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“So tell me about your day yesterday, pet,” Spike said as he held Buffy in his arms, her still straddling him, him still inside her.

Just the way nature intended, he thought.

Resting her head back on his shoulder she relayed her day starting at her gallery visit.

“And you know what I thought?” she said, finishing her tale, “I thought about how you would get so upset with Anya for coddling me and ‘taking over’ for me instead of letting me do it. And I thought ‘Spike would be proud of me. He’d be happy to know that I’m taking charge and going to back to work.’”

He smiled, squeezing her tighter against him. Pressing a kiss to her shoulder he felt his heart swell with the love he felt for her. She thought of him. In that moment, she thought of him.

“I am proud of you, kitten. Very proud of you. How did you feel?”

“Empowered.”

“I’m glad. You’re not weak, you know. You’re not.”

She nodded, “I know. Well, I’m learning I’m not anyway.” Her head popped up and she stared at him, a soft, lazy smile playing across her lips.

Unable to resist, he kissed her. “I love you kitten. Love you so bloody much,” he muttered against her lips before claiming them again.

“Have you been in love before, Spike?”

“Nope. You’re the first.” And the last, he added in his head.

“How is that possible? There had to be a first love somewhere for you.”

“I’ve been in lust, but never in love. I’ve mistaken the two before, but after knowing what it’s like to love you, I know it was just lust then. It never felt like this.”

“And what does ‘this’ feel like?” she asked, grinning, tracing his cheekbones with her fingertip.

He reveled in how comfortable she felt to touch him at whim. It filled him with sense of contentment and belonging, made him realize how much of that was lacking in other relationships.

He smiled tenderly at her and kissed her fingertip when she traced his mouth. “Well,” he began, “I never felt as if my day were incomplete if I had not seen the object of my affection. If I don’t see you by the afternoon, I start going a little crazy. You’re on my mind constantly, Buffy,” he told her huskily, giving her an Eskimo kiss. “All I think of is you. I worry about you, wonder what you’re doing, and how you’re doing. If anyone upsets you, I want to throttle them for hurting my girl. I see you and I have to touch you and if I don’t, I feel as if I’m going to explode. I touch you and I still feel as if I’ll explode with wanting you and needing you. Just the sound of your voice can make my day and the sight of you brings me to my knees.”

Burying her face in his neck she implored him, “Oh, please stop.”

He tensed, “Why? Did I say something wrong?”

She ran her hand down his arm, soothing him, “No, Spike. You said everything right. It just . . . It—“

“Touched you?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Buffy, how many times – I mean, before Doyle—“

“He was my first,” she said softly.

“In, um, everything?” he asked timidly.

“No. Some stupid boy in high school was my first then. But like you, I’d never been in love until Doyle.”

He didn’t really want to bring Doyle up while they were still intimately joined and he got the distinct feeling that she felt the same.

“Spike?”

“Yes, luv?”

“When will you take off your shirt?”

“Buffy,” he sighed.

She looked up at him, her green eyes imploring. “Please? With all that I share with you, I want you to feel that you can share with me too.”

”I share more with you than anyone, Buffy,” he told her.

“Please, let me see it.”

“Why?”

“Because I feel that you don’t fully trust me. Or yourself. Which, I know, pot calling the kettle black – but you and I, we’ve come a long way, haven’t we? I mean, we’re there for each other to support each other, right?”

He nodded.

“Then let me show you that it’s not something to be ashamed of.”

“Buffy—“

“Please?”

Sighing heavily, he gazed at her, saw her determination mixed with need. It meant a lot to her and who was he to deny the woman he loved anything? He felt the need in him to share it with her, to show her once and for all and to see it in her face if she still thought him ‘beautiful’ or if she thought him broken and disfigured.

“Trust me,” she whispered.

He kissed her with desperation, almost as if it would be the last time and he scolded himself for even letting it pass through his mind. Buffy was not shallow. She wouldn’t leave him over a scar. That was absurd. So, with that thought in his mind, he lifted his shirt and watched her face intently. He closed his eyes and tossed his shirt to the side, afraid to open them despite the scolding he’d given himself.

“Spike, open your eyes,” she whispered.

He opened them slowly and found her smiling up at him. “Watch me,” she told him. He watched in fascination as she traced his scar with his fingertips and dotted kisses --kisses-- on his scar. The scar that he thought made him so different from everyone, and not so much special. Not special the way Buffy made him feel. She thought him special not just because of his transplant, but in addition to it.

Looking upon her kissing his scar, his eyes welled up in tears. “Buffy,” he gasped.

She looked up at him and said the one word that made him lose it. “Beautiful.”

The tears fell and he could not stop them. The thought passed through his mind that his tears were a cleansing. A cleansing of his old thought patterns and feelings on that scar and all that it represented to him.

Now, she was kissing his tears away and he broke into a sob, unable to stop himself. He crushed her to him, reveling in the feel of her breasts squashed against his bare chest. God, he’d been missing so much.

“It took you,” he told her through his tears. “It took you.”

She held him as he wept, whispering to him, telling him how beautiful he was.

Cradling her face in his hands, he kissed her hungrily, desperately needing her again, needing to express his love for her in the age old dance.

She moved with him slowly, languidly; the both of them drawing out their pleasure. He pressed her into the floor and she ran her hands down his bare back and up his chest, tracing his abs and pecs, feeling every muscle move and tremble under her touch and their movements.

Their orgasms came on with a vengeance, but somehow taking them by surprise just the same and Spike couldn’t help the outpouring of his love, murmuring to her in bliss how he loved her, cherished, needed her and wanted her for always. She murmured, ‘yes, yes, yes,’ and he knew not to take them quite to heart, but couldn’t stop himself from doing so at the same time. They lay on the floor, entwined and sated, wrapped up in each other.

Which was why neither one noticed Anya staring down at them, her mouth open in shock.





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