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Buffy awoke little over an hour later. She rubbed her eyes and turned over to find Spike sound asleep, one muscular arm draped across her stomach. She smiled softly as warmth spread through her chest, mimicking old feelings she remembered well. These new ones had much stronger footing on which to stand.

As Buffy sat up, carefully untangling herself, the feathery sensation refused to abate. Her lips drew wider apart as her heart beat erratically in a short, giddy pattern.

She finally did it. Took the leap, took a chance, and now, as she sat beside a man entirely devoted to his feelings as well as her own, beaming with endless afterglow, Buffy could say she was damn happy about it.

She had been beginning to wonder, months back she supposed, whether finding another love to shake up her world would ever be possible. A love that didn't have to come with pain alongside passion, or stability burdened with no more than tepid affection. A love which protected but didn't make her sick. A relationship that wasn't just filler, or strangely dangerous. Some kind of love that would last, and would not bore her to tears.

And she'd found it.

There was nothing saying her choice to take Spike back was a wise one. Only her heart, her mind, and more than anything else her instincts, could raise their hands and offer support. Anya was one true exception; the woman had been all out relieved, but even she, and certainly nobody else, really knew the details of what had happened in the fallout.

No one knew the feelings that sparked before, during and afterward, either. That was just it. Only Buffy could make this choice for herself, only she could look into Spike's eyes and claim faith, see the truth. Only they could make this work, together. And she believed they would.

Gazing down at Spike from her place in bed, comforter hiked up to her collarbone, Buffy traced his face in her mind. One cheek was sporting light pink claw marks, which made her bite her lip with mild regret. She couldn't remember doing that. Thankfully, no blood had been drawn.

His chest was similarly marred. She guessed his back looked the same and winced delicately. The motion slid some hair into her eyes; they widened boldly.

She latched onto an untied plait with her fingertips, holding it in front of her nose. Spike had... Buffy reached behind her head.

He had braided her hair.

Several different sections were twined tightly together, lying atop the free falling, untwisted portions (the majority). "Oh my God," she mouthed silently. A snicker escaped her, and Buffy quickly smashed a hand over her lips.

As soon as her laughter felt subdued enough she dropped the muzzle. Reaching out she caressed platinum blonde curls, careful and slow. Silky strands wove through her fingers as gently as butterfly kisses. She wished there was some way to braid it... let him wake up feeling like he'd just been to a girl scout sleepover- but the hair was too short.

Grinning still, Buffy eyed the cut approvingly. Odd color choice but she always did like it on him, and she especially liked when Spike tamed his curls rather than just slicking them back. Right now the bed-head was pretty prevalent; and it was hot.

Buffy removed her hand and looked around the room. She wondered if he kept any styling products in here. Probably not. They were likely in the bathroom, and the only doors she saw were the entrance, and those of a half open closet on the far right wall. A dresser with a large mirror stood feet from the end of the bed, and she blinked at her reflection. She hadn't noticed that before. The large, antique piece had four drawers and a bare wooden surface.

She looked up at the cloud gray ceiling, fingering the soft material of the comforter in her fist. Then, on her left by a window, Buffy spotted an old chair and in its seat-

Her award from the kids. It sat there peacefully, facing her and gleaming in a patch of moonlight. Buffy's lips wobbled as she stared at it. They had left some things in the car before rushing inside, including the North Star.

Spike must have gone and retrieved it after... She blushed unknowingly. Buffy sat up a bit higher and peered over the mattress. At the foot of the chair lie Spike's smallest set of keys. It only carried vehicle copies, as he told her not long ago he was tired of always losing his main set and thereby being left stranded at home. She was pretty certain he had forgotten them in the ignition before they headed inside, and he used his larger, cumbersome set to open the door. Beside the keys stood her purse, and her shoes beside that. She could also see her clothes now, underwear and all, folded neatly beneath her award.

Turning towards her sleeping lover, Buffy couldn't help smiling again. He was so... goddamned thoughtful sometimes. It made her ache, but in the best way imaginable.

Buffy took a deep breath. Spike was mostly covered, his nude form protected from the cool air around them, but she knew what hid under the blanket. Staring at his chiseled abdomen and sleeping tiger stillness, she wriggled beneath the comforter.

She traveled alongside his body until she reached his stomach. Cosmo articles and gaudy movie scenes flitted through her brain, but Buffy shoved them out. She had done this once for Spike already, and remembered, vividly, how well things had gone back then.

She had never, however, woken someone up in such a way before.

*First time for everything,* she told herself, then, *Besides, some parts already seem to be... awake.*

It was a fact, not a guess. Spike might be sound asleep, but select body parts of his were definitely not. She hadn't noticed any tenting through the thick comforter, but now that she was face to face with his... appendage, Buffy couldn't deny it seemed quite alert.

