It was amazing what clarity the light of a new morning could bring. Buffy awoke cold, her side aching from where she had reclined against the hard floor all night. It took a few seconds for everything to come back; namely the naked arms surrounding her middle, the masculine chest her back was pressed against. Something hard and foreign was pressed intimately against the curve of her ass, and she was snuggled firmly in the leather of an unfamiliar coat.

The incursion of memories from the night before didn’t take long. In seconds, she found herself overwhelmed with images and sensations. A flood of emotion she had never before experienced. Things she felt well beyond her realm of understanding. And yet, there was some comfort there. Some knowledge that she was waking up protected and cared for, even though she rarely found herself lacking in the protection department. None of the rest mattered for now. Spike was with her. Spike had stayed with her through the night, and he was holding her in her wake.

He was also nudging his erection into her backside, and she felt her first blush of the day warm her cheeks. She knew what he looked like. What he tasted like. How large he was, how well he fit into her mouth. How he felt around her hand. How he gasped when she ran his tongue over the tip of him. How his eyes glossed with awe when he watched her…

Okay. Really turning red.

A low chuckle rumbled against her back, and a soothing hand suddenly brushed locks of hair from her face. Her skin tingled. “Oh, she’s blushing,” he murmured teasingly. “Know she’s awake.”

“Very funny.”

“’S right. I’m a regular comedian.” Spike released a low, guttural murmur and lowered his mouth to her throat. “Guess we dozed off.”

Mmmm. Spike smoochies in the morning. So this was what she had been missing for sixteen years of living. “Yeah,” she agreed slowly, eyes rolling up in the back of her head. “Who knew this floor could be so…comfy.”

“Cold concrete. Better than the Marriott.”

“Hey, you’re the one who stayed here last night, buster.”

“Yeh. ‘S strange. Every time I woke up, I tried to move away from you but somethin’ kept tellin’ me it’d be worth the soddin’ end of the world to wake up in your arms.” He grinned. “’Course, my back is killin’ me.”

“You didn’t sleep well?”

“As romantic a notion as it is, not hardly.”

“You could’ve left at any time.”

Spike snickered, nibbling lightly at her neck. “Thought I jus’ covered this.”

“Mmm…” Buffy’s eyes fluttered shut contentedly, thrusting back against him instinctively. The moan that escaped his lips made her shiver; half these sensations were beyond her sphere of comprehension, but it felt too right to run away now. “And well.”

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

A flash of his eyes rolled back in ecstasy, his mewls drowning the air as his cock thrust deeper into her mouth.

“I have some idea,” she replied bashfully.

Spike rolled her onto her back, his face looming over hers the next instant. His eyes blazing, hot and hungry. Like he could devour her whole. “No,” he replied ardently. “You really don’t. Last night? That was jus’ a peek. A li’l preview.” His head lowered to her throat again, tasting her hesitantly. “You drive me wild with a look. Haven’t been able to get you out of my head for months, an’ this…bein’ around you is a drug. A soddin’ aphrodisiac. Every day I want you more. So much it hurts to touch you without touchin’ you. Remindin’ myself that you’re still so young. An’ that no man has ever…” His breath hitched at that, a hand running down her middle, opening the lapels of the jacket to reveal her breasts to him. She was sure she was pink all over, and her heart was thundering so hard it was a miracle it didn’t break her chest, but she didn’t move. Didn’t protest. Couldn’t find it within herself to do anything but watch him with smoldering eyes. Even as he pushed her self-imposed boundaries aside.

“No one’s ever done this to you before,” he murmured, cupping her breast delicately, tweaking her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “Touched you like this.”

Buffy whimpered and shook her head, thrusting her pelvis against his denim-clad hardness. “No one.”

Spike licked his lips and nodded, a shuddering breath coursing through his body. “I shouldn’t be,” he replied hoarsely, even as he lowered his head to lave a wet path around her nipple. “You’re so young.”

“Not too young.”

“No. Three years won’t seem like anythin’ when you’re turnin’ twenty.”

Buffy pouted. He was telling her that she was too young for him and suckling at her breasts at the same time? “Spike…”

“God, I’m a monster,” he gasped, mouth abandoning her skin, his hands returning to her. “But I don’ wanna wait that long.”

“I don’t either.”

Spike expelled a sigh and tore himself away from her slowly. “I forget how fast things can change,” he said, buttoning up the jacket again to avoid temptation. “Jus’ yesterday I hadn’t even kissed you properly.”

“Well, yesterday we also turned into our costumes and decided to go all ho-baggy over each other,” she said dryly, sitting up. “Think our alternate personalities took care of the shy touchy phase.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “An’ how.” A moment of silence; he turned his eyes skyward. “Your mum home, you think? She’ll be worried ‘f you’re not tucked in your beddy-by.”

A fleeting jolt of panic shot up her spine before she remembered that it was Saturday morning and her mother never got up before ten on a day when she didn’t have to work. “I think we’re okay,” she said. “What time is it?”

“Early still. Not yet seven.”

She released the breath she had been holding and smiled. “We’re fine. She won’t be up for a while.”

“There’s a bit of good news.” Spike paused for a moment, then climbed to his feet turning back to her and extending a hand. “I meant what I said,” he continued. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone. I feel deeper for you than…well, I’ve never felt like this. Never.”

Buffy licked her lips self-consciously. “Really?”

Spike nodded with a grin. “Yeh. It’s somethin’…I have no idea how to begin to describe it. You’re who you are…it’s you, Buffy. Has been ever since I learned about you. I jus’…” Another thick, heavy pause. “You want breakfast?”

The random switch of topic took her completely by surprise. Her jaw dropped open to protest, but there was something buried within his gaze that demanded patience and time. He wanted her; he had told her as much. More over, she could see it in the burn of his eyes.

They had reestablished themselves. No longer where they were just yesterday.

“Sure,” she agreed, shrugging. “You buying?”

“Not buyin’, luv. Makin’.”

“You can cook?”

“’m an excellent cook.” His eyes slid over her in a way that somehow made her blush more now, even knowing that he had seen everything there was to see. “Why don’ you pop upstairs an’ crawl into somethin’ snug? As damnably sexy as those boots are, they can’t be too comfortable.”

Buffy’s eyes dropped to her hooker boots. “I slept in these?”

“An’ well.”

“Well, that’s something.” She nodded. “Okay. Upstairs. Shower, dress, and then yummy Spike-cooked goodness for breakfast.”

He waggled his brows. “We can always omit the ‘cooked’ part, kitten. Make it a truly memorable mornin’.”

Buffy smiled and brushed a light kiss over his lips, trembling at the wealth of emotion that sparked through her skin at the contact. “It’s already been memorable,” she said softly, turning to make her way up the stairs.

The grin that spread across his face made her insides quiver.

As if he could doubt that the morning had been memorable. Every second with him was memorable.

She couldn’t wait to see what the day would bring.

“So is it your real name?”

Spike glanced up from where he was investigating the refrigerator for options. “’S what my real name?”

“From last night. You went by Will.” Buffy ignored the usual flaming of her face and did her best to shrug nonchalantly. If there ever were a day when she didn’t blush when near him, she reckoned she would need to be shot for over-confidence. Blushing around Spike was just something that normal people did, especially when he did that thing.

That thing being pretty much everything he did.

The fact that he was wearing nothing but jeans in the midst of her kitchen didn’t help, either. Nor did the reminder that she had effectively ruined his t-shirt the night before with her over-zealous sex-driven behavior.

“Yeh,” he answered finally, retrieving a jug of milk and some eggs. “Though I have never gone by Will a day in my life. Not unless my mum was brassed about somethin’ an’ I was at blame.”

“So you’re, what? Wilbert? William?”

He looked at her, horrified. “Do I look like a sodding Wilbert to you?”

“Well, there has to be some reason that you went from such a respectful, normal name to Spike.”

Spike cocked a brow and set the ingredients aside. “Right. ‘Cause Buffy’s a name most new mum’s give their baby girls. Haven’t we already had this conversation?”

She smirked. “So it is William, then?”

A pause. He glanced down almost bashfully. “Yes.”

“William? That’s so cute! Why don’t you go by that?”

His eyes darkened. “’Cause I’m not cute,” he retorted. “William the Vampire Slayer? Please, luv.” He gestured to his scarred eyebrow—the one she had noticed but never commented on. Facial wounds were a not, but she did think he looked unruly sexy with it jagged like that.

He’s turning me into a perv.

“I’ve been Spike ever since I got this, an’ it’s not a pretty story.”

“I don’t need pretty stories.”

“Involves me, a railroad spike, an’ some thugs from back home who are long overdue for an’ ass kickin’. Oh, right, an’ the coppers.” He shook his head. “Kids do dumb things, don’ they? ‘Specially when they want attention. ‘S jus’ one of those things I don’ talk about.”

Fair enough. Though her curiosity was hardly satisfied, Buffy knew her own personal file would never make it to the table of discussion. There were things in there between her and God, and she intended to keep it that way.

“What about you?” Spike asked a minute later.

“What about me?”

“’S Liz your real name, or was your mother daft enough to call you Buffy?”

A scowl settled over her face. “My mother did call me Buffy, yes. Though I suppose if you want to get technical, it’s Elizabeth. I’ve never gone by that, though. Not even when I was a teeny tiny Slayer.”

He waved speculatively. “So Liz…?”

“Ho-bag name of the moment? I don’t know. No one’s ever called me Liz. Or Lizzie. Or Eliza.”

Spike smirked. “Can’t really imagine you as an Eliza, luv.”

“Me, either. I’m just Buffy.”

His eyes dropped to her chest, licking his lips. “You certainly are.”

She snickered and thwacked his shoulder, shimmying past him to investigate the fridge’s contents for herself. Not passing up an importunity to have her newly showered self pressed against him in all sorts of naughty ways that were becoming less awkward and more natural. She had slipped into some swears and a camisole, forgoing a bra in the mindset that since he had paid a special amount of attention to her breasts that morning, he likely knew what they looked like. That and after sleeping in hooker boots in the basement, she was all about the comfort. So no clingy, oxygen-threatening underwire today. She was Buffy au naturale.

And Buffy au naturale was slowly emerging from her shell. She was curious and even eager to explore the significance of what had happened between them the night before. More than being turned into coke fiends with aspirations who enjoyed getting it on in random people’s basements—or rather, her basement but it had been random for them. She also wanted to know more about the spell itself; why she had transformed into her costume to begin with, and how Willow had managed to stop it.

A phone call to her best friend was likely in order as well. Apologize for the bitchy things Liz had snapped and assure her that she was still a flowered virgin while leaving out some of the less virtuous aspects of last night’s proceedings.

There were things she wanted to know about Spike, though. Even as badass biker Will, he had tended for her in ways that no one had. As though he knew who she was on some level. She didn’t think he did—she certainly hadn’t clued in any sense of recognition—but of everyone there, they had identified each other. Known each other. Not Xander, who had to be reeling in the manliness of being the one to wield a phallic symbol all night. She hadn’t known Willow or Cordelia, or even her own house. But she had known Spike, and he had known her.

And evidently, very, very well.

This morning’s breakfast would likely be prone to topics she didn’t want to revisit but needed to. Last night, he had pulled away from her when he reached his edge, and though the thought was less than appealing, she knew she wouldn’t have complained had he emptied himself into her throat.

Why she wanted answers was beyond her. She just did.

“Spike?”

“Hmmm?”

“Last night…” He froze where he was in the process of cracking eggs, casting a cautious eye in her direction. “When you…you know…”

A lengthy, uncomfortable pause. “Ummm, no luv, I really don’t.”

Okay. And blushing again. “When you…ummm…came, you…you moved away from me.” He was staring at her as though she had lobsters crawling out of her ears. “Why?”

“Are you seriously askin’ me this?”

That was it. The spot on the floor looked nice. Nice and…spotty. “Yes.”

Spike sighed and cast the empty eggshells into the sink. “If I hadn’t,” he said vigilantly, “there’s no way I’d be able to look at you this mornin’…I’d be too bloody ashamed of myself. More so than I am already.”

She glanced up. “You don’t have to be ashamed.”

A pause. “I wanted you to…when the spell was over an’ you moved away, I should’ve ended it at that. But I didn’t. You were there an’ I was…I was selfish. An’ when you came back to me an’…touched me…” His gaze fogged over with passion, so much so that she averted her own eyes back to that very nice spotty spot and hoped her face wasn’t as red as it felt. “I wanted you to. Bloody well needed you to. But when you did…the look on your face…you gave me somethin’ precious last night, kitten. More so than you can know right now. I wasn’ about to spoil it by disrespectin’ you like that.”

She swallowed the lump that had nested in her throat. “Okay. Ummm…say I were to…do it again…and I didn’t want you to move away. Would you?”

Evidently, it was not a good idea to discuss the nature of potential future blowjobs while playing with the heating dial of a stove. Spike shoved the skillet he had located into the sink before his hands grasped the edge of the counter, his entire body wracking with tension. “Jesus, Buffy.”

Okay. That had to be some residual Liz floating around in her system. She could safely go into the backyard and die now, embarrassment included. “I…ummm…forget I said that. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You really have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

A nervous titter sang through her lips. “I make you drop cooking supplies?”

Spike chuckled wryly and shook his head, turning to face her when she was sure she wasn’t ready to meet his eyes. “This thing that’s between us,” he said carefully, “I want it more than I’ve wanted anythin’. I’ve wanted it for months. Months longer than I’ve known you, an’ it’s only gotten stronger since I got here. Since I got to know you. I guess I wasn’t ready for that.” He sighed. “What happened last night…I’ll never ask that of you.”

“…but if I wanted to?”

His eyes clouded with a smoldering undercurrent. The words coming from her mouth foreign, their implication burnt past the point of her comprehension, but it made sense to her in some form. Some twisted fashion beyond what was known in the world of frilly girly things and what the world of womanhood had reserved for her.

“If you wanted to,” he replied heatedly, “I’d be the luckiest bloke in the world.”

