Author: Holly (holly.hangingavarice@gmail.com)
Rating: NC-17 (for language and sexual situations)
Timeline: Season 5 (Post Intervention) 
Summary: Buffy finds herself growing closer to Spike as the world around her falls to chaos.


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

Part One

The look in his eyes haunted her all through the night. She had retreated to the safety and comfort of her home, wracked her brain over the ominous death equals gift paradox, and attempted to forget him. Attempted to put the broken vampire out of her mind. Forget how his kiss had tasted. How he’d spoken to her with such gentility and patience, even when he thought she was a robot.

How the love that usually swallowed his eyes hadn’t been there until he realized that he was actually speaking with her. The Slayer. Buffy. Flesh and blood, not plastic and circuitry. She didn’t know why the knowledge brought her such comfort, but it did. The idea that she was so easily replaced with a cheap Data-wannabe had bothered her immensely.

Almost as much as her unwanted jealousy at the idea of the bot knowing Spike intimately when he was so off-limits to her.

It didn’t occur to her until halfway through the daily ‘Glory’ briefing that there was no reason to shove Spike to the back of her mind. After what he’d done for her, he deserved more than a kiss of gratitude. Vampires didn’t heal as quickly as slayers did; they healed pretty damn quickly, granted, but their general capabilities were always a step behind hers. It was the way it was. The way the Powers made them.

For everything Spike had done for her, he deserved her compassion.

“Buffy?”

She blinked and shook her head, meeting Willow’s inquisitive eyes. From the look of things, Giles had just wrapped up the last on the usual nothing-new-on-Glory. They’d already gone over everything there was to go over the night before, and even then, she’d thought it a colossal waste of time. Things she’d already known—like stealing Spike would likely incite a wrathful retaliation, and everyone should be on their toes. Xander had made a joke about just giving Spike back to her, only to be slapped upside the head by a suddenly brazen Tara.

Buffy shot an appreciative smile to the usually timid witch. Xander’s empathy for Spike had, obviously, only run so far. She wasn’t surprised. He could only feel bad for the guy until the sacrificial part of Spike’s actions lost its novelty.

“I need to get ready for patrol,” she said, jumping to her feet. “A-and…Will? Do you think you could take Dawn tonight?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Buffy smiled her gratitude. “I just…there’s something I need to do.”

“We’d be happy to have her over,” Tara agreed. “It’d actually help us out.”

“Oh right!” The redhead’s eyes lit up enthusiastically. “We’re working on a spell…something to…deactivate mystical energies? We thought Dawn might be able to help…because she’s…good at math.”

That was another part of Giles’s new creed. Whenever talking about Dawn and her Keyness, they were supposed to speak in codes. Though Buffy didn’t know how useful the codes were going to be, since the idea of Dawn excelling in mathematics was laughable.

Best, though, just to roll with it.

“Good. There’s…I just don’t like the idea of leaving her by herself…even while I patrol.”

The fact that she planned on making a stop before she went home didn’t need to be disclosed. There was something in Tara’s eyes that screamed understanding, and for that, she was appreciative.

“That’s fine,” Willow agreed with an enthusiastic nod. “Dawn’s usually—”

“A princess around you two,” Buffy retorted dryly, somehow refraining from rolling her eyes. “Something about not being around her sister makes her a jewel.”

Tara shrugged. “Kids are just like that. I remember my brothers being the same way. Very obnoxious at home, especially when Mom asked them to do something, but little angels whenever we went to go visit the Aunts.”

“The Aunts?”

Willow grinned and flashed her girlfriend a reassuring smile. “Tara’s aunts. Kinda like those two ladies in Practical Magic?”

“Oh, that one with Stockard Channing?”

“Yeah! Tara’s aunts are kinda like those two gals. They never married—just practice magic all the time. They’re the ones that taught Tara’s mom everything she knew.” Willow tugged playfully on her girlfriend’s golden hair. “And later…”

Tara nodded, her expression suddenly haunted. “Yeah…after…a-after my m-mom died.”

Something in the blonde witch’s voice had fallen, and Buffy shifted uncomfortably. Better to jet for the exit before things became strained between her friends. There were times, she swore, when Willow’s usual perception ran on empty. Buffy felt incredibly close to Tara right now, and well understood the unspoken line that divided polite conversation from mention of death and moms.

“Well,” the Slayer said, strained. “Ummm…I’m gonna…be heading on out. No rest for the wicked.”

“I’ll g-go get Dawn,” Tara offered. “See if she wants something to eat.”

Buffy frowned. The last thing she wanted was to pass off her expenses to her friends. She reached into her front pocket, where she’d become increasingly accustomed to sticking any extra cash, and pulled out a twenty.

“No,” Willow said shortly, shaking her head at the bill.

“But—”

“Money’s not an issue, Buffy.” Tara flashed a warm smile. “Besides…” Her voice lowered conspiratorially. “You might need it.”

What she’d need an extra twenty for, Buffy had no idea. Sure, money was tight, but it wasn’t like she couldn’t pay for a fast-food meal for her friends every now and then. However, the look in Tara’s eyes lent her pause.

There was more to it, then. Maybe the witch could read her true intentions.

Buffy pasted on an awkward smile, shoving the crinkled bill back into her front pocket. “Ummm…okay. If you guys change your mind, let me know.”

Willow rolled her eyes. “And the chances of that happening?”

“Really, Buffy, you need a night off. I’ll go pick Dawn up and we’ll watch a movie or something.”

“And get her to school tomorrow on time and everything,” the redhead confirmed.

A long sigh rolled off Buffy’s shoulders. “You guys are the best.”

Forever and a day had passed since she truly had a night to herself. She knew she had in the past; even with her memories full of false history, the life of Buffy Anne Summers had, at one point, been without constant worry. Just last year, even, when her largest problem was a government agency gone mad with power. She hadn’t been plagued with constant fear. She hadn’t worried about leaving her sister home by herself.

Granted, she hadn’t had reason. Dawn hadn’t been the Key then. Dawn hadn’t existed, no matter what her deceptive memories claimed.

Tonight, though. She had tonight. A night to herself. While the world around her fell apart, she had a night off.

And she knew exactly what to do with it.

The sound of the crypt door banging open was achingly familiar, though she was thrown by the darkness that greeted her. She was accustomed to Spike inhabiting the upper level of his home. Accustomed to seeing him strewn comfortably across one of the sofas he’d stolen, watching a television set that some poor sap was missing. Even, on occasion, napping on a sarcophagus.

The crypt was completely dark, and had her veins not been charged with Spike’s vibes, she might have been concerned.

Buffy pursed her lips and crossed the threshold. She wasn’t certain when Spike’s vibrations had become so familiar to her. It had crept upon her so quietly, so unexpectedly; though she knew she should have anticipated her cells accommodating the presence of a vampire that she refused to stake. It had happened with Angel, after all, and there was no clause barring the inclusion of vampires she wasn’t dating.

“Spike?”

She felt awkward trespassing into his private space without a frown and a fist ready to punch. Instead, her arms were full of goodies she’d picked up at the pharmacy, plus some pigs’ blood, as she was sure he wasn’t well enough to go out and replenish his stock. Mean and bitchy went hand-in-hand where Spike was concerned. Kind and thoughtful…she wasn’t sure she knew how to pull it off without seeming insincere.

And the strange thing? The mean and bitchy drive was gone. Kind and thoughtful, while new, felt right.

“Spike?”

A metallic crash exploded through the silent crypt, and she jumped and turned just in time to see Spike emerging from the lower chamber of his home that she always forgot existed.

“Oh. There you are.”

The day hadn’t done much to heal the scars that marred his beautiful face. He had to be one of the most irritatingly gorgeous vamps she’d ever known, and even with bruises and cuts, he was still a vision.

The way he was looking at her now was something she doubted she’d ever get accustomed to. Like she had fallen from the heavens and into his home, and any hint of a wrong move would make her evaporate.

“Buffy.” Her name rolled like a prayer off his lips. “What are you doin’ here, luv?”

“I…ummm…” Suddenly, there was a lump in her throat the size of Lake Tahoe. “I was coming to see how you’re doing.”

“Really?” The hope that flooded his voice sent a warm flush to her cheeks. Was he really so starved for her that a simple visit to look out for him could inspire awe? “Is that…” He eyed the bag at her side, sniffing suspiciously. “’S that blood?”

The flush deepened. “Yeah. I thought…I thought you might be hungry.”

An eyebrow domed. “You went traipsin’ through a cemetery with a bag full of blood? Christ, Summers…”

“Hey, at least I didn’t have to search for the vamps tonight. And I got a good workout.”

“I swear you have a bloody death wish.”

“Ah, yes, but we’ve already had this conversation.”

Spike smiled softly and took a step forward, running an adorably nervous hand through his ruffled curls. “What are you doin’ here, pet?” he asked. “Other than bein’ charitable to pity cases?”

“I’m not being charitable…and you’re not a pity case.” She placed the bag at her feet. “Look, I brought you blood…and I wanna see some of your wounds.”

He snorted. “Revel in them, you mean. I figured it’d be hopin’ too much to—”

“God, does that nose of yours just stop working when you want to jump to conclusions?” Buffy rolled her eyes and kicked at the bag. “I wanna see your wounds so I can…” Damn blush again. “I have some…stuff that I wanna put on them.”

A sardonic smile tickled Spike’s lips, and he released a deep chuckle that quickly fell into a cough. “You never struck me as the naughty nurse type, Slayer.” He waved at her dismissively. “Toddle off—I don’ want your pity.”

Buffy’s eyes darkened. “Good, ‘cause that’s not why I’m here.”

He tossed her a droll stare. “Yeh. Offer yourself to play nursemaid to a vampire you hate, who jus’ so happens to love you an’ also got his bloody stuffin’ ripped out for you, an’ you expect me to believe it’s somethin’ other than pity?”

“What makes you think I hate you?”

“You pop me in the nose every time I see you.”

“You’re reading way too much into that.”

“An’ you’ve usually said it to end every conversation we’ve ever had. It’s practically your farewell speech.”

Buffy frowned and shifted uncomfortably. “That was before.”

“Before I took one for the team. That wasn’ to play on your conscience, Slayer, an’ it sure as hell wasn’ for the cause. I meant what I said yesterday. I did it for you. Without the baggage.”

Denying the thrill that his words incited would be as foolish as denying the color of the sky. She swallowed hard and stepped forward. “I know, Spike. And please give me some credit. It wasn’t easy for me to come here, any easier than it is to admit that I was wrong yesterday. And I’m not here because I pity you. I…I just…I want to do something nice for you.”

Spike arched a cool brow.

“And I know vampires don’t worry about infections and all that stuff, but I brought some antibiotics and lotion to put on your wounds. It’s the only thing I know to do.”

“Antibiotics?”

“It’ll help clean you up a bit.” When his skepticism refused to weaken, she huffed and cast her eyes to the ceiling, her shoulders dropping. “Look, I know you don’t need it. Okay? I know. I don’t need it, either, but Riley used to patch me up after nasty patrols, and it helped. It’ll help you, too. God, Spike, it can’t make things worse.”

“I’m not movin’ so good, Slayer.”

She worried a lip between her teeth. “I know.” Aside from the way he carried himself—now with pained dignity. He also looked dirty and mussed, and miserable for it. She knew Spike showered every day. She knew because she’d all but walked in on him a few months before when she’d needed to beat him up for information. If he’d known, he’d had the decency not to say anything.

Buffy had tried very hard to forget what she’d seen. Very hard. But Spike made it so damn difficult with his popping up everywhere she went and smelling so good. And recently—most recently—coupling his annoying talent for making random cameos with looking at her like she was an angel…it was incredibly difficult to ignore him.

“I’ll help you.”

Spike almost tripped. “Slayer—”

“You haven’t called me that for a while,” she observed, collecting her goody-bag off the floor again. “Listen…I know I haven’t treated you nicely in the past few weeks. I…well, beyond being wigged and scared and surprised and any combination of the three, you just, well, you said it yourself. It’s wrong.”

He flinched at that and focused on the ground.

“But then, I’ve never been known for doing what’s right. Why do you think the Council fired me?”

He met her eyes tentatively, his lips quirking upwards into a grin. “Thought you quit.”

“Well…yeah. And that totally wasn’t what I was supposed to do.”

“Yeh. You’re a right rebel.”

“Damn straight.” She pursed her lips, moving forward until she was at his side, wrapping her free arm around his waist. “You have the shower downstairs, right?”

“As you remember.” He flashed her a wicked grin, inspiring a burning blush across her cheeks.

So he had known all along.

That was so like him.

“Let’s go,” she said softly, ignoring the naked longing in his gaze. This wasn’t about sex. She was just trying to be kind. Just trying to repay some of the sizeable debt she owed him for everything he had sacrificed.

But that wasn’t it. Not all of it. That wasn’t all she wanted. However, seeing as she couldn’t have what she wanted, she would have to settle for this instead.

The second they set foot on the lower level, Spike’s cockiness evaporated. Rather, he was staring at her like she might vanish if he dared blink. As though it was just setting in that she was real, that she was in the intimate quarters of his home, and he hadn’t needed to resort to chains to make it so.

Buffy pursed her lips and placed the bag on the ground, nearing the notably nervous vampire with a small smile. “You okay?”

He nodded gently. “Slayer…”

“I’m not leaving, Spike. I’m here because I wanna be.”

A long sigh shuddered through his lips. “You’re too good to play with me. Buffy, if you need somethin’, lemme know. I jus’…I couldn’t bloody well bear it if you’re only…if you need somethin’ an’ you’re jus’ doin’ this—”

She held up a hand. “Spike, if I needed something, I would tell you. I’d pay you. I wouldn’t toy with your emotions in order to get what I want.” She stepped forward and smiled, fisting the hem of his t-shirt. “I’m not like…Dru, or whoever you’re used to. I’m here, doing this, because I care.”

Spike shook his head incredulously. “Because I—”

“No. Well, maybe partly. What you did for me and Dawn opened my eyes a bit.” She drew his tee over his head, her eyes taking in his bruised chest with a trembling sigh. “I’m not promising anything. I guess I…I just want to get to know you. And I wanna…what you did really did mean a lot to me. And I want to help you get better.”

The makeshift shower was rather elementary in style, though she applauded him for his creativity. He’d managed to crack open one of the water pipes in such a manner that he could reattach it when he did not require running water. Buffy led him to the alcove, then paused and worried a lip between her teeth. Logically, she knew that a shower demanded complete nudity, but she couldn’t help but feel that she was needlessly leading him on simply with her need to show him kindness.

Then again, could she honestly say that wasn’t her intention? She’d come to him with the pretense of being a good friend—or trying to be a good friend, as she could currently claim no friendship with Spike—but she found herself wondering every few seconds what the harm would be if she wanted something else.

Spike was a monster, or so Giles said. So the history books said. So every law on vampirism said. But he didn’t look like a monster now, and hadn’t for quite some time. If she wanted to be honest with herself, Spike had stopped frightening her after Angel had turned into her worst nightmare. After seeing true evil, there was little Spike or any other so-called ‘big bad’ could do to up the ante.

Though Buffy could admit, Angel had terrified her because he’d held more power to hurt her than any before him. If she had to face his soulless counterpart today, things would be different. Much different. She suspected that she could stake him without much hesitation. That if it came down to it, risking the lives of others wouldn’t be worth the fight to reensoul him.

In that regard, Spike wasn’t a monster. He couldn’t be. His body was worn and broken because of her; because of a secret he’d protected for her. And she had no doubt, looking at him, that he would have let Glory kill him before betraying her family. Such was not the behavior of a soulless monster, and the revelation was still rattling her foundation.

The kind of man Spike was—the kind of man she hadn’t wanted to admit he could be—was exactly the sort of man she could love. The sort of man she’d always wanted to love. And the prospect of getting what she’d desired simultaneously excited her and scared her witless.

“I’m, ummm…” She cast a pointed glance to his jeans, her blush deepening. “I need to…strip you. Shower, you know.”

