The house on Revello Drive was ablaze with lights. Of course the Scoobies would be looking for Dawn. Or they’d bloody well better be, at any rate, Spike thought darkly, wondering a bit at the fact that none of them had shown up at his crypt in search of her. Would’a been the logical place to start, considerin’ the circumstances, right?

Only Tara was inside. When they came in the front door, she closed her eyes in relief at the sight of them, smiled tremulously, and punched in a series of numbers on the phone she was holding cradled in her hand.

“Dawn and Spike just walked in. The bot is with them,” she reported briefly and hung up.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” she asked tenderly, as she moved toward them, her hands reaching for Dawn’s.

Spike’s opinion of the quiet girl went up a notch at the caring he detected in her voice. Willow’s bird stuck pretty much to herself. She hadn’t ever been very chatty, and Spike didn’t really know much about her. Bleedin’ rotten family, he remembered, but that was about it.

Dawn was, of course, still angry and upset, but she didn’t seem willing to take her feelings out on Tara, at least not too strenuously.

“I’m fine,” she said firmly. “I went to Spike’s. Because I care about him and I wanted to make sure he was okay.”

“I know you care about him, Dawn,” Tara included Spike in the small smile she gave. “There’s nothing wrong with that. But you shouldn’t have run off. You know how dangerous Sunnydale can be, especially after dark, and we were worried about you.”

“I’m safe with Spike.”

“Of course you are, sweetie,” Tara acknowledged without hesitation. “He loves you.”

Spike and Dawn both looked surprised, but Tara didn’t say any more. She had been in terrible shape at the hospital in those awful first hours after Buffy’s death. Despite having her mind restored, she had still been in an extremely fragile state. Of course, she hadn’t been the only one. Traumatized by the night’s events, they had all clung to each other in their grief and need, afraid, perhaps, to separate. The group, except for Xander, who was in another part of the hospital with Anya, had hovered about Dawn, as close as the doctors would allow. And, recognizing their trauma, the doctors had been pretty lenient with the standard rules.

Tara had sat quietly in a small chair next to Willow, clinging to her lover’s hand. And through the hours they’d spent there, she had been mesmerized by the small pool of blood gathering slowly around Spike’s feet as he held Dawn’s hands, comforting and soothing her through the worst of the visit. He hadn’t said a word about himself, hadn’t given any indication that he was injured. Instead, he had been a rock of support for Dawn, while blood dripped, dripped, dripped from somewhere on his body and collected around his boots, seemingly unnoticed by anyone but her. Tara knew she would never forget that. It had been one of those rare moments in life that can alter ones’ perceptions and perspectives forever.

Willow arrived back at the Summers residence first. She’d been assigned to search the route between the Magic Box and Janice’s house, leaving her relatively close to Revello Drive. She looked from Dawn’s glowering face to the inscrutable expression Spike had worn for several weeks now, and sighed, looking frazzled, and a bit fed up.

“I’m glad you’re safe, Dawnie,” she said. “And Spike, I’m sorry. No matter what this whole thing with the bot looked like, Giles and I weren’t trying to –” Willow broke off when Dawn’s eyes widened in outrage, and she sighed, dropping the topic for the time being. She had so much to do. Important things. Why didn’t people understand that? She really didn’t have time to be running around looking for Dawn. Couldn’t the girl just start growing up? She went to attend to the bot, who was standing silently to one side, observing the scene with a pleasantly attentive expression.

Dawn was tightly wrapped up in righteous indignation and refusing to speak, an attitude that she held to tightly as the remainder of the usual suspects – Giles, Xander and Anya – arrived.  

The last two, who hadn’t been at the Magic Box during the ‘incident with the bot’, as it would come to be referred to, had been delegated to search the most direct route from the magic shop to Spike’s crypt, and because they had gotten a later start than the others, Spike supposed that explained their failure to show up before he and Dawn had left the crypt.

Xander looked frantic when he came in the door, his eyes racing around the room until they located Dawn and ascertained that she was uninjured. His sign of relief was clearly audible.

“Your place – it’s trashed, man,” Xander told Spike. “Have you seen it?”

“Yeah, we’ve seen it.” It was Dawn who replied. “And we’re both fine,” she went on, answering the unasked question. Then Dawn straightened her shoulders and addressed the group calmly. “I think what you did tonight, testing out the bot on Spike, was one of the meanest things I’ve ever seen. I just can’t believe you would do that to him, after he’s...” Dawn’s voice cracked and Spike and Tara both moved toward her instinctively, but she held them off with a teary eyed look of determination.

