~Part 1~

It wasn’t raining.

The day was warm, and sunny, despite the approach of Christmas. Of course, it had only snowed the once at Christmas in her memory. But today, today she had thought it would rain. That the skies would be dull and gray. That something else besides her would be weeping. Willow wiped at the tears that continued to roll down her face. She had thought she would be strong enough not to cry, but the reality was something different. Burying someone you loved, it was one of the harder things in life.

Buffy and Xander stood on either side of her, as both physical and emotional support. They were all there, her friends and her true family, the only one who wasn’t there was Spike. Today would be lethal for the vampire, the sun blazing down at the graveside.
She looked crossly up at it, her eyes blurred against the blinding light with the ever constant tears. Unreasonably, she felt the sun was laughing at her.

It had been a very formal, Catholic funeral. His parents had wanted it that way. Michael had not been a strict Catholic, having no problems with her Jewish heritage or practicing of Wicca beliefs and witchcraft. But Mr and Mrs Connor – how awful, for the first time she met them to be this day – had arranged the proper burial for their son.

And now they stood at the graveside, in the sunshine, and her eyes fell on the dark wooden box that bore the thinned flesh of her lover, her light. This time had felt so right.

*I miss you.* She sobbed silently. *Goddess, why?*

~ ~ ~

It hadn’t even been a demon, or a vampire, or anything that you expected on the Hellmouth, anything world-saving and worthwhile.
Michael James Connor, 20, had been hit and killed by a drunken driver, walking home after a late session at, for Goddess’s sake, the library. He was so committed to his work, to becoming a lawyer. He loved to read, and they would spend hours on their backs in the sunshine, or under a full moon – he knew how special those moments were to her – talking of all the wonderful books in the world.

He was tall, and slim, with an unruly shock of black hair and black Irish eyes. His mother was truly Irish, his father Irish-American, and every now and then his voice was tickled with an Irish phrase or accent. He began to do it on purpose when she giggled over it.
The first time they had made love, there had been nothing special about the occasion – and yet it had ended up being entirely so. Warm kisses in her bedroom had suddenly led to so much more, and with Michael she had found everything she had ever wanted. 

Peace, comfort, lust, and blissful ecstasy.

He had known little about Buffy, but had kept himself and Willow safe, and helped when he could. He was always generous of his time and spirit. And the slight curve of his lower lip in her direction had made her melt, his hands would start that slow burn in her stomach, his eyes sparkling with laughter would meet hers …

~ ~ ~

Willow stared at the calendar with dull eyes in hollowed and dark sockets, her mouth trembling in tightly drawn skin. One month.
She woke up in the night with his hands upon her and his voice in her ear. She heard him speak wherever she walked. His laughter would drift across to her in stores and classes, and she would swing her head to catch his eye, only to find strangers. She couldn’t sleep most nights, or eat most days, and her eyes were glazed and blank to the looks of concern her friends gave her.

Well aware that she was not coping, she had tried talking to Giles, but his answer had not been enough. He said she had to lay Michael’s ghost to rest – but how did one do that? She had buried him once, and there was nothing physical left to bury. Burying emotions wasn’t the right path, she knew that, but how did you set those emotions free? 

One month.

~ ~ ~

His hands stroked up her thighs, teasingly brushing closer to their destination. His thumbs were strong as they kneaded her pale skin, and the touch thrilled throughout her body. She arched into and against him, rising off the bed, her head thrown back and mouth parted in a breathless gasp.

“Michael-”

Willow sat up, blinking in the dark. Her breath was fast, her skin fevered. Arousal coursed through her, longing and love.

But the bed beside her was empty, again. 

She closed her eyes against the flow of tears, and sketched him with her mind. Tall. Slim. His hair rough against her hands. The skill of his fingers, his tongue.

She snapped the light on, and saw that Buffy was absent again. For the best, she supposed, she knew she had kept her friend awake many of the few nights she had slept at home. And Buffy’s absence made it easier to dial the number.

~ ~ ~

The knock at her door was soft.