Better to leave it at that. Judging on his reaction to practically everything else, Buffy didn’t think it wise to confess her innate curiosity. There was a certain line of difference in Spike’s reaction and the typical male attitude her friends at Hemery had often discussed. Kimberly, whom she hadn’t thought of in months, once told her that her boyfriend expected it of her. It was just a part of their premature but very sexual relationship. Also reserved in a folder called TMI for things no fifteen year old needed to know.

Spike acted as though it was a gift. He had told her just what she had done last night was precious to him. So yeah, he was scoring major points in all realms of the field.

“Whatcha making?” she asked a minute later, surprising herself with the bubbly change of subject. Safer ground, though. They would have all kinds of time to explore the other later.

He glanced up and grinned. “Pancakes. You like?”

“I love. Mmm…blueberry?”

“You have blueberries?”

“That’d be a no.”

“Then no.” The grin turned roguish. “As flattered as I am that you seem to think I can work miracles, I can’t exactly conjure up random fruits for breakfast consumption. Though, ‘f you have chocolate chips…”

She beamed a smile and nodded. “That I can provide. You like chocolate chip pancakes?”

“I like chocolate; I like pancakes, so I’m willin’ to give them a whirl together.”

“It depends on how you make them. If you use too many chocolate chips, it gets too rich…or at least, that’s been my experience.” She shrugged. “I’m also a syrup whore. Every Slayer should have a gratuitous sugary breakfast to start the day. It works wonders.”

Spike chuckled, uncapping the milk to pour in the measuring glass. “We should call Rupert,” he said a minute later. “Find out what kinda hex we were under last night. The house looks good, so I’m guessin’ Xander an’…what’s her name?”

“Cordelia.”

“Right. Guess they kept it from fallin’ to bits.”

“I’d say so.” She frowned. “But Cordy didn’t turn into her costume. She was just…Cat Cordy. Maybe…well, what did all of our costumes have in common?”

Spike arched a brow. “’d think that rather obvious, pet.”

“What?”

“We all bought ours at the same place. If Cordelia didn’t, then I’d say that’s a fairly good lead.”

“And if she did?”

“Well, we exhausted one theory.” He paused, selecting a wooden spoon off the case that held them. Her mother liked to decorate like that; all of the larger cooking utensils were stuffed in a vase-like thing in Edward Scissorhands’s dream flower arrangement. “Din’t she mention where she got it?”

Buffy licked her lips sheepishly. “I don’t know. Was kinda—ummm—preoccupied.”

Another still beat. He tossed her an impish look. “Yeh. Everythin’ except you kinda blurs outta the picture. Well, I’m guessin’ Red reached Rupert. We should prob’ly check in after breakfast.”

“You do realize this means getting dressed, right?”

Spike smirked and cast a shameless glance at her braless chest. “I think you’re dressed enough.”

“For you, yes. For my Watcher? Umm, can I have some eww with a side of yuck?”

“’m jus’ glad you seem to think that tauntin’ me with your scantily clad self is acceptable.”

Cue blush. Buffy looked down shyly. “Well…you’ve seen…everything.”

“Doesn’ mean I don’t wanna see it again. Taste it again. Wrap your scrumptious self around me. Or—”

“Okay! Picture gotten.”

He smiled at her teasingly. “You’re adorable.”

“Am not.”

“Right. Give me the speech about how I’ve seen it all an’ you do that cute li’l blushy thing when I mention what I’d like to do to what I’ve seen.” He waggled his eyebrows, reaching into his back pocket. “’Specially when I have these to perpetuate all kinds of naughty fantasies.” Buffy’s eyes widened. Clamped between his thumb and forefinger were her panties from last night, a vastly amused and more than a little aroused look coloring his features. “You forgot I took these, din’t you?”

“Give them back.”

“No, don’ think I’ll be doin’ that.”

“Spike!” She leapt forward as he jerked his arm away, leading into a collision with his chest. “Give them back!”

“But I can get such use outta them. More than you can. I ripped them off you. ‘S not like you can wear them anymore, right?”

“What use can you—ohhh.” Her face fell. “Oh!”

Spike smirked.

“Perv!”

He arched a brow, employing his free arm to pull her flush against him. “Don’ be callin’ me black, Ms. Kettle. Need I remind you what delightful uses that delectable mouth was up to last night?” He ran his tongue over his teeth.

“Gahh! Spike!”

“Mmm, they still smell good.”

“That is so gross!”

He chuckled and shook his head, stuffing her panties into his back pocket once more before she could yank them away. “You’re so naïve, sweetheart,” he murmured, settling his hands on her flaying arms to still her against him. “That part of you is delectable. You have no idea how much.”

“Delectable?”

A grin, wicked but oddly sincere. It calmed her down, despite embarrassment. “Yes. An’ someday…someday soon…” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “I’ll show you how you deserve to be worshipped. Can’t wait to taste you.”

Buffy shivered as his lips touched hers. Soft and tentative, but also pent with the passion explored the night before. Making her skin tingle and her insides burn in a way that was decidedly of the very good. He drank her in thoroughly, his tongue sweeping her tongue, murmuring small whimpers of arousal into her mouth. It started out innocently enough, gentle, probing tastes that quickly spun out of control.

“Buffy,” he moaned into her, hands grasping her hips to pull her pelvis against his. “Ooohh, Buffy.”

“Mmmm…”

“You’re so beautiful.”

The next thing she knew, her legs were wound around his waist, the surface of the island suddenly supporting her underside. His was grinding his erection against her center, one hand slipping under her tank to cup a breast. “Fucking hell…”

It was too fast. Her body was reacting in so many ways. Her skin on fire. Her heart pounding. There was a throb between her legs that he had induced the night before—the same throb she felt while watching dirty parts of movies, only a thousand times more potent. She felt hot—wet—need scorching her flesh in pangs that only he could satisfy. But it was still too fast. This was too fast. She wasn’t ready for this.

And though it went against everything her heart was screaming, her mind had to make a stand. Wedge itself between smoldering desire with the ever persistent insertion of logic. “Spike…”

There must have been something in her voice that sliced through the haze around them. Something in her tone, perhaps. Something that seized his own judgment and brought him back to the moment. The minute his name escaped her mouth, he tore himself away, panting harshly with shades of apology flashing across his face.

It took a few minutes for either to speak.

“’m sorry,” he said when he could, his hands on either side of her on the counter. “You’re jus’…maybe I should go.”

“What?”

“Jus’ for a while. Put some space between us.” He cocked his head. “Till later. I need to…get it through my head that you’re…you’re off limits to me right now. Last night kinda muddled that up.”

“I’m not off limits—”

“Some parts of you are.” A deep, shuddering breath. “An’ those are the parts that are temptin’ me the most. I…” He licked his lips. “I need to be away for a while. Need to give you some space. Need to…” He met her eyes sheepishly. “I need to get myself back in the mindset of not touchin’ you.”

“You can—”

Spike held up a hand. “No,” he gasped. “Don’ say it. I’ll bloody lose it.” He heaved a sigh. “Why don’ we meet for patrol later? I’ll drop by Rupert’s flat an’ see if he knows anythin’ about what happened an’ you can…do whatever it is birds do on a Saturday. Call Red or what all. Get some frilly shoppin’ done.”

A shudder of disappointment sounded through her body. She didn’t want him to leave, but seeing as they couldn’t keep their hands off each other for more than a few minutes at a time; it was likely the wisest move to make. Last night had thrust them deep into something that they hadn’t yet had the time to work up to. It was an indication to pull the emergency break. Stop this now before it was too late.

“Okay,” she agreed softly. “That’s probably for the best.”

“I don’ wanna go,” he replied. “I jus’…I don’ wanna stay an’ have somethin’ like what jus’ happened happen again…only in a version that ends with you hatin’ me.”

“Wouldn’t happen.”

“You don’ know that, Buffy.”

“Well, I mean, my mom will be up around 9:30, and I doubt we’d be dense enough to start going at it like bunnies while she’s up and about.” She smiled a bit when his eyes became somewhat dreamy at the prospect of going at it like bunnies, but the same verified why being alone together was suddenly dangerous territory. They needed distance—both from each other and last night.

She would see him again in a few hours, anyway. Patrol. Massive search for Penn and Dru, as conspicuously absent as both seemed to be.

“Right,” Spike concluded with a nod. “Right. I’ll go grab my coat an’ head out.” He glanced to the beginning efforts toward breakfast and smiled awkwardly. “Sorry I made a mess for nothin’.”

“Nah. It’s okay. I’ll just explain to Mom that I decided to be adventurous before remembering that I can’t cook.”

“I should stay an’ clean up—”

Any other day, and she would agree with him. This was not any other day. “Spike?”

“Yeh. You’re right. Leavin’.”

A few awkward minutes later and they met at the front door. Spike shimmied into the leather that had kept her warm all night, aside the comfort of his presence, and smiled kindly. “I’ll meet you at Restfield tonight,” he said. “Sixish?”

“Six sounds good.”

“Good.” He paused and ran his eyes over her body, licking his lips appreciatively. “See you then.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

Another silence filled the hall. They stood just a few inches apart, their breaths mingled. She could hear his heart pounding and took some satisfaction in that. Knowing that she could unravel him with any degree of similarity to the way he unraveled her was more than a little satisfying.

Finally, Spike groaned his surrender and wrestled a heated kiss from her lips. “Sorry,” he murmured afterward, though he was obviously anything but. “One for the road, savvy?”

“Yeah.”

His eyes were on her mouth. “Think I need—”

“Spike?”

And just like that, he snapped back to himself. Underlying the reason he was leaving in the first place. “Yeh, I’m gone. Gotta be before…I’m jus’ gone.” Expelling a deep breath, he threw the door open and shot across the threshold. “I’ll see you tonight.”

She nodded. “Tonight.”

And closed the door before he could change his mind. Closed it. Turned and reclined against it, unable to help a slow smile from commanding her lips as the girly bubbliness she had been threatening to expose finally erupted over the surface. A small, ecstatic squeal tore through her throat.

With anything else, for all the confusion, the danger looming ahead—even the knowledge that things had a tendency of not lasting, she couldn’t help herself. She was giddy. She was crushing majorly, and the guy was definitely crushing back. Oh, definitely.

The things he had said to her—done to her—and all somehow while maintaining that line of suitability.

One thing was certain: she could not wait until sunset.

 

 

Never before had she looked forward to patrol with such fervor.

The entire day had been spent planning tonight. She routinely primped herself only to discard selected looks and outfits after god-knows-how-many treks to the mirror. There was a definite line between the teen she was and the woman she wanted to be for Spike. Thus, after much consideration, she opted to trade in the miniskirt and heels for the sweats she had worn earlier. It was unneeded. Looking good while she patrolled was habit for her life as a singleton. Never one to chance meeting Mr. Right while wearing a t-shirt and crappy short-shorts.

Spike liked her no matter what. He had already seen her at her best and her worst. He had already been there through trials that seemed larger than they were. He had already shared moments with her that no man had.

Moments that she wanted to share with no man but him. Ever.

The rate of which things had changed between them should have frightened her, but it did not. For whatever reason, the progression they had made just last night—regardless of circumstance, seemed the most natural thing in the world. That and more so. It had happened quickly, yes, but there was that rising feeling in her chest that screamed for the validity of it all.

Just a testament to how quickly the world around her could change. It was only weeks ago that she had been conflicted in her feelings for Angel. Feelings that had all but been trampled by the presence of cocky male Slayer that made her heart melt with every smile he flashed.

The rapidity of her fall astonished her. She was young and not beyond a little naïve, but the sentiment was the same. Just as much the same as it was completely different. What she felt for Spike—what she had been feeling ever since he bulldozed his way into her life—was as strong as her crush had been for Angel but more so for its potency. For the realism behind it. Her thing for Angel was in every essence as fake as her childhood aspirations of meeting an actual Prince Charming. Something that couldn’t happen, and cherished for the fact that it couldn’t happen. Now that she was on the other side of that, the glowing knowledge that Angel’s appeal resided in the absolution that he was off limits left her feeling small and shallow.

When she thought about it, really thought about it, what in the world did she and Angel have in common anyway? The fact that they both had super strength? Fine. Even if he were human, he would have still had a good ten to fifteen years on her, according to Giles’s records. He thought she was childish but wasn’t above brooding in a dark corner when she decided to be childish with someone else. He told her when the baddies came; she beat the baddies, and didn’t see him until something new hit the Hellmouth. And yet, until just a couple weeks ago, he remained her excuse. Her reason for avoiding relationships with others. Her ideal man that she didn’t know.

She knew her ideal man now, and he wasn’t Angel. He was so far placed from Angel; it astonished her that she had ever mistaken one for the other—even though Spike had been in her life less than a month. The way he looked at her…she had never had that. Not once. Never felt she was precious. Never felt she deserved the worshipful glances he gave her, the sweetness buried within his cynicism.

Last night had changed things in more ways than the one expected. The minute that Will faded from view and he was Spike again, the look that clouded his eyes had reflected the most torn, agonized bliss she had ever witnessed. Horror of what they were doing, dread of what would happen if they stopped. And when she had approached him again out of her curiosity—out of her need to see him make that twisted, euphoric expression once more, the astonished affection in his eyes had warmed her in ways she didn’t know existed.

It was strange, but she felt it. That tugging nag that warped her away from ideals previously established and introduced her to a new light.

Spike was the one she wanted. And she was seeing him tonight.

And soon. She had already made two sweeps of Restfield to little avail. Fashionably early, though slightly concerned that she would look too eager. She had been hoping to find him here already waiting, as impatient as she was for the sun to go down so they could pretend they hadn’t spent all day looking forward to patrol.

It wouldn’t be long now.

Buffy expelled a deep breath and rocked a little on her heels.

Wouldn’t be long.

Buggeration, he was running late.

Well, not entirely late. He had left his motel fifteen minutes before he needed to. Fifteen minutes earlier than required if he wanted to be on time. It had taken all of his nonexistent patience for that alone. His patience and the knowledge that she wouldn’t be there three hours, two hours, one hour early, and all that would be accomplished by leaving was a new place to be impatient.

