The sound of cars honking pulled Buffy from a deep sleep. Brushing stray locks from her face, she turned to look at the clock that sat on her bedside table. 2:47pm. Not bad, she thought. I’d call that a pretty good sleep. She turned back to the other side of the bed and was surprised to find it empty. Whoa--since when was she used to sharing a bed?!

Still sleepy, she pulled herself to a sitting position, leaning back on her arms, trying not to slip on the satin sheets. Hetty was really taking this honeymooners thing seriously--they kept finding more strawberries in the fridge, they always had satin sheets lining the bed, and there was always a fresh bouquet of roses on the entrance table. Not that Buffy minded in the least. It was nice to be pampered--she could easily get used to it.

The curtain at the foot of the bed was drawn closed, so she couldn’t see the living room but neither could she hear anything. Maybe Spike had gone out. In broad daylight? Not bloody likely, as he’d say. But then again, the car’s windows were tinted...

She let her legs drop off the side and hopped off the bed. She’d never stop wondering at the height of the bed--it made her feel like a little girl. Kind of like that lady in Sesame Street who sat on that really big rocking chair. When she turned towards the living room, she spotted Spike sitting very still on the couch, watching the TV with his hands clasped together between his legs. The fact that he sat there in only his flannel bottoms told her that he hadn’t been out anywhere.

The young woman quietly approached the vampire, expecting a witty greeting of sorts, but none came. When she sat next to him she noticed that his eyes were rimmed in red, as if he’d been crying. She followed his gaze and saw that he wasn’t staring at the TV--it wasn’t even on--but at a point just beyond it. Before she could ask him what was wrong, his voice broke the room’s silence.

“Had a dream, I did,” his eyes remained glued to whatever it was he was looking at, if anything.

Not knowing where this was leading, Buffy became cautious. “What kind of dream, Spike?”

“’Bout the people I killed.” His voice cracked as he elaborated. “All of them--all the women, the children, every single one of ’em. Hundreds, thousands, all judgin’ me. All walking in front of me, looking at me like something you’d scrape off your boot, spittin’ on me like I deserve...” Tears silently tracked down his cheeks. “And she was there, too. Tellin’ me that I’m just a monster. That it’s useless for me to think otherwise, to try to act differently.”

Buffy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Spike was feeling guilt. Genuine heart-wrenching, nightmare-inducing guilt. Tentatively she reached out and placed a hand over his, causing him to flinch but not to pull away. As softly as she could, she asked. “Who, Spike? Who was there?”

The vampire sniffled. “Hilary. She was so cross with me...”

“Spike--look at me.” When he didn’t comply, the young woman cupped a hand on his cheek and turned his face towards her own. Haunted blue eyes met caring hazel. “You saved Hilary’s life, Spike. She doesn’t hate you--she has the rest of her life to look forward to and she knows that that’s because of you, because of the risk you took to free her. And after this morning’s teary farewell, I would have thought that you knew just how much you mean to her.”

“But...” The vampire tried to break the hold her gaze had on his, but her hand held his face across from hers.

“No. No buts. William Sinclair, you’re going to listen to me and you will not interrupt.”

Spike flinched at the use of his human name but knew better than to try to go against the Slayer’s wishes. He blinked slowly, trying to rid himself of the tears that hung to his lashes.

Buffy’s free hand came up to his face and, using her sleeve, she gently wiped the tears from his eyes. “You did a lot of horrible things over the past century--there’s no denying that. Bloodshed, torture, I’m sure I can’t even come up with the half of it. But...”

A wry smile appeared on the vamp’s face. “You said no buts, pet.”

The Slayer’s eyes narrowed and she fought back a smirk. Stupid smart vampire. “Shush! I’m trying to be all speechy here and I’m not usually good at this kind of thing. I’d appreciate it if you let me muck it up on my own.” Her hand dropped from his cheek and she clasped his hands in between her own.