“I told you, Dawn,” Willow interrupted. “It had no idea Spike was upstairs. I just sent –”

“Don’t lie to me!” Dawn said shrilly, and at her tone, Willow dropped her protest. “I’m so sick of people lying to me!” She tried to force herself to breathe normally. “I don’t want to talk about this any more tonight. It’s late, I’m pissed at half of you, and I just – I just can’t. And just so you all know, Spike is staying here tonight. Like Xander said, his place is trashed and I told him he should stay here.” Dawn’s eyes pleaded with Spike not to reveal her lie. They hadn’t discussed anything of the sort. “I told him he can stay on the sofa, or in the basement, or in Buffy’s room. Wherever he wants.” She looked around the room, her steely expression touching on each of the occupants in turn. “For as long as he wants. Because he’s my best friend, and it’s my bloody house. Period.”

Dawn’s stately exit was ruined slightly when she stumbled near the top of the stairs, and they all heard the quiet sob escape her.

Tara moved to follow her. “I’ll make sure she’s alright,” she told the others, and Willow smiled her approval, letting her hand slide down Tara’s arm.

“Thanks, sweetie.”

As soon as Tara left the room, all eyes turned to Spike.

Spike shifted restlessly. His earlier tension had been building up in him again almost since they’d come in the door. The bot had been smiling and staring at him without respite since they’d left his crypt. Every time he caught a glimpse of her, he wanted to scream out his pain. The rage and agony he’d vented so violently at his crypt was starting to press down on him, hard, and he knew he’d better get out of the house – get away from all of them before he exploded.

He couldn’t explode in front of them. Couldn’t. They’d never let him near Dawn again.

Giles was the first to break the uncomfortable silence. “Dawn’s right. It is late, and we’re all tired. I suggest we leave any further discussion until tomorrow. Tonight’s events have been – most unfortunate – I must say.” Giles ran his hand through his hair, unsure how to proceed. “If you’re planning on working out tomorrow at the Magic Box, Spike, perhaps you could give me a few moments. I’d like to speak to you.”

Spike stared at the Watcher intently, trying to contain himself. When he spoke, he kept his eyes trained on Giles, even though his words were addressed more specifically to Willow. His left hand was clenching rhythmically.

Clench.

Flex.

Clench.

Flex.

“If you’re gonna be usin’ the bot for patrolling, I want its’ programming changed.” His eyes slid away from Giles, from all of them, focusing on some undetermined spot on the wall behind Giles. “I don’t want it to – know me.”

His jaw was moving now too, clenching and unclenching in time with his fist, as he continued to struggle for control. Xander, however, seemed oblivious to his tension.

“Whoa, who’s changing his tune?” Xander asked gleefully. His tone shifted, becoming snidely sarcastic, an inflection he had long ago perfected. “You sure wanted it to know you before – really, really well.” 

“Grrraah,” Spike roared. There was really no other word for it. He roared. And his fist came smashing down onto a small bureau against the wall that was the usual resting place for car keys and the day’s mail. It shattered, splintering into irreparable pieces on the floor.

Shock froze all of them in place and kept them silent. They all stared.

Spike’s breath was heaving in and out of his open mouth, and his fists were tightly clenched at his sides. He was desperately trying to keep himself from exploding further. But none of them were watching his hands. Their eyes were riveted to his. They were burningly blue, and just for the briefest of moments, before Spike wiped his face free of expression, they all saw the same thing.

A creature in utter torment.

He turned away from them then, suddenly. Instead of leaving the house, as most of them expected, though, he went up the stairs. In the complete silence that was blanketing the room, they all heard Dawn’s voice greeting him. He’d gone to check on her.

“Xander, do please attempt to learn some tact,” Giles said finally, his voice weary.

Xander was about to say something, when he was stopped by Anya’s hand on his arm.

“He talked,” she informed them all, and Xander registered the information with surprise.

Spike’s request to change the bot’s programming was the first time any of them, with the exception of Giles, had heard him speak since he’d left the hospital the day after Buffy’s death.

