(Rescheduled) Halloween 2001, Season 6:



The petite young blonde walked along the foggy path that was a shortcut through the woods leading back to town. She pulled her red hood and cloak tighter around her body against the soft, cold rain that had started falling, and tried to keep her footing in the dark as she hurried back to her grandmother’s house.  Lightning flashed across the sky and thunder boomed, encouraging her to quicken her pace as she made her way along the slippery, muddy trail.
 
When she was a little girl, her mom had always told her ‘there was nothing there in the dark that wasn’t there in the light’. Despite that, she couldn’t help but feel like there was someone, or something there that she couldn’t see … following her … stalking her. She looked back often, scanning the dark and foggy expanse of forest nervously, and increased her pace despite the poor footing. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t see anything at all in the eerie darkness. The moon was blotted out by the thick storm clouds, and she hadn’t intended on being out so late, so she hadn’t brought a flashlight. When the lightning flashed, giving some modicum of illumination, every tree, bush, and rock along the trail looked like a vicious, hungry monster just waiting for an opportunity to pounce on her.
 
She cried out when she tripped over a stone that protruded from the edge of the well-worn path, catching herself with her hands to keep from tumbling all the way down onto the wet ground. She could’ve sworn she heard something rustle in the dead leaves just to the side of the trail when she stumbled, and she turned around and tried to see what it was. Perhaps one of her friends was pulling a Halloween prank on her. Yes, that must be it. There’s nothing to worry about; there’s nothing there in the dark that’s not there in the light.
 
“Hello?” she called tentatively, straining her eyes, searching the trees and the trail behind her but seeing nothing except utter blackness.

 

“‘Ello, cutie…” a deep, rumbling voice came from the direction she’d been going. She squealed in surprised fright and swung back around quickly to see who had spoken.
 
“W-who … who are you?” she stammered as her adrenaline level soared, her heart pounded and raced in her chest, and her breathing became even more shallow and rapid. It wasn’t one of her friends …
 
“You can call me Big Bad. Out for a evenin’ stroll, are ya?” the man asked in a low drawl. His demeanor was calm – dead calm – as he took a slow, predatory step towards her. His voice was … disconcerting. There was something unsettling about it – a raw, primal roughness to it, a growly timbre that made him sound something other than human. It occurred to her that he sounded almost like an animal who'd learned to speak; the thought was disturbing and did nothing to calm her nerves.
 
The darkness of the night kept his face shrouded, but something seemed … wrong. The girl squinted her eyes, trying to make out his features. She silently prayed for a shaft of moonlight or a lightning bolt to break through the clouds, through the dense canopy of the ageless trees above them, and cut a swath through the foggy blackness. Her prayers went unanswered – or perhaps, as the song goes, the answer was ‘no’. In the inky blackness, she could only get an impression of him and that impression was frightening.
 
“No … I … I’m just heading home … to my grandmother’s. I’m late…” the petite young woman stammered, backing up as the man stepped forward.

 

“Are ya now? And just where would Li’l Red Riding Hood’s grans live? Perhaps I could ... escort you. Lots of nasties out on All Hallows’ Eve,” the man offered. It was clear he was trying to sound amiable … friendly; Li’l Red felt anything but befriended. Her heart continued to race in her chest, she felt like she could barely breathe, and a bead of nervous perspiration joined the misting rain and ran down her temple in a chilling trickle of fear.
 
The girl gulped back the knot of panic in her throat. “No … uhhh, thank you, Mr. Bad. S-she just lives a little ways … across from Restfield Cemetery. I really need to go… s-she’ll be worried,” Li’l Red explained as she tried to find a way to get around the man, if that's what he was, who was now blocking the narrow trail.
 
“Turns out, I’m headin’ that way m’self… we could go together,” Big Bad suggested brightly, still stalking slowly forward as Li’l Red backed up. “The woods are a right scary place to be all alone in the dark…never know what might jump out at sweet little morsel like you.”
 
When Red got to the rock that she’d tripped over, she carefully stepped over it and continued to back up, but Big Bad didn’t notice the stone in the dark. His eyes were glued on the lovely young thing in front of him who smelled of honey and vanilla and fright – three of his favorite scents in the world. After she passed the rock, Red backed up faster, making Big Bad move forward faster. In his haste, the toe of his boot caught on the rock, and he lost his balance and tumbled forward. Red took the opportunity to sprint past him, running as fast as her legs would carry her along the slippery, dark trail towards her grandmother’s house.
 
She could hear the man laughing as she ran. He had a deep, rumbling laugh that rivaled the thunder in timbre and volume, and seemed to shake the very ground under her feet. That laugh was nearly as frightening as the look he’d had in his unnaturally glowing eyes, which she’d glimpsed as she bolted past him. In those eyes she saw a look of primal hunger, and it spurred her to run faster still.
 
Red ran all the way through the woods towards the cemetery, stumbling and sliding on the narrow, muddy trail. Even when she fell she kept moving forward, catching herself on her hands and clambering on fingertips and toes until she could right herself and begin running again. She never stopped or slowed or even glanced back. She kept running even as briars and branches reached out, clutching and tugging at her cloak and dress, and scratching her arms and face. It felt as if the trees themselves were possessed by pure evil, out to get her, to trap her, and hold her for the … yellow-eyed man. She thought she could feel the man’s breath on her neck … right behind her, about to catch her at any moment. Her legs churned wildly on the slippery trail, going faster than she thought possible, even as the rain began falling harder. The feeling of being chased stayed with her as she crossed the cemetery, dodging headstones and granite angels, threw open the iron gate on the fence that surrounded her grandmother’s home, and ran up the steps of the dilapidated house.  

 

Surely the man couldn’t have followed her all that way. Certainly she would’ve heard his heavy boots on the stairs if he really was right behind her; it was just her imagination getting the better of her. Red stopped on the front porch and bravely spun around to look behind her as she tried to catch her breath. He wasn’t there. No one was there but her. The rain had started falling even harder now and she strained to see the cemetery across the street through the downpour. Lightning lit up the sky, flashing several times as she searched for the platinum hair and dark outline of the man’s long duster, but she didn’t see anyone or anything. She took a deep breath and tried to calm down … everything was alright now, she was safe at home.
 
Just as she turned to open the door of the house, there was a bright flash of light and a loud explosion. A lightning bolt had hit the transformer on the power line right in front of the house and the whole block went completely dark. L’il Red screeched in fright, jumping nearly out of her skin as she quickly swung the old door open and scrambled inside. She still hadn’t gotten used to the eerie squeak all the doors in her grandmother’s house made. She was halfway convinced the house was haunted, but she’d rather face the ghosts inside than the scary things outside in the murky night, regardless of what her mother had told her about the dark. She didn’t know if she’d ever get used to life in this strange town. She was much more comfortable in L.A., but her grandmother was old and infirm and Red was her only living relative … it was up to her to try and make her final months as comfortable as possible.
 
She quickly closed the front door and locked it, then leaned her back against the door and closed her eyes, gulping the musty air mixed with fear as she tried to calm down.
 
“Grandmother! I’m home!” Li’l Red called at last.  Her heartbeat was finally returning to some semblance of normalcy, and she took a deep breath to try and calm herself further.
 
“Do come up, dear!” she heard her grandmother call from upstairs in a squeaky, rather raspy voice.
 
Red went into the kitchen and lit a candle, then took off her wet cloak and hung it on a hook inside the bathroom door so it could drip dry. She dried her short, blonde hair and her face with a towel and moaned when she realized she’d gotten mud on her new outfit. She tried to wash it off, but only succeeded in smearing it further, so she gave up and headed up the rickety stairs to her grandmother’s room to say goodnight.
 
At the top of the stairs, she knocked on her grandmother’s door.
 
“Come in, dear,” her grandmother called, her voice hoarse and grainy. She'd been quite ill and it had taken its toll on the elderly woman. Red rarely went out; this night was one of the few that she'd given herself 'off' since coming to Sunnydale.
 
Red opened the door and started towards her grandmother, who was laying in the bed, covered from chin to toe with a quilt, a sleeping bonnet on her head. “I’m sorry I’m so late, Grandmother,” Li’l Red apologized as she stepped nearer, setting the candle on the bedside table. “My … you don’t look well at all … all the color’s gone from your cheeks,” the girl observed worriedly. “Are you feeling alright?”
 
L’il Red’s grandmother began coughing violently, and the girl plucked some tissues from the box and handed them to her. “You look quite odd, Grandmother … your eyes … they’re so … big and … yellow,” L’il Red observed with a furrowed brow.
 
“Better to see you with, my dear,” Grandmother explained as the coughing subsided.

 

“And your nose … it’s larger and … oddly ridged,” Li’l Red continued, furrowing her brow and tilting her head in confusion.
 
“Better to smell you with, my dear,” Grandmother offered, her voice raspy and low.
 
“But, Grandmother! Your teeth! What large teeth you have!” Li’l Red exclaimed in fright as she started to back up towards the door.
 
“Better to eat you with, my dear,” Grandmother informed her as she threw off her covers and sprang at Red, catching her from behind as the young woman started to run out of the bedroom, and tossing her effortlessly back onto the bed.

 

Li’l Red knew immediately who it was even before she pulled the sleeping bonnet from his head, the stranger from the woods: Big Bad.
 
“Sorry, Red … didn’t care for Granny, bit gristly and sour. Got stuck in m’ teeth, she did,” Big Bad informed her as he pinned her hands above her head with an iron grip and straddled her hips with his. “You’re a mite more tender and sweet, I’d wager …”
 
“I’ll scream!” Red threatened, struggling under him as her heart again thudded against her chest, threatening to explode with terror.
 
“Bonus…” Big Bad smirked as he dropped his mouth to hers and captured her lips in a violent kiss.
 
The Big Bad Wolf’s tongue delved between Li’l Red Riding Hood’s soft lips, his sharp fangs only a hair’s breadth away from her tender flesh. A deep, rumbling growl escaped Spi… uhhhh … Mr. Bad’s throat as his tongue fought for control of the kiss with his (willing) captive.
 
When he saw Buffy in that Red Riding Hood costume at the Magic Box’s Halloween sale earlier and suggested a bit of the ‘rough and tumble’ – which Buffy eagerly accepted – there was no doubt in his mind how this night would end. Since Halloween was a night off for the demons of Sunnydale, there was no need for Spike and Buffy to actually patrol … but that was always a good excuse for Buffy to use to get away from the house. After Dawn left to go to her friend Janice’s, Buffy begged off of Xander and Anya’s impromptu engagement party to ‘go patrol’ with Spike. While Buffy was with her friends, Spike had gotten everything all set up for the two of them in the long abandoned ‘Bloody Mary’ house across the street from the cemetery, and the rest was pure imagination…
 
Spike pulled back from the kiss and gazed down at her in the soft glow of the candle, letting his eyes wander longingly over her face before locking her eyes with his. He knew it was a dangerous move – Buffy didn’t want that kind of intimate contact – but he couldn’t help himself. As soon as their eyes met, Buffy started writhing and pulling against the grip Spike had on her wrists again, breaking the tenuous connection of their eyes. Spike sighed to himself and returned to his role of predator – not lover.
 
Lightning flashed, illuminating the room, making Spike’s vampire visage appear even more demonic as he hovered over her. His fangs seemed to glimmer, deadly and razor-sharp, and his eyes actually seemed to glow with an inner fire … a hunger. Buffy felt her heart lurch and begin to race faster as she struggled against him fruitlessly.  A soft mist of rain blew in through the broken windowpane to the side of the bed and the cool, damp breeze chilled Buffy’s hot skin, making her shiver involuntarily.

 

“You afraid a’ me?” Big Bad asked in a whisper, dropping his mouth down next to her ear.
 
“You’re a Big, Bad Wolf … you’re dangerous … wicked …” L’il Red replied with a shudder.
 
“And that frightens you…” the wolf surmised in a deep, rumbling voice as he began kissing her neck. L’il Red could feel his dagger-like teeth graze her skin as his lips seemed to make her blood boil and thrum in her veins.
 
“Frightens … and …” Li’l Red stammered, tilting her head to the side to allow him to continue his exploration.
 
“And?” Big Bad questioned, pulling back to look at her.
 
“And …nothing! You’re a bad, evil animal … a fiend set on deflowering a poor, defenseless girl!” Li’l Red asserted as she began struggling against him again, wriggling her hips and legs, trying to dislodge him, but that seemed to only excite him more.
 
“Am I, now?” the wolf questioned, cocking his scarred brow at her, easily thwarting her efforts to move him by riding her bucking hips like a bronco-busting cowboy on a powerful, untamed, majestic beast. “I think the danger excites you … and my big, bad nose never lies…”

 

“No … you’re wrong!” Li’l Red contended as Big Bad dropped his mouth back to her hot skin and trailed his cool tongue down her neck, past her collarbone, pausing only momentarily to deftly slice a long gash down the front of her dress with his razor-sharp fangs.
 
Li’l Red’s top fell open. The wolf gazed reverently at her full breasts before dropping his mouth down and circling her rosy nipples with the tip of his tongue. Despite her earlier verbal objections and physical struggles, the girl wasn’t pulling against his grip any longer, and the subtle rise of her hips pressing against his wasn’t an effort to buck him off. When he touched his mouth to one hot, hard nub, her back arched, and a low moan escaped her lips.
 
As the storm outside continued to build, with the rain pelting the tin roof of the old house and lightning flashing through the windows, Big Bad released his hold of her wrists and slid slowly down her body, trailing his hands lightly across her heated flesh.
 
The wolf settled between her sun-kissed legs, lifting them and draping them over his shoulders as he pushed her short skirt away, revealing the source of the aroma his big, bad nose had detected:  nirvana.
 
“Good girls wear knickers,” Big Bad observed as he dipped his tongue between her smooth, wet folds and touched her clit, making her hips jerk up against him.
 
“Never claimed to be a good girl…” Li’l Red pointed out breathily, tilting her hips up towards him. “Just poor and defenseless.”
 
Spike spread her damp, pink butterfly wings with his cool fingers and teased the sensitive skin surrounding her entrance with his tongue, circling her vagina lightly before dipping his ravenous tongue into her heaven. He was rewarded with a flood of her blissfully divine pheromones which flowed over his lips, covering him with her desire and sending his senses reeling. The crazed, untamed wolf dove into her sweet, warm paradise, intent on devouring her. Buffy cried out when his tongue plunged deep into her throbbing pussy. She could feel the demon’s carnal desire invade her, she knew his sharp fangs were right there, pressing dangerously against her tender flesh … and she let the fear that she’d feigned earlier become real. She was fairly certain Spike would not intentionally hurt her – well, not like this – but one slip, one wrong move, was all it would take…
 
The adrenaline rush from allowing her most sensitive spot to be this vulnerable to those deadly fangs combined with the mesmerizing, feral pleasure Spike was lavishing on her and sent her own inner-animal spiraling out of control. Buffy’s hips jerked against the demon’s insatiable mouth, driving his tongue deeper into her burning desire and drawing blood as his fangs pricked her soft outer folds with each hard thrust. The wolf growled brutally when the blood combined with her juices and coated his tongue. It was all Spike could do to keep from actually biting her as she slammed against his mouth and took what she desired ... what she needed. When his growl vibrated through her, the flood of ecstasy that had been building exploded like a bolt of lightning and filled her body with white-hot bliss.
 
“God! Yesssssssss!” Buffy screamed, pulling Spike’s head down against her one last time as her back arched and her pussy quivered and trembled around his tongue, adding another irresistible flavor to the mix … her rapturous cum.
 
The demon growled again, angry at being controlled by her, despite the fact that it would choose to be no other place at that moment. For a second, Spike feared that he may actually lose control of the savage demon within. Slayer blood and cum combined into a dizzying cocktail that spun his head and burned his mouth like 190-proof pure grain alcohol, rolling down his throat like molten lava. Her unique ambrosia seemed to actually warm him from the inside out, and fanned the flames of his own voracious desires. Did she have any bloody idea what she was doing to him?
 
As Buffy floated back down from the clouds, Spike pulled free of her grip and quickly moved over her, covering her body with his as he dipped down and seized her lips in a frantic kiss. Buffy wrapped her arms around him and welcomed the demon into her hot, wet mouth just as she’d welcomed him into her pussy. Their tongues warred between his fangs, dancing, wrestling, pressing, and twirling around each other as they both fought for dominance over the other. Spike finally regained some semblance of control and pulled back from the kiss, leaving Buffy breathless and lightheaded, and desperately wanting more.
 
“Not as defenseless as you let on,” the Big, Bad Wolf accused with a smirk.
 
Li’l Red smiled wickedly and flipped them over, catching Big Bad by surprise. Buffy straddled his hips with hers and tugged at the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up over his head and off.
 
