"GRRRAHHH!"

That familiar out-of-nowhere battle cry was predictably followed by a flurry of black leather and a streak of lightning-colored hair.

Spike, flying through the air and tackling her opponent. Again.

Before Buffy could even holler her protest, he'd silenced the demon she was fighting by imprudently breaking its back.

"There, now. Won't be bothering you anymore," he said, proudly dusting himself off.

She stared at him. "You think I couldn't have done that myself?"

"Well, you didn't."

She sounded out slowly, "I was trying to get information out of him, you moron."

"Oh. Should have said something then."

"Uch! You are so -- Uch!" Frustrated to the point of going non-verbal, she spun around to leave, then stopped to rotate her shoulder cuff. "Ow."

"What's wrong?" He tentatively approached her.

"Nothing! I pulled a muscle. Probably trying to get you out of the way."

"Here. Let me get that."

She limboed backwards, a puzzled look on her face.

"Just turn around, will you? Let me fix it." When she didn't turn, he moved behind her and placed a hand on her back, and another on her shoulder.

"What are you doing?" She shook him off. "Don't touch me!"

He noticed, however, that she wasn't walking away.

"Relax, Slayer," he said sotto voce as he returned his hands to her body. "I won't hurt you."

"You mean 'can't'... hhh..." She trailed off as he pressed deep into her muscle tissue, once, twice, three times... and made the pain disappear.

"Whoa. How did you--?" She jerked her shoulder forward and back. "It's gone. Completely. How did you do that?"

Spike smirked.

"That's..." She regarded him. "You know, I-I have this thing in my lower back? It's all bunched up and--"

"You want the full service, come to my crypt later." He brushed past her. "And bring some oil."

"Wh -- Huh?" She turned to address his retreating back.

"You heard me. Ten o'clock."

Getting her bearings -- and her brains -- back, she scoffed in disbelief. "I'm not gonna come to your crypt!"

He shrugged as he sauntered off. "Have it your way."

Still watching him, Buffy caressed her shoulder blade again, whispering, "Wow."

* * *

As softly as humanly possible, the Slayer said, "What sort of oil would be good for um..."

"Oil? For what?" Anya's voice carried across the store.

Buffy shot a glance at Giles and Xander, still engrossed in bookland. "Um. For massage type stuff?"

"Who are you massaging?"

"No one. Me. Myself."

"Oh, THAT kind of massage. Well--"

"No," Buffy corrected patiently. "Just the regular kind."

"Is somebody massaging you?"

"Please, Anya, just tell me which one?"

"Well, the sandalwood is good for--"

"Fine. Sandalwood. How much?" She slapped her purse on the counter.

"There's also jasmine, which is more of a sensual--"

"Sandalwood is fine."

"Okay. That'll be six-ninety-eight."

Buffy placed a ten dollar bill on the counter. "Keep the change. And do me a favor, don't mention this to anyone?"

Anya smiled guilelessly. "Mention what?"

"Thanks."

* * *

Buffy paused at Spike's door. Should she knock? Should she burst in as per usual? Should she just turn around and leave right now?

What the hell am I thinking, letting him touch me?

Yeah. Leaving would be a good--

The door swung open, and there he stood like some romance novel anti-hero, shirt half-buttoned, a bottle of wine dangling from his fingertips. "Slayer."

...idea. She gulped, considering escape tactics. "Spike."

His lips twitched ever so slightly. "Fancy meeting you here."

She couldn't turn back now. If he saw her trepidation, things would get weird. Weirder than they already were.

"What are you talking about, you know why I'm--" Barging past him, Buffy slowed at the sight of flickering candles in every corner of the crypt. "I thought you had electricity. What's with the Sting video?"

Spike chuckled as he walked in after her. "Mood lighting."

When she noticed the peach-colored silk sheets and quilt adorning his sarcophagus, she warned, "If this is some lame attempt to get into my pants, you'll want to tell me right now."

"Don't flatter yourself, Slayer. I'm offering you a massage, plain and simple. If you don't want it, leave. I don't care either way," said Spike, hoping his tone was convincing. He put the wine down, deciding not to offer her any after all.

Buffy took a deep breath. "Yeah. Okay."

"Right. Did you bring the oil?"

"Um." She rustled through her purse. "Here."

Turning it in one hand, he inspected the label. "Sandalwood. It'll do." He popped open the top and casually sniffed it.
"Take off your shirt."

"What?"

"Look, unless you want oil all over your shirt, you're gonna have to take it off."

"I'm not getting naked in front of you!"

"I won't look, alright? Take off your shirt and lie on your stomach, I won't see a thing. Not any more than when you wear those strappy little backless numbers anyway."

"Fine. Turn around." Sitting on the sarcophagus, she pulled off her blouse and quickly lay down, her cheek against the silk pillow. "Ready."

Confident that she couldn't see him, he eyed her appreciatively as he approached. "Where's it hurt?"

Buffy pointed to the lower left side of her back. "Here."

He rubbed his hands together and placed them on the trouble spot. "Yeah. I can feel it."

She tensed up.

"Buffy. You're just gonna have to trust me."

"Why are you doing this?" she asked suddenly, her head twisting in his direction.

He paused for a moment. "Gotta pass the time somehow."

"I don't have any money."

"Not asking for it, am I?"

"But then--"

"Look, Slayer," he interrupted evenly, "either you grill me about my intentions all night, or I fix this knot. It's your choice."

"Okay. Nothing." Her face hit the pillow again. "Quiet now."

"That's better," he said, feeling her body relax.

Reaching for the oil, he poured it into his palm as he strode towards the head of the sarcophagus and turned, his crotch facing her golden hair.

His hands shook like a schoolboy's. Just knowing her breasts were exposed, the curve of them flattened against the place he slept... Stop shaking, you prat, he told himself. Stop shaking or she'll know.

Buffy felt his electricity, his nearness as he bent over her and swept his hands up her back. A moan slipped out of her throat.

She sounded like someone was lapping between her legs, and all he did was touch her. What if he touched her trouble spot?

"Mmmmnn..." She told herself not to vocalize, that it was somehow very inappropriate, but she couldn't help it. "Oh... God..."

Spike smiled. "Been promoted already, then?"

"Unh..." was all she could say, her feet scissoring madly.

"Let me get those off for you."

"Huh?" She looked up groggily.

"Your shoes."

She fell back down again with a goofy smile. "'Kay."

He gingerly removed her boots and socks. "I'll get to those later."

"Feet too?"

"I'll do anywhere you want."

With a giggle, she said, "Just stick to the usual places."

Spike didn't stop to wonder if she'd just admitted to wanting more than the 'usual' places. "Now. Don't get pissed off, alright? This is no massage table, and I have to do this to get better access."

"Do what?"

He straddled her butt.

"Oh."

"Just relax."

"Umkay..." she said with some trepidation.

He leveled himself on top of her, flattened his palms and pushed down, her spine resounding with a satisfying crack.

"Ghhhh..."

"Good?"

She moaned and nodded eagerly. "So good."

Now that would give him plenty of fuel for the lonely nights.

He followed her spine upwards and popped each vertebrae in the same manner.

"How's that?"

"Uhhh... Hope you don't mind I'm drooling on your pillow."

He chuckled. "Just another hazard of the job. Now for the muscley bits."

"Yay, muscley bits," she cheered, her body doing a little dance.

He immediately hardened as she shimmied underneath him.

