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“Spike?”

The vampire in question sat up, for the first time since he could remember having actually gotten startled. He opened his eyes. “Joyce.” He got a close look at the confounded expression on the older Summers' features.

“Not that I'm not glad to see you, but finding you on my couch is pretty out of the ordinary,” she said, confusion still etched on her face. “Is there something wrong?”

'Where to begin?' Spike almost remarked. “Nothing for you to worry yourself over,” he insisted, 'aside from nearly having someone legally dead and centuries older than you as a son-in-law.' After the bleach blond vamp made up something about dealing with the latest big bad, Joyce nodded wearily and went upstairs to crawl into bed.

When he heard Joyce's deep breaths that indicated she was fast asleep, Spike silently made his way upstairs to check on the Slayer. Ironic though it was, a creature of the night checking up on the one girl in all the world who was supposed to turn him into dust, she'd actually been terrified last night of Willow's newfound, powerful wrath.

Buffy was curled on her side, her hand cupped under her cheek. The space between her brows was furrowed, as if she was troubled even in her slumber. Spike couldn't blame her. The witch's powers had reached incredible, terrifying heights. This witch was supposed to be one of Buffy's bestest mates, and she'd taken over her—all of them—in such a way that left the Slayer feeling ripped wide open – vulnerable. How often did The Chosen One get the opportunity to feel something like that, and so close to home?

With the way she'd reacted the night before, Spike guessed not very often.

Buffy's eyes flickered open. She looked up at Spike's face with open curiosity before glancing up at her alarm clock on her bedside table. “Thought you'd be asleep by now.”

“Was woken by my near mother-in-law,” he said teasingly. “She actually gave me quite the fright, your mum.”

Buffy smiled kindly. “She does that, and very well,” she giggled, stretching underneath the blanket. She watched his lips spread into a smile, warmth suffusing her as she reddened at the thought of the way they had tickled her skin the night before.

The vamp smirked at her. “You blushing there, Slayer?”

Her breath caught in her throat. She lifted the thin bed sheet over her nose.

“How long does your mum sleep after comin' home from a buyin' trip?” he rasped, his lids heavy.

“Half the day,” Buffy replied in wonder. She gasped as he lifted a leg onto the bed, clambering over her supine form and slinking his way under the covers. “Spike--”

The moment she turned her head to look at his face, he was asleep. Her mouth agape, she shook her head and went to the window to draw the blinds. She turned around to look over the vampire dozing in her bed, biting her bottom lip. It was ten minutes to six.

He peeked at her with one eye open. “C'mere, Slayer,” he murmured groggily.

Her heart sped up in her chest as he beckoned her over. She stepped closer, holding her breath when he gave her a tug forward. She ended up under his arm, over the covers and tense beside him.

“Shh,” he whispered against her temple before falling asleep again.

It wasn't long before his body heat started to mirror her own. Her eyes fell closed, the top of her head resting against the milky white shoulder of the vamp she'd nearly married.

“Wakey wakey,” a masculine voice murmured against her mouth.

Buffy's lips parted in a sigh as cool, strong arms wrapped around her middle. She nestled closer, coming awake when she noticed the obvious erection poking at her inner thigh. She froze, then whimpered when she realized she'd thrown a leg over Spike's hip in her sleep. She opened her eyes to his full fledged smirk.

He laughed when she suddenly bounded backward off the bed and landed in a heap on the floor. He crawled over to her side of the bed, chuckling as he helped her back up.

“I don't usually start dating people like this,” Buffy blurted, then paled, gobsmacked by her Freudian slip.

Spike, however, was still in hysterics. “Oh, luv, I s'pose you don't become engaged to 'em first, either,” he cackled, his body shaking in peals of laughter.

The Slayer found herself smiling. Then her face fell. “Oh god, is Mom awake?”

He nodded, still giggling. “Yeah. Was jus' wakin' you up for dinner, luv.”

