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What Buffy didn't expect was to be hauled against his chest and her mouth crushed by a pair of fervid, biting lips.

Hands ran the stretch of her spine, her arms and shoulders. Spike's fingers pressed her close, gliding across her skin in anxious, passionate digs. His whole body acted like an umbrella, surrounding her. Buffy gasped when the kiss broke almost as soon as it had begun.

"What-"

"You're wonderful," he rasped. "Bloody amazing."

"Spike-"

He cut her off again, no words to be said. Buffy rose her hands, caressing the underside of his jaw and he fairly purred, tugging her closer yet. She could feel heat gathering between their chests. His jacket parted to expose the softness of her fitted shirt, lace and all. Delicately, calloused fingers traced it, traveling lower until hitting the curve of her waist, wrapping anxiously around.

Buffy stood taller, on her tiptoes, their tongues coaxing each other deeper. A happy moan collided with his little growl and she found she was beginning to smile.

"Well I wanted it to happen," said a new voice, "I just didn't think it'd be in my kitchen."

The couple broke apart as if magnets had done it. Buffy and Spike looked to Anya in shock as a laughably awkward silence filled their throats.

Their hostess seemed unaffected. "Did you two pick out leftovers before going at it like those hoppy creatures we shall not name?"

Reaching tentatively, their fingers interlocked and Buffy squeezed Spike's hand. "Sorry, Anya. We, uh, got distracted."

"It's fine, but I would think a bed might be more comfortable."

"I'm sure you're right." Buffy blushed and sent him a smile she knew he needed, aware of the tension overflow between Spike and herself. It was a little distracting. His thumb was trailing the veins in her wrist.

Anya's brow puckered with gentle concern. "So, are you guys actually planning on taking leftovers? I have to know so I can make sure Xander doesn't gobble them down all at once. He acts like a bear preparing for hibernation every time we host a dinner party."

"No, I don't think so," Buffy said with a laugh. She shared a heart jarring glance with the man holding her hand, gaining unseen distance from the casual atmosphere again. Spike appeared completely set on staring at her, and the look in his eyes could melt a glacier. He wasn't the least bit embarrassed either. He seemed to have forgotten the ten minutes of discomfort endured before their passionate lip-lock.

"If you two are ready to go then, you can always get those clothes back to me another day, Buffy."

"Thanks." She led Spike to the kitchen door, barely looking away from him. "I'll return everything when I see you next."

The other woman nodded happily, but neither paid notice. "Sounds good."

"Did Cecily leave already?" Buffy dared to ask.

"She just left. She seemed to be in a hurry."

Buffy blushed, this time facing Anya in dismay. "That was probably my fault. There was... a disagreement before you came in."

"Oh?" The lack of surprise in her voice would have been telling if Buffy wasn't so focused on Anya's potential upset. "It's not a problem. I'll speak with her."

She swallowed heavily. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you."

Spike scowled, and looked like he wanted to add something to that, but Anya waved her hand. "Don't be. I'm not easily embarrassed. Besides, Cecily can be a handful."

Buffy nodded hesitantly, not daring to agree.

The waylaid intention to depart soon resurfaced. Buffy and Spike followed Anya into the dining room where they found Xander tucking Roger in on the tiny sofa. He whisper-called his wife over to explain they would be housing a drunk for the night.

Spike chuckled quietly as he and Buffy strolled into the foyer. Their footsteps echoed immediately, conducting a series of creaks and floorboard whines. Solitude arose, mutual and underlying awareness climbing high. Her hand was warm and small in his, but firm, a sure hold. They were halfway down the hall when he pressed her to the wall with a kiss. Their bodies fell like book pages, one onto the other, and the clothes that hugged her bones could have been nonexistent.

She felt his hardness vividly, his hands burning through a black, cotton-polyester blend. His mouth became rough, going deeper with every stroke of tongue.

Buffy pulled away first. "I think we should save this for later," she whispered, inhales punctuating each word.

"Right." Spike kissed her again, quick, messy. "Later."

It was the right moment, because when they drew apart Xander walked in, followed quickly by his wife. "You guys must be anxious to get home," he said. Buffy and Spike nodded in unison.

