Feedback will be highly appreciated since I haven't written anything in over
a year.

It wasn't enough. Spike had grabbed nearly every useful weapon out of the
trunk, but he felt vastly unprepared. These weapons were made to kill
vampires and demons, not gods.

He set the weapons down, his anger at that Glory bitch making him seethe,
his fists clenching in fury while his gut tightened in fear. He felt like
praying to whomever would listen that she came out okay. Not that they'd
bloody listen anyhow, with me being a vampire and all.

She'd been up there a while now, and he was getting worried. Stalking
halfway up the stairs, he called out her name. There was no answer, so he
continued up the stairs.

"Buffy?" he called again when he reached the second floor. Seeing that her
door was partially open, he knocked on it.

"Come in." Her voice sounded distant, small.

"Yeah, I was uh, wonderin' if you had some more weapons, the big kind,
y'know." He trailed off when he saw her, standing in front of the closet in
a bra and underwear. She was vacantly staring at the hanging clothes; on her
bed was a bag of weapons. You bloody ponce, she's half naked and you're
looking at the weapons.

"Spike, how do you pick what to wear to the end of the world?" She'd never
even turned to look at him.

He didn't know what to do. Banter, perhaps, since it was one of the things
he did best. "Since I only have one outfit, I don't really have that
problem."

"You really should get more clothes."

What the fuck was going on here? Had she lost her mind again? But Spike had
plenty of experience in dealing with crazy women. "Let's make a deal, pet.
After this is over, we'll go shopping. I'll get a new outfit. As soon as you
kick Glory's ass, we'll head to the mall. Maybe even go to," he couldn't
help the involuntary shudder, "the Gap."

It seemed to snap her out of it somewhat. She turned to face him. "What if
we don't make it? I can feel it, Spike."

He saw the unshed tear in her eye. *Don't let it fall, Slayer. Don't let it
fall 'cause if you do, I'll have to kiss it away and that won't do either of
us any good.*

Instead, he only said, "We'll make it, Buffy." Shrugging his shoulders, he
took a step closer. "You'll make it at least. I meant it before - I would
die for you.and the Niblet too," he admitted. He shook his head, part of him
still hating the way she had changed him.

"Why?"

He arched an eyebrow. "Why what?"

"Why would you die for me, Spike? And don't you dare say it's because you
love me." She was tired of hearing about love, especially from the one
person who should not even know what it was.

"Would you like me to lie to you, then?" His voice was shaky but his gaze
held firm, looking in her eyes. Piercing her. She couldn't take it; the
fighting was safer than the emotions.

"Love isn't building a robot to have sex with."

He scowled. Of all the stupid things he'd ever done, that took the cake.
"Look, I was wrong. I never should have done that. But do you know why I
did?"

"Because you're a disgusting pervert?"

He grinned. "Yeah, well that's partly true, luv. But I did it because I know
you'll never want me, let alone love me. And I was afraid that eventually,
I'd do somethin' crazy."

"Like, oh, I don't know.chaining me up?"

Her snippy retorts were pissing him off. Was it impossible for her to have a
normal conversation? Or maybe it was just impossible for her to have one
with him.

"Would you shut up for just a bleedin' minute and let me talk! " He shook
his head, trying to remember what he was just saying. "I was afraid that I'd
do somethin' that might hurt you. I'm not a good man, Buffy," he ignored the
derisive snort that she chose to make, "but I want to be good when I'm near
you. I told you before, that you've wormed your way inside me until it's
just you in a dead, empty shell. So I took you the only way I could bloody
get you.

"I'm not good enough for you, and I know that. You think that every fiber of
my being doesn't know how worthless I am?" Emotion choked his voice, and he
gathered his composure before continuing, his voice lower and calmer.
"You'll never love me, but most importantly, you never should." He turned
his eyes to the floor, and in almost a whisper, added, "not that I'd mind if
you did."

Buffy took a moment to let it all sink in. "It was still disgusting and
wrong." But she sounded placated.