Down! he commanded. As if it ever listened.

He attempted to focus on her knot, kneading it away with a few circular strokes.

"Gawd, how do you DO that?" she slurred.

"Magic," he said.

"No, reeally."

"What can I say," he shrugged as he worked on each set of muscles. "I've got the gift of healing."

"Mmm... That's a little ironic, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I s'pose. Never used it on a human before. Came in handy when Dru was sick, and that time you kicked Harmony's ass..."

"Could you not mention them right now?"

He bent down to her ear. "Jealous, pet?"

"No," she said harshly, and flailed beneath him, attempting to get him off of her back.

He sat back up.

"This is supposed to be relaxing," she explained. "I'd rather not relive old memories right now."

"Whatever you say, pet."

"And stop with the 'pet' already."

"Alright, love."

"Gah! Stop that!"

He laughed. "What?"

"The sweet talk! Stop it!"

"Sorry, lo -- Buffy. It just slipped out. You're in this position, I can't help it."

'In this position?' "Okay. Maybe I should just leave."

If I could just keep my blasted mouth shut. For one bloody minute! "If that's what you want."

"My shirt, please?"

"Yeah." He destraddled and plucked her shirt off of a statue. "Here you are."

She pulled it over her head, complaining, "Great. Now I'm all oily."

"Got a shower downstairs, if you--"

"No thanks. Can I have my shoes?"

He handed over her socks and shoes, and watched her warily.

After zippering up her boots, Buffy stood and swayed, a light-headed euphoria threatening to neutralize her anger.

Determined to listen to her instincts, she got to the door and stopped. "Anyway, you fixed it. The knot." Her fingertips wiggled. "So... thanks."

He nodded. "Don't mention it."

Lips thin, she said, "Right."

She hoisted the door open and left.

Alone in his crypt, fists and jaw clenched, Spike exhaled to himself, "Wanker."




More to come...

Buffy kicked off her covers, jumbled thoughts keeping her awake and forcing her out of bed.

"I must be losing it," she muttered as she threw on some sweats, climbed out the window and headed for the nearest cemetery.

It was time to go kill something.

* * *

Spike sat dejectedly in his armchair, gazing at the silk sheets on his sarcophagus. She was right there. Right there, and he had to screw it up.

"Idiot!" he berated himself once more, and rose to grab his coat.

It was time to go kill something.

* * *

"I guess she was acting kinda different tonight," Xander conceded as he dodged a low-hanging branch.

Anya was trying to appear neutral. "Different? Like, what kind of different?"

"Well, from what I can tell, she isn't moodswinging over Riley anymore -- and thank god for that..." He considered his words as they clipped down the park's path, the last stretch of the long walk home. "But instead of being her usual 'let's get to the bottom of this Glory thing' self, all of a sudden she won't hear diddly about any of the research we've done--"

"Uh-huh?" she prodded.

"All of a sudden she's 'No time for you! I've got places to be, demons to--'"

"Massage!" Anya finally blurted out excitedly, clapping her gloved hands.

"What?"

"She had a massage date!"

"And I repeat: Huh?"

"She bought massage oil and told me not to tell."

"And that's why you're telling me now?" Xander teased.

"Keeping a secret is difficult and distracting," the former demon explained petulantly. "And besides, you're my significant other. It's only natural that I tell you everything. You tell me everything, don't you?"

"Of course! Of course I do," Xander assured her and quickly segued into, "Massage oil, huh?"

"Yup," she said with a smile. "Sandalwood."

"But that could be for anything," he dismissed. "What makes you think it was a date?"

"She was so secretive about it, I figured she must be having sex with someone."

"Not Buffy," he insisted. "She's not big on one-night stands."

"Well, either that or she's masturbating."

"Okay! I didn't hear that. Look, I'm sure it was totally innocent." They heard a commotion a few yards away. "Unlike anything involving him." He pointed through the trees at Spike, who at the moment was fighting a large Cyclops demon.

"Do you think he needs help?" asked Anya.

"Nah. He'll be fine."

"Oi! You two! A little help here!"

They rolled their eyes and traipsed to his aid.

"You're doing it all wrong!" Anya yelled. "You have to hit his eye!"

Spike pulled a large knife out of his boot and flung it into the demon's unblinking eye. The thing wobbled for a moment and fell with a loud crash.

Straightening his jacket, the vampire said, "Thanks, love."

"Sure thing." Anya frowned, and sniffed the air. Then she stepped toward him.

He took an impulsive step back. "What?"

"Is that... sandalwood?"

"Oh. Yeah." Suspiciously, he added, "Why?"

Anya raised a brow at Xander, who immediately shook his head. "No way."

"No way what?"

"Are you having sex with Buffy?" Anya asked him.

Spike laughed, "What?"

"Buffy!" Xander said, signaling that the Slayer herself was approaching.

"Hey, guys. What's...?" Buffy scrutinized the dead demon. "A Cyclops? Why couldn't I find a Cyclops?"

"Put up a hell of a fight, that one," Spike said, lighting a cigarette.

"No fair," she pouted. "All I got was a lousy one-armed vamp."

"You killed Estrus?" Spike laughed, exhaling smoke. "Bet he was cryin' like a baby."

Buffy scowled. "I let him go."

"Never could kill a man on his knees, could you?" he noted with a smirk.

"I... can!" she said defiantly. "I just... didn't want to."

After surreptitiously sniffing Buffy, Anya was vexed. "Huh. She doesn't smell like it."

"Like what?" Buffy asked, shifting away from Anya's olfactory range.

"Sandalwood."

The Slayer screeched, "Anya!"

"What?"

"What part of 'secret' don't you understand?"

"Just the part where I can't tell anyone," she whined, and pointed at Xander. "Especially not my best friend!"

Buffy whimpered. "I'm leaving."

"Okay, but first," Xander said, "help me sleep at night and tell me there's nothing going on between you two."

Buffy's eyes widened. "What?" She gaped at Spike. "What did you tell them?"

"Nothing! I swear it!"

"He smelled like sandalwood," Anya explained, "So I put two and two together--"

Buffy yelled at Spike, "Don't you shower?"

"I bloody well do! Just didn't have a chance tonight!"

"A-ha!" Anya exclaimed, victorious. "She showered!"

"Please tell me this is a nightmare," Xander groaned, hand over his eyes.

"Xander!" Buffy squawked. "There is nothing going on between us!"

"I am so willing to believe that, you have no idea."

"Good!" Buffy said indignantly. "Because it's true!"

Xander wagged his finger from her to Spike and back again. "So why the oil connection?"

"Because he gave me a MASSAGE!" Buffy spanned her arms outward. "Okay? That's ALL! And this doesn't get out, ever, to anyone else, got that?"

Xander started to laugh. "He... gave you..." He stopped laughing and turned to Spike. "You touched her?" He turned to Buffy. "You let him touch you?"

"Xander, please don't make this a bigger deal than it is."

He shut up. Of course, there was no way she'd ever, ever, with HIM, in a million years... "Of course not. Sorry, Buff."

"Thank you!" Buffy ambled away, talking to herself. "God!"

Spike glanced at the couple. "Well, night, all."

"Hold on there, Sven." Xander hooked Spike by the arm. "Don't get any ideas, okay?"

"Ideas," he repeated and looked down, unamused, at the hand on his person.

"She's lonely. She's vulnerable. Don't start thinkin' you can take advantage of that."