Willow had changed into a pale blue silk nightgown that she had brought herself several days ago, trying to gain a little retail therapy. Her hair, longer now, brushed against her shoulders, and around her neck lay the silver chain Michael had given her two weeks before his death, its single ornament an icy blue stone.

Determined, her course set, she bound a black scarf about her head, tying the knot firmly. Blackness enclosing her, she called out.

“Come in.”

~ ~ ~

Spike’s face flinched when he saw how thin she looked in the dim light of the room, the despair that haunted her shoulders and the edge of the black scarf concealing her eyes. Then his eyes hungrily took in how her breasts appeared larger with her weight loss, how so much of her was bare to his eyes, how her lips were softly parted.

He left his shoes at the door and moved to her bed, gently settling the weight of his body upon hers. They had agreed on the phone that he would not speak, and so his mouth touched instead, kissing her jaw line gently, then tracing down her neck and shoulders.
She was warm, and trembled under his slow touch. He could feel the longing in her very bones, the abstinence fevering the need. Her body rose to him, embraced him. It was a strange coupling; her warmth and acceptance of him as her dead lover, and the icy touch at the back of his neck that he knew was her dead lover. No wonder she needed to be set free.

His cool hands slid the thin blue silk straps from her shoulders, and he admired her pale flesh. The high rounds of her breasts grew rosy at the tips, and her nipples reacted to the lack of heat in his touch, beckoning him to taste them.
Against the will of the spirit at his back, he drew his thigh beneath hers, and laid his mouth to the warmth of her breast. He drew his tongue over the curve of her, and then sucked the nipple into his cool mouth. His left hand cupped her other breast, his thumb teasing her nipple.

She pushed wildly against the cold of him, and he tried to read the noises that came from her. Were they sob, or moan? Pain, or pleasure?

The chill wind at his back flared his intensity, and he ignored it to concentrate exclusively on the woman before him. He shifted his mouth between each of the two sweet handfuls of her breasts, while his hands quickly stripped her of her nightgown. A smile finally crossed her face, and she fumbled blindly with his shirt buttons.

Shirtless, he hurriedly drew off his jeans, and sunk himself against her nude form. Naked, flesh on flesh, they entwined, his cock seeking her damp core.

“Michael,” she moaned as he drove within her, and he closed his eyes. That was who he was, tonight.

But by all hell, she was tight, and wet, and wild beneath him, and he hadn’t felt anything half as good for a century and more.

~ ~ ~

His form was the same, and the coolness of his flesh was like embracing Michael’s ghost. The thickness and length of him she wrote in her mind as the force of her lover returning from his grave. And as the pleasure rose, she gave herself completely to them both.

~ ~ ~

He had forgotten the strength of his feelings for the witch.

She lay in an easy sleep, her skin damp and flushed from their tryst. Exhaustion coursed through his own veins – quite the demanding companion she had turned out to be – but also satisfaction. The chill at his back was gone, if not for good, for now.
He had liked Michael. They had only met a few times, but the boy had been accepting of him, and protective of Willow. His easy laugh had warmed Spike with a feeling hinting close to friendship, and the way his eyes had shone when they saw her, well. It was troubling to think of him lingering, refusing to let go of Willow.

But more troubling for Willow to be driven to this. And right now Willow had a faint smile on her lips. More than enough reward to be a ghost for an evening, and reason too.

~Part 2~

She lasted a week before she felt his touch again. His hand stretched out and touched her shoulder as she left her room, and for a moment she saw the stir in the air as she whirled in the doorway. She stood, frozen, her eyes fixed blindly at where his face would be.

Willow slammed the door behind her, and ran from the dorm. Terror was icy in her veins, and she ran for safety, the only safety she had faith in.

At the entrance to the crypt she knew he slept in, she bound the green silk ribbon she had in her backpack around her head. She paused momentarily. She knew where she was, but the blindfold blurred the facts, and she would hold Michael again in her arms. Freeing herself, and him.

She was so very lucky that her ghosts were willing to cooperate for her.

