One Good Lay | Furlough by Kindred

Furlough
Parts 1-4

Summary: AtS 'Not Fade Away'. Buffy and Dawn travel to England to get updated on the latest averted apocalypse. Part one is a Buffy POV.
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.
Feedback: alp@magma.ca

Part 1: Footsie

Okay people, I know what you're thinking. Rome: the parties and cosmopolitan excess, the shopping, the food and the hot Italian lovers. Skipping past the Coliseum while swinging bags and bags of mostly useless but to die for merchandise. All kinds of girly goodness, right?

Well, brace yourselves folks, Rome is not all hugs and puppies. It's been mostly work -- and really hard work too: bad radio, too much pasta, crazy traffic jams, juggling argumentative slayers, and Dawn's persistent fondness for dark-eyed boys and Italian swear words.

The annoying cherry on top of it all is our pal Andrew, starring as the house guest who won't find his own damn apartment. It wouldn't be so bad if he didn't hog the bathroom and use up all my moisturizer. Andrew is such a friggin' girl.

The only saving grace with him is that he can cook good old-fashioned American food. Well, that is, when he doesn't burn it to frightening cinders in the pan. Thank God Italy is the country where high heels were born! Feeding the shoe fetish is the only thing that has kept me sane.

Dawn's school is great and she's having the time of her life but can I tell you the truth? The city just has too many damn Italians in it and they all speak Italian too. I mean --people, please-- I'm ridding your fair city of despicable demon dreck and you don't have the common decency to speak to me in English?

Nice enough looking guys though, but a little on the grabby side. Paolo was okay in bed, but he was no Spike, more like a hairy-chested, dark haired version of Riley. I ended it the second I made that unhappy analogy.

God, I am the shits at picking men.

I smashed a guy's camera one day for taking pictures of me and Dawn. Well, I thought he was taking pictures. Call me skittish. I thought he was some psycho fuck with his own live on-line voyeur site. No way were photos of Dawn or me ending up on some weirdo's wank-it webcam site.

It turns out he was some private stalker hired by Angel. Nice, like I needed that, a reminder of Angel's undying weird obsession. Personally, I think he needs professional help. I would have preferred a garden variety pervert over that.

So I send out some of my people and guess what I found out? Angel is boning this blonde named Nina. I guess he's bypassed that little curse-y STD thing because there's no sign of tall, dark and soulless. Now if he could just stick to stalking his current girlfriend and leave me the hell alone, that would be aces.

I saw her picture. She's okay looking, I suppose, but apparently she buys a ton of hair removal product. I mean, what's up with that?

Anyway, I got a photo of Spike out of it. All I had after Andrew's little covert ops among the enemy was his enthusiastic 'Spike is alive!' tap dance and glassy eyed homoerotic ramget a hello?" He looks worried. I better play this up.

"I'm not talking to you."

"Is that so?"

"You didn't die and then you didn't call." Isn't that just like a man? Arms folded in a huff. Oh no, that accentuates cleavage.

"Sorry to disappoint." He steps closer to inspect cleavage nirvana.

"I was only in Rome, Spike, not Outer Mongolia." I sent Rona to Outer Mongolia. That chick had an attituuude... Jesus Buffy, focus, keep scowl on face.

His nostrils flare in that 'I'm scenting your chromosomes way'. I am in deep trouble.

"Stop it with the nostrils, Spike."

"Afraid I'll whiff something interesting...Slayer?" Oh god, he hits me with 'Slayer'. Okay, traitorous parts: listen up! Stop it with the yummy panty vibes, and I mean NOW.

"Aren't you supposed to be debriefing me on the big event?" Nobody does disinterested bitch like me.

"Could do...want to hear how I saved the world, love?" Sometimes I just want to rip those eyebrows off his damn face.

*

"You got to slay a dragon? Shut! Up!" My mouth dangled with that revelation. "That's actually impressive." We started off on opposite sides of Giles' leather sofa, but man, a good apocalypse tale is incredibly thrilling. Disinterested bitch girl left the building. Shit, I'm practically in his lap.

"Well, I held onto the bugger's tail and hind leg. Angel did some slicing and dicing. It was a two bloke operation, but yeah, slayed a dragon; then spewed all hell spawn and sundry with greasy grimy dragon guts."

"Sounds messy."

"It's a little known fact that dragon entrails are pretty much interchangeable with super glue. I sprayed the hordes with the guts and then left Blue Thunder to spank her god-like girly mojo on their asses."

"Blue Thunder?"

"A not exactly unlikable former god king."

"Oh...and long story short..."

"I save the world...AGAIN." Spike folded his arms triumphantly behind his head. There's the smile I've been seeing in my dreams.

"You're going to be insufferable about this aren't you?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"All hail the conquering hero." I roll my eyes right on schedule. I can tell he appreciated it.

"Chalk it up to good reflexes. Only got a middling of that awful offal on me, and then a good dousing of plain old demon blood and gore. Fists and fangs and backs to the wall. Got out by the skin of our balls, we did."

"You loved it, didn't you?" I'll admit it; heroism looks good on him. Kinda glowy. God, Spike would know a better word for that.

"It was bloody fantastic! Right up your alley too, love."

"Rub it in why don't you?" Now that I'm hearing the nitty gritty I'm sorry I missed it. "I would have made an appearance had I known, but some kind of whosits in the spheres went cablooey -- in a mystical cablooey sort of way. Giles was red faced for days. I mean, Mr. Reformed Council of Watchers? and he finds out from CNN. I thought that vein in his forehead was going to blow."

"How d'you find out?"

"Willow and Andrew practically at the same time. You know, Andrew has the inside skinny on almost everything nowadays. Who woulda thunk it? Andrew puts away his triple breasted plastic fantasy figures and becomes a viable part of the team. He's scary capable now," but strangely incapable of finding his own place.

"And just what were you fiddling with while LA burned, hmm?"

"LA didn't burn...just the Wolfram and Hart building, right? Don't tell me Brad Pitt lost his house too."

"Nah, just Evil Incorporated...fall down, go boom. Kind of a skinned their metaphysical knees sort of deal. That's how Charlie put it anyway, well, between sponge baths and flirting with his nurse. The conduit between the senior partners and our dimension is severed. With their demon army decimated and their mouthpiece dead, they'll neeblings.

Apparently 'loose lips sink ships' is not an adage Andrew ever aspired to. When he finally got to Rome from LA he spilled the goods as quickly as a teacup made of lace.

After the shock of Spike being not totally dead wore off, Andrew's not so private ramblings creeped me out. Digital photography was less creepy and harder to ignore.

Dawn stuck the picture on the fridge and told me I'd know what to do when the time was right. Can you believe that? Dawn can really be surprising.

In the picture Spike looks remarkably Spike-like, drinking in a bar with a gaggle of new people. I recognized Wesley. He really turned out nice. Loved the tortured stubble. Who knew Wyndam-Pryce would get hot, let alone sidle up to that bastion of evil, Wolfram and Hart?

Thus began my 'should I stay or should I go?' tango. Do my sacred duty and wipe the noses of these baby slayers in Rome or wipe Spike's ass up and down the streets of LA? Okay, granted there would probably have been more smoochy and less wipe-y. The more I thought about it the more days passed and then doubt descended on my toned, yet conflicted self with unrelenting misery. Vacillation, thy name is Buffy Anne.

So yeah, shoe shopping looked better and better all the time.

I get this call from Giles and he says come to London for the weekend and bring Dawn, something about a briefing on the recently averted apocalypse. I know Quentin Travers went the way of the Dodo, but Giles still gets these hoity-toity types for surveillance; all Oxford educated Harris tweedy twits with pickles up their bums. Giles needs to spend more time with Althenea and those coven babes. They could loosen his metaphorical cravat.

So I say yes, anything to get away from Andrew and his 'all you can slather' weekend o' facials. I get there and find Giles chatting with Spike, cozy as all get out in his office at the new Watcher headquarters. Did I mention the chatting?

It got a little intense after that. Dawn screeched and tackled Spike and Giles' lips flapped incessantly. God, that man really needs to get laid. These two have a different vibe between them now, that much was clear. I guess they made some sort of peace.

Me? My mind blanked. I think I said 'Spike', but I'm not too sure. Mental paralysis is kind of all encompassing. I stood there staring feeling naked in my devastating silk blouse, teeny skirt and sling backs maybe a microsecond away from a bear hug when it happened. He smirked. Spike fucking smirked at me. Like I could take that after grieving him dead for the good part of a year. Granted, I went on with my job of corralling and training those slayers while wearing stylish and obscenely unaffordable clothes.

Insert official name dropping here: I saved Donatella's spring line from a demon saboteur. She was very appreciative.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, that smirk. I had to cover up my tightening nipples somehow, so I hauled off and slugged him one. Dawn yelled and Giles harrumphed and I caught that vicious gleam in Spike's eye. The promising twinkle that said perhaps slugging him wasn't the wisest choice.

Vampires. Violence. Long time, no nookie. You do the math. Giles practically dragged Dawn from the room, citing some Watcher widgets she needed to see and didn't Spike need some time to 'debrief' Buffy?

Oh, Giles. Your parental doublespeak is endearing.

Dawn is a sweet girl, a great sister, well past the worst of her adolescence and a responsible and with it woman...but...go away, like right now!

Spike looks older somehow, or more tortured. I guess apocalypses do that to a person. Shit, who am I kidding? He looks nummy and lickable and ready to eat with a spoon and thirty toppings. And he had to fucking smirk at me? He will pay and pay dearly. There will be scarves and handcuffs and Cool Whip and maraschino cherries.

I am seriously pissed.

"Do I d to seriously regroup before they send in the second string. Now tell me girl, what were you doing while I was saving the world for truth, justice and--"

"Buying shoes." He didn't seem shocked by this information.

"It must have been horrible for you." Again with the smirk. I forego slapping him senseless because I want to maintain some semblance of detached neutrality.

"Yeah. So many shoes...so little time. So what happened to your hair? Finally put ol' Billy in the delete bin where he belongs?"

"I sacrificed my lovely locks for the world as we know it. Dragon fluids...super glue, remember? I had to shave it."

Before I realize it I drag my fingers absently through his thickly shorn skull stubble. Spike closed his eyes to the rapturous sensation of my fingertips digging at his skull.

"Do I look pretty?" God, he can even pull off next-to-hairless.

"I knew it was brown." I ignore his obvious trolling for compliments.

"Well, it does match my eyebrows and my...pelt." His eyebrow twitched.

"Pelt?!" Euphemisms of the world unite! Time to stand up and get some distance.

"Kind of matches your pelt too Buffy, come to think of it." Cue sexy smirk.

"Don't think of it and don't say that word."

"What word? Pelt?"

"Stop it! There will be no talk of anything remotely pelt-like at all."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Can I whisper it?"

"No."

"Come on Slayer, no need to put up your tight ass façade, just you and me here, pet, and I know you love it when I talk dirty." He stood up and --oh god-- that's prowl face.

"You know this for a fact, do you?"

"A fact. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the--"

"Stop looking at me like that." Oh God, narrowing eyelids and tongue tapping, the double whammy.

