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“You’re bloody kidding me, right?”

Giles hid a small grin as he ducked his head and turned away, leaving Willow to look between the two men—correction: man and vampire—licking her lips in cold nervousness.

“It’s not like you have to do anything,” she squeaked. “You could just lie down on the table, and let me do all the…” She turned slightly green, “work?”

Spike could detect the slight shake about her body and his brows shot up in alarm.

“What are you so bleeding fidgety about?” he barked at the redhead, starting to feel pretty sick about the whole thing. “It’s not like you’re having your insides ripped open.”

“Well, neither are you,” she told him with a second’s bravery, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff. But then they loosened and dropped to her sides, her heart rate picking up and speeding along with anxiety. “Not exactly,” she qualified with her nervous cutesy Willow smile.

Spike pinned her with his hard glare.

“What exactly would you call being cut open and having your insides set aside to find a good pokey, hidey place for the little ring? A bloody skin graft?”

“Hey,” Willow challenged and Spike admired her for finally retrieving her backbone. “I’m here to help you, you…big…evil…vampire, so enough with the scary eye glaring and the…you know…British swearing.”

Spike tipped his head to the side and contemplated her. He knew she was capable and truthfully he got a bit of a kick out of riling the witch up but he still wasn’t eager to repeat the experience of Scoobies slitting his skin and poking and prodding.

“Just mind I’m not a bleeding experiment, alright?” And he abruptly turned his back on them and tugged his tight black t-shirt over his head.

“How do you want me?” he asked in a bored tone, turning swiftly back to visibly catch the answer. He was confronted instead with wide eyes and enlarged pupils, and a redhead gasping for breath.

“No wanting. Nope, definitely no wanting of the me variety. You, Giles? You want him?” Willow, suddenly realising what she had implied by the Watcher’s thunderous countenance, backtracked in a panic, gave a little eep, and raced for the bathroom. Both men smiled in agreeable humour when they heard the distinct click of the door lock.

Within minutes she was back, her face slightly dampish and cooled, and her eyes frosty and businesslike.

“On the table, vampire.”

She couldn’t look at him as he gave a little jump and landed with his back flat to the hard surface.

“Is this enough?” he asked her, enjoying his view of her returning flush. “Or should I take off the daks as well?” He winked at her and she took a giant step backwards.

“Daks?” she whispered in confusion.

“You know,” he leered. “The jeans. Might need an alternative place to shove the Gem…”

He took comfort in her jump.

“N-no.” She took a hesitant step closer to the table and took a quick look at him from under her lashes. “I, er, think I can find a spot.” She swung around to confront Giles with a questionable lack of composure. “And I’m doing this instead of you again, because why?”

Flustered, Giles grabbed his glasses and began the familiar rub. “I thought it would be a… good experience for you. Besides, you are much better at science than I could ever be.”

She gave a short nod showing she understood his logic but not his madness, and instead she started to sweep lengths of her hair behind her ear while swiping at her heating forehead. Her anxiety about the situation was changing her normal colour to red, almost the shade to match her hair.

It was fun to tease her, but the rising hysteria evidenced by her thundering heartbeat was enough to put Spike off the whole idea. Enough to make him want to bury the ring and forget he ever knew of its existence. He didn’t want someone so lacking in confidence cutting into his body, even if it did make him invincible.

“Jus’ because vamps heal faster, and don’t die if you muck up the surgery, doesn’t mean you can use me as a bleeding experiment.”

Spike intercepted the nervous look that passed between the redhead and the Watcher, and felt his jaw clench in spasm. A subtle nod from Willow, and she was turned toward him again, a wicked looking genuine scalpel cosseted in her palm.

“Oi,” Spike stopped her headlong dive into cutting his guts open. “Where exactly are you plannin’ on puttin’ this ring?”

Willow’s look of confusion added to his rising reservations.

“Bleeding hell, girl! Tell me you’ve at least thought of where you were going to put it? Given the thought a little bit of consideration?”

