One Good Lay | Detour by kindred

Detour
Parts 10- 17

Summary: Future fic. Vengeance, memory and the course of true love.
Disclaimer: I do not own the show Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel (The Series). All of the characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, 20th Century Fox, et al.
A/N: Here is a new story, NC-17 eventually. I've been struggling with it for a while now but I've decided to take a leap of faith and start posting. :) This story includes slight alterations to the ending of BtVS. AtS S5 occurred without Spike. The first few chapters of this story contain intentionally mixed up chronology. It is meant to reflect the character's perspectives. I hope you stay with it. This story mentions character deaths that occur outside of the main plot line.
Feedback: alp@magma.ca

10.

"Your man there must be a bundle of laughs." Spike held out his arm and waited for the clothes. Buffy stood frozen in place by the door, her eyes glued to his chest. Tiny weighted droplets of water clung to his pale flesh before slipping down over those familiar contours.

"--for me?" Oh shit, he said something and she missed it. Spike pursed his lips in amusement. "Overwhelmed by my sheer magnificence are we? Those my clothes? Or do you fancy keeping a naked prisoner?" He drew his muscular fingers back through his hair taming a few wayward curls, then knelt briefly and scooped the personal care items she'd brought him together on a wet towel. Buffy followed his movements closely, her attention fluttering over his fingers, his belly and the curve of his spine.

"Well?" Spike looked mildly perplexed. It took a second or two for Buffy to react. She tossed the bundle of clothes at him. He stood, dropped the towel at his waist and watched closely for her reaction. Buffy's eyes widened for a split second and then she clenched her jaw shut. Spike noted the thudding response in her chest despite all outward attempts at remaining neutral.

"Oooh, kitty. And I thought we were all friendly like," Spike challenged her. "You let me bite you and everything. You must have seen all the attachments." He stood with his weight on one hip, a hand caressing down his torso. His voice was a mockery of seduction. Buffy looked into his empty eyes. He was playing, trying to make her the mouse to his tomcat. Nothing more. He played with her because Spike always played.

Buffy stared at his beautiful body. How well she knew each and every curve and rise. Spike rolled his shoulders and flexed a pectoral casually in response. Being naked in front of a slayer tickled a few fancies of his own. A barely audible tone filled the back of Spike's throat. Buffy pressed her lips together and fidgeted. She forced her attention away from his evident burgeoning arousal; however, nothing she did prevented the inevitable. Her body betrayed her again.

"Oooh, Slayer," Spike shook his head with satisfaction, "that's some potent aroma. It makes me feel all manly." He had to admit it, slayer in heat was one mouth-watering scent. He tried for sarcasm but was derailed by a presence in his gut, an itch or inkling. It wasn't his thickening erection, but a deeper stirring.

Something inside him recognized that scent. It was a confounding insistence that demanded acknowledgement. Again he was struck with the thought, no, the knowledge that somehow the scent of this scrawny blond slayer was his. It was suddenly there in his mind and in his gut. He knew it as surely as he knew he was a vampire; just as he knew he'd marked her with his fangs. The clanging gut clench he felt from this strange girl's scent was almost overpowering. He had not smelled such potency before.

However tempting it was to linger in that scent, Spike needed answers and this girl had some. Years of accommodating Drusilla had made him a professional at self-denial. He knew how to ignore his own needs. Spike hardened his jaw and grabbed the clean pair of jeans. He rammed his legs into them and tucked away his furious desire, then he tugged a t-shirt over his head and scraped his fingertips through his damp hair once more.

"You must be some naughty girl, Slayer. So, you like to fuck?"

Buffy's eyebrows crept up her forehead. "That's what you wanted to ask me, whether I like to fuck?"

"It was a rhetorical question, Slayer. I can smell that you do." He narrowed his eyes at her. "I bet you like it rough, eh? That's a particular specialty of mine." His tongue undulated casually for her benefit.

Teasing. Taunting. Buffy felt like slapping him but she held back. Initiating any kind of physical confrontation would be dangerous and unpredictable. Instead she sighed and plastered a bored look on her face.

"I know, Spike. Been there. Done that. Old and boring." Buffy spoke with a clear, detached authority. She kept in her mind the memory of how pissed off she used to be with him, long before there was any glimmer of other feelings.

Spike told her many times how her emotions affected him. She knew bored indifference was the most unsettling. Even this cocky, headstrong killer paused to reflect at her coldness and her calculation. It was oddly alluring. This little snippet of a girl, not much more than a chipmunk, was starting to intrigue him. He did have a persistent yen for ice maidens, that was for certain.

For the first time Spike began to think that he may well have been capable of developing some feelings for this annoying firecracker. Certainly he was capable of fucking her rotten. He would gladly set adrift on that delicious scent. It held him firmly in its grasp. Twin desires struck simultaneously. He wanted to taste her neck and he wanted to taste her come.

What he did say was, "Drusilla?" Spike straightened up. There were details to be heard and he wanted to know every last one. Buffy understood that need. He deserved to know.

"We received word that she traveled to Albania." Spike nodded. He knew the place. It was perfect for laying low and Drusilla had a sentimental fondness for the old eastern block countries. They still held the scent of repression she found intoxicating.

"Alone?" Spike wrinkled his brow. That wasn't Drusilla's style. She favored an entourage. Failing that, there would at least be a companion of some description.

"No. There was a Russik demon with her." Spike wasn't familiar with that species. Most likely he was a big, brawny lad who was good at taking direction. Buffy continued carefully.

"It's a bit sketchy, but what we know is she managed to piss off the local townspeople and they attacked. I guess she finally met up with some folks whose daily lives were scarier than an insane vampire." Buffy spoke softly, trying not to hurt him with the information. "It was a mob. There was nothing left."

Spike worked the muscle in his jaw and bit at the corner of his lower lip. Killed by a mob. It was a completely believable scenario. Bloody Prague all over again and he wasn't there to save her. Drusilla never knew when to leave well enough alone.

"That's my Drusilla. Piss of the locals..." He shook his head in weary resignation. Drusilla had little innate sense of self preservation. "If I told her once, I told her a thousand-- She can't-- Couldn't stop doing it." He sighed and closed his eyes. He knew it was true. He felt her absence.

Spike figured that her new demon toy would have been completely useless at strategy. There would have been no escape route. All cock and no brains, that was Drusilla's tune. Spike had seen that type come and go for decades. Spike, himself, was the anomaly on her list of sexual partners. He was the one who didn't fit her prescribed specifications. She liked her demons dumb as blood soaked toast, well hung and well tongued. He never regretted failing her first criterion.

"Existence without Drusilla..." Spike bowed his head. He felt an emptiness when he said her name. It was more than grieving. Day after day of silent contemplation consolidated that horrific realization. Drusilla was no longer alive inside him. She was a glorious titan on the horizon of his memory.

She was but a shadow inside him.

What was he supposed to make of this slayer in his midst? Spare a vampire's feelings? Provide him with her nourishing blood? Aroused by his presence alone? The newspapers and magazines he'd been given all said 2005. Eight years gone. Spike was beginning to believe her story may be true.

"You stopped being her toy long ago Spike. Did you not say in this very room that you wouldn't be anyone's pawn? Why jump through her hoops again?"

"So you're telling me I wasn't your toy? That you didn't lead me around by this?" Spike stared at her in sour defiance and squeezed his bulge.

"No Spike. Not games like that. I fought your love for so long, but that was wrong. I was wrong."

He snorted at her reply. "What did you say, Slayer? Love?! You're saying that you and me? Love?" Each word strained further the bounds of disbelief.

He felt queasy at the prospect. Being controlled and on a leash was one thing. That was nothing new to a vampire's existence. But love? Love a slayer? Not him. Not William the Bloody. The thought alone was unsettling. But how could he reconcile that feeling when he knew he had bitten her and those bites weren't from combat or anger. Those were the other kind, a display of intimacy and connection. It wasn't conquest or slavery. It was evidence of affection.

"Anyway, I smartened up and made a different choice."

"Oh yeah? What was that, hmm? A threesome?" That was a cruel grin.

"Don't mock what we had!" Buffy tightened her fists and her jaw. "You have no clue what you were. What you made of yourself. What she's taken from you. From us." The tears welled again. Buffy swallowed her misery.

Spike balked slightly. "What the bloody hell was I, Slayer?" He wanted to know.

Buffy looked at him, unable to disguise the weight of her sorrow. It was the truth he had tasted in her blood. Again, he felt a mindless tugging in his gut. It was beyond hunger or lust. He'd never felt anything like it before.

It actually moaned.

She blinked and bit her trembling lip to stop its movement. Buffy moved to the door and put her hand on the handle.

"You were a man, Spike. You were mine and I was yours."

There was honest pain in her eyes. Pain for something she'd lost, and that something was him. Spike was a demon but he knew love. He understood it. He recognized the pained look on her face. It was the same painful yearning he'd felt for Drusilla just as Angelus lured her away.

Eight years gone. So little time, but so much had changed. Spike accepted that it was indeed 2005. His darling Drusilla was no more. How could things have changed so completely? Was what this slayer said true? Did he find what he'd yearned decades for with this sad eyed girl? She said love. She said they loved each other.

Did he dare believe that was a possibility? What could happen if he did?

Buffy pulled on the door. A crossbow entered the room again followed by Giles' rigid arm.

"Slayer."

Buffy turned to see Spike emptying the pails of water into the floor drain. He gathered up all the things she'd brought in, rolled them in the towels and shoved them into the buckets. He then stepped forward and held them out in front of him.

"That's far enough," Giles' sharp voice cut into the quiet room.

Spike saw death in the Watcher's eyes. It was like recognizing a relation. This one could kill with little regret. The slayer was another story. Their eyes met fleetingly as she took the pails from him, their fingers grazed lightly in the exchange. There was a spark between them even in such a light touch.

Spike had seen two slayer's eyes before; eyes full of hunger, full of killing and then a yearning for death. This one was different. There was no death in her eyes. Not for him. There was only an absence, a reflected ache. He stayed motionless as she left the room, his throat caught in a hard swallow. Finally, Spike's gaze fell on the Watcher again. The eyes of a killer were easier to take. The door closed once more.

Spike ground his teeth as conflicting sentiments flowed through his mind. The girl was in pain and it was causing him discomfort. That discovery was practically a body blow. His mind rebelled at a fevered pitch. Further, he hadn't even tried to escape. Why didn't he rush the door? Shouldn't he be trying to escape? Weren't these humans his enemies?