~ ~ ~

Spike cautiously opened the crypt door at the echoing knock. As he peered out behind the shade of the marble slab, he saw the witch, trembling despite the warm air. And from the scrap of silk bound about her red locks, he could guess why.

*Damn.*

He drew her in, wrapping his arms about her as the door swung shut. Lucky for the little one that he was willing, wasn’t it?
His lips touched hers gently, and he felt every fiber of her being respond. Her mouth and tongue were eager against his, her body pressed tightly against him. Her trembling had ceased, and instead of cold she was once again wonderfully warm in his arms.
Spike half-danced her over to the pile of blankets he called a bed. Bloody hell, he’d have to get something more decent if she was going to be turning up here. But she didn’t complain as he laid her down amongst the blankets, instead clinging to him, pulling him into her.

He couldn’t deny how wonderfully exciting she was, how she mattered to him, and how his affection for her scared him. It was too easy to see her marching on with her life once she had freed her ghosts.

He heard her shoes hit the wall of the mausoleum as she kicked them off, and almost purred as she stroked his back with her foot. He shrugged off his unbuttoned shirt, and her hands ran over his skin in delight. Spike delved beneath the green wool sweater she was wearing, and quickly unclipped her bra.

Willow giggled as he brushed her nipples, and wiggled out of the sleeves of her sweater and bra to cling to him once more. He traced kisses up her jaw line, lazily licking her flesh. She moaned beneath his touch, and arched against him. He satisfied her by cupping her breasts in his hands, weighing them, teasing them. Her nipples were full beneath his thumbs, and as he stroked them she locked her ankles at his back and drew him against her. Her hands slid to the loosely buckled belt of his jeans, and she cradled him in one hand as she worked at the buckle with the other.

As she unzipped the denim jeans, his cock sprung free against her warm fingers. Willow hissed sweetly, and ran her gentle touch over his hard length. He swallowed hard as she stroked him firmly for all her blindness, but was unable to control thrusting into her hands.

He concentrated on teasing her nipples at first, and then carefully swung her on top, maintaining touch. With her tight ass resting on his thighs, she was able to keep her measured stroking of his cock steady while he refound her breasts with his mouth. She sighed and caught her lower lip between her teeth as his tongue lashed out at a nipple, his mouth following to suckle it. Her cry was more forceful as he scraped his teeth gently over the sensitive tips of her, and her responding pressure on him made him buck beneath her.

He slid his hands down her taut stomach, tantalizingly close to her already damp red curls, but at the last moment he changed direction and cupped her ass instead, drawing her into him. Her hands were close to the base of his cock, so he was able to rub the tip against her, seeking her sensitive nub.

“Michael, Michael,” Willow chanted raggedly, and the shaking of her hands on his skin excited him so much that he quickly gave her what she wanted, his thumb on her clit while his fingers teased and then slid into her core.

He stifled his own groan as his fingers found her, hot and wet. Her human touch was addictive, exhilarating, and easily made him shudder.

She finally grasped his shoulder with one hand, and ass with another, and her whimpers of pleasure at his knowing thumb gave him his final cue. She made a small noise of protest as he shifted his hands to her hips, but quieted in anticipation as he lifted her above the tip of his cock. Teasingly, he drew her gently down upon him a small way, and stilled. She tried to move further down his shaft, but he held her steady, his hands firm on her hips. She squirmed enticingly, and he drew in a sharp breath out of some long unused habit. Finally, he gave her a small piece of satisfaction, lifting his own hips to half fill her core.

He stilled again, the drawn out pleasure sending sparks of excitement across his shoulders. She suffered the same ecstasy, shivering so hard her muscles gave his cock a delicious squeeze. He withdrew and thrust several times, never going past halfway, briefly using his right hand to draw down her own hand to play with her clit. He caught her other hand and drew it to his mouth, peeling her index finger free.

Willow made a noise of pure, desperate pleasure as he sucked her warm finger inside his cool mouth. His mouth curved in a smile around the finger, and he nibbled it lightly. He then swapped over her hands, so her finger slickened by his tongue touched herself, and the finger sweetened by her juices was drawn into his mouth. As he licked delightedly at her taste, she gave a startled moan, and he felt his cock soaked in her increased moisture.

