In The Midnight Light

Author: Holly (holly.hangingavarice@gmail.com)
Rating: NC-17 (for language, violence, and sexual situation)
Timeline: Season Two (Post Passion, although in a verse where Darla did not die in Season One’s Angel)
Summary: A brokenhearted vampire discovers that the truly important things in life often come from surprising places, and even more surprising people. Suddenly, Spike finds himself in a crisis of faith—the better angels of his conscience battling the restraint of his demon, all for the love of a girl he shouldn’t want. A girl he’s drawn to, even beyond his own reckoning.
Distribution: Mandi, Yani, Luba, and the ladies at B/S Diaries...it’s all yours. Everyone else, just drop me a line. You can have it as long as I know where it’s going.

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.

While he didn’t truly have anything to compare it to, Spike supposed walking Buffy home that night was his equivalent to ending a first date on a high, however ambiguous note. The evening had already maxed out his comfort zone as far as the ultimate surreal life went, though try as he might, he was helpless to resist her shy eyes or the sweet temptation of her soft skin. He was a man thoroughly buggered, no matter which way he looked.

“Where will you go?” she asked. “You can’t go back to…wherever you and the others were, can you?”

Spike smiled dryly and shook his head, fishing his cigarettes out of his duster pocket. “I’m homeless,” he replied with a shrug. “No worries, pet. I’m sure I’ll find a place to crash.”

“And if you don’t?”

The look in her eyes lent him pause. He was sure, eventually, he would stop feeling the strings of astonishment pulling on his heart every time he knew that she was concerned over his welfare. It just wasn’t likely to happen soon.

He lit his fag and sighed, offering little more than a shrug. “’m not goin’ back, if that’s what you’re askin’.”

“It’s not. That’s none of my business.”

There was a note in her voice that she couldn’t quite suppress. Whether or not it was any of her business, she’d never convince him that she didn’t care what he did or whose bed he occupied. Her eyes couldn’t lie to him.

“I’ll find a place. This town’s ripe with nice, roomy crypts. Jus’ a matter of findin’ the right one.”

Buffy made a face at that. “A crypt?”

“Yeh.”

“Like those things where the dead are stored?”

Spike waved a hand, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “Hello, dead here,” he replied, his eyes narrowing. “I’m not about to find an’ apartment in an upstanding neighborhood, Slayer. I’m not your bloody Angel. He wanted a heartbeat; I don’.”

She paused and worried a lip between her teeth. “I know,” she replied softly. “You…I’ve told you, I don’t want you to think that I’m trying to make you an Angel replacement, because I’m really, really not. I just…a crypt?”

“I do happen to be dead, an’ you gotta store me somewhere.”

A flinch crossed her face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeh, you did, but we’ll ignore it.”

“No.” Buffy stopped suddenly, her voice sharp with intent. He turned to her wearily, mentally kicking himself but doing his best to look otherwise disengaged. “I didn’t. Don’t do that. Don’t try to justify whatever you’re feeling into treating me like crap because hey, Buffy misses her vamp boyfriend. That’s dumb. I said what I said not even thinking about vampires, because—even with that ‘lacking pulse’ thing, I don’t consider them dead. Things that walk, talk, and ingest fluids for the sake of survival are not dead. It’s just a hybrid of life. So don’t treat me like I’m trying to make you less than you are. I just didn’t know vamps camped out in cemeteries beyond the ‘climbing from the coffin’ thing. Okay? You got here and hid out at a factory, and now the others are at a mansion. Why on earth would I have any reason to think that you’d want a crypt? It just surprised me, is all.”

Spike stared at her for a long moment, amazement burning in his eyes.

“What?”

“You,” he replied hoarsely.

Her cheeks rouged at that, and she glanced to the pavement with a sudden surge of shyness. “What about me?”

“I’d get into it, but then we’d be out here all night.” He shook his head. “You’re remarkable, Buffy.”

There was a long beat at that; she looked up again in shock, and warmth filled her whole.

Spike frowned uncomfortably. He wasn’t accustomed to this—to being regarded as anything above a commodity. The wealth of affection that poured through her gaze was thoroughly alien to anything he’d ever experienced. Never had a woman looked at him like that. Like he was something important—something more than a walking vibrator.

She wasn’t supposed to stare at him like he was worth everything.

“What?” he asked after a few uncomfortable seconds.

“You called me ‘Buffy,’” she replied.

“And?”

A shy smile kissed her lips. “I like it. It’s not…‘Slayer’ or something. I just…it makes me feel like more than the Chosen One. You don’t call me that often, if you ever have.”

“You’re star-eyed because I called you Buffy? Not because I said you’re remarkable?”

“Well, that part helped.” She glanced down. “The past few days have been really confusing.”

That was, perhaps, the first logical thing he’d heard her say since that night in the motel. Spike smiled weakly and nodded in agreement. “Yeh,” he said. “But you seem to be taking it all well.”

“I’m trying not to think about it.”

“An’ how’s that workin’ out for you?”

“I’m actually managing to not think about it.”

She released a deep breath and glanced down, moving forward slightly as they continued together down the sidewalk. Her house was within view, and again, like an awkward first date, Spike felt his chest constrict. He didn’t want to leave her now; now that they had reached something. There was some sort of understanding between them, tacit in nature but no less sacred.

He couldn’t get over the way she touched him. The calm kindness that warmed his flesh whenever his hand brushed against hers. It was a bolt of lightening, the way it struck him—the pure astonishment at realizing that he still could feel her affection for him when they weren’t stealing kisses, gazing heatedly at each other, or basking in post-coital highs.

“You’re not thinkin’ about it?” he echoed softly, sucking on his cigarette.

“I don’t want to talk myself out of this,” she replied. “I don’t. Right now, my world is crazy enough to fill in the spaces for Charlie Manson. I know if I stopped and really mulled it over, I’d know how wrong it is. I mean, I know how wrong it is right now without having to mull it over...mulling over plus long concentration equals headachy badness.” Buffy wet her lips and heaved a deep sigh. “I told you that I like you...and I do. I like the guy I got to know in the motel that night after you decided to stay with me. I like you...and right now, that’s all I want to think about.”

“Even though I came to kill you the other night?”

She grinned dryly. “You don’t want me dead, Spike.”

He smirked. “You don’ have to bloody well rub it in.”

“Oh, I really think I do.”

God, he loved the way her eyes danced. There was no malice within her gaze—nothing but humor and enjoyment. This was the face of someone who truly understood him, or at least cared enough to try. He hadn’t even known her for a week—not really. He’d known the Slayer; now he was getting to know Buffy.

The scary thing was, she was getting to know him in turn. The true self he’d buried under a facade of Big Bad—the facade that had nearly dwarfed him completely; not with sincerity, rather with a need to become the mask he wore.

She took the mask away and didn’t reject what she found underneath. He was more in her eyes than he’d ever been in Dru’s. And God, it made him feel like such an imposter. He was wearing someone else’s skin, living someone else’s life. He couldn’t be the man she thought he was, no matter how much he wanted it.

“If I think about how stupid I’m being, I’ll stop,” she continued softly. “And I don’t want to. I like you...and I don’t want to stop liking you. I don’t want to stop this—this thing that we have that’s really weird and completely wrong but God I need it. I know it’s dumb. I really, really know it...but you...”

Spike smiled softly, forcing himself to ignore the voice that commanded him to take her hand. There were certain boundaries he had yet to cross; holding hands with the Slayer was a no-no. It implied affection beyond the lust. It implied that simply being with her was enough to sustain him; that he wasn’t after sex or blood, or any combination of the two. And while the notion was buried in verity, and he knew that his fondness for her was tangible, it didn’t bloody well mean he had to make a public statement about it.

Her words haunted him with truth. It was wrong. Completely and utterly wrong. Holding her hand would only muddle matters more than they already were. Being with Buffy right now, simply walking her home, was confusing enough.

He’d taken so many steps. There was no turning back now; there was no deciding that he’d made a mistake. While he didn’t doubt that Dru would have him back, life with his family, following his leave, would make him crave death in ways he’d never truly thought possible. He wouldn’t last. Sunlight would be the only viable option.

Whichever road he took, he faced inevitable heartbreak. Buffy, however, would be much gentler with him. She might even cry authentic tears.

“You’re not like him,” she said softly, jarring him out of his reverie.

“What?”

“Angel. You’re not like Angel.” A pause. “Or Angelus, for that matter.”

The high vanished without warning. Of course he wasn’t like bleeding Angelus. Spike felt his chest tighten in preparation for the foreseeable punch. He clenched his jaw and glanced away to hide the hurt in a sea of anger. The last thing he needed was for her to discover how deeply she could cut him. How easily she could make him bleed. How much power she wielded with verbal weapons; how much damage she could really do if she wanted.

He felt her hand on his shoulder and tried not to shudder at her warmth. “No, Spike. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah,” he drawled bitterly, not willing to meet her eyes. God, he was such a ponce. Such a ninny. Such a pathetic open book, ready to be shredded by a sodding chicklet. “Right.”

“I don’t want you to be like Angel.”

“No worries, luv. I tried for years to master the role, an’ believe me, somethin’ in my performance always comes up short.”

“Stop it.”

“I’m not doin’ anythin’.”

“Yes, you are. Stop it.” She seized his hand forcibly and pulled him to a halt, though he honestly didn’t know what surprised him most; her audacity or the fact that she was touching him the way he’d wanted to touch her a minute ago. “Look, my feelings for Angel are...well, confused is the best way to describe them. The guy I knew doesn’t exist anymore. I have to kill the guy that took his place. He’s an evil, sadistic son of a bitch, and if Angel even had a chance of coming back, I’m not convinced that would be a good thing. He’s done too much. A-and if you’re right...about Angelus always being a part of Angel, then I just—”

“I am right. I’ve known the wanker a li’l longer than you, right?”

“But you never knew Angel. You’ve known him when he pretended to be Angelus, a-and when he was with me. It’s not like the two of you got together to catch up after you knew he was all with the soul.”

Spike’s eyes darkened. “You’re making excuses for him.”

“I am not!”

“Look, Slayer, I know I’m never gonna be your precious Angel. I bloody well have that figured, yeah? So don’ go into—”

“I don’t want you to be like Angel!”

“Well, we pretty much got that covered.”

“Can’t I still...I’m not saying I’m over Angel. I can’t be. It’s too soon.” She turned her eyes to the ground and shuddered. “But something’s happened to me. I don’t understand it. I won’t pretend to. What I was trying to say is...you...you’re soulless, like Angelus, but there’s this, too.” She squeezed his hand and he about melted on the spot. “I like this.”

“This is bloody dangerous.”

“I know.”

“You’re assumin’ I won’ come to my senses an’ kill you at any moment.”

“You could if you wanted to, yes. But you won’t.” Buffy released a deep breath. “Spike, this is a big thing for me. Huge. Not only are you...you’re turning my world upside down. Soulless vamps aren’t supposed to be like you.”

He snorted. “Tell me about it.”

“No, stop that.”

“You have any idea how much easier it’d make things if we jus’ agreed to hate each other?”

“I don’t want to hate you—I like you. Which is more than Angel ever got from me.”

For a minute there, he was certain the earth had stopped rotating. Spike nearly tripped, tearing his hand from hers and grasping her shoulder for leverage. “What?” he demanded. “What the hell does that mean? Honestly, Slayer, do you think I’ve been walkin’ around the Hellmouth blind for the past few months? I know bloody well what—”

“I never liked Angel. I loved him, yes, but I skipped that entire like thing. I thought he was creepy at first, then I hated him, then I fell for him. There was no liking him in between all that.” She rubbed her arms, turning her eyes to the pavement once more. “In some ways...in many ways...I feel closer to you than I ever did to him. I feel like I never knew him at all.”

She hadn’t, but he didn’t want to tell her that again. He didn’t want to disturb the ethereal wonder that settled around them in the aftermath of her outburst. The peace he felt with her revelation was worth the hurt—such that it nearly frightened him. While he constantly found himself in situations that caused him pain beyond pain, mostly by choice, Spike would never define himself as a masochist. He didn’t enjoy suffering, no matter that his decisions suggested otherwise.

Every second he spent with her, the further the proverbial knife twisted in his heart. He’d be dust by the time she was through with him—dust in the form of a man. Solid but never there. He was beginning to realize that Buffy simply wasn’t the sort of girl one recovered from with any measure of ease. It was the reason Angelus was so bloody obsessed with her. The reason that Spike couldn’t, for all the want of logic, let her go. The reason neither of them could overcome their reservations, as unwanted as they were, and kill her properly.

Angelus didn’t know what he’d given up. He’d never understand what he’d lost.

Spike grunted to himself and tossed his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out beneath his boot. His grandsire would never understand what he’d lost; Spike wasn’t about to make that mistake.

“I’m gonna kiss you,” he announced abruptly. And he didn’t hesitate; didn’t stop to allow her a word in. Instead, he stepped forward and cupped her cheeks, drawing her lips to his. Her kisses were drops of nirvana—so bloody pure, and though each taste sacrificed a little more of himself, he felt, in the end, a better man because of it. He swallowed her gasp of surprise, reveling in the long shudder that commanded her body. In the small mewl that she rumbled into his mouth. There were worse things, after all, than losing himself.

She murmured against his lips, her fingers curling around his upper arms as her mouth danced sweetly with his. “Spike...”

He’d conquer nations for the needy breathlessness that dominated her voice.

A whimper of complaint seized him when she finally pulled away, panting harshly, resting her brow against his. He trembled. The series of tender moments he’d shared with Buffy could fill a lifetime compared to those he’d ever had with Dru.

“You’ve turned my world upside down,” he murmured.

“You, too.”

“This doesn’ make any bloody sense.” Spike exhaled slowly and pressed his lips to her brow. The demon within roared in objection; unprovoked tenderness was not something to relish. “You’re changing everything.”

“Change isn’t a bad thing.”

The hope in her voice nearly made him laugh. There were times when he couldn’t deny that, in many ways, she was still such a little girl. Perhaps she didn’t see how this would end; perhaps she, in her youthful noble-mindedness, believed that anything they had could last forever. Perhaps.

The possibility that she could want anything resembling a normal relationship with him warmed him whole. Such idealism was reserved for fairytales.

He wanted a fairytale with her. He wanted it so bloody badly.

Spike hummed slightly and pulled away. “You make me crave things I can’t have,” he said, releasing a dejected sigh. “Come on, Slayer. We should get you home before your mum sends out a bloody search party.”

“There is nothing here that you can’t have.”

He trembled. “Buffy—”

“I really love it when you call me that.”

“If we do this, there’s no goin’ back.” He shook his head, his eyes heavy. “I don’ think you’re ready for that.”

“I—”

“I don’ think I am, either.”

She fell silent at that, nodding. There was resignation amid knowledge, and while he knew that it wasn’t the answer she wanted, he felt a sense of righteousness. Temptation was literally at his side, and he managed to shove his yearning away for the sake of what was right.

Though in retrospect, doing what’s right wasn’t exactly in the job description. Was he so thoroughly buggered that he’d completely reversed their roles?

Spike sighed and cast a hand through his platinum hair. Sod all.

She had him turned around. He didn’t know what was what anymore.

The rest of their walk was brief and laced with silence. He watched as she climbed up the trusty tree outside her bedroom window, and found himself following her without waiting for an invitation.

She climbed inside her window and turned to him with a small, forced smile. “Is that it, then?” she asked. “Or are we gonna say this is over and keep on meeting like this anyway?”

“It should be over, pet.”

“I don’t want it to be over.”

Then she leaned out her window and seized him by the lapels of his duster, attacking his mouth in a hungry, desperate kiss. Spike froze for a long second, drunk with ecstasy, his skin aflame for the feel of her lips moving against his. He was such a fool. There was no denying her; no denying the completion he felt when she was in his arms. Before he knew what he was doing, he had her by the shoulders, all but dragging her through the window until she was on the branch beside him. He edged backward until his back met with the trunk. She followed him, unwilling to part her lips from his, to relinquish her mouth’s claim on his tongue as she warred with desperation that nearly matched his own.

“I want this,” Buffy gasped into his mouth. “I don’t care that it’s wrong.”

“You should,” he replied, nipping at her chin as his hands mapped her body. The scars he’d given her had all but faded now; the thought of marring her gorgeous skin with animosity made him quiver with self-loathing. Granted, without that first night, there would be none of this. This lovely, completely irrational bit of Elysium that they’d managed to find together, however woefully wrong it was.

“I don’t,” she replied breathlessly, tossing her head back as his mouth worshiped her throat. “I know I should, but I don’t. You’ve...God, you’ve confused that for me.”

He felt her hands unbuckling his belt, and for a long second, he could’ve sworn that his heart had started thundering once more.

“Buffy—”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t?”

Her nimble fingers pried open his fly, and the next thing he knew, his cock leapt into her willing hand, and he dissolved in warmth. A long moan tore from his lips and his head flew back against the tree trunk so hard that it hurt, though pain was secondary to rapture. With her hot, welcoming little hand was wrapped around his erection; there was no room for thought.

“Oh holy fuck!”

Buffy kissed his lips sweetly, and the world all but ignited.

“God, what are you doing to me?”

