Author: Holly (holly.hangingavarice@gmail.com)
Rating: NC-17 (For language, violence, and sexual content)
Timeline: Goes AU during Season 2
Summary: A prophecy unfolds just as a new Slayer arrives in Sunnydale. A cocky, British, platinum blonde Slayer with a devilish smile and a body to die for. And Buffy doesn’t know what surprises her more—the fact that he’s male, or the animal attraction that festers between them almost from the beginning.

Disclaimer: The characters herein are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant enemy. They are being used for entertainment purposes out of love and admiration, and not for the sake of profit. No copyright infringement is intended.

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*~*~*

Whatever Will Be, Will Be

Spike’s birthday was coming up, and she had no idea what to get him. She had never really needed to buy a gift for a boyfriend, not a serious one, and was completely drained of ideas on how to best express how much she loved him without, well, saying that she loved him. There was at least some comfort in knowing that he was likely doing the same, since they shared a birthdate. If anything, the upcoming Saturday would be a memorable one for both of them.

“What do you think about this?” Buffy asked, holding up a watch from the fifth store they had hit in their thirty minute excursion to the mall. The same that had somehow turned into three hours. She swore she had never seen Willow look so bored, and had the circumstances been a little different, she might have cared.

But really. Birthday bash with her boyfriend? The first significant exchange of presents, and she wanted it to be memorable.

Especially since she had the idea something very bad was on the rise. Since their night in the cemetery with Penn and Drusilla, the resident evil vamps had been conspicuously absent from the limelight. She and Spike had toured a number of graveyards, followed dozens of leads, tried beating up Willy the Snitch a couple times, but there was simply nothing. As though they had fallen off the face of the earth.

Only not, because the number in vamp lackeys had most certainly increased.

Yeah, something bad was coming. She just wanted one last party before it hit.

“Does Spike wear watches?” Willow replied.

“I…no, I don’t think so.”

“Well, maybe he needs one. Or maybe he doesn’t like knowing what time it is. Or maybe this gift is just as good as the shirt you liked at Mel’s. Or the book you didn’t buy at Walden’s. Or the CD or the…” The redhead’s brow furrowed before she collapsed in frustration. “Okay, I don’t remember anything else. Shopping has officially fried my brain. Buff, I’m sure he’s gonna love whatever you get him. Especially after I tell him the hell you went through to find the perfect something.”

“Will!”

“I think he’ll like that just as much as what you get him.”

“But what if you tell him I went through all this and then he’s like, ‘Oh, bleedin’ chit went through all that an’ all I got’s this soddin’ ticker?’” She held up the watch miserably. “God, I suck.”

Willow quirked a brow. “You talking about your knowledge of your boyfriend’s hobbies or your tragic impersonation of his accent?”

“Quiet you.” Buffy sulked and placed the watch back on the counter. “This is important. If I can’t figure out what to get Spike for his birthday…then how will I deal with, you know, everything else? This is just one present. I’m the Slayer. I should be able to handle this.”

“Well…just think. What does Spike like?”

She puffed out a deep breath. “He likes punk music, leather, comedies with a point, poetry—”

“Poetry? Really?”

“Yeah, but that’s nothing he wants getting out. Evidently what he’s tried to write was made fun of pretty bad when he was in school.” Buffy sighed and cast a hand through her hair. “And really? From what he’s told me about them and what they said, I would gladly hand out free ass kickings to each offender. Not only does it make him uncomfortable when I mention it, but he won’t let me read anything.”

“Well…who’s his favorite poet?”

Buffy shook her head. “I don’t want to get him poetry. He has poetry. Once when he was getting food and we were getting ready to watch a movie, I opened one of the drawers in his dresser and there were a ton of poetry anthologies. He doesn’t need any more.”

“He actually keeps stuff in the motel dresser?” Willow frowned. “Spike really needs to get, you know, an actual place.”

“I know. He knows. It’s just money and stuff. Right now, paying a little amount of money and keeping more is better than paying actual payments when he has no steady source of income.” She sighed. “Granted, his mom’s money’s going to run out sometime. Gah, things would be so much simpler if he could just move into our basement or something.”

The redhead arched a brow. “Yeah, ‘cause your mom’s really gonna go for that.”

“I know she won’t. God, I’m about to turn seventeen and he’ll be twenty. My mom probably thinks it’s some high school thing that I’ll grow out of.” She glanced up. “It’s not. Before you ask me, it’s not. What I feel for Spike is…really scary, but really real. And I know it’s cliché and you’ll tell me I’m too young to know this and chances are you’re right about the too young part but—”

“You love him.”

Sigh. “Yes.”

“And you think he might be…you know, of the oneness?”

“I know it’s crazy. I mean, only seventeen. But—”

“Yeah, I think it’d be crazy if it was anyone else,” she replied. “Or anywhere else. If we were regular kids who lived in a regular town and basked in our regularness. But we’re not. More specifically: you’re not. You’re the Slayer...or, a Slayer. And he is, too. Besides, prophecy? Kinda permanent like.” She shrugged. “Furthermore, Spike adores you. You know, in that undying sort of way? Just enough to make a girl swoon.”

Buffy smiled. “Yeah. He does, doesn’t he?”

“Uh huh.”

“Speaking of hotties and how they’re gaga over, well, us.” She grinned and nudged her friend teasingly. “What about that cutie that’s been making eyes at you all week?”

“Oh! Oz?” Willow’s temperament took a sudden turn, and she was beaming the next instant.

“Ooh, you know his name, now?”

“Well, you remember career week? We both kinda scored off the charts and now we’re working together on this thing.” She giggled. “He’s sort’ve just…well, amazing. He has this certain quality about him that’s just…ohhh…Oz.”

“Why haven’t I heard of this? Career week was last week! You’ve had days to tell me and—”

The redhead’s eyes narrowed. “Ummm. I think the reason might be about five foot ten, platinum blonde hair, blue eyes, accent? Oh, and the fact that he’s always around you and vice versa? Buffy, this is the first time we’ve gone out in three weeks. And it’s to get Spike a birthday present.”

The blonde glanced down self-consciously. “Sorry.”

“No. Don’t be. I see you at school and you have the slayage and the…slayage. And, hey! We even talk on the phone.”

“A lot,” Buffy agreed. “So why didn’t you tell me about Oz?”

“I don’t know. I guess things are going slow but promising right now, and I just didn’t wanna jinx it. I mean, Oz and I aren’t dating, but we’re clicking. We’re all with the click.” Willow shrugged in that way that clearly stated it was a bigger deal than she was making it out to be. “We talk, he uses an Oz-ism and I giggle and say, ‘Hey, that’s another Oz-ism.’ But I don’t know how to get from here to the part where we’re actually, you know, doing more than flirting. I suck at this.”

“And again, with the calling me that you should have done? I’m totally with the advice.”

“Yeah, but…your advice? More for girls like you. Shy girls like me aren’t comfortable talking like…confident girls.”

Buffy frowned. “Will, he makes eyes at you when you’re not looking. At lunch? He’s all with the staring at you and he doesn’t get embarrassed when I catch him. If you would, you know, look back, there would be actual eye contact.”

“Actual eye contact that actually lead to something…” Willow nodded speculatively. “I see where you’re going with this.”

“Good. Now tell me what to get Spike.”

The redhead grinned. “Well…think about it. Spike wears those necklaces and he has death’s head rings that he always has on. Face it, your boyfriend’s kinda girly.”

“Ummm…no.”

“Okay. This is what we call denial. Buffy—”

“Trust me. Not girly. Very not girly.” Rouge stained her cheeks and she turned away. Ever since that night that he took her to his motel, they had become more and more acquainted with that sort of intimacy. Spike truly enjoyed bringing her over, and every orgasm he gave her seemed more explosive than the last. And more so, his reaction to her? Definitely nothing girly there.

She was becoming more and more comfortable with their growing explosive sex life. With everything except the actual sex, of course.

“Yeah, okay,” Willow replied dismissively. “Well, there was that place we passed that looked kinda Goth. Maybe there’ll be some necklace or something there. Something stake-shaped?”

“You think he’d like that?”

“Honestly, I think if it comes from you, you couldn’t go wrong with a used Kleenex.” A pause. They both grimaced in disgust. “Okay, well, maybe not.”

“Yeah. Gross.” She shook her head. “I like the stake idea. Let’s just hope this place you saw can deliver.”

“Yeah.”

“And you should bring Oz to my surprise party.” Buffy laughed at the widening of her friend’s eyes, shrugging innocently. “Hey. It’s your fault for not being more inconspicuous.”

Willow pouted. “At least pretend to be surprised?”

“Sure. Was planning on it, anyway. Come on. Last stop. Promise.”

“That’s what you said four stores ago.”

“Yeah, but this time I mean it.”

“That’s what you said three stores ago,” the redhead retorted, but she was smiling in spite of herself. And they left to trek the familiar gray of the mall, heading for their…almost last stop.

Life in Sunnydale was good right now. Which naturally meant something was up.

“You didn’t go to them.”

Angel didn’t bother turning around. He had known Penn would come tonight. Nothing overly remarkable. Nothing to write home about. He had known for a reason that remained ambiguous to him—not even his vampiric ties on his childe could account for it.

Just one of those things.

“No,” he replied shortly. “I didn’t go to them.”

“Why not?”

A pause. Still, he did not turn. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t play coy with me, Angelus. Of course you know.”

“Penn, if you value your nonexistence, get out of here. I’m really not in the mood to do this tonight.”

“What’s the matter, honey, have a headache?”

“Goddammit.” With an animalistic growl, he pivoted fiercely, eyes blazing yellow but not quite ready to topple over the edge. Not ready yet to be the vampire that his childe was attempting to aggravate. “So you made your grand point the other night, right? You’re my vampire offspring. I stake you, I’m alone. Do you really think that will stop me? You really think I’ll stand blithely by if provoked?”

“Why not? You have thus far.”

“I mean it, Penn.”

“Yeah. Getting that message loud and clear.”

The next happened in a blur of motion. Angel standing next to his bed; a flash forward and he was holding the younger vampire against the door, game face bursting through with more menace than he had shown in what felt like years. It was a tad disconcerting when his childe refused to reflect even a smidgeon of fear. Anything that would have suggested he recognized a threat when issued one by a senior vampire.

Issued one by his sire.

That only served to fuel his anger.

“I am not going to take this lying down,” Angel snarled. “You can’t just threaten to unleash my demon and expect me to stand here and accept it. Things are different now. You and Dru have made it a fucking century without me. Do yourself a favor: go home, get her, let the girl go, and get out of here.”

Penn blinked at him dumbly. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you talking to me? ‘Cause see, here’s the thing. I’ve been watching you for two weeks, and you haven’t told a single soul—pardon the pun—of our little chat. If you were really looking to stop me, even knowing that you can’t, I’d assume you’d at least go to the Watcher, of all people.”

“Because I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here.”

“You seem sure.”

“Told you my answer wouldn’t change.”

“And I told you that your answer didn’t matter—I just wanted to give you a heads up. More importantly, though, I wanted to know what you’d do with the information.” That was it; Penn had kicked his sire away the next second, landing comfortably on his feet and shrugging dust off his shoulders. “And yet here we are. Singing the same old song. You did nothing. You could’ve had the Watcher ward you. Make you infallible to magic. Could have told the Slayers; had them hunting me and mine out, even though I told you it was impossible. But no, Angelus. You just waited. You’ve been waiting for me to take your soul away for two long, sad weeks.”

“You’re wrong.”

“No, I’m not. And that’s what bugs you, right? The fact that you want to be Angelus. The fact that your life would be so, so much easier if you could just forget all this earthly pain and go back to kicking the fun out of it like you used to.” He cocked his head. “Have an excuse to do in that Slayer that took your girl away.”

“This is not about that!”

“Really?” Penn spun around in a kick that was as surprising as it was powerful; Angel flew across the room, body smashing through his dresser with a defying crash, fortunate when a wayward slab of wood did not puncture his heart. Sawdust sprinkled the room, and the younger vampire did nothing but cock his head with interest, eyes flickering when his sire glanced up to meet his gaze. “Let’s find out.”

Angel looked at him in horror, but did not move.

Not even when the door flew open in a manner that was overly theatrical, and Drusilla walked into his room. A girl, bound, gagged, and bleeding at her side, a leather leash around her throat. Her eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, red and swollen from crying. And she was looking at him for help.

Oh God.

“Time to begin this party,” Penn cackled, rubbing his hands together. “Fire burn, cauldron bubble, and all that jazz.”

“Hello, Daddy,” Drusilla said slowly. That low ring of dementia sounding through her voice. The sort of insanity that could make a vampire of his repute shiver in fear. “We’ve brought you something.”

“Dru…”

“One last out, Angelus. You’re sitting in a haven of makeshift stakes.” Penn spread his arms jovially. “And we’re right here.”

Angel did nothing. It was as though he was watching himself from a distance. Watching that cloud of resignation that had followed him for the past few weeks seize hold and wrangle him from his self-awareness. That darkness that had been dancing around him ever since the light of his salvation was stolen. And his was given the wonder of evil in the world, and if it would take eliminating everyone to eradicate it completely.

Penn was here to steal his soul. And he did nothing.

Just sat there. And let him.

Really, patrol was becoming synonymous with gratuitous make out session.

Tonight at least. Usually, they had to stake a few baddies before leaping into the more pleasurable aspect of touring the graveyards together. But all was quiet tonight, which meant they had an evening to themselves.

They had taken the first half hour to give the respected cemeteries a breeze through, ever mindful of the impending presence of the resident vamps that had yet to make an encore to the disastrous encounter two weeks prior. There were no vampires out. No human sacrifices or allusions to the next apocalypse. The air was sparkly clean with that good Hellmouthy feel, minus the Hell part. There wasn’t a demon within a ten-mile radius.

If one excluded Spike from that scenario, of course. Though his demony aspects were in no ways superficial and in everyway what he did to her without doing anything at all. Presently, her back was pressed against the stone of a mausoleum, her mouth engaged in much heated kissage, suckling wantonly at his evil tongue as his hands skated over her body. Exploring naughty places to which he had exclusive right.

