Buffy was the first one to speak. “Well, I’ve got dibs on the tub. I’m going to soak until I’m all prune-like.” Turning to her ‘husband’, she gave him fair warning. “Listen, Spike--I’m only going to say this once. Don’t take this honeymoon idea to heart. You try anything funny, and I’m making an appointment between you and Hetty’s dustbuster. Capisce?”

“Don’t worry, Slayer. ‘S the last thing from my mind. Now go get shrivelled and give me some peace and quiet. Haven’t had a moment’s time to myself since we left bloody Sunnyhell...”

“What? You’re the one who never shuts up!” Opening her suitcase, she pulled out a pair of flannel pyjamas with monkeys on them. Shaking the fist that held her pj’s in his direction, she added. “You’re so in love with the sound of your voice, it’s sickening!” She stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door.

Always the one to have the last word in an argument, Spike cried out. “And don’t take all the bloody hot water--I need to clean up too!” Smiling, he cocked his head towards the bathroom, and heard a frustrated sigh. Heh, she’s too much fun to tease...

Whistling, he walked to the kitchen. “Let’s see what kind of ‘prezzies’ ol’ Hetty left us newlyweds.” His eyes widened at the refrigerator’s contents: a bottle of champagne, a basket of strawberries, a can of whipped cream, and a jar of microwaveable chocolate.

Slamming the door closed, he leaned against the small appliance. Thoughts of whipped cream and the Slayer made their way through his brain, and then went straight to his groin. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He tried to remember how she felt in his arms, just a short while before: she was soft and light, even though she’d beaten the crap out of him a number of times. She’d smelt of vanilla, and whatever else was her own particular smell; even the unguarded little “mmm...” she’d let out when he carried her was etched into his memory.

The vampire knew Buffy was just as affected by his presence than he was by hers. This led him to re-evaluate their relationship. Before they’d left Sunnydale, he would have been hard pressed to say anything nice about the Slayer. They bickered, they fought, they were enemies. However, after only a short time, he had to concede that they had developed mutual feelings of friendship. They had both teased each other, but without the usual venom. More like the ribbing you give an old acquaintance.

At the airport, in LA, they had both agreed that this trip would be much easier on the nerves if they worked at getting along. Well, he’d suggested it and she’d acquiesced. He realized, now, that not much effort had gone into their getting along; it had almost been natural. A very small part of him wondered if there ever could be more than friendship. No, he told himself, don’t even go there. Slayers and vampires don’t mix. It’s odd enough that you’re becoming friends, but lovers? Just think about what happened between her and the poof. Very, very bad scenario. He shook his head at these new thoughts and looked for something to keep him busy. He could watch the telly, but he really didn’t feel like it. His mind kept going back to those damn strawberries. Ah, now there’s an idea... He went back to the fridge and started to work on his plan. Have to hurry; she won’t be in there all night.

***

Buffy had never wanted nor needed a bath so much in her life. As she peeled off her clothing, tossing it in the corner of the small bathroom, she felt the day’s anxieties disappear. She looked at the large porcelain tub and smiled; this was to be her vessel to nirvana.

As she stepped into the almost too-hot water, everything around her disappeared. There was no Council expecting news, no mother anxiously waiting for a call, and no irritating vampire in the room adjacent to her little paradise. All that existed at that moment was Buffy Summers and the claw foot tub. As she played with the bubbles surrounding her, she was grateful for the bath products that Hetty had left for her—it was almost as if the older woman had known what her tastes were. Although vanilla scented products weren’t hard to come by, she could have easily found herself using something fruity or perfumy.

Sinking further into the tub, she wondered at the size of it. Wow, you could easily fit two people in this thing. This led to thoughts of her traveling companion, and what it would be like to share a bath with him. He’s old fashioned—it’s probably the kind of romantic thing he’d go for… She threw her eyes open, having realized where her thoughts had taken her. No! Bad Buffy—no thoughts of baths with evil vampires. Anyway, his idea of romantic is probably being chained to a wall. Groaning, she submerged herself and attempted once again to clear her thoughts. She had all the time in the world for this bath, and she’d enjoy every minute of it.

Ten minutes later, she was jolted out of her heaven on earth by a loud thumping at the door.