“I’m defenseless,” she murmured to him, running her hands over his deeply ridged brow, down his strong jaw, and across his prominent Adam’s apple. Her hands continued their exploration, moving to his hard pecs and across chiseled abs, only stopping when she reached his belt. Her eyes followed the path of her hands over the hard hills and valleys of his beautifully sculpted body. She didn’t look into his eyes – not when they were like this, it was too intimate – but she couldn’t draw her gaze away from his body. That body made her feel again and she could admit to worshiping it, even being grateful for it. It took the emptiness and pain away for a little while. She knew if she looked into his eyes too deeply, she’d feel something from that too. Something she didn’t want to feel or even think about. So she just looked at his body. That was safer.
 
“I'm helpless against you, you fiend,” she announced dramatically … overacting slightly. “I can't resist your feral beauty or the sinister attraction of your hard, insatiable body,” she confessed as she started to unbuckle his belt.
 
“This better?” Spike asked, finally forcing the demon down completely.
 
Buffy looked back up to his face. The yellow eyes of the wild beast were replaced with the smoldering blue of the sensual man. Her breath caught in her throat and she quickly looked away from his enigmatic, cocky gaze.  Buffy immediately felt a pang of disappointment and disgust with herself. How demented was she to feel more comfortable with the demon than the man? Spike’s expressive blue eyes seemed to see directly into her and read her like a book, but she couldn’t afford to let him in, especially not tonight. Tonight she was too raw, her emotions too close to the surface, her need for honest affection too great.
 
Xander and Anya were getting married. They were in love. They were happy. She was at once happy for them, but also … jealous and, well, feeling pitifully sorry for herself. The best she could do was an illicit affair with her mortal enemy – again. Had she learned nothing from her relationship with Angel? What was it about the evil-undead that drew her like a moth to a flame? And yet, out of all her well-meaning friends, only Spike could find a way to truly spark her reanimated corpse back to life. Only he could make her feel again. Only he seemed to truly understand what she needed.
 
Buffy leaned down and captured his lips in a desperate kiss. He couldn’t see into her soul if she was snogging him silly – that was much safer ground. Spike wrapped his arms around her, pulling her bare chest down against his as he deepened the kiss and the power struggle, the battle for supremacy, began anew. His demon rose back to the surface, not wanting to miss the passionate war that was being waged. Buffy gasped against his mouth as his fangs extended, but never pulled back or faltered. After ‘battling’ for untold minutes, Buffy pushed up with both hands on his hard chest, breaking his embrace and the kiss as she struggled to breathe, her chest heaving with exertion and desire and still a little fear-induced adrenaline.
 
Spike watched, mesmerized by the lustful passion in her eyes and by her damp, golden skin, which glistened in the soft glow of the candle, as she slid back down his torso to finish what she’d started earlier.
 
“You wouldn’t deflower a poor, defenseless wolf, now would ya?” Big Bad questioned as he folded his arms behind his head and watched her unfasten his belt and slide his zipper down, freeing his rigid cock from its denim prison.
 
L’il Red smiled wickedly as she backed further down his legs, slid off the bed, and began tugging his pants off. Spike raised his hips up to let his jeans slide down as she pulled, watching her as she ravaged his body with her eyes. “I thought wolves were … fuzzier,” Li’l Red observed with a smirk, making Spike chuckle lightly.
 
“If I was, you’d take me to the bloody groomer and Nair me, I’ve no doubt…” the Big Bad Wolf countered, making Buffy laugh at the image of Spike at the dog groomer’s getting washed, dipped, and de-haired.
 
“Good wolves wear knickers,” Li’l Red murmured as she dropped his jeans on the floor.
 
“But big, bad wolves are a bloody sight more fun,” Spike defended as he watched Buffy shed her torn and tattered dress and drop it onto the floor with his jeans.
 
“Mmmmmm … are they? Let’s find out…” she challenged as she crawled slowly back up his body on hands and knees, trailing her tongue all the way from his ankle, across the swell of his calf, tickling the side of his knee, and teasing the soft skin of his inner-thigh. About halfway up his thigh, she switched to rough nibbles and bites on the tender flesh between his knee and groin. Spike’s cock jumped and throbbed desperately with each touch of her ravenous mouth on his cool skin.
 
Big Bad struggled to let her have her way with him, but she was close to driving him out of his mind. When Li’l Red bit down hard enough to draw blood on his upper inner-thigh, a deep, rumbling growl rippled through his body and tangibly vibrated the air in the room. Li’l Red smirked. Her ministrations were having the desired effect on the Big, Bad Wolf … turning him into an even bigger, even badder, even more crazed and wild beast. She pressed a knee against the wolf’s leg and he obediently bent his knees and spread them apart for her to settle between them.
 
Red purred a low moan against the base of the Big, Bad Wolf’s engorged manhood before dropping her mouth lower and tickling the delicate and sensitive skin of his scrotum with the tip of her hot, wet tongue.
 
“Bloody hell…” Big Bad groaned as his hips rose up to meet her, his cock searching for those sweet lips, silently begging for them to engulf him in their fiery depths, but they were otherwise engaged. The ‘poor, defenseless girl’ nibbled lightly on his jewels before sucking first one, then the other into her delectable mouth and swirling her tongue round and round them in a dizzying figure eight.
 
“Fuck, woman!” Spi… the wolf exclaimed, reaching down to run his hands through her golden mane as she teased and tortured and tantalized and titillated and thrilled and taunted and … a thousand other ‘T’ words which eluded his mind at the moment.
 
Spike took deep, physically unneeded breaths of the cool, damp air that billowed in through the broken window and tried to concentrate on the sound the rain was making as it pounded down on the tin roof above them. The thunderstorm that was raging outside was nothing compared to the tornado he was trying to contain within himself. Every touch of her lips on his skin, every nibble, every bite, every caress of her hand, every brush of her fingers, every hot breath that tickled his cool flesh, every moan, every silken hair that feathered over him was sending him spiraling faster … lifting him higher … propelling him nearer to a maelstrom of uncontrollable, carnal lust.

 

When Li’l Red pulled her mouth slowly off his balls, raking her teeth roughly across his soft, sensitive flesh, the wolf’s hips lurched and jerked. The tornado he was keeping just barely contained was desperate for release, and the Big, Bad Wolf was having a hard time remembering why he was trying to keep it contained in the first place.
 
Lightning flashed through the un-curtained, second story windows of the old house and the trees outside flailed and thrashed in the strong wind like giant, multi-armed monsters struggling against the earth that held them captive, rooted in place. Thunder shook the house as it rumbled over the landscape, rattling the windows and vibrating the old wooden structure like a small earthquake … or was that the deep rumbling growl emanating from Big Bad’s throat making the bed vibrate like that?
 
Buffy wasn’t sure, but she was sure that she was driving him insane and she was sure that she loved doing it. She loved the moans and the growls and the way his body yearned for her; she loved how she could so easily transform him into a crazed wolf with her touch, and he could do the same to her. Was that wrong? Was it wrong to want to feel that power? Was it wrong to want to be wanted? Was it wrong for her to find comfort and passion in the dark with a monster? She tried not to think about the wrongness of it. She couldn’t think about it, because it made her just as much of a monster as he was. She was using him and he was letting her. He was her dirty little secret and it was wrong, but she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t go back to being a walking, talking, unfeeling shell of a reanimated corpse. Spike was the only one that could touch her, both literally and figuratively, and she wasn’t prepared to give that up – yet.
 
Li’l Red teased Big Bad’s jewels with her tongue as she trailed it down further to his taint and wrapped her hot hand around the base of his cock, eliciting another window-rattling moan from the wolf. She started stroking his hard rod slowly and piling up the ‘T’ words again … teasing the sensitive skin between his scrotum and his ass with delicate caresses of her soft, magical tongue.
 
The wolf could physically feel himself being lifted up by the tornado that was swirling within him as the poor, defenseless girl turned him from the captor into the captive. She had ensnared him in her spell with no chance for escape, and that was perfectly fine with him.
 
“God, Buffy …” Spike moaned, calling her by her name for the first time since this night began. “Need you…” he begged as she licked and kissed and stroked him, sending his desire whirling faster and faster … picking up speed at a frantic, dizzying pace.
 
Buffy couldn’t have agreed more. She released her hold on his cock and slid quickly up his body, still between his legs, trapping his throbbing hardness between them, pressing her hips against his as she held her chest up above him with straight arms. Wanton passion burned in her green eyes as she looked down on the wolf, carefully avoiding his eyes. There had been a time that she would’ve been repulsed by the demon … but now she welcomed it. There was a wild beauty to the vampire visage, primal and savage, and she actually felt less vulnerable with the demon than the man. The man wanted her heart; the demon only wanted her body.
 
Buffy leaned down next to his ear, her short hair tickling his neck and face, bathing him in her scent and sending the whirling cyclone within him raging ever faster. “Then take me…” she whispered, her breath hot and moist against his skin, her heart thundering in her chest, and her need for him swirling within her just as wildly as his need raged within him.
 
It was all the permission the man needed to release the demonic tempest that he’d been holding in check. The wolf growled savagely and flipped them over, urging her legs apart roughly with one knee and Buffy obliged greedily, opening herself up to the storm that she’d brewed within him. Big Bad pressed her legs up and out, folding her nearly in half, and thrust into her heat in one hard, violent stroke.
 
“Fuck, yessss!” Buffy shrieked as his cock stretched and filled her and his pubic bone slammed down on her clit, adding fuel to the already building gale within her. Buffy’s hands went to his slim hips, her nails digging into the flesh of his ass as the storm outside the window continued to rage with nearly as much fury as the storm within.

 

The Big, Bad Wolf’s back arched as he threw his head back and howled a long, piercing, haunting cry when her strong, supple walls consumed him in painfully-sweet rapture. The feeling of being joined with his wild Slayer was something he’d never tire of; it was something he couldn’t describe with words no matter how hard the poet within him endeavored to do so. The blissful howl of the demon was the only verbalization that came close to doing it justice. 
 
The carnal savagery of their lust propelled the lovers higher and higher, spinning them faster and faster as the lightning outside flashed, and thunder rolled over them. The whole house rattled and shuddered as they rode the dark clouds up into the stormy night sky, each offering as much to the other as they received. It was a beautiful, savage dance of primal lust. They both longed to ride the lightning bolts that cracked dangerously just above them, and roll with the thunder as it engulfed the earth. They both endeavored to propel each other into the night sky, to capture the lightning and roll with the tide of thunder as it cascaded over them.


 
Buffy could feel the lightning as it crackled through the air, striking, it seemed, all around the old house, as if drawn to them, to their energy, to their passion. It raised goose bumps on her skin and her whole body tingled as Spike filled her, pounding into her with wild abandon. He vied with the storm, sending his own bolts of electrically-charged rapture sailing out from her core to every cell in her body. She suddenly felt like they were both being lifted up … turning, spinning, caught in a wild, unstoppable, and uncontrollable cyclone of ecstasy.
 
Buffy wasn’t even aware of the scream that escaped her lips as she lost the ability to do anything but feel the rapture within her body. Spike’s roar of release merged with hers as the storm of their orgasms took them up to the very place that lightning bolts were conceived, at the feet of Zeus. Suddenly they seemed to be nothing more than electrons and protons drawn to each other – merging then separating, bouncing off and back again as they spun faster and faster until they both EXPLODED. The lovers crashed down towards earth as if hurtled by the god of the sky himself – a deadly white-hot bolt of absolute power, which consumed and fused them together in that moment of mutual release.

 

The lovers’ declarations of bliss joined with the thunder as the storm raged outside. A cool mist of rain billowed over the secret lovers through the broken window, but neither seemed to notice as they raced over the earth on the waves of thunder they’d created. Like a dark, vaporous rollercoaster, they rode the rumbling waves over hills, down into valleys, above the towns and cities and farms and fields of the earth. It seemed to go on forever, until finally the ride slowed, the thunder faded, and the lightning moved past them, onto the next town, the next farm, the next crypt or cave … the next pair of amorous, forbidden, preternatural lovers.
 
Buffy gasped for air as she clung to Spike, her body still thrumming and tingling from the ride they’d just come down from. Spike released her legs and she wrapped them around his hips as he collapsed down atop her, unable to control his trembling muscles for even one second longer. Buffy finally forced her fingers to loosen their grip on his ass, sure that she’d left eight perfect bleeding crescents on his round cheeks, but Spike never complained when she drew blood; he wore the wounds she bestowed as badges of honor.

 

She wrapped her arms around his chiseled back, as she tried to breathe and get her limbs to start working properly again. Spike tangled his fingers in her short hair and rested his head down next to hers, breathing in the sweet scent that was no one but Buffy. From her shampoo, to her glistening skin, to her rapture, which covered him, it was an intoxicating fragrance he wanted to remember for all eternity. He held no illusions: this would not last forever. He treasured every stolen moment with his Slayer … the Slayer, and wanted to hold the passion of her scent, the softness of her skin, the heat of her body, the power of her muscles, the lustfulness of her heart in his memories forever.
 
Buffy ran her hands gently up and down Spike’s damp back; the mist that had blown in through the broken window cooled his skin even more than normal and it felt wonderfully refreshing against her overheated flesh. Spike thought he heard her … purring? Or perhaps it was just deep sighs of gratification. He closed his eyes and sighed in return, savoring the feel of her body under him, the pounding of her heart against his chest, and the heat that radiated from her and engulfed him. It was his own personal heaven – fleeting though it may be.
 
**~**

{{  Click here to hear Li’l Red Riding Hood by Sam the Sham & the Pharaohs on YouTube  }}

Owoooooooo!

Who's that I see walkin' in these woods?
Why, it's Little Red Riding Hood.
Hey there Little Red Riding Hood,
You sure are looking good.
You're everything a big bad wolf could want.

Listen to me.
Little Red Riding Hood
I don't think little big girls should
Go walking in these spooky old woods alone.

Owoooooooo!
What big eyes you have,
The kind of eyes that drive wolves mad.
So just to see that you don't get chased
I think I ought to walk with you for a ways.
What full lips you have.

They're sure to lure someone bad.
So until you get to grandma's place
I think you ought to walk with me and be safe.
I'm gonna keep my sheep suit on
Until I'm sure that you've been shown
That I can be trusted walking with you alone.

Owoooooooo!
Little Red Riding Hood
I'd like to hold you if I could
But you might think I'm a big bad wolf so I won't.

Owoooooooo!
What a big heart I have-the better to love you with.
Little Red Riding Hood
Even bad wolves can be good.
I'll try to be satisfied just to walk close by your side.
Maybe you'll see things my way before we get to grandma's place.

Little Red Riding Hood
You sure are looking good
You're everything that a big bad wolf could want.

Owoooooooo! I mean baaaaaa! Baaa?

Moments later…

When Buffy’s heart-rate slowed and her breathing evened out, Spike thought she might’ve fallen asleep. He took the rare opportunity to study her face in the soft, golden candlelight without her punching him in the nose and running off, as was her habit. He lifted his face and gazed down on her, gently brushing some stray locks away from her eyes with his fingers. His ‘Goldilocks’ had cut off her long mane of sunshine, but she remained just as resplendent, just as beautiful to him as ever. His blue eyes shone with love and reverence as he smiled down at her serene features … and it turned out to be the absolute worst thing he could've done. Like some kind of early warning system – which the military really should to look into employing – Buffy’s verdant eyes blinked open and she caught him looking at her.

 

Buffy turned away, her face hardening into a mask of disgust, and unceremoniously pushed him off her. Spike sighed as he landed on his back on the bed next to her. He closed his eyes, and listened to her get up and begin retrieving her clothes and hurriedly pulling them back on. He knew there was no sense saying anything to her. The night was done – she was leaving. At least she hadn’t kicked him in the head or punched him in the nose – yet. Buffy left without another word, taking the candle with her and leaving Spike, as usual, alone in the dark.
 
He sighed when he heard the front door close and hauled himself up. He gathered his own clothes from the floor and pulled them back on before following her out into the cool, wet night. It had stopped raining and the only lightning to be seen was in the far distant southern sky. It wasn’t that late and, despite it being Halloween – the one night vampires stay in – he didn’t feel like being alone, so he turned and headed toward Willy’s Place.
 
Taking a shortcut through the park, he heard voices – kids playing juvenile Halloween pranks, no doubt. He kept walking, head down, mind on his Slayer … or not his Slayer … the Slayer. So lost was he in his thoughts that he didn’t even notice the group of vampires, or the teenage girl running from them, until she nearly bowled him over in the dark.

 

“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed, catching his balance on her shoulders and steadying her at the same time. “Why don’t ya watch where you’re …” he began to chastise tersely when he realized who it was. “Niblett?! What the bloody hell are ya…”
 
“Spike! Oh, thank God! Help! Vampires!” Dawn squealed as fright and relief warred in her shrill voice, her eyes wide with fear.
 