~*~

“People are always lying to me,” Dawn told Tara quietly. A lot, but not all, of her anger had drained away, and she just was feeling kind of hurt by the whole incident, and not only for Spike. He was her friend. They should respect that. She had a right to pick her own friends, didn’t she?

“I know it can seem like that, sweetie,” Tara sympathized. “So much was happening this last year, and I guess people wanted to protect you.”

“I’m not a kid!”

“But you’re not completely grown up yet, either, are you?”

Dawn looked at her, a little resentful that Tara could always sound so reasonable. The teenager ducked her head, and began picking at her bedspread. “Not completely, I guess,” she conceded.

“And I don’t think Willow was lying to you tonight. I think it really was an accident.”

Dawn’s lips tightened. “It was mean. Really mean.”

“B-but not if it wasn’t deliberate. Then it was just sort of sad. That it happened that way, and that Spike was hurt.” Tara touched the back of the younger girl’s hand. Dawn’s bedroom was softly lit by the small lamp on the bedside table, and Tara was sitting on the edge of the mattress near her side. “It’s important to try not to hurt other people, b-but sometimes it just happens. Kind of like a car accident. It’s not always someone’s fault.”

“Yeah, and sometimes it’s pretty on purpose.” Dawn said with some bitterness.

“Yes,” Tara had to agree. “Willow told me that it was just an accident tonight, though,” Tara told her again. “And I believe her, b-because I trust her. Look at me, Dawn,” she urged, and Dawn looked up. “It’s so important to be able to trust the people you love and who love you. You and Willow have been friends for a long time, and you’ve always gotten along pretty well, right?”

“Yeah,” Dawn had to admit. Willow had treated her less like a kid that most of the others.

“Hasn’t she earned the right to be believed, then?”

Dawn’s face looked a little mutinous.

“Kind of like Spike is earning my trust,” Tara added quietly. “When he had the bot built, I didn’t trust him at all. In fact when we thought the bot was Buffy and that she and Spike were, er…” Tara trailed off in embarrassment. She hadn’t meant to bring that up.

“When you thought Buffy was boinking Spike,” Dawn filled in the blank for her.

“Um, yeah,” Tara admitted. “Then. I didn’t trust him, then, or like him at all. But since then, after he let Glory beat him up to protect you… After Buffy died, and this summer… Sometimes it’s a gradual thing, learning to trust someone. That’s one of the reasons it’s important not to break someone’s trust. Because it’s hard to earn, and can be even harder to re-earn if it’s lost.”

Tara squeezed Dawn’s hand and released it.

“And one of the best things about trust is being able to believe someone when they tell you something, even if the evidence seemed to be stacked against them. So I hope you’ll see that you can trust Willow.”

“I’ll think about it,” Dawn conceded. She supposed it could have happened the way Willow said.

Tara rose, and snapped off the bedside lamp. “You need to get some sleep.”

“Tara?”

Halfway to the door, Tara turned back.

“Yeah?”

“Good mom-type talk,” she smiled.

Tara looked pleased and she even preened a little.

“Thanks!” Her soft, comforting tone had changed into amusement.

Dawn hesitated. “Does it ever make you sad?” she asked.

Tara was confused. “What?”

“That you’ll never be a mom?” She asked bluntly. Then she seemed to retreat a little, thinking it might be an inappropriate question. “Um, ‘cause you know, gay and everything...”

“I can still have a baby, Dawn,” Tara said. The subject didn’t make her uncomfortable in the least. She thought about it a lot. She wanted children very much. Not yet, but not too far down the road, either.

“Huh?” Dawn was completely confused. “How?”

Tara laughed. “There are ways, sweetie.”

“Spike!”

Tara blinked. “Huh?” Where had that come from? Spike?

“Came to check up on you,” the vampire said from the doorway.

Oh! Tara could feel herself flushing wildly, and she was glad the room was dark. She moved quickly toward him, hoping to find a way to get around him with having to touch him at all. He stepped further into the room, opening up a path for her.

“Night, Tara!” Dawn said. “And thanks.”

“Um, n-night Dawnie,” Tara muttered, and fled.