Spike released a deep sigh, resting his back against the inner wall of his provisional shower. “You’re tryin’ to kill me, aren’ you?” he demanded. “This is why you din’t stake me over the bloody bot. You’re gonna get me in my starkers when you bloody well know—”

“Spike, I really am just trying to help.”

He laughed dryly. “Your help is torturin’ me.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and stepped forward, grabbing the waistband of his jeans. “Look, do you want me to leave?”

“Not while your hands are near…” He waggled his brows suggestively, and though the look in his eyes burned with love, he looked less seductive and more pained. Her suspicions were confirmed a second later when he winced and grabbed her arm to maintain balance, his beautiful features coloring with frustration. “Fuck, I bloody hate this.”

“This?”

Spike sighed, his grip on her tightening. “Feelin’ so bloody toothless. I’m pathetic. Hidin’ out in the basement of my crypt, hopin’ that those hobbits don’ know that I got a lower level when the hellbitch decides to take another crack at me. I’ve never hid before…not even when I thought the chip kept me from violence against anythin’, demons included. An’ now—”

“Now you’re healing.”

“Now I’m useless.” A long moan tore through his throat as she pulled away, dropping to her knees before him. “I can’t…you were countin’ on me to protect the Bit. What sodding protection am I?”

“You’re in the same state I would’ve been in,” she replied, her words barely a whisper. “She chained you up and tortured you. It wasn’t like it was a fair fight, Spike. You’re stronger than that. We both know you are.”

The vampire was silent at that, though she sensed he was touched at her confidence.

She stripped his jeans down his legs, doing her best to ignore the way his cock bobbed against his stomach. Heat rushed to her cheeks and she took a second to swell with pride that she could affect him like this; that he wanted her now, even when he was in pain. She refused to appraise his length, or look directly at it. She didn’t want to know how big he was; didn’t want anything to fuel her fantasies. After a few awkward seconds, she clamored inelegantly to her feet and held onto his shoulders as he stepped out of the pond of denim.

“This might be a good time to ask if I’m dreamin’,” Spike murmured, undoubtedly noting her flushed face, her racing pulse, and all those things she knew vampires were unfairly attuned to. That she could deal with; if he made a comment on the wetness pooling between her legs, she was so out of here. “I’m naked an’ holdin’ you, an’ you don’ look disgusted. Or even—”

“I’m disgusted with what she did to you,” Buffy retorted honestly, her eyes dropping with slow reluctance to his chest once more. She reached up to caress a prominent bruise on his breast, and flinched when he flinched. “Sorry.”

“’S’all right, kitten. Jus’ a bit worse for wear.”

She forced a smile and walked backward with him until they were under the broken pipe, then reached up to dislodge it from the mainline. “You’ll feel better once the dirt and grime’s gone,” she said, jumping a bit when the cold water hit them, drenching her clothes. Of course, it was inevitable; she’d dressed specifically knowing she’d be doing this for him tonight, thus it was no major sacrifice on part of her wardrobe.

That didn’t mean she was ready for the biting cold of the icy water, though she suspected she should’ve been. Spike, after all, didn’t have to worry about water temperature like she did. He took what he got—and that was more than satisfactory, considering his living arrangements.

“You’re right,” he replied belatedly. “I’ll feel better…once the grime’s gone.” He didn’t sound convinced, but her heart swelled at his willingness to try.

“You have soap? Shampoo? Conditioner?” Buffy ran her fingers through his platinum curls, and found herself surprised at how soft his hair was under her touch. “Oh…”

“Soap bar’s on the ledge, there,” Spike said, curling a hand around her shoulder as she stepped away. She didn’t know, anymore, if he was holding onto her to ascertain her tangibility or to maintain balance, and she honestly didn’t care.

“Shampoo?” she asked.

“Should be up there, too.”

She didn’t know what she’d been expecting; some bottles stolen from a motel, or something of the like. Then again, with as much care as Spike put into his hair, finding a bottle of Provence on the ledge was hardly surprising. It was likely just as easy to steal from stores as it was from motels.

The shower seemed endless. She scrubbed him thoroughly—everywhere but the forbidden area between his legs. Spike didn’t comment, and she appreciated his silence. And when she tacitly placed the soap bar in his hands to finish the job, he took it with a nod of understanding.

She turned as he soaped his cock, and he didn’t complain. Not even when his hold on her was compromised for the sake of her fluttering virtue. The idea of being just feet away from him while he touched himself was both thrilling and near unbearable. Another testament to how she couldn’t have what she wanted.

But you can.

Buffy released a deep breath and shivered.

“There,” Spike said softly. She heard him place the soap back on the ledge. “Done.”

She turned back to him and forced an awkward smile. “Okay. Now, the hair, and we’ll be done.”

Ten minutes later, she was helping him over to the bed that he’d somehow managed to sneak into his crypt. She found a towel that had undoubtedly been lifted from her house, but didn’t call him on it. Rather, she went to work drying him off, ignoring the heat of his gaze as best she could. Ignoring everything as best she could.

His erection hadn’t abated. He still wanted her.

“I, ummm…I have some pig’s blood for you,” she said when the silence became too much.

“I know. We had this conversation upstairs, remember?”

“Yeah. I just…yeah.”

Buffy bit her lip and tried to ignore how hard she was trembling. Tried to blame it on the fact that she was soaking wet and the crypt was cold, and not that she was standing before him in a sodden t-shirt, her nipples saluting him through the thin fabric. Trying to ignore that he was still naked, which he didn’t look to be remedying anytime soon.

“When did you get the bed?” she asked.

Spike blinked, then glanced down to the mattress. “Oh. Harm. Part of her attempt to make the crypt more hospitable. One of the only good things the stupid bint ever did.”

“Yeah.”

“Slayer, you must be freezin’ your arse off.” He gestured to a chest across the room, conspicuously near the place he’d chained her up just a few weeks before. “There’s some extra t-shirts in there. An’ a couple pairs of jeans that I haven’ worn in a while. You’re free to them.” He glanced away at that as though flustered. “I won’ peek. Go change in the shower.”

“Spike—”

“You can’t go home lookin’ like the sole survivor of a monsoon.”

“I’m not going home tonight. Dawn’s with Will and Tara. I told you, I’m gonna doctor your wounds.”

A thin smile pulled at his lips. “You’ve done more than your part. More than I ever expected. Now head on home.”

Home was the last place she wanted to go. She’d purposefully made sure that Dawn was taken care of for the night because she wanted to be with Spike, but she hadn’t wanted to admit it. She hadn’t bargained on Spike sending her away once the bulk of the work was done. She hadn’t even counted on his gentlemanly behavior.

But he was right. Of course he was right. It was a foolish gamble; her mind was still muddled, and if she made herself stay, she’d end up doing something rash. And if this thing with Spike had a chance of success, she couldn’t afford to throw all her cards on the table now.

If she stayed, there was no looking back.

However, it wasn’t fair to Spike or herself to put so much on one night. What she had to consider was so much more than could be decided in one night. Whatever happened between she and Spike deserved so much more reflection than just a few hours. With as much as he’d given her, she owed him that much.

After all, if she did something now and regretted it tomorrow, it’d only hurt him, and that was the last thing she wanted.

Thus, Buffy nodded and followed his instructions. She found a pair of worn jeans and one of his patented black tees. His lack of fashion sense notwithstanding, she found some comfort in changing into his clothing. It was one step of many, and eventually, she’d make it to the end of the labyrinth.

One step. One baby step.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she said as she stepped out of the alcove, self-conscious in his clothing, but warm. He sat on the edge of the bed, where she’d left him. “Drop your clothes off and bring you more blood.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Buffy—”

“I will be back tomorrow.”

“I don’ doubt it, but you don’ have anythin’ left…you’ve repaid whatever you—”

She held up a hand and neared him. “I told you, I’m not here out of gratitude. I’ll be back tomorrow because I want to be. Okay?”

He grunted something unintelligible and shifted. He either didn’t believe her or he didn’t want to let himself believe her; she didn’t know. Whichever way, his response only heightened her determination to prove him wrong.

Buffy neared again, boldly stepping between his legs. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, then dipped her head and captured his lips in a kiss. A step past chaste, but not passionate. Not yet. Just enough. Just a crumb.

She was determined to leave him without doubt.

Part Two

It was worth keeping her word just to see the look of awe on his face. She didn’t say anything in way of greeting—didn’t do much more than smile at him when she pushed the crypt door open. In one hand, she had the clothing he’d loaned her in a plastic sack, freshly cleaned, and in the other, a pizza box—a two-liter of Coke balanced on the top. And honestly, she didn’t know what had surprised him more; the fact that she was there at all, or the fact that she’d come with food. That she had consciously decided to spend the evening with him, and wasn’t looking for a quick way out.

The only thing Buffy knew for sure was that she never felt as alive as she did when he looked at her. Spike stared unapologetically as though he was trying to figure out if she’d walked out of one of his dreams, but said nothing. He edged across the sofa to make room for her, clearing off his coffee table to make room for the small feast she’d brought, and accepted the bag of clothing with a nod of gratitude.

They’d eaten, drank, and played a round of Egyptian Ratscrew with a deck of cards she located on the floor. They’d talked about nothing in particular. He’d asked about Dawn, who was again with Willow and Tara, and how she was doing in coping with Joyce’s death. Then he’d taken Buffy’s hand and asked how she was doing, and the empathy in his eyes had nearly undone her completely. It was a real conversation—a real moment between them, just like the night before. The fact that she was experiencing it again made her heart sing.

The more time she spent with him, though, the more irritated with herself she became. The second night, for the entirety of her visit, there had been a voice in the back of her head, telling her over and over again that this guy was the real deal. This guy was something to write home about. And it had confused her that this guy was Spike—the former bane of her existence—and she felt like she was seeing him for the first time.

That much was her fault, and she knew it. The past few months had been nothing but botched attempts on the part of her former enemy to show her how much he’d changed, and while his methods weren’t always the brightest, the intent had always been there. He’d been waiting for her to make one small acknowledgment, take one small step, in order to uncover the man he was showing her now. Perhaps had she not reacted with such vehemence when Spike revealed his feelings to her, she would have been able to prevent the unfortunate Bot affair by providing the crumb he’d more than earned.

She left him after double-checking his wounds and applying the disinfectants that she’d left with him the night before. The process wasn’t as awkward as the shower, but definitely uncomfortable. She felt his eyes on her with every breath she took, every indiscernible move she made, and while she forced herself to remain trained on the task, the depth of his adoration for her made her feel loved in a way that none of her past boyfriends had ever approached.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she’d said before leaving him with another kiss. The look he’d given her hadn’t been all skepticism, though he clearly expected her to snap out of the random-acts-of-kindness thing.

He gazed at her with such hope.

The third night, Buffy decided to try the pizza thing again. Spike had been rather receptive to the notion that she wanted to bond with him as she’d bonded with her other friends, and there was something so incredibly elementary in sharing a human trait with him. It didn’t seem forced or awkward. And when he’d pointed out that he didn’t have any glasses for the Coke, she hadn’t missed a beat and said they could take turns drinking from the bottle.

That had astonished him, and rightfully so. The same girl that refused to drink from his flask wanted to share something personal with him? If anything, her offer seemed to choke him up more than her desire to bathe him the night before. As though sharing something that personal really meant she felt something.

When she arrived at the crypt, though, she found it vacant. Completely vacant. Spike wasn’t hiding out in his underground bedroom, either. He was gone.

Buffy’s shoulders drooped a bit and she plopped herself down on his sofa, flicking on the television. It wasn’t as though she could blame him for wanting to get out of the crypt—he’d been there for a few days now, and he had to be going stir-crazy. She just didn’t like the idea of him out there and vulnerable, especially since he hadn’t been moving all that well the night before, despite his progress.

He’d be all right. She sighed and curled into the cushions, her eyes glued to some nameless program on a channel she didn’t know existed. Spike would definitely be all right. Besides, if she went after him, he’d resent the hell out of her. He needed to prove to himself that he was still strong. That he was healing, and he had not been defeated.

She waited, and the pizza got cold.

And she fell asleep.

Fingers were tracing her face, and someone was whispering her name.

“Buffy? Pet, I know that chair’s not that bloody comfortable.”

A small whimper tore through her lips, but she forced herself awake. Spike was kneeling before her, lovingly caressing her face, his bruised eyes warming when she saw him.

“There she is,” he murmured. “I was beginnin’ to think you were gonna sleep the night away.”

Buffy grinned wryly and sat up, stifling a yawn. “That sounds vaguely familiar.”

“I keep my best lines in rotation.”

“Where were you?”

Spike shrugged off his duster and folded it over the back of the sofa. “Patrolling,” he said. “Well…sort’ve patrolling. I was hopin’ to run into you.”

“I told you I’d come by.”

“Couldn’t wait.” He grinned and sank into the cushion beside her. “I dunno; I was jus’ worried, I guess. Though this explains why it took so long to find you. You broke the route t’night, din’t you?”

Buffy arched a brow. “You know about my patrol route?”

“I have patrolled with you a time or two.”

“Not enough to memorize my patrol schedule.” She grinned when he cast his gaze to the ground, suddenly timid and bashful. It was so strange, seeing this part of him. Encountering a version of Spike that she didn’t know—a version that was as tentative as she was about their new relationship. Still, with as adorable as Shy-Spike was, she wanted him quippy. She wanted him as she knew him, only sans the actual animosity. She wanted to show him that he didn’t have to change to appease her—she liked him just as he was. “Is this another sign of stalker syndrome?”

Spike’s eyes widened slightly, then settled into warmth when he realized she was teasing him. “Not stalker,” he grumbled good-naturedly, settling back. “’S practical, is what it is. Have a routine, have someone who knows that routine…jus’ in case somethin’ happens.”

She snorted. “Yeah. You’re a real pragmatist.”

“’S all for your own good, pet, if you think about it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.” She returned his smirk tenfold, and reveled in the small thrill that jolted down her spine. Then she shifted and raised a hand to his face, her fingers tracing the outline of his healing bruises. “These look better,” she observed quietly. “Do they feel better?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice strained at her touch. “Much.”

“I guess that makes sense. If you can move around to patrol, you must be feeling better.”

“You’d be amazed at what a li’l pigs’ blood can do for you.”

“I brought you more.”

“Mhmm.” He nodded to the pizza box on the makeshift coffee table. “Sorry I wasn’ here sooner, luv. Food’s cold.”

“Just a little. I don’t mind.” She made a face. “Although, you’d think you’d have a microwave or something in here, with as much as you prefer warm blood to cold blood.”

“You’d be amazed how bloody difficult it is to knick kitchen appliances when you can’t jus’ deck the salesman, grab the goods, an’ make a bloody run for it.” He tapped his head. “Bloody bug zapper.”

“Didn’t stop you from getting a television,” Buffy observed.

“Had Harm steal it for me. She walked outta here backwards before I could have her knick anythin’ else.” A smirk pulled at his lips. “Probably for her own bloody good. Not sure how much longer I could’ve put up with her.”

She arched a cool brow. “All the talk about unicorns wasn’t worth the free sex?”

A still beat filled the air around them. There was no way that he hadn’t heard the biting sting of her resentment. The thought alone was so foreign to her, yet she couldn’t help the feeling. She couldn’t help herself. Not when she wanted him like she did.

Not when she was admitting that she wanted him.

And of course, Spike would catch it. Damn perceptive vampire. “What was…are you jealous?”

“What?”

He looked at her a minute longer, studying her every move. Studying her like she was fragile—like making an inappropriate suggestion would send her running for the door. The idea was somewhat preposterous, as they’d already crossed the boundaries of inappropriate with the bath she’d given him two nights before.

Although, Buffy reflected, there had truly been nothing inappropriate about it. The territory she currently trekked was new, yes, but there was nothing about what she’d done to make her feel that she was in the wrong. That an unforgivable line had been crossed. That, despite her good intentions, she’d done something she shouldn’t have.

Spike smiled softly, forgoing the easy road. Another barrier breached. He’d reached for understanding rather than relying on snark. God help her, she was going to lose herself in him, and there was nothing to break her fall. “Nothin’ to be jealous over, kitten,” he said. “An’ if you promise not to stake me, I’ll tell you that I…well, Harm was more a substitute for what I couldn’t have. I don’ think there was a…every time I was with her, I thought of you.”