“But the person I have in front of me, the man who’s sitting on this couch with me--he’s no longer the monster he once was. He put his differences with his mortal enemy aside to help save the world--twice, he saved a young woman instead of letting her suffer, he soothed a nervous Slayer on her first airplane ride... The man I’m with is someone who’s changing for the better, someone who I’ve come to really enjoy being with.”

Spike looked at her with a curious expression on his face, brow furrowed and lips pursed, but he didn’t say a word. He truly wanted to know where Buffy was going with this speech.

The young woman took a deep breath and smiled. “You can be a good man, Spike--I... I believe in you.”

Her words undid his resolve. He looped his arm around her waist and pulled her into a straddle on his lap. Holding her tightly against himself, he buried his face in the crook of her neck. He took comfort in the proximity of her body, all warm and alive--blood rushing through her veins, heart pumping furiously. It was, to his senses, the sound of life--something that he chose to bask in, instead of trying to end it.

If she’d been anyone but the Slayer, Buffy was sure that his grip would have cracked a few ribs. Her heart sank at the desperation of this man. Where did all these feelings come from? Had they just surfaced while they’d been on their mission, or had they been with the vampire all along? He knew that he’d never fit in with his ’family’--he continued to eat regular food, continued to read poetry. Had his violent nature simply been an outlet for all these feelings, too confusing for the demon to handle?

She wiggled out of his hold, feeling a damp area on her neck where his face had been nestled. She put a finger under his chin to bring his eyes in line with hers. If she was to go through with this, she had to look him straight in the eyes.

“When I look at you, Spike, I don’t see a monster. What I see is someone who went out of his way to treat me like a queen at the airport, buying me food and stuffed animals, even though he was still supposed to hate me, then. I see the man who went to the trouble of making me some chocolate-covered strawberries even though I’d treated him like shit just a few minutes before. And most important, I see someone who trusted me enough to share his deepest secret--the secret of who William Sinclair really was--with me, even though I could always use it against him when we returned back to Sunnydale. I see a caring individual, a romantic and a poet. The man I see in front of me, Spike, is a man I want to help become a better person. If you want me to, I’ll help you–I’ll be there for you.”

***

At her words, the vampire’s undead heart swelled. He wanted to crush his lips to hers--take her there on the couch and have his wicked way with her. All their intimacy up to date had been hectic and frenzied. But he wanted to act like the man she saw in him. He was becoming a right ponce but if it got him the girl, what did it matter?

Cupping his hands over her shoulders, Spike pulled her in for a soft, chaste kiss. His lips danced across hers, cool velvet brushing against warm softness. His tongue darted out, tracing her lower lip, seeking permission for a taste of his Slayer. Her mouth opened, granting him the entrance he sought.

Buffy couldn’t help but moan when his tongue brushed against hers. After their track record with foreplay she’d expected their first time to be less slow, less gentle. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d taken her on the kitchen counter. Of course, they did have all day...

His hands slid to the buttons at the front of her pyjama top, deftly popping them open one by one until the article hung loose off her slight frame. Calloused fingers slid back up her taut stomach, up the valley between her breasts, and up to her shoulders, sliding the fabric down her arms.

Buffy’s mind never really registered that as Spike worked at removing her top, their lips were yet to part. She wiggled out of the sleeves, letting the top drop to the floor. In any other circumstance she would have been self-conscious at being in such a situation with a man, breasts exposed, in broad daylight. Sex was something to be had in the cover of night--or so it had been, for her. However, sitting on the couch with Spike--or rather, sitting on Spike, on the couch--she felt excited, like it was just the beginning of something that was to be amazing, that would be a revelation.

When Spike finally broke the kiss, lips still parted to let out the short quick breaths his lungs were expelling, his eyes remained focused on her face, on the beauty of his flushed Slayer.

Buffy brought a hand up to his face, lightly tracing his full bottom lip with her index finger. “Do you have any idea how much that turns me on? Feeling your cool breath on my hot skin, watching your chest rise with every breath--it makes me want you so much...” The time for being timid had passed and Buffy knew it. Now they had to be open, honest-- with one another and with themselves.

