing at a perfect circle of glittering purple mushrooms that had sprung up from the ground around them. “We made a faerie ring! I always wondered how those were made.”

“Chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp!” the raven yelled again, bobbing its head up and down in time with each warble.

Suddenly, Buffy was gone from atop Spike, her faerie weight no longer pinning him to the ground. “Bloody hell,” he moaned, punching the ugly, naked raven square in the beak.

Spike woke up when the chirping alarm clock bounced off the wall and smashed to the floor, emitting one last wheezing, electronic chirp before dying.

“What time is it?” a sleepy voice called in the darkness.

“Six,” Buffy’s equally groggy voice replied from next to Spike.

“Should be against the bloody law t’ get up this early,” Spike moaned, reaching for her. The naked faerie body was gone – what he got was a handful of sleep-shirt.

Buffy leaned over and kissed him good morning. “Sorry, baby…” she murmured against his lips as her hand tracked down his body to his raging hard-on. “Tonight – I promise screams.”

Spike groaned in exasperation and frustration.

Suddenly the bathroom light clicked on and the bedroom area was bathed in a soft glow before Annie closed the door behind herself.

“Don’t take all day in there,” Buffy called to her eldest. “Got a lot of people here that need to go.”

Spike pulled Buffy down atop him “Maybe a quickie while she’s…”



“Spiike…” Buffy moaned, laughing lightly. “Dani and Billy are in the next bed.”

Spike looked over at them in the dark. “Be quiet as a churchmouse, we will, … they won’t hear – can’t see in the dark,” he urged her. “C’mon, Slayer,” he pleaded.

Buffy kissed him again before pulling from his embrace and standing up. “We have to get going. First game’s at nine. Three hours to get this horde clean, dressed, fed, packed up, and moved out. Up and at ‘em, faerie boy.”

Spike smirked at her and yanked her back down atop him. “Call me that again and I’ll show ya how untamed a faerie can be,” he warned, his voice rumbling tantalizingly against her neck.

“Mmmmm… faerie boy, faerie boy, faerie boy,” Buffy teased, giggling.

Spike growled against her and began tickling her sides. Buffy jerked and shrieked, trying to get away. They were still wrestling, tickling and taunting each other, when Annie came out of the bathroom a few moments later.

“You guysss…” she moaned. “Stealth, remember?”

Spike released Buffy and grabbed Annie’s hand when she came within reach, pulling her down with them. Buffy began tickling her as Spike rolled off the bed and roused the twins with equally ruthless abandon. If he had to be up at six a.m., then the whole soddin’ world should be up with him – it was only fair. The shrieking children should accomplish that fairly quickly. When the baby began to wail at the top of her well-developed lungs, he felt satisfied that his mission had been a monumental success.

**~**

Twelve hours, an ocean of sodas, enough hotdogs to fill a kennel, and a gallon of SPF 50 later, the weekend tournament was drawing to a close for the Sunnydale Slammers. They were playing for the championship and the ability to move on and play in the state-wide tournament. It was their third game of the day. They were all tired from their day in the sun and wired from winning their previous two games. It’s slightly possible that drinking sugary, caffeine-laden sodas could’ve contributed to the wired feeling, as well.

Xander and Spike, along with a few other enthusiastic moms and dads, stood against the tall chain link fence behind home-plate as the game came down to the wire. The bottom of the sixth inning had the Slammers behind by one run – this was their last chance. They had to score one to tie and go into extra innings or two to win; otherwise it would be over.

Spike took it as a good sign that the Slammers were at the top of the batting order as they began the sixth, and last, inning. Their best, most reliable hitters would be up. Dani was back to hitting clean-up, meaning she hit fourth; JJ hit third. Both youngsters had been hitting well during the weekend tournament, but now the pressure would be on. Could they handle it?

The first batter, a tall girl with arms and legs that seemed to have outgrown her torso, drove a base-hit grounder right over second base and out into centerfield.

One on, no outs.

The second batter was a husky boy: the coach’s son. Spike had seen him slap the ball pretty decisively in the past. If he got all his weight behind it and connected, the kid could hit it out of the park. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the fastest base runner, so if he didn’t hit it out or drop it between outfielders, he could be thrown out at first pretty handily. On the other hand, he was a fairly reliable hitter and was good at advancing the on-base runners.

The coach’s son smacked a grounder. It cracked off the bat like a rocket. Unfortunately, it bounced in the infield dirt once and landed right in the mitt of the somewhat surprised shortstop. The shortstop tossed it to the second-baseman, who stepped on the plate then rifled it toward first for a double-play. Ok, well … it’s Minor League ball played by seven to nine year olds, maybe it wasn’t actually rifled towards first. It could be that it was tossed, bounced once, and rolled to the first-baseman. In any case, it got there in the split-second before the not-so-fast runner did. Out.

Two outs. No runners on base.

Crap.

JJ stepped up to the plate. Although JJ was actually two months younger than Dani and Billy, he was taller and thicker than either of the twins. His heavier build didn’t mean he was slow, though. In fact, he was pretty fast – along the lines of a really fit linebacker: big and strong. Years of playing on the same soccer team as Dani, as well as practically growing up with Weckerly kids and competing with them in every game the three of them could imagine, had given him plenty of physical activity and practice. JJ was strong and fast and he had a good eye. He wouldn’t be hitting third if he weren’t good.

“Ok, don’t worry about it!” Xander encouraged his son from behind home-plate. “You can do it, just keep your eye on the ball, wait for your pitch, and follow through,” he advised.

JJ watched the first pitch go by. Ball. He swung at the second, but it went foul. Strike.

“Shake it off,” Xander continued from behind him. “Wait for your pitch, eye on the ball, follow through…”

JJ swung at the next pitch. Foul again. Strike two.

“Watch it all the way to the bat,” Xander reminded his son. “You can do it. Don’t chase the pitch; if it’s outside, let it go.”