“Mmm…” she murmured into his mouth before his lips took chart down her throat, his pelvis grinding provocatively into hers. “I’m beginning to love nighttime.”

“’S a good time,” he replied enthusiastically, a hand slipping under her shirt. “A very good time.”

“Except when there are vampires.”

“Right.”

Her teeth found his earlobe. “Or demons.”

“Nasty buggers,” he agreed, cupping a laced breast reverently. Her own hand, wise now, had slithered between them to stroke him through his tight denim, earning a strained gasp. “God, have I mentioned how much I love it when you do that?”

She squeezed him teasingly. “You don’t have to.”

“Fuck. Gonna make me embarrass myself.” Spike smiled and reached down to grasp her wrist, his own touch abandoning her breast and respectively readjusting her shirt. “You don’ have any homework, do you?”

Buffy arched a brow. “You’re making me stop for homework?”

“No. Jus’ wanted to make sure before we go somewhere to finish this privately.” He waggled his brows, and she flushed. These nightly excursions grew more and more intense following each encounter. Her own patience notwithstanding, she was beginning to realize how much self-control he had shown her since he arrived. That gentlemanly restraint that was never too far from breaking. Her teasing merriment of seeing how far she could push him while secretly waiting for the day that his resolve broke.

They had talked about this, though. The actual having of the sex. Even with all they had shared, she was still nervous. It was a huge step. Granted, he had all but banished her self-consciousness, but there was still something so much more intimate about actual lovemaking that bypassed all the fooling around they had done. And Spike understood that. More over, he wanted her to be ready. Wanted it to be something she would never look back upon with regret. Wanted her to be sure before she crossed that boundary and it was too late.

The fact that she was in love with him had pretty much convinced her. But she hadn’t said that yet. And neither had he. It was getting to the point where she nearly expected to say it by accident in conversation. Something like, “Did you see that demon? He was carrying the big I love you.”

That would be bad.

This alone was what she lived for now. Spending time with him. Watching him smile. Hearing him laugh. Flushing at the assorted innuendos he sent her way. Relishing in the whimpers and moans she could elicit in just seconds with hands that now knew him well.

Her body wanted to know him as well as her hands did. And that day would come. Soon. Sooner than she likely knew now, knowing already that it was imminent.

For now, though, there was this. And this was wonderful.

“We have time,” Buffy whispered against his lips, smiling at the smoldering look that flashed through his eyes. “Mom’s not expecting me home for another hour or so.”

“Which means you’ll be sneakin’ in…”

“In about three hours.”

He shot her a grin. “Bloody fantastic.”

Buffy smiled winningly and hugged him, clasping his hand as he tugged her away from the mausoleum. Thank God for vamp-less nights. Made patrol much more fun. Made the week speed by for the promise of what the weekend held.

If only every night could be like this.

Here Comes The Rain Again

Her mother was actually out of town all weekend. Buffy didn’t know how she had managed that, but there was a note waiting for her on the counter when she arrived home from school on Friday with a check that she needed to get to the bank before it closed. Something about a convention in Los Angeles—she really hadn’t paid attention. Only that the words ‘away until Monday’ and ‘no parties’ had appeared. Which was fine, as throwing a party was the last thing on her mind.

But three nights with her boyfriend? In a nice, comfy, non-motel capacity? Very much of the good.

Thus after a quick patrol and a few anticlimactic stakings, Spike suggested they rent a film, get some food, and curl up on the sofa for a quiet night to themselves. A proposal that was more than fine with her. He even suffered through her perusal of the romantic comedy section before dragging her to drama and convincing her that Pleasantville was worth a watch.

So here they were, mastering their choreography in the kitchen to avoid catastrophe while holding something hot.

“You know,” Buffy said, closing the fridge and setting a couple cans of soda on the island. “When you suggested we go grab a bite to eat, I figured we’d just get some takeout. Kinda like normal people?”

Spike arched a brow. At his urging, they had stopped at the grocery store and picked up a pre-prepared pasta dish that required an hour or so in the oven before ready for consumption. The idea had intrigued him, he said, on one of his routine visits to the store, and he had been looking for an excuse to buy one.

Really, Buffy found his insistence absolutely adorable. She just enjoyed giving him a hard time.

“Y’know, most girls would kill for a bloke willin’ to spend some time in the kitchen.”

“We’re heating up pasta.”

“Yeh. Next time, I’ll make it from scratch, if that’s what you want.” Spike grinned and tugged her close for a quick kiss. “’Sides, since when are we normal people?”

“Yeah, yeah. Us and our prophecies and sacred birthrights.” Buffy grinned and wrapped her arms around him. Such was the consequence of having a cuddly boyfriend—she couldn’t be near him without wanting to touch him in some fashion. Not that Spike minded, of course. Rather, with as bad as she was, he always found ways to outdo her. Touch her just right, even when he was at his most chaste of intentions. “I can’t believe I’m finally getting you in my bed.”

His eyes smoldered with that familiar look. That look that told her if they already made love, she would be on the counter with her legs over his shoulders. “Doesn’ take too much, baby,” he promised heatedly. “Jus’ say the word…”

She blushed and smacked his shoulder. “I mean…no motel. Comfy bed. Big house. No thin walls…”

“With other people fuckin’ on all sides, you mean.” Spike smirked and brushed another kiss over her lips before regrettably untangling himself from her hold. “Yeh, I hear you, luv. ‘Sides…I’ve been waitin’ for a reason to tour that bedroom of yours.”

“Well, if you had really wanted to, Angel used to climb up to my window. We have this big tree in the back and…” She trailed off when she noticed the look in his eyes was no longer ardent so much as it was infused with jealous anger. “Not that that’s important or anything. In fact, really, I don’t even know why I brought it up.”

“He doesn’ do this anymore, does he?”

Buffy’s eyes widened. “What? Of course not! Angel knows about us. He—”

“Have you told him?”

“Well, no. I haven’t exactly seen him to tell him. He hasn’t been around for a while.” She frowned. “Really, I haven’t seen him since that night in the cemetery with Penn and Drusilla. He hasn’t…have you seen him?”

“No. An’ I haven’t been lookin’. Figure a day without a run-in with that wanker is a good one.” Spike tossed her a look as he slipped on oven-mitts to draw out the pasta. “Well,” he said a minute later, thoughtfully, “Every day since the cemetery’s been a good one.”

A smile itched at her lips. That sentiment was most definitely shared. “Yeah,” she agreed. “Really has.”

Spike flashed her a grin. “Glad you agree.”

“Very, very.” Buffy sighed. “But…it’s strange. Angel and I were never dating, but over the past few months, he hasn’t gone more than a couple days without trying to see me. Well, until two weeks ago. I…what if Penn staked him?”

The other Slayer shrugged apathetically. “What if he did?”

“Spike—”

“You don’ need the wanker hoverin’ over you every five minutes. Have you missed him at all?”

“Well, no—”

“There you go.”

“But I don’t want him dead!” She sighed again in aggravation. “Look, I know you have this thing with him because of…whatever—”

“Because of you.”

In spite of herself, she flushed at his bluntness. “Okay. Because of me. But I’m with you. Not Angel. I will never be with Angel. Furthermore, if I could be with Angel, I wouldn’t be. Because you’re who I…” His eyes went wide suddenly with expectation, and Buffy—for perhaps the millionth time—felt herself on the edge of a catastrophic and random confession of love. She knew she loved him…the prospect of admitting it was still more than daunting. “You’re who I’m with. Who I want to be with. Okay? That doesn’t mean I want Angel dead.”

“Well, maybe he knows we’re together an’ has been avoidin’ you ‘cause of that.” Spike shrugged. “The wanker might be an all right guy for a vamp, sweetling, but he’s still a man. An’ from the way he was lookin’ at you before we…’m jus’ sayin’, it could be that he’s decided to stay away.”

That could be true. It seemed logical enough. However, there was something about Angel that slipped through the cracks of comparison. Even when she went on dates in the months prior to Spike, it hadn’t stopped him from a weekly update on the things that could kill her. No, it didn’t make sense. Something had happened; it must have.

She didn’t want to share that, though. Didn’t want to rouse Spike’s jealousy any more than she already had, even though the thought of him going nuts because of her was not without its drool-worthiness. Instead, she merely opted to smile and nod in agreement, though her mind had far lost itself to the foray of possibilities.

Perhaps Penn had killed him. Perhaps that was the reason he was here. That night in the cemetery, he had told her that she was just in his way. It would make sense for him to avoid her if that were the case. And he had known about her brief relationship with Angel, or at least the feelings the vampire seemed to harbor for her. Perhaps he had thought she would get in the way, stop him from doing what he came here to do. Be around his sire to such a degree that killing him would be impossible.

A few vamp lackeys tonight. No Penn. No Drusilla. No Angel.

There was every possibility, were her theory anywhere near accurate, that the damage had already been done, and the two vamps had fled the scene.

Of course, there was just as large a possibility in her being utterly wrong. And in the meantime, she was here with her boyfriend and she shouldn’t allow vagrant concerns to meddle with their time together. Especially with the knowledge that there wasn’t anything she could do right now. Not until she had some answers.

Spike scooped a hearty amount of noodles, melted provolone, and Alfredo sauce with a mixture of assorted peppers onto a plate and scooted it in her direction. “Smells edible,” he said, grinning.

“Did you just give me half the pan?”

“You din’t eat anythin’ today. Told me so yourself.”

“I had an apple for lunch. Was kind of hurrying to do the homework I didn’t do last night in lieu of much more appealing diversions.”

He frowned. “You told me you din’t have any homework.”

“No. You asked. I never answered.”

A scowl at that. “Technicalities,” he retorted, waving a hand. “You should’ve told me. I woulda helped.”

“Well, I got it done regardless, and I kinda liked the way we ended up spending our evening.”

Spike grinned at that, leering suggestively. “Yeh. Can’t exactly complain, myself. Still, luv, you should’ve eaten lunch.”

“I ate! I told you—”

“An apple is not lunch. It’s hardly even a snack.” He gestured to the steaming plate of noodley goodness in front of her. “That’s a meal, an’ you have to be half-famished. Eat up.”

She pretended to scowl and fished out a fork from the nearby cabinet. “Okay, Mr. Bossy,” she retorted. “I’m doing this under protest.”

“Yeh. People usually starve themselves outta protest, not eat. ‘Sides, you can cut bein’ coy. I can hear your tummy growlin’ from here.”

“You can?”

“Better bloody believe it. ‘S got quite a mouth on it, too.”

Buffy cocked a brow. “Is that right?”

“You should hear the things it’s sayin’ to me.”

“My stomach.”

He nodded, face serious. “Quite the li’l pervert, ‘f I don’ say so myself. All the ‘put it in me,’ ‘come on, you know you want to,’ ‘it’ll be a party in your mouth that gets even better down south’—”

That was it. She burst out laughing, her giggles enticing a warm, playful smile to his lips. “Was that the head of William the Bloody?” she asked mirthfully, her eyes dancing.

“As much as I ever want you to see,” he agreed in earnest. “Come on, pet. Eat up. Got this flick to watch…then that nice comfy bed waitin’ for us upstairs.” That comment was naturally sealed with a suggestive waggle of his brows. And she, just as naturally, blushed from head to toe.

“I think this might be the reason my mother didn’t want me to have any non-Willow friends over while she was away,” Buffy reasoned, treacherous hand guiding a fork heaped with pasta to her mouth. “Granted, she didn’t come out and say that, but the implication was there.”

“As long as she din’t come out an’ say it, we’re all right.”

“You’d like me to believe that, wouldn’t you?”

“With every male bone in my body.” He glanced down in an overly evocative manner that made her blush even more. “One in particular.”

“Pig.”

Spike chuckled and sent her one of his patented adoring but simmering looks. The same that melted away any restraint she might have put up had he made any inappropriate advances, given the prescribed boundaries of their relationship. “There’s an oldie but a goodie,” he drawled. “Thought you’d gotten to the point where you liked my more piggish tendencies.”

Yes, his piggish tendencies were quite lovely. Not that he needed to know that. Him and the general maleness that was him. That would go straight to his head.

Both heads, come to think of it.

Gah. She was becoming as bad as him.

Becoming? Girl, who are you kidding? He’s turned you into an all out perv.

“Back to the enormous poofter, though,” Spike said, voice full of self-aimed ire at the mere suggestion that he was the one to drag the conversation back to Angel. “If you wanna phone up Rupes before we get cozy, I’m sure the Watcher’ll dig around in some books an’ find out if Penn’s the kinda vamp that would off his sire jus’ because he could.”

Buffy smiled gratefully. “You’re the best.”

“Bloody right, I am.”

“And you’re so cute when you’re jealous.”

Spike’s eyes darkened. “I am not jealous. I’m the one that gets to touch you, right? Snog you? Taste you? Be with you when no one else is. I’m not on the bloody outside lookin’ in.”

“So if I were to platonically meet Angel somewhere—”

“I’d stake the wanker before draggin’ you to the nearest dark corner to make damn sure you know you’re my girl.”

Buffy flushed. “And that’s in no way jealousy?”

“No. ‘S my alpha male.” He looked at her as though the answer was obvious. “There’s a difference. An’ once I got you in that dark corner, I’d do things to you that would eradicate any memory of any other prats that mistakenly try to fumble into your good graces by flashin’ a li’l fang.”

She nibbled on her pasta, skin flaming with the sudden rise of heat in the room. “Okay,” she agreed, earning a wicked leer.

And even that was not enough. Spike stalked forward and jerked her into his arms. “Bloody right,” he growled, covering her mouth with his. A swift invasion of his tongue and dinner was forgotten. The feel of his hands skating over her body; hands that already knew her so well. The hardness that greeted her stomach screaming at her warring hormones that mock-fighting was as much a turn on for him as it was for her, and that wanton image she had formerly banished of wild kitchen sex arose again from nowhere.

“Christ,” Spike murmured into her mouth reverently, hands sliding to her hips, encouraging her legs to find their way around his waist. “What you do to me…drive me outta my mind.”