*If you're going to do this, might as well start thinking of it as more than just an 'appendage,' Buffy.*

She shook her head. Damn, that thought had sounded a lot like Anya.

Sighing, Buffy's eyebrows rose when Spike's arousal reacted to the breath of warm, enclosed air with a tick and a rise. Biting her lower lip very hard, she reached for him. Circling the smooth skin gently, she started a slow rhythm. Like magic, strength and stiffness grew within her hand. Empowering changes began to take place.

Buffy slid forward on the sheet. Spike groaned and she paused. Nothing happened for a minute, and silence thickened, so she continued.

Leaning in, she pressed her moistened lips to the underside of his erection. It twitched in her hand. The skin tightened, and her mouth opened. She licked the long, hard line of a vein and repeated these strokes. Twisting her wrist at the head, Buffy teased the slit at the very tip with her tongue for a few moments.

Another groan, louder now, came from above. Buffy decided she better not waste anymore time, and took the sensitive head into her mouth. She rolled her tongue against it, tasting the beginnings of a joyous release, and sunk lower.

She had only just come down fully on Spike, lips spread and circling his cock in the center, when a heady gasp whooshed outside the blanket. She refused to smile and focused on the task at hand.

Humming quietly, Buffy let the belled head touch the back of her throat, swallowed quickly then rose again. Sucking firmly now, she did manage to grin through her work when she heard British cuss words up above.

The blanket was suddenly ripped away, and bright light intruded on her playtime. Buffy caught Spike's wide, blackened eyes and said, "Can I help you?"

A thick gulp passed his Adam's apple. "Looks like you're helpin' yourself."

She stifled a giggle. "Hope you don't mind."

"Hardly," he groaned, sitting up with difficulty. Throat exposed, she saw the muscles there tense and twitch all the way up to his jawbone. He was breathing openmouthed. "Wh- When-"

"A few minutes," she said, slurping fresh wetness off his cock's rigid tip, then swiping her tongue across it.

"Christ." Spike fell back, craning his neck just to keep eye contact.

She obliged him, blinking slowly while she swallowed him again, moaning against taught muscle. The memory of this moment long ago came rushing back, and all of a sudden gliding her open mouth along his salty skin felt easy, familiar. Each little grunt and unrestrained sound Spike couldn't help only amplified her enjoyment.

Buffy pulled up and nibbled a tender trail down his cock. Wrapping a finger around the base of him, she teased a short path to his heavy sack.

Spike groaned heartily as she palmed his balls, letting them tighten in her warm hand. The other worked and twisted around his cock, coaxing pre-cum from the top like a an ice pop she thoroughly sucked clean. The sight of her, the experience of having Buffy curled up between his legs again and loving him with tender determination was more than he could take.

His back arching, Spike called out a young warning, then let her working mouth carry him to the finish line. She sucked his cock greedily until her cheeks hollowed out, caressing and gliding along his skin like wet, silk gloves. Her tongue rolled and coiled and twisted. She hummed, deeper until moans were vibrating gently around his flesh. Buffy caught his eyes again when granting him with a firm squeeze; and that was it.

A shout climbed his throat and Spike felt a deep, hot tug in the lower part of his abdomen. She encouraged a pure loss of control, swallowing deeply, echoing his moans. He felt the tremors, rattling him inside the wet cavern of her mouth. His spine bowed, stomach clenching painfully as ecstasy roared over his nerves. Cum hit her tongue behind puckered lips and taught cheeks, warm down her throat; she took every last drop until he was empty and lax beneath her.

Buffy looked up again once Spike hit the mattress with a thud. His chest was heaving up and down. She moved back and watched, head on his thigh, while his energy ebbed away. Sitting up, letting him fall from her hands gently, Buffy crawled across his pliant body and straddled his waist. Her forearms rested on his solid chest.

"Better than breakfast in bed?"

"Better than any... I've ever... fuck." He grabbed her by the back of the head and hauled her down for a kiss. It was slow but penetrating, filled with enough desire and gratitude to make her blush; despite the fact she was naked on top of him with the aftertaste of cum in her mouth.

They lay like that, connected by lips and tongues for a while. Until Buffy pulled back, smiling coquettishly. "I was hoping for a response like that."

"Well far be it from me to disappoint." He was still somewhat breathless, and drinking her in with worshipful eyes that promised future hours of satisfaction. "Any clue when I knocked out?"

"No. I just woke up and there you were, sleeping like the dead."

"Could've killed me with that wakeup call." He kissed the crown of her hair. A sigh tickled Buffy's skin and then he looked back, finding her eyes. "It's like a bloody dream... You, here..."

"I got news for you... it isn't a dream."

Silence descended carefully over the room. His heart, for once, did not pound. It did not feel as if it were about to be stuck in a vice or thrown off a cliff. It just... beat. Whole, and sound, and thankful.