Buffy needed no expansion on what he meant when he referred to being with Harmony. No expansion at all. And while the visual her overly-helpful imagination provided only served to fuel an already raging fire, her heart couldn’t help but jump a little at the admission that she’d been in his thoughts all the while.

“Bloody poor substitute,” he went on. He was rambling nervously now—palpably afraid that confessing to lusting after her would result in the aforementioned staking. God, it was weird seeing Spike so lacking in confidence. After years of trying to break through his exterior, in one way or another, she’d finally succeeded. The results? She wanted him—needed him—to know that she wasn’t angry. That the period of bitchiness and punches was over, and she was ready to love him now.

Buffy paused inwardly, and her heart wrenched. Love him?

Oh God.

“God, that sodding bot was better company than her prattlin’. ‘Course that was—”

She arched a brow. The bot? She hadn’t expected him to bring that monstrosity up again…ever. And since she was over it, and crossing yet another boundary—I love him?—she might as well seize the opportunity to tease him mercilessly. “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask you about the bot.”

Spike’s head shot up, his eyes wide. “Buffy, it wasn’…I never…it wasn’ jus’ for what you thought it was.”

“You didn’t have kinky sex with it?”

“Okay, so maybe it was a little for what you thought it was.”

“Yeah. Kinda got that when the bot told me that I should get a load of you naked.” She laughed pointedly as his eyes fell in embarrassment. “Then again, I was back the next night, helping you into the shower.”

He grinned at that. “Bloody good advice, then.” He was quiet for a minute. “An’ yeah, I did…I tried to get my rocks off, I’ll admit. But it wasn’ jus’ for that.”

“Then what was it?”

“It was the closest…I thought it was the closest I’d ever get.” Spike released a deep sigh and shook his head. “It was fun, yeh, but only inasmuch as it covered up the…it would’ve gotten old fast. Havin’ the bot was jus’ a reminder that I couldn’t have the real thing.” A short, near-derisive chuckle tumbled through his lips. “I only had the sodding thing for a day an’ I knew it wasn’ gonna satisfy me. The more time I spent tryin’ to convince myself that mine was the better solution, the more I missed…”

Once again, silence settled. A thick, uncomfortable silence. She didn’t know what to say—how to go about reassuring him that the time that she’d hated him had passed. That she was a remade woman, and she was ready to jump into something permanent with him. The bot, for all the ickiness that surrounded it, had brought them together in a weird, roundabout way.

The time of before was over. And she was with him now.

Buffy pursed her lips, her eyes falling to the coffee table. The card deck was still there, and at the moment, it seemed to be the easiest segue. She’d been a fool to bring up the bot at all; since it was her fault, she’d be the one to change the subject. Thus with a small smile, she reached for the card deck, turning back to him with a brilliant smile.

“Up for another round of Egyptian Ratscrew?”

Spike blinked and shook his head. “Huh?”

“The game we played last night? I mean, yeah, your chip kinda takes away from the fun, but—”

He held up a hand and favored her with a wry look. “As much fun as it was the firs’ time ’round, luv, I think hitting me over an’ over again’s not exactly gonna help in the healing process.”

“Oh, you big baby. You’re well enough to patrol but not play a harmless card game?”

“Harmless? Bloody harmless? You gave me welts!”

Her eyes dropped to his hands. “Invisible welts?”

“I heal fast.”

“Yeah, I know. Case in point.”

“How about poker? No one gets bodily injured in that game.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed. “In poker, you play for money. Need I remind you how little of that I have?”

“Like I’d take your money.”

“Then there’d be no point behind the game.”

“Other than havin’ fun, you mean? Bloody irritatin’ chit.” His eyes, however, were full of mirth. “How about we gamble on things instead?”

“If you think you’re gonna coax me into taking off my clothes—”

Spike smirked. “Well, someone sure is gutter-minded.”

“Me?! I’m gutter-minded?”

“Glad you agree.”

“Ugh. Ego, much?”

“You’re the one tryin’ to take advantage of my frail, healin’ bod.”

“In your dreams.”

“Several times,” he agreed with a nod. He then reached under the sofa, producing a small notebook as though it had been waiting for him. “Here…write down things you don’ want on scraps of paper. We’ll make bets, yeh?”

“Things I don’t want?” she repeated skeptically.

“I dunno. Frilly girlish things.” He paused, then added with a wicked grin. “How about a pair of your knickers?”

“Spike!”

“’S that a no, then?”

“That’s a hell no.”

Spike frowned. “Ouch.”

She flushed and gathered up the cards, rising to her feet. “Well,” she said with a saucy smile. “I thought you’d prefer to have me in the panties.”

That managed to stun him into silence. She tossed him a brazen grin and sashayed over to the sarcophagus in the corner. They’d discovered the night before that it was easier to play cards when they could look directly at each other, and the coffin offered room that the sofa did not.

When she turned to hoist herself atop the surface and caught a hint of the naked lust in his eyes, her insides filled with warmth. Perhaps he would see, now, that she didn’t want him hesitant. She didn’t want him on his best behavior. While she loved the gentleman he was, she needed the rebel just as much. She needed them both.

I love him.

She shivered. That voice was becoming more and more convincing. More and more prominent. Her heart hammered, her body shook, and wetness pooled between her thighs. She remembered feeling this—a long time ago, when Angel had turned her world upside down. Oh yes, she remembered this feeling. She remembered it well.

Only it hadn’t been as strong before.

I love him.

“You saucy minx,” Spike drawled, raking his eyes down her body, tapping the notebook against his hip as he started toward her. “Right. So…how we gonna do this?”

Buffy’s eyes went wide. “Do this?”

“Poker.”

“Oh.” She flushed. Oh. “Ummm…well, I don’t want anything gross. And I’m sure you don’t need anything…well…I have some old Sweet Valley High books that I wouldn’t cry over losing.”

He arched a brow. “You think I’m gonna pull the cards over a kiddy series?”

“Hey, this was your idea, Mister.”

“Playing cards was your idea. Don’ try to blame me.”

“Playing Egyptian Ratscrew was my idea. Poker while betting things I don’t want anymore was your idea. I don’t want my SVH series, therefore I’ll bet it.” Her brows flickered challengingly. “Your move.”

Spike stared at her for a minute more, then turned his gaze downward to the notebook in his hands. “Fine,” he said, scribbling something quickly. “Let’s do this, then.”

It didn’t take long to realize why he was so hard on her gambling choices—he was definitely the superior player, which made sense as the only poker experience Buffy could claim came from homeroom class back at Hemery High. Even with Spike going easy on her, she’d managed to lose half her belongings.

Well, the belongings she didn’t care about, anyway.

“Aha!” Buffy squealed, fanning her cards across the surface. “Straight!”

Spike glanced up, grinning as though she were the most adorable thing he’d ever set his eyes on. He didn’t show her his cards—just slapped them down and shrugged. “You got me,” he said, though she knew immediately that she hadn’t. “Guess you’re taking my laundry back with you.”

She wiggled and decided not to call him on it. Besides, his clothing had been way too comfortable to give up. “Good,” she said with a happy nod. “I decided it was my favorite sleep shirt.”

“You slept in it?”

“Well…yeah. I was worn out when I got back, and I just kinda collapsed.”

“Worn out from what? You helped me shower, luv. We din’t do aerobics.”

Buffy arched a brow. “And whose fault was that?”

He treated her to another of his awestruck gazes, swallowing audibly. “I din’t know…I mean…God, Buffy. You’re not sayin’…what are you sayin’?”

“I’m saying…I…well…” A long, awkward moment stretched between them. She released a hard sigh and gestured to the cards. “Your bet.”

Spike stared at her for a minute longer, then nodded and glanced down, visibly disappointed. “Okay…you know that if we were playin’ for cash, you’d basically be livin’ off the William the Bloody Trust-Fund for the rest of your days, right?”

“Yes.”

“An’ yet, I’m stuck with a bunch of rubbish that you realize I’m never gonna come by to collect.”

She arched a brow. “So why don’t you gamble for something you want?”

“You offerin’?”

“What do you have in mind?”

Spike held her gaze, searching, then glanced down and scribbled something on a new sheet of notebook paper.

“Why do you have that thing, anyway?” she asked. She was just speaking to fill the silence—to break away from the seriousness that had unexpectedly infiltrated their fun. Needless to say, it was a lost cause; her voice sounded husky even to her.

He offered a non-committal shrug. “Jus’ do.” Another pause as he ripped the paper in half and tossed his gamble between them. “Okay. Here it is.”

Buffy pursed her lips and gingerly plucked the wager from the pile of forgotten bets. In strikingly elegant penmanship were two words.

A kiss.

She glanced up in surprise and met his nervous gaze. He was looking at her like she would break if he so much as flinched; his body was wrought with tight anticipation. And it occurred to her then how easy he had made it for her. This was yes or no—this wasn’t spilling her heart out. He’d rendered her thoroughly speechless instead of rendering her powerless; he’d handed her everything. His heart now, instead of hers.

I’m such a coward.

Buffy expelled a deep breath and smiled then, reaching for the notepad.

“I see your kiss,” she said matter-of-factly. “And raise you…on the lips.”

She tossed her wager between them and settled back.

Spike stared at her for a full minute, thoroughly astonished.

“You gonna fold?” she asked, gesturing to the game. “Or are you gonna raise my bet?”

Another long beat passed before he broke into the silliest, happiest smile she’d ever seen, and it warmed her heart to know she’d put it there. He really was gorgeous when he smiled. “I see your bet,” he replied coolly, snatching the notepad away. “An’ raise you…for more than a minute.”

He was still playing it safe. Time to show him up.

“With tongue,” Buffy retorted as she tossed her bet onto the pile.

“With touching,” he countered.

“I see your touching and raise you groping.”

The lust burning his eyes set her body on fire. He was teetering on the edge of control, and she had never seen anything so sexy. God, he was so gorgeous. So incredibly gorgeous. And whatever she’d lacked in sight before, she was making up for now. She would never doubt him again. “Buffy…”

“Whaddya got?” she asked, her gaze flickering briefly to the cards.

“Doesn’t matter.”

He growled the words before his mouth attacked hers, his arms seizing her by the waist to pull her to him, and the world around her vanished. Buffy whimpered and hooked her hands around his neck, lost in the feel of his lips moving against hers, his tongue playing with her tongue. Dancing with her, loving her without words. They bruised each other with their kiss—a mixture of eagerness flooded with the joy of shattered boundaries.

She didn’t know how she ended up straddling his waist. His kisses had her drunk; she was losing herself, but she no longer cared. There was sanctuary in Spike’s arms that she could no longer deny herself. Bliss unlike anything she’d ever felt—as though a dark part of her had finally been unlocked, and the emotions she’d held hostage for the past three years were finally liberated. She was finally free to feel again.

“Buffy,” Spike moaned against her lips. “Oh God, tell me I’m not dreaming.”

She smiled, her mouth dropping to the crook of his throat. “You’re not dreaming,” she whispered, suckling on his skin. The gasp that tore through his body went straight to her clit, and she found herself grinding her body harder into him if only to elicit more of his delicious whimpers. “You’re not.”

“Oh Christ.”

“You’re not.”

A thrill raced up her spine as he moaned. “Is this…are you doin’ this ‘cause…or…”

She sucked harder on his throat. God, he tasted good.

“Oh bloody—”

And she wanted to taste more. With a small sigh, she forced her head up, her eyes clashing with the impassioned storm that raged in his own. Then, purposefully, she slid off his lap.

He went rigid. “Buffy…you’re not…are you leavin’?”

She held out her hand in reply, and a small jolt raced through her system when their fingers entwined.

“Not going anywhere,” she replied, nearing to kiss him again.

She had him then. She knew it. Spike was utterly at her mercy, and she could do whatever she wished with him. The thought inspired a streak of wickedness she had long thought dead, along with the capacity to love—the same she’d sought on her stupid vision quest. The First Slayer had told her she was full of love; perhaps, the entire time, it just took the right man to unleash it. Perhaps death was her gift inasmuch as Spike was dead but full of life, and completely hers.

He’d rocked her foundations; she was ready to rock his. With a saucy smile, she tugged him to his feet, shoved him against the wall, then pounced. Her hands cupped his face, angling him into her kiss. She was ready now. She was completely ready.

“What are you doing?” he panted when their lips broke apart, desire combating with anticipation. His erection was prominent and pressed into her abdomen, and the knowledge that she could arouse him so effortlessly left her feeling slightly heady.

“I figure I’ve put you through enough,” Buffy replied, dropping a kiss across his shoulder, her hands tugging at his belt. “What, with the constant bitching and the not-giving-of-crumbs and locking you out of my house—”

He laughed nervously. “Yeh, well, I did chain you up, pet.”

“Be that as it may…I want to make it up to you.”

“Oh God.”

“Let me try?” She didn’t even bother to wait for a reply; she knew what she wanted, and right now, the naughty part of her psyche refused to be ignored. Buffy dropped to her knees, prying the zipper to his jeans down with slow intent. His cock leapt into her hand the next second, and a long moan ripped through the air.

Okay, the peeks she’d stolen—unwittingly—two nights before hadn’t done him justice.

She ran her forefinger from base to tip, getting a feel of him. He was a work of art, her personal Adonis, though infinitely better endowed—and she wasn’t going to give him up. Not in this lifetime or the next. Now that the stupid phase was over, she was ready to embrace all facets of what it meant to be what she was, and who she was all at the same time.

Being the Slayer meant giving up certain things, but also gaining things that no one else got to touch. The lack of normality? Well, who wanted normal, anyway? She’d done normal—literally—and it had bored her to tears.

“Fuck, Buffy,” Spike moaned, threading his fingers through her hair. “God, please tell me you’re not jus’…wait!”

She glanced up, worried, though she refused to release him. “Did I do something wrong?”

Another nervous titter rang through his throat, and he shook his head. “Fuck no. I jus’…Buffy, God, I want you so much. I love…you know how I feel, right? I don’…you can’t bloody well give me this much an’ then say there’s nothin’…”

Her eyes softened.

I love him.

There was no sense arguing with knowledge. She loved him. But as much as she did, she couldn’t let him know—not yet. Not with the world potentially ending around them. Not with Glory out there hunting for the Key. Buffy had become too jaded to truly fear for her life anymore, though there was something in the air about the impending days that cast everything in shadow. She didn’t want to give Spike her love, only to die in the last battle. She didn’t want him to break completely—he couldn’t break completely.

Dawn couldn’t lose them both.

Yet, on the same note, Buffy refused to live life by what might happen. Giving Spike just this much might rightly undo him completely, but she wasn’t about to deny herself. If she loved Spike, she wanted as many memories with him as time permitted before the final showdown. She wanted something to carry with her into battle.

But she couldn’t forfeit everything. If they survived—yes, if they all survived—she’d tell him after it was over.

“I’m here,” she whispered, her hand pumping his shaft slowly, “because I want to be. Right here is where I want to be.”

“Are you saying—”

Her tongue made a sweep of the head of his cock, and his knees about buckled. “I’m saying that everything I’ve done or said in the past doesn’t matter. It’s over. Forgotten. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.” She released him for a quick second to shimmy his jeans further down his legs, then pressed his length to his stomach to suckle at his balls.

His eyes shone down on her as though she was made of sunlight. “Oh Christ.”

Buffy grinned up at him, her mouth abandoning his sack as her tongue took to the underside of him, slowly licking a path back to his velvety head. She lapped at him there, nipped at him as her right hand curled around the base to pump him slowly. Her past experience with blowjobs wasn’t something to brag about—Parker had asked, and being terrified as she was, had managed to embarrass herself in a way that still had her mortified. Riley had asked a time or two, but she’d gotten the feeling he wasn’t too impressed. She’d approached the task as if it were just that—a task. A string of mechanical motions that always left her feeling tawdry.

Those reservations weren’t present with Spike. There was no way to look in his eyes and think herself anything less than a goddess. His experimental thrusts weren’t demanding, the grip on her hair was loving, rather than constrictive. And she felt more loved right now than she ever had.

