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Buffy was certain that everyone was staring at her blush. She was embarrassed out of her mind—and she hadn’t even told Giles the sexy parts of her dream. Though while her brain was on partial holiday, she had revealed the naked bath in carrot juice and Xander still hadn’t wiped off the trail of drool from his chin. Willow and Tara had giggled, God bless them, but Giles had turned a startling shade of red before grinning inappropriately and finding the only interesting speck of dirt on the shop floor.

“Wow,” Xander started. Buffy was beginning to wonder if he even remembered he was a creature of this century and not one from the caveman era. “So, you can’t get away from Fang Face even in your dreams? That’s gotta suck.”

And so with the red fiery blush that was making her heat up and remember naughty things pertaining exactly to the fangy part of her dream.

“W-what exactly was Spike’s…er, role in this dream?” Giles looked up, hopeful for a less embarrassing diversion, only to look startled at Buffy’s redder-by-the-moment face and went straight back to studying his feet.

“You so don’t want to know.” She knew it couldn’t stop there.

“Hold on. You say you were being bathed—by a nude slayer, no less—while you were also nude, and then there was Spike? Was he naked too?” There was no faulting Anya’s inquisitiveness, and if the Slayer was in any kind of mood to be caring and with the sharing, she might have felt like doing something other than growling at the poor clueless-to-humiliated-Buffy girl.

“I think the important thing here,” Buffy redirected with a glare, “is the carrot epidemic and the dreams I was having before the nude bathing in juice. Remember? The ones with the fighting of giant were-rabbits with Spike?”

That scared the hapless shop assistant, and evil inner Buffy grinned with success.

“Yes, yes, quite,” agreed Giles, thoughtfully locating a book from a nearby shelf and thumbing his way through the index. “I know this is an absurd assumption, but are we quite certain this isn’t as simple as finding some kind of…giant carrot and perhaps…destroying it?”

“Tried that,” interrupted a new voice and Buffy groaned as Spike swaggered into the shop, shot her a very familiar look and flopped down in a chair, his hand resting against areas on his crotch—areas that Buffy now knew intimately but was more determined than ever to ignore. “Slayer slaughtered a whole crypt full. Carrot innards all over the place. Not that we’ve even seen any of these scary bunnies she’s so intent on.”

“That’s…um…not interesting at all actually.”

Giles’s dry disinterest garnered a raised brow from Spike, but the vampire obviously had to care before something like that would pierce his thick skin. Besides, he had knowledge that trumped the lot of them and as much as Buffy or her friends liked to deny it, he was under her skin and he had no intention of being pried out.

“This whole situation seems very Monty Pythonesque. Perhaps the solution is just to find some…central-acting carrot and destroying it. Who knows what this could be heralding for the world as we know it?” Giles looked pointedly at Buffy, and the Slayer shifted uncomfortably in her perch on the table. She stared at her watcherly guide, incredulity making her eyes wide with disbelief.

“I've been on DUMB assignments before, but now I have to save the world from a carrot?!” She looked around the table for some support, finding dazed and yet expectant faces for her to save them from hormonally-challenged vegetables.

“No worries, Slayer,” Spike declared, his eyes stripping her bare and his accent laden with raw sex-appeal. “I’ve got your back.”

His chauvinistic leer made Buffy shiver, and as righteously angry as she was, she was too weak-kneed to do anything but half-heartedly snap, “Shut up, Spike.” She couldn’t even summon up a reasonably fierce look. Not when Spike having other parts of her besides her back suddenly played like the hottest porno in her head.

“Right, and while Spike is busy having your so-not-naked back, what happened with Drusilla? Is she still around?” Willow looked like the possibility had only just occurred to her and it scared her silly, her eyes darting around the shop just in case the insane vampiress was lurking in some darkened corner. Tara rubbed her arm reassuringly, though she didn’t look any less concerned.

Buffy stared at Spike, turning so that no one could see how much she was dying of mortification, and waited—with a stake clamped in her hand in case he decided to be cute with his reassurances—for him to answer Willow’s question.

He quite visibly sighed, a great heave of his body as he took them all in. They were still afraid of Dru—and by association he felt like he should be sensitive to her threat, but to him, she was like a little lost kitten that just wanted to be petted.