“You made me...last night, you made me come.” She blushed hard, something that him completely bewildered. The shyness, however, wasn’t a show. He knew she was terrified. The reverberation of her thundering heartbeat echoed through every inch of her skin. There was eagerness, too; excitement. A need to do what she was doing, even if the thought frightened her.

He wanted to tell her there was nothing to worry about, considering the way her hand massaged his length with expertise that made him want to either praise the gods or scream in jealous fury. The thought, however foolish, that she had done this before had his demon snarling for vengeance.

“You made me come,” she said again, this time with false bravado that made his heart swell. “Now I wanna make you come.”

There were no sweeter words in the English language.

Her hand pumped his shaft sweetly, her brow resting against his, her lips stealing kisses from his mouth every few seconds. He watched her in awe, his eyes shifting from her face to the sight of her fist coiled around his dick. Her thumb brushed against his head with every sweep, almost too softly, as though she was afraid adding pressure would break him.

“Oh, Buffy,” he moaned, dropping his head to her shoulder. Her grip tightened, coaxing a long whimper from his lips. “God, pet, that feels so good.”

“Really?” she replied, her voice leveled with uncertainty.

“Fuck, yeah.”

“I haven’t...I mean, I never...”

He raised his eyes to her almost reluctantly. “You an’ Angel never...” He trailed off, unable to see that thought to fruition. It was out there, ugly and real, though he was divided between need and dread at the prospect of her answer.

“No.” Her skin flushed deeper. “We kissed a lot. Before that...that night, there wasn’t a lot of other stuff. I was too...and I think he thought he’d break me.” She paused, her gaze trained on his cock. Her eyes on that part of him nearly did more to undo him than the magical feel of her hand stroking him. “Am I doing this right?”

He bit back a chuckle. “Trust me, pet, there’s no way to get it wrong.”

“Really?” He felt her lips brush against his throat. “Tell me what you like, Spike.”

He whimpered and attempted futilely to thrust his hips forward. “You won’ like it.”

“Blowjobs?” Buffy quirked a brow as her head reeled back. “I do know about guys and blowjobs.”

A sliver of fury combated with lust. “An’ how’s that?”

She smirked and leaned inward, nibbling gently on his lips. “I attend a public school, you know,” she murmured. It was amazing how sultry she could make a thoroughly unsexy statement sound. “Tell me what you like.”

“I like what you’re doing very much.”

“Tell me how to make it better.”

He paused, then quirked a brow. “Well,” he replied, steadying his hands on her hips. “You could use both hands.”

Buffy paused at that and frowned. “Both hands?”

“For starters.” Spike grinned and nipped at her mouth. “We’re in a tree, luv. Doesn’ really give us enough room to go into everything that I like. Unless you wanna move this into your bedroom...”

The hesitance that flickered across her face at that was all the answer he needed. She wasn’t ready to let him into her home, which was likely a wise decision. He’d find himself sneaking in at all hours, and thus doing little more than strengthen the intensity of their increasingly confusing relationship. Instead of waiting for her answer, he kissed her, wrapping his hand around hers.

“Faster, luv,” he murmured, choking back a moan when she immediately complied. “Now...ahh, yeah. That’s it. God, feels like Heaven, that does. Such a sweet li’l hand. You like doing this? You like wanking off dangerous vamps jus’ feet away from where you’ll sleep t’night?”

Buffy’s eyes flared. “Guh,” she stated ineloquently, her eyes fluttering shut.

The scent of her arousal nearly drowned him. Her wetness stung the air, imploring his tongue for a taste.

“You like that? Like the feel of my cock in your hand?”

She nodded rapidly, her other hand delving further into his jeans until he felt her tentatively cupping his balls. Spike tossed his head back again and moaned, encouraging her to stroke him faster. She squeezed and stroked him, kneaded affection into him without words. The tenderness in her caresses was more than he’d ever thought to touch.

It happened too quickly. Hell, a year could have passed and it would’ve been too quickly. Spike barked something he thought sounded enough like a warning, then came violently into her hand. He felt her still around him, though her heart began pounding even harder. Her excitement touched the air like a firecracker, and even coming down from his plateau, he found himself wanting—needing—to taste more.

“Buffy...”

Her eyes were glued to the spendings that coated her skin. He expected disgust, but she seemed enthralled.

Spike fisted a handful of cotton from his t-shirt and seized her wrist, wiping her skin off best he could. “You should go inside now,” he said quickly.

Her head flipped up at that, and the uncertainty in her eyes all but killed him. “What? Was that not good? Did I do something wrong? What did I do wrong?”

“No. God, no. But you should go inside.” He inhaled deeply, nuzzling her hair as he deftly tucked himself back inside his jeans. “I want you so bloody much, an’ I’m not above fucking the daylights outta you in a sodding tree, as uncomfortable as it is. You jus’ proved anythin’ possible.”

The scent of her arousal intensified, and his mouth watered.

“Slayer, get your biteable arse inside that girly bedroom of yours.”

He was immediately bereft the second that she left his arms. He watched with barely guised longing as she climbed back into the sanctuary of her room. The barrier was between them again, and while he cursed its presence, he was similarly grateful to have some boundaries defined.

“I want you to undress,” he said softly when she turned to meet his eyes. “I want you to stroke your clit until you come. An’ I wanna watch while you do it.”

There was a measure of satisfaction in the widening of her eyes. In the thrill that raced down her spine, nearly indiscernible, but there nonetheless.

“Spike—”

“I want to watch. An’ I want you to gimme your hand after you’ve come so I can lick up all your juice.”

“Spike, I need to say something.”

The sentence was so short, so declarative, that it leant him pause.

Buffy released a deep breath and glanced down. “I...what we’re doing...this is new. All of it. It’s new to me. Angel and I...well, I told you we didn’t do anything beyond make out up until...the actual sex part, as in you sticking your...” She gestured without meeting his eyes and flushed. “In me...I’m not ready for that.”

Spike softened and edged as close as he dared to the invisible barrier. “Slayer—”

“The first time was too terrible, and it broke me. This is helping me heal.” She exhaled softly. “This is something that’s ours. Yours and mine. But the actual sex part, however the hell you wanna define it...I’m not ready for that. I don’t want to hurt like that again. Angel told me he loved me and I got hurt. We...I don’t know what we’re doing, but I can’t do that part if...”

She trailed off awkwardly and her words fell with silent grace. Spike watched her for a long moment, then realized what she thought. That stating only oral play and handjobs, equaled not good enough if they couldn’t complete this mating dance with the traditional act of lovemaking. She didn’t need that—not if love wasn’t in the mix. She wanted love, and she was right to. No one deserved to be loved as much as the Slayer.

If he loved her, though, whatever hold he had left on his old life would be gone forever.

If, if, bloody if. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t thought it through to this extent. And with as terrifying as the notion was, there was a certain degree of peace that encompassed him with immeasurable warmth.

Love the Slayer...

Spike smiled softly and nodded, forcing his troubling thoughts away. She didn’t need to worry her pretty head about that tonight. If anything, he’d learned that making plans didn’t get him anywhere where she was concerned.

“No worries, sweet,” he reassured her. “We won’ do anythin’ you don’ want.”

Tension rolled off her shoulders. “Okay,” she said, forcing a weak smile. “Okay.”

There was a beat. She turned to her bed and began pulling down the covers.

“Slayer?”

She looked up.

“I’m still waiting for my juice.”

She paused at that, then a wise, womanly smile touched her face. “Oh,” she replied, straightening as she fisted the hem of her shirt. “You’ll get what’s coming to you.”

Spike smirked and licked his lips, his eyes soaking her in.

There were worse things in the world than being wrong. The longer he stayed, the more he wanted. Only this was different. For the first time, he realized that he wasn’t alone. More than affection, more than kindness—the lust that burned her eyes wasn’t imagined. She wanted him as much as he wanted her.

Perhaps then, just perhaps, he could allow himself to ponder.

Perhaps he wouldn’t have to let go of her at all.

Wishful thinking or not, shady hope was better than resignation. He wanted to keep her; he’d be a fool to wish otherwise. He’d made the mistake of telling himself what her decision would be. Buffy alone was in charge of her destiny.

He wasn’t going to try and talk himself out of anything anymore. The girl was unpredictable; trying to warn himself off with threats of his inevitable heartache was setting himself up for failure. That had to end. Nothing was decided now. The future wasn’t set. Buffy wanted him now, and chances were, she’d want him tomorrow. He’d underestimated her a time too many, and this was where the buck stopped.

Perhaps, in the end, she’d want him forever. He could live with that.

After all, she had yet to stop surprising him.

It was near impossible to even pretend to be remotely interested in geometrical forms when her thoughts kept wandering to the ocean in Spike’s eyes. The way his gaze soaked her up, the way his lips tasted, the way he rumbled into her mouth when he was overwhelmed with passion. There was simply so much life to him that he, somehow, didn’t see.

The niggling voice that had haunted her for the first couple days was gone now. Whatever reservations she’d possessed had been dwarfed by the growing sense of justness she felt whenever they were together. The soul debate didn’t present the problem she would have anticipated, especially considering how hostile things had been between them prior to Angel’s conversion to his less sociable self. Ultimately, from what she’d seen, comparing Spike to Angel was equitable to comparing Xander to Giles. It just didn’t work—they were different people, and it wasn’t fair to judge one based on the sins of the other.

The monstrosity in Spike’s inherent nature did present a problem. She had no delusions that he had stopped killing for her. After all, their relationship was poorly defined, and the vampire had to eat. Was she okay with it? Absolutely not. The thought that her connection with a deadly demon was forming a potentially fatal blind spot didn’t rest well with her at all. But there was no killing the demon without killing the man. And the man, despite all the demon’s efforts, trumped the demon power and influence.

Spike was more virtuous than he’d ever admit, though he’d probably scream nasty things and threaten to kill her if she dared to share her revelation.

The ‘killing people’ thing bothered her. A lot. And while she knew it was happening—based on common sense above anything else—even the semantics of right and wrong couldn’t convince her that letting him go was the right move to make. His evil was not the same as Angelus’s. His evil was there in defiance of his humanity. His evil was there to protect the parts of him that were still too soulful to deal with the abuse of a demon world.

Humanity was something that Angelus simply didn’t possess.

By the time lunch period rolled around, Buffy had taken to crossing off the hours until sunset in her notebook. The end of the maze was marked with S-P-I-K-E, spelled out in bubble-letters. It was the closest thing to geometrical forms that she felt like touching.

The girlish swell of excitement was something she thought she’d never feel again. It was a complete step away from the smoochy-filled patrols she’d shared with Angel—this thing with Spike felt adult. It felt more than something she was obligated to go through as a high school experience, though she loathed to give her relationship with Angel any such label, especially since her heart had yet to recover. She’d heard about rebound guys from her friends at Hemery, and even suspected that her fling with Pike, while not rebounding off Tyler, had been a way to cope with the Chosen One crap. It hadn’t been serious; more a thing that was there as a this is how you’ll deal consolation prize.

After all, Tyler hadn’t exactly been one to write home about. Their break-up hadn’t necessitated a rebound. She didn’t even remember shedding tears into her pillow about it—likely because it tagged on burning down school buildings and making out with guys way too old for her.

Buffy snorted inwardly, swinging her bland brown sack as she approached the usual table her gang met around during the lunch hour. Willow and Oz were already seated, talking animatedly about some undoubtedly complicated academic matter that would fly right over her head.

The redhead’s eyes lit up when she saw her. “Hey, Buff!”

She offered a weak smile and pulled up a chair. “Hey,” she replied. “What’s up?”

“Oz and I were just talking about—”

“Something complicated and academic?”

“Close. The Dingos got a gig in LA,” Willow returned. “Oz has to drive up there this weekend.”

Buffy arched a brow. “Don’t tell me there are actual talent scouts that frequent the Bronze?”

“Stranger things,” Oz replied with an easy shrug.

“Did anything happen at the Bronze after we left?” Willow asked, sipping at her juice. “The band was kinda without, so I’m guessing not. Unless—ooh! Unless there was a big demon brawl. Or Angel showed up.”

“No demon brawl. No cameo from my ex.”

Buffy paused and licked her lips, her mind returning to thoughts of Spike and his gorgeous, stare-into-your-soul way of looking at her. There was no way she could announce another deadly attraction to yet another vampire and expect it to be taken with a smile and nod, but God, she wanted to talk to someone about it. Buffy glanced back to her friend and sighed. The chances of Willow understanding were slim to none. However, she was truly the only one who would even offer a sympathetic ear before shutting her out.

Xander would never understand. Never. He hadn’t understood Angel even with the soul; imagining his reaction to the revelation that she was enamored with not only another vampire, but a vampire that had already proclaimed his intention to kill her, did absolutely nothing for her plight.

“Buffy?”

She glanced up and sighed. Now. Get it out of the way now, before you lose your nerve. “Oz,” she said, smiling sweetly, “do you think you can make yourself scarce? I need to talk with Willow...about...stuff.”

Well, that was profound. Willow’s face was a mesh of confusion and intrigue, but she didn’t object.

The werewolf shrugged and nodded shortly. “Yeah, sure,” he agreed. “Do you need me to distract Xander?”

“That’d be swell.”

“Consider him distracted.”

“And Cordy?”

He shrugged again. “They’re a matching pair. I figure distracting one distracts the other by default.”

Buffy smiled her gratitude. “You’re the best.”

“Yeah, not enough people know that about me.” He dropped a kiss atop Willow’s head and gathered up his books. “See you after fourth?”

“Yeah,” the redhead agreed. “Okay.”

By the time they were actually alone, the look on Willow’s face was all but bursting with curiosity. It wasn’t often that Buffy felt the need to demand privacy with her best friend, especially since Oz was practically ‘one of the girls.’ However, this instance was particularly sensitive. No matter how accepting the wolf was, she had to be cautious and pace herself; also, aside being Willow’s boyfriend, Buffy didn’t know him very well. The past few weeks hadn’t allowed much time for a formal ‘getting to know you’ session. She understood that he was becharmed with the redhead; up until recently, she had forced herself to be begrudgingly happy for the couple. After all, watching others bask in love and overly-excited teenage hormones was even less fun when one’s own honey was off on a murderous rampage.

But that was before Spike. Before her world had flipped itself upside down. Before he’d given her a reason to smile again.

“What is it?” Willow demanded quietly. “You have serious-face.”

“That’s because this is serious.”

“Uh oh.”

“Uh oh?”

“Serious, I’ve come to understand, equals bad. A-at least with all the bad guys that are running around out there right now. What’s wrong?” She paused. “You said Angel was a no-show. Was it...did Darla come back looking for—or Spike?!” Buffy started at the sound of his name, and her reaction must have been telling. Willow’s eyes practically bulged out of her head. “Oh my God. Did Spike...he threatened to make good on his ‘kill you dead’ thing, didn’t he? God, that guy really doesn’t know how to interpret getting whacked by a tree limb.”

Buffy exhaled slowly, a shrill chuckle rumbling through her throat before she could stop herself. “Well,” she replied. “Not exactly.”

“Not exactly? Not exactly what?”

“Will...there are...some things...about me and Spike that I haven’t told you.”

The look on her friend’s face went slack. “I didn’t know there was a ‘you and Spike,’” she said.

“Yeah, that’d be one of the things I haven’t told you.”

“Buffy?”

“We’re...we’re kinda...” She cleared her throat. “What I mean to say is, Spike and I...there’s kinda this thing.”

“A thing?”

Buffy nodded guiltily. “We can’t keep our hands off each other,” she blurted, the words strained and awkward. And out there. God, they were out there before she could stop herself.

Willow sat back, her skin paling, her expression numb. They sat like that for a long, uncomfortable minute. Not talking. Not even establishing eye contact. The redhead was staring hard at something on the table, and for a horrible instant, the Slayer feared she had made the mother of all mistakes.

After all, Willow was understanding...but getting the suddenness of ‘Buffy likes groping Spike’ was pushing the envelope.

“Well,” her friend said finally, her voice strained. “That’s a...pretty big thing.”

“Yeah.”

“You and Spike...”

“I don’t know how it happened.”

“Yeah, I can understand the dark, sinister attraction of him nearly killing you.”

Buffy laughed uncomfortably, raising a hand in protest. “Hey, you’re reading way too much into that.”

“You’re into Spike now? As in, Mr. Soulless, president of the Slayer-Haters Unite Club? The same guy that, oh yeah, raided the school on parent/teacher night and has been trying to find a way to make you very, very dead for months?”

“I’m getting the impression that you’re not taking this well.”

“Well, how am I supposed to take it, Buffy? Last I checked, Spike’s a remorseless killer who, by the way, already has a girlfriend!”

“Not so,” she protested. “Spike broke it off with Dru last night.”

“How romantic.”

“I—”

“This is, of course, after he socked you in the jaw the other night when you were trying to stake the evil hell-bitch.”

“See, that was just a misunderstanding.”

Willow crossed her arms and huffed. “Oh really?”

A heavy sigh burdened the Slayer’s shoulders, and she glanced to her lunch sack in resignation. “Will, look, I know this is all kinds of crazy. I know it. Spike knows it, too. He keeps telling me we gotta stop...and I know it, but I don’t want to. He’s not Angel. He’s not Angelus. He’s not even the guy we thought he was. The demon is a face he wears. The demon has nothing to do with the Spike I know.”

“Well, that makes it really easy for you, doesn’t it?”