“Have you bloody drowned in there? You’re not the only one who needs to clean up, you know! If you’re not out of there in five minutes, I’m coming in—virtue be damned.”

She heard him mutter a further “bloody women and their bloody baths…” before he was out of her earshot.

Ignoring him, Like he’d dare..., Buffy grabbed her smooshie and poured a generous amount of body wash on it. Stretching her leg, she lathered the vanilla-scented liquid on it. As soon as she’d finished washing, she heard the distinct sound of metal against metal. He wouldn’t… was the last thought that went through her mind as the door flew open.

She shrieked as Spike sauntered in to the bathroom, towel in hand. Ducking low enough that he couldn’t see anything, she glared at him. “Spike! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Smirking, the peroxide blonde spoke up. “Told you I’d come in. Probably didn’t believe me, did you?” He kept his eyes even with hers. “Now I’ll show you that I can be a gentleman, and I’ll give you one more minute to get out, grab your sleepwear and all your lotions and potions. If you’re still in the tub when I come back, you’re going to have to make room for me in there—and you know I’m not kidding about that, either.” Before she could respond, he was gone and had closed the door.

Cursing a blue streak, the young woman jumped out of the bathtub and towelled herself on in record time. Well, she wasn’t very dry, but there was no way she was being caught in her birthday suit by a certain annoying vampire. She wrapped a second towel around her head, to dry her hair.

Looking at the one remaining towel, an evil grin crossed her features. Lesson the first, Spike: never, ever, rush a woman through a therapeutic bath session... With that, she ‘let’ the towel slip into the not-yet-empty bathtub.

***

Leaning against the door, Spike could hear the Slayer rushing around the bathroom. Grinning from ear to ear, he realized that one couldn’t buy this kind of fun. He almost wished that she’d stayed in the tub, despite his warning. He grew hard at the thought of Buffy all soaped up, golden skin glistening in the water... Bloody hell, you’re supposed to be teasing her, not yourself!

Guessing that it had probably been about 1 minute since his final warning, he began to count down out loud. “Ok, Slayer: 10... 9... 8...” His countdown was interrupted by the door being opened. What he saw surprised the heck out of him...

Smiling, Buffy walked out of the bathroom. “Sorry about that. I tend to lose track of time when I’m taking my bath. Hope I left you some hot water...” She kept walking, and made her way to the bedroom.

Frowning, he watched her disappear around a corner. He’d expected her to storm out of the bathroom and punch him in the nose, as she was wont to do when she was pissed off at him. This sunny disposition, however, baffled him. Shrugging, he walked into the bathroom and poured himself a nice hot bath.

***

As she sat on the bed applying her lotion, Buffy couldn’t help but smirk at the image of Spike growling because he didn‘t have a dry towel. That’ll teach that stupid vampire. He’ll have to dry off with his T-shirt. She knew that he had been teasing her, although she was also sure that he would have followed through with his threat to jump in the tub with her. Which may not have been so bad... No! What’s wrong with me? Why do I keep thinking like that? Ugh, maybe I’m sexually frustrated or something. There’s no other logical reason... Hearing the bathroom door open, she bit back a giggle, and waited to hear her roomie’s curses.

Nothing could have prepared her for the sight that befell her next. When she looked up, she was staring at a nude Spike. Well, not entirely nude--he had her top, the one she’d removed before slipping into the tub, wrapped around his midsection.

His skin still glistened from the bath, and Buffy found herself mesmerized by the sight that her eyes beheld. Was this his thrall? Did he render women speechless with his body? How had she never realized that he was built like a god?

She couldn’t bring herself to look into his eyes, the clear azure gaze that would look right through her, so she began her perusal at his neck. Corded muscles clenched tight, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple was a clear giveaway that her scrutiny was affecting him.

Her eyes moved down to his chest. Slowly, she let them trace the lines of his abs, memorizing every scar that marred his otherwise perfect skin.

She really didn’t want to think that she, Buffy the vampire slayer, was ogling her undead enemy’s crotch but, hey, why lie to herself? Her shirt was stretched taut against his waist, draped against his pelvis like a second skin, displaying to the world (or just her, in this case) the definite bulge that her gaze had created.

She unconsciously dragged the tip of her tongue over her lower lip.