The feeling was more than mutual. And she told him so. He grunted something primal in return, twisting her around so she was sitting on top of the island, nearly knocking the neglected plate of pasta to the ground. His hands were everywhere, his pelvis moving rhythmically against hers, the bulge of his arousal grinding against her clit, and she felt it as though there was nothing at all between them.

Buffy tore herself away from his kiss with a cry, gasping at the suddenly stymie kitchen air as his mouth took passage down her throat. This was different. There was something different in his touch. Something needy and primitive. How she had managed to work him up that much simply by talking—and, granted, provoking his inner quote ‘alpha male’—was beyond her.

Then again, they had been dancing around this for weeks. Spike’s patience notwithstanding; his near decree that they keep some measured distance between fooling around and that final physical step had been edging at him every day. She saw it without needing to know exactly what it meant. How much she tested him simply by being with him. By touching him; sampling him when he needed more.

“Spike…”

“I know, I know. Gotta stop. Gotta…please, jus’ a li’l more,” he pleaded into her throat. At some point, his hands had darted under her shirt, and he was exciting her nipples with skilled fingers. “God, Buffy, I want you so much.”

She wanted him, too. In all senses. Right then—there—her decision made for her. It was inevitable after all, right? She had told him she wanted him to be the one to take that step with her. She wanted him to be her first—her only, really. She wanted to tell him she loved him and she was ready. That they could forget supper and the movie and go upstairs to her bedroom and make love until the sun came up.

And she would have. The words were right there on her tongue, ready for release. Whether it was fate or bad timing, the phone shrilled through the air before they could know voice, and the heated kisses she had been enjoying came to a reluctant halt.

“Leave it?” Buffy whispered hopefully.

The temptation was there. Somewhere between his lust and the burn of his affection, he very much wanted to ignore any interruptions. However, there was that sense of responsibility that he carried without fault. The knowledge that came with conscientiousness through three advanced years of experience in not listening to an inner Jiminy Cricket. “Might be your mum,” he murmured, lips brushing tantalizingly over hers. “Or Rupert.”

“So?”

The phone was still ringing.

“I’ll be right back,” Spike promised her, moving away before she could protest. And her body felt the slam of cold he had been guarding her from. The heat of his skin scorching hers still, conflicted with the sudden blast of being left alone. Awkward on top of the kitchen island, next to her plate of forgotten pasta.

So much for love. When he came back, he would remember his earlier quest to quell her stomach’s growling. And then it would be movie time.

“Buffy?”

She jumped and whirled around. Spike was standing in the doorway, phone resting against his shoulder. There was severity in his voice that she hadn’t heard before, and it almost matched the void in his lifeless eyes. “What?”

“’S Giles,” he said. “Coppers jus’ found the remains of a girl. She was strung up jus’ outside town, hangin’ from a tree. Raped, mutilated…she has a cross in her left cheek.”

She understood the implication. “Penn’s signature.”

“Yeh.”

The room was suddenly very cold. There was something he wasn’t telling her.

“What else?”

“There’s an A carved in her thigh. That’s not…it’s not Penn. Not just him. At leas’ Rupert doesn’ think so.” Emotion stormed his voice and he had to look away. “He wants us at the library.”

Buffy nodded, numb, and slowly slid off the counter. “Okay.”

Spike looked at her a second longer before raising the phone to his mouth again. “Yeh. We’re on our way.”

“The A doesn’t mean anything.”

“Only it could mean everythin’.”

“I know what you’re thinking, but it can’t…” Buffy shook her head furiously; barely aware of how tightly she was squeezing Spike’s hand. “It could mean…I dunno. Penn just might be playing with us.”

“Yeh,” he agreed. “Or Angel might’ve decided to join in the fun.”

“He wouldn’t do that. He staked Darla for me…he wouldn’t just turn his back on that!”

The platinum blonde all but growled in frustration. “You’re unbelievable.”

“What?”

“This bloody blind spot you have for the big brooding wanker. There are certain things that are innate, you know. Vamps kill. ‘S what they do. What they know an’ all that. They’re a sodding breed apart.” An incredulous, humorless chuckle rumbled through his throat. “They’re not us. ‘S like lions an’ zebras. Maybe Peaches finally realized that. Realized he can’t be us.”

“So he tries to kill us? Angel cares about me, regardless of…whatever. He wouldn’t just randomly start killing.”

Spike rolled his eyes, hand constricting possessively around hers. “Unbelievable,” he spat again.

“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

“We also shouldn’t exclude conclusions that are more probable than others.”

“Angel never signed his victims. Giles would’ve told me—”

“Maybe he wanted you to know it was him.”

“Spike! God, is there even a shadow of a doubt in your mind, or are you ready to take him to the gallows?”

The other Slayer frowned as they cut the corner at Sunnydale High. “Of course not, luv.” A pause. “You don’ take a vampire to the gallows. You stake him; jus’ like all the rest.”

An alien voice broke through at that, as presumptuous in intrusion as it was confident in poise. Somewhere from the shadows, where eyes had been watching them in their advance. Eyes that were slanted and yellow, subhuman, but familiar in their malevolence. “He’s got a point, you know.”

The Slayers jumped to like trained dancers; their synchronization earning nothing more than a long, mocking chuckle as Penn stepped out of the darkness, his gaze sparkling. “I’ve had the same problem,” he continued conversationally. “Annoying vampires honing in on my territory…it is a predicament, but sometimes you just gotta stake them.”

“As I was sayin’,” Spike snarled, reaching into his duster and retrieving a stake. “Only one bloody way to deal with them. ’m gonna rip your innards out an’ stuff ‘em down your throat.”

“Well, that’s rather brash.”

Buffy gasped; her boyfriend was suddenly across the way, his fists curled in Penn’s shirt, lifting him off the ground as though he meant to rip him limb from limb right there. The vampire merely chuckled, backhanded him, and jumped a good distance away. He brushed himself off with deceptive flippancy. “I only meant since Angelus is inside, likely ripping your friends to shreds.” He tossed a slow, malicious glance in Buffy’s direction, quirking his head curiously. “Rather violent, your boyfriend. I’m glad you see something in him. He looks rather unremarkable to me.”

Spike was on his feet in seconds. “Singin’ a tune now, are you? Jus’ jealous my girl grew out of her affinity for blokes with bumpy foreheads.”

“Angel’s inside?” Buffy asked softly.

“Yeah. Only, he’s outgrown that pesky Angel phase. You know you could catch him and say hi if you ran really fast.”

“Spike. Inside.” She didn’t draw her eyes away from the vampire; unwilling to let him go if this was a rouse. “Go check on the others.”

“Buffy—”

“I’m okay.”

“Yes, Spikey,” Penn cooed, sending the elder Slayer a teasing wink. “I’d like a few words with the real Chosen One. If you remember, you interrupted our evening a couple weeks ago. We were having a nice…chat.”

“Spike, go. I’ll be fine.” And she would. She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Wouldn’t let the vampire in front of her distract her with words. Wouldn’t let anything of the sort go down. Not when she had everything she could want right now. She wasn’t the type to make the same mistake twice, and he would have to trust her with that. “Go!”

The pained reluctance in his eyes nearly ripped her in two, but he nodded fiercely and disappeared the next instant, tearing toward the school. And then she was alone.

“Good,” Penn drawled approvingly. “Angelus was hoping your boy would be the one to run inside. Has a few words to share with him.”

“What did you do to Angel?” she growled, stake at the ready. “I swear to God—”

The vampire shrugged. “Freed him. What else? You weren’t giving him what he wanted, so I gave him what he needed. Now he can go through the universe without all that useless baggage. Really, if it weren’t for you giving him the big brush, I would likely be dust in the wind. So thanks. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

That was it. Buffy lost all sense of time and reality; all she knew was that she was standing still one minute and rushing toward him at the next minute. Ready to impress her weapon in his heart and have it over with then. This waste of a thing in front of her. Penn didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Only regarded her with calm amusement, sidestepping her advance without much thought, his leg finding her back as she soared at him and sent her promptly to the ground.

“See. That was rash, too. You’ve been spending too much time with that new boy of yours.” He chuckled ironically, strolling toward her with casual ease. “Then again, not complaining. Made Angelus lose his will to carry on. Stealing his soul? Easier than I thought. And I have you to thank!”

Buffy’s leg shot out, connecting fiercely with his face as he hovered over her; granting her enough time to roll back to her feet, eyes glowering. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Nope, and that’s the problem, isn’t it? Just let the new guy walk right on in and take you away. And to think, my sire actually thought of you as his salvation.” Penn shook his head sadly. “Hate to think what might’ve happened to him if I hadn’t come along and shown him the light…so to speak.”

Her next projected attack was a blur of motion. She was in the air one second and colliding with him the next, sending him to the ground in a flurry of punches and kicks. She didn’t know what made her angrier: the idea that he would cast blame for anything related to Angel on her shoulders, or the notion—the implication—that somehow, Spike was involved. That detracting attention from someone she had absolutely no future with for the man she loved would have driven him to such a point where killing was all right, and the soul he had claimed plagued him ripped away voluntarily.

For what Penn had done to her, she felt no shame. The voice she would remember, the face would fade over time. But she meant to kill him now. Right now. Plunge the stake through his chest and then rush inward to face a vampire she had never thought she would confront in battle. If he spoke the truth, then that nagging sensation that had been bothering her for the better part of the evening—ever since she realized the lapse in time between her last visit with Angel—would have come full circle.

She would kill him. She had to.

And if he so much as touched Spike, she would give back to him whatever he dished tenfold.

“Little touchy tonight, aren’t we?” Penn speculated with a pointed brow, wiping blood from his cracked lip. “I see someone’s ready to play with the full deck.”

“Sorry I’m not Miss Chatty,” she spat. “I don’t socialize with vamps who piss me off.”

“I didn’t realize I had offended.”

“You have.” She perked a brow, her skin shivering and her stomach tightening in the familiar caution that another vampire was nearby. Not familiar, not entirely. She knew Angel’s presence. Reckoned she would know him forever. This vampire was different, but she had felt it before. And she knew what to expect. With a wry grin, she arched her brows at Penn, squeezing her stake in reassurance. “And I think it’s time you sat down in a corner and thought about that.”

Not exactly the puniest of her puns, but that transgression would go unmarked. Buffy projected herself into the air the next second, twirling aerial as her eyes landed on the advancing Drusilla. Her hand shooting forward, the stake aimed well. A perfect arch across the black sky, timed in well with Penn’s infuriated roar of protest. The next thing she knew, the elder vampire had kicked her to the ground and rushed forward to shove his insane girlfriend out of the way.

The Slayer hit the ground the same second that the stake found its way into Drusilla’s side. Detracted by the attempts to stop it, but not well enough to avoid collision entirely. The agonized cry that split the ebony vampire’s lips nearly incited a pang of kinship, but not quite. Buffy was at the ready for an angered attempt at retribution, but Penn had gathered Drusilla in his arms, and was glaring at her as though envisioning her in a shallow grave for the first time. Seeing her for what she was, and not some pissant distraction to toy with.

That much gave her a sadistic rush of pleasure. Small, but noted.

“She’s spoiled my milk!” Drusilla wailed. “See how it stains the ground? She has spoiled me, my prince!”

The calm conversationalist within Penn was gone. The ice that fogged his eyes was the coldest she had ever seen. More so than the Master. More so than the Anointed. Even Darla, who had true reason to hate her. The death he promised was no longer empty. She knew then that it would be one of them. Not tonight, perhaps; he would see her dead, or he would die himself.

Such was the natural order. She had simply never seen it so clearly.

In the end, he said nothing. Didn’t waste his hatred on words too small to convey. Penn tore through the night like a disease. There one second and gone the next. And then she was alone.

Alone, and bolting toward the doors of the high school.

She didn’t make it. Naturally, there would be something to interfere. In this instance, it was Angel. Barreling through front of Sunnydale High, his eyes as distant and cold as she had ever seen. Tingling with malevolent mirth. Birthed into something higher than her understanding. She knew simply by looking at him that his childe had spoken the truth. This was not Angel. Angel didn’t look at her that way. Angel barely looked at her.

“Wow,” he drawled. “Talk about impressive. I really thought they’d keep you busy longer than that.”

Buffy did her damndest to ignore the sudden thundering of her heart. Her stake was discarded on the ground somewhere; Penn had yanked it from Drusilla and consigned it to the grass. She was weaponless, and though that had never mattered before, there was dread spooling in her stomach. God, where was Spike? If Angel was here, then—

The sound of glass shattering answered that much for her, and suddenly Spike was there. His eyes stark with concerned outrage, a stake in his hand prone and ready. He screamed her name in a twist of exerted terror, leaping at the vampire out of more instinct than knowledge; found himself on the ground the next second, holstered by a heavy boot.

Angel quirked a brow and glanced up at her, tsking his disappointment. “Honestly, Buff, what do you see in this guy?”

Buffy rushed at him before she granted herself time to think.

“Whoa, down girl.” His hands came up neutrally. There was no threat, though. Nothing in his eyes to suggest he considered her even worth draining, let alone fighting. As though she was nothing more than an amusement to keep him on his toes until he became bored. Emptier than Penn’s. Something much more horrifying lurking there where no one else had voyaged. “Just having a little harmless fun. As I was telling your friends before Wonder Boy showed up…” A slow smile drew across his lips, and he took a small bow. “Things are about to get very interesting.”

He still hadn’t let Spike up. He hadn’t let Spike up, and his foot was slowly sliding to her boyfriend’s throat. And that was it. Reality stopped. Her heart stopped. She didn’t care what he said. Knock him off his feet, retrieve her stake; be done with it. There was only one logic. One drive. He was going to kill Spike.

She lunged.

“Buffy!”

And the connecting blow that met her face answered her presumption nicely. Angel chuckled and shook his head as she fell, rubbing his hands together. “Yes,” he concurred a minute later. “Very.”

He was gone, then. Gone like Penn and Drusilla before him. Left them like that for reasons beyond her comprehension. And Spike was above her, his blue eyes stark with petrified concern. Pulling her into his arms, and holding her as reality collapsed around her.

God, what had happened tonight?

“’S’okay,” he murmured. “’S’okay. You’re okay. God, I was so worried.”