The brunette stepped back into the batter’s box, his face a mask of intense concentration. JJ shuffled his feet, digging his cleats into the clay, and readied himself for the next pitch. He knew it was a perfect pitch as soon as it left the pitcher’s hand. His heart sped up and his body tensed, and in a split-second he swung with all this strength. The ball smacked off the bat perfectly, flying over the heads of the infield and landing between them and the outfielders. He dropped his bat and sprinted for first. He got there a full five seconds before the ball did. Safe.

Two outs. Tying run on first.

Dani fiddled with her batting gloves. She’d been wearing them since yesterday, and was getting used to them, but they were still new enough to feel a little odd. She swung her bat in enthusiastic practice swings as she stepped from the on-deck circle to the plate.

She took her place in the batter’s box and went through her ritual. She adjusted her helmet, scuffed her feet into the clay, swung her bat back and forth over the plate a couple of times, raised the bat behind her and checked to make sure her elbows were up. Finally, she looked at the pitcher.

It didn’t escape her that she could win the game for them. If she could hit a homerun like she had to get them to this tournament, she could win the game and they could go to State. Her stomach flinched nervously, her heart raced, and her breathing became shallow and quick as she waited for the pitch.

“Breathe!” Spike advised from behind her. “Relax and breathe! No pressure!”

Dani almost snorted but she didn’t have time. The pitch was coming. She froze.

“Steee-rike,” yelled the umpire from behind her.

Dani backed up and stole a glance at her dad. “Relax,” he advised again, speaking calmly. “Don’t think about the bloody score, just play the ball. Wait for your pitch – just like practice.”



Dani nodded and took a deep breath, but wasn’t entirely successful in calming her nerves or forgetting the score.

The pitcher threw two balls in a row and Dani did start to relax a bit as she stepped back up to the plate. It wasn’t just her that was feeling the pressure – that pitcher was feeling it too. Somehow knowing that made her feel marginally better.

She swung at the fourth pitch but only caught a bit of it. It careened off her bat and slammed into the fence behind the catcher, making Xander, Spike, and the other parents standing there flinch back.

As Dani stepped back into the batter’s box and went through her routine, Spike and Xander continued to call encouragements to her, as did her teammates and coaches. The other team chanted and heckled her, but Dani didn’t really even hear them anymore. She heard her dad behind her. He was talking calmly, telling her to just hit like in practice, keep her eye on the ball, and don’t chase pitches outside her strike zone.

Dani took a deep breath and focused her eyes on the pitcher, her bat held at the ready, knees bent, feet planted, elbows up.



The ball left the pitcher’s hand a moment later. In a split second Dani knew that it was going to be a strike and her muscles tensed for the swing. She held her breath. Her heart pounding in her ears was all she could hear as the ball hurtled towards her. She could win the game for them. She could be the hero. That amazing feeling of walking on air could be hers again if she just hit this ball as hard and as far as she knew she could. The best day of her life, which had come only two weeks ago when she hit her first homerun, could be replaced with this day.

She swung.

“Steee-rike!” she heard the umpire yell. “You’re out.”

She looked around in shock and horror. The catcher had jumped up in victory, holding the ball in his hand. She had missed. She hadn’t even touched it. The other team had run out to swamp the pitcher for striking her out and saving the game. Dani still hadn’t moved away from home-plate, she hadn’t actually started breathing again.

Suddenly, all the sound seemed to engulf her: the other team screaming in joy, her teammates walking out of the dugout telling her ‘nice try’, and saying something about a ‘wicked curve ball’ and ‘we’ll get them next time’.

Dani felt tears sting her eyes and her burning lungs reminded her that she needed air. She blinked her eyes trying to hold the flood of disappointment back and took a deep breath. JJ clapped her on the back and she was caught up in the flow of her teammates as they formed a line and slapped hands with the other team. It was like a dream … or a nightmare, really. How had she missed that pitch? How could she have completely whiffed? How could she have struck out in the most important game of her life? How could she have lost the game?

There was a trophy presentation after the game. The players on the winning team got trophies and t-shirts. The second-place team, the Slammers, got smaller trophies, while all the other teams received participation medals.

After the ceremony, the Slammers returned to their dugout. Dani’s teammates gathered up their gear, and dispersed into the crowd, heading for the parking lot with their families.

“Need help?” JJ asked when Dani dawdled behind changing out of her cleats and into sneakers.

“No … I’ll be right there,” she replied as she fiddled with her shoelaces.

JJ shrugged and headed out of the dugout to show his dad the trophy he’d gotten, leaving Dani alone.

She looked at her own trophy. Second Place. She frowned and tears once again threatened her eyes. How could she have struck out? How did she miss that ball? Dani really didn’t remember any of the ceremony, all she could remember was the ball coming at her and then being called out. She must’ve been at the award presentation – she had the stupid second place trophy to prove it.



“Second place is somethin’ t’ be proud of,” Spike said as he came into the dugout.

Dani snorted and rolled her eyes. “Who finished second in last year’s World Series?” she asked him.

“Not fair – I don’t rightly remember who finished first,” Spike replied, shrugging. He sat down next to her and picked the trophy up off the bench at her side.

“You did your best, pet, that’s all that matters,” Spike assured her.

“No I didn’t. I missed. I whiffed, struck out! I lost the game!” she pouted angrily.

“Oh, I musta been watchin’ something else, ‘cos I thought this was a team sport,” Spike chided her. “You didn’t lose the bloody game. The team lost.”

“But if I had just hit the ball, we could’ve won. I let everyone down,” Dani groaned, her blue eyes once again swimming with tears.

“You’re lookin’ at it all wrong, Grasshopper,” Spike contended gently. “Every player on the team ‘ad the chance t’ win the game. Any one of them coulda hit a homerun during any of the six innings, yeah? I saw plenty of ‘em strike out. Just ‘cos you were the last one to strike out doesn’t mean you alone lost the bloody game.”

Dani blinked her tears back again. “But … if I’d only…”




“Yeah, and if that little girl with the freckles could lift the bat, she might’ve gotten a hit, and if fat-boy could run faster than a bloody turtle, they wouldn’t’ve gotten a double-play, and if …”

Dani sighed heavily, stopping him.

“There’s plenty o’ blame t’ go around, pet. Not fair for you to hog it all. I think you lot did brilliant. Look at how many games ya won.”