It was that stupid sod’s fault that he was running late. Wanker had no business interfering with his life as it was; were it not for the agonizing knowledge that Buffy would be hurt, he would’ve staked the prick where he stood and been done with it.

But no. Oh no. Angel had needed to talk. Wanted to express some things that were already bloody obvious to Spike. Stood there and yapped his ear off for twenty sodding minutes about the inherent dangers in Buffy’s life and how she was still very, very young.

To which the stake idea started sounding better and better.

“Of course there are dangers in her life,” he had snarled, three seconds from losing his way from diplomacy and snapping off the leg of the nightstand to end the insufferable conversation. “She’s the soddin’ Slayer, you patronizin’ prat. An’, might as well mention it, so am I.”

“Yes,” Angel had replied. “And you smell of her.”

“Point bein’ what, mate? You’re jealous? Got that message loud an’ clear.”

“Well, yes. But other than the obvious, you’re older than she is.”

“Last I checked, so are you. By a much larger margin, I might add.” Spike had sighed and shaken his head, chuckling wryly to himself. “Look, ‘f your motive is to come over here an’ scare me away—”

“It’s not. I think…I think you two would be good for each other.”

That had honestly surprised him, but not to the point of reducing his indignation. Buffy was waiting for him in the cemetery, and her big sodding hunka vamp love—that would never come within ten feet of her unsupervised if he had anything to say about it— was chatting him up about the compatibility to the girl he…this was ridiculous. “Right. Good on you. Smart thing to move on, ‘specially since I’m never lettin’ her go ‘f I’m the lucky one she chooses.” He shook his head again. “Ever. Don’ wanna scare the girl, but my feelings aren’ exactly negotiable. She’s not the only young one, here. I jus’ know it when I feel it. I’m…”

He trailed off at that. No way was he going to say the words to some wanker he’d just as soon dust as look at, especially when he was so far away from admitting it to Buffy herself. They hadn’t even worked out what was between them.

What he felt for her rooted back months. There was something about being the only one. Or better yet—one of two. Two Slayers. And the months he spent pouring himself over everything he could find on the girl had stolen his heart.

It was nothing compared to meeting her, though. Knowing her. Chatting with her. Laughing with her. Holding her. Kissing her. Feeling her lips around him. Feeling her body against his. That flash of innocence behind her eyes. She was so willing, and were he a lesser man, he would have taken advantage of that.

But he wasn’t. He was a man who was in love with her. Had been from the beginning.

That much, evidently, was more than obvious to those around him.

“You’re in love with her,” Angel had said quietly.

Bloody prat. Spike knew he wore his emotions on his sleeves—it was just what he did. He was never taught how to reel everything in; most of what he knew now came from the friends he had made growing up. There was something about not having a father that affected every boy. He couldn’t draw himself in if he tried.

“Yeh,” he had replied self-consciously. “I am.”

“And that’s why I’m worried. She…I think she…” Angel had held up a hand and shook his head. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her in a while. Not up close anyway—”

Spike’s eyes had flashed of that. “You son of a bitch, have you been followin’—”

“—but she feels something for you that I’ve never seen her feel. Not when I was following her before we met, not since we met…not until you came into the picture.” He had flinched slightly. “And I’m glad…I’m glad she has someone who can be there for her. Someone who can be in the daylight. Someone…so she’s not alone. It’s just…I’m worried about you two blindsiding each other. If you become too enamored…the world—”

Spike had chuckled sardonically. “Right. So, you think it’s great that she’s found a new man, but the fact that she has might get her killed, so I have to stay away from her. Look here, Forehead, the fact that I love the girl means I’m not gonna let her get herself killed. Not while I’m standin’.”

“And in the process of trying to save her, you get yourself killed. In her grief, she becomes weak and—”

Oh, what insufferable ego. “You really have no faith in her stamina, do you? You think she’s some weepy chit who’d spend the rest of her days pinin’ after me? As romantic as the notion is, won’t happen. The girl’s stronger than that. Stronger than you. Stronger than any of us. My dyin’, yeh, might make her cry, but it wouldn’t kill her.” A sigh. “Even so, it’s not happenin’. I’m not dyin’ anytime soon.”

“You can’t—”

“Yeh. I can. An’ you’re wastin’ time that I could be spendin’ with that girl we both established that I love. So, respectively, bugger off.”

Which led him back here. To the part where he was running late. Thanks to a big brooding sod who didn’t know when to quit. God, just one excuse.

Didn’t matter. Nothing in the world could keep him away now.

Damn.

Damn damn and more damn. Just damn all over.

Buffy released a deep breath, eyes widening while she flexed her arms and double checked her weapons status. Okay. Stake where it was supposed to be. Cross around her throat. Slayage-conscious attire. All of the good.

Because the vampire that was approaching her right now had an ‘I’m older than most’ feel about him. Spiked brownish hair, glasses, and a freakishly eerie gleam in his eyes. Something more dangerous than most. Something she had only felt when in the presence of Darla and the Master. An old world sensation that would not be compromised.

“Let me guess,” she said airily, brandishing her stake with a quirky perk of her brow. “Penn?”

The vampire chuckled, his arms extending diplomatically. “My reputation precedes me,” he declared proudly. “And you—you—you must be Buffy.”

She shrugged. “What? You want a cookie?”

“No. Wouldn’t pass up a sample of your neck, though.”

“Not happening.”

Penn grinned and returned her shrug just as easily. “Can’t blame a vamp for trying.” He hopped a bit and ran his eyes up and down her body in a manner that was in no way sexual and in every way predatory. “So, you’re the Slayer. Hmmm. Interesting. Thought you’d be bigger. Little more butch. Maybe taller. I mean, you hear ‘Slayer’ and you get this picture in your head of someone who’s a little more…I dunno…intimidating.” He grinned impishly. “You’re just cute.”

“Thanks. But I’m not one to date vamps.”

A long, feign-tortured sigh rolled off his shoulders, and he shook his head. “You see, that’s just disappointing. This day and in age, you can’t pay a girl a compliment without having some sort of angle.” He frowned disapprovingly. “That’s just tragic. Truly, you have to stop and ask yourself where the world went wrong. We lost the morals, but we gained the indignation? Society plays jokes on itself, really. It’s something you have to be paying attention to notice.”

“I’m sorry, do you have a point to all this, or are you just trying to bore me to death? ‘Cause really, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the originality. But most vamps? Less with the chatty and more with the chompy.”

“Yeah. See, here’s the thing…I notice that most of my brethren who decide to leap in right for the kill tend to get dusted.” He grinned and cocked his head to the side. “See. Two hundred years and I’m still here.”

“I’m sure that’s just a glitch. Hey! If you stand real still and close your eyes, I’ll have it fixed in no time.”

Penn just chuckled as though she was very amusing and took a coy step to the side. While he quite obviously did not view her as a threat, he still did not allow her to leave his sight. Not even for a second. “You’re interesting,” he said again. “I’ve never met a Slayer before, though I have heard tale.” He stopped suddenly, pivoting back to her, his arms crossing behind his back. “And you. For being such a small, young thing, have certainly made an impression in the world. Killing the Master, conning Angelus into killing Darla—oh and then falling for you. That was a good one. Real classic. I mean, one of you comes around every generation…well, let’s be honest, Slayers hardly live for an entire generation. There’s always some nasty creature or some apocalypse to avert by means of martyrdom. You Slayers and your hero complexes. But still, that doesn’t answer why, out of all the Slayers I’m sure Angelus has seen—and will see—it was tiny little you who stole his nonbeating heart. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not without my own sense of poetry, but really…from Darla to…” He grimaced and gestured at her broadly. “I’m not seeing the attraction.”

Something inside her ticked in resentment, but she brushed it off just as easily. “Doesn’t really matter,” she replied, raising her stake again. “For someone who’s as up on the dealings of my life as you are, I’m surprised you’ve missed the memos that have been coming in since you got here.”

“Oh, I haven’t. You are a coy little thing…and the prospect of two Slayers in the same town is most intriguing.” He burst out laughing; long, hard, artificial chuckles. The sort that ran dry against the air, mocking her for their alleged authenticity. “How good is my timing? I mean, showing up on the Hellmouth just as the new guy arrives? Fantastic!” A pause. “And I do mean guy. There has to be some prophecy or something there.”

Buffy could feel cold spreading through her body, and she honestly didn’t know if it was due to the agonizing presence in front of her or accredited to something larger. “We’re looking into it,” she replied blandly.

“Yes, as all good Slayers do. You’ll have to keep me posted. Or, here’s a thought…” Suddenly, he was right in front of her, a maniacal grin spread across his face. She didn’t see the arm until it had struck her, stake flying out of her hand as she whirled face first into the nearest tombstone. “Not.”

Pain spread through her skin like a disease; scraped against stone. Blood oozed through her broken tissue, but she rebound up again just as fast. Fast enough to witness the rapacious flare of Penn’s nostrils, his eyes flashing yellow as his true face shifted into view.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he continued conversationally, advancing for her in slow steps. “I think you’re really, really fascinating. If I were more in the position to, I’d draw this out and see where the mood takes us. As it is, though, I’m kinda running on a timeframe here. I just can’t have you running around and messing up all my fun.”

Buffy’s fists came up and she glared at him through her pain. “Sorry to be an inconvenience.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like you knew.”

Her eyes darted once to the discarded stake nestled in the grass just a few feet away. Her heart was thundering and temples were pulsing. Penn caught her discretion, of course, and he titled his head curiously, as though the comings and goings of her injuries were of great interest.

“Oh, now, here’s an interesting dilemma,” he began. “Do you dive for the stake, knowing that I know that’s exactly what you’re gonna do, or do you stand here and try your chances based on strength alone?”

“Or do I kick your overly-philosophical ass, save myself more of a headache, and add you to the pollen count. Yeah. This is a tricky one.” A flash of movement; Buffy’s legs shot out from under her, propelling the vampire across the lawn with a good more measure of force than he had even begun to exercise on her. She dropped to the ground the next moment, rolled in a hasty retrieval for her stake, and prepared to take her shot as Penn struggled back to his feet.

What she wasn’t prepared for was the impact of a heavy branch as it smashed against her head, sending her crashing through the headstone she had cut herself on just minutes before. A pile of rubble and a cloud of smoke.

And then everything hurt.

“Naughty Slayer.” That was definitely not Penn. Her voice was drawn, British, and more than a little insane. For everything that the other vampire’s had done to annoy, this one did to run her blood cold. “Mummy doesn’t take to when pretty little birds steal cookies and milk from the children. All the kiddies need their treats.”

There wasn’t an inch of her that didn’t hurt.

“Dru!” Penn exclaimed in delight. Not a scratch on him. “What impeccable timing.”

“Miss Edith told me the moppet was being a bad girl,” she informed him, the branch in her hands all but dwarfing her in size. If she squinted, Buffy could make out dews of blood where her body had become intimately acquainted with the bark. “She said the circus would be cancelled and all the acrobats would go home without their toys. Is my dearest hurt?”

Penn shook his head, brushing dirt off his shoulder. “Nah. I was just telling the Slayer here that we would love to chat, but there are things to do, people to…well, not people, really. Unless you call Angelus people.” He thought about it for a minute, then shrugged. “Well, I guess you could. You are what you eat, and all that.”

The entire left side of Buffy’s body was numb. She knew she was bleeding, but couldn’t feel anything to gage how badly she was hurt. The dust-cloud from her collusion with the gravestone had yet to dissipate. And now Drusilla was here. Drusilla. The one that had ordered her vampirism with an extra side of insanity.

Where was Spike?

Drusilla turned to her then, her ebony hair flawless despite her recent exertion. There was a haunting quality to her eyes. Something that chilled Buffy’s insides—more so than anything she had seen yet. “She’s all sunshine,” she rasped, the word rolling off her tongue as though it were poison. “All flowers and goodness. Ooohhh, makes my stomach hurt.”

Penn sighed regrettably, shaking his head. “Well, there you have it,” he said, turning back to her. “You made my girl hurt. I guess I’ll just have to kill you.”

Buffy was in the process of crawling back to her feet, utilizing the side of her body that she could feel. Wobbling. Her heart had never pounded so hard. Never had she truly tasted adrenaline. Every inch of her felt bitter. She knew she was better than this.

Get up you idiot, get up!

“No hard feelings, or anything,” Penn continued, walking up to her slowly. “But I really can’t have you going around and hurting my girlfriend. That is just rude. And here I thought we were having a nice conversation.”

“Ooohh,” Drusilla said from behind, her voice suddenly very far away. The Slayer barely heard her. There was a tightness around her throat that she couldn’t identify. Air suddenly denied. Her eyes widened in desperation. “The wolf is coming, my sweet. Running for us. Running right now. I see such pretty fire. It follows him…glowing and…ooh, he’s angry with you. Angry for hurting his lamb.”

Penn quirked a brow, not tearing his eyes away from Buffy. “Would this be Angelus? Well, I think it safe to say things are about to get interesting.”

The next few minutes passed in a blur. No sooner had Penn hissed into her ear, and suddenly Spike was there. A blaze of black leather and fiercely pissed off blue eyes. His face a mess of agonized concern, overwhelmed with fury the next instant when his gaze landed on the vampire holding her down.

Then she was free. Released. The pressure at her throat relieved, an almost primordial Spike giving Penn the beating of a lifetime. Buffy commanded her legs to work but they didn’t listen. She needed to get up…needed to help him. Needed to kill the vamps now before—

Another wave of movement. Angel. He had Drusilla pinned against the nearest mausoleum, the vampiress writhing with evidential euphoria at his commanding grip. A flash; he jerked her away the next minute, and found himself with an armful of Penn. And Buffy watched it all. With her side that ached and her legs that wouldn’t move. The vampires fighting amongst themselves. Snarling and clawing and game-facey and…

God, where was Spike?

No sooner had her panic released the question to the cosmos did he appear at her side, the tormented worry in his eyes twisting her heart. “Buffy,” he rasped, tugging her into his embrace. “God, where are you hurt? Where did they hurt you?”