He felt nothing for the Watcher one way or the other, but the girl? She did something to his insides. What the hell was it? Why should he care if she looked haunted? Bugger. He felt that swell in his gut again.

He cared.

11.

When Buffy next entered the room, Spike stood resolutely and approached her.

"All right, Slayer. Let's do it, let's fuck." He said it casually like he was asking her to watch television. She produced a stake and he froze.

"Sorry pal, not interested." Buffy waved the stake in warning. Spike's level gaze bore into her flesh.

"I don't believe you. I've got the picture here, pet. You want me. I can practically taste how bad you want me. And now you've got me curious." He wasn't deterred by her rebuff. "Plus, I know you're ovulating and that makes you women fuck mad, so let's do it. Come on, I want to taste you." That tongue needed a restraining order.

"No way."

"Making me wait for your period? Gonna let me suck out the sweet stuff, huh?"

"NO! Ew, that's... No!"

Spike huffed a dry chuckle. "I think the lady doth protest too much. You said we were a couple and lived together." What did she think he was, a total imbecile? Spike looked at her with suspicion. "A human female? I bloody well know I'd do that." He grinned and waggled his eyebrows at her. Buffy snorted back at him and put a scowl on her face. The truth was he had done it; that, plus the Spike patented lower abdomen massage really took away her cramps.

"NO!" she yelped again and then hardened her voice into a growl. "No."

"Shit, don't have a bloody melt down. It's blood, love. It's what I do."

"Well you don't do me."

"But I did, didn't I?" His voice softened and his curiosity returned. "Did you every way from Sunday, I reckon. Tell me pet, did you take it up the arse?"

"Shut up! Shut your filthy mouth!"

Spike approached her slowly, his eyes blazing. "Oh, you did...you bad, bad girl. Now, why does that not surprise me?" He pursed his lips and appraised her wantonly. The Slayer had some kinks, did she? Buffy tried to swallow her anxiety. Spike stood defiant and tucked his thumbs strategically into his waistband to enjoy the first flares of kindled desire.

"Bet you begged for it, huh? So sweet and tight and...Oh, I can just bloody imagine. In fact, I have been imagining." His voice dripped with calmness. "Bet you come like a steam whistle. Crack my ear drums, did you love?"

"You are going to shut up, and right now."

"Ooooh, Mistress. I've been so naughty. What d'you say Slayer? No Watcher, no weapons. Wanna dance?"

"Are you demented? Extra stakey goodness here." Buffy twirled the stake in her hand.

"Well, that's only fair you have your weapon, seeing as I brought mine as well." His hand slid down over his hardening bulge. "I'm ready to stake you pet, can you say the same?"

If Buffy had stopped to consider the obviousness of the current situation she would have seen it for what it was: pure sassy foreplay. The animosity flowing between them was electric. She missed sparring with Spike like this. It had been such a long time since he'd been genuinely nasty to her. The erotic possibilities ricocheted through her mind. She wanted to kick the crap out of him if only to touch him again.

"You're gonna shut your mouth." Buffy lunged forward and pushed him back with some force. He hit the back wall. Grimacing with delight, he raised a palm to the side of his jaw and leisurely cracked his neck. Kitty wanted to play, did she? Spike was more than ready to show her what he was. Not some puppet or lapdog. He wanted to beat her bloody and shag her rotten.

God, he just wanted to touch her.

"Fine by me, pet." Spike kicked the forgotten chains back against the wall. He wanted a fair fight, at first anyway. "Just as long as yours is wide open...around my cock."

"Asshole!" She roared and kicked him square in the chest. He flew back onto the floor and giggled. This was gong to be fun.

"Yeah, that too...but I think I'll make you beg me for it first." He rolled backward onto his shoulders and then flipped up to his feet again. "I'd love to hear you beg, Slayer."

"Never!" Buffy came at him, rage bristling through her body. She landed a hard punch to his cheek. He blocked her left cross and backhanded her across the face. She stumbled before returning more blows. They went at each other wildly, arms and legs flying. The blows flew like falling leaves, erratic and plentiful.

He blocked her strikes and countered with his own. They stood toe to toe trading punches. Spike could feel the heat of her agitated breath. The orchestral splendor of her limbs moved in concert with his, delivering determined and weighted blows. She was magnificent. It was dizzying.

He struck her chin and Buffy careened sideways into a roll before popping back to her feet. Her stake stayed put in its leather holster at her hip, where she had sheathed it.

"Shit, you've got moves, girl. Real power in those hands. Tell me, you fuck like you fight?" Spike raised an eyebrow in question. "Cause I do."

Buffy came close again swinging in a wide arc. She nailed him in the temple and then a knee to the gut. He countered with a tidy kick she blocked. He then paced backward in a circle around her.

"You should hear yourself! You think this is turning me on? I know your stuff, Spike. I've seen your moves. It's all sadly predictable."

Spike paused momentarily and made a puppy face. "Ouch! You wound me." He mocked her in a tiny voice. Gruffness soon returned. "Don't kid yourself, Slayer," he sniffed at her with a vengeance. "You're practically creaming. Ain't your head bone connected to your cunt bone?"

"Ugh! You've got a gutter mouth."

"All the better to suck you with, my dear." It had been a long time since Spike had been this crude. Buffy found it oddly refreshing. That salacious tongue of his was a definite problem.

She punched him soundly in the gut. Spike dropped and grabbed her leg. He winced as she kicked into him and flipped backward, free of his grasp.

"You have no clue, do you? I'm fighting here. Adrenalin, you know? The juices tend to flow."

"Let me taste your juices, Slayer." His voice melted into her ear. That's when it hit her. This wasn't a fight at all. This was far more dangerous. She needed to get out of the room before her body screamed for him.

"What the hell are you doing?" Buffy caught her breath and pressed a palm into the stitch at her side.

Spike eased his stance and let out a sigh of exasperation. "For fuck's sakes, Slayer. If you don't know, then I must be doing something seriously wrong." Buffy had to stifle a smile.

"And she's even lovelier when she smiles," Spike muttered under his breath. "I was pussy whipped but good, wasn't I?" He gasped a little boy's grin. Pure mischief. Buffy's countenance relaxed a little. It was enough for him to take advantage.

Spike lunged forward and caught her with a solid punch. Buffy fell backward, reeling. Spike advanced. A kick to her midsection. An elbow to her chin. She regained her focus, jumped and twisted in the air, smashing her foot into his cheek. Spike flew sideways.

"I got you pegged, love. Right where I want you...dripping to my tune." His tongue curved out of his mouth, tasting the air. "And you are dripping aren't you?"

"What are you doing, Spike? You're not fighting very well and you're not all 'grr', you know, showing your bad self?" Buffy took in deep breaths and tried to maintain control but her skin itched in rebellion. "And let me make it perfectly clear. We are not getting naked or groiny here in any conceivable way, shape or form. Got that?"

"You haven't heard the way yet." His eyes twinkled with seduction.

"You can forget it!"

Spike's fighter's stance evaporated away. "It's a pity, love, 'cause I really don't want to kill you today and that's the plain truth of it." The bloodlust he should naturally feel was no longer there. "I should be ashamed to admit it, but there you are. The truth. You say you know me, right?"

Buffy breathed heavily, trying to calm her pounding heart. "I have to go. I've got...stuff to do..."

"Oh yeah? That stuff include a vibrator and a round of 'fuck me, Spike'?" The atmospheric electricity in the room charged to dangerous levels.

Buffy roared and flew at him in a fury. She tackled him and they landed with a thud near the wall. In a flash she stretched a length of discarded chain that was lying on the floor and brought it down hard across his throat. She sat against his chest and pinned him looking down her torso in triumph. The look of mischief on his face was her first clue. She had reacted with blind passion and now it was his turn. Spike let out a low throaty snarl. Buffy gulped, knowing full well the meaning behind that sound. He wanted to play. He wanted to fuck her for real. He wanted her to devour him. And helpfully, she'd pinned him in such a way that her crotch was precariously close to his face. That was bound to work out well.

"Well, what do you know?" he croaked out. "A take charge, I'm on top kind of girl...I think I'm in love." The words sang off his tongue. She needed to punch those eyebrows off his face, but it was all she could do to subdue him. Spike grabbed her hips and dragged them down his torso until they aligned with his.

"A little lower, a little more...yeah, right there." He thrust upward into the crotch of her jeans while his palms pressed firmly against her bottom to hold her in place. And then he said it.

"You like that, hmm?" His voice returned to its normal range as Buffy relaxed the chain. Her panties flooded with anticipation. His nose crinkled in a heady reply. "'Cause I sure like that."

"Don't," Buffy struggled in his grasp. This only enflamed the situation as her pelvis rocked against his. His husky voice buzzed in her ears.

"I won't bite you, Slayer. I do have some bloody control. I'm not a poxy fledgling, you know." He continued to grind against her and morphed. Buffy went for her stake and arched her torso backwards as she held it to his chest.

"Now, now...careful with that thing." He spoke in measured, slow smoky tones. "I think you've seen the big show, Goldilocks." His ridged-face grin widened with seductive glee. "I think you've fucked it." She stared, mesmerized by his flicking tongue. "I think the big show has made you come more times than you can bloody well count." Buffy's thudding heartbeat revealed the truth. Spike eased his grip and simply rocked her casually over his aching cock.

"Easy does it," his face changed back to its handsome human features. "I just want you to know that I have been paying attention. So don't get all spooked when I tell you that I want to feel it. What you said we had. I give you my word. No fangs. I just want you. I know you want me." His hands softly touched the curve of her hips, no longer holding her firmly or prompting any movement. Their bodies spoke at will, rubbing against each other without malice. Buffy's breath thickened in her throat.

"Spike--" She couldn't conceal her yearning. Her whole body screamed YES.

"Kiss me." At such close quarters Buffy had few options but she refused to look into his eyes. She knew full well that his irises would be all but obscured by the intensity of his desire. Instead, Buffy stared at those magnetic lips, wanting them. Wanting him. Just a kiss...one kiss. Wait a minute-- Who was this person? Shit. Dru's boy. Vampire. Unrepentant killing machine. Her head cleared instantly.

"Let go of me. Now." Spike didn't protest when Buffy pushed off of him and stood. She was at the door in a flash.

"You're getting sloppy."

"What?" Buffy snarled. Spike stood and scratched the side of his nose.