"I know that now, and not that you'd bloody care, but I actually learned
somethin' important. Yeah, I know how 'Full House' it sounds but I did, so
piss off and pay attention." His head was still tilted to the floor, but he
looked up at her under his lashes. Looking for a sign of whether he should
continue, since she apparently wasn't going to ask him what he had learned.
Her mouth remained impassive, but her eyebrow was slightly raised. She had
on the 'I really shouldn't ask because it'll just piss me off but I still
really want to know' face. Fuck it. Curiosity only killed cats.

"The robot made me realize that this thing I have for you, it's more than
physical. Of course, that doesn't mean I don't want to shag you rotten every
time you smile, or kiss you every time you cry. But the robot wasn't you; it
didn't have your attitude or your personality. It didn't want to beat me up
whenever I said somethin'." He could tell that he was hitting pretty high on
the sappy meter, so he added, "But she gave damn great head."

Buffy hit him. "Ewww. Can you, like, not mention that? Ever?"

"I made her very happy too, just in case you were wondering."

"I so was not."

"I think you were. I think that pretty little head of yours is picturing all
sorts of things right now."

"You're right, Spike. I'm picturing me on top of you," the corner of her
mouth turned up when she saw his eyes widen, "and you're begging me to do
it. To go ahead and get it over with. After all, we've spent so many years
building up to it." His mouth was suddenly dry. "So I do it.I stake you."

She took some satisfaction in the hurt look that crossed his face, but to
his credit, he didn't let it stay there for long. "Good one, Slayer." Her
talent for screwing with him, mind and body, was impressive. "But about the
robot.for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

The apology sounded sincere, and for a split second she felt bad for him.
The ship was sinking, and he had refused to get on a lifeboat, choosing
instead to go down with her. "Me too."

"What the bloody hell do you have to be sorry for?"

"For putting you in this situation."

"Bollocks. I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be. And before you ask why
again, it's because I love you. I love you, Buffy. I would put myself
through hell and back if I could just make you smile, and I'd die if it
would keep you living. No one needs me. But this world needs you."

His words, especially the last ones, hit a place in her that she hadn't
visited in a while. "Maybe I'm tired of this damn world. Maybe you were
right about that death wish. I used to wish for normalcy the way other girls
my age would wish for convertibles and Brad Pitt. Even thought I had it for
a while with Riley." She saw his eyes darken and jaw clench at the mention
of the other man's name. "But it's not for me. I'll never be normal, and I'm
so tired of trying. I just want peace, now, if that's not asking for too
much. I want to rest."

Buffy didn't see the angry look on his face as he grabbed her by the wrists.
Preparing himself for the pain, he was relieved when it didn't come. He had
no idea where the fine line was, and he didn't want to cross it.

"You listen to me, Buffy, and you listen real good. I may be dead but I
still try to enjoy as much of my unlife as I can, and I have nothing.
Nothing! I can't kill humans, demons hate me, humans hate me, I live in a
dirty crypt where the best thing to do is watch shitty soap operas, and I'm
in love with someone who will never love me back. You." he shook his head as
though he couldn't even believe that she didn't realize this. "You have
everything - friends that love you, a future, and the Little Bit.she needs
you more than anyone. More than I need you. You're all she has, so don't
give up, 'cause you'd be giving up on her.

"Life is hard. So fucking what? The fun part is dealing with it. Channel
that anger somewhere else. I'm partial to fucking and fighting, but if
you're not big on those then find somethin' you do like. You're still alive,
so live."

He let go of her wrists and shoved her away, just a little roughly. There
was a quick jab of pain in his head, but nothing too bad.

He looked at her, waiting for a reaction. Hell, did he ever stop looking at
her? There were tears in her blue-green eyes, making them a little greener.
He could watch the colors change for hours, like a stoned kid with a lava
lamp. Maybe reading one of his crappy poems about them would make her laugh.
Bring back the Buffy he knew was there, hiding behind the hardened shell
before him.

