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.

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20]

*~*~*

 When The Road Gets Dark

Buffy would never forget the day of Jenny’s funeral. It was the first she had been to, the first time someone close had died. The first time the strain of mortality was brought front and center. Sure, there had been assorted instances in the past; her mother reminded her that her grandmother had passed when she was five, and that distant uncle that she had never met succumbed to liver disease just before they moved to Sunnydale. People she knew by blood but didn’t care about. Had no past full of memories to share with those she loved.

The hollow ground of the Hellmouth was home to many—death had simply never seemed real until now. Until she was standing at Spike’s side, the sky predictably overcast, watching her teacher’s lifeless face as she was given to the earth that had killed her.

Death was made real that day.

They had lost someone they loved.

Weeks had passed since then. Since that horrible afternoon when she watched her Watcher cry in the daylight. He didn’t break down as she would have expected of him; rather, silent tears had danced down his cheeks. Nearly stoic. He didn’t look at her. Didn’t meet Spike’s eyes. He gave his eulogy and left. As though they had buried him with her, and left his body above to fulfill his duty.

Patrols had slowed again, and that thought terrified her. Buffy found her nights lonely and dark. She talked with Spike on the phone and saw him when she could, but aside for their sweeps of the cemeteries and whatever training sessions Giles set up for them, she hadn’t wrangled away time to simply be with him. He wasn’t too thrilled with the notion of leaving their Watcher alone when he was breaking, though the looks he sent her when they were in the same room read for all the pangs of longing that she felt pulling at her stomach.

Death had brought them closer together even as circumstances forced them apart. It wasn’t anyone’s fault; she could go to Giles’s if she wanted, but she didn’t want to disrespect him by making out with her boyfriend right under his nose…or other things. She also agreed with Spike’s observation that leaving the man alone was one of the dumber things they could do now.

Penn wasn’t dead. She was almost certain he wasn’t dead. There was no way he would allow himself to be taken down so quickly. Angelus wasn’t dead, either. The factory was in ruins, yes, but they had both gotten out. One with the help of the other. And the thought of what they would do when they were strong enough—the retaliation for killing Drusilla that they would enact—only strengthened Buffy’s resolve to have it over with.

Killing Angelus wouldn’t be enough. He needed to be eradicated completely from their lives. His memory erased, the Aurelius lineage reduced to nothing but dust. For what he had done to Giles, there would be no mercy. No point of reckoning. She didn’t care how it happened or when; only that he would be dust. She would do that for him.

It didn’t help that Sunnydale High was preparing to throw a Sadie Hawkins dance—some stupid thing where the girls were supposed to ask the guys out and pay for them and everything. That sort of precursor to Valentine’s Day that seemed far too premature to establish now. Then again, she remembered Christmas parades in the early weeks of November back in Los Angeles. The actual holiday was still a ways off, but the dance designated to be in its honor was booked for that weekend, and she didn’t know how to feel about that.

Well, beneath the surface she did. She very much did. After so much time of obligatory distance apart, she wanted to burrow herself in Spike’s arms and forget all the bad that had happened since they explored their feelings on a night that seemed so long ago. She missed him. His companionship. The way he made her feel better with simply by being there. With his arms around her. The subtle touches he stole when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. The way he nuzzled her hair and kissed her forehead simply because he wanted to.

Which was why she decided to bring up the dance as soon as possible. It was more likely that Spike’s views on high school dances were similar to her own, but still, it was nice to go somewhere and dance away tension, especially if you had your honey at your side. Besides…sweetheart dance. He was her sweetheart, and Willow was going with Oz and Xander was going stag. Her friends were going. She didn’t see why she couldn’t.

Or why Spike couldn’t be her date.

That was one good thing that the weeks had brought on. Willow and Oz. The cuteness that was Willow and Oz. Ever since her birthday party, the two had been nearly inseparable. She was happy for her friend beyond words…and very much of the pleased that her advice had been taken. The two were adorable beyond adorable. So adorable it would’ve made her writhe with envy had she not a hot Slayer-shaped boyfriend who reduced her to liquid heat with a look.

“You’re droppin’ your shoulder,” Spike said, jarring her from her reverie. They had been sparring for the past half-hour, waiting for Giles to show but secretly hoping he wouldn’t. With as awful as it was, the Watcher was coming out of his loss slowly. Buffy just didn’t want a reason to feel guilty for being in love today. “Sweetheart, we’ve talked about this.”

“Maybe my shoulder works better when dropped.”

“Yeh. Certainly turned out well for that Ryzorjk demon we ran into earlier this week, right?”

“I knew that one was going to come back to haunt me.”

“Well, if you hadn’t dropped your shoulder then, we wouldn’t be havin’ this conversation.” Spike grinned rakishly at her, tossing her the staff she had dropped in lieu of his attack. “Come on. Again.”

“Mr. Drill Sergeant.”

“Baby, I’ll drill into you anytime you’d like.” He waggled his eyebrows, and she felt a familiar flush warm her cheeks. Even now, after everything, he still had the ability to embarrass her profusely and make her love every second of it.

Still, material point, here.

“Not of late,” Buffy replied, pouting.

“My girl’s feelin’ neglected,” he replied, sighing. “Sorry, sweetling. You know how much bein’ away from you has killed me. I jus’…” He licked his lips and glanced down. “I don’ know how to…be around him when he’s so bloody miserable an’ I’m so happy, you know? An’ then I think of what I would’ve done if it had been you an’ I…” A shadow crossed his eyes. Dark. Dangerous. And did she mention hot? It was definitely hot. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

“Been goin’ outta my mind. ‘S jus’…Rupert…” He shook his head and cast a hand through his platinum locks. “I don’ know how to be around him anymore. How to be a bloke who’s…I can’t imagine what he’s goin’ through. But at the same time, it makes me wanna take you some place an’ shag you silly to reassure myself that you’re still here.”

Buffy licked her lips and set her staff aside. “Well…your idea doesn’t sound too bad,” she offered gently.

He smirked. “Doesn’, does it?” A pause; his eyes fell to the ground, confidence evaporating. “Feels like it’s been forever since I touched you. Believe me, baby, this hasn’t been easy for me. Have to bloody well nail myself to the ground every time we get back jus’ so I don’ drag you off to the nearest dark corner.”

“Well…did you…we could…there’s this thing at the end of the week. Didn’t know if you’d heard or—”

“The Sadie Hawkins thing,” he replied with an enthusiastic nod. “Bloody flyers all over the sodding building, luv. Kinda hard to miss.”

She scowled. “Well, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well, I was under the impression that chits ask the blokes out to this thing, right?” He grinned and began toward her predatorily. “Been waitin’ for you to ask me for the past two bloody weeks.”

Suddenly, talking was something that required a manual. God, he could reduce her to nothing so effortlessly. “H-have you?”

“Imagine how many offers from very willin’ girls I had to refuse?”

The idea of any female of any species going near him was enough to have her hissing and clawing at the suspected culprits. “Spike…”

He chuckled, against her now, and nuzzled her hair. Mmm…swoonage. “You’re adorable when you’re jealous,” he murmured. “’Specially since the idea of another girl’s almost as repellant to me as it is to you.”

“Almost?”

“Buffy, I love you so much I’d move the heaven an’ earth to keep you. You know this.”

More swoonage.

Her flush deepened, and she glanced down almost shyly. “Yeah…”

Spike brushed a kiss across her forehead. “We gotta date then? This thing?”

“Better believe it. Tell your admirers to back the hell off or else your girlfriend’s likely to open up one of those cans labeled ‘ass-kicking.’”

“Don’ have any admirers, sweetheart.”

“You’re gorgeous, you’re British, you’re here all the time…I’d say you have an admirer or two.”

He shrugged easily. “If I do, haven’t noticed. ‘Sides, you can’t tell me you don’ get leered at by every soddin’ male within a fifty mile radius.”

“Well…”

“See? If there’s anyone to worry here, ‘s me. What, with how neglected you’ve been feelin’ lately—”

Buffy rolled her eyes, wrapping her arms around his throat. “I’m kind’ve a social outcast.”

“And? Your classmates still have eyes, don’ they?”

“Plus with the being crazy in love with you and everything…”

“See, you should mention that part more often.” Spike grinned as his mouth dipped to capture hers. The feel of his lips moving against her was almost more than she could take. Just that. The simple sensation of being kissed by the man she loved. Not that the past few weeks had been without their kisses, but this one was more like the kisses she has grown to cherish. That lusty where’s-the-nearest-broom-closet kissage that he wrapped her in so effortlessly.

His tongue stroking hers; yeah, this was the good stuff. She’d missed this.

Badly.

“Mmm…” Spike mused, pulling away before the taste of each other could send their frustrated hormones into even more of a frenzy. “This mean I’ll get to see you in a li’l black dress?”

“You want me in a little black dress?”

“I want you on top of the counter an’ squeezin’ me till I pop, but I’m willin’ to settle.” Spike’s eyes twinkled as she was sure her blush deepened. “So…li’l black dress, or are you gonna surprise me?”

“Well, since it’s the week before, I guess I’ll get whatever’s left.”

“You’ll look gorgeous.”

“Uh huh. Think happy thoughts.”

“Impossible not to,” he assured her, kissing the corner of her mouth in a manner that struck her as unexpectedly intimate. Every touch from him was intimate in its own way, of course. He was just a pro at surprising her. “So…’s this thing a formal?”

“Translation: ‘Do I have to wear a bleedin’ tux?’”

Spike winced. “Maybe not in that accent.”

“My accent’s fine, thank you.”

A sigh rolled off his shoulders and he retrieved her staff. “Again, one of those things I’ll let you believe ‘cause you’re the light in my dreary li’l life an’ I adore every inch of your badly-accented self.”

“Hey!”

“Well, when you try to pass for British, you’re badly accented.” He grinned. “’S’okay, baby. You don’t wanna hear me try to sound like a Yank. Believe me.”

“You know I do now that you’ve said that.”

“Believe me.”

“What if I don’t?”

“Then learn to live with disappointment.”

Buffy arched a brow. “With you? I don’t think that’s possible, Mister.”

Spike’s eyes flashed, genuinely pleased, and he brushed a quick kiss over her lips before forcing the makeshift javelin back into her hands. “Let’s do this again,” he suggested, putting some distance between them and assuming position. “An’ try not to drop your shoulder this time.”

“Meanie.”

He frowned in protest, but shrugged with a similar hint of amusement. “Bint.”

“Jerk.”

“Over-bearin’ chit.”

“Peroxided moron.”

“Bitch.”

“Ass.”

“Wench.”

“Pig.”

“Trollop.”

“Prick.”

“Brazen li’l hussy.”

“Delinquent.”

“Strumpet.”

“Strump-what? I mean, jerk!”

Spike chuckled and deflected another blow as she hurled herself in his direction. “Second time you’ve called me jerk, luv.”

