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Spike froze. He had not expected that to come out of her mouth. Not at all. All he could do was stare at her, his mind going blank. His girl was not dumb, no sir, not his Buffy. She was smart as a whip and just as he'd suspected, she wouldn't let it go for long. She'd caught on right quick and he knew that trying to distract her would not work at all.

"Spike, I'm waiting." She folded her arms across her chest and studied him. "I know Anya thought it was 'kinky' and never asked. I also know she didn't really put that much thought into it, but I always wondered."

"Y-you knew?"

She rolled her eyes, "You really do have a lot to learn about women. Women talk, Spike."

"Great, you guys can compare notes now," he snapped.

"No," she said gently, "no note comparing. I usually tell Anya to stop when she starts getting into her sexcapades. And trust me, after we - started -this," she stumbled on the words, "I didn't want to hear about it concerning you."

"Why?" he asked hoarsely.

"Because I was jealous."

He couldn't help the smile that was lifting the corners of his mouth. "You were? Really?"

She nodded. "Really. Doesn't mean I haven't noticed the whole keeping- the- shirt- on thing on my own though. I mean, first time, I can understand to an extent, in a garage, kind of awkward and a little rushed-"

"Hey!"

"I didn't say I didn't enjoy it. I'm just saying it wasn't so noticeable then. But today. . ." she trailed off, gazing down at the blanket. "I wanted to take your shirt off and touch you and you distracted me-nicely-but still. What's going on? You have a scar you don't want to -"

"Yes," he said softly. "I have a scar. And I'm very self-conscious about it."

"You've seen my nose, right?"

He looked up at her, startled, "Huh?"

"My nose," she said, pressing her finger to it and wrinkling it, causing him to chuckle. "It's weird, right? I used to get teased all the time about it-"

"I love your nose!"

She smiled, "Thank you, but it's not your 'conventional' nose."

"Buffy, nothing about you is conventional," he told her matter-of-factly.

"Thanks, but my point is, I used to hate it. Thought it was the worst part of me and I begged and begged and begged for my parents to let me get plastic surgery to get it fixed. Then, when they said no, I swore I'd save up the money. And I did for a little while, but you know, as I got older, my nose grew on me."

"Kind of like Pinocchio?"

"Ha ha. I looked in the mirror one day and I realized my nose didn't define me, but it did make me unique. It made me Buffy. To get rid of it would be . . . a travesty, a sin. It'd be getting rid of something that was part of me and how could I do that?"

"I'd hate to see how you feel about people with an extra arm that have the opportunity to get it removed," Spike said dryly.

She gave him a look, "Don't do that Spike. You tell me not to hide, so I'm telling you not to hide. If I have to be me, then you have to be you. And if you have a scar, then it's part of you and I don't care-"

"I had a heart transplant, Buffy," he blurted out softly, so softly, he was sure he'd have to repeat himself.

She blinked, "What?"

"Remember how I told you my uncle had the transplant?"

She nodded.

"It was me, it wasn't him."

"Why-why did you lie to me? Why did you say that it was someone else when it was you?"

He hung his head.

"Spike," she said gently, walking to him and touching his arm, "Spike, look at me, please."

He looked up at her, afraid for some reason that she would reject him for it. That she would treat him like a freak, or handle him with kid gloves, as if he would break.

"Why are you ashamed of it?" she asked, her brow furrowing in complete confusion, as if she just couldn't wrap her mind around it.

No scorn, no pity, no drawing away from him. He straightened. "Something in me failed. It just stopped working right and after my parents . . . "

"You feel like you failed."

And there it was. The reason he felt so connected to her, the reason why he felt more and more everyday that she was his salvation-his light at the end of a lonely and dark tunnel. She got him.

"Spike, no," she shook her head, "You didn't fail. You're here, how can you see that as failing? You succeeded! You're alive and you're well - you are well, aren't you?"

He nodded, "Yes."

"I think it's amazing. Truly amazing. A miracle. Spike, bodies are faulty, they are not wired to stay together forever. Things happen - accidents," she paused and took a deep breath, gathering herself from that, "happen. The fact is, you're standing right here in front of me and that's something to be happy about, not something to be ashamed of."

Oh God, he felt like a poncy git. His bloody eyes were welling up in bloody tears at her words. And then, when he thought he could somehow hold himself together and maybe jet off to the bathroom to gather himself - she launched herself in his arms and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her lips to his scar, to his heart, and kissed it.

"You're not broken, and you're not a failure. You're Spike."

"Buffy," he whispered, quite close to losing it.

She looked up at him and smiled. Leaning up on her tiptoes, she cradled his face in her hands and kissed him, sweetly. "It's okay, Spike. You don't have to be anyone but you. I don't want you to hide from me. You don't let me hide and I'm sure as hell not going to let you hide. Especially over something that you should be celebrating, not spending your time being ashamed of."