She held his gaze, stared him down even as the tears pooled in her eyes then
spilled down her cheeks. She looked distraught and confused. Why did he
always seem to know her so well? She had always thought that Angel was the
one person who knew her best, but maybe she was wrong. Angel could never see
her flaws, or the darkness, because she was his salvation. She was the good
that balanced out his lingering evil. But maybe Spike could see it because
that wasn't the case. She wasn't saving Spike; he was saving her. The
thought unnerved her, and she no longer wanted to have such deep thoughts.
Chip or no chip, he still had no soul. *Stupid Spike, thinks he knows
everything?* God, she just wanted to hit him.

So she did. He held his cheek where her blow had landed, and managed a
smile. "Feel better?"

"Actually, I do," she truthfully answered.

"Good. That's passion, you've got to let it out before it drives you mad."

"No, it's anger. It's fighting."

"It all boils down to passion, baby. And you're full of it."

She snorted. "I think you're the one who's full of it."

"For fuck's sake, Buffy, I know you. I know who you are, and what drives
you. Your passion and your love are what keep you going and what make you so
damn good. They're what make you alive.

"The hardness, the Slayer part of you, the dark part, it has to exist to
protect the inner you. So don't push it way, but don't let it consume you
either. Find a balance."

Buffy grunted and punched him again, this time in the stomach. "I hate it
when you're right! Why do you have to know so much about me? Why is it the
only man who's ever seemed to understand me is a stupid vampire? Why do you
have to love me? Why can't some nice normal guy love me for who I am and not
for who they want me to be?" With every question she punched him, and he
retreated step by step until he practically fell on the bed, narrowly
missing landing on the bag of weapons.

His dead heart soared when he realized she'd called him a 'man' but he
refused to let it show. In all seriousness, he answered her questions, even
if they were rhetorical. "Because you scare them." She tried to punch him
again, but he caught her wrist. "Because they can't handle you." He caught
her other arm, then stood up and faced her so that their noses were nearly
touching. His blue eyes were like ice, but smoldered with fire. They stared
until Buffy's rapid breathing slowed, until her anger ebbed.

"To feel alive, you need." He couldn't finish the sentence. She'd never love
him, care for him, so why keep putting himself out there? *Might as well
chop my dick off, it'd be less painful.*

"Tell me. Tell me what I need, Spike." When he didn't answer, she went on.
"Were you going to say *you*? I need you to feel alive? To feel your cold,
dead skin against my hot, living body?" She was goading him.

He sighed, admitting defeat. "Somethin' like that. Looks like you know me
well, too."

They continued their staring contest until Buffy couldn't take it anymore.
He was invading her personal space for no reason, and she wanted him to get
the hell out. "What's the matter? Aren't you going to try to kiss me?" Damn.
She'd meant it to be snide, but it had come out a little too suggestive.
Maybe he didn't notice. Yeah, right. What the hell was with her?

"Only if you want me to, pet. Which you might, since you could have easily
broken free." That said, he let his grip loosen until he was only lightly
holding her arms.

What happened next shocked him, and her as well. Maybe it was the feel of
strong arms around her, or the stress of the situation; whatever it was,
something inside her broke. She wrapped her arms around his waist, rested
her head on his shoulder, and burst into tears. He stroked her hair, not
sure what he should do, then finally decided that maybe holding her was all
she needed; someone else to be the strong one, even for a little while. He
continued to stroke her hair in silence, because for once nothing would come
out of his mouth. Spike tried his best to keep from thinking about how soft
her hair was, or how good her skin smelled, but his best sucked. *Sod it
all, this might be the only time before I'm ashes. And the git hugged me
first.* So he stopped trying and just reveled in it.

When the sobbing ceased, she whispered, "What if I can't save her?"

"Then *we'll* save her. I won't let her die, or you for that matter." She
tilted her head so she could look at him.

"Because you love me," she said, rolling her eyes. "You've only said it five
hundred times in the last twenty minutes."

"I know, I know, I'm a pathetic loser who can't keep the bleedin' romantic
crap out of his life. But you're mine, Slayer, whether you bloody well like
it or not. You were mine to kill, and now that I don't want to, no one else
will. No stupid bitch of a hell god is going to hurt you unless it's over my
ashes."

