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Just a little V-day story for my girl Merry Christmas!!!

Set in February; Quasi S6; Buffy beats Spike at Poker....

Parameters: Buffy beating Spike at a game of Poker, Spike wearing pink boxers, an item on a desk. No mention of actors names, no alcohol, and no mention of a computer.




Royal Flush

Friday, February 11

Spike’s lower crypt

“So,” Buffy drew out her breath, “a full house beats…?”

“Your two pair,” Spike said patiently.

Buffy looked over at the cards Spike just laid down and then glared at him, “You’re cheating.” He stuck his tongue between his teeth, trying to stop the chuckle before she decided to punch him. She was so adorable sitting on his bed in nothing but one of his shirts. She looked delectably naughty with her sexy tousled hair.

“Am not,” he insisted as he collected the pretzel rods used as mock poker chips. He grabbed the last rod and popped it into his mouth, crunching on the snack. “Can’t help that you can’t play to save your life.”

“Pig,” Buffy threw the rest of her cards into the pile on top of his bed. She looked around the crypt and stretched her arms above her head. Spike followed her movement with lust filled eyes. “I could win, you know. If you stopped cheating, I could win.”

“I am not cheating,” Spike insisted. “I’d never cheat with you. We could always make this a bit more,” he looked her up and down, “interesting. That way you know I wouldn’t be cheating”

“What do you mean?” Buffy asked slowly.

“Well,” Spike smirked, “we could make the stakes higher.” Spike shuffled the cards in his hands as he watched Buffy’s reaction.

Buffy smiled suddenly wet with desire, “And what would those stakes be?” She climbed onto her knees, careful not to disturb their pretzel piles. Spike shrugged his shoulders. Buffy slowly drew her hand down her body, enticing his eyes to travel the expanse, “Maybe you mean a different bet.”

Spike’s mouth went dry as he watched her hand caress her body, barely pausing over her breasts as it made its way down her torso. “A different bet,” he mimicked.

“Any suggestions?” She asked as she leaned forward. “Maybe we get rid of these pretzels, what do you say?”

“Sounds good, luv,” Spike’s voice cracked.

“What ever will we replace them with?” Buffy leaned on one arm as her other reached out to Spike’s bare chest, drawing her fingers down. “A new stake? Let’s see, a wooden one? Or something a bit different?” She punctuated her phrase with a poke to his heart. “Kittens? No, I think I’ve got a better idea.”

“Do tell,” Spike smiled. He loved it when Buffy was in a good mood. It didn’t happen often lately. She seemed morose and broody around her friends. He tried to rescue her as much as he could; drawing her away from the pain of remembrance. Her short trip to heaven and subsequent return to life cut deeply into her soul.

“Strip poker is so lame,” she commented. “That stunt at my birthday party? Don’t think I didn’t miss it, mister! I knew what you were up to.” Spike bit his tongue about her birthday party and the fake date Xander set her up on. Lucky for him, Buffy didn’t want anything to do with it and ended up locked in the basement with Spike for most of the party. Until a demon was released from the sword, no one really realized that she was missing for nearly all of the party anyway.

“What’s on your mind, then?”

“OK,” Buffy sat back on her heels, suddenly breaking off contact with Spike’s chest. “If I win you have to let me infuse some color into your wardrobe!”

Spike bit his tongue, trying to shut up the part of his mind that reminded him that he’d already tried to woo her with a change of wardrobe. “And if I win?”

“Short of telling my friends,” she looked at him seriously, “Anything.”

“Anything?” She nodded her head.

“That’s a bet,” Spike stuck his hand out.

“Really?” Buffy asked carefully her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What do you want?”

“Shake my hand,” Spike smiled evilly.

“Not before I know what you want.” Buffy drew her hands up, refusing to accept the challenge.

“I promise pet, I won’t make you tell your friends.” Spike sighed.

“Promise?” Buffy asked.

“Yes,” Spike kept his hand out, “Shake on it?”

“Tell me what you want first.”

“A dance.” Spike said simply.

“A dance? That’s it?” Buffy snorted. “Sure.”

“A dance, at the Bronze.”

“No way!” Buffy exclaimed. “That’s just as good as telling them.”

