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A/N...huge apologies for the long time in updates. I so hope that I still have my wonderful reviewers. Many thanks go to those offering advice and info. I will without doubt contact you if I get stumped by something. Personal thanks will go to those at the end of this who were so wonderful as to review the previous chapter. Please, if you like this chapter, let me know.



“This isn’t so bad. This is actually kinda neat,” Buffy whispered conspiratorially to her teeny little charge as Spike spoke on the phone. The milk level in the bottle had fallen so fast that Buffy wondered if the silicone actually had a leak and she just hadn’t noticed it yet.

No way could a baby suck that fast!

The last drops gurgled down to the bottom of the bottle and Buffy smiled at how successful she was at her task.

“Okay, Mr. Experience. Princess Lia is all fed, no more gripees for her.” The smile faltered as the baby’s face screwed up slowly into the most adorable pout the Slayer had ever seen, before letting the most heinous cry explode from her lungs.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the only explosion. As Buffy tipped Ophelia up just a little, leaving her head admittedly a bit wobbly, she screamed in pain, quickly followed by a round of babysick that covered all of Buffy’s front and half her face.

The Slayer—covered from cheek to waist with baby formula—was speechless for all of two seconds, then her own wail built in her diaphragm and she shouted in near hysteria.

“Ewwww…Spiiikke!”

Her frantic eyes landed on the carrier and she quickly put Lia back in, then snatched up a coat—looking pretty tweedy—before rubbing herself raw in desperate need to get the baby vomit off her.

Spike was in front of her in seconds, his smile derisive as he took in her altered state and Rupert’s now ruined jacket.

“Do something,” she pleaded with him, holding her arms out—speckled in puke, her voice all wobbly. “She spit up all over me, Spike.”

He tilted his head to the side and contemplated her thoughtfully. “Did you burp her, pet? Help get her wind up?”

Buffy’s emerald orbs widened. “You couldn’t have told me about doing that?” she spat at him, beyond irritated that her only set of clothes weren’t fit to be worn outside the apartment. Weren’t fit to be worn in the apartment.

“I need to take a shower right now,” she screamed like a banshee at the smirking vampire. He made the mistake of following along behind her and quickly got smacked in the head by her flying top, damp and sodden from Ophelia’s upchuck. That he had his hands buried right in it as he gripped the top in his fists didn’t even register. The bare smooth expanse of her back was the hypnotic focus of his eye as she rushed for the bathroom door, giving the taps over the bath a sharp twist and almost moaning as the water burst through the nozzle.

He’d bumped right through the door as she attempted to swing it closed, not even noticing when he continued to follow her and began salivating when she peeled off her pants, his focus on her back falling as the naked globes of her arse that appeared extremely bitable.

And then she turned around and he felt the fabric in his hand tear as his claws extended and got caught. Holy fuck was she a picture. Bloody perfectly rounded tits that made his fangs itch to taste them, to mark them and make them his property. Her muscular abdomen and arms, the neatly trimmed curls that kept her pussy hidden from his gawking eyes.

And then her hands were intently scrubbing at her skin and he could feel drool dribbling out the corner of his mouth. It must have been a cold breeze that reached her from the open door because she turned suddenly and caught him staring. A scream pierced the steamy air.

“Spppiiiikkkkeeeee! What the hell are you doing?” she screeched at him while frantically trying to cover her luscious body with the shower curtain.

“You know what, Slayer? Lia needs a wash, what with all that baby spew on her.” And he spun on his heel, though unfortunately not quick enough for Buffy to miss seeing the bulge of his pants and flushing bright red over every exposed inch of her body.

When he didn’t come back straight away, Buffy released her death-grip on the curtain and turned back into the water, panting still in shock at his behaviour and then taking a second to wonder at the lack of his snarky comments. She hadn’t expected anything less than his emphasis on how imperfect he found her—too slim, way too small breasts, too muscular for a girl. Not like he wasn’t evil or anything. But he’d been silent, almost an admiring glint in his face just as he was caught and rushed from the room.

Just as her blood pressure resettled on normal and the heat of the water seeped back into her clammy flesh, the shower curtain was torn back and a naked baby thrust into her arms.