~*~

No one had taken the time yet to clean out Buffy’s room. Perhaps they just didn’t have the heart. Snapshots of her with Willow, or Xander, or of the three friends together, adorned her bulletin board. A few older pictures included the wolf boy and the bitchy bint who was working in L.A. with Angelus now. There was another picture of Buffy in a cheerleading uniform with the rest of the squad, their names squiggled onto the photo with a gold pen; Brynn, Miranda, Chelle, Steph, Ariane, Kimberly. She looked so young… The uniforms weren’t from Sunnydale High, he noted. Must be from before she moved here. There were posters, one of which was of some ridiculous boy band, another of Brad Pitt, decorating the walls. Brad Pitt? And her clothes still hung in the closet. He swallowed. Her scent was heavy in the air.

Spike wasn’t sure why he’d come in here. He’d been frankly horrified when Dawn had suggested he stay in Buffy’s room. If he had to stay in this house at all, the basement was much more appealing. That’s where he’d headed after taking advantage of the miracle of modern plumbing by standing under the pounding spray of the showerhead for a good, long time. He really hadn’t wanted to stay here at all. He was still tense and out of sorts, and since his Slayer’s death he’d been unable to relax in this house.  Besides, it was night, and he usually got in a few hours of hunting before taking up sentry duty on the roof outside Dawn’s bedroom window. He chaffed somewhat at not taking full advantage of the power still surging through his veins from the last bag of his Slayer’s blood. But Dawn had gotten kind of teary eyed and all needy-like when he’d stopped up to see her, and he’d let her persuade him to stay. It had been almost like it was a matter of pride for her or somethin’; that he actually stay after she’d announced to the Scoobies that she’d told him he could.

Spike had never had much trouble understanding pride.

He’d settled in quite nicely in the basement, hauling out some long unused camping gear. He arranged it to his satisfaction as he tried without success to picture any of the Summers women in any sort of camping scenario. They’d probably have been willin’ to spend the night in their car in the mall parking lot if it meant getting the drop on the other shoppers during a shoe sale, he thought, but other than that...

He frowned. Nope. Couldn’t even visualize Joyce crawling out of a tent in the morning, much less the girls.

‘Course, once he was laid out, sleep was its usual elusive self. And he blamed the setting and his Slayer’s full strength blood for making him even more restless than was usual for him these days. After thirty minutes, he was up again, keyed up, needing to move.

He’d felt drawn here, to Buffy’s room, pulled by some force. Actually, he’d felt as though Buffy was calling to him, but that just sounded crazy so he tried to ignore the certainty of the feeling and pretend it wasn’t true. All the waking visions he seemed to be having of his Slayer were giving him enough doubts about his sanity. At least he couldn’t hear her voice in the waking visions – well, not anything he could make out, anyway, and he didn’t need to start. He ignored the fact that he was always desperate to understand what she was saying to him, and never could. He was learning to ignore a lot of things. Gettin’ pretty good at it, too, he thought.

Whatever the reason, he was here, in her room. He’d been to the house almost every evening for the last couple of months. Walkin’ Dawn home, spendin’ time with her. But he’d never come near Buffy’s room. Never wanted to.

Until tonight.

Maybe he was just a glutton for punishment.

Spike wandered around the room slowly. He picked up an item here or there, touched it, looked it over, and then carefully replaced it in its original position. Didn’t want to disturb anything too much. Might upset someone.

He touched the chain of one of Buffy’s fairly large collection of crosses and crucifixes, his brow furrowing slightly as a memory tugged at him. His hand unconsciously moved to the spot on his chest, directly over his unbeating heart, that now carried a cross shaped scar. He had no idea when or how he’d gotten it, but there was something...

Burn me, burn me, burn me, burn me...

After a moment, Spike shrugged, and his thoughts moved on. His mind refused to put the pieces of those lost weeks together, and the memory slipped away, remaining elusive, as it always would.

He stepped toward the bed, and glanced at the hardcover copy of ‘The Mists of Avalon’ sitting on the nightstand, before picking up the framed photo propped up next to it.

~*~

She’d worked on the bot for quite awhile, and was anxious now to get to bed. Altering so much of the robot’s basic Spike-centric programming was going to be a challenge, but Willow knew she was more than capable of getting the job done. They were going to need the bot for patrolling purposes, and she would strongly prefer that the bot take orders from her rather than making googily eyes at a vampire. Besides, working on the bot would give her a break from being a total archives grrl with all the research she’d been doing lately.