Her short negative shake of the head was priceless. Spike began to chuckle as he leaned back on his elbows.

“Well, this is bloody charming, this is! Were you at least plannin’ to drop it in deep enough so’s it doesn’t muck up the smooth line of my abs?”

“Oh,” she exclaimed as if the concern had only just occurred to her. “S-Sure, Spike. Absolutely. R-real deep!”

Spike began to sit up to slide from the table when her visible exclamation mark hit the air. “I’ve got it! I can cut the small intestine, thread the ring through it, and then tie it back up in a bow.”

The fear that struck Spike as her words lay flat in front of him forced his feet into action and he gingerly slipped off the table and took a few big steps backwards. He spied the ring on the edge of the table and jumped for it, clasping it tightly in his hand and bolted for the bathroom, repeating Willow’s earlier action by shutting the locking mechanism.

Dropping the toilet lid, Spike took a seat. He slipped the ring over his finger and studied it, cringing at its ugliness. By compulsion his eyes drifted to the door and when he could hear the murmuring of voices, he used his enhanced senses to pick out the topic of conversation. Him. No surprises there.

The witch was frantically arguing that she wasn’t qualified for such an undertaking as exploring inside demon guts, and Giles was attempting to sway her with arguments twice as valid.

And Spike sat hiding in the bathroom completely stunned that these humans—ones who had alternated between rejecting him and begrudging his help and knowledge; ones who had been outraged at his developing love and devotion to their Slayer, and then later just cruel in regards to how he felt about them bringing her back—were trusting him. Helping him.

This lot didn’t seem to be as hung up on his lack of soul like their future selves were. He should have known the lack of trust would date all the way back to brood brow. The Watcher had actually taught these kids that demons were stereotypical, ultimately evil and not worthy of the ground they walked upon. And yeah, to the larger extent they would be right.

Good old Angelus had set the rules in concrete. His heinous existence and his crimes while without his soul added up to nothing but cause a discriminating belief to spring from the mind of the Watcher, and thus hammering in the first nail in the coffin that would represent Spike’s unlife. A hollow box; no air, no sunshine, no love. Frankly, no Buffy and no Dawn. How could she think he could live like that?

But it had all changed on the wisp of an ill-judged wish, and so far he wasn’t seeing the pitfalls. Which was highly suspect being that the equation consisted of the Hellmouth, vengeance wishes and he and Buffy.

He wasn’t waiting around for the big Kaboom, however. If everything was going to go arse over tit, then he wanted to make sure he’d gotten as much benefit out of the experience as possible, and try to make life a little better for Buffy in the process.

Which brought him back to the ring and his cowardly hiding in a locked bathroom, perched on the toilet lid while he waited for one of them to grow enough balls to cut him into colourful ribbons.

Fuck that! He wouldn’t put it past Red at all to simply splice his intestines, string the ring through and tie them together with a nice decorative flourish. And despite his handy not needing any of those vitals, it just wouldn’t do. They were still his guts, reasonably ordered in the correct cavities, and he didn’t want the witch to go mucking up anything she didn’t have extensive knowledge of. Vampire physiology being one topic seemingly lost on her.

Bugger it. There was nothing else for it. He’d chomped on whore’s necks, cleaned his teeth with the bones of babies…well, alright, slight exaggerations…but he’d lived in Harris’s basement for a week and that had to mean he could do anything, right? So, Spike gave the ring with the protruding green stone a resentful glare before placing it on his tongue. With a little flick he threw his head back and swallowed it whole, feeling the jagged edge of the jewel as it made his way down the narrow tubes to his stomach.

Spike groaned the entire trip. Only one thing could help this little experience be a tiny bit less repulsive.

Spike thrust open the door and practically ran to the kitchenette, retrieving the first pack of blood he could grab and heated it to the minimum temperature he could tolerate, vamped and allowed the smooth metallic liquid to ooze down his poor punished throat.