He expected another snipe, or for her to balk at his comment, but instead
she said, "Thank you," and meant it. Like the day she had burst into his
crypt pretending to be the robot. The day she had willingly kissed him.

What the hell, she thought. He deserves it. She kissed him again, lightly on
the mouth, nothing too intense. Some part of her realized how nice it was to
barely have to stand on tiptoe and stretch. When she pulled back his hand
was cradling her face, his thumb brushing away the tears. God, he wanted to
kiss her again, and not just a light kiss of gratitude. It was written in
his eyes, on his face.

And she wanted him to, she realized with a surge of fear and desire. *Do
it,* she pleaded with her eyes. *Give me something to live for, and I'll
give you something to die for. Do it.*

Spike knew what lust looked like, and he saw it shining in her eyes. It
couldn't be real.none of this could. He'd wake up any minute now in his
crypt, alone and horny. Buffy Summers, Vampire Slayer, would not be standing
in his arms, her lips trembling so slightly he doubted she even knew it,
lust glittering in her eyes like her earlier tears. That couldn't be real.

*Because that would be wrong,* her long ago words rang in his head.

Not that he cared about wrong or right, but she did. Which was why the
unspoken command in her eyes disturbed him almost as much as it turned him
on.

She could tell he was hesitating. Somewhere inside her, she was grateful to
him for assessing the consequences, and her respect for him grew just a
little bit more.

"Spike?" she whispered, not trying to be sexy, but nonetheless succeeding in
making him shiver.

"Yeah, Buffy?" He loved the way her eyebrows arched, and absently stroked a
finger over her brow bone, then down to her cheek before brushing her hair
back. She didn't know it, but she leaned into his touch.

"That day, when you protected Dawn's identity from Glory." Her voice
faltered as she recalled it. That was the day Spike had suffered through
torture for her. All that pain, for her. She couldn't help but wonder if
Riley would have sacrificed so much; her heart knew with a fierce certainty
that Angel would have, but Riley, with all his talk of love, most likely
would have caved. He would have failed her, and then begged for her
forgiveness, and she knew deep down that she would never have been able to
give it to him. For not the first time, she was thankful he was no longer in
her life. And for nearly the first time, she was thankful that Spike was.

Even if it seemed all she'd given him was pain. The hatred had waned, and
guilt had rushed in to take its place when she saw him in front of her,
bruised and bloodied, but still brave and unbroken. It was a marker, the
moment when she saw Spike from a different angle. And she had rewarded him
the only way she could think of, hoping to take his pain away. It had felt
right.

"Go on, luv," he murmured, and she could hear the tremble in his voice, and
the hesitant hopefulness broke her from her reverie and she remembered what
she wanted to say.

"You asked for a crumb, once. That day, you earned it."

There were no more words because he kissed her, long and hard, his lips
molding to hers and his mouth stealing the breath from her body. It was
savage and tender, as though he was trying to tell her that he wanted her,
needed her, loved her without speaking. Her tongue fought its way into his
mouth, cool and wet and hungry, and Buffy held on even tighter to him.

She could feel her control slipping, and it was exhilarating, like taking on
twenty vamps without breaking a sweat. It felt like freedom, to be wild and
do whatever the hell she pleased for once. To feel the muscles in Spike's
arms beneath her fingers as he held her, and to notice that he smelled of
more than just cigarettes and leather.

It reminded her of her childhood, when she would try as hard as she could to
skate her fastest, gliding over the ice with a reckless speed that whipped
her hair around her face and made her heart beat faster. The nervous
tightness in the pit of her stomach was the same as her first day of
kindergarten, and her first day at Sunnydale High when she knew no one. The
fear that made the hair on the back of her neck rise reminded her of when
she was twelve, and had convinced her mother she was old enough to babysit
Dawn. Her sister had then taken it upon herself to hide in the attic right
before Joyce returned so that Buffy would freak out and then get in trouble.