He clamped his hands firmly on her hips once more, and in a swift move pulled her down while thrusting deep into her core. She screamed in wild pleasure as he thrust again and again, sucking on her sweet finger with the same rhythm.

Her free hand made its way to his shoulder, and she drew him into her as her inner muscles clamped around him, crying “Michael” softly. His teeth trembled on her finger, and as his balls tightened with his release, he stopped sucking and merely lapped at her, afraid he would bite if he tried to stifle his yell.

Finally losing all control, he thrust once more, deep into her heat, and spilled his cold seed into her, a vague noise coming from his throat despite himself.

~ ~ ~

Willow shuddered as he drew her down against his chest, the familiar smoothness ghostly cool. Her finger lay still in his mouth as she struggled for breath, and slowly found the release of sleep.

She was free again.

Spike gazed at her, pale and covered with a faint sheen of sweat as she lay in his blankets. His cock half-twitched again at the thought of it, and a smirk formed on his face.

Damn it if it didn’t get better every time.

~Part 3~

It was nine days later that Willow found the beautifully illustrated copy of Alice in Wonderland that Michael had given her, open on her bed.

The chill in the room raised goose bumps, and she shivered. She had just come from the shower, and her skin was still damp, her hair dark auburn against her head. Clad only in her towel, she scanned the room to see if Buffy was there, or some other explanation for the book.

Instead, a small bowl of rose potpourri was invisibly swept from her dresser to the floor, the rose petals falling to the ground in a soft arc. The scent spiraled up towards her, and she stared at the thin air in fright.

“Michael?” she asked, voice trembling.

Her towel was ripped from her nude body, and she screamed in panic.  The towel danced in the air, then flew as if thrown against the door. Buffy’s talcum powder, left by her bed, rose into the air, and escaped its container in a soft whoosh.

Willow saw the form of a man in the puff of white, coming towards her as if struggling through quicksand. In pure terror, she stumbled back until she was up against the door. A silk dress of Buffy’s lay cool against her back, and she saw her own
matching lace scarf that the other girl had borrowed on the floor. She crouched to snatch the scarf, then slowly slid back up the door. She hastily scrambled into the dress, which was a little loose but clung to her wet skin.

A footprint appeared in the talcum powder on the floor, then another coming closer to her. Too late, she noticed the book hefted in some unseen hand.

It spun toward her in slow motion, and her head snapped back with the force of it as it crushed into her cheek. Her eyes swimmy, she groped for the door handle, fumbling in pain and terror. A roar filled her head, and she lashed out in front of her, pushing back with all her strength. Something flew back and crashed against her dresser.

The door stood ajar from her earlier effort, and she darted through it, pulling it behind her. Tears streaming from her eyes, one hand clasped to her right eye and cheek, she ran from the dorm.

~ ~ ~

Spike saw her from a distance, running faster than he could have believed through one of the town’s larger parks. She was barefoot and wore a dark blue silk dress he had seen Buffy in a few days before. A matching scarf fluttered in her hand, and her hair, dark with water and uncombed, clung to her shoulders.

As he crossed beneath the light of a park lamp, Willow saw him, and stopped abruptly. Her shoulders heaved as she gulped in air, and he could see her shaking as she lifted her graceful arms to her head and bound the scarf three times about her damp head.

His own mouth trembled at their silent signal.

She waited ahead of him, still breathing hard, halfway between two park lamps. He could hear the thrumming of her heart as he grew close, its pace erratic. And even in the dim light, as he reached out for her hand, he saw the scraped flesh of her right cheek and the beginnings of the bruise.

He held back a moment in shock. Could a ghost have done this? Could the memory of someone who loved her do that?

He shook his head in disbelief and pain for her. Of course love could do that. Wanting to keep her his own.