She was surrounded in warmth. His arms were around her, his face buried in her hair. She felt his body trembling against hers. Felt every ounce of his fear as it rolled off his body in a barrel of relief.

“Spike…the…Penn and—”

He cast an unworried gaze over his shoulder and she followed suit. Angel was dealing with them. Only they weren’t fighting now. They were talking. About what, she neither knew nor cared. Spike was here.

“’m so sorry, baby,” he gasped, turning back to her. Peppering her face with loving, worried kisses. “Stupid wanker dropped by. Decided to gimme a talkin’ to. I tried forever to get…god, this is all my fault.”

“Spike…”

A voice rose from behind them. Penn’s voice. If she lived a thousand years, she didn’t think she would ever forget that sound. “You see!” he cried, and she saw him gesturing to her and Spike in disgust. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. You let human emotions get in your way, and you wind up dead. This isn’t you, Angelus! It never will be! It—”

Angel cut him off at that with something she could care less about.

“Spike,” she murmured. “Take me…somewhere. I…my side—”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he assured her, lifting her into his arms. “I’ve always got you.”

When he turned, it was just Angel. Penn and Drusilla were gone. Just Angel standing against the mausoleum, his eyes wide and empty. It took a few minutes for his attention to reach them again.

“Buffy?”

Spike pulled her tighter against him. “No. You don’ get to do that. If you hadn’t stopped to give me that life changin’ speech of yours, I’d’ve been here an’ she wouldn’t be hurt ‘cause of some wankers you sired back in the day. You don’ get to do that. You don’ get to come near me or her. You understand?”

Buffy bit her lip, unwilling to counter his argument. Any other day, perhaps. After all, Angel was Angel. He was hardly responsible for things he did as a soulless creature. But tonight, tonight she would hold him responsible. Tonight with her head spinning and her side hurting and blood spilling out of her—yes, tonight he was at fault. Just tonight.

More over, he had ruined her date with Spike, and that was unacceptable.

And right now, she wanted to go curl with her Slayer-shaped boyfriend until her own super strength kicked in to heal all her achies.

“Spike,” she said softly, “can we go?”

“Yeh,” he agreed, eyes not leaving Angel. “We’re goin’ pet.”

Then he turned and walked away, brushing a kiss against her forehead when it was just the two of them again. He didn’t put her down even when they reached the edge of the graveyard. Even when she told that her side was beginning to feel better and that she thought she could walk. He simply wouldn’t let her out of his arms.

“Where are we going?” she asked when she noticed they were far from Revello Drive. The answer seemed obvious, given the direction and the neighborhood, but her dazed mind refused to provide it.

“My flat,” he said. “Gonna clean you up.”

“Spike—”

“God. I felt somethin’ was wrong. I was on my way an’ I felt somethin’ was wrong.” He stopped abruptly to nudge her head with his, mouth caressing hers softly. “Never wanna feel like that again. Nearly had a bloody heart attack.”

“You came. That’s the important thing.”

“Too late.”

“You still came.”

A hint of a grin tickled his lips and he nodded. “Always will, sweetheart,” he promised. “Can’t do anythin’ but. Not where you’re concerned.”

The words ‘You’re too important to me’ floated around her head, dressed in his voice, but she didn’t know if they were authentic or a projection of her imagination.

Something conjured by wishful thinking. Something that was there without being there at all. She just knew that was how he felt because she felt the same. And that was that.

“Call your mum,” he murmured, setting her down reluctantly when they reached his door. “I don’ want her to see you like this an’ get worried. Call her an’ tell her you’re stayin’ with Red.”

Buffy paused, a lump leaping into her throat. “…And where am I actually staying?” she all but whispered.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The next instant, he kicked the door open and took her hand, guiding her over the threshold. Into his room. Into the room that was Spike. Into his sanctuary.

That was the last thought that crossed her mind before he closed the door, shutting the world away. Shutting themselves inside.

And they were together. Closed off. Alone.

But together.

 

 

She had never noticed the harsh sound water made when it hit the bottom of a tub. Not consistently, but that initial splash smacked the surface hard, and she jumped out of nerves that were already on the border side of overworked. The night had taken a surreal turn that she had not prepared for. A few hours ago, primping for a slayage date, and now aching in ways she hadn’t ached since she was called.

Perhaps it would not have affected her so much were Spike not standing behind her. His chest was pressed to her back; his arms wrapped around her middle. Just minutes before, he had led her into his motel room; waited as she phoned her mother with the Willow alibi—and Willow consequentially thereafter to let her know about it—and now he was with her in the lavatory. Drawing her a hot bath, his arms trembling around her. She could feel his heart thumping against her back. Not calming. Terrified. As though the reality of what had just transpired had yet to diminish.

“Your side is bleedin’,” he murmured, hands fisting the material of her top. “Gonna get you cleaned up, sweetheart. See what damage was done.”

Buffy released a deep breath. “I’m okay,” she replied softly. “I mean, kinda woozy and all, but I guess having your head smashed against a headstone will do that to you.”

“You’re not sleepy?”

“Nope. No concussion.” She smiled and twisted in his arms so that they were face to face. “Think it would’ve hit me by now, anyway.”

He smiled nervously. “Yeh, guess so. Jus’…can’t help but worry.” A sigh tumbled off his shoulders and he rested his forehead against hers. “Don’ remember ever bein’ that…I dunno. I don’ even know why I felt you were in trouble, I jus’ did.”

“And Angel was the reason you were running late.”

“I’m going to kill that sod,” he swore. “Another bleedin’ second an’—”

“You don’t have to be there to save me. Slayer, too, you know.”

“I know.” He pulled back slightly and brushed a tender kiss across her forehead. “Tonight, though. Those vamps meant business. An’ Angel—”

“It wasn’t his fault.”

A small, irritable growl tumbled through his throat. “Yeh. Right. The wanker has a soul. Bloody well get-out-of-jail-free card.” He shook his head. “I know you have a thing for him, kitten, but—”

“No.”

“No?”

She smiled slightly. “Once. You see, there’s kinda someone else now.”

Spike looked at her a minute before a slow smile crossed his face. “Really, pet?” he drawled, lips grazing hers. “Is that so? Anyone I know?”

“Well…” Buffy’s eyes twinkled cheekily and she wrapped her arms around his throat. “He’s about your height. Blonde hair…bleached, kinda like yours.” A giggle at the petulant look that crossed his face, though his features lightened at the harmony of her amusement. “He wears black leather…like your coat, actually. He has a scarred eyebrow…right here…” She trailed her fingers over the jagged disfigurement above his eye, the same that added to the bad boy exterior. The bad boy exterior that covered his soft sweetness. There just wasn’t anything about him that she didn’t cherish. Especially when he tilted his head into her touch and caressed her palm with a loving kiss. “His eyes are gorgeous. He has a drop-dead sexy accent…and you can bounce coins off his ass.”

That was it; he cracked into warm chuckles. “Minx,” he accused affectionately.

“Yeah, well, never said I was talking about you.”

“Bloody well better be.”

“Did I mention he looks hot when he’s all growly and possessive?”

“I am not growly an’ possessive.”

“Again, never said I was talking about you.” She smiled when his eyes flared with faux-indignation, jerking him down into a gentle kiss that quickly exploded into a frenzy of need. One simple touch was all it took. His tongue swept hers with guised desperation, his hands busying to the task of whipping her top over her head. That was as far as he presumed to go, fingers settling provocatively near her breasts as her pelvis thrust instinctively into his.

“Gahhh.” Spike tore his mouth away from her, judgment battling arousal that was on immediate reserve where she was concerned. Looking for any reason to show itself. “Bloody hell, Buffy…”

She smiled through her own needy pants, eyes flashing with apology. “Maybe I was talking about you.”

A small chuckle rumbled through his lips. “Bloody well have better been. Never lettin’ anyone else touch you.” He shook his head. “God, but we gotta stop doin’ this.”

Her bottom lip poked out. “Why?”

Spike’s eyes clouded, unable to resist the temptation of her mouth. “Minx,” he growled again, pulling her tightly against him. “Saucy, irresistible minx.” Their lips met once more in another rage of impassioned kisses, hands exploring all sorts of naughty places before the sound of overflowing water hit the floor, bringing the drawing bath back to their attention.

“Make me lose myself,” he said a minute later, laughing shortly at their folly. “Is your side the only place it hurts, sweetling?”

“My head, too.”

“Yeh.” His lips caressed the prominent bruise on her brow. “I’ll get that when you’re through in here.” Then, despite the rakish lust in his eyes, he made the gentlemanly turn as her hands took to the waistband of her sweats. The rustling of her clothing was enough to make him hard; the visual that his mind conjured of Buffy in her unclothed glory almost more than he could bear.

Then her hand was on his shoulder, beckoning him back to her. “It’s okay.”

Spike swallowed hard, his body as tense as he could remember. “Buffy,” he all but growled. “You really don’ want—”

“It’s okay. You’ve seen everything and…you wouldn’t do anything to…you just wouldn’t do anything.”

“How do you know?”

“Because…you…you care. And if you were going to do something, you would’ve done it already.” He heard her take a step forward, and suddenly her naked breasts were pressed into his back. The warmth of her skin radiating in glorious waves off her body. “I trust you, Spike.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Because you…you care about me. Or at least you seem to.”

Spike’s eyes rolled shut and a sigh trembled through his throat. “Care about you? Sweetheart…you have no idea. But that doesn’ mean I can be a gentleman with you wearin’ nothin’ an’ me wantin’ you as fuckin’ badly as I do. God, Buffy…”

“It’s okay. If you…I just don’t want to be alone right now.”

If anything could have convinced him, it was that confession alone. Spike licked his lips and sighed again, nodding more to himself. He turned to her slowly, hooded eyes unable to stop from running down the blushing length of her. God, she was so beautiful. Somewhere between adolescence and maturity, that was where he found Buffy. A bright ray of purity. And he was the lucky bastard who got to stand here. Stand with her.

Her side was swollen and purple. With a slight groan, he caressed her bruised skin gently, his strokes as delicate as they were heartfelt. The idea that he had allowed this to happen by listening to that stupid brooding wanker sent sharp pangs of self-loathing down his spine that were almost as strong as the burning need to stake all vampires responsible.

“Get into the tub,” he murmured, walking her backward slowly. “I’ll be in the other room.”

A frown crossed her face. “The other room?”

“Buffy—”

“It’s okay.”

God, she had to stop saying that. He had this horrible impulse to see exactly how many things were okay according to her. Just that afternoon, she had pushed him away when she should have. She had pushed him away because she was not ready. She couldn’t be ready now, just hours later. And if she wasn’t, then either she was being deliberately cruel, or his previous assessment that she did not know what she did to him was becoming more and more evident.

“Buffy…” He was trembling hard but she didn’t seem to notice. “You either think me a eunuch or drastically underestimate how much I want to stop bein’ a gentleman an’ shove you against the wall.”

“I trust you.”

“You keep sayin’ that.”

“Because I do.” She took his hand and brought it level with a breast, shuddering when the back of his touch glided over her hardened nipple. “What do you want to do now?”

The fact that he could even form words was admirable. “I…Buffy, the fact that…you even have to ask…ask me that…” Spike’s eyes fell closed, fighting free of her hold to palm her breast fully, flicking her nipple with his thumb. “God, I want you so much. I can’t…”

“I trust you. And I want you with me. Here and…” She released a deep breath. “I haven’t come that close to losing since…well, I lost and…I was alone then. I know it’s a sappy girl thing, but—”

No, it wasn’t. Just mention of what had nearly happened tonight brought Spike full circle, and he understood everything with perfect clarity. The striking fear that had seized his insides when he felt that she was in danger—the horrible sight of the vampire leering over her with his fangs bared. The thought of what might have happened had he been just ten seconds too late made his blood run cold.

Before he knew it, he had tugged her into his arms, holding her to him as her bath water chilled. Simply cherishing the feel of her within his embrace, swimming in her scent. “I don’ know what I would’ve done,” he murmured. “God…Buffy, you’ve been…I don’t even know how it happened. You’ve become so…important to me.”

“You said that outside, didn’t you?”

“Yeh.” He smiled gently and drew her hair out of her face. “I was bloody terrified when I thought…I was jus’…” His voice trailed off with a tremulous sigh. “You better get in the bath, luv.”

“And you’ll stay here?”

“Won’ go anywhere. Not if you don’ want to be alone.”

She shook her head, eyes flooding with emotion. “I don’t. Not right now.”

The water rippled almost self-consciously as she submerged, shivering at its lack of warmth. She sat there for long minutes, staring ahead, her body tightening with goosebumps. Spike swallowed hard. Wet Buffy would definitely star in his fantasies tonight.

“How did they get this close?” he asked when he trusted that his voice would not betray him. He dipped a washcloth into the tub before turning his touch to her wounds. “I’ve seen you fight before. You’re spectacular when you’re in your element, sweetheart. I jus’…how did this happen?”

Buffy shuddered. “I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “I was…Penn, he was talking to me and I didn’t let my guard down, but…I don’t know. He’s just…all I know is that I was watching him…he was talking about how unusual I am, and then…he hit me. I mean really hit me. Most of the vamps I’ve dusted get revved from a fight. This one didn’t need a fight. He just wanted me dead. He said he wasn’t here for us…for me, really. And then his girlfriend was there and everything went…I’ve never been as happy to see anyone as I was you when you showed up.” A long breath rolled off her shoulders. “When the Master killed me, it wasn’t even in a fight. He just grabbed me and it was over. I swore to myself I’d never let that happen again. But Penn wasn’t interested in a fight. He just…wanted me out of the way. Like the Master. I wasn’t even worth killing. I was just there and he needed to get around me.” She turned to him slowly. “If he and Dru are here for a Slayer…it’s you.”

Spike shook his head. “No reason for them to be after me.”

“Other than you being a Slayer while there’s already a Slayer, plus—you know—having a little something extra—”

He cleared his throat and arched a playful brow. “Little somethin’ extra?”