“I wish we could’ve won one more,” Dani admitted, frowning.

“Yeah, well, wishes and horses, pet.”

“Huh?” Dani furrowed her blonde brows and looked at her father like he’d lost his mind. “There were no horses…”

Spike laughed. “It’s a sayin’: ‘If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.’”

Her confusion deepened. “What does that even mean? Why would beggars want to ride horses? They stand near the freeway exits with signs like: ‘Hungry. Please help’. If they had a horse, the horse would be hungry too – plus I think the cars would scare the horses.”



Spike looked up to the heavens a moment for inspiration and a helping of patience. Finally, he looked back at his tomboy daughter and explained, “It’s an old saying, pet. It means … wishing don’t get ya anywhere. Hard work and practice are what count. So … we’ll work harder, practice more, yeah? And next time we’ll win one more game.”

Dani pursed her lips and nodded solemnly. “How did I miss that ball?”

“Bloody pitcher got lucky, is all. Don’t reckon Barry Bonds could’a hit that curve. Don’t know how the prat managed it. If that’d been a fast ball, it would’a been outta here,” Spike assured her.

Dani sighed, took the trophy from Spike’s hand, and looked at it. She had a couple of soccer trophies, but had never gotten a baseball one before. “I guess second place is better than last … or not being here at all,” she finally admitted.

“Reckon that’s true,” Spike agreed.

“JJ hit really good,” she continued, still looking down at the trophy.

“Yeah, he’s right fast, too,” Spike confirmed. “Bloody surprisin’ that is, considering Harris couldn’t outrun a one-legged, epileptic zombie.”

Dani smiled a little and nodded. “You shouldn’t call Charlie fat, though. He tries really hard and … he’s a good catcher and he really can hit.”

“Charlie? That the turtle then?”

“Don’t call him a turtle, either,” Dani chastised, scowling up at her father.

“Right … no fat turtles. Got it,” Spike agreed, nodding.

Dani sighed. “I sure wish…” she stopped, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She was gonna say she wished she had been able to be the hero of the game again. She really, really loved having everyone cheering her when she’d hit that homerun and won the game before. It had been the best day of her life. But wishing didn’t ride hungry horses … or something.

“What do ya wish, pet?” Spike prompted after a moment.

Dani gave him a small smile and stood up. “I wish you’d teach me how to hit curve balls so next time I can knock it down that stupid pitcher’s throat.”



Spike smirked and pulled her into a hug as he sat on the bench. “I reckon we can do that, pet. I’m proud of you, ya know. Ya went down swinging – no shame in that. I’ve gone down swinging more than once … mostly to your mum,” he half-joked.

Dani laughed, wrapped her small arms around his neck, and pressed her head against his shoulder. “Thanks, Papa. I love you.”

“I love you too, Danielle Dawn. We’ll get ‘em next time, no worries.”

**~**

{{  Click here to hear Swing! by Trace Adkins  on YouTube  }}


Take me out to the ball game.

Swing, batter, batter; swing, batter, batter;
Swing, batter, batter, swing.
Swing, batter, batter; swing, batter, batter;
Swing, batter, batter, swing, yah.

(Strike one.)
Hey, baby, do you come here often?
(Strike two.)
Hey, baby, now what's your sign?
(Strike three.)
Hold on, now, where you goin'.
(He is out.)
Jimmy's out: next in line.

Swing, batter, batter; swing, batter, batter;
Swing, batter, batter, swing.
Swing, batter, batter; swing, batter, b, batter, swing now.

(First base.)
Why, yes: I went to Harvard. (Safe.)
(Big league.)
I majored in pre-med. (He's got a big lead.)
(Big dog.)
Just stayed for one semester. (It's gonna be close.)
(He's out.)
Tom's out: who's next?

Swing, batter, batter; swing, batter, batter;
Swing, batter, batter, swing.
Swing, batter, batter; swing, batter, batter;
Swing, batter, batter, swing.

Swing, batter, batter; swing, batter, batter;
Swing, batter, batter, swing.
Swing, batter, batter; swing, batter, batter;
Swing, batter, batter, swing.
Swing it now.

Everybody strikes out nine times outta ten.
But you gotta step up to the plate, son,
'Cause every now and then.

(Fastball.)
She walked right up to me.
(Here's the pitch.)
Said: "Could I take you home?"
(There's the drive.)
Hey boys, I'll see you later.
(It could be, he hit it.)
Going, goin', goin', gone.

Swing, batter, batter; swing, batter, batter;
Swing, batter, batter, swing.
Swing, batter, batter; swing, batter, batter;
Swing, batter, batter, swing.

Swing, batter, batter; swing, batter, batter;
Swing, batter, batter, swing.
Swing, batter, batter; swing, batter, batter;
Swing, batter, batter, swing.

Swing, batter, batter; swing, batter, batter;
Swing, batter, batter, swing.
Swing, batter, batter; swing, batter, batter;
Swing, batter, batter, swing.
Ah ha, ha.

Holy cow.

Late that same night, Sunday, October 2nd, 2011:

Spike showered in record time. It had been a long, hot, and ultimately slightly disappointing day at the ball park. The Slammers’ second place finish was nothing to sneeze at, but Dani had been right about one thing: no one ever remembers who finished second. On the up-side, it was a Minor League baseball tournament. Apart from the winners themselves – and perhaps their parents – within a month no one would remember who finished first, either.

That had been followed by an equally long drive home from the baseball tournament with four tired, grumpy kids who had been on a sugar-high most of the day, and a baby that hadn’t had her nap and was over-tried and just as fussy as the older kids. Instead of falling asleep, which would’ve been the sane thing to do, the kids bickered about everything; not even their little game consoles could keep them from picking at each other. They bickered about how much seat each one had and whined if someone else touched their allotment. This, of course, only encouraged inappropriate seat touching, which garnered retaliatory touching. After Buffy resorted to the ‘no touching, hands in your lap, no moving’ rule, they complained about why this one got the window instead of that one, and insisted that they were thirsty, or hungry, or had to ‘go’. That prompted the no-talking rule, which forced the combatants to start the silent war of making faces at each other.