Buffy smirked and tossed her hair. “Question.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you as turned on as I am?”

A pause at her brazenness, then he leered appreciatively. “More.”

And she heard it. Felt it in his voice. All that passion he kept bottled up just for her. It was enough to make a girl swoon. And being the girl who loved him, she thought she did herself proud in the way her knees didn’t buckle.

He sensed it. Of course he did. In the general maleness that was him, he would sense when she was undone by his slow, seductive voice. And furthermore, he made no attempt to hide that he sensed it. Rather he waggled his brows and used the shot to his advantage. “Distracted, luv?”

“What? Perfectly fine.”

“Yeh. Watch it.” She had no time to accurately deflect his next attack, and landed appropriately on her butt for her fallacy. “You dropped your shoulder again.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Spike flashed her a brilliant smirk. “In many, many sinful ways.” He extended a hand and pulled her up, jerking her close for a fierce impassioned kiss before releasing her again to reassume position. “Once more. An’—”

“I know, I know. You’re worse than…you’re a jailer or some professional torture person or something.”

If he caught what she was about to say, which she was sure he had, he did not mention it. Rather, he shrugged and grinned, all too pleased with himself. “Love you,” he replied, words drenched in sincerity despite the casualness in his tone. If not his voice, his eyes spoke volumes for every underlying note that could be claimed.

“Love you, too.”

“Good. Now knock me on my lickable ass so I can say we accomplished somethin’ before I drag you outta here.”

She grinned. “You’ll never know what hit you.”

“With you, I never do.”

That notion pleased her. And she made a mental note to tell him so.

Right after she knocked him on his lickable ass.

The dance was moved to the Bronze at the last minute, namely because the staff didn’t want to lose money because their customers were at a dance and Snyder didn’t want to deal with the clean up at Sunnydale. And really, it was a change all the students had been rooting for all week. Dealing with school for, well, school was hard enough. Dealing with it during times of recreation with the overbearing principal breathing down their necks at every second? Not of the fun.

In the end, though it was tempting beyond words, Buffy opted to forgo formalwear for the night. She wore stylish slacks and a sensible party-top, but was ever mindful of the impending retaliation from Angelus and Penn. They were waiting for their moment, and she was determined to be ready.

They wouldn’t catch them off guard again. They wouldn’t.

Spike wasn’t much of a dancer unless the song was slow; despite all her attempts, he wouldn’t give her a sample as to why he wasn’t much of a dancer. They partied and mingled, talked with Oz and Willow and made idle gossip as to why Xander and Cordelia were getting cozy on the dance floor. Not too cozy, of course, but the fact that they were touching voluntarily was something new.

Buffy was sure she was the envy of every girl there. After all, Spike was the hotness.

“You wantin’ to stay here long?” he murmured after they had been there for an hour. “Thought we could go for a quick patrol…then…”

A smile tickled her lips. “My mom’s not out of town, William. Not this time.”

He slid a hand over her ass and nudged her forward until his arousal was prominent against her. “Please?”

Words were suddenly hard to come by. She didn’t know what did it for her most: the look in his eyes, the soft need to be together tonight, or the urgency in his voice. They had enjoyed stolen moments of forbidden ecstasy throughout the week; making love was difficult now that he didn’t have his own place. They had to be so damn careful.

Whatever it was, though, she wanted him, too. Desperately.

“Okay.”

Spike smiled and kissed her, pulling her close as the band finished up one of the Beatles more meaningful songs. The ones that always got to her when she was in the mood to be pensive.

“I love you,” he murmured into her hair.

Those words. God, she loved those words.

“Love you, too.”

There was a sense about the night. Something that didn’t sit well with her. He felt it just as sure as she did.

The calm before the actual storm. They had buried Jenny Calendar but the bad guys were still out there. Waiting. Counting the minutes until they attacked again. The knowledge was terrifying.

Especially since the attack on the horizon would be one of retribution and not mere torment for the sake of torment.

Tonight she wanted Spike. Wanted to forget the past few weeks. Wanted to forget everything for the warmth of his arms around her, his mouth on her body. Making her feel things that she only felt when she was near him.

There was tonight. They had time.

Time to steal one more day.

Just Stay All Through The Night

The house was dark when they arrived, and there was no sign of her mother. Buffy didn’t know whether or not to start counting her blessings or listen to that inner warning that reminded her incessantly that there were two very dangerous vampires with vendettas running around in the shadows. Spike’s grip on her hand remained strong, but he didn’t say anything to enhance or sooth her concerns. Rather, he drew in a breath and tugged her close. Knowing the only way to dispel her fears was to confront them.

It proved beneficial. There was a note on the counter that explained she was with Giles because she similarly didn’t feel he should be alone, and wanted to give them a night off from worrying about him. Buffy read the message once and handed it to him, wondering if perhaps this was a tacit acceptance of all levels of their relationship. She didn’t know; it didn’t seem likely, but she was hopeful.

She didn’t want to hide from her mother. That didn’t mean she was willing to hide, or deny herself what she wanted.

Especially when she loved Spike so much. And they were doing anything but simply fooling around.

There was a neediness behind her boyfriend’s touch tonight that she had never felt before. The way his hands trembled as his wandering fingers slid down her arms had a grasp on her heart that she would never relinquish; nor would she give up the shudders that his tender kisses evoked. It had already proven to be wondrous with him. He had shown her things she would never have trusted with anyone. Taken her places she thought buried in myth and devoured in an endless plain of wishful thinking.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” Spike murmured, planting wet, needy kisses up her throat. “Like a bloody sprite risin’ from a crystal lake.”

“I didn’t dress up,” she replied. As though that meant something. His chest was pressed to her back, his hands dancing up and down her sides, cupping her breasts reverently. His mouth active at her neck. “I didn’t…I look like a lawyer or something.”

“Sexy lawyer,” he murmured. “Power’s sexy, an’ you wear it so fucking well.”

“What if I don’t wanna be a lawyer?”

“Good. Bloody hate lawyers. Nothin’ but trouble.”

“Will I still be sexy?”

“You’ll be sexy in anythin’ you wear.” He turned her gently in his arms so that they were face-to-face. “You feel it, don’ you? Whatever’s gonna happen’ll be soon.”

There was no sense denying it. Angelus and Penn had been quiet for so long. Perhaps recovering from the fire, but more likely devising a way to make her hurt for what she had done. Penn had suggested she would beg for death before he gave it to her. And true, she had received similar threats before; none had ever seemed quite as serious. Quite as sincere.

She needed Spike tonight. Needed him to take away the loom of everything that had happened in the past few weeks. The events that had overwhelmed them since he stormed into her life were too magnanimous to consider. She didn’t know where she would be without him; didn’t want to think of what would have happened had he never come.

If he had never opened up her file some boring day in England and decided she was someone worth having in his life. Something that amazed her still.

“Soon,” she agreed softly, touching his face. Her heart thundering when he murmured and leaned into her touch. “They’ve been quiet.”

“Bloody quiet.” Spike released a trembling sigh and closed his eyes. “An’ I won’t lose you.”

“I—”

“Slayer, I know. An’ you can whip my arse any day, despite your tendency to drop your shoulder.” She grinned and he stole a kiss from her lips. “I jus’…what Rupert’s goin’ through…I din’t know Jenny all that well. She an’ Rupert could’ve been serious if they’d given it more time. He’s achin’, but it won’ be forever. He’s a tough bloke.” He shook his head. “’F it was me…I don’ think I’d ever recover.”

“Spike—”

“Slayer thing,” he replied, sweeping her mouth into his. “We’re prophesized, you an’ I. But even if we weren’, it’d be the same. I love you so much.” His trembling hands cupped her face reverently, thumbs stroking her cheeks. “You’ve brought me to life.”

“I have?”

He smiled, hand dropping to hers and tugging her in the direction of the staircase. “From the edge of death, baby. I don’ know what I would’ve done with myself if you hadn’t popped into my drizzly li’l world.”

“You technically popped into mine.”

Spike took her arms and wrapped them around his throat, walking her slowly up the stairs. Ever mindful that she didn’t fall. “’S that a bad thing?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely, huh?”

“Well, I kinda love you, too, you see. In fact, I told you first.”

He scoffed. “Did not.”

“Did too.”

“An’ I let this happen?”

“Well…” Buffy smiled kittenishly as she stopped on the landing, his mouth dancing up and down her throat. “I didn’t give you a chance, sweetie.”

He grinned. “Love it when you call me names like that.”

“Well, that’s because you’re a big softie.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

His grin broadened. These were the moments he lived for. Buffy in his arms now, exchanging inane banter that was old school but too delicious to pass up. “Woulda told you that firs’ day if I hadn’t thought it’d send you screamin’,” he replied. They were at her door now. Her bedroom. Her refuge. The place where she first welcomed him. Her body flush against his; his so hard he was sure the flimsy zipper on his slacks would pop. Were it anyone else, he would have been surprised at the depth of his reaction. But it wasn’t anyone else; it was her. It was Buffy. His golden goddess. She could smite him with a look if she wanted. So much power in her small, capable hands. It unnerved him to think himself so easily rattled.

There had been no such thing as love in his life before he came here. Sure, he loved his mother. Missed her to pieces, but that was different. That wasn’t this.

A bittersweet pang struck his heart at that. His mother would never get to meet Buffy. Never get to love her as he did. Wouldn’t be there on the day that he made her his forever.

Of course, any sort of ceremony was too far in the future to even visualize, and he felt like a ponce for even entertaining the notion. Still, the thought of her dolled up in white lace and marching toward him down some aisle made the part of him that his mother had always called old fashioned surge with hope. Someday, perhaps. He was still so bloody terrified of scaring her off with the intensity of his regard. He felt if she ever knew just how much he loved her; there would be no more of this.

No more of her guiding him into her bedroom and closing the door behind them.

“Buffy…”

Her hands were already busy at her top, revealing the satin of her black bra to his hungry eyes. The cream of her skin against the contrast of the material was surprising in its effect. Spike liked fancy cacique and scantily-clad women as well as the next hormone-infused male, but he had never truly envisioned himself being so turned on by something that simple. Logically, he knew Buffy wore bras. Hell, he had snapped her out of practically every one he knew to be a part of her wardrobe, always eager to feel the weight of her breasts in his hands. He had never known her to wear black. Never known her to go out of her way to look so delectable in her undergarments. She had a rather adorable fixation on her assumption that her panties and other unmentionables were, as she called them, ‘plain and boring.’ All this despite the fact that seeing her so bare fogged his eyes with lust to the point that she could be wearing a doormat and he wouldn’t notice.

His thoughts must have run away with him, for when he blinked, Buffy was wearing nothing but that black bra and a pair of matching panties. And he, like a big git, was still fully clothed; unable to do anything but gawk at how gorgeous she was.

Buffy shifted uncomfortably. “I…I made Will come with me to Victoria’s Secret while we were shopping for Sadie Hawkins stuff.”