They cuddled closer, somehow, even if it was only by centimeters. Naked bodies meshed together like puzzle pieces, arms and legs fitting neatly between gaps. Spike breathed Buffy's scent in and pressed dainty kisses across her jaw line. A sigh permeated the air, and while neither wanted to move from their nest, neither was ready to sleep again either.

"What time is it?" Spike asked.

"Um..." Buffy looked around, spotting a clock on his bedside table. "Your clock says just after one."

Spike frowned. "Are you hungry?"

"Is that a joke?"

He smirked. "No. Jus' thought you likely didn't eat anythin' at the dance." He caught her lower lip between his teeth, having a nibble and mumbling, "Probably didn't eat much before that either, seein' as how nervous you were."

She warmed from head to toe, her chest tight. "I could eat... again," Buffy replied slyly. "What do you have?"

Spike thought for a moment. Then, disappointed with what he could offer, quietly said, "I've got leftovers. Made myself some fancy dish yesterday out of an old cookbook that used to be my mum's."

Buffy grinned. "You're a regular Martha Stewart."

One argumentative brow tick. "You want to be fed?"

"What am I, like your hamster or something?" She wriggled tauntingly, hips gyrating above his. Spike hissed. "C'mon, I want to try some."

"You don't even know what it is."

"I know you're a good cook."

"Well, thanks, but-"

"Please?"

"All right. Let me just... get out of bed."

His heart was in the right place, but ambition fell short. Spike stayed there, beneath her warm, supple body just stroking her cheeks, her back, her ass and hips. Buffy didn't seem to want to stop him, and obviously hunger of the nutritious sort came in second when battling with the other kind.

She started nipping his chin, then his lips, humming as he ran his fingers through her hair again. The couple separated here and there, catching each other's eyes and smiling, teasing, laughing.

Buffy leaned into his stroking hands, her neck arching and head rolling back. Her lids closed above a sigh of contentment.

"I love this hair."

"I've noticed," she said wryly.

"Way it bounces 'round an'..."

Buffy let out a shallow gasp, shifting her hips. "Spike..."

A familiar hardness was nudging her pussy lips apart, gliding through trapped wetness. Coating himself, Spike rumbled in her ear, "Think we'll have to wait on dinner."

He clamped his hands around her hips and plunged deep, jolting another breath from her lungs. Buffy writhed closer. Knees sliding up, spine arcing, her hands slipped beneath him, running through his hair, her forearms pillowing his head. He guided her lower movements with encouraging squeezes and firm, steady thrusts.

Gazes held, they shared broken sighs echoed by low moans. Excitement teased Buffy's nerves with every warm, rolling push, spiking high then lowering to a flat line again. She moved faster. Murmurs that were barely pleas cascaded from her O-shaped mouth, eyes fluttering, her body tugging and drawing her heat along the thickness of his cock.

Spike grinned with a slight sneer as his hands moved lower, letting her take control but molding a grip around her soft backside. He watched as she moved, jutting his hips up just a bit to get in deeper, feel her coming down, the tip of his prick prodding her center.

He pushed so their hips would lock. Buffy gasped as her whole body tightened. Spike circled and pressed upward, the length of his cock stabbing gently while his body rubbed mercilessly against her own. The covered hood of her clit parted and a harsh pitch left her throat. Beneath her, Spike began pumping and rolling his hips, encouraging her to grind down. She writhed across him, listening to the sounds of their flesh separating, and gliding back together.

One of his hands traveled her back, climbing her weaving movements and soft skin. "God... Never get used to this," he said, then blinked and almost cursed because Spike hadn't meant to say those words aloud.

Buffy shuddered above him, their lips brushing on his next thrust. "Me-" a gasp -"either."

The panic ebbed away, and he let himself curse for a different reason. His hand trailed to the nape of her neck, where he urged her down for a kiss. Buffy moaned into it, then broke free, breathing faster and faster against his face. He could feel the velvety heat of her body swallowing him over and over. She was riding him quickly now, pulling her hips nearly halfway up his stomach, their skin slick and stuck together like book pages before filling herself to the core again.

Spike watched her glide back, bending, sighing with pleasure. Her open lips and tender breasts rose above him with blushing enticement. Buffy's hands slid out from under him and flattened across his chest. She rolled her hips slowly now, green eyes shimmering with intent.

Water filled his mouth as he stared, transfixed by her movements. The visible proof of sensation, of being caressed and teased by an ascent threatening to finish him off before she would encase him whole again.

Buffy moaned when her pelvis crashed into his, and this time she stayed there, getting back to their original rhythm. It seemed the girl liked it best when she could feel him deep down. Could grind against his body until screams left her throat.