“Monday, Bronze is empty on Mondays. Dance with me this Monday.”

“Monday?” She asked slowly and then thrust her hand into his, “You’re so going to lose.”

“Come here,” Spike quickly pulled in her hand, making her body tumble forward. “I think we need to seal this bet with a kiss.”

Buffy gasped as her mouth covered his. She felt his tongue lick against her bottom lip. He let go of her hand in favor of wrapping his arm around her waist. Spike shifted back, allowing her body to fit against his. His left hand drew through her hair, holding her head still as he deepened their kiss.

Buffy’s hands were not as idle. Her right hand rested against his chest as they made out. Her left hand tugged against the belt loops of his jeans bumping their groins together. Her tongue licked against his, tasting the tobacco still clinging to his taste buds.

Spike rolled over on top of Buffy, driving their lower bodies closer. “I want you,” he whispered through their kisses.

“Me too,” she answered breathily. The cards and pretzels were crushed under their bodies, forgotten by the couple.

Before either knew what had happened both their remaining clothes vanished. Spike rolled his cock against her bare thigh, trying to stave off his excitement. She wasn’t helping him much. Her moans and touches were driving him to distraction. He hoped that she wouldn’t realize what day Monday was, knowing she would never agree to it if she did. Spike had no doubts on his chances of winning the bet, knowing Buffy couldn’t even remember the ranking of the hands, let alone keep a poker face. Between playing for kittens and trying to teach her at her disastrous birthday party, she didn’t have a chance with him. Her hands were encouraging him again, licking at the flames of his desire to be one with her.

Her legs separated, one of them hooking over his, drawing him closer to a bit of heaven. Spike licked the skin on her shoulder, stopping to nip at a sensitive area. His body drew closer to hers, shifting towards her.

Spike wanted to bite Buffy; his demon wanting to feel the bite again. It was more, though.

More than just a bite, much more than just a bite.

And, as the fates laughed down at William the Bloody, he laughed silently to himself.

That was the kicker; Spike realized after the chip didn’t work on her. The only person on the earth that he could bite, that he could hurt, was the only person he couldn’t hurt.

Vampire.

In part, it was domination. A vampire’s bite usually was about domination. Taking away something.

Life.

Then on the flip side.

It was submission. He needed the bite, and the blood that resulted, to live on. He had to submit to it. Submit to the creatures that would give it. Submit to the call.

Then there were other layers to it all.

Familial. A bite was comforting. From a Sire it was comfort like a mama cat carrying her kitten around by the scruff of its neck. From a Childe it was more towards showing affection. The bite, being as primitive as it was, created family. Created Childes and Sires. It cemented relationships within the family.

Sexual. Spike almost groaned from the thought. Given the right way, a bite could cause the ultimate orgasm. He knew that Buffy knew this also, smelled it every time he went into game face. She had to have realized it when she forced Angel to bite her. The result wasn’t about love or desire. It was a sick joke that t Angelus gave to them, one last hurray. The sick bastard took over Angel’s body just for a quick moment in Angel’s weakend state. Pleasure and temptation. It finally was enough to separate them.

Claiming. He craved to claim her as his, to eradicate all other’s marks left on her soft neck. It would be more than just protection, she would also be his mate. Spike knew it wouldn’t be so. She refused to tell her friends, her family about them; what makes him think she would accept his claim and return it. The one stipulation she put on their bet: Don’t make her tell her friends about them. Nothing about public humiliation or sexual games. She didn’t fear these things, only him. It was almost enough to deflate his desire. Almost.

The fact that she was in his bed, willingly spread out for his pleasure was the saving grace.

He’d been around enough to listen to the Scoobies prattle on about her duty to the world and to them. She should be thankful to them. She was nothing more than a sentry for them. Someone to protect them from the horrors of the Hellmouth. They no longer even made the effort of patrolling with her. They disappeared from that front shortly after her return trip to this lovely land, leaving her open to weakness. They moved on with their lives, barely noticing her personality disappearing. He listened outside of the window while Willow complained about Buffy not spending time with her. Opting to complain versus help with paying the bills or slaying. They could have helped ease her burden or saved her from slaving away in a grease pit night after night, begging for overtime and double shifts just to make ends meet.