"Sloppy. You're dropping your shoulder." He made a motion with his shoulder.

"What are you talking about?"

"Keep your shoulders up, you know, like Jimmy Cagney?" Spike shrugged his shoulders a few times as if remembering something. "Bloody hell, where'd that come from?"

"You remember the Cagney thing?" Buffy gasped as her eyes widened. That was from over a year ago. Spike struggled to hold onto something that was already slipping away.

"Not remember. I just knew it. I knew it when we were tussling. Your shoulders were off." Buffy gulped an inhale of air and reddened. Was it too much to hope that something of their life was left behind? A grim frown spread across her lips. She couldn't go there. Hope was a foreign country.

"I really do need to go." She opened the door and left.

Spike sighed deeply as his hands automatically went to the front of his jeans. He opened his pants, spit into his palm and started stroking his demanding flesh.

"I think you were one lucky pup, mate." Spike looked down at his defiant erection. "Fuck," he whispered and closed his eyes. His fantasy was rudimentary: the Slayer on her knees, being very attentive and supremely skilled. His hand moved at a quickening pace. He groaned as he came, spilling out against the wall.

It gave him no release. What was that girl doing to him? He ejaculated imagining the pleasures of her body, not of her slaughter. It made him uneasy and that troubled him more. Vampires don't feel uneasy. They feel hungry. Spike's gut ached but it wasn't from hunger, at least not for blood. He wanted her. He wanted to drown in her. And he was still hard.

"I can see you're going to be a problem." Spike's hand moved again.

12.

Giles pinched the bridge of his nose again and sighed. He didn't share Buffy's apparent enthusiasm. "Yes, Buffy, I should think Spike would have already known who Jimmy Cagney was." Rupert Giles was a patient man, but frequently obtuse as well. This merited a pitying eye roll from Buffy.

"No Giles, the Cagney thing was something between me and Spike. We watched this old gangster movie and Cagney kept doing this shoulder thing. Spike copied it and then I did and then we started talking like him." She nodded and smiled, hoping for some sign that Giles would appreciate the significance of this momentous development. It was just a small detail from the past made all the more precious because Spike knew it. Or parts of it. Giles' skepticism wasn't going to bother her.

"Well, it was funny at the time." Buffy's voice trailed off at the memory of her gut aching from laughing with Spike. Spike seduced her with a mangled Cagney vocal imitation mixed with his mangled North London gutter twang. It was priceless. After the laughter subsided they fell onto the softness of their bed and made love. Now that memory was priceless.

Willow shifted uneasily in her seat at the table. Maybe Buffy was seeing something that just wasn't there. Willow knew from bitter experience that wishing didn't make things so. It had been many weeks and Spike hadn't given any sign of remembering anything from the Sunnydale years. Buffy noticed Willow's _expression.

"What? What's that face?" Buffy didn't expect uncertainty from Willow. A doubting Willow was a serious thing.

"No...there's no face." Willow shook her head in apology. She hadn't meant to give off any unwanted facial vibes. "I didn't say a thing."

"It's something, Will. I know it's something." Willow pressed her lips together and forced a smile and a nod. It wasn't that she doubted Buffy's instincts regarding Spike, it was just difficult see her friend hurting.

"I'm sure it is." Willow had a knack for well placed optimism.

Giles spoke up once more. "You said Spike's exact words were that he knew the Cagney thing, but had no conscious memory?" Giles pulsed his shoulders up and down, mimicking what he could remember of the established James Cagney gangster stance.

"That's what he said, and he did that too." Buffy unconsciously mimicked the shoulder motion. "Rolled his shoulders."

"Hmm..." Something triggered Giles. He stood from the table and walked across the shop to a tall bookcase.

"What's 'hmm'? Please say it's good." Buffy perched on the edge of her seat and stared at Giles.

"Something I read recently...not a chronicle..." His purposeful gaze swept back and forth across the spines. It wasn't a book but an article in a magazine. It's location in the basket by his desk hit Giles like a Eureka! moment. He hurried into his office and came out with an issue of the Journal of the American Medical Association.

"Here it is," Giles waved the issue and flipped through until he came upon an article. He set the magazine in front of Buffy and tapped the page with his index finger. She looked at the tiny printing and paragraph-like title.

"I can't take any more hairy maidens, Giles. Can you give me the basics?"

"This article concerns ongoing research into kinesthetic memory, muscle memory--"

"Hey, I've heard of that," Willow spoke up with interest. "Isn't that part of the research for reversing paralysis?"

"It has been used in that research, yes. This article is about the intelligence inherent in movement."

"How does that help Spike?"

Giles took a moment to scan the article and then began speaking. His theory took shape as the words fell from his lips. "If, in living tissue, neural pathways obstructed by, say a brain injury, can be bypassed and movement can be achieved by other means, perhaps there could be a useful corollary in necrotic tissue." Giles' face seized with concentration. Saying it out loud didn't sound that far fetched.

"At the risk of sounding completely blonde, huh?"

Willow spoke up as the sparks of intellectual inquiry began to flame. "Buffy, I think Giles is saying that maybe the demon didn't take everything. Spike may have some residual memories--"

"That could manifest during physical exertion and therefore bypass the damage caused by the Alchemist. In essence, bypass memory itself. Spike may have other sensory recognition triggers, for lack of a better word, that simply exist within him." Giles' face glowed with academic fervor. The more he pondered, the more it made sense. His voice whittled away to a thread. "Memory in the flesh." It was an extraordinary hypothesis worth investigating.

"Well, we were kind of moving before he said it." Buffy tried to be helpful.

"You were fighting?" The corner of Giles' mouth quirked. His theory might actually have two legs to stand on. It was a thrilling proposition. He grabbed a pen and spontaneously began to take notes. It was an old habit he couldn't shake.

"Kind of, but Spike wasn't really trying. He didn't even go game face or anything. I think he was testing me." Buffy stated the plain facts without feeling the need to embellish and reveal the rampant sexual innuendo portion of their encounter. That part was private and nobody's business. "So, you think if I beat him up he'll remember me?" That was a plan Buffy could get behind.

"Buffy," there was that glasses polishing tone again. Calm down and be patient. As always, it was accompanied by Giles' tightly pursed lips. Restraint, Buffy, restraint. He couldn't be more cliched if he tried. She half expected him to waggle a finger at her in fatherly condescension.

"We need to proceed cautiously here. This theory may have some merit, perhaps not. What we do know is that the vampire in that room is bent on killing you." Obviously, Giles hadn't listened in on her last encounter with Spike. Giles really relished those dire predictions, there hadn't been much of those lately. Buffy wasn't so certain. She saw Spike's eyes. They weren't the eyes of a killer anymore.

"Gee, Giles. Melodramatic much?" She stood and stretched. "I'm bringing some of his stuff in tomorrow."

"He's not the same as he was, Buffy. Anything you bring him could be used as a weapon against you."

"I don't care. I'm tired of treating him like a prisoner."

"Not a prisoner, Buffy. It's more like he's quarantined." Willow nodded with a smile, pleased with her more positive spin.

Buffy stood and started packing up her things. She felt a little more hopeful than when she came in earlier. Giles stood with his hands on his hips.

"Buffy, please," he continued. "Don't make the mistake of thinking that your Spike is lurking somewhere in that creature just because he knew some minuscule detail from your past." Buffy had just about given up on a fantasy 'popping out of the cake' moment with Spike returned to his normal self amid kisses, confetti and champagne. One thing remained clear, her Spike was that Spike once. The lines of distinction were swiftly disappearing. No matter what Giles said, this Spike was Spike and she still loved him.

"He's not that different, really." Her voice quieted. Giles sighed, tired of her girlish fantasies. She needed to be told the truth, however difficult it was to hear.

"I see no lessening in his motivation to kill you and now that he knows of Drusilla's death that aim has most likely been increased. Buffy, the Spike we knew was a mixture of experience tempered by time and emotion: Drusilla's leaving, the chip, the love he came to feel for you, and his soul. It was a gradual transformation and that path has been obliterated."

Tears of frustration filled her eyes. "I miss him. I want him. I even want that--" Buffy's throat heaved at the disclosure.

"Buffy--" Willow spoke first but Giles interrupted her.

"This version doesn't love you." His harsh words cut into Buffy's mind.

"God, Giles. Way to be helpful." Willow grimaced. Giles remained unmoved.

"It's the truth and Buffy has to face it. He may not have his soul anymore, either."

"Then I'll ask him!" Buffy's defiance shone through.

"We must proceed in a detached and neutral manner and not stir him up. In any way." Giles glared at Buffy. "In ANY way, Buffy." She'd heard enough. Spike wasn't some lab rat and Giles' predictions of doom were really starting to piss her off.

"I'm going to bring his stuff and get him a real bed; then I'll tell him about the Initiative, the government chip, the First's trigger and...oh yeah, how he went to the ends of the earth to get a soul because I didn't want the Spike version 3.0 that's sitting in that box back there!" She sounded bitter and defeated. Buffy closed her eyes to the pain. "He's a hero, Giles, a champion. He--"

"That's all gone now."

"NO! No, it's not gone. He did it. Spike did those things and nothing can take that away. Drusilla doesn't win. Not this. Not Spike. She doesn't get to take him away from me. I can't fail him. I have to do everything I can Giles, everything. He'd never quit if this situation was reversed. Never." Buffy sounded resolute, but uncertainty lingered just beneath the surface.

Giles removed his glasses and slowly polished them. His voice remained calm. "Please, do not even consider intimate activities with him. You love the Spike you shared a life with, a home. That vampire in there may look and sound and feel just the same, but he's not. He doesn't hold you in any regard except as another tally on his kill column." Buffy's lower lip began to tremble. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. Giles' voice softened further.

"I know you, Buffy. Don't give that creature the opportunity to destroy you." He didn't mean her death, although that wasn't out of the picture. A cunning, evil Spike could shatter Buffy if he chose to. "I couldn't stand to see you in that kind of pain, caused by someone your heart tells you is yours." Giles meant well, but she'd already been there and done that. She knew full well that slayer healing never extended to matters of the heart.

Angel and her father had taught her those lessons long ago.

"Please don't be rash." It was a heartfelt plea from someone who loved her.

In an effort to end the tension for the night, Willow spoke up. "I can give you a ride if you're ready, Buffy." Willow swung her laptop case over her shoulder. With a nod Buffy gathered her belongings and put on her coat. Giles started closing up the shop.