“No. No, I never said it was easy. It’s wrong and stupid, but I’m feeling things for him. Non-reboundy, true things.” Buffy expelled a deep breath. “I’m not asking for your approval. I don’t expect it. I know you have absolutely no reason to trust Spike. I know that you think I’m insane. I don’t expect you to agree to be okay with it or any of the above. But that’s what’s happening right now. I’m...in something with Spike.” She trembled slightly, rising to her feet. Suddenly, she didn’t feel hungry in the slightest. “I’m okay with you not being okay with it,” she added. “Really, I am. And I understand why. I really do. I just...it won’t change anything. For whatever reason, Spike makes sense to me right now...even without the logic.”

The look on Willow’s face had softened a note, but she still didn’t look anywhere near satisfied, much less convinced. Instead, she sighed and nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

“Okay?”

“Do what you want, Buffy. It obviously doesn’t matter. I don’t know why you told me in the first place.”

The Slayer’s eyes narrowed. “Because you’re my friend and I think honesty, once in a while, is a good trait for friends to share. But, like I said, I understand your disapproval. I’m not asking for anything. I just wanted you to know because I figured it’s better that you hear it from me than somewhere else.” She paused. “So there it is. Spike and I have a thing. It’s out there. You can do with it what you please—tell Xander, don’t tell Xander, it’s up to you. If you don’t, I will eventually. I’ll trust whatever decision you make.”

With that, Buffy pushed back her seat and snatched up her lunch sack. There was no point in trying to maintain a normal conversation with her friend after that. Furthermore, something told her that Willow wouldn’t be comfortable switching subjects from ‘current undead honeys’ to anything considered remotely normal.

She dumped her lunch into the nearest trash bin, cast her friend one last glance, then returned to the hallway. Telling Willow had either been a stroke of genius or a gigantic mistake; she couldn’t decide, and she didn’t particularly feel like mulling it over.

She passed Oz and the others in the hallway and nodded when he flashed her the patented ‘is it safe?’ look. Xander said something funny, and she forced a laugh, then turned and continued without bothering to tell them where she was headed. Probably a good thing, as she didn’t know herself. She didn’t want to see Giles, nor did she want to spend twenty minutes in an empty classroom before fifth period began.

The feeling didn’t strike her until she neared the basement door—the one needlessly branded with a sign that read: ADMINISTRATION ONLY: NO STUDENTS ALLOWED. The only people who ventured below the school building were students, normally on their self-scheduled smoke-breaks.

And evidently, vampires. Buffy frowned and neared the door tentatively. There was no mistaking her spidey-sense. Some creepy crawly was surveying the basement-filtered landscape. She worried a lip between her teeth and sighed.

There had to be some law preventing slayers from slaying ‘off-duty.’

Buffy curled a hand around the doorknob, double-checked to make sure Snyder wasn’t trolling the halls, then peeled the door open. She decided to ignore that she was without a stake and hope that the vamp was either a fledgling or Spike—if one of the other Aurelius clansmen had decided to up the ante, she was in for a world of hurt.

And if it was Spike...well, that was practically wishful thinking.

Only not so. The second she stepped onto the floor, she saw him emerge from the shadows, and her heart flip-flopped.

What was he doing here?

“Did I fall asleep in class?” she asked.

Spike quirked a brow. “You sayin’ you dream about me?”

“Well, as of late...yes.”

He grinned and stepped forward. “I’m flattered,” he purred, his eyes raking down her body predatorily. “Mmmm...how long’s it been?”

“Let’s see...you left me at about one in the morning, so...eleven hours?”

“Felt longer,” he murmured, reaching out to caress her arm. “What’re you doin’ down here?”

“I could ask you the same thing. In fact…what are you doing down here?”

“Need to talk with your watcher. Figured it’d be easier if I waited until after school hours.” He was still sizing her up as though they’d been apart for years. The possessive gleam in his eyes played a number on her nerves. If anything, the past few hours had given her a profound appreciation for the elasticity of Spike’s willpower. He’d gone from demanding that they had to stop seeing each other to fondling her inappropriately every other second. His reservations had been replaced with an unrepentant grin; the look of lost confusion dwarfed entirely with yearning that made her heart tremble.

“After hours?” she echoed.

“Yeh. Was gonna hunt you down. Make you face the Watcher with me.”

“Why?”

“I figure there’ll be less threatenin’ with pointy sticks if I have a slayer at my side.”

“Ah. Likely a good idea.”

Spike quirked a brow and nodded slowly. “Doesn’ explain why you’re down here, though. Is the Slayer playin’ hooky?”

“The Slayer doesn’t get breaks from her night job.” She spread her arms and shrugged. “No off switch. I felt a vamp was near, so I followed my feeling.”

“An’ your feeling brought you to me.”

“It would appear that way.”

He grinned and took another step forward, his eyes flickering. “Some night,” he murmured, trailing a path down her arm, his face brightening at the goose-flesh that followed him. “When all this is over...we’ll have to go a couple rounds. See how sharp your feeling is.”

Buffy trembled. “Like hide-and-go-seek?”

“Well, if you wanna call it that. Only our version would be a helluva lot more fun to play.”

That she didn’t doubt. There was no denying the look in his eyes; that flash of mischief that made her insides burn. She hated to admit it, but the way he spoke—the way he described their relationship, as though this thing they had would survive after the Order was gone—made her all gooey inside. The feelings she had for Spike were rapidly approaching the Point Of No Return. Somewhere, she knew she was in the right to curse the Powers and demand that something light swing her way for a change, but the notion faded every time she met Spike’s eyes.

Two heavy relationships back-to-back. She just hoped this one wouldn’t break her.

It had only been days, and she felt like she’d known Spike—this Spike—for years. That the easy smiles he cast her way, the awe that flared his eyes every time she touched him, and the way he trembled when she rested in his arms had been with her all along. The past with Angel was still painfully fresh, but she was no longer certain if it was for the love she’d had or the injuries she’d suffered. He’d wounded her emotionally, sure, but now, standing in the basement with her vampire, she couldn’t imagine returning to Angel’s side.

Perhaps her judgment was fogged. It was hard to tell when Spike looked at her.

“Why do you need to see Giles?” she asked.

“He’s the bookish type,” Spike replied with a shrug. “That an’ his name was in the paper.”

“It was?”

“Yeh...right next to the uncovering of Acathla.”

“Acathla?”

“I thought it was a new name for one of Dru’s dolls. She said that my leavin’ her would upset Acathla.” He shrugged again. “Turns out, Acathla’s the name of a rock that your watcher helped identify. If Dru was havin’ visions about it, it might mean trouble for you.”

Buffy stared at him long enough to make him shift uncomfortably. He was so adorable when he fidgeted.

“What?” he demanded when she didn’t say anything.

“You’re amazing.”

“How so?”

“You came here to help me.”

Spike frowned. “Never said that.”

“You came here to help me defeat a big evil thing. How cute are you?” Buffy giggled brazenly at the mock-ire that flashed across his face. “You’ve gone from wanting me dead to coming here to help me save the world.”

“You know, I could change my mind anytime I like.”

She shook her head, the grin remaining. “You like me too much.”

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

Buffy simply grinned and stepped forward, hooking her fingers through the lapels of his duster and dragging his mouth down to hers. “I know it,” she murmured huskily, then gasped when he swallowed her in a kiss. The silky feel of his lips against hers never stopped surprising her, nor did the passion he managed to emanate with every breath he took. His hands steadied at her sides, and he rumbled into her mouth, as though he wanted to speak but couldn’t bring himself to stop kissing her.

Life without Spike—without this lovely distraction from everything that had gone so completely wrong, would be unbearable. She’d grown frighteningly dependent on him. On the solace he gave her with every touch. The warmth he provided without even realizing it. Their progression to where they were now, while rushed, struck her as so seamlessly natural that she couldn’t think to question it.

“Mmm...” Buffy murmured, suckling intently on his lower lip. “I should get to class.”

“No,” he replied, his hands becoming more boisterous. “You should stay here. Right here.”

“I’ll get in trouble.”

“I’ll make it worth your while.” With the way his mouth was working up and down her throat, she didn’t doubt it. “Come on. You gonna leave me all by my lonesome down here in this big, empty basement?”

“You are such a faker, it’s not even funny.”

Spike raised his head, his eyes twinkling. “Maybe,” he conceded. “But you want me, anyway.”

She didn’t know what did it, really. What little resolve she’d possessed melted without quarrel. Her arms found their way around his neck, her mouth dragging back to his. The sweetness of his kisses was, cliché and all, the stuff dreams were made of. He had her so drunk at just the hint of his taste that it didn’t occur to her that they were moving until her back hit the basement wall. The way he made her lose herself was terrifying, but she didn’t want to give it up. Fear of the unknown was worth this, and whatever debt she owed for her former sins was completely paid.

Angel had broken her; Spike was putting her back together.

And while she worried that he might end up breaking her all over again, the angst she’d experienced with her former was gone. Completely. The soulless vampire had let her feel again. She’d wondered briefly—very briefly—if lack of angst meant lack of feeling. It didn’t. Not when she knew Spike had the power to destroy her just as Angel had. She simply trusted him to not do it. To not hurt her, intentionally or otherwise.

“You’re a bad influence,” she managed teasingly between kisses, frantically untucking his shirt so she could explore that scrumptious flesh he was hiding from her. The moan that vibrated against her when she began stroking his stomach empowered her like nothing else. “Ohhh...”

“You love it, you saucy minx.”

“Spike!”

His mouth had fastened onto one of her nipples through the lace of her drastically unsexy bra. She hadn’t even noticed when he’d taken her shirt off. The thrills that raced up her spine were dangerously addictive, and she honestly didn’t know if it was because Spike touched her with confidence that Angel had never effused, or the knowledge that he lacked the conscience of other men. The training wheels were off—she had finally touched something pure. Spike’s demon wasn’t an arrangement by some cosmic father-figure; he was the composer, himself.

And even knowing that, she somehow felt safer in his arms than she ever had in Angel’s. For all the boasting Spike did, all the empty threats—even those that came with punches—he revealed so much more of himself than her old boyfriend ever had. He was blatantly unapologetic for everything he was, though when she looked at him, it was more man than monster that looked back.

He might be the full demon, but he’d kept his humanity. He’d guarded it for years, and now, because Drusilla was an idiot, he was giving it to her.

“You make me crazy,” Spike moaned, his hot mouth tearing at her lips as he eagerly snapped open the button of her jeans. The rustle of clothing became indistinct; she felt the cool basement air touch her skin as he pushed her pants down her hips. There was something else—another zipper, but that must have been her imagination. The next thing she knew, he was bunching her panties to the side. “Absolutely drive me outta my mind. I keep tellin’ myself—” He plunged two fingers inside her without formality, provoking a large gasp through her throat as her head flew back against the wall. “—to let it go. To walk away. Can’t. Bloody tried.”

His thumb settled over her clit, massaging her gently as his mouth peppered her throat with hot, needy kisses. Her hands found his forearms and squeezed. The feel of him touching her there was insurmountable—everything she’d ever told herself was dirty and wrong had been defeated with experience. She’d tasted it now, and she wanted more.

“I’m yours, Slayer,” he growled. Then—oh God—his fingers abandoned her, but something else brushed against her sodden folds. Something larger. She remembered this feeling. God, she remembered it well. His hands were on her hips, and he was preparing to slide his cock inside her. Shivers danced down her flesh and her eyes went wide.

“Fuck me,” he gasped. “I’m so yours.”

Buffy’s eyes went wide. “Spike!”

“Slayer—”

Gah. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

“Spike!” Instinct took over in place of logic. She shoved him back violently, her body screaming in protest even as her mind submerged in relief. Not this way. She wasn’t ready—not like this. She needed something that he hadn’t given her. Something she wasn’t owed, but needed like she’d never needed anything.

The pleasure wasn’t worth the pain. Her body wanted his, her heart wanted his, but she wasn’t about to subject herself to further heartache. Not if she could help it.

The look in his eyes was stricken for a long second, then drenched with understanding. He was panting; so was she, and the sound was intolerably harsh against the silence. For long seconds, neither moved nor spoke, rather simply stared at each other.

It didn’t take long for the silence to drive her out of her mind. “I’m sorry,” she said, her shoulders falling. “I thought—I thought, last night, I thought I said that I can’t...I can’t do that yet. I might want to. I mean, I do want to. I really do...but I got clobbered emotionally and physically the last time, and—”

Spike held up a hand, thankfully drawing her attention away from his cock. Even with what she’d done to him the night before, Buffy still hadn’t managed to snag a good look at the male anatomy. Angel had kept everything dark and under the covers, likely thinking his throbbing hunk of man-meat would scare her out of putting out. Spike, unsurprisingly, had no such reservations. And despite the peeks she’d taken the night before, her imagination had been forced to fill in the blanks. Well, her imagination plus the ‘dick-doodles’ some of the overly-sure-of-themselves prep boys inscribed on desks when they thought the teacher wasn’t looking. Last year, her seat in fifth period had been covered with small ‘dick-doodles.’ Artistically uninspired, but there for her imagination, nonetheless.

“Buffy,” he said gently, and her heart melted. She really did love it when he called her that. “Don’. It’s my fault. I heard you last night an’...I believed it when you said it. I jus’...I got here an’ you smelled like heaven an’ I guess I let my other head do the thinkin’.”

He was fighting back shame—she knew that look.

“I’m sorry.” The words sounded so foreign in his voice, but they touched a part of her that felt like she’d known him all along. “I din’t mean to hurt you.”

That must have been quite the revelation, although he said it without flinching at the irony. He said it like he meant it.

Buffy licked her lips and stepped forward after deciding it was easier to just kick her jeans off rather than zip herself up again. Though for the fire that roared in his eyes when she bared her legs, she thought it was possible that she was just asking for it. She didn’t know—he’d simply made her too hot for confinement at the moment. “You didn’t. I’m just—”

“You’re jus’ skittish. No one can expect anythin’ less from you after the firs’ time. The bloke you loved hurt you. It was your firs’ time, an’ he ruined it. Intentionally or not.” Spike smiled softly. “You need your second time to be with someone who loves you enough not to fumble it as fantastically as Angelus did.”

“Angel,” she corrected thoughtlessly.

“Same difference.”

“Spike...I want to...with you. I do. I just...”

She trailed off awkwardly, unwilling to say the words. The idea that Spike could ever love her the way she needed was little more than a pipedream. It was for that reason that she had to keep her emotions bridged; had to keep herself distanced, even if her heart never recovered.

“You deserve it, Slayer,” he said, jarring her back to herself. “I can’t think of anyone who deserves love more than you do.”

“What about you?”

“Me?”

Buffy flushed and nodded. “With everything you told me about Dru...about...the way she is and...don’t you deserve it, too?”

He soaked her up with awe. She held his gaze for a long minute, then, with sudden lack of bashfulness, dropped her eyes back to his cock. His erection hadn’t abated during their impromptu conversation; rather, he seemed even harder now. As though the talk of love, however abstract, had fueled his lust just as much as her body had.

The notion warmed her completely.

“See anything you like?”

The slow, confident drawl prompted her gaze upward once more. Spike was smirking now, his fingers dancing methodically up his shaft. The confidence he exuded made her tremble, more for the knowledge that he protected his insecurities with swagger. She wondered if anyone else had ever gotten to know him, or even cared to recognize which face he wore, and the reasons for selecting it.

“Well,” she replied, her eyes flashing. “Now that I can see what’s been poking at me...”

“You din’t get a good look last night?”

“We were in a tree, Mr. Observant.” She licked her lips, which made him moan, for some reason, and turned her eyes to his cock again. “I didn’t get enough room to do what I wanted.”

Spike tensed with excitement at that. “Oh?” he replied hoarsely.

“Yeah.” Buffy stepped forward until they were separated by inches. She studied him for a minute longer, then reached out and gently took him in her hand. “I wanted to know what you like,” she said. “Other than the ‘two hands’ thing, I didn’t get a chance.”

“That was a shame,” he agreed, his eyes rolling shut as she began stroking him. “Oh God, that’s lovely.”

She quirked a brow, amused. “Lovely?”

“Shut up.”

“What a manly word.”

Spike leered at her nastily. “You got your hand on my manliness, pet. Don’ be doubtin’ what’s right before your eyes.”

A sharp giggle tickled her throat. “Well, technically, it’s not right before my eyes. It’s kinda just...down between us.”

“Irritatin’ chit.”

“I wanna do something.”

“I’m putty in your hands.”

She squeezed him and he moaned. “Doesn’t feel like putty to me.”

“Fuck.”

“Lie down.”

Spike nodded eagerly, wasting no time. He kicked off his boots and stripped his jeans down his legs with avidity that touched her, though the excitement in his eyes did little to help her nerves. Her intentions couldn’t be ambiguous; she wanted to do something she’d never done before. Wanted to try something that she hadn’t had the courage to even suggest, much less attempt in her past relationships. Amid the passion, though, there was a measure of ease to being with Spike that made her feel like nothing wasn’t worth trying, even if she succumbed to performance anxiety.

He must have sensed her anxiousness, for his eyes softened. “Buffy—” He’d used her name again; she couldn’t get enough of that. “—if you don’...as much as I want you to do this—”

She forced an awkward smile. “I wanna do it, too. Just...another in a long series of firsts. I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Not possible.”