Spike watched Buffy though. He saw her come home from work wearily, only to be barraged with accusations and guilt when she arrived home. She was never around anymore, working and slaying. She never had enough time for them. He watched her straighten the house while the others lived their lives. He wanted to help. He could help if she would allow him to. But she didn’t. She refused to let him help.

He knew that she knew that he was watching her. And she knew he knew. It was a game, Spike decided. He would sit outside and pretend not to be frustrated and she would be inside and pretend to not want to be outside with him. She would wait until Willow left the house. Wait until Dawn fell asleep or wanted to go to a friend’s house. Then she would stop the charade of ignoring him, of not wanting to be with him.

“Come in, Spike.” Her voice would spiral in the night air, hanging daintily on the dew of the tree. It was the same phrase each time, permission that she denied him last year. He would saunter inside with a smirk, throwing away his cigarette butt right before he entered her domain. They wouldn’t stay long. Never lingered in the empty house, it didn’t feel right to either of them. Maybe it was Joyce’s ghost, or the voices that haunted each of them, but neither wanted to linger longer than necessary.

They would leave the house, her imposing prison that still reflected her deceased mother’s life. Their bodies would synchronize together, moving as one, before they hit the first cemetery. By the end of the first sweep, their energies hummed with anticipation. During the second sweep, one of them would succumb to temptation and make the first move.

It was a familiar dance now, comfortable even. They would end up in his lower crypt, clawing at each other, trying to crawl into the other’s body. Just as they were doing, right now.


Her legs drew Spike closer, angling them as one. Their mouths crashed together as his cock drove inside her. Spike gritted his teeth as her wet heat enveloped him. It was always over too quickly, for both of them. Their appetite for each other was too great.

~*~*~

They were sitting in the upper level of Spike’s crypt. Buffy was fully dressed and perched on top of a sarcophagus. She watched as Spike shuffled the cards and dealt them out; prim and proper, watching him carefully, making sure he didn’t cheat. Her hair was no longer a tangled mess; instead she had it pulled back in a small pony tail.

“You’re so going to lose, Spikey!”

“Right, Goldilocks.” Spike moved his cards back and forth in his hand.

“Give me two,” Buffy threw two cards down onto the aging stone.

Spike picked up the deck and dealt her cards out to her. “Dealer takes one,” he murmured. Spike looked over the top of his cards at Buffy, waiting for her to make the next move.

“So?” She said, a smile lighting her face.

“Your call, pet.” Spike noticed her heart rate pick up; she must have a good hand.

“I just have two pair,” Buffy batted her eyelashes. “This pair of nines,” she laid the cards down and then quickly laid another pair down, “And this pair of nines.”

Spike smiled at Buffy, she was practically jumping up and down on the stone, convinced that she won. He looked down at his cards and drew them together, “Looks like you beat me, Slayer,” he threw his cards face down.

“Yeah, I win, I win.” Buffy cheered. She jumped up from the stone and danced around. “Nah, nah, nah, nah. I win.” Spike watched her dance around, a small smile gracing his lips. He shook his head and got up.

Walking over to his makeshift bar area he grumbled, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You bloody won, fair and square. What are you going to make me wear? Pink underoos?”

“Spike,” Buffy stood still, her smile fully in place. “This is me gloating. Give me five minutes?”

“Sure thing, Slayer.” Spike said as he turned around, his smile returning as he heard her commence dancing and celebrating. It was worth it to hear the happiness in her voice.

~*~*~

Spike rolled over under the comforter missing the warm body he had become accustomed to. Buffy left the crypt early in the morning. She refused his escort citing that the sunrise was close and she had things to do on her day off from the Doublemeat Palace. He inhaled her scent that clung to the dark sheets, inducing his erection.

It was mid afternoon and Spike still hadn’t moved from the bed. He wanted to do nothing but pout. Buffy told him as she left that she would be back in the afternoon, ready to collect her spoils.

It was a revelation each sunrise. She left him. He knew with his head and heart that it was the last thing she wanted to do. He would look into her eyes and see her torn soul flapping in the breeze as she warred within herself. Duty and honor versus desire and need. Each morning Spike would think that today he would triumph. That she would win over her compulsory obligation. And each day, Spike was convinced that tomorrow she would but tomorrow was just too far away.