Spike took her finger in his mouth, taking it in all the way. Her hazel eyes were clouded with lust, her mouth was slightly parted, and a sheen of perspiration glistened on her exposed skin. To his eyes, she was the most exquisite creature he’d ever seen.

And they hadn’t even done anything yet.

The Slayer’s voice, roughened with desire, broke through the fog that had settled in his mind. “Maybe we should take this somewhere more comfy, like the bed perhaps?”

With a husky voice to match hers, the vampire managed a “good idea, pet” before standing, still holding her to him. He walked them over to the bed, laying her across its width. Stretching his powerful body over hers, he placed a small kiss on her nose before sliding down to her breasts, which he’d neglected all too much for his taste. Resting his weight on his arms, he lowered his mouth to one breast, dragging the tip of his tongue up its underside, causing Buffy to shiver in excitement.

Using one knee, he nudged her legs apart, placing his thigh in between them. Keeping in synch with the movement of his tongue he pressed up against her centre, providing constant friction to keep her incoherent.

Spike was being pulled in two directions at once: half of him wanted this foreplay to last for days, the teasing and the taunting reaching torturous levels, but the other half wanted to rip her pj bottoms off and sink himself into her moist heat.

The combination of Spike’s lips on her breast and his thigh at her centre were driving Buffy insane. She was sure he was planning on teasing her to a premature death. Deciding that enough was enough she found the strength to flip him onto his back. His eyes went black with lust; guess he likes a bit of the rough and tumble, she thought to herself as she tried to regain control of her body.

Grinding her pelvis against his, she let herself down and lightly bit one of his nipples. He whispered “vixen” through clenched teeth, but didn’t move to push her away.

This was new for him. Spike had always been the one in charge. Dru had been the meeker one, preferring that her lover take charge of things. And with Harmony? Well, best not to even think of her. But he should have known that with the Slayer he’d have one hell of a tug-of-war on his hands.

All coherent thought escaped his mind when he felt her tongue dip into his navel, tracing its outline.

Buffy’d never been this brazen in bed before. But with Spike, she knew that there would be no holding back. Take what you want, don’t worry about the super strength, and just enjoy the ride. She slipped her index fingers in the waistband of his flannel pants, following their descent with her tongue. Spike tried to still her actions, grasping at her head with his hands, but she just swatted them away, lifting her head to give him a dirty look that said “don’t disturb me.” His response was a wide grin, his hands returning to play with her hair.

She brought her gaze back to his midsection, returning her fingers to his waistline. Wet kisses followed the pants’ downward path, causing the vampire‘s breath to hitch and his muscles to flex. When the Slayer’s mouth reached the base of his cock, she looked him straight in the eyes, leaned back, and slid off the edge of the bed.

Spike’s brow furrowed. What on earth was she doing? Surely, she wasn’t going to tease him like that and just leave him wanting, needing...

When her feet touched the ground, Buffy took hold of Spike’s pant-legs and pulled hard. The flannel bottoms came off easily and Spike lay there, in all his natural glory, for her eyes only. Her eyes drank in every inch of him, every twitching muscle, every pale scar. He was perfect. She dragged a finger up the sole of his foot--she had to maintain physical contact with him, just in case he’d fade away.

The Slayer’s unabashed admiration of his physique increased Spike’s arousal, if that was at all possible. Eyes black with desire, mouth twisted in that half-cocked smirk of his, he dragged a finger up his chest. “Like what you see, pet?” He was vain and he didn’t care. When she nodded, he knew that she was as affected by him as he was by her.

Buffy stood there, slack-jawed, and there was nothing she could do about it. She tried to move, tried to say something, but she found herself rooted on the spot. Finally forcing herself to snap out of it, she motioned for him to move so that he was lying lengthwise on the bed. “That’s better” she purred as she made her way to the foot of the bed, reclaiming her spot at his feet.