“You’re beautiful.”

Her blush enchanted him. She was his seductress, his only temptation, and she somehow didn’t know it. “I was hoping you’d like.”

Spike released a deep breath, fighting his desire to growl something primitive and throw her on the bed. Instead, his eyes glazed over, and he stepped toward her predatorily, a lump forming in his throat. “Beautiful,” he murmured again, fingers entertaining themselves at her left strap. Then his mouth couldn’t stand the torment of being parted from her flesh, and his lips descended once more upon her neck, tasting her sweet skin as his arms curled under her shoulders and pulled her against him. “You’re killin’ me.”

“I didn’t…” A heady gasp tumbled through her throat as his nimble fingers worked the front clasp of her bra, trembling with the knowledge that she wouldn’t like it if he ripped something she had just bought. Then he was tugging at her nipples, mouth sweeping her mouth as he explored her face with soft, sweet kisses. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

“You unmake me with a bloody look,” he growled, encouraging her own hands to the buttons of his top. He hadn’t gone with a suit; rather a dressier shirt and dark slacks. They had looked tonight, in his opinion, as though they were fashioned for the purpose of being together. More poetic whims that brought out the traditionalist in him, but the notion was warming nonetheless.

Spike seized her mouth in another kiss as his shirt fell to the floor. He turned her in his arms so that her back was facing the bed and walked her to it slowly, his hands massaging circles into her hips. She sat when her legs met the mattress, looking up at him as he gazed down at her, his touch moving to her hair as she lifted nervous fingers to the clasp of his trousers and slowly drew him out.

God, he nearly melted then. Her small hand cradling his cock with veneration, stroking him to further hardness as his pants pooled at his ankles before joining his shoes on the floor.

“Fuck, Buffy,” he gasped, releasing her hair. With as much as he wanted to hold her in place, there was something about the gesture that struck him as wrong; wholly disrespectful, and miles a part from the place that his love for her began. He had told her once that he never expected anything, and it remained true. Whatever she gave him was enough. “Jesus.”

Her other hand dropped to his balls and squeezed him lightly. “You like?”

Was she actually expecting him to talk?

Her tongue flicked over the head of his cock, and a small murmur of approval rumbled through her throat. As though she actually enjoyed this. The few girls that shared his bed had done this for him based on principle alone; he gave, so they gave. None of them had enjoyed it, and Cecily had taken it upon herself to tell him so with a few choice words. The notion that Buffy did—could—was touching but impossible. He never wanted her to feel that she had to do this for him…though he was not such a git that he would tell her to stop if she didn’t want to.

“B-Buffy—”

Her tongue took to the underside of his erection, laving him in long, wet laps. Lifting her hand just slightly so she could taste his sac with her tongue. Suckling gently and just barely teasing him with her teeth.

“Fuck!” Spike snarled something unintelligible and shoved her back on the bed. “Drive me outta my bloody mind, you know that?”

“Well, you drive me out of mine more.”

“Don’ think so, sweetheart.” His mouth surrounded one rosy nipple, his right hand caressing her neglected breast as his other skated down the length of her. Stroking her gently through the satin of her sodden panties. “So wet.”

“Uhhh…”

“So sweet.”

“Spike, please.”

He scraped the tip of her nipple with his teeth before pulling back to draw her panties down her legs. His eyes transfixed on her dewy center that glistened at him even through the darkness. “So fucking gorgeous,” he murmured reverently, a hand skimming up her leg to tease her soft curls. “You have any idea how delicious you are?”

“You have any idea how often you ask me that?”

A smirk quirked his lips. “Sassy.”

“No.” She lifted her hips in offering, eyes wide with need. “Horny.”

“Well, at least you’re honest.” He edged a finger into her slowly, eyes twinkling when her own went wide, her pelvis leaping into his touch. He carefully avoided her clit even as his other fingers took to exploring her; rubbing her folds, edging into her warmth, feeling her warm juices run onto his skin. Tempting him with her taste. “Honesty’s a quality I love in a woman.”

“Gah.”

“You disagree?”

“No other women.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re not the only woman who—”

“Spike!”

He smiled. “Baby, I promise you. You have nothin’ to worry about.” He withdrew his fingers from her carefully, ignoring her answering whimper of complaint. He licked her taste off his skin, then lowered his hand to her mouth so that she might have a sample herself. Her nose wrinkled in complaint before his answering look reminded her that she had done the same with him, and it would be no different to taste herself than it had been to drink him down.

“Samson spoke of the honey in the lion,” he told her softly. “Think he had it wrong, though.”

“Oh?” He couldn’t tell if she was just aroused beyond words or oblivious as to the reference. By the look in her gaze, hazed with desire though clouded by confusion, he decided it was a combination of both.

“You’re the bloody honey, honey,” he replied, prowling up her body slowly. “Thank God I’m not a Nazirite. Can drink you all I like without fear of punishment.”

Her eyes flickered as though inspired by some distant memory, and her cheeks flushed. “Ahhh…Spike.”

The head of his cock was teasing her folds, slipping over her wet skin with the promise of the haven that awaited him. He loved looking at her like this. Loved watching her pant with need, aroused beyond words at the hand of his touch. Sweat already rolling down her forehead. Her body warm and pliant, welcoming his. Needing his. Her nails dug into his forearms, her head lifting to steal a kiss from his lips. His own hand between them, rubbing himself against her until it was too much for both of him, and he sank into her with a blissful groan.

“Shit,” he gasped. “Feels so good.”

Buffy whimpered, her eyes falling shut. “I’ve missed this,” she said softly, her muscles clenching around him. “It’s been too long.”

Spike smiled tenderly as he began to move within her, eyes on her face. Drowning in the feel of her around him. The warmth that she offered, scorching him alive and drenching that thirst in the same beat. “Not too long,” he replied, pebbling a nipple between his fingers, watching her hungrily as she panted and squeezed him again. “But yeh. I’ve missed this, too. Every bleedin’ second apart. Been starvin’ for you.”

“Me, too. I’ve…uhhh…” His thrusts were gaining momentum; her hands at his shoulders, nails embedding in his skin as he moved to strike that perfect angle within her. “I once spent…ohhh…an entire history period trying to…to decide if I could oohhh…could grab you and…break in the janitor’s closet.”

He chuckled, dropping kisses along her throat as he edged a hand between their entangled bodies. His fingers dancing over her slippery skin, fingering her teasingly before capturing her clit. Enjoying the way her face melted into a pleasured, throaty gasp. Her nails even digging deeper into his skin. Hurting him sweetly. Propelling his cock deeper within her. Needing as much as she would give; giving as much as he could, despite his knowledge that it would never be enough.

“Oh GOD!” she screamed, her muscles clenching him so tight he was genuinely surprised when he didn’t pop. “So good.”

“Fuck yeah.” He didn’t know what it was; the atmosphere of the night was too restrained, too heavy with the weight of what could come crashing down around them at any moment. The overbearing loom of two vampires that could bring their paradise to an end with a simple lash never far from the limelight. They had evaded fate for weeks now. Had captured moments of intimacy; stolen looks, hours, and kisses in little glances of what was so close to being theirs. He needed her so much. Was so entrenched in his love for her; the hint that it could be taken away from him sent his urgency to catastrophic levels. This connection, feeling her beneath him, being allowed inside her…it was all too much. Tonight.

And Christ, he needed to send her over that edge before he found his release. His body warred as he forced himself to pull out of her, ignoring the sharp gasp of complaint that tumbled through her lips. He pressed a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth, then slid down her body, lips caressing her sweat-laced skin until his mouth was level with her sopping pussy. Her scent flooding his senses.

“Spike!” Her hips arched off the bed. “Stop torturing me!”

“You first,” he growled, plunging his tongue into her. Buffy slapped her palm across her mouth and arched back, a muffled scream tearing through her throat. He smiled against her skin, left hand lingering at her breasts to tug at her nipples; his other joining his avaricious mouth to caress her clit deferentially. “God, your taste drives me wild.”

“Uhhhh…”

His tongue delved deeper inside, his fingers massaging her nubbin as her body trembled around him. Thrust his erection against the mattress, desperately needing friction. “So fucking good.”

“Spike!”

“You taste so good. My honey in the lion.”

“Oh God. Ohmigod, ohmigod!”

He gave her one last lick before pulling away and crawling back up her body, capturing her mouth with his as his cock teased her folds before thrusting again into her depths. Swallowed her whimper and muffled his own. His fingers massaging her clit still, quicker now. She grew tighter and wetter with each plunge. The slippery slide of his flesh from hers against the air that ached with the slaps of their sweaty bodies. A long shudder ran down his spine as he shoved off the immediacy of his orgasm. The hand between them pushing her closer to that edge. Watching as her eyes went bright, then finally she cried out and went over, sinking her teeth into his shoulder to stifle her scream of completion.

That was it. Her body spasmed under his, clenching the life out of him. The feel of her biting into his skin was more erotic than he would have dreamt. And he couldn’t help himself—lost. His hips thrusting madly against hers as her pussy swallowed him whole. Her walls tightening around him, milking him for everything he had to give; as he came, he touched the heavens. Within his lion he found that ecstasy, drank it full until honey dribbled down his chin. Buffy’s body open, welcome; her arms clutching him to her as she held him in his fall. Cradled there until he saw they were in her room again. Alone. The lights still out. Her chest heaving against his, her skin damp with sweat. Her eyes wide and looking at him in awe. The air around them was thick with the scent of their lovemaking. Her hands tunneled reverently through his hair, her lips caressing his brow as his eyes found hers. Found pools of reflected love shining back at him. Felt his heart expand until he didn’t know if he could take it. The power of what they had shared. Something manifested beyond himself. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The gorgeous creature in his arms was really his. Buffy was really his. And for the first time, he truly understood that.

Truly believed that he could be so lucky. That she would choose a wreck like him. Prophecy or no prophecy; there was no cosmic map in the eyes of actual love. Words on an aged page knew nothing of emotion. Knew nothing of the wealth that he felt for her. Knew nothing of the power of what they had just shared.

God, she was really his. He felt it. She loved him. Really.

Buffy encouraged his head to her chest, his arms around her. Hugging her to him as the night settled around them. Still inside her, still clinging to that intimate connection. Listening to her heartbeat. Relishing in the power of such intimacy.

“Buffy,” he whispered into her hair. Words were there that she already knew, burned within him. Needing to find release. He would tell her every day—every time he could. Whenever he could. For the rest of their lives, however long. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

Releasing a trembling breath, Spike brushed a tender kiss across her forehead and rolled them to their sides. Still within her, cradled in her wet warmth. As close as he could be. Needing this tonight.

Needing her as long as the Powers let him keep her.

Some part of him knew that he could not fall asleep in her arms. Her mother would be home eventually, and wouldn’t much like the sight of a naked older man in her equally naked daughter’s bed. But for now, he cast petty concerns aside and simply held her in the silence of a new night.