She smiled to herself. She’d found the last pieces just this afternoon. It was gonna happen. She was wildly excited and almost sick with nerves at the same time. It was so scary, so incredible... She still had to talk the others into it, but she was sure she could persuade them. Tara would probably be the most difficult to bring around to her way of thinking. Tara so often insisted that the natural order of things shouldn’t be unnecessarily disturbed. But Willow was sure that eventually, even her lover would cooperate. It would take some time to work out all the details, but before too much longer...

It was very late, and the house had been silent for hours. When she heard a sound – a small thud, like something being knocked over – from Buffy’s old room, Willow was startled, and her thoughts flew first to Dawn. The young girl had been so upset, so angry… Willow forced down her annoyance. Even if she did think Dawn needed to do some serious growing up, and that she was spending way too much time with Spike, and with Tara too, for that matter, she still loved the girl. She wanted Dawn to be able to come to her, Willow, with her pain and problems, as she should be doing. Perhaps she should poke her head in and make sure she was okay. Willow moved quietly to the not quite closed door to the room and pushed it open.

The familiarity of the bedroom assailed her, and Willow felt the pain of memory clutch at her. For a moment she wanted nothing more than to slam the door, forcing the memories away. The rare, but oh-so-normal, nights of giggling together, talking about boys, back when she’d still been interested in boys, about school, about life...

Perhaps because her own emotions were hitting her with such force, she almost missed Spike. The vampire sat on the floor to one side of Buffy’s bed, one of his arms resting on a drawn up knee. His other hand rested on the back of his down bent head. A framed photo of Buffy and her mother lay nearby – probably the “thud” Willow had heard.

Willow said nothing, taking in Spike’s posture and the solitary picture he presented. He lifted his head, and his eyes, dry and unblinking, met hers. For just a moment she felt her own heart wrench painfully as she acknowledged the ravaged agony in the blond’s blue eyes, the hopeless despair pouring from them. Then she retreated mentally, forcing her instinctive sympathy away. He was a vampire, she reminded herself. It’s not like he could really feel the pain the rest of them were feeling. He probably didn’t even understand true mourning. She straightened her shoulders, physically shoring up the mental gymnastics it had taken her to arrive at that conclusion.

Vampire.

Not. Like. A. Living. Person.

Hadn’t Angel and Giles both strongly suggested that years ago? That without a soul…

Spike looked back down at the floor between his feet.

“Get out.” The words were spoken so quietly that Willow detected them more by the movement of his lips as his head was lowering than by any sound she heard.

She hesitated for a moment, trying to think of something, of anything, she could say, but her sympathy for the blond was so wrapped up in her conflicting emotions about his place in their group, and her fears about the – threat – he might present to her plans, that nothing came to mind. Instead, she flipped off the light, pulled the door closed, and made her way down the hall to her own room, her own bed. And into the comforting warmth of Tara’s embrace.

~*~

Spike placed the photo of Buffy and Joyce back where he’d found it.

Willow had turned off the light and the room was darker now, lit only by moonlight. For a long time, he stood beside the bed, staring at the pale bedding. His hand was trembling when he reached out to pick up a pillow, shaking as he brought it to his face.

Oh god.

Buffy.

Her scent, even stronger on the fabric than it was in the air of the room, sent a bolt of agony through him.

Buffy.

What the hell was he doing? he wondered. Why was he doing this to himself? But even as he asked himself the questions, he was kneeling on the bed, stretching out face down on the comforter. He jerked back up, pulled the comforter away and lay down again on the soft sheets, almost feeling her presence surround him.

Just for a minute, he assured himself. Just for a minute.

Then I’ll never come into this room again.

She came to him, as she so often did.

He could feel her, could almost taste her in the air. He didn’t move, didn’t open his eyes. He just lay there, stretched out face down on her bed and let her flow over him. He’d known she would come. He’d known that was what had drawn him to her room.

< You’re here, you came. >

<< Called me, didn’t you? ‘Course I came. >>

Her hands touched his bare arms, sliding up their length and under the sleeves of his t-shirt, whispers of warmth against his cooler flesh.

< Won’t you turn and look at me? >

<< Know I won’t be able to see you. Never can in these waking dreams, love. Just feel you. Can only see you when I’m sleepin’. >>

He felt more of her weight settle on him. It seemed odd, different, but then her mouth was moving against the back of his neck, sliding around to the side, and his mind abandoned thought and concentrated on the burningly wonderful sensations instead.