“Know what, pet? Best I take off my T-shirt if I’m to help you scrub the little one clean.”

Buffy’s eyes bugged as Spike whipped off the black that hid…the most amazing and sexy abs she had ever seen. No way did Riley or Xander have muscles like that. As she gawked, she completely forgot that she held a baby against her slippery naked body and a Spike poised to do a bit of washing.

He leaned across her, trying hard not to stare at her as he reached for the soap, offering grateful prayers of thanks to the big guy in the sky that good little Ophelia had relaxed her lungs and was finding the warm water soothing.

“Right then, lather up time.” And he soaped up his hands, rubbing them lightly over the baby’s soft skin. Was it his bloody fault if Buffy was holding the munchkin so close to her torso? Course not! So when he went to wash Lia’s back, how could he stop himself from brushing against an agitated nipple? Was bleeding well impossible.

A strangled gasp jiggled the nerves that fed his cock to action, and he felt his hard flesh expand painfully against his zipper, almost wishing for another bout of baby vomit to project from the baby right on his crotch. Any excuse would do in a crisis.

More rubbing, more accidental nipple stimulation and suddenly his hands where on her belly—under the guise of washing Ophelia’s back. Buffy didn’t move, stood completely still as her body began to shake. In Spike’s mind, that was just wrong. Here he was, the Big bloody Bad stroking her tits into delicious peaks and she hadn’t moved or made a noise other than that first painful exhalation. So he let his hand circle her belly, revolutions getting larger and larger until his fingers were brushing the hairs between her legs.

The pounding of her heart stirred his cock some more and he felt like growling—he kept it in with the vicious control on his will that he’d mastered over the twenty odd years spent being piggy-in-the-bloody-middle of Dru and Angelus. Thank fuck that Darla hadn’t wanted a go.

His eyes shot wide as he felt the infinitesimal shift of her position, the subtle parting of her thighs and his finger slipped, diving unintentionally between her pussy lips to attach itself to her clit. Once there it seemed stuck, and the only way he could shake it free was to rub it back and forth. Gently at first and then more vigorously in an effort to get loose.

“Ohhhhh,” she moaned as he desperately tried to get his finger back to safety, grateful again to Higher Powers that she hadn’t at least dropped the baby. Lia seemed to be so comfortable against the Slayer’s warm flesh that she’d closed her eyes, softly breathing the sleep of the innocent as Buffy bucked her hips against his finger.

“Thata girl, luv.” And by some odd fucking twist of hysteria, more of his fingers got caught in her sticky honey, delving up her hole in a way that made him think he was more likely to lose them than ever get them back. As much as he wished to taste whatever it was that held his grip so firmly, he was terrified for his lips and thus stayed on his feet.

She was gyrating against him, dislodging the fingers one minute and giving him hope when they were suddenly sucked back inside, leaving him desperate and with a head full of mush.

So, in the midst of such turmoil, was it so beyond the realm of possibility that he would bend down to kiss the sleeping baby and instead find his head lodged between two scrumptious bodies, teeth latched hard to a nipple as he sucked in a shocked breath.

“Gahhhh,” Buffy told him and he could only nod, the pressure of his suctioning mouth twisting the aching bud from her body. “Spike,” she sobbed and his fingers twisted against the cruel thing that held him hostage, feeling it right to the tip of his cock as the funny nub and the slippery moisture heated and pulsed in his hand.

And only then, when Buffy was panting her way to calm, was he able to pull free, his hand squeezed weak in the nicest way. At the same time, he worked out that the reason he was dripping was because he’d lost his head. Quite literally, even under the pelting shower water. Spike hid a smile as he grabbed up a towel in one hand and turned the faucet off with the other. He thrust the big fluffy towel at Buffy, marvelling at her confused, spaced out expression and took Lia into another. The baby stayed relaxed as he patted her dry.

Then he was gone, dressing and placing his precious excuse into her carry-cot once again.

And Buffy hadn’t moved one lax, brutally satisfied muscle.

A/N..thanks go to Francesca, Seraiza, songgal1, blacknblue2, Tam, Allison, Bloodshedbaby, Cordykitten, spikeskitten2009, samaica, Crystal Pegasus, and Mariana.





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