But that was past now. All fussy children were tucked safely in their separate rooms, unable to touch or be touched by any other child or have their allotted space encroached upon. All was quiet on the juvenile battlefield, and Spike was eager to get to the sound-proofed master bedroom and make some noise of his own. He had absolutely no problem with touching, being touched, or Buffy encroaching on his allotted portion of the bed. In fact, the more encroaching she did the better, as far as he was concerned. She’d been torturing him all weekend … and he’d done his share back, but he was ready for that to end, like now.

As he entered their bedroom, he caught a glimpse of candles glowing softly on the dresser, their light bouncing off the mirror behind them. They filled the room with the scent of gardenias, and cast gentle, flickering light over the whole room.



His desire jerked under the damp towel around his waist. Buffy had been right about the cock-ring not doing any actual harm to his delicates; they were still – after almost two days – raring to go. The mere idea of seeing Buffy’s naked body on the bed bathed in candlelight traveled straight from his mind’s eye to his groin in a split second, taking the last drop of blood in his body with it. However, before he could turn to see where she was in the room, a hand pulled the towel off his hips with a rough yank. In the next instant, the towel was over his head and face, and he was being pushed the short distance from the doorway to the bed. He heard the door slam closed at nearly the same instant his back bounced on the bed, his face covered with the towel, blinding him.

In the very next moment Buffy’s hot, supple body covered his, her hips straddling his, and Spike moaned in approval. He began to reach up to remove the towel from his face, but she grabbed his hand and stopped him. Before he could react, hard, cold metal clicked around his wrist and his arm was pulled up above his head and secured to the reinforced, wrought-iron headboard with another click.



Spike’s excitement grew as Buffy dragged his other arm up and secured it with another set of handcuffs. As she did that, he could feel her breasts press against him, feel her soft skin and tight muscles blend and rub over his chest and stomach. He pressed his hips up against her and could feel her damp folds. His cock yearned for more, and he tried to angle his hips to penetrate her wet pussy, but the sharp point of a stake pressed against his chest stopped him cold.

“Bloody hell, Slayer…” he complained, shock and fear battling for dominance. Yes, he had the Gem, she couldn’t actually dust him even if she’d wanted to, but a century of primal fear wasn’t that easily denied.

“You’ve been a very naughty vampire,” Buffy purred, dragging the point of the stake over the flesh of his chest.

“Have I?” he asked, wishing he could see her, but he couldn’t see anything through the soddin’ towel over his face.

“Mmmhmmm,” she moaned.

Spike gasped when the point of the stake pressed down sharply on his left nipple.

“You came to town to kill me, remember?” Buffy continued as she raked the point of the stake back across his chest towards the other nipple.

"Well, technically, I came t' town to find a cure..." he started casually, but he stopped short, sucking in a sharp gasp when the stake stopped and pressed down dangerously against his ribs.

“You came to town to kill me, remember?” Buffy repeated firmly.

“I remember,” Spike agreed, holding his breath and waiting for her to ease up on the pressure of the stake against his chest. Not that he needed to breathe, but this was another of those primal responses to fear. She eased up. He drew in a tentative breath, waiting for what she was going to do next.

“You set me up in that alley behind the Bronze,” Buffy continued in a low, calm voice as she drew designs on his chest with the tip of the stake. It left red marks in its wake, but didn’t break the skin. “What if I had lost to that minion you sent back there for me to fight?”



Spike shrugged one shoulder very carefully and swallowed. “Then ya wouldn’t have been much of a Slayer. Not worth m’ time.”

“Before me, how many Slayers had you … met or seen?” Buffy wondered as she swirled the stake over his skin drawing curlicues on the alabaster canvas of his torso.

Spike cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Errr … a few.”

“How many?” Buffy demanded, pressing the tip of the stake against his ribs hard enough to draw blood.

“Reckon … five or six,” Spike admitted quickly.

Buffy let off the pressure. “But you only fought three of us.”

“Others weren’t worth fightin’,” Spike admitted. “Wet behind the ears … too green, too easy. Barely even sensed me near ‘em. Could a’ ripped their heads off without trying. No fun in that.”

“And how many did you flirt with?” Buffy asked, still holding the stake over his heart.

“Errr … well … just you,” Spike replied.

Buffy pushed the stake harder against his ribs. “Liar.”





Spike pulled on his restraints and thrashed under her. “Alright! Alright! Flirted a bit with the bird in New York – she blew me off. Could a’ danced with her longer. Had a bit o' your style, she did,” Spike admitted. “And … one in Copenhagen; didn’t speak a word o’ English that one. Think I got to ‘er before her Watcher. Bought me a drink, she did, even though she didn’t understand a bloody word I said. Could a’ had her easy, but there was no thrill in that.”

Buffy let up off the pressure again. “Naughty vampire,” Buffy asserted.

Spike could feel her lean over and pick something up off the bedside table. Her weight shifting on his hips twisted his cock between them and he hissed in discomfort.

“Naughty vampires must be taught manners,” Buffy continued once she’d settled back atop his hips. The wooden stake she’d had a moment before was replaced with one of ice. She trailed the slender, cold object down his neck, beginning just under one ear. Spike jerked at the new sensation and his apprehension and excitement grew each time she lifted it off his skin. He had no idea where she’d come down with it next. She circled his nipples, hardening them into rocks on his chest, then touched the cold rod down atop one, then the other.



Spike writhed under her, his back arching off the bed as he pulled against the restraints on his wrists. When Buffy’s mouth covered the first nipple she’d frozen with a warm, wet kiss, his hips bucked up against her again.

“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed as the sensation on his sensitive skin changed from hard and cold to soft and hot in an instant.

Spike’s stomach muscles quivered and quaked as she moved down and circled his navel, then outlined his six-pack with the long, spherical tube of ice.

“Fuck, Slayer!” he moaned as she traced the wispy hair that trailed down from his navel to his groin.

Spike sucked in a breath and held his body as rigid and still as he could when she came near his cock with that freezing wand of hers. “Please don’t…” he begged, screwing his eyes closed tightly beneath the towel, wincing in anticipation.