< Spike... >

<< Don’t stop, love. Just – touch me. >>

< Is that what you want? >

<< More than blood. >>

Her hands slid under his shirt, pushing the well-worn fabric up and over his head even as they left trails of fire along the smooth, wide expanse of his back. She was straddling his hips, her body leaning in close to him as her hands continued over his shoulders and moved along the length of his arms. Her breasts pressed against him, soft and warm and bare.

<< You feel so good, so good. Make me ache for you. >>

< Shhh... Hold me. I want you to hold me. >

He rolled beneath her until he lay on his back. She was still straddling his hips, and he groaned as his aroused body rubbed against her. His hands sought out hers, and he entwined their fingers as his hips started moving against her, circling, thrusting lightly. He kept his eyes closed. If he opened them, she wouldn’t be there, and he didn’t think he could face that tonight. Not after the bot, and… He just couldn’t, not tonight…This experience was already radically different from most of the waking dreams he’d had. It was in those that he always had so much trouble understanding what she wanted. Buffy’s sexual overtures, the ability to hear her voice so clearly in his head – those things were always reserved for the rare times he slept, for real dreams. He could easily understand the voice in his head tonight. It was Buffy’s voice, but slightly different. It was huskier, and had a strange, not quite human quality to it, a whispering darkness. Spike was sure he was awake, and he wasn’t going to open his eyes now and dispel – whatever this was, this unexpected gift.

<< Could hold you all night, that’s what you want. Touch you, love you, make you mine. Jes’ like I do when I’m sleepin’. >>

< You’re awake now, aren’t you? >

<< Can’t always tell anymore. Feels like I’m awake. >>

She lowered her bare torso to his, moving her breasts against him in invitation, her mouth feathering teasing little kisses along his jaw.

< Do I feel real? >

<< Yeah. So real. So good. >>

Spike released her hands, and reached for her, his arms closing around her as he pulled her more tightly against him. God, so good. Her skin was warm, velvety, and, for the moment, he wanted nothing more than this, to luxuriate in the feel of her in his arms, flesh against flesh.

<< You’re so warm, love, so soft. I could hold you like this forever. >>

He buried his face in her hair. God, he could feel individual strands against his mouth, taste them against his tongue. Her scent was filling him and he noticed vaguely that she smelled different. Wilder.

Cool and sensual, woodsy and wanton.

<< Closer. Come closer to me. Buffy. >>

Her hands moved to the fastening of his jeans, and he groaned, lifting his hips to help her slip them off.

<< Ahhh. Oh. Touch me. Just touch me. >>

She took his cock in her hands, and he thought he’d explode at the first touch of her fingers. God, oh, god, this was perfect, exquisite. She caressed his length in both hands as if his aroused flesh was some precious gift. Breathless sounds were coming from her mouth, while at the same time her words whispered softly in his mind.

< So hard for me. So strong. >

He couldn’t believe how wonderful it felt, the indescribable pleasure. Her hands were moving over him, soft, light, a little pressure, then more, then soft again. Not stroking, not applying the pressure he would apply himself in order to bring himself off, just – ahhh. Cupping his sac, rolling his balls between her fingers, and somehow the use of two hands working in harmony was pulling at him in a way that seemed new, deeper, better. Long, long minutes of her hands, her touch. Magic hands. She bent toward him, starting to brush her breasts against him, to rub the tip of his shaft against her nipples. He could feel them hardening, and his eyes flew open as he cried out.

He could see her.

Oh god, he could see her.

Her skin and hair, usually so golden, had been silvered by the moonlight that poured in through the open windows, and even in the shadowed light of the room, he could see her eyes, see their expression of pleasure. Oh god, she was here. She was here.

“Buffy. Oh god, oh god, Buffy.”

He came hard, his seed pouring onto her breasts in rapid spurts. She looked up at him again from under her lashes, and smiled, seduction in the curve of her lips.

Spike was panting needlessly, his eyes riveted to her. He was afraid to blink, afraid that if he did, she’d be gone.

“Ahhh, love, you’re here.”

< Yes, here. I told you to look at me. >

“You’re so beautiful.” His eyes ran over her face, over her hair and shoulders, then swept down her body, taking in the evidence of his orgasm running down her breasts. “Oh, god, look at you. All covered in me.”