He would risk fire and brimstone to keep this. He would risk everything.

This sanctuary. This bliss.

This honey in the lion.

Night Breezes Seem To Whisper

It wasn’t intentional. Rather, with everything that had happened, finding the disk—the curse—was the last thing that Willow wanted. Since Ms. Calendar’s death, she had been promoted to a makeshift substitute; something she felt oddly prepared for, despite her fear of public speaking. The experience in itself was giving her all sorts of crazy aspirations for life past college, and her wide selection of possible occupations. Especially now, seeing how her peers treated her when she was in a position of authority. Students that had given her nothing but grief when she was growing up. Students that now looked at her with respect. It was an amazing transformation, and the admiration she earned in turn was more than daunting.

Angelus had destroyed Jenny’s computer after murdering her. For whatever reason, that thought had remained with the redhead, nagging at her over the past few weeks. Not too far from the knowledge that Penn and Drusilla had been there as well. The entire Aurelius clan gathered together to kill one teacher. To kill one of them.

Buffy hadn’t questioned it. Neither had Spike or Giles. They left it to the needs of the family to demonstrate their wickedness—to lash out where it hurt.

Three vampires after one of them. Three vampires here to make sure Jenny did not see the light of a newborn day. It wasn’t a surprise, then, when she found the wayward disk that had somehow gone initially overlooked. She discovered it at the bottom of some drawer from the remains of the desk that had previously occupied the classroom.

A ritual that explained Angelus’s rage. Explained Penn and Drusilla’s presence that night when she was murdered. Explained their need to put Jenny into the ground. Explained everything.

Jenny had died because she was going to return Angelus’s soul to him. She was going to make him Angel. How she possessed this knowledge, Willow did not know. Only that there was a curse and it was on this disk, and somehow the vampires had known. And they had killed her for it.

Willow licked her lips. Okay, so now she knew.

What was she supposed to do with this? Giles wouldn’t want Angel back. Xander would look at her as though she was crazy and mutter something about going vamp soft. She didn’t even think Buffy wanted him back after what he had done. Sure, before all this, she had been righteous when it came to Angel’s penance; not now. The look in her eyes whenever she spoke of her rage when she knew Angel had come to kill Spike was some of the coldest that the redhead had ever seen. Buffy did not want Angel back. If anything, she wanted him dead.

It would be easier to kill him if he was souled, though.

It would make it easier to get to Penn as well. God, she didn’t know what to do. Return his soul to him and suffer through the knowledge that the monster behind Angel was not the man who wore his face, or leave it be and risk the lives of others. Together, Angelus and Penn were quite possibly invincible…and they had a grudge that could easily bury the town.

If they brought Angel back into the picture, there was every chance he would kill Penn and solve their problem. Even if he couldn’t before, she couldn’t imagine him refraining now. And then his fate would be left up to the Slayers. To kill or to forgive. Personally, Willow was leaning more toward kill. She didn’t like admitting it, as she thought soulful Angel was a good guy, but he had murdered Jenny. In that, there was no forgiveness.

Similarly, in her heart of hearts, she knew that refraining from an attempt on the ritual simply because the alternative might not rest well with her friends was selfish. Soulling Angel could save lives—could save their lives. What happened in the thereafter was a different story. They had to do it. She had to do it.

She had to give Angel his soul back.

Willow expelled a deep breath and shook her head. She was fairly certain she could pull the spell off. True, she was a rookie, but the occult fascinated her. And since she took over Jenny’s job, she had been researching every aspect of the teacher’s life…and dabbling very carefully in small spells.

Giles wouldn’t be thrilled about that, but she didn’t care at the moment. Right now, there was a spell to put together.

A spell that would change everything.

She just didn’t know how.

He was in one of those moods that practically demanded a spontaneous musical number. There was a spring in his steps that hadn’t been there for what seemed like weeks; it felt he practically flew to Revello Drive. Today had been an overly good day, start to finish. Giles had provided the first paycheck for his work as a librarian’s assistant, merrily ignoring the fact that no actual work had been accomplished. A back payment, perhaps; Spike was under the impression that these would continue biweekly at a fixed amount rather than clocking him for hours.

That offer had shocked the hell out of him, but he was no idiot. Being paid enough to settle in his own apartment—with the initial help of the rest of his mother’s money—was more than he could have hoped. The apartment itself was furnished with a bed and a refrigerator; everything else would be bought on his own dime, which was more than fine with him. A bed and a fridge was all he needed at present, and more than he thought to be offered. All that mattered was that he had a place where he and Buffy would be assured some privacy.

That was something they had been lacking for the past week. Somewhere simply to be left to themselves without worrying about who might intrude. Now he had a place. And the property values being what they were in Sunnydale, his landlord was fairly insistent that he move in as soon as possible.

It had been a good day. A very good day.

And now he had the night, and the hours following patrol would be spent with Buffy. In the bliss commanded in her arms. He couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when he told her. When they could finally stop sneaking around and have an actual place to relax after an evening battling the baddies.

It would be, then, that just as he was passing the cemetery on his way to pick up his girlfriend, a shrill scream pierced the black night. Panicked, nearby, definitely feminine. She sounded as though held captive in an inferno, and he found himself tearing after her on instinct alone. It had nothing to do with being a Slayer and everything to do with being a human being. One did not turn away from a cry for help, especially one that carried hell with it.

Spike had long since decided that the civilians of the Hellmouth were beyond idiotic. Midnight strolls through cemeteries in any town did not demonstrate the utmost in foresight, let alone a place with the reputation of Sunnydale. More than once, he had considered going to the Mayor and suggesting an implemented curfew, though the thought was more than a little distasteful. It would save a few lives, however, and that was what was supposed to matter.

Perhaps just for now. Just until Penn and Angelus were dust.

Why he hadn’t killed the wanker when he was in the factory was beyond him. That was one thing he had kept to himself these past few weeks; one confession as to his faults that he could not forgive himself for. The night relived over and over again. He saw the bastard clearly. His back was to him, sure, but deciphering his body language didn’t exactly take a rocket scientist. Buffy had just killed his lover, after all. And the place they lived was burning to the ground. Penn wanted to be sure that he took Buffy with him when he made his voyage to Hell. Would use whatever unearthly pull vampires had simply by being, and would hunt her down through dimensions if it meant she suffered for what she had done.

One move. One bloody move. Had he been a little less primal and a bit more conscientious, the wanker would be dust. Something had snapped, though, when he saw that his girl was in danger. And she had been—even if she didn’t want to admit it. Penn had her at that instant, and for Spike, that had blocked out all rationale. He had knocked the bastard out and grabbed the woman he loved with only a thought for getting out before the world collapsed around them. If he had stopped, if he had listened to his Slayer rather than the get-the-girl-out impulse, they would be short one Big Bad to face.

He had failed that night because he let his emotions dictate his Slayer senses. It should have been one in the same but it wasn’t. It wasn’t. He had seen Buffy in danger and all thoughts except getting her out had abandoned him.

Prophesied. He and Buffy were prophesied to save the world by being one. One force. One instrument of humanity. No longer just the right arm—the full body had bound together. Giles suggested they would save the world countless times. Truthfully, Spike didn’t know how much to believe and how much to chalk up to the incoherent babble of dead monks and their equally dead language.

What he knew was simple: the way he felt about her, the wealth of what he felt, was stronger than his ties to the Slayer lineage. There was no real way to define it without overstepping his bounds; Giles had made the comparison just a few nights ago to a vampiric claim. A sense of belonging, of knowledge, putting the safety of the other above all else. Spike had rebuked it at first, disgusted with anything that associated him with the non-slayage side of vampires, but the thought refused to die simply because he didn’t like it.

The more his mind wrestled, the more sense it made.

Which was why he wouldn’t be surprised if Buffy leapt out of the shadows now, having sensed the immediacy of an attack. The screams faded the minute he saw the girl. Her mop of brunette hair pulled back so that the outline of her vampiric deformity was not guised by the deceitful guise of night. A vampire.

For one horrible second, he thought it was Drusilla. That second passed, as most do, and the stab of fear died with it; he had seen Drusilla crumple to dust. That was the one certainty that night had given him. The Order of Aurelius was reduced to two.

This vampire was a fledgling. And she served one purpose.

And now, having carried out that purpose, it was no surprise when Angelus stepped out of the shadows behind her, an ironic smile playing on his lips.

“Silly me. Here I thought you were supposed to be perceptive,” the vampire drawled, impaling the fledgling through the back with a stake that seemed to manifest from nowhere. The girl did not scream. Did not cry. Did not even blink as she was reduced to dust. Rather stood there, knowing what her purpose was. She had been selected to lure him here, and death was her reward.

Angelus wouldn’t want any interruptions. And he wouldn’t want to share his conquest with anyone. Took the fun out of it.

Spike outstretched his arms. “So, what? You draw me out here for a good talkin’ to?”

“Hrm. Tempting. No, I drew you out more to kill you.”

“See, here’s the thing…haven’ seen much from you on the killin’ front. Go around murderin’ innocent teachers an’ what all. Chits who don’t fare a bloody chance. Every single time, you’ve stepped away from those who could make your life very interestin’.” A small bell sounded in the back of his mind that he was being a moron, but he ignored it, as he had most of his life. There were some pieces he would love to tell the great poof; things he wagered he would never have another opportunity to divulge.

And for a second, he hated himself richly for using the death of Jenny Calendar to antagonize her murderer. Just for a second. Another one of those moments that tend to last only as long as the bearer allows. It was gone again just as fleetingly.

“You don’t kill off the hero in the first act,” Angelus replied, shrugging nonchalantly. “You kidnap his girl, make with the threats, strut your stuff and establish a name for yourself. Thing is, since we didn’t know which one of you Slayers was the girl, we decided to skip that part and kill someone who doesn’t really play into this at all. Only enough to cause a stir.”

“Fancy that. Lost one of your own in that pitch.”

The vampire cocked a brow. “You think Drusilla is the reason I’m here?”

“Well, no. That’d be predictable.”

A grin at that. “See, I know it sounds like you’re trying to flatter me…”

“Actually, I’m tryin’ to get you to get to the bloody point. Have a date to keep, you see.”

“I wouldn’t worry myself with that.”

“What? This the part you tell me that I’ll see her real soon, seein’ as you’ll be killin’ us jus’ as quickly?” Spike snorted. “Please. Balls an’ swagger aside, that’s jus’…lame.”

“Ah, the Achilles Heel of every demon. Being found lame by his enemy.”

The next was a blur of movement; Angelus was standing several feet away, then he wasn’t. Suddenly, he was right there beside him, a metal fist smashing into the Slayer’s jaw. Spike wobbled in surprise but did not collapse, rather channeled his pain into fury and sent a punch back with equal fervor. The vampire staggered in surprise, his body cracking the stone of the nearest mausoleum on impact. He did not appear hurt so much as impressed, grinning as he wiped the corner of his mouth.