He raised his hand again and drew her into the shadows. Against a smooth expanse of grass, he laid his leather duster, and then gently pushed her down onto it. She sat, knees raised, shaking less now. He took in the clinging material to her damp skin, and the lines of her body against it.

*Goddamn, she’s naked under that.*

He slid his hand gently up her leg, but stilled as she fumbled a hand to his arm. He watched a single pair of tears course down from the blindfold.

“Rough,” she said hoarsely.

His mouth opened in a pained expression. But her face was firm, and he leant his forehead in to touch hers. Eyes closed briefly, he nodded acceptance against her skin, and felt her shudder of relief.

Mouth set, he roughly pulled off her dress, and pushed her naked body back into the soft leather. He shed his own clothes nearly as quickly, throwing them aside. On a second thought, he reached out and slid his belt from his jeans.

Pulling her hands towards him, he wrapped the black leather about her wrists, binding them together firmly. He released them, and she dropped them against her stomach, tension evident in her shoulders.

His mouth took hers forcefully, slanting over her lips, his tongue thrusting hard in to meet hers. He slid his hands immediately down to cover her breasts, his thumb and forefinger finding the cold-hardened nubs of each. He twirled and pinched them, then cupped each tender handful again to possessively squeeze.

Her breath sobbed out between her lips, but she made no protest.

He lifted her arms and rested them at the back of his neck. He kissed her hard again, and she twisted her hands to hold him against her just as hard.

He shifted his rough hands to her ass, and pulled her against his jutting cock. She bit down on his lower lip at the feel of him, hard enough to draw blood. The smell and fury of it made it a struggle to keep back his demon, but he fought it off. The way she sucked at the fresh, dark blood helped – he was too shocked to be angered.

His lip was slightly swollen as he dragged it down her neck and to her breasts. He attacked the moonlit, tender skin with firm nips, scraping the edges of his teeth on her sensitive nipples, slowly, each in turn.

Rough noises spilled from her, angry moans. Her fingernails dug into the top of his head, drawing his mouth harder against her. He bit into the underside of her right breast, not quite hard enough to break the skin, and sucked fiercely at the smooth flesh, knowing that she would bear the mark for several days, and shuddering in pride at the fact.

He stroked his nails over her ass and the backs of her thighs, feeling her buck against his cock at the sensation. She was already wet for him, her heartbeat once again fast. He thrust two of his fingers roughly into her, and once more she bucked against him, whimpering for his touch on her clit.

He flicked it with a casual thumbnail, and she stiffened, then shook. Again, he gave her the slight, firm touch, and again she responded. 

“Michael,” she gasped as he teased a third time. “Michael, fuck me. Fuck me. Oh, Goddess, fuck me now.”

He was aching to shout his own hot words, to force her to beg for him. For HIM. For HIS cock. But he did this for her.

He withdrew his fingers and rubbed them on her lips, then plunged them into her, fucking her mouth with his fingers and her own taste.

Willow gasped around the fingers, then moaned as he thrust his other hand into her. Rhythmically he finger-fucked her mouth and pussy, and rhythmically she began to meet him, bobbing her head up and down his fingers, lifting her hips to thrust against his other hand.

His mind flashed to a vision of her sucking his cock, and he twitched in response, pushing his fingers further into her. She always gave him control, perhaps he could use that to his advantage. Deep in thought and fantasy, he continued his motions, sucking her breast, fucking her mouth and core with merely his hands.

“Give me your cock,” she ordered hoarsely. “FUCK me, you bastard. You bastard.”

With a low growl, Spike snatched his fingers from her mouth and dripping pussy. He drew back his head, pulling her nipple roughly with him, and then found her mouth again as he sheathed himself in one hard thrust. She moaned around his mouth, and her arms once again tightened around his neck.

“Harder, fuck me harder,” she demanded, and he pinched her nipples hard as he thrust into her again and again.

A tear trickled down her cheek, and he froze within her. He reached up to touch it, but she moved her face out of the way hurriedly, tightening her muscles against his cock in reprimand.