Before Spike knew what had happened, he and Dawn were surrounded by a group of at least fifteen vamps.
 
“Bloody plonkers these days, got no respect for the soddin’ rules,” Spike grumbled as he felt in his duster pockets for weapons. He was dismayed to find he didn’t have any weapons at all, not even a stake – he hadn’t expected any actual demons to be out and about this night. D’oh! How many Halloweens would it take for him to remember: this was Sunnydale – things were different here.
 
He realized quickly there was no way he could take all of them and keep Dawn safe too. As the vampires closed the circle around them, Spike grabbed Dawn and pulled her back against his front hard. With one hand splayed against her abdomen he growled a warning to the other vampires. “Mine!” he snarled at them, his demon rising automatically.
 
Dawn’s heart felt like it was going to hammer right through her ribs and out of her chest. She turned frightened, confused blue eyes up to Spike’s feral golden ones.
 
“Trust me,” he growled against her neck as he lowered his mouth against her skin.
 
Dawn stiffened and her eyes clamped tightly closed of their own accord, but she nodded almost imperceptibly.
 
“Hey! What’s your malfunction, man?” Justin demanded, stepping out of the wide ring of vamps and up nearer Spike and his captive.
 
“It's Halloween, you nit! We take the night off. Those are the rules!” Spike spat back at the youngster, still holding Dawn against him, but pressing his demon down.

“Me and mine don't follow no stinkin' rules! We're rebels!” Justin proclaimed, garnering a murmur of agreement from the other vamps, who took a step forward, closing the circle around Spike and Dawn.



“No. I'm a rebel. You're an idiot. Give the lot of us a bad name, you do,” Spike growled back. “Back the bloody hell off! This morsel belongs t’ me – claimed she is,” Spike asserted again.
 
“I don’t see any claim marks! What makes her yours? I saw her first – tasted her first … she’s mine,” Justin insisted angrily.
 
“Like hell,” Spike retorted. “This one, and ‘er sister, the Slayer, have been mine for years, you prat. Who the bloody hell do ya think you’re dealing with here, whelp?”

 

The other vampires abruptly stopped their slow advance. A murmur ran through the group, and Spike heard his name whispered through their ranks, despite not actually introducing himself. Spike pulled out the only ‘weapon’ he had – one he’d carried around with him since the very first time Buffy had shagged him.
 
He held up a small wisp of lace and fabric, and twirled it in the air around his finger, sending the scent of Slayer out over the crowd. They all snorted and growled, but took a step back from him with more whispers and frightened glances.
 
The rumors were true: Spike had tamed the Slayer – he owned her. If that rumor was true, perhaps the others were also: Spike was insane – like, Michael Myers insane – only worse: he killed demons. For fun. According to those who would know, Spike would dust you if you just looked at him sideways.
 
“I heard that he took out that whole nest of soldiers that used to live under the campus, all by himself,” one young woman with long black hair whispered to her neighbor, a balding, overweight man in his thirties.
 
“I heard he saved the Slayer from Adam! Adam beat her up really good, I hear. She only lived because Spike shielded her when Adam started shooting with that Gatling gun. Spike took the bullets himself! Then, even shot up and bleeding, he tore that freak’s guts out with his bare hands,” the balding man murmured back.
 
“He killed all those prisoners they had down there, too – dusted every last vamp, decapitated every demon,” another vamp added. “It was a massacre!”
 
“Then he carried the Slayer all the way to the hospital!” another woman piped up. “She’s been his ever since, from what I’ve heard.”
 
Spike smirked as he watched the circle of vamps take a few more steps back. Rumors were beautiful things, if he did say so himself.
 
Justin was the only one to not back down. He looked at Dawn with new comprehension. “Your sister is the Slayer?” he asked, incredulity battling with awe in his tone.
 
Dawn nodded an autonomic reply. Her eyes were open again, watching Spike twirl one of Buffy’s lace thongs on his finger.
 
“No wonder you tasted so …”
 
“OI! Finish that sentence and die,” Spike warned. “If ya back off now you’ll live t’ fight another day,” he advised. “This little bit is mine.”

 

Justin eyed him angrily and looked around for help, but the other vampires had begun to disperse, leaving him basically alone. Justin held his hands out to the side and took a step back. “Don’t want any trouble with you, man,” he told Spike.
 
“Not as daft as ya look,” Spike snarled back as he stuffed the undies back in his pocket, grabbed Dawn’s hand, and begin to pull her away.
 
They hadn’t gone three steps before Justin tackled Dawn from behind, yanking her hand free of Spike’s. The two youngsters flailed around on the ground only a moment before Justin pinned her down and his fangs found her tender, virgin neck. He’d just pricked her skin when he was suddenly flying through the air from a savage kick to his ribs, delivered by a furious Spike.

 

Dawn screamed, holding a hand over the small pin-pricks, and scrambled behind Spike as he stalked over to the boy. Justin was more resilient than Spike had estimated, and apparently a few fries short of a Happy Meal, because he was back on his feet and charging Spike, taking the elder vamp by surprise. Spike growled when Justin tackled him around the midsection and drove Spike onto his back on the hard ground. Justin’s fangs lashed at Spike, his fists flailing wildly as he attacked the master vamp with crazed abandon. More than one fist connected with Spike’s face before Spike could kick the youngster over his head and off. In a moment, both vamps were on their feet, circling each other warily. Justin stole a glance at Dawn, trying to judge if he could get to her and drain her before Spike could stop him – but there was no way. He could get to her, but he didn’t want to rush the draining … or the turning.
 
In that second of distraction, Spike pounced. By the time Justin knew Spike had moved, the boy’s head was being wrenched off his shoulders by main force. Dust showered down onto the damp ground as Justin disintegrated before Dawn’s wide, frightened eyes.
 
Spike stalked away from the pile of dust, slapping his hands together to remove the gritty residue from them, and over to Dawn, who seemed to be frozen in place. “Let me see,” he demanded, pulling her hand away from her neck. He sighed in relief, but his voice was terse and still angry when he spoke. “You’ll live. Let’s go.”
 
He pulled Dawn to her feet and began leading her out of the park. Finally coming to her senses, Dawn told Spike that Janice was in the park with her. After a bit of searching, Spike found Janice and sent her scurrying her home, basically unharmed. That done, he dragged Dawn all the way back to Revello, despite her objections and begging him to not tell Buffy. With her still pleading for mercy, Spike stormed through the front door of the Summers’ house, pulling Dawn by the hand. He swung the girl inside in front of him. The move wasn’t anywhere near what he could’ve done if he’d intended to hurt her; it simply made her stumble into the foyer – a grand entrance. She grabbed the banister to keep from falling, and began looking around wildly to see who might’ve witnessed her unceremonious homecoming. Unfortunately, the answer was: nearly everyone.

 

Inside, the pair was met with stunned looks and gasps from the small group of friends that were still there celebrating Xander and Anya’s engagement. Xander and Willow jumped up immediately and went to Dawn, while Giles, Tara, and Anya reacted a bit more slowly and followed a step or two behind. A moment later, Buffy appeared at the top of the stairs, now dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. She’d come back in from ‘patrol’ through her bedroom window, leaving her ripped Halloween costume safely hidden away in her room.
 
“What the hell is going on?” Xander demanded, glaring at Spike as he helped to steady Dawn.
 
“Caught her out in the woods with a bloody vamp!” Spike explained, looking up at Buffy, not Xander.
 
“What? Dawn!? I thought you were going over to Janice’s!” Buffy exclaimed, jogging down the stairs quickly.
 
“I was … I did! We just … went for a walk and …” Dawn stammered.

 

“Bollocks!” Spike growled. “Tell the bloody truth!”
 
“I am!” Dawn insisted, stamping a foot down angrily. “We went for a walk in the park and … we met her friends, Zack and Justin, and … went for a ride,” Dawn stammered.
 
“You went for a ride with strange boys!?” Buffy exclaimed angrily.
 
“Not boys, vamps,” Spike clarified.
 
“Vampire boys!?” Buffy shrieked at her sister.

 

“And she let one taste ‘er …” Spike elaborated.
 
“I didn’t let him … he bit me!” Dawn argued.
 
“Before that – he said he’d tasted you; said you were his,” Spike continued angrily.
 
“He just kissed me!” Dawn defended angrily. “It was … nice.”

 

“You let a vamp kiss you?” Buffy exclaimed in horror.
 
“Oh, like you never…” Dawn shot back, rolling her eyes.
 
“The wanker tried to bite ‘er … I … discouraged ‘im from that course o’ action,” Spike added.
 
“Bite?!” Buffy repeated, suddenly more concerned than angry. “Are you alright?” Buffy asked, reaching out to check her sister for wounds.
 
“She’s fine – just a little prick,” Spike assured Buffy, cocking a brow at her to empathize his double-entendre.
 
Assured that Dawn was alright, Buffy suddenly became angry again. “How could you be so stupid? Have I not taught you anything?!?” she demanded of her sister. “Honestly, Dawn! Kissing vampires? What were you thinking?”

 

“Oh, like you’re so pure!” Dawn defended haughtily, crossing her arms over her chest. “Maybe you’d like to tell us how Spike got a pair of your underwear … used underwear – with your scent on them.”
 
“What … I … huh?” Buffy stammered, taken off-guard. She looked between Spike and Dawn, confused.
 
Spike clenched his jaw until the muscles twitched and rolled his eyes. “Bloody hell…” he muttered, unconsciously stuffing his hand down into the duster pocket where the offending article of clothing resided.
 
“Spike has a pair of your undies,” Dawn explained, glaring at her sister, using the old adage about a good offense being the best defense.  “And he used them to prove that you and I belong to him. That’s how we got away from that bunch of vamps in the park … mostly. He had to fight Justin, but the rest ran away when he twirled your thong around on his finger. So, where, oh where, would he have gotten them?” Dawn asked again, sing-songing the last part.
 
Spike’s eyes met Buffy’s for the briefest of moments. Absolute panic flashed across her features, and he could hear her heart skip a beat or three. Spike’s own heart sank – he’d let her down – given away her secret. Then a white-hot anger burned in him – why should he care? She didn’t really care about him, did she? She used him for what she wanted and ran off – virtue fluttering. She’d toss him under the bus in a heartbeat, why should he go out of his way to keep her dirty little secret?

 

Spike sighed and clenched his jaw tighter. Who was he kidding? He couldn’t let her down, no matter what.  “No big mystery, is there? Just grabbed ‘em from the laundry. Stole ‘em, didn’t I?” Spike ground out in answer to Dawn’s accusatory question.
 
Buffy flashed him a small look of gratitude, then her brows furrowed as she picked up on a different part of the story. “Belong to …” she stammered, her eyes growing wide.
 
“Give them up, fang-boy,” Xander demanded, interrupting her, and moving menacingly towards the blond vamp, hand extended, palm up.

 

“Sod off, Harris,” Spike growled back at him. “Right sure your fat ass wouldn’t fit in ‘em, so it’s none o’ your concern, is it?”
 
Xander began to level a retort, but Buffy interrupted him. “I don’t belong to you!” she snarled at Spike, anger suddenly replacing the gratitude.
 
Spike cocked a brow at her. “I’m bloody well aware o’ that, Slayer. Had to say something t’ get the Niblett outta there, didn’t I? Too many for me to take on my own and protect ‘er too. Best thing was for them t’ think … you Summers women were … mine. Protected by … William the Bloody.”
 
“Oh, that’s rich,” Xander growled at him. “You just can’t let it go, can you, Spike? Don’t you get it? Buffy doesn’t want you! She wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole! Why don’t you just get over it and move on? Or better yet, move out! As in: ‘out of town’. We don’t need you around here and Buffy damn sure doesn’t want you.”
 
“That what you want, luv? Want me t’ shove off … move out, leave ya be?” Spike challenged, meeting Buffy’s gaze. For once he couldn’t read her. Emotions ranging from panic, to anger, to fear and sadness flickered through her green eyes and over her features, none staying long enough for Spike to get a feel for what she was thinking.
 
“Xander, m-m-maybe you shouldn’t …” Tara began, reaching out for his arm.

 

“What!?” Xander continued angrily, shaking the witch off. “Obviously Buffy telling him that she doesn’t want anything to do with him hasn’t made an impression – maybe if it comes from someone willing to stake him it’ll sink into his thick, bleached brain.”
 
“Mind your manners, Harris. Ya really don’t want t’ piss me off,” Spike snarled back at him.
 
“Oh, what are you gonna do? Chastise me to death? You’re a pathetic excuse for a monster and a …” Xander shot back.
 
“Xander … please …” Buffy interrupted him, moving forward a step towards him.
 
“Fought with you lot the whole summer Buffy was gone, I did. Protected the Niblett – protected your sorry arse, Cap'n Bligh, and this is the thanks I get,” Spike spat back at the younger man, stepping forward menacingly.

 

“Spike … please,” Buffy continued, stepping between the two posturing men as testosterone-laced anger filled the air between them. “Both of you: please stop.”
 
Spike pursed his lips and stopped moving forward at her request, but he never took his angry gaze off Xander. Xander was slower to react, moving another step before Buffy physically stopped him with the palm of her hand on his chest.
 
“Buffy, he’s never gonna stop. Now the whole town thinks you and he are … an item or something. They think he owns you – that he’s claimed you. How sick and twisted is that?” Xander continued ranting.
 
Buffy turned and glared at Xander. “It sounds like he did what he had to do to save Dawn. Maybe that should be the most important thing instead of what a herd of vamps … clutch of vamps? Gaggle?” Buffy shook her head, losing her train of thought.

 

“Pack,” Spike offered.
 
“Right,” she nodded, getting her wandering train back on track. “Maybe Dawn’s safety should take a front seat to what a pack of vamps thinks about my … virtue or … whatever.”  She gave Xander her best glare, wishing with all her heart he would just drop it.
 
“I hate to admit this, but perhaps Buffy is correct,” Giles admitted, speaking for the first time. “And what of Janice – she was also at the park?”
 
“Got ‘er out. She should be safe at home by now,” Spike answered Giles, never taking his eyes off Xander.
 
“I’ll … call and make sure,” Tara offered, moving away and out of the foyer.
 
“I can’t believe you’re standing here defending him,” Xander continued, returning Buffy’s glare. “He’s got your underwear! God knows what disgusting things he’s been doing…”
 
“Xander! Shut. Up!” Buffy ordered angrily. Tears stung Buffy’s eyes and she blinked them back before Xander could see. “It doesn’t matter where he got them. Just, shut up about it!”
 
“No! I’m not gonna let him get away with spreading vicious, nasty rumors about you and having people think you’re some kind of … skank ho’ that would sleep with a filthy monster like him!” Xander argued.
 
“Oi!” Spike snarled. “Why don’t you shut your gob before…”

 

“What?!” Xander interrupted him. “You gonna shut it for me? Like you even could, Chip-boy! You’re about as scary as the Easter Bunny!”
 
“Hey!” Anya objected. “Have you ever met the actual Easter Bunny?!? You wouldn’t be saying that if you saw the weapons he carried in that wicker basket. All those pastel colors and eggs are just a ruse. I once saw him take the head off a…”
 
“Shut up, Anya,” Xander retorted, not looking at her.
 
“Don’t tell me to shut up, Xander Harris!”
 
“Why don’t you try somethin’ and we’ll see whose gob gets shut first!” Spike tossed back at Xander, ignoring Anya.
 
In a moment the room had erupted into chaos, with everyone talking and yelling at once, and Spike and Xander jostling each other with Buffy standing between them.
 
“STOP IT! EVERYONE JUST STOP!” Buffy screamed at the top of her lungs, pushing Xander and Spike apart with brute force.
 
Everyone stopped talking, stopped moving, and even stopped breathing for a moment after her outburst. After a moment, Giles suggested, “Spike, perhaps you should go.”
 
Spike looked at Buffy. “That what you want, pet? Me t’ go?”

 

Buffy met his gaze, and she could feel the eyes of all her friends on her. There was more meaning in his words that what they conveyed on the surface. She could see it in his eyes – those eyes that she couldn’t bring herself to look into when they were …
 
She swallowed hard and those damn tears began to blur her vision again. “I … I just … want everyone to … get along,” she managed at last, her voice low and shaky.
 
“Pffft!” Xander snorted, still angry. “Like anyone could get along with the evil dead here. Take, take, take – that’s all he’s good for…”
 
“Goddamnit, Xander!” Buffy snarled, rounding on him. “He saved Dawn tonight, sounds like he saved all you guys a few times while I was gone – what the fuck more do you want from him?”
 
“Those underwear, for starters,” Xander shot back. “And then Willow can do a disinvite spell so he can’t steal any more of them.”
 