"Sorry pet, it's been a while. I can't seem to stop staring."

"Well, it's weird and now I'm feeling all tingly." Just back away slowly and nobody will get hurt.

"Tingly, huh? Tingly is good. Tingly has real strong possibilities." Oh crap, the tongue curl.

"No, tingly bad. Besides, I'm pissed off with you. You were supposed to be dead."

"Still am, love."

"No, you know what I mean. Totally dead, dust dead, never to give me the tinglies again dead."

"So you'd rather I stayed in that soddin' hole in the ground? Would that have made you happy?"

"NO! I'd rather you told me yourself."

"Yeah, um, about that--" Okay, that got him. Yeah, put your swagger in your pocket, mate.

"I heard it from Andrew, Spike. Andrew!" The memory of Andrew's animated 'Spike is alive!' dance is forever seared on my retinas.

"Yeah, right. Um, there is an explanation. I had a speech, honest. I practiced and everything." It had been a few months. Harmony praised his speech but he figured that meant it was total crap. There was something about letting her live--

"And you were in Rome, like, a month and a half ago?"

"I looked for you. Andrew said--"

"Fuck, Spike! When the hell do you of all people listen to Andrew?"

"Angel listened too." A deliberate pout protruded his lower lip. Must...not...yield.

"I bet you two were brawling like toddlers this whole time, weren't you?"

"Well, he was a little puppet man for a bit. Funny story, that--"

"SPIKE!"

"Andrew said you were moving on, dating and..." a long and spiraling pause, "such." Spike hazarded a sideways glance at her. The time had come to ascertain the degree of 'suchness' he had to deal with.

Okay, here it comes: slayer resolve, hands on hips, beach bunny blonde highlights hair flip. "Yeah, I dated: Colin, Paolo, Franco, the Immortal, Gary, Stig, and some other loser named Phil. I had dating needs Spike and I thought you were, you know, irretrievably dead; so don't go getting all sulky on me over an few--"

"Stig?" Spike frowned. "He wasn't a Howler demon, by any chance, was he?"

"Ew, no. Swedish." Extremely blonde, no curls though.

"And the Immortal...uh, who was that?" Clueless was an art form Spike perfected over the years.

"Some smarmy supernatural shmuck: all silver chains, hair product and 'Hey baby, I'm gonna live forever'. Nice posture, great connections but the prick took a cell phone call from some skanky wannabe model during dinner! Ugh. I couldn't kick him to the curb fast enough."

Spike's mouth quirked in an unusual manner.

"Anyway, I can't believe you were playing footsie with Angel all this time." Rome would have been fun with Spike. It was, after all, historically significant in the romance and intrigue department.

"Footsie?" Spike's eyes widened to frightening proportions. "No, there was no footsie involved...I...uh...who have you been bloody talking to?"

*

"Okay, I'll admit it. You give good debriefing."

Giles' office looked like a small and intensely focused tornado passed through it. Papers spilled over the sumptuous desk. The furniture did a bit of a waltz as the reunited lovers moved around the room.

There wasn't supposed to be any up close and personal interaction so soon, but one thing led to another. Spike's face began to get that smugly satisfied 'what a good boy am I' expression. My fist just flew, like it knew its home. Spike caught it in his hand just before it landed on his much flattened nose. He held it to his mouth in an iron grip and licked my knuckles while nailing me with his icy blues.

Now, honestly, how am I supposed to have a defense against that?

"We need to fight some more," I'm ashamed to say I whimpered those words.

"You can fight me all you want, pet. I'm easy." I pierce him with a smirk. Okay, I think that was a gimme...like I need his repartee charity. Whatever. He pulled me into his arms.

"Buffy--"

"Shut up--" That first kiss wasn't pretty. All volcanic tongues and clicking teeth and I growled first, and why the HELL did I stay in Rome after I found out he was back? That's when the furniture started its little dance. Personally, I think Giles' antique pieces were just scrambling for cover.

Who knew an oak desk was so comfortable? Giles' collection of ball point pens? Less comfortable. They took a header off the north side.

"I had a dream about you, Buffy." Spike spoke directly into my sternum. Hey baby? Kind of up here. I pull him up to my face.

"I merited one dream? That's big of you." Oops, the B word and he's already nestled quite snugly between my thighs.

"Kind of a serial dream, love, been going on for a long time." The slightest tilt of his pelvis...oh my god, think fast.

"Are we back in high school writing an exam we haven't studied for?" The look on his face is priceless. That would be a 'no'.

"Not bloody likely, pet."

"Were they good dreams?" I could tell Spike a thing or two about dreams.

"Kept me going."

"Spike?"

"Hmm?"

"Show me?" I gave him a pout, one of the small ones. He seemed to enjoy it.

I never knew how erotic it could be to watch someone bite the buttons off a blouse. If I had any functioning brain matter at that point I may have protested mildly, but seriously? Who cares? I'm sure Giles has a cardigan around here somewhere.

Fare thee well, blouse. Spike better be careful. I could take out his eye with one of my nipples. Personally, I don't want to know how he learned to open a bra clasp with his tongue.

"Buffy..." A muffled snarl from deep in areola country.

"Wha..." All my remaining strength is funneled into my contented kitten impersonation. Jesus, I've missed him. Um, where did his tongue go?

"Buffy. Giles' office, remember? Don't want to make a mess now, do we?" Shit and Giles was so proud of his new leather framed blotter.

My thoughts, if I had any useful ones, should have expressed concern over the prospect of Buffy juice on Giles' swanky new blotter. I mean, if the situation was reversed and there was the prospect of Giles jui-- ew...eww...ewww! God, there's not enough 'ew' in the world for the rest of that sentence.

When the hell did Spike become Mr. Rational? And come to think of it, how can he manage an actual sentence with that extraordinary bad boy in his pants? My guy has some kind of talent. I am one lucky, lucky woman.

"I...hotel...room." Overall, I was rather proud of that statement.

We separate with a groan and make like scurrying parlor mice trying to straighten up Giles' office the best we can. How many damn pens did he have in this stupid container anyway?

When we hit the door the real trouble starts. Vertical surfaces are erogenous zones with us and why on earth did Giles pick out such a sexy door in the first place?

Before I realize it I'm climbing Spike like he's Mount Everest and I'm Sherpa Buffy on a mission from God. This is nuts...gloriously, dangerously, sinfully nuts. So long rational, it's been good to know you!

You better be ready for me Spike; I've done a bit of growing up.

I do a passable human tornado impression, twisting and pawing at his crotch. I'm so damn glad Donatella went for the micro mini this season. Nobody rips panties like my Spike.

We pause on the edge of something phenomenal, just like that first time so long ago. The look on his face is so beautiful, all need and knowing and giddy and fearful. I nudge his lips with mine. "Yes," I coo and wiggle against him. Fuck, I think I'm dripping.

He licks his fingers before they disappear inside me for an urgent assessment of the situation and then again when he takes them out. I see my own secretions drip down the back of his hand.

I know what's coming but that doesn't take anything away from the sheer bliss of actually experiencing it, and not just for today. It's not just to satisfy the lust bunnies that have grown to gargantuan proportions over time. Please, I do have some perspective. Living in a foreign country clears up all that cookie dough crap but quick. I know what I want and dig my fingers into his leather.

"Don't let me push you away." I am quieted by the sound of my own voice. Why couldn't I have said that before? That was so much more rational than: "I'm not ready for you not to be here." Not exactly top five in Buffy-speak there. I have tried to speak in a more clear and concise manner. The cryptic has not been so good to me.

We work as a team. Spike holds me wide open with his palms under my thighs. I look down, unbuckle his belt, open his jeans and guide that magnificent cock where we both need it. "Never again," he snarls and tightens his jaw.

I can see his effort at restraint. Slow and deliberate. Not taking anything for granted. Never again. I bite my lip and arch my back as I meet his hips with my own restrained need on the first deep slide. It's going to be over too soon and it won't be pretty. Neither of us can take the glaring intensity.

At last I know what it's like to be burned to dust by the sun.

Can you hear me, Spike? I'm not letting you go.

I nuzzle my face into his trying to bypass the tears, but they're coming -- like spring, they are coming. I remember our hands joined in flames, but not burning. I still feel it. His beautiful, bounteous soul saved the whole world that day. And me too. Someday I'll tell him the truth of what he gave me that day. Now I just want to give that same gift to him. I start with tears and the truth.

"I love you, Spike. Please, please believe me. I love you."

*

"...Those new training rooms are really cool, Giles..." Dawn's voice floated down the hall.

"You know Dawn, your upper body strength and agility is improving at a tremendous rate." Always a gentleman, Giles let Dawn loose on their training equipment.

"Well, what can I say? I live with Buffy. The heavy bag is my close, personal friend."

"Well, what do you think?" Giles turned the doorknob to his office and pushed. His effort was met with an urgent slam and an unrestrained grunt.

"Still debriefing!" I squeak in a too high shrill voice, barely suppressing a moan.

"Get a room, YA BIG PERVS!" Dawn pointed her remark into the G rated side of the door.

"Oh, good Lord, my gran's Waterford crystal is in there..." Giles blinked in astonishment. He quickly cleared his throat in a characteristically defensive maneuver. "Um...yes...Dawn, the cafeteria makes a delicious steak and kidney pie."

"Yes Giles," Dawn linked her arm with his offering support. "Come with me. I think you need some sustenance."

Part 2: Flirty

The absence of footfalls behind her was Dawn's first indication of trouble. She turned her head only to see her companions were nowhere in sight. A shadowed recess in the side of the stone building beside her echoed with soft throaty sounds of pleasure.

"Buffy?!!" An exasperated Dawn walked back toward the darkened doorway. "You two are worse than gerbils in heat. ENOUGH! Stop perving it up. This is someone's place of business and I'm sure they don't want you doing that here."

Spike stopped kissing Buffy first and then a few seconds later Buffy realized the folly of her blatant exhibitionism.

"Sorry, Dawn."

"Yeah, sorry Bit." They both displayed suitably sheepish expressions on their faces.

"And don't even try that 'I slipped on a stone and fell into Spike's mouth' line because-- UGH! Stop kissing for two seconds while I'm giving you shit! Hey, Perv One, come here." Dawn grabbed Buffy's arm and forcibly separated the lovers. "Perv Two, come on." Dawn inserted herself between Spike and Buffy, linked arms and proceeded to walk down the well-lit London side street.

Buffy cleared her throat, apologized again and promised to behave. She was completely lost in the intoxication of Spike. Dawn recognized the woozy symptoms quickly and prayed silently that Buffy wouldn't tackle Spike and hump him in the middle of the street. People might see. Woozy, horny Buffy both amused and alarmed Dawn. She took a deep breath and applied pure slayer logic: when in doubt, lecture it out!

The air was crisp and clear. The sounds of the night met them like old friends. Buffy really hoped their stroll would not be interrupted by any vampires because this was a moment that needed to feel unending. Staking some inconsiderate and probably moldy vampire was not on her preferred agenda plan. A lovely cool evening, Spike and Dawn and-- Well it was almost perfect. If Dawn would just shut her mouth and embrace the vibe, they might actually attain perfection.