A drop of semen had rolled down the slope of her breast and had formed a pearl droplet at the very tip of her nipple. In his entire existence, Spike knew he’d never seen anything so erotic. His body reacted to the sight predictably. His splayed hands slid up her back and he pulled her down to him slowly.

“Let me taste you,” his voice rasped in the cool night air. “Taste us.”

His open mouth moved across her breasts, taking his own spendings onto his tongue, then moving up to her mouth, sharing the creamily textured fluids with her. Again and again, he repeated the gesture, lap, then kiss, lap, then kiss, until nothing remained but her. Her flesh, her flavor. Then his mouth closed over her nipple, and he sucked hard, cheeks hollowing as he drew her into his mouth.

Her deep moan seemed to echo in the room.

Spike took his time, concentrating all his attention on her right breast. He savored the taste of her skin, the lush combination of textures to be found on the soft mound of flesh. He drew back occasionally, letting the coolness of the air work its magic on her, pebbling her nipple to hardness, before he again tugged it into his mouth. He used his tongue, flicking it against her aroused flesh, then allowing it to sweep against the lower curve of her breast, so often neglected by a lover. He was holding the one breast in both hands, shaping it, caressing, his open mouth moving over each slope and curve, tongue tasting, sucking lightly, licking. He handled her breast as if it were something delicate, fragile, breakable. And all the while, he murmured to her, telling her how she tasted, how soft she was, how he loved the feel of her in his mouth.

Buffy’s movements became more insistent, and she began writhing against him, wanting more.

“Patience, love,” he breathed against her flesh. “You need to learn not to rush things. I stop now, your other breast is going to feel very deprived.”

Her quiet gasps of pleasure were intoxicating to him. He was unsure if he was hearing them in his mind, as he heard her words, or if they were in reality floating softly into the corners of the room. Either way, the sounds she was making, the way her body was moving against him in desire, were drowning him in his own pleasure, and abruptly, his own patience was gone, and he wanted to be inside her, sheathed in the warmth of her body.

“Buffy...”

She responded to the hoarse entreaty in his voice, shifting her body, positioning herself over him, and god, oh, god, sliding down on him, drawing him deeply inside her.

They both stilled, moaning together, stunned by the shock of pleasure.

< So hard. >

<< So hot. >>

< Oh, so smooth. >

<< Tight. So bloody tight. >>

Buffy arched her back, thrusting her breasts upward and Spike’s hands went to her hips, clutching at them tightly. Their slim, firm curve under his hands sent a bolt of pure lust through him.

He damn well loved her hips. Had for years.

<< Oh, god, yessss. Move on me, love. >> His eyes filled with erotic promise. << Dance for me. Just for me. >>

She did, moving on him gracefully, her body dancing to the rhythm he began and she picked up on. Her hands went back, bracing against his legs and she arched back, her head and torso undulating sensuously, moving in a manner meant to arouse and seduce, to entice him, to drive him crazy.

And when he was almost gone, thrusting into her with increasing speed, his hands digging with painful intensity into her hips, she leaned forward, bending over him, splaying her hands against the hardness of his chest. Her hair created a curtain around their faces, and she locked her eyes onto his.

< Spike. Come now. Let go, Spike, and come. Deep inside me. Give yourself to me. >

His hips surged off the bed and he thrust as deeply into her as he could, guttural moans escaping him as he came in a violent rush of pleasure. His arms clutched at her, pulling her down to him, and he buried his face against her neck as his body continued to convulse, out of his control.

Dream? Vision? She was his, his…

Her hands were moving over him in soothing motions, bringing him down, bringing him back. He held her tightly against his body, and his mouth continued to move against her throat, kissing, sucking, and biting down lightly with blunt teeth. Long minutes passed before he spoke.

“You’re a generous woman, love. You could make me come like that all night.”

< Isn’t that what you want? >

<< Want you, Buffy. Anyway I can have you. Every way. >>

< I’m here – for you. >

His voice was dark, under laid with wicked promise. “Yeah? Well, I’m here for you.”

And Spike proceeded to prove it. Throughout the long, still hours of the night he loved her, pleasured her body in ways she’d never yet even imagined when she was alive. Their bodies moved together, not always in perfect unison, but in exploration, in discovery, and in wonder. His hands moved over her, touching, stroking, teaching her the strength and power of her own body, things she’d never experienced in life. Tender, then rough, making her arch and moan against him in stunned pleasure.