Outside, Willow unlocked her Honda and the girls climbed in. "Are you hungry? What about some drive-thru? You can come to my place and we'll watch a movie just like old times. What do you say?"

"Thanks, but no. I need to think about some things. Sorry, Will. You've been great about this and I've been a basket case."

"It's okay, Buffy. I know how important this is to you." That was the truth. The two friends had their ups and downs over the years. Soon further coven studies would take Willow away to England once more. They were both grateful for any time they had together. The two friends embraced in the cramped space of the compact car.

"It's the only thing, Will." Buffy's voice broke and the tears fell once more.

13.

Buffy sat in her bedroom filling two cardboard boxes she found in the basement. She put in Spike's favorite books, CDs and his CD player. A few other items she thought he might like found their way into the boxes. The duster? Buffy stared at it, folded haphazardly beside their bed. No. She wasn't finished with it yet.

The following evening Spike waited anxiously for her return. He wanted to pick up where they'd left off. Wrangling with her was a bit of all right. It took away the uncertainty he felt and gave him something to look forward to. One look at the box of goodies in her arms, however, and those thoughts receded to the back of his mind. What was all this stuff? He looked on with amusement as Buffy brought in two boxes and set them down. A quick glimpse of the contents revealed some familiar book and CD titles. She left for a moment and then returned, dragging in the cot.

Giles vetoed cigarettes and a television. They could be used as possible weapons and were also fire hazards. Buffy chose not to argue the point.

Soon curiosity got the better of him. Spike pulled out a flat box of chocolate covered cherries from one of the boxes. He flashed her a quick glance and then ripped open the box, greedily sampling a confection. Sickly sweet syrup drizzled over his tongue as a gasp of something close to ecstasy escaped his throat.

"You've got a lot to learn about torture, little girl," Spike slowly licked the syrup from his lips. "This is positively homey."

It made a cozy enough setting. Spike draped himself on the cot and stuck an _expression of coy invitation on his face while sucking suggestively on another chocolate cherry bomb. It was fun pushing the Slayer's buttons, and what luscious buttons they were. Buffy paced for a moment and then sat down, determined to tell Spike something of the past that had been taken. Indecision hit Buffy like a fist. Before she realized the implications she launched into an explanation of the Initiative. In the absence of something to stake or squish, Buffy wasn't the best at thinking on her feet.

Needless to say, the details of that narrative met with an incredulous response from the cot. As Buffy spoke, each successive, dispassionate detail prompted a series of sputtering and agitated sound effects. Even the decadent delights of chocolate did nothing to sweeten the tale she revealed to him. Finally he interrupted.

"This is too ridiculous to believe. Hollywood wouldn't even go for a plot like that. You're telling me I had a fucking government issue chip in my brain for almost four years? Couldn't hunt? Couldn't bite? Those Initiative fucks made me a bloody eunuch?!" Buffy blushed slightly at that remark.

The prospect of finding out a past he did not recall, nor particularly want, filled Spike with dread. It didn't sound like he'd been much of a vampire in Sunnydale. Unable to hunt? How did he manage to survive? Was it by taking table scraps from this girl's fingers?

The idea of being helpless filled him with a sense of nauseating repulsion. A vampire was the hunt, the kill, a shadow in the night. A predator. Not this thing she was describing, something neutered and made weak. He'd become a demonic Blanche DuBois, relying on the kindness of strangers. It was enough to make him sick. A sudden overwhelming feeling of insecurity threatened to engulf him. He discarded the chocolates.

"Oh, I get it," he began, the truth of her words solidifying before him. "It was some kind of sympathy for the neutered vampire. All it took was snip-snip," Spike pantomimed the action with his fingers, "and you zeroed in on some pity sex? That's great, that's fucking great." Table scraps and pity sex, that was what William the Bloody had been reduced to. Good thing the memory had been removed, Spike didn't want it. He didn't want any of it.

"No. It wasn't like that. We didn't-- Not until later." Okay, maybe she should have started somewhere else. Explaining the whole chip thing was a bad beginning. Buffy cut to the chase. "Something altered the chip's response. It stopped working on me. That's when we first--"

"It stopped working on you?" Spike blinked as those words sunk in. A glimmer of light faded fast. "You're telling me that I could have killed you -- the Slayer -- with no brain shattering pain and I didn't? Jesus, tell me I tried at least. Slayer?!"

Buffy shrugged. "We fought but you had a different agenda. We both did. You wanted something else..."

Something else. Was that what was resonating deep inside him? The ache that came and went?

The sound of her voice lulled him as she continued. It soon dawned on Spike that his gut did not ache. In fact, it rarely ached when she was in the room. It was as if the ache was her absence, her essence inside him. He knew that he should feel far more disturbed about that possibility than he actually did. Spike couldn't remember the last time he'd been genuinely disturbed.

He was a vampire. He knew his lot, his place, and his ultimate fate. He was the other. An alien entity to this deliciously warm and fleshy girl in his midst. He should be thinking about draining her body and feeling her strength flow down his gullet warming him, making him whole and powerful, feared and fearless.

Making him king again.

Instead, his mind swam uncontrollably with thoughts of pleasuring her. Licking and sucking, thrusting and tasting. Having that sweet flesh beneath him or above him because he knew she was already inside him. In his gut, his throat, his dreams. It was a powerful sensation and it made him feel powerful. His tongue thrummed at the possibility of licking her neck.

He hadn't even thought of draining her since she'd brought him the pails of water and fresh clothes. That's when he saw her trying to suppress her desire for him.

Her desire. For him. Spike knew she wasn't faking that.

The memory of her scent hit him like an eighteen wheeler. There was the furtive little eye maneuver as well. It was almost shyness; but Spike knew slayers, she was like him, a killer. Shyness had no part of that equation, and yet, she had shown him shy eyes burning for him.

Thoughts of Drusilla also ambled through his mind. Mostly, Spike recalled her betrayals. How she had made him a cuckold time and time again. It was beneath a vampire to feel such things but that was how he felt. Angelus told him almost from their first acquaintance that Drusilla would never be his. She followed her pleasure and Angelus. Spike rebelled from day one against propriety and expectation; but first and foremost, against Angelus.

Spike followed the girl. Spike followed the love. Spike followed the pain.

He needed a pack of smokes, he could use a stiff drink, and he wanted to wrap himself around this slayer and shag her for a week straight for starters. The delicious perversion of that desire hardened him to distraction. He licked his lips absently. Vampire candy, that's what this girl was. She'd taste so sweet. The scent of some fruity gloss she'd shined her lips with made him tingle. His cock practically stood at attention in his jeans.

Buffy continued talking, oblivious to the fact that he'd stopped listening to her. Spike sat in silence looking at her shiny tempting lips while he brushed his thumb over his lower lip. A few brief pauses led to longer ones. Maybe she'd told him too much. It was a complicated tale after all. Buffy licked her lips nervously.

A kaleidoscope of sexual fantasies churned through Spike's mind. He lost his chance. He should have had her back against the wall, stripped and squawking in sweet release. His mind stuck on that scenario as he stared through her, held tight by his own imaginings. Any self-respecting vampire would have pounded her senseless and drained her by now, or at least attempted something like that. He didn't want to jump on her like a rutting, rabid dog. He wanted-- Spike's mind staggered to a halt. What kind of vampire was he anyway?

From his perspective it had been a long time since his last sexual experience. It was with Drusilla and he wouldn't have classified it as a particularly helpful scenario. He'd agreed to play Big Bad Daddy and Naughty Baby Dru. She'd enjoyed herself but it had left him feeling sour and sullen. Ghosts of Angelus always turned his stomach. It had only been Drusilla since those paisley painted chicks at Woodstock and that was a lifetime ago. Besides, there had been some serious narcotic assistance in that case. His memory of that allegedly groovy episode was vague at best.

Human and a slayer? He wouldn't last ten seconds with the erections he'd been having just thinking about her.

Buffy stood at the door with a look of concern on her face. Spike snapped to attention when he realized he was growling. Shit.

"I'll just go then and let you absorb what I've said so far..." That wouldn't take long. He hadn't paid close attention to her speech beyond the highlights. Shit, he was doing it again. "...over your stuff. There's more at the house. Anything you want, I can bring it." She paused at the door.

"Slayer...you sure they took out all of that chip?"

"Yes. I saw the procedure. It was completely removed. Why do you ask?"

"I think maybe they slipped something else in me 'cause there's something in my gut. I can't really explain it, but I feel it." His palm circled under his ribcage. "I haven't the foggiest idea what it is."

His soul.

Buffy's eyes squeezed shut. Pain and joy and fear jostled within her. No words, only a trembling smile.

It had to be his soul.

"OI!" Spike jumped to his feet with alarm. "What the fuck is it? And don't give me some line. You're a poor liar, Slayer. That much I do know."

Buffy attempted to speak, but her throat was empty. The anxiety level in the room rose higher.

"TELL ME!" he yelled and clenched his fists.

"That's your soul."

Spike exploded, kicking one of the boxes across the room. "GET OUT! OUT! YOU FUCKING BITCH! OUT!" In a flash he yanked open the door, pushed her through the barrier, and slammed it shut. Buffy leaned against the outside of the door and despite the raging sounds she heard coming from the cell, she couldn't help but smile.

His soul.

Spike paced and ranted, too incoherent with rage to think clearly. "FUCKING BITCH...FUCKING CURSED ME...FUCKING SLAYER...FUCK!" He slammed his foot into the wall only once. The sharp crack of snapping bones ended that kind of demonstration. He howled and winced. This is what he knew, what he was, at least pain was understandable. Black and white. Straightforward. It calmed him somewhat and forced him to sit.

A soul? How could that be?

A soul was a curse, a punishment. What the gypsies saddled Angelus with. A soul meant he'd never be accepted among demons again. He'd be tainted, a pariah among his own kind.

Fuck, he'd be Angelus.

How the bloody hell did this slayer infect him with a soul? Even as his mind waged the battle, a now familiar thrum gentled him from within. He wasn't prepared for that now familiar sensation to soothe him. He needed to roar and rip it from his gut, from his chest. The more his consciousness railed against what he considered an alien invasion, the stronger he felt its presence within him.

William had a soul. William cared. William fretted. William poured out his flimsy soul into couplets and quatrains and iambic precision. It didn't make sense. The gypsies made Angelus weak. They made him grovel. If he had a soul, why didn't Spike feel that way?