“See, that took balls!”

“No. It took a brain an’ a sodding fist. This, on the other hand…” Spike threw him another punch, relishing in the force behind contact, in the crack that sounded through the air as the vampire’s head crashed again into the stone. The Slayer’s knee jerked upward and connected squarely with the body part in question; something he never thought he would resort to, regardless of the situation. After all, he was a guy, and guys just didn’t do that to other guys. “Bloody will.”

The scream that tore through Angelus’s throat gave Spike the sort of satisfaction one gets from watching a particularly ugly spider die slowly under influence of some powerful bug juice. The sort not meant for killing spiders, but just as effective. No matter that he was propelled a good fifteen feet away the next second; the damage was done. The big lunk was pulling himself together quickly, eyes flashing in pain clouded with anger. He delivered a sharp kick to the blonde’s chest. “Shouldn’t have done that,” he spat. “Now I’m going to make you live longer.”

“Oh for bloody…” Spike heaved in a deep breath and shoved the ache aside best he could, rolling once more to his feet. “Perish the thought.”

“See, here’s the thing. I’m done. I’m done waiting for Penn to get his act together. Hell, I was done before your Watcher decided to become a pyro. I’m finished.” He spread his hands almost diplomatically. “You’re gone first. Buffy’s gone last. Save the best, and all that. Besides, she’ll be too busy weeping and wailing over her poor lost wuvvy that taking her down? Not much of a challenge.”

Spike’s eyes darkened but he did not rise to bait. “Don’ think so, mate,” he growled. “I have a bad penny complex.”

Angelus winced. “God. Don’t tell me Buffy eats up this drivel?”

“More so than she did when you were the one sproutin’ sonnets.”

“Yeah. Good old Buff. It’ll be nice to see her again. Especially with the you part out of the equation.”

“Thought we established that that’s not gonna happen.”

A shrug. “Just saying. It will be fun to rape her to death. See how well she’s learned all those tricks you taught her. Hey! I even hear Slayer’s blood is an aphrodisiac. I’ll bet if we feed off you before we get started, we’ll be revved to keep ourselves entertained for hours.”

That was it. That was the end.

Everything went red. A fiery, dark red that was haunted with shadows of lesser fury. Every nerve in his body overwhelmed with rage beyond rage. Rage that sparked a flame that had never before known life, rising within him until the hows and whys no longer mattered, and there was only Angelus.

And he knew it then.

One of them would die tonight. Him or the vampire. Only one would walk away. One or neither. Blood or dust. It didn’t matter.

If he had to die to keep this bastard’s filthy hands off Buffy, so bloody be it.

There were worse reasons.

It hadn’t taken much to convince them. Really, once Willow provided her argument, both Giles and Xander arrived at the same conclusion without much of a struggle. It made the most sense. Give Angel back his soul now before more people died. Before things got worse. Give it back to him when he had the potential of doing real good with it.

Or something to that very muddled effect.

The only objection she had encountered from the two came in the decision of who would perform the ritual. Willow felt she was prepared, but was the only voice in that regard. In the end, she won because there was no one better; and Giles didn’t trust himself to perform a ceremony that would give a reason for redemption back to the vampire that had murdered the woman he loved.

Vendettas had a nasty way of surfacing at the most inopportune moment. And while the redhead didn’t believe the Watcher was capable of succumbing to something like that out of spite alone, she wasn’t willing to gamble any chances.

Jenny was killed for what they were about to do. And yes, while they were in the comfort of a private residence, that wouldn’t stop the vampires from igniting a bonfire outside.

“Who was that?” Xander asked, wiping his hands nervously. They were at Giles’s duplex, setting up the spell as the ritual suggested. Oz was in the back, searching through old board games to find dice. The translation itself mentioned rolling something in a game of chance before the ritual took place; dice seemed to be the most logical solution.

The Watcher, meanwhile, had finished lighting the appropriate candles and was fishing out the book he thought might be beneficial. Giles’s behavior through these past few weeks had been remarkable. She didn’t know how he did it; only that she had never been prouder of him than she was now. Shoving all else aside for the greater good.

It was a strange feeling…being proud of someone old enough to be her father. Still, it didn’t make the sentiment any more or less so. She was proud.

For what he had gone through, there was no reason to ever agree to this. And yet.

“Buffy,” Willow replied, hanging the phone back on the receiver. “Spike hasn’t shown up yet and she was wondering if he had called or dropped by here.”

Xander frowned. “When was he supposed to show up?”

“Fifteen, twenty minutes ago. Patrol and whatnot.”

Another pause. “You think something happened?”

“I think we better get on with this thing before something does.”

As if on cue, Oz peered into the foyer from the second floor, rattling the discovered dice in his hand with a small, Ozish grin. “Found some.”

“Good. Giles?”

“Erm—yes. I am ready.”

Willow nodded, expelling a breath. “Okay. Okay. I can do this. I can.”

“You can,” Oz agreed. She couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or just trying to calm her down. It didn’t really matter; the sentiment was appreciated.

“I can. I can.” She paused and licked her lips. “We should do this now.”

Giles glanced up and nodded his agreement. He paused, then reached into his pocket and withdrew a small booklet of hotel matches, striking one to life against the wall. “Yes,” he said grimly. “No time like the present.”

There was something about his tone that she didn’t like, but Willow brushed it off without thought.

Nothing else mattered now. They had a spell to cast. A soul to return.

All else could wait.

Make Me An Instrument of Your Peace

Something was wrong.

She didn’t know how she knew. It was just there. Something known. Something burning the pit of her stomach. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong, and Spike was at the heart of it. Spike was in trouble. There was nothing but that knowledge. Spike was over a half hour late, and it was because something was wrong.

This was not panic. This was knowledge. She felt it. He needed her. He was screaming for her without words, without being there at all. Screaming at her that he was in trouble but also to stay away. As though Spike himself was divided into two entities; the Slayer calling to her Slayer, her boyfriend screaming at her to remain where it was safe.

It was unlike anything she had ever felt before. Just knowledge. And she couldn’t stop herself. The minute the feeling struck her, the minute her premonition went from the girlfriend worry to the Slayer worry, she was on her feet and tearing through her weapons chest. A stake in her hand and another in a strap around her ankle. Two. That was all she needed. Two stakes for two vampires. Two exactly like any other that she had killed. They would dust just as easily. Quick maneuvering, flash of a stake, and it would be over.

It would have helped if she actually believed that.

For the first time since she was called, Buffy found herself divided evenly between what her head told her and what her blood told her. There was no way she could have known where he was, but her blood was linked with his somehow. And while there was absolutely no telling where it would lead her, she had no choice but to follow.

Her heart was thundering. Her pulse racing. And this, this not knowing, was more terrifying than anything she had ever experienced.

If a single inch of Spike’s skin was bruised, she would make sure they tasted dust. There would be no clemency. No hesitation. No second-guessing.

Just vengeance. And she wouldn’t look back.

“Okay, so phase one is sitting in a circle while I wave around smelly herbs. Sounds soul-enhancing.” Xander laughed lamely and glanced up. No one smiled back at him. “Wow, tough crowd.”

The redhead flashed him a grateful smile and expelled a deep breath. Giles was moments away; in the meantime, the atmosphere among them was tight with unwanted tension. Directly before they began the ritual, the Watcher realized he had left the Orb of Thesulah at the high school where he had evidently been using it as a paperweight.

No matter. He had phoned just a few minutes before. Paperweight obtained. The rush in which Willow had thrown this thing together had everyone strung on nerves. The night was hazy in its outcome. Buffy had not called back to verify that Spike had arrived safely, and while she had absolutely no way of knowing it, the redhead was convinced something bad was happening. Right now. Without anything but this wrenching feeling in her gut, she somehow knew that the confused jumble of the past few weeks was winding down to tonight.

“You’re sure you’re all right, Will?” Oz asked softly, patting her knee.

She sighed again and nodded. “Yeah. I mean, the translation’s here, right? And I’ve been surfing through Ms. Calendar’s spells and stuff and…the other day I almost made my book levitate.”

“Wow,” Xander replied. “Almost?”

“Well, my hand kinda spazzed and I lost my focus, but it was close to levitating.”

He frowned. “You do realize that putting someone’s soul back inside his very dead, evil body is slightly different than almost levitating a book, right? Or is there some different form of magic between spell-casting and thingy-floating that slow people like me can’t understand?”

Damn him. Damn him and his doubt-casting. She felt cold all over, and the weight of what rested on what she was about to do wasn’t helping. Neither was her friend’s jaded support. That sort of backhanded compliment that left one fuming for days, even if he didn’t mean it.

“No. It’s very different.” Willow sighed again, unwilling to admit how hard she was shaking. “It’s…gah, you suck, Xander Harris!”

Oz, on principle alone, felt moved enough to smack him upside the head.

“Ow!”

“Sorry. Contractual boyfriend obligation.” He turned back to the redhead and offered a warm smile. “You’ll do fine, Will. I think the gravity of the reensouling thing is slightly on the up of levitating a book. It’ll be fine.”

His faith in her was a wondrous thing. Willow smiled and released the breath she was holding, impulsively kissing him even if it did feel strange to initiate such random displays of affection. From the expression on Oz’s face, he far from objected. Rather, he was giving her that adoring look that made her feel all gooey inside. The same that told her that finally, she, Willow Rosenberg, was in a relationship. She finally understood all those things Buffy talked about. Understood the goofy smile that illuminated her face when Spike was mentioned. Understood the glowy look in her eyes when he walked into the room. Understood it all.

“You’re the best,” she told him.

“I think I can live with that.”

Xander frowned again. “What about me?”

“You need to be more like Oz in the reassurance giving as opposed to the doubt giving.”

A pause. He grumbled. “You’re only saying that ‘cause he’s your boyfriend.”

“No, I’m saying that ‘cause I just saw Giles’s headlights through the window which means I have a vampire to reensoul, and it’s nice to have a little support.”

“I support you! I’m all with the Willow support.”

“Yes, well…still, you should be more like Oz in the reassurance giving.” Off his look, she caved and smiled. “Sorry. Playing favorites is a contractual girlfriend obligation.”

“I’m noticing this relationship thing has a lot of contractual obligations.”

Oz shrugged, brushing a kiss over the redhead’s cheek. “It’s worth it.”

Ohh, swoonage. Major swoonage.

But now was not the time. Giles was here with the Orb of Thesulah. She had a ritual to perform. A vampire to curse. Nights to give back to her friend so that Buffy and her boyfriend could enjoy in this warm, wondrous bliss that Willow had come to cherish.

Reservations cast aside. She could not afford to doubt.

It was time.

The soft glow of the moon kissed the darkened grass and made shadows dance across aged stone. The grounds seemed dark despite the light, as though every stereotype had come to life to shake her to her core. Make that fear consume her until there was nothing left. The cold surrounding her was likely imagined; it was nearing spring in Sunnydale, and the temperature was never anything less than perfect, regardless of the weather.