Spike huffed out a breath. “Forget it, luv. Don’t need t’ worry ‘bout ole Spike sticking his nose in ‘round ‘ere anymore. Bloody ungrateful wankers,” Spike growled from behind her, his voice resigned.

 

Buffy turned around and Spike pressed the lace thong into her palm before spinning on his heel and disappearing out the still-open front door. “Spike! Don’t …” she called after him, taking a step forward.
 
“Good riddance!” Xander cheered from behind Buffy. “Maybe that air-head Harmony will take you back. God knows she has no self-respect or scruples! That’s the only kind of woman that would touch you: a pathetic loser with no brain cells!”
 
Something deep inside Buffy which had been pushed to the breaking point snapped in that moment. It felt like a damn breaking. The weight and constant onslaught of Xander’s words were like a flash flood, making it impossible for her to contain her rage another moment longer.
 
Spike growled and spun back around at Xander's taunts, but Buffy was faster. She slammed Xander against the wall next to the stairs, putting a Xander-sized crack in the drywall. “Is that what you think? Is that what I am? A pathetic, skank-ho, loser with no self-respect, scruples, or brain cells!?” she demanded of him, losing the battle with her tears and her anger at the same moment.

 

“I … What?” Xander stammered, trying to get his head to stop spinning from the blow against the wall.
 
“Spike didn’t steal these from my house,” Buffy continued, waving the lace thong in the air, fury and pain flooding out of her with every word. “I left them in his crypt! I must’ve … forgotten them … after we … I … Oh, God…”
 
“Actually, those were from the house we destroyed down by the Bronze, luv,” Spike corrected her.
 
“W-w-what?” Xander stuttered again, his brown eyes wide with confused horror.
 
All her friends were looking at her now with wide, surprised eyes. Well, all except Tara, who already knew, and Dawn who apparently had suspected. Buffy could feel their disapproval flooding over her, threatening to drown her. She looked around and her gaze locked with Spike’s. His blue eyes were so full of concern and worry and … affection. He’d given her so much – he’d given her a life back. Willow and her other friends may have reanimated her, but it was Spike that actually gave her her life back. He’d kept all his promises to her – he’d protected Dawn, he was still protecting Dawn. He’d fought along-side her friends and tried to protect Sunnydale while she was dead. He’d tried to keep her secret by offering an excuse for the underwear that would bring all her friends’ disapproval down on him alone. And now he was offering to go – to leave her alone, and not subject her to her friends’ disapproval. But according to Xander all Spike did was ‘take, take, take’… Yeah, right.

 

“Spike and I are … well … I’ve been having a hard time since I … came back and he’s been helping me. We’re … ummm … spending time together … and shit …” she cursed, trying to find the courage and the words in her jumbled brain. “I’ve been … ummm … well, we’re … you know … ummm … sleeping together and … and … I need him here … with me,” Buffy stammered out finally, never taking her eyes off Spike’s.
 
His gaze softened even more, the tilt of his head telling her how much that admission meant to him. He stepped forward in the stunned silence and wrapped her into a hug and, for the first time, Buffy accepted it. He ran a hand over her short hair and down her back, soothing her as she cried against him, all the while glaring at Xander over the top of her head, daring the young man to say anything.
 
Xander, true to form, took the challenge. “Buffy, have you lost your mind?”
 
Buffy pulled away from Spike with a growl and spun to face Xander. “Yes! Yes! I’ve lost my mind! I think I might’ve left it in heaven! You know, that nice, peaceful place I was before you guys all decided you needed me back here!”

 

Willow visibly cringed; Xander bit his lip and looked at the floor, unable to meet Buffy’s gaze. She’d told them this before during the crazy, bare-your-soul singing and dancing spell that Mr. Sweet had spun on them, but it was still a sore spot – or perhaps more like a raw, oozing, gaping wound. Apart from that admission, Buffy hadn’t really talked to anyone other than Spike about exactly what that had meant to her and her … recovery from death.
  
“You guys yanked me out of the most beautiful, peaceful place I’ve ever …” Buffy voice broke and she had to close her eyes and take in a few deep breaths to calm down. Spike laid a comforting hand on her shoulder and she blew her breath out slowly, then opened her eyes.
 
She continued in a calm voice, addressing Xander, but speaking to them all. “When I got back here, everything was just … dull and gray. I felt like I’d been pulled out of heaven and tossed into hell. I … couldn’t feel anything. But none of you wanted to hear that – you just wanted to hear that I was fine, that everything was fine. You just wanted me to grovel at your feet and lavish my gratitude on you. Well, newsflash: I wasn’t fine … I’m not fine. But I’m better – thanks to Spike.
 
“He’s helped me … feel again. He’s the only one that didn’t stand around insisting that I be fine! He’s the only one of you that didn’t … conspire to bring me back.” At that, Giles cleared his throat, and Dawn raised her hand. “Along with Giles and Dawn…” Buffy amended quickly, before getting back to her rant. “He’s the only one that found that slender thread of emotion that got left behind. He found it and started tugging on it and … he’s helped me find what I was missing – what you people left behind when you brought my body and mind back. He listened without judging me; he’s been there when no one else was – understood when no one else could.”
 
There were a few moments of uncomfortable, stunned silence before Dawn said brightly, “Well, I think it’s awesome! It’s about time, too! You guys are sooo perfect for each other. You’ve always bickered like an old married couple, anyway – you might as well get the perks to go with it.”

 

Buffy huffed out a tired laugh and shook her head. “Thanks, but you’re still in trouble. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about kissing vamps in the park.”
 
Dawn rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest belligerently.
 
“Buffy … I swear I didn’t know. You know I wouldn’t have…” Willow started, tears staining her face.
 
“I know, Wills. I know you thought you were helping me,” Buffy acknowledged sadly, drawing her best girlfriend into a hug.
 
“I still don’t understand how you could turn to him …” Xander began, spitting the last word out as he glared at Spike. Buffy and Willow released their hug and stared at him, shocked that he could still be so bitter. “He doesn’t even have a soul!” Xander reminded her.
 
Buffy’s mouth hardened into a thin line. “And yet he’s the one that could see how much I was hurting and made some effort to help me. Maybe that should tell you something about yourself, Xander Harris.”
 
Xander blanched, staring at her like she’d physically slapped him. “B-but … it’s Spike!” he objected lamely.
 
Anya poked her fiancé in the ribs, hard. “Get over it, Xander,” she advised him harshly. “You aren’t Buffy’s keeper – it’s not any of your business.”
 
“But I’m her friend!” Xander argued. “And I don’t want to see her hurt…”
 
“I think it’s too late for that,” Anya pointed out. “And we’re the ones who hurt her. If Spike helps her, then you should be happy. You should probably thank him for helping your friend. That is customary, I believe, in polite, civilized society.”
 
Spike smirked. “Don’t ‘ave to actually say it; could just buy me a pint at the Bronze, Special Ed.”
 
“That’ll be the day,” Xander grumbled under his breath.
 
“I think I’ll take my fiancé home now, before he sticks his foot any further into his big mouth. And he says I should watch what I say,” Anya offered, grabbing Xander’s arm and dragging him out, keeping him as far away from Spike as possible.
 
“I should go too,” Tara excused, giving Buffy a hug. “Are you sure you’re ok?” the witch whispered into the Slayer’s ear so no one else could hear.
 
Buffy nodded and returned her hug. “Thanks.”
 
Tara gave her a crooked smile, and ducked her head shyly before heading out behind Xander and Anya.
 
Giles cleared his throat. “May I have a private word, Spike? In the kitchen?”

 

Buffy grabbed Spike’s hand. “Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of me,” she asserted.
 
Giles cast an uncomfortable glance at Dawn. Willow took the hint, grabbed the younger Summers’ arm, and began leading her up the stairs. “C’mon, Dawnie – tell me about this vamp. Was he cute?”
 
When they were out of sight, Buffy turned her eyes back to her Watcher. “Don’t lecture me, Giles. I’m not sixteen anymore and … it didn’t do any good even when I was.”
 
“I hadn’t intended on lecturing you, Buffy. You’re quite old enough to know the risks you’re taking. I’m not certain Spike is quite so well-informed, however,” Giles offered in a deadly calm voice, turning his eyes to the blond vamp.
 
“Just say what’s on your mind, Watcher,” Spike prompted impatiently.
 
“Yes, well, as you know, Buffy has many friends who are all quite adept at handling stakes and such …”
 
“And if I hurt ‘er, you’ll stake me good and proper,” Spike finished for Giles sardonically. “Sing me a new one, Watcher – that one’s getting old.”
 
“Actually, what I was going to say is if you hurt her, I doubt that any of her friends would have the opportunity to display our skills, as it would likely be the Slayer herself who would stake you ‘good and proper’, as you say,” Giles corrected, giving Spike a wintry smile.

 

Spike pursed his lips and nodded. “If I hurt ‘er, then I deserve t’ be staked good and proper.”
 
“Indeed,” Giles agreed. He cleared his throat again. “Well, I would retire to my room, but I believe we’re standing in it,” he offered, waving a hand at the couch.
 
“It’s ok … I’ll … be back in a few minutes,” Buffy said tentatively as she pulled on Spike’s hand and started for the still-open front door. “I’m just gonna walk Spike home.”
 
The pair walked in silence all the way to Spike’s crypt, but she didn’t pull her hand out of his. Spike really didn’t know what she had in mind now. Obviously, she wanted to say something to him, but whatever it was, it was taking her some time to compose it. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
 
Buffy stopped at the door to his crypt and turned to face him. Spike studied her face, her eyes, for some sign of what she was about to say. Surely she wouldn’t send him packing now, after admitting to her friends what was going on … would she? What if she realized she didn’t need him anymore? Now that the full truth was out in the open, why would she need her secret-keeper? Spike bit his bottom lip to keep from blurting out something poncy and stupid as he waited for her to say something.
 
Finally, she took a deep breath and began. “Spike, I know I haven’t been … well … anything to you,” she started.
 
“That’s not true, Buffy. You’re … you’re bloody everythin’ to me,” he corrected.
 
“No – that’s not what I mean. I mean I haven’t been …” She sighed and started again, “I’ve just been using you and it hasn’t been fair and … I’m sorry. You’ve been the one giving and all I’ve been doing is taking.”

 

“Don’t mind the takin’, Slayer,” Spike assured her. “Take me anytime ya want,” he offered, giving her a smoldering leer.
 
Buffy rolled her eyes but snorted a soft laugh. “I’m not saying this right,” she admitted. Tears stung her eyes again and she blinked to hold them back. “I’m not any good at this … I’m not … really good at … relationships.”
 
“Do we have a relationship, Slayer?” Spike wondered, tilting his head to study her and immediately wishing he’d kept his big mouth shut.
 
“No … see – I don’t know what we have, but I’m pretty sure it’s not a relationship. It’s … just … this,” she offered vaguely, waving her free hand in the air.
 
“Right …” Spike agreed tentatively, still not sure where she was going. “And this thing we got, it’s …” he let his voice trail off in a question.
 
“It’s … not enough. I’m sorry, William – I’m really … sorry,” Buffy apologized, looking down at the ground, unable to meet those intense blue eyes another moment.

 

Spike nodded and released her hand. “Right – not enough,” he repeated numbly. “Can’t have a proper relationship with a soulless monster … I get it,” he said morosely, as he pushed the door to his crypt open. “Hope you find what you’re lookin’ for, Buffy. Let me know when ya do – wouldn’t want t’ miss the bloody parade.”
 
“What? No! Spike, wait!” she objected as he stepped past her into the crypt and started to shut the door in her face. She pushed the door open again, making Spike stumble back a step from it.
 
“You’re such a dope sometimes!” she exclaimed, waving her arms out angrily. “It isn’t enough because it’s only been one-sided! That’s not a relationship – that’s a … ummm … well, I don’t exactly have an example of something that is one-sided, but that’s what we have.”
 
Spike furrowed his brow. “A Möbius strip,” he offered.

 

“Huh?”
 
“A Möbius strip is one-sided,” he clarified. It's also unending, ironic that, he added to himself.
 
“Oh – ok …” Buffy agreed. “So, we’ve had a Möbius strip … not a relationship. Hey – that rhymes!” she grinned at her own impromptu poem, trying to disperse some of her nervousness.
 
Spike cocked a brow at her. “Reckon you’ll be published any day with prose like that, pet.”
 
Buffy shook her head and waved a dismissive hand in the air. “The point is … I think I want a relationship. A two-sided one that involves things like me … giving and maybe … listening and … even … possibly … caring.”

 

Spike’s brows shot up, nearly touching his hair line. “You do?”
 
Buffy bit her bottom lip and nodded tentatively. “When you … When you offered to leave tonight I just … I suddenly realized that I didn’t want that. I didn’t want you to go and it was more than, well … physical. I realized that I’d miss you. I’d miss your annoying barbs and cocky attitude and stupid jokes and suggestive comments and … just you. I’d miss you.”

“Yeah?” Spike asked, awestruck. The tilt of his head reminded Buffy of the RCA dog.

 

 

“Yeah,” Buffy admitted softly, reaching a hand out to touch his bruised face gently. Spike leaned into her small, warm hand and closed his eyes. He was afraid this was a dream and he’d wake up any moment. He didn’t want it to end – ever.
 
“Spike, I’m warning you: I’m not good at this. I’m bitchy and selfish and … well, just a royal pain in the ass, I guess. So, I’m not making any promises about any of that changing, but, if you’re willing to overlook those minor character flaws, then …”
 
Spike opened his eyes and smirked at her. “I reckon I could make some allowances for ya, pet,” he agreed. “But you gotta give me somethin’ in return.”
 
“Okaay,” Buffy drawled out suspiciously. “Like what?”
 
“Make love with me,” he replied, his voice a deep rumble of emotion.
 
“Spike, we just …”
 
“No – we’ve never, pet. Make. Love. Not ‘ave sex,” he clarified adamantly. “Sex with you is bloody brilliant … don’t wanna lose that, but I want t’ make love with you too.”

 

Buffy’s skin flushed slightly but she nodded her understanding. “Okay … when?”
 
Spike bit his bottom lip a moment, then said, “Tomorrow night – here. Eight?”
 
Buffy nodded again. “Okay, I’ll … see you then.”
 
“I … uhhh … I’ll be here,” Spike stammered. He started to say ‘I love you,’ but decided at the last moment not to push her. She’d come so far so quickly; he didn’t want to drive a stake through the glimmer of hope she'd given him.
 
Buffy gave him a tremulous smile and lifted up onto her toes to touch her lips to his. It was a soft, gentle kiss that belied the passion and power that he knew lurked beneath. It was a kiss like she’d only given him once before: after he'd been tortured and nearly killed by Glory. The gesture weakened his knees with its tenderness, his throat tightened with emotion, and his unbeating heart jumped in his chest.
 
“Tomorrow,” she whispered to him before turning and heading out into the night.

**~**

{{  Click here to hear Dirty Little Secret, by The All-American Rejects on YouTube  }}

Let me know that I've done wrong,
When I've known this all along,
I go around a time or two,
Just to waste my time with you.

Tell me all that you've thrown away,
Find out games you don't wanna play,
You are the only one that needs to know--

I'll keep you my dirty little secret,
(Dirty little secret)
Don't tell anyone or you'll be just another regret,
(Just another regret, hope that you can keep it)
My dirty little secret,
Who has to know?

When we live such fragile lives,
It's the best way we survive,
I go around a time or two,
Just to waste my time with you,

Tell me all that you've thrown away,
find out games you don't wanna play,
you are the only one that needs to know---

I'll keep you my dirty little secret,
(Dirty little secret)
Don't tell anyone or you'll be just another regret,
(Just another regret, hope that you can keep it)
My dirty little secret.

Who has to know?
The way she feels inside (inside!)
Those thoughts I can't deny (can't deny!)
These sleeping dogs won't lie (won't lie!)
And all I've tried to hide
It's eating me apart
Trace this life back!

I'll keep you my dirty little secret,
(Dirty little secret)
Don't tell anyone or you'll be just another regret.
(Just another regret)

I'll keep you my dirty little secret,
Don't tell anyone or you'll be just another regret,
(Just another regret, hope that you can keep it)
My dirty little secret,
Dirty little secret,
Dirty little secret.

Who has to know?
Who has to know?

Buffy barely slept that night. Worry about how her friends would treat her now that they knew the truth of her battled with an unexplainable giddy-nervousness about seeing Spike the next night. She’d had sex with Spike plenty over the last weeks – in every place and every way imaginable. But he had been right about one thing: they had never made love. In fact, she’d rarely even looked him in the eye during those too-intense moments. This would be different – it would mean something to both of them. But, did it have to mean something? she wondered as she tossed and turned in her bed. Yes, came back the exhausted reply as she finally fell asleep just as the sun was breaking the horizon. It needed to mean something, she just wasn’t sure what.