She moved up his body, placing open-mouthed kisses on the inside of his legs, feeling the taut muscles twitch under the pressure of her tongue. At his thighs, she licked and bit alternately, driving the vampire halfway to madness. When she reached his erection, she teased him, kissing around its base and letting her hair tickle his thighs before dragging her tongue up its marble length. She heard his gasp as his entire body went stiff, and he mumbled “bloody fuckin’ hell...”

Spike was afraid of losing control. Hell, he was right on the verge of shooting his load and she hadn’t even taken him in her mouth yet. He wanted to see how long he could last, how well he could please her, bring her to the brink of ecstasy and back over and over again. “Don’t” he pleaded, afraid that she wouldn’t stop, that he’d disappoint her. So much for vampire endurance, you git.

So much meaning in one word. It was, all at once, a request, a plea, and an order. But Buffy would have none of it. She sat back on her haunch, tracing lazy circles on his inner thigh with one hand while bringing her other to play with her breasts. “Why not, Spike? I really wanna.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck! He knew she was playing him. The coquettish pose, the innocence in her voice--she may not have had the experience he did, but she knew what she wanted and she knew how to get it. “Because I won’t be able to last, love. Matter of fact,” he stared up at the ceiling--looking anywhere but at the golden goddess lounging between his legs--and let out a frustrated chuckle, “it’s taking everything I have not to lose control right this instant. You’ve got me so worked up, you’re so unbelievably breathtaking...”

“Then why not let yourself fall over the edge, Spike? I want to give, you want to take... Or should I say I want you to give and you want me to take?” She dragged a fingernail up the underside of his erection, never breaking eye contact. “If I want to put my hot little mouth on your long, hard cock, and if I can take everything you have to give, every... single... drop..., then why fight it?”

Spike couldn’t think straight. Any remaining coherence fled his mind at hearing the Slayer describe giving him the blowjob of his unlife. His demon asked the same question that Buffy had: Yeah, mate, why fight it when she wants it as bad as you do?

So he did what any self-respecting male would have done in his position--he begged. “Oh fuck, Buffy, please...”

Without saying a word, Buffy lowered her mouth to his cock and gave it one long, slow lick, pausing to tease the little sensitive area just below the head. She looked up and saw that Spike’s head was thrown back and he was gripping fistfuls of sheet.

Female pride surged through her--she had hardly even begun yet and already she had worked him into a frenzy. Circling her lips around the head, she took him in almost all the way, flicking her tongue against his sensitive skin.

The bleached blonde was certain he would go insane at the sensations the Slayer’s tongue and mouth were causing. Moist heat against cool marble, she coaxed out of him a cacophony of broken sentences. “Yeah, pet, right there...”, “unh Buffy, so hot--so perfect...” and even the occasional “Christ! Where d’you learn to do that?!”

The young woman could hear her lover’s breathing grow more rapid, and even if she was the one on the doling end it still turned her on like he could never imagine. Her own breathing was erratic and desire pooled at the apex of her thighs. His nerves began to twitch and she knew that all control was about to be tossed aside. Pulling her mouth off him, she blew cool air on his exposed shaft, smiling when a weak “no” escaped his lips. Then, before he could register what was happening, she took him in completely in one long downward thrust, replacing the coolness of her breath with the scorching heat of her mouth. For added torture, she contracted the muscles at the back of her throat, massaging his erection.

That was what set him over the edge.

Spike had planned on giving her a last-minute choice of backing out. Really, he had. A tug on her hair, a quick warning, anything at all that he could come up with in that very short moment of coherence before his mind would go blank. But when she took him in completely, doing that thing with her throat, well--his last-minute moment of coherence disappeared entirely.

He came hard, roaring as his demon came to the forefront. His whole body arched off the bed, the muscles in his arms and legs straining. Buffy held his hips steady, palms pressing his pelvis in place. Her lips never left him; not until the last of his convulsions were over did she slide her mouth off his still-hard shaft.