“Don’t what?” Buffy asked innocently as she picked the ice wand up off his skin so he couldn’t tell where it was.

Spike wasn’t breathing, wasn’t moving. His whole body was one tight, hard line of muscle and bone as he waited for what she was going to do next. He was afraid to take in a breath to answer her.

“Don’t what?” she prodded again as she slid down his legs until his pelvis was exposed completely. Spike could hear the evil smile in her voice and it made his cock jump.

“Ooooo … looks like someone likes my ice wand. Who says frigid is a bad thing?” Buffy teased. The cold tip of the rod came down on Spike’s thigh and he jumped in surprise and relief.

His relief was short-lived, however, as she squirmed and opened his legs up so she could settle on her knees between them. Buffy trailed the blunt ice stake up his inner thigh, leaving a path of cold water and goose-flesh in its wake.

Spike’s body froze again, tensing for the inevitable. His mind blanked, unable to even form words to beg her to stop. When the cold tip touched his balls he did his best imitation of a screaming banshee while his body jerked and writhed under her. His testicles tried to pull up into his body to get away, but then, just as quickly, her mouth was there, heating him, burning him.

“Bloody fucking hell! Goddamn ice queen – feels bloody amazing! Jesus, Slayer! Fuck … yesss …” his voice trailed off into a moan as Buffy’s hot tongue swirled languid circles around his balls. He thought he could feel the cold water that the wand had left begin to sizzle and steam when her tongue trailed through it.

In the next moment, he heard the soft hum of the vibrator strapped to his genitals begin, and a thousand little shocks of pleasure washed over him. When his hips bucked too wildly, she pressed down on his hipbones with her hands to hold him still. Then her tongue and lips and teeth were trailing down his aching cock, the vibrations tickling her nose, as she continued to tease him unmercifully.

Spike pulled on his restraints again, wanting to touch her, to feel her soft and silky hair between his fingers, to feel her hot, glorious skin beneath his palms. As it was, her long tresses were tickling softly against the skin of his groin and thighs. Her sweet mouth had reached his balls again and she sucked and nibbled at the sensitive globes, sending a whole different kind of chill running through his body.

He began to relax under her, enjoying the sweet feel of her lips engulfing him, but Buffy wasn’t done with her lesson yet. He still couldn’t see what she was doing, even though the towel had gone a bit askew when he’d thrashed about.

She pulled off his balls with a wet ‘pop’, leaving him wanting, needing more.

“Please, Slayer … suck my cock. Can’t take much more…” Spike begged. He couldn’t see what she was doing, but could smell cherries. More specifically: cherry-flavored lube. It was a very distinctive aroma.

“W-what are ya doing, Slayer?” Spike asked tentatively. He shook his head again to try and get the towel the rest of the way off, but it wasn’t cooperating.

“Naughty vampires must be taught manners,” Buffy repeated as she pressed his legs up and out.

Spike lurched and jerked under her when the cold tip of her magic wand touched the sensitive skin of his anus. “Bloody hell!!! Are ya out of your fucking mi… arrrghh!”

The tip of the cold, thin wand, now covered with a condom and plenty of lube, slipped inside him. Spike shuddered and convulsed as Buffy gently pressed it in further, then pulled out and then back in again. Spike’s balls contracted – hell, everything contracted – and his mind went numb.

Buffy continued the slow rhythm of her ice-dildo with one hand as she pulled Spike’s vibrating cock up from where it stood against his abs and dropped her mouth over him, hard and hot.

A scream of crazed, carnal pleasure tore from Spike’s throat. It came out as something between a roar of a lion and the cry of a hyena – primal and wild. He bucked up into her hot mouth, and Buffy had to swallow frantically to keep from gagging. She gripped her hand around the base of his cock to keep him from doing that again, and began to bob her head in the same slow rhythm she was using in his ass.

Spike’s mind was gone. Moans and curses and exclamations of pleasure flowed out of his mouth without ever stopping in with his brain. They seemed to rise directly from his gut … or more likely a bit lower. The cold rod inside him wasn’t actually painful, it was just … amazingly erotic, like nothing he'd ever felt before. That combined with her hot, soft mouth engulfing his cock and the cock-ring vibrating everything was more than his mind could process, so control had been relinquished to his body. Where his logical mind had little patience, his body had none. There would be no holding back from this onslaught of sensation.

“Fuck me, Slayer! God, yes! Fuck … suck me off! Suck it! Harder! Fuck me harder! Fucking yesssssss!” Spike screamed at her, writhing and pulling against his restraints as his body convulsed one last time and exploded. The silicone band of the cock-ring didn't stand a chance at stopping the volcano. It stretched dangerously, nearly to the breaking point, with each pulse of cum that erupted from Spike's tortured body.

With his demands, Buffy increased the rhythm of her thrusts into him and sucked down hard, slamming her mouth down as she swirled her tongue over his shaft. If she had really been a cruel ice queen, she would’ve stopped just in the nick of time and pulled off him, but, honestly, making him twitch and jerk under her was a rush for her, as well. Feeling his cum explode furiously against the back of her throat was empowering. She owned him and she’d just proven it. Of course, that went both ways, but whatever.

She continued fucking his ass with the dwindling length of condom-covered ice as she sucked down on him hard and swallowed his cum. Spike’s body twitched under her uncontrollably, and his words had degenerated into incoherent, gasping, guttural moans. She had reduced him to a puddle of goo, and it felt like heaven.

When Spike’s body finally began to relax and his cock softened in her mouth, Buffy pulled what was left of her ice-dildo out of him and tossed the whole thing into the trash. She cleaned his cock as she pulled off, licking and sucking every drop of cum from his skin. She clicked off the cock-ring vibrator and pulled the ‘torture’ device off him, as well. She sat back and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, a self-satisfied smirk on her lips.

“Told ya I’d make you scream,” she teased, as she pulled the towel off Spike’s face.



“You’re a bloody animal. Amazing, you are,” he purred, able to meet her eyes for the first time since he’d come in the room.