"The Slayer can hold her own," Spike replied with a glare. "And somehow, I don't think she'd like you talkin' about her that way."

Wrenching his arm free, he stalked off towards his graveyard.

* * *

"Buffy." Spike ran a hand through his sleep-mussed head.

"Spike," she greeted with a nod, closing out the stream of late afternoon sunlight as she pulled the crypt door shut.

He sat up. "Come to attack my personal hygiene again, or--"

"I've been thinking."

He studied her curiously. "About?"

"About a lot of stuff. Like, why do my professors constantly pick on me?" She crossed her arms and looked up with a shrug. "Why can't I get demon snot out of my best pair of pants? Why are misplaced gods so impossible to find, and why can't I get the rest of that massage?"

He wondered whether he was still dreaming. "Sorry?"

"It's not like we're hurting anybody." She began to pace his crypt. "In fact, it's just the opposite -- we're making a totally worthy contribution to the side of not evil. I mean I've been so tense I barely sleep anymore, and last night, when you... That was the first time I've relaxed in months. And despite Anya's stance that massage is synonymous with hot oily monkey love, we both know it's not. Right?"

He squinted. "What are you asking me?"

She dropped her hands, and made a pleading little mewl. "It's just -- you fixed me, and now I have this new knotty thing, and I'm not saying I'll be making you do this all the time, just this once, and then I'll leave you alone, I sw--"

"Get undressed."

She blinked at him. For the first time since she'd barged in, she noticed that his chest was exposed, and it was surprisingly... chiseled. "What?"

Spike looked her square in the eye. "Do you want this or not?"

"Yeah." She put her bag down. "I just wasn't expecting it right this minute."

"Can you think of a better time?"

"Um. Not really. I guess..." She kept her fingers poised on her sweater buttons.

"You want the full effect, do you? Candles, nightfall?"

"No, no. Really. This is fine."

"Let me light some candles for you." He reached down to grab his jeans.

"Not necessary... Okay, one or two." It dawned on Buffy that he was nude, and she swiftly turned on her heel. "Do you always sleep naked?"

He smiled at her back as he fastened his pants. "Not always. You?"

"Okay, off subject. You get dressed first."

"This makin' you nervous, Slayer?"

"No," she lied, biting her lower lip. She'd gotten a fleeting view of his... parts, and she was trying to will away the blush that was now burning her face.

"I'm decent. You can turn 'round."

"Uh-huh," she said, not turning.

She heard the flick of his lighter, and spun slowly to see him igniting the candles. The crypt was dark even in day, of course, so the effect was similar enough.

When he was done, he faced her. "Well?"

"Oh. Guess it's my turn to get indecent."

"That it is," he agreed, then stepped forward. "Are you blushing?"

"No," she scoffed. "Why would I... no."

"Remember," he said. "Perfectly innocent."

"Oh. Yeah," she snorted. "Totally innocent."

He smirked and turned away from her while she hurriedly disrobed. She dove for the sheets, choosing not to ponder his own nakedness against those very bedlinens.

"Ready."

He found the oil and approached her waiting form.

God, she was lovely. He forced himself to be quiet as he spilled it onto her back.

"It's um," she pointed to the right side of her middle back. "It's here."

"Got it, lo -- ffy."

"Luffy? That's a new one."

"Sorry. Didn't have a lot of time to amend."

"It's okay, Spike. You can do the pet name thing if you can't help it."

"Thank god."

"Anything's better than Luffy, anyway."

* * *

"Oh... Yes, yes, right there, right there..."

Spike's eyes rolled back as he was lulled by her pleas into his imagination, where he was pumping away inside her soft, hot folds.

He was at her legs now, kneading into her calves. With each upward sweep, the sheet rode a little further, exposing more of her thighs.

He'd been working on her for over an hour. The sun had set, and she hadn't made one move to leave. Hell, he'd work on her all night if she'd let him.

"Can you--" she said bashfully. "A little higher?"

"Whatever you want, love." He congratulated himself as he pressed on, up her gorgeous thighs.

"Oh, god," she said hoarsely, close to losing her voice now. She'd never felt so good. So relaxed. So... tended to.

To hell with it, he thought, and bunched the sheet so it covered only her ass. She didn't protest. He dripped more oil into his hands and ran them from her heels to the curve of her behind, and back down again.

"Mm," she encouraged.

He repeated the motion, this time covering her outer thighs, then the top, then the inner...

Buffy stopped moaning.

He swept up her inner thighs again, noticing not only the scent, but the sight of her arousal.

Suddenly, irrevocably entranced by the circle of dew at the center of her panties, he continued his repetitive motion, up and down her inner thighs, each time venturing a little higher, each time staring at that little circle.

The one that grew in circumference every time his thumbs almost hit her pantyline.

Buffy shut her eyes tightly. Innocent, she told herself. Innocent. Besides, he'd never...

And this time there was contact. Enough to make her shudder.

Spike went on autopilot. There was nothing stopping his course. Back down he went, and back up, the tips of his fingers grazing that mesmerizing spot. Down, and up, closer, and closer, and closer...

Buffy was shaking. She couldn't stop shaking. This was bad, and wrong, and... so incredibly sensual...

His thumb slid past the barrier of silk.

Buffy cried out into the pillow as her entire body tremored against him.

A breath caught in Spike's throat, and he froze, thumb poised at her opening, eyes fixed on her pooling wetness.

He'd made Buffy come.

In a flash, she whipped around with a one-two combination: a sidelong knee to the jaw and a snap-kick to the chest that sent him staggering backwards.

Shivering, breathless, Buffy stared at him.

He stared back.

Furrowing her brow, she yanked the sheet over her breasts and jumped off of the sarcophagus in a mad dash for her clothing.

He couldn't do anything but watch as she ran past him and out into the night.



More to come...

"And she finally shows herself," Xander greeted as Buffy entered the Magic Box.

Bemused, she asked, "Was I invisible?"

"Well, not in the strictest sense--"

"Where've you been?" Anya interrupted from behind the cash register, bills in hand. "Giles has been looking for you all night."

"I was patrolling. You know. My job?" She took a seat at the table. "Lots of vamps out there tonight."

Xander ventured, "Not the kind with magic hands, I hope."

"Nooo," Buffy overemphasized. "No magic. Or hands, especially. No hands in contact with Buffy."

Not for nearly a week, anyway. And she was convinced that she could never confidently look Spike in the eye again... let alone the hands. It was all so embarrassing. And beyond wrong. But God, those hands...

"Good," he said, obviously relieved. "Glad you got that out of your system."

Buffy cleared her throat. "Yeah. Out. Out of system. Definitely. I mean, yuck."

"Big yuck," Xander heartily agreed.

* * *

"Yuck!" Buffy cried, trying to rid her hands of the slimy demon mucus that also graced her clothing and hair. "Great. Just great."

She nudged the fallen Fyarl with the toe of her boot. "You couldn't have added a little Woolite to the mix?" It didn't answer -- the unfortunate side effect of being dead. "I'd settle for a drop of Pantene..."

She sighed and continued, "Nope. Just pure, undiluted snot. And you guys just love to seek me out when I wear brand new jeans."

Of course, there was only one way to prevent the inevitable ruin of her expensive clothing: rinse in cold water. Immediately.

Her house was a ten or fifteen minute jaunt from this end of town... but Spike's crypt, and more importantly his shower, was only about two minutes away if she made haste.