When at last he could feel no more internal movement, Spike hefted a relieved sigh and accepted that the ring was probably in his belly. Only then did he realise the possibility that not wearing it might render the magic of the ring ineffective. He could have thought to test the bloody thing before thrusting the bugger down his throat. What if it didn’t work?

There was only one way for him to tell without the risk of burning himself to a crisp and humiliating himself into the bargain. Striding back to the living room, he gingerly picked up the first crucifix he came across and watched as his hand flinched and gathered the strength to throw it away.

Nothing happened. No fizzling of his skin rejecting the Holy artifact. Spike felt weak with joy as emotion gathered to strangle his throat. The Gem worked as it sat comfortably and out of trouble in his belly. It wasn’t under threat, unless someone stabbed him and spilled his guts…or unless Glory continued along and probed it out of him. At least he would be more able to help Buffy with the crimped-haired bitch of a god with the less threat to his unlife and his immortality virtually guaranteed.


He felt an added coolness on his cheek and identified it as the subtle breeze rushing by his tears and he smiled wide at the two humans as they stood watching him hold the cross with building apprehension. But he missed it, being so caught in thrall of the possibilities and the differences this chance had made of his unlife.

Pumped up on gratitude—even though they hadn’t actually done anything—Spike flew at Willow, engulfing her in a hug just as her frightened scream touched her lips. Giles had blanched at the initial swoop, but as Spike swung Willow up high in the air and around like was probably last done to her as a child, he laughed with gentle humour and pleasure. Thoughts on the possible ramifications of lending support and encouragement to a vampire with no soul seemed heavily in the ‘forget about it’ pile.

Making a gradual decline from his high, Spike held the girl away from him and let her see the sparkling waters of his eyes.

“So,” started Giles, bringing Spike swiftly to the living room he was behaving like such a git in. “What do you plan to do as your first feat of daylight tolerance?”

Spike stopped abruptly, a look of exhilaration passing across his face.

“Saturday, right?”

Giles and Willow nodded, wondering what the significance of the day of the week was.

“Where would Buffy be, do you think?”

Willow smothered a grin and furrowed her brow, a small teasing light reflected in the hue of her eyes.

“It’s not lunch time yet. My guess would be she’s still happily in the land of nod.”

Spike watched her, incredulous. But a snort of dishonesty didn’t erupt from her mouth, and with his knowledge of the redhead and her inability to lie straight in bed—let alone in front of his all-seeing eye—he was inclined to believe Buffy was still snuggled up in her bed.

And an evil smirk of intent curled his lip.

“Right. ‘Bout time the Slayer was upright and useful, wouldn’t you think?”

Before either could reply, he’d swept out of the flat, his coat flapping like bat wings, or a superhero’s cape.

“Well, that was about the best vampire surgery I’ve ever done,” confided Willow with her quirky grin.

“Quite,” replied Giles, feeling rather chuffed with the achievement despite having lifted not even a finger. “It was rather the best demon operation I’ve ever observed, too.”

They shared a moment of happy certitude before the smiles faltered slowly.

“You don’t think we’ve made a massive mistake, do you?” Willow’s voice was suddenly small and she resembled the demeanor of a confused frightened teenager and Giles prayed to God they hadn’t.

He removed his glasses from his face and began his nervous polishing.

“I guess time will tell, and just hope we haven’t created a mon…well, a larger problem.”

Willow shivered and worried about Buffy and her no doubt in-transit visitor.

Had they just made a big mistake allowing Spike to become so powerful? Giving him free reign over night as well as day?

Willow hoped not because despite the whole threatening to rip your throat out thing, she kinda liked him. Even more than Angel. At least he knew how to have fun and didn’t brood so much.

With a silent prayer that things would be all right in Slayerland, Willow helped Giles clean up the operation instruments: sharp scalpel, darning needle and fishing line. Then she disappeared into the sunshine for some quality homework time.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The sunlight couldn’t prevent his first venture to her window. Perched on a limb outside her bedroom he watched her writhe and twist her bedsheets into an adorable little tangle. Though her head was turned toward her other wall, Spike had the glorious vision of her hair. He was twisting himself into knots with longing to wrap his hands in that mane and tugging her head round so he could capture her mouth in a brutal hello kiss.