The farewells were efficient, despite Anya's leaving to retrieve a plastic bag for Buffy's wine soaked clothes. Spike tossed her forgotten coat over his arm and waited while Xander complained about having eaten too much.

The Brit listened with half an ear. He was spending most of his attention on Buffy, as he often did. This time was far worse. Xander's voice turned into no more than a hum and Anya's joined it when she returned. Spike watched Buffy smile, toss her ruined garments into the proffered bag and say thank you.

The moment felt good. Pleasant and rushed at once. It easily beat the past few hours. There had been scenes that Spike would likely never forget. The high point, though, hadn't come until the very end. It wasn't now and it wasn't the kissing, it was when Buffy tore into the kitchen in his defense.

He'd never had someone do that before. Protecting himself was a solitary job, while protecting his girl took precedence. First it was Drusilla and today Buffy; there was never anyone protecting him, and frankly, he rarely wanted it.

Except Buffy had taken the reins into her own hands. She faced off with someone he couldn't have risked telling off for fear of making a bad impression. Cecily's barbs had hit their mark many times, but he wasn't a cowering child anymore. He was able to fight back, physically, verbally, it didn't matter. He still would have handled the situation in the kitchen passively, no matter how out of character it seemed.

Only Buffy wouldn't let him handle a thing.

Spike's chest warmed with every flashing memory. The way she'd spoken for him, lashing out at Cecily as if the woman's every insult had been aimed at her instead. As if seeing him targeted cut into Buffy's skin as cleanly as a cobra. It would have done so for Spike, had she truly been the victim.

Realizing Buffy reacted with the same venom, fighting back for his name, burned as good as a matchbook. Comforted as well as hurt because he wanted to tell her how much he loved her more than anything at the time.

He knew he couldn't, so the only fix was kissing her breathless.

Spike wanted more now. He wanted to know more, of her body, her taste, her affection, as soon as he could have it. But she would set the boundaries, draw every line and make the rules. He knew he couldn't make love to Buffy without telling her how he felt. Not tonight. So he'd take whatever she would give, and pray he was strong enough not to ask for too much, lest everything he'd earned be risked for greed's satisfaction.

His jacket was still draped around her body. Buffy zipped it closed and Spike realized she had donned her shoes. It was time to leave. They uttered their final goodbyes after a joint statement from her friends that it was "Nice to meet him," and walked out together, side by side.

They traveled across the porch, down the steps and two thin sidewalk strips, all the way to Buffy's car. Their hands didn't break until Spike opened the passenger door and helped her in. He walked quickly to the driver's side and slid behind the wheel.

"Back to my place?" she asked.

He started the engine, looking at Buffy. In the darkness there was an unasked question hidden inside her forest eyes. A street light collected a shimmer there, and lit up the car's black dashboard. "Your place," Spike murmured. "We'll go to mine another day."

"Okay," she said, and huddled into his coat for warmth. Spike switched on the heat. "You can stay as long as you like tonight," she said.

He smiled. "I plan to."

***

"Where'd Cecily fly to?"

Anya sighed after shutting the front door. "She isn't a bat, Xander."

"If the wings fit."

"She's in the attic," Anya huffed. "Getting the shoes I borrowed a couple months ago."

"Just don't let her get too comfortable up there, she might nest." Xander pressed a kiss against his wife's cheek to soften the dig.

It didn't work. "You just go check on your drunk billy goat, all right pal?"

His frown was one of confusion. "Since when did we result to animal name calling?"

"Since you decided you hated my friends and started it."

He smiled boldly. "On that note, I shall depart to provide Advil, a trash can, and water for my goat." He turned and made way down the hall, humming quietly to pronounce a jovial end to the argument.

Anya sighed and hurried for the stairs. She scaled them quickly and made a right upon reaching the top. Passing her mother's bedroom, she heard Emma pattering around behind the door. Walking through the study next Anya eventually reached the place she and Xander spent their nights, and found Cecily waiting inside.

Sitting on a chaise lounge next to the only window, her friend kept arms and legs crossed in a show of displeasure. Her scowl could have pinned a fly in place.