“Giles? Willow? Everyone, they’re—”

“Fine. Rupert’s girl knew, somehow. She had it under control when I came in. Nearly so.” He brushed a kiss over her temple. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” It was half true. She was trembling. Couldn’t stop. Knowledge buried way down deep that refused to be recognized. Something she hadn’t been prepared for, in spite of all else. “He’s not Angel.”

“No. Penn an’ Dru…there was a spell. Delighted in tellin’ us all.”

A trembling breath escaped her lips. “We have to get them all home. Get them somewhere safe.”

“There’s nowhere safe,” he replied softly, but nodded all the same. “Get them some place safe, an’ I’m not lettin’ you outta my sight.”

Buffy barely heard him as she stood. “We have to kill him.”

Spike refrained from saying anything to that, and wisely so. Just wrapped an arm around her and guided her back through the doors of the high school, where her friends were waiting.

“Not letting you out of mine, either,” she murmured a minute later, surprising him. “He came here to kill you. Not me. He wants you dead.”

“He wants us both.”

“Wants you more.”

“Naturally. Always thought he was a bit of a poof.” Spike smiled humorlessly and tugged her closer. “’S fine. We’ll get them home. I’m willin’ to bet there’s some anti-invite spell lurkin’ in one of Rupes’s books. We’ll take care of it, sweetheart.”

Yes. That. That they would take care of.

The fact that Sunnydale had just breathed new life into one of the most dangerous vampires to grace the history books was a different matter entirely. But Buffy was oddly resolved. Sound in the knowledge of her duty. Settled somewhere north of her astonished fear and regret was something else. Something dark and dangerous.

Angel had tried to kill Spike tonight. This had been set up for him. She didn’t know how she knew, beyond what Penn had told her; she simply knew. Why he opted to not in the end was an entirely separate concern. It didn’t matter. That knowledge alone was enough.

Tonight was as close as they came.

He would be dust before she saw him so close to her boyfriend again.

This Love of Mine Will Never Die

There was a spell. Two of them, and Jenny Calendar had them translated in less than an hour.

The first was in one of her darker books. Black magic that she kept guarded and, by self-made promise, rarely looked at. There she located one of three spells she believed might have played a part in Penn and Drusilla’s success of ripping away Angel’s soul. Something she said could be performed virtually by anyone; one of the tempting draws of darker magic to young, impressionable minds.

The girl hanging from the tree was the witch that had performed the ritual. Angelus had, evidently, taken sadistic pleasure in detailing her final minutes. How they had killed her. How he had enjoyed using her body. And how Buffy could look forward to more of the same.

That alone—the suggestion, the hint of what he wanted to do to her made Spike quiver in rage. Standing in the library in the calm aftermath of revelations made new. Buffy in his arms, trembling still. She had not yet released him since coming to the conclusion that Angel’s plan tonight had been to see him dead; her insistence was more than fine with him, for he felt forever and a day would pass before he let her out of his arms again. He would not be so jilted as to believe the vampire only had his death in mind, but nothing short of the end of the world would persuade him to let her out of his sight.

It was foolish, he knew. On some level he had to know that. After all, Buffy was the Slayer. She had been the Slayer much longer than he had. She had already faced death and won. To worry for her was a hapless feat; he could not prevent anything, nor could he truly protect her. There was nothing to do for someone who did not need protection. He would be here for her—that much was ingrained. He couldn’t help himself in that if he wanted to. He loved her too much to do anything else.

And though it was clichéd, he wanted to protect her. Keep her from the horrors she had been born to face. Provide a sanctuary that no one else could give her. Something worthy of her. Of what she had given him.

The wealth of what she had given him.

But Spike could not protect Buffy. She would resent him if he really tried. She was strong—as strong as he was, if not stronger. And tonight she had shown more of the same: her need to protect him. The thought was warming, even if her attention in that regard was equally unneeded.

The second spell that Jenny Calendar found was the one that banished vampires already possessing an invitation. She translated it, printed out copies, and instructed everyone who had ever had Angel in their house to go home and enact the spell before anything else was accomplished.

Spike did not need to be told twice. When Buffy’s mother came back from her trip, his stay in the Summers residence would be at an end, and there would be no quiet leave until he knew that her home was warded to all vampires in town.

“I am going to begin research tonight on the sire/childe relationship between Penn and Angel,” Giles said as the group prepared to take their leave. “If it was Penn’s intention to bring Angel’s demon back to the surface, they must have been very close. Or…” He frowned. “I don’t know. Angel staked Darla…from what we know…”

“He’s had more than one opportunity to stake the wanker,” Spike growled, arm tightening around his girl’s waist. “He was there that firs’ night when Penn an’ that nut-job of a vamp he totes around firs’ made with the introductions. They stood an’ chatted while Buffy was bleedin’.”

Giles blinked. “He made no attempt to harm Penn?”

“He fought off Drusilla a little,” Buffy offered numbly. “But…no.”

“We told you this much, Rupert. When you firs’ shared about the prophecy?”

The Watcher looked at him strangely for a long minute before shades of recollection fell over his gaze. “Oh. Oh! Yes, right. Well, I suppose I disregarded it as a tendency among vampires. Perhaps it was different with Penn because Angel felt responsible for him. He had no reason to feel responsible for Darla, as she was his maker and not the other way around.”

Spike arched a cool brow. “An’ that’s s’posed to make a difference?”

Xander shook his head in disgust. “Difference, schmifferance. I don’t see what the big is. Angel is a vampire. He had a get-out-of-stakage pass before because he was all with the soul-having. Guess what? No soul-having.” He turned to Buffy. “You can’t tell me you’re gonna let him get away with what he did tonight, right? He came here to kill us.”

Her eyes hardened. “No.”

“No? Buffy—”

“No, I’m not going to let him get away with it.” A sigh rippled through her, and she glanced down. “I don’t like it, but he…you’re right. He came here to kill you.” That last bit was whispered with a slight inclination in Spike’s direction. He reckoned he was the only one who caught it. “And the way he looked at me outside…as though he just expected me to…no. No. I have to kill him. Before he kills one of us.”

The way she said it was so determined, so void of emotion, it was hard for Spike to believe they were speaking of the same vampire she had been so adamant about defending just two hours ago. So much could change in a simple matter of minutes.

If nothing else, her acceptance of the simple fact had Xander effectively floored. He looked at her as though she was a pod person. “Oh,” he said, shoulders slumping at the loss of a good throw-down with logic. This was one area where his prejudice against vampires was working to his advantage, and evidently he was disappointed at the missed opportunity to scream his common sense over her feelings for the big brooding sulk. Spike was amused and proud at the same time. Buffy knew what had to be done.

“We’re leavin’ now,” he said suddenly, running his hand up his girl’s side. “Gonna go cleanse the house an’ rest. ‘S enough excitement for tonight, right?”

Giles nodded his agreement. “Yes. Quite. I will drive Willow and Xander home. Jenny?”

The very obvious object of the old man’s affections glanced to him in surprise before shaking her head. “I’m fine. Angel has never been to my house. I can put up wards if that helps. Don’t worry about me.”

Though it was clear he didn’t like it, the Watcher nodded again, turning his eyes upward to the Slayers. “And you two are staying together tonight?”

Even if he hadn’t been planning on it before, he sure as hell was now. Spike tugged the other Slayer even closer and nodded. “Yeh. We’ll be at her place. I’ll give you a ring in the mornin’.”

He turned at that without another word, enjoying the way Buffy molded herself against him. Her arm around him, her head resting against his shoulder. It was an awkward way to walk, but he wouldn’t pull away for the world. If she was feeling even a smidgeon of what he was, there was no way they would stop touching until someone pulled them apart.

They walked mostly in silence. Shared a few words here and there; saving the rest for when they arrived at Revello Drive. When they felt it was safe to assume their night was over.

“I don’t know what I would have done,” she murmured as Spike locked the door behind them, now in the entryway of her house. It appeared different somehow. The weight of what they had shared changing perception all around. “I was…the minute I saw him…he was going to kill you.”

“He din’t.”

“He was going to.”

“He din’t.” Spike brushed a kiss across her temple. “I’m right here. Not goin’ anywhere.”

Buffy shook her head, her arms tightening around him. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “For everything I said before. You were right. God, you were right about everything.”

A wry smile itched his lips. “I wish I wasn’,” he replied honestly. “I know how you feel about this.”

“This?” Her eyes widened and she pulled him to her. “No. Angel tried to kill you. I…I didn’t…Spike, I—”

He nodded, unable to keep his lips from stealing a loving caress from hers. A shudder rippled across his skin at the contact. His body responding in the manner that was more than familiar—that recognizable tingling in the bottom of his stomach that shot southward at the tender promise hidden within her innocent touch. No longer the fumbling fondles of two people linked by mission alone; his love for her, his knowledge of what gentle strokes drove her wild. He knew her so well now.

“You have any idea how worried I was?” he demanded her, drawing her mouth back to his before she could respond. “Leavin’ you to Penn? Knowin’ what he’d done last time? How bloody close he’d come? Christ…an’ then Peaches turned around to hightail it back to you…”

“Spike…”

He nudged her brow with his. “Yes?”

“I want…” She ran her hands up his chest; he felt her heart pounding against his. The light reflecting in her eyes familiar; he had seen that look before. Granted, not often, but enough to know what it meant. And all at once, the bundle of nerves that had singed his insides started flaring again. The knot in his stomach tightened. “I want you,” she whispered.

Spike’s eyes hazed with desire. Were the circumstances different, were it anyone else, he would have been surprised at how effortlessly she could entice his hormones from temperate to flaring with passion. “Buffy,” he gasped as her mouth found his throat, his back suddenly at the door. God, wasn’t he supposed to be the experienced one, here? “Jesus…”

“Don’t tell me no,” she pleaded softly. “I know it seems…but I—”

No? She really thought he was going to say no? Tonight when they had come so close to losing everything? Once perhaps, he might have been satisfied with sampling her. Rolling her taste in his mouth and drinking her for everything she had to offer. Not tonight. Where he would have obviously refrained from making any move so wholly presumptuous, the notion that she wanted him now in the way he had wanted her from the moment he had heard her name mentioned in correlation to his duty…everything brought full circle.

He had wanted this for as long as he could remember. Wanted to make love to her from the beginning. Longer than he had known her, it seemed. And yet, though it all, Buffy had been there all along.

“Buffy,” he murmured reverently, sweeping her lips into another kiss. Drawing her taste into his mouth. Savoring in the purity she had to offer. That innocence. That mindless grace. It was all his. His for the taking…and she wanted him to take it tonight. “God, I’ve wanted you forever.”

“Me, too. I’ve wanted you, too. I was just scared and—”

“Are you sure?”

“Spike—”

He nodded and tugged her mouth back to his; nudging his pelvis forward so that she could feel how desperately he wanted her. And just as instinctively, she slithered a hand between them, rubbing his erection with expertise that she had not known before he came into her life. A mewl rumbled through his throat; he pressed himself against her needily, his own hand darting under the hem of her shirt to caress her laced breast; his other wrapping around her waist to pull her even closer.

It could have easily gotten out of hand. The sudden burn of his very real desire acknowledged. Ready. He wanted her so much. But they could not get carried away here. Not when the house needed to be warded. Not when this was the first time. He would not take her against the front door of her house.

He would show her how much he loved her through his touch. Through tenderness. Despite his own want for a good animal rutting, he also needed it to be real. To mean something. This was not just anyone; it was Buffy. And he loved her so much—tonight would be the first of many nights. A gateway of new passion that would last them the rest of their lives, if he had anything to say about it.

Enacting the full of his humanly restraint, Spike withdrew his lips from her mouth, indulging in the moan of complaint that tumbled through at the loss. It took a few seconds before he could summon words, his forehead resting against hers. The intimacy of this alone was enough to do him in. He was in Buffy’s house. Her body was heated, welcoming, and aroused against his. Her arms were around him. The warmth of her womanly center pressed intimately against the bulge of his own need.

The promise of her purity sent shudders down his spine. And he tried so hard to feel worthy.

“Buffy…” he murmured.

“Don’t tell me no,” she whimpered again, pressing her lips to his cheek. “Please, Spike.”

“Upstairs. Not here.” He gasped against her needlessly. As though he had just completed a marathon. “An’ I have to do the disinvite thing.”

“I’ll do it with you.”

He shook his head. When he could barely keep from touching her now, there was no way they would make it through the entire disinvite spell without his desire taking over and manifesting in a need to shove her to the ground. Tonight would be special. He would make it special. More so than it was simply for her first time. Tonight was his first time, too. First time with her. First time with the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. That elevated the significance to a plateau he wasn’t ready to discuss. Still so afraid of frightening her with the intensity of his feelings. They would have other nights for that. Tonight, in the face of what they had, there was only the expression of what could not yet be voiced. “Toddle on upstairs,” he said again. “It’ll make me go quicker.”

Buffy’s eyes went wide at that and she nodded her accord. Stealing one last kiss from his lips and giving him a heated look that would forever burn itself in his memory, and then she melted into the darkness of the upper hallway. Leaving him alone below.

Spike fumbled out the disinvite enchantment that he had pocketed at the library and gave it a quick look over. There couldn’t be much to it. The lighting of a few candles, the recitation of a few sacred chants. Perhaps garlic around assorted doorways. Crucifixes and the like. He knew Buffy kept a box of stuff in her room, but he did not trust himself to follow her upstairs with the intention of emerging successfully. Perhaps she kept a spare box in the basement. Lord knows there was too much down there for her mother to go snooping with any measure of success.

That thought proved successful. There wasn’t much in the basement, but he knew Buffy well enough to determine where best to look. What he found proved to be more than enough. And after a few minutes of cleansing the downstairs, he swallowed hard and began the journey upward.

He reached her room and expelled a deep breath. The lamp was on and she was sitting on the bed, having changed into one of his t-shirts. The few times they had snuck away to his motel, she had occasionally swiped an article of clothing, as he had a similar affinity for stealing her panties. She wanted something that smelled of him, and vice versa. And while he always thought she looked gorgeous in wearing anything that belonged to him, the way she looked now stole the air from his lungs and sent his heart straight to his throat.