“You say that now...”

“An’ I mean it.” He sat up on his elbows contemplatively. Then his eyes lit up with an epiphany and he motioned for her to come closer. When she started to kneel between his legs, however, he shook his head and grabbed her hand. “No, up here.”

“Huh?”

Spike dragged her up his body until her mouth hovered over his, his erection caressing her backside. He kissed her thoroughly, calming her. And she realized then, with his body beneath hers, that he’d given her the dominant position. He’d handed over control—even if it was only a kiss. The message was subtle but impossible to ignore: she had the power. He’d forfeited authority to make her feel better. That was no small thing for a vampire—no small thing for Spike, and the knowledge secured her fall.

Angel had been hard to love. With Spike, the sentiment flowed naturally.

“Now,” he murmured. “I’m gonna have you do somethin’ that might seem a li’l strange. But trust me, you’ll love it. Promise.”

His hands were massaging her ass slowly, grinding her against his hard length in ways that were certainly contrived to drive her out of her mind.

“What?” she asked.

“Straddle my face.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Jus’ trust me, luv.”

And surprisingly, she did. Buffy frowned and nodded, crawling up his body until her clad pussy hovered over his mouth. He inhaled deeply and tongued her through her panties.

“Guh!”

“Turn around now.”

She obeyed awkwardly, not understanding what he was getting at until he told her to lie down on top of him. She’d heard about this before; remembered the jokes in elementary school about the sixty-nining chef one could theoretically see in the middle of a North American map. The appeal had been lost on her, even when her sluttier friends in Los Angeles told her how great it was to have a guy go down on them.

Now, though, with Spike’s mouth at her pussy and hers at his cock, her reservations were replaced with a swell of nerves. If he thought for one second that this made her any calmer, he was insane.

A growl tore through the air, followed by a slice of fabric. The next thing she knew, her ass was bare to his roaming hands, and her panties no longer blocked his questing mouth from exploring her sopping folds.

“Every time I do somethin’ you like,” he said slowly, “do it back to me.”

“Spike, I am...I don’t—”

“Take me into your hand, pet.”

She did. At eye level, his cock was so much larger than she’d originally thought, though perhaps that was the nerves talking. She hesitated a minute, then stretched her other hand to cup his balls, remembering how much he seemed to like that the night before. Her brazenness was rewarded with a quick suck of her clit, and she moaned helplessly.

“You taste so sweet,” he murmured.

“Spike—”

“Do what comes naturally, love. You don’ need to use your mouth if you don’ want.”

“I want.” And then, to prove it to him and herself, she dipped her head and licked him up from base to tip. The moan she earned touched every cell in her body, and the vibrations against her wet, sensitive skin felt so damnably good that she’d do just about anything to keep them coming.

It hit her why he’d asked her to do this. He’d told her, of course, but now she understood.

Buffy curled a hand around his cock, stroking him rhythmically, offsetting the squeezes with which she favored his sac. Her wandering tongue flickered against his sensitive head, tentatively at first, and then with fervor when he gasped into her.

“Oh God!” she panted, tossing her head back, her hand tightening around his length. “Spike!”

“That’s so good. Jus’ like that, baby.”

She drew him into her mouth again at his encouragement, her body positively humming at the rumbles of adoration that spilled through his lips.

“Lick me up jus’ like that,” he growled, suckling hard on her clit, his fingers stretching her pussy lips wide. “You like this?” Spike devoured her wet skin greedily; he set her body ablaze, pushing aside everything she’d ever thought as forbidden without effort. The way he suckled at her private skin made her feel absolutely cherished.

It was quite possible that he was reading her thoughts. “You like the way I make you feel?”

“Oh God, yes,” Buffy managed, squeezing her hand around him as her mouth ventured further south. His arms were hooked under her thighs, and he whimpered in complaint when she shifted upward an inch until her tongue found his balls. Then he moaned and released her, his fingers plunging into her pussy as she explored him. She sucked on his flesh experimentally—soft at first, then harder when he whimpered.

“Buffy...”

Small shivers danced across her skin. He’d said it again.

“Buffy, please.”

She nodded, coaxing another moan, and returned her attention to his cock. Her tongue explored every vein, lathed every inch of him in near reverence. He’d given her such liberation, whether he knew it or not. The sensations he unbound through her body were unlike anything she’d experienced, and even the things she knew—kisses, gentle fondling, and the small steps that had eventually led to losing her virginity—were made new all for the sensationalism he inspired.

She nuzzled his erection playfully, tonguing at his sensitive head.

“Buffy!”

Whether or not she actually felt his body tense beneath hers, she didn’t know. It seemed strange that she, being so thoroughly inexperienced, would know to identify when a man was about to come. Whatever she lost in expertise, she made up for with instinct; her lips closed over his cock, easing him into her mouth as far as she could take him. She massaged his balls encouragingly, and when he growled and exploded inside her, she found herself so thoroughly empowered that nothing, at that moment, seemed out of reach.

His taste was rich. Neither pleasant nor unpleasant; for the way he purred into her, she was certain he’d made her an addict.

“Oh God,” he gasped, his fingers dancing softly over her thighs. “Oh my God.”

Buffy curled a hand around his cock and rested her head against his hip. It occurred to her that the peace she felt was oddly timed, though it seemed so natural that she didn’t want to question it.

Then the grip on her thighs tightened, and Spike tugged her pussy back to his mouth.

“Oh!”

“I got mine,” he purred, licking up her slit. “Now you get yours.”

He plunged his tongue inside her tight, wet hole, and Buffy swore she saw stars.

Rational or not, the rest didn’t seem to matter. There was every chance she was a fool; after all, her heart had been out there once before. And even with his help, the pieces Spike had placed together were still fragile. Fragile but holding. He’d keep her from shattering again. She knew he would.

Just as she knew she couldn’t deny the heat that consumed her. The sting of knowledge, and the terrified joy that filled her whole.

If this wasn’t love, then love was something she could live without.

And for all the peace her realization offered, the larger part of her couldn’t help but tremble.

But there was no need to fear. No need at all.

Spike would keep her from shattering, even if this was all they ever had.

Buffy pursed her lips as she pushed the library doors open. Her Watcher was hunched over the counter, perusing some ancient text in a way that was so predictable, she couldn’t help but crack a smile. There was something undeniably comforting in the calm clockwork of the man’s behavior. She just hoped he didn’t fly through the roof when she revealed who was waiting behind her.

“Giles?”

The Watcher glanced up in surprise. “Oh, hello, Buffy. Is school out already? I didn’t hear the bell ring.”

“No, but something important has come up.” She drew in a deep breath. “I need you to promise me something.”

“Yes?”

“Don’t wig out.”

“Pardon me?”

“I need you to not wig out.”

The look on her Watcher’s face went blank with apprehension. “What is it?” he asked. “What have you done?”

She blinked. “Me? I didn’t do anything.”

“Buffy...”

“I didn’t do anything! Nothing has been done by me...” She paused. “Only yes, I did something. But it’s not bad, so I need you to just stay there and not freak out.” There was a long beat as she searched Giles’s eyes. He didn’t even bother to reply; the look on his face was answer enough. “Okay. Ummm...”

Behind her, she practically heard Spike’s eye roll. “Oh, bloody hell, pet, jus’ open the sodding door.”

Giles all but tripped. “Buffy, surely you didn’t—”

Spike sighed and pushed the library doors open, and Buffy’s heart leapt into her throat. The last thing she needed was a heated, gut-reaction from her Watcher that led to a premature dusty ending for her undeclared boyfriend. She hurried ahead of him, throwing her body in front of his to block any impending attack that Giles might instigate on instinct.

“He’s here to help us,” she explained in haste. “He’s here because he has the inside scoop on whatever Angel’s planning.”

She felt Spike tense behind her, then mentally gave herself a good swift kick. The words had rushed out before she considered the darker implications—the appearance that whatever else they might be to each other was something to be kept in the shadows. He wouldn’t complain, though, or call her on anything that she might find shameful. She knew him well enough to know that.

Which was why she exhaled deeply and lowered her arms. Giles’s look of unadulterated astonishment hadn’t faded, thus she suspected she might as well hit him twice, rather than wait for him to gather his bearings. At least that way, he’d only once have to fight back to his feet.

“He’s also here because I want him here,” she said, wincing when the old man nearly tripped again.

“Buffy—”

“No. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want you to remind me that he’s a vampire, a slayer killer, and doesn’t have a soul. You’d be wasting your breath and our time. Spike’s an ally, and nothing you can say will change that.” She huffed a deep breath, feeling lightheaded with her bravado, but overwhelmingly relieved. “Okay, so, let’s get to business.”

“Buffy, you can’t—”

“I can and I did.”

“Our allies aren’t killers,” Giles spat, his eyes flashing dangerously. “Our allies don’t beat you within an inch of your life. Our allies aren’t soulless demons.”

Spike placed a hand at the small of her back, stemming her anger with a soothing caress.

And she was grateful. So, so grateful. Buffy released a deep breath and leaned into him, not even attempting to be subtle. He gave her strength where others would rip it away, and she didn’t care who knew how close they’d become. “Be that as it may—”

“No. You don’t get to make the decisions here. You brought a murderous vampire into my library.”

“Oh, knock it off, Watcher,” Spike snarled, his fingers itching around Buffy’s waist. “I’m not gonna eat anyone. The Slayer has enough to worry with without addin’ tension among the ranks to the mix.”

“I’m sorry if you don’t inspire warmth and comfort.”

“Well, to you, maybe,” Buffy mumbled. She had to fight off a grin when the vampire rumbled in amusement behind her, the comforting strokes becoming more prominent. “Look,” she said aloud, “we don’t have time for this. Spike’s here with—”

“I don’t care if he’s here with four mop-top boys from Liverpool, he’s not staying.”

Spike sighed in exasperation. “If it makes you feel any better, I haven’ killed since that night that—”

“You nearly slaughtered my slayer?”

“Well, of course it sounds bad if you put it that way.”

“Yes. And either way, you’re lying through your teeth, so I don’t suppose how I sound should factor in at all.”

Buffy froze. Had it not been for the cool certainty in her Watcher’s voice, she would have assumed that he was making radical accusations in order to avow Spike’s status as an evil, relentless monster. However, there was something in the old man’s eyes that couldn’t be mistaken. It wasn’t as though Spike had promised her to stop killing; the subject itself was one they mutually avoided. She suspected it was a conversation they’d tacitly agreed to reserve until after this mess with the Order was dealt with. And though she understood that Spike’s need to eat coincided with killing innocent people, she’d forced herself to shove the issue to the back of her mind. There were no delusions that he’d bag it, as Angel had, and as long as she didn’t witness him feeding, she was more than satisfied to pretend.

Pretending was easier for her than the alternative, especially when she needed him so much.

“What on bleeding earth are you talking about?”

Giles didn’t say anything. Rather, he stood and stared at the vampire for a long, cold beat. Then a long sigh tore through the air, and Buffy felt Spike fall slack behind her. “Oh.”

“Yes. Oh.”

Buffy licked her lips, not wanting to admit how hard her heart was pounding. “Oh? What oh?”

“The bloke at the motel,” Spike said lowly. “Offed him an’ took a key.” He tossed the Slayer a glance. “You were in the car.”

The world around her dissolved completely.

“You...while I was with you...you killed...”

Buffy had never considered herself the sort of woman to faint when presented with an ugly truth, but for the way her head was spinning, nothing seemed impossible. She barely felt the hand that wrapped around her wrist, little more than she realized she was being moved out of the room and into the hallway. Giles barked something in protest, but the sound drowned out to a low drone. There was nothing but Spike’s hands steadying her, the cool concern in his eyes striking a familiar chord.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted.

“I don’t...” Buffy shook her head, her mind muddled. “I...”

“It was right after our fight, an’ I was bloody confused. I needed to kill something, an’ you...” He glanced to the ground. “Slayer, I never thought I’d be here. Standin’ here with you. I’d all but promised myself—”

The library doors flew open, an incensed Giles on the other side.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he hissed through his teeth.

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me. This is a private conversation.”

“Bugger that.”

Buffy blinked and shook her head. It wasn’t often Giles cracked out the British slang, and it troubled her to see him so unhinged. “No,” she said, startling both men. “No. Spike and I need to talk. We’ll be back in a minute.”

“Have you completely lost your mind?”

“I really hope not.” She glanced back to the vampire, who was gazing at her like she’d offered him heaven. “We’ll be back in a minute.”

“Buffy—”

Patience snapped. She twisted on her heel and pinned Giles with a glare. “In. A. Minute,” she all but growled. “Go read a book or something until we’re back.”

She grabbed Spike’s hand and jerked him down the hallway.

“Slayer—”

“Shut up,” she snapped, shoving him into the first empty classroom she came upon. She wanted to ignore the open, vulnerable look on his face. The way he could delve into her, reach her where no one else had even tried, with nothing more than a simple, however heartbreaking glance. She knew, though, without needing to mull it over, that any animosity was directed at herself. She couldn’t be angry with Spike—not when he’d done nothing more than be who he was.

After all, they had no promises between them. She hadn’t stopped staking vamps, just as he hadn’t stopped feeding on humans.

But it hurt. No amount of talking herself through it could stop the hurt.

Spike exhaled softly. “Buffy...I need to—”

She shook her head and raised a hand. She refused to be detoured by the seductive way he said her name, even when their conversation was serious. “No. I don’t want to do this. I don’t need you to tell me it was just ‘one time’ and...I don’t want to give you an ultimatum. I don’t want to tell you to stop being who you are and doing what you need. We’re not there. Whatever we have is...incredible, but undefined. You’re a vampire. I never asked you to stop killing, because I know you don’t owe me anything.”

“Buffy—”

“You are who you are.”

“Would you let me talk?” Spike sighed and cast a hand through his platinum locks. “I don’ want to hurt you. I told you that earlier, yeh? Downstairs?”

She flushed. He would bring that up now.

“I meant it. I meant every bloody word.” He glanced down. “I don’ know what to tell you...an’ I’m not gonna try to soften the blow. I kill, yeh. ‘S what I do. But you...you make me wanna be more than I am.” A pause. “This is a big thing for me, Slayer. I was fine livin’ life alone, then you had to come along an’ change everythin’. I don’ think you can know how much you’ve given me. You’ve made me see that...it’s possible to...oh, bugger all.”

Buffy reached out for him, but he shook his head and stepped away.

“You need to hear this without...” Spike sighed again. “If you touch me, I’ll lose it, an’ I need to get this out there. The thing is, see, I’m...I killed the kid ‘cause I needed to prove to myself that I was still a demon. I’d jus’ let you walk. Hell, I was bendin’ over backwards to make sure you were taken care of for the night. I needed to be monstrous, because I thought anythin’ else made me less of a man.”

“It doesn’t,” she whispered.

He chuckled bitterly. “To you, maybe. I’ve never been the kinda vamp the others said I should be.”

“But you’re not with them now.”

“I know that. It doesn’ make me any less a vamp.”

She nodded numbly, casting her eyes downward. “I know.”

“I can’t promise you anythin’. I want to. God, I want to, but I’ve buggered up too many times to tell you I’ll never stop doing things that hurt you.” He shuddered. “But God help me, I don’ want to hurt you. Thinkin’ about what...I’ll try.”

Silence settled between them—silence that even the loud shrill of the school bell was hopeless to disturb.

“I know who you are, Spike,” Buffy said after a long minute. “I’d already made up my mind to accept the ‘killing’ thing, even though it’s impossible. I can’t sit still knowing innocents are being hurt. I thought I could, because I need you, and I guess I was hoping that whatever we were made you wanna stop. But that’s you, right? That’s the whole thing.”

“You need me?” The words were barely a whisper.

Heat rushed to her cheeks. She hadn’t intended to actually say that, and had rather hoped that it would go in one ear and out of the other. It had been a foolish gamble. “You give me strength,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve made the pain go away.”

“How?”

“Well...I was blocked before. With Angel. I’d look at the thing he’s become and think of Angel, and that’s not helping me. This...Angelus...he needs to be dust. And I’m not too keen on having Angel around right now, anyway.” She shivered and shook her head. “I don’t care what face he was wearing, he hurt me. I gave him everything and got my heart ripped out. You...” A long sigh shuddered through her lips, and she glanced up to meet his eyes. “You’re giving it back to me.”

The look he gave her was unlike anything she’d ever seen before. It was a mixture of awe and wonder, humility and rapture—she had never been on the receiving end of such reverential regard. Never.

His lips parted whispering her name as a prayer of grace. Then she was in his arms, his mouth tearing at hers. The taste of him had yet to stop surprising her—he was a delicious mesh of liberation and danger, romanticism and rebellion. He nipped at her lips and warred with her tongue as his wandering hands mapped her body adoringly. Even through layers of clothing, the heat of his touch burned her skin—a slow, succulent burn that rattled her to her core.

He’d killed. He was a vampire. He was her enemy. But God, she wanted him so much.