Her brain seemed to have a hard time connecting it all together, promptly short circuiting. “You—Dinner—Here—Mom?”

On cue, her mother called, “Buffy! Spike!” from downstairs.

“My life has gotten so complicated,” Buffy pouted woefully, sitting up and running a hand through her hair. It was then that she realized Spike was barefoot and wearing her sweatpants and his black tee. “I've woken up in some weird universe,” she grumbled, getting to her feet and making her way downstairs with Spike in tow.

Joyce had ordered pizza. They'd had an amicable supper at the dinner table instead of the kitchen. Spike and her mother were discussing what she'd bought for the gallery, him picking off the pepperoni on Buffy's slice as she brought it to her mouth. She wrinkled her nose and stole it back from him.

Joyce watched the exchange curiously. “You never told me what happened last night.”

“Wh--?” Buffy choked on a string of cheese.

“'Nother big bad,” Spike replied gravely. “After all that rollin' around we were right knackered. Slayer here was pooped out enough to be out of character and lemme sleep on the couch.”

Buffy grew red, not only from choking but from remembering just what kind of rolling around they'd done. Spike somehow managed an unreadable smile while he slapped her on the back.

“Buffy, sweetheart, let me get you some water,” Joyce said, alarmed. She stood from the table to get her a glass.

“The Slayer bein' offed by a piece'a cheese?” Spike snickered with a secret smile.

Buffy drank, gulping loudly after Joyce pushed a glass of water into her daughter's hand. She took a deep breath of air and coughed.

After dinner, Spike got his jeans back on and they left to patrol. Buffy felt the heat rise in her cheeks when she wondered if it would be too odd to reach for his hand in the middle of a cemetery.

Engaged!Buffy wouldn't've had second thoughts.

“Oh god,” Buffy choked.

Spike raised his eyebrows. “Slayer?” He grinned slowly, baring all his teeth. “What're you thinkin' about?”

“We still must be under that spell,” she blurted, feeling certain. “Do you think Mom is under it, too?”

He frowned. “What?”

“You—With the—In bed, and—”

“Slayer, you never told me how articulate you really are,” he said almost affectionately.

“Why did you stay?” Buffy felt the words spill out of her mouth unheeded. She blushed up to her ears.

He stopped in his tracks. Buffy stopped, too—in front of the crypt where they'd consummated their engagement. She took a deep breath. He did as well, for a different reason. His pants were suddenly tight at the olfactory reminder of just what they'd done on the sarcophagus in the middle of that mausoleum.

Spike reminded himself to reply. “You were terrified, Slayer,” he said plainly. “I smelled it all over you. I wanted to...” He trailed off.

She was radiating rage, every nerve near combustion as she shook. “To what? See if I had really been terrified of what my best friend is capable of instead of climbing into bed with the likes of someone like you? It's just all about your reputation and your ego all the time, isn't it?”

“Just wait a bloody minute!” he roared. “Don't twist things around! You bloody well know why I stayed!” He paused, his light eyes darkening. “Or do you jus' want me to go on an' say it? That'll probably make you feel better, yeah?” His nostrils flared.

Buffy clenched her fists.

“You were terrified. That's why I stayed. Red, someone close to you, close to home, did somethin' someone the likes of me shoulda done, and it pained you. Still pains you. It was like rape, wasn' it? The fog liftin' and you find yourself in the act with someone you've never shared intimacy with, let alone a kind thought. What if it'd been--”

“Someone else,” Buffy finished gravely. “A complete stranger.” Her eyes flickered up toward him, her expression—grateful? Vulnerable. But not as she had been last night.

Would they have been as kind to her as Spike had the night before?

Buffy shuddered at the thought.

Rage built inside Spike at her reaction. “You don' get to be all holier-than-thou now--”

“Thank you,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“What?” he choked.

Her voice grew softer. She blushed, lowering her eyes. “Thank you—for being how you were. Th—Thank you. You didn't--” She tensed.