A blushing grin spread across her lips as he ran the washcloth over her wounds before his hands took chart down her body, exploring all regions of her. Feeling her shudder under his touch. Wanting so desperately to dip his fingers between her thighs and explore the secrets of her femininity.

“Well,” she said a minute later. “Not little.” A pause. “Though it’s not like I’m in a position to judge. Your’s is the only…” Her blush deepened as he grinned unabashedly at her. “Didn’t feel little.”

The mention of her touch sent a moan through his body. “God, Buffy.”

“Well, I’m just saying…but I really can’t judge.”

“If we do this all the way, kitten, you’ll never get a chance.”

“You think so?”

The thought of another man touching her the way he was, sharing with her what they had shared the night before sent a cold shudder through his body. And in retaliation, Spike’s hand slid beyond the established borders, delving skillfully between her legs. Watched in awe as her eyes rolled shut and her body arched beneath his touch. Eager fingers found her clit in seconds, rubbing while his greedy, heated gaze drank in every ounce of pleasure that flittered across her face.

God, he was going to embarrass himself. Touching her intimately. A schoolboy once more, seeing a naked woman for the first time. He was painfully hard, and this—doing what he was doing—another strain on his torture.

“Spike,” she whimpered. “More.”

He was seconds away from ripping off his jeans and saying goodbye to etiquette.

But no. No, she didn’t really want this. And he couldn’t push it. Even as his fingers massaged her clit, he knew this was too much. The night was surreal enough. Her experience with the vampires had pushed her into something she wasn’t ready for. And he wasn’t going to take advantage of that.

Not when she trusted him. She trusted him.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, flinching at the mewl of loss that spilled through her lips. “Buffy, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. I…”

It took a few seconds for her eyes to clear. A few more for that prominent blush that he thoroughly adored to intensify. As though only realizing what he had been doing. What he could barely keep himself from doing with every second that he was near her.

“Makin’ a wanker outta myself,” Spike muttered lowly. “You see what you get for trustin’ me?”

“Spike—”

“I—”

The next thing he knew, Buffy had tugged him to her and plundered his mouth with her tongue. He sank in a mixture of hunger and relief. That border had yet to be crossed. And God help him, the taste of her was intoxicating. The feel of her arms, wet as they were, wrapped around his throat. Her breasts pressed into his chest. Her hair was wet around his fingers. There was nothing about her that he didn’t worship. A man lost so simply for the face of a pretty girl that would surely be his undoing. He was intoxicated with her, and for everything, the knowledge did nothing to prevent drinking his fill.

They pulled a part after a few endless minutes. Panting together. Clinging to each other.

“Is it safe to call you my boyfriend?”

His head reeled at the question. “What?”

“Well, I’ve been wondering…and if not—”

“Buffy, I’m yours. You have to know this by now.” His casual demeanor was deceitful; inwardly, he was screaming in ecstasy at the sudden brandishing of a relationship-defining title. So little time had passed, and now she was naked under his ravenous gaze, allowing him to touch her in ways she wouldn’t have dreamed of a short forty-eight hours before.

“So…boyfriend?”

She was so fucking adorable. He wanted to lick her from head to toe.

“Bloody well better believe it.”

“Good.”

The word was so perky that he couldn’t help but grin like a loon. “Y’know, this means that no other git can touch you now.”

“Good. ‘Cause you’re the only git I want touching me.” Her nose wrinkled in confusion, and he found it cute beyond words. “Whatever a git is. I accept no naughty touching from anyone who is not in this room.”

Ooohh, there was a thought. Spike smirked and waggled his brows.

“What?” A beat—then she caught on and flushed. “Well, I mean…obviously—”

A chuckle rumbled through his throat and he decided to desist her embarrassment just this once. It had been a long day, and he was ready to curl in bed with the girl he loved in his arms. Safe and nestled. Her boyfriend. He was Buffy’s boyfriend.

“Lemme get you a towel, sweetling,” he offered, climbing to his feet. “I have some boxers an’ a shirt you can sleep in.”

“You wear boxers?”

A devilish smile itched across his lips. “Well, not usually, as you’ll recall from last night. But I do think ahead. There might come a day that I need them.”

“Have you yet?”

“Well, you’re gonna make them your nightie, so yes.”

The thought of her wearing his clothing was almost sexier than the image of Buffy rising from the bathwater. Almost. His eyes ran the length of her. Not quite.

A few minutes later, he was turning down the bed and she walked out of the bathroom. Her hair damp but as dry as the towel would get it. Her goodies covered in the black cotton of one of his many custom t-shirts. He had only worn his boxers once before, but he couldn’t remember when; was only sure that he definitely didn’t do them the justice that she was giving them now.

Spike had the feeling that she would do wonders for the sackcloth look if she ever decided to model for it.

“Did you talk to Giles about the spell?” she asked as he flicked on the nightly news, settling with her into bed.

His arms were around her the next second. Her head resting against his chest, leg draping over his. Jeans again tonight. He didn’t trust himself to sleep in repose, as was his custom. For all the good faith that Buffy had placed in her conviction of his character, he knew just as well that he wanted her too much. Too much to have tempted himself in simply having her with him now. In doing what they had already done.

The primal Spike would allow for nothing else. Despite what all had passed between them since they arrived, he was never far from the memory of what had nearly happened tonight. It would take Hell and all the Heavens to tear him from her side right now.

There would be days when he couldn’t control everything. Days like today. Days when his only reassurance would be the promise of holding her in the end. Days when the chance of losing her to death was upped by real stakes and not a mishap by vampires that didn’t play by the rules.

As though vampires ever played by the rules.

“Yeh,” he replied, kissing her forehead in a manner of such domesticity that it completely slipped his notice. “Seems the bloke who sold our costumes is an old mate of his. Conjurin’ up demons sort’ve guy.”

“Giles told you all this?”

He shrugged. “Reluctantly. I could tell he wasn’ tellin’ me the full truth of it an’ I wouldn’t stop proddin’ till it all came out. Apparently, the Big Brooding Wonder made it there before Red an’ the two had already gone off to stop the git. ‘S why the spell broke so fast after she left.”

Thank the bloody maker for that.

If he had stolen Buffy’s virginity in the heat of some spell, he would never have forgiven himself.

“You…didn’t tell him what happened…did you?”

Did she honestly think he had a death wish? Giles might have been conned into the position of Watcher for both of them, but he most definitely belonged to Buffy. That man was as protective of her as any father he had ever seen. And despite the training they had done in the past couple weeks since he arrived, there would be nothing to change that.

And as a cardinal rule, men typically didn’t tell a girl’s father that she had given him a blowjob, even if it was under circumstances beyond their control.

She had touched him of her own freewill afterward.

“’Course not,” Spike admonished, stroking her arm gently. “Aside not wantin’ to find myself incredibly dead, that was a private thing between us. Somethin’ I wouldn’t share with anyone.”

“Oh. Good.”

“Why? Did you tell Red?”

“No. I…I called her to let her know I was all right and to apologize for being a bitch. She understood and we’re okay…but we didn’t talk long.” A small sigh. “I…you’re right. It was a private thing.”

“Bloody right it was.”

“We should see Giles tomorrow…tell him what happened with Penn.”

“We’ll worry ‘bout that tomorrow,” Spike replied, snuggling her closer. She was right, of course, but he didn’t want her fretting over her impending duties at the moment. He needed her to rest. Heal for him. Enact that Slayer strength to help them both forget what the night had nearly taken from them. Responsibility would return tomorrow. Now there was only rest. “Sleep now.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “Goodnight, Spike.”

She was asleep in minutes. Surrounding him in her warmth.

“’Night, Buffy,” he murmured. A confession of love on his tongue, but he refused to voice it. Not now.

Too soon for that, no matter how real it was. How fast it had happened.

Tonight there was rest. All else would wait for the sun to rise.

 

 

He knew he was no longer alone without needing to glance up.

Such was simply the way of things.

“I would suggest you leave now,” Angel said quietly, eyes trained on the page he was reading. “One more step and—”

Penn held up a hand, swinging the door of his sire’s apartment shut without tearing his eyes away from the brooding slack on the bed. “Lemme guess. ‘It’ll be my last?’ Please, Angelus. At least without a soul, you had some originality.”

“Originality might have gone. The threat remains the same.” Angel placed his book aside with a sigh and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I gained a conscience; didn’t lose anything else. Didn’t lose speed or strength, or the ability to end your sorry existence the same way I extended it. So when I tell you to leave…” A flash of movement; he had the younger vampire by the throat in a second, his feet off the ground. “I mean leave.”

Penn wrapped his hand around his sire’s wrist, chuckling in amusement with no shades of fear. “Let’s not meddle around with empty threats,” he retorted, feet clashing with Angel’s chest and propelling the elder vampire across the room. His release was immediate, and they both toppled to the ground. It took a few seconds for either to speak again.

“This is so sad,” the younger spat contemptuously. “You are so sad. Living with them? Above the ground? Palling around with the Slayer as though she’s one of us.” He shook his head in disgust. “I still can’t believe you killed Darla. And for her. ‘No way,’ I said. ‘Not Angelus. He and Darla get miffed and screw around on each other, sure, but he’d never stake her.’ Then I remembered you and your…” He grimaced distastefully. “Your soul. Your self-made humanization.”

“Are you getting to some sort of point, or are you just wasting my time?”

“Oh, there’s a point. A big point.” Penn clapped his hands together and shifted his shoulders reflexively. “See, if you remember, Drusilla has this tiny ability to see the future in flashes. Comes in handy from time to time. Got us out of that jam in Berlin.” He frowned. “Well, she was hit by a brilliant idea a couple months ago. Really, fantastically brilliant. See, we’ve found out that feeding on those of the more magically inclined variety…” He bobbed his head from side to side speculatively. “Well…it’s sort’ve a rush. A subliminal rush. More so than feeding on crack fiends. None of that disorienting crap. Just pure high. So Dru had a vision, led us to a coven, and we had a feast that would make the Romans jealous.”

Angel just stared in blank astonishment.

“Then, and this is really, really great…one of the witches started begging for her life. I mean it—on all fours, hands clasped as though she was praying. Really would’ve given the Virgin Mary a run for her money…if the Virgin Mary wasn’t so much a virgin as she was a witch that I had fun sullying several times over.” He flashed a nasty grin. “So Drusilla had this idea…yeah, we’ll let the little witch live. She just has to do a little spell for us first.”

“A spell.”

“Yeah. Little spell.”

“Penn—”

“You can’t honestly expect me to believe that you’re happy like this, Angelus. Living with them. It’s made you even weaker than before. Since the last time you crawled back to us.”

“You see me crawling?”

The younger vampire shook his head. “It doesn’t have to be this way. We can fix it. Drusilla and I have figured out a way to fix it.”

“So this is why you came here?” Angel growled. “You and Dru…and this girl you’ve kidnapped and tortured…you’re here to…”

Penn extended his arms, a mock innocent look overwhelming his deceptively soft features. “Take care of your problem. We figure it’d be fairly simple, and Dru and I have had such fun playing with her. Figuring out new ways to…wrangle information from her. Punishing her for her failures and…punishing her for her victories, really. We just like punishment.”

“I—”

“And you can, too. We’ve found it, Angelus.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? It’s your real name. Your true name. And I’m here to tell you it can be you again.”

“It’s not…no, Penn.”

“No? Doesn’t sound too convincing.”

“That’s because you don’t know what having a soul does to you.” Angel stepped forward, eyes flashing dangerously. “I can’t let you do this. I won’t.”

“See, this is the part where you don’t have a choice.”

“I’m thinking my choices will heighten with the killing you that will begin here in about two seconds.”

“Won’t. I’m not the one to kill. And even if I was, you’ll never find Dru and the witch.” He shrugged simply. “Cloaking spell. Nice. We had to have a few of our lackeys test it out to make sure the girl wasn’t saying one thing and doing another. In the literal sense. And she tried. Ohhh, she tried. Lucky for us, the Slayers were too preoccupied with themselves to hear her call, right? Couple crazy kids. The girl’s a pistol, I’ll give you that. Not much for personality, but her moves are something that I’d—”

“Go near Buffy again and I’ll kill you.”

“Yeah. See, your threats? Not so much threatening as they are redundant.” Penn shook his head. “You can’t kill me, Angelus. You know that as well as I do. If you wanted to, you would have in the graveyard tonight. But you can’t, can you?” He shrugged. “Understandable. ‘Cause if you kill us, you’re alone. Really, really alone. No Darla. No childer. Just big old Angelus minus the ‘us,’ lacking even a Slayer to mollycoddle. So really, how are you better now than you were a hundred years ago when you begged Darla to make you the vampire you used to be?”

“So, what. You expect me to take the easy way out. Become Angelus. Go back with you and Drusilla? The big happy family because you two can’t take care of yourselves?”

Penn shrugged again. “I don’t understand what’s holding you back. You’re not living here. You’re trying, but you’re not living. And more over, you’re miserable. You’re more miserable now than you ever were as Angelus. So you take everything you are now, ditch the moping—and really—where are you worse off?”

“No. I’m not going to let you do this.”

“Again with the not having of any choice.”

“Penn—”

“You want to kill me?” He spread his arms again, eyes flickering intently. “Go ahead. Kill your son. Kill one of the last of two family members you have left in this world. Just one body closer to being completely alone.”

“You think I won’t do it?”

“I think if you were going to, you would have already.” He turned to head for the door. Slow. Not caring that the elder vampire could stake him at any time. Be through with it at any time. Knowing that despite all else, despite the want of good, he would not do it. Because Penn spoke the truth.

He was family. So was Drusilla. And without them, he was truly alone.

“I’ll give you some time to think about it,” Penn said, throwing the door open casually. “The perks. The good ole times. I’ll be back in a few days for your answer.”

“You know what it will be.”

“I’ll be back all the same.”

“Penn…if you hurt anyone, go near anyone, I will kill you.” A pause. “Regardless of the consequences.”

“Yes.” The unthreatened grin that spread across the younger vampire’s face was chilling, even to one who knew him so well. One who had created the world for him. One so wholly responsible for what was happening now. “I imagine you will.”