 

Buffy got out of bed that afternoon in time to pick Dawn up from school. None of her ‘housemates’, Willow nor Giles, were home when she got up, and for that Buffy was eternally grateful. She knew she couldn’t put off seeing them forever, but just a while longer felt almost like a death-sentence reprieve.
 
“So…” Dawn began as she climbed into the Jeep in front of the school. “How’s Spike?”
 
“Fine … I guess. I haven’t seen him today,” Buffy replied, trying to keep the nervous excitement out of her voice at the mention of his name.
 
“But, you’re seeing him later, right?” Dawn prodded hopefully.
 
“Yeah, I guess … probably. Maybe on patrol…” Buffy hedged as she pulled out and started for home.
 
Dawn snorted sarcastically. “Oh, c'mon! I’m not five, Buffy. I really do think it’s great … you guys together, I mean. So, when does he move in?”
 
“What!?” Buffy exclaimed. “Spike’s not moving in! I mean … he … wouldn’t … he has the crypt and …” Buffy cast a wide-eyed glance at Dawn. “Do you think he wants to move in?”


 
Dawn shrugged. “It would save all that time you spend ‘going on patrol’,” she pointed out, using air-quotes around the last words. “If he were living with us, then you might actually go on patrol once in a while, huh?”
 
“I patrol!” Buffy objected. “I do! I just don’t … patrol that … long lately,” she admitted.
 
Dawn shrugged happily. “There ya go! Problem solved. Spike can move in. You guys can take Mom’s room, Willow and Tara can make up and move back into their dorm at school, and Giles can … do whatever Watchers do.”
 
“I’m so glad you have all our lives figured out,” Buffy groused, rolling her eyes. “We can’t afford the house even with Willow contributing.”
 
“Spike could contribute,” Dawn suggested.

 

Buffy snorted. “With what? Kittens?”
 
Dawn frowned. “He’s like a century old – he has to have some money somewhere … doesn’t he?”
 
“If he does, I’ve never seen it,” Buffy pointed out. “He’s a vampire – he’s never needed money, Dawn. I doubt they have a long-term disability or workman’s comp that will kick in, like in case they’re captured and chipped by a secret military organization.
 
“On top of which, you do realize that if he moves in then he’ll be the fangy, over-protective, really scary, older brother greeting any date that comes to pick you up … That is if I ever let you date, of course,” Buffy warned.
 
Dawn cringed, suddenly re-thinking her life plans for everyone. Maybe Buffy was right – Spike would probably prefer to keep his crypt and his privacy. He’d never want to live with a hormonal teenager and a bitchy Slayer 24/7.
 
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten that I’m supposed to be yelling at you for lying and putting yourself at risk and … and going into the park with strange vampire boys,” Buffy pointed out, shifting the conversation.
 
Dawn sighed and rolled her eyes. “I know,” she groaned. “It was dumb, but I thought … it was Halloween. Spike always said that real bad-guys don’t come out on Halloween.”
 
“Yeah, well – that would make him wrong, wouldn’t it? Just because Spike has scruples and follows the rules doesn’t mean all demons do.”
 
Dawn cocked a brow at Buffy. “Did you just admit that Spike has scruples?”

 

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”
 
**~**
 
Buffy started getting ready for her eight o’clock ‘date’ with Spike at five. Showered, moisturized, and coifed, Buffy turned her attention to what to wear.
 
What difference does it make what you wear? she tried to tell herself. You won’t be in it long, anyway.
 
Still, she tried on outfit after outfit. Most now lay in a huge pile on her bedroom floor, dissed for one reason or another: too many blood stains, too worn and torn, too tight, too loose, too girly, too short, too heavy, too utilitarian, Angel’s favorite, Riley’s favorite, Mom’s favorite … And no money meant no shopping for something new. Sigh.
 
“Why don’t you wear this one?” Dawn suggested, pulling a long, fancy dress from the back of the closet. “I don’t remember you ever wearing it.”
 
Buffy frowned. “Mom bought that for me – remember she was gonna take us out to that upscale restaurant in LA … when she … got better,” Buffy’s voice trailed off forlornly at the end.

 

“Oh yeah,” Dawn agreed, her voice sad as well. “But … Mom liked Spike and … it’s a shame to not wear it just because … she’s gone now. I think Spike would like it. I bet you never got dressed up for him before.”
 
Buffy rolled her eyes. “My clothes never seemed to be Spike’s main focus,” Buffy pointed out. “Except if they were hard to get out of,” she added, mostly to herself.
 
Dawn held the dress up in front of Buffy and Buffy turned to look at herself in the mirror. It was off-white with a full, flowing, floor-length skirt with wide pleats. The heavy pleating gave it a layered look, and allowed the hem to drape nearly to her ankles in an elegant, uneven cascade. It was a simple muslin fabric but it had lacy accents around the gracefully full hem, as well as the form-fitting bodice. The top was like a halter, but the wide, diaphanous strap crossed over her chest before wrapping around her neck, leaving her arms, shoulders, and upper-back bare.

  

“I don’t know…” Buffy balked, chewing on her bottom lip. “It’s kinda … fancy.”
 
“And? Don’t you think he’d like to see you all dolled up?” Dawn wondered.
 
Buffy cocked a brow. “Dolled up? What am I, a Barbie?”

 

“It’s what I’d wear if I had a date with Spike…” Dawn mused, pulling the dress away from Buffy and holding it in front of her taller frame.
 
“It’s not a date … tonight’s nothing special, it’s just … Spike,” Buffy argued, although she knew better.
 
“Buffy, even I know that the night after you tell the world you’re with Spike will have to be something special … if you don’t blow it, of course.”
 
“How would I blow it?” Buffy wondered, concerned.
 
“You tell me – you’re the expert,” Dawn shot back, her voice scornful.
 
Buffy started to argue, but just sighed instead. There was no real arguing with that. She was the expert at driving men away. That’s probably what they should’ve put on her gravestone instead of that crap about saving the world. Maybe she could get it changed … you know, for next time.
 
“Fine,” Buffy said finally, yanking the dress back away from Dawn. “I’ll dress up like a doll and try to keep my mouth shut.”
 
Dawn smiled in approval.
 
**~**
 
Buffy hesitated outside Spike’s crypt. She was early – by half an hour. She’d been too keyed up and antsy to stay home – plus Giles and Willow would be home soon and she really didn’t want to even start that discussion, especially not ‘dolled up’ in a fancy dress. She’d walked slowly on her way to the cemetery, but even that hadn’t been enough to make up for her early start. She couldn’t patrol – not in this dress and the strappy heels she'd picked to go with it – so here she stood, waaay too early. She’d never have hesitated before; she would’ve just barged in, regardless. But they’d rarely actually set a time before – anytime was fine. God, was this actually a date?

 

Buffy jumped when the door to the crypt swung open. Spike leaned against the doorjamb casually, a cocky smirk quirking his lips as he studied her.
 
“Uh, sorry – I was … early and … ummm,” Buffy stammered as she took him in. He had dressed up too. He was still in black, but his normal t-shirt and jeans had been replaced with an open-necked, black, suede dress shirt that showed off the smooth, alabaster skin of his chest, and black, pleated, dress pants, which hung elegantly from his slim hips. The bruises and scrapes he'd gotten in the fight the previous night from the fight with Justin were already gone, completely healed.
 
“’S alright, luv,” he assured her, moving inside and inviting her silently to follow. “Just couldn’t figure why a Slayer was hanging about out ‘ere … not barging in like she owned the place. Thought maybe that other Slayer-bird had jumped the wall and come callin’. Never figured it was you.”
 
“Ha-ha,” Buffy replied flatly, rolling her eyes as she followed him in.
 
Spike smiled at her and led her to the small kitchen area he’d set up in one corner of the upper crypt. The whole interior of the crypt was bathed in soft candlelight. Small groups of white candles in all shapes and sizes – from fat pillars to delicate tapers – were scattered around the room. Buffy thought the air smelled faintly of gardenias and garlic – definitely not the crypt’s typical scent. It looked warm and inviting – almost as cozy as the downstairs.
 
Soft music played from somewhere Buffy couldn’t see. It sounded … slow-dance-y and romantic. Also not Spike’s typical choice of frantic rock played at truly ear-shattering levels. He’d obviously gone to some trouble for this … whatever it was. It certainly wasn’t their typical booty-call. Was there a name for a ‘making love’ rendezvous? Hmmm … probably that would be a date.

 

“Drink?” he offered, holding up a bottle of champagne.
 
Buffy’s brows went up but she nodded. Whiskey had been replaced by champagne. That must mean something as well. “Sure, thanks.”
 
Spike opened the bottle, sending the cork flying across the room for dramatic effect, and poured them both a glass. New glassware, too, Buffy thought. They were tall flute glasses, appropriate for the beverage. It felt like real crystal in her hand and they matched – which probably meant they hadn’t come from the city dump.
 
He held his glass up after handing hers to her. “To …” he began, lifting his brows for her to finish.
 
Buffy cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Ummm …” Her mind raced, trying to figure out what to say. A hundred different things whirled through her brain, each one quickly considered and discarded as too sappy, too revealing, too smart-ass, too dumb, too brazen, or too childish. Finally she said, “Life after death.”

 

Spike cocked a brow and gave a small nod. Then he touched his glass to hers as he repeated her toast, and they both sipped at the sweet, bubbly liquid.
 
A moment of awkward silence followed, then they both started talking at once. “You look…” they both began.
 
Spike bit his lip and Buffy laughed. Spike waved a hand and bowed slightly, indicating she could go first. Buffy took a deep breath and said, “You look nice … really … nice. You clean up good.”
 
Spike’s azure eyes sparkled and he took a step forward towards her. He let his eyes wander over her face, her silken hair, her bare neck and shoulders, and then down her dress. “You look like an angel, pet,” he whispered as he lifted a hand up and ran his fingers along the bare skin of her upper arm.

 

Buffy tittered nervously. “I wasn’t sure what to wear for … ummm …. What is this? Is it a date?”
 
Spike studied her in earnest. That was something she’d asked him once before. That hadn’t ended well – at all. He steeled himself and repeated the same thing he’d said that night, his mouth going dry and his voice husky, as the words came out. “Do you want it to be?”
 
Buffy fretted her bottom lip with her teeth, then gave him a small smile. A nearly imperceptible shrug tugged one bare shoulder as she said, “Yeah … I guess … I do.”
 
Spike’s heart soared. He had waited, battled so very long for this. He’d endured her scorn, her mistrust, her death, her re-birth and finally – finally – he’d made it to the peak of the mountain. It had been a long, arduous journey, but he had overcome all odds to be here.
 
“Then, it’s a date,” he concurred. “Probably not the best you’ve ever been on,” he offered, ducking his head shyly and rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably.

 

Buffy harrumphed. “You have no idea the dates I’ve been on,” she assured him. “You’ll be lucky if you survive,” she only half-kidded as she took a step past him, her brow furrowed. Next to the old fridge and microwave in the designated kitchen area was a small, propane gas stove – that also was new. The aroma of the garlic was coming from there.
 
Spike turned and followed her with his eyes. “When did you get an actual stove?” Buffy asked as she bent down and opened the oven door. “And when did you learn to cook?”
 
Spike moved up to her and closed the oven door. “You’re lettin’ the heat out, pet,” he told her. Buffy took the lid off a pot atop the stove and found the source of the garlic – inside were whipped potatoes – apparently smothered in garlic and cheese.
 
“What … is this?” Buffy stammered, eyes wide, as Spike took the lid from her hand and replaced it on the pot.
 
“Dinner,” he answered simply.
 
“Dinner,” Buffy parroted. “But … you cook?”
 
Spike shrugged. “I’ve lived for-bloody-ever, Buffy. Had t’ fill my time somehow, didn’t I? Couldn’t just be … terrorizing villagers at all hours, now, could I?”
 
“So William the Bloody learned to … cook?” she asked disbelief evident in her voice.

 

“Why’s that so hard t’ believe?” he wondered, wounded slightly by her tone.
 
Buffy shook her head in disbelief. “I … guess … it’s not. It’s just … wow … you can cook.”
 
“Spent a few years in France, Italy … Greece. Might say I soaked up the local culture,” he explained. “Lot about me you don’t know, luv. I’m more than just a pretty face.”
 
Buffy laughed. “I guess that’s true,” she admitted. Buffy took another sip of her champagne and leaned her back against the counter. “So, garlic and cheese potatoes,” she continued. “I thought garlic was a big no-no for those of the undead persuasion.”
 
Spike shrugged. “Reckon it’s true enough that newbies don’t like it much, but I’ve built up an immunity to it over the years.”
 
“You’ve always been a rebel, huh?” Buffy teased him.
 
Spike smirked. “And always will be, luv.”
 
When the oven timer dinged, Spike went to work getting the pan out of the oven as Buffy stayed out of the way and watched. “What are we having?” she wondered as she watched him get two matching plates out of a box – new plates, she deduced – and place slices of the meat onto them.

 

“Beef Wellington with garlic and cheese potatoes,” Spike announced. “I hope you like it.”
 
Buffy furrowed her brow and looked at the slices of Beef Wellington. “Ummm … I don’t think I’ve ever had it before. What’s … that outside part?”
 
“Prosciutto coated with duxelles and covered in puff pastry,” Spike explained. “Don’t worry, I didn’t use any pâté de foie gras.”
 
“Oh. Ummm, good,” Buffy stammered, studying the plates curiously as Spike dished some potatoes onto them next to the meat.
 
Spike looked up at her. “You do know what duxelles is, right, Slayer?”
 
“Ummm, sure – of course … Duke Sell. Everyone knows that would be the Duchess Sell’s husband.”
 
Spike wrapped his tongue over his upper teeth and tried to bite back a laugh. He cleared his throat and coughed to cover his inability to stop the strangled chortle that came out. “Right,” he said at last. “It’s also finely chopped mushrooms, shallots, onions, and herbs sautéed in butter.”

 

“I knew that. I was just testing you,” Buffy covered with a nonchalant shrug. “Sounds yummy. Probably much better than eating the Duchess’ husband.”
 
Spike couldn’t stop the laugh that burst out from his throat. “Got no argument from me, pet. I recall the one Duke I ate was kinda bland – needed a Tabasco chaser just to get ‘im down.”
 
Buffy rolled her eyes, hoping he was kidding but not 100% sure, and followed him to a small table he’d set up off to one side of the crypt. It was just large enough for the two of them and covered in a white tablecloth. There was a bud vase in the center that held a single red rose. Spike set the plates down and moved around to pull one of the chairs out. As he did that, Buffy pulled the other chair out and sat down. When she looked up, Spike was standing behind the other chair, holding it out for her. He cocked a brow at her, then looked down at the chair.
 
“Oh! Uh …” Buffy stammered, flushing pink and jumping back up. “I … sorry,” she continued to stutter as she moved over to the other side and sat down as he slid the chair under her. He took a linen napkin off the table and laid it across her lap before going to the other side of the table and seating himself.
 
Buffy, afraid of making a further faux pas, sat with her hands in her lap and waited for Spike to start eating. He, being the host, sat and waited for her to start eating. After a few moments of sitting and waiting, Spike asked, “Is something wrong, pet?”

 

“Uh, no. I just … wasn’t sure if … you were gonna do anything else chivalrous. I didn’t want to mess it up,” Buffy stammered uncomfortably.
 
Spike tilted his head and studied her. She looked so cute all discombobulated like that. It was a new look on the normally confident Slayer. “Haven’t been out with many gentlemen, I reckon,” he offered as he went ahead and started cutting the Beef Wellington on his plate.
 
“I guess not,” Buffy agreed as she followed his lead, feeling oddly like Julia Roberts in ‘Pretty Woman’ – completely out of her element. Thank God there were no snails. “You know – strong, modern, Cosmo woman here. I’m perfectly capable of opening doors and pulling out chairs.”
 
“Not about being incapable or weak, pet,” Spike explained. “About respect. About treating a woman like a treasure. ‘Cos you are, ya know? A treasure.”
 
Buffy looked down at her plate and blinked the moisture from her eyes. “Got a few guys that would disagree with you,” she offered quietly, still looking down.
 
“Bloody fools,” Spike assured her. “Not a lick o’ brains between them gits.”
 
Buffy looked up at him and gave him a small smile. His eyes shone with surety and fire and adoration. Meeting his azure gaze made her heart catch in her throat, but she didn’t look away this time. She let him see – he needed to see inside her. He needed to know what he was getting himself into, because it wasn’t a pretty picture.

 

Spike bit his lip as he studied her face, her eyes, her posture. “Not gonna scare me off, Slayer. You gave me an inch – you should know I’m gonna take a bloody mile.”
 