Anya noted it and counted silently to three. When she spoke her voice was clear and even, if only because she had practiced indifference for years, and learned patience from Xander. "You had some fun this evening."

"I'm sure you believe that," Cecily returned.

"You're mad? About what exactly?"

She glanced away, as if to say: "Well, if you don't already know..."

Anya crossed her own arms, and hedging closer decided to get right to the point. "You don't get to be angry, Cecily. For once, I'm going to be angry. I have the same rights as anyone else, so wipe that look off your face." Her friend scoffed. "How could you start a fight with Buffy and William when I asked you-"

The brunette cut in with a humorless cackle. "Oh, that is divine. I tell you that your friends are rude, am then asked to discuss the situation upstairs, kept waiting while you say goodbye to them, and you return with accusations."

"Yes, because I was hoping to prevent another argument."

"Between who, precisely?"

Anya paused, thrown off. "You and William and Buffy! Your childhood 'acquaintance' and my- Xander's friend." She sighed with frustration. "Haven't you been listening?"

"That's funny isn't it," Cecily said, "how you stumble when you try claiming that Buffy is Xander's friend, not yours. I wouldn't have thought him to be so possessive over the title."

"He's not," Anya said defensively, "but Buffy isn't my friend... not really. She's known him for years. That is why I asked you not to cause trouble, but you just couldn't help yourself."

Cecily rose from her seat and moved closer. "I was being myself, Anyanka. You seem to forget that when we first became friends it was because we were so very much alike," she said.

The other woman went quiet, squeezing her own arms with lukewarm fingers.

"We had everything in common. We enjoyed the same entertainment, the same food and music. I was only doing what you would have gladly taken part in, once upon a time. Relished, even." Her voice dropped, words tangling into a whisper. "You certainly noticed William's weakness this evening. Those atrocious nerves just waiting to be rattled, ripening him for a panic attack?"

Anya cringed at the glitter in Cecily's eyes. "Yes, I did. But I didn't see the point in poking at him like a wounded bear."

Cecily's lips pinched as she straightened her posture. "Because of Buffy."

Anya frowned.

"You know," she added, her tone cracking like a cymbal, "when you married Xander I tried to be happy for you, but you've changed. The woman I knew would have laughed at William's expense while sipping her dessert wine. At his stiff, wannabe poise. I grew up with the lad, he was never anything special, always bumbling around. He was a pathetic child, and you could have helped me enact some vengeance for the embarrassment he caused me when I was little. But instead you played the goody goody."

"How did he embarrass you?"

"The poor fool had a crush on me and blabbed about it to the entire village. Rather, it got out somehow, but that hardly matters. The point is, I was made a laughing stock. Do you know how hard it is to be mocked in a small town? Much harder than it is anywhere else, I assure you."

Anya scowled. "You always told me you enjoyed making guys unworthy of your attention feel like dirt. Did you do that to him?"

"Well, of course I did. He deserved it." Cecily rose her brows imperiously. "And though we both know you were never picky when it came to men, a weakling like William would have been ripe pickings for you once."

Anya let out a deep breath she hadn't realized sat stagnating in her lungs. "I don't think I'm supposed to be a bully, Cecily. Not anymore."

A solid ten seconds passed in silence; an unseen rope was snipped in two. "I suppose you think I'm surprised, but I knew you'd gone soft a long time ago," Cecily admitted. "I'm just sorry I held out the hope you might change."

Anya stood motionless as her friend walked past. She heard Cecily's hand fall to the doorknob.

"I did change," Mrs. Harris said quietly.

Cecily rolled her eyes. Anya knew it, somehow, and braced herself for the expected blow. It would be the last one dealt between them. "At least now you and your husband might actually have something in common. Both of you are as spongy as graveyard dirt."

The tap-tapping of Cecily's high heels echoed a pragmatic chorus all the way to the stairs. A moment of silence and Anya felt her eyes welling up, for despite the fact it had been right, her heart still hurt.

It always did when you severed a friendship, and worse when you were thereby left with none.

***

Their communication skills surpassed general human ability. Neither Spike nor Buffy expected to get what they wanted. Fear made an excellent doubt mechanism, but they reached home in record time anyway, skipping from the Jeep as soon as Spike cut the engine.