Spike was so lost in his melancholy thoughts that he didn’t hear her barge into the upper crypt or her entrance to the lower crypt.

Buffy threw down two large bags to the lower crypt with a loud plop. She followed down the ladder quickly. Exhausted, she looked over at Spike sleeping in the bed. His head was buried under what she considered her pillow. The comforter slipped down his shoulders to reveal his muscular back.

Giving into temptation she walked over to the bed and disrobed. She carefully crawled up her side and slipped in next to him.

“Buffy?” his groggy voice questioned.

“Shh, go back to sleep.” Spike moved to allow Buffy to lie down on the pillow. His strong arms came around her naked flesh and molded her into his manly curves. He felt her sigh in relaxation, giving them a quiet moment.

Spike stayed awake, he couldn’t help it. It was rare that she would do something like this. Rare to hang around without having sex. Rare to just be together. Spike shook his head, no that wasn’t right. Something happened after her birthday party. Something to change her behavior. She was around more and it didn’t center on sex. She was no longer running off with her virtue fluttering behind her. Spike was surprised to say the least. He should have picked up on it sooner. They were having a relationship.

~*~*~

Buffy stretched under the comforter and felt Spike’s body against her skin. Even though she wouldn’t admit it out loud, she liked waking up next to him, in his bed, naked. She could purr when Spike laid his heavy hand on the small of her back, the pads of his fingers massaging her tight muscles

Spike shifted, bringing his body closer. He smelled her arousal as soon as she became aware of her surroundings. Her heartbeat picked up tempo and her skin radiated heat. Propped up on one hand, his face lowered to her, inhaling her scent.

“Morning, luv,” he breathed, his lips caressing the curve of her shoulder.

“It’s the afternoon,” she whispered back, her body arching into his touch.

“Technically it’s the evening, but we won’t split hairs will we?” Spike’s hand moved down her back onto her buttocks. He felt her squirm under his ministrations but continued his path down her body.

“Pig,” Buffy snorted and then gasped at Spike’s fingers found their way between her thighs and began to strum around her sex “Stop,” she breathed as her legs spread further apart, allowing him full access.

“Make me,” Spike’s lips nibbled closer to her neck, eliciting her squeals of delight.

“I will,” she insisted. “As soon as my brain starts to work.”

“Liar.” His fingers moved further inside her, slipping easily inside her passage. Spike twisted his hand to press his thumb against her clitoris.

“Oh God!” She gasped as she rode Spike’s fingers, her head twisted to look at his smug face. She smiled as Spike’s blue eyes looked at her in the darkened room. She groaned and buried her head further into the pillow, feeling her orgasm build. She wanted more, needed more stimulation. She was convinced that he knew it and was teasing her on purpose.

“Been called that before,” he mused, his lips forming the words carefully. “But I never thought I would hear you call me that.”

“Spike,” she warned, her knees inching up, creating a different sensation. “Please,” she begged as his fingers moved slower.

“What do you want?” His voice echoed in her head, “This?” His fingers delved deeper, spreading her with three fingers.

“Uh!” She groaned as he pulled out.

“Or this?” Spike’s thumb pressed against her clit and moved it quickly.

“Oh!” she panted short and fast.

“Or something like this?” He moved his fingers deep inside her and stimulated her with his thumb.

“Oh go-Spike!” Buffy screamed as her orgasm ripped through her. Spike continued to draw out her orgasm. His lips tickled her skin as she came down from her high. Buffy’s knees moved back down, her body relaxed and content. “Now that’s what I call a wake up call.”

“Sure is,” Spike agreed as his licked his fingers, “Mmm, finger licking good.” He smacked his lips together. Buffy rolled over onto her back and looked over at him.

“Ewwe, Pig!” Buffy’s hand shot out and half heartedly slapped him on the shoulder.

In retaliation, Spike rolled over on top of her. “You love it.”

“It disgusts me,” she insisted.

“It makes you hot,” he answered as their bodies fitted closer to each other.

“Talk about losing the mood,” she rolled her eyes and hips.

“Better than blood, divine ambrosia.” He asserted.

“Pervert,” her lips twitched as she tried to repress her smile.