Hands tense, Spike stroked her thighs, fingers widespread as they traveled over the indents above her hips and the smooth curve of her waist. She arched forward, encouraging, and he felt a caress rove down his chest. Her nails dug gently into his muscles as Spike plucked her nipples into hard points.

"Look at you," he rasped. "F'you could see how hot... how sweet you are... perfect. Bleedin' perfect." He teased her breasts with grazing fingers, spurred on by the helpless whimper she gave him. "You like my hands on you, don't you, kitten?"

Buffy answered by grabbing hold of one of said hands, and molding his grip firmly around her breast. Spike groaned and massaged her delicate skin, reveling in her moan of pleasure. Heat rolled all up and down his spine. "That's right, baby... All you have to do is ask..." Another groan as she swirled those working hips, ecstasy tightening around his cock. "Buffy..."

She was a vision, moaning with those pouty lips, her flushed breasts lifting into his hands with every needy, frantic grind between them. His cock felt thick and heavy and hard, massaged by tight, wet muscles squeezing with the effort to keep him close. Set on milking him dry and drenching him in the process.

A cry of surprise sounded in the overheated room. Buffy hastily wrapped her hands around Spike's arms as he lunged upward. His forearm slipped around her back and she felt it flatten against her spine, toppling her entire body into his chest. Soft curves met solid muscle and conformed. Spike's fingers slipped through the nonexistent crevice between their bodies and reached her clit.

Buffy shivered. "Oh, God..." By the will of his arm she writhed in his lap, against his massaging fingers and the hardness beneath her. She rose a couple inches, slamming back down on him and tensed. Fire gathered in her belly, spiraling downward until she could feel every nerve humming like an antenna in a lightning storm.

"You feel me, sweetheart?" he asked needlessly, pressing her down again, making her whine low in her throat.

"More, more..."

"Never enough..." Spike helped her move faster, guiding the frantic rolls and lifts of her body. His cock was snug up inside her, his balls tightening, tingling with the effort not to give in, to let go...

"Spike!" Buffy's neck arched back and he fell forward, gripping her as tightly as he could without stalling their movements and he felt the release. A strangled moan tore from her throat as nails dug into his arms, unthinkingly sharp. He chanted against her skin, his cock rammed up and the sensation riding him like a wave. "Yes, yes, yes, that's it... my girl... my... God, yes- Buffy."

Spike's mouth opened on a fierce moan just as hers was teetering into frantic little gasps. She clutched him close as his cock jerked and Spike's cum coated her inside. The heat traveled across Buffy's chest and throat, down her belly and somehow made her shiver uncontrollably. She was still catching her breath when his release let him go.

Spike didn't move, didn't drop to the bed in exhaustion, but held onto her for support instead. She was entirely boneless, pliant, her full weight resting on his lap and knees. His arms were clutching her back so tightly now she found she could lean back in them. Counterbalancing somehow kept them upright.

"I love you."

Buffy started. She might have jumped if she weren't so exhausted. Spike's head rose off her neck and his eyes found hers instantly. There was an earnest light in them that appeared to be pleading, and viciously bright. "I love you."

He'd said it again. Without impatience, without asking for more. The admission was simple and resolute, quiet but strong. If he was looking at her with anything it wasn't expectation; it was an emotion much closer to fear.

She didn't know what to say. She knew what she ought to say, but something held her back. Perhaps it was the worry that tonight's epiphanies and gifts were enough to produce a premature conclusion. Perhaps she wasn't ready to say it, even if she felt it. Perhaps the emotions in her heart were strong and present, but she had not yet felt capable of labeling them.

Perhaps, she was frightened.

"I can't- Couldn't help myself," Spike confessed, his entire lifeline mirrored in an expression; he was clearly handing her the scissors. He looked down for the briefest of seconds. "Know I shouldn't... Won't say it again, if you don't want me to. But I meant it. Always have."

Buffy inhaled shakily, a gentle frown pinching her forehead. Warmth and dread poured through her soul.

Spike swallowed. Somewhere in his sapphire eyes, a shutter closed. "I know I don't deserve-... I'm not askin' you for anything. I just wanted to tell-"

"I believe you."

The shutter opened. "You do?"

Buffy wrapped her arms around him, pulling his face in close. "Yes," she said. Her voice was quieter than ever. "And you do... deserve it, I mean."

Spike's head tilted to one side. He looked at her in pure, blissful amazement. "Buffy, I-"

"And you can say it, if you want." She glanced down after interrupting, letting out a nervous breath. "I like it when you say it."

"Are you sure?" He brought her chin up.

She realized then, while staring evenly at a man's expression built of truth, and devotion, and understanding, that Buffy really did like hearing how much he loved her. A man she could easily love in return... if she didn't already. "I'm sure."

And she kissed him, catching Spike by surprise, just to prove it.





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