“Buffy…”

A pretty blush tinted her cheeks, enchanting him. How she managed to remain so modest yet portray all the makings of a sex kitten at the same time, he would never know. Only hoped she always remained like this. That stealing her virtue would not compromise anything else. He adored her so thoroughly. A whipped sap if he ever knew one, and he could not care less.

And yet, he felt obligated to tell her one more time. Once more before he threw caution aside and allowed his alpha male to burst through. Shades of William the Bloody Awful Poet that would never die. She made him want to compose verses to make the heavens sing.

Though, knowing his work…

“Buffy…” he said again. “We don’ have to do this tonight, ‘f you—”

The next thing he knew, she was in his arms. Her warm body pressed against his. Her mouth on his. Her hands grasping the material of his shirt and whipping it away in seconds. “I’m sure,” she murmured. “I want you, Spike.”

“God, I want you, too. I’ve wanted you so long.”

“There’s something else,” she said softly, her fingernails lightly scraping against his chest. Sending shivers across his skin. Then her touch had moved to the clasp of his jeans. “I told myself a thousand times I would tell you…I just never knew how. It’s been there…I’ve felt this for what seems like forever. I just wanted you to know…before we…” She gestured awkwardly, and he found it adorable. “This…okay, here it goes. I love you. I’m in love with you, and I have been for a while. And I know this is something that usually scares guys away, but I wanted you to know that—”

Honestly, Spike couldn’t be held accountable for what happened next. His entire body flooded with bliss. His heart expanding to a point where he was sure it would burst, and rain out the ecstasy that was buried inside her confession into a brilliant display of color. He smashed his mouth to hers, clutching at her with newfound desperation that he had never felt before. God, she loved him. Buffy actually loved him. He hadn’t thought it possible. Not for all his wanting; but there it was. She loved him.

Jesus Christ.

“I love you,” he gasped between kisses, walking her back to the bed. Watching her eyes widen in astonishment at his return. “Have forever.”

“Really?”

“Bloody hell, Buffy, is there any doubt?” He shook his head, turning his own hands to his trousers, kicking his shoes off impatiently. “You stole my heart that firs’ day. I was jus’…I din’t wanna scare you off. Din’t want…I thought ‘f you knew how serious my feelings were about you, you’d—”

“Break it off?”

“Yeh.”

“Yeah, me too.” She chuckled and drew him down for another kiss, her skilled hands closing around his erection once it was free of its denim confines. He whimpered into her, his own touch cupping her face reverently as she settled back on the bed, trapping his body between her legs. “Hmmm. Quite a pair, aren’t we?”

“’ve had the patience of a bloody saint,” Spike retorted, one hand dropping to her center. A tormented mewl tore through his throat when he encountered nothing underneath the t-shirt. No bra. No panties. Just Buffy, nude under his clothing. “Everythin’ you do drives me outta my mind.”

As if on suggestion alone, she ran her hand up his length slowly, thumb brushing over his belled head. “Like that?” she asked.

A growl sounded through the air, and he pushed her back to the bed, his hand massaging her folds teasingly. Eyes wide at the way she arched into his touch. She was so bloody responsive. The scent of her, the sounds tumbling through her perfect mouth; everything. It was too much and not enough in the same measure.

“Yes,” Spike gasped. “Like that.” He kicked off his trousers where they had bunched at his ankles, enjoying the customary widening of her eyes. She had seen him naked now on a number of occasions; her reaction was always the same. Stared at him wantonly. Made him harder for the sense of her scrutiny if nothing else.

He was on her the next second, face buried in her throat as his fingers pressed into her. The warm gush of fluid that mingled with his skin taunted his tastebuds. He had to make sure she was ready. For his naïveté with virgins, he knew through tale that the first time for girls was painful…and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. Ruin what was supposed to be an earth shattering experience at the cost of his eagerness. Releasing a deep breath, he pulled himself away from her neck and stole a heartfelt kiss from her lips. “You’re gorgeous,” he murmured, drawing his touch away from her pussy. Buffy’s eyes flew open and she moaned in protest. Spike quirked a brow and suckled his fingers into his mouth. “An’ delicious.”

“Spike, please…”

“Gonna taste you now. Gonna eat you up. Make you explode with ecstasy till you think you can’t come anymore.”

She gasped. “Want you inside!”

The thought alone drove him out of his mind. As though even now, the immediacy at what they were about to do was still a nonreality. “Gotta make sure you’re ready firs’, baby,” he replied. “Don’ wanna hurt you.”

“Hurt?”

“It hurts the firs’ time. Jus’ the firs’ time, I promise. Gonna make sure you don’ hurt too much.” He dropped a kiss to her pert breast; sliding southward until her womanly scent fogged his senses, and he could not help himself from indulging in one, long lap. “So that means…I get to do this for a while.”

“Gahh!”

Spike chuckled, nibbling lightly on her inner thigh. “You’re delicious,” he sighed, tongue tickling her moist flesh. “Here…your sweet skin is spiced with your ambrosia. Gives me a sampler before I get to the main course.” Methodically, his attentions altered to her quim, licking her outer lips teasingly. The womanly moan that rushed through her body fueled his arousal, struck his nerves with the realization that he was really here. Buffy was really beneath him, and they were really taking this step. No more playing. No more dancing around it. She was his now, and he would never let her go. Not now—never.

“Spike…”

“Shh, kitten. Gonna make it all better.” He swallowed hard, guiding two fingers into her pussy as her pelvis arched off the bed, his tongue sliding sensually across her sweet flesh until her clit was in his mouth, her pleasured cries tearing through the haze around them. His eyes kept trained on her face, tongue flickering over her bundle of nerves, reveling in every moan he earned in turn. He stroked her pointedly at first, then in long laps. She drenched his hand with her juices, her gasps painting livid pictures in the heavy air. And when he abandoned her clit to his fingers, the pliable organ in his mouth plunging into her, the throaty scream that tore through her throat struck his inner symphony. Then she was tugging him up and attacking his mouth with hers. Her hand wrapping around his cock, pumping him with ferocity he hadn’t expected.

God, this was going to be over embarrassingly soon if she kept that up. “Buffy!”

“Stop teasing me.”

Spike panted harshly, forehead collapsed at her shoulder. “I need to get…” His mind was fogged with desire. “Protection. Safety. Gotta—”

“No.”

“Buffy—”

“Pill. On it. Got a prescription the day…” Even like this, her hand cradling his erection, she found enough humility to flush. “Went on it right after we were…that first night in your motel.”

Somehow in that state, he was able to backtrack how long ago that had been. “Two weeks? Is that enough?”

Buffy settled back, releasing a deep breath. “The doctor said to use something the first week. We should be safe now.”

“You sure? I don’ wanna—”

“Want to feel you. Please. Don’t want anything between us.”

The thought of her warm flesh surrounding him was all the convincing he needed. He had never had sex without the security of a condom; and the thought that there would be nothing artificial separating them only served to charge his passion. He nodded vigorously and brushed a heartfelt kiss over her lips, slipping a hand between them to position himself at her entrance.

Spike entwined a hand with hers, his other splayed across her lower abdomen. His heart was thundering so wildly he felt it a miracle when it did not explode. The head of his cock slipped over her wet flesh, sending anticipatory shivers down his spine.

It felt he had waited forever to get here.

“Buffy…look at me, baby.”

She blinked steadily as though only realizing her eyes had welded shut.

“I love you. I love you so much.”

He melted when she smiled at him. Gods would go to war for that smile.

“I love you, too.”

“This is gonna hurt jus’ a li’l.” He squeezed her hand, heart clenching when she nodded. And then he was sliding into her; slowly at first, then quickly when he reached her barrier. Wanted that part over fast. Wanted her to forget that he had ever caused her to hurt, even in this.

Her pained gasp tore at him, but the worst of it was over. He was inside her. God, he was inside her. Her heat was scorching him alive. Burning him in a way he had never thought to experience. She was so tight. So fucking tight—strangling him with the promise of her haven. Her warmth. Her purity. All there around him. It was like touching Heaven and living to tell the tale. Looking into her eyes, watching as her ache turned to awe, and then her face melted into a womanly moan.

“Are you all right?” he asked, nuzzling her throat reverently.

“Yes. Oh, yes. G-good. Spike, please—”

That was all the coaxing he needed. Lifting his head to kiss her, he withdrew slowly, then sank into her again. Allowing her to get a feel for the rhythm. A feel of him inside her. He moved steadily, slow strokes betraying his need. Watching her eyes sparkle to life beneath him. Trying to ignore everything else and focus on making this the most memorable night of her life.

“Christ,” he gasped. “You’re so fuckin’ tight.”

“Uhhh…”

“You feel so good.”

“You too.” Buffy arched back, clutching at his shoulders. Lifting her hips experimentally every time he withdrew. The slow slide of his flesh from hers doing him in. He had never felt anything like this. Never thought he would be able to touch such virtue without having it consume him whole.

He was being consumed now on an entirely different level. Burning him alive. Losing himself so fully he didn’t care to ever be found.

Burning him so fucking good.

“Spike…I…” She tugged him down for a kiss. “I’ve…I…”

“’S’okay, sweetheart,” he murmured, clenching her tighter with every thrust. “You’re so beautiful. You feel so wonderful. Takin’ me in. All the way in. God, you’re amazin’. All mine, right? Mine. God, Buffy, tell me you’re mine.” His mouth abandoned hers and ventured southward, drawing a rosy nipple into his mouth. “Please.”

“Spike…” She threw her head back in euphoric bliss, her inner muscles squeezing the life out of him. “Oh God, yours!”

“No one else.”

“God…no. No…no one else.”

“Bleeding fuck,’ he gasped rapturously. His thrusts remained slow. Agonizingly slow. His eyes focused on hers with every inward plunge. The feel of her juices coating his length, her pussy swallowing him over and over again. Her nails embedded in his skin. He released a trembling sigh, squeezing his eyes shut as instinct prevailed over need, and his thrusts gained momentum. He was drowning in her scent, his senses driving up at the heady gasps tumbling through her throat.

“I’ve never felt anythin’ like this,” he panted, teasing her nipple with his teeth. His other hand skated between them, found her clit and began massaging her roughly. Enjoying the widening of her eyes, the surprised moan that shot through the air. Sensory overload. He needed to bring her over the edge. She was so tight, so hot and wet, and he wasn’t going to last.

Especially with her muscles squeezing him with every thrust.

“Spike…God…”

He grinned in spite of himself, and raised his head to kiss her lips. “You can call me that, if you like.”

She scrunched up her face at him in something that was supposed to be a scowl but struck him as thoroughly adorable. Especially for the way her features dissolved in pleasure the next second. He was moving more rapidly within her now, need prevailing over all else, her muscles squeezing his cock with every plunge.

“You’re a goddess,” he told her, suckling intently at her throat. “My fiery goddess.”

“Uhhh…”

“I love you so much. Fuck, you feel so good. You’re so tight. So bloody hot.” His fingers were stroking her clit faster now. Her whimpers growing more intense, her nails digging deeper into his skin. She was close. She grew tighter and wetter with each thrust. Faster and faster until she arched back and screamed her release, her orgasm washing over him in crashing waves far from anything he had ever experienced. The full knowledge of what she had shared. What she had given him. A bloody opus as his hips surged needily into her, her explosion sending small sparks through his skin. And when he lost himself, it was the sweetest liberation he had ever known. A sodding deliverance all in itself. Her muscles milking him for everything he gave. Her eyes on his face as he shared the effects of her pleasure. Watching as he came over with her. His body moving still against hers. Taking as much as he could. Stealing as much heaven as he was allowed before the reprieve rushed back. And they were left in the aftermath of their bliss.

How long he remained within her, he knew not. It seemed forever passed. Buffy around him. Surrounding him. Her wet heat pulling him under. He did not pull away from her; wanted to keep this as long as possible. Remain buried within her as long as she permitted him. He rested his head against her shoulder, enjoyed the feel of her delicate hands sweeping artless patterns across his back. Waited for reality to return, and the effect of what they had just shared to sink in.

“Spike?”

Her voice was hoarse. He had done that to her, and the knowledge couldn’t help but fill him with male pride.

“Oh God, Buffy,” he murmured, brushing a kiss against her throat. “Please tell me you don’ regret this.”

“No. God, no. I just…” Drawing in a deep breath, he summoned the courage to look at her. Read her eyes for everything she was and was not telling him. “I just…wanted to…I love you.”

His entire body warmed with relief. “I love you, too.”

“That was…”

“Amazin’.” He nuzzled her reverentially. “Bloody amazin’.”

“Really?”

“Never felt anythin’ like that. Never.” Spike shook his head and caught her lips in a kiss. “Are you all right? Any pain?”

“A little at first, but—”

“Now?”

She smiled kindly. “No,” she replied, squeezing her inner muscles to remind him of the compromising position she had him captured in. A moan tumbled through his lips, and he thrust forward instinctively. Hard still. Her eyes widened in surprise, and he answered her tacit question with a wicked grin. As though he could be anything less around her. “Now I feel wonderful,” she gasped.

Emotion stormed him, and he pulled out a little before sliding inside again. “Jus’ wonderful?” he asked teasingly, enjoying the soft glow of her eyes as they began to move together once more. “Think we can do better than that.”

“Yes. I’m sure we can.”

“Gotta try firs’.”

“Practice makes perfect.”

Spike shook his head and kissed her, muffling a whimper into her mouth when she squeezed him a second time. “God, I love you.”

“Love you more.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Prove it.”

A wicked smile tickled her lips. And he got the distinct feeling that he had rediscovered Eden. That secret place where bliss lived unthreatened, and the worries of tomorrow could not touch them.

Tomorrow could wait. Tonight was for her. For indulging the love they had discovered.

Their night in the garden. Their night in the place where paradise lived.

Cast Me Gently Into Morning

Sunlight sprinkled into the room through thin slivers of blinds, kissing her skin sweetly in the midst of a warm rouse. Never in her life had Buffy known a morning where she felt so cherished. It was there in every pull of her being. In the way he held her, his head cradled against her stomach, his arms around her body. His steady breaths tickling her sweetly. When they had finally fallen asleep, she did not know. Only that she had never awakened with such a bubbling of pure bliss.