Predictably, Dawn marched to a self-involved drummer. "Just 'cause I said okay to walking back to the hotel instead of taking a cab, do NOT think that means I'm condoning your hop, skip and snog side show. Still an impressionable minor here guys, so stop it with the saliva train! Like I didn't hear enough earlier outside Giles' office!"

Buffy blushed, remembering her earlier indiscretion. Spike was stronger than she was in this matter. He could have stopped, postponed the inevitable; but no, she had to ride him like a bronco at a rodeo in Giles' office in full pornographic view of Giles' grandma's sparkly crystal. But oh, what a marvelous steed Spike was...Buffy's mind filled with images of naked Spike in chaps and spurs. Yippie-tie-yie-yo! Git along little dogies! Her breath thickened.

Oblivious to the sexual heat that simmered mere inches away, Dawn continued unabated. "This is London and I'm not missing out on the great sights and great eats...um...great sights. And William, let's not forget William." Spike looked at Dawn with a strange expression.

"Not you, goofus," she snorted with amusement. "Wil-li-am, as in Prince, comma, future king. You know, my husband."

"Oh, him." Spike added a nod. Yes, he could see how young and impressionable human girls might tend to gravitate toward that ponce. Suddenly the realization that Dawn's girlish infatuation with him was well and truly dead pressed heavily upon Spike's cold and lifeless heart.

"So it's Prince William now, is it?" Buffy offered archly, knowing how quickly Dawn's infatuations came and went. She then looked across Dawn's still cherubic profile to address Spike. "She was hot for Orlando Bloom when he was in Rome shooting some movie last year."

"Orlando Bloom..." Where had Spike heard that name before? Andrew. Yes, Andrew had prattled on about that wanker's stormy eyes and chiseled-- "AHEM!" Spike cleared his throat rather forcefully. The girls looked at him and waited for some solemn pronouncement.

"Phlegm," he tapped his chest.

Dawn plowed on. "I'm over Orlando, Buffy. Didn't you get the memo? But you know, if we happen to spot him at a night club, I'll be all over him like white on rice!"

Spike swallowed uneasily. His Nibblet made an overt sexual innuendo and Buffy giggled.

"Cool your jets hormone girl, there will be no night clubbing for you. Don't you have some school work to do, like that book report on 'Pride and Prejudice'?" Dawn responded with extreme silence.

Their legs moved in synchronous rhythm with three pairs of footwear clicking the pavement in unison. This did not escape Spike's notice. His heart filled with gladness. As odd as that sounded and mere weeks after facing a particularly nasty apocalyptic two-step, his heart filled with loving gladness.

"Dawn?" Buffy prompted an affirmative response.

"Buffy?" There was that blustery sibling sarcasm, sweet music to Spike's ears.

"You haven't read the book have you?"

"It's not due until next Thursday."

"Dawn." Dealing with a dithering Dawn always focused a dithering Buffy.

"I was thinking of renting the movie and winging it," Dawn confessed. "My teacher said something about Renee Zellweger and Hugh Grant but I wasn't really paying attention. I'm assuming they're in the movie. Could we rent it?"

Buffy had to stifle a smirk. Winging it, yes, that was another skill found within Buffy's playbook. She'd winged a few book reports in her time.

Spike spoke up firmly. "That movie's too derivative, Bit. You need the source material. Read the Austen. It's good."

"Well excuse me, Roger Ebert, when did you become all-knowing-movie guy?" Dawn arched her eyebrow toward Spike.

"Book, Bit. It's a book and I have read it." Readying himself for derisive twitters and guffaws, Spike was strangely comforted by their complete absence. Buffy spoke up.

"There you have it Dawn, straight from a real Victorian gentleman. Was she a friend of yours by any chance, Spike? The author?"

Seeing the genuineness of Buffy's uniquely stupid question and her completely serious face, Spike let her down easy. "No pet, Jane Austen was actually a little before my time."

"Okay Dawn, we'll go back to the hotel. You start the book and then maybe tomorrow we'll do some touristy things together."

"All right, but I swear if you two become the beast with two backs anywhere in my vicinity I'll phone for the cavalry. Daphne and Chastity would so come down for some rejuvenating night clubbing with me. Wiccas appreciate the value of the sisterhood." Dawn spoke with great authority.

"We'll see Dawn," Buffy rolled her eyes. The three turned the corner and crossed the street. Soon they arrived at the front door of the hotel. An unremarkable medium grade hotel tucked away from the bustle of the city's core wasn't exactly what Spike had envisioned.

Buffy took one look at his expression and spoke. "The council's putting us up, Spike, and they are rebuilding, so five star accommodation is out."

"Yeah," Spike held the door for his two ladies. "I guess they vetoed the pup tent option on account of--"

"Be nice, Spike. Giles is the big cheese on the council now, so don't go all complainy on their lack of luxuries. Demon extermination eats away at the petty cash float or didn't you find that out at Evil Inc.?"

They walked across a small but serviceable lobby toward the elevator doors.

Spike's face hardened to a steely resolve. "Let's just clear that up right now, Slayer. First, I NEVER was on the pay roll of Evil Inc. Even though I drove a few of their cars...on occasion...that doesn't count as payment of any kind." He counted off his points on his fingers. Dawn pressed the elevator button.

"Second, I did my hero bit because, well...champion here, sort of comes with the territory now..." Buffy tilted her head in rapt attention. He wanted to kiss her breathless. "Uh...third? Right. That Shanshu prophecy is a buggering waste of the paper it was incantated onto."

"Incantated is not a word," Dawn chirped up helpfully. "You probably mean charmed or magicked or conjured."

"I'm going for a thing here, Nibblet." Unprepared for Dawn's vocabulary interjection, Spike paused and tried to get back on track. "And...uh...where was I?"

"Fourth." Dawn's face was a blank canvas.

"Fourth. I'll never repeat this ever, ever again, but Angel and I made a pretty good team, all things being what they were. But he's still a poncy git with abysmal taste in leather...and the hair thing, well that's just sad, that is."

"Poncy git, sad hair, check-check" Dawn surged into the opening elevator. Buffy sighed and entered with Spike. The elevator chimed at their floor and the three traipsed down the thickly carpeted hallway. Buffy looked beautiful wrapped in Giles' oversized maroon cardigan.

"Just so you know Spike, we don't have a television in the room." Spike was fairly certain he wouldn't be needing the balm of the idiot box any time soon.

"You have a book, Dawn." Buffy spoke in reasoned tones.

"Yay, me." Dawn launched the Titanic of ennui at Buffy.

They stopped at a door at the far end of the hall, the ninth room on the sixth floor, room 69. Spike smirked and subtly rolled his shoulders at the implication of that number.

"Grow up," Dawn proclaimed and opened the door to their small suite. Their room contained a double bed, a small chest of drawers, a side chair and small table, a door to the bathroom and another door to a tiny partitioned space with another double bed. "How come I never realized what an incorrigible, sex obsessed guy you are?"

"Don't know Bit, but to tell the truth, infatuation looked bloody good on you."

"Get over it, Floyd." Dawn kicked off her shoes. The domestic irritability of the trio was truly heart warming. It reminded Spike of the good times back in the day with Dru and Angelus and Darla, only this was like a trillion times better.

This was the kind of family he wanted.

Buffy put down her purse and headed into the bathroom. A small shriek soon sounded from within those depths. "Dawn! Why didn't you tell me I looked like this?" Buffy's face appeared around the corner of the bathroom door.

"That's what you get for letting Spike lick off your make-up Buffy." Dawn's expression of delight was worrying.

"What?" Spike looked at Buffy as her face contorted in embarrassed rage. There wasn't a thing wrong with her. She was beautiful, once in a century beautiful; she was perfect. He slipped off his coat and settled into a pillowy side chair. Dawn, as if on cue, picked up the phone and started dialing.

"Hang up, Dawn." Buffy ordered.

"Can't I call Andrew and tell him--"

"We have no money for long distance charges and neither does Giles, so hang up."

"I'll call the coven then and say hello to the girls."

"Long distance, Dawn, hang it up."

"Buffy!"

"NOW." Buffy grabbed her valise and disappeared into the bathroom. Spike could hear Buffy changing her clothes.

Dawn put the receiver back on the cradle and sat against the side of the bed. Her eyes took in Spike's relaxed form on the chair.

"She--" Dawn started and stopped. Awkwardness descended on the room. Was it her place to say anything? Would Buffy even tell Spike what it was like for them after Sunnydale? There were weeks of tears and if onlys and could have beens. Dawn remembered hearing Buffy crying behind closed doors. Perhaps it wasn't her place to say anything. The past was not going anywhere and Sunnydale had changed everyone.

They hadn't heard from Xander in months. He was on a personal odyssey and at last word, still in Africa. Apparently, all was not moonbeams and pierced tongues between Kennedy and Willow. The post apocalypse let down and subsequent move to South America was wearing thin on their relationship.

Giles became uber-organized Watcher guy again, except more so since the reformed council was his operation now. He transformed the organization completely by integrating the new council with the powerful UK coven, its satellite associates around the world and an ancient demon fighting Buddhist temple in India. With so many slayers needing guidance and training, live-in facilities were opened in continental Europe, North America and South Asia. At last count there were 1079 activated slayers worldwide. With resources stretched to the breaking point, Giles was swamped with work. Being in charge, however, was just what the doctor ordered. Giles was having the time of his life.

Faith was still battling demons in the States shoulder to shoulder with Robin. They had a posse of four slayers who traveled the country with them. They were still together and actually talking marriage. Ain't love grand?

"I'm glad you're not dead." Dawn spoke quietly, having decided that she should say the obvious in case Buffy, true to form, managed to leave that tidbit out. Maturity took time, but Dawn now knew who her allies were. In an ever complicated world with few people in it that she truly loved or respected, it was nice to get another tick in the good guys column. "You know what I mean."

"Thanks Bit."

"We missed you." Dawn's soft voice trickled to nothing as the bathroom door opened again. Buffy emerged wearing form fitting track pants and a sleeveless undershirt.

"You've got reading to do, Dawn. Do you want something from room service? A sandwich maybe?"

"Nah," Dawn replied, "I'm stuffed from the all you can eat session in the cafeteria." She stood up from the bed and walked to her luggage. Dawn pulled a new book from her zippered compartment. She walked into the separate bedroom. "I'll be in the closet here reading, and don't worry, I'll knock loudly before I come out." Dawn raised her eyebrows at the couple and closed the door, fully expecting to hear raucous sex sounds instantly.

Hearing nothing, she lay upon the bed and started reading: "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife..."

*

Buffy stood looking at the room service card wondering if she should order something. They probably didn't stock blood, so that would have to be addressed the next morning.

Spike sat quietly, flopped recklessly in the chair as if he had been thrown into it with his knees widely splayed. This was a new experience for him. Earlier, Buffy made no effort to hide or deny what they had been doing from Giles or Dawn. They had the sex and then followed it up with genuine affection. They held hands in front of Giles; or rather, Buffy held Spike's hand while Spike stared in speechless wonder. On the walk to the hotel they kissed secretively behind Dawn's back like two teenagers pushing their curfew beyond its limit.