“I’ll try,” Spike panted, breaking away from her lips and trailing a hot path of kisses down her throat. “God, Buffy, I’ll try. I’ll try to be a good boy for you. You’re worth it. You’re more than worth it. An’ I’ll do whatever I can. I’ll bag it an’ I’ll save the world. I’ll hunt with you. You drive me so bloody crazy, but livin’ out my days as a dangerous vamp isn’t worth it. Not without you.” He began to calm, breathing heavily, and pressed his brow to hers. “You’re in me now, Slayer. Couldn’t leave you now if I wanted to. An’ if that’s the price, I’m willin’ to fork it over.”

Her vision blurred and she let out an unattractive sniff. “Really? You...you didn’t seem so sure last night. You were ready to leave.”

“I can’t leave.”

“Why?”

‘Cause you’re here.”

“But—”

“Look...I’ve thought about this...a lot.” He paused. “You’ve been torturin’ the hell outta me ever since that night in the park. I thought it’d be easy. Don’ know why, but I figured I could kill you an’ get my life back on track. Sodding pipe dream, that was. An’ I don’ think I ever got off track—jus’ detoured to somethin’ better.” A grin kissed his face. “I’ve never done anythin’ without Dru. Understand? Never. An’ I’d made the decision to leave before you sunk your seductive li’l claws in. It jus’ never occurred to me that maybe...changing more than the small things...” Spike trailed off awkwardly, his eyes falling shut as he searched for words. “You’re so different,” he continued after a minute. “You’re warm. You’re giving. You look at me like...I’m worth somethin’.”

Buffy released another quaking breath.

“Dru taught me to be somethin’ that I’m not. An’ now, I honestly don’ know what I am. I’m not the demon she wanted me to be, an’ while that smarts, it doesn’ change anythin’ else.” His lips touched hers gently, and warmth rippled through her body. “I told you downstairs that I’m yours. ‘S true. An’ I’ll do anythin’ to keep from hurtin’ you.”

“Even if—”

“Yeah. All of the above.”

“What if Dru wants you back?”

“I walked out on her, luv. The only reason she’d want me back is to complete the happy li’l family. I’m not her sodding lapdog anymore.” He shook his head defiantly. “An’ even so, I don’ think you got a good grasp on what I do for the women in my life. I’m a bad penny. You made your decision—you’ve invited me into your world, Slayer. I’m here an’ I’m gonna stay.”

“But what if—”

“But nothin’. You’ve given me more than I had all the years with her.”

She heard the words and about tripped with awe. More than he’d had with Dru—that was what she gave him. And while she found herself trenched in glee at the admission, the treacherous voice that she had yet to kill still found volume. The one that whispered another truth. A crushing truth.

But he loved Dru.

If he loved Dru, yet found more with Buffy, did that mean he loved her, too? The love issue was way too complicated—where did admiration end and love begin?

People never loved for the right reasons, it seemed. She hadn’t loved Angel because it was the smart thing, just as Spike hadn’t loved Dru because she was what was best for him. And while he might recognize that Buffy gave him more than his sire had, that didn’t mean he felt for her what he’d felt for his former.

That thought, however forceful, remained unspoken. Instead, Buffy smiled and nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck to draw him down for another kiss. He was with her now, and that was all that mattered. And she had a promise—a pledge. He’d attempt to give up what was natural to him to be with her. To make her happy.

He’d already sacrificed so much to stand at her side. Perhaps, just perhaps, he could love her a little.

“We should get back,” Buffy murmured against his lips. “The bell rang a couple minutes ago.”

Spike’s grip on her tightened. “Sod it.”

“We really need to tell Giles about Alfalfa.”

“Acathla,” he corrected with a roguish grin. “You think he’s gonna be stake happy? I really don’ fancy becoming a pile of dust after I’ve had an epiphany.”

“Well, we can’t expect him to throw us a tickertape parade.”

“We can hope.”

“What was your epiphany?”

Spike merely looked at her and smiled, then squeezed her hand and led her into the hallway.

He knew it when she raised her voice against the Watcher. When she shouted that she was the one with the sacred Calling; she was the one that called the shots. He knew it when she glanced to him and smiled reassuringly, then turned back to the befuddled old man and demanded that he stop complaining and listen to what they had to say.

God, he knew it like he’d known nothing else.

“Very well,” Giles said, calming. The Watcher’s eyes were practically on fire. “I’ll listen...but first, you have to agree to something.”

Buffy frowned. “What?”

“Spike must put you under his protection.”

“What? He already has.” The Slayer mirrored his earlier action, stroking his skin through his t-shirt. He wondered if the old man could see that the girl had her arm wheedled inside his duster. Probably. The way she refused to hide their relationship thoroughly warmed him over. “See him here? With the protection?”

Spike smiled wryly. “That’s not what he meant, sweetling.”

“No, it’s not.”

The frown on her face became more prominent. “Huh?”

“Means I take your blood. Jus’ a li’l, mind you. Watcher-Boy here would have my head otherwise. I say a couple fancy words, yadda yadda, an’ you’re under my protection.”

“Which means?”

“He can’t hurt you,” Giles said. “It thoroughly prevents him from hurting you in any way. If he, oh say, decided to stab you to death, as vampires are so prone to do, he’d be the one with a knife in his back.”

The look that flashed across Buffy’s face was one of pure ire. Spike knew then, too, and the knowledge gave him peace. “That is so totally not necessary.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“Watcher, you really think I’m gonna force my fangs on the girl when—”

Giles’s eyes darkened. “It’s the only way to give me peace of mind. I’m sorry if I don’t feel particularly forgiving, Spike. You see, someone very close to me was put into the ground by a vampire. A vampire I was foolish enough to trust. And while I admit that you’re not the vampire in question, I don’t believe it’s unreasonable to demand proof that you won’t do anything to harm my slayer, especially when you’re so well known for killing them.”

A surge of irritation combated with knowledge. “Look—”

“I’ll do it.”

Spike turned to the Slayer in absolute astonishment. “Buffy—”

“It’s fine. I’ll do it. As long as Spike doesn’t get hurt in the process.”

She met his eyes and warmed his heart. And he knew.

“He only gets hurt if he hurts you. It’s a blood-tie, and blood-ties are unbreakable.”

“And that’s it?” Buffy asked cautiously. “That’s it. No other wonky side effects or whatnot?”

“It’s a step away from a claim,” Giles concluded. “And its barely even referred to anymore among the vampiric community. The Watcher’s Council has a few documented cases concerning humans that fell under vampire protection, and while it never turned out well for the vampire, the human always lived.”

“Usually ‘cause the bloody pulsers pull a double crossed their protector,” Spike drawled. “Yeh, mate, I know the jist.”

“That surprises me. Most vampires don’t.”

“I’m not most vampires. Dru din’t teach me rot, an’ whatever Angelus taught me was based on the hunt, not our history. A bloke has to find some way to entertain himself, especially before the invention of the telly.” He paused, then added slyly. “‘Sides...Watcher’s Diaries make for good readin’.”

Giles seared him with a look. “You’ve had access to Watcher’s Diaries?”

“Well, yeh. After all, I do kill slayers, right? Where else am I gonna research?” Spike glanced down with a long sigh. “The protection ritual’s nearly died out. I’m not even sure Angelus knows about it, else I’m sure he’d’ve put Buffy under his protection a long time ago. But yeh...if she’s willing...”

“I am,” Buffy confirmed softly, her concealed hand squeezing him with affirmation.

God, there was no way to not know. No way to ignore the swell of his heart, the giddiness he felt when she tossed him a glance, or the warmth that encompassed him whole.

He loved her.

Spike averted his eyes to the ground.

I love her.

He did. He truly did. It had happened so quickly—crept up on him when he wasn’t paying attention. When his demon was screaming at him to flee town. To snap her neck and have it over with. She’d always looked at him differently, even when they fought. The emotion that sparked her gaze was completely singular to anything he’d ever experienced. She did everything with all she was. She fought, lived, and loved with every fiber of her being.

He loved her. He was in love with the Slayer.

Only now, he was faced with a new dilemma. Did he tell her? What would she say? Would she laugh? Would she tell him that he was beneath her, despite all his efforts? Would she think he was just trying to get into her pants? Was there any way she could ever love him back? And if not, did it matter? Buffy had already given him so much more than any other woman had even tried.

Spike wanted love. He needed love. But to be with her...

The library doors flew open, snapping him back to himself. He turned in time with the Slayer, who had nearly leapt out of her skin at the sudden intrusion. Spike bit back an instinctive grin. He adored the little things. Buffy was the strongest person he’d ever known, yet she could still allow herself to jump with fright at loud noises.

Inward bounded the little redhead with the wolf, loyal at her side. The girl’s eyes were ablaze with excitement, so much that she didn’t do anything more than pause when she noticed him.

“Buffy! Omigod, we just found it! We found it!”

“Huh?”

The wolf frowned at Spike. “Aren’t you that vampire?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Thought so.”

The redhead elbowed her boyfriend, all but trembling with glee. “We found it. Oz and I found it.”

“Found what?” Buffy demanded, her arm tightening around Spike’s middle. Brazen little thing, she was. She wasn’t even attempting to conceal their closeness now.

The other girl held up a small yellow disk and rocked on her heels. “Oz found what Ms. Calendar was working on. See? It’s the curse. Angel’s curse.” Buffy went rigid against him and the room began to spin. The redhead paused and waited for the ecstatic squealing, and when it didn’t come, she all but burst. “Don’t you see? We can do it again. We can give him back his soul!”

And just like that, Spike felt the walls cave in.

No. No, no, no.

The look on Buffy’s face was unreadable for the first time in days. He felt cut off—shut out, even as she stood beside him. Her arm was around his waist, but he didn’t feel her.

God, this couldn’t be happening not now.

Not now.

Not now that he loved her.

There was no bloody way that Spike was going to do anything involving a blood rite with Buffy while under the unforgiving glare of her watcher. While Giles might rightly be the high expert on vampiric rituals on the west coast, there was no way he could begin to know what taking the Slayer’s blood entailed.

Truth be told, Spike wasn’t entirely sure, either. He’d been a vampire long enough, though, to know a blood bond tied together with ceremonial words was a private affair. He didn’t care that it was a measure of comfort for the old man any more than he cared for the venomous glares the Slayer’s friend had sent him when he suggested that they head for Revello Drive.

“You think she’s gonna invite you in?” she’d snapped. “Just like that?”

Buffy had squeezed his hand, leveling a glare in her friend’s direction. “Yes,” she replied softly. “I am.” Then she’d turned and silenced the angry retort ready on Giles’s lips with a quick, “It’s my life, not yours. I know what I’m doing, and you can’t change my mind.”

The Watcher’s face had filled with rage, and had Spike not intervened, he suspected the old man would have again brought up the teacher that Angelus offed; the last thing Buffy needed was a guilt trip. Thus, he’d held up a hand and offered softly, “Look, I know you don’ trust me; that’s fine. But trust her. Right? She deserves that.”

And that had been that. They were alone, now; they were underground, walking the tunnels back to Buffy’s home. On their way to do the ritual. Spike shuddered and exhaled deeply. Whatever else, taking her blood and sealing it with words would tie him to her forever. Not the other way around. No, Buffy could walk away freely after everything was over—run, actually, into the great ponce’s arms, and Spike would be left behind to watch.

The little redhead wanted to reensoul Angelus.

Can’t lose her. I can’t fucking lose her now.

“Spike.”

The gentle call of his name sliced through the uncomfortable silence that had settled around them. Her voice caressed him softly, and he felt his heart tremble in turn. He was so lost; so utterly and completely hers. “Yeah?”

“It won’t happen.”

Always better, times like these, to play it dumb. “What won’t?”

“Whatever you’re thinking concerning me and Angel. If Willow manages to do this crazy thing and stuff him full of soul, nothing changes.”

Yeah, she said that now. Everything would be different once her honey-pot was back in the picture. Somehow, through stealing kisses, copping feels, sending her shuddering into orgasm, and falling in love with her, Spike had forgotten just how much depended on Angelus’s termination. His complete eradication from the temporal realm. No matter how much Buffy might object, once Angel was back, the blond vampire would look shady in comparison.

Her words, however, couldn’t help but fill his body with warmth. She believed them. If nothing else, she believed them. This minute. This wondrous second with her belonged to him—Angel and his bloody soul couldn’t touch them. Not bloody now.

“You don’t believe me,” she said softly.

“I believe that you believe it, sweetling.”

“You honestly think that I could go back to Angel after everything he’s done to me? Everything he’s put me through?” A frown marred her gorgeous face, and his heart clenched at the sound of her conviction. “You really think that I could go back after you?”

“Buffy—”

“You must really have no faith in me if you, for one second, think I could not only forgive everything that’s happened, but take him back.” She shuddered and shook her head violently. “I told you that I never liked him. Ever. I loved him, sure, but I can’t…it was too dreamlike. The entire time we were together, it was a realized fairytale. I’m not stupid, Spike. I know that stuff can’t last. Happily Ever-Afters, especially for slayers, are a cosmic joke. And if Angel losing his soul was the price I had to pay to realize what an idiot I was, then maybe it was for the best.” There was a pause at that. “All except the lives he took.”

Spike pursed his lips. “An’ what about us? You think that we have any more of a chance than the fairytale? Same problems, pet. I’m a vamp, you’re a slayer, an’ accordin’ to our natures, one of us should be dead right now.”

“You’re not a fairytale, Spike.”

The words sounded callous, but knowing the sentiment, it was all he could do to keep from bursting with delight.

“What am I, then?”

Buffy tugged him to a halt and turned, and he nearly crippled with awe at the emotion that poured through her eyes. “You’re real,” she said softly. “Nothing about us is a fairytale. You’re real. And I…how dumb would I be to give up something real for something that can’t exist? Do you really think the past few days have meant so little to me that I’d rather be with someone who not only ripped my heart out, but has made my life a living hell for the fun of it?”

“You admittin’, then, that Angel’s the same wanker, no matter which way the coin is tossed?”

“I’m admitting that there’s enough of the monster in him when he’s souled, to make me wish I’d never cared about the man.” She shivered. “I’ve seen it before. He’s hurt me, and he’s hurt you.” A pause. “You know what really scares me, though? I think…had you and I never happened, that I never would’ve realized it.”

“How you figure?”

Buffy wet her lips. “I don’t know. I just do. He was the ultimate blind spot. Just thinking where I was emotionally this time last week…I feel like a completely different person. You…I don’t think you can know how much you’ve given me, Spike. And I’m not planning on running away just because Willow thinks she can make my ex stop killing people. He hurt me too much.”

Spike frowned and released a tremulous sigh. “I hurt you, too, pet,” he said, the words painful. They began walking again, nearly as a needed distraction. “I hurt you.”

“Not like he did.”

“Even in killin’ that kid at the motel?”

“How did Giles even know about that?”

“Probably the paper’s obit section, sweet. Answer the question.”

She was quiet for a moment. Good. He wanted to know that her response wasn’t rushed or reactionary. And while what had happened that first night wasn’t something he necessarily wanted her to remember, the logical side of his rationale knew that hiding anything from her would only hurt her in the end.

“What happened at the motel was…it hurts me that I got an innocent killed—”

Objection flared inside him. “You didn’t!”

“Had I not—”

He reeled in disbelief. “God, Slayer, is this how you deal with it? Every life lost means more blood on your hands? How, with that golden conscience of yours, have you made it this far? I killed the bloke. Not you. Had you known what I was doin’, you’d’ve stopped me. There’s no way we’d be here right now.”

“I know.”

The solemnity in her voice nearly killed him. He thanked his lucky stars that it had worked out this way. No small miracle, assuredly, but God, predicting this end was near impossible.

“But you wouldn’t now.”

Spike shot her a surprised glance. “What makes you so bloody sure?”

“You told me. And I believe you.” She drew in a deep breath. “I’m not going back to Angel. I think that giving him his soul back is helpful in as much that he won’t be trying to end the world anymore, but that’s it. That’s where it ends. Take Angel out, and we have a shot of ending Darla and...”

There was no sense pretending that she was talking about someone else. Spike stared at her for a long second, then sighed and cast his eyes to the ground. In all honesty, he’d known that the subject of his ex would come up at some point, and he’d have to attempt and barter to make sure Dru escaped unscathed. It wasn’t out of love—not anymore. Realizing his love for Buffy had chased away the false history he’d shared with his sire. However, Dru had brought him this far—she had brought him to Buffy. And while their relationship had been a sham, he couldn’t summon enough hatred to want her dead.

A century of history was painful to let go, even if the history was founded on sentiment that had never existed.

“Spike—”

“We don’ need to talk about this now.”

“No, I really think we do.”

“Slayer, I walked out on her. I’m not goin’ back to her. You’ve bloody well bewitched me, an’ imaginin’ myself anywhere but right here with you...” He shivered. “But all that won’ stop my wantin’ Dru to get out with her unlife.”

“She’s a monster.”

“I am, too.”

“No...you’re not a monster like she is.”

“She made me, Slayer.”

“That doesn’t mean that you’re like her. If you were like her, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Buffy sighed deeply and paused again. “Look, this isn’t about me being jealous. But just to be clear, I’m crazy jealous. And on top of being crazy jealous, I am the Slayer. Will I enjoy killing her? Well, probably. You’ll compare me to her forever, and that’s something I don’t think I can overcome. But—”

Spike held up a hand, swallowing her with his eyes. The words positively stunned him while simultaneously catering to his need for Buffy to care for him as he cared for her. While true, their relationship was new and fragile, the small bundle of light at his side had completely overwhelmed whatever sentiment he thought he had harbored for Dru. The rapidity of the change terrified him, but denying his feelings wouldn’t do him any good. He loved Buffy, and she had shown him a side of love that he’d thought he didn’t deserve.