< Didn’t know… Didn’t know… Never knew it could be like this. >

They came together, separated, moving in effortless bliss from one position to another, learning each other, mapping out all the pleasure zones, finding and eliminating any road blocks.

He unleashed all the tenderness inside him, the parts of him he usually felt so compelled to keep hidden, disguised and unrecognized. After all, this wasn’t real, and it was safe for him to pour all that tenderness onto her in dreams, visions, whatever this was, wasn’t it? Safe for him to tell her of his love, of his passion and devotion. All the things she had rejected in life, and that he knew, even as he said them, that she would reject still if this was real, if she was really here. He didn’t dwell on that last bit too long. The night was too amazing, and he wasn’t going to ruin it by letting reality intrude.

He wasn’t a complete wanker, after all.

For a time, he even let out the hidden William and let the stupid git use all the poetry in his soul. But then he hauled him back in and let the total sensualist that was Spike take over and drive them both wild with pleasure again and again and again.

Like he said, he wasn’t a complete wanker.

It was the best night of his entire existence.

He knew. He knew that even though this was unreal, that this was how making love to Buffy would have been. This was how her body would have felt. This was how she would have responded, how she would have smelled and tasted. Had she ever loved him, this was what they would have shared.

This was what he never would have had.

Ruthlessly, he thrust that thought away from him. He let go of the painful realities, and lost himself in the night, in this glorious passion, in her. For whatever reason, she was here, far stronger than any previous vision he’d had of her. He fully intended to act out every fantasy he’d ever had of her until she disappeared once again.

And he did.

~*~

< You’re wavering. I need you to stay strong. >

It was late, nearing dawn, and he knew she’d be leaving him soon. God, he wanted her to stay. If he’d lost his mind and was existing in some fantasy world, he wanted to stay there, lost in her forever.

He knew it wouldn’t be.

<< Know I’d do anything for you, love. But most of the time, I’m jes’ hangin’ by a thread. Don’t know how long... >>

< Promise me. Promise me you’ll stay strong. Dawn needs you. >

<< So hard here without you. Jes’ – day after day. Mind’s playin’ tricks on me, too. Can’t always tell what’s real and what’s not. What good am I to you like this? >>

< You’re what I need, what Dawn needs, and I’m counting on you, to protect her. Promise me. I need you to give me your word. >

Spike squeezed his eyes shut, pain washing over him.

<< You know you’ve got it, love. ‘Til the end of the world. Gave it once, not gonna take it back. I just – I don’t know why you’d want it. If it weren’t for me, if I hadn’t buggered everything up, you’d still be here. You’d-a never had to jump. What makes you think I can do any better now? >>

< You can’t think... Spike, you almost died for Dawn, for me. You would have died for us. You put your life on the line, and you think you failed us? Failed me? You’re wrong. So completely wrong. >

<< I’m so sorry, love. >>

< There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. Nothing. >

Her hands were gliding over him again, soothing him, and her thoughts tried to ease his doubts, his guilt.

< You’re strong here. > Her hand stroked along his cock. < All that passion.>

< You’re strong here. > Her hand stroked over the beautifully muscled length of his arms. < All that power. >

< You’re strong here. > She laid her hand over his unbeating heart.  < All that love. >

< And you’re strong here. > Her hand moved to his head, brushed through his hair. < Your mind is strong, vital. You’re strong, Spike. My blood flows in you, will always flow in you now. Always. It makes you stronger. And you need to stay strong. I need you. >

<< Give you anything, love. Do anything. >>

< Sleep now. You need to sleep. You’ve been wearing yourself out, never allowing yourself to rest. You have to change that, take care of yourself. >

Her mouth moved over his closed eyes, touching the lids in a soft caress. She was leaving, sliding away from him, and as always, he ached for her to stay. To stay. With him.

<< Please, love, stay. Stay. >>

< Sleep and rest. You need to be strong. Be ready. >

<< Love you, Buffy, so much. Know you don’t feel… >>

< Always so sure you know everything. > Her thoughts interrupted his own, coming to him on a note of amusement. The dark, husky sound of her thoughts seemed to be becoming a part of the breeze that stirred the curtains at the window. She was leaving him, fading away, and her last thoughts, drawn out slowly, were so quiet in his mind he had to strain to hear them.

< Spike… You think you know, what you are, what’s to come… You haven’t even begun.>