She'd been avoiding him, and with good reason. But this was different. This was an emergency.

This had nothing to do with the fact that he'd involuntarily given her the best orgasm of her life.

No, this was in the interest of high fashion.

* * *

Spike tossed the last of Buffy's photos into the cardboard box at his feet, the one he planned to bring to her basement and, over time, return each item to its proper place. With any luck, she'd never know he'd taken anything.

Because now it was all so clear. This box wasn't Buffy.

The girl who'd trembled against his fingertips a few nights earlier -- that was Buffy.

As he kneeled to close it, he spied a piece of pink satin.

Picking it up, he smiled.

It was exactly like the one she'd wore... that night. And since he'd probably never get close to her again, he felt he was entitled to at least one memento.

The door crashed open overhead.

He stuffed the thong into a nearby drawer and quietly slinked towards the ladder, ears perked.

"Spike?" he heard.

He started. Buffy. Was back.

Well, what do you know.

Smirking, he tried not to hurry up the steps. "Well, well, well. What--"

Buffy looked like she was desperately trying to maintain her dignity, even with dollops of slime purling down every slope of her body. "Help?"

Complacence forgotten, he laughed. "What happened to you?"

"What's it look like?" she sassed, wisely withdrawing the requisite 'moron' that usually tagged her questions to him.

"More than one Fyarl demon out there this week, I take it?"

"So it would seem."

"Sure it wasn't your watcher this time?"

"Not funny." She wasn't about to admit that she always checked the eyes first. A string of mucus dribbled to the ground, reminding her of her purpose. "Still got that shower?"

"Oh, yeah. Of course, love. Downstairs." As he guided her, he mentally scanned the lower level for any visible remnants of his Buffy infatuation.

"I can still walk, you know," she snapped, recoiling from the cool hand on her shoulder. Hands bad.

He let her walk ahead. "Wouldn't want to try to help you when you're in need."

"Words to live by," she concurred, descending carefully to the bottom rung. "Just tell me where."

Spike pointed. "It's down that way, to the left. But the knob is kind of tricky... Let me get it for you," he said, acting as if it wouldn't thrill him to watch her shower. En route to his destination, he casually kicked the Box o' Buffy under a table, just to be sure.

Buffy took off her shoes as he employed his 'shower' -- which was essentially a chiseled hole in the wall with a rerouted water pipe and drain.

When he was done, he leaned against the wall and folded his arms.

She looked at him. "Do you have to be here while I do this?"

"Somebody has to turn it off. Don't want you flooding the place."

"I can turn it off myself." She squinted at the pipes. "I think."

Smirking, he arched a brow. "I'll wait here just in case."

She didn't argue. The fact that he didn't mind the idea of watching her as she showered was a good indication that what had happened that night wasn't all her own doing. And that was an oddly comforting thought.

"Well, Banzai," she shrugged before hopping in, clothing and all. "Oh! God! Freezing!"

"No hot water tonight then," he observed, leaning a shoulderblade on the wall beside her, respectfully turned away but able to steal sidelong glances.

"I noticed," she said, voice competing with the jetting water. She ducked under the stream, eyes shut tight. "But I guess you don't?"

She was making conversation? Now, with her nipples poking through her t-shirt? Spike searched his brain for the focus of her question. Oh. Right. Do vampires notice the cold.

"Not really. I mean, I know it's there, but it doesn't bother me."

"Are you bothered by soap?"

He tore his eyes away from her dripping wet curves. "Sorry?"

"Soap!" she shouted as if toting a megaphone. "Do you have any!"

"On the ledge!"

"Ooh. A ledge," she said, her teeth chattering as she found the soap. "This is living."

He was decidedly offended. "Hey, you came to me--"

"I'm kidding, Spike. Lighten up." She turned her back to him and continued to scrub.

"Right. You telling me to lighten up. That's a first."

"What?"

"Nothing," he called out.

Spike pretended not to watch her rinse off. He also pretended he wasn't internally recording this for a slow-mo replay later.

"Okay, I give up! Where's the off button?"

Button? Oh. He reached past her and turned the knob, unwittingly brushing his arm against the tightened peaks of her nipples.

She covered up her reaction to the sensation by very deliberately wringing the water from her hair. "Tell me you have clean towels?"

"Uh, yeah." He nabbed the closest towel.

"Thanks," she said, patting it against her. "Well, can't say that wasn't invigorating."

He took her in. Shimmering, pristine, dangerous, like a hidden moonlit cove. He wondered if she'd ever been to Mexico...

"I'm pleased to report that I am mucus-free, and my outfit may actually stand a chance." Pressing the towel to her shirt, she noticed him staring. "What?"

"Nothing," he said, clearing the idiotic thoughts that seemed to rule his mind whenever she was less than three feet away. "Uh, you want to dry those off for a spell?" He gestured at her clothes.

She gave him a skeptical once-over. "No... I'll be fine, thanks."

"Look, you can dry them off in the air vent is all I'm saying. I've got some extra clothes you can wear--"

"You? Have extra clothes? You've worn the same t-shirt and jeans since I've known you."

"Got more than one pair of each, you know." He considered whipping out some of her own clothing but nixed the idea. "But, uh, Harm's got some clothes round here somewhere."

"Oh." She felt suddenly uncomfortable. "You want me to wear the clothing of 'Harm.'"

"Well, it's not like I want you to, I'm just offering--"

"And how is 'Harm'?"

Was that jealousy he detected in her tone? "She's uh... the same."

Her eyes wandered around the room. "She doesn't live with you, does she?"

"Good god no," he said. "Even I've got my limits."

"Mm. The absence of unicorn influence on the decor is what really gives it away," she said offhandedly.

He laughed, and their eyes met.

Bad. No! Buffy scolded herself. Focus on something, anything else! She quickly rubbed her face in the towel he'd given her and spent some quality time focusing on the embroidery. The... instantly recognizable embroidery. "Weird. We have towels just like this."

Hell! Wrong towel. "Yeah, well -- lots of towels like that, I reckon," he covered badly.

She frowned at him as she handed it back and stepped out of the shower. "I guess."

After underhandedly flinging it towards the Box, he noticed that she was still shivering.

"Well," she began. "I should go. Check in with Giles, let him know that Glory's probably got Fyarls on her team now--"

"You're not going out there like this," he insisted. "You'll catch cold."

"Thanks Mom, but I think I'll manage."

"Look. Will you just do as I say? Hang your clothes to dry, wear something else in the meantime? Won't take long, the vent works fast." He sighed. "I promise I won't bring up anything about... anything you don't want to talk about."

"Damn right you won't," she said, flushing hotly.

"I won't," he repeated, attempting nonchalance. "But do you really want to freeze out there?"

She gave in. "Fine. Show me Harmony's skankwear."

* * *

"So, how stupid do I look?"

He stifled a laugh. "You don't--"

"Shut up." Buffy plunked down on the lone armchair, Harmony's gaudy silk robe draping over all the wrong places. "This is about a thousand sizes too big. You better not be kidding about that vent."

"Fifteen minutes tops."

She tapped her fingers on the armrest. "So. What do we do 'til then?"

"Wine?"

"I'm not whining, I'm--"

"No," he held up the bottle. "Red wine?"

"Oh. I-I don't really..." Then she wondered why she didn't really. "Sure, why not."

He smiled as he poured a healthy amount into two tumblers and crossed the room to hand her one.

