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The wind in her hair felt so good, but the arms that crept around her waist were even better. The sea crashing before her, wet sand squishing between her toes, and the love of her life squeezing her tight and passing his love through his body and into her. There was nothing that could make her happier but this moment, feeling his hard body behind her and the affirmation of his presence.

Buffy took a deep breath and welcomed him, feeling almost slack with relief that he was here—in the lowering sun, of all places, but with her.

“How did you find me?” She’d never lose that sound of miserable loss from her voice, not even with him back and his arms reminding her who she was. Yet as she rested her head against his shoulder and tipped back her lips in hope of a kiss, it was all so different than she remembered. Yet it seemed so right.

“If I was blind, I would see you.” His voice was so husky, so full of wanting and admiration that it brought a lump to her throat and a skip to her heartbeat. The relief—the relief was just and absorbing.

Eyes closed she breathed him in, mapped the hard plains of his body against her back and memorised every small whimper that said he was happy to be with her too. She felt his cheek rest against hers and was suddenly incredibly desperate to not lose another moment of her time with him, as new as it was.

“Stay with me.”

And he shuddered against her, overjoyed with acceptance, his trials over. They clasped hands and a jolt of electricity zapped through Buffy’s nervous system, making her feel weak and helpless in his arms. She waited, desperate for the words that would prove she wasn’t dreaming up another mistake right here and now.

A sexy British rumble delivered her hopes and dreams, and finishing off with her nightmare.

“Forever. That’s the whole point. I’ll never leave.” And his lips lowered to rasp against her ear, his breath tickling while his words horrified. “Not even if you kill me.”
~~~~~~~

It had changed. Even before she opened her eyes, Buffy marvelled at the difference in what had become her nightly despair. Dreaming of Angel in the lowering sun at the beach had been a fantasy come true, his devotion obvious until the last when his accusation was aimed at a heart too broken to retain it.

She could tell how some parts of the dream had altered. She lay in her bed, a vampire snuggled against her back with his arm cinched around her waist, and if she was honest, she’d never felt so warm and cherished in her life. It was a situation she shouldn’t have found herself in without the former consumption of alcohol, yet for Buffy, the copious amounts of ice-cream apparently rendered the same results. Foolhardiness was difficult to reverse when sanity had allowed it the night before.

Still, it didn’t explain how Angel had shifted into Spike in her most desired fantasy. It didn’t explain why she felt completely comfortable with his body pressed up against hers—even when it was totally innocent and sleep inspired.

Spike ‘mmmmed’ in her hair, and it reverberated through her body and left her toes tingling. He tugged her to him, sleepily snuggling her close and confusing totally her image of who Spike really was. This was so different, so unlike her belief of what an evil vampire was supposed to be, and Buffy was torn with uncertainty. He was making her feel things and want things that she’d resolved herself never to deserve, let alone clasp in desperate hands. Home. He wanted her to go home and fight on the Hellmouth—and he wanted to be by her side while she did.

He wanted to reunite her with her family and friends, blissfully ignoring the wig out that would come with her landing on her front doorstep with a vampire in tow. Actually, that would probably be amusing. That and if he did his eager puppy dog routine on patrol. She could see Willow’s mouth drop already.

When she finally opened her eyes, it wasn’t to the usual sad world that she woke to. It wasn’t with the ache in her heart that she’d killed every essence of love she’d known. While still feeling sombre and in pain, it was touched a little by hope and Buffy was big enough to admit that was almost completely due to the embodiment of weirdness that lay at her back, cuddling her.

He wiggled against her rear and Buffy’s eyes popped wide open in shock. Oh my God! That’s just…indecent! She gasped as the rough, calloused palm of his hand scratched over the skin of her belly, completely forgetting that just seconds ago he was resting above her clothes. Vampires awoke amorous apparently, and Buffy didn’t know how to react. So she stayed still, and waited.

His hand showed no like courtesy, moving compulsively to stroke her flesh higher and higher until he brushed against the underside of her breast. She’d never experienced such a flame scorch through her body, her skin feeling tight and sensitive. Every muscle tensed, every cell craved more and tears appeared behind suddenly tightly closed lids.

When his hand smoothed around the globe of her breast and his fingers reached a tightly pointed nipple, she repressed a sob of pleasure but let the tears of intensity flow.

His free arm pushed under her ribs so that he was hugging her, bringing her flush against his hard body with nothing between them. Explorative fingers teased the edge of her pyjama bottoms and finally rubbed across the flesh of her belly. Her lust ignited and shot straight to her needy core, prompting her head to fall back and allow him access to her lips.

A still sleepy vampire moved his cheek to rest against hers, dampened by tears, and he jerked awake in surprise. “What?” His eyes were confused for long seconds before horror made him tear his hands away from her and he leapt from the bed in disgust. He landed on his ass in an uncoordinated heap and watched the body of the Slayer shake uncontrollably.

Groaning in frustration more than horror, Buffy planted her face in her pillow and screamed. Her clit throbbed—not that he’d even reached that far, but God, why did he have to stop? He could, at the very least, have allowed her release and then she could have staked him after. That was a plan. Why couldn’t he be with the plan?

Her face red, Buffy jumped from the bed and kept her back to him, humiliated beyond belief. She should have known when his hands rested on her skin that he’d come to his senses and be repulsed by her. No matter how good he made her feel, no matter how loudly he told her he wanted to change his mission in life, he was still evil, and evil didn’t love her. Evil didn’t even like her and the thought of touching her was obviously more than evil could cope with.

She escaped to the bathroom and readied herself for work.