All the memories he brought back just by touching her threatened a sensory
overload, and she pulled away, shaking and breathing heavily. Was this what
insanity felt like? So much going on that instead of trying to fight the
swift current, it was better to give up and enjoy the wild ride, not caring
if it would take her over the falls.

She saw the struggle in Spike's eyes, and wondered if he was feeling the
same way. His hands were shaking, just barely, and if she stood close
enough, she could probably feel the trembling all over his body. Glancing
over her shoulder, she read the neon numbers on her bedside clock. A few
hours left. Hours that would be filled with nothing but waiting and worrying
because there was nothing else left to do before Glory started the ritual.
Hours that might be her last. Would anyone miss a few stolen minutes?

"We have time," she said to him, and to her, it explained everything.

"You sure?" he asked. Hell, even if she said no, he wasn't sure if he could
stop.

Her only response was to grab him by his lapels and yank the leather coat
off his shoulders. It slid down his arms and fell to a crumpled pile on the
floor. There was a flash of a thought in her mind, wondering if that's how
the Slayer who'd owned it had ended up after Spike snapped her neck - a
crumpled pile on the dirty floor of a dirty subway in a dirty city.

When she kissed him, she knew that wasn't going to happen to her. At least
not because of him. She'd never die that way.

She helped him pull off his black t-shirt, and the way his hair stood
straight up made her want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Instead she
smiled, and he cradled her face in his hands and pressed his mouth to hers.
Their tongues fought for dominance, but eventually settled on a slower
rhythm where neither had the lead.

Spike loved to kiss; the part of him that had once been a poet found beauty
in the exquisite textures of parted lips and slick tongues. He wanted to
kiss her everywhere; the mouth that had insulted him, the hands that had
pummeled him, the curve of her neck where other vampires had been before
him. But there was a stronger need in a different part of his body, and it
was growing with every brush of her lips, every rake of her nails, and every
whimper that punctuated the otherwise quiet night.

Buffy was feeling that need as well, because she arched her hips into his,
and he needed more. With a growl he lifted her, grinding his erection into
the softness that was barely covered by her tiny panties. It was obscene,
and she wanted more. She wrapped her legs around his waist and ran her hands
over his shoulders. His skin was soft, and absently, she wondered where he
showered, since his crypt lacked facilities. When his cool fingers curled
around her hips and pressed her even closer to him, she forgot all about the
shower issue.

She held on tightly with her legs, her hips rotating against him, while her
fingers found their way to his bleached hair and ran through it. Breaking
the kiss off for air, she leaned her forehead against his and met his eyes.
Without leaving her gaze, he trailed a hand up her spine, feeling the
shudders through her body, and undid her bra. His scarred eyebrow raised in
question, and she answered by tracing his bottom lip with her tongue.

He laid her on the bed, letting go of her, and knocked the bag of weapons
onto the floor. She unwrapped her legs from his waist, and he knelt on the
edge of the bed near her feet, just taking in the way she looked. Memorizing
the way her tan faded just slightly at the top of her legs, the tiny freckle
below her belly button.

"You're absolutely fucking beautiful," he murmured, and kissed the top of
her knee.

"You're not bad yourself," she responded, and for the first time actually
took a good look at him. His bare chest was beyond splendid; the way his
long, lean muscles rippled as he moved up the bed sent tremors through her
body. She followed his hand as he traced it up her leg, and noticed that his
skin was nearly as tan as hers.

"Uh, Spike?"

"Yeah, pet?" He lifted her leg and trailed kisses up her calf.

"How are you," she broke off to moan as his tongue licked the underside of
her knee, "so tan?" she squeaked out. His mouth had moved higher, caressing
the inside of her thigh. Buffy wondered how a mouth could feel so good.

Spike lifted his head from her thigh and she whimpered. "That's a secret. If
I told you, I'd have to kill you."

"If you don't get back to what you were doing, I'd have to kill *you*," she
responded in kind.