“And don’t you forget it,” Buffy cautioned. “Copenhagen? Why haven’t I heard about that before?” she wondered, quirking a brow at him.

“Uhhh … nothin’ to tell, is there? Had a drink with the bird … walked away,” Spike stammered.

“Uh-huh,” Buffy intoned, eyeing him suspiciously. “Drinks with underage Slayers. So little happened that you never thought to mention it before. So, tell me, why I shouldn’t dust you right here where you lie?”



“The bird wasn’t underage in Copenhagen back then, pet. All relative, innit? And … well … ‘cos … I can … do things for ya,” Spike offered.

“Like what?” Buffy wondered as she repositioned herself, straddling Spike’s hips. She began tracing the red lines the stake had left on Spike’s chest with the tip of her finger.

Spike shivered at her touch. “Take you t’ heaven, I can.”

“What would a vampire know about heaven?” Buffy wondered.

Spike smirked. “Plenty. Could eat that sweet pussy o’ yours, fuck you right over the edge with m’ tongue, my fingers…”

“What about this?” Buffy interrupted, wrapping her hand around his flaccid shaft.

“Give us a minute an’ I’ll make ya scream with that, pet,” Spike promised, smiling wolfishly.

“You’ve got an awfully high opinion of yourself.”

“And I live up to every word of it,” Spike assured her, running his tongue over his lips seductively. He rattled the handcuffs against the iron of the headboard. “Turn me loose and I’ll show ya.”

“And what would keep you from killing me if I turned you loose, vampire?”

“You got a bloody stake right there, Slayer,” he reminded her, tilting his head to the nightstand. “I’m at your mercy.”

“Mmmm,” Buffy mused, biting her lip to try and keep the grin off her face. “I like the sound of that…”

Spike wagged his brows at her. “Your wish is my command,” he offered.

“I definitely like the sound of that…” Buffy murmured, unable to stop the grin from spreading over her features. Buffy reached over and retrieved the key to the cuffs and released Spike’s wrists.



He was no sooner free than he’d grabbed her and flipped them over, slamming her back down onto the mattress. Buffy squealed in surprise and began to laugh until Spike clicked the open manacle around one of her wrists. She began to thrash under him in protest, pulling her other hand against her body, but he captured it and forced it up so he could fasten the other cuff around it.

“Bad vampire!” Buffy scolded him. “Let me go!”

Spike smirked down at her as he picked the towel up and dropped it over face. “Untamed faerie ‘ere, pet. You recall callin’ me a ‘faerie boy’, yeah? Welcome to my version of ‘Payback is Hell’.”

“I am sooo gonna stake you,” Buffy growled from beneath her damp towel mask.

“Reckon you already did, in a manner o’ speaking,” Spike reminded her. “Cherry-flavored popsicle right up my bum.”

Buffy giggled. “That’s sounds funny … ‘cherry-flavored popsicle up your bum’,” she repeated, laughing. “I bet not even Anya could say she’s done that to anyone.”

“You should tell ‘er about it. Reckon Harris would be all over that,” Spike suggested.



Buffy laughed harder. “Oh yes, Mr. Homophobe would go wild for a cherry-flavored popsicle up his bum.”

Spike smirked. He’d love to be a fly on the wall when Anya suggested that.

“Now then,” Spike continued, his voice growing serious. “What shall I do t’ punish my ice queen?”

“You promised to take me to heaven – you said you belonged to me, remember? My servant or something…”

“I lied,” Spike divulged flatly, his nonchalant shrug lost on the blindfolded Buffy. “Vampire, remember? Evil.”

“Oooo, I knew I should never have trusted you … you … you ... evil faerie vampire! Whatever shall you do to a poor ice queen in your evil clutches?” Buffy wondered dramatically.

“Well now … let’s have a think on that,” Spike mused, sliding off her hips and settling between her golden legs. He traced a finger over her flat, bare stomach and down to the neat triangle of wiry curls.

“Are those lovely little toys still ‘ere …?” Spike’s voice trailed off as he slid his finger between her folds, over her clit, and to her throbbing hole.

Spears of fire exploded through her body when he touched her clit. When his finger slipped inside her and found the little Ben Wa balls that she’d had in all weekend, her back bowed up off the mattress in pleasure. Gasps of bliss poured from her throat as Spike manipulated the toys inside her, rolling them over her g-spot, down to stretch her opening, and then back up inside her again. Buffy’s inner muscles clenched and throbbed around him, undulating with the pleasure of his touch.

“Yes! Yes, yes … Spike … yes, please…” she begged him. “More, please … need … gah!” she gasped out when he slid another finger in to join the first. A small orgasm shivered through her body, rising from his touch. She’d been on the verge of climax for hours … more than hours – days now. Her body stiffened and her pussy tightened around his fingers and the smooth balls as the wave of gentle bliss washed over her. It felt good – but it wasn’t nearly enough to satiate the need inside her that had been building all weekend.

“What do ya need, pet?” Spike purred to her as he began pumping his fingers into her slowly.

“Cum … need more,” Buffy replied, pulling against her restraints.

“Do ya now?” Spike teased. “And what would ya have me do about that, then?”



“Fuck me … harder!” Buffy insisted, as her hips jerked up against his hand.

Spike hooked the tips of his fingers behind the little toys and pulled the slick, glistening balls out of her. “As I recall, I was supposed t’ be torturin’ you … payback for something-er-other.”

“Spike, please!” Buffy pleaded with him when he stopped touching her.

Buffy could feel him shifting on the bed, then the towel covering her head moved and his voice was right near her ear. “You want me inside you, luv?” he asked in a slow, rumbling purr. Buffy’s face was still covered, but her ear was exposed and she could feel his words, rough and raw, against her skin.

“Yes,” she answered breathlessly.

Spike shifted again and when he spoke next his breath tickled the bend of her neck right over her jugular, right over his scar. “You want my tongue to lap at your sweet juices? Want it plunging into your hot, tight hole?”

“Yes,” Buffy repeated as her chest heaved with rapid, gasping breaths.

Spike moved again and his words flowed over one hard nipple like drizzled honey. “You want my lips sucking your throbbing clit, sendin’ sparks up your body, igniting you, burning you?”