It never occurred that anyone could see him from the street, that he looked more stalkerish now than he had when he’d needed to stalk. But luckily he was hidden from view by branches and he was allowed to look on his woman in leisure.

She was exquisite, if young.

And the thought of having to wait for her to grow up a little was giving him a whopper of a headache.

As he watched her body shifted, allowing her cover sheet to drag a little lower and revealing a whole lot of thigh as her leg fell off the edge of the bed. Spike grinned as he mentally swept over the secrets of her body.

‘She’d be a mite cheesed off if she knew how well I know that body,’he thought, but couldn’t hold back on the smiling pleasure he felt. Thoughts of Buffy—his Buffy—led him down a bittersweet track. Her easy giving of her body but not her heart had his smile fading and he lowered his head.

He couldn’t help but become overwhelmed by the possibilities…the ‘what if’s’ about this crazy ride he had embarked upon. Not like there was any chance of a refund if he bollocksed the whole thing up. Anya would have definitely bestowed more wishes on the unsuspecting heartbroken, so the option of contacting her and going back to the world he had already lived was impossible. He had no choice but to make the best of it.

But what if Buffy had told him the truth? What if she had truly meant that she could never love him, never even like him enough to acknowledge to her friends that she spent time with him? The constant circle of those options near drove Spike insane and he wanted to squash something rather heavily.

The heart that didn’t beat, that to her didn’t feel love, clenched in agonising dread. To have to watch her again be made a fool of by Angel was unbearable to contemplate. If nothing else he had to prevent the emergence of Angelus, redirect her interest from the souled vamp. Sure, with every unliving cell within him Spike wished she would move on with him, allow him to prove to her how good he could be, how loving and devoted he would be.

But if the chance never accomplished, he would be content—well more likely satisfied yet devastated—if he could steer her away from unleashing the greatest git, Angelus. And save a whole bunch of Scooby innocence to boot. Poor little Red had never gotten over the horror of her dead goldfish. Angelus was a right cruel bastard, and that little feat took the cake.

The teacher would live.

Spike couldn’t help but wonder what the Watcher might have been like toward him in later years if he hadn’t lost the chance of love. Yeah, so if Buffy would never love him, never see him as anything but a hot stud to get her kicks, he could be content that he had saved an important life, insuring Rupert’s happiness, and kept Buffy from encountering one of the most heinous evil vampires in history.

Not that Spike was overly keen to see his sire post-soul.

The soul had changed him, added to his cruelty and single-minded obsession to make the world pay. Though Spike’s love for Dru had receded far back into memory—been usurped by the enormity of his feelings for Buffy—he still felt the cut of Angelus’s hatred for him. That the elder vamp had forced the issue with Dru—reclaiming her duties as his childe in the absence of his beloved Darla—had created a new level of strained relationship between the two male kin.

While the beginning of their relationship had been fraught with William’s often misguided but bloody efforts to get his Sire’s approval, the latter half of twenty years had established a bond between them that the soul had destroyed forever. When the leash had been removed, the Angelus of old was replaced with a vindictive bastard that no longer cared who he had loved as his evil persona, instead forgoing every feeling to wreak havoc and pain on those who welcomed his soulful status.

So, Spike nipped it in the bud. If anything, he felt sure of his minimal influence over Buffy’s libido. He knew he could get her hot, was still reeling about her requested taste of him. To have his cock surrounded by her cool wet lips had been pure bliss. That she’d wanted him to be first in that way, near blew the top off his head. Or melted the gel in his hair.

Again his eyes turned to her lying peacefully on the bed, and when he encountered amused green eyes open and observing him outside her window, he nearly fell out of the tree in shock.

“Ah, good morning?” he struggled as he desperately tried to cover up his less than graceful slide down the branch.