He was gone without a second thought. The door shutting behind him with a lone, empty click.

The room was empty. Angel left alone.

As he had been for what seemed like lifetimes.

It was the first night since his mother died that Spike awoke feeling loved. The first night that he had slept through without waking, and it wasn’t difficult to figure out why.

Buffy was in his arms, holding him to her as the sun chased away the night. The morning before, he had rested beside her in the basement of her house. Now she was with him. Her body pressed against his, her hair still damp from the previous night’s shower. She was pure radiance lying beside him. Her eyes closed, her chest moving against his with every breath she took.

The comforter was bunched at the foot of the bed, leaving them covered by nothing but a white sheet. A white sheet against her tanned skin. Reminding him. Always reminding him.

Buffy was not only radiance. She was innocence. She was the epitome of innocence.

Though his sins were ambiguous, Spike was certain there was something in his past etched specifically in reason to deny himself this. Deny himself the joy of waking next to her. Of watching her while she slept. Knowing that beneath the rest was that golden innocence that he cherished. The same that he had already begun to tarnish. The same that she tempted him with simply looking at him.

He didn’t believe, though, that any other man would appreciate heaven when held in his arms. He didn’t believe that anyone else could feel for her what he felt. He didn’t believe anyone else could refuse her temptation, especially when she trusted him as she did. Lying in his embrace. Snuggled against his body.

Waiting for the sun to greet them.

His breath hitched when he felt the change rush through her skin, her eyes fluttering open sweetly to meet his in early wake. It took a few seconds for everything to come rushing back; that initial waking haze settled over her beautiful face until she was smiling at him. Recalling everything that the previous night had given them.

“Hey,” she said softly.

God, she was so fucking adorable. He could gobble her up.

“Mornin’, kitten,” he replied, stretching luxuriously. “Sleep well?”

He bloody well hoped so. He planned on making these sleepovers as frequent as possible. Whether or not he deserved it.

“Yeah. Really, really well.” Buffy smiled and his heart melted. God, he was such a sap. “I don’t remember sleeping so…well, I usually have nightmares. Prophetic dreams or whatnot. Or if not, some sort’ve flashback to the massive dying that was me not too long ago.” She licked her lips. “I haven’t told Giles that. Or anyone.”

“That you still dream about…”

“The Master’s fangs introducing themselves to my throat? Yeah, I do.” She shivered and he clutched her tighter without realizing it. The thought of any vampire doing that to her made his insides twist. The presumptuous prat who tried would end up dust and then some. “Though, I also dream good dreams. Not everything’s dreary in the Land of Buffy.”

A small smirk quirked his lips. “Any chance I could take a tour of this land you speak of?” he asked rhetorically, running his tongue over his teeth just to see her skin flush. “Think there might be some rides there I’d enjoy.”

“I’m not an amusement park, buster.”

“Wasn’ talkin’ about those kinds of rides, pet.” He smirked as her blush deepened, and suddenly lying beside her without worshipping her body with his mouth struck him as the worst possible offense. “You should know somethin’…”

“What?”

“I’m about to kiss you.”

“Not going to complain.”

“Mornin’ breath an’ all?”

“We did this scene yesterday, remember?” She frowned. “Unless you want me to—in which case, yes, I totally understand. I mean, major gross-factor in the—”

“Buffy?”

“Yeah?”

Spike’s mouth caught hers in a flurry of indulgence, sufficiently condemning all her objections for the more important feel of their lips dancing together. He supposed this was the final test—finding her so completely delicious at all times of the day. Yes, he was in love. He was in love with the Slayer. The only other Slayer. Buffy’s arms were around his throat; small mewls scratching at her own. The sounds she made drove him wild. Drove him beyond the point of rationality.

As though she found him as luscious as he did her.

They pulled apart with some difficulty. Spike graced her with a warm smile, running a hand over her cheek. “So gorgeous,” he murmured, dropping a kiss across her forehead. “See what you do to me? You wake up an’ I can’t keep my hands off you.”

“Again…not complaining.”

“We can’t keep doin’ this,” he replied, cursing himself for the ceaseless repetition of a mantra he had no intention of following. Instead, his lips found her throat, his thighs capturing her legs as he rolled her over. And suddenly she was under him. Buffy was under him. “Can’t keep on…”

“Why not?” she gasped, spreading her legs so that he fell between them. Spike’s eyes widened. His erection was suddenly pressed against her sweet pussy, guarded as they were by barriers that he had forced them to implement the night before. His jeans painfully tight at the hinted promise of what was waiting for him through a few mindless millimeters of fabric. “I told you last night…”

“You told me you trust me.”

“Spike…when it happens…” Her hand was suddenly pressed against his cheek, guiding his eyes back to hers. “I’ve pretty much already made up my mind.”

“What?”

“I’m not saying I’m ready, ‘cause really, I’m not. But I think I will be soon.”

“Buffy—”

“And when I am, it will be you. You’re the one I want.”

Gahh. Was it possible that just two days ago, he had been teasing her about fake leather in a costume store? It seemed lifetimes away. The full effect. Buffy was under him, moving seductively against his denim-clad cock even if she didn’t realize it. And now she was telling him that she was his when the day came. When she decided to cast aside the lessons of childhood and embrace the fullness of her sexuality. That part of her that he kept stealing samples of. That part of her that he had touched without tasting.

“Buffy,” he gasped reverently, clashing his lips against hers. Drawing her tongue into his mouth, his hands taking chart down her body. Skating over her breasts, tweaking her nipples through the fabric of his t-shirt. “God, you drive me wild.”

A low whimper hissed through her lips. “Ditto.”

“Every time I try to prove to you that my attraction isn’ purely physical, you turn the tables on me.” He lowered his head to nip at her breast through the shirt. “Incorrigible she-devil.”

“Purely physical?”

“Don’ jus’ want you for this.” A naughty hand had slithered between them, cupping her mound deferentially. “You need to know that. My hands an’ mouth aren’ too skilled at conveyin’ it.”

Buffy moaned and thrust her pelvis against his touch. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I?”

“If this was all you wanted, you’d’ve taken it already.”

Spike looked at her for a long minute, wondering why he was so surprised at her insight. And to that, he had nothing to say but to kiss her, his vagrant hand rubbing her sensually. “Buffy…”

The crotch of the boxers he had given her was seeping wet. Her scent floated around him, his hand pushing at her teasingly. The lust that clouded her eyes nearly did him in. She looked older at that moment than she ever had. More so even than when his cock had been in her mouth, and the name he had known her by was one so far placed from who she was.

Another mewl tore at her lips. Her back arched off the mattress and into his touch. “Spike, please.”

“Please what?”

“I…I don’t know. I just…I need…”

She needed. He had done this to her last night. Aroused her with his touch, then pulled away when he realized he was overstepping his boundaries. And now he was doing it again. Touching her as he shouldn’t. Feeling her warmth beneath his fingers. Feeling her arousal dampen the fabric separating them.

If he was smart, he would end it.

His disobedient hand pressed into her. A small sob wrangled through her throat.

“Spike…”

Hell. He was not known for his smarts. If this proved anything, that would be it. He stole another heated kiss from her lips, his touch abandoning her mound to clutch at the fabric of her shirt.

Buffy’s eyes went wide. “Please!”

“’S all right, baby,” he murmured, drawing the shirt over her head. Watching in awe as she let him. No fear. No embarrassment. Her arms lifted over her head, and suddenly her breasts were bare to him. Spike swallowed hard and lowered his hands to her chest. “I’m gonna make it better.”

And likely go to Hell as a result.

She gasped in need and tugged his head down to her breasts, and he figured Hell was worth it. Teasing her nipples with his teeth and tongue, a hand tending to her neglected globe of flesh before trading off to give the other the same treatment. His other hand dipped between them, fingering the waistband of her boxers. “Gonna take these off,” he murmured into her skin. “’S that all right?”

“Yes! God, please.”

Small shivers of anticipation sprouted across his skin. It took some reluctance to pull his mouth away from her tantalizing breasts, but the scent of her growing arousal convinced him without much sway. He had to taste her. Had to bring her over that edge. Needed to hear his name on her lips, screamed in the heart of euphoric release.

He needed to be the one that did that to her.

Just seconds later and she was bare to him. Completely bare. Her pussy glistening with desire, her breasts pert. Her pelvis moving in slow, womanly strokes that did him in simply at a glance. A low, shuddering breath wracked his shoulders. “God,” he rasped. “You are so fucking beautiful.”

“Spike…”

“’m here, baby.” He shook his head, brushing a kiss at the tip of her nipple before his mouth took chart down her body. Sampling her skin with slow strokes of his tongue. Her scent drowning him with potency. When he was finally perched between her legs, a sharp, self-conscious gasp sounded through her throat and her thighs clenched with the instinctive need to cover herself from him.

It didn’t last. Spike’s hands pried her legs apart without much struggle. “You’re gorgeous,” he repeated heatedly, caressing her inner thigh with a heartfelt kiss. “Here. You’re so gorgeous.”

“Really?”

“God, Buffy, you have no idea. You have absolutely no idea.” He buried his face in her neatly trimmed curls, inhaling deeply. “Knowin’ I do this to you…” He pressed a finger against her opening, smiled when she whimpered, and pulled back so that she could see her juices shimmering on his hand. “This is nectar of the gods. Don’ let anyone tell you different.”

Then he licked her arousal off his hand, his eyes rolling up inside his head.

“Jesus, Buffy.”

“What?”

“You taste so good.” And that was it. No more words. No more telling without showing. He couldn’t resist her now if he tried. With a moan of surrender, he delved back into her sweetness. Unsure of how far to go. How much was too much. Despite his past sexual endeavors—the same that paled in comparison to every experience with the goddess writhing under his touch—he had never made love to anyone who was not already well versed in the comings and goings of physical intimacy. Buffy was special in so many ways. Her innocence was so precious, and the fact that he was the one chosen to be here with her touched him beyond compare.

He doubted he had ever truly made love with anyone. Boyish fantasies and the like. There had been no feeling before. Not like there was now.

“You taste divine,” he breathed into her, his tongue stealing a long lap up her slit. His eyes widened when she cried out and threw her head back. “Fuck…”

“Oh god, Spike, oh god.”

“Shit.” His mouth clamped around her clit, suckling her intently. Worshipping her in ways that were still so new to him. He sank two fingers into her pussy, pushing forward cautiously. Not wanting to hurt her. Unable to keep his eyes from rolling back at the tightness that engulfed him.

Jesus Christ.

“Spike!”

“Mmmm,” he murmured, tongue swirling around her hypersensitive bundle of womanly nerves. His fingers thrust deeper into her slowly, a moan tumbling from his lips. God, he was drowning in her. Her virgin tightness, the implication behind the gesture; everything he surely didn’t deserve.

“Spike!”

“Bloody hell,” he gasped, scraping his teeth over her nubbin. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“Is that…” A low moan coursed through her body, and she thrust her hips into his touch. “Is that…good?”

His heart tore at the uncertainty buried in her voice.

“There isn’t any part of you that isn’t perfect, Buffy.”

She murmured some low form of disagreement that went unheard for the persistence of his fingers, thrusting into her rhythmically. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend it was his cock. Could nearly feel her vaginal walls clenching around him. Could nearly believe that taking that innocence would make her his for as long as they had on this miserable planet. He ground his erection into the mattress, fingers withdrawing from her pussy and his tongue plunging into her before she had the chance to whimper in complaint.

“Oh God!” she cried, arching off the bed. Her fingers tunneled through his hair, holding him to her. As though he could pull away now. Now that his mouth was discovering her body’s secrets. He lapped at her, indulging in her juices with enthusiasm that betrayed his own need. His own fingers found her clit and massaged her roughly, free hand traveling north to capture a nipple. She was arching against him, parrying in time with every thrust of his eager tongue.

“Spike!”

He could have stayed here forever if only to hear his name tumble off her lips like that. He felt her thighs clench around him, and then she was coming fiercely. Tumbling over that last edge and drenching him with her release. He drank everything she gave him, losing himself all over again in her taste. Nectar of the gods, he had said: that barely did her justice. Buffy was purity. Ambrosia as he had never thought to be allowed. Not forever ago when he had first learned of her existence. Not even when he watched her fighting off vampires outside his window. Never.

The impact of her orgasm washed him over. His denim-clad cock thrusting wildly into the mattress. Needing to share her release. Needing to feel her surrounding him. Burning him up with her heavenly warmth.

But no. No, he wouldn’t allow himself to take that much. Not now.

Not when she had no idea what she had given him with this alone.

“Oh god,” she gasped, slowly coming down. Blinking. Spike rested his chin at her pubic bone, watching her through hooded eyes. “God…that was…”

“Delicious.”

She blushed. God, he hoped she never stopped blushing.

“I…”

“Delicious,” he said again, prowling up her body, unable to keep himself from thrusting his hardness against her sodden center. A predatory growl rumbling through his throat at the whimper that scored through her. “You’re a goddess. A hot, fiery goddess. God, I—”

She tugged him down for a fierce kiss, drinking in his taste that was now spiced with her own. And he melted against her, unable to help himself. Moaning into her when she thrust her hips against his, her hand—wise now—slipping between their bodies to cup his erection delicately.

He tore his mouth away from hers with a gasp. “Jesus, Buffy! God, no, we can’t—”

“Can’t,” she agreed breathlessly, even as her hands pried open the clasp of his jeans. “Want to feel you.”

“Buffy—”

“Like before.”

His cock was in her hand before he knew it, and she was stroking him to that perfection he had known just two days before. Knowledged. Refined. He sat up slowly, bringing her with him. Settling her in his lap and trying to ignore the fact that there were no barriers now. That her hand was pumping him slowly, experimentally, thumb brushing over his head at every turn.

Trying desperately to disregard the knowledge that if he thrust forward just a bit, positioned himself just right, he would be inside her.

It didn’t take long. He felt the pull of his orgasm in seconds. Worked up so much from simply tasting her—there was no way to make this last. “Buffy,” he gasped, “God, I’m—”

He didn’t know if she deciphered his meaning from simply that or was overwhelmed by a need to do what she did next. Suddenly, he was on his back, head barely on the mattress, and her lips were around him.