She sipped. Not a taste she adored, but it went down warm and smooth. "What were you doing before I got here?"

"What?"

"Before I got here. What were you doing?"

Conversation again? Or had she seen something? "Nothing. I mean, you know. Evil stuff."

She chuckled. "Right. Because you're..."

"Evil," he supplied.

She lifted her glass in salute. "Can't forget that."

"Shouldn't ever," he said with a nod.

"So... what kind of stuff is evil?"

He squinted. "Why do you want to know?"

"I don't know. I just wonder what you do here all by yourself."

I wank off thinking about you would have been his most honest answer. Instead he said, "I watch telly. Read a bit. Plan world domination."

She snorted. "Like you could."

"I could!" he countered, greatly insulted. "I have! Sort of."

"But you don't really want to," she said. Please don't really want to...

"Okay, I don't. But if I did want to, I definitely could."

"I'd have to stop you," she said, pointing with the finger that held her glass.

"You'd have to catch me," he said, eyes sparking in reply. "Nothing like a good, long chase."

Buffy found herself at a loss for words. Was he flirting with her?

And did she want him to?

"Another go-round?"

She blinked. "What?"

"You finished your wine. Want more?"

"Oh." She looked at her empty wineglass. "Okay."

He walked closer to her, wielding wine in those strong, magical hands.

Those hands...

Captivated beyond her control, Buffy felt her heart beating in her throat and heard a tiny whisper that could only have come from her own mouth: "Spike?"

He stilled the bottle in midair, waiting a beat. "Yeah?"

Her lashes slowly swept upwards. "Would you...?"

"Yeah?" he prompted, voice husky.

"Would you do it again?"

"Do what again?"

Her lower lip trembled as she tried to sound out the words. "Your hands... o-on... on me?"

She braced herself for the possible belly-laugh followed by, 'You're really off your rocker now, Slayer', while being ushered out the door. It could happen. His recent and especially stinging 'not as high, not as firm' comment sprang to mind.

But he did nothing of the sort. Instead, he wrested the wine glass from her grasp, put it down and gently took her hand. With his eyes on hers, he guided her to the sarcophagus.

"Wait." He seemed all too willing. What if he had more in mind? "I won't -- I--I can't--"

"Shhh," he said while languidly tugging at her sash and urging the robe from her shoulders. Like mercury, it slid to the floor, revealing her taut, nude body. "On your stomach, love."

Yielding to his command, Buffy lowered herself onto the sheets, indulging in silken sensuality.

She shuddered as he skimmed his hands over her hair to clear her neck, then she wriggled under the spill of cool oil on her back.

His hands, his wonderful hands returned to coast to and fro, spreading the oil from her buttocks to her shoulder blades and back again.

She sounded out her approval as he ovaled and circled and kneaded every inch of her tingling skin, and whimpered in protest when he finished.

Spike watched her ribcage rise and fall with baited breath as he pulled off his t-shirt.

Crawling over her, he rested on her back and spoke in a soft, hypnotic lilt. "In some parts of Thailand, love, they call this the 'body to body'." He pressed down and rolled his tight, slippery chest muscles across hers in long, slow strokes. "One body... to another. One soft... one hard..."

Buffy did everything she could to keep still, to not rub up against the aforementioned 'hard' part of him that repeatedly nudged her behind.

He tickled her ear with the instruction, "Turn 'round."

Fully expecting him to stay where he was, she took a few centering breaths before turning and was almost disappointed to find that he'd dismounted and reappeared above her, standing behind her head, eyes closed in concentration, fingers on her temples.

She hummed in absolute bliss as Spike massaged every last worry out of her head. No worries about Glory or Mom or Dawn. No worries about MIA ex-boyfriends. No worries about lying stark naked and exposed before her mortal enemy. No worries that said enemy was working his way down her collar bone, her breasts, her abdomen...

He cupped a hand over the juncture between her thighs, and brazenly slid a finger over her most sensitive spot. "Know what they call this?"

Quivering now, she shook her head.

He smiled slightly. "The happy ending."

She smiled too, a dark hunger glinting in her eyes. "Show me."

* * *

"Unhhhh!" Buffy spasmed into Spike's unbelievably gifted hand.

Gasping, panting, gripping one strong arm for support, she wished for nothing more than to wrap herself up in him, coil herself into his embrace, sleep the world away...

And then she realized what time it was.

And what she should be doing.

And what she should definitely NOT be doing.

She had to go.

"I -- I have to go."

"You--?" Spike asked dazedly, reluctantly setting her free.

"I have to go."

Donning the robe again, she scurried downstairs to gather her definitely-dry-by-now clothing.

Spike lay back on the bed, wondering what he'd done wrong. His pants were still fastened, his hands were soaked, and Buffy was leaving.

"I'm insane," Buffy muttered, zipping up her jacket and climbing the ladder. "That must be it. I've officially gone insane."

She made a beeline for the door, but when she spotted Spike lying there, looking confused and frustrated and just so... human, she felt a strange tightness in her chest.

I'm sorry, she tried to say. But the words wouldn't come.

And why should they? she thought angrily. This was sick. And it was obviously messing with her mind. This had to end, right here and now...

Those words wouldn't come either.

So she did the only thing she could do. The thing she should do. She left.

"Right," Spike sighed. "Off you go."




More to come...

"I can't take this anymore," Buffy groused, sitting beside her Watcher on the training room couch. "How can I defeat someone I can't even find?"

"I know it's frustrating," Giles sympathized. "But until we get another visit from Glory, or a clue to her whereabouts, I'm afraid we're just..."

"Sitting ducks?"

He sighed. "Yes."

"Well, I don't work that way." She stood up. "I can't be... a duck. I won't be a duck while she gets closer and closer to finding out who--" Aware that someone godlike could be listening in, she quickly amended in a harsh whisper, "which duck is the duck she wants!"

"Buffy." He stood and firmly touched her shoulder. "I assure you, we will find her, and before she finds that... duck. But you can't continue to drive yourself mad with worry, nor can you run yourself into the ground by training nonstop."

She began to protest, but he cut her off, hand in the air.

"At this rate, you'll be too exhausted to fight anyone. Now as your watcher, I insist that you take a break. At least for tonight. Go home or go out, whatever you prefer. Just do something relaxing."

Buffy exhaled and stared at the floor, trying to avert her thoughts from the one thing that seemed to relax her these days. "I can't..."

"At least try." He handed over her coat and bag. "Unless you'd rather pump Spike for any information he may not have."

"Spike?" Buffy crackled with a forced laugh. "No, no. No thanks. A lifetime of no."

* * *

"Yes! Oh god, yes!" Buffy twisted and writhed on her hands and knees at Spike's touch. "Oh god, oh god, yes..."

Spike bit his lip as he worked a finger in and out of her tight, slippery channel, his other hand flush against her pelvic bone.

At her throaty command for 'more', he let another finger in, and another.

Bucking backwards and wailing in release, she came into his palm. He held his hand in place, rubbing her clit softly as she spasmed.

"There," he soothed, his voice low and strained.

Whimpering, she slowly calmed beneath him.

After taking a deep steadying breath -- in through the nose, out through the mouth -- he gently pulled his hands from her body, and with pained restraint, he stood to gather her clothes. Singleminded tunnel vision. Give clothes to Buffy.

"Thanks," she said in receipt and wriggled into them as she lay there.

"Yeah," he forced out noncommitally, and watched her leave, again.