Her eyes widened comically as his words sunk in and she saw the sunlight filtering round him and the leaves on the tree. Like an erratic bolt of lightening she streaked from the bed, her minimal sleeping attire blurring as she rushed to him, grabbed his shirt and slammed him into the invisible barrier keeping him out.

“Spike,” she shouted in horror, again slamming his face into the barrier so hard his teeth rattled. Again and again until he felt his consciousness compromised.

“Buffy,” he shouted, frantically trying to loosen her grip on his t-shirt before his face became vampire mush. “Invite me in, luv. Might be better on the looks.”

“Come in, Spike,” she rushed through her lips and all of a sudden they flew backwards and sprawled in an unseemly pile on the floor, Spike bruised and in pain but lying in his favourite spot. Directly on top with his hips nestled between her legs.

Though inside they still lay in sunlight, so with a quick twist and a tug Buffy had encased them within her comfy bedding, finally sighing heavily with the relief of protecting him from combustion.

There was silence in the dark, only one chest heaving with both fright and breath.

“You scared the crap out of me,” screeched the more feminine voice in the darkness, and Spike chuckled through painful lips.

“Might ‘ave picked up on that a tad, pet.”

The following silence did nothing but emphasise the bulge resting against her panties and Spike bit desperately down on the impulse to grind into her a little. When the cup of her hips lifted fractionally, that was the end of his endurance and he rubbed his crotch against her damp panties hard. His face fell to the crook of her neck and his human teeth latched on to her skin, muffling his cry of yearning.

He wanted to rip off her clothes, bath her with his tongue until she was utterly incoherent. He wanted her naked and writhing in fits of ecstasy while his tongue manipulated her into love. He needed so badly for her to believe his feeling for her, so the quick violent encounter was out this time round. No taking her up against walls in crumbling condemned buildings.

But he could give her a taste…and along the way quench his own thirst.

“Buffy,” he whispered into the air around her, his voice hopeful and tentative.

“Yes,” she whispered back, her voice hitched a little in thwarted desire.

“Remember the other day? When you…you know…” Spike was incredulous. Since when did he have trouble being crude, blatant with the sexual innuendo? Perhaps the fact that it had been Buffy’s first real sexual experience had allowed her innocence to rub off a little and he was slightly more sensitive to how she would see all this.

“When I…um…slayed the generic demon and we had to wash up in Giles’s bathroom?”

Spike choked on a cough of surprise.

“Ah, yeah.”

“What about it?” she asked, her voice heavy with hope.

“I was thinking you might like to feel what it was like for me to slay a generic demon. Less mess when I do it, though.” He wished she could see him wink but was sure she could hear the tease in his voice.

“A girl should always be ready to learn. Whenever you’re ready.” She accompanied her permission with a small slap to his bum and a wriggle of her fanny against his cock and he couldn’t help but growl into her neck. He felt the goosebumps raise on her skin and smiled in satisfaction. Oh yeah, Big Bad still had it.

He looped his finger around the panty strap around her hip and slowly tugged it down, seeking the gleam of her eyes in the blackness. As the elastic gently lowered—and finally the panties freeing her lower body—Spike breathed in deeply and growled in remembered delights. The fragrance of his Slayer would forever be the one thing he could summons memory of in his sleep.

The sweetness of her taste and texture, it brought tears to his eyes. Only just over a week ago she had told him that his love for her could only be real to him, because again, demons were incapable of true emotion. He thought he’d never be able to be with her again and that he was here now, with his nose nudging her curls, brought a lump to his throat and tears to his eyes.

It gave his tongue new purpose.

Her sighs and small nervous shifts of movement opened up his heart and he swallowed the urge to collapse on her belly and cry for her forgiveness, sob for her belief in him. He needed her so badly in his life that it hurt every part of him, even the hidden parts he had never allowed Dru to touch.

Only the thought of his story freaking Buffy out forced him into holding his tongue, so when the appendage instead began to slide over her reddened lips, the gush of her fluid mixed with his cool tears as he worshiped her.