His breath hissed through his clenched teeth, and he moved within her again, one hand cupping her face, the other encouraging her by teasing within her wet curls. He drove deep into her warmth, and once more silenced his shout of release, burying his face in her shoulder.

She screamed her ghost’s name again and again as the spasms rocked through her, through them both.

~ ~ ~

Willow felt him slip her hands back over his head, freeing her from his embrace. She shuffled back a little, and felt the tears start again as weariness crept over her.

Suddenly, she lashed out again, shoving her bound hands against the unseen figure. She heard him fall back at the unexpected blow, which unknown to her caught his shoulder. She scrambled to her knees, and hit him again. He was quick enough to cup his balls protectively, but the blow she landed to his stomach would have knocked breath from him if he still had it.

“Leave me alone!” she screamed at him wildly, and he understood. He was still and silent as she hit him again, and again. Her blows had power, but he knew they hurt her – for good – a lot more than they hurt him. “Go! Let me get on with living! You’re DEAD! You’re dead!”

Her blows finally weakened, then stopped, as the tears welled up from underneath her blindfold.

“You’re driving me crazy,” she added brokenly. “You’re scaring me to death.”

Her sobs broke from her, and her hands dropped into her lap. She knelt on the edge of the leather duster, her shoulders wracked by ugly sobs.

Michael’s arms enfolded her in apology. There was no anger in him, none of the violence that had terrified her that afternoon. Instead, there was only silence as she cried her fear and anger free.

~Part 4~

Spike was sitting across from Willow, two weeks after she had thrilled at his touch, hit him, and then sobbed in his arms. They were part of one of the Watcher’s wonderful meetings to try and have them working as a unit, researching demons and prophecies and sniping at each other endlessly. And he heard her gasp, and watched her stiffen under an unseen touch.

His eyes caught the indistinct disturbance in the air behind her, and felt the chill curl down his own back. He half-rose to chase the specter away, his demon unconsciously coming to the fore.

The boy squawked as he saw the vampire’s face, and thrust himself away from the table, falling backwards in his hurry. Buffy caught his features, and grabbed a stake from the back of her skirt.

“Hold your bloody horses,” he muttered, shifting back. “Something bit me. I’m not planning on biting anything back.” It was a lame excuse, but although there were smirks, they didn’t question it.

“Uh, Giles, I have a headache. I’m going to leave now, OK?” Willow said quietly, her voice firm. She gathered her books under his and the Watcher’s concerned eyes, but he was pretty sure he was the only one who caught the dark length of cloth fall to the floor by his foot. It damned him to think that she carried something all the time, that he haunted her even when he wasn’t at her back.

She walked fearfully out of the room, her shoulders hunched over. He could hear the race of her heartbeat, the shiver of her breath. Like walking out in front of the lions.

Two minutes later he made quite the show of slamming his book with a disgusted sigh.

“I can’t make head nor bloody tails of this, chaps. And … hang on.” He bent and picked up the black scarf. “Chit left her witchy scarf here. See if I can catch up with her, eh?”

He bolted to the door, not letting them protest or stop him.

Outside, he saw a note carefully folded into the cloth. 42 Anselm St, it read. He frowned, at a loss to explain the address, but quickly began to jog in the appropriate direction.

~ ~ ~

The house was two-storied, and there were lights in a room upstairs, and one on that lit up the front door and footpath. He checked the number again, and realized that perhaps it was her parent’s house. She had said they weren’t around much. He knew they hadn’t met Michael.

There was a note on the step, asking him to come in. And directing him to the second door on the left upstairs. Very well. Hesitating momentarily, he touched the doorknob, which opened easily under his touch. And there was no barrier as he stepped into the house.

It was dim inside, but he looked idly for pictures of little Willow in the hallway and stairwell nevertheless. There were none, and his eyes narrowed at that. He knew that Willow was in enough of the pictures at Chubs’ house that you could assume they were related. A great help her parents were, obviously. Fury rose, at the thought of a dead demon being the only one to help her through this. Although, at that point, it was dead on dead, wasn’t it?

He bounced up the stairs despite his anger. He liked the thought of where he was going. And where he would end up.