Then his voice broke through the silence with a resounding gasp, and her heart leapt. “Buffy…” he moaned. God, that had to be the sexiest sound to ever grace the air. “Oh fuck. Feels so good. So perfect. Hot li’l mouth…”

She licked and suckled at his sensitive skin, teasing him with her teeth.

“Bloody hell!”

A grin pulled at her lips, and she released him with a sinful grin. “I take it you’re enjoying this?”

“I’m your slave for all eternity,” he ground out, his head hitting the wall as his eyes squeezed shut. Then, as though remembering himself, he glanced back down at her and grinned when he saw she was still there. “God, you are the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever seen.”

“Funny,” she retorted, lapping at the side of his erection before moving to take him back into her mouth, her lips gracing his spongy head with a tender kiss. “I was about to say the same about you.”

“Oh fuck.”

Instinct warred over experience and won, and her mind was lost to a haze. Every single technique she’d read about or failingly attempted in the past suddenly sprung forward, and she wanted to do everything. She licked. She sucked. She nibbled. She lapped softly at his head, then drew him as far into her mouth as she could. When she felt him brush against the back of her throat, she began working her throat muscles to swallow around him as her hands squeezed his calves with encouragement. She wanted him to take solace inside her. God, she wanted everything right now. She wanted to rise to her feet and impale her pussy on his erection, then ride him until they both blacked out.

But no—more than anything, Buffy wanted to give without taking. She wanted this. Right now.

“God!” Spike gasped. “Buffy!”

She drew her lips slowly up his length, her tongue swirling around him, licking at his sensitive slit and slurping hungrily. That was it. She felt his balls tense in her hand, and knew without warning that she had pushed him to the edge.

“Buffy!”

“Do it.”

“Oh God. You’re gonna be the end of me.”

She nodded, her mouth latching onto his cock again. His entire body tensed beneath her fingers, and then he was coming hard, his hips pistoning into her of their own volition. He spilled himself down her throat with a roar, the grip on her hair tightening, but she didn’t think to pull away. And while the impact of his spendings wasn’t the best thing she’d ever tasted, she felt she could happily dine on him for the rest of her life and never think to complain.

Her mouth continued to love him until she felt him slump. Her eyes trailed upward and clashed with his, his cock sliding from her lips with a wet plop. “Spike?”

“Oh God.”

The next thing she knew, Spike had sunk to his knees and taken her in his embrace, his face buried in her hair.

“I love you,” he murmured. “God, I love you so much.”

Buffy breathed a deep sigh and hugged him tighter when he began to tremble. He was crying. She’d moved him to tears. The awareness was both crippling and empowering. As though she’d only then realized how much he loved her. It had been knowledge before—simple fact. Now it was understanding. “Spike—”

“Will you stay? Stay with me tonight. God, Buffy, please…”

Her heart clenched. “Yes,” she replied. “I’ll stay.”

There was no way she was leaving now. Not now, when something monumental had happened between them.

Not when there was nowhere else in the world she’d rather be.

Part Three

Buffy didn’t realize how hard she was trembling until she stepped out of the shower alcove, dressed only in Spike’s t-shirt. She honestly didn’t know how to act around him now that she had gone all sex-kittenish on him upstairs. She had wrapped her lips around his cock, and while she was relieved to have finally torn down one barrier, she was completely lost. What would he expect of her now that they had shared something so unspeakably intimate? Up until this point, Spike had been carefully in refrained from pushing her anywhere she didn’t want to be pushed. He’d intentionally distanced himself from her, wanting to provide an easy out, and now that she had made it impossible, she hadn’t the faintest idea how to act.

She didn’t want to go back. No. Never. After all, she knew she loved him, now. With as tense and awkward as things might be, she knew she loved him and that he wouldn’t hurt her.

Odd that she knew that about Spike. He was the only soulless man she’d loved; he was the only one she could fully trust. The only one that had ever loved her the way she wanted to be loved. She was nervous, and while justifiable, she likewise knew that he was likely a thousand times more so. After all, Spike didn’t know how she felt. He didn’t know that she loved him.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in sweats that looked downright funny on him. She’d never known Spike to wear anything but jeans, and hadn’t really expected him to be wearing anything at all. Another demonstration, then, of how careful he was being for her sake. He wasn’t presuming anything. Not a damn thing.

Buffy flushed and folded her hands primly as she approached. The sweats did little to hide the outline of his swelling cock, and somehow, seeing the fabric tent was even more erotic than watching him harden with nothing between them. Instantly, her legs weakened and her clit began throbbing.

They were both being careful.

She stopped when she was standing at his knees, her heart thundering. He could smell her arousal—she knew he could. And while there was a hint of that smugness that she secretly adored in his eyes, the whole of him gave way to simple awe.

“You look…” he began, but trailed off when his eyes refused to stop wandering over her covetously.

Buffy stared at him for a long minute, then a wide grin spread across her face and her insides exploded with glee. The clouds parted, and she saw everything without the blur of indecision. She finally grasped what her mind had been telling her—there wasn’t any need to tiptoe on eggshells around him. She’d made her decision. God, she’d made her decision.

Inspired suddenly, she released a small, excited cry, grasped his shoulders and straddled his waist. She pressed herself against his hardness with liberation that knew no bounds.

Spike was, among other things, bewildered. “Buffy—”

She took his face in her hands and devoured his mouth with hers. No more chaste kisses. No more hiding behind a game of cards. She wanted him. She wanted him just as he was now—moaning into her, his lips in combat with hers with passionate enthusiasm. His tongue invaded her mouth, exploring her with sensuality that made her insides tremble. His hands slid possessively to her ass, and when she didn’t slap them away, he thrust his erection against her sodden pussy, and growled when she thrust back.

Buffy pulled away only when she needed air. Her head flew back, baring her throat to him in silent invitation. He gave in gladly, his cool lips dancing down her skin, his tongue tapping against her jugular as his blunt teeth played against her teasingly.

“Hot, fiery li’l minx, you are,” he murmured against her, his fingers brazenly slipping under the elastic of her panties to caress her backside. “God, I want you so much.”

“You’ve got me,” she replied breathlessly. “I’m right here.”

His eyes widened in astonishment. “Are you? Are you really? I can’t…Buffy, we can’t do this halfway. I love you. You bloody well know I love you. I can’t…with as much as I want you, I love you too much to only have a part of you. If this is…a fling, then we need to stop. I couldn’t bear it otherwise.”

Buffy was quiet for a long minute; not out of indecision, but rather out of respect. It truly hadn’t occurred to her until he said it—it hadn’t occurred to her just how important love was to Spike.

When he loved, he loved with all he was. Just like she did. He didn’t do flings—well, not intentionally. How he’d ever ended up as Harmony’s bedmate, she didn’t know, nor did she particularly care. But he hadn’t loved Harmony. Just as Buffy hadn’t loved Parker.

Difference being, Harmony hadn’t brushed Spike off as he’d likely hoped. And no male could pass up free sex, even if the provider was as unbelievably stake-worthy as that blonde doorknob.

“It’s not a fling,” she said. “It’s really not, Spike.”

“What is it, then?” he asked. He looked for all the world as though he wasn’t lying beneath her. As though his erection wasn’t pressed into her stomach. As though she hadn’t just kissed his lips off.

A serene smile graced her lips. “It’s real. What we have is real.” She slid a hand between them, her fingers dancing along the waist of his sweats. The look on his face lay somewhere between incredulity and the want of hope. “I’m completely serious,” she added. “This is real.”

Spike choked when she wrapped her fingers around his cock. “You’re…Buffy, you’re saying you…you really want to be with me?”

She had to fight the impulse to giggle. He’d asked in complete seriousness, yet her mind couldn’t help but whip her back to elementary school—playing on the playground when some seven-year old moseyed up to her and asked if she would please be his girlfriend. A brazen, womanly look colored her eyes, and she nodded slowly, her hand releasing his cock as she slid down his body. She stopped when she was perched on her knees at the floor in front of him; her fingers hooked under the waistband of his sweats, and dragged the material down his legs.

Spike sat up, his gaze bathing her in wonder, though he could do little to mask his trepidation. “Buffy, I—”

“Yes, I want to be with you,” she answered matter-of-factly, her calm demeanor belying her racing heart. “I want to do coupley things with you. I want you to be at the Scooby meetings, giving me ‘my God, when can we get out of here?’ looks so I can pretend to look away and not notice, but you’d know I felt the same way. I want you to take me to dinner and a movie, and I wanna be caught necking in the theater. I want you to patrol with me. I want you to fight at my side when the world is about to end. And when it’s over, I want you to come back to my house with me so we can celebrate the fact that we’re still alive.” Her hand curled around his cock again, and she dipped her head to suckle sweetly at his head. The moan that tore through the air only fueled her fervor. “I want you to come Bronzing with me. I want to dance with you in front of my friends. When it’s Christmas, I want to decorate the tree with you, and gross everyone out with the cutesy presents we’ll give each other. I want to go to one of those instant-photo booths at the mall and snap a roll of pictures that we can show off. We’ll be one of those couples that everyone hates. They’ll hate us because they’re jealous, and we’ll pretend that we don’t notice.” She tongued the underside of his erection, then released him slowly and rose to her feet, her eyes dark with intent. “I want it all, Spike. I want everything. And I want it with you.”

If someone had told her two weeks ago that she’d be describing a fairytale life with Spike, and that his eyes would well with tears at her declaration, she would have made a face and muttered something unkind. The idea that anyone could want what she wanted, much less a vampire whose drive in life was aimed at destruction, was simply impossible.

He glanced down when his emotions got the better of him, his eyes trained fixedly on the way her hand was coiled around his cock. Buffy seized the opportunity to snap her panties down her legs with her free hand—somehow maintaining her balance. In her mind, she didn’t look as awkward as she felt, but it didn’t seem to matter; if Spike noticed, he didn’t say anything. Rather, he took a deep breath, then looked up again just as her mouth was descending toward the head of his erection.

“Oh, God,” he gasped, his fingers threading through her hair.

She moaned her approval around him, her tongue exploring his slit with growing hunger. Her past experience notwithstanding, she was discovering the further she pushed herself with Spike, the further she wanted to go.

“Buffy—oh, Jesus, pet, jus’ like that.” He gifted her with a few more of his delicious whimpers, his hips thrusting upward with aching desperation. “You…pet, do I get to touch?”

“Hmmm?” she asked around his cock, her mouth becoming more boisterous. More insistent. His taste was addictive. The sounds he made were addictive. Everything about him was addictive.

“Fuck,” he moaned, leaning back as he drove himself deeper into her throat. “Buffy…oh God, feels so good. You’re a goddess.”

Her mouth trailed slowly up the length of him until her lips were wrapped just around his belled head, suckling gently as her right hand curled around his thickness, her other dropping to caress his balls. The more she touched him, the further she pushed herself, the hotter she became. The sounds that tumbled through his lips, the whimpers and muffled praises swelled her veins with ardor, and she found herself aching with want.

“Want…oh, fuck, baby, that’s so good. I…uhhhh, Buffy!”

Spike thrust upward with a pained gasp, then seemingly gathered his bearings and wrapped his hands around her arms, coaxing her away from his cock with a mutual moan of complaint. When she met his eyes, she found herself drowned in desire deeper than anything she’d ever known. It rocked her foundation to think that anyone could want her—her—so much.

The look in Spike’s eyes went beyond lust. He was panting, teetering on the very end of control, and she wanted to topple over the edge with him.

“I wanna touch you,” he practically growled.

“So touch me,” she shot back, her voice full of challenge.

He jerked her forward and smashed his lips to hers, his growl melting into a moan. The time for careful kisses was over. He plundered her mouth with his tongue, seeking and exploring as his hands roamed her body freely. He touched her like a man starved; sliding his hands up her arms, holding her neck for a few precious seconds until he realized that she wasn’t going anywhere and that the invitation to touch her had no limits. Then he growled again, headily this time, and fisted the t-shirt she’d stolen.

“I wanna see you,” Spike moaned when their lips parted, hers immediately latching onto his throat. “Oh, Christ.”

“So see me,” she retorted, raising her head for a fraction of a second to flash him a cheeky grin. She grasped his upper arms and slid more securely onto his lap, until her bare pussy was licking the underside of his erection. “You need to get it through your head,” she continued, peppering his neck with kisses and relishing his impassioned moan. “That I’m not going anywhere.”

It took a few seconds for Spike to find words. “I’ll try.” Then, grasping either end of her tee, he ripped the garment down the middle, tossing it to the floor without any thought to the contrary.

Buffy mewled in mock complaint. “You broke it.”

“Don’ care,” he replied. “Din’t want you to stop touching me.”

She grinned into his throat, her teeth playing over the mark left by his sire with cool expertise that betrayed her intent. Buffy was no novice to vampiric bites, and having instructed a lover or two to pay particular attention to her own in the past, she knew just how good it felt to have someone’s mouth on them.

She shuddered, then, realizing that she wanted Spike’s fangs to erase the memory of her past bites. The thought was rather startling, especially considering that she had never actively sought a pair of fangs in the past, no matter how pleasurable the marks became. However, the thought of Spike sinking his teeth into her only served to fuel her arousal. Something terrifying and dangerous had suddenly become something erotic, and she wanted it.

Buffy shivered and chose to shove her revelation to the back of her mind. Spike would probably think she was out of her mind, so it was best to keep such things to herself. Besides, what kind of pervert would crave something like that? Hadn’t she broken up with Riley for that very reason?

She paused then. No, she hadn’t. She’d broken up with Riley in her mind long before putting his dismissal into action. Finding out about his nocturnal excursions had only provided an excuse—a reason to make it his fault, and not hers. After all, he was normal, and if she didn’t want him, it meant she didn’t want normal. It meant she wasn’t the poster girl for decency that Angel had always thought her to be. It meant that there was something even more amiss about her aside from the sacred calling.

But she didn’t love Angel, and she certainly didn’t love Riley. She loved Spike, and she was sick and tired of pretending to be something that she wasn’t. She wasn’t normal, and she never would be.

Still, the fang thing kind of wigged her out. She’d have to give that one some thought before she extended the invitation. Maybe research during Giles’s daily and progressively uneventful Glory meetings. After all, if she, a vampire slayer, was going to ask a vampire to bite her, she needed to know what she was getting into.

Even if she knew Spike would never hurt her. Not the Spike she knew now—now that she was allowing herself to truly see him. The Spike she knew now was brushing kisses along her shoulder, pushing her back so that his lips could wrap around one of her nipples as he rolled the other between his thumb and forefinger. He suckled at her delicately, his tongue tracing her areola, tapping the tip of her nipple, then drawing back so his mouth could fit around her small globe and suckle with more intensity.

Buffy had never known her breasts to be so sensitive. Riley and Parker both had squeezed them like they wanted to star in porn, and Angel had somehow managed to steal her virginity without touching her at all. Though, in all fairness, his reasoning likely lay in his hesitance to do anything to scare the crap out of her. After all, even being in high school, her mind hadn’t the capacity to even fathom what her first sexual experience would be like.

Spike was worshipping her as though he took pleasure in her pleasure, and wasn’t working solely for his own. With his mouth and fingers, he made her feel like the most desirable woman in the world, and the sensation dizzied her.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, releasing her with a wet plop. He left her with a parting kiss to her nipple before shifting his focus to its twin.

With as much as she loved the feel of his mouth against her breast, her body was aware of a growing need to feel his touch between her legs. And she knew, somehow, that he would ask her before daring to explore her there. Despite what she said, he was still being measured and careful, and while she appreciated the sentiment, appreciated the emergency exits he left open for her, she needed him to know, once and for all, that she wasn’t going anywhere.

Buffy’s hand reached between them, wrapping around his cock again. Spike rumbled his response into her flesh, his fingers becoming slightly more adventurous. A slow descent across her stomach, but he wasn’t going fast enough. She needed him, and she needed him now.

A point she got across nicely when she lifted her hips and pressed the head of his cock against her clit.

Spike’s head snapped back, his eyes wide. “Oh my God.”