He didn't feel cursed or anything remotely punitive. Further, he hadn't felt even the slightest compulsion for verse. At least that was a bright spot. If this was supposed to be torture, then somebody got his wires crossed. It wasn't a bad feeling at all. It felt vibrant and vigorous. No, he felt vibrant and vigorous, like he was part of something bigger than he was.

How could that be? Curses were meant to destroy but this felt like the warmth and richness of blood on his tongue that made him feel something other than dead. That's what this weird continuous sensation was: other than dead. The specter of that knowledge was more frightening than anything he'd faced in the past.

Eventually, he focused on one of the boxes she'd brought in. He'd kicked it on its side earlier, spilling its contents with a clatter. Now in a calmer frame of mind he saw the CDs that had tumbled from its depths. He reached out and pulled it closer. It was filled with his music. He looked upon his beloved friends: Sex Pistols, The Clash, Television, Lou Reed, The Ramones, The Velvet Underground, The Who, and Alvin Lee and Ten Years After, his only clear musical memory of Woodstock. The titles went on: Patti Smith, Cream, Tom Waits, Chet Baker, German Cabaret music from the thirties, early jazz recordings and nineteenth century British troubadour songs. It was nothing less than a selection of everything he'd ever liked. Even the guilty pleasures were there, things a modern punk wouldn't be caught dead knowing about, let alone owning.

This was what the Slayer brought him, the soundtrack of his existence.

The sensation in his gut throbbed, permeating his entire being. Spike gasped in exhausted confusion. He grabbed The Ramones, put the disc into the player and the earpieces in his ears, then he cranked "I Wanna Be Sedated". True enough. Spike pressed the repeat button and flopped back on the cot. A while later he switched to "Anarchy in the UK". Eventually, he fell asleep with Lou Reed's "Berlin" echoing in his ears.

14.

Unable to contain her excitement, Buffy ran over to Giles' apartment, eager to share the good news. He awoke abruptly from a perfectly exquisite erotic dream featuring a luscious strawberry blond reciting Whitesnake lyrics while covered in ready to spread frosting. There seemed to be bison stampeding through his home. A sour frown and cursory check of the alarm clock eerily glowing 3:56 a.m. were the next steps in his rise and shine regimen. Giles forced himself to the front door and opened it before Buffy pounded a hole through the solid oak. He looked groggy and disheveled and had pillow wrinkles imprinted on his cheek. He wanted Buffy to go to her own house and call at a respectful hour. Further, he wanted his music video fantasy girl complete with unhealthy glazed topping back. Neither seemed likely.

Buffy stood before him bristling with excitement. Giles stood half awake and repositioned his glasses on his nose. It was far too early for any kind of energetic display. Yawning was his preferred method of communication. Unfortunately for Giles, Buffy launched into a breathless speech that she obviously wanted him to pay attention to. She immediately informed Giles that Spike was in possession of his soul. She was sure of it. She squeaked and grinned and bubbled over with glee.

It was all a little too much for such an early hour. Giles managed to reach a chair in his living room and sat down. He said little in response while Buffy outlined the basics of the evening's events. He sat sleepy-eyed, in his tartan pajamas, wrapped in an old bath robe that had seen better days.

"Buffy..." All Giles could manage was a sigh. A deep and weary sigh. He knew Buffy so well and he knew that above all she would grasp even the thinnest threads as a sign that Spike was going to be himself again, that he was going to be hers again.

"Don't give me Giles face. It's going to be okay. I can read Spike. He knows he has a soul. I know this. I can tell by the look on his face."

"The soul drove him mad once." Buffy was ready for Giles' requisite nay saying. Her brain had cart wheeled through any number of scenarios. The mania she felt was invigorating and immune to Giles' big bag of negativity.

"Okay, that's true; but to be fair, that was the First more than the soul and besides, he was extra vulnerable then."

"And he's not vulnerable now? Buffy, need I remind you a demon has plowed through his brain leaving who knows what other damage?"

"I'm feeling optimistic, Giles. Let me feel optimistic. It's going to work out. He'll come home and--"

Giles snapped to attention at that line. "Hang on! He's not ready for that. None of us are ready for that. Research has--"

"Not been very helpful, has it?" Buffy folded her arms in exclamation. Giles looked at her with resignation in his eyes. He couldn't deny that research had not been exceptionally helpful in this matter.

"It's gonna happen Giles, Spike is going to come home. I can feel it. I know him."

"We cannot control the variables outside of that room, Buffy. He's a vampire. He'll want to hunt, to feed. What of those instincts?"

"I'll help him meet those needs without putting anyone at risk."

"Anyone else at risk, you mean."

"He won't hurt me." Giles knew she had a reckless streak. He did not know whether her continuing faith was well founded or wishful thinking. "I made promises to him, Giles, you know that. You were there. Maybe the words weren't exactly 'for better or worse', not to mention legal, but I meant it then and I mean it now."

"I'm not saying it's beyond the realm of possibilities Buffy." Giles knew enough about Spike to appreciate that his actions could not be predicted with any measure of statistical reliability. "I suppose Spike could very well choose you again. He was a surprising fellow." That amounted to actual praise from Giles. It was yet another hopeful sign. Buffy smiled and hugged him tightly and then she left him standing on his parquet floor as she breezed back out the door with a wave and a smile.

Giles sounded hopeful. He said it was possible. Buffy skipped home through the well lit streets. Once inside, she scampered up the stairs and began brushing her teeth. Unrestrained optimism lasted a further seven glorious minutes. While Buffy brushed the length of her hair a few doubts elbowed their way into her mind.

She'd been here before. After the chip had been removed, Buffy was sure the soul would curb Spike's behavior. She was certain he could be a good man by virtue of his soul alone. That he would. For himself. For her. Was this different? Would he now choose something different? Would his soul be a new and terrifying weapon? The shells of soul filled humans littered human history; maniacal dictators, serial killers and criminal opportunists proved a soul was no passport to goodness.

Maybe possession of a soul alone wasn't the entire equation. Buffy was most comfortable with absolutes, that had always been her currency, but Spike broke that rigid way of thinking. He made her see something else. He had been both a soulless demon who did good deeds and an ensouled demon who acted as a mindless killing machine. Clearly there were few absolutes where Spike was concerned.

All Buffy knew for certain was that she loved him and couldn't lose him. She would not lose him. But to keep him in a box separated from the world? How was that a good thing? Was he only a shrine in her mind and heart? The whispers in her dreams?

Buffy shook her mind free and clear of those questions. They didn't need to be answered today. Today she felt fresh and clean. Today she believed Spike's soul was whole and full and hers.

Again sleep proved elusive. She wanted Spike so badly her skin hurt. In an attempt to calm herself, Buffy revisited the past few weeks in her memory. She'd almost forgotten how fun it was to fight with Spike. It had been years since she'd screeched at him in rage. That was a kick. He exasperated her and excited her. As if on cue, Spike came into her mind in the sweet darkness of their bedroom. The memory of his voice vibrated her toes.

"I think somebody wants to play. Does kitty need a scratching post?"

"You fuck like you fight?"

"Did you every way from Sunday."

"Bet you come like a steam whistle."

"I want to taste you."

Whatever the incarnation, she wanted him. Soon her breath thickened in her throat. How inadequate her own fingers seemed. They failed to match his unique skills. As she arched off the bed her mind churned. She saw his narrowed icy eyes and hawk like countenance and climaxed hard, jerking through one prolonged orgasm.

"Spike..." Tears streamed down her cheeks. Still she had no relief. The pain returned as her desperate arms stretched across the empty expanse of their bed. There was no rest that night. Buffy tossed and turned, a helpless witness to her own loneliness. The sun rose high in the sky before sleep came and took the worry from her mind.

Later in the day, Giles delivered Spike's blood. As he was expecting Buffy at the door, Spike was not pleased to see the Watcher instead.

"You tell that girl of yours to come back in here and do some bloody explaining." Spike threatened the air with a savage finger thrust. It was all he could do to affect a threatening posture. He wasn't sleeping well either.

"I, uh, understand there's been some developments." Giles stood outside the open door, protected by the barrier Willow put up.

"Bloody right there's been developments." Spike complained bitterly while he paced. "She thinks she can lay that bomb blast on me and run away? She's got another thing coming! You tell her to get her arse back in here. You're the Watcher, you have her number. Go start dialing."

Giles tossed Spike a bag of blood and began to close the door.

"Watcher." Spike's practiced arrogance dissolved completely away. "You got a bottle of something tucked away? Anything? I've got a bit of a thirst." Giles paused in thought. He'd probably regret it, but he did have a little something in the back of his filing cabinet. At that moment Spike looked completely bewildered, not angry or bent on revenge, but completely out of sorts. At sea. Giles' reply was almost inaudible.

"I'll see what I can find."

Spike stretched out on the cot, morphed and pierced the blood bag. It was her blood again. He hardened painfully and opened his jeans. He didn't want it to mean anything. It was just blood stirring him up like it always did. Buggering slayer blood. Spike returned to an old reliable fantasy: Drusilla in satin and chains. It was a favorite that had worked for decades. Soon frustration gripped his face. Nothing. As if on cue, Dru's face melted into the Slayer's. At this point he wasn't going to argue.

A scene swiftly configured in his mind's eye: glowing candlelight, handcuffs, the slayer on top, and a pouty look of erotic purpose on her face. Definitely working. It was an elastic little fantasy. First she was on top and then he had her handcuffed to a bedpost. He could hear her cries of passion, begging him to do wicked things to her. Jesus, that was sweet. Who was he kidding? We wanted her. Her blood, her body. His hand accelerated and as he came he could have sworn he heard her whisper his name.

It was only then that his attention wandered to the bag of blood. A few final slurps and it was empty. Something was off; he didn't taste her sorrow this time. There was another flavor present. It was unusual and try as he might, Spike couldn't place it.

Differentiating subtle flavors in blood was never his forte. Angelus was more that kind of connoisseur. Paralyzing fear was always so heavy in the cocktail there was never an impulse to discriminate subtleties. Besides, Spike was not one to play with his food. It was a holdover from his human days.

It dawned on him then that he'd never tasted fear in the Slayer's blood. He'd been missing out. Without the fear chaser, the blood was incredibly decadent, like liquid rubies. Spike was a knowledgeable vampire but that revelation gave him pause. Her blood tasted thickly sweet, full of light and strength. It filled his dark recesses. Maybe the difference was that this blood was an offering. He didn't take it, but rather she gave it freely.