Nor the feel of heat flooding her cheeks, even with everything they had shared before. His body curled around hers, inside hers. She had not known what to expect, truthfully. Not with last night. With what he had given her. The gentle harmony of what they had shared, alight with passion that outmatched anything she had ever experienced, or had thought to experience. He had done things to her that she had only read about. Things she thought fiction until last night. Things that shoved the bar of their previous relationship to new heights.

She had only been awake for a few minutes when Spike shifted and yawned into her belly. And inexplicably, her body tensed with newfound bashfulness. There had been many mornings where they awoke in each other’s arms, nude, even, from a night spent exploring the many ways to achieve the type of closeness they had obtained just hours earlier without crossing that line. Oh yes, her boyfriend very much enjoyed teasing her with his hands and mouth. Just knowing what sins his fingers aroused was enough to inspire a need to confess to the nearest priest, despite her lack of faith.

Spike raised his head the next instant, smiling eyes finding hers and filling her body with warmth. “Mornin’,” he purred rakishly, rubbing his cheek against her skin.

“Hey,” she replied, berating herself for her self-consciousness as she burrowed further into the pillows. “Did you sleep well?”

He looked appalled that she would think anything less. “With you? Of course.” He released a deep breath, quirking his head at her curiously. “An’ you? Did you sleep well?”

There was an underlying question buried in his voice. Buffy sat up, allowing the girlish grin that had been itching at her mouth since last night to finally break free, dispelling all his doubts. “I slept fantastically,” she assured him, drawing him upward for a kiss. The way he melted into her was something she hoped never changed. It seemed he was always starving for her, and the notion that anyone could ever want her so much was thoroughly beyond her line of comprehension. The fact that he was with her at all, being as young as she was—as notably inexperienced as she was—shook her world in ways better left to the imagination. “No regrets, remember?”

Spike smiled brilliantly at that and kissed her again. “No regrets,” he agreed, slipping a leg over hers. “I woke half a dozen times, bloody terrified I’d dreamt last night. Had to resist the temptation to wake you up, too.”

“Thought you said you slept well.”

“Did. When I actually slept, I slept like a bloody baby.” He was swelling against her. She felt him, the hard length of him, suddenly very there and very much against her thigh. Stroking upward until he…oooh. That was very nice. When she had gotten so familiar for the feel of him massaging her senseless between her legs, she didn’t know. Only that suddenly, in the early stages of wake, the tip of his erection was nudging its way past her moist folds as his fingers excited her clit with cool expertise. “Is this all right?” he asked, voice suddenly raspy. “Don’ wanna hurt you. Last night, I kinda lost control—”

“Last night was incredible, and you know it.”

Spike smirked, cock sliding fully within her. The pleased look on his face melted into a pleasured gasp and easily marked itself down in her internal book of the top five sexiest things she had ever seen. The feel of him inside her was incredible. As though she understood every cliché she had ever heard with perfect clarity. He was stretching her until she thought she would break, but the hurt was too sweet to stop. A slow kind of death that she never wanted to forfeit.

“God, you feel so good,” he murmured reverently in her ear, pulling out just slightly before sinking again into her warmth. “Like losing myself in the sun, that’s how you feel. Soft an’ silky. My goddess.”

“Spike…”

His hands slid up her sides, cupping her breasts as she arched into him. His thrusts were slow and indulgent; his eyes glossed over as he watched her parry into his touch. “How does this feel to you?” he asked, brushing a kiss over the nape of her throat.

“Good,” she moaned, scratching at his shoulders. “So good.”

Spike smiled and laved a wet path around a nipple, his movements increasing just slightly. Touching places within her that she didn’t know existed. “Just the tip of the iceberg, sweetling,” he assured her. “It only gets better from here.”

Buffy mewled and flexed her inner muscles, grinning when he moaned again. “Better,” she agreed breathlessly. “So deep.”

“Mmmm…”

“So good.”

“Only me. I’m the only one who gets to do this.” As if threatened by the notion that she would turn him down, the ferocity behind his thrusts increased. The sound of their flesh smacking together sounded odd against a room so unused to anything intimate. Her eyes rolled up, fixed on a New Kids poster and she shuddered around him. A woman in a girl’s room, with a man that she would never let go. Mr. Gordo was on the bed with them, bouncing merrily near the foot and coming dangerously close to toppling over the edge. And Spike only had eyes for her. Slammed into her with need that had spiraled from nowhere—need that surpassed physical demands and transcended something that was still so new to her.

“Only me, Buffy,” he rasped, tugging at her earlobe with his teeth. “Say it. Please. I need you to say it.”

She whimpered softly, vaginal muscles squeezing his cock again. How could he think that she would ever let anyone else touch her like this? Would ever let another man get so close to her to even tell what shampoo scent she favored. There was no man after Spike. Not for her. This was it. She had found it at seventeen years old. Her it.

“No one else,” she replied gutturally when she felt she could. “God, you know that.”

“Bloody.” Thrust. “Right.”

“Ooohhh…”

“You drive me wild. Fuckin’ wild.” At that, he pulled out of her completely; his eyes wide and fixed on her. The tip of his erect penis deliberately brushed against her sensitive folds, gaze dancing when she gasped and tried to draw him back inside. “You undo me at a look. A sodding touch.”

“Spike!”

“Jus’ thought you needed to know it was serious.”

Buffy’s nails dug into his forearms. Stupid man-shaped man and his teasing. Her legs shot up and wound around his waist, using her leverage to flip him under her. Positioning his cock at her seeping entrance and sinking rapturously down on him again before he had the chance to react. Watching his eyes widen in surprise, then close in euphoria as a long, wrangled moan tore through his throat.

“Serious,” she replied, surprised at the conversational note in her voice when her body began moving sensually over his. “Yes, I’d say it’s very serious.” She slid down his length until her pussy was brushing against the base of his erection, their soft curls mingling together, her hands pinning his arms to the bed.

Then she enacted those muscles she had discovered the night before, and began squeezing the life out of him.

“Oh fuck.” Her hands strengthened the hold on him as he tried to sit up, his pelvis bucking into hers. “Jesus, Buffy.”

“Mmmm. Like that?”

He was going cross-eyed. “Fuck!”

“Only me, right?” She grinned and shrugged when he looked at her, perplexed. “Hey, turnabout’s fair play.”

At that, he seemed to have nothing else to do but nod. Fervently. “Only you,” he babbled, a long mewl rumbling through his mouth when she squeezed him again. Tighter. “Only you. Now an’ forever. Never anyone else. Mine. My Buffy. God, I love you.”

Her smile melted from indulgent to adoring at that, and she slowly lifted herself off him, then back down again. Regulating her rhythm against him as he had the night before. Teasingly allowing his cock to slip from her warm wetness, one leg holstered to the bed, the other around him. She navigated his belled head so that it brushed against her clit, her eyes going wide at the contact. “Oh God.”

“Oh God!” Spike agreed breathlessly, hands wrangled in her sheets. “So bloody hot. Fuck, what you do to me.”

She rubbed him against her mercilessly, eyes closed. God, where this hoe-baggery had come from, she did not know or care. All that mattered at that moment was the sensuous feel of him against her as she teased herself. “Uhhh…”

And when he spoke again, his voice was wrangled. Throaty. Pleading. “Buffy…God, please.”

Her eyes flashed open at that, and she nodded before navigating him inside her once more. Collective groans sounding through the air already heavy with their combined scents. Buffy threw her head back and began moving again slowly, her hands finding purchase at his hips, steadying as she rode him to a slow gallop. He watched her through hooded eyes; watched the slow bounce of her breasts that taunted him with their taste. Watched her face contort in ecstasy. Combed his fingers through her hair as his other hand sought out her center. Found her clit and rubbed furiously. Her gasps clawed at the room around them, and suddenly she was coming. Her hips crashing over him as she screamed his name in a twist of jubilation. Spike’s hands flew to her thighs with a grunt, propelling himself deep into her as he sputtered his release. Growling something fierce as her muscles milked him for everything he had to give her. Her name a whispered prayer on his lips.

Years later, Buffy collapsed wearily onto his chest, harsh pants clawing for freedom. She felt his heart thundering against his chest, his gasps ringing alongside hers. A hand coming up to brush her sweat-laced hair off her back. Spike held her to him in the midst of their recovery, his brow pressed against hers. Their mouths close. Breaths intermingled. Still locked in intimacy. Fastened around each other as though of the same make.

“Where,” he finally said, looking at her in awe. Long gone was the virgin he had made love to the night before. The woman astride him was completely different in a way that was both wondrous and confounding. There was no way she had learned any of those tricks from him. Not last night. “Where…did you learn that?”

And incredibly—incredibly—she blushed. “I…don’t know. I…was it okay?”

Spike blinked at her dumbly. “Okay? Sodding okay? Bloody well killed me! Fucking Christ, I never felt anythin’ like that.” He shook his head in wonder. “You’re incredible. God, I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Buffy released a trembling sigh. “I really don’t know what…I don’t know. Maybe leftovers from Halloween?” Her flush deepened and she glanced down self-consciously. “Liz…ummm…knew a few tricks. I guess I…I dunno.”

He shook his head again, brushing loose locks of hair away from her face. “Bloody amazing,” he murmured. “Fuck, I love you. Love you so much.”

“You keep saying that,” she observed, head ducking almost shyly.

“I’ll never stop sayin’ it. You’ve got yourself a willin’ slave, sweetheart. I’m putty in your hands.” He stopped, waggling his brows teasingly, thrusting his hardening cock deeper within her. “Though in your hands, I doubt anythin’ would turn to putty.”

“Uhhh…”

Spike slid his hands up her arms. “You’re tremblin’,” he mused. “My sweet girl. Is this too much?”

“No. No.” As if to berate him for thinking so, those wondrous muscles of hers wringing him in a long, agonizing squeeze. “Never too much. Uhhh…feel so good.” A whimper. “So good.”

“You too.” He hauled himself up considerately, cradling her in his arms. She was still shaking hard. Despite what she said, he knew she had to be sore. Slayer or no Slayer, her body wasn’t used to this. Not from last night or that unbelievable shag she had just shared with him. It was all new to her. These sensations. These feelings. He didn’t know how it worked with people like them; only that last night had been the best of his life. Her love, her body—knowing that she was his now…all of it. The best of his life for so many reasons. So, so many reasons. And he wasn’t about to ruin it now by exhausting her while these feelings were so fresh. When she wasn’t sure what her body was capable of. When even he wasn’t sure.

He didn’t want to push her. Didn’t want to push anything right now.

Not when this part was new to both of them.

A small murmur of complaint rumbled from her lips when he pulled out of her. “Spike?”

“Gonna draw you a bath, kitten.” He ran a tender hand up her leg, caressing her inner thigh in a way that was more sensual than it was sexual, despite all the tasty implications. “Make sure you’re not achy.”

“I’m not. I thought I might be but…Slayer strength?”

He smiled kindly and brushed a kiss over her lips. “Indulge me.”

Buffy’s eyes widened and warmed, and she did not refuse him. Could not. Merely nodded and climbed to wobbly legs. Her arms wrapped around him as he led her from her room. Stepping into the rest of the house a different girl. A woman. A woman curled in the protective embrace of the man she loved. The world being seen through new eyes.

“Would this be a co-ed bath?” she whispered as he began to draw steamy water into her previously virtuous bathtub. The same tub that looked a haven now for new explorations of the doorway he had opened the night before.

“Oh yeh.” Spike’s gaze raked over her body appreciatively, and he licked his lips. “Definitely.”

She grinned and hugged him with a note of spontaneity. “Thank you.”

“For what, sweetling?”

“Everything. Last night was perfect. And this morning…I dunno. Feels like a dream.”

An ironic smile tickled his lips, and he caressed her cheek gracefully. “Know what you mean,” he agreed. “An’ there’s one more thing.” He dipped his mouth to stroke hers into an intense kiss, tasting her fully as though he did not already have her flavor memorized. “Happy birthday.”

A pause. Then she pulled back and giggled. “God, I’d forgotten.”

“Me, too. Nearly.”

“Happy birthday, Spike.”

His smile broadened, and he nuzzled her hair with reverence. “Do I get my prezzie now?” he asked, pulling her against him. “Or later?”

“Hrm. Well…how about…the prezzie our friends don’t see now? The one that involves the bathtub.”

“There’s a prezzie that involves a bathtub, huh?”

She nodded. “I’m unpredictable.”

“Baby, you don’ have to explain that to me.” Spike smirked and shut off the water, leading her into the bath first before sinking in behind her. His arms around her waist, his persistent arousal caressing her lovely backside. “An’ the other prezzie?”

“Tonight. At the surprise party I’m not supposed to know about, where you have to pretend to like it even if you hate it.”

The thought that he could hate anything she gave him was preposterous. “I’ll love it.”

“You don’t know what it is.”

“’S from you. I’ll love it.”

“You know how lame that sounds, right?”

He shrugged. “’m a lame sort’ve bloke.” He reached for a poof ball that sat at the edge of the tub, appraising it with a cocked brow but deciding not to ask questions. “An’ you…you’ll get yours tonight, too.”

“Tonight?”

“In front of the others.” Spike grinned and sank his teeth playfully into her shoulder, prompting her to twist in his arms so that she was straddling his lap once more. “Where you have to pretend to like it even if you hate it.”

“I’ll love it.”

“How do you know?”

A pause. “It’s from you.”

“Lame.”

“Yeah. I’m lame, you’re lame. We’re all lame.” Buffy giggled, and the music behind it made his heart tighten with all those poncy notes of poetry he couldn’t help but want to sputter every time she was around. “We can be lame together,” she decided, wrapping her arms around his throat.

“There are worse things,” Spike agreed heatedly, stealing an impassioned kiss from her lips. Trying to ignore the way he was sure she was deliberately moving over his erection. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“An’ you’re doin’ that on purpose.”

Buffy smirked. “You betcha.”

“Minx.”

“Perv.”