No words of regret had been spoken. That was what blew Spike away. He needed to pay close attention. This was a new dance and he was going to learn every last step.

"Do you want anything?" Buffy looked at him. That was a loaded question if ever there was one but he knew she meant food.

"I could eat," he replied, rubbing his stomach. "What kinds of finger foods do they have on that menu?" Buffy looked at the limited choices.

"Finger foods? Umm..."

"Anything chocolate?" Spike's sweet tooth struck again.

"They have a dessert torte." Spike nodded his assent.

"Ask them to drizzle it with lots of chocolate sauce." Spike had a recurring fantasy that sustained him for months: Buffy's tongue lapping up chocolate sauce as he hand fed her something sinfully delectable.

Fate was a funny thing. Spike had so often been relegated to bitch status that anything else was still alien to him. He was not complaining though. The hero thing wasn't a bad gig. Heroes got room service. Okay, villains got room service too. Today, Spike got room service with Buffy. Perhaps the universe was not so poorly constructed after all.

Sitting in a comfortable chair in a quiet hotel room, listening to Buffy on the phone and Dawn turning the pages of her book in the other room, Spike felt the kind of belonging he had craved for longer than he'd actually admit. Who needed some lame ass prophecy anyway? What was the use of dangling a whisper of mortality in the face of a creature such as Spike? He made his own rules and followed his own path.

He'd make his own bloody prophecies come true, thank you very much.

When the dessert arrived, Buffy offered a slice to Dawn. Regretfully, she declined it and went back to her reading. Spike and Buffy sat across a small café style table near a sliding glass door that led to a microscopic balcony. Muted sounds of distant traffic elbowed their way into the quiet room through a sliver of an opening.

Spike picked up a fork and started in on a fantasy that had been brewing in his soul since the night he watched Buffy eat something decadent off of Robin Wood's fork. He pierced a chunk of the chocolate torte slice, dredged it in the sauce and then lifted it to Buffy's mouth. Lips and tongue and...there it was, the chocolate happy. Sometimes fantasies worked out just fine. She returned the favor. They fed each other like this until the dessert shrank to crumbs on the plate.

At last Spike spoke, having that particular fantasy sated for the time being.

"So, love, you've heard my show and tell. What about you? Killed anything interesting lately?"

"Not much. I mean, I think it will be a while before I get something cool like a dragon. You know, just your run of the mill pathetic vampires." There was a weird red fuzzy thing that ran away like a scared little mouse when she interrupted it scavenging in a dumpster. Interesting was not a word that would have described it and she never saw it again.

Spike understood perfectly. Rome did not have a good reputation among the vampire clans. Spike remembered those demons as a bunch of dour pretentious gits who gave new meaning to the term lifeless. Now, Venice was another story. Those Venetian vampires were bloody fancy buggers. They knew how to party. Rome housed a few long established nests, but the actual vampires? All they were good for was a sharpened length of pine.

"I've got a few slayers under my watch." Buffy perked up, wanting to tell Spike something interesting.

"They know their way around a stake, pet?" And probably a lengthy lecture too, Spike thought.

"Yep. They dust real good, but keeping them in school and eating properly and stopping them from killing each other...now that's the tricky part."

A lecture savvy flock of birds, no doubt. Spike nodded and spoke. "Being a mom is hard work." Buffy flashed him a quick look but Spike was being sincere.

"Yeah, I hate to admit it but I think I've become my mother." Buffy sighed deeply remembering the hell she put her own mother through. She put down her fork and scraped a blob of thickened chocolate sauce from the edge of the plate. She raised her finger to her mouth.

"Hey," Spike spoke in a deep seductive tone. "Thought we were sharing." He reached out and took her hand and brought her chocolate-coated fingertip to his mouth. Their eyes locked with liquid flames of desire. Just as his tongue was about to lick off the residue the adjoining bedroom door flung open. Buffy jumped.

"Okay, Spike you tell me right now," Dawn's eyes blazed daggers. "Darcy and Elizabeth end up together, right? RIGHT? Because why am I even reading this book if they don't end up together?"

"Keep reading Bit, all will be revealed."

"TELL ME!!" Dawn shrieked. It had been a while since she'd expressed such vehemence toward a book. The last one that nearly broke her was 'Charlotte's Web' and that was second grade.

"Dawn," Spike spoke softly. "Don't you know your fairy tales? True love always wins out in the end."

Dawn yelped triumphantly and returned to the bedroom. "I can't wait for Lizzie to kick Wickham's butt..."

Without missing a beat Spike dipped his head and sucked Buffy's finger into his mouth. She blushed and shifted in her seat. The sensation of his cool tongue wrapped around her index finger started a wave of sympathetic vibrations that started in her nipples and rippled downward.

Erotic eating was new to her and nuclear bomb blast hot. Sweet chocolate Spike lips, among other delights, lay just waiting to be plundered on the other side of the table. A loud snort and giggle reminded her that Dawn was close at hand as well, just on the other side of near paper thin walls.

Spike released her cleansed finger and promptly sucked in the next one. Mesmerized by his eyes and the sight of her digits disappearing into his mouth, Buffy's eyelids fell heavy with rekindled lust. This was going to be a long, long weekend.

"Spike..." Buffy bit her lip. "We can't...with Dawn...it's too--"

Spike released the last finger and leaned across the table. "Shh," he whispered. "Your virtue is safe, my lady." In direct opposition to that statement, Spike placed a soft nibbling kiss upon Buffy's lips. "I don't need anything else, honest. A good lump of chocolate cake in my tummy works wonders, you know?" It was just the faintest breath of affection. Spike knew enough not to start anything with Dawn so near. He figured from the look on Buffy's face that the finger sucking bit had pushed her a little too far for now.

"I can go out and get you some blood in the morning."

"I'm fine, pet, really."

Buffy looked at the bed and the balcony and the comfortable side chair, anywhere but at Spike's face. Looking at Spike's face would necessitate jumping and leaping and clothes ripping and other urgent and growly activities that were slightly more intimate than she'd ever want her sister to know.

Earlier events at Giles' office were selectively wiped from Buffy's memory. The Dawn listening in parts and her loud ode to the 'ew' were deleted. Spike swallowing her orgasmic cry as he churned his hips between her thighs was saved to an auxiliary file in her mind: free to be relived at a moment's notice.

Buffy had thought before leaving Rome that she'd have a relaxing weekend of shopping and hanging out with Dawn after she listened to some pathetic summary of how the world did not end. She needed a little decompression time. Impulsive sex with Spike in Giles brand spanking new office digs was not what she had envisioned when she woke up that morning, but it was just fine with her now. Buffy's mind churned with schemes to eliminate Dawn from the equation altogether and lick a chocolate-coated Spike from head to toe while concentrating on certain points in between.

"You tired, Buffy?" Spike hushed as he regarded her face. After all, she had been rather athletically occupied for some time just a few hours ago.

"Me? I just hopped over from Rome. You did the trans Atlantic thing, aren't you tired?"

"Nah, legendary constitution, comes in handy at times."

Out of nowhere Buffy yawned. "God, this is embarrassing."

"Come on, love, I think I remember this tune." Spike reached out his hand and pulled Buffy to standing. "Even slayers need to sleep."

"Okay, but only for a few minutes. We can talk all night. I want to hear everything, well...yes, everything."

"Whatever you desire..." Those were the last words Buffy remembered. She fell dead asleep as soon as they nestled onto the bed. She missed Dawn emerging from the other room to get her pajamas and disappear into the bathroom.

When Dawn walked back toward her bedroom door she offered some advice. "I gotta warn you Spike, she snores."

Spike nodded and bid Dawn good night. He knew that already.

He remembered everything.

Part 3: Frisky

As the fuzzy fingers of sunrise crept around the edges of the heavy drapery, Buffy woke out of necessity for the toilet. She untangled herself from Spike and walked still mostly sleep to the bathroom. Returning quickly to the bed she snuggled up to Spike again and began to think.

What would the day bring? Giles would probably want to do lunch and Dawn certainly wanted to shop and go sightseeing. Buffy formulated a plan in her head: utilize Giles and/or some of their coven friends to occupy Dawn with a varied and time consuming schedule. This would free up the hotel room for more hotel room-like activities.

Spike twisted in his sleep and brought her closer, his nose buried in her scalp. The door to the other bedroom opened.

"Whoever invented mornings should be staked." The frightening vision of bed head Dawn in her Sponge Bob Square Pants pajamas emerged from the other room. She yawned and scratched her head and walked with eyes closed into the bathroom with her bag of toiletries.

Spike opened an eye and squinted. Blonde hair, Buffy's scent and Dawn complaining; it wasn't a dream. "Mmm," he mumbled, burrowing himself deeper into Buffy's hair.

"Mmm, yourself." The shower activated and a high pitched squeal vibrated through the walls. Buffy turned over and faced Spike nose to nose. He opened both eyes this time.

"Morning, love."

"You slept."

"Yeah...why?"

"It's just neat, you know, morning...sunrise...and you waking up."

"Don't get too attached, pet, creature of the night here."

"Are you tired? Need some more rest?"

"Why, got plans to tire me out?" Despite her best effort, Buffy grinned at that astute suggestion.

"Dawn wants to go shopping and sightseeing and--"

"I understand. You two need your girl time."

"What? No. We've had plenty of girl time in Rome. Plenty. Her Italian is passable and mine is beyond painful, so I've had every conceivable conversation with my sister I'd ever thought I'd have and then some."

"So that means..."

"Breakfast with Dawn and then we call Giles for some quality chaperone duty. He's hot for the Tower of London and the castles and all that crap"

"Pawning your little sis off on Giles?" The smirk practically sizzled. "That's so..."

"Me? Yeah, I know. Besides, Giles owes me big time since I took Andrew off his hands months ago. I really think Andrew freaked Giles out with his transformation into Giles 2.0."

"Yeah, I caught that version in LA. A little different than the Andrew I remembered."

"Anyway, Dawn isn't even half the pain in the butt Andrew is, they'll have a great time."

The water stopped and Dawn soon emerged wrapped in several enormous towels.

"Good morning people!" She chirped in a too enthusiastic voice.

"Morning Bit," Spike said.

"You did leave some towels, didn't you Dawn?"

"Yah-huh. So, how have you two schemed to get rid of me so the perv train can leave the station?" Spike bit back his giggle.

"Dawn!" Buffy scolded automatically.

"Buffy," Dawn sighed, "let's just say that I'm conscious and, like, AWARE of the whole you two thing. I can take a hint, you know. It's fine with me as long as I don't have to listen to anything through any highly polished wooden doors...like ever again."

"How would you like a tour of London with Giles?"

Dawn shrugged her shoulders. "Could be cool. Giles has a whole different vibe here in the motherland. I can totally see the Ripper thing now. In Sunnydale he was kind of suity, you know? But in London he's almost hot."

"We'll leave for breakfast in ten minutes, Dawn. I just need to get dressed and comb my hair."