The question turned over and over in his mind. What was that elusive flavor? He couldn't place it. No wonder, vampires don't get much experience with hope.

Hope.

Buffy had hope coursing through her veins.

15.

The hour was late when Buffy closed up the Magic Box. Giles was busy with a conference call to England so she thought she'd be a help. Just because she didn't get a retail paycheck didn't mean she'd forgotten the closing up procedures. Locking the cash drawer and turning off a few lights was far more civilized than the lard maintenance routine she once mastered at the Double Meat Palace. After his phone call, Giles bid her a good night and left.

As soon as she entered the room Spike was on her. He pinned her back to the wall and slammed his mouth against hers. Caught off guard, Buffy scrambled for a shoulder grip and pushed him away. Her lips buzzed with the unmistakable taste of alcohol.

"What's going on here? Giles...gave you booze?" She couldn't believe it.

Spike looked loose and relaxed, ready for anything. "Yeah, good lad your Watcher. Figure he felt sorry for the monkey in the cage." Again he pounced. His mouth swamped hers, making his demands clear. Buffy pushed harder this time and they parted with a loud smack.

"You're drunk."

"Not hardly," Spike licked the corner of his mouth and grinned. "I'd need about a case of that swill for drunk, but I am feeling good for a change, figure I could do you the favor. Fancy a bit of rough and tumble? Get the juices flowing?" His eyes glazed over with urgent desire. Buffy cleared her throat and gripped her stake.

"Spike, this isn't--"

"Bloody hell," Spike frowned sourly and stepped back. He ripped off his t-shirt, flung the fabric aside and opened his arms wide. "Right here, pet," he jabbed his sternum with his index finger. "Pointy end first. Stake me or toss it. I'm tired of being in your fish bowl and I don't bloody care anymore." He stepped toward her with sexual menace. "I'm not big on patience and if I hear another tale of gallant Spike, the helpful vampire, I may just vomit. This is what I am Slayer, just what you see. I know it's my evil duty and all to plot your timely demise, pick my teeth with your bones and all that rot, but the thing of it is, my mind's been clogged up with--"

Too much damn talking. Rational thought no longer held sway; instinct shouldered it aside as Buffy's body took over. She flung herself at him, cutting off the rest of his sentence. He caught her and pressed her up against the door. Their kiss was stunningly animal, mouths wide and devouring. Buffy hadn't kissed him with that level of frustrated aggression in years, not since the walls tumbled down. They held each other in strengthening grips, not wanting the other to move away. It was pure desperation cutting through loneliness and fear on both sides.

Buffy gripped the stake until her fingernails pierced the wooden surface and then she tossed it across the room. It deflected off a wall and skittered to a tinkling stop.

Her fingers felt like flames on his skin. She pulled herself up his body and wrapped her legs about his thighs. The room filled with his continuous snarl as he thrust between her thighs.

A natural break in the kissing allowed Buffy a few deep breaths. A dazed smile spread across her mouth as she traced his lower lip with a fingertip. Her tongue followed close behind and then her teeth. Capturing his lip between her teeth she bit teasingly into his flesh. His eyes bulged in response accompanied by an iron grip on her hips. Within seconds an uncontrolled pelvic convulsion slammed into her and then Spike broke away.

"Fuck! You fucking pillock!" He stared at his groin with frustration.

"What? What?" Emerging from her own dazed state, Buffy assessed the situation: agitated, cursing Spike and no more smoochies. Trouble in River City. She stared at his crotch and things fell into place. He'd come in his pants. Okay, not the end of the world. He misinterpreted her expression.

"Yeah right, nice," annoyance pervaded his voice. "Glad I could amuse you, Slayer. Take a bloody snapshot for your scrapbook. FUCK! I'm not bloody well fourteen." His jaw tightened.

"Calm down."

"You fucking calm down!"

"It doesn't matter. It's not like this is the first--"

"WHAT?!" Perhaps that wasn't the wisest tidbit to share. Hazard flashers on. Proceed with caution.

"It just...happened once before, that's all. No big thing."

"Yeah, you can talk..." His scowl intensified. Vampire cockiness and overcompensation had failed him at an inopportune moment.

For months before Prague, Drusilla had been more physically fragile than usual. She'd been too ill, for him anyway, but not too ill to torture and maim. As a result, they hadn't been sexually intimate for close to a year. They had barely escaped Prague and her health plummeted dangerously in the aftermath. Even though Buffy knew the truth, Spike's brain told him he hadn't had sex in a long, long time. She knew his moods and what was coming. He was primed for a sulk.

Buffy thought quickly. She didn't want him to disappear into self-pity or refocus his anger at her. She spoke up casually.

"Well, you still want to fuck or what? Because I've got things to--" With that Spike was on her again, hungry and insistent. Another kiss, this time a full facial onslaught. He held her torso in an iron grip. She returned his passion with equal force and then surfaced to meet two golden eyes. Spike was unaware of the shift.

"Sp...ike," Buffy squirmed in his unyielding embrace.

"What?" She brought her palms to his cheeks and caressed over the muscular ridges. Her breath caught in her throat. The air scented with her arousal and her apprehension.

"Feel like biting today?" She tried for indifference but it wasn't convincing. Anticipation alone had her close to orgasm.

"Always," he smiled and nuzzled her closely. There was desire in his hooded eyes but for what she couldn't be sure. Buffy took her apprehension in a strangle hold. Anything approaching fear would be an unwelcome addition to her current situation.

"Spike," she could hardly hear herself over the clanging slayer alarm in her head.

"Already told you, Slayer. I want to fuck you, not kill you, and you can bloody well quote me on that." His raw sultry growl settled well south of her rational brain. Their eyes locked as mutual need flowed between them. A flurry of movement followed. Limbs scrambled akimbo as they tried to shed their clothes without having to stop touching.

"Ever heard of a skirt, pet?" His current spate of fantasies always seemed to feature the Slayer in a ridiculously short skirt. Shit, she should have worn a skirt. Spike dropped to his knees as his frantic fingers and fangs tried without much success to unclasp her bra. She came to the rescue. Next came the boots and then her pants, skinned off her legs. Spike had to admit that tight pants weren't half bad either. Then he was nipping at her crotch, chewing off her tiny panties.

Spike roared to his feet, kicked off his boots and shoved his jeans down past his knees and off his feet. Soon Buffy was climbing again and Spike was lifting her with one hand and guiding his solid length with the other. He couldn't bother with foreplay as his need was too great. He simply stabbed into her with a snarl of torturous lust.

Shaking with desire, Buffy bit her lip. She was beyond ready for him. Her inner passage was overly swollen and convulsing. It was nearly impassable. Spike hissed at the resistance of her choking molten flesh and savagely thrust into her tight muscular channel. On the fourth push he reached full penetration. Buffy shook with a confined orgasm that was more a release of tension than a reflection of true sexual pleasure.

"Fuck!" Spike grit his teeth and tried to steady his footing. A gush of fiery lubrication eased their joining. It was already better than he had imagined. Easing his hips back and forth slowly, Spike began to move, sinking into the glorious cauldron of her depths. After the first orgasm, Buffy adjusted quickly. Her body had not forgotten his touch or his dimensions. She squeezed automatically around his breadth.

"Tight little pussy you got there, pet," he whispered in her ear with a devilish grin and a deep thrust for emphasis. Buffy repositioned her arms over his shoulders, holding herself up against him.

"And what are you going to do about it?"

"I plan on loosening you up, Slayer..." His thrusts punctuated his speech. "Make you slick and easy...I'm gonna fuck you...until you beg me to stop...until you can't come anymore..."

"Oh yeah?" she goaded mindlessly, gazing into yellow eyes made murky by his increasing desire.

"And you're gonna come for me," he continued, his voice scraping over the lust in his throat. "You're gonna drown me in your come." With that declaration he began to move in deep, spearing thrusts.

Buffy's lungs began to spasm as she fought for each breath. "Yes," she mewled and held a death grip on his neck.

The demon fled from his face as he kissed her. There was a sinuous passion on his lips instead of the destructive fire of mere minutes before. Spike pressed into her and with each stroke a sound surfaced from the depths of Buffy's throat. Soon another orgasm rolled through her. The drift of his hips alone set her off. Gasping airy sighs of surrender and release punctuated the room.

The rhythm of that melody ended when he suddenly pulled out of her and set her on her feet. Confusion colored Buffy's face for a moment before he turned her to the wall. She caught his eye and smirked. She knew what he liked. A rush of new sensation flooded him. Spike wanted her every way he could imagine.

Buffy had just enough time to reach for the wall and arch up on her tiptoes and he was inside her again, pounding with renewed abandon. She stayed with him through each bruising stroke. It was a sensation unequalled in his experience, a rapture of previously unknown proportions. Spike floated on her scent as it intensified. Her arousal was a heady steam and he knew he was already drunk on it.

Buried to the hilt in her body, Spike seized upon one thought. Maybe he had enjoyed being tamed by this one. Perhaps he'd even pursued it. All he knew was that he wanted this sensation to continue. Spike wrapped his arms around her torso and held her tightly against him. The sound of their mingling flesh squelched a steady beat.

"You always this wet?"

"Mmmh." Buffy moaned, drifting somewhere beyond the sea.

"I like it. I like how it sounds, how it feels." Spike slid his fingers around her hip and found her clitoris. Buffy gasped in reaction to his fingertip snare. "Bet I know what you like, too...this." His fingers knew exactly what to do. It wasn't chance or something left over from Drusilla. No, Buffy liked it like this. With each stroke of his fingers the certainty solidified. This is what made Buffy come like thunder and the rain.

Spike lifted her until she was no longer touching the floor, but held in his embrace as he zeroed in on her pleasure with his fingers and hips. Buffy's forearms provided some added leverage against the wall as she pushed back to counter his driving force. Her orgasm rumbled like a tiger stalking prey, hovering in wait and then the sudden pounce of adrenalin and desire and clarity captured.

With a blast of effort from his throat Spike collapsed into the wall, bracing a forearm for needed support. Buffy threw her head back against his shoulder. Lungs desperate for air complained through a crescendo of shivering breaths. She hooked her arm around Spike's head, pulling him nearer. Something rumbled through Spike that was both familiar and alien: a sound, a vibration, a horrible pause pushing him beyond the brink. Their mutual need synchronized as Buffy barely whispered.

"Yes..."

The demon sank his fangs.