“Buffy!”

She released his cock with a long plop, meeting his eyes with an intensity that looked new on her. Mature. Womanly.

“No pulling back,” she said, mouth engulfing him again. “Wanna taste.”

God. That was it. Those five words did him in. Spike screwed his eyes shut and cried out a mixture of obscenity and praises as he emptied himself into her willing throat. He felt her swallowing around him, felt her muscles moving to take him in as far as he would go.

Left over expertise from Halloween. It had to be. Christ, it bloody well better be.

Buffy released him when she was sure he was spent, placed a nearly chaste kiss at the head of his penis, and dropped her head to taste his sac with curiosity.

That was it. Spike growled something fierce and pulled himself up, yanking her into his arms and kissing the life out of her. Warring his tongue with hers. Tasting every inch of her. The musk that mingled now of their mutual orgasms. Swallowed her moans and pressed her back to the head of the bed, even as he deftly zipped himself up to wane off any further pleasurable temptations.

This alone was bliss purer than anything he had ever known.

“God, Buffy,” he gasped against her.

Amazingly, she was back to blushing. After that—after turning all dominatrix on him, her skin was tinting with embarrassment. “I…don’t know, I—”

Spike didn’t know, either. He only knew it was spectacular. “’S okay,” he murmured, drawing her into his embrace. Eyes falling shut at the splendor of her resting against him in recovery. The air around them spiced with their fused scents. “God, you’re amazing. You’re absolutely amazin’.”

“So that was…all right? I really don’t know what came over me. I—”

“All right? Sodding all right? Buffy, if you can’t tell how absolutely crazy I am for you, for everythin’ you do, then I think we have a problem.” He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, but feared that might drive a rift between them. Might place something on the table that she wasn’t ready to face. “I’ve never felt anythin’ like that. You’re…god, you’re jus’…what did I ever do without you, honestly?”

Her face reddened even more, but she smiled at him happily.

Happy. He had made her happy.

Buffy was in his arms, her head against his shoulder. Their hearts thundering against each other in the aftermath of what they had just shared.

She was in his arms. If he loved her any more than he did, he would burst for the feel of it.

Words kept to himself. Words that would know voice one day.

One day soon.

Words like this could not wait forever. Not when they had changed his life.

Not when he needed her to know so desperately. Needed her to know, yet feared the response his confession would merit. It was so soon. So fast. But she was here. She was in his arms.

And someday soon, she would know just what that meant to him.

 

 

“So, you’re Mr. Giles’s son?”

Buffy flashed Spike an apologetic look and nodded that he should go along with it. She had officially been home for an hour and a half after spending an imaginary day with Willow, and had been dreading this moment ever since she explained to her mother that she would be out late again tonight. Presently, it was around four in the afternoon; she and her boyfriend—insert ecstatic shriek—had decided to keep up appearances by making the formal introduction which included a feigned history and an equally feigned promise to remain good children.

The explanation that she was dating Giles’s son had simply popped out of her mouth. It worked for her. Spike was British, so was their Watcher—what were the odds that they both lived in Sunnydale if they weren’t related, really?

“Ummm, yeh,” he said awkwardly, stepping into the entryway. “’m Spike…Giles. Spike Giles is my name. Spike Giles…that’s me. Spike Giles.”

It would have been cute were he not trying to make an actual impression…well, no, it was just cute. Spike was so helplessly nervous, and it showed. He flinched every time the conjoined names tumbled from his lips, trying to get used to the sound. Buffy had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing; she had never seen him look so uncomfortable.

And given the questions she had taken to asking him, the way she had tested his resolve with nakedness and, well…okay, she was blushing again.

When she glanced up, Spike was smirking at her wickedly. A brief look that he risked on the knowledge that her mother was not looking at him, but a wicked look nonetheless. That I know what you’re thinking look.

“Yes,” she said abruptly. “Spike Giles. That would be Spike plus the Giles part of his name.”

His smirk intensified. From nervous to confident in two seconds. She wished she had that sort of resolve. “Yeh,” he agreed again. “Anyway, I’ve been in town for a while an’ since Buffy’s always in the library, we kinda hit it off.”

“And now we’re going over to Giles’s for supper,” she concluded with a nod.

The fact that they had rehearsed this speech while taking a co-ed shower didn’t help much. Rather, they had been somewhat distracted with naughty parts that were becoming more and more accustomed to being frequently explored. Just how well his hands knew her body was enough to make her ashamed to be in her mother’s house.

Almost. Not quite. They still had a rather serious step to take together. And though they hadn’t spoken of feelings beyond deep-rooted affection and desire, there was something in his caress that stood out from any other touch she had ever experienced.

“So you two are dating?” Joyce deduced, frowning. That instinctive disapproval that was universal among mothers everywhere. “That’s…great.”

Cue ‘I’m-The-Perfect-Boyfriend-Ask-Me-Why’ speech. They had practiced this one as well, looming on the knowledge of her mother’s objection. Spike held up a hand. “Mrs. Summers,” he said, “I know you prob’ly don’ approve. An’ I know it won’ help to tell you that I care about Buffy more than…but I do. An’—”

Something surprising happened, then. Something sudden and unplanned. A warm smile broke across her face and she shrugged. “You kids probably think I’m a prude,” she replied, earning two uncertain grins. “Really, you’re much younger than the other man my daughter brought home, and seeing as it’s only been two since we arrived in Sunnydale, I suppose I should be counting my blessings.”

Spike shot her an inquisitive look, not without the certain flare of jealousy.

“Angel,” she explained. “And…that was for help in history. We were never dating.”

Joyce shook her head. “Maybe not, but mothers know that look.”

Immediately, Spike’s eyes averted to the ground as though it was the epitome of fascination. A little delayed, perhaps, and not at all avoidable. There was nothing he could do to kill that look. Hell, Buffy wasn’t even a mother and she knew that much.

He had been giving her that look since the day they met. Before everything else happened. Before he became the one.

Granted, sixteen years old…the one wasn’t exactly a simple concept to mastermind. And yet with the slayage came a decent amount of untimely maturity. While the imminent sense of ‘I could die at any minute’ had never really been one to haunt her—not even after the Master had killed her, despite the frequency of her nightmares—it was all but nonexistent with Spike at her side. He gave her security. Security that she had needed desperately since the day Merrick approached her with this thing. This huge bombshell of a thing and then proceeded to tell her that the world and all its fatey goodness rested on her shoulders and her shoulders alone.

Spike made her feel. He tapped into a part of her that was new and terrified, but similarly wise and excited. And yes, it was fast, but she was rapidly approaching a line of wondering what she would do if he were to suddenly disappear from her life. Disappear in a manner as quickly as the one he had appeared in. It wasn’t going to happen; today they had discussed the need for a job and a place to call his own. Sooner or later, the money his mother had left him would run out and he would be homeless, and she hated the idea of him spending it all on a motel room and take out.

He was making the move here permanent. He would be a Slayer at her side. Her boyfriend. And from the way he looked at her, she had the feeling he would be one to never take that for granted. One who would catch her if she allowed herself to fall just once, as clichéd as it was. The concept of love was still a little over her head, but if there was one, he was it.

“So you two are going to see Mr. Giles?” Joyce asked, snapping her back to the present.

“Yeh,” Spike answered, reaching for her hand. His gaze was still avoiding her mother’s at all costs. “’Cause he’s my pap an’ he wanted us over for supper…’cause he’s my pap.”

“We got that much,” Buffy muttered to him, mirth dancing in her eyes. “Mom?”

“Yes. Just be home before long. It is a school night.” She turned to Spike, the finality in her voice ending his fight with her motherly intuition in the knowledge that he needed to politely bid his farewell. “It was nice meeting you…Spike.”

“You can call me William, if you like.”

Buffy stared at him. And, amazingly enough, he blushed and shrugged self-consciously. “’S my real name. Spike’s jus’ a nickname I got back in the old country. Jus’ figure you might be more comfortable with your daughter datin’ a William instead of a Spike.”

There was a moment. A long, uncomfortable moment.

Then her mother was smiling again, which was somewhat unheard of—especially in matters of Buffy plus boys. “That’s very considerate of you,” Joyce noted. “But if you go by Spike, I’ll call you Spike. Don’t want to confuse myself and start thinking that Buffy is juggling two boyfriends at once.”

A shadow crossed his face at the suggestion, even though in the presented scenario, the aforementioned boyfriends would both be him. “Lemme know if she—”

“There will be no juggling,” Buffy assured him, before turning to her mother. “I kinda like this one.”

“I gather.”

“And I’ll be home later. Early, even.”

“Yes you will,” Joyce agreed, turning to retreat into the living room. “Have fun, you two.”

Buffy caught Spike’s eye at that and they shared a private moment that extended even as they stepped outside once more, alone. A sort of closeness between them that could not merely be accredited for last night or that morning’s tantalizing play. While she was very much on the eager path to exploring what more they could do with each other, she similarly recognized that her boyfriend’s steady plan of one step at a time was the foundation of the trust she regarded him with.

Still, the thought of what he could do to her, reduce her to simply by the melting power of his touch, made her insides go gooey.

“You told your mum that Rupert’s my father?” he asked her lowly, arching a brow.

“It sort’ve came out,” she replied self-consciously, eyes glued to the sidewalk. They were walking slowly toward the high school, hand-in-hand; indulging in closeness that had somehow gone missed in the simple hour and a half they had spent apart. More so than she had felt in the past weeks when they had gone a couple of days outside each other’s company.

Granted, that hadn’t happened often.

Well…once. And that was only because she had ditched class one day to kill some sluggo demon on the other side of town. It had been during that ‘why is there an incredibly hot, male Slayer honing in on my territory’ phase, and she had gotten an earful from Giles afterward on the principle of going alone.

“Came out, huh?”

“Yeah. Well, I mentioned that I sort’ve had a boyfriend—”

Spike quirked a brow, hand tightening domineeringly around hers. “Sort’ve?” he replied. “There’s nothin’ sort’ve about this, pet. You’re the one who made it all official last night…an’ I bloody well warned you that I’d take it to heart.”

Buffy grinned. She would have thought possessiveness to be constricting, but from Spike, it made her insides warm. More for the thought that he cared for her so much that the thought of her with anyone else drove him to that growly, primal state. The same that made her legs weak and that warm, moist sensation between her thighs become even more pronounced when around him.

“Sorry,” she replied, leaning into his shoulder. “You’re definitely a boyfriend of a permanent nature.”

He drew silent at that, though his eyes found hers, burning with something she hadn’t seen before. As though she had said something highly significant and hadn’t realized it.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I also happened to mention that you’re British and then she remembered that Giles is British so I decided to make you relatives.”

A wry grin tickled his lips and he swung her hand slightly. “Yeh,” he agreed, brushing an impulsive kiss over her temple. A small token of affection that made her feel truly cherished. “Let’s not even mention that Rupert an’ I have different accents. An’ that—”

“Mom won’t notice that.”

“What?”

“Well, we just don’t notice that sort’ve thing. British is British.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Uh huh,” he retorted drolly. “Since you’re gorgeous, I’ll let you get by with that jus’ this once.”

“Since I’m gorgeous, huh?”

He smirked teasingly. “Pretty girls don’ need smarts.”

“Hey!” Buffy pulled away from him with mock indignation. “You…take that back!”

“An’ pretend you can get away with stereotypin’ me with an entire country? What ‘f I called you a racist Right Wing whack-job?”

“That’s not based on dialect!”

“’S the same principle.”

Buffy pouted. “But I’m not a racist Right Wing whack-job.”

“Exactly. Don’ go stereotypin’.”

“Don’t call me stupid.”

A frown crossed over his face and he turned so that they were face to face. “You’re not stupid, Buffy,” he said, his voice serious. “I was only teasin’.”

“I feel stupid sometimes. I don’t understand what Giles talks about half the time and if I graduate with my class, it’ll be some kind of miracle. Seriously, if brains are what you’re looking for, you—”

The next thing she knew, Spike had tugged her into his arms, his mouth at her ear. “’m sorry, baby,” he murmured sincerely. “I din’t mean it. You’re far from stupid. You’re one of the cleverest people I know. Brilliant an’ witty. An’ if you’re havin’ trouble in school, it’s only because you already have so much on your plate.” He pulled back slightly, brushing a tender kiss across her lips. A kiss that tingled through her skin and touched her heart in ways that she doubted would ever stop surprising her. “I’m a git. I never would’ve said it ‘f I knew you felt you were anythin’ less than incredible. Here…” He placed a tender hand over her brow, brushing away loose strands of hair before sliding down to cover her heart. “An’ here.”

Buffy licked her lips self-consciously. “Really?”

“Yes. Oh yes. Never let anyone tell you otherwise, all right?”

A smile tugged at her lips. “Okay. If you say so.”

“I know so.” He grinned back at her lovingly, the wealth of feeling burning his eyes doing a number on her heart. There was so much there. So much waiting for her to claim beneath the surface. He always seemed on the verge of a great confession, and she knew when he finally mussed the courage to say whatever it was he wanted to say, it would rattle her world. “Come on, then. We better be gettin’ on. See if Rupes has dug up anythin’ new, right?”

Her smile broadened, and she nodded. “Yeah.”

Spike brushed a final kiss over her lips and tugged lightly on his hand. “Let’s go, then.”

They were walking again. Closer now.

Closer in just seconds.

The forbidden thoughts that had been swimming in her head were bubbling slowly to the surface. Something that had first flashed in front of her two nights ago when Spike held her in the moments following their instance of intimacy, when their feelings had been given center stage. It had occurred to her then; more so the night before. She feared its potency more than anything, second only to how fast it had all happened.

She had never felt anything like this. Not for anyone.

She was almost sure she was in love with him. And it terrified her.

But at the same time, it was wonderful. It was so wonderful.

She just didn’t know how to tell him.

*~*~*

Buffy suspected Sunnydale High was the only school in the world that wasn’t as creepy empty as it was when classes were in session.