"Ten minutes!? Are you insane? I have to dry my hair, put on my face and get dressed and everything." Dawn grabbed her suitcase and dragged it into the adjoining room. The sound of a super turbo hair dryer soon filled the air.

"What is the world coming to Buffy? Dawn just called Rupert 'almost hot'. Does she have a geriatric fetish that you've been keeping from me?" Spike shook his head to get Dawn's puzzling words out of his ears.

"I don't know, there was that time she thought you were almost hot." Buffy slapped him with a mischievous smirk.

"Hey!" Spike grabbed Buffy and rolled over, pinning her to the bed.

"I need to get ready, Spike." Buffy made no overtures to free herself.

"You need to take that back. 'Geriatric' and 'Spike' have no business in the same sentence."

"I never said geriatric," Buffy grinned an evil grin and rotated her crotch against his. "Although personal experience with the reign of Queen Victoria is hard to argue against, gramps!"

"Torturing me with your little sister not fifteen feet away is it? That's a sassy slayer, that is."

"Well, you know me. Sassy, unpredictable, good with my hands..." Buffy reached between their entwined bodies and cupped his crotch, squeezing it with purpose.

"Buff-- ohhh," Spike closed his eyes to the pleasure of her fingers.

"Spike, you have the most enormous...knot...let me massage it for you."

"You are an evil woman, Buffy Summers."

Buffy licked the tip of his nose in reply. "Let me get some breakfast into Dawn and then I'll show you just how evil I can be." Her fingers never wavered from their tantalizing task.

Spike put all his evaporating concentration into his next statement. "Is that a promise pet? Because in all honesty, I've been disappointed before. You talk a good game, but can you deliver?" Their eyes flashed as seduction ricocheted between them.

Buffy redoubled her efforts. He wasn't allowed to be so cocky when she was in control of the joystick. "Don't worry about me, Spike. I can put my money where my mouth is, but I'd rather put your c--"

"You said ten minutes and you're not even out of bed!" Dawn's brow darkened as she walked into the room ready for the day ahead. "Stop snuggling and get moving!"

Buffy gave Spike one last hidden squeeze and then slid from the bed toward the bathroom. She grabbed her leather satchel on the way.

"They have a small breakfast room downstairs Buffy," Dawn suggested, reading the fine print on the room service card.

"That sounds great Dawn," Buffy called over the sound of running water. Spike angled his legs to shield Dawn from his evident erection. He was glad of the extreme tightness of his jeans, at least tenting would not be an issue.

"Should I go down and check out potential sunshine issues, Spike?" It never occurred to Dawn that the three of them would not be having breakfast together. She hoped this small hotel would have a small darkened restaurant. "You are having breakfast with us, right?"

"Of course, Nibblet."

"No need to check it out, Dawn, I'm ready." Buffy emerged from the bathroom in record time with jeans, a low cut gauzy blouse and her hair fixed in a loose ponytail.

"Didn't you want a shower, Buffy?" Dawn frowned at the unusual occurrence.

"I'm hungry now Dawn, and I can shower later. Spike, are you coming?" Buffy's eyes widened as soon as that last word left her mouth.

"Just a tic, ladies." Spike rolled off the bed gingerly, considering the sizeable erection he concealed beneath his jeans. He slipped on his duster and joined the girls as they walked down the hallway. Sacrificing his hair for a noble cause really cut down on his prep time.

Much to their delight the hotel sported a dingy windowless dining room that offered a breakfast buffet. Buffy spoke to Giles on her cell phone and made arrangements for the day. Dawn ate a bowl of fruit while her scone floated in a huge puddle of raspberry preserves. Buffy munched on eggs and toast. Spike played with strawberry after strawberry, licking them to distraction for Buffy's benefit.

Thankfully, this was the one time that Dawn's 'ew' radar was not functioning. She made some comment about Spike needing his roughage that made Buffy choke.

Giles soon arrived ready to escort Dawn on the highbrow tour of London. Buffy told Dawn to call later and they'd make plans for a fun night on the town. Spike nodded and offered several possibilities of his favorite spots.

As soon as Dawn and Giles left the room Buffy slipped her foot out of her sandal and slid it up into Spike's crotch. That got his undivided attention.

"How dare you eat strawberries like that in front of my little sister," Buffy scolded him while pulsing her foot into his once again growing erection. Spike slipped his hand under the table and held her foot against him.

"Let's get some to go pet. I want to eat them off of you."

"Wait, Spike, I've got to go get you some blood."

"Told you I was fine, love." Buffy leaned forward and whispered into this face. "You're going to be a very, very busy boy today. I don't want you 'fine' and I don't want you hungry for anything else...but me."

"Right. Butcher shop...I'll ask the waitress."

*

Buffy wiggled all the way up in the elevator. Excitement bubbled over in her mind and three containers of pig's blood lay clutched in her hands. She just couldn't keep her feet still.

The door to room 69 opened and she entered.

"Well, well, what have we here?" Spike pounced immediately, pinning her against the door. His voice snarled in low tones and aimed straight for Buffy's crotch. "Such a pretty girl and so far from home. What do you have in your sack little girl? Something for grandma?" Spike's eyes flared yellow for a moment.

The Little Red Riding Hood thing was so cliché but Buffy had enjoyed it a long time ago when Spike encouraged her to experiment sexually. Spike made an excellent Mr. Wolf. Buffy could admit that she was a little wooden as Red Riding Hood but that did not interfere with some monumental orgasms.

From this distance that particular game seemed a little tame and Buffy did not want Spike to get the upper hand. Besides, she'd had a few other fantasies brewing over their long months of separation.

"Sorry to burst your bubble Mr. Wolf but I'd rather not go there today."

"Oh," Spike stepped back to allow Buffy access to the nearby dresser. She set down the blood and in a flash pinned him face first into the door.

"Assume the position." Buffy spoke with gritty slayer authority. Spike smirked and raised his hands flush with the door.

"Have you been a bad boy, Spike?" Buffy cooed.

"You know it, pet."

"Call me Slayer."

"Very bad, Slayer."

"You better hold still while I check for any hidden weapons." Buffy's hands trailed up Spike's spine and out to his shoulders. They curved under his armpits and down over his chest. "I'll bet you're packin'," Buffy continued. Spike stifled any chuckles at her bad porn film dialogue because the sensations were so acute.

Buffy slid her palms down the length of his legs and back up to his rear end. A thorough investigation of his ass occurred before she reached around Spike's hip to encircle his straining bulge.

"Mmm, just what I thought...a .22," Buffy bit her lip to stop giggling. "A .22?" Spike erupted with indignation. "Buffy, that's a small caliber weapon. Feel again pet."

"I really need to study up on my firearms," Buffy deadpanned and squeezed him. "Oh, yes...sorry, not a small caliber weapon, more of a medium cal--"

"Excuse me? Try a bloody bazooka, Slayer. Don't you be casting aspersions to my manli--"

"Did I say you could talk?" She squeezed his restrained bulge tightly. "Get a load of the lip on this guy..." Buffy plunged her hand down the front of Spike's jeans, barely managing to wedge her fingers between his skin and the fabric. "How can you wear such tight pants, don't they cut off your circulation?" Buffy squeezed his shaft with slow deliberate pulses.

"That's not really a problem for me, Slayer."

"The way you look in these pants ought to be a crime." Her tongue followed her whisper into his ear. Now they were back to a badly dubbed version of 'Buffy does Budapest'.

"Is that right?"

"Yes. I think I'll need to take your clothes in as evidence." She let a giggle escape her throat that time.

"I don't think that's right, Slayer. Sounds a bit like sexual harassment to me."

Buffy reached between Spike's legs with her free hand and grabbed his balls. "Is that a complaint, I hear?"

"Fuck...Did somebody say something? 'Cause I didn't hear a bloody thing."

"Good, now take off your clothes while I get the cuffs." She whispered seductively into his ear. Buffy had forgotten the speed at which Spike could disrobe. She figured it could accurately be measured with accelerated film photography, like how they show hummingbirds in flight. Buffy went to her bag and pulled out her red chiffon scarf. It would have to do. She kicked herself privately that she hadn't brought more scarves, but sexcapades were not on her itinerary when she packed. She really needed to decide: did she want him blindfolded or tied up?

Tied up it was. She always liked to look at his face when he was at her mercy. With only a flimsy scarf to hold him back, all the restraints would be in their minds.

"On the bed...Spike," Buffy ordered with a slight growl to her voice. Spike leaped onto the bed, eager for the games to begin. Buffy straddled his chest and brought his arms up over his head. She looped the scarf around his crossed wrists and tied him to the bedstead. Spike gripped the metal crosspiece to anchor himself.

She then crossed her arms and pulled off her nearly see through blouse. She stood up on the bed still straddling his chest and peeled off her jeans. She looked lovely, spilling over in a matching set of white lace bra and bikini panties.

"I know how to punish someone like you." Buffy stepped down the bed and knelt, straddling his hips. She threaded her fingers through her hair and freed her ponytail.

"I remember you telling me once you liked my hair, especially when it bounced. I think you were making a rude comment." Buffy leaned forward, stretching herself the length of his torso. Her soft curls cascaded across his face.

Nose to nose she challenged him. "You still like it, Spike?"

"I do," he responded simply, lost in the clouds of her hair.

"Oh, a civilized answer for a change. Well that won't save you from what you deserve..." Buffy began switching her hair slowly back and forth criss-crossing his chest and down his abdomen. She met his rather formidable erection and paused, swaying her locks over his straining cock.

Buffy opened her mouth coyly and then surged back up his body to his face.

"I take back anything that I may have said as a slight against that mighty beast," Buffy spoke softly and wrapped a palm around his swollen cock. "We're definitely in bazooka territory, Spike." She flared her eyebrows at him and began pumping her hand. "Let me apologize properly."

With that statement Buffy dragged her tongue down his sensitized chest, over his abdomen and sucked his length inside her mouth.

Spike bucked and drew breath, his eyes fixed on that most wondrous of sights.

Buffy flipped her hair theatrically to the side to accommodate his view. "Did you miss me, Spike?" she looked up at him with the look of a playful kitten twitching its tail. "Because it's been a long, hard winter without you..." Buffy giggled at the ridiculousness of her statement and went back to work. She took him with deep sweeping strokes, lots of saliva and exaggerated slurping sounds and groans. She knew well how Spike appreciated all the bells and whistles.

Buffy did not forget anything. The entire top ten Spike favorites were hauled out for a truly mind numbing experience. The throat humming, the tongued do-si-do, that one spot he liked her to nibble on and that syncopated suction thing that had him squirming in agony, trying desperately not to come.

"Now that's just plain pig-headedness, Spike. I want you to come." Buffy slowing teased the head and weeping aperture. "Don't you want to come...on my tongue?"

"Fuck, yes," Spike yelped, passed the point of control. He started a flow of dangerous proportions. Buffy squeaked in delight and sealed her lips over the head, sucking and swallowing all he had to offer. She'd missed hearing his abandoned cries of ecstasy.