Her examination was cut short by an audible groan. Had that come from her? No, she was sure that it hadn’t. That only left him--the object of her perusal. Of their own volition, her eyes raised to meet his.

Mistake. Big mistake.

Spike’s gaze was direct and unwavering; however, the usual clear blue of his eyes was now clouded with... with what? With curiosity, with uncertainty, with... lust?

His tongue mimicked the movement hers had made just moments earlier, tracing the velvety outline of his bottom lip.

“Slayer?”

When Spike had pulled himself from the comfort of the tub (not that he’d ever admit to being a bathtub kind of vamp, not even under torture), and found only a sodden towel left for his use, he’d sought his wicked revenge by using her shirt with which to cover himself.

On his way to the bedroom, a number of scenarios ran through his head for when the Slayer saw what he’d used to cover himself. None of them included her giving him the once over, mouth agape. Hell, he could smell her arousal clear across the room, over the myriad soap and lotion smells.

He watched her eyes roam his body and couldn’t help but feel proud of himself... and more than a little aroused. He clenched his teeth as he felt his cock react to her gaze, responding to the sight of her tongue darting over her lips. Wonder what else that little pink tongue of hers can do?

Although his body’s natural reaction was to go with the flow and see how far he could get, his internal voice spoke up. Hello! This is the Slayer--mortal enemy--vampire killer?! What do you think would happen if you walked up to her and tried to see what it takes to pry those dimpled knees? Do you think she’d moan and lay back on the bed, waiting for your cold, undead touch? Not bloody likely. ‘S’more like you’d be meeting up with the wrong end of that Mr. Pointy she carries around with her.

Then, a small voice, one that hadn’t spoken up for ages, added its own two cents. As well, you know she deserves more than that. She may act tough, but she’s still a young woman who’s had a string of heartbreak. The last think she needs is to have someone take advantage of her more... physical... needs when what she really needs is a good friend.

The demon in him growled at the other’s presence, and at its more noble suggestion. Ponce, it grumbled.

In the end, Spike decided to heed their common advice, which was to discourage any kind of ’improper’ activities between himself and the Slayer. Anyway, they had just begun this adventure of sorts, and the last thing either of them needed was the blemish of a horrendously failed fling. There may have been another reason, more closely tied to what the second little voice told him, but he wasn’t prepared to think of that yet.

He repeated her name, not having had a response the first time around. “Slayer?”

Mouth hanging open, the only sound she could make was “Uh?”

That’s when the Slayer part of her knew that she had to take over; girly Buffy was making a right mess of things. Damn it, snap out of it! Get a hold of yourself before he thinks you’re brain dead. With the look you’re giving him, he’s probably plotting some way to take advantage of you. Now find a way to say something else than ‘uh’!

“Yes?”

The blonde vamp gave her a smirk. “Nice as this all is, I can’t really go ‘round wearing your shirt like a loincloth. Why don’t you get me a towel or something, huh?”

Sure you could, there wouldn’t be anything wrong with... Oh dear... She had to regain control of herself before it was too late. Too late for what? You’re already looking at him like he’s made of Belgian chocolate... She shook her head, and let the Slayer take over. Ok, Buffy--you’re the Slayer, and he’s a vampire. Figure it out for yourself.

That’s when she threw him the best sneer she could: “Pig!”

“What?! What the hell is that for? You bloody well forced this when you soaked the last available towel.” Before she could say anything, he pointed a finger in her direction. “And don’t try to deny it, Slayer--you were in too good a mood when you walked out of the loo not to have been responsible for that little prank. You’re just lucky you left your clothes in there, or I would’ve had to walk out of there starkers. Now get me a towel so I can regain some dignity.”

Jumping off the bed, she walked up to him and looked him in the eye. “The towels are in the closet--I am not your slave, so you can get them yourself. I am going to find myself something to eat before going to sleep.” Heart pumping furiously, she walked towards the kitchenette, listening to the litany of curses coming from behind the bedroom door.

***

Because she’d only had a muffin at the airport, Buffy still felt like she needed a snack before heading off to bed. She was used to eating a little something, whether it was a peanut butter and banana sandwich, or a bowlful of Ben & Jerry’s, or anything else that the average woman would shun just minutes before going to sleep. That was when she remembered something about ‘prezzies’ in the fridge. Now what on earth could Hetty have left in that fridge?