He let out a dry laugh. “Didn' have to? Like I had a choice, Slayer. Knew I was cruisin' for a bruisin'--” He sobered. “Though that's not why I did it—how I did.” It was his turn to lower his gaze.

“Why?” Buffy realized it was a dangerous question, possibly with an answer she didn't want to hear.

Spike didn't want to face up to it either. “Slayer—”

She closed her eyes. She wanted to pretend—pretend that they were the two people in love that they'd seemed to be the other night. It was so easy, and it had felt so good, and she'd felt loved, wanted, hell, normal--

As normal as she could get. Could she have that? With someone like--

She shook her head. Someone like Spike? Who, weeks before unwillingly getting a behaviorally modifying chip in his brain had been actively planning to eat her and her loved ones?

She needed some kind of forgetting spell, and fast. This entire thing was messing with her moral compass! Disgusted with herself, she turned around and headed in the other direction, intent on finding the offending witch who did this. Growling, Spike went the opposite way, hankering for a drink to stop his spinning mind.

Willow was sitting on her bed, clenching her fists nervously when the Slayer unlocked and entered their shared dorm room. “Buffy--”

The Slayer looked disgusted. “Don't even, Wills. I can't-- Why--”

“I'm sorry.” The redhead winced. With what she'd done glaring at them both in the face, it was hard for her apology to sound sincere. “Buffy, I'll do anything you want me to,” she begged. “I'm so, so sorry!” Desperation crept into her voice, and it made the Slayer's stomach turn.

Buffy made an about face. She wasn't ready to hear anything Willow had to say.

She went home. She needed her Mom.

She broke down as soon as she crossed the threshold, sobs escaping her so heavily it pained her to breathe.

“Buffy?” Joyce gasped from the top of the stairs.

“Mommy,” she keened, running into her arms.

“Baby, tell me what's wrong,” the older woman murmured, steering her into the master bedroom and into bed.

For a long while, Buffy couldn't speak. All she could do was wail.

“Is this about Spike?” Joyce asked gently after several minutes had passed.

If the dam hadn't been broken before, it was now. Buffy cried so violently it scared her.

Joyce dutifully held her daughter, petting her hair and waiting for her to calm down.

“Willow did a spell,” Buffy managed to rip out of her incoherent blubbering. She explained Willow's heartbreak, Oz leaving, her outright anger and her literal projection of it, and how that had led to Giles becoming blind, Xander a 'demon magnet', and her and Spike becoming magickally engaged. She quickly and abashedly went over their coupling and how thoughtful the vampire had been when they had come to—the exact opposite of how Willow, her supposed best friend, had been in her fury.

“Oh honey,” Joyce had cooed, not condescendingly, “did you honestly think that as a Slayer your life and the people's you affect would be so black and white?”

Mommy's wisdom had turned her taciturn. After bidding her goodnight, Joyce let her emotionally numb daughter toddle off to bed, understanding her shocked silence.

Spike stood at the front door, having heard all of it. He was drunk, but knew nothing he could have said at that very point would have been of any use. He turned around and ambled over to the Watcher's. His appearance in his drunken state awed the other Brit so much that he was immediately let in, and the Watcher even refrained from detaining him as soon as he dropped onto his couch.

Giles blinked owlishly, cleaning his glasses. “How is my charge?” he asked cautiously.

Spike barked out a humorless laugh. “In a similar state, I imagine.”

Giles let him peruse the television when the hour became late and he retired to bed, and found him in a crumpled, stinking heap on the couch the next morning.

Earlier in the afternoon, the former librarian stood to answer a knock at the door. Buffy was behind it, looking as ragged as Spike had been just hours before. She looked past him to find the vampire sleeping the sleep of the undead in his living room, his duster draped over his upper body and tucked under his chin.

“Are you alright, Buffy?” Giles asked, gently placing a hand on her shoulder to usher her inside.