“Buffy, Dru doesn’ even begin to compare to you.”

Her eyes narrowed skeptically, though she couldn’t conceal the sparks of hope. “You’re just—”

“No, I’m not. If I wanted to be with her, I would be. Bloody hell, I was for a bleedin’ century. I’m not a masochist, an’ I’m not about to let you go.” A long sigh spilled through his lips. “She’s my sire. Of all the wankers in the family, she’s the only one who ever showed me compassion...in what little way she could. She’s the reason I’m here with you at all.” He paused. “I’ve turned my life upside down in jus’ a few days...for you. But you can’t expect me to stand back an’ let you kill my maker.”

“Spike—”

“Are you gonna kill Angel, if the girl manages to put his soul back?”

Buffy’s face fell at that, her expression open and lonely. Her hesitance was all the answer he needed.

“Din’t think so.”

“But I’m not going back to him, Spike!”

“An’ I’m not goin’ back to Dru. I’m yours, Slayer. Completely.”

Buffy worried a lip between her teeth. “So what am I supposed to do? Just let her walk? Kill Angel and Darla and—”

“I’m not gonna ask anythin’ of you.”

“Then why are we—”

“‘Cause you need to know how I feel about it. If I interfere with whatever you decide, you’ll end up resentin’ me. I can’t be a part of your life if you think my goal’s to get you to give up slaying.” He quirked a brow. “Not sayin’ that idea doesn’ have its appeals, but vamps aren’ born with a sacred callin’. You were. To ask you to do anythin’ else would be to take away from who you are. If you decide to go after Dru...well, I can’t say I won’ try to stop you. But I’m not gonna ask you to make any promises you can’t keep.”

She was quiet for a long moment. “You’d try to stop me?”

“I wouldn’t hurt you, luv.”

“What if you had to?”

“Then I’d let you do it.” There was a certain degree of pleasure in watching her body overcome with shock. “I would. She’s not worth losin’ you. But Slayer...if you do kill her...I can’t promise things would be the same between us.” A beat. “I’m not tryin’ to threaten you or influence whatever it is you decide to do—that’s jus’ the way it is. She doesn’ mean anythin’ to me but what she is. An’ what she is, is my maker.”

Spike sighed again and glanced down as they started walking again. He didn’t want to hurt her—the last thing he wanted was to hurt her. And while he couldn’t discuss his feelings about Dru without causing Buffy pain, there was no better way to highlight why, exactly, he felt the way he did. He didn’t like her past with Angel anymore than she did his past with his sire; it was simply the way things were.

His past didn’t mean anything to him, but that didn’t mean he wanted it completely gone.

“Spike?”

“Yeh?”

“I’m crazy jealous of Dru.”

A soft smile played on his lips. “An’ I’m crazy jealous of Captain Forehead.”

She grinned. “I know you are. But you shouldn’t be.”

“An’ you shouldn’t be jealous of Dru.” You’re the one I love. It felt, somehow, like it had been her all along. That it had simply taken a century to find her. Romantic’s notion and all, it appeased the poet. “She’s got nothin’ on you.”

“And yet, here I am with the jealousy.”

“Of what we had, you mean? Sweet, in the past couple days, you’ve given me more than Dru was ever capable of giving. My past with her is full of hurt an’ blood an’ things I’d rather you not think about. It was never this.” He squeezed her hand. “Never what you an’ I have. I wouldn’t trade this for anything.”

He wanted so badly to tell her that he loved her, but the words refused to know voice. He had too many painful memories associated with unrequited love, and despite Buffy’s promises regarding their future, he couldn’t allow himself to trust in love enough to chance losing her now.

“I wouldn’t trade this for anything, either,” she said softly, brushing a kiss across the nape of his throat. A long shiver raced down his spine, and his hand tightened around hers. “For anything at all.”

There were times when the world felt ready to crumble around him for the wealth that he of what felt. When she looked at him, time and reason dissolved, and nothing mattered. Nothing at all except the look in her eyes.

If he really tried, he could believe she loved him.

The thought, the hope, was worth everything.

Buffy’s house was in view, and he had yet to say a word. Granted, taciturn behavior was hardly novel where Oz was concerned, but there was something about this silence that was driving her particularly mad. What was worse, despite verbal confirmation, Willow knew exactly why he held his tongue. She knew it, and knowledge was toxic. The territory around her was laced with eggshells. And it wasn’t as though she could blame him. Oz was, after all, a recently turned werewolf. A classification of monster that, like vampires, had a homage of horror movies dedicated to its existence.

But Oz was human. He was still human when he wasn’t all furry. Spike wasn’t. Spike never reverted back to a human state. When his fangs were retracted, he still craved blood and violence. When he talked with them about Acathla, he still reveled, albeit moderately, in the prospect of getting into a good brawl with his family.

And now his fangs were going to be in her best friend. Her best friend’s blood was going to be in Spike. And Oz acted like Willow’s insistence, coupled with Giles’s, to chaperone the ritual, was completely preposterous.

Hence the silent treatment. How she hated the silent treatment.

“I know what you’re thinking, so you can stop.”

Oz cast her an inquisitive glance.

“He acts like he cares about her. I’d have to be blind not to see it. Okay? So there it is. He cares about her.” Willow bit her lip. “That doesn’t mean anything. Angel cared about her, too. A-and now look at him. He’s all killing of innocents, and Ms. Calendar, and fishies.”

Her boyfriend frowned at that, though she continued sharply before he could speak.

“And I know that was an extenuating circumstance. Angel with a soul isn’t a fish killer. But Spike doesn’t have a soul to begin with! He’s the same guy that tried to kill me and you and Buffy a bajillion times since he got to town. He’s a vampire. He’s inherently evil. He’s all…dangerous.”

Oz’s frown deepened.

“And yes, I know I can’t judge all vampires based on the sins of one. It’s not fair to them. Or Spike. But it’s not like he’s the new vamp in town. He’s been here for a while now. Long enough to attempt to kill us multiple times.” She paused, calming. “Even though Buffy would be dead by now if Spike was the vampire he…if he was…”

She frowned. Oz was quiet.

“And he did tell us about Acathla. A-and he does seem to care a lot about Buffy.” A long sigh pressed through her lips. “And it would mean a lot to Buffy…if I…God, Oz, it’s just hard. There are certain rules about things. Giles has always been adamant on the rules. Even Buffy told me that when she first introduced me to the world of vampires and things that go ‘bump’ in the night. Granted, that was before Angel…a-and she doesn’t even really…she looks at Spike in a way she never really looked at Angel.”

Willow eyed the house warily, worrying a lip between her teeth. “They’ll want privacy for this…but what if Spike gets carried away? What if Slayer blood is like...crème brûlée or something, and he can’t stop himself? What if—”

Oz opened his mouth, but was again cut off.

“Then again, Buffy can handle whatever happens. A-and if she can’t, well, I’m guessing she can scream pretty loud.” She cast her eyes to the ground and nodded, as though making a vow to herself. “Okay. Okay. You’ve convinced me. I’ll give it a try. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try.”

A small smile tugged on Oz’s lips, and he brushed a kiss across her cheek. “That’s all I ask.”

Buffy didn’t realize how nervous she was until Spike removed his duster and splayed it on the floor. She hadn’t given much thought to where they should perform the ritual, though the basement seemed as good a place as any. At least this way, they wouldn’t have to endure another painful encounter with Willow before getting down to business.

Spike undoubtedly sensed her anxiety; the look in his eyes was calm and loving, though she was nearly convinced the latter was wholly her imagination. “’S’all right, sweetling,” he said, his tone lulling her into a sense of security. “We’ll take this at your pace, yeah? I won’ make anythin’ final until I know you’re comfortable.”

She smiled and rubbed her arms. “I...umm...I’m still kinda muddled on what this is, actually.”

“Putting you under my protection?” Spike shrugged as though it didn’t mean anything, though the look on his face told a different story. The look on his face said that it mattered a great deal. “It’s somethin’ that doesn’ happen often anymore. A part of vamp lore that got lost, I s’pose. Like I told your Watcher, it stopped happenin’ regularly, an’ the tradition sort’ve died off.”

“The entire ‘Giles encouraging bitey goodness’ thing just…he’s not a pod person, is he?”

A wry smile tickled his lips. “Does sound pretty remarkable, doesn’ it?”

“And doing this makes it so that you can’t hurt me?”

“Yes.” Spike shrugged casually. “Another reason I think the ritual died out. It doesn’ work between vamps, pet. It’s a human-only ritual, for those select vamps that find themselves aligned with pulsers. Too many blokes found themselves knifed in the back for givin’ up the power, an’ it fell outta practice.”

“You won’t be able to hurt me at all?”

“Doesn’ matter. I don’ want to hurt you, so it seems like the best solution.”

“Can we still spar?”

“You say that like we’ve actually sparred.” He grinned and took a step forward, his eyes raking down her body predatorily. “Though I’d imagine we can. Anythin’ I do to hurt you, and go back on my word, has to be a conscious decision. What we’re about to do is a promise from my demon to you. A promise to never, ever hurt you, an’ to protect you with my life.” He held up a hand, foreseeing her obvious objection. “An’ I know, you don’ need my protection. I can’t give the ritual clauses. The ceremony does what it does, an’ this is the way it’s gonna be. An’ in order for my word to be revoked—an’ the Powers to hit me with repercussions—the demon has to make a conscious decision to go back on the promise to guard you.”

Buffy paused and pursed her lips. “And...that’s all it does? It just makes it impossible for you to go all Brutus on me?”

“Yes.”

“But we can still spar.”

“Again, we’ve never done that.”

“But we could, if we wanted to.”

Spike nodded. “Yes.”

“And stepping on my foot or pinching me or—”

He rolled his eyes, albeit good-naturedly, and stepped forward. “Won’ matter,” he assured her, raising a hand to toy with her golden locks of hair. “None of it matters. I’m not losin’ anythin’ by don’ this, luv. ‘S not like you’re programming me into bloody submission—my demon’s jus’ making a blood bond to never betray you.”

There was more to it, though. More than he wanted to admit. More than he was willing to tell her now. Buffy pursed her lips and nodded, averting her eyes to the floor. “So…we can do this here?”

“We can really do it anywhere.”

“What do you need me to do?”

Spike hesitated. “I need you strip.”

“Huh?”

“Jus’ your slacks an’ knickers. Although…” He frowned. “That top you’re wearing’s bloody distracting. Do you have somethin’ a li’l less…form-fittin’?”

“Is this a naked ritual?”

His mouth tugged upwards in a grin. “Hardly,” he replied, his eyes dancing with mirth. “I jus’ gotta make sure I don’ hurt you.”

“And that requires me to be naked?”

“Jus’ waist-down.”

She arched a brow. “You’re just looking to cop a feel, aren’t you? I’d think after what we did today, we wouldn’t have to resort to lying to get each other naked.”

“I’m jus’ impressed you can talk about what we did without blushin’.” The grin melted into an easy smirk, and he shook his head. “A vamp’s bite is painful...to humans, at leas’. It’s been a hundred an’ twenty years, but I remember how much Dru’s bite hurt. An’ I don’ wanna hurt you.”

Heat flooded Buffy’s cheeks. “Ummm...but you’ve bitten me before.”

“I know.”

“It didn’t hurt then.”

That was an understatement. Spike’s bite hadn’t hurt; it had felt incredible. The sensation of his fangs slicing through her flesh had filled her with such potent ecstasy that it nearly terrified her. Craving a vampire’s bite wasn’t in the Slayer job description, though no matter how many times she recited that to herself, the want of his fangs had remained, whispering dirties in her ear during times of emotional weakness. It frightened her that anything could feel so good. That something so deadly, so finite, could make her feel alive. He had bitten her, and in the few days since, she’d attempted, however futilely to forget the freedom of his bite. How hard she’d come at the feel of that part of him inside her.

Spike stepped forward again and slid his fingers under her chin, tilting her head upward until her eyes clashed with his. “Nothin’ to be ashamed of, sweet,” he said softly. “It’s s’posed to feel good.”

“Being bitten by a vamp is supposed to feel good?”

“When you’re aroused, yes.”

The word was so raw, blanketed with his own desire, and did little to lessen her embarrassment.

“That’s why I need you...” He broke off awkwardly, and it charmed her to see him appear momentarily befuddled. “Without gettin’ you...excited...a vamp’s bite is painful. Granted, there is a cult of human followers who like the pain, ‘cause it eventually gives way to pure pleasure, but you’re daft if you think I’m gonna hurt you when there’s another way. If it hurts too much, you might jerk an’ make it worse.”

“I—”

“Buffy, do you trust me?”

More than anything in the world. “Yes.”

A small smile tickled his lips, and that look of awe that she adored so much filled his eyes. “Okay,” he said softly, fisting the hem of his own t-shirt before stripping it over his head. “Put this on. Less form-fitting.”

Buffy glanced at the black fabric he shoved into her arms, and arched a skeptical brow. “I thought guys always went more nuts when their girlfriends wore their clothes.”

He shrugged. “Never heard that one. There was only Dru before you, an’ she never wore anythin’ I touched.”

Spike spoke so casually, though she knew him well enough to sense that small gestures like that had cut deeper than the wounds Dru intentionally inflicted.

If that were the case, Buffy would gladly wear anything Spike cast aside. She wanted him to know, in no uncertain terms, how much he meant to her. How she refused to take him for granted. Thus she wasted no more time and tugged her fitted-tee over her head, unsurprised at the heat that infused her skin under the power of his gaze.

“Christ,” he gasped, at her side in an instant. “I thought you’d at least have the decency to turn around.”

She quirked a brow and tossed her top to the ground. “Decency?”

He palmed her lace-clad breasts playfully, his mouth dropping to her shoulder. “Temptress.”

“Spike...”

While she knew her tone was set to make him pull away, Buffy had to bite back a moan of protest when it worked. Quickly, she slipped on his tee and did her best to ignore the fire that blazed in his eyes the minute the cotton fell against her skin. Just as she ignored the small growl that rumbled through his throat when she turned her hands to her jeans, kicking off her shoes. Her panties had been destroyed earlier, thanks to his eager fangs, and when she stepped out of the pool of denim, she felt, if possible, even barer than she would have in the full nude.

“Come here,” Spike said hoarsely, reaching for her.

She grinned. “So, the clothes thing is true.”

“Whass’at?”

“Guys seeing their girlfriends in their clothing—”

He nodded stiffly, as though afraid any further movement would render him under the complete authority of his body’s demands. “I’m thinkin’ maybe it would’ve been easier seein’ your sweet titties pokin’ out at me,” he said gruffly, seizing her left wrist and tugging her to the ground. “You’re more temptation than one man can handle.”

Buffy flushed and sat up on her knees across from him.

“So bloody beautiful, you are.”

“Spike—”

He smiled, the hand around her wrist tightening. “Spread your legs for me, baby,” he murmured, his fingers dancing over her bare thigh. She trembled and obliged, her free arm instinctively going around his neck for support. “That’s it. Now relax.”

So completely easier said than done.

“Close your eyes.”

She did, then whimpered when she felt his hand cupping her center. His skin was cold where she was hot, and the duality of sensation just about undid her completely. “Ohhh...”

“That’s it,” he hummed again. She felt his mouth press against the inside of her wrist, felt his fingers spreading her pussy lips wide. He rubbed her exposed flesh gently, a low purr reverberating through his chest. “You smell like Heaven.”

“Ohhh, God.”

“You like that?” he rasped, his tongue worshiping the pulse point of her wrist as his fingers teased her sodden folds. “You like what I do to you?”

“Oh yes.” Her eyes screwed shut, her hips thrusting forward with a needful moan. “Oh God, yes.”

Spike murmured his approval, his fangs slowly descending. He ran his middle finger up her slit, caressing her with gentility that, despite all the feeling of his previous touches, she hadn’t felt before. His thumb settled over her clit, manipulating her into a slow frenzy. Something was different, though. This was different. He’d touched her in lust, he’d put his mouth on her forbidden flesh, he’d made her come so hard she saw proverbial stars, but somehow, this—just this—made her feel thoroughly cherished.

His tongue lapped delicately at her wrist, and it occurred to her, then, that he didn’t intend to bite her on the neck. And God, she didn’t know why that should bother her, but for whatever reason, the idea that he didn’t want her throat stung with rejection.

“Spike?”

He pinched her clit between his thumb and forefinger, beginning a gentle, tortuous caress that set her skin on fire. “No,” he growled.

He understood, then.

“Why?”

“Vampires don’ bite on the neck unless they kill.” His voice was overwhelmed with passion, as though the thought alone was too much temptation. “Or claim. If I bite you there, I won’ be able to stop from doin’ it.”

“Doing it?”

“Claiming you.”

“And...” Her nails dug into his forearms; the fire building toward explosion. “That’s bad?”

“Wonderful,” he corrected with a moan.

“I—”

And then it hit. Fangs slid inside her wrist, her body rattled with the power of her orgasm. It was a sensory explosion if there had ever been one; her skin burned and her nerves blazed. A long, hoarse gasp tore through her throat, and her grip on him tightened, fearing the fall that would consume her if she let go. She trembled and whimpered, gasping something incomprehensible as her free arm wound around his neck, holding him to her as the world dissolved in bliss.