The night’s cold bit at her skin in firm defiance. She followed the pull of her blood through the grounds of a familiar cemetery. One she could tour blinded and know exactly where she stood. One that she had never feared when alone.

Not until now. Not until this night.

She had never understood the cliché poetry in motion; not until she saw them moving. The blinding light of a Slayer in his element, fighting one of the most revered vampires in history was, in the midst of her panic, one of the most moving scenes she had ever witnessed.

Spike was there. He was alive. The look on his face was a twist of gorgeous outrage. As though the sins of the world fell on Angel’s shoulders, and he was the one to reap justice. She knew the second that he sensed her presence; a half beat before her scent hit the vampire’s nostrils. There was a familiar flicker in her boyfriend’s eyes, that warmth he only gave to her. Warmth powered with love, and stricken with irritated concern.

Fury pumped her blood. Angel was going to know the taste of dust.

It ended tonight.

It was like something out of the movies. She was within a stone’s throw of reaching the mêlée, and then Penn was there. Casually stepping out from behind one of the mausoleums, his face aligned with gleeful malice. “Ah,” he greeted, hands clasped almost formally at his front, “right on time.”

“Buffy!” Spike screamed, tearing himself away from Angel’s soaring fists. “Buffy!”

The panic ringing through his voice jarred her from reality. Her eyes widened at a sudden stab of terrified urgency, and the vampire in front of her was almost forgotten.

“Ah, how sweet,” Penn spat, chilling her with a look. “Really, you two would warm my heart if it weren’t dead and, well, set on killing you.”

Angel snarled and leapt forward, grabbing Spike’s wrists and locking them behind his back, pretending it was no small thing to contain a Slayer as pissed as her boyfriend was. Pretending the tugs and the jerks Spike offered were nothing more than small annoyances. “No, no,” he berated softly. “Your girl’s occupied. It would be rude to interrupt.” He smirked and slowly dragged his gaze up to Buffy. “Hello, sweetheart. We’ve got so much planned for you.”

“Go to hell.”

The elder vampire tsked disapprovingly. “See, this is what I get for making polite conversation.” His grin deepened. “Don’t worry, Buff. We’ll make it relatively quick for your boy. Relatively. Oh, you’ll have to watch every second of it, of course, but we’re saving our best tricks for you.”

It was quite a thing to watch rage manifest. The look on Spike’s face was something she had never seen; pale, fused with fury, warped into something ugly. The mask of the Phantom; Angel had pushed him across some inner boundary, and now anything was game. The next second, he had torn away from the vampire’s grasp and thrown himself into an animalesque fracas. A mess of limbs and snarls, and Buffy’s heart dropped. Left there. Alone.

No. Penn.

It was a strange couple of seconds. Logic abandoned her for the instinctive need to protect Spike. Spike, whose strength was equivalent to hers. Spike who had a calling. Spike who needed no protection.

She needed to kill Penn. Her thoughts were for Spike.

His body language told her the same.

“Forget about me, sweetheart?” That was Penn. Right behind her. Not touching her. For whatever reason, the fact that he was there and doing nothing terrified her more than a quick flash of fangs. When she saw him, he was guising his demon. Looking at her as a man. A murderer through human eyes. “I think I made a promise that I need to keep.”

The cold attacked her again; a chilled blast from nowhere. He meant what he said.

And yet there was this stirring in her gut that she couldn’t ignore. A shadow crossed her face and she regained control of her senses, almost surprised that they had abandoned her to begin with. Her fist came up with a quick pop to his nose, then she was tearing across the lawn toward her boyfriend. Following her blood. Following what had brought her here tonight.

Without flinching, Angel twisted himself away from another punch to the jaw and caught her just before she reached them. His arms on her shoulders, his neon eyes dancing with sadistic merriment. “Ah, ah, ah, darling,” he berated, shaking his head. “Not our time, yet.”

Then something repugnant smashed against her lips. Bruising. Callous. The iciest kiss she had ever received. Pouring all his unfeeling, his impiety into her mouth. Making her a part of him for that horrible instant. The touch was brief in retrospect but felt like it lasted hours—too quickly grabbed and released to put up any sort of struggle. Though when he finally released her, she swore her hands were stained red.

Spike screamed his rage and leapt at the vampire again, arms latching around his throat and tearing him back. Tearing him away from her even as Angel thrust her into Penn’s waiting embrace. Immediately, the younger demon’s hands clasped around her arms, twisted her so that she was facing him. Human still, regarding her impassively. Angel spoke big words, yes, but they could not compare to the deadness behind this vampire’s eyes.

He didn’t care if she was tortured. She saw that. Just as long as she died. Painfully.

Angel wanted her alive. Penn didn’t. And the thought of immediate death, for the first time, scared her more than the possibility of being tormented. Not for any reason she could pinpoint; rather, it was terrifying that anyone out there, vampire or not, could hate her as much as the one holding her now.

“You remember what I said?” Penn hissed, the venom behind his voice freezing her blood. There was no doubt in her mind—nothing so far placed from that night burned away in weeks. The night she had killed Drusilla. The night she had been waiting for him to repay her for every night since. “Well,” he continued, running his hand across her face in a manner that mocked her for his feigned gentility. “Start wishing.”

Buffy drew back an arm in a brute slam across his face with the full of her strength. The vampire snarled but refused to release his hold on her. He gave back as good as he got, smashing her against the nearest mausoleum. “It’s not that I don’t admire your spirit,” he barked. “You’ve completely disproved all my theories on Slayers.” He backhanded her again after deftly dodging a wild swing, hand wrapping around her flailing wrist and pinning her ruthlessly to the catacomb once more. “I came to this town thinking we’d be friends, Buffy. Well, maybe not friends, seeing as I intended to have you long dead and buried by now. But really, after everything we’ve been through together…” He hurled another punch to her face. “I guess I should thank you. I wanted you dead before because you were in my way. Not anymore. Two hundred years, and you finally gave me a reason to hate.” Another punch. She shot him one to answer it, and he took it without flinching. “A reason to kill that I never thought I’d need. Vampire here, right!” He grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her to him again, ignoring her struggles. Holding her as Angel had held Spike. As though the strength of a Slayer meant nothing to him. “I don’t need a reason. I don’t need a motive. I could snap your neck and no one would wonder why. Just another demon, right? You gave me a reason, Buff. A reason for the first time in two fucking centuries!” His leg shot up and met her gut, forcing her to lurch forward, into him, so that his mouth was at her ear. “So thanks.”

The next thing she knew, he had tossed her back to the ground, his eyes flickering yellow but not changing. Not changing still. He was still the man in front of the demon. As though he wanted her to know that her death meant more to him as a person than him as a vampire.

Buffy didn’t register how hard she was panting. How much her body hurt from the impact of his blows. She ached almost to the point of numbness. Her muscles were sore; she was bleeding somewhere, she knew, but there was too much hurt to decipher where her skin was broken.

Stake. Somewhere, she had dropped her stake. Immediately, her shaking hands went to her ankle where she had latched the spare, eyes never leaving the face of the approaching vampire as he indulged his long steps toward her.

“You really think that’s going to work?” he drawled, sidestepping her evenly as she lunged for him. “You have no idea who I am, do you? No idea what I’m capable of. How many sniveling little girls like you I’ve killed over the years. You think your calling intimidates me? You’re nothing. You’re worse than nothing. You were born with a warrant to die.”

“Last time I checked, everyone was.” Buffy heaved deep breaths, refusing to take her eyes away from him. Even though her senses were warring, even though she felt the compulsion all over again to leave him and race to where Spike and Angel were fighting. Fighting still. She felt her boyfriend’s pain as though it were her own. Felt where he was bleeding even though she could not gauge the extent of her own injuries. “Being born is the first step to dying, isn’t it?”

“Cute.” He prowled forward, adroitly averting her when she lunged again. His hand wrapped around her wrist once more, coiling her in his arms so that her back was pressed to his chest, and she was staring ahead at the seemingly vacant cemetery. Her body wrenching against the grasp of a vampire to no avail. Oh, he faltered a bit. Grunted when it was appropriate, but refused to release her. Anticipating every move on the offense she could take. Spike was behind her; behind them. She could hear him—hear his screams for her as though he had given up on himself for her sake.

“It’s been fun,” he murmured. “There’s no denying that.” And finally, she felt the sting of his fangs at her throat. “All good things.”

It was over then. Over in the next second. It was an odd sensation, feeling the body around hers crumble away as though the earth had just then decided to correct a horrible wrong. She was standing there, stake aching to be used, and before she could wrestle herself away, her moment had past. Her skin tingled as his dust danced over her, and she was suddenly standing alone.

Buffy gasped and whirled around. Spike was looking at her with love and relief; pinned under Angel, his arm still outstretched from where he had thrown the stake. Saved her life then even as the other vampire’s fangs nearest his throat.

“Well,” Angelus drawled, tossing her a lazy glance. If there was any sense of loss at the sudden nonbeing of his childe, he did not reveal it. Nothing more than a flicker of annoyance. A furthered reason to kill the Slayer beneath him, as though creatures such as he were bound by motive. “That was either very heroic or very stupid.”

“Buffy!” Spike gasped.

Spike.

“I’m leaning more towards stupid, myself,” the vampire continued, his grip on the Slayer’s neck tightening. “How about you?”

“Oh God.” There was no thought in her mind. Her hand tightened around her stake and she rushed at them.

Stupid man saving her life when he should have been concerned with his.

She was not going to lose him. She was not.

“Spike!”

With Penn’s dust still sliding off her skin, Buffy broke for her lover, rage empowering her veins all over again. Something inhuman tumbled through her lips, her fingers digging into Angel’s arms as she ripped him away from Spike, stake arched high over her head. Ready to have it over with, even as his inhuman gaze danced at her in the height of mockery.

Something changed, then. Just as she was ready to have it over with, a shrill gasp rang through the air, and his eyes flashed. His body slouched over, the sin wracking his shoulders crashing down with sudden burden, and he collapsed.

“Buffy.”

Oh God. She knew that voice.

“Angel.”

Spike, from where he was stretched on the ground beside the vampire, panting, his eyes finding hers. Her own body ached with the weight of his wounds. She felt herself bleeding where he bled, even if there was no mark marring her skin. She hurt where he hurt, and the vampire before them was responsible.

The vampire before them had murdered Jenny Calendar. Had been seconds from murdering the man she loved.

The same vampire that looked up at her suddenly with eyes that matched the voice. Eyes that she knew. Eyes she had once swooned over to match the man with the angelic face. The fiend that had killed, and shown no mercy with those he tormented.

He had killed Giles almost more than he had killed Jenny. Her death was for him. The set-up. The books drenched in blood. The crucifix. Her eyes slashed shut so she would see no evil. Killing her had really been a milestone. She had died to torment Giles.