"Mmm." In conclusion Buffy raised to her knees and licked her fingers clean in an exaggerated manner. She undid and removed her bra, rolled over on her back beside Spike and lifted her feet into the air to remove her panties.

"Ready for round two, tough guy?" Buffy rolled over again in order to mount him. The next thing she knew Spike had her flipped under him and was pounding between her legs at a blistering pace and kissing her breathless.

"Hey, slow down cowboy...patience is a virtue."

"Fuck bloody patience," Spike growled and then thought better of it. "Forget that, 'cause I'd rather be fucking you."

"Pace yourself, Spike, I don't want you to injure the missile." Buffy wrapped her legs around him and tilted her pelvis for maximum penetration.

"Missile's fine, love, right where it belongs..."

*

"You're telling me you finally beat up Angel and I missed it? Just my luck." Buffy screwed up her face in regret and watched as Spike finished off the last of his blood. "By any chance were scented body oils a part of this fight?" Buffy lay on her side, propped up on one elbow while she lazily rubbed her calf against his.

Spike wrinkled his brow with incredulity. "Pet, I wanted to kill Peaches and would have, but I knew you'd--" His voice stopped, not wanting to continue along that avenue. "What's with you Buffy? We were fighting for real. There was nothing erotic about it. I got some things off my chest that needed saying. I let the bugger know where we stood. He's not master anymore and I made him see that. I was bloody well top dog that day."

"Oh."

"Was all for naught though, seeing as I got a nice cup of Mountain Dew for my troubles, 'stead of the bloody brass ring...again."

Buffy took the last empty container of blood, leaned over Spike's chest and threw it in the trash bin.

"Don't tell me you actually have sexual fantasies about me and the poof? Because that might concern me, pet."

"No comment." Buffy couldn't hide the hint of a smile and the faintest tinge of her cheeks. Spike rolled on top of her, nestling himself between her welcoming thighs.

"You dream about me doing this with him?" Spike snarled and leaned down slowly to lick her lips. "Is that it?" Her girlish erotic fantasies were her own business and he'd never seriously rebuke her for them. Her playful ideas were tame compared to the truth of the torment he once suffered under the dead weight of Angelus and his endlessly inventive bitch, Darla. Spike would never reveal that truth to Buffy.

Sexually, Angelus was all about hierarchy and corrosive egotism. Spike had been his favorite tortured pet because Spike was on the bottom rung of the ladder. Spike submitted but was never broken and resistance was the most potent aphrodisiac for Angelus. Those memories were best left in the graveyard of the past.

That one time with Angel was more of an accident. He said he was reaching for the remote and Spike believed him. That half hearted grope would technically qualify as an intimate exchange, but they both agreed never to discuss it.

"Well, kinda..." Buffy admitted. "Once-- twice!" she amended quickly and covered her face with her hands. "Don't ask me to justify my fantasies, Spike. Some of them are just plain weird."

"Maybe I want to hear the weird ones, pet," Spike licked the inner edge of her ear. Buffy tightened her thighs around his hips.

"No fantasies. This, I want this."

"Show me." The gravelly timbre of Spike's voice rattled Buffy to her core.

"Want this," Buffy moved her hand between them and captured his cock. "Need this," she angled him toward her opening and placed him there. "Just this," Buffy thrust her pelvis to envelope him. Spike reciprocated with a leisurely pace.

There were no clocks in that room and the forgotten sun hung still in the sky. Time held no meaning there. Hidden within four walls in an unremarkable hotel on a quiet street were the heirs of giants. Here were the shades of Orpheus and his Eurydice, Troilus and his Cressida, Cleopatra and her Antony. Here were the fires of love, the faces of love, the furies of love. Two veterans of the plagues supped the unquenchable nectar of joy found in that rarest of botanical specimens, the fragrant flower of hope.

Always a considerate lover, Spike excelled in the area of endurance. His stubborn resilience continually pissed Angel off, but it made Buffy's body sing the sweetest arias he'd ever heard.

He slipped his hand between them and caressed her clit, giving her the pleasure and delight he felt. She arched strongly off the bed, thrashing her head about. Something feral seized her and she surged upward, her teeth mindlessly biting into his cheekbone and drawing blood.

Spike's eyes blazed golden seeing his blood on her tongue. Expecting to see disgust or horror at what she had done in the throes of passion, Spike was again stunned to see only that look. The one that belonged to him.

"I love you," Buffy managed. "Let me love you." She brought her shaking hands to his face and lay her palms against his skin. "Let me see you." Her voice was soft and shy. The games were now ended. There would be no artifice for them. Buffy needed the truth as much as Spike did.

Spike relaxed and let himself shift. She felt the reconfiguration of his features beneath her fingers. His throat then sounded a low vibrating snarl of near contentment.

The look on Buffy's face was one of fascination. She'd seen this face many times before, but always in battle. Now as he hovered above her, his hips curving languidly into hers, she saw something new, something that wasn't all beast. This was a face so deeply in love she could weep.

"Show me your big teeth, Mr. Wolf," she whispered softly, careful not to burst the fantastical scene before her. Spike opened his mouth and showed her his fangs. She brought her finger tentatively to his mouth.

"May I?" Spike nodded, knowing she wouldn't hurt herself. Buffy felt the edges of his teeth; they were not unlike her own teeth. The canines were longer to be sure and sharper, but they were not razors. Spike could no longer resist; he sucked her finger into his mouth and matched that rhythm to the rhythm of his pelvis.

Buffy giggled and flipped them, not satisfied with Spike's slow and easy cadence. She sat up tall and squeezed him securely within her.

"Buff-ffy," Spike gasped as his hands came to rest on her hips.

"I want you," Buffy leaned forward and kissed his thickened lips. "I want to make you come. Just as you are, right here, right now." She began to undulate her hips but her growing hunger required a shift of position. Buffy straightened up and began her journey.

"I love a man who is a wolf and a boy and a sinner and a hero..." The words sailed through her mind as if painted there by some master unseen. It was only later that she realized she had spoken them aloud.

*

"Okay...okay...that sounds...yes...put Giles back on. Hi...dinner is fine. We have some plans afterward. You're welcome to join us...oh...what's her name? Accounts receivable? Sounds very top drawer...okay, have fun. I'll expect Dawn at eight o'clock. Thanks Giles." Buffy ended the call and closed her cell phone. She put it on the counter and resumed her relaxed position in the bathtub back against Spike's chest.

"Everything okay with the Bit?" Spike toyed with the last remnants of shampoo residue that pooled on the surface of the water.

"She's all touristed out and ready for some chow. Giles knows this place."

"So that means?"

"We order in."

"Strawberries," Spike raised his index finger. "A big bowl of strawberries."

"I can't survive on strawberries. I need to build up my strength."

"Well actually, they're not for you love. But if you're extra nice, I'll think about sharing a few."

"I'm ordering a burger with some vegetables." Buffy felt Spike harden against her bottom. "Spike! Don't tell me vegetables get you horny? I could so rent a carrot suit!"

Spike laughed. "'S not the food pet. I don't think I've seen you eat anything substantial since back in the Bronze age."

Buffy smiled wistfully at that reference. "Well contrary to the polls, I do actually eat. You want to see me chew? What was breakfast? I chewed at breakfast."

"Don't remember breakfast...don't remember anything."

Buffy sat forward and twisted her head to look at him. "Sure you remember...Angel slayed a dragon? Saved the wor--" Spike grabbed her and kissed her hungrily. Soon his fingers began tickling her torso and armpits.

"Hey! Stop that!" Buffy thrashed and the water sloshed about, spilling onto the floor. "Spike! Behave! I need to rest a bit if I'm going to ravish you one more time before Dawn comes back. Plus we have to straighten this place up and the whole flooded floor thing might be a clue to our sleuthy chick of the goings on today."

"Fine, come here. Non-sexual hugs available." Spike drew Buffy once more to his chest.

"Okay, so where were you again?" Buffy tried to remember where Spike had been in his story before Dawn called.

"The amulet?"

"You passed that, and I love the no jewelry thing, by the way. It's so rrrhhhrr." She wiggled her bottom against his cock, maintaining his state of arousal. Spike raised his eyebrow at that kittenish vibration from Buffy's throat.

"It's my own personal rule now love. Seeing as it's so easy to be lassoed into near nothingness by a sparkly bit of stuff -- so no man jewels for me, not never, not no how."

"Oh, I think it was the shoes thing!"

"Right." Spike's hands encircled her torso and cupped her breasts. "The Shanshu." He kissed Buffy's temple. "That's Angel's gig anyway. Always was, I just got a bit of a swelled head over it. And then the stale cup of Mountain Dew, o' course."

"Hmm."

"Buffy?"

"Nothing."

"I'm fine with it, honest. Took his seconds all my life--"

"SPIKE!?" Buffy jumped forward in the tub and flashed him a looked of the deeply pissed variety.

Spike's eyes snapped open. "Oh, no love, not you...never you...bloody hell..." Spike kicked himself mentally for that unintended slip. She nestled back onto his chest and let him continue. "I was talking 'bout the bad old days. When we was evil. Never thought I'd get out from under his heel." Buffy nodded and looked up at him with kindness. "Never knew how dead I was, love, until you showed me how alive I could be." Awkward as the position was they kissed tenderly until Buffy stood up.

"Time's a wasting Spike, we've got a schedule to keep. I think there's a ravishing in your immediate future." She grabbed a towel and Spike's erection.

"Hey, easy...easy...Slay--ohhh...fuuuccckkk."

*

"Hold still, where's that famous slayer muscle control when I need it?"

"You've fucked it out of me, Spike. Call me the contented noodle. Look, I'm going to fall off."

"You're going to bloody well stay put. You're a picture like this, all quivering and delicious..." Buffy balanced on top of the small yet sturdy café table with her hands gripping the edge behind her and her knees drawn up and spread wide apart.

After Buffy finished her meal, a series of urgent kisses ended with Spike coaxing Buffy backward against the small table. Soon her robe was discarded and she was on top of the table in a precarious and sensually inviting position. She felt silly at first until Spike started with his magic lips and fingers. Soon all thoughts of discomfort fled.

Spike sat between her thighs chewing strawberry after strawberry he at first dipped lazily between her oozing lips, coating each one thoroughly in her juices. Buffy's arms began to shake at the erotic torture of the scene. She heaved in breaths, trying to maintain her position.

"Spike, my butt is asleep."

"Your butt deserves a little rest, love. 'S been very busy, if memory serves."

"I think I've got a cramp," Buffy complained weakly.

"Shh, I think I need to stir the honey pot..." Spike inserted two fingers into her depths and lowered his mouth to her clit. "Mmm, strawberry pussy...how's that cramp now, pet?"

"Cr-cramp? Feels...oh god do that again."

"What love? That?" Buffy's incomprehensible warble raised a few notes. "Oh, baby likes that?"

"Likes...likes...yeah, likes." Buffy began to doubt whether she'd actually be able to walk in the next few days, let alone go out on the town when Dawn came back.

Shit. Dawn.