"Ooh, Slayer, you're scaring me." His wicked smile made her stomach
flutter - it felt like forever since she had felt this raw desire. She
smiled wickedly back. *Christ, my head's between Buffy's legs and I keep
talking. What kind of poncey idiot am I?*

He nibbled on the soft skin of her inner thigh, and when his tongue snaked
out to taste her, she squealed and arched her back. He wanted to see just
how loud she would get.
His lips hovered around her bikini line, but he didn't give her what she
wanted. Not yet. He wanted to hear her beg for it, because in some long ago
conversation, he'd said she was not the begging kind.

So his tongue wound its way up her stomach, darting into her navel before
running into her bra. It was time to take the damn thing off, and Spike had
it on the floor in seconds. Her nipples were as pink and tempting as her
mouth, and he flicked one hard nub with his tongue. A moan was his reward,
and he smiled even as he wrapped his lips around her flesh and sucked.

Her fingers wove themselves into his hair as he worked her, holding him in
place. Like anything would make him move except the temptation of even
richer pastures. The fingers of his right hand crawled across her skin,
cupping her other breast, rolling her nipple between his thumb and index
finger.

Her desire was like a spring, and Spike was winding it tighter and tighter
with every lick, every touch. The blood in her veins was rushing so fast she
could almost hear it, and every part of her pulsed with each beat of her
heart. From her fingers to her toes to her clit, everything was throbbing.

"Spike," she managed to say, her voice husky with lust.

"Mmm?" was all he answered, since his mouth was still busy at her breast.

She tugged on his hair. A half moan, half cry, escaped her lips as he raked
his teeth over her nipple. "Need.you."

Her two simple words made more blood rush to his groin than the sight of her
naked and writhing under him. *Buffy needs me*, his mind was singing. He
released her breast and moved up along the length of her, until they were
face to face, chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis.

"Say it again," he softly demanded between kisses. His lips found her
earlobe. "Please."

"I.need you." Her words were like poetry. He could feel her fingers sliding
over the muscles in his back, dipping underneath the waistband of his jeans
before returning to his shoulders.

"I'm always here for you, luv," he murmured against her skin. He nuzzled her
neck, and she tilted it to the side, allowing him better access. A part of
her felt like screaming, because even with the chip, he was still a vampire.
But that wasn't the part of her that was on fire, or the part of her that
was begging for his touch.

 He bit her, not too hard but still not gently, and sucked until the last
vestige of thought faded from her mind. Her hips thrust up against his, and
it was his turn to moan as the friction rubbed against his cock.

"Don't do that," he warned her.

Buffy did it again.

"You asked for it, then." He left the salty lusciousness of her neck and
retraced his previous path to the waistband of her panties.

"Then give it to me, Spike," she said, and thrust herself into his face.
*Did I just say that?* She must really have lost her mind.

Spike yanked her panties down, and instead of throwing them aside, he shoved
them in his pocket. Whether Buffy noticed or not, he didn't know, because if
she did, she didn't say anything. But he needed them; he needed proof that
this was actually happening, and not some incredibly lucid dream.

His hands wrapped around Buffy's knees, and he detected the slightest bit of
resistance. Putting his tongue to work again, he traced small circles
against the back of her thigh, the crook of her knee, eliciting a series of
giggles.

"Come on, baby, open up for me," he whispered, his voice gruff with want.
The resistance faded, and he opened her legs and gazed at the place he'd
wanted to be for a long time.

"I wonder," he started, and he brushed his fingers through her coarse curls,
"if you taste," he cupped his hand around her mons, "as good as you smell."
With that, he slipped a finger inside her and she cried out, a hoarse and
guttural cry that was music to his ears.

She arched her back, trying to get his finger deeper, and he smiled at her
lewd motion. He slid a second finger into her, enjoying the way she threw
her head back. He wanted to brush the hair from her face, but there were
other, more urgent matters to attend to.

His fingers slid deeper, then pulled out, and she followed suit, matching
his rhythm. "That's it, Buffy. Fuck my fingers," he murmured, and he felt
her walls clench and tighten. *So the Slayer likes dirty talk,* he smirked.

