Author's Chapter Notes:
In response to challenge 288 on BSV, full challenge posted at the end of the last chapter.
A sleepy haze fell over the group clustered in the Magic Box, though the two English gentlemen in the mix remained immune for a brief moment. A bright light flashed in both of their corneas, rendering Spike and Giles temporarily blinded. As sleep overtook them as well, a dreadful sense of falling pulsed within their bodies. A faint “Bloody hell” entered their ears, though neither knew who had spoken.


--

Spike awoke to the violent shaking of his shoulders at the hands of a petite, young blonde woman. He shifted uncomfortably beneath her when he realized she was straddling him in the chair he sat on, and he squinted at her face, trying to register what this unknown, yet intriguing, woman was saying.

“Spiiiike,” Buffy whined, “I knew you weren’t listening to our wedding plans, but I didn’t think you’d fall asleep! Now, please, listen…I’d like to have an outdoor ceremony with….”

Staring at her still, Spike was flooded with an inexplicable sense of undying love for this woman, despite the fact that he had no idea who she was.

“I’m sorry for dozin’, love, but…well…I can’t remember falling asleep…or anything else for that matter, except that I’m apparently British. Who the bloody hell are you?”

Buffy’s face blanched slightly and her eyes brimmed with tears.

“Oh God, Spike! You’ve lost your memory! No doubt some relation to whatever evil blinded Giles,” she said, pointing over to the sleeping form of the Watcher on the couch. “I must be immune because I’m the Slayer.”

“A spell? You mean, like, a magical spell?”

“She-yeah!”

“Witches are,” Spike hushed his voice to a mere whisper, “they’re real?”

Rolling her eyes, Buffy playfully swatted at Spike.

“Of course they are, silly, you know that. Witches, werewolves, demons and vampires are all real…and you’re a vampire…you should know this, sweetie!”

Spike’s complexion paled more than Buffy thought was possible.

“I’m…I’m a sodding…oh, bloody hell.”

With a determined huff, Buffy hoisted the unconscious Spike over her shoulder and carried him into Giles’ bedroom, fully intent on sexing the senses back into him.



Although he couldn’t quite remember who she was, this blonde was strangely familiar to Spike. This strange familiarity got even stranger when she shed her pants and tank top. He wet his lips as he stared at her taut frame. Buffy flashed a bright smile at him, though concern still clouded her eyes.

“I know we’ve been waiting for our wedding night, but I can’t think of any better way to help you realize how much we love each other.”

Spike was speechless, in the back of his mind, despite his totally blank memory, he knew that he loved the girl in front of him.

“Pet, are you sure you want to….”

Buffy cut him off with a penetrating kiss, pushing him back onto Giles’ bed and straddling him. He moaned and thrust up beneath her, realizing the necessity for shedding his own clothes as he strained against them. He raised an eyebrow when Buffy slid off of his waist, taking his shirt with her. She made short work of his boots and pants as well, tossing them to the floor in a heap. The internal hunter inside of her shone forth as she crept slowly up to Spike’s naked form, growling as she jumped on top of him.



Three hours later they emerged from the bedroom to a just-awakening Giles; Spike, exhausted, plopped down on a chair across from the Watcher.


--

Giles blinked a few times before registering that he was in the middle of a conversation with a beautiful young woman; but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember her name, or anything else for that matter.

“Oh, dear Lord,” he said, his head throbbing angrily when he sat up too quickly. “Excuse me, Miss,” he asked the tall, auburn-haired woman with impossibly blue eyes, “but, I can’t seem to recall your name, or my own, to be quite honest.”

The woman’s expression faltered slightly, but she regained composure after a brief moment.

“Oh, darling…oh, oh, my poor husband! Oh that fall from your horse yesterday must have knocked your senses from you…I knew that stallion was not yet ready for the bridle, but we shall not discuss it now. Here,” she cooed, offering him her arm for support, “Let us retire a trifle early tonight. Perhaps I will be able to jar your memory.”

“As you wish, Miss…uh, I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t catch your name.”

“It’s Anne…Mrs. Pratt, darling, your wife…you know that…oh…oh, Rupert, dear. Oh, oh, darling, I daren’t even think of it, but perhaps the shock of our recent marriage caused you to lose your senses instead of the fall? Oh, my poor darling! Shall I have Terrence fetch the doctor?”

Giles, confused at why he felt as if he were acting out a scene in a book he had read, shook his head.

“No, don’t trouble yourself…it is probably just fatigue from the fall, my dear.”

“Of course…I shall have Terrence fetch you a cool compress, though….let’s get you off of your feet, love.”

Anne led him into a small, but decadently furnished bedroom, and bent over in front of Giles, turning back the sheets of the large bed. Casting a lascivious eye at Anne, whose thin frame was wrapped in a delicate pink muslin gown, Giles realized that he perhaps needed a cool compress in other areas of his body. Turning around, Anne smiled coquettishly when she noticed his lustful gaze.

“Why, Mr. Pratt, I don’t believe that you are fatigued at all.”

“What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t do by duties to yourself and God,” he asked, pulling her flush against his body.

Anne moaned in response, and shut the door behind them, a moment before Giles ripped the muslin gown from her frame.

--





You must login (register) to review.