“I've been a whole lot better,” Buffy replied sourly, sounding distracted.

“Tea?” he offered.

She nodded. “I'd like some, thanks.” She glanced up at his face. “Your vision back to normal?”

Giles entered his kitchenette and put the kettle on the stove. “It is, thank you for asking. Is...everything alright?” When she didn't answer, he glanced up to find her looking at Spike with her arms wrapped around herself. “Buffy?”

“We had sex,” Buffy said bluntly.

“Dear lord,” the Watcher stammered, tearing off his glasses. He tugged a handkerchief out of his pants pocket and swiped angrily at the unoffending lenses. “Did—Are you—”

She glanced up at him. “We...were us in the middle of it. He was a perfect gentleman,” she said, sounding as surprised as Giles was. She lowered her eyes. “I tried to talk to Willow last night.” A pained look came over her features. “I—I was too angry.”

“Certainly,” Giles enthused. “Who wouldn't be? She exercised her will over us all, making us, as a result, completely and unknowingly unwilling.” He heaved a giant sigh. “However, I am relieved to hear that...Spike...” He cleared his throat and returned his glasses to his face. “When you are ready, we can all talk to Willow together.”

“Bloody fuck,” Spike groaned, his duster sliding off as he shifted and reached his hands to his face to cradle his head.

Buffy cast him a sympathetic glance before rummaging in Giles' freezer for a bag of blood. She threw it in the microwave to thaw it out.

“Stop that beepin',” Spike growled.

“Do you want blood or not?” she snapped.

He acquiesced, sitting up, still holding his head. When she handed him a steaming mug, he glanced up at her gratefully. Giles watched their interaction with interest until the kettle started to whistle. Buffy quietly drank her tea before announcing she was going on campus to try to finish her homework.

She had for the last hour and a half been skimming a psychology textbook in the library when she was approached by Riley and Willow at the same time, practically cornering her at the table she'd taken residence at.

“Buffy--” they both started, and glanced up at one another awkwardly.

The girl in question eyed both of them, fighting the urge to groan and bang her head on the table.

“You first,” Willow insisted to the young man, averting her eyes. “Uh, Buff, I'll see you in the room after if you have a minute. And if not, I-I guess...” She trailed off and literally scampered away.

“Hi,” Riley said cautiously.

“Hi,” Buffy replied, trying to sound cheerful, but she only managed to sound confused. She wished she could get swallowed up by her seat.

“So, uh, about last night...” he went on, giving her a suspicious stare.

Buffy blushed, though not at his wary interrogation but at the memories 'last night' dredged up. “I was joking. That's me. Joke-y Buffy.”

He looked at once relieved and confused. “So you're not getting married,” he breathed.

“Nope?” Buffy stammered.

“So you're just insane,” he deadpanned.

After the long night she'd had, she found herself taking it to heart. She stood quickly, leaving the book. “I...really have to go talk to Willow,” she muttered, making a run for the door with her eyes glued to the ground.

“Buffy, wait,” Riley called, and sighed and threw his hands up when she didn't appear to hear him.

When Buffy reached her room, she found that she was out of breath, and not just from running. Willow glanced up at her from her desk, a hopeful look on her face. The Slayer felt uncharacteristically cornered.

“I can fix this!” the redhead insisted.

Buffy noticed the spell book laid out on her desk and her eyes widened. “Wills, no. No, no, no.”

“Are you sure? A simple forgetting spell--”

“No,” Buffy enunciated resolutely. “Do you really think it could be that simple?” she demanded, her voice cracking. “Spike and I had sex! And Riley was asking me if I was nuts!”

Willow winced. “Did I mention to you how sorry I am?” she squeaked, her voice small. “Buffy...” Shameful, hot tears sprang to her eyes.

The Slayer took a deep breath. Counted to ten. “No more magic,” she ground out.

“Okay,” Willow said, nodding so hard Buffy thought her head would fall off.