Stumbling into each other's arms on the front porch, they moved inside only to trip right over the cat. Buffy broke free to feed her, pet Tabitha once, then take off Spike's coat. Hers was tossed on the couch and the bag of wine-scented clothes dropped to the floor. She quickly rewrapped her arms around his neck.

"Bed," she murmured.

He obliged, practically carrying her over the threshold into her room. She hit the light without looking, arm stretching above his shoulder. Spike set her on the mattress. He stole her moist red lips in another impatient kiss.

Buffy stroked his chest, arms, and the smooth skin beneath his shirt before she started fumbling with the buttons. His wide palm ran up her thigh and tickled her skirt hem. She arched to fit his zipper against the satin between her legs, bending knee, scooting closer.

Spike groaned into her mouth, pulling back to nibble on her throat. He licked a path up to her ear and bit the lobe, rocking his hips, pushing her skirt higher.

Buffy abandoned the buttons, using her frantic hands to claw his back instead. She cried out when he suckled the skin across her collarbone, tugging at the lace neckline with his teeth a minute later.

Spike grabbed her waist in both hands and picked her up, resting her head on the pillows. He spread his fingers below the edge of her top, looked her questioningly in the eyes, and after Buffy's nod yanked the garment over her head.

His palms raced across her body, firming around all the indents and shallow curves. Buffy's skirt was bunched around her hips now, but he pulled that down and off, followed by her shoes. They fell to the ground with two impatient plunks, socks floating after them.

She tried urging Spike back up, but he was paying great sudden attention to her bare ankles. Nibbling, guiding a trail for himself around the bone, up one calf, her knee and thigh...

Then he started over again, from top to bottom across the other limb. She was trying not to move which only resulted in moaning his name, some mild cursing, and squeezing the comforter in her hands.

Spike's fingers curled around her knees and dug gently into the soft skin behind them. The lean expanse of her stomach shivered, abdomen clenching, and her panties grew wet. Heat filled the blood in her thighs, sweat glistening across her skin. Spike licked a gentle path and tasted every salty bead.

"Spike..." Buffy ignored the whimper hiding in her voice. He looked up from the place between her legs. Softly, the edge of his nose grazed satin, making her tremble. He smirked cruelly and nuzzled fondly, like he was enraptured with the feel of her through the fabric.

"Please..." she begged, wondering when the hell begging had become part of her bedroom script. "Spike!"

"You sure, love?" His voice was shaky, deep. "You'll let me have a taste of this sweetness here?"

She nodded. He didn't say another word. Her throat felt coated in honey or something else equally sticky as his thumbs slipped beneath the edges of violet satin, trembling like her heartbeat. Easing the garment off, she pressed her knees together and Spike soon pulled them apart again. Left hand on her thigh, the right dragging her knee over his shoulder, exposing her, prying her open like a music box.

Buffy fought the urge to close them again. She couldn't remember the last time she'd done this without either the covers in place or the lights off. It felt new and electric, hot, and damned good, too, but she was nervous all the same.

"Spike?"

He hadn't moved for a good five seconds, which wasn't helping. "Yeah?" he choked.

Buffy swallowed, trying to sit up just a little and failing. "Is something... wrong?"

"No!" he exclaimed, and she suddenly realized just how heavy his breathing had gotten, how severely she'd been holding hers. "Nothing is wrong. Not a bloody thing."

"Oh. Okay," Buffy softly replied. The next moment she couldn't speak. He pressed in as close as a person could get, mouth at her crest; soft, curious. Gently he pried his lips open and took her folds into his mouth, sucking them like one might a sour candy.

His nose grazed her curls while he came to know her taste, the musky flavor of her body. Buffy could feel the cautious skimming of his teeth, the dips Spike's tongue made into her center. Every tickle against her clit sent a jolt down her spine. Every lick made her hotter, wetter, and a little less coherent.

A hush ran across the air. Spike rose his head and pressed his shiny mouth into her curls. Kissing her there briefly, Buffy tried to muffle her gasps when he looked at her.