“It may be the longest mile of your life,” Buffy warned. “Falling in love with me is like sailing on the Titanic: doomed from the start.”
 
“I’m tough – plus, I can swim,” he assured her.
 
Buffy gave him a shaky smile and took a bite of the Beef Wellington. Her eyes widened as she chewed and all the flavors of the beef, herbs, mushrooms, prosciutto, and pastry exploded in her mouth in a taste-riot. Buffy moaned in delight and her taste buds sang a blissful chorus as she savored the rich flavor and vivid textures of Spike’s creation.
 
“And you can cook!” she exclaimed in delight after she swallowed the first bite. “Oh my God! You are in sooo much trouble now!”
 
Spike bit his bottom lip and grinned at her, a sweet boyish, swoon-worthy grin. “That mean you like it?”

 

“Like it? No – I definitely do not like it!” When confusion furrowed his brow, she added, “I love it! This is … I’ve never had anything like this before! It’s sooo much better than my meatloaf – which even the stray cats in the alley won’t eat. I can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong … but now I don’t have to! You can cook!
 
“Wow! I thought I’d have to live my whole life eating Doublemeat burgers, cold Pop Tarts, and burnt microwave popcorn!” she continued to gush as she took another bite and moaned again, closing her eyes as she enjoyed the flavor-gasm.
 
Spike’s grin returned as he watched her tuck into the meal like a two-hundred pound truck driver. He could watch her all night. He felt like a kid that had been allowed entry into the candy store after years of standing outside watching everyone else go in. He just wanted to soak it up, burn this memory into his mind so he’d never lose it – just in case someone figured out he didn’t actually belong in the candy store.
 
“So,” Buffy began after she realized she should slow down and not eat like a linebacker. “What other hidden talents does William the Bloody possess?”
 
Spike thought a moment, then held up both hands in a Vulcan salute, with his little finger and ring finger going one way, and his other fingers going the other to form a ‘V’.

 

Buffy laughed and held up her right hand to try it. She failed miserably, unable to hold her little finger and ring finger together at all, forming a kind of sideways ‘W’ instead. “I knew you had talented fingers,” Buffy teased, giving him coy smile. “But I never knew you were that good.”
 
Spike bit his bottom lip and narrowed his eyes in a seductive leer before saying, “Turnabout’s fair play. What’s your hidden talent, pet?”
 
“Ummm …” Buffy thought a moment. “I can hook both my feet behind my head.”
 
“That’s not really big news t’ me, Slayer. Keep trying,” Spike insisted.
 
Buffy heaved a frustrated sigh. “I can skate … ice skate,” she revealed.
 
Spike raised his brows. “Can ya, now? Do ya wear those little short skirts and twirl around so everybody can see your knickers?” he asked smirking and whirling a finger in the air.
 
Buffy smiled. “Yeah … well, I used to be able to do that. I might still be able to twirl a bit and not fall on my ass.”
 
“Let’s see then,” he demanded, twirling his finger at an open area next to the table.
 
“I don’t have any skates … or ice…” she objected.
 
“I showed you mine, you show me yours, Slayer. Twirl,” he insisted.
 
Buffy rolled her eyes but got up, setting her napkin on the table. “Technically, doing this without ice and skates is like … ballet or something, so don’t expect too much,” she hedged.
 
“One twirl,” Spike agreed. “With knickers.”

 

“Spike! I have on a long skirt!” she objected again.
 
“Better make it a good twirl, then,” he advised as he crossed his arms over his chest and sat back to wait for the show.
 
Buffy heaved a sigh and hiked her skirt up as high as she could. Spike leaned over to get a better look at her legs, which looked even more golden-tan against the nearly-white dress.
 
“Good start,” he commented appreciatively.
 
“You’re a lecher,” Buffy huffed as she took a breath and envisioned twirling.
 
“Too right,” he agreed, grinning.

 

Buffy began twisting her upper-body back and forth, building up her nerve and momentum. After a few half-twists, she rose up onto one toe and twirled around as fast as she could on the concrete floor.
 
“No knickers,” Spike informed her. “Try again.”
 
Buffy rolled her eyes and tried again. “Nope,” Spike told her.
 
On the third try, she twirled around then simply lifted her skirt and waved it around like a can-can dancer before dropping it back down. “Ta-da!” she announced, flinging her arms out and stepping one foot back to take a deep curtsy.
 
Spike laughed but applauded as she quickly took her seat again. “Brilliant, pet. And those knickers are a bit of alright.”
 
Buffy inclined her head in a small bow as she took up her napkin and silverware to finish her meal. “Play your cards right and you might get to see them again tonight.”
 
“Got dessert, too. White chocolate parfait topped with shaved dark chocolate and cherries,” Spike announced, a sly, knowing smile on his face.

 

“Chocolate is always the right card to play,” Buffy agreed, grinning wickedly.
 
As the meal went on, Buffy relaxed more and more. The champagne might’ve helped, but she found herself laughing as Spike told her funny stories about his life before Sunnydale just as much as he laughed at stories of her life before Slayer-dom. By the time she’d finished off the white chocolate parfait he’d made, she had nearly forgotten about her worries of messing this up. She was having fun. How strange was that?
 
To top it off, none of her friends had barged in to save her from the evil dead and not a single demon had crashed their dinner. It was almost unheard of. For once, the universe seemed to be conspiring for them.
 
One thing had been bothering Buffy though, and she just couldn’t keep herself from bringing it up. Things had been going too well – she had to toss a monkey-wrench into the evening somehow. “Spike, if I ask you something, will you tell me the truth?”
 
Spike blinked. “I always tell you the truth, Slayer.”
 
Buffy snorted softly, raised her eyes to the ceiling and began parroting back things Spike had said to her in the past using a horrid English accent. “If you let Dru and me go, we’ll never come back to Sunnydale,’” she began. “‘I’m gonna kill you on Saturday. You have stupid hair. Out for a walk, b …’”
 
“Those weren’t lies – those were … misjudgments and … defensive measures,” Spike objected, interrupting her.

 

Buffy gave him an indulgent smile. “Ok, Mr. I-shall-not-tell-a-lie, where did all this come from?” she asked, waving a hand at the food, the stove, the dinnerware, and champagne.
 
“The market … mostly,” Spike hedged.
 
“Uh-huh,” Buffy agreed suspiciously. “How much did it cost and how did you pay for it?”
 
Spike pursed his lips, folded his arms over his chest, and looked at her warily. “Don’t reckon that’s a really polite question for a guest t’ ask,” Spike defended.
 
“No, probably not – but it’s a question I need to know the answer to, Spike. You’ve got … well, I don’t know, but probably a couple of hundred dollars worth of stuff – assuming you scavenged that stove from the dump – more if it’s actually new. I’ve never seen you with that much money, unless Giles or I have just paid you for something, which we haven’t done lately. Face it, kitten poker just doesn’t pay that well. So, please explain to me where this stuff came from and how it ended up in your crypt.”
 
Spike remained stoic, his lips pursed and arms crossed. When he remained silent for several long moments, Buffy met his eyes in silent challenge to answer her. She could see wheels turning behind those azure orbs, but, unlike him, she had no idea what that meant. Was he trying to concoct a lie to cover up the very real possibility that he’d stolen all this stuff, or was he simply hurt and angry that Buffy would assume that’s what he’d done?

 

Finally Spike seemed to come to a decision and some of the tension waned from his posture. “I didn’t steal it if that’s what you think,” he assured her.
 
“Okay … then how did you get it?” Buffy pressed.
 
“I bought the bloody stuff, didn’t I? Told ya before, Buffy: I can get money. Offered t’ take you outta that rat-infested dive you call a job. You don’t need t’ work there; beneath you, it is. I can get money if I’ve a mind to.”
 
Buffy narrowed her eyes at him. “Where?”
 
“Gettin’ right personal, you are, luv,” Spike deflected.

 

Buffy barked out a sarcastic laugh. “You’ve been in my panty drawer, Spike – hell, you’ve been in my panties! Doesn’t get much more personal than that, does it?”
 
Spike smirked but didn’t say anything for another few moments. The crypt suddenly seemed as cold as a tomb – funny that – as Buffy waited, her impatience growing with each passing second.
 
Spike knew he was playing a losing game. To not tell her the truth would send her scrambling back away from him, he was sure of it. He wasn’t certain what her reaction would be to the truth, but he’d just have to chance it. “Right,” he began just as he felt Buffy’s impatience about to boil over. “‘Ere’s the truth of it, then. I got a bit o’ dosh … stashed away for a sunny day,” he admitted. “My family wasn’t exactly … poor, and after my mum passed … I … well, let’s just say compound interest is a bloody beautiful thing when it’s the bank payin’ you.”
 
“You have money?” Buffy asked in disbelief.
 
Spike nodded.  
 
“In a bank.”

 

Spike nodded again.
 
“What kind of bank is open at night for vampires?” Buffy wondered.
 
“ATMs are open twenty-four hours a day, Slayer,” Spike informed her, quirking a brow. “Welcome t’ the twenty-first century.”
 
“B-but … you … never …” Buffy stammered, looking around the crypt. “Why do you live like this if you have so much money that you need a bank to keep it?”
 
“Vampire, remember? And not a bloody ponce like the Immortal or that cheapskate wanker Drac, either. Got an image t’ maintain, don’t I? Plus, it’s just more fun t’ weasel money and blood outta you and your Watcher.”
 
“So you have … actual money? Not … just kitten money?” Buffy continued, flabbergasted.
 
Spike rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. “Try t’ follow, pet. Yes, I’ve got money – more than a quid or two. Got enough that you don’t need t’ work at that bloody … place. I can help you, if you’ll let me, Buffy; in more ways than one.”
 
“Huh,” Buffy said flatly, sitting back in her seat, her eyes unfocused as wheels of comprehension turned in her head. “What other surprises do you have lurking under that evil, yet wickedly handsome exterior?” she wondered at last, looking back up at him, a teasing tone in her voice.
 
“Haveta hang around t’ find out, I reckon,” Spike replied with a smirk.



**~**

{{  Click here to hear Baby What a Big Surprise by Chicago  on YouTube  }}

Right before my very eyes
I thought that you were only fakin' it
And like before my heart was takin' it.

Baby what a big surprise
Right before my very eyes.

Yesterday it seemed to me
My life was nothing more than wasted time
But here today you've softly changed my mind.

Baby what a big surprise
Right before my very eyes.

Just to be alone
Was a little more than I could take
Then you came to stay

Hold me in the morning
Love me in the afternoon
Help me find my way.

Now and then just like before
I think about the love I've thrown away
But now it doesn't matter anyway.

Baby what a big surprise
Right before my very eyes.

Buffy shook her head as she studied Spike’s self-satisfied expression across the small table. He had money. He’d just been playing them all this time – maintaining his image. Spike could cook – well: French-gourmet-well. He could speak a couple of demon languages and at least a couple of human languages; she’d seen the poetry books he tried to keep hidden downstairs along-side his well-worn copies of ‘Penthouse’ and several J.R.R Tolkein novels; he religiously recorded and watched ‘Passions’, the most inane soap Buffy had ever had the misfortune of seeing; and he could fight like a black-belt or a street brawler, depending on his mood and the opponent …

 

It reminded Buffy of quote she’d heard somewhere along the way during her short but disastrous collegiate days, or it might’ve been from ‘Star Trek’ ... or was it 'The Simpsons'? Spike was a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. What else was he hiding beneath the surface?
 
Certain that Buffy was satisfied with his answer about where he’d gotten everything, Spike stood up and offered her his hand. “Dance with me.”
 
Buffy dabbed daintily at her mouth with her napkin and set it down before taking his hand. Spike symbolically held his breath as he led her onto the open floor of the crypt and wrapped his arms around her gently. The music was soft and low enough to talk over, but loud enough to hear clearly when you weren’t talking. Buffy leaned into him and let him lead her in a slow, swaying dance to the romantic music. Spike allowed his breath to flow out as she relaxed against him. Despite how well the night had gone and what she’d said the previous night, he was still afraid she might bolt at the slightest show of tenderness; his heart was once again buoyed when she didn’t.

“Can’t tell you how many times I’ve dreamt o’ dancin’ with you, Buffy,” Spike whispered into her ear as their bodies swayed together to the slow beat of the music.
 
“I thought you said that’s all we’ve ever done,” Buffy teased.
 
Spike smiled down at her. “Reckon there’s dancin’ and then there’s dancin’, luv.”



"Mmmm," was Buffy's only reply as she settled her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes, allowing him to led their slow and gentle dance – a dance unlike any they'd ever done before. Neither of them spoke again as the music flowed over them, neither wanting to break the magical spell that seemed to have come over the evening. But it wasn't magic, not witch-magic at any rate, of that Buffy was quite sure – perhaps a different kind of everyday magic. As she listened to the words of the song that was playing she felt a stab of pain, or perhaps melancholy, press into her heart.

You are not alone... But the Slayer was always alone. I'm always there with you... When your world's crashing down ...Buffy's world had crashed and burned ... then rose up from the ashes only to crash again – but Spike had been there beside her through it all. She felt her chest constrict and emotion well at the base of her throat as she leaned against him ...In my heart you have remained ... Babe, you're not lost.

{{  Click here to hear Lost by Michael Bublé on YouTube  }}

...
...

♫I hardly recognized the girl you are today
And God I hope it's not too late
It's not too late
'Cause you are not alone
I'm always there with you
And we'll get lost together
Till the light comes pouring through
'Cause when you feel like you're done
And the darkness has won
Babe, you're not lost
When your world's crashing down
And you can't bear the thought
I said, babe, you're not lost

Life can show no mercy
It can tear your soul apart
It can make you feel like you've gone crazy
But you're not
Things have seem to changed
There's one thing that's still the same
In my heart you have remained
And we can fly, fly, fly away

'Cause you are not alone
And I am there with you
And we'll get lost together
Till the light comes pouring through
'Cause when you feel like you're done
And the darkness has won
Babe, you're not lost
When the world's crashing down
And you can not bear the cross
I said, baby, you're not lost ♫

As the song ended, Spike stopped moving and lifted her chin up gently with one finger. He felt like a thirteen-year-old on his first date instead of a century-old vampire as he leaned down and touched his lips to hers. He could hear Buffy’s heartbeat surge and his own body tingled from head to toe as he dropped that first tentative, gentle kiss on her soft lips. Buffy responded in kind with an unhurried, uncertain nibble on his bottom lip. They stood there in the candlelight for many minutes, tasting, testing, teasing one another’s mouth as if they’d never kissed before. The words of the song swirled in Buffy's head as they kissed and she couldn't help but feel a ray of hope blossom somewhere deep inside her. 'Cause when you feel like you're done; And the darkness has won; Babe, you're not lost. She'd been feeling so very lost. Was it possible Spike could really find her again ... all of her?
 
Finally, Spike couldn’t stop the words he’d been longing to say to her from spilling from his heart. He’d said them to her before, and they’d sent her scurrying away from him, but he couldn’t stop them from tumbling from his lips. The moment was too perfect, too overwhelming for him to stop. “I love you, Buffy ... I'll always love you.”
 
Buffy stiffened slightly in his arms, but didn’t pull away – she also didn’t answer him.

 

“I know you don’t love me, but …” he continued, anxious to fill the silence.
 
“Spike,” she interrupted, laying a gentle finger on his lips to quiet him, her voice was husky with emotion and she had to swallow back tears that had crept up while they'd been dancing. “I don’t … I think you were right. I think I came back wrong.”
 
He began to object, to say he’d just said that to provoke her, but she shushed him.
 
“I think we both know I came back wrong. I mean … there’s something wrong deep inside me and I don’t know if I’ll ever be right again. Spike, I don’t know if I’m capable of loving … anyone. To be honest, I’m not sure if I ever was – even before.”
 
Spike pulled her fingers away from his mouth and kissed them gently. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Buffy. I know you’ve had a bad go of it, but …”
 
Buffy snorted and pulled away from him, turning away to look at a bank of candles in one corner. Spike stepped up behind her and wrapped one arm across her chest from shoulder to shoulder, pulling her back against him. He leaned his mouth down near her ear. “You don’t have to love me now, Buffy. I didn’t say it just to have it parroted back – I said it ‘cos it’s how I feel and I want you to know. I hope that one day… one day you’ll feel it too, and that you won’t run from it, luv.”

 

“I’m not the one that runs away,” Buffy whispered as the stabbing pain returned to her chest.
 
“No, you’re the one that’s afraid to trust ‘er heart to another, luv. But now ya got me, don't ya? Spike never runs, Spike never stops, Spike never gives up. So, ya won’t be runnin’ ole Spike off, will ya? Nothing like those other wankers, am I?”
 