“Give me a kiss,” Spike breathed as their lips collided. Spike thrust his tongue into her awaiting mouth, the taste of her arousal clear and tangy. They moved together, their bodies instinctively knowing each other and the dance they were about to perform.

~*~*~

“So what’d you bring?” Spike asked, his body relaxed against his headboard. Buffy’s head rested against his stomach as his fingers played with strands of her hair.

“Who says I brought you anything?” she chuckled, her body relaxed next to him.

“Well,” Spike sighed. “I see those bags over there near the ladder, and not to mention you throwing them around.”

“I did not throw them around!” Buffy pouted. “They’re my spoils!”

Buffy quickly got up and moved around the bed. Spike watched silently as she walked towards the bags, he loved watching her like this. Totally relaxed and unaware of her beauty. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“They’re for you,” she threw a small bag towards him.

Spike opened the bag up, “Blood hell woman! It was a joke.”

“Oh, I thought you were serious.” She batted her eyelashes at him and stuck a finger in her mouth, looking as innocent as she could.

“Pink knickers?” Spike yelled. “You thought I was serious about pink knickers?” He lifted out a pair of shiny, pink boxers.

“Technically you said ‘pink underoos’ but I couldn’t find any in your size.” Buffy laughed.

Spike hid his smile and delight to be the recipient of her joke. It wasn’t played out for his humiliation or sorrow, but because of her true comfort level with him. She trusted him.

Buffy ran with the rest of the bags toward the bed and hopped up just to settle next to him. “Looky,” she poured out one of the larger bags. “Goodies!”

Spike appraised her choices in material and colors. Gone was the black he usually wore and in its place was a wide array of darker colors. Blues, browns, greens, and reds littered the bed. She kept his jean style, but changed the color. She chose higher end slacks, made with good fabric. She definitely had taste and enjoyed showing it off for him.

“Buffy,” Spike lifted up a dark blue silk shirt. He hated to question her, to bring up the money issue, but he had to. “Where did you get the money for all this?”

Buffy’s mood shifted immediately. Her back stiffened and her smile fell. Spike grabbed her arm before she could retreat. “I said that wrong.” Buffy struggled to free herself. Her head was turned away from him, tears in her eyes. “Please, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Let me go,” she growled low.

“No, come on, Slayer, stop fighting.” Spike pulled her closer to him. He pulled back so far that he hit his nightstand, knocking pens to the ground.

“Let me go,” she thrust her hands out, trying to find purchase with his jaw, but he blocked her attempts. Instead he pulled her across the bed and on top of his lap. He immobilized her by wrapping both his arms around her and pinning her arms against her chest.

“Stop it,” Spike growled into her ear, his demon struggling to get free. “You know I didn’t mean the way it sounded.”

“Let me go,” her tears splashed against his skin, breaking his heart with every drop.

“No, woman will you stop?” Buffy quieted down with her struggles, now fully crying. “I don’t want you to use mortgage money or grocery money on me.” Her tears increased, burning him deeper than any demon could reside within him. “You’re more important than that. The bits more important. I don’t want you losing the house.”

Buffy continued to shed her tears as she listened to Spike. “It’s your last link to your mum, Buffy,” his voice lulled her silent. Understanding dawned on her. “Don’t want to be the cause of that. Let me pay for them, please?”

“Spike,” she gasped for breath. “I wanted to.”

“I know,” One of his arms eased around her, his hand moving up to brush her hair away from her neck so he could plant kisses along it. “But I’m not worth it.”

Buffy got up slowly, knowing that Spike would pull her back at any moment. “Let’s get dressed. I’ve got to patrol.”

They quietly got dressed, the romantic and silly mood that filled the crypt now gone. It now felt cold and stale. Spike helped Buffy up the ladder and barely heard her whisper, “You are worth it.”

By the time Spike made it up the ladder and was ready to confront her, she was out the crypt door, hunting down her prey.

~*~*~

Buffy followed Spike into the crypt later that night. “Will you let me see?”

“No,” Spike insisted, “Only a scrape, Slayer, be right as rain in a few.”

“Spike, please?” Buffy grabbed his hand away from his split lip, her eyes gauging the flow of his borrowed blood and the wound size.