“Kettle.”

“Pot.”

Spike curled his fingers around her hair, pulling her down for another kiss as his cock pressed against her pussy, and she sank down on him again. “Mine,” he breathed blissfully.

“Yours.”

And they settled at that. Wrapped in each other. The day singing its morning song around them.

Today. Just one day locked in rapture. One day to explore the feelings and vibrations claimed the night before.

Just one day.

It wasn’t too much to ask.

Drusilla’s wails finally subsided with the coming of dawn, and she fell into a deep sleep, curled snugly into Penn’s side. He had promised her when the pain was at its peak that he would stay with her, but couldn’t abide her whining any longer. Damn woman was giving him a headache, and there was too much to address. Angelus’s coming out party had not gone as he had envisioned. There were no bodies littering the floors of Sunnydale High. The Slayers they had aimed to kill and be finished with were probably screwing each other’s brains out. By their scent the night before, he knew their prelude to the mating dance had all but ended. It had been tempting, though more so for Angelus, he imagined, to soil the slip of a girl before the other could have a go at her.

For what she had done to Drusilla, she would suffer as none ever had.

“I don’t remember you caring this much for her back in the day,” Angelus drawled as he strolled luxuriously into their chamber. “Seems to me you offered to compensate me richly if I took her off your hands every now and then.”

Penn snickered bitterly and wiped his mouth. “Wanna hear something just as funny? Don’t recall you complaining. You always enjoyed her more than I did.”

“And yet, I’m not the one coddling her now.” His sire shrugged easily, collapsing into the nearest chair and kicking his feet up in a manner of subtle impertinence for everything his childe had claimed. The gesture was not lost on Penn, and he had all but forgotten how much the little things like that could irritate him. “Dru’s had worse. More over, she typically enjoys it. Bend over now and you’ll never have any self-respect.”

“This coming from the eater of rats? I’ve been with her for a century and a half. I know how to take care of her.”

“A hundred and fifty years. Wow. Now there’s something to be proud of.” Angelus rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Dru was never monogamous, my boy. And neither were you, come to think of it. Suddenly Daddy’s back and you’re building a fortress around her. What gives?”

“Not suddenly. You don’t think I know she’s yours? I knew that in bringing you back, which—by the way—you’re welcome.” A pause. “Dru likes playing with stakes, I’ll grant you, but she never has had the pleasure of actually feeling one. I’m thinking your girlfriend’s stunt last night opened her up to more than she was ready for.” Penn’s eyes narrowed at that and he clapped his hands together, bounding to his feet. “Speaking of which, I can’t help but notice that she isn’t dead yet.”

Angelus cocked a brow. “Oh come on. You know me better than that.”

“Well, how about this. Neither is that mockery of existence. You know, the one you were gonna leave on her doorstep, preferably mutilated beyond recognition?”

Another easy shrug. “Things change.”

“Yeah, well, things change back. Why don’t you do something about that?”

“The girl got in my way, Penny. It’s no fun to kill them right in front of each other. So already been there, done that.” He shot a pointed look in Drusilla’s direction. “With this one, it’s the aftertaste you have to savor. Killing him when she half expected it? Not so much with the creativity. Killing him, oh say, when she’s blissfully happy? Sure nothing can touch her? Not looking for me around every corner? Has a bit more impact, I’d say.”

Penn glared at him. “Yeah, impact. Feeling it. How about we lose the impact, and just kill the kids? Forever’s a long time to live while relishing in the destruction of two measly Slayers, Angelus. How about this…you focus on Buffy, Dru and I will have fun with the other one.”

The elder vampire regarded him quietly. As though he had said something particularly dangerous. “You certainly are taking initiative,” he said. “There was a time when my word was as good as the word of God. And, you being a Puritan and all…”

“One time. Not anymore. You haven’t been head vamp around here for a while, Angelus. And me and Dru? Not so sure your heart’s in this.” Penn shook his head in disgust. “See what having a soul does to you? Building excuses like this won’t get anything done. I thought I’d take care of those Slayers before we brought you back. They weren’t what I was after. Guess what. That’s changed. And you’re gonna like it, or we’ll stuff that soul back up your ungrateful ass and stake you before you can start weeping your amends.”

Angelus looked at him as though he had said something highly entertaining. “Well, well, well,” he mused. “Someone became a man while I was away.”

“You think I’m not good for it?”

“No, I think you are, and that’s what’s so funny.”

Penn snickered. “Yeah. Eat it up all you like. Just remember, you made me into you. All your tricks? All those moves you think are so unpredictable? Know them. Know them and well. We’re gonna do this my way, or we’re not doing it at all. Got it?”

His sire extended his hands diplomatically, shrugging. “You’re the boss.”

It was a tone that carried everything but sincerity. And they both knew it.

Such had been this way between them for centuries. This way, or some form of it. And what was more; Penn had known it when he arrived. When Drusilla first presented the idea of bringing their sire back into this. In dragging Angelus out of the baby-faced package he came in. He had known it, but he hadn’t cared.

Beneath that, there was respect. Respect that the elder vampire had never had for any of his childer. Respect he would never confess. Especially now, torn away from his crucifix and back into the body he was meant for.

None of the rest mattered. They had Slayers to kill.

He had always wondered what it would be like to taste one. Just once. And now he had his chance.

Provided his sire didn’t get in the way.

Starving For Mercy

Two long weeks had passed, and nothing.

Only there wasn’t truly nothing. Not where Angelus was concerned. And there was no end to the string of lackeys the legendary vampire procured. The dead were mounting, more and more that the Slayers had to put down. Such to the point where days were lost to sleep, school missed for the need of rest in preparation for that night’s patrol.

Of course, Joyce knew none of this. It was at Giles’s urging. Angelus’s reemergence had brought several seemingly unrelated issues into the limelight. Spike moved into his Watcher’s house the day after their birthday celebration, and it was decided after this mess with the vampires was over that he would take up employment in the Sunnydale High library. Something that satisfied everyone for practicality. A Slayer with his Watcher all day, and conveniently near the other Slayer to steal away for passionate trysts.

For now, though, with the graveyards crawling with vampires—not to mention the regular assortment of demons that they faced—Buffy and Spike had wasted away days sleeping in each other’s arms. Giles provided a cover for Snyder, despite the weasel of a principal’s outlook, and so they rested.

Which in itself presented a minor problem. After five days of consecutive absences, the school had finally phoned home to inform Joyce that Buffy had not touched school ground in over a week. Furthermore, the librarian, who really had no authority in issues involving student attendance, thus far had accounted for the matter. Offered slips to the office in explanation for her daughter’s conspicuous nonappearance in every class.

It didn’t much help when Buffy phoned home to remind her mother to sign her midterm report, and by the magic of the Caller ID, was found out to be at Giles’s flat.

The fact that she was there with her boyfriend was immaterial. Logic flown out the window, both by motherly concerns and the prompting insinuations of Principal Snyder, Joyce stormed to Sunnydale High on a particularly cloudy afternoon and found the man in question dusting some covers in the abandoned library.

Giles glanced up in surprise. It being during class and habit telling him that none of his makeshift demon hunters had a free period right now, the presence of someone in the library was a little daunting. True, Spike had phoned earlier to inform him that he and Buffy had awaken and were on their way to talk about that night’s patrol strategy, but he knew by now that ‘on their way’ likely meant anywhere between now and the next two hours. It had become rather impossible to ignore the very real sex life his surrogate daughter had discovered since the new Slayer had started taking residence in his home.

He tried to make peace with that by convincing himself that since it was prophesized, interfering wasn’t in anyone’s best interest.

Though Buffy was the closest thing to a daughter he would ever have—the looks the two shared when they thought no one was paying attention were more than he ever wanted to consider. He took some refuge at least in Spike’s consideration; to his knowledge, nothing inappropriate had been done in his house. With as fatigued as the two were from nightly patrols, sleep was the only thing they could accomplish in the day.

Again, or so he tried to convince himself.

That did not account for the presence of a very livid Joyce Summers in his library.

“Mrs. Summers,” he said diplomatically, flashing a welcoming smile as he set his feather duster aside. “What can I do for you?”

The woman was not in a mood for diplomacy. Had it not been evident on her face, he certainly knew it for what she said next. Ire mounting and all, the implication in itself enough to make his stomach curl in revulsion.

“Are you sleeping with my daughter?”

Giles squeaked and fell abruptly to the ground, his mind suddenly filled with both astonishment and a foray of things he needed a demon’s help to banish. Where on earth had she ever received such a disgusting, hideous, absurd notion?

The next minute, he was on his feet again, glasses swimming in handkerchief.

“Wh—pardon?”

“My daughter. Buffy. She talks about you a lot. More so than any of her teachers, whom I know she is required to see by law every day. Speaking of which, she hasn’t been here for a week. And it’s you who has signed her out of class. Every class. Every day.” Joyce was fuming, hell-bent on his guilt. God, the look in her eyes was enough to make him doubt his innocence. All at once, he felt very, very unclean. “But the real kicker? She called to remind me to sign something earlier today. And she was at your house.”

“I…I…Good God, that is just appalling!” He would need new lenses for his glasses if he didn’t set them aside. “Mrs. Summers, I assure you, Buffy is like a daughter to me. I would never—”

“Am I to assume there’s a perfectly logical explanation?”

“Yes. Yes! Of course.” Oh thank God. If ever there was a day for the two to be prompt, it was today. And prompt they were. Buffy and Spike strode through the library doors the next second, and relief rolled off his shoulders, sweet as any he had ever tasted.

“Mom?”

“Buffy, tell your mother we are not sleeping together.”

The Slayers stopped in their tracks, their faces scrunched up in mutual disgust.

“Okay, how many times can I say ewww?”

“Not enough,” Giles readily added. “In fact, just stand there and say ‘ewww’ for an hour or so. That’s your exercise for the day.”

Joyce’s determination wavered at that, her eyes settled on Spike. “Oh. Oh. Right. The boyfriend.” She shook her head. “Who’s Mr. Giles’s son.”

Giles’s gaze widened at that, but one look at his Slayers was more than enough convincing he needed to go on. Better she think Spike was his son than something lewd and awful and disgusting and there just weren’t enough synonyms to describe with Buffy.

His housemate smiled awkwardly at Buffy’s mother and waved a little. “’Lo, Joyce,” he said, tense. For as innocent as Giles was, he knew damn well his—erm— son was not. “Doin’ all right?”

Thankfully, he went ignored.

“Well…” The woman was thoroughly confused. “I don’t understand. Principal Snyder said that Mr. Giles had been signing her out of classes. And he…well, he made some suggestions that…” She shook her head. “Okay, I’m sorry. I lost my head a little. But that still doesn’t explain why you’ve been excusing her from class.”

No. No, it did not.

But something else did. And it was beyond time that she was told. If not for her safety now in a time where three very dangerous vampires with vendettas were loose in town, then to avoid a situation like this for the rest of eternity.

The visuals her accusations had spurned would need to be burned from his retina.

“Ummm…please sit down,” Giles said awkwardly, motioning to Buffy and Spike in a manner that he hoped conveyed what they needed to do. Now more than ever.

And so they had sat down and come clean. There. That afternoon. Giles and his Slayers, and Joyce.

Two days had since passed. Joyce was coming to terms slowly, which was progress from the mess she had made of it when the words ‘vampire slayer’ tumbled carelessly from his lips. It had taken some convincing to be considered seriously, and it was not all for naught. She now knew that her daughter was a Slayer as was Spike, and that, no, he was not related to Giles in any way. He was, however, staying with him indefinitely. And Giles was their Watcher, and that was why Buffy spent so much time with him.

More importantly, she knew that Angel was a vampire. A recently turned evil vampire. And to never be outside after dark. Ever.

She also knew why Buffy was missing school. And after the initial period of motherly objection and a long, tedious explanation as to the virtues of saving the world above an education from Sunnydale High, she agreed to start making the calls herself. On the provision that Buffy would ask Willow to help her through makeup work…and that she stay at home to sleep rather than going to Giles’s house where she would be unsupervised all day with her boyfriend.

If the understanding woman had noticed the dueled embarrassed looks that refused to dart anywhere near her proximity at the hint of what they might do together, she didn’t say a word.

That Friday morning before she left for work, Joyce left some money on Buffy’s nightstand with a note that she should treat herself to lunch whenever she awoke. Then she brushed her hair out of her face, kissed her forehead, and went out to face the day.

And no sooner had the front door closed, the Slayer’s eyes popped open. She listened for a moment to make sure her mother hadn’t forgotten anything, then crawled over to unlatch the window when she was satisfied. As she had suspected, Spike was there, smiling drowsily against the light of a fresh day.

“Mornin’ sweetheart,” he greeted sleepily, meeting her lips for a quick kiss. “Mum away?”

Buffy grinned as his arms came around her. “As always,” she agreed, equally exhausted. “Did you get to talk to Giles?”

“He was gone by the time my alarm clock went off. ‘S not like we have anythin’ to report.”

Her drowsy eyes sparkled. “You know, sweetie, I love having you here, but if you wanted to stay back at Giles’s, I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

Spike shook his head, catching the boxers he had lent her forever ago as she tossed them in his direction. Since her mother’s declaration that staying unsupervised at Giles’s was a no-no, they had taken to relocating at her house. She hadn’t known he was going to take that measure; had merely stirred the day before at the sound of him rasping at her window. She had smiled knowingly and risen from sleep, let him in, and then fallen again onto bed, dozing the day away. “Can’t sleep without you,” he replied, slipping into the boxers, his jeans pooled on the floor. “Not well.”

“Me, either. Just wanted to let you know that it wasn’t necessary if you didn’t want to.”

He flashed a tired grin and shook his head. “I’ll always want to be near you, baby. Now get to sleep. You had a busy night.”

“Mmm,” she agreed as they settled back onto her bed. His chest pressed to her back, an arm draped protectively over her waist. “You, too.”

Spike murmured something she couldn’t decipher and pressed a kiss against her throat, nuzzling her hair adoringly. “Goodnight.”

Buffy cuddled against him, happy. “’Night.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

And they slept.