If he was back, she did not want him. There was no penance for that. And before she could doubt herself, Buffy’s arm came crashing down, stake breaking through his chest. Touching his heart and sending a chain reaction through his long dead body, melting him away until he was part of the earth. The rest, she shut out. Not caring to see his face. See his surprise or the hint of betrayal. Rather watched him dust as though he were any other vampire. Any vampire on any patrol, gone now because she was the Slayer.

And then there were two.

Spike. Her Spike. Buffy looked at him for a long minute, unwilling to admit how hard she was shaking. The mass of what she had nearly lost tonight still miles away; for now, she was just there with him. Looking at him. Her eyes lost in a blue ocean, drowning with no want of survival.

“Oh God.” She was in his arms before she could release another breath, whispering kisses across his face as he held her to him. Her face was wet with tears, only a few shed by her eyes. “I was so worried. I felt something was wrong…I—”

“Shhh, baby, it’s all right.” His mouth swept hers needily, tasting her as if to reassure himself. Holding her to him. There in the cemetery, lost in each other’s embrace. “It’s all over now.”

There was something in his voice that she could not identify. As though his love for her had expanded in seconds, and was more powerful than ever for some reason that she could not comprehend.

“I love you,” he whimpered. “So much.”

“Love you.” She clutched him tighter. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

“You, either. Nearly had a bloody heart attack.” Spike tugged her back to him, burying his face in her hair. “’S over now,” he murmured again. “’S’all over.”

“Over.”

And it was. An odd peace settled across the cemetery. And they held each other on the dark grass, sprinkled with the dust of two fallen. There under the glow of the night’s full moon. Relishing in the aftermath of the battle. Relishing in the solace the other offered in a touch.

The dance was over. And they held each other through the curtain call. There in the silence of the cemetery.

There in each other’s arms.

There in their haven of peace.

Music From Another Room

It didn’t really register until Spike absently jingled his newly acquired keys that he actually had his own place. She had heard him say it back at the cemetery. Had known that the stop at the convenience store was to buy shampoo and other essentials that one took for granted unless denied such small luxuries. Even the call to Giles made from a phone booth because he lacked a phoneline had escaped her notice. Everything had fallen unacknowledged until he led her through an unfamiliar hall of an equally unfamiliar building, muttering something about the lack of furniture. It struck then. Spike had an apartment. A real apartment.

The space was his. His. And he had gotten for them.

“’S not much,” he said over his shoulder. “Jus’ has the fridge an’ the bed. It’ll be a while before I can afford a telly…not to mention all the bloody rot that comes with it. But we have the basics, right? Food, indoor plumbin’, an’ a place to sleep.”

“It’s great,” she said automatically, overwhelmed still by the fact that he had his own apartment. They had somewhere to go when they wanted to be alone. A place where she could see herself living even if it turned out to be the world’s biggest dump. It was theirs—well, his—and that was more than enough for her.

Spike drew in a deep breath. “Was I wanker to bring you here?” he asked.

Buffy blinked at him dumbly. “What?”

“I wanted you with me tonight…’specially after what happened. Din’t ask, was jus’…I assumed you wanted to be here.”

“I do!”

Relief poured into his eyes. “Oh thank God.”

“Of course I want to be here. Why would you think I—”

Spike grinned. “You said the place was great an’ you haven’t even come in yet.” He gestured at the vacant hall. “Thought maybe I was…I dunno. Thought you were—”

Buffy smiled wryly and crossed the threshold, placing the bag full of goodies on the floor. “It is great. It’s great that you have this…I’m so…” She sighed and shook her head. “It’s just been a long day.”

“That’s one way to put it,” he agreed, moving to brush a kiss across her forehead.

“Believe me…here with you…there’s no other place I’d rather be.” She pulled back slightly and kissed his lips. “Especially after tonight. I never want to feel anything like that again.”

“Like that?”

“I felt you. I was sitting at home waiting for you, and then I felt something was wrong. I don’t know how or…” She frowned, glancing up at him helplessly. “This isn’t the first time, either. I don’t…”

Spike’s hand dropped to hers, their fingers entangling as he drew her further into his new home. He shut the door behind her, releasing a deep sigh and snatched up the abandoned sack with his free hand. “Rupert has a few ideas,” he said. “’S somethin’ I’ve been feelin’ for a while.”

“Where are we going?”

He smiled gently, squeezing her hand. “Shower. Feelin’ a bit…grizzly after…” A trembling sigh hissed through his lips. “I jus’ wanna…stay with me tonight. I don’t…” He glanced down. “I was so bloody angry when I saw you’d come for me. I was so terrified. I’ve never been that terrified. Don’ even know why. Somethin’ about tonight that I…”

“You can’t keep doing this. I’m the Slayer, too, remember? I—”

“I know that, sweetling. Tonight was different.” He shook his head. “Somethin’ about tonight was different. I needed to get to you more than I’ve needed anythin’. I think it’s somethin’…somethin’ else has started here. Somethin’…” Spike looked at her a minute longer, tugging her again toward the bathroom. “Let’s get clean, okay? Then I’ll run across the hall an’ use one of the neighbor’s phones to order us up somethin’. Sound good?”

She smiled. “Sounds perfect. I’ll need to call Mom and let her know that I’m…staying with Willow tonight.”

“She was with Rupert. I told her you were stayin’ with me.”

Buffy’s eyes went wide. “You did?”

“Baby, you were standin’ right there.” Spike smiled and brushed a kiss across the back of her hand. “I told Joyce that I’d take care of you an’ not to worry.”

“Yeah. I can imagine that going well. Put me and you in an apartment, unsupervised, then telling her not to worry?” She smiled even as he flicked on the bathroom light and set the bag of goodies onto the lavatory counter. “I think I can look forward to having a very uncomfortable talk with my mother when I get home.”

Spike smirked and fisted the worn material of her chemise, encouraging her with his eyes to raise her arms. “Think it’s a li’l late for the birds an’ the bees talk, don’t you?”

“Well, the actual talk, yes. The part where I’ve experienced it…”

His eyes twinkled.

“…we’ll omit that for now.” She shared his humor, her own hands busying themselves at the hem of his t-shirt. The cool marble of his chest was marred with bruises, the bleeding she had felt in the cemetery having stopped and already well on the way to healing. There were patches of angry skin that he could not conceal from her. Dried blood crusted over wounds that would require more than mere hours to mend. Places that Angelus had hurt him before he had known dust.

The weight of what had nearly been lost tonight refused to release its hold on her. Why tonight more than any other, she did not know. Only that Angel and Penn had gone to the cemetery tonight with the purpose of killing them. Killing Spike first so that his death would cripple her, and she would not put up a fight when she became the blunt of their attention.

“Rupert thinks it’s because we’re mated…or somethin’,” Spike said, surprising her. His eyes fixed on her intently. “What you were sayin’ before. I felt you, too, sweetling. Felt everythin’.”

“Mated?”

“He’s only seen it with vampires, an’ he says it’s not as common as it used to be. Times change for the undead, too, it seems. ‘S their way of marriage, or what all. At leas’ that’s how I understand it. Guess vamps don’t have it in them to remain faithful to one over any period of time.”

“Were Penn and Dru…were they mated?”

He shook his head. “I don’ think so. If they were, I think Penn would’ve died the minute you staked her. Vamps mate, pet, but they don’t tend to claim one another all that often. It’s even less common now, with as bloody promiscuous as society’s gotten. But, accordin’ to our Watcher, it did happen on occasion.”

“And Giles thinks it’s happened…to us?”

“As far as I can tell.”

“How? Last I checked, you and I very much have a pulse and are above room temperature.”

His eyes were still dancing. “Care to check again?”

Buffy flushed and whacked him very lightly across the chest—not wanting to do anything to aggravate any of the wounds acquired tonight. “Hot head.”

“Which head you talkin’ about, luv?”

“Gah! Pig.”

“No.” He pointed to himself. “Guy.”

“Same diff.”

“You wound.”

“You love it.”

“That’s beside the point.” Spike cupped her cheek reverently, nearing to caress her brow with a kiss. “Anyway, as I was sayin’, Rupert seems to think that since Slayers an’ vamps are made of the same mold…the bloody Ying Yang or what all, that we share properties.” He released another trembling breath, quivering hands dropping to her front clasp of her bra, moaning slightly when her breasts were bared to him. “When we’re called…” he continued absently, losing his thought as his mouth dropped to her throat, planting wet, needy kisses over her skin as his fingers pebbled her nipples with awed reverence. “Mmm…when we’re called, we’re told that we’re s’posed to stop the vampires. Not the bloody demons or other things that go bump in the night. Jus’ vampires. Rupert says that indicates that we’re linked to them. Share properties…share…all sorts of…mmm, but you’re tasty.”

Buffy grinned, running her hands down his sides. Fingers itching toward the button of his jeans, deftly resisting the temptation to cup him through the denim. She could feel his hardness, prominent against her. “And now we’re…we’re mated?”

“Somethin’ like,” Spike agreed, drawing a nipple into his mouth. His arms tightened around her when she gasped and arched into him, her hands abandoning their task at his jeans to clutch his shoulders. “’S that all right with you? No bloody objections, no—”

“I love you, you big idiot.”

He chuckled into her skin. “Such affection.”
.
“Well…way I see it…” She tilted his chin upward so she might taste his lips again. “Since we’re mated, Mom can’t complain about me and you and our affinity for naked, sweaty goodness.”

Spike grinned at her unrepentantly, turning his own hands to his trousers and relishing in the small murmur of complaint that tumbled through her throat at the loss of his touch. “Yeh,” he replied, tugging her back to him so he might make quick work of her jeans. “There’s a point to be made. If we’re prophesied, there’s no point in objectin’.”

“Absolutely none.”

“An’ if we’re prophesied and mated in the ways of Slayers an’ vamps, well…” Spike clasped her hands tightly as he began walking back to the shower. “There’s jus’ no winnin’ a fight with the bloody Powers.”

The sound of the water smacking the tub hit her again like it had that night so long ago. That night after her first encounter with Penn when Spike had rushed her back to the motel he was staying in. That night when she had to ask him to stay with her as she bathed. Their first night spent together, if she excluded the Halloween ignominy that had, in itself, opened up so many doors. And here she stood. Naked in another bathroom with Spike, this time as he led her under the nozzle. His hands no longer afraid to explore her. His body familiar to hers. Not guised by ambiguities of character. She loved him wholly, with everything she was or could be. The past was where it was.

Angel was dead and gone, an answer to her fatal blow. And as they had when the vampires came to town, they were washing the past away. Both under the nozzle this time; no longer divided. No longer was he on one side of the tub as she immersed herself in water. They shared this baptism. Her head against his shoulder, her hair growing damp under the small deluge, his arms around her.