“Is nothing,” Spike grabbed a rag from the sarcophagus and wiped a lot of the blood away, “See, already healing.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes suspiciously. It was her fault that he got hurt. She distracted him when the big horned purple people eater demon came out of nowhere and ripped Spike’s face apart with one swipe of his fist. It was clear that Spike didn’t want to talk about it, just like how she didn’t want to talk about her earlier comment.

Buffy’s eyes came to rest on their cards from the previous night. “Hey, what did you have in your hand yesterday?” She walked over to the sarcophagus and reached for the cards.

“Eh, now,” Spike grabbed her hand before she flipped over his cards. “You know better, Slayer, the cards stand as is.”

“No Spike, the rule is that if I don’t call I can’t see them. I called and I want to see.”

Spike threw the cards to the ground with a swipe of his hands. “Sure thing, Slayer.”

“Uh! I can’t believe you did that!” Buffy stomped her foot, “I wanted to see.”

“Be my guest,” Spike answered as he continued to hold the rag to his healing wound. “They are all right there.”

“Pig! You did that on purpose.”

“Why would I do something like that?”

“Spike!” She yelled and reached for the spilled cards. She suddenly stopped her movement. “You won.”

“What? Don’t be daft,” Spike tuned his back and walked away.

“Oh my god! You won. Look at these cards! These ate mine,” she threw her four nines on the sarcophagus. “These are yours!” she threw more cards down. “Ace of hearts, king, queen, jack, and ten… all hearts.”

“It’s not what you think,” Spike turned around; there was no use in denying it.

“No?” Buffy stood up, “You didn’t try and set me up to dance with you on Valentime’s Day did you?”

“Buffy,” Spike stepped back as she advanced.

“You didn’t, did you? Tell me you didn’t.”

“Look,” he sighed, “Yes, it was the plan.”

“You did?” Spike’s heart broke when she used her little voice.

“I couldn’t go through with it.”

“No,” her voice was steel, “Don’t. I forgot, you’re evil.”

“Slayer,” he grabbed her arm but she wrenched away. “Listen to me.”

“No, I can’t. I can’t even look at you.” Buffy walked towards the door and then looked back at him. “Why humiliate me like that?”

“It wasn’t supposed to humiliate you.” Spike felt the dagger in his heart and he wished it was made out of wood. “It was… never mind. I see it now. A bit of cold comfort; a deep, dark secret to be kept from anyone. I thought we were moving in another direction. Obviously I was wrong.”

“Obviously!” Buffy stomped out of the crypt, her tears close to falling.

“Don’t worry, luv,” he yelled after her. “Won’t ever happen again!”

He fell onto his knees right outside of the crypt, suddenly feeling very empty and alone.

~*~*~*~

Monday, February 14

The night air was crisp and the stars were twinkling high above in the sky. It was a night for lovers. Spike slithered into the Bronze’s back door. Slow, romantic music echoed in the high ceiling as lovers swayed intertwined on the dance floor.

It disgusted him because he couldn’t have that. Never in his unlife did he have that. Everyone may pretend that Drusilla loved him and only him, but they all knew the truth. Angelus held her heart. Harmony didn’t have any loyalty to him and he didn’t have any to her. It was a take take relationship. But now he wanted more, needed more.

He couldn’t yell out to everyone that he loved someone, that someone returned his feelings. It was almost too much to take. He knew it was a cruel joke, what he’d asked her to do. Tricking her to proclaim to everyone that they were lovers, more than lovers. Instead of capturing his prey into the trap, he got caught in it.

Forever love’s bitch.

He knew that he wouldn’t lock her out; he couldn’t live without her, without protecting her nightly. He also knew that she would cool down and come back. Eventually. He just had to wait out her temper. It’s been two whole days and then some. She took a different route in her patrols, he tracked her each night, trying to catch a glimpse, but coming up short.

He headed up to the balcony, by passing the bar. He hoped it was empty. The smell of lust and arousal filled this place, driving his senses crazy. If anyone was using the dark balcony, Spike would have killed them. Chip, Spike regretted. He’d have to settle for glaring at them.