As she was staring into the open refrigerator, a voice from behind her spoke up.

“Figured that you might want a little something before going to bed, pet. Anyway, strawberries never last very long--you kind of have to eat them when they’re fresh.”

Pulling out a plateful of the chocolate-covered fruit, the Slayer had to consciously close her jaw. “You... you made these? For me?” Squinting at him, she added “Why? What did you do to them?”

Exasperated, Spike let out a breath. “Bloody hell, Slayer. Does everything I do have to have a nefarious purpose? There were strawberries, chocolate and whipped cream. Now, unless you want to find some more... imaginative... uses for what good ol’ Hetty left us, I suggest you sit down and eat them.” Walking over to her, he took one off the plate and popped it in his mouth. “See? The only bad thing about these are the calories--and with all the energy you’ve spent pissing me off today, you certainly don’t have to worry much about that.” He turned around, and walked back to the bedroom.

Looking down at the strawberries, Buffy felt a twinge of remorse for how she’d treated Spike. He had obviously gone to the trouble of preparing this snack for her--which he obviously didn’t have to do-- and then she snapped at him, accusing him of trying to poison her. Where was the easy camaraderie they had enjoyed earlier, at the airport and on the plane? Somehow, she felt responsible for this falling-out. Plate still in hand, she made sure the door was locked, turned off the kitchen light and headed for the bedroom.

***

“I’m sorry.”

Spike looked up from the directory he’d been scanning and frowned. “What was that?”

She knew he was making her repeat it, but she wasn’t going to argue--they needed to put this day behind them without making it any worse. “I said I’m sorry. For pissing you off--about the shirt, about the strawberries, about anything I did that cheesed you off.” She walked up to the bed, sat on it, and laid the plate between them. “We’re stuck here, together, and we have to get along. That won’t happen if we don’t trust each other. I’m going to have to work on not second-guessing everything you do--you’ve already shown me that you’re not in this to hurt me, and I’ve got to realize that. So” she picked up a berry, and offered it to him “I’m apologizing.”

The vampire could only blink. Here he was, in London, sitting on a king sized bed with a Slayer decked out in flannel pyjamas (with monkeys on them, to boot) and the single thought that coursed through his mind was that he respected her. The maturity that she was displaying at the moment astounded him--was this the same young woman whose usual rebuttal was a punch in the nose? He’d listened to everything she’d said, most of it mirroring thoughts that had already been flitting through his mind, and was glad that they now seemed to be on the same page.

Accepting the chocolate-covered olive branch, he offered her a smile. “Apology accepted.”

Seeing Buffy stifle a yawn, the vampire spoke up. “Now, don’t take this the wrong way, but have you considered sleeping arrangements? One bed, two of us?” Although he needed a good day’s sleep, he let the gentleman in him speak. “I could take the couch, if that’s what you want.”

Her response was immediate. “No, you’re not sleeping on the couch. This bed is huge-- we can share it. Heck, I could sleep sideways and you’d still have tons of room.” She looked as if she was about to say something mean, then thought better of it. “I’ll go put the plate in the sink.”

Spike slid under the covers, grumbling to himself about having to sleep with clothes on. He wore a pair of cotton pyjama pants that he’d pilfered during one of his recent ‘shopping’ trips. They had looked comfortable, and he had figured the Slayer wouldn’t be too happy if he stalked around the hotel room starkers.

Two minutes later, he felt Buffy climb into the bed.

“Spike?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks again for the strawberries.”

“You’re welcome, Slayer.”

“Spike?”

Be patient... “Yes?”

“When are we getting up?”

“Well, if we can ever get to sleep, somewhere around ten. That should give us time to get ready and head for some of the demon bars I remember, if they’re still around. Now go to sleep.”

“Goodnight, Spike.”

“Goodnight Buffy.”

Author's Note: Bit of a teaser for you guys--a little UST always helps, doesn't it? Enjoy these twice-weekly updates while they last. The writing process isn't going as fast anymore, so when my cache of chapters dries up, updates might be a bit further apart. Thanks to all those who reveiw--please keep doing so. And kudos to Christie my bet for her input!