Then there was no floor, no walls, no past, no future...nothing but the here, the now. The truth in liquid form. Buffy howled and jerked in convulsive spasms but she did not struggle to free herself. This was a surrender she embraced completely, a gift for him alone.

The pull of his lips took her down, down, down into the shadow lands, into the quiet lands. Spike's hips surged onward, embracing his release with a savage howl of declaration, its meaning unmistakable. Mine. Only mine. The sensation in his belly swelled to monumental proportions, filling all the dark corners of his being.

Mine, all mine.

Buffy slumped in his arms and lost consciousness. Her immobility caught his attention. An internal dictate made its demands known and Spike stopped and removed his fangs from her. A sudden wave of exhaustion swept over him and he slid helplessly to the floor, taking Buffy with him.

Welcome darkness opened its arms and embraced him. Spike's mind filled with the swirling torrent of half remembered words and grainy, scorched images like fragments found in the aftermath of a fire. Ghosts from a past torn away drifted in an indifferent parade past him. He saw smiles, glinting eyes, fists flying, angry expressions and the curve of flesh intertwined. Snapshots only, they were but brief flashes of faded light.

Spike opened his eyes and gathered Buffy into his arms. A quick check reassured him that she was still breathing. Nuzzling her tenderly, he licked the blood and serum oozing from the puncture wounds. Buffy roused briefly and pulled herself up to his lips. She kissed him with reverent affection, soft and sleepy.

"Mmm," she offered a drowsy grin. "I always know how to shut you up." Buffy snuggled closely, her head to his chest.

A few seconds went by before Spike was clear enough to try for words. "What...the bloody fuck...was that?" It wasn't hearts and roses, but it was pure Spike.

"That was us, Spike. Get used to it." Now that was something Spike would have very little trouble doing. It was an arousing proposition. His cock stood at attention ready for more. Spike snarled softly and gazed into Buffy's relaxed face. Rhythmic buzzing noises exited her nose with adorable regularity.

She lay fast asleep in his arms.

16.

That was us.

Buffy's declaration echoed in Spike's mind. Minutes dragged on and still she lay asleep in his arms, soft and vulnerable. Spike could see it now, as her pliant body lay before him. The demon's appearance, manner and demands did not alarm her in the least. In fact, she was fueled by it. She wanted that. She really wanted him. It was a stunning realization.

He'd had plenty of women before, fucked and drained them with relish and glee, but none of them had ever wanted him as deep as his cock and fangs could go. Never before had a warm body taken the force of his desire and responded with a kiss, a sigh and that soft, persistent nasal buzz.

Humans were food, end of story. A little animated crying was like cherries in the sweet sauce. A boisterous fuck got the kinks out, but Spike never toyed as Angelus had. He never twisted a mind until it broke and then drained the pitiable shell remaining before moving on to the main course of serial atrocity. Those acts of sadism never interested Spike.

Spike's experience with sex had been dark and hard: Drusilla's molten giggles, Angelus' taunting and the pain. There had always been pain of one kind or another. In recent years, Drusilla often skipped the sex parts altogether for the grim floor show of torture. It wasn't Spike's thing per se, but it made his lady happy.

Sex had never been like this.

He'd fucked the slayer, a dizzying prospect in its own right, but she'd done the same to him, taking him beyond the bounds of his previous experience. She was magnificent, even like this, unconscious with a bead of spittle glistening at the corner of her mouth.

The depth of what occurred staggered him. It was still happening inside him. The fullness. The acceptance. This was what Drusilla had taken from him, the love and trust he had waited over a century for. There was no lie in this metal box. No deceit. Spike held the burning truth snoring in his arms.

She showed no signs of waking any time soon so he picked her up carefully, walked to the cot and set her down. Taking care not to disturb her, Spike eased his body beside her and then covered them both with the blanket. Even asleep Buffy seemed aware of his presence. A contented sigh escaped her mouth as she turned on her side. Spike moved into place behind her and draped his left arm over her.

He lay still, simply absorbing her alluring presence. The scent of her skin and hair filled his nostrils. The touch of her heated flesh warmed his body. The steady beat of her heart sang to him. When her fingers entwined with his Spike raised a little on his elbow to check if she was still asleep. She was. Clearly, this was not an unusual position for them to assume.

Gradually Buffy's breathing altered as she rose from the depths of sleep.

"Sorry about that," she whispered and stretched the blazing arch of her body against his. "I always get sleepy after that."

"Not a problem pet, your snoring was highly entertaining."

Buffy frowned and rolled onto her back. "I don't snore."

"Sorry to burst your bubble, but--"

"I do NOT snore."

"Think maybe you're just embracing your inner lumberjack?"

"HEY!" Buffy reached beneath the covers and snared his erection.

"OH! No need to be...oh fuck...rash...unhh...Slayer." She altered her grip and stroked him with desire. A faint wince faded into an expression of helpless pleasure on his face.

"That's my boy," Buffy cooed seductively. "Are you ready for me?"

"Yes," he gasped a snarl.

"Good. Now it's my turn." She released his cock and flipped over, landing astride him. "Let's see how you like my tune." Spike stared up in wonder at the soft contours of her body. His eager cock stood in solemn salute to this golden obelisk of flesh towering over him. With gentle fingers she angled his length to her opening and eased him inside. Spike's eyes widened at the feel of the intense clench. A mindless coo escaped his throat.

Buffy raised her chin and took in a sensuous breath of air. Her actions were deliberate and slightly exaggerated. There would be no lingering doubts of her capabilities or her evident pleasure. "Mmm...There's my guy. I missed my big, hard boy." She dazzled him with a smile and then went to work. Holding him fixed within her, she began a muscular undulation. There was no external indication of her effort except her still posture, concentrated breathing and Spike's facial distortions as his gaze flickered from her face to the rapture between her legs.

"How are you...Ohhh...unhh...fuck..." Spike's voice dissolved to silence.

"You like this, do you?" Spike could hardly blink. Nodding would be too much work. He simply stared.

"Good, I've got your attention, now--" An involuntary muscle jerk interrupted her. "Uh-uh-uh," she scolded slowly. "Bad boy. You need to pay attention." Her fingernails grazed a light serpentine down his chest and she tightened her muscles further. Spike's mouth gaped open in response. Where had this icy sexpot been hiding? She was sharp and calculated, pristine and haughty and in complete control.

Spike hoped he wouldn't drool too noticeably.

"Time to learn my steps. This is the slow burn, Spike. Stay focused, I may decide to quiz you later." Buffy smirked and began by raising her pelvis, slowly easing but not releasing him from her fiery snare. After flexing her muscles and squeezing her passage almost closed, she descended on him. This action forced his cock to pry her flesh apart and open her.

"Mmm, kitty like." She repeated this slow maneuver over and over while closely observing his reaction. Spike lay beneath her with a far away look in his eye. His tongue curled against his teeth in lazy repetitions while his fingers rested loosely against her hips. The only thing that registered in his mind was her body possessing his cock.

"Where's that sassy attitude now, huh?" she goaded softly. "Mmm, yeah, right here. Right where it belongs. I must say, you're doing very well, Spike. Very studious. Full marks for extra hardness." She winked at him.

When at last Buffy registered the push of his hips she knew it was time to up the ante. "You know what's so good about the slow burn, Spike?"

"Wha..."

"I can do it at faster speeds," she flared her eyebrows at him. "See if you can keep up." With an increase in rhythm, Spike once again lapsed into a state of helpless rapture.

"Bloody..." His eyes rolled back into his head. A recognizable quiver started in his hips. Buffy promptly stopped her movements and settled still against his pelvis, locking her muscles around the base of his shaft. Another groan.

"I think you're going to come too soon. We can't have that. Manners are very important in bed, Spike. We can't tolerate such rude behavior now, can we?"

"Unhh?"

"Don't worry, I can hold you back," she whispered slyly at him. "Make you beg."

"What?" Spike's eyes snapped open on cue. Beg? William the Bloody did not beg. Not to Angelus and certainly not to this one. Defiance was one of Spike's sexiest looks.

"You think I can't do it?" Buffy bristled with erotic charge. "I have resolve in this area, Spike. Real control. You used to love it. 'The best torture yet devised'. Those are your exact words. I held you off from coming for the better part of two hours once. You called it Herculean. Now, I haven't done that in a while but I'm itching to see how soon you'll break." Maybe there was a touch of exaggeration there. Buffy hoped she could hold off her own orgasm long enough to show him what they could be together.

"What the fuck?" Spike tried for a growl but it came out airy and strangled. She had him securely snared. It was exquisite and horrible and he didn't want her to stop. His knee began to tremor.

"You think you know how to fuck?" Buffy spoke with crisp seductive authority. "I need a man in my bed, not a boy with a big shiny toy." It was oddly arousing taunting Spike with his own sexual prowess. "You and I have been experimental over the years, so don't think you've got anything on me." Her voice dropped to a crotch level rumble.

"Remember that Paris brothel thing from World War One?" Spike's eyes sharpened at the memory. "Well, we've done that with chains...and upside down, too." Buffy let out a sigh of sweet remembrance. Upside down was a total bust as it produced giggles instead of orgasms, but the chains were a big, juicy hit. At the images her words conjured, Spike shivered with expanding need.

Paris... Fuck...

"Bloody-- Slayer, I've got to--" He panted in desperation. "I've got to come. I-- Fuck--" His face buckled with effort. The vein in the middle of his forehead bulged under the strain. "I'm gonna bloody burst!"

"Well, what do you say, Spike?" Her mouth curved into an enchanting smile. This was something he was unfamiliar with. Submission had never tasted like this: soft and playful. This was perfection. Even that hardly seemed descriptive enough. Spike needed to search for a new word. Something more perfect than perfect. This one was in control and he was in ecstasy. That was a definite improvement over Drusilla's broken record and there wasn't a branding iron in sight.

"Please..." A tentative whisper flickered on his trembling tongue. "Please..."

As soon as Buffy released her hold, Spike rolled her underneath him and thrust into her in a mad frenzy of release. Buffy held him as he rode out his blistering climax. A plaintive voice rose from his throat and tumbled into the crook of her neck; no words, only slivers of meaning fell from his lips onto her skin. His back bowed and flexed through successive staccato bursts until the urgency of his intent finally ebbed away to a soft trickle.

With effort, Spike raised his head to look at her. There should be words after something so wonderful but his mouth was empty. That, however, had never stopped him before.