He looked over the railing and saw Willow dancing with Tara. Looks like they made up again, he thought. Glad someone is having luck in their life. Xander and Anya seemed to be talking adamantly at one of the tables, probably about seating charts. It was getting closer to their wedding.

He looked down over the people, his rightful prey, but he didn’t feel the pull anymore. They laughed and talked, ignoring him and his kind as they celebrated with each other.

Spike felt her approach; she was close, very close. “Buffy,” his voice whispered.

“Hey,” she leaned against the railing and looked down. She wore a halter top, her bare shoulders exposed to the air. Her pants hung low on her hips, hinting at the secrets that were hidden beneath. “You’re wearing the new clothes.”

He blinked his eyes as he looked at her. “What? Um yeah,” he looked down at his dark blue jeans and blue shirt. Quietly he added, “Even wore the knickers.”

“Shh,” her finger touched his lips. “I should have known, you know? Not to make bets with the Big Bad without thinking about all the angles. I shouldn’t have underestimated you.” She turned back to look upon her friends, her warm fingers leaving his cool skin. “Evil,” she snorted. “It was an evil thing to do.”

“I know,” Spike sighed. It was the final brush off. Good versus evil and he couldn’t change who he was.

“But,” she breathed, her body and shoulders straightened. “You didn’t go through with it. You won fair and square. Instead of collecting your prize you gave it to me. Why?”

“You know why,” he voice choked out.

“Spike,” her voice was low, almost inaudible. “Will you dance with me?”

“What?” Spike gasped as he pushed away from her and the railing. This had to be a trick, something to finally stake him over.

Buffy stopped moving and looked directly into his eyes, this time her voice held power, “Will you dance with me?”

“Are you sure? I mean, your friends,” Spike looked down on the club and saw all her friends on the dance floor laughing and having a good time.

“Yes,” Buffy stepped closer to him. “You won, you deserve your spoils.”

“No, Buffy,” Spike stepped away. “It was a dream. And evil dream. I don’t…”

“No, Spike, evil if you made me go through with it.” Buffy stepped closer, this time bringing their bodies into contact. “Which you’re not. Please dance with me?”

His hand rested against her cheek, his thumb stroking her hair. “Buffy,” his voice sounded reverent. She took him by the hand and headed down the stairs. She paused at the edge of the dance floor, her heart beating quickly. Right as Spike thought she would back out; she stepped forward and tugged on his hand. She turned around when they reached the middle of the dance floor. Before he knew it, she had her arms around his neck, her fingers toying with his soft under hairs. Without missing a beat, his arms wound around her waist and brought her closer.

Spike closed his eyes and buried his nose in her shoulder. In turn, her head rested against his shoulder and whispered, “Not evil, not when this feels so right.”

“Oh, Buffy,” he sobbed for only her to hear.

“Shh, none of that,” they turned in a circle, their bodies moving together. “Spike, I have something that I’ve wanted to say to you.” She felt his body tense up, but his head did not abandon its post. “I do like you, maybe more than like, I don’t know. What I do know is that I genuinely want to be around you. And, it isn’t all about sex. Not saying that that isn’t nice or more than nice.” Buffy paused. “I ramble when I’m nervous.”

“I know,” his lips moved against the bare skin of her shoulder. He idly though they must look funny with his head buried on her shoulder, but he didn’t care. He would enjoy every millisecond that she allowed him to touch her.

“Sorry, I know I’m not very good with words.”

“Seems like you are doing fine to me.” Spike lifted his head and stared into her eyes. “Tell me,” he encouraged.

“I,” Buffy paused, her eyes darting around the room. She saw the angry faces of Xander and Willow and then looked back at Spike. She saw vulnerability in his eyes. “I think I’m falling in love with you, Spike.”

His eyes widened, a spark of yellow hinted around his pupils. “Don’t mess with me,” he growled.

Instead of answering his plea, she acted.

Carpe Diem.

Her hands resting on his neck inched up and pushed his face down to her level. She paused, her eyes staring straight into his and licked her lips. “I’m not,” she breathed and then pushed the small distance that separated them away. His lips were soft and undemanding as her mouth met his.

Never mind the quiet time between them when he watched her sleep. This was heaven.

She chose him.

The end.

a/n: thank you Mercy and spikesbint for editing




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