“Pretty sure she scarpered. Not Dru’s style to hang around and persist with a losing battle. She couldn’t get what she wanted, so she buggered off.” He studied his nails, wondering if he should give up the polish now that his world had moved to between Buffy’s thighs, and waited for the inevitable confidence slashing.

“And what was it she wanted? We know it wasn’t you. She’s spectacularly not been with the Spike wanting.” Xander snickered and as much as it pained him that he couldn’t bite a great gaping chunk out of the boy’s thick neck, Spike tried his best to outwardly ignore it. Wasn’t worth a migraine. But the look on Buffy’s face was interesting.

Her eyes were wide and apologetic, and if he squinted, it looked like she was yearning for something.

“Did you tell the Watcher about the primitive slayer bird having a vendetta against you?” He spoke to Buffy, ignoring all the others in his interest to work out her look—decipher why she was looking at him like some kind of wounded animal that needed protection.

“What? Buffy, what more haven’t you told me?” Giles whipped off his glasses and looked sternly at his Slayer. “You know I can’t do my job if I’m not given the relevant information.”

Buffy shrugged and smiled in a way that betrayed how little humour she found in the situation. “I didn’t think it was important, Giles.” And without waiting to hear exactly how relevant and earth shatteringly important it was, she continued, “Spike and I will head out and look for the Mother Carrot. Hopefully I can slice, dice and julienne that sucker into eternal oblivion.”

“Watch out for the giant rabbits,” Anya suddenly called from her place behind the counter, her voice sounding far more wary and fear-filled than earlier. Though—wait—Buffy distinctly remembered Anya…not saying a damn thing all discussion.

Weirdness.

Giles had his mouth open to speak, Xander was rushing to his feet with a ‘wait for me’ poised on his lips, and Willow and Tara were looking moderately blank for the sudden flippyness of the topic, when Buffy grabbed Spike’s sleeve and hauled him desperately out of the door. The bell tinkled their departure and the Scoobies sat watching the disappearance in stunned confusion.

“Okay, Buffy just voluntarily took Spike out on patrol. What’s wrong with that picture?” Xander stood alone, no one formulating any kind of answer. “I mean, there’s all kinds of wrong, but specifically?” Still, silence—so he gave up and dejectedly sat back in his chair, his jacket dropping back to the table as he waited for someone to say something.

Tara looked around thoughtfully at the group, before venturing aloud, “You know, I have this really great recipe for carrot soup…”


~ * ~ * ~ * ~

“Stake hits target? Check. Vampire disintegrates into dust? Check check.”

“And yet that just doesn’t satisfy the Slayer’s needy little self, does it, luv?” Spike smirked as he fumbled in his duster pockets for a packet of cigarettes and lit one up, puffing manically for a second before slowing to savour the habit.

“Some advice, Spike. Don’t go there.” Buffy stomped off ahead of him, wondering why she’d been stupid enough to force him to come with her. Killing things was a soothing activity to her, and having Spike along for the ride—snarky innuendo endlessly flowing from his mouth—was just going to send her to a brightly coloured crazy land rivalling Dru’s.

“Don’t go where, Slayer? Your succulent tits or that dripping pu—OW! You need to de-stress a bit before you end up more tightly wound than Peaches.” Spike rubbed his nose. He really should have expected it, and yet when the proboscis punch was delivered, it almost always caught him unawares. He was sloppy—getting sloppier where the Slayer was concerned. Not that he wouldn’t mind getting down and dirty with her, if she’d allow a situation where his chip wouldn’t put his brain permanently on the fritz.

“If you make one more disgusting and inappropriate reference to things you had NO right to see or experience, so help me I’ll scatter your ashes on the wind. Do we understand each other?” Her eyes were on fire and Spike hadn’t felt this hard since the previous night when he’d been pounding her into her fancy girly pillow.

Now he’d done it. Memories bombarded him of her pert little ass as he opened her pussy up to his girth, sliding and stretching her while her juices left him with a glistening view that he’d cherish until he was dust.

“Oh, come on,” he protested, thoroughly irritated with the prim little princess routine. “It’s your side of this that got us shagging, and you enjoyed it.”