~~~~~~~

He could still feel her against his fingers. The path to her pussy so warm and inviting, her hard little nubs aching for a good pinch, and now that he’d torn himself away from that pleasure, he seemed to want it even more.

She’d left him to go to that dive of a diner to work, and he more than hoped it would be for the last time. She was killing herself in that place, wasting away on the misery of others while she allowed her own to fester inside. He didn’t have the patience for that. Didn’t want to start caring how she felt. She was supposed to be nothing more than a means to an end—or not an end if he was actually successful at the superhero caper.

Except he’d touched her and liked it. Kissed her and wanted more. It was disgusting and he should be sickened—but he wasn’t. He was intrigued right now, refusing to acknowledge the other parts of him crying out about how much fun he had while in her presence.

It had even hurt when she’d left the bed, fixed her face and that over-dyed hair job for that excuse she called work without even once looking in his direction. He could smell her tears and it was the only thing holding him back. By then he’d worked himself up into an almost painful state of arousal and wanted nothing more than to tackle her back to the bed and sink into her expected warm depths—except too late he’d realised what his violent reaction to his sleep-filled touching had wrought.

He wasn’t much of a thinker, feeling more than being a calculating prick about his motives, but even he realised that jumping away from the tantalising promise of the Slayer’s body was touching on issues the pontificating wanker had no doubt left her with. Well, that was a right pile of bollocks he’d got himself involved in. Now he’d have to soothe her sensitivities if he hoped to get another crack at her luscious little powerful body. And with one thought his cock was back to straining and he knew that was exactly what he wanted.

He figured it might be an uphill battle to prove it to her, though.

Spike was no stranger to wooing his way into good graces. Many a time he’d found himself on the outs with Dru over something he’d never hope to understand—being victim to her visions often had him at a disadvantage. But he’d always turned his luck around and until she’d grown weak from attacks in Prague, he’d managed to coax his way between her thighs more often than not.

Thinking fondly of all the hot little escapades he could get up to with someone like the Slayer, Spike sighed and rubbed his crotch. He could take care of his itch now, but where was the real satisfaction in that? With a grin evilly reminiscent of earlier days, he resigned himself to a plan. He’d bed the little spitfire and save the world. It was the best kind of reward a turncoat could expect, and Spike was going to relish every second of it.
~~~~~


It was amazing how the drudge of her dead end job effortlessly brought back the familiar apathy that Spike’s odd presence had slowly been banishing. She walked the same way, delivered orders the same, poured coffee in the same dejected manner she had done since she started this job. It hurt to think of the morning, waking up in the arms of a killer and craving his touch. Feeling so much pain that he hated doing what he’d done—as soon as he woke up to who she was. It was wrong, wanting any kind of connection to Spike—other than the one where she started acting like who she was and settled his dust on the ground. Instead he’d become a link, a photo that stilled that one memory in time; a memory that was so painful to relive, but even moreso to release.

And that’s when the next surprise raised up and slapped her with a few coins for pie. It seemed her past just couldn’t leave her alone, and as far as Buffy ran from her identity, her past ran faster to keep up.

It was after seeing the ugliest of all tattoos that Buffy had the glimmer of recognition and wanted to run hard and fast. Unfortunately for her, there was a matching spark and the other long-haired blonde said the words Buffy wished she could stuff back into her mouth.

“Hey, do I know you?”

What was there to do but to lie to Lilly, or whoever she was?

Buffy looked away, searched every corner for escape and submitted to the swelling hopelessness that there was nowhere. She needed to work to be able to pay for her dingy apartment, and if she ran she wouldn’t be working here any longer. So with resignation, she used words to try and fight her way back into the box of anonymity.

“I don’t think so.” She took the first step away, almost crying that Lilly called her back.

“Really? Where’re you from?” She was inquisitive—kindly so—but it was too much and Buffy couldn’t stand being found. This human girl’s threat, for some reason, seemed far more severe than a possibly hungry, vengeful, evil vampire might have been when he’d plonked himself down in her section.

She didn’t want to be rude, but neither did she want to face the faces, answer the questions. She wanted to be alone—needed to be alone and somehow that was achievable with Spike, but not with any other.

“I’ll get your pie.” Buffy darted away, hoping and praying to a Power that had no interest in her pain that she would get her one wish and that she’d leave this diner tonight alone.

She really should have known better.





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