The stimulation against her throbbing flesh was almost too much. Buffy gasped and shook her head, rubbing herself wantonly against him. “Unh!”

“Buffy—oh God, Buffy—”

She shifted again, her opening hovering over him.

“Baby…”

“Kiss me,” she gasped, and he did.

The second his lips met hers, she sank down, her pussy swallowing his cock as her body ignited in bliss. A long gasp tore through her throat, her head flying back and her hands immediately finding purchase on his chest. She felt his skin tremble beneath her fingers as his answering moan painted the air. Her eyes fluttered shut, then open again, and she met his stunned, rapt gaze with a warm smile.

“Oh my God,” he gasped, his hands gripping her hips. “Oh my God. Is this really happening? Fuck, Buffy, tell me this is really happening.”

There were absolutely no words. None at all to describe the sensation of having him inside her. She’d never felt this before—not once, and all she’d done at this point was take him into her body. His chest rose and fell under her fingers and she let herself drown in the ocean of his eyes. Was it real? God, she didn’t know herself.

“Hold on,” she said breathlessly, lifting herself off his lap, then sinking down again. God, there was nothing like that. Nothing like the feel of his erection slipping through her slick passage—he felt big; bigger than she was used to. A year and a half of mediocre sex with Riley had her conditioned to expect nothing special. The bloom had worn itself off that rose within a couple weeks, and she had a feeling that it had something to do with the fact that, at least once during the possessed-sex in the frat house, she had called out Spike’s name.

Talk about mortified. Riley hadn’t called her on it, and she had forced herself to write it off as a ghosty side-effect.

Her experimental thrusts got the better of Spike’s uncharacteristic silence after a few long seconds, and he burst with the most impassioned gasp she’d ever heard, driving his hips forward, his fingers digging into her hips. “Oh my fucking God, you’re so tight. So fucking tight. So wet an’ warm for me. Such a sweet quim. Feel so fucking wonderful.”

Buffy released a shrill gasp, realizing for the first time how hard she was trembling. None of her past lovers had been particularly verbose, thus the sound of Spike’s choked voice breaking the silence around them struck her as overwhelmingly intimate. And though it had taken her aback, his sudden bout of vulgarity only heightened the sensation. “Ohhh,” she breathed as the thick length of him slid out of her, pausing when just his head was wrapped in her silken walls. “Oh my God.”

There was something particularly touching in watching Spike pant. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’ you?” he gasped. “Buffy, please. Need you so bad. Need you. Oh God—”

“Spike,” she said softly, sliding down his length until her pussy was pressed against the base of his erection. God, no one had ever been so deep within her, and the sensation was heady. She was full to the brim, torn somewhere between pleasure and pain, and it was wonderful. “This…oh my God…I’ve never…I’ve never…”

The need in her own voice must have snapped him from his haze. He released a trembling breath and ran his hands up her back, then down again to hold her ass as she steadily bounced on his cock. “Yeah, baby, that’s it,” he purred. He looked up at her through bruised eyes, and she sighed at his strength. “That’s it. Oh, that’s so good. You feel so good. So hot an’ tight.”

Buffy gasped again, her muscles clenching hard around him. He was bringing her senses to life in ways she didn’t know were possible. Where she had been empty before, she was now complete. Where others had failed her, Spike made her whole. As though he could give her strength simply by willing it so.

“Never,” she panted, her movements gaining momentum as her confidence swelled. “Oh God, Spike. It’s never…ohhh, it’s never…I’ve never felt this. Never.”

His eyes widened, and the depth of love she saw there stole her breath away. “Never,” he agreed, nodding eagerly. “Christ, never. Never like this. Never. Squeeze me, baby. I love it when you squeeze me.” She obeyed, and shivered when he moaned in turn. “Feel so good.”

Buffy returned his nod and reached behind her, seizing the hands that held her ass and forcing them to the mattress on either side of his head. Then she leaned forward until her breasts brushed against his chest, continuing to flex her vaginal muscles around his cock. He gave her the confidence she lacked in bed. Trying new things had never been her forté, no matter how simple and unexciting said new things were. Taking small steps, taking initiative in something so intimate, gave her a sense of authority that no amount of slaying or world saveage could hope to touch.

“My God, you’re so beautiful,” he breathed reverently, his eyes rolling back as she squeezed him. His hands fell on her ass again, helping her explore the new position, and moaning into her mouth when she swallowed him in a heated kiss. “So…ohhhh. Stop. Stop, sweetheart.”

Buffy frowned and forced her body to stop rocking against him, raising her head slowly. “What?” she panted. “I didn’t…did I do something wrong?”

Spike shook his head. “I’m going to come if you keep that up. An’ I want you to come first.”

The way he spoke made her flush.

“Oh…ummm…sorry?”

He chuckled and shook his head again, pushing on her shoulders until she was sitting upright once more.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked. Despite his words, she felt inept and foolish, even as her body throbbed with tension and begged her for release. “No one’s ever stopped in mid—”

“An’ I’m guessin’ no one’s ever really cared if you got off.” Spike lifted her off his cock, moaning when he slipped out of her. “Plus, you haven’ let me have a taste.”

“A taste?”

He didn’t bother to answer, instead dragging her up the length of his body until her pussy was hovering above his mouth. “Hold on,” he growled, brushing his lips against her clit. Buffy gasped at the bullet of pleasure that tore through her, fisting a handful of bed linen, only to have it rip in her grip the second that she felt him suckling at her wet, vulnerable flesh.

“Oh my God!” she cried, thrusting against his face with abandon. “Oh my God!”

Spike chuckled, and God, the vibrations from his mirth felt fantastic. His tongue probed her wet, silken folds, suckling at her with tender care as his hands settled on either thigh, gently spreading her wider. She felt like she was on display, and to her utter astonishment, she didn’t give a damn.

“You taste so sweet,” he whispered. “I’ve dreamt of your taste, you know.”

A long, nearly pained moan clawed at her throat.

“Fuck, Buffy, I’ve dreamt of everythin’.” He slipped his tongue inside her, lapping at her eagerly as his fingers inched over her thigh to capture her clit. Tiny pinpoints of pleasure stabbed at her flesh. She released another long whimper, her hips thrusting hard against his touch. Her fingers flew to her breasts, tugging at her nipples as he licked at her pussy.

“Oh, God. Oh God. So good. So good! Oh, Spike!” Her hands abandoned her breasts. She was close. She was beyond close. The inferno raging within her was rolling toward explosion. She was just seconds away from oblivion, and it was the headiest, most empowering sensation she’d ever known.

Then Spike slipped his tongue out of her.

Buffy’s eyes popped open and her body cried out in protest. “Spike!” she sobbed, wiggling over his face. “Oh God, please!”

“Shhh,” he whispered against her folds, easing two fingers inside her. “Oh, Christ. You’re swallowin’ me.”

“Unh!”

“Have any idea how hot this looks?” He nipped at her inner thigh with his blunt teeth. “Watchin’ you drench my fingers? Knowin’ that you’re quiverin’ because of me? You’re begging for me. For my touch.” His fingers left her for a fraction of a second, and she heard him suckling her juices off his skin. Then, he eased his eager digits back inside her, and sighed in time with her sigh. “Could watch this forever,” he said. “Could watch me finger-fuck your quim until the sodding world ends.”

“Ohh!”

His mouth clamped over her clit, his tongue circling the needy bundle, licking her reverentially. Then he paused and sucked hard. And Buffy exploded. Pleasure burst through every vein, every cell, every pore, wracking her insides in bliss as her body saturated with rapture. She heard herself screaming his name, heard him murmuring his praises into her skin, then collapsed bonelessly to the mattress. Her wet flesh was still pressed against his face, but she couldn’t be bothered to care.

And yet, despite the peaceful hum that settled over her, a part of her was still raging. A part of her needed more.

Ohh.

Spike gently edged her down his body, doting her skin with soft kisses. She sighed in contentment, a goofy smile spreading across her face. And the look he gave her when their eyes met let her know, as she’d never known before, just how much he loved her.

“I need you, baby,” he whispered against her lips, and the next thing she knew, she was impaled on his cock.

It was almost too much. Her legs were still trembling from her orgasm, her pussy was drenched and aching with sensitivity. This was new. Her normal endurance seemed zapped; then again, her previous bouts of marathon sex had never accompanied marathon orgasms. Feeling him move within her while every cell in her body was charged with sexual energy was thoroughly singular to every experience she’d ever had. “Guh! Oh, God!”

“Oh, yeah,” he answered, his voice a rough growl. Then he flipped her under him, pinning her between the mattress and the steel of his body with quick, needy thrusts. “Squeeze me like that. Love you. God, Buffy, I love you so much.”

Tears stung her eyes and her heart swelled. She wanted to tell him. God, she wanted to tell him so much it hurt.

“Come for me, baby,” he rasped, shaking her with the intensity of his lovemaking. “I’ve gotten to taste you come; now I wanna feel you.”

Her eyes went wide. “I can’t again,” she gasped. “I can’t.”

Spike pierced her with his eyes, his thrusts growing harder. “Oh, yes you can.”

She gasped again and dug her nails into his biceps.

It was his voice that did it. As their flesh smacked together, their joined whimpers and moans coloring the air, he lowered his mouth to her ear as he slipped a hand between them. “Let me feel you, sweetheart,” he begged, his fingers capturing her clit and rubbing her tenderly. “I need to feel you come around my cock.”

That was it. She trembled hard, and her body detonated again. Her muscles tightened and clenched, squeezing him with need she barely recognized. A hoarse, thankful moan tumbled through his throat, and his brow fell to her shoulder as he spilled himself inside her. It seemed to last forever. The tremors he ignited through her body, her own need to milk him dry as he found his release.

Fire gave way to peace.

Buffy had no idea how much time passed before she opened her eyes; before she lifted her head. She found Spike resting against her shoulder. He’d burst into game face at some point, though she didn’t know if he even realized it. And with the sight of him resting against her like that, with his fangs inches from her skin but solace set into his eyes, she was enveloped in love.

“I love you,” he whispered suddenly, raising his eyes to hers. “I love you, Buffy.”

Her vision blurred and she nodded, lifting her head to kiss his ridges. “I know,” she replied, willing him to see her true answer through her tears.

He kissed her, fangs and all, and she returned his kiss with all the power of the words she couldn’t say.

He would know. He would know how much she loved him. Once the apocalypse was over. Once they were on the other side of this together.

She would tell him then.

Part Four

The world around her collapsed. In a flash, everything collapsed.

She hadn’t been fast enough. God, she hadn’t been fast enough. And now she was gone. Gone. Her sister was gone—gone in the hands of a mad god. She’d allowed Glory to take Dawn. She hadn’t been fast enough.

Reality was slipping. It was over. It was all over. She’d failed.

“Buffy—Buffy!”

I’ve failed.

“Buffy.” Someone was at her side. Strong, familiar hands closed around her arms, and shook. “Sweetheart, you can’t do this. The Bit needs you.” He hesitated, tossed a look over his shoulder, and added softly, “I need you. Please, baby. Come on.”

Then she felt his tongue on her throat, running over his mark, and the world came rushing back. The block fell aside and she saw everything clearly. Her mind was hers again. And as she fell into Spike’s arms, the dizzying sensation of being one again with Earth caught up with her, and she buckled into stark realization.

Dawn. Dawn. I’ve failed Dawn.

A strangled moan scratched at her throat and she threw her arms around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder as reality meshed and collapsed around her. “She’s gone,” she cried, her body wracking with sobs. “I let her…I let her…”

“Shhh.” His lips were at her temple, soothing her simply with the idea of what he offered. “You din’t let anythin’, sweetling. Happened too bloody fast for anyone. We’ll get her back. We’ll get her back.”

Buffy caught a blurry glance of Xander, Anya, and Willow standing dumbfounded a few feet away, witnesses to her meltdown. She knew she shouldn’t have been surprised to see the astonishment on their faces, but she was anyway. After all, it had been Spike’s idea to keep their relationship a secret. After everything they’d been through over the past few days, he’d said, and with everything on her mind, adding her friends’ predictable reaction was unneeded stress. And he never wanted to be a part of the problem.

They had planned to wait until it was over. After Glory was defeated, they’d come clean. And while she understood his motives, and appreciated his thoughtfulness, a part of her had wanted to scream screw them and announce that Spike was moving into her house. They would live together, move into her bed, have lots and lots of hot naked sex, and it wouldn’t matter what they thought, because she loved him.

Even with their agreement, Buffy and Spike hadn’t exactly been discreet about their relationship. The past few days had been filled with unapologetic excuses to be together as much as possible. And from the sideways glances that her random behavior change had earned, she had begun to think that they knew and understood that it wasn’t their place to judge.

So much for wishful thinking. The world around her was falling and Spike was her rock. She couldn’t release him now; she would tumble away completely. He was the only thing keeping her from breaking, and she refused to let him go.

“It’s not over yet,” he whispered, rocking her rhythmically in the endless comfort of his arms. “You saw what happened. You saw—”

“Ben,” she said, her eyes darkening. “Ben…he’s Glory. Oh God, I brought him here. I brought him here. I called him and he came, and Glory—”

“Shhh.” He pressed his lips to her mark again, and she was overwhelmed with a sense of peace. The day before, after Tara was attacked by Glory, Buffy had gone to Spike and asked that he place a claim on her because she knew what they meant. The books she’d stolen from Giles’s library had gone into more detail than she could have hoped for, and she found herself needing that link. Needing the power they would share.

It made her stronger. It made him stronger. And she felt everything in between.

“Are you out of your bleeding mind?” he’d demanded when she’d told him what she wanted, his eyes wide with both incredulity and hope. “You know what it means, don’ you? You know—”

“I researched it, Spike. I know exactly what it means.”

“Then you—”

“It will make us stronger. We need as much strength as we can get.” And then, when his face fell in realization, she’d stepped forward and placed a hand on his cheek. “I want it for the other reason, too.”

He’d looked doubtful, though his eyes flared with hope. “Sweetling, I’m not gonna do it if there’s a…you can look at words on a page as much as you bloody well like. It’s me you’re gonna have to live with when we get to the other side of this thing. Once we’re done with the apocalypse an’ the desperation’s gone—”

She’d stepped forward at that and taken his face in her hands. “I want it. I should’ve said for the other reason first, because really? Potentially saving the world’s just a bonus. I want it for the second reason a ton more than the first.” The stupefied look that overwhelmed him was simply adorable; she kissed him with everything she felt, reminding him without words all that she’d already told him. All they’d already shared. “Get it through your head. You’re stuck with me.”

And he had. He’d made her his, and in so doing, given her a part of himself. They shared strength, now; strength, and one of the strongest bonds in the world.

Buffy knew. Somehow she knew. Were it not for Spike’s presence, she would have lost herself completely. Collapsed outside the service station where the D&D-wannabe knights had cornered them. She had felt her consciousness slipping, and he’d caught her before the fall.

She had absolutely no idea how long she remained like that. Locked in a state of grief, sobbing her reprieve into Spike’s shoulder as he rocked her into a soothing lull. She knew that she needed to fight to her feet. She knew that she needed to get up and get Giles to a doctor. She knew that her sister was out there, and she couldn’t save her if she was lost in a sea of personal despair. She knew that she couldn’t give up when there was still a war to fight—an apocalypse to stop—and that nothing was fixed. Reality could be seized and controlled.

Nothing was set. She still had the power to change the universe.

Her sobs quieted after a few seconds as resolve set in.

Resolve. Spike had given her that. He’d fed the calm. He’d let her cry.

But she couldn’t cry anymore. Not now.

“Sweetheart.” Spike pressed another kiss to the mark on her throat. “I think it’s time to get up now.”

Buffy nodded. She held onto him as they rose to their feet together. And her fingers remained entwined with his as they turned to her friends.

“Let’s get inside,” she said, her voice fighting for authoritative when all she wanted to do was collapse again. But no—there would be none of that. Spike was with her, keeping the world from falling. “Xander—go check on Giles. We’re gonna need to get moving as soon as possible.”