* * *

"All this getting nowhere is getting old," Xander complained, walking between Buffy and Willow as they scoured another residential block in search of Glory's lair.

"And I'm getting tired," Willow yawned as she trailed ahead, looking back at her friends. "I'm ready to--"

She bumped into a trio of teenage girls.

"--bail?" Willow squeaked. Not just girls. Vampires.

The Slayerettes tensed, then relaxed as they recognized the center blonde. Buffy, on the other hand, felt an odd twinge of foreboding.

Xander nodded, unimpressed. "Oh look, it's Harmony, with girl minions now. Trying to relive high school? 'Cause that's just sad."

"High school? You mean when you were a big geek and you were a big freak?" Harmony pointed from Xander to Buffy and smiled smugly. "Some things never change."

Feeling for her trusty stake and coming up empty, Buffy quelled her rising panic and stepped up. "Tell me, Harmony. Are you still under the delusion that I won't kill you?"

Harmony countered innocently, "Tell me, Buffy. Are you still getting hand jobs from my boyfriend?"

Buffy froze, eyes huge, mouth going dry.

"That's right," Harmony's voice dripped with venom. "I saw you, with Spike's hand between your legs." Her minions tittered behind her and she raised her chin. "Not that I care. You can have that loser."

"Please!" Willow sputtered in outrage, "Buffy would never do that with Spike!"

Eyes clamped shut against the truth, Xander chanted quietly, "Buffy, you didn't. Tell me you didn't."

"I--" Buffy started. "No, I..."

"Haven't told your friends yet?" Harmony's bottom lip puffed out. "Aw... Is the big bad Slayer ashamed of herself?"

All witticisms abandoning her, Buffy could only whisper, "Shut up."

"Is it my problem that you've got some sick vampire fetish and he's got some weird thing for slayers?"

"Shut UP," Buffy repeated, louder this time.

"It's not about you -- you know that, right?" Harmony went on patronizingly, "I mean, do you honestly think he could care about you? That he wants anything more than to brag that he screwed a--"

With a primal growl, Buffy lunged, grabbed the vampire by the ears... and twisted her head off.

Chattering to the very end, Harmony evaporated.

The other two got the message and ran, leaving the Scoobies alone with the pile of dust that was once Spike's girlfriend.

Gawking, Willow gulped. "Buffy?"

"She was lying," Buffy blurted out quickly. "Harmony -- she -- she's a liar, and she made it all up, I swear, that's not me! I would never--"

"Buffy," Xander shook her by the shoulders. "It's okay. This is a dream."

A sharp intake of breath, and Buffy opened her eyes.

She sat up in her bed and mumbled, "Hate that dream."

"Was it the one where you let her go," a voice began from her window, "or the one where you pop her head off like a big blonde bottlecap?"

Buffy hurried to the window and hissed, "How did you know that? I never told you--"

"You're not the toughest nut to crack, love." Spike emerged from the shadows, grinding a cigarette into the eave shingles under his boot. "Can I come in?"

"What? No you can't come in. You shouldn't even be here."

"But I am, aren't I?"

"Go away. I can't have you here."

Unfazed, he slid a hand through her hair. "You do want the full service, don't you pet? You truly satisfied with just the sample?" He chuckled. "I know I'm not."

She deflected his hand. "Then we have to stop."

"How many times are you gonna say that and expect me to believe it? I'm not buying it, Buffy, and neither are you."

"Dammit, Spike--" reaching out to shove him off the roof, she lost her balance. He caught her and leaned in close.

"Careful, love. Don't fall."

"I don't fall," she said defiantly. "Not anymore."

Closer. "Sure about that?"

His lips touched hers, and she wasn't sure of anything. Soft, deep, melty kisses that obliterated all else. But then he broke away... and his demonic face was grinning back at her.

Gasping, Buffy woke up.

"I really, really hate that dream," she pronounced to her empty room.

* * *

"Good show, Estrus. You'll make your daddy proud someday." Spike patted the vampire roughly on the face before stuffing a wad of bills into his shirt pocket.

"Thanks... I think." Estrus scratched at his stump through his pinned shirt sleeve and squinted at his sire. "So you really think this'll work? That it'll kill the Slayer?"

Spike pursed his lips. "It'll work."

"But I still don't get it--"

"Why don't you let me do the thinking?" he interrupted curtly. "You've done your job and taken my cash. Now get the hell out of here and spend it."

"Okay. Well uh, see ya, Spike. Pleasure doin' business." He shuffled out and closed the door behind him.

"Thinks I can't plan," Spike grumbled, throwing his cigarette to the ground. "I'll show her."

* * *

"Die, die die!" Buffy yelled as she pummeled the demon beneath her.

"Uh... I think it's dead, love."

Buffy spun around, still astraddle the deceased in question. She sighed. "Great."

"Or do you need some help killing it some more?"

"I don't need any help from you." She got up and quickly headed in the anywhere-but-here direction.

He followed. "You sure 'bout that, love? No kinks you need sorted out?"

"Leave me alone!" she hollered. "And stop following me!"

He stopped in his tracks. "Oh, so that's how it's gonna be, is it? You come to me nightly to work out your frustration, scratch your itch -- Oh, I'm good for that, alright -- but not good enough to speak to, to look in the eye? Talk to like a friend?"

"We're not friends! You can't be my friend!"

"Why not? Look, I'm not asking for anything in return here, Buffy. Just a little civility."

"You don't want anything in return. Right."

"Hey! Do I ever ask you to return the favor? Do I ever expect even a bloody 'thank you'?"

Her wide eyes welling, she stalked away. "I can't deal with this right now."

"No, of course you can't." Shaking his head in frustration, he made his way home.

* * *

Spike awoke to the strangest feeling. A cold spill on his back. A warm weight on his haunches. The smell of night jasmine.

"Buffy?"

"Shhh," she hushed, and ran her oiled hands over him before bending down to position her chest at his tailbone. Making contact, she swooped up.

Spike stiffened, nerve endings sparking to life. Buffy was coasting naked across his back. Her body against his. Her warm, full breasts pressed into him; her pebbled nipples grazing his skin.

Had to be a dream. Only... it wasn't.

And it was incredible.

She whispered in his ear, "Turn around."

Well, he wasn't stupid. He obeyed.

And there she was, straddling his thighs, nude body glistening, brandishing a new oil bottle. She poured a generous helping into her hand and tugged the sheet down, smiling as his cock sprung diligently to attention.

He gasped in surprise, shuddering at her hot grip.

Sliding both hands over his receptive shaft, she settled into a building rhythm. Up, down, up, down, up, up, up up-up-up-up...

"Buff--!" he choked, and his come shot into the air in erratic spurts.

Some dribbled down her hands, but she kept pumping until nothing more emerged.

He blinked away his aftershock and trained his eyes on her, hoping she wouldn't disappear.

She gave him an unreadable smile, dismounted, wiped her hands on his sheets and slipped her clothes back on.

Propping himself on his elbows, he waited for her to speak.

When she was fully clothed and flipping her hair over her jacket, she said tersely, "There's your thank you. We're even now."

And she turned and walked out.

Spike stared open-mouthed at her wake, and down at the mess she'd made. With an anguished sigh, his eyelids fell closed.

Outside the crypt door, with the sun on her face, Buffy paused, a deep frown worrying her features. She turned her head slightly, but refused, absolutely refused to look back.