The explosion withered, but the sparks it held over rekindled the fire. Buffy sobbed her pleasure and choked his name. There had never been a feeling like this. Beyond necessity, beyond desire, even beyond the hope of love, the sensationalism of his body trembling against hers encompassed her in complete rapture.

Slowly, Spike withdrew his fangs from her wrist and pressed a kiss against her flesh. “This blood is my ward,” he murmured. “My chalice to protect, and mine to cherish. May no harm fall upon it.”

When it crashed, it crashed wholly. All at once, walls collapsed and barriers vanished. As though they were no longer separated by flesh and consciousness, and his emotions were suddenly hers. The fire blazing through her body intensified tenfold, and she found herself overwhelmed with such burning actualization that she was certain the world stopped.

She felt it. She felt it so richly. He could not guard himself; not when she felt everything.

He loves me.

Her heart was submerged in completion.

He really loves me.

There was no mistaking it. His feelings were open; bare. They ripped through her, a current of knowledge and hope. She didn’t know if he felt the same—if he could distinguish her own as easily as she did his. If he felt their paths lock together with the single contract of blood and poetry.

Spike held her gaze for a long moment; the world around her blurred. Then it became too much. The love she saw there—the love she felt tearing through her system—quickly sent her on utter and complete overload, and she had to look away to gather her bearings. Buffy released a trembling breath and climbed to her wobbly feet.

“Buffy?”

Her name, accented in his voice, sent another wave crashing over her. Pure, unadulterated love. Love unlike anything she had ever felt before. She felt as though she’d managed to stand on water, and moving at all would force her to forfeit her footing, and there would be nothing left to do but drown.

“Buffy, sweetheart? Are you—”

It was quite possibly the boldest thing she’d ever done. Her heart was racing, her head was pounding, but there was love in Spike’s eyes that he could no longer hide. She saw him wholly as he was—no obstacles left between them. He’d bitten into her wrist, but she was the one that had been inside him.

There was no second-guessing herself. She knew what she wanted.

And now that she knew what he felt, there was nothing to hold her back.

She was in his arms the next second. Warm and eager, her hands linked behind his neck, her mouth tearing at his with womanly passion that she had grown so bloody masterful at holding back. The taste of her kisses complemented the blood that still flavored his mouth had him inebriated in seconds. With a long moan, he surrendered, melting completely into her with no further want of self-preservation. He was painfully hard, and in full need of her; if she wasn’t careful, she was going to trespass his final boundary. That line she had defined so well earlier that day in a different basement. A basement across town, where he’d nearly cost himself the trust and warmth he found in Buffy’s arms.

The line was drawn. The boundary understood. And yet—oh god—she was jerking down his fly.

Not a bloody saint.

He was too aroused to play it safe. If she touched him, all bets were off.

“Buffy—”

She tore her mouth from his as his cock sprang into her hand. The gasp that seized her throat rivaled his own. “Oh, God.”

“Buffy, we gotta—”

She shook her head stubbornly. “No. Need you.”

“Sweetling—”

“Please, Spike. I know what I’m doing.”

Her hot little hand tightened around him, her other fighting to shove his jeans to the ground. It wasn’t until he kicked off his boots that he realized he was helping her in her efforts to disrobe of him. Bloody fuck.

“I know what I want,” she said again, and for an insane second, he believed her.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Please…” Her lips found his throat, and he knew then, if he hadn’t before, that he was completely lost. Utterly and wholly lost. “Inside me. I need you.”

Spike moaned, steadying his hands on her hips. She was stroking his erection speedily, her eyes blazing with need that he hadn’t seen before. He feared she was half-drunk off her own orgasm, tied in with the pleasure that came with a vampire’s bite, but his body was too foregone to adhere any of the warnings his mind screamed at him. Her wet heat was more temptation than any man could resist. Dizzy with her blood, drunk on her kisses, taunted with the heady scent of her arousal, and he was thoroughly lost.

He lifted her slightly, his mouth caressing hers in a soft kiss. “Wrap your legs around my waist.”

Buffy mewled and obliged. And fuck if the feel of her body wrapped so thoroughly around his wasn’t the best sensation he’d ever experienced.

Only gets better.

“Now, Spike,” she gasped, thrusting wantonly against him. Her slippery flesh danced over his length, trying and failing to capture him as he held her. “I can’t wait.”

Against the wall again, he realized dazedly. He’d moved without realizing it. Buffy was in his arms against the wall, her pussy hovering over his cock. He released a strangled sigh and slipped a hand between her legs, massaging her clit tenderly with his thumb as his fingers explored her folds.

“Spike!”

“God, Buffy.”

“In me. In me now. Please!”

There was no denying her. Spike met her eyes, wide and vulnerable, and captured her mouth in a kiss as he began to slide inside her. Immediately, her silken walls constricted around him, her muscles tightening impossibly the deeper he sank within her depths.

“Oh, fucking Christ.”

Buffy hissed against his mouth. “Uhhh.”

Spike froze, his head reeling back. “Am I hurtin’ you?”

There was a long pause; she shook her head with a small smile. “No. I just…God. Seems…I don’t remember it feeling so…big.”

A grin quirked his lips, but he decided to forgo the obvious retort. “You weren’t against a wall the last time,” he murmured.

“You’re being modest.”

“Sweetheart, with as well as you know me, you should know that I’m not modest.” He paused. “Which is why I’m gonna tell you that if it was big you wanted, you should’ve had me pop your cherry in the firs’ place.”

She giggled and squeezed his shoulders. “One of the many, many reasons.”

“Bleeding hell.” He rested his brow against hers. “Are you ready, darling?”

“Yes. Yes.” Buffy nodded eagerly, wiggling against him. “It’s okay. I’m okay now. Please, Spike!”

A shuddering breath raced through his lips. He kissed her softly, his eyes fluttering shut. “Jus’ tell me if it hurts,” he murmured. “I don’ wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

God, he hoped so. With as hot as she was, how tight she was squeezing him, he hoped he had the resolve to keep from bruising her with his body. It was so bloody difficult to keep an even head about things when her muscles contracted around him, her warm pussy swallowing him whole. He impaled her with a quick thrust, swallowing her moan with a kiss, wincing when her nails dug into his forearms.

The sheer bliss of her body was second only to the awe burning her eyes. When she looked at him like that, he felt invincible. “You okay?” he asked, panting harshly. “Fucking God.”

“I’m perfect.”

“So bleeding warm.” He quivered, lost in absolute nirvana. The way she looked at him overpowered him completely. He wanted to make it slow for her; show her how it was supposed to be. Show her what she meant to him, especially now that she’d let him into her garden. He began moving within her in soft, agonizing strokes, her pussy strangling him with every parry. The slow, sensual slide of his flesh against hers seared him whole. “Oh, fuck, Buffy…”

“Guh!”

He swept his lips against her cheek, basking in the feel of her. The slow tempo of her hips thrusting against his, fighting to recapture his cock every time he slid from her slick passage. It was so new. So fucking new. There was no malice when she looked at him. No wickedly smiling eyes that knew too well how to play him before casting him aside. Buffy bathed him in a look of such pure adoration, and even if that was all he received, it was worth the whole bloody world.

“You’re wonderful,” he panted, sliding one hand under the hem of the t-shirt he’d given her. His fingers pinched at her nipples, his mouth dropping to suckle at her breast through the cotton that separated them. “So bloody perfect. Oh Christ, Buffy. How you feel. You feel so good.” His thrusts intensified, slow and deep still, but fused with growing need. “So perfect.”

“Oh yes.”

“Tell me.”

A choked gasp ripped through Buffy’s throat. “You feel…ohhh, God.”

“Yes, tell me.”

“So good.”

The words invigorated him and his thrusts intensified. “You’re so bleeding beautiful,” he moaned. “So perfect. My Slayer.”

“Unh!”

The cool, wet slip and slide of his cock from her pussy was driving him insane. Spike groaned and pressed his lips to her brow, moving madly within her now, unable to help the whimpers and moans that clawed at his throat. The haven she offered was too great for him, but he could pretend to be worthy for this short while. The taste of her flesh was so sweet, the feel of her too perfect—he wasn’t the sort of person who ended up here for the good run, but God, he wanted it like nothing else.

“Spike!”

He dropped his mouth to her throat, his thrusts rocking her with sharp pangs of need. He felt her back slam ruthlessly against the wall, though she whimpered in joy, not pain. Distantly, he recognized that the control he’d fought to withhold had abandoned him, but his mind was too fogged to battle it back. For the soft, sweet kisses she peppered against his face, the sobs of pleasure that rumbled through her lips, it seemed his slayer preferred pain with her pleasure, and the knowledge shot through him—a bullet of actualization.

“Spike, please. I need…oh God, I need—”

He slipped a hand between them, his fingers sliding over her clit.

“Oh God!” Buffy’s eyes went wide. “Oh my God!”

Spike whimpered and pressed his brow to hers once more, his eyes falling shut as his hips thrust frantically against her. The fingers at her clit massaged her rapidly, needing to feel her orgasm nearly as much as his own. His teeth scraped tenderly at the column of her throat, his balls tightening as the world tumbled out of order. “Come for me, baby,” he panted. “Need to feel that delicious pussy of yours come for me.”

Her body consumed him whole. And before he even realized it, his fangs sliced through his gums, the racing hum of her pulse driving him home. Her throat. His chalice. Then—oh Christ—her blood poured into his mouth, and she exploded around him. A hoarse cry commanding her as her muscles clamped around his cock, riding out the waves of her orgasm and sending him into the sweetest release he’d ever known.

“Mine!” he growled.

And that one little word startled him so much that he lost his footing. Spike collapsed to the floor, landing on his back with her on top of him. The fall drove his cock deeper inside her, and she threw her head back with a large gasp.

“Oh my God!”

He was hard again. Her muscles clamped around him, her blood—charged with sex—in his mouth. Spike’s hands fell to her hips again, his eyes burning as he drank her in.

“Gorgeous,” he murmured, drawing the t-shirt over her head. He took a minute to admire how her nipples saluted him through her bra, then quickly reached around her to unclasp it. As lovely as her breasts looked when accompanied with lace, he liked them bare and in his hands more than anything.

“Ohhh…” Harsh breaths tumbled through her throat, her hands resting again his chest to steady herself. “Spike,” she gasped. “I haven’t…I…”

He knew she hadn’t. Angelus would never be the sort to forfeit control; didn’t bloody matter which mask he wore. And with that much—just that glimpse into the brief relationship she’d shared with his grandsire, Spike saw more than he ever cared to. Saw the woman he loved neglected into a sense of such brutal insecurity that she didn’t know how incredible she was, just with what she gave him with a look. And now—especially now. Now, with Buffy over him, slowly riding his cock with experimental thrusts that drove him out of his sodding mind, she gave him more than she knew just by trusting him to guide her when she was unsure of herself.

“You bit me,” she gasped as she began moving in earnest, his hands holding her ass as she bounced on his cock. Her words weren’t an accusation, rather a statement of fact. And there was nothing to do but nod his agreement. “Ohhh…”

“Did it feel good, Slayer?”

Buffy nodded without thought, her skin trembling beneath his touch. There was no sodding way he was going to last like this. Not with her galloping him into oblivion, his eyes glued to the sight of her pussy swallowing his erection with every thrust.

“Oh yes,” she mewled, and he could tell she was close. His thumb found her clit again, massaging her speedily to hurry her orgasm. He needed to hear her scream his name again before he took relief in her body.

“Do it again.”

Spike’s eyes widened. She couldn’t mean what he thought she meant.

“Sweetling?”

“Bite me!”

Some rational facet knew he should object, but his demon would not be deterred. And when his fangs found her throat again, when he felt her tremble into climax around him, he knew he was home.

Home, after so many years of wandering.

“Mine,” he murmured again, the demon purring in contentment as Buffy collapsed against his chest. “You’re mine.”

Later, he told himself, he would reflect on this moment as one of pure weakness. Sealing the Slayer’s lifeline to his when he knew he had nothing to offer. When he knew that she would rebuke the notion of belonging to a vampire in such a personal, intimate manner. When she knew what claims were, and what they meant for her.

It wasn’t final, though, so he had nothing to fear. His words hadn’t been accepted, and he knew better than to dream for reciprocation.

But for now—right now—he would hold her in this tranquility they had created together. Peace among monsters and slayers. An interlude in the first true home he’d ever known.

A quiet rest in the arms of the woman he loved.

She didn’t realize she was shivering until he rubbed her arms and shifted behind her.

“Cold, sweetheart?” he asked gently, draping his duster over her shoulders before she could reply. His eyes swallowed her face in adoration, and the chill around her disappeared. “Bleedin’ thing just dwarfs you, doesn’ it?” He dropped a kiss onto her brow before sitting back.

Buffy smiled and gripped at the lapels of his duster, her heart swelling at the symbolism of the gesture. Sometime during that first night at the Sunnydale Inn, he’d told her how he’d won his duster. Her body was still tingling from his touch, and she worried that if she opened her mouth, she would fumble and betray herself. While she knew he loved her—there was no doubting what she’d felt the minute his fangs had sliced into her wrist—she similarly knew that loving her was the last thing he’d wanted. That he would see it as a curse, rather than something liberating and wonderful.

However, words could not conceal the emotions she’d felt.

And despite her fear of rejection—her fear that his fear would override the truth of his sentiment—she needed him to know. Now, before Angelus turned back into Angel.

The frown that crossed Spike’s face told her that her silence wasn’t reassuring.

“I din’t hurt you, did I?” he asked softly, cupping her cheek. “Bloody hell, Buffy, I never meant to—”

“You didn’t hurt me.”

Relief colored his eyes. “You’re sure? I…when I bit you, I wasn’ in my right head. I jus’…”

Her cheeks burned. “That? That, I…umm…liked. It felt…” Her blush deepened when the concern in his gaze melted to awe, and she forced herself to look away before she died of embarrassment. Slayers weren’t supposed to crave a vampire’s fangs—it didn’t matter that she was in love with him.

There was nothing more sacred than that realization. She loved him. In just a few short days, she’d come to love him so much.

Knowledge was a frightening thing. She knew she loved him, and she knew she wanted him to know that she loved him. And she knew that he loved her, as well. Whether or not the sentiment was welcome, however, remained up in the air. There was absolutely no way she’d face Angelus without revealing herself to Spike. He was too concerned about something that her heart knew was impossible. That logic would overpower emotion, and he would shut her out for want of self-preservation.

It was likely a foolish concern. After all, shutting her out was more something Angel would do. However, Spike had not kept quiet concerning his that he found himself drawn to a slayer—beyond the thrill of the hunt, of course. And while she knew that his affection for her was genuine, the reservations he had concerning their relationship were similarly too real to ignore.

Buffy released a deep breath, shuddering and shaking her head. No. He wasn’t like that. Spike wasn’t like that. She wouldn’t attempt to gauge his reactions based on what she knew she could have expected from Angel. Before they went up against the Order, she needed him to know precisely how she felt.

She pursed her lips and cast the duster off her shoulders, her skin flushing at the widening of his eyes and the long, appraising looks he raked down her body. She reached for his discarded tee—the one he’d torn off her just a half hour before. There was some comfort in wearing his clothing that she simply couldn’t explain.

When she turned back to him, his eyes were molten with lust. He stood before her, confident in his nudity without appearing arrogant, even when his cock hardened.

“’m sorry I claimed you,” he blurted, and something within her fell. “I din’t mean to. But you won’ have to worry about it…it won’ happen again. If we…I’ll have more control in the future. An’ you din’t accept it, or reciprocate, so it should jus’ wear off eventually. We’ll jus’…if we…we’ll jus’ have to be more careful in the future.”

Her mouth tugged downwards into a frown as her hand reached to caress the sacred place on her throat where he’d tasted her. “You…you didn’t want to claim me?”

Spike paused. “I never said that.”

“But you— ”

“I did it without permission, sweetheart. I did it without you even knowin’ what it meant. ‘S better for both of us, really. Claims are—”

“What if I said I wanted that with you? Would that change anything?”

Spike just looked at her, his face blank with astonishment. “You can’t know what you’re askin’ for, pet. It’s not possible between us.”

If there was one thing Buffy knew for sure, it was the fact that there were no absolutes. Spike himself was proof enough of that. There was no black and white, or even the overly-referenced shades of gray in between. There was a world of color that could not be reduced to light, dark and the shadows they cast. That place that allowed her vampire to be with her now. “Why not?”

“A claim…bloody well out of practice, for one thing.”

“And therefore we shouldn’t start up a new fad?”

He scowled at her. “No—of course not, Buffy. That’s not what I meant an’ you bloody well know it. A claim is forever, an’ most vamps aren’t equipped for forever. The vamps in my family in particular.” He released a derisive huff. “Angelus an’ Darla bloody well belong to each other, but it doesn’ stop them from fucking whoever they feel like. Same with Dru. Monogamy isn’t somethin’ vampires practice, an’ a claim is a promise to one another.”

She swallowed. Hard. “Like…marriage?”