Buffy barked out a small, sarcastic laugh. “I’ve heard that about you. Xander said you were ‘goal-oriented’.”

 

“Did he, now? Well, reckon that’s the nicest thing the whelp’s ever said about me.”
 
“That was before he actually knew you,” Buffy admitted.
 
“Ah, well … that explains it then.”
 
Buffy turned in his arms and looked up into his eyes. “Spike, I’m serious though – I know what I said last night about wanting a real relationship, but I don’t know if I can even do that – with anyone. I think … I’m broken.”
 
“Then let me fix you, pet,” Spike pleaded, holding her gaze captive with his expressive blue eyes.
 
Buffy cursed the tears that gathered in her eyes that forced her to blink and break the eye contact. “What if you can’t?” she asked in a small, terrified voice. “You’d have to be a miracle worker.”
 
“Last night you said I was the only one that could make you feel. Let me help you, Buffy. You’re too strong, too bloody passionate, for me t’ believe you can’t love again. Hell, ya already love my cooking,” he pointed out. “I got lots more where that came from…” he offered, wagging his brows suggestively.
 
“God, Spike,” she laughed, shaking her head. “You are so …”
 
“Careful, Slayer …” he warned.
 
Buffy rolled her eyes. “I was going to say, ‘you are so sure of me.’ How can you be so sure?”

 

Spike shrugged slightly. “I know Slayers. I know you.”
 
“Humph, you didn’t know I could ice skate,” she pointed out.
 
Spike gave her a reassuring smile. “I know the really important bits. I know what you’re made of and you don’t scare me.”
 
“You know, another term for ‘goal-oriented’ could be ‘insanely-stubborn’,” Buffy pointed out.
 
“Pot, meet kettle,” Spike retorted.
 
Buffy laughed lightly, then reached up and laid her palm against his cheek gently. “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice again tentative. “Are you sure you want this … broken Slayer project? You know, DIY isn’t as easy as it looks on TV – and I have the plumbing bill to prove it.”

 

Spike answered her with another gentle kiss. “Not a bloody amateur or weekend warrior, Professional Master Vampire, ‘ere, luv. Ty Pennington’s got nothin’ on me.”
 
“Well…” Buffy drawled, her voice turning light and teasing. “You do know how to use your tool … really well.”
 
Spike growled a reply against her neck, sending shivers down Buffy’s spine. Buffy squealed in surprise when he swept a strong arm under her knees and lifted her up into his arms. “Reckon that’s my cue, eh? Tool time.”
 
Buffy laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “That’s a really lame segue,” she informed him.
 
“Should I put ya down and wait for a better one?” he asked, grinning wickedly.
 
“Don’t you dare! Carry on…”
 
“I think on TV they say ‘Action,’ pet,” Spike teased.
 
“Right,” Buffy agreed. “I’m all about the action.”
 
“I knew you would be,” he purred as he started for the trapdoor with her in his arms.
 
When it was clear that he wasn’t going to set her down to go down the ladder to the bedroom, she got a bit nervous. “Uhhhh … I know about gallantry and all, but … I can climb down.”
 
Spike stopped just in front of the open trapdoor and jostled her lightly in his arms so she would look at him instead of craning her neck and looking down the hole at his feet. “Trust me, Slayer. I’d never hurt you, yeah?”

 

Buffy swallowed a little nervously, then looked back at the steep ladder and the long drop to the floor below. It wasn’t like she’d get seriously hurt, even if he did drop her. The floor was thickly padded with layers of ‘reclaimed’ – or maybe purchased? – carpets and rugs. On the other hand, the dress she had on was expensive and, now that she’d worn it on their date, the emotional attachment to it had changed from sadness about her mother to this night with Spike. She didn’t want anything to happen to it – it was suddenly precious to her.
 
When she didn’t immediately say anything, Spike prompted, “Give me this little bit, Buffy … trust me.”
 
Buffy looked back up at him. His blue eyes were hopeful and pleading. Trust me. Did he have any idea how much he was asking of her in those two little words? Trust wasn’t a Slayer’s biggest asset – or maybe it was just her. She’d trusted before and it seemed that nearly every time she did, she was let down, her trust broken. Trust me, I won’t hurt you, Spike’s intense blue eyes silently begged of her.
 
She nodded once, a jerky, unsure motion, then she held her breath and waited for the letdown.
 
Spike felt a physical weight lift off his heart at her tentative nod. It wasn’t a huge outpouring of undying faith, but he knew for Buffy it was a giant step. With that small, jerky nod she’d just opened the door and that was all he needed: one wisp of a chance.
 
Spike tightened his grip on her and, in one fluid, graceful motion, he leapt down from the upper crypt into the bedroom – completely ignoring the ladder. Buffy gasped and yelped in surprise, clinging tightly to his neck as they dropped down into the cavern below. She braced herself for the ultimate tumble onto the floor or the ripping sound when her long dress caught on a nail – but none of that happened. She felt him absorb the impact with his legs, bending his knees when his feet hit the floor, but he didn’t fall or even waver when they hit. One moment they were falling through the air and the next they were standing on the floor of the bedroom, as if he had just stepped down one stair. Buffy was pretty sure not even she could’ve done that.
 
Spike grinned at her shocked expression. “Told ya: I’ll never hurt you, Buffy,” he repeated as he leaned in to kiss her again.

 

Buffy met his lips with hers, but didn’t press or rush it. She let him kiss her softly, gently. She let him nibble on her lips and tease her tongue with his as he cradled her in his arms. His words swam through her mind as he kissed her, and she knew he meant more than physically … in fact, he probably didn’t mean physically at all. When he said he wouldn’t hurt her, her meant he wouldn’t hurt her heart, wouldn’t break her trust, and she wanted desperately to believe him.
 
Somewhere deep inside her something stirred – something she thought was dead and gone, never to return. It felt so foreign she almost didn’t recognize it at first, but as he kissed her with a tenderness that belied his supernatural, predatory strength, it awoke. It was a need, deep and primal, but not the one Spike had already awoken in her body. This need was soft and gentle – a purring kitten rather than a roaring lion – and it wasn’t physical. It was an emotional, a spiritual, need: the basic human desire for intimacy, for love. The need to share your emotional-self with another living being and to receive the same emotions in return was something Buffy had feared even before her death. She’d locked it safely away, but now it was awakening inside her, like a dark, lost shadow corporealizing into solid form, and it was terrifying.
 
Buffy broke the kiss and wriggled in his arms until Spike lowered her feet to the floor. She turned away from him and wrapped her arms around her stomach as if to hold the stirring shadow-monster in check. She glanced at the ladder, the urge to run and hide growing stronger. I’m not the one that runs away, her own words from earlier that evening mocked her. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe. What the hell was happening to her? What was Spike doing to her?
 
Spike’s fingers touched the back of her neck lightly and began to draw slow, soft circles on the bare skin of her neck, shoulders, and back. Tingles of pleasure washed over her, tapping into that physical need that he’d resurrected in her over the last weeks. The sensation seemed to somehow mute the fear that had been rising in her and overshadow the other need that had started to arise like a Phoenix from the ashes of her heart. She allowed herself to ride that wave of pleasure, leaving the fear ebbing away in its wake.
 
Spike felt her body relax again as he stroked his fingers over her soft skin. He wondered briefly if he should stop this … this gentle seduction. It was obviously making her wary and uncomfortable in a way their normal rough-and-tumble copulating never did. But she’d given him that inch of trust … he couldn’t back down now; it simply wasn’t in him to give up so easily.
 
Spike dropped his lips to her bare shoulder and kissed her golden skin gently. Buffy shivered beneath his touch as he kissed and licked and nibbled on her heated flesh. He worked his way slowly from her shoulder to her neck, sliding her short hair away and kissing the nape of her neck with the same feathery, butterfly-kisses. The fine hairs at the base of her scalp stood on end as bolts of pleasure darted out from his lips and flickered up and down her spine.
 
Buffy moaned and let her chin fall to her chest to encourage him to continue, but the halter-type strap of her dress was thwarting his advance. Spike detoured and kissed a line of fire down her spine until it met the fabric of her dress. His delicate fingers followed the path of his mouth and slowly tugged the zipper there down with a slow, deliberate motion.
 
Buffy’s heart rate sped up as the zipper slid down lower and lower, reveling the curve of her spine and ending just above her hips. “So beautiful you are, pet,” Spike whispered against her skin before he turned her around to face him again.
 
Buffy fought to keep her thudding heart from galloping out of her chest. He’d said that to her before, usually in the heat of the moment, and she’d always ignored it – just let it pass. Tonight, in the flickering candlelight in his bedroom, which she knew he’d worked to make cozy mostly for her benefit, she didn’t want to let it pass by. “Am I?” she asked, touching her short hair tentatively.

 

Spike lifted her eyes to his with a single finger beneath her chin. “Yes,” he replied, his voice full of deep-seated emotion. “You’re a bloody goddess, Buffy. Most beautiful creature in heaven or earth,” he assured her, his voice rough with the desire and emotions her beauty stirred in him.
 
Buffy gave him a shaky, tentative smile. “You aren’t so bad yourself,” she admitted, raising a hand to trace one razor-sharp cheekbone.
 
Spike smiled at her compliment – she didn’t give them freely, at least not to him – and turned his face to drop a kiss on her palm.
 
Buffy slid her hand down and began to unbutton his shirt. Spike stood perfectly still and watched her as she undid each button with the same deliberate care that he’d taken on her zipper. Her fingers danced over his chest and abs as she worked her way down, and his muscles quivered under her touch. When she got to his belt, Buffy skipped over it and pressed her hand against the growing bulge in his thin dress pants. The pleats in the silken fabric didn’t hide anything; they simply made it a bit less confining than his typical tight jeans.
 
Spike moaned when she pressed her palm against the length of his erection, cupping her hot hand around it through the fabric. Buffy rubbed her hand up and down over the length of his hardness a couple of times, enjoying the feel of him beneath the silky pants, before raising both hands back up and unfastening his belt. With his belt and the clasp of his pants opened, Buffy pulled the tail of his shirt out of his trousers, and slid it off his shoulders. The soft suede shirt had barely hit the floor before her fingers were dancing gently over his bulging pecs and hard, flat abs.

 

Spike stood still as she explored his torso with gentle fingertips. Her eyes followed her hands over his alabaster skin, so he was free to watch her face, unnoticed. He couldn’t remember her ever touching him like this before – with reverence and admiration. Her touch was feather-soft as her fingers trailed over the hills and valleys of bone and muscle. Intellectually, he knew she could be gentle – he’d just never experienced before; he barely even allowed himself to dream that she’d ever touch him like this.
 
“Your skin’s so soft … it’s … so strange because the muscles are so hard,” Buffy mused, never looking up at his face. “It’s really not fair – you don’t even moisturize,” she pouted. “I have a whole cabinet full of lotions and cleansers and serums – they cost like … a million dollars – and my skin still isn’t as soft as yours.”
 
Spike chuckled and trailed his fingers delicately over the bulb of muscle where her arm met her shoulder. “We all have our crosses t’ bear, pet,” he teased. “You’re a walkin’ advert for Hawaiian Tropic … all over. How is it ya don’t have any tan lines, luv?” he asked, cocking a brow at her. “Anywhere.”
 
Buffy grinned wickedly. “Can’t give away all my Slayer secrets, can I?” she teased. “You don’t have any tan lines either,” she pointed out, coyly.
 
Spike barked out a genuine laugh. “Reckon that’s true. Me and the Pillsbury Dough Boy – separated at birth, we were.”
 
Buffy poked a finger at his hard, flat abdomen. “Ummm … I think you got cheated on the dough part. I wonder if I can make you laugh like...” she began.
 
Spike grinned at her and grabbed her hand before she could find any ticklish spots. She was kidding around! With him! In the bedroom no less! Wait – was that one of the signs of the apocalypse? If it was, Spike was not going to waste it. Banter with the Slayer had always been one of his favorite pastimes; friendly, sexy, teasing banter was … whoa! Off the charts – more than he’d ever dreamed of. “You complainin’’?” he wondered, smirking at her.
 
Buffy bit her bottom lip and shoot her head. “Not in the least…” she breathed as she leaned in and dropped a reverent kiss on his hard chest, right over his unbeating heart.
 
Spike dropped the hold he had on her hand, fairly certain she wasn't going to try and tickle him again, then reached out and lifted the halter strap of her dress up over her head. When he released his hold of the diaphanous material, the entire dress slid to the floor at Buffy’s feet. She was naked save for her shoes and the white, lacy knickers she’d given him a brief view of earlier – brief being perhaps the key word there. They were little more than a small bit of lace in a vaguely diamond shape. The lace was held in place with three, equally spaced, thin elastic bands that hugged her hips and disappeared around behind her. The slender, white straps only served to accentuate the deep golden tan of her stomach, hips, and thighs. Spike found himself absurdly jealous of the wisps of fabric that encircled the curve of her hips and clung to her as if in a lover’s embrace.



As his eyes wandered over her candlelight-bathed body, Spike’s brain sputtered and fizzled. A bit of smoke may have actually puffed from his ears as the pistons burned from lack of any blood to lubricate the moving parts. She was a goddess; he hadn’t been lying about that in the least. He rarely got a chance to simply gaze reverently at her beauty. He felt like a ten-year-old who had just snagged the Victoria’s Secret catalog out of the mailbox and locked himself in his room with it.
 
Her Slayer strength was masked beneath a layer of soft feminine curves, which called to his most primal needs like a Siren’s song. Her modest breasts were firm; their perfect roundness made his palms tingle in anticipation of holding their supple smoothness in his hands. The puckered, rosy areolas were tipped with pebbled nipples that made his mouth water. He licked his lips lustfully, thinking about pulling those hard, dainty nubs into his mouth and eliciting deep moans of pleasure from her. Her beautiful quim was still hidden beneath the thin lace, but the aroma of her arousal couldn’t be contained, and it floated up to him, making his groin ache in need.
 
Buffy shifted uncomfortably under Spike’s silent gaze. She fought to keep from folding her arms over her breasts in modesty. It wasn't like he'd never seen her naked before, but suddenly she felt self-conscious. This was different than anytime they'd been together before: this meant something and it frightened her in more ways than one. She could almost physically feel his smoldering, blue eyes caressing every inch of her exposed skin. A wave of prickling goose-bumps washed over her, hardening her nipples and flushing her skin with heat and desire. She waited – waited for his eyes to come back to hers – but he seemed mesmerized and unable to draw his gaze away from the rest of her. Finally, in desperation and feigned confidence, she asked, “See anything you like?”
 
The words cut the silence in the room and seemed to jump-start Spike’s brain again, allowing a bit of blood to return from where it had all settled below his belt. A lecherous grin spread over his features, touching more than just his lips, and he looked up at her face at last. “No…” he rumbled out breathlessly. “See somethin’ I love.”

 

Buffy’s face flushed bright-pink and she swallowed nervously. That shadow in her soul shifted again, solidified more, and pressed against the protective walls that surrounded her heart. Would it be so wrong for you to say it back to him? the shadow asked in a low, insistent voice inside her head. Buffy closed her eyes, trying to gather her thoughts into something coherent and slightly less psychotic. Her heart pounded against her ribs, the sound seemed to echo through her whole body and she envisioned the shadow-monster banging its fists against her defenses. Well, would it be so wrong to say it back to him? she asked herself as the pounding intensified.
 
“I …” Buffy started, but her voice faltered and died. Buffy blinked her eyes open and saw the hope in Spike’s eyes – genuine, boyish hope. She felt like something inside her cracked, and the shadow-monster that had been resurrected from the ashes began to leak out, like water seeping through a fissure in a dam. “I …” she tried again, but the moment had passed. It was too late. The hopeful joy that had been in those blue eyes faltered along with her voice. She closed her eyes again, unable to look into the azure depths of Spike’s another moment. “I’m sorry…” she whispered.
 
Her apology was accepted with a gentle kiss upon first one closed eyelid and then the other.  Then his lips touched hers and his hands roamed gently over her flushed skin, sending her heart racing even faster. Buffy lifted her arms and encircled his neck as she pressed against him. His cool, hard body felt wonderful against her over-heated skin, and she pressed harder, slowly swiveling her hips against his hardness.
 
Spike moaned into her mouth and deepened the kiss as her breasts pressed against his chest and her hips ground hard against his erection. She tasted faintly of chocolate and garlic and Buffy. The latter was an enigmatic flavor that was impossible to fully define: sweet and spicy mingled with a splash of tartness and just the barest hint of fruity, nutty goodness.
 