There was a wristwatch somewhere in this thoroughly debauched space. It could well be close to eight o'clock. Buffy's brow wrinkled as she tried to care. The vision of Spike's face buried between her thighs was too distracting. Closed eyes focused her attention completely on his energetic fingers and tongued suction.

"Spike..."

"Yes love?"

"I think I may need the big stir stick..."

Part 4: Folly

Dawn breezed through the lobby of the hotel with her Union Jack emblazoned tote bag stuffed with interesting tidbits from her day out with Giles. She bought some horrendous knick-knacks just because being a tourist demanded ill-conceived trinket purchases.

A small statuette of Big Ben with a thermometer in it, some souvenir fridge magnets from Windsor Castle, a Beefeaters leather book mark, and a bobblehead doll of her future husband, Prince William, jostled together in her carry all bag.

She couldn't resist buying a small reproduction booklet entitled 'Dr. Hopper's Scientific Methodology for the Prompt Relief of Hysterical Malaise in the Female Person' for Buffy. It was a suggested regimen for the development of womanly powers from some nineteenth century quack. The earnest cautions in the text made Dawn giggle with fiendish delight. Spirited walking was recommended if a lady was unmarried. If the lady in question was five and twenty years or older and still unmarried, spirited walking was amended by daily doses of Dr. Hopper's 'Invigorata'. Dawn figured that was Victorian speak for 100 proof alcohol.

Dawn bought a David Beckham bobblehead doll for Andrew because he specifically requested it. She couldn't find a Timothy Dalton bobblehead doll.

The day passed pleasantly in Giles' company. Dawn just couldn't get over how young and with it Giles seemed here in England. She figured he probably would have had more girlfriends stateside if he had unclenched a bit in Sunnydale. Granted, the Hellmouth and all tended to tighten everyone up, but unclenched Giles was a sight to behold.

As the elevator door to the sixth floor opened, Dawn paused. She knew exactly what Buffy and Spike had been up to during her absence. She wasn't going to be shocked if the room was totally trashed due to their supernatural horniness, just as long as all nasty action was completely finished for the time being. Just to be safe, Dawn slipped off her shoe and flung it at the door from a safe distance.

The door opened and a fully dressed Buffy looked down at Dawn's shoe.

"Ha, ha, Dawn. Very funny. Come in." Dawn walked into the room. It was clean and tidy. Not a speck of dust was out of place and hospital corners practically screamed on the neatly made bed. Hospital corners! Talk about obvious. Dawn stuck her head into her tiny sleeping space and found it exactly the way she'd left it. Her bed was unmade and the top lay strewn with her suitcase and her clothes. She breathed a sigh of relief. No man's land had not been breached by the horn dog express. She decided not to torture Buffy and Spike. They were only hapless prisoners of their hormones after all and Dawn really wanted them to stay together. Ambivalence seemed the sensible and obvious choice.

"How was your day, Nibblet?" Spike sat in a relaxed position on the side chair looking particularly Buffy addled.

"Good. Giles and I stalked this lady down the street for seven blocks. She was some actress he had a crush on when he was a teenager. Diana Rigg, have you heard of her? You should have seen Giles' blush Buffy, it was awesome. He made me ask for her autograph because, you know, Giles and the chick thing?"

"Diana Rigg?" Spike's eyes grew animated. "She was quite the dish in her day, Bit. Star of this show, 'The Avengers'. God was she sexy with her leather body suit and karate moves." Buffy raised her eyebrows.

"Imagine Dawn, a man turned on by a woman in leather doing karate moves. I am shocked and appalled, shocked and appalled."

"Giles actually watched television, Buffy. My illusions are all shattered." Dawn tossed her purchases on her bed. "So, what's the plan?" She looked hopefully at Buffy who was dressed for a night of wicked fun in a short suede pleated skirt, a fitted blue, long sleeved satin blouse and her naughty librarian suede lace-up ankle boots.

Dawn looked at Buffy's outfit. "Ooo! Flippy skirt! Are we going out dancing? We are, aren't we?"

"Yes." Buffy paused for Dawn's enormous squeak and bizarre Snoopy dance. It looked more like a Tweety Bird dance. "Spike knows some places and he wants to show us the town."

"Yay us!" Dawn's head nodded as if her neck was a broken hinge. "Demon bars, Spike? Lots of rough 'n' tumble joints where desperate fiends drink mysterious fluids and bob for entrails?"

"Steady on, Bit," Spike's eye twitched involuntarily. Where did Dawn come up with this crap? "Nice clubs. Nice human clubs. Dancing and such."

"Okay, that's cool too. I'll need to change into something vile and skanky." Spike balked. Buffy spoke up quickly sensing some mild panic in the Spike seats.

"Not too skanky Dawn, we don't want to offend Spike's blushing eyes." Buffy winked at him.

"Did you pack a sweater Nibblet? You always looked right fetching in a big bulky sweater." Dawn closed the door to her small cubby of a room and started changing.

"Ha ha, very funny, Spike."

"She could be a while," Buffy finished the last touches to her hair and then sat against Spike's leg. "We might as well get comfortable." She draped her arms around his neck. Neck nuzzling began on schedule.

"Can I kiss you?" Spike whispered.

"Mmm hmm, lipstick has yet to be applied." She smiled coyly into his mouth.

"That's my smart girl." The words were out of his mouth before Spike realized what he had said. My girl. He hadn't wanted to break the spell. Intimations of possession did not go over well with Buffy. This he knew like the back of his hand. However, the soft smiling press of Buffy's lips in answer to his statement comforted him, and then a fragrant curtain of hair fell across his cheek.

My girl. My sweet girl.

Dawn heard no sounds. That was worrying. Something worrying was occurring just beyond her door. She dressed quickly in her best rendition of a skanky suit of armor: a tight red camisole with a red see through blouse paired with an asymmetrical fringed denim skirt and bulky metal ringed belt. Steeling her nerve she announced her intentions.

"Innocent bystander coming through," Dawn hollered and opened the door. She was relieved to see Spike and Buffy just sitting quietly together on the chair.

"What do you think, Spike? Bad to the bone?" Dawn raised her eyebrows for his reply. All he could see was his little Bit all tarted up in something tight and tempting; something that would catch any man's attention; something he may need to draw blood to protect. Spike had no idea what the proper response would be. Dawn helped him out.

"Say you were a guy, Spike," she began. Buffy put her fingers to her mouth to hide her grin. "Buffy! Stop that. I'm talking to Spike."

"Yes Bit?"

"Okay, you're a guy and you see me. Do you ask me to dance based on this outfit?"

"Yes, I'd ask you to dance. You look lovely, Nibblet." Okay, that sounded positive yet neutral.

"Lovely?! I'm supposed to look dangerous. Cagey like a panther ready to pounce--"

"Okay, danger girl," Buffy stood up and rescued Spike to his great relief. "Now you're just scaring Spike. Are you ready? Or do you think you'd like to change your Snoopy earrings?"

Dawn's fingers flew to her ears. "I'm still wearing my Snoopys! Thanks Buffy, that would have been embarrassing." Dawn ducked back into her room and emerged wearing silver hoops.

"Now, there is a dangerous female." Spike appraised her again, knowing at last what she wanted to hear. Dawn chuckled breezily and dipped into the bathroom to reapply her lipstick.

"Hurry up Dawn," Buffy urged and grabbed her purse.

"I'm ready, willing and able to dance you two under the table!" Dawn emerged with a million dollar smile. The night held its charms within easy reach. The girls walked down the hallway. Spike shut the door and followed them to the elevator. It had been a long time since he'd seen these girls so free and easy. The night would be a memorable enchantment for all of them. Spike would make sure of that.

*

"Why don't we go in there and ask for directions?" Buffy knew the futility of her statement as soon as the words left her mouth. Vampire status aside, Spike, like any man, was biologically incapable of requesting directional assistance.

"Mulligan's?" Spike read the pub sign and twisted his face in disgust. "That's an Irish pub, love. You won't catch me dead in an Irish pub." Spike's mind journeyed back and he felt the need to amend his statement. "Well, maybe once. But Angel forced me and I didn't enjoy it. Much."

"Hello? Underage here. Watching drunks swigging the hooch doesn't even crack the top 100 of my Midnight Train to Adventure short list." Dawn drew her mouth together in a knot and wiggled it at Buffy. Exasperated, dance crazed Dawn could be a problem if she didn't intersect with a dance floor soon.

"Bloody Harry Potter's given you kids right realistic expectations of adventure, Nibblet." Spike looked down the street again, trying to get his bearings.

"What?!" Dawn burst with offended pride. "Hard core adventure chick here, Spike. Mystical manifestation, Sunnydale 2000, class of one, thank you very much."

Buffy pulled a petite pocket travel guide from her purse and began thumbing through it. Perhaps Spike's non-existent club was in the index. "Don't be offended Spike."

"I don't need a bloody guide book to know where the action's at." Spike twisted his face into an expression of extreme distaste. "This is my home turf after all. Londoner here, girls, I do know where I'm going."

"Okay, okay." Buffy raised her hand slightly in surrender. She knew how important it was for Spike to show them a good time but so far they'd just walked the streets of London searching in vain for hot spots that obviously were no longer in existence. It was a warm evening with no breeze. Dawn grabbed the friendly looking 'What To Do in London' book from Buffy.

"I looked at this on the plane Buffy, there's plenty of good stuff." The image of the three of them wandering the streets in an aimless mental fog filled Dawn with dread. She rifled through the well worn pages of the guidebook before stopping on one. "Look, if we can't find Spike's place, here's something cool," she began reading aloud. "The Midnight Jack the Ripper walking tour...visit the haunts of this mysterious Victorian gentleman...there's a phone number. It says every midnight but Monday, we've got lots of time." Dawn looked up hopefully.

"No, Dawn, that's just ghoulish." Buffy wrinkled her nose.

"Well, d-u-u-h? I thought ghoulish was us. It could be cool." Dawn was sure they'd never agree to her suggestion, but she wasn't going to give up.

"Bit, listen to your sister, you wouldn't find it fun."

"Why is that Spike, or should I say...Jack?"

Spike stopped and stared daggers at Dawn. "That guy was human and an amateur and a bloody sadist. And Bit? Believe me, for me to say someone else was a sadist? Especially a human? Well, that's something."

Dawn leveled a sigh in Spike's direction. "Okay, so you weren't Jack the Ripper. But it's a mystery. I like mysteries, kind of researchy puzzle girl here."

"Dawn," Buffy interrupted smoothly, "I thought you wanted to go dancing."

"I do. Let's just pick some place and go. Only you two have to keep your distance once we get to wherever it is we're going. Unchaperoned hotties get asked to dance. So when we get there, you two don't know me."

Spike opened his mouth to protest that he was no chaperone when Buffy tapped his arm. "Just say, 'yes Dawn', believe me, it's easier that way."

"Yes Dawn." Spike answered obediently.

*

"Okay, no worries ladies, I know there's a club around this block." Spike looked around animatedly, trying to quell his growing panic. Things couldn't have changed that much. He was just in London, wasn't he? Spike thought about the last time he stayed in London for an extended period of time.

It had been a while.