“I have something,” Giles said the minute they arrived. If he was surprised to see them so close, he did not mention it. Rather, he glanced up, greeted them with a nod, then turned back to his studies. “I believe I have uncovered the prophecy detailing Spike’s emergence as the first male Slayer.”

Well, that was quite the bombshell.

“What?” they asked in unison.

“Yes, it is here,” he replied. “In the Nyazian Scrolls. Granted, this is a far cry from the original translation…no one knows quite where that is, but it is here all the same.” He lowered his eyes to the text once more. “It says here, ‘In the last years of the century of the number twenty, a Slayer of Adam will be called. And he and the Slayer that lives will be one. Fight with one arm and live with one heart. And the world, because of the Slayer of Adam and the Slayer that lives, WILL live.” He glanced up excitedly. “See? It is right there.”

“Okay. Well…do we have any ideas why the Council was a blind mouse in this?” Buffy asked. “I mean, Spike was with them all summer and no one thought to check the Niagara Scrolls?”

“Nyazian,” Giles corrected, “and I suppose not. The Nyazian Scrolls are thought to deal specifically with the vampire with a soul…and something about a birth. Really it was luck that I thought to look at it. After you killed the Master, I thought it best to research over everything that we had on Angel…just in case. I remembered this passage gave me trouble because it started speaking of the Slayer with masculine pronouns, therefore it seemed the logical place to begin.”

“Yeh, an’ what does it have to say about the enormous wanker?” Spike drawled, crossing his arms. His entire disposition soured by the mention of the vampire at all. “‘Will brood, will annoy, will intervene in the business of others an’ not stake childer when the life of the Slayer is threatened?’”

“Spike…”

His hands came up neutrally. “Jus’ statin’ a fact is all, luv.”

Giles looked at them for a minute longer, confused, but shook his head and turned back to his translation. “I have yet to determine what the future holds for Angel,” he said. “Right now, you and your relationship to Buffy are my priorities. ‘In the last years of the century of the number twenty, a Slayer of Adam will be called. And he and the Slayer that lives will be one. Fight with one arm and live with one heart. And the world, because of the Slayer of Adam and the Slayer that lives, WILL live.’ I believe this means that together, you two will save the world…repeatedly. Your bond strengthened with the Powers because there are two of you. Like the mythical Adam and Eve, there to be one of the human race instead of simply half.”

Spike shrugged easily, though she could tell he was moved by the notion. “Sounds like fun.”

However, being that her mind had been occupied predominately with one concept all day, it was hard to detour from a specific line of thought. “Be one?” Buffy repeated, tossing a cautious glance to her boyfriend. He waggled his brows. She flushed and nudged him. “It really says that?”

Giles cocked his head in confusion before his eyes widened in embarrassed discomfort. “Oh. Oh! I—well, erm—I believe the text refers more specifically to fighting and not—erm—other things. Also, that the two Slayers will be of the same birthdate.” He arched a brow. “Have you two compared birthdates?”

They exchanged a semi-startled glance. It hadn’t even occurred to them.

“Mine’s in two weeks,” she said.

“Mine, too.”

“Well, that’s…” Two weeks. In two weeks, she would be seventeen. And he would be twenty. He would no longer be a teenager. Buffy frowned and glanced to the ground. For whatever reason, that thought made her uncomfortable. As though realizing the gap between them for the first time. The sort of gap that was real—not frozen in time like a vampire’s. Three true years.

Spike caught it just as easily and smiled to dispel her concerns. “Doesn’ really matter either way,” he said, speaking to Giles but looking at her. “Doesn’ change anythin’. Not for me.”

She looked at him quizzically. “Really?”

“Why should it?”

“I dunno…just seems.”

He shook his head. “Remember what I said, right? Mean it now. I’ll mean it in two weeks, an’ for a long, long time after.” The words made her smile, but felt incomplete all the same. As though there was something equally important that he was keeping from her. Either way, it didn’t matter. Minor crisis averted; he squeezed her hand as they both turned back to Giles, who had watched the display with interest.

“Any idea of why Spike’s not of normal Slayer age?” Buffy asked, coming back to herself.

“No. None yet.” Giles frowned and shook his head. “I was focused more on the reason for his presence than worrying about his age. My guess would be some form of balancing the powers. The passage referred to Spike as the ‘Slayer of Adam,’ and according to biblical text, Adam was created prior to Eve. Perhaps he was meant to be older than you.”

“Doesn’ really matter, does it?” Spike retorted. “’m here. I’m the Slayer. We have the prophecy. Now that that’s settled, we have a lead on Penn an’ Drusilla.”

The Watcher’s eyes widened. “Oh. Did you spot them on patrol? I was thinking things had been far too quiet, considering the warning that Angel provided. And—”

Buffy frowned again and rubbed her brow. The bruise was covered in foundation and otherwise completely healed; at least enough that it was not noticeable to anyone who didn’t know it was there. Her side would likely take another day to mend; she was still a little sore, but ready to face anything that might leap out on patrol tonight.

That hadn’t stopped Spike from thoroughly inspecting her tender skin several times that morning.

“Penn attacked her last night,” her boyfriend said, hand tightening around hers. “Would’ve taken a good chunk outta her—”

“Do we really need to talk about this?”

“Buffy, if you were hurt—”

“I’m fine. What happened last night won’t happen again. It was just…I guess I wasn’t prepared for Penn to be there, so he caught me off guard. And then he was all Mr. Chatty and—yeah, my bad. I should’ve staked first and asked questions later.” She shuddered. “It won’t happen again.”

“Bloody right it won’t,” Spike agreed. “You’re not goin’ on patrol without me.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I know you can, sweetheart. But I’m goin’ with you all the same.” He smiled sheepishly and shrugged. “’S for me. Think I’d worry myself somethin’ awful if you were out there without me.”

There was a heavy pause. Giles was studying them curiously, his eyes strained but not surprised. “Right,” he said a minute later, drawing their attention awkwardly back to him. What had happened between them was so natural, seemed so long in the making, that it was startling to Buffy that anyone who had seen them interact would be stunned at the fact that they were together now. “Well, yes that would be proper. Yes. You should report back here after patrol. Until then, I have Willow and Xander on the way over. We’re trying to dig up as much information on Penn’s history as possible.”

“We need Xander and Willow for that?” Buffy repeated skeptically.

The Watcher shrugged. “I arranged the research party after Willow arrived the other night concerning the disaster at Halloween. I suppose I thought the prophecy involving Spike would take longer to decipher. As it is, I believe it is better for everyone to work at uncovering as much information about Penn as possible. None of the text I have researched thus far involving his past has been too detailed; we need to know his hunting patterns. His modus operandi. Any potential weaknesses he has developed over the years.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Spike offered with a shrug.

Buffy met his eyes and grinned somberly. “Guess I’m gonna be home late tonight after all.”

Not that it really mattered. Though any more of these late nights and she would eventually be forced to come clean about her secret identity with her mother. They both would.

That alone seemed an inevitability. One that she would shove aside as research commenced.

A nice, safe, boring subject.

*~*~*

Willow and Xander had been there for ten minutes when the latter declared he was not in a studying mood and invited Spike to join him for a game of basketball. And not being one to bypass an opportunity to ensure further bonding between the only other male of age that was close to his girlfriend, he had readily agreed. If not to avoid the research itself, but the girls had looked as though they wanted some time to catch up without prying male ears honing in on their discussion.

Though he would never quite understand Americans and their affinity for basketball. Still, his Slayer prowess ensured that his inexperience in the sport did little to hamper his ability to thoroughly wipe the floor with the younger man. And he would not deny that he had a hell of a time doing it.

“Wow,” Xander said, hunched over, palms resting on his knees. “You’re a fast learner.”

Spike shrugged, catching his breath. They had been playing for about ten minutes awkwardly; it was more than obvious that Harris had dragged him out here to do anything but actually play basketball, but he had entertained himself by proving that he could dish whatever the boy gave. Still, better to get to the point than dance around it all night. They had patrol soon. “’S nothin’, really. Jus’ watch enough of your telly, an’ you have an idea of what the sport’s about.” He quirked his head curiously. “Though somethin’ tells me that you din’t invited me for a game of hoops ‘cause you enjoy the bloody game so much. What’s on your mind, mate?”

Xander chuckled inelegantly and glanced down. “Wow, you caught on to that quick, too.”

“Well, it’s not like you’re a keen player, yourself.”

“Yeah. I’m not much of a basketball player. Or any type of sports player, for that matter.” He shrugged. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about Buffy.”

Spike froze. “Yeh?”

“Yeah. We haven’t had a chance to talk about what happened on Halloween.” Xander shrugged self-consciously. “Look, it’s not like I was born yesterday. I know that you two…went downstairs to do something. Something that makes the big brother in me want to pummel you, but the rational man in me realize that I would not be the pummeler as much as the pummelee. And yeah, it’s not just Halloween. The looks you two were giving each other were not so much with the ambiguous; I’m cool with that. Really, I am. And you’re not a vampire, so that’s at least one step up from her previous love interests.” A wry grin at that. “I just wanted to make sure that…Buffy’s important to me. And I don’t want to see her hurt.”

“She’s not gonna get hurt, mate. I’d never do anythin’ to hurt her.”

“Really? ‘Cause, and I don’t mean this to come as a slam against my respective gender, but guys? They can be bastards. You haven’t been in town all that long and—”

“’S this about me, or because you have an itch that only Buffy can scratch an’ I’m standin’ in the way?”

Xander’s eyes darkened. “Is that how you see her? ‘Cause, buddy, you might be stronger than me, but—”

Spike held up a hand. “No,” he replied sternly. “Look…god, I seem to be tellin’ everyone but her this, but if it makes you feel better, I love the girl. I love her more than I’d wager anyone could. An’ I’m takin’ it slow with her…or tryin’ to. We didn’t do anythin’ in the basement that…’s between us, all right?” He drew in a breath, grinned wryly to himself and shook his head. “Look, Harris. I like you. You’re a bit of all right. An’ because I know you’re jus’ lookin’ out for her, I’ll swear this right now on my mum’s grave: I’m in love with Buffy, an’ I’ll never do anythin’ to hurt her. May I gouge my eyes out if I do so I don’ have to see her in pain. All right?”

A long minute passed between them. Resigned, but closer than before. As though they had reached some understanding.

“Your mother’s dead?”

He sighed and nodded, eyes meeting the floor. “Yeh. Last year. Lung cancer.”

“Oh man. I’m sorry. I—”

“’S all right. ‘S not like you knew.” Spike glanced up. “Are we all right?”

Xander nodded fiercely. “Yeah. We’re all right. I just needed to be sure, you know? Buffy’s one of my best friends…I’d be grilling you just the same if it was Willow you were making eyes at.”

An appreciative grin tugged at his lips. “You’re a good man, Harris,” he said, taking a random shot with the all-but-forgotten basketball that he was holding. “I’d’ve done the same, ‘f I were in your shoes.”

“If you were in my shoes, you’d probably be dating Buffy then, too.”

“Well, yeh. She finds me irresistible.”

Xander smirked good-naturedly, catching the ball as it bounced off the rim. “Rub it in, why don’t you?”

“Bloody right, I will.”

It was good. Out there. Much better than the other version of this conversation. The one that could have ended with a rift between his girl and her mates. There was never any telling on how the male best pal would take one of his girls finding someone else to date. To be close with and share a part of her that he would never touch. Xander had handled it well. Very well. More so than he would have ever accredited, given their brief acquaintance.

Spike was more than relieved. Parental blessing and now the best friend. It had been a hell of a day.

Not that anything could have kept him away after what she had told him last night. After what they had shared that morning.

He was a man lost. And every second, he came closer to telling her.

*~*~*

She should have been surprised, but she wasn’t. Rather, a small, heady gasp pried through her lips as he yanked her into the janitor’s closet, his lips on hers almost instantly. His hands cupping her face, drawing her into a frenzy of heated kisses that she had been craving since their passionate wake that morning.

Still, that did not dispel the fact that it was officially dark and they needed to be heading outward for patrol.

“Spike—”

“Mmm,” he murmured. “Been waitin’ for you to come after me for ten minutes now, luv. Harris’s already bolted for the night.”

“What can I say?” Buffy replied between kisses, her disobedient hands curling around his throat. “Giles wanted…training after…passages Willow found.”

He rumbled a chuckle against her, and she felt her insides do that melty thing. “Once more, with coherency?”

“Shut up. Am being distracted by sinful Spike lips.”

“The best sort’ve distraction.”

“Well, yes…” Buffy whimpered as his wandering mouth found her throat. “But we…uhhh…need to patrol.”

“Yeh, I know. Jus’ needed to get this outta my system, is all.” He smiled warmly and drew himself away with a muttered oath. “Harris gave me the grill on my intentions.”

“He did?”

“Yeh. Told him you were crazy for my tight, hot li’l body an’ had shagged me brainless this mornin’.”

“Judging by the fact that you’re all unbruised and Xander’s still alive, I’m going to go on a limb and say you’re lying.”

“Good limb.” Spike smiled and opened the janitor’s door, ushering her outward with a small air of regret that they could not extend their tryst. “Better be off, I guess. No rest for the wicked.”

“Tell that to your tongue.”

Buffy’s eyes widened. Had she just said that out loud?

“You saucy li’l—”

Yep. Apparently.

“You’re gonna get it.”

Better to save the embarrassment with misdirection. Buffy flashed a quick grin and shrugged. “Have to catch me first.”

And then she was off. Tearing through the otherwise vacant halls of Sunnydale High, a horny male Slayer hot at her heel.

Whom she thoroughly adored.

Her giggles tickled the sky when he finally reached her, arms around her middle and whirling her around once for good measure before he assaulted her mouth with his.

It was strange—this sort of bliss. Made her feel wonderful. Wonderful and terrified at the same time, though the latter could be her imagination. After all, she hadn’t really been happy since she arrived in Sunnydale. It was natural to fear it abandoning her.

Spike was with her now, and they were off to face the night.

Hand-in-hand.

And that was what mattered.