“I so did not!” Buffy stood scandalised, her hand itching to beat him into dumbness and her feet wanting to run. And yet her heart was thumping so hard and her blood was becoming so hot that her skin was melting. She felt like she was fighting for breath, ready to both scream and beg for him to do something to stop this catastrophic spiral of emotions. “What happened last night will never happen again.” Deep breaths did not deliver the calm she was so desperate for. “Do we understand each other?”

Spike considered his quarry, his head tipped at an angle to better experience the erratic tic at her throat. He grinned as he heard blood thundering through veins, felt body temperatures gush warmth, and smelt the lie to the Slayer’s words. “I see the lips moving, pet—” Without finishing what was bound to be a classic insult, Spike turned on his heel and began his cocky strut toward Revello. It was either distance himself from the sweet presence of the Slayer, or he’d embarrass himself by tackling her and begging for a kiss.

When Buffy caught up and attempted to gain the lead without running, Spike forced her that tiny step behind him, getting a rush out of her contained fury as she steamed beside him.

He felt lighter than he had in years. It had been a funny day—packed full of sensory delights that kept his thoughts and desires alive for hours. He had Buffy all around him, almost suffocating him with her sweetness, and he’d been driven almost mindless with the need to recapture the rapture of sinking into her heat and experiencing the pinnacle of her passion. He’d lost sleep, finding it impossible to retire his hand from his cock, and he was fast believing Buffy was in his blood forever—without the benefit of any claim.

Spike wasn’t one to contemplate something as nancyish as dream interpretation. Any dreams he’d had since a demon had been of the blood and the thrumming pulse of his victims as he drained them dry. It hadn’t required much thought and had often just been the topper of a usually fantastic hunt. Whatever it was that Buffy was dreaming—and now sucking him into the middle of—was truly unique stuff. If he was honest, Spike could do without it. Getting caught in the middle of a slayer vendetta could not end up with a bag full of goodies for him. He had a feeling he was lucky to escape the previous night with his balls still attached.

He remained distracted all through their post-patrol chat with Joyce, only really noticing things when she bid them goodnight and alighted the stairs for bed. Buffy followed Spike to the basement, and for a second he smiled, convinced she’d been blowing nothing but smoke earlier, claiming that they’d never happen again. You didn’t shag like they had at the hand of some misguided original slayer and just roll over and forget about it.

His duster was the first item shrugged off as Spike led the way into the basement, keeping his back to Buffy as he toed off his boots and then finally pulled his tee over his head. Tensing his back muscles, Spike was close to grinning as he heard Buffy’s admiring gasp. But he didn’t want to push her, didn’t want to…

The familiar clang and clink of chains had him spinning around so fast his feet almost got caught up with each other in a less than graceful Big Bad way.

“I’m not taking any chances of you trespassing in my dreams tonight. Get nice and comfy,” she instructed. Her grin was sadistic and the gleam in her eye was inspired fully by her amusement.

She asked for it, thought Spike with that little devil always sitting on his shoulder. The quiet whir as the zipper on his jeans slid to the end of its path, lean hips revealed as they were kicked to the floor.

Buffy steadfastly refused to look, though the temptation was almost more than she could bear. Staring at a spot over his luminous shoulder, Buffy shook the chains and told him to hurry and get on the bed, and then before he could blink, she was winding it tight around his wrists and through the steel frame of his bed head. “There. That’ll keep you in one place.”

Spike rolled his eyes, but was left to watch helplessly as Buffy marched back up the stairs, an extra confident zing in her step as she continued on to her own room.

She paused at the door, glanced over her shoulder and shuddered at the unflagging excitement his body couldn’t help but betray to the world. It was totally not a view that Dawn should have to suffer, and Buffy, unfortunately, had no trouble seeing her mother fall down the basement stairs if she was faced with certain…sights. Without a second thought, Buffy flicked the internal lock and shut the door, leaving Spike chained and locked away from any curious Summers women.

Spike stared at the stairs for another few minutes before slumping down in his bed and trying to pull up the covers while he was awkwardly cuffed to the bed.

Why did he feel like it wouldn’t be him that she had to worry about wandering?





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