“No more,” she repeated. “Not until...jeez, Wills, I'm not a stuffy person but I don't think you should try anymore of it until maybe talking to Giles.”

“Okay,” Willow insisted again, taking her hand pleadingly. “Anything you want me to do. I'm sorry! I can't say it enough.” She met her best friend's eyes. “And I'm really, really sorry that you...Was it horrible?”

The blonde sighed, releasing her hand and sinking into her bed. “No. It wasn't. And that's the problem.”

The redhead looked horrified with herself. “Wh—What?”

“The spell was broken...in the middle of it. And I didn't even get the chance to freak out, because Spike was totally aware, and well, yeah, present, and he just got why I would be freaked out by suddenly waking up and becoming conscious of the fact that it would be a major yikes factor to find myself in bed with a master vampire like him, chipped or not. And he...he walked me home, and stayed on the couch, and talked to my mom and he patrolled with me last night.” She threw her hands up.

Willow looked helpless. “Um...he talked to your mom?”

“Will, don't you see? Spike--evil Spike--stayed! On the couch, no less.” She didn't mention him later crawling into bed and promptly passing out. She sighed. “I gotta go.”

“Giles called me,” Willow piped up. “He...We should have a Scooby meeting, he said.”

“Not tonight,” Buffy said, sighing again and running her fingers through her hair. “Maybe in a couple days.”

Later during patrol, Buffy felt him following her. She stopped in her tracks, waiting for him to show himself. He stepped out from behind a mausoleum.

“I like a willing partner,” Spike said outright.

Buffy blushed. “Wh—What?”

“You asked me,” he ground out, his eyes pointed to the floor, “why I was...the way I was that night.” He rolled his eyes. “Wanted you to like it, too. I'm not a complete barbarian.”

The Slayer blushed harder. “Did you think about that all day?”

“Yeah,” he admitted with a shrug. “The parts I was awake for, anyway.” He met her eyes. “You did, didn't you,” he stated rather than asked. “Like it.” He smirked.

Buffy nearly stumbled. “I-I--”

He smelled her arousal. “Want to do it again,” he breathed, touching his tongue to the back of his teeth. He stepped forward, into her personal space, angling his face to press a cautious kiss to her lips.

“Spike,” she moaned, gripping his forearms. Her nails dug into his skin through the leather of his duster.

He kissed her again, just as cautious, but longer this time.

Self-control be damned, Buffy climbed him like a tree. He chuckled and smirked into her mouth as she wound her arms and legs around him. He cupped her ass before sliding his fingers forward over the warmth of her sex. She writhed against his palm, pulling away to look at his face.

She nodded. “Liked it,” she cooed, biting her lower lip.

“Oh, luv,” he moaned, crushing his mouth to hers again. He pulled her into the nearest shelter, lowering her feet to the floor to undo her jeans. She whimpered as he tugged them down her legs, kneeling to pull off her boots before returning to a standing position and hauling her up in his arms again. Instead of securing her legs around his waist like before, he positioned her even further up, ushering her to hook her legs over his shoulders and sit on them.

Buffy gasped in surprise as he moved her underwear aside, slamming her against the wall as he shoved his tongue in between her thighs.

“Sp--” She sputtered and wailed, gripping his hair as he fucked her with his mouth and tongue. She found herself flinching when he vamped out against her skin only to shove his wet, elongated muscle deeper into her pussy. She came with a scream as he rolled it against her top wall. “SpikeSpikeSpikeSpiiiike!”

He smirked softly as he lowered a completely boneless Buffy down onto the floor. “Liked it?” he reiterated.

She gave a soft smile and nodded. “More than liked it.”

He smiled back. “Good. There's more where that came from.”

She gave a happy sigh as he helped her tug up her pants, pressing a sweet kiss to her mouth. She was utterly sated and therefore dreamy when he took her hand and led her out of the crypt to continue their disrupted patrol.





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