Spike cupped his hands on her bare ass and lifted Buffy just barely off her feet. He turned them around and began walking slowly toward the bed, never breaking the kiss. Buffy cooperated by lifting her legs and wrapping them around his slim hips, only then fully remembering that she’d never finished getting his pants or her shoes off. When Spike’s legs hit the foot of the bed, he leaned forward and gently set his passenger down on the soft mattress. He disentangled himself from her arms and legs and moved back a step to finish disrobing.

 

Buffy watched through lidded eyes as he carefully unzipped his pants and let them fall to the floor. She licked her lips as the rest of his body was revealed in all its masculine splendor. She’d had plenty more opportunities to study him in the Full Monty than he’d had her. He was unabashed about his nudity, unlike her, and would blithely carry on conversations, retrieve drinks or cigarettes, or just walk around for no apparent reason in the nude. She, on the other hand, would generally dress as soon as her legs began working again after their rendezvous, and skedaddle pretty shortly after that. But, no matter how many times she saw it, it still made her mouth water and her breath quicken. Spike may be a cocky bastard, but it turned out he had every reason to be.
 
“See anything you like, pet?” Spike asked as he smirked down at her, tossing her own teasing words back at her.
 
Buffy flushed pink but grinned wickedly. “Oh yeah…” she answered. “Me likey.”

 

Spike chuckled just as wickedly as she was grinning, and moved back between her legs, which now dangled off the end of the bed. He lifted one lean, tan leg up, running his hands from her thigh, over her knee, and calf. When he got to the strap on her shoe, he gently slid a finger under it and slipped it off her small foot. He dropped it to the floor with a soft thud, the impact muffled by the layers of soft carpet, then repeated the procedure on the other leg and foot. His eyes followed his hands as they raked over the lean muscles of her leg, pausing momentarily to tease the soft skin at the back of her knee, before continuing on their mission.
 
Buffy watched him devour her legs with his eyes. His hands were almost superfluous; it was his eyes that seemed to burn her skin as he moved down each leg in turn. His cerulean gaze raking over her body set her on fire like the beam of a brilliant, blue laser. When his hands moved to her hips and his fingers hooked under the slender straps of her thong, she felt his eyes set her core on fire. Buffy lifted her butt up as Spike slid his hands down over the curve of her hips, taking the lacy, damp knickers with them. Spike’s eyes smoldered with lustful desire as her smooth quim was revealed from beneath her lace finery.
 
Buffy’s whole body tingled in anticipation. Generally, their encounters didn’t involve a lot of anticipation, unless you counted the walk, or run, to the crypt or other dark corner. Usually their time together was a rushed, intense, often violent affair which didn’t include much time to notice how loud her heart sounded as it pounded in her ears, or how the hairs on the back of her neck prickled, or how every cell in her body shivered as she waited for him to touch her. But she noticed now. She noticed how she couldn’t seem to catch her breath and how Spike’s cock jumped when his senses of sight and smell were bombarded with the view of her fully nude form and the scent of her arousal.
 
Buffy wriggled and slid up further onto the bed so her head was on the pillows, opening her legs to him and making room for him to join her. A low, throaty growl resonated from somewhere deep inside as Spike leaned forward and crawled on all fours, following in her wake. His movements were graceful and deliberate, like a panther stalking its prey, and his eyes burned with lustful desire.
 
Buffy couldn’t help but notice the shifting muscles of his arms as he moved. His triceps, bathed in the soft glow from the candles on each side of the bed, drew her attention. Those strong muscles on the backs of his arms undulated sinuously with each movement, supple and lithe, bulging with the weight of his upper body as he moved. When he got within reach, Buffy raised her hands and trailed her fingers down from his shoulders, over those oh-so-fine triceps, and back up again, feeling every flowing dip and swell of preternatural, masculine strength.
 
Spike dipped his head and circled one rosy nipple with the tip of his tongue, teasing her hot flesh with a wispy, gentle touch. Buffy’s back arched and her fingers dug into the hard muscles of his upper-arms as a moan purred from her throat. The electricity of anticipation that had been building in her like a force-field over her skin exploded from the contact and sent tingling jolts of power cascading through her. She hissed and gasped in pleasure when Spike’s lips and teeth closed over her pebbled nub, sucking and nibbling lightly on her sensitive flesh.
 
“Spike…” she moaned, finally loosening her grip on his deltoids and running her hands gently along the sides of his torso as he remained on all fours above her. She could feel his soft skin quiver under her touch, feel the hard muscles beneath twitch and jump, as if her hands were conveying the jolts of electricity she was feeling to him.
 
Spike released her nipple and kissed a line of fire over the swell of her breast and all around the other, which had been neglected. Buffy gasped when more of those sparks of desire cascaded over her as he teased her other nipple with his talented tongue, flicking against it lightly before sucking down on it in earnest. Her body bowed up off the mattress in an attempt to reach his, and their hips met – his hardness pressing against her soft, wet folds.
 
Spike moaned his approval, vibrating his lips over her nipple, and Buffy wrapped her legs around his slim hips, capturing him. The prey had suddenly become the predator – or at least the captor.
 
“Make love to me, William,” Buffy whispered up to him, wrapping her arms around his neck gently.

 

Spike pulled back to look into her eyes and, for once, Buffy didn’t look away. She shivered as she felt his intense gaze delve into her, as if he could see her very soul. The resurrected shadow of love inside her seemed to reach out through the cracked and crumbling walls that protected her heart. She could feel a battle waging inside her as it tried to grab a hold of those azure beams of adoration that were boring into her. She was at once hopeful that it would succeed in breaking free and terrified that it would.
 
Buffy opened her mouth to try and speak, but words once again escaped her. She kept her green eyes focused on Spike’s even as she felt his hips shift, his body move, his hardness searching for her opening along her wet slit. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even move to help him at that moment, despite how she longed to feel him inside her. She could only watch his eyes, so expressive, so intuitive, so full of desire and … God, help her, love.
 
“Oh, Buffy,” Spike murmured as he pressed into her at last, never taking his eyes from hers. He was suddenly engulfed in the utter beauty and passion of her. Pressing into her wet, supple heat, feeling her body momentarily resist then give way, stretch to take his hardness in, and then close around him. His only wish was that he could penetrate her heart as readily. Her green eyes shone with desire in the soft light, then with blissful joy as he felt a small orgasm titter through her. He strove to convey everything he was feeling through his eyes; all his hopes, all his love, all his devotion and respect and adoration. Would it be enough to breach her defenses? Could he touch that last, hidden bastion that held the one thing he desired now above all others: her love?
 
Buffy’s body trembled and a small, shuddering orgasm flooded over her as Spike pressed in. He moved more slowly than she thought possible, stretching her and filling her with so much more than his physical self. His eyes were still locked onto hers and she fought to keep her eyes open through the wave of bliss, taking in everything he was giving her – emotional and physical. As the lovers began to move together to the age-old rhythms of desire, neither gaze wavered. Buffy let Spike lead the dance, a slow, sensuous tango, that built steadily to what she knew would be a fantastic crescendo.
 
Leaning on his elbows, his body cradled against Buffy’s, Spike kept the tempo slow, unhurried; a sharp contrast to the usually frantic pace they set. He studied her eyes, her soft verbalizations, and the shudders in her body, noticing which movements of his hips made her gasp, which made her moan, which made her whisper his name, and which made her eyes widen and her pupils dilate further. He made slow circles and figure-eights, grinding down on her clit with his pubic bone on the down-stroke. Sometimes he’d press hard, other times it would be barely enough to graze her yearning flesh. Her body moved with his, as if they both heard the same, slow drummer in their heads – as if they were made for each other.

 

Spike knew she was the perfect contrast to him – as if she were made to balance him and he her. Her soft curves were the perfect complement to his sharp angles; her suppleness the perfect accompaniment to his hardness; her light to his dark, her heat to his chill, her soul to his soullessness; her Slayer the ideal foil for his demon. He had known it for many long months, since long before her death. Now he fought against the barriers she had up that kept her from seeing, from feeling, the truth of them. He fought with everything he had: his mind, his body, his heart … and that bit of William that remained beneath the demon.
 
Buffy’s heart thudded in her chest as the dance intensified and the rhythm of the phantom drumbeat quickened. She clung to Spike with arms and legs, fighting hard to keep her eyes open and locked on his. At some point she’d realized that she actually wanted him to scale the wall around her heart and rescue her from this half-life she had been living, despite the deep-seated fear that he would succeed.
 
Even before her death and resurrection, she’d been slowly building that wall and every failure made it higher and stronger. Every time she trusted and was let down, another layer of defense was erected. From her dad, to Angel, to Ford, to Parker, and beyond – they all took her trust and crushed it. Then came Professor Walsh, who tried to kill her, and Riley’s ultimate betrayal. But the final blow was her most trusted mentor: Giles. His suggestion – his urgent demand – that they kill Dawn to keep Glory from opening the portal, had been a blow to the deepest level of trust she had. That he would so coldly suggest they kill her sister – the only family Buffy had left – had rocked the very foundation of her world. Buffy had steeled herself after that blow; she had taken that broken foundation and reinforced the walls even further, making them quite impenetrable.
 
And now she wished with every fiber of her being that there was someone strong enough, loyal enough, true enough, brave enough to knock a hole in that high, thick wall and let her live again.

 

“Spike, God, please … please, please,” Buffy begged, willing him to somehow understand what it was she needed.
 
And somehow, as he always seemed to, he did. “Trust me, Buffy. Let me in – I swear I’ll never hurt you,” he vowed, punctuating his words with the strong thrust of his hips against her. “I love you, Buffy Anne Summers. I’ll love you for-bloody-ever. Trust me, Slayer … trust … me.”
 
“Spike! Oh … God … oh … Spike …” Buffy moaned as her body came to the edge of that oh so familiar chasm of bliss. She could no longer maintain eye contact with him; her eyes fluttered closed and she lifted her mouth to his in a desperate kiss. Their dance became more frantic as their lips crushed together. Their bodies seemed intent on fusing together and their hips began slamming against the other, driving Spike’s hardness deeper and deeper into Buffy’s hot, supple core.
 
“Buffy, please … trust me…” Spike groaned against her lips before resuming the passionate kiss. He drove into her with every fiber of his being, begging her with actions, thoughts, and words to believe what was in his heart.
 
Suddenly, that ledge that Buffy had been on the verge of falling off of changed into a tall, wide, rough-hewn stone wall. She could see that parts of it had started to crumble and break away where the shadow of her trust, of her love, had tried to escape its dank, dusty confines. Now she stood atop the wall of her own design, unsure which way to fall.
 
One side was dark and cold, but although she couldn’t see the bottom, she knew safety lay that way. She could tell that her heart would be safe in the buffer of darkness and self-reliance. ‘She who stands alone’ could rein the rebelling shadow in, shove it back down into the dark, dank safety of the Slayer Bastille.

 

On the other side of the wall was freedom – and danger. A sparkling, azure ocean the color of Spike’s eyes stretched out below. It looked warm and welcoming, but she could see jagged rocks, coral reefs, and oyster beds lying just below the surface, waiting to rip her apart if she dove in.
 
She stood there, the compulsion to jump, one way or the other, growing stronger with every passing moment as Spike brought her closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. A thousand warring images flashed through her mind in a millisecond. Snapshots of all the deceitful, careless, cruel, and just plain evil people she’d trusted over her life flooded her and then gave way to images of everything Spike had done to her and for her. He hadn’t always been someone she would trust – in fact, he’d done some pretty disturbing, untrustworthy things – but she couldn’t remember him telling her an out-and-out lie about anything really important. When he was trying to kill her, he was completely up-front about it; when he was trying to shag her, he didn’t hide it behind anything else; and now he said he loved her and that he’d never hurt her.
 
Buffy felt herself take a step toward the sparkling, dangerous ocean as her body began to tremble and convulse. The tidal-wave of bliss that had been building in her was on the verge of breaking over her. It would send her plummeting off the wall one way or the other – she had to decide which way to fall.
 
“Cum with me, luv … Buffy … love you … love you so bloody much,” Spike gasped against her lips, his voice quavering with emotion, as his hips slammed against her, sending her teetering on the very brink of orgasmic oblivion.
 
In her mind’s eye, she looked out at the dangerous freedom of the ocean and then back at the safety of her self-imposed prison. Could her heart take one more pounding on the proverbial rocks without being irreparably shattered? If her trust was given and broken even one more time, would she ever trust herself again? And if she couldn’t trust even herself, then what would she have? What was a Slayer who couldn’t trust their instincts? Simple: A dead Slayer.
 
Trust me, Buffy … I’ll never hurt you … I’ll never betray you … I love you, Spike’s promises echoed in her head, pleading with her to believe.
 
But hadn’t she heard all that before, more than once? Buffy wavered precariously, doubt seeping into her very bones as the mountainous, supernatural tidal wave of bliss crashed down on her.
 
Buffy braced herself and fell from the precipice as the orgasmic wave washed over her, drowning her in blissful ectasy.
 
Spike’s roar of release exploded against Buffy’s mouth as her own shriek of pleasure tore from her throat. The lovers floated blissfully on the tide of pleasure; shuddering, spent bodies entwined as the waves of euphoria washed over them, engulfing them.

 

Buffy felt herself splash down into the sparkling, crystal-blue water, but she’d no sooner landed than the waves were driving her right toward the jagged rocks. Her panic built as second-thoughts bombarded her mind and she began to look for a way back to the safety of her dungeon. But then, as if by magic, strong hands grabbed her under her arms and pulled her away from the danger. She was hauled up and backwards in one swift motion, and fell unceremoniously into the bottom of a rubber life raft. She scrambled around to find Spike there, flashing his cocky smirk at her; the name on the side of the small boat next to him read ‘RMS Titanic’.
 
“Need a lift, Slayer?”
 
She flung herself at him, knocking them both back into the bottom of the rubber raft. She wrapped herself around him, arms and legs holding tightly, and captured his lips in a frantic kiss that degenerated into giddy laughter.
 
Buffy opened her eyes, laughter bubbling from her throat past her gasping breaths as her lungs battled for oxygen. The blue ocean she’d jumped into was right above her, looking down, pouring adoration and love down on her like a warm waterfall. It engulfed her, covered her with a blanket of promises, spoken and unspoken, that she knew, simply knew, would be kept.

 

“Not really the reaction I was goin’ for …” Spike complained despondently as Buffy continued to giggle uncontrollably. She was unable to stop the happiness and newfound freedom from overflowing from her heart and billowing in joyous waves from her throat – not that she was really trying that hard.
 
“How about this then?” she asked, her voice breaking with giddy giggles on each word. “I love you, Spike. I love you … I love you … I love you,” she repeated, alternatively laughing and kissing his face between each heartfelt declaration. “God, I love you, Spike."

 

**~** THE END **~**


{{  Click here to hear Miracle Worker by Superheavy on YouTube  }}


[Damian Marley]
Now this one reaching out to all the lovers
Who might be thinking of breaking up...huh,
Or maybe even making up, check it

[Joss Stone]
I missed a part of you, I can't get back
[Damian Marley]
Don't be a silly nilly,I'm always here for ya,
Through the thick and thin, not just because we argue

[Joss Stone]
See, I want it to be true, but I can't do that

[Damian Marley]
Why not, what's stopping you?
Don't be preposterous.
I've gotta lot of love, not just a lot of lust

[Joss Stone]
If I only weren't a fool, I'd be loved back

[Damian Marley]
Well that's your own opinion
And you're entitled to it.
I'll be lost in oblivion, if we don't go through it.

[Mick Jagger]
There's nothing wrong with you I can't fix!
I come a runnin' with my little bag o' tricks
In an emergency I'm very well prepared.
My scalpel, mask, and gloves; don't ever get too scared
[Chorus]

Ooohooo, you're a miracle worker
Ooohooo, you're a surgeon of love (you have a medical condition)
Ooohooo, can't wait to fix me up.
And I promise I'll be back again, if you work your miracles on me

[Joss Stone]
Your melody was fresh,
It touched my soul

[Damian Marley]
Invigorating and refreshing, and interesting, and it feels right

[Joss Stone]
My heart was drowning in stress,
But you brought out the best in me

[Damian Marley]
Love has a tendency, so I've been told, and so it seems like.

[Mick Jagger]
My lovin’ laser will regenerate your heart
No need for anesthetics, I’ll go check your charts
I will reshape you, recast you from the mold.
A brand new beautiful woman will blossom from the old.
Oohooo, you're a Miracle Worker. [Yes you are]
Oohooo, you're the surgeon of love. [I have a medical condition]
Oohooo, can't wait to fix me up.
And I'll promise I'll be back again,
If you work your miracles on me.....
Oohooo, you're a Miracle Worker. [Yeah, yeah]
Oohooo, you're the surgeon of love. [I have a medical condition]
Oohooo, can't wait to fix me up.
And I'll promise I'll be back again.
If you work your miracles on me....


Work your miracles on me.