“Only more binding. It takes the deepest devotion to even…” He broke off uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. “I said earlier that vamps don’ bite on the neck unless they mean to eat or…claim. That’s only partly true.” He paused, and she thought her heart would leap from her chest. “It depends on the vampire, I guess. Angelus bites his women all the time, but never feels the urge to…”

“Spike—”

“The urge to claim is based on the vampire in question.” He met her eyes and smiled grimly, offering a weak shrug. “I was always the romantic in the family.”

Something twisted in her stomach. She stepped forward and reached out to him. “Spike…” He just wanted to be loved. “Would you have claimed just anyone?”

Spike frowned and backpedaled. “What?”

“Could I have been anyone, is what I’m asking.”

A black shadow befell his eyes. “No.” The look on his face was dangerous—as though she had just said something so thoroughly unthinkable that he felt cut by the suggestion. “How can you even ask me that?”

“I was just—”

“Claim’s a bloody serious thing, Slayer. The few times it’s happened between humans an’ vamps, it’s ended badly. The human’s lifeline got tied to their mates. They din’t age, ended up bloody miserable ‘cause no one wants to live out Tuck Everlastin’. Humans can’t think in terms of forever. All the humans I know of eventually offed themselves, an’ left their vamps in a perpetual state of mournin’.” A long sigh rippled through him. “The demon doesn’ make its choice of mate lightly. It has to be…” He stepped forward. “That’s what it was, you understand? The demon’s need to claim you overrode common sense. I’ve never felt that before. Never. It wouldn’t have happened if it was anyone but you.”

Her heart fell. “So…it was just the demon, then?”

“You daft girl. Are you listenin’ at all?”

“Well, you just said it was the demon that made the decision—not you.” Granted, he’d said it in a way that would make Casanova bow out in shame, but she was determined not to focus on the poetry of his words. This was too important to her. “I’m not a vampire, Spike, remember? I don’t know how demon stuff works. I don’t feel the drives you do. So forgive me if I hear you say ‘the demon made me do it’ and interpret that as ‘he doesn’t want me after all.’”

The next thing she knew, she was in Spike’s arms, her back pressed against the wall as she drowned in the deep ocean of his eyes. His cock was hard, probing her wet folds with rough sensuality that threatened the stability of her foundations. She didn’t want him to win this easily—she didn’t want to give in simply because she loved him, especially when she didn’t know what he wanted.

He loved her, she told herself. She’d felt it. There was no denying the love she’d felt ripple through her the second he’d whispered the ceremonial words into her flesh. But did he love her enough to make it final?

“Does this feel like I don’ want you?” he demanded brusquely, a hand slipping between them to cup her pussy. “I’ve wanted you since the second I saw you. You were dancin’ with your chums an’ drivin’ every man in the bloody building out of his mind. I was in a right mind to throw you against the wall an’ fuck you raw. I’ll always want you.”

Hot tears pricked her eyes and she bit back a moan. “You want this,” she agreed breathlessly. “I do, too. But wanting sex and wanting me are two different things.”

“An’ you think you know the difference?” he demanded, arching a brow.

“Yes,” she gasped, and her voice hitched. The tears that had threatened to pour down her cheeks broke through her inner dam, and the last of her foundation fell apart. “I love you, Spike.”

That look of absolute awe flecked with adoration stormed his eyes, and he trembled hard against her. “Say that again.”

The wonder in his voice fueled her veins with hope.

“I love you,” she whispered, then moaned when his cock slid inside her. “I love you.”

“Oh God.”

His lips seized hers desperately, and the need behind his kiss made her insides tremble. Buffy clutched at him desperately, her heart clenching. It was difficult to ignore the fact that the words hadn’t been answered. That, while she knew the extent of his feelings, he wouldn’t be able to say the words. She was open; bare and vulnerable. She lay before him on the proverbial chopping block, prepared to be thoroughly ripped apart.

Spike broke his lips from hers with a trembling sigh as his hips moved steadily against hers, pumping himself sweetly into her body. “Hold onto me, sweetling,” he murmured, sliding his hands under her thighs. “Wrap your legs around me. Like before.”

She obeyed, and the next thing she knew, she was on the floor, splayed out atop his duster. His cock slid out of her pussy, eliciting a long moan through her lips. She strained to sit up, but he gently pushed her back, the wonder in his eyes overwhelming.

“Spiiike!”

A soft smile played across his lips. His left hand cupped her cheek tenderly, and for the way his love shone through his eyes, any doubt that haunted her thoughts was banished completely. “Sweet,” he murmured, his other hand slipping between her thighs. His fingertips just grazed her clit, shooting a bullet of pleasure through her veins. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Spike, please!” Her eyes fell on his erection and she licked her lips. “Please, I need—”

“I know what you need.” His head dipped and he lapped at her wet slit, his eyes slowly raking up her body until they clashed with hers. “I love you.”

A large gasp tore through her body. “Spike!”

“I love you, Buffy. God help me, I do.” He suckled hungrily at her clit, then left her pussy with a parting kiss before prowling up her body. The velvety head of his cock teased her sodden folds, and her moans gave way to a satisfied sigh when she felt him position himself at her opening. “I love you so much.”

She whimpered. “Ohhhh…”

He smiled into her eyes, sliding completely within her. “How could you even doubt it?”

Buffy hooked her arms under his shoulders and shook her head. Had she truly doubted him? The feel of him within her body cast every misgiving aside, the burn in his eyes chased away all shadows. There were no words to offer, nothing she could say to convey the wealth he’d given her. He’d rescued her from her own darkness when she thought there was no way to climb away from despair. When she thought warmth itself would never be touched again. The connection she felt with him was so new, so young, but somehow righted all the wrongs that she had previously associated with love.

It had happened so quickly, but God…

“Spike,” she gasped, arching back. She wanted his fangs in her throat. She wanted the words he’d murmured earlier. She wanted what he wanted. She knew he’d refuse her, of course. She was too young, too fantasy-prone to know exactly what it was she asked for. Too little girlish to get the full prospect of forever.

She wasn’t a normal human. Not like the others he’d mentioned. She knew what forever was, just as she knew of the expiration date that marked the Slayer package. She had dreams of forever, some that terrified, some that liberated. In the span of a few hours, her mind could take her where no amount of knowledge ever dared venture.

Buffy would never presume to know everything. However, as Spike moved within her, his lips doting her skin with soft kisses, his body telling her how much he loved her, she knew that he was worth everything and more. Whatever she had to surrender to prove to him that he was enough for her. That he didn’t need to be the one who gave up everything. Their mutual sacrifices would only bring them closer together. In just a few days, he’d given her so much.

“Spike…” she moaned. “Bite me.”

His eyes widened and his hips jerked forward in a sharp thrust. “Fuck, Buffy.”

“Bite me!”

“No!”

Resolve, however, could not control the demon. There was nothing quite like the sound of a vampire changing faces. She knew the second that his fangs descended. She turned, baring her neck to him. “Do it!”

“God, Buffy, please!”

“Do it. Claim me.”

Another hard thrust. He pounded his fist into the ground beside her head. “No!”

“Do it!” She grasped his head and jerked his mouth to the pulse point in her throat. “Bite me!”

Spike snarled against her throat, his incisors prickling at her skin. “Forgive me,” he murmured. His body tightened and tensed, burden weighing down—granting him no leave. She felt him surrender, and the hopelessness behind it gutted her completely.

Then the moment passed, and her body was swallowed in bliss. Buffy threw her head back and sobbed with pleasure, clutching him tightly as her body came hard around him. There was absolutely nothing in the world like the feel of his fangs inside her. He sipped at her blood slowly, despite his loss of control, as though taking communion. Her pussy clenched around him, and she held him to her firmly, lamenting the loss of his bite when he ultimately pulled away.

“Say it,” she demanded through tears. “Dammit, Spike, say it!”

Objection flared across his eyes, but he could not deny her nothing. “Mine,” he murmured, and the resignation in his voice broke her heart. It wasn’t that he didn’t want it—she knew that. She knew that now. She’d known it earlier, too, though human reaction had conflicted with inherent knowledge.

He just didn’t think she could want it, too.

“Yes, yes!” She felt him spill within her, felt him flood her completely, and knew there was nowhere else, for however long she lived, that she’d rather be. “Yours. Completely yours. Yes.”

Spike’s head reeled back in shock. “Buffy!”

“Yes!”

“Oh, Christ…” He glanced down at her dazedly, his expression torn between sorrow and euphoria. “God, Buffy…do you have any idea what you’ve jus’ done?”

Air fought back into her lungs. She knew he was upset, and knew that holding off on a serious conversation was not an option, despite however much she wanted to curl up in post-coital bliss and sleep away the rest of the afternoon. The love in his eyes was flecked with worry, and completely tore her apart.

No regrets. There would never be any regrets.

“I know what you told me,” she replied.

Wrong answer. He staggered and pulled out of her, reaching frantically for his jeans. “What I told you…fuck, Slayer, were you listenin’ at all? Do you have the foggiest notion what this means? What you’ve signed on for?”

“Yes.”

The calm certainty in her tone clearly unraveled him, and if anything, the façade of outrage strengthened in the face of her conviction. “Well, I don’ believe it. I bloody well told you…I told you what it meant. You’re off…I can’t…” Then it became too much; he choked off his words and ripped his eyes from hers, desperation winning out over anger. “You…how could you do that? How could…you love me now. For God’s sake, you love me now. An’ now…you let me ruin it.”

What?

“No. No! Spike, you—”

“You’re human, pet. You’re not equipped for forever. An’ you’re gonna end up hatin’ me. God, Buffy, I can’t—”

“It was my decision, Spike. Mine. I could never hate you for that.”

“But I—”

“And you’re overlooking something.” She stepped forward, grateful, in this instance, that she was still dressed in his tee. Had she been completely nude, she didn’t think she’d have the confidence to say what needed to be said. “I’m human, yes, but I’m not normal.”

“That doesn’—”

“Yes, it does. It means everything.” She reached up to caress the sore place on her throat where he’d marked her, and smiled gently. “I’ve had dreams about this. Nightmares about being a vampire, but dreams about being bitten. I know the difference. And maybe they meant this. Maybe they were prophetic.”

“Maybe you’re graspin’ at straws.”

That couldn’t help but bite. Buffy’s shoulders fell, and she cast her eyes to the ground. “I didn’t judge you,” she said softly, “based on what Angel did to me. Please, please don’t judge me based on what other humans have done. I’m a slayer. I’m not completely human. And I love you.” She stepped forward and cupped his cheeks, her insides melting as the insecurity in his eyes battled with wonder. “I’m not like Dru.”

He looked at her a minute longer, then glanced down, shaking his head. “God, it jus’ happened so fast.”

“I know.”

“A few days ago…”

“I know.” Buffy released a deep breath and hugged him closer. “But fast doesn’t mean wrong. I don’t…slayers have to think in terms of forevers; we have such a short life expectancy as it is, so everything we do is our forever. I can’t stress about the things that I know are certain. You’re certain. I want you. I love you. And that’s never going to change.”

That was it. She saw it in his eyes, and knew that she had him. Knew that the doubt was over. That he believed her. That his misgivings about their future were gone, and he finally saw that she knew what she was doing. That she’d accepted his claim for reasons beyond the superficial elements of lust, and felt as deeply as she did. Crazy as it was, as fast as it’d happened, it was all real. Completely.

“My God,” he gasped. And the next thing she knew, he’d crushed her to his chest. “My God.”

“Spike—”

The taste of his kiss would never stop surprising her. He commanded so much just by taking her lips—as though whispering prayers into her body. Every touch that whispered against her skin felt reverential, filling her with warmth and adoration—with everything she had craved but never received. Never truly grasped in the height of her past relationships. She didn’t have to be someone else when Spike was with her. She didn’t have to pretend for his sake. With him, she was just Buffy. Buffy, who occasionally played the slayage scene, but moreover wanted to experience things that the so-called ‘normal’ girls took for granted.

The Slayer wasn’t who she was—it was a part of who she was. Angel had never appreciated that. Spike did.

The list of differences between Angel and Spike was so long, she was beginning to suffer reservations about the authenticity of her time with her first love. It was so fresh—just a couple months ago, she and Angel had been the ones patrolling, the ones sneaking kisses when they could. The ones that were, as Xander had hinted, the hopeless slaves to passion. Yet the Angel she’d known was so radically different from the man she now loved. From the vampire standing before her, looking at her as though she had given him sunlight.

Angel’s touch had made her quiver; Spike’s made her burn.

“I love you,” she whispered when their lips parted. Then his head dipped and suckled sweetly on the fresh claim mark with tender veneration. The words tasted delicious, rather than bittersweet. God, how new was that? Her love for Angel had only succeeded in making her miserable. Her love for Spike embodied liberation. How was that possible? How did the vampire with a clause for humanity fall so short of a being that regarded evil as a driving force?

Perhaps it was because Angel’s humanity had been forced upon him, and Spike’s had never left. Perhaps.

She felt Spike smile against her flesh, his eyes rising slowly to meet hers. God, he was trembling hard. He betrayed so much in one little gesture. “I never thought it possible,” he said softly. “I never thought…”

Dru had ruined him long before they came to Sunnydale, she realized. Long before Angelus broke them up. Likely long before Buffy was Called. How much abuse he’d had to tolerate, she didn’t know, but the thought was crippling. Spike was full of love; to refuse his love in hopes of something better was like turning down Godiva. It didn’t get better than what he offered. What he offered practically didn’t exist anymore. To not cherish it was a sin.

It made Buffy hate Drusilla even more than she thought possible. More for the fact that she knew, despite the vampire’s cruelty, that Spike stood between the evil bitch and a dusty ending. His loyalty ran deep, even when there was nothing left but blood between them.

She’d have to force her jealousy aside. It didn’t matter. He loved her now. End of story.

And they’d go into the big brawl knowing that. There was no reason for him to fear Angel’s return, now. No reason at all.

Though she doubted she’d be able to get that through her vampire’s thick skull.

“I was gonna tell you before it happened,” she murmured, barely aware that she’d spoken.

“Sweet?”

Buffy frowned, blinked, and glanced up. “Huh?”

“You were gonna tell me what before what happened?”

“Oh.” Her cheeks reddened and she glanced down. “I was thinking out loud.”

Spike arched a brow and waited.

“Oh! Right. Okay. I was…before Willow, with the spell?” She worried a lip between her teeth as recollection swept his eyes. “Anyway, I was…if it works…if Willow manages to give Angel his soul back, I wanted you to know everything I’ve said. That I love you and I want you, because if Angel comes back, you and I? Not changing. Don’t think you can get away from me that quickly, buster.”

He smiled dryly. “We’ve had this fight.”

“Yeah, but now we have something else.”

“The claim—”

“The claim’s only part of it. Even if that hadn’t happened, I’d still love you, and I’m not blind as a bat like Dru. I know what I have. This…” She reached for the claim mark on her throat, stroking her sensitive skin reverently. “This makes it official. I’m completely yours.”

His smile broadened—God, she loved that smile. Not cynical, not teasing. He looked so happy. She’d never seen Spike so happy, and she’d given it to him. The thought was a little more than empowering.

With his arms around her, he lowered her to the ground once more, trapping her beneath him across his duster. His lips played across hers as her impatient fingers reached for the clasp of his jeans. Now that they had all their cards on the table, she was more eager now than ever before to feel him inside her. To make love with him without any questions about what he felt for her, if he could ever admit it, and the entire business about forevers and what happened once her ex-boyfriend returned to the picture. She needed to feel him inside her so badly.

Just once more before the world returned.

*~*~*

It wasn’t as though she didn’t know Buffy had had sex, because oh boy, she knew. Proof of Buffy’s sex life was currently stalking her friends, killing fish, and murdering teachers. Suffice to say, Willow was pretty much in the know when it came to her best friend and naked groiny grinding. She knew the whole thing.

That didn’t mean she needed to hear the soundtrack.

“They know we’re still up here,” Willow said to herself, flinching as the moans below their feet approached yet another crescendo. This one louder than those before it; she wondered if Buffy and Spike were trying to out-orgasm each other, then felt a flush at the dirty thought and sank further into the cushions of the sofa.

Bad, bad mind.

It grew quiet then. Quiet for a few wonderful, blessed seconds…until Spike’s conductor decided to take the repeat, and the porny whimpers started again. “Th-they know that…right?”

Oz glanced up from where he was reading the paper and shrugged.

Porny whimpers were becoming super porny moans. Oh God, this had been a long afternoon.

“W-we’ll give them another half hour,” she decided, turning the volume on the television as high as it would go. Not that it did any good. Stupid hormone-driven superbeings. “A-and then we’re definitely gonna have to break it up.”

Her boyfriend arched a brow. “You really wanna get in the middle of that?” he asked, his question emphasized with a particularly loud, however muffled, cry of pleasure.

Willow’s blush deepened. “Okay…an hour? They have to stop sometime…right?”

Oz held her gaze a minute longer, his eyes sparkling with mirth. Then he shrugged, took a sip of the coffee he’d made for himself, and turned back to the paper.

An hour, she decided with an internal nod. They’d have to be done in an hour. If they weren’t Giles would run over to Buffy’s in a hurry, and as much as Willow didn’t want to brave the downstairs, the thought of the timid, oh-so British librarian opening the basement doors really didn’t do her any favors.

An hour. One hour.

Though she ought to call Giles now. Just in case.

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