“God yes…”

“Want t’ feel my fingers slip inside you? Spreading your tight pussy, floodin’ it with your desire, gettin’ you ready for my cock?”

“Jesus … Spike… please,” Buffy moaned, writhing on the bed in desperate need.

He kept talking as he moved down her body, his mouth only millimeters away from her heated skin. His cool breath burned her to the core as he painted pictures with his words, making love to her with his rich, honeyed voice, and taking her closer and closer to the edge of insanity.

“Then I slide my fingers out, dripping with your slickness and down …” he continued to murmur. “Down to your sweet ass. Mmmm …” he moaned, vibrating the air above her abdomen and making Buffy’s stomach muscles quiver. “You got a sweet ass, Slayer. And when I slip that finger in, the way you buck, like a wild animal … untamed, unbroken …

“You want me to slide that finger in, Slayer?”

“Yes …” Buffy continued breathlessly, imagining it behind her blindfold.

“And my cock … no popsicles for you. Cherry-flavored cock’ll be your reward, luv. You gonna let my hard, fat cock in that sweet ass? Can ya feel my flesh slapping against yours? Can ya hear it, pet? Mmmm … my cock plowing into you, my hips popping hard against your sweet cheeks. Feels good, yeah?”

“Oh yeah…” Buffy moaned, seeing it, feeling it, in her mind’s eye.

Spike’s breath was tickling the skin of her upper thigh now. He’d worked his way down all the way from her ear, over her breasts, her flat stomach, and across one hipbone, never touching her with anything more than words. Buffy’s whole body tingled and burned with desire; her toes curled and even the tips of her fingers seemed to prickle with need. Goose-flesh rippled over her, bringing the fine, small hairs on the back of her neck to attention.

“You burn me to the bone, Buffy. So hot you are … so full o’ bloody lust and passion. Love touchin’ you. Love being inside you, having you around me, holdin’ me, squeezing me…” Spike continued to purr near her heated flesh. “Love feelin’ you cum. Got no bloody idea how good you feel, pulsing over me, engulfing me with your flames. Cum for me, Buffy … let me feel it now. So hard for you, I am. Give it to me, Slayer … gonna pound into you with the power of my demon.

“Can you feel it? Can ya feel how hard I am for you? Can your pussy feel me inside you? Slamming against you – gonna rip you in two. Gonna fuck you right to heaven, I am. Open those lovely legs for me, Slayer. Let me see you cum, see your honey flow…”

Buffy obeyed immediately, writhing in pleasure at his thick words that dripped over her body, burning her blissfully like liquid candle wax. Spike moved again, still never touching her, and she felt the bed dip between her legs. Buffy opened herself up to him, the wet petals of her pink flower spreading to expose her throbbing womanhood.

“Touch me … God, Spike … please…” she begged, tilting her hips up to him.

“So bloody beautiful you are. So wet … so hot and swollen for me,” he purred before blowing a hard shaft of cool air against her damp, heated skin. “My cock is gonna sink into you like a sword into its sheath, then take you to heaven. Can you feel me sliding in and out o’ you? Gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t walk, can’t scream, can’t talk, can’t think … can’t remember your bloody name.”

Buffy jerked when the air tickled over her wet, hot, sensitive skin like a ghost. She could feel his words as they began to crash down on her, and her whole body stiffened in anticipation. A wave of molten desire sent her tumbling over the edge, and behind her blindfold everything went red.

Flames danced in her vision as her body surrendered to Spike’s taunts and promises, imagining him doing all those things to her. Buffy’s body shuddered and the throbbing in her loins gave way to a pulsing constriction as she came, hard and deep. She screamed out as visions created from Spike’s words flooded her mind with all the sensations she desired, and her body experienced them as if they were all happening at once.

She shook her head back and forth, trying to get the towel off. She felt like she was suffocating in the flood of bliss. It was at once frightening and exhilarating. She pulled on the restraints around her wrists, but they would not give, even as her body continued to convulse in pleasure.

The moment her scream had faded to gasping, desperate breaths beneath the towel, Spike’s mouth closed over her clit and sucked down hard. Buffy’s body jerked again, spasming under him as another burst of flame washed over her. Then his fingers were inside her, pumping, thrusting into her hard and fast while his tongue teased and tortured her clit, and Buffy’s scream returned. She had no idea where she’d found the breath, and didn’t care, as Spike lifted her higher and higher on wave after wave of orgasmic bliss.

Her pussy rippled and gripped at his fingers as her hips bucked and jerked against him. Her arms pulled against the hard, cold metal of the handcuffs and she could feel them bite into her flesh – but she didn’t care. She was flying on a rocket of passion, higher and higher and higher yet. Nothing mattered in that moment except that it not end.

With some effort, Spike pulled his fingers from her contracting quim and pressed her legs up and out even further than she’d managed. Before her body even stopped quaking, he slammed his hard, aching cock into her. It was like taking a virgin: her supernaturally-strong, yearning, shuddering muscles clutched around him, stopping his advance.

Buffy screamed again – a mixture of pain and pleasure – and Spike roared in frustration, his demon surfacing. Buffy’s body arched up into him, her hips lifting up to his as she thrashed against the restraints and her own orgasmic contractions.

“Fuck me! Damn it, Spike! Do it!” she screeched at him, desperately wanting to force his hips against hers.

Spike growled again, pulled back, and slammed into her again with vicious, demonic need. Buffy yelled out a litany of curses as he penetrated her, hard and deep, her body thrashing beneath him in painful pleasure.



Spike yanked the towel off her face and crushed his lips against hers. Buffy returned the kiss with just as much passion and ferocity as the demon above her was bestowing on her. Her tongue thrust between his lips, past his razor-sharp fangs, to do battle with his.
 
Spike’s hips slammed against her as their bodies fused into a dangerous, primal dance as old as life itself. His cock struggled against the constricting, shuddering walls of her vagina, which seemed to want nothing more than to pull him in and devour him in her passion.