Less than five minutes later, they were regrouped in the convenience store, gathering whatever supplies they had—namely the sword that Buffy had swiped from one of the knights and a few other assorted weapons that she and Spike had thrown into the Winnebago before going to collect the others. There wasn’t much, but the Slayer wanted every provision with them for the trip home.

With every move, she felt a surge of love and strength. Spike was the only thing that kept her from shattering, and he sensed it without needing words.

“Willow,” Buffy said softly as she rejoined the others. “I need you to fix the Winnebago.”

The redhead was silent for a long minute, then balked and blinked when she realized she’d been addressed. “Me? I—Buffy, I can’t fix a Winnebago. I couldn’t even use my Easy Bake Oven. How can—”

“I think she means use magic,” Anya added helpfully.

“I’d bloody well hope so,” Spike murmured, his eyes on the ground. A sudden shy demeanor had fallen over him—untimely if nothing else, but she knew why, and her heart swelled with adoration.

She was holding his hand. In front of them. Them. Her friends. Her Watcher. All of them. It was a small gesture, but it meant the world.

“Yeah, with magic.” It’d seemed obvious enough to Buffy when she’d made the suggestion. “I need you to fix it. We need to get out of here. Get Giles to the hospital.” She paused, then turned to Spike. “We’re going after Glory. There might be something at her place—some clue about where she would have gone.”

“Right there with you, pet.”

She turned in silent invitation for another’s input, but the peanut gallery had nothing to offer but blank stares.

“Hello?” Buffy waved. “Guys? We’re kinda on a timetable here. That thing has my sister.”

That statement was the proverbial bucket of water. The bewildered looks faded, and resolve set in.

“Okay.” Willow pursed her lips. “All right. We’re heading back to Sunnydale. Xander can take Giles to the hospital.” She paused. “Do you guys need me to go with you? Maybe I can pick up on some vibey stuff at her place.”

Buffy and Spike exchanged a glance.

“Sounds right,” the vampire agreed with a short nod, and Buffy found herself dissolving in relief.

She had no idea what she would do if he weren’t with her.

“Anya will look after Tara, then.”

“You, me, and Spike will find Glory,” Buffy agreed.

Tara wailed suddenly, her body jerking so hard that she nearly lost balance. “The world is spinning.”

Willow was at her side in a second.

“Straight to a new day! Big day. Big, big day.”

Buffy forced her eyes away as the redhead took her girlfriend into her arms, attempting to sooth her with a calming hum, though she could tell how shaken Willow was. In the past few months, the Slayer had watched the death of her best friend’s former self—this new version, self-reliant and confident, was such a far cry from the girl she’d once been. And it hurt beyond hurt to see a face of strength in such pain.

Spike suddenly squeezed her hand, dragging her back to the present. “Sweet, what if we come across Ben?”

The name of the doctor she had trusted—the man she’d practically entrusted with her mother’s life, the man she’d called when Giles was injured—made her see red. “We get him to take us to Dawn,” she said softly. “If Ben’s there, Dawn will be close. And if he doesn’t…” She paused, then looked up and met his eyes. “Well…let’s just leave it at this: I’ll kill anyone who stands between me and Dawn.”

“Ummm…” Xander waved a little. “Could you two back up for the slow people here? I mean, if Giles needs a doctor, I’d think you’d be all welcoming of Mr. Stethoscope.”

Spike arched a brow. “Well, yeah, but not one who also happens to be Glory.”

Buffy offered a near indiscernible nod.

“What do you mean?” Giles asked.

It occurred to the Slayer like a shot in the dark, seeing him contorted with pain, but sitting up and trying to gather his bearings, how incredibly strong her friends—everyone—had become in the past few years. Willow was just the tip of the iceberg. She had no idea why it took something like this to make her see it, but the realization was there—staring at her through the pained eyes of her surrogate father.

Spike’s brow furrowed. “You know. Ben is Glory.”

“You mean…” Willow frowned, her arm curled protectively around her girlfriend’s shoulder. “Ben’s with Glory?”

A dark, unsettling feeling knotted Buffy’s stomach. Something here was incredibly not right. “No,” she said, “he’s—”

“‘With’ in what sense?” Xander asked.

“They’re working together?” Anya ventured, equally confused.

Buffy could feel Spike’s frustration mounting, tagged with confusion and almost a hint of anxiety. It was mutual sentiment. She felt his, she felt hers, and she felt theirs.

“No. No. Ben is Glory,” he said slowly. “Glory’s Ben. They’re one an’ the same.”

He glanced at her, imploring her for help, which she gave gladly. “Entirely the same. He turned into Glory. He was standing right there—” She pointed at Anya, who blinked and looked around her as though Ben would spontaneously appear. “—and turned into Glory. How could you guys not catch that?”

She was answered with a sea of blank stares.

“When did all this happen?” Anya asked.

Evidently, Spike had reached his boiling point. “Not one hour ago!” he practically yelled. “Right here, before your very eyes! Ben came, he turned into Glory, snatched the kid, and pfft—vanished! Remember?”

The gang traded uncertain glances. Remember? Obviously not so much. More blank stares followed the uncertain glances, then nothing at all.

Spike tossed Buffy a long look, then turned back to the group. “You do remember…?” Nothing. “Is everyone here very stoned?”

There was no response—just more vacant looks.

“Ben!” the vampire snapped, exasperated. “Glory! He’s a doctor, she’s the beast. Two entirely separate entities sharing one body. Like a bloody sitcom. Surely you remember.”

Nothing. Buffy rolled her eyes. “Oh, for Pete’s sake.” She held out her arms, balling her hands into fists. “This is Glory,” she said, waving one fist. “This is Ben.” She waved the other. “See them? Separate? Now watch.” She clasped her hands together in what had quickly turned into a bizarre rendition of ‘this-is-the-church-this-is-the-steeple.’ “This is the body they share. Glory and Ben. One body.”

“Are you saying that Ben is giving Glory orgasms?” Anya asked. “Because that is near impossible. Human males don’t have the stamina to give gods orgasms. You’re insinuating copulation that can’t possibly take place.”

“No, she’s bloody not!” Spike screamed. “She’s the only one here who hasn’ gone completely carrot-top. Ben. Glory. One’s a doc, the other’s a hellbint. They’re sharing a body! One minute Ben is Ben, the next, he’ll be Glory. Is any of this sinkin’ into your incredibly thick heads?”

Another long, agonizing pause.

“So you’re saying…” Xander started. “Ben and Glory.”

“Have a connection,” Anya supplied.

“Yes, obviously,” Giles agreed. “But what kind?”

Buffy about tripped over herself. This was not happening. “Are you guys kidding me?” she demanded hotly. “My sister is out there and she’s going to die and you guys are just—”

“Oh, I get it,” Spike said, offering a jaded laugh and a nod. “That’s very crafty. Glory’s worked the kind of mojo where anyone who sees her li’l presto-change-o instantly forgets. An’ us…” He glanced to Buffy. “Bein’ somewhat other than human, we stand immune.”

At that, the sacred place on her throat started to burn. A good, slow burn that didn’t hurt as much as it reassured that the connection was still there. She reached up and ran her fingertips over the contours of his bite mark, small shivers rippling through her body at the contact. “I’m guessing that I can remember, then, because of…”

Spike nodded, smiling softly. “Either that or you’re jus’ a li’l bit brighter than anyone else here, pet.”

“So…” They glanced to Willow simultaneously, who was frowning as though her brain hurt by the words her mouth wanted to put together. “Ben and Glory…are-are the same person?”

“Glory can turn into Ben,” Xander continued, his voice slow and cautious. “And Ben turns back into Glory.”

“And anyone who sees it,” concluded Anya, looking immensely pleased with herself. “Instantly forgets.”

Dual sighs of relief rang out on the same beat. Buffy slumped, leaning into Spike in reprieve.

“Thank God,” she moaned.

Spike grinned faintly and pointed at the former demon. “Kewpie doll for the lady,” he agreed.

Giles nodded. “Excellent,” he said, then paused and frowned, glancing around again. “Now. Do we suspect there may be some kind of connection between Ben and Glory?”

Everyone stared at them once more.

Spike sighed loudly.

“Don’t bother,” Buffy said. “This is getting us nowhere. Willow, go fix the Winnebago. Everyone else, do what you’re supposed to be doing.” She turned to Spike, who immediately grabbed hold of her wrist when he noticed how hard she was trembling.

“Sweetling, it’ll be all right.”

“If we see Ben,” she said quietly. “And if he…if he stands between us and Dawn, we kill him.”

It should have worried her that she gave the order without so much as a flicker of regard for the human life she had just okayed for death. It should have, but it didn’t. She remembered Ben’s demeanor before he changed—remembered the panicked look that overcame him. Remembered how he’d cursed at someone—Glory—and though he’d tried to get out, he’d been more than eager to help in the first place.

And he’d known about Dawn. He had. The looks he’d given her couldn’t have meant anything but. She’d brought that thing out here, and he’d come with Glory on his back.

If he tried to keep her from Dawn, she would kill him.

Spike didn’t betray his astonishment with words or actions, but she could tell that the callousness in her voice had taken him aback. But he nodded just the same and squeezed her hand. She was so grateful for the comfort.

Right now—this moment—he was all she had.

Tara was going to lead them to Glory.

It was a mantra that Buffy kept repeating to herself. Everything would be all right now. They had a plan. And Tara was going to lead them to Glory.

She shoved her key through the lock of her front door and was immediately overwhelmed with a calming sense of familiarity at being home. In the past few days, she hadn’t been home at all. The house was quiet and vacant—every corner harbored memories of the mother she’d lost, the sister she wasn’t supposed to have, and everything in between. She didn’t want to swell with tears, so she cleared her throat and did her best to remain stoic.

It was all right; they were going to find Glory.

And Spike was with her. Spike was right behind her; he would keep her from falling.

“The weapons are in the chest by the TV,” she said. “I’ll grab the stuff upstairs.”

“Uh, Buffy.”

She stopped in mid-step and turned. Spike was still outside. He looked sheepish and offered a small wave.

She frowned, feeling sucker-punched. “I haven’t…?”

He smiled softly. “We haven’t exactly been here since we started, pet. S’all right. We can do this later. If you wanna jus’ hand them over the threshold, I’ll—”

Buffy turned completely, fighting the temptation to roll her eyes. Did he honestly thing she would intentionally keep him out of her home now? Now, after everything they had shared? “Oh, knock it off,” she said, her tone a surprising mixture of somber playfulness. It sounded tragic to her ears. “And get your ass in here.”

Spike rewarded her with one of his heartwarming smiles and took a slow step over the threshold. “Hmmm,” he said, his eyes swimming with love. “Presto. No barrier.”

For a long moment, there was little she could do aside from staring at him in wonder. And it occurred to her out of nowhere—slamming her into a proverbial wall—that this could be the last time they were alone. They were going to find Glory—Tara was going to lead them to Glory—but there were absolutely no guarantees.

It could end for both of them tonight. And she’d only now invited him back in.

He doesn’t know how much I love him.

“Um,” Spike said, making a beeline for the chest she’d indicated a moment before. “Won’ bother with the small stuff. Couple of good axes should hold off Glory’s mates while you take on the lady herself.”

He was speaking to fill the silence. She knew it. He didn’t want to think about what the night could cost them anymore than she did.

There wasn’t much time. The world was crashing and there was so much she wanted to tell him. There was so much she needed him to know. But now, standing on the edge of forever, everything boiled down to one reality. One necessity that surpassed all others.

She needed to say it once, if only once, before she lost everything.

“There’s a chance…” Buffy began cautiously. “Spike, I don’t like thinking about it, but there’s an incredibly good chance that we’re not all gonna make it. You know that.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, making a few selections from the weapons chest before returning to her side. “Hey. Always knew I’d go down fightin’.”

The look on his eyes was hopeful, but there was something else. He was pleading with her wordlessly to do something—or not to do something. To say something—or not to say something. She couldn’t tell which. She couldn’t tell what he wanted, and decided that it didn’t matter at that moment. She’d been cautious for his sake—and her own—and if she was going to go and fight the good fight and potentially lose him, she needed him to know that he would take her heart with him if he died. That he was loved as much as he’d ever been. As much as he had ever loved.

“I’m counting on you…” she began, “to protect her.”

“Till the end of the world,” Spike swore ardently, and the storm in his eyes tugged at her heart. “Even if that happens to be tonight.” He glanced down and paused. “I need to say it one more time. If this is the last time we’re alone, I jus’…I need to say it.”

Buffy’s breath caught in her throat. “Spike—”

“I love you.” He met her gaze once more, and her knees about buckled with the wealth of what he gave her, even in a simple look. There was nothing he hid from her—nothing. Whatever he had to give, he handed over gladly. He was hers, and there was nothing else. “I’ve loved you longer than I’ve known how to love. You’re the world to me. An’ these past few…days with you have been the best of my bloody life. You’ve treated me like you…I’m a monster, but you treat me like a man. And I love you more than you can ever know.”

She didn’t realize she was crying until he reached up and wiped her tears away with his thumb, smiling as though he’d reached the heavens. And she knew then—she knew—that if he died that night, he would feel complete.

He would, and so would she.

But no—no. It wasn’t supposed to be like that for them. She wanted to come back to the house with Spike and Dawn on either side of her. She wanted to kiss her sister goodnight then fall asleep in her lover’s arms. She didn’t want this to be the end. It couldn’t be.

“Spike—”

“Get your stuff, I'll be here.”

Buffy shook her head through her tears. She couldn’t let it end like this. He had to know—before they went in to fight the last battle, he had to know how much she loved him. “No. I need to tell you—before we go. I was going to wait, but if this is it, I really need you to know—”

Something flashed across Spike’s eyes and he held up a hand, his gaze going wide with realization. “No,” he gasped softly. “No. Please no. Not now.” A pause. “After.”

She stared at him for a long minute.

“But…you know.”

A small, grave smile played across his face. “After,” he said again. “Tell me after.”

Buffy held his eyes for a minute, then nodded and turned back to the stairs.

After. There would be an after. She would see to it. Now that they had this, there had to be something to follow.

There had to be.

In the end, Buffy and Spike escorted Dawn from the tower together.

Willow and Tara were in each other’s arms. Anya was at Xander’s side. Giles was standing over Ben’s body.

Dawn was trembling and crying softly, and she refused to release Buffy’s hand.

The sun was creeping over the horizon.

“We should get Spike inside,” Dawn said, her words jutting between the tremors wracking her body. “Daylight’s coming.”

Spike met Buffy’s eyes and smiled softly.

“It’s okay, Dawnie,” she said. “We’re all going home.”

Part Five

Giles didn’t pitch a fit when she told him that Spike was coming back to the house with her. Instead, he merely nodded and ushered them quickly into his red-penis-car. As the night sky faded into morning, he sped them to Revello Drive, tossing his jacket into the back to help shield the vampire from the first rays of sunshine.

Spike and Dawn hurried inside the second the car rolled to a stop outside the Summers home. Buffy, however, took her time. She was physically and emotionally exhausted, but if her friends had anything to say to her, she wanted to get it out now. She didn’t want to wake up with something to dread. She wanted to lie in bed for the next few days and pretend the outside world didn’t exist. The accusations, the implications, and the interventions were beyond her line of caring. Truthfully, she didn’t want to deal with it ever—but better now than later. Better now than when she was drained and shattered than after she’d had time to rest.

Buffy watched her sister and her lover disappear inside her home and heaved a long sigh. Her friends were looking at her numbly, though something told her they knew what was coming. “If you guys have anything to tell me,” she began slowly, “get it over with now.”

A long silence settled over her friends.

“I have something to say,” Xander said cautiously.

Buffy arched her brows, completely wiped and apathetic; and even still, she wasn’t remotely surprised. “Okay,” she replied.

His brow furrowed in thought, and there was nothing for a few seconds. “The way you threw that creepy little guy off the tower? I’ve only seen moves like that in Keanu Reeves flicks.” A slow grin spread across his face. “Very awesome.”

“You beat the living hell out of Glory,” Anya volunteered, shrugging. “With my ex’s big hammer. I’m happy.”