Through hooded eyes, the vampire watched her sit back, licking her lips like a cat who’d been fed cream. Which she had, in a way, he thought to himself. She had an odd look on her face, like she was trying to figure something out. He thought hard, trying to recall what that look, not quite serious, not quite smiling, reminded him of. Ah! The Mona Lisa--that was it! When she finally settled on a smile, he asked her what was up.

You are, still, she thought to herself, bemusedly. “Not that I mind, but you’ve gone all fangy.” She traced an imaginary circle around her own face, trying to convey the message.

So he’d lost control more than he’d believed. After the blowjob she’d given him, he wasn’t surprised. He shook the demon away and pulled her to him, placing her beside him so they lay face to face, body to body. “Sorry I didn’t give you an out, there, love, but that thing you did at the end? Bloody spectacular, it was. Where’d you learn to do that? They offering classes on that in college, now?” He laughed as she swatted him.

“I don’t have much experience in... in that. None at all, actually.” Buffy blushed and hid her face in the crook of his neck. She couldn’t believe that she was talking to him about this. Even weirder was the fact that she’d been less coy performing the act than discussing it.

The vampire pushed her back gently so he could see her face when he spoke to her. “Look at me, love. There’s no need to be ashamed--that was the best blowjob I’ve ever had. And I’m not lying to you. Now I wonder, though,” he said, a wry smile forming on his lips, “if that’s a Slayer talent, or just 100% Buffy Summers?”

The young woman unsuccessfully fought back the smile that tried to appear on her lips. “Well, since I doubt oral sex is a standard Slayer feature, I’m gonna have to go on a limb and say that it’s all Buffy. Every. Single. Lick.”

Spike muttered a “good” before leaning in and placing a kiss on her lips. He pushed her onto her back and began a downward trail of kisses. “My turn, love. ’Cept I have to admit this won’t be my first time--been doin’ this for over a century.” He watched her eyes grow and added. “Hope that’s ok with you.” She simply nodded, never taking her eyes off the vampire perched between her legs.

***

She’d never been so vulnerable--naked, in an awkward and very intimate position with no weapon handy. Yet she’d never been so at ease, so sure of herself and of what she was doing. She was with the man she loved... to be with. Loved *to be with*--that’s it. Sighing contentedly, she lay her head back against the pillow as she felt his tongue trace invisible designs on her inner thighs.

All sorts of poncey poetry about ’sweet nectar’ and ’love’s ambrosia’ flitted through his mind as Spike’s tongue worked its way towards the Slayer’s very wet centre. He licked up and down her folds, deftly avoiding her swollen clit. It seemed that her initial foray into oral sex had turned her on nearly as much as it had him, as she was dripping wet.

She moaned, she groaned, she cooed--she even wove her fingers through his hair, pressing his head closer to that little bundle of nerves that remained, as of yet, ignored. But nothing she tried worked. Buffy so desperately needed him to relieve the pressure she felt between her legs or she was going to explode. He hadn’t been lying when he’d mentioned over a century of practice. She was sure no man alive would be able to do the things he was doing to her, or make her feel as hot as she did.

Only when he threatened to tie her up and drive her absolutely insane with desire did the Slayer pull her hands away from him, gripping the headboard instead. She hoped against all hopes that she didn’t break it. Ugh, try explaining *that* to Hetty...

Satisfied that Buffy was keeping her hands to herself--nerve of her, tryin’ to tell me how to do my job--Spike continued his teasing, bringing his mouth to her thighs as punishment, licking, kissing and nibbling the muscles that were drawn taut. He returned his tongue to her centre, licking up and down her folds, still avoiding her clit. The string of curses and pleas that came from the Slayer’s mouth told him that he was right in making her wait. Of course, when it came to the art of cunnilingus, when was he not right?