"You're divine, you are."

She had to be blushing, but her body was too flushed with yearning to tell the difference. Before she could say anything, he lowered his mouth again and licked circular motions around her warmest place, dipping inside for samples.

"Oh, God..."

"Better than I imagined," he said, mostly to himself. His left hand wandered closer until Buffy felt his fingers spreading her folds apart. "You're so soft, and warm..." One knuckle slipped inside. "I'll never get enough of you."

She wished she could manage something more than strangled moans. All that accompanied her noise was uncontrolled twisting and flexed thighs.

He suckled her clit again, merciless, swirling his tongue as his fingers curled. She felt strangely hollow for him, and the only moments she was full were when he slipped back inside. He exerted pressure on the shallow wall adjacent to her belly, scraping it. Always gentle, coaxing that heat from her body to spiral out and spear her nerves in waves.

His efforts grew more insistent, more direct. He stopped the careful teasing and sucked her clit anxiously, refusing to let up. Buffy gasped his name. Her legs tried to close but he kept them open. Spike's fingers went deeper, moving in tandem with her writhing hips. He used his supporting hand to push on her stomach and she felt him more acutely within.

He released her clit for a moment, then tongued it slowly, beginning anew. She was about to go numb when he pulled away, fingers and all. She protested, he sunk lower and opened his mouth, slipping his tongue deep inside her pussy and moaning against the rest.

She whimpered, gasping repeatedly until Spike pulled away. He turned his head and drove a little deeper, tasting her more fully, placing the heel of his hand over her labia and clit. Her nerves fired off a blissful sensation and Buffy felt the familiar tugs of release at her toes. The heat built for the umpteenth time, but Spike allowed it to headlong now, her fingers lost in his hair, his own pinching her thigh and pelvic bone as she fell over the edge.

Her breath left her in a hoarse rush, every muscle turning molten and lax. Her legs fell, shoulders flattening against the mattress. Moments strung out inside aftershocks of pleasure as Spike crawled slowly up her body.

He hadn't removed his clothes. His shirt was still only halfway buttoned, hanging off his muscular frame. Bleached curls were a tangled mess and his lips were red, glistening. Spike licked them clean before leaning down to press a tender kiss across Buffy's mouth. She opened to it, her tongue colliding with tanginess and sticky warmth.

She pulled him closer, her lethargic body growing alert. Her fingers returned to the buttons on his shirt as Spike grabbed her arms.

The kiss broke. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Fulfilling a promise."

His eyes widened. "I'm going to be fair to you this time," she murmured. Buffy finished with his shirt and helped peel it off. She kissed him again, smiling, then urged him to turn over.

Spike landed on his back, arms wrapped nervously around her, refusing to let go. Buffy moved downward. Wet love bites, swirling tongue; shivers swept his skin.

She moved slowly across his chest, teasing his nipples with long, courteous kisses and licks. He ran his hands through her hair, massaging her scalp. Buffy hummed in appreciation. Then her mouth skipped along the edges of his torso, nipping, counting his ribs and every gasp that followed.

She reached his hips and scraped her teeth across them, ending at his belt. She reached to undo the buckle, but looked up, catching his eyes instead.

"I'm not ready for... the other thing yet." He frowned, but without disappointment. "I'm slower than most girls, I guess," she mumbled, slipping in a nervous laugh. Spike nodded almost immediately.

"I just want you to know I'm getting there. So you wouldn't expect... ya know, and be disappointed."

Spike sat up, reaching for her. "Never happen," he vowed. Two wide palms framed her jawbone, his thumbs stroking her cheeks. His unyielding stare was a message all its own.

Buffy smiled, relieved, adoring. "You're okay with the slow thing?"

"I wouldn't call this slow," he murmured slyly, wrapping an arm around her.

She giggled and kissed him, quickly pushing Spike back to the bed. Once he was lying down Buffy sat up and reached behind herself to unfasten her bra, allowing the straps to fall lazily off her shoulders before dragging it away.

His eyes fairly glittered, a dark sort of gleam that reminded her of wine in candlelight. Buffy undid his belt and yanked on his zipper. She had him naked in the same short amount of time it took to pry his shoes off and remove his jeans.