She responded to his words, unabashed and unashamed, even though none of the
other men she'd been with had said such things to her. She should have been
shocked or offended, but instead she was even more aroused. His words held
an obscene beauty, his voice rough and sexy.

But there were better things he could be doing with that mouth.

As if he read her mind, she felt his tongue flick her clit, and it was like
a jolt of electricity jumped through her body. Buffy's hands were still in
his hair, and she tugged sharply. He hissed in pain, and lowered his mouth
to her again. This time he lingered, circling her clit while her hips
danced, trying to get him to ease the ache that was growing and growing
inside her. His fingers slid out until only the tips were still inside her,
and she whimpered at the loss.

Until he pressed the pads of his fingers against her front wall, stroking
her in a motion that made her insides quiver and melt. She was trembling,
teetering on the edge, so close to exploding that it hurt. Spike tortured
her a little longer before sucking her clit into his mouth, and the pressure
that had been building finally found release. She cried out, her orgasm
hitting so hard it left her breathless, gasping for air and struggling to
figure out just what the hell had happened to her.

Spike, satisfied with his handiwork, lay his head on her stomach and looked
up at her. She was still trying to catch her breath, still relishing the
aftershocks that spread through her body with each beat of her heart.

He sat up and removed his boots and jeans, finally freeing his erection from
its tight confines. He could have cried, it felt so good. Laying back down
even with Buffy, he pulled her against him and swore he could have felt his
dead heart beat when she wrapped her arms around him.

"Guess what?" he said softly, and kissed the top of her head.

"Wha?" was all she could manage.

"You taste even better than you smell."

"Goodie." Her hand lightly brushed against his chest, the sparse hair
raising just from her touch. Buffy was inordinately pleased that such a
small thing could affect him so much. One finger gently traced his cock,
circling the sensitive head before sliding down and back up again. "Your
turn."

"My turn," he confirmed, his mouth curving up in a wry smile. "My turn to
dance."

He rolled them over, pinning her beneath his body, the steady rise and fall
of her breathing brushing her breasts against his still chest. They were
warm; in fact, every part of her was warm. It was unusual for him, and at
first, somewhat disconcerting. He could hardly remember the last time he'd
had sex with a human, but this time, he knew he'd never forget.

Her breath was warm on his face as he kissed her, the skin of her legs
burning with heat as she wrapped them around his hips. Cradling her face in
his hands, he kissed her, tenderly at first, but it soon became a clash of
teeth and tongues and lips as their excitement reached a fever pitch.

He growled, running his hands down Buffy's arms before lifting them and
pinning her wrists above her head. If she kept touching him, drawing little
patterns along his skin with those fingertips, he was going to embarrass
himself and disappoint her.

He shifted his weight against her and the tip of his cock was poised at her
entrance. "Whatever happens, Buffy, don't regret this," he whispered, and
slid his cock inside her.
Buffy gasped, too engrossed in the exquisite feeling to think. He wasn't too
big for her, but he wasn't small either. There wasn't any pain, just a heady
feeling of completeness.

His first strokes were long, slow, drawn out because he wanted it to last
forever. She moved with him, sensually and gracefully, the same way she
fought. But both she and Spike were creatures of action, and the slow pace
soon gave way to something faster, harder, more primal.

She urged him on, eager to feel her world shatter and reform another time.
Her walls clamped down around him in an effort to release the pressure that
had once again built inside her, coiling deep in her womb and snaking out to
her extremities.

Her fingers held Spike's shoulders in a death grip as he pounded into her,
her nails marring the surface of his skin. The slight pain was delicious,
her moans delectable. He could sense she was close, and slid his tongue up
her throat, tracing over her artery and gently biting with blunt teeth.

She screamed. It was his name, her voice throaty and raw. He thrust into her
even deeper as her walls fluttered around him, and surrendered to the
pleasure that had been threatening to overwhelm him since entering her.

When his body stopped shaking from the intensity of his orgasm, and the
heavy languid feeling of afterglow seeped through him, he released her
wrists and moved off her. How she would handle this, after the passion
faded, was a mystery to him. He wondered if he should be on the lookout for
anything sharp and wooden.