While the Slayer was mewling and writhing, lithe body twisting on top of the sheets, the vampire thrust a finger into her sopping entrance, feeling for that most sensitive spot inside of her. Inserting a second digit, he began pumping them in and out at the same rhythm as his tongue’s ministrations. When he knew that she could no longer take the torture, he finally flattened his tongue against her clit, dragging it slowly across the raw bundle of nerves. This elicited a throaty “oh!” from the young woman. Having ignored this part of her for so long, he began to concentrate in earnest on pleasuring it as thoroughly as possible–circling it with his tongue, sucking it into his cool mouth, biting down ever so lightly...

Even as her brain was muddled with the sensations of what Spike was doing to her, one particular thought seeped into Buffy’s mind: they should teach this in school--Orally Pleasing a Woman should be a mandatory course for all guys. Of course, not all guys would have over a century of practice... The cool of his tongue should have helped with the inferno she felt down there, it really should have--but it just made her burn even more. Even the feel of his fingers caressing the insides of her thighs was making her delirious. It seemed like every part of him that was touching her--fingers, tongue, even his nose--was being used to heighten the sensations that were pulsing through her.

He’d kept his actions deliberately slow, but Spike knew that the young woman was close. Her blood pumped furiously in her veins, her heart beat a staccato rhythm and her limbs were beginning to twitch. He pulled his fingers from her, replacing them with his tongue, darting it in and out of her. Pressing his thumb and index finger to her clit, he pinched and rubbed it, making the Slayer keen even louder.

Although the pressure had been building for what seemed like forever, Buffy was taken a bit by surprise when the wrenching heat of an intense orgasm hit her. Losing all vestiges of lucid thought, arms and legs having gone numb, she saw a flash of bright light behind her lids as her eyes automatically closed. As the sensation of being turned inside out ripped through her, she let out a wail.

Spike struggled to keep the Slayer’s thighs from crushing his head as her muscles seized from her orgasm. He greedily drank the juices that were now flowing freely from the young woman. When he felt the last aftershocks pass through her, he sat back on his haunch and observed the woman before him.

Golden hair splayed across her pillow, arms outstretched to her sides, legs spread seductively, chest rising rapidly--despite all attempts to resist, her beauty inspired the poet in him.

He searched the recesses of his brain to find words that could represent how this young woman made him feel. A poem he’d once read, shortly after having been turned, made its way to the forefront of his consciousness. He wouldn’t dare recite one of his own poems--if anything could break the spell they were both under, it would be one of his own pathetic attempts at writing.

He licked his lips and averted his eyes, choosing instead to concentrate on the bedsheets.

“I think of thee in watches of the night, I feel thee near; Like mystic lamps consumed with too much light Thine eyes burn clear. The barriers that divide us in the day And hide from view, Like idle cobwebs now are brushed away Between us two. I probe the deep recesses of thy mind Without control, And in its inmost labyrinth I find My own lost soul. No longer like an exile on the earth I wildly roam, I was thy double from the hour of birth And thou my home.”

Who was this man before her? Was he really, truly the same Spike she’d always known? The violent, cocky, razor-tongued vampire seemed to have turned into the caring, giving, romantic man who was presently kneeling between her legs, face awash in her juices, reciting poetry to her. Buffy had hung on to every word he’d spoken--the words came as naturally to him as breathing did to her. Her heart skipped a bit as it dawned on her--she really was falling for him. She swallowed. “Did you write that?”

The vampire let out a laugh. “No, pet. Some bird called Mathilde Blind wrote it. I put it to memory because it just seemed to suit me. You don‘t want to hear what I wrote--we‘ll wait until we‘re both drunk and neither of us will remember any of it.”

She smiled at him. Finding her voice, she whispered “thank you--it was beautiful” before stretching her arms out in front of her, in silent beckoning.