"Bloody Hell!" His curses filled the bustling streets. "Bloody, buggering, boarded up, closed down, moved...fuck," Spike's voice dwindled to a wisp. He started to pace and mutter through clenched teeth. Pacing Spike was not a good sign at all. A pacing and muttering Spike was something to be avoided at all costs. Buffy took Dawn's arm and pulled her aside.

"He just needs a few minutes, Dawn."

"Buffy, there's a place here," Dawn held up the guidebook. "It's called Exotica. It has eight stars. Eight stars Buffy, that's good. Let's get a cab."

"Exotica? Let me see that. It sounds like a strip joint." Buffy took the book and read the paragraph.

"See? Dance club," Dawn looked over Buffy's shoulder. "Let's go there and dance before Spike goes completely postal."

"I've got it!" Spike erupted with a light bulb moment. "Just in the next block. Dancing and everything, I promise." Spike's elated expression looked so sincere. He desperately wanted to show his girls a good time and he knew a place so...fingers crossed.

A short distance away the trio came upon a neon lit façade that appeared to have people bursting from its seams. It certainly was a club, and for all appearances a popular spot. Brutal, uncompromising dance music flowed from its doors. Buffy saw some hot looking guys enter under and sign that blinked 'The Jungle Room'.

"Must have changed names, but this is definitely the place." Spike bounced eagerly on his toes, ready to dance the night away. They entered the crowded club.

Spike began moving to the heady beat of the music. Yeah, he'd show them a good time, something to remember. Buffy smiled and Dawn ogled the near ocean of hot, sweaty, tanned, coifed, shaved and tightly clad men. Hot, hotter and hottest specimens of the most illegally gorgeous men Dawn had ever seen occupied every space imaginable in the bustling club.

"Whoa, Buffy look at these guys, they're..." Slowly clueing in to the total absence of female patrons, Dawn looked around and finally heard her insistent gaydar beeping beneath the drone of some seriously raw dance beats.

"Gay." Buffy finished Dawn's sentence. "This is a gay club." She turned toward the head bopping vampire. "Spike?"

"Gay? Pshaw!" Spike sputtered in denial as he took a closer look. "This was a gentleman's club, there were girls, honest."

"A gentleman's club? What are we talking? Hugh Hefner? Did you want to take my underage sister to a..." Buffy hushed her tones unnecessarily, "...peeler palace? That's just great. Where once there were girls, now there are boys. That's called karma, Spike, and it's just taken a big bite out of your ass."

"What are you saying, Buffy?" Dawn strained to hear.

"Spike wanted to take us to a strip club."

"Is this a gay strip club? Interesting choice: bold and unconventional, which is, you know, so you Spike. I vote to stay." Dawn's eyes clouded over as a sweaty expanse of chocolate chest resplendent with glitter breezed by her face. "Can we stay Buffy? Please?"

The neophytes were soon spotted by an aging drag queen in a blue bouffant wig who seemed to have every imaginable makeup product on her face at the same time. Now that was a body not made for a skintight mini dress, Buffy observed as the creature approached. She looked like a pleasant enough bedazzled sausage as she oozed up to Spike and Buffy.

"Hey girlfriend," the creature spoke in a deep but refined upper class baritone directly at Buffy. "You and Mr. Leather-Me-Wonderful can stay, but the female?" She looked askance at sideshow obsessed Dawn. "She has to go. This is a non-hetero zone; absolutely no females allowed."

Buffy's eyes widened to saucers. "Hey...HEY!" Buffy turned on a dime. "Spike," she hissed into Spike's ear. "That big fat guy doesn't think I'm a...drag queen, does he? DOES HE?"

It had been a long time since Buffy had been so thoroughly insulted by a human that her mind stumbled. The correct reaction would be...right cross? Left uppercut? Stingingly brutal verbal jab? The thing stepped back into the bosom of her people -- vacuously beautiful buff and tawny underwear models all.

What fucking planet was this again?

"Let's go sweetheart." Spike put his fingers on Buffy's elbow. All vampire machismo evaporated. He hadn't even the presence of mind to growl in defense of his woman. Never had he wanted the ground to swallow him up so much in his life.

"What? What's going on?" Dawn yelled in Buffy's ear.

"That guy thinks I'm a guy," Buffy spoke agitatedly and then erupted, slayer style. "HEY!! YOU!! FYI GIDGET! I am a WOMAN! 100% WOMAN HERE!" Impulsively she opened a few buttons and unclasped her bra, flashing her breasts at the blue haired queen standing not six feet away among a gaggle of regulars.

"BUFFY?!!" Dawn squawked in disbelief. This could get ugly really quick.

"Work it girl! Attitude is everything!" The aging queen snapped her fingers in defiant sisterhood with Buffy. Ugly landed with a big fat plop.

Buffy reddened and closed her blouse. Authentic surgery free female breasts did not seem to be persuasive. Dawn grabbed Buffy's arm and led her from the chaos.

"Come on, Mr. Sister," Dawn spoke in even tones, "let's go."

"Did you see the shoes on that stick?" The drag queen spoke conspiratorially to an acquaintance. "The nerve..."

Buffy quickly did up her bra and blouse and grabbed Spike's wrist as they left the club.

"Dawn, give us a second." Dawn kept her squealing guffaw at bay when she saw on Buffy's face the shaky remnants of Freakzilla, her scary and mostly retired alter ego. The Freak, no stranger to Sunnydale, had showed her face once in Rome when Dawn was late arriving home from a night out with a boy.

Dawn followed them for a few steps and then stopped as they turned a corner. Spike was preparing for something acutely painful. This was bad. Really bad. All kinds of bad. Approaching Drusilla bad.

"Buffy love, I didn't--I wouldn't--I--" Expecting broken bones, Spike resigned himself to his fate. He should have consulted that Nancy-boy guidebook. He knew that now. Should have it tattooed on my bloody forehead, Spike thought, too late smart, too soon bloodied.

Buffy flung Spike back against a brick wall. He steeled himself for her fists. "Kiss me," was all she said. He obeyed. Nobody was going to insult the womanliness of his angel. They leaned deeply into each other, dipping and surfacing with hands everywhere, completely oblivious to Dawn's presence.

Dawn chanced a peek around the corner and gave them a little leeway. Rousing from a demanding connection, Spike stroked Buffy's cheek softly. "Look at me, love," he whispered with tenderness. "I know what you are and I know who you are. Say the word and I'll go back in there and rip that wanker's wig clean off and beat him bloody with it." Buffy burst into giggles.

"Spike, that girl --guy-- whatever that person was, was a person. Human. So no beating up allowed." She snuggled into his mouth for another deep kiss. Buffy was readying herself for a spontaneous ascent of Mount Spike when Dawn cleared her throat. Leeway was over for the time being. The night was young and Dawn had her dancing shoes on.

"Um, earth to heteros, earth to heteros...come in heteros. Equilibrium has been established, it's time to hail a cab."

Spike and Buffy parted slowly. "A cab sounds good," Buffy admitted.

"Yeah, a cab and then some dancing."

"Dawn," Buffy finally looked into her sister's amused expression. "This NEVER happened...okay?" Dawn was struck by the vulnerability evident in Buffy's face. This was a fragility Buffy rarely admitted to herself, let alone revealed to anyone else. Dawn wrinkled her forehead in thought, like it mattered one jot if some stranger with weird hair and bad make up thought Buffy was a guy. She nodded her head in agreement.

"Relax, sis. It's not like I've never been to a gay club before--" Reconsidering that sentence, Dawn abruptly ended it and moved off down the street in order to hail a cab.

"Andrew is so going to get a piece of my mind when we get home..." Buffy shook her head and followed.

"Hurry up Buffy! Spike!" Dawn held the door to a large black London cab open. Buffy and Spike piled into the back and their nostrils filled with an aroma of exotic piquancy.

"Yes, yes, good evening to you ladies and gentleman...and whereabouts can I have the pleasure of taking you tonight?" A jovial East Indian man of indeterminate age and apparent good cheer beamed at them from the driver's seat.

Dawn spoke up authoritatively, looking at the page in the tour book again. She gave the address and glanced at the driver's photo identification card. A Mr. Chiv Gandhi.

"If you don't mind me noticing, Miss, you are, I think a visitor here...perhaps from the United States?" His hypnotic Anglo-Indian accent delighted Dawn.

"Rome," Dawn corrected. "Are you related to that famous Gandhi? The peace guy?"

"Dawn." Buffy tried to curb Dawn's effusive curiosity.

"Oh yes, Miss. We are all related in one way or another. It is a common enough name where I come from."

"I like your accent." Dawn continued in a friendly manner.

"Dawn, let the poor man do his job." Dawn turned and aimed a pointedly nasty face pinch at Buffy.

"It is quite all right, Miss," the driver talked on. "London cabbies are renown the world over for their conversational abilities." He reached over for a folder and pulled out a laminated newspaper clipping, which he passed back to Dawn. "That is me, Miss, featured in a London Times article on workplace magnanimity. They spoke to many cabbies and I got the picture."

"And the most quotes, I'll bet," Dawn snickered as she scanned the article.

"For some of my fares I am all they see of London. I am a fount of useful and intriguing information."

"Do you know the identity of Jack the Ripper?" Dawn wiggled closer to the front seat.

"Nibblet," Spike spoke up this time.

"It is quite all right, sir. The famous Mr. Jack. Yes, he is quite a puzzlement. I have been thinking on this matter for some time but I have yet to solve it. Perhaps soon I shall come to the correct conclusion."

Buffy and Spike gave up trying to stop Dawn's yammering, which continued at a rapid fire pace. Their cabby, the intrepid Mr. Gandhi was more than a match for Dawn's whiplash conversation as he drove the cab through the dark city streets. Buffy leaned closely into Spike's side and entwined their fingers as they listened absently to their driver's tales of celebrities, intrigue and humor. At least Dawn was pleasantly occupied and not pestering them. This was full service taxiing for sure. Buffy was going to give Mr. Gandhi a big tip.

Spike could not concentrate on the conversation. He stared at Buffy's hand in his and focused on the easy way she leaned into his side. For all the sizzling sexual acrobatics they had completed earlier in the hotel room this small act of public affection was, for him, the most intimate of the day. Spike's appetite for sex was never sated for long, but plain old tenderness spoke of a fond affection beyond words.

Buffy's affection.

Spike closed his eyes and let William revel in this sweet charity because he deserved it. More than Spike, William deserved to hold the hand of the woman he loved because he could best appreciate the significance of such a gesture. Spike opened his eyes again and caught Buffy's amused wink.

Such gifts. Such small gifts. Spike struggled to keep his mind under strict control. He had a bad habit to leaping off into fairyland and into that house with the dangerous white picket fence. Even William chuckled at the absurdity of that fantasy.

But it was too delicious to cast aside. He was a hero now without the asterisk. Two apocalypses fit snugly under his belt and the last one was completely accessory free. That one was all him. The deed of a hero.

His mum had a saying for everything. 'Good things come to those who wait' was a favorite. Deep in his soul Spike knew that the waiting was over. His good things were there already, right in the palm of his hand.

CONTINUED...

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