Buffy growled against Spike’s lips, needing to be free of him so she could breathe, but he didn’t seem to notice and didn’t give way. She felt her lungs begin to ache for oxygen and her body responded by jerking her hips up against Spike even harder. If she was gonna die, she was gonna die happy. The lack of oxygen sent her senses reeling out of control. Primal need took over – not just for the life-giving air, but for the burgeoning volcano of bliss that just kept rolling over her, engulfing her in its passion, rocketing her higher and higher into the fiery sky.

She needed to breathe. She needed to scream. She needed to burn on the surface of the sun. She needed Spike to burn with her, to melt with her, to never stop.

Spike’s cock slammed into her, his demon powering him to take all the Slayer could give. His mind had given over to his needs, his urges, his basest desires, and he took and took and took. But it wasn’t enough – the demon wanted his due too. Spike pulled his mouth away from Buffy’s lips with a rumbling growl and in no more than a single instant, his fangs sunk into her hot, salty skin.

Buffy gasped for breath, then gasped in pain, and finally screamed in pleasure as Spike’s fangs invaded her. His demon sucked at her jugular, draining her life for itself.

 

All of Spike’s most instinctive, primal needs were in control: the need for sustenance, the need to procreate, and, yes, the need to give the woman he loved – the woman that was his everything – all he had to give – to take her to heaven.

Buffy slammed into the surface of the sun so hard she felt all the air leave her lungs. The flames danced over her, burning her with need and passion and heavenly bliss. And then Spike was there, holding her, touching her, kissing her, melting into her. He pulled her up and twirled her around as they danced in the flames that threatened to reduce them to little more than glimmering motes of dust. She laughed a wild, crazed laugh as they waltzed over the coals and embers, twirling and spinning, merging and parting. As they danced, the flames slowly dwindled and the sun bowed its head in deference to the lovers. They were too strong for it to completely engulf … they were the gods of their passion, the creators of their own universe.

“God, I love you, Buffy,” Spike murmured against her neck as he licked and suckled her wound gently, closing it. "Never known anyone like you."

Buffy’s chest heaved in gasping, desperate breaths. Her legs were wrapped around Spike’s hips like a vise. His softening cock was still buried deep inside her, held prisoner by her legs and over-trained pelvic floor muscles. She could feel their cool cum sliding down her heated skin to form a pool beneath her. She blinked her eyes open when she realized that her arms were also wrapped around his back, her hands caressing the soft skin and hard muscles there.

She held one hand up and looked – she’d broken the chain that held the handcuffs together. She shook her head and laughed lightly. Those were the strongest handcuffs they’d been able to find short of using the old dungeony-shackles that they kept in the weapons chest.

Spike lifted his face and looked into her eyes. “My strong Slayer … no holdin’ you is there, pet?” he asked, a tinge of pride and awe in his voice.

Buffy shook her head. “Not when you don’t keep your promises,” she chastised, her voice low and rough – barely a whisper past her strained vocal cords.

Spike raised his brows as he snaked his arms under and around her shoulders, his body resting against hers, her soft curves molding to his hardness perfectly. “Reckon you found heaven a few times t’night, pet.”

“Yeah,” Buffy agreed, pouting. “But you said we were going around the world. We only made it two-thirds of the way and now you’re all …” she let her voice trail off and squeezed his flaccid cock where it still remained inside her velvet sheath.

Spike bit his bottom lip and narrowed his eyes at her in a lecherous, cocky leer. “Just ‘ad me some super-Slayer ‘go-juice’, didn’t I?” he asked, seductively tracing the red marks on her neck with a finger. “Just give us a minute and I’ll get ya around the world, pet. No worries – I’ll have ya screaming again in no time,” he assured her.

 

Buffy grinned up at him, her eyes glittering with mischievous lust. “That’s what I love about you, Spike: you always keep your promises.”

THE END.

**~**

{{  Click here to hear Scream by Usher on YouTube  }}

Usher, baby
Yeah, we did it again
And this time I’mma make you scream

USHER! Yeah, man…

I see you over there, so hypnotic
Thinking ’bout what I do to that body
I get you like ooh baby baby
Ooh baby baby, ah-ooh baby baby ooh baby baby
Got no drink in my hand
But I’m wasted
Getting drunk of the thought of you naked
I get you like ooh baby baby
Ooh baby baby, ah-ooh baby baby ooh baby baby

And I ain’t trying to fight it, to fight it
But you’re so magnetic, magnetic
Got one life, just live it, just live it
Now relax, sing it on your back

If you wanna scream, yeah
Let me know and I’ll take you there
Get you going like ah-ooh
Baby baby ooh baby baby
Ah-ooh baby baby ooh baby
If you wanna turn right
Hope you’re ready to go all night
Get you going like ah-ooh
Baby baby ooh baby baby
Ah-ooh baby baby ooh baby
If you wanna scream

Yeah, come on

Kill the lights, shut ‘em off
You’re electric
Devil eyes telling me come and get it
I have you like ooh
Baby baby ooh baby baby
Ah-ooh baby baby ooh baby baby
Girl tonight you’re the prey
I’m the hunter
Take you here, take you there
Take you wonder
Imagine me whispering in your ear
Then I wanna, take off your clothes and put something on ya

And I ain’t trying to fight it, to fight it
But you’re so magnetic, magnetic
Got one life, just live it, just live it
Now relax, sing it on your back

If you wanna scream, yeah
Let me know and I’ll take you there
Get you going like ah-ooh
Baby baby ooh baby baby
Ah-ooh baby baby ooh baby
If you wanna turn right
Hope you’re ready to go all night
Get you going like ah-ooh
Baby baby ooh baby baby
Ah-ooh baby baby ooh baby
If you wanna scream

Out, louder, scream louder
Louder, louder, louder
Hey, tonight I scream, I’m on need

[Beat break]

If you wanna scream, yeah
Let me know and I’ll take you there
GetX you going like ah-ooh
Baby baby ooh baby baby
Ah-ooh baby baby ooh baby
If you wanna turn right
Hope you’re ready to go all night
Get you going like ah-ooh
Baby baby ooh baby baby
Ah-ooh baby baby ooh baby
If you wanna scream