***

When her immediate reaction had been silence, Spike was afraid that she was trying to hold back laughter--at him, and at the poetry. But the soft look in her hazel eyes, locked with his clear blue ones, told him otherwise. So did the genuine “thank you” that came from her perfect lips and the outstretched arms she held out to him. There was no ridicule, no malice--for once he’d been right in going with his natural instincts.

He leaned forward and lay his body over hers. Both were shaking with need, with anticipation, with lust, but never were they so sure about something. Gazing into the depths of her eyes, Spike was sure that he could actually see Buffy’s soul. Without a word, he pressed the head of his erection against her soft opening. Waiting for her nod of consent, he slowly slid into her, her searing heat engulfing him.

It was as if he was on fire, as if he were being turned inside out. He paused when completely sheathed, unconsciously holding a breath he didn’t need, feeling her inner muscles clamp around him like a hot, wet fist. He watched her lips part slightly, her eyes glaze over, and felt her shift in order to better accommodate him. Never breaking their gaze, not even to kiss--lots of time for that later--he began to move his hips, slowly pistoning in and out of her.

The look Spike had on his face affected her more than anything else at that moment: more than his hard body pressed against hers, more than the friction of his shaft as it slid in and out of her--even more than the short, shallow pants coming from his parted lips. His eyes shone of awe, of tenderness, of love. They pierced her right to her soul. And although he didn’t have one, she felt like she could see something akin to a soul. Perhaps it was William, or whatever was left of him.

Buffy wanted to spend the rest of her life in bed with this vampire, and the thought didn’t scare her in the least--heck, it didn‘t even phase the Slayer in her. What kind of woman would turn down the opportunity of being loved like this forever? It sounded corny even to her, but she’d never felt anything like it. He was big, but not to the point of it being painful for her--on the contrary, the way she stretched around him allowed her to feel every twitch, every pulse of his cock as he slowly pumped inside of her. Although his intense stare never wavered--it was as if he didn’t want to miss any of her emotions--his hands busied themselves, tracing the contour of her arms, her breasts, her neck. He paused at the bitemarks that were now clearly his, gently dragging the pads of his fingers over them. She didn’t understand how, but this created a sensation of its own, which shot straight to the apex of her thighs.

She drew her hands up to his face, feeling the need to mirror her lover’s actions. She traced the angular lines of his cheeks, the soft curve of his lips, the small scar in his left eyebrow. Her breath hitched as he pressed his pubic bone against her clit, eyes dancing with mischief.

As he lay with Buffy, two bodies as one, Spike realized that this was the first time he’d truly made love to a woman. He’d tried so often with Dru but she’d never had the patience--Angelus had created in her a penchant for the wild and painful. And with Harmony... Well, you had to at least like someone to share something this special with them. His eyes rolled back as Buffy wrapped her legs around his waist, driving him even deeper inside of her.

The sensations her body was feeling were too much for the Slayer. As Spike pressed up against her clit once more, her eyes opened wide and her body stiffened. Whispering his name--so quiet he almost missed it--she threw her head back, drew him in tighter against her, and cried her release in one long, drawn-out moan.

The sight of Buffy writhing in ecstasy beneath him and the sensation of her inner muscles clamping around his cock sent Spike over the precipice. Moaning her name, his body stiffened before allowing him to thrust into her three, four, five more times, emptying his cold seed into her womb. When he regained control he was surprised to find that he hadn’t had to fight the emergence of his demon.

Reading the thought that was plain on his face, Buffy smiled. “It’s because it was pure, Spike. Just two people sharing something beautiful, something not tainted by the dark.”

For one of the few times in his life, Spike was left speechless. He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers, rolling them so they lay intertwined, on their sides. The next long while was spent making up for all the kisses that hadn’t taken place as they’d made love.

Author's Note: Well, here it is, what you've been waiting for--and what you deserve. You guys rock! Updates will go back to regular scheduled Mondays and Thursdays, even if they're smutty--there aren't enough of them left in store for me to do this anymore. Thanks to all reviewers, and let me know what you thought of this--did it live up to your expectations?