“We discovered we can be telepathic,” Willow added with a sleepy, lopsided grin. “It kinda hurt my head, but hey, that’s something we’ve never done before. Not the head hurting, ‘cause remember when I sent Glory to…somewhere and the drippy bloody nose? ‘Cause ‘ow’,” she added contemplatively, distractedly. “I’m in a very post-merging-of-essences haze right now. Let’s just hope the First Slayer doesn’t try to off us in our sleep again.”

“Thank you for that thought,” Xander muttered irritably. “Now I won’t be getting any rest.”

Buffy grinned, apathy melting completely when she realized that the scolding she’d anticipated wasn’t coming. There could be no doubting the mark on her throat, or the tender way she and Spike had talked with each other in the car. Besides, bringing her boyfriend to her house wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. And yet, there was no outrage. No shouting. Not even a wayward glance.

People had the amazing capacity to surprise.

“Plus you saved the world,” Tara added shyly from where she was curled against Willow’s shoulder.

“Again,” the others echoed in unison.

Buffy pursed her lips, her smile fading. “Guys,” she said gently. “Thanks, but…it wasn’t just me.”

Xander offered an enthusiastic nod. “Dude, I know.” He turned to Willow with a goofy, tired grin. “What about our resident witch here? Did you see this awesome magic-wielding mamma?”

“That’s the second time you’ve used the word ‘awesome,’” Anya whispered. Then she perked up and added, “And Giles killed Ben.”

The Slayer paused and met her Watcher’s eyes. “I’m glad.”

There was finality in her voice—this would be the first and last time anyone mentioned what had happened to the duplicitous doctor. Death was too good for him for what he had tried to do.

“And then there’s Spike,” Giles said, surprising her with the rational calm in his voice. “Tell him he did well, Buffy. Incredibly well. I would, but I don’t fancy him singing, ‘I told you so,’ every time he sees me from this point on.”

“Yeah,” Xander added, nodding. “The Bleached Wonder really came through.”

“If you need us to take Dawn for a while,” Willow said with a particularly evil grin, “we can. You guys really must be getting tired of the crypt.”

Buffy flushed at that—God, she’d thought she was too tired to flush. Okay, so maybe her first impulse had been correct, and everyone knew about her relationship with Spike and had miraculously kept their mouths shut. And still, she grinned again in spite of herself, kicking at the ground. “Maybe later this week,” she said. “After I get over the ‘I almost lost my little sister’ thing and she starts bugging the hell out of me again. Right now, I don’t feel like letting her get too far out of my sight.”

“I’m sure the heavy sounds of copulation will send Dawn running to your place, Willow,” Anya observed. “Survivor orgasms are always the very best.”

Giles and Xander made identical faces of disgust. “I’m okay with the new Buffy-loves-Spike thing,” the latter said slowly. “But please…can we not discuss what they do behind closed doors?”

“I’ll second that,” Buffy said, stepping away from the car. “Ummm…thanks, guys. And Giles?” She waited until her Watcher met her eyes. “If you so much as think of telling me about anything that has the word ‘apocalypse’ or phrase ‘end of the world’ before the summer’s over, I’m going to officially resign, bust Faith outta prison, and let you torment her for the next one. ‘Kay?”

“Understood.”

By the time Giles’s car pulled away from her house, the sun was glaring over the horizon and beginning the steady climb into the sky. She stepped across the threshold into her home—the place she’d almost convinced herself she would never see again—and surged with gratitude when she saw Spike waiting for her at the stairs.

He looked as tired as she felt.

“The Bit’s asleep,” he said, shifting somewhat nervously. “Minute her head hit the pillow. Figure she’ll sleep for a week, yeah?”

Buffy crossed her arms, leaning wearily against the door. “She’s not the only one,” she replied softly, her eyes trailing up the stairs. It would take a while, she suspected, before she felt completely at ease, even in her own home. Before she would stop looking over her shoulder, or wondering where Dawn was on weeknights.

Just thinking about the long road ahead generated another wave of exhaustion over her body. A deep sigh wracked through her and she met Spike’s eyes again. Then, wordlessly, she forced herself upright and dragged herself into the family room. The blinds were already shut, as though the home had anticipated their arrival. Buffy sighed with a rush of completion as she flopped onto the sofa.

This. This was a room in a house where Spike could live. Her own affinity for sunlight had long since died; at some point over the years, standing outside had started to make her eyes hurt. The Slayer was inherently a creature of the night—the same as her prey—and as the years passed, her own tolerance for the day had been on a steady decline.

Buffy leaned forward in the seat, her face in her hands. And in that instant, Spike was with her, kneeling in front of her, running his hands up and down her legs as a means of comfort. The strength he gave her simply with his presence was more than she could ever give back. Simply feeling his touch gave her comfort beyond comfort.

Every little bit of Spike belonged to her, and he gave himself over gladly.

“It’s okay, sweetling,” he murmured. “It’s okay, now.”

That was all it took. The words. Hearing him so close—realizing at last that this was real. That Dawn was really upstairs, that Spike was really with her, and the worst was actually over. Buffy choked a sob and fell forward, her arms wrapping around his neck as she paid the weight of the world back in tears. He encompassed her with strength, running his hands soothingly down her back, murmuring into her hair. She curled her arms under his shoulders and cried. There was nothing to do but cry. She didn’t know what was left—the worst was over, and she was crying.

God, she was so wretchedly tired.

“It’s all right,” he said again, rocking her gently. “It’s all right. It’s all over now.”

She nodded weakly, feeling that all her strength had been suddenly zapped. “I just…I can’t…”

Spike brushed a kiss across her brow. “An’ you don’ have to. You don’ have to do anythin’, baby. You don’ have to do a bloody thing.”

The words were there—she understood what he said, but it seemed too good, too wonderful to be true. It had been so long since she had nothing to worry about. Since the loom of Glory’s intent hadn’t hung over her every move. Just a few hours before, she hadn’t thought she would ever see the inside of her home again. She had been so sure that she was going to die—or that if she lived, that Spike was going to die. That her slice of perfection found in the middle of despair would be the only taste she ever had. That she’d stolen enough paradise in the past few days to earn the wrath of the PTB.

The other shoe wasn’t going to drop. She was home, and she was in Spike’s arms. Dawn was sleeping upstairs and her friends had all come through unscathed.

Glory was dead.

Buffy sniffed and hugged him closer. “Why does this feel different?” she asked. “I’ve stopped the world ending before. It’s never been like this.”

“Before it wasn’ personal,” he replied softly, kissing her temple. “Not really. Though, granted, you ran your honey-pot through—that was personal.”

“He’s not my honey-anything,” came the muffled retort.

“Point bein’, he’s a vamp. You killed him ‘cause you knew you had to—an’ it bein’ that he’d terrorized you for months likely din’t hurt matters. I’d wager you could’ve easily done the same to me tonight if you needed to.”

Buffy’s head whipped up at that, her face a mess of tears. “Easily? Easily?!” She wiped at her eyes irritably. “You really think that would have been easy for me? I love you, you doof! You think I could’ve killed you and had it not kill me?” She shook her head harshly before collapsing face-first into her waiting hands, missing the tearful look of awe and love that engulfed him completely.

Damn him and his presumptions. She could have lost everything. Dawn, Spike, her Watcher, her friends. And as much as it shamed her to admit it, Dawn and Spike remained in the forefront of her concerns. Dawn was family, and while her memories told her otherwise, Dawn had similarly never faced an apocalypse. She had no way of knowing how her sister would stand up to a hellgod when it was real and not fabricated.

And Spike? She hadn’t cared before. Now that she did—now that she loved him so much—the possibility of losing him had all but crippled her.

He’d been right in that, then. Angelus was the only one to have come after her personally—to have done what Glory did. Only with Glory, it was so much worse. That deranged bitch had come after her sister. Not Buffy—she’d had no interest in Buffy. Angelus’s mind games had focused on driving Buffy mad, and if he took a few others with him, so be it. It hadn’t been that way with Glory.

Glory hadn’t given a damn about the Slayer. It was Dawn that she’d come after. Dawn. Her innocent, helpless sister. Innocent—no amount of voodoo could eradicate that. Dawn might have been a ball of energy once, but she wasn’t anymore. She was her sister, and Glory had been ready to kill her.

In that, Angelus’s attack hadn’t truly been encompassed with devastation. Buffy had known she could kill him once she overcame the pain of his conversion. Once she defeated her guilt, the killing-him part had come with relative ease.

All except the last minute presto-soul, but even that didn’t strike her as too painful now. Now that she’d sampled true fear. True loss. True gut-wrenching devastation.

There hadn’t been an option with Glory. The closer the battle came, the more certain Buffy had been that she would lose everything. That Dawn would die, Spike would be torn from her arms, and even her friends—her wonderful friends that were so used to fighting—would be by no means prepared to face the end.

And yet, here she was. She was breathing air that she’d earned. Spike was rubbing her arms as she cried. Dawn was upstairs. Her friends were alive.

There was no more fearing what tomorrow might bring. Not now. Not after Glory.

“Buffy?” His lips brushed against her cheek, then again at the pulse point on her throat. She could have sworn his voice was trembling. “Can you…can you say that again?”

She stilled and glanced up, her eyes clashing with his, and the world around her melted.

What he wanted had been his for so long. Saying it now was pure release.

“I love you, Spike.” She leaned forward and kissed him gently. “I love you so much.”

The look that stormed his gaze with those simple words was one she’d never forget. No one had ever given her as much in a simple glance. Like she was the embodiment of everything precious and pure—everything he’d been without for so long. Everything his former life of shadows and violence had denied him. He put her on a pedestal that she didn’t deserve, and he’d done it without noticing; without realizing it.

She was so terrified of disappointing him, of making him realize how unworthy she was of his love.

Spike groaned and swallowed her in a fiery kiss. “Again,” he rasped, his eyes blazing. “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

“Oh, Christ.” He kissed her again, whimpering against her lips. “I love you, too. God, I love you so much.”

“I wanted to tell you. I tried to—”

“I know.” Spike grinned somberly, his lips exploring her face with such reverence that her insides quivered. “I know. I jus’…I couldn’t go in knowin’ that you loved me.” He shook his head, and the tears in his eyes both warmed her and tore her apart. “Was bloody terrified it’d…that I’d do something stupid ‘cause of it. I’d…I’d mess up. If you told me that…”

Buffy smiled through her tears and kissed him again. “I know. That was the only thing that kept me from saying it right off, Spike. You gotta believe that. I’ve wanted to tell you since the night we first…” The wonder in his eyes was overwhelming. She forced her gaze away for a second, then swallowed hard and looked back. “I was afraid that if I died, you’d…I don’t know. I just knew that Dawn couldn’t lose us both, and I was afraid you’d…I was afraid of what might happen if I told you before we faced her…what would happen if I died.”

His grip on her tightened at the words, and he offered a jerky nod. “Yeh. Me, too.” He paused. “I don’ want you to know how much…the thought of losin’ you…it’s kept me up these last few nights. I’d jus’ lay beside you an’ watch you sleep, touch you to make sure you’re real, an’ dread what’s to come. Had bloody nightmares when I tried to catch a few winks. If I lost you…Christ, I don’ know what I would’ve done.”

There was nothing to say to that. She just kissed him and patted the cushion next to her. The smile that stretched across his lips warmed her wholly—another small, simple gesture that somehow ended up meaning the world. Her body sang. And as he cast his arm around her, pulling her into him, she had never known greater peace.

“I’m so tired,” she whispered against his chest, her eyes fluttering shut. “I’m so tired, Spike. And everything hurts.”

He kissed her brow. “Then sleep, sweetheart. I’m not goin’ anywhere. The hurt will go away if you sleep.”

Buffy hummed slightly against him, and nodded. Then she was wrapped in silence, curled in his embrace as the house settled around her. The world that had nearly ended stretched into a new morning, and she closed her eyes and let a welcome nothingness take her away.

She rested in the arms of the man she loved.

After so long, she finally rested.

Buffy could have slept forever, and when she awoke, it felt like she had.

Her first cognitive feeling was rather predictable: fear. Mind-numbing, soul-consuming fear. A familiar rush that went with her to bed and greeted her when she awoke. There was nothing for a long minute other than the terror that the world was ending—a long, endless minute—then she relaxed as the fall was cushioned by the knowledge that it wasn’t. A small sigh escaped her lips and she settled back against the mattress, doused in a rush of pure bliss.

It’s over.

It was truly over. Glory was gone. And Buffy had slept.

It took a few minutes to coax her eyes open, but when she finally took a look around, she found she was curled in bed. Funny—she didn’t remember going to bed. Her last conscious memory was of Spike kissing her brow as he slid something over her head—and that alone felt as though it were years in the past.

After a few minutes, she convinced herself to follow the impressive eye-opening with an even more impressive sitting-up-and-getting-out-of-bed. Her muscles stretched with a familiar ache, though it was accompanied with a much-welcome ‘well-rested’ feeling that she so often found herself lacking.

Her shades were drawn tight and her blankets were settled in a comfy, however tangled mess around her body. She found that she’d been dressed in one of Spike’s tees, though she was fairly certain that she hadn’t changed herself. She hadn’t been in a state to swat a fly, last she remembered, much less coordinate her motor functions well enough to manage a simple change of clothing.

For the first time in as many years, Buffy found herself relishing the idea of a big strong man to do the manly work. Even if said manly work was nothing more than a switch in wardrobe.

Buffy forced herself to her feet after a few seconds and stretched, her muscles worn and deliciously over-rested. She eyed the clock—just after noon—and paused. Noon? Certainly she hadn’t only slept six hours?

Well, it didn’t really matter. The time for sleep was over. Now she wanted to find her scrumptious boyfriend, plan insanely coupley things, and be Normal Girl for a while.

As normal as she could stand, at least. She and Spike would definitely have to spar, now that the ‘less than human’ thing was evident. Sparring with him had always made her hot as hell, though sadly not at a time when she’d appreciated his ability to give as good as he got. Now that he’d bitten her and sealed them together with words, she was hoping that she was just not human enough to enjoy beating the crap out of her boyfriend in the totally good, race-you-back-to-the-bed kinda way.

The scents that greeted her when she opened her door made her—and her stomach—realize how terribly famished she was. She padded barefoot down the hallway and stole a quick peek into Dawn’s room.

Her sister was not there.

Buffy drew in a breath, fighting off the instinctive rush of panic. Okay, so, Dawn had woken up early, too. No big. From the clattering downstairs and the occasional outburst of frustrated British slang, she knew that Spike was doing something in the kitchen. And if Spike was here, he’d know where Dawn was.

Chances were, she was downstairs, inciting said frustrated British slang.

Buffy closed her eyes and exhaled. No more hellgods.

It was going to take some time to get used to that.

Stifling a yawn, she descended the stairs slowly, her growling stomach growing more insistent the stronger the heavenly aroma became. She gave her muscles another small stretch, then turned and followed her nose to the kitchen, where she found a very shirtless Spike making what looked to be scrambled eggs.

Suddenly, her body was hungry for more than food. The wave of lust that hit her was so spontaneous it nearly knocked her over. Buffy whimpered slightly and worried a lip between her teeth.

Celebrate the fact that they were alive. She’d told him she’d wanted that after every apocalypse. Evidently, her body was holding her true to her word.

Spike glanced up when he sensed her near, and as always, she found herself melting at the unadulterated love that drenched his eyes. It was a simple glance, and he gave her everything. He never held anything back.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he greeted, abandoning his cooking for half a second to kiss her. And the domesticity of the moment took her by such surprise that she went weak in the knees. “I was about to go make sure you weren’ in some mystical coma.”

“Huh?”

Spike’s brows arched. “You’ve been out for a while, luv.”

Buffy frowned and her stomach growled. Okay, so maybe more than six hours. “How long?”

“Two days now.”

Stop. Pause. Blink.

“Two days?! I’ve been sleeping for two days?”

“The Bit wanted me to check for a pulse—I promised her I could hear your heart beatin’.” He paused. “Though that din’t stop me from checkin’, jus’ to make sure.”

Hearing him mention Dawn put that part of her at ease—for the moment at least. Right now, there were much more pressing matters. “You let me sleep for two days?!”