Marching forward, she felt a curious constriction in her gut; a nagging sensation of guilt.

That she'd hurt someone she cared about.

* * *

"Mrs. Mopeypants. Paging Mrs. Mopeypants. Please respond..." Dawn implored, nose pinched.

"No."

"What's your problem anyway?" Dawn sauntered into her big sister's room and sat on her bed. "You've been all Sad Girl for the last few days."

"I thought I was Mrs. Mopeypants."

"Same thing," the younger Summers said. "So what's your deal?"

"My 'deal' is none of your business." Sensing Dawn's inward wince, Buffy made an effort to turn her bitchiness down a notch. "It's a grown-up thing, okay?"

"God. I'm not a child, you know."

"Yes, you are," she corrected. Thousands of years as mystical key not included...

"Hello? Teenager now? Translation: no longer a child?" She crossed her arms. "Don't you even remember being fourteen? Or have you forgotten already?"

Just a year before she was called. Buffy softened. "I remember."

"So tell me. Is it a guy?"

Her brow wrinkling, she whispered, "What?"

"You've been seeing someone, right? A-and something happened, like he dumped you, or--"

"Excuse me? Nobody dumped me. I have not been dumped." Buffy waved her hand around for extra-clear emphasis.

"Okay, okay. Yeesh. Just fillin' in the blanks."

"Please don't."

"So you dumped him? What'd he do to deserve it? Did he cheat on you?"

"No, nothing, and no, because I haven't been seeing anyone."

"Is it that cute doctor from the hospital? Or someone from school? O-or," she gasped, "you're not having a secret affair with Xander are you?"

"Ew! No!"

She rolled her eyes. "You're no fun. At least humor me a little."

"My moping isn't here to humor you. Get out."

"Oh, come on, I'm just kidding," she pleaded. "Who is it? I mean the only other guy you know is Spike, and--"

Buffy's fleeting wild-eyed expression said it all.

"Oh. My god." Dawn muffled a giggle. "It's Spike?"

Buffy opened her mouth to object, but Dawn was already bouncing excitedly on the bed. "You and Spike? Oh my god!"

"There is no 'me and Spike', Dawn. And stop bouncing!"

"This is so cool!"

"Cool?" Buffy questioned in horror. "You think it's cool?"

"Well, he's cool. With the hair and the leather coat, and the way he talks... And you two are like, totally meant for each other."

"We are not meant for each other, Dawn. He's a killer, and I'm a--" different kind of killer?

"My sister and Spike!" She put her hands over Buffy's. "Oh my god. Is he a good kisser?"

Buffy's mind entered a tailspin. In all the time she'd been going to Spike, having this... whatever it was with him... they'd never once kissed. How could she explain this to a little girl? Or more importantly, to herself? "Dawn..."

"Wait." Dawn looked suddenly crestfallen. "You broke up?"

"No!" Buffy stressed, confused. "Yes! No! I mean... there was nothing to break up. We just had a... brief... understanding, and the understanding is over."

"I don't get it."

Buffy sighed. "Me either."

She accused suspiciously, "Was this your fault?"

"My fault? He's... he's Spike!"

"So?"

Buffy looked down at her hands. "Yeah."

"So if you feel so bad about what happened, why don't you apologize?"

"No, Dawn. You don't understand."

"Okay, maybe I don't. But it makes sense to me. You feel bad, you can feel better. And he can too. Two birds, one brick."

"It's not that simple."

"Fine," she clipped in mock nonchalance as she stood up to leave. "Be Mrs. Mopeypants forever. See if I care."

A small smile threatened Buffy's lips. Dawn did have a way of simpling things up.

"Oh, by the way?" Dawn returned in the doorway. "Giles called. Said he found Glory."

"And you tell me this now?" Buffy shrieked, mowing down a path to the front door.




More to come...

"I feel like we should be singing a round of Ding Dong the Bitch is Dead," Xander opened, breaking the post-battle silence.

"I'll start," Willow offered wearily.

"Yep," continued Xander. "Good riddance to bad bodysnatching hellbeasts, I always say."

"When she turned into Ben?" Willow mustered some excitement. "Oh my god, how creepy was that?"

"That was hugely creepy," Tara concurred. "Even more than that Michael Jackson video."

"Which one?" Willow asked.

"I think she means all of them," Xander returned.

"No, no -- the one with the people morphing!" Tara said with a giggle. "Remember?"

"I don't," Anya chimed in. "But I'll agree that it was creepy."

"Ben's probably glad to be himself again though, sans evil twin." Xander lifted his index finger. "And I speak from experience."

"At least yours wasn't wearing a red dress," Anya pointed out.

"True. I'm more of a taupe, heather gray kind of guy."

"I don't know," Buffy finally spoke, still holding onto her troll hammer. "It almost seemed too easy."

"Easy for you maybe, but not for us," Willow grumped, referring to herself and Tara. "Separating the two entities, encasing her 'til you could finish her off? That took a lot out of me. And Tara almost got her brain sucked."

"That wasn't so much fun," Tara said.

"I know," Buffy said. "I didn't mean that. It's just... it seemed like she'd be this huge deal. The great Big Bad bitch-slapping us into oblivion. You know -- in May, like usual. But instead it's only February, and she's just... poof." She flicked her fingers to illustrate.

"You're disappointed that she didn't kill us all?" Xander asked. "Gotta commend your optimism there, soldier."

"No. It was just... anticlimactic, I guess. I didn't even break a sweat."

"Glory was greatly weakened," Giles attested, slightly out of breath from keeping in stride with the bunch. "...Somehow."

"That's all the intel you got, huh?" Buffy jibed affectionately.

"Well, that, and the suspicion that someone reversed her ability to harness human brain power. Willow did say that she felt other magicks present."

"It coulda been just plain old Glory magicks, though," Willow guessed.

"Who else would put a mojo on her?" Buffy wondered. "Who else could?"

"I've no idea."

She smirked at her Watcher.

Giles justified defensively, "This is all rather new to me, you know. It's not every day that you get to face off against a god."

"Please don't say that again," Buffy requested melodiously. "Someone might hear and send us another one. Like the God-a-Month Club: Defeat one, get two free."

"Right," Giles said, breathing in the fresh night air. "Well, all's well that ends well, I suppose. Back to the daily grind."

"A big yay to that," Xander said, relieved.

"Yeah," Buffy rang in unenthusiastically, eyes on the ground. "Yay."

* * *

Traipsing quietly through the cemetery, Buffy pulled her coat around her to combat the chill.

She heard a distant skirmish, and with it a growl that could only belong to one man.

Following the noise, she crept closer and peered through a line of tall bushes to get a better look... At Spike, beating the tar out of a fresh-from-the-grave fledgling; flinging the younger vampire into tombstones with debilitating punches while talking conversationally.

"And then she says, 'There's your thanks, mate, we're even now!'"

Buffy gasped and shrunk back.

"Can you believe that bitch? Like that's all I've been wanting, a stupid -- bloody -- thanks!" At Spike's last hit, the fledgling went sailing again. "Oh yeah, Buffy, off you go, been nice! You had me off and I can die happy now!"

Flattened against a tree, the young vampire's eyes widened as Spike yanked a stake out of his coat pocket. He swerved. Spike collared him by the tuxedo lapel.

"I mean, not that it wasn't great. She's got the most incredible little hands... But I'm not made o' stone, you know! I got feelings too!" An uppercut to the stomach made the fledgling double over, and Spike effortlessly kneed him in the face as he continued to rant. "Problem is, she doesn't see what's in front of her bloody face!" His target took to the air and landed on his back.