Her fingers tangled in his hair as she pulled him hard against her pussy, back arching as his tongue delved into her depths and exploring so far untouched territory. Her slick walls were like the sweetest dessert, and he felt himself lose control. He lapped at her and stroked with his tongue, gliding over the wet springy flesh as he avoided the one place she was dying to have him taste.

His tongue flicked out without guidance and she gasped, arching her back and pushing her clit further into the sucking vacuum of his mouth. His fingers dived inside her hot passage and smoothed over her…running the moisture all over her as he licked and sucked his way into heaven.

He couldn’t get enough, his body undulating against the floor as he rubbed his cock against the friction of the carpet, getting closer to off as he uncovered her secrets and gave her knowledge. The tears in his eyes multiplied as she bumped her snatch against his lips, his teeth grazing against the stubborn nub. He felt empowered by her cries of anguish, her desperation to feel what she had given him driving all decorum and shyness from her mind as he sucked hard on her clit. He opened his whole mouth to her, sucking her in at a frantic pace, his tongue flickering between gentle soft glides and hard rough swipes.

Her body heaved with the pressure, he could feel the fire bursting from her skin and for a moment he thought he was burning—Gem of Amara be damned. But it was nothing but the flush of her skin, the heat of her desire and need for release. His mouth covered her hardened clit one final time and he bit her, not too hard but enough to tip her over the edge.

She screamed and cried so loudly he thought his eardrums would burst.

He licked her gently, his body shaking with gratitude and love for this girl as he wrapped his arms around her waist. He felt her shudders echo through him and he felt the tears that had appeared when he first breathed her in making tracks to his chin. As her quivering abated, he lifted his head and allowed his body to slide up hers. He controlled the violent urge to tear her top from her flesh so he could take one of her glorious nipples into his mouth, too afraid of sensory overload in both himself and her.

This was the moment he would have liked to hear the words, the feelings he felt swirling around inside him so hard bouncing against him in an effort to find release. He bit the words back, not wanting to spook her. But he could not surrender his right to her lips. They’d just shared something wondrous and her lips were his, at least for now.

If he could make it forever, he would dust a happy vamp.

Long quiet minutes passed them by as they gathered their strength, allowing it to come in small bursts along with the desire building from the kiss.

His lips owned hers and they showed the skill gained from knowing. As his teeth nipped into the plump flesh of her bottom lip, her hands wandered over his back. His tongue, heavily tasting of her juices, succumbed to her frenzy and the kiss became so much more than everything…so much more than them.

He defied her to feel it. It was right, it was real, and it was so very overwhelming.

And her small yet strong hands were undoing his belt buckle.

He felt his cock twitch at the promise, and he wanted her so badly, to feel her heat burn his length again was almost unbearable with need. But he couldn’t do it. Not yet. They needed to learn about each other, he needed to respect her age, and he needed to complete his transition into her world.

He reluctantly removed her fingers from his zip and buried his face in the crook of her neck.

“Buffy, as much as I would love to go there with you, I think it’s too soon.”

He prayed she wouldn’t test him on his sudden resolve.

“You are still evil, right?” He could hear the pout in her voice and he couldn’t help but smile at the innocence of this younger Buffy.

“Blatantly evil, luv. And when it’s time, you’ll know it.”

He snuggled up against her warmth, the sun beating down on their covered backs and finally Buffy connected the dots.

“Spike? How could you be sitting outside my window in the sun without turning into dust particles on the breeze? And hey? Can floating dusty vampire get into my house when they weren’t invited?”

Spike smiled into her creamy neck.

“Bit of a story there. You got some time?”

And he told her about his newfound sun tolerance while curled up under the girly protection of slayer bedding.

Spike knew he was in heaven.

A/N...I am so grateful for your reviews...some new names this time...glad to have you on board and I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thanks go to: Bloodshedbaby, Tam, Cynthia, songgal1, spikes slayer, Charlene and Cordykitten. I would love to hear from other readers!





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