Perhaps it wouldn’t take as long to get back into the swing of things as she’d thought.

“Let you?” Spike repeated incredulously, his hands flying up. “The few times I tried to wake you up, you growled at me, swung at me, an’ decked me with your stuffed pig.” He grinned slightly as her face fell slack, and turned back to the eggs. “Figured it was better just to let the lady rest, yeh?”

Buffy pouted. “Mr. Gordo?”

“That the pig?”

“Yeah. Did Mr. Gordo—”

“Caught him an’ put him on your nightstand. You were too tired to aim, kitten.”

She flushed and her stomach gurgled again. “And the times I tried to hit you?”

“No bruises to speak of. Truth be told, it was kinda cute.”

Buffy tossed him a dirty look. “Well, you’re lucky I love you, or else I might’ve been persuaded to actually put some muscle behind it.”

His face did that awe-meltage thing that she loved so much, but to his credit, he didn’t skip a beat. “Sweetling, I could’ve been a sodding O’ik demon an’ you wouldn’t’ve known the bloody difference.” Spike tossed her another grin and nodded to the microwave. “Bacon’s coolin’.”

The mention of food made her stomach growl again. “You’re cooking up a storm,” she observed. “A breakfasty storm.”

“Firs’ meal of the day, no matter what time it is. Either way, from the way your tummy’s been talkin’ at me the past few days, I thought I might be able to coax you outta your coma with food.” He paused, then added, “An’ since you always tried to injure me bodily when I asked if you wanted munchies, this seemed to be the best solution.”

“My man cooks. Who knew?”

“’S jus’ between us, pet. Wouldn’t want this gettin’ out.”

“Oh, definitely. This is a side of you I want all to myself.”

A half hour and a full tummy later, Buffy waddled up the stairs and into the bathroom. Spike could definitely cook. She hadn’t realized it was humanly possible for anyone—much less herself—to eat as much as she did. Granted, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d thought of food, let alone picked up a fork, and the food had been too good to waste a crumb. She was surprised she hadn’t licked the plate.

Only now she was stuffed. Definitively stuffed. And in need of a shower. Besides the gluttonous breakfast, she had an apocalypse and two days worth of grime on her skin to wash off, and likely morning breath from hell.

And yet, Spike had kissed her. Several times. Quite insistently.

She had the perfect boyfriend.

More than a boyfriend, her mind told her as she twisted the faucet. And she knew it. God, how she knew it. Spike was everything. Her friend. Her lover. Her boyfriend. Her mate. Her equal.

Her absolute everything.

She wasn’t surprised when she heard the shower door roll open behind her, no more than she was surprised when familiar hands pried the bar of soap from her fingers. She felt Spike press his cheek to her crown, slipping his arms around her waist and pulling her back against the hard smoothness of his body. She suspected she couldn’t stop the warm flush that surged through her any more than he could prevent his thick cock from caressing her backside.

Buffy sighed in contentment and stretched her arms behind her until they were linked around his neck. “I want to freeze this moment,” she said, a small moan tumbling through her lips as he slid a hand down her body until he was cupping her pussy. “Freeze it so that it never ends.”

“You’re so warm,” he murmured, his fingers spreading her lips delicately, his thumb flicking her clit. She felt him smile against her throat when she arched against him and gasped, his teeth skimming the claim mark he’d given her. “That feel good, baby?”

She whimpered and nodded, thrusting her hips against his hand. “Ahhh…”

“You know, I’ve wanted to do this since that firs’ night.” He slowly eased his fingers away, ignoring her mewl of complaint and plucking the abandoned bar of soap out of its nook.

“What night?” she asked breathily.

“That night you came to see me. That firs’ night.”

When he began lathering her body with soap, Buffy thought she was going to collapse with desire. The stirring she’d felt downstairs burst forward again, and she had to bite back a moan. He washed her all over, his touch soft and nearly chaste. He rubbed soap into her arms, her shoulders, her stomach, her breasts—admittedly pausing to tug at her nipples and thrust his cock against her backside. His touch had her thoroughly undone, and at the moment, she lived only to beg for more.

“You don’ know what you did to me even then, pet. I wanted so bad for you to touch me, but you din’t.”

“I was gonna stay,” she objected, a throaty moan tumbling through her lips as his slippery fingers slid over her clit once more. “I offered to stay. I’d even…I arranged it so I could. Stay.”

He paused. “You din’t tell me.”

“Did so!”

“Mmm…don’ think so, sweet. An’ even so, you din’t mention that you made specific arrangements ‘cause you wanted to be with me.”

Buffy pouted, though the effect was ruined when his hand left her pussy again and she whimpered in objection. There was a slight rustling behind her, then his hands were in her hair, massaging her scalp, and the sensation was intoxicating.

“Ohhh, God,” she moaned. “That feels wonderful.”

Spike chuckled, then leaned forward until his mouth was at her ear and whispered, “You have any idea what you do to me?”

“Uhhh.”

He kissed her shoulder, then refocused his attention on the task at hand. His masterful fingers kept busy at her hair for what seemed like forever, calming and soothing her off a ledge of nerves she hadn’t even realized she’d approached. The past few years hadn’t shown her any source of pleasure or relaxation that wasn’t sexual in nature, and while she loved what Spike’s mouth, hands, and cock could do to her body, there was something about this sort of simplicity. Of existing for the moment and embracing the calm he gave her.

The calm, however, was a double-edged sword. With as much as he relaxed her with his touch, there was a larger part of her that needed complete release—needed that intimate connection with him, if only to ultimately reassure her that the world was still spinning. When he finally washed the soap out of her hair, her body was burning for his.

At last, Buffy twisted in his arms, her body on fire, and took his face into her hands. “Need you,” she whimpered against his lips before brushing her mouth over his. “Please.”

“You jus’ got clean, luv,” he murmured, his hands cupping her ass as he turned to press her against the shower wall.

“Don’t care,” she hissed against his mouth. “Please, Spike. I need you so much.”

He hummed and licked at his claim mark again, then began a slow, agonizing descent of her body, nibbling and sucking a wet path to her pussy. “I wanted to do this to you that night,” he continued, and his words only fanned the fire. “I had you there an’ I was so terrified you were gonna disappear. Or that you were only there to make sure I din’t go crawlin’ to Glory an’—”

It made her stomach coil that he had ever thought such things about her. “You would never have done that, Spike.”

“Mmm? Really?” He grinned and licked a wet path up her slit. “’m a bad man. I could’ve done it.”

“Nuh uh.”

“If I really wanted to.”

“You love me. There’s no way. No way you could betray me when you love me.”

Spike sighed at that and licked at her again, nuzzling her pussy reverently as his fingers played across her flesh. “I love hearin’ you say that,” he said. “I’d convinced myself that you’d never see it as love. That you’d think it was somethin’ dark an’ polluted.” A pause. “I love it that you know I love you.”

He plunged his tongue deep inside her before she could reply. Buffy cried out and thrust herself against his face, threading her fingers through his hair to hold him to her as his sinfully sensuous mouth explored her wet flesh. Somewhere in the back of her head, she knew that he was trying—and succeeding—to distract her. To keep her from berating his fears—the same fears that she was ashamed to admit were completely grounded.

The knowledge that, not too long ago, she would have rejected him was an ugly, harsh reality.

“Mmmm,” he hummed against her, sliding two fingers inside her tight passage as his lips wrapped around her clit. “Fuck, I love your taste. Could drink from you all day an’ never get enough.”

“Guh.” She bucked against his mouth again, her grip on him tightening. “Spike, get up here.”

“I rather like it where I am, thanks.”

Buffy banged her head against the tiling in frustration, even as her body tumbled toward ecstasy. There were times that he was so ornery that she wanted her teeth pulled just for the distraction.

Then again, his snippy attitude was one of the things she loved about him.

“Spike, please!”

The arrogant grin on his face was worth his concession. His fingers slipped from her slowly, his tongue laving her clit once more before he slowly climbed to his feet. “I jus’ love,” he murmured, his hands sliding under her hips, “hearin’ you beg for me.”

“Spike!”

“Hearin’ you call my name like that.” His cock probed her sodden folds, dipping his head to brush a reverent kiss across the claim mark. “Hearin’ you moan.” He met her eyes then and smiled softly. “Kiss me.”

She cupped his cheeks again and drew his mouth to hers, then cried out when he slipped his cock inside her. They’d made love frantically every night leading up to the apocalypse, always thinking but never speaking the possibility that it could be the last time. Now that she had him within her, now that the end of the world was again a dot on the far reaches of a very long horizon, the simple sensation of being filled by the man she loved was almost too much. This was something she’d never had before, and she feared it would break by simply holding it.

Love poured from Spike’s eyes. “Buffy…”

She choked a sob and squeezed him, her head falling to his shoulder as he began moving within her. “Don’t talk,” she whispered. “Just love me.”

“You know I do.”

In a blink, the looming of the apocalypse was a thousand miles away. Her tears were dried and her sores were gone. Spike held her sweetly as he thrust inside her, murmuring unintelligibly into her hair. The shower had long since gone cold, but she didn’t care. Spike gave her the only warmth she needed. He gave her fire when she needed heat, and cooled the burn when she needed air. She just needed him with her. For now—for always. As unstable and uncertain as her life was, she needed him to be her one true thing. The constant—the one that would always, always, be at her side.

She whimpered when his tongue flicked her earlobe, his fingers sliding between them to capture her clit. He rubbed her tenderly, murmuring his love for her amidst his groans, and she felt that she touched paradise.

“Taste me,” she whispered, turning to offer her throat.

A long whimper escaped his lips and he nodded, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “I love you. I love you.”

“I love you.”

“Christ…”

Having the words between them changed everything. Her skin tingled. Her body burned. She was on the edge of toppling over, and she needed his fangs inside her. She needed the words between them—the promise of who she belonged to.

The second his ivory incisors pierced her skin, she cried out and came hard. His name a prayer on her lips, the world around her dissolving into a sea of color as her body spasmed and her blood rejoiced. She heard his moan, felt him spill himself deep within her, and would have collapsed with happiness had he not been there to catch her. His arms tightened around her, his mouth whispering kisses across her face as his hips rocked, and he shuddered with completion.

“Mine,” he whispered, pressing his brow to hers. “Always mine.”

Her eyes fell on the mark she’d given him three nights ago. The one that proclaimed him hers for all the world to see, and a contented sigh rumbled through her. Yes. This was forever. This was her forever—the only one she wanted. The only one she’d ever accept. In his arms, she knew true rapture—whatever the universe had to offer would always fall short.

“Always.”

The day had only begun for her, and she already felt she was at its end. It might not be much to some, but to her, it was nirvana. Waking up, eating breakfast, showering, and making love—and the glorious knowledge that nothing waited for her on the outside. Absolutely nothing.

What a wonderful way to live.

Spike raised his head slowly and grinned, reaching over at last to shut off the water. “Looks like I got you dirty again, luv.”

“Only in the best way,” she assured him, enacting those Slayer muscles she knew he loved to remind him of their compromising position. Another long moan hissed through his lips, and he kissed her before she could say another word.

For all the passion and love between them, she marveled at how they could share something so groundbreaking and remain casual with each other. Ten minutes later, having washed off—again—Buffy bounded downstairs and found Spike, in a state of thorough undress, thumbing through the newspaper. He glanced up when he sensed she was near, smiled, and turned his attention back to whatever he was reading.

Another ode to domesticity. The moment struck her as so thoroughly singular that she couldn’t help the blurb of laughter that escaped her lips. She’d never figured herself as a fan of domestic bliss; then again, her definition might have been off.

“Somethin’ funny, kitten?”

“You should put some pants on. The neighbors are gonna freak.”

Spike domed a brow and cast a quick, apathetic glance over his shoulder to the window behind him. “Nah. Though I reckon the old lady might be by later to congratulate you.”

“Pig.”

“Oink bloody oink.”

“And nakedness, while thoroughly encouraged, isn’t something you can get used to around here. I have a young, impressionable sister, you know.” She paused, then frowned as though just then realizing something. “Who I now hope is with her friends, because if you’re going around in the nude and I’m making with the banshee impression upstairs, we might just have scarred her for life.”

“The Bit’s tougher than that, luv. She’s the Slayer’s kid sis.”

“Spike, please tell me she’s—”

He chuckled and held up a hand. “At a friend’s. Come on, gimme a li’l credit.”

“Janice?”

“That’s the one. She wanted to feel normal after everythin’. I gave her permission to go.” He paused at that. “Is that all right?”

Buffy relaxed a little and nodded. She hadn’t thought she’d be ready to part with Dawn so quickly, but there was something so comforting in having another adult around to make decisions. If Dawn was away because Spike gave her permission, then she had her sister’s blessing.

“I’m compiling a list of reasons why it’s such a good thing that I overcame my stupidity and fell in love with you,” Buffy decided. “Right now, I’m on the fact that it’s gonna be nice having you around here to split the Dawn responsibilities.”

Spike paused and looked up slowly. “Am I goin’ deaf, or did you jus’ imply that I’m movin’ in?”

At his tone, a sudden wave of panic overwhelmed her and she began the immediate backtrack. “Well—I mean, unless you don’t want to. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just—you and I, with the mated thing and Dawn’s here and I have a big room now and I’d really, really like you to—”

He held up a hand, smiling at her like she was the most adorable creature he’d ever seen. “Buffy, are you thinkin’ I’m gonna say no?”

“Well, you got all weird-face, and—”

“Silly girl, there’s…‘weird-face’?”

“Like the ‘Oh no! My insane girlfriend already wants me to move in!’ kinda weird-face.” She paused then, and frowned. “But wait—you’ve already done the insane girlfriend thing, so that’s not a good analogy. Maybe just—”

“Buffy. Stop.”

She stopped. He held up a hand and began the count off.

“I love you.” Pinky finger. “Of course I want to move in.” Ring finger. “You’re daft for thinkin’ I’d ever say no.” Middle finger. “’Cause I love you.” Index finger. He paused then, frowned, then grinned and added, “Bitch,” for good measure, though it did little more than earn him a slap on his very naked arm.

“Meanie-head.”

Spike glanced down suggestively, his hand encircling his cock. “Yeah, gotta say…” He tossed her a brash smirk. “That’s one mean lookin’ head.”

“Perv!”

“You love it.”

“I’m just an excellent actress.” Buffy poked her tongue out at him and pointed at the newspaper. “And that is just one nasty paper-cut waiting to happen.”

“You tellin’ me you wouldn’t kiss it better?”

“Dream on, perv boy.”

Spike paused and tossed her a predatory glance. “Y’know,” he said, slowly closing the paper and rounding the island. “I was gonna check an’ see if there were any flicks playin’ that you an’ I might go to make fun of. Try a stab at that normal thing that I hear’s so bloody grand.”

She gulped. Hard. There was something about that particular look that always made her go weak at the knees. Without realizing it, she’d started to back up. Her heart pounded. Her pulse raced. Her knees trembled. And it occurred to her that it was going to be like this—just like this—every day until the world finally ended. There would be casual moments and heated moments, arguments and make-up sex, violence and tears, love and laughter. They were unconventionality at its best but normal in everything else.

This was the only form of normality she ever wanted to know.

“Oh?” she asked, trying and failing to fight off the arousal in her voice.

“Yeah.”

“And now?”

“Now? Now I think that I’m gonna shag you until you can’t walk.”

That did it. She was thoroughly drenched and aching with want. “Well…you’ll have to catch me first.”

Spike’s brows perked at the prospect of a challenge. He took another step forward, sniffed at the air, and licked his lips with a grin. “Oh yeah, you better run.”

Buffy squealed giddily and was off—bounding for the stairs in a flash with a gorgeous, horny vampire hot on her heels.

Oh yeah. This was how it was supposed to be. This was how it was supposed to be forever. Spike tackling her to her bed, growling into her throat as he cupped her pussy and told her how much he loved her through a strangled moan. Hearing him whimper when she took his cock into her hands and returned the words with liberation instead of pain—with joy instead of sorrow. She was in love—completely in love—and for once, the world was her playground.

Buffy supposed, tugging him down for a kiss as he sank inside her, that she could definitely get used to this.

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