The tears - the buggers-were falling from his eyes now freely, and she didn't laugh at him for it. Instead, she kissed each tear away, which only caused them to fall faster.

She was an angel. That was all there was to it. She was an angel and she was there, on this Earth, for him. To heal him, and he, he hoped with everything in him, he was her angel, sent to heal her.

With a whimper, he wrapped his arms about her waist and lifted her slightly, crushing his lips to her in a wholly demanding kiss. "I need you," he told her hoarsely.

She kissed him amorously, "Inside," she whispered.

He nodded and let her guide him, thinking he meant that in two ways: One, he needed her in his life because she completed him and healed him, and, he did need her, needed to be inside her and feel her surrounding him because it was her.

"I have to get the condoms in my car," he moaned regretfully.

"Go, I'll be waiting in the living room," she said huskily and he tore out to his car in record speed.

Coming back inside, he ran into the living room where she was perched on the couch, her sundress discarded -- everythingdiscarded.

"Jesus, you're gorgeous," he murmured, his eyes absorbing her sun-kissed skin.

She crooked her finger at him, "Come here."

Tossing the box on the coffee table, he all but dove on top of her. He wrapped his arms around her, his hands skimming over her body, feeling the satiny smoothness of her skin.

"My angel," he whispered, and took a breast in his mouth, suckling from it and cupping the other in his hand, slightly tweaking her nipple. Her fingers tunneled through his hair and he buried his face in the valley between her breasts, intent on tasting her, intent on tasting every inch of her. Sitting back, he took one long slender leg and pressed kisses on her feet, chuckling when she scrunched up her nose and looked away. He repeated the same action to the other leg and then laid it down, adjusting himself on his knees to worship her. Kissing up her calves and thighs, Buffy moaned and pulled at him, begging for more.

"Sit up, baby."


She moved so that she sat before him and he immediately spread her wide for him. Leaning forward, he inhaled her sweet nectar and his mouth watered. Pulling her so that her bottom rested on the edge of the cushion, he gave her one long lick up her slit. Her hips jerked and she moaned.

He licked his lips, "Mmmm, you taste like honey, Buffy."

Running her fingers through his hair, she put pressure on his head and he chuckled. Kitten wanted more. But that was fine cause the cat wanted more cream.

Parting her nether lips with his fingers, he twirled his tongue around her clit and then sucked it in his mouth, taking delight in the mewls that escaped her. Wetting his finger by sucking it into his mouth, he inserted it inside her, curled his finger to find the spongy bundle of nerves, and when he did, she nearly bucked up off the couch. With his finger inside her, causing her to thrash and moan on the couch before him, Spike busied himself with taking his pleasure from her juicy and sweet pussy. Licking up the juices that were flowing freely, he suckled her clit into his mouth and she exploded.

She was panting heavily and whimpering, nearly sobbing out her release. Extracting his finger, he spent ample time cleaning her of her spendings, all the while moaning in delight.

"Spike," she whimpered, "I want you up here."

Spike stood and watched her as she cupped her own breasts in her hands and tweaked her nipples.

Gods, but she was the hottest thing he'd ever seen. Kicking off his shoes and discarding his pants, he leaned over her, placing his hands on either side of her head and kissed her passionately. She wrapped her arms around him.

"Take off your shirt," she whispered.

"Not ready for that just yet, okay?"

"Okay, when you're ready."

He did however, let her run her hand up and inside his shirt, he froze when her fingers skirted over his scar and then descended down, only to go back up. He watched her face as she traced his scar, the gash that started just below his collar and went down across his chest, right over the heart she had now claimed as her own, but did not know. She smiled tenderly as she did traced it, and he was brought nearly to his knees when she said "Beautiful."

Gulping he grabbed a condom and again, she insisted on putting it on him. Still leaning over the couch, he really almost did collapse when she bent and took him in her mouth. His eyes shut and he swore. She suckled the head into her mouth while her hand pumped him and then fondled his balls.

That was all he could stand.

"Buffy, now," he rasped and she nodded.

Lying back on the couch, she opened her arms and her legs to receive him and the thought passed through his mind that she probably didn't even realize how freely she gave herself to him; how she opened herself up for him and caught him every time.

Sliding himself inside her and falling into her embrace, he thought, 'home'. Slowly, they made love; their bodies moving together in synchronicity. They whispered endearments to each other, nonsensical words that only they understood. They kissed and moved, writhed and moaned, and when they reached the crescendo they each let go, reaching for the heavens together and making it; only to fall together with their arms wrapped around each other.

Buffy fell asleep soon after, curled in his arms and Spike watched her as she slept. Studied her nose that he loved, her eyelashes, and how they curled and brushed on her cheek. He kissed her cheek and delighted in how her face turned toward his, seeking him out, and he too fell asleep soon after, wrapped in the arms of his angel on Earth.





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