Slowly, she crawled over him and knelt high. She watched in delight as Spike reached out. He traced her with eyes and impatient hands, looking like an artist who adores the statues at a museum, greedy to explore every inch.

She was art to him. It was as simple as that. He studied her nude body with nothing short of lust and worship, like he was seeing Venus in the flesh and not just an ordinary woman. A gentle hand skimmed her nipples, her hips knew a rough squeeze. Happy sighs spilled from both their mouths. He massaged reverently, warming her blood with baby tingles that swarmed across her flesh from the source of his fingertips.

Buffy leaned down and stole his lips. She traced them carefully with her tongue and curled it inside his mouth, coaxing him into an open glide and thrust. Spike hauled her closer. His cock brushed her stomach. Gasping, breaking with a spontaneous chuckle, she slid across his hard body to perch between his legs.

Spike groaned and promptly dropped backward when he felt her tongue. Licking, swirling, hot and bold from base to tip. His throat closed up.

Her long hair tossed to one side, he watched Buffy's lips wrap around the head and slide down. Her cheeks and throat encasing him, hugging his cock like a glove, suctioning lovingly all the way back to the top. She locked eyes with him, lapping at the slit, pearly drops on her tongue. Without thought his hands wove themselves into golden waves.

Buffy grasped the root of him, her free hand sneaking lower. Humming around the upper half, pulling back to lick the underside and the head every few blessed seconds, she took her time. She learned his most sensitive inches of skin, the way his cock flexed in her hand when she teased him, and the sounds he made with each firm twist.

Spike felt his balls encased in softness, gently squeezed. He groaned as Buffy redoubled her efforts. She went a little deeper, a little faster, allowing his cock to touch the back of her throat ever so slyly before hollowing out her cheeks again and sliding away. Her name left him in a rush, his fingers tightened in her hair and he muttered a plea.

Buffy suckled just the head of him for a moment, like a lollipop leaking sugar. She slid down to gently scrape her teeth along the foreskin before swirling her tongue against the belled edge. Then, she took him in full, and Spike felt her fingers squeeze his balls tighter. A warm hum rattled him from cock to spine.

He cried her name, heat tensing his muscles and pleasure filling his mind. A loud, rhythmic beat started in his ears but he knew its location to be in his chest. Buffy didn't falter, she looked at him with mischief and delight. She moaned over his grunts and curses, watching as he came undone in her hands. Rapture and gratitude melted across his heartbreakingly gorgeous face, melding to create something raw. He felt her every swallow, his cum dribbling down her throat, and the moment's seconds fell into a century's worth of ecstasy.

Everything unraveled quietly, like small waves ripple a lakeshore. Spike's body went lax in a minute and Buffy crawled up his side, tucking herself against smooth, sweat shined skin. She wrapped an arm around his middle, bent knee touching his hip. "You alive in there?"

Spike's panting mouth stole hers in a kiss that rattled, a toes curling, rapid pulse kind of kiss. She felt lighter than a firefly, and when she thought the feeling would cease, he only tugged her beneath him.

He plunged recklessly into an unchecked, devout exploration of her lips. The weightless feeling in her toes spread through Buffy's body and everywhere his hands chose to touch. Time was periodically broken, little inhales dotting every second. Nothing but quivering lips, tasting tongues, and the velvet edge of quiet words persisted. Each of them grew lost in consuming the other.

***

A short time later they moved beneath the covers, a shared desire to sink into captured warmth beckoning, a switch turned on autopilot. They pressed together like flowers in a book. Long white limbs interlocking, hands leisurely running. After Buffy got up to turn off the light, she gladly returned to Spike's side so they could lay in peaceful exploration.

She tucked her head against his throat, listening to him breathe. It was strange for her to be this close to a man, naked and exhausted, but for pressure to remain nonexistent. Vulnerability unraveled in the quiet. Ribbon after ribbon of respite, comfort, connection, eyes focused, closeness reverberating like a silent drum. There were kisses, wandering touches, reminders of sparks easily ignited. In simple time they both fell asleep. The final threshold remained uncrossed, and that was all right for now.





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