But his fears were vanquished as she rolled over and pillowed her head on
his shoulder.

"Was it everything you ever dreamed of, Spike?" Her voice was laced with the
laziness of impending sleep.

"Far, far more, pet." He kissed the top of her head, and she raised it to
look at him. Her hair fell like a golden curtain over her eyes and he lifted
his hand to brush it away. He smiled as her brows drew together in concern.

"You're not going to get all Mushy Man on me, are you?"

"Fuck no. I want my mouth doing more important things."

"Like?"

He pulled her up and kissed her. It was tender and sweet, their hunger sated
for the time being. Again, Buffy broke the kiss to breathe.

"Sorry, not used to that," he gruffly apologized.

"It's okay," she murmured, and lay back down on his chest. For a few minutes
they were silent, her fingers idly stroking his chest and stomach while his
caressed her hip. Just a few minutes to get their strength back.

But Buffy knew they couldn't afford to waste any more time. They had to get
going. Only a couple of hours were left until the ritual.

"I still don't understand you, Spike. I don't understand this." She gestured
to the bed where once mortal enemies were lying naked and tangled in each
other.

"I don't either. It makes no bloody sense, but I don't care."

"Uh oh. This sounds like another one of your long-winded speeches."

"Yeah, well, there's something between us, and don't even bother to open
that tempting little mouth of yours to deny it, because you feel it too. It
disturbs you, and you're afraid of it, but there's a part of you that wants
to set it free. The same part that makes your heart speed up when I touch
you, the same part that's touching me right now."

Even though she didn't regret it, she didn't want to deal with the depth of
what had happened. Not right now, when there were other, more pressing
matters to attend to. After she saved Dawn, she'd think about it some more.
Talk about it some more. So she joked.

"My hands? My hands are afraid of you?" She trailed her fingers over his
abdominal muscles and watched as they quivered under her touch.

"Don't be a silly bint."

"Seriously, where do you learn these words. They're ridiculous."

"So's your fashion sense sometimes, but I don't say anything."

She pinched him. "Speaking of.it's time to get dressed. We have to go."

Getting up from the warm bed where he had just fucked the Slayer, where she
was still lying naked against him, was the last thing he wanted to do. But
if the world ended, he'd never get to do it again, so with a renewed
enthusiasm for some hell god ass kicking, he got up and dressed.

He watched her as she got up and picked an outfit from the closet, this time
having no trouble deciding what to wear. The turtleneck was a good choice,
considering the large hickey he'd made on her neck. She dressed with
determination, stomping her foot into the boots that seemed so impractical
for saving the world. But it made him smile. She'd kicked him a good many
times with those boots, and they hurt. When she was done, she straightened
up and saw him smiling at her, a faraway look in his eye. She rolled her
eyes.

"What? Are you thinking of a poem to commemorate the way I put my boots on?"

His smile became a smirk. "Nah. I was just thinking how much you're going to
kick her ass."

Buffy smiled back, and he thought that it just might be the most beautiful
thing he'd ever seen. "I am *so* gonna kick her ass. I can feel it, she's
not going to win."

"Dawn will be fine," he assured her, picking up the bag of weapons. They
headed out the door and down the stairs. As she gathered up the other bag,
he thought of something.

"Y'know, you never answered my question earlier. When you said you loved all
of us-"

"Shut up, Spike," was her answer.

Spike grinned. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

Their walk to the magic shop was done in silence, but right before they went
in, he held her back.

"What?" she asked, but there wasn't as much annoyance or exasperation in her
tone as there was amusement.

"For luck," he said, and kissed her.

When they broke apart, her hand lingered on his. "We won't need it," she
said with confidence, and squeezed his hand before letting it go and walking
in.

Spike shook his head and followed her in. "What took so long?" Willow asked,
the worry on her face subsiding only a little now that Buffy was back.

Buffy shrugged her shoulders, her eyes finding Spike's for the briefest of
seconds. "I couldn't figure out what to wear."

-the end-

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