There was never a time with him when she did not feel absolutely cherished. Her boyfriends in the past, insignificant as they were, had never, even at their sweetest, made her feel like this. Not for one second. Always after something that she had reserved rightfully for the man holding her now. Spike made her feel as wanted with a touch as he did when he was inside her.

Some part of her had always assumed that affectionate caresses and sexual caresses would differ in feel. Spike’s hands on her skin felt as genuine as the hardness of his cock against her. The nearly hesitant way he explored her feminine folds, his lips caressing her cheek, her throat, whispering little hints of affection against her skin. “I love you,” he murmured. “So much.”

“I love you.”

His thumb pressed against her clit, his mouth swallowing her whimper. “So sweet,” he whispered. “You have any idea what you do to me?”

Buffy licked her lips, her hand wrapping around his erection, guiding him to her entrance. She gasped at the feel of his belled head teasing her moist folds, her eyes glossing over at the look of euphoric bliss that colored his features. “I have some idea,” she replied softly. “Seeing as you ask me that every other day.”

Spike smirked and lifted her a little, his mouth dropping to her shoulder. “That’s because you have no idea,” he retorted, moaning when she dug her nails into his skin, his cock sliding within her. “God, I don’ think that’ll ever stop surprising me.”

“What?”

“How fuckin’ good you feel. Gets better every time.” His hands skimmed under her thighs, encouraging her legs to wrap around his waist. “You’re so gorgeous. My girl. My bloody water sprite.” She squeezed him tight, eliciting a long whimper. The cold tile pressed against her back, Spike moving in slow, languorous strokes. His hands on her hips, thrusting into her with small mewls of adoration. His mouth at her neck, his hands on her thighs. Cradling her against him. Her arms around his throat, lost in his feel as he moved within her, water cascading down her skin.

There were so many things he was introducing her to, seemingly by accident. She had read about couples that enjoyed lovemaking in the shower, but she had never thought of herself as that adventurous. Granted, there were some girls back at Hemery who would laugh at the thought of shower sex as adventurous, but it was for her. Everything Spike did with her was adventurous.

“Oh, God…”

“Love you,” he swore ardently. “I love you so much.”

“Love you.”

“Feels so good.” Spike met her eyes adoringly, his thrusts deepening. He stole a kiss from her lips. “I still don’ get it,” he murmured, wrapping one arm around her waist to hold her, his other hand scaling up her damp skin to cup her breast.

She squeezed him again, head falling to his shoulder. “Get what?”

“How in the hell you chose a mess like me.”

“I love you.”

“Don’t understand that either.” He pulled completely out of her, his cock sliding against her moist skin, between them. He had that look on his face that she adored; like he was just seconds from losing himself. He was so considerate of her, so desperate that she obtain release, though not in a way she would have expected. As though he took more pleasure in her orgasm than he did in his own. “Christ, there’s not one part of you that doesn’ bloody undo me.”

“You, either.” Buffy gasped and clutched him tighter. Her skin was tight, hot. Like a fire in the pit of her belly was spreading through the full of her body. And even here, drenched away in their waterfall, burning away to the point where tears stung her eyes. Tiny pinpricks tickling her insides, blazing so unbearably, so sweetly, that she didn’t know if she could take it. “God, Spike, please.”

He nodded urgently and sank within her warmth once more. “Don’ get it.”

“Spike—”

“You’re a goddess. My hot, fiery goddess.”

His touch dropped to her pussy, sliding over her wetness, massaging her where they were joined. Rubbing her clit in speedy, torturous circuits. Pushing her closer to that edge as he slammed into her. Her body curled into his, wrapped around him, her thrusting hips meeting his every plunge.

“So sweet.”

“Oh God.” She had to bite back her cry of frustration when he pulled out of her again. Teasing her so sweetly. So mercilessly.

“Love you.” With a cheeky swirl of his hips, he slammed into her again. Her head flew back against the tile and she mewled, her muscles contracting to gratifyingly agonizing depths. Watching him as he watched her, the smoldering look coloring his features a palpable touch of its own. Drawing forward sensations she would have denied existed were it not for the man in her arms. The man that reminded her every day of what they had. The blissful beauty of what they shared. If not with a touch, a look. A whisper. The curve of his seductively elegant smile that he flashed whenever he found something ironic or outrageously funny. Everything rolled into one.

Their pants mingled as his thrusts grew frantic. She became tighter and wetter with each plunge. His fingers edging her closer to climax, his mouth busy at her throat before dropping to her breasts once more and suckling her nipple between his teeth.

“Guhhh…”

“Mmmm.”

“Spike!”

His blue eyes met hers heatedly before his mouth plundered hers, tongue exploring every inch of her cavern. Drinking her fully. His fingers edging her closer to climax. “Come for me, baby,” he gasped. “You’re so close. I can taste it.”

“Spike—”

“Love you. I love you so much.”

“SPIKE!”

It hit her from nowhere. A dash of sensory overload, her body exploding around him. The tile against her back, the water washing over her body, his arms steadying her, his cock thrusting into her, his mouth dancing over her skin. All of it compiled into something she had never experienced before. Not with anyone. Not even with him. Not until tonight. Crashing over her in waves, rippling through her in a blaze, little jolts of pleasure that touched every nerve in her body. Her name spilled through his lips the next second, her muscles wringing him, milking him for everything he had to give. His brow collapsing against her shoulder, rough pants tumbling through his throat.

How long they remained there, she did not know. Only that the shower was running cold now, cooling them in the peace of their afterglow.

When she thought she could trust her voice with words, Buffy clutched him tighter and muffled a giggle into his shoulder.

“Not the most flatterin’ reaction I’ve received…”

“That was amazing, and you know it.”

Spike pulled back, his eyes dancing. “Yeh…” he agreed slowly, drawing her lips close for another long kiss. “What’s so bloody amusin’, then?”

“Well…showers are typically thought to encourage cleanliness. You made me even more dirty.”

“Ooohh. Say that word again.”

“What word?”

He smirked and thrust forward slightly, enjoying the way her eyes widened at the feeling of his cock expanding within her. “You bloody well know what word.”

“We need…shower.”

“We will,” he agreed, nuzzling her hair as he began to move again. “There’s no rush.”

An indeterminate amount of time later, collapsed on the bed that was composed of borrowed sheets and one lonely pillow, they rested. Buffy curled into her boyfriend’s side, dressed simply in his t-shirt. Full on the Chinese he had rushed out to get at last minute before all takeout restaurants closed business for the night. He had adorned a pair of sweats of his own accord. There was something about the intimacy of clothing that she felt many people took for granted. They were both wearing something from his wardrobe; a complete outfit if put together. And for whatever reason, that provided the strangest sense of comfort.

There was a fine line between crazy and overjoyed. Buffy didn’t know which one she was, and presently she didn’t care. She was with the man she loved. In his arms in the aftermath of battle.

The future was hazy at best. She didn’t know what it would bring. What repercussions she would suffer for the decisions made tonight. Spike relayed that Angel’s reappearance there at the end was at the whim of Willow enacting a curse that Jenny Calendar had evidently been researching the night she died. And really, Buffy didn’t know why she had made the decision she did. She didn’t regret it as she thought she might. It felt right. Justifiable.

For whatever else, there was this. The simple bliss of Spike’s arms. They were prophesied. The Slayer holding her now. And yet, it was not the Slayer that had rushed out to save him tonight.

That provided comfort as well. There were things that could not be prophesied.

She did not love him because he was the Slayer. She loved him because he was Spike. And she knew, simply by his touch, that the sentiment was shared.

There was so much left to explore. So much left to discover. So much.

Not tonight, though. Tonight they had ended it. Tonight it was time for rest.

Curled in Spike’s arms in the dark of his empty apartment, Buffy murmured something sleepily and shifted her head from where it rested on his chest. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Always?”

“For bloody ever. As long as you’ll have me.”

“I like always.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m not lettin’ you go.” She couldn’t see his face in the dark, but she knew he was smiling. He pulled her closer and dropped a reverent kiss at her temple. “That entire ‘as long as you’ll have me’ thing was jus’ a smoke screen.”

She giggled and raised her head, seeking out his lips. Sharing a heated kiss that remained loving and fueled with that hint of lust he couldn’t help but give. And there were no more words. Just smiles through the dark.

Curled in her lover’s arms, savoring peace after a long fight. Heedless of what awaited on the horizon. They had earned tonight. Tonight and a thousand others. And for now, there was this. This period between yesterday and tomorrow. Time rewarded.

And they slept.

Conclusive Notes: Much thanks to everyone who gave this one a shot with me. It was an absolute blast to write.

I did leave several things unresolved intentionally…I felt this plotline was over, but I also wanted to leave room for a possible continuation waaaay down the road. The reensouling/staking Angel thing pretty much was me having fun in my world: wanted Buffy to kill Angel…just once, voluntarily, while souled…but leave a gateway for the PTB to magic him back so he can go off to Los Angeles and become the star of my other favorite show. Heh.

Another world of thanks to Megan and Yani. You gals are the best.

Again, thanks to everyone who gave this one a shot. Here are the challenge guidelines...hopefully I followed them all relatively faithfully. (I did have a Spike/Giles training scene...wasn't too detailed, but it was in there, dammit)

The challenge was swiped from Sweetie's website, Beyond Surrender. She has since removed the challenge section from her website...thankfully I had the foresight to save this somewhere.


Challenge 9

Story
An AU of Season 2. Spike shows up, but he isn't a vampire. Buffy spies
on Spike for a while after she accidently see's him fighting off a
group of vamps, while on patrol. Spike shows up at Gile's Library.
Buffy freaks as Spike identifies herself as the Slayer. They realize
that Spike was summoned as the new Slayer when Buffy died --
temporarily drowned, that is. Buffy starts developing feelings for
Spike.

Requirements
- Rated R or NC-17 rating (Preferable NC-17)
- Must take place during season two, before School Hard
- Yes I know that a slayer has to be a girl, but this is a fanfic so
you can do whatever you want. Come up with some propecy or something,
just make Spike the slayer, how he became the slayer is up to you.
- Spike is a good guy, he can be as cocky or annoying as you like but
he has to remain on the side of good (ie he's not like Faith)
- Gile's also becoming Spike's Watcher, some sort of Watcher/Slayer
trainning scene
- Buffy starts to fall for Spike
- Spike helping Buffy on Patrols
- Buffy loses her virginity to Spike, not Angel
- Spike/Xander bonding (in a non slash way)
- Must remain S/B...it can start off as B/A but has to become S/B by
the middle of the story

Must include 3 of the following:
- Angel getting jealous of Spike spending time with Buffy
- Spike, Giles and Xander get drunk together
- Someone getting hurt (physically)
- Buffy and Spike become best friends
- Angel loses his Soul, not by Buffy but by some other reason..(Dru?)
- Xander/Cordy or Xander/Willow romance
- If you do a X/C or X/W, Spike has to somehow help Xander get the girl

Send feedback!