Spike strode over to step on the vampire's chest, impeding any further movement. "Not like I want to be her prancing puppydog, right? It's just that she's... she's Buffy, you know?"

The fledgling nodded nervously.

His arms flew up. "And there I go like a bleedin' idiot, tryin' to help her with that whole Glory business. I break my hide gettin' the ingredients, I pay good money to get the baddest black-eyed warlock in town to put that hellbitch's head in a spin, and what's in it for me?"

"Um," the fledgling squeaked, "Nothing?"

"That's right! Nothing!" He took on a plaintive tone. "It's all for her, you know? She loves her little sis. Needs her. Anything happened to her, and..."

Buffy stood there, shocked beyond comprehension.

"And I didn't ask to be in love with her. This isn't bloody fun for me." His voice wavered as he went on. "I just... I know there's something there that she doesn't want to admit. She wants me, that's for sure, but she's got somethin' else for me. Something more. I can feel it! What's it gonna take for her to get it through her foggy head?" He stared down at the quivering vampire.

"I -- I don't know," the fledgling stammered.

"No. You never do, do you?" And he lunged a stake through the vampire's heart.

Spike stared down at the dust pile at his feet, then began to stomp on it repeatedly.

Buffy appeared at his side. "Um. I think he's dead."

He swung around in surprise.

"Or I could help you kill it some more," she offered.

He opened his mouth, and closed it again.

"Or we could go find other still-walking dead if you're game."

"You... You're asking me to patrol with you?"

"Well, my head is pretty foggy right now, but I think that's what I meant."

Chagrined, he looked at the ground. "So, you heard..."

"Everything."

"Great."

She crossed her arms, leisurely tapping her fingers against her coat sleeves. "And I thought I had problems."

"Right." Go on, make fun...

"A vampire in love with a slayer? Now that's rough."

"Okay, okay..."

"O'course, this slayer," Buffy conceded. "She's got this big problem too."

Thrown, Spike regarded her skeptically. "Yeah? And what's that?"

She looked him in the eye. "She's got this knot."

He stepped closer, maintaining eye contact. "You don't say."

"Mmhm," she nodded. "Some of the best have tried to work it out... with no luck."

"Yeah?" Spike tilted his head. "And where is it?"

She took his hand, and placed it over her heart. "Right here."

He let out a breath. "Yeah. I think I can feel it."

"Think you can help?"

Smoldering, he said, "I know I can."

She smiled. "Thought so."




The End... (except for the epilogue...)

PREVIOUSLY: (added to bypass 1000 word limit)

Spike stared down at the dust pile at his feet, then began to stomp on it repeatedly.

Buffy appeared at his side. "Um. I think he's dead."

He swung around in surprise.

"Or I could help you kill it some more," she offered.

He opened his mouth, and closed it again.

"Or we could go find other still-walking dead if you're game."

"You... You're asking me to patrol with you?"

"Well, my head is pretty foggy right now, but I think that's what I meant."

Chagrined, he looked at the ground. "So, you heard..."

"Everything."

"Great."

She crossed her arms, leisurely tapping her fingers against her coat sleeves. "And I thought I had problems."

"Right." Go on, make fun...

"A vampire in love with a slayer? Now that's rough."

"Okay, okay..."

"O'course, this slayer," Buffy conceded. "She's got this big problem too."

Thrown, Spike regarded her skeptically. "Yeah? And what's that?"

She looked him in the eye. "She's got this knot."

He stepped closer, maintaining eye contact. "You don't say."

"Mmhm," she nodded. "Some of the best have tried to work it out... with no luck."

"Yeah?" Spike tilted his head. "And where is it?"

She took his hand, and placed it over her heart. "Right here."

He let out a breath. "Yeah. I think I can feel it."

"Think you can help?"

Smoldering, he said, "I know I can."

She smiled. "Thought so."


***

Some weeks later...

Anya frowned, perplexed at the two twenty dollar bills and several singles that she'd found wedged beneath a crystal ball on the countertop.

"Who left this?" she demanded, shaking the loot in midair.

"Left what?" Xander asked absently, toying with a Mongolian monkey paw.

On an intuitive whim, Anya pivoted to inspect the cabinet behind her... and smirked. Completely cleaned out.

"Oh, nothing."

Shaking her head, she scribbled in the sales book, Jasmine body oil - 6 bottles @ $6.98 - REORDER!! while mumbling, "Just a couple of crazy kids."

* * *

"Slippery," Buffy said with a wide grin as she slid into Spike's lap.

"The oil?" He plunged two fingers inside her. "Or you?"

Her breath hitched. "I love your hands."

"That all you love?" he said with a tongue c.url and a penetrating gaze.

"Spike--" She readied the 'too much pressure' speech, but apparently he'd had something else in mind.

His fingers extracted, he'd gripped her waist and maneuvered her over his erect cock.

She grasped his slick length to guide it home. When she hit the hilt, her head circled back sensually and dipped forward until their foreheads touched. "Definitely love this."

"Kiss me," he said.

She pressed her oil-tinged lips against his, their tongues mingling while he helped her bounce softly, skin on skin, body to body... face to face.

Gaining speed, Buffy cooed and moaned into his mouth. His fingers roamed up and down her back, her breasts, her hips, her clit...

After she cried out in orgasm, he shoved her onto her back against the pillows and quilts gracing his crypt floor, and drove into her deeply, violently.

"Really, really love this," she said.

"I love you," he said in time with his thrusts. "I love you, Buffy. I... love... you."

"Yes," she encouraged, natural lubricant welling with each fervent proclamation. "Yes!"

"You want to love me, don't you?"

"Yes..."

"You want to give in to me, don't you..."

"Yes!"

"Say it."

"I want to... to love you, Spike... I do..."

Clenching his teeth and grinding into her, he roared along with his climax.

Buffy smiled in feminine satisfaction. She loved the way he felt, loved the way he came. She loved the way he moved, loved the way he spoke, loved the way he...

She loved him.

Buffy touched his face tenderly.

Gasping, he grew suspicious at her odd expression. "You're not about to run off, are you?"

"No."

"What is it?" His eyes sparkled with a mixture of adoration and insecurity.

"I think I..." Buffy inhaled deeply and exhaled with wonder, "I think I just fell in love with you."

Spike seemed to freeze in time, still as a statue, gaze locked with hers. Then suddenly, he attacked her with breath-stealing kisses.

She giggled and squirmed beneath him, finally yelping as she pushed him up, "Okay! Okay!"

Regaining his cool, he licked his lips and commended, "Not bad."

"Mmm." Buffy licked her lips too. "I agree. Smells good and tastes great."

"Less filling too," he threw in derisively. "But I think you know that's not what I meant."

"Are ya sure? 'Cause this oil is yummy."

Spike shook his head. He knew what she was trying to do, the cheeky little thing. She could backtrack all she wanted. What mattered was she'd said it.

"Mm, mm, good," she drove the point home.

"Like it that much, do you?" Spike twitched a brow. "Guess you'll have to lick it off me."

She gasped, hand on chest. "Why, Mr. Bloody! Are you suggesting I give you a different kind of happy ending?"

Threading his fingers into her hair, he said, "You already have."






THE END




I has a fever! And the only cure iz MOAR SHMOOP!