"That was..." Stupefaction still gripped him. "I never..." His words ended in an awestruck grin. Buffy took a deep cleansing breath and giggled her contentment.

"Me either."

"You're...amazing. Bloody amazing."

"You were kind of spectacular yourself." Spike gathered some semblance of his defensive and cocky attitude. He didn't want to appear the complete blubbering git after all, even though he felt pretty much like pudding.

"Just my luck then, that vampires turn you on, eh?" His voice was low and breathy from his considerable effort.

"Not vampires. One. Just you." Not everything from the past needed to be revisited. Buffy preferred to concentrate on the look on Spike's face instead. He still had that look of transfixed wonder. It was adorable.

"Kiss me." When their noses collided awkwardly only sheepish smiles erupted. Buffy touched her lips to his and nibbled. They moved slowly over each other, carefully exploring the horizon there. Soft lips in no hurry. Gentle tongues with no purpose other than to taste glided over one another. Spike brought his palms to Buffy's cheeks and held her in place. He paused. A kiss to the tip of her nose. That produced another smile and then a sigh. More kissing. More kissing was definitely required. Eventually Spike pulled out of her and settled once more at her side.

Spike felt ease he'd only imagined before. He'd been Angelus' bitch and Drusilla's dog and now he was this golden skinned angel's...something. He didn't know what that was, exactly, but he was going to find out. The way he felt at this moment he'd follow her anywhere...even into the mouth of hell itself.

17.

A loud snort from the back of Buffy's throat roused her from another brief sleep with a start. She blinked the remnants of a most satisfying dream from her eyes and took a quick inventory. Not her bedroom, check. Naked, check. Not alone, check. A herd of tingly love bunnies nibbling at her-- Check. Buffy's eyes shifted sideways. Comfortably propped up on his elbow, Spike observed her with a look of benign amusement. It wasn't a dream.

"Not saying a word, love."

"Oh God, I must really snore. You never said anything before!" Buffy swatted Spike's chest.

"Guess I must have been a gentleman about it."

"Yeah."

"Come on, Slayer. You make me sound like I was Sir Lancelot or some other sparkly ponce in tights and tassels, prancing out of the pages of a fairy tale."

"Oh, it hasn't been a fairy tale, Spike, believe me, in spite of the fact that you saved the whole world and--"

"What? I did WHAT?!" Spike's jaw fell open. "Haven't I covered that yet? I thought I'd mentioned something about that the other day." Buffy's lips tightened in thought. "It's true. You saved the world, Spike."

"And? AND? Details! I want details!" Spike stared in amazement as Buffy gave him the quick thumbnail tour of How Spike Saved the World. The ego boosting benefits of those highlights outweighed any lingering resentments he may have felt regarding his soul acquisition and the fact that he apparently sacrificed himself for love and honor. For a vampire who prided himself on keeping up with times, it did seem to be a hopelessly old fashioned gesture.

World destruction schemes were never his thing. Apocalypses were more to Angelus' taste. Something big and showy to match the scale of that overblown ego. This tale, however, held his attention. Spike was equally repulsed and astounded by the revelations. William the Bloody had saved the day. God, he really was a white hat; Sir Galahad and Dudley Do-Right all rolled into one devastatingly handsome package. Needless to say, it was a shock to the system. After that initial jolt, the resurrection chaser paled in comparison.

"So, these higher plane blokes sent me back?"

"The PTB? Yep."

"And they are?" He needed a score card to keep all the players straight.

"The Powers That Be. Can't say as I've met them myself, but you did."

"Right...in the conservatory with the candlestick." Buffy knotted her eyebrows together and ignored his remarks.

"They said you are significant." Spike liked the sound of that. "That was the word they used. Significant. You, mister, are significant to the future." Spike's mouth quirked with barely restrained pleasure. He was significant; that part wasn't so difficult to believe. The extra dollops of ego gratification weren't bad either.

"Apparently, there was this lawyer guy who tampered with the amulet. I don't know if he was seriously evil or just disgruntled. I think he wanted to eliminate you from the equation but it didn't work. I don't know all the details, but Angel made sure he won't be bothering us any more."

"Hold on." Spike's mind seized on that tasty tidbit. "Angelus-- er, Angel knows about this? Peaches knows I saved the world?" At Buffy's nod of affirmation, Spike's face broke into a dark, evil giggle of unexpected delight. This was something to be savored, something to shout from the mountain tops. "That's bloody delicious, that is. Bet that stuck in his craw! Hah! The old bugger." His smile lit up the room and showed no signs of subsiding. "Tell me I rubbed the bastard's nose in it every chance I got." Being a hero suddenly wasn't so unpleasant when it involved showing up Angelus for the useless, domineering bag of bollocks he really was.

"Well, he kinda had his own apocalyptic thingy a year ago or so. We weren't invited. There was fireworks, a demon army, a river of blood...you know, the basic package." Buffy listed off the elements with a blank expression. Spike's short lived elation plummeted back to earth with a dull thud. His expression hardened.

"You're telling me that..." Spike grit his teeth together, "the Poofter...saved the world...AFTER I did it? FUCK! That is just my luck!"

"Well, he had help, believe me, but not as he tells it. I swear, if I have to hear that dragon story one more time..." Buffy's voice trailed off into a weary sigh. "He kinda goes on about it." She rolled her eyes. "Still."

"Tell me about it." Spike pursed his lips sourly. "The river of blood thing? It's an old trick. Back in the day, Angelus used to--"

"What?" It was something he'd not told her before. Buffy waited with rapt attention. Spike wrinkled his forehead and looked at her, caught up in their easy exchange.

"We're having a conversation." There was no baiting or taunting, just talk. It felt nice and easy. It felt right.

"We have been known to do that." Without thinking, Spike reached out and traced the curve of Buffy's collarbone. His voice softened.

"You said I was a man for you." Buffy nodded.

"Uh huh."

"Don't remember any of that." It was a plain fact.

"I know."

"Did we get along?"

"Mostly." Spike smirked at her choice of word.

"Had our moments, did we?"

"I guess I can be kind of hard to live with." He was surprised by her admission.

"That's when I get especially soulful, is it?" Spike steeled himself for her response. He knew very well the outrageous lengths he'd gone to try to keep Drusilla happy.

Buffy rolled her eyes. As if. "That's when you go play poker with the boys and come home covered in cat hair and smelling like a brewery." Spike smirked at that revelation. Maybe he hadn't become a complete blubbering git after all. She shivered slightly and frowned. "It's a little chilly in here, you should have told me."

"It is? I never noticed." Spike pulled the blanket tighter around them. Snuggling with this naked slayer suddenly seemed the most natural thing in the world to be doing. They lay in a comforting silence until he spoke again.

"Tell me the truth. How'd I end up with a soul in the first place?"

A memory struck Buffy and with it a concern she should have voiced earlier. "Is it hurting you? Are you in pain? You haven't been seeing ducks by any chance, have you?"

Spike's forehead creased. "Ducks? Uh, not lately." He didn't want to know where that inquiry came from. "And no, it doesn't hurt, a little tingly at times, but no pain." That gave Buffy some relief.

"The soul?" He prompted and paused.

"You went to Africa to seek out some wish granting demon guy in a cave." Spike remembered hearing stories of such a being.

"And all it took to get into your knickers was a shiny soul?"

"No. We had already broken up by then." Buffy didn't want to get into specifics. The more she thought, the more she knew that some aspects of their history didn't need to be rehashed in microscopic detail.

With a woman in the picture it was pretty obvious to Spike what he'd done. Something impulsive. Something rash. Flowers and chocolates would hardly cut it with this one. She'd need goodness; a bloody bona fide hero.

"I did it for you." Spike spoke the truth he felt in his bones. To be hers. He couldn't look at her, the intimacy of that statement snagged in his throat. It seemed that old William wasn't so dead after all. It was just the kind of sweeping gesture he would have come up with, all lavender stink and noble intentions. It was the sort of grand display Drusilla would have snickered at or not even noticed in the first place. Buffy squeezed his arm beneath the blanket and snuggled closer.

Spike let out a wistful sigh and the strong emotion dissipated. "Wish I could remember fighting you, other than the other day, I mean. I know I would have enjoyed that very much."

"It was fun."

"Tell me truthfully now," his eyes twinkled with returning mischief. "Was I your most formidable opponent?"

"I'd have to admit you were an excellent enemy, very tricky and--"

"And you kicked my arse every chance you got, didn't you?" He knew what kind of girl he'd go for. Headstrong and difficult. No challenge otherwise.

"Well, we were enemies for a long time." Buffy suddenly became aware of a returning presence at her hip.

"And then we were this." Spike positioned himself back between her widening thighs.

"There were a few steps in between." Buffy placed her hands at his shoulders.

"Of that I have no doubt." He didn't need every last detail. Spike could play the cards on the table. He stared at her neck, mesmerized by the feelings that crept through him.

"I don't suppose now is the time to get into all that." Even Buffy knew chat time had come to an end for a while.

"And you'd be right." With a quick movement of his hand, Spike angled himself and pushed inside her welcoming depths. Buffy arched in response and then brought her thighs up tight against his hips. He began an unhurried rhythm within her.

"Don't close your eyes," he lulled tenderly. "I want to see you."

There was something so right about being between her thighs, embraced by the surf of her pounding heartbeat. Spike's hips linked easily with Buffy's as if it was the most natural position for him to assume. His senses filled to overflowing. Her skin, her breath, her touch, her hair. Everything about her welcomed him.

Yeah, he could get used to this.

"Something tells me we did this a lot." Spike looked down between their undulating bodies. It was a glorious sight.

"You're always saying there's nothing on television worth watching, so we make our own fun."

"Bet we have no problems doing that."

"I think we're gifted that way." Buffy's eyes sparkled with amusement.

"Sorry if I was a bit frenzied before." He was beginning to appreciate the benefits of a leisurely approach.

"Don't be sorry, it was nice."

"Nice? Now that's a ringing endorsement if I ever-- Unhh..." The sarcasm dwindled away to a groan as she once again squeezed him internally to get his attention. His forehead hit the pillow beside Buffy's head.

"Um, we've had a few communication issues in the past, Spike. It's something we've been working on."

"Not too successfully, I see." He managed one last burst of petulance.

"We do a lot better with body language." Buffy knew exactly how to wipe that pesky smirk off his face.

"So I've noticed..."

CONTINUED...

Back to Fiction: By Alpha ~ Back to Fiction: By Season