It had started innocently enough. Drusilla wandering aimlessly in the foyer of the factory, a dazed look on her face. Angelus was no stranger to her bizarre mood swings. Rather, in the early days of their acquaintance, it was what had drawn him to her. And truthfully, it had seemed harmless begin with. Singing in the imaginary sunlight, twirling around vampire lackeys that now knew better than to ask questions about their bizarre mistress.

When she had gasped, though, in that fashion that always foretold a vision, the entire house had stilled with foreboding.

“Tick tock,” she had moaned. “Tick tock, tick tock. The little gypsy has the clock. Come for you, come for you, and bring our family back to two.” She had glanced up, horror flashed across her eyes. “She’s going to do it, my sweet. She’s going to move heaven and earth and bury you back into ground.”

“Gypsy?” he had snarled. “Now, now, Dru. I don’t care for that kind of language in my house.”

“Nasty girl. Swimming in science and equations. Picking them out like strawberries. Giving crackers to all the acrobats and leaving no crumbs for the kittens.”

It didn’t take much to patch through her riddles, and really, this conclusion had always been inevitable. With one such as Buffy, parlor stunts were called upon with unhealthy dependability. The presumptions alone were almost too infuriating for words…which brought them where they were. Penn had taken the threat seriously; he had gone to great extents to get his sire back. And there was no way the family would allow some two-bit trick reensoul him, regardless of their very notable differences.

The Slayers themselves were out. Angelus had made sure of that. With as busy as he had kept the little darlings these past two weeks, there was some measure of reassurance that they would get right to patrol without asking questions. Without coming by the library first.

Which really? Fantastic. The little runt was working from her desk, like all naïve humans would. What honestly kept her from taking her precious word processor home? Not that it was of any consequence, or anything. He was going to kill her dead either way.

Well…he supposed Penn could try and tag along. Really, the boy was getting on his nerves. That was the chance one took when you made a protégé to be exactly like oneself. And with as grateful as he was, killing the whelp was out of the question. Penn was family: straight from the horse’s mouth. He was family, and he had been the head of the house for a century. It really wasn’t his fault that he naturally assumed that role would remain his once he had his way.

That they would have to deal with later.

Right now, he had a teacher to kill.

Blood straight from the tap was delicious. Blood from those who thought they knew you? Priceless. The cunting gypsy was currently typing away in the dark of her classroom. She hadn’t even noticed him slip in.

Not that anyone noticed Angelus when he didn’t want to be seen. The sheer capacity of foolishness among humans, though, was something he would never cease to call upon for matters of amusement.

A notion that only increased when she finally noticed that she wasn’t alone, screamed, and jumped out of her chair. Moving predictably toward the door. As though he would let her out. “Angel…” she said, the sound of his humanized name on her lips inciting a small growl. Another shortcoming of humanity; they simply didn’t know how to tell oranges from apples. “How did you get in here?”

Well, first off, schools? Not exactly vampire proof.

He would give her the stupid answer. It was more appeasing in the mind. After all, the poor dear was about to be torn limb from limb. Might as well relax her confusion. Manners first.

“I was invited,” he replied nonchalantly. “The sign in front of the school. Formatia trans sicere educatorum.”

“Enter all ye who seek knowledge.”

For fuck’s sake, when did everyone in town become a Latin scholar?

“What can I say?” He leapt up and began toward her. “I’m a knowledge seeker.”

Predictably, Jenny gasped and edged back even further. Her eyes wide and pleading, even as her voice attempted to remain calm. Points for creativity, but she wasn’t going to get very far. “Angel. I-I-I’ve got good news.”

“I’ve heard. You went shopping at the local boogedy-boogedy store.” He grinned unrepentantly at the look on her face, scooping up the paper-weight-like object resting on her desk. “The Orb of Thesula. If memory serves, this is supposed to summon a person’s soul…from the ether…store it until it can be transferred.”

As though inspired by his words, the small sphere sparked to life. Jenny was still backing up. Banking on speed and agility to save her from the claws of Heaven’s rejected angel. It was a sweet thought, really. The chase was what he craved. The chase in the midst of all else. “You know what I hate most about these things?” A scream tore through the air as the orb soared into the chalkboard behind her, shattering brilliantly as tiny, lost pieces scattered to the floor. “They’re so damn fragile. Must be that shoddy gypsy craftsmanship, huh?”

“I’d certainly agree.” That was Penn. In from the other door. Angelus smiled but didn’t turn to him, kept his eyes directly on the teacher. Even so, he felt his childe moving forward, evidently in even poorer spirits than himself. “’Course, the art of soulling and reensouling is sort’ve something I wouldn’t leave to gypsies anyway. They’re almost certain to fuck something up.”

“Such a mouth,” the elder vampire chided, shaking his head with fake apology. “His mother never taught him any manners.”

“No she did. Must be that rotten religious upbringing,” Penn retorted, stepping forward. “Guess I never outgrew that pesky teenage rebellion thing. Though really, was well above a teenager when I died.”

That was it. Jenny was about to make an honest attempt at the door. Not that she would get far. Two vampires in the room, and an equally irate Drusilla outside. The poor woman was just, well, in a word, screwed.

“Wouldn’t try that,” Angelus warned, not quick enough to drown out her shrill scream at the sight of yet another demon crowding her exit. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Angel—”

He shook his head, walking her slowly into the far corner by the window as Drusilla entered the room. Now with two childer on either side, targeting prey in the midst of darkness she had never attempted to alleviate. “Now, now, Jenny,” he said softly. “Let’s not call each other names.”

Her eyes widened as his face shifted, a silent scream frozen in her throat.

A silent scream that never knew life, which was a little disappointing. He would admit that much.

He enjoyed it so when they screamed.

If he were one to look at results based on patterns, Buffy and Spike’s patrol would consist of another traffic jam of demon attacks. They were beginning to slip from the habit of reporting in at the end of the night. Not that there was really any motivation for panicked concern—not yet. Despite the severity of the looming conditions, he trusted that together, the two Slayers were practically unstoppable. The way they looked out for each other was more than simply a little uncanny. Such to the point that the days before Spike’s arrival were shady and misleading. His memories seemed to be rewriting themselves.

He couldn’t remember what that time must have been like. A time filled with endless worry and late nights, dreading the conversation that Watchers had had with parents of dead children since time began. And granted, he wasn’t so settled that the notion did not remain front and center; just that Spike was with her now.

He was far too protective of her to let her go.

Giles knew well the feeling.

He was in a really fantastic mood, and the knowledge astounded him. There was every possibility that Angelus and Penn and the others were plotting something terrible. Something horrible that might even range on the scale of apocalyptic, but everything aside seemed to be falling into place. Joyce now knew that her daughter was the Slayer; knew about the creatures that went bump in the night. Knew everything. And all things considered, she had taken the revelation with surprising understanding.

As it was, he had some researching he wanted to further. Thus far, none of his books had stated that Penn had any particular hunting patterns…but there were a thousand texts out there. A thousand places in his own library left to search, and a wealth of knowledge he couldn’t even begin to comprehend should he contact the Council. Regardless, they would have everything they needed in due course.

Bringing in the Council now would just make things messier. He wasn’t ready for that. Wasn’t ready to say he didn’t trust his Slayers to get the job done, because he did. He very much did. They were nothing if not efficient.

Though tonight, the rules would change. Everything would change.

The weight of Giles’s merriment dropped the second he crossed the threshold into the Sunnydale High library. He knew it before he saw it. A sort of premonition that slammed into him just seconds before his eyes fell upon her lifeless face. Then everything else was gone. Dropped. Snapped. Vanished. Coldness filled his body, and his books tumbled to the floor.

“Oh God.”

It was a cosmic reminder to never underestimate how quickly the world could fall to pieces. The next few hours demonstrated that sentiment with perfect clarity, and left the realm of rationalization somewhere in the wastelands of neglect. Somewhere between police reports and phone calls to those he knew and loved, Giles had snapped and flown off the deep end to the place the sane never came back from.

A reasoning with Buffy and Spike as they studied the scene at the library. Not listening to the prattle of Xander and Willow behind them. There was only one conclusion to draw. Weapons were gone, yes, but he would have gone home. The better weapons—the weapons reserved for situations where the world was ending…that’s where he kept those.

Not at the library. Not where just anyone could find them.

The Slayers had glanced grimly to each other, turned, and walked out as Harris went on about Angel and how no one had killed him yet. Seeming to ignore the fact that they had been looking for him avidly every night for two weeks to little avail. Whatever the master vampire had planned, it definitely fell outside the territory of his typical modus operandi.

But Angel knew them. He knew where to twist the knife. And he had murdered Jenny Calendar. Murdered her; that was Angel. He had done that. She knew it. But there were too many signatures here. Her body was displayed in an upside down cross, pinned into the wall at the far side of the library. That was Penn. She knew that, too. Didn’t know how she knew, but she did. Jenny’s eyes were scratched over as well. Nails. Female. Drusilla.

There was a pile of books beneath her body. Pages open to historical accounts of hunting patterns of Angelus, particularly when he was unaccompanied by his childe. They were saturated in blood.

That…that was Angelus.

And Giles had seen it. Giles had found her.

At the Watcher’s house, they found a small ritual that Willow identified as a location spell. Something that none had thought of prior to tonight.

They had a location now. A place to go.

A place where Giles had gone.

He was going to get himself killed.

It was not good to distract a man facing three dangerous vampires and surrounded in a foyer that was slowly being swallowed by the flames of a climbing inferno. Really, Buffy didn’t know what she was thinking. All she knew was her Watcher had trapped himself in a death pit and for the look on his face, she didn’t know whether or not he cared.

That thought alone was what terrified her most of all.

Particularly when Penn seized the opportunity to leap at him, fangs bared.

“Giles!”

Stop. Doing. That.

The next thing she knew, Spike was no longer at her side. A flash of platinum blonde hair and he was gone, lunging himself at Angelus, who looked more amused if not a little scathed from the old man’s failed attack. Buffy expelled a deep breath, cursing herself for the way her eyes watered.

She didn’t even really know how she got to him. One minute, she was standing at the entryway, stupidly still, her muscles evidently forgetting that they served a purpose and had been known to move on occasion; the next, she had propelled herself against the room. Twisting the snarling bastard away from her Watcher, regarding him with as much hatred as she had ever felt for a vampire when his golden gaze settled on her. Amused. Dismissive. “Well,” he drawled nastily. “Looks like someone’s finally getting serious.”

Once again she felt a familiar stirring in the bottom of her stomach. Her eyes fixed on the vampire in front of her. Watching him as he watched her. Watching him as the fire spread through the factory and everyone with any sense about them scattered. Flew out any exit available. She could see Spike and Angel throwing and blocking punches behind him. Her grip around her stake tightened, and she knew then that there would be no victory here today. Not from Penn or Angel. No victory.

She had to get them out.

More over, she had to make them hurt. A lot.

Thus, with precision she knew inherently to be accurate, Buffy hurled herself into the air and twirled, the stake launching from her grasp. It spun in slow motion, gravity tugging her back to the earth. Back to the room filled with fire. Back to where the vampires were.

Back, watching in triumph as Drusilla’s eyes went wide, the stake lodged securely in her heart. She barely got to scream. Barely sounded a cry before her skin peeled off into clumps of dust, rotting away as her corpse was robbed of animation. Watching the greedy flames claim her in their name.

The inhuman scream that tore from Penn’s throat was only outmatched by the fury she saw in Angel’s eyes. Still airborne—still in slow motion. Similarly, she saw Spike lunge at the eldest of the vampires, tugging him back into their struggle before he advanced even two paces.

Her return to the ground came hours later, it seemed. Hours after Drusilla had vanished. Hours after that horrible cry had erupted from Penn’s tortured mouth. Even as it rang around them still, it remained beyond the sphere of believability. She landed harshly on her feet, automatically reaching for her other stake, sensing the scorned lover’s attack without having to rely on any of her predatory skills. It was just known. Just accepted.

The fire was growing thicker around them.

“I’m going to make you wish you were never born,” the vampire spat, eyes gleaming.

The line itself was cliché, but she saw that he meant it. If it reduced him to dust, he was determined to see her curse her own existence before he ended it. And that, perhaps, was the single most frightening instant of her life. Standing there as hell burned down around them, a bereaved vampire fueled with rage; she was his target. His reason.

He would see her dead. He would put her in the ground before making her beg for it.

If she let him. And she would not let him.

The next thing she knew, Penn’s body lurched upward, his slamming against the nearest wall. She started in twisted astonishment, relief consuming her when she saw Spike standing behind him. His ocean-blue gaze filled with the most gut-wrenching sorrow she had ever seen, tied in there with the same in concern and relief. He released a breath and rushed for her, seizing her hand.

“We gotta get outta here.”

“Giles?”

“Outside. I made sure he got out.”

“Angel?”

“Don’ know. Don’ fuckin’ care.”

Buffy didn’t realize how badly she had needed to breathe until Spike gave her back the night. She choked on clean air until she thought perhaps it would kill her. Then her eyes fell on Giles, sitting at the edge of the pavement, his expression vacant. His mind far from them.

God, she wanted to be so mad at him. What would have happened if they hadn’t come here tonight? What would have happened?

There were two men in the world that she couldn’t live without, and they were both with her right now. Standing with her. Spike holding her hand tight enough to hurt anyone of lesser strength. Panting harshly enough that she nearly didn’t notice the building behind them collapsing under the weight of its firestorm.

“Giles?”

She didn’t recognize the sound of her own voice.

He glanced up dimly, looking at her as though he had no idea who she was or why she would know his name. “You should not have come here,” he said softly. “Not your fight.”

“It’s always my fight.” Though it killed her, she tore away from Spike and knelt beside her broken Watcher, face crumpling at the lost void behind his eyes. And it was as though her tears were all that he needed to rupture himself. Father and daughter, comforting in the midst of their wracking fears.

She felt Spike behind her just before he joined her on the ground, his arms trembling and around her. Protective. She felt the dampness of his tears against her back, and her body shook with the tenfold of that knowledge.

Then they were holding each other. The three of them. Next to a building that burned.

Held each other as the sky came tumbling down.

 

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