~ ~ ~

Willow had sat down upon her bed to wait, in her old bedroom lit with the warm light of candles. The comfort of knowing her lover would not be far behind her had eased her into a sense of peace, heightened by the lack of chilled touches at the back of her neck. Two cold touches, but the embrace was so much warmer than the fury or the fear.

She leant back against the bed head, curling her bare feet into the bedspread. Her mom had left her room intact, too busy obviously to pack some of the older things away. And – The flame closest to the door fluttered out.

Willow stared at the smoking wick, and shivered. Had it gotten colder?

The candle on her desk flared, and then faded to smoke.

Willow scrunched back into the pillows, her hands scrabbling at the bedspread as she pushed back. A third candle failed, and her teeth came down raggedly on her lip.

It was then that she heard the door close downstairs. She sat forward angrily, and waved her hand at the dead candles, bringing forth flares of flame. His footsteps bounded up the stairs, and she closed her eyes in anticipation.

~ ~ ~

Spike opened the door and reclined at the doorframe for a moment, smiling at the picture. She looked innocent in her little girl’s room, waiting for depravity. For him. He stepped forward, and then turned back to close the door.

But it blew shut ahead of him, and the coolness in the air with it.

And yet she waited for him, eyes closed. Well, hell.

~ ~ ~

She sucked in her breath as he knelt before her, and bound the cloth around her head. He smoothed it over her closed eyes, and then trailed his finger down her nose and to her lips.

Willow sucked it into her mouth gently, lapping at his skin. He had the faintest taste of something sweet, like honey or vanilla.
He slowly withdrew his finger, and she felt him move both hands to her sweater. She shivered as he skimmed his large hands over her skin, pulling up the sweater, and then she lifted her arms at his silent request. He threw it aside, and slowly, teasingly stroked down the straps of her bra.

The blue lace bra clasped at the front, and she waited for his fingers to reveal her. Instead she felt the brush of something soft and strange, and flinched back momentarily before she realized it was his hair.

She let out a startled moan as his tongue lashed beneath the lace, running under one cup of the bra and then the other. And she felt the slight nudge of his teeth as he unfixed the clasp with his mouth.

He attacked her like a cat as he drew off her bra, nudging the cups aside with the cool angles of his cheekbones. Rubbing his face against her, and then lapping her with his tongue, and the analogy was increased by the feel of his presence in front of her, on his hands and knees, his shoulders powerfully hunched as he teased her.

His teeth drew off each strap slowly, running rough paths down her arms that raised goose bumps. He soothed the bumps with his tongue, cherishing her skin. Once she was free from the bra, his mouth moved back to her breasts, cool against her warmth. He sucked at her nipples and traced each curve with his tongue, slowly savoring her.

Finally, he traced down her stomach, swirling his tongue in her sensitive belly button, and then probing beneath her loose, low-cut jeans.

Unbelievably, he managed to lick below her jeans and run his tongue under the waistband of her panties.

She shivered under his touch, and waited and wondered. He hadn’t before – would he? She’d never – could she?

He used his nose to nuzzle at her mound before going to the button of her jeans with his mouth. He nudged the button loose with his tongue, and she tensed in anticipation. He satisfied her by taking the zipper in his teeth, and pulling it down. A gentle rush of cool air fanned against her stomach, and she smiled blindly.

He finally brought his hands into play to pull off her jeans. The large shape of them dived teasingly under the denim, sliding over her ass. He cupped each cheek and drew her towards him, and she felt the tease of his nose nudge her already wet curls. His hands slid lower, peeling the denim free.

She realized she still had her socks on, and slid one foot to the other to nudge them off. But his hand stopped her, and she felt his head rest on one thigh. He began to run his mouth and tongue over her leg, tucking his tongue into the sensitive areas of her inner thigh and behind her kneecap. Suddenly she found that behind her knees she was exquisitely reactive, finding it hard to keep from jumping in pure delight as he teased and lashed with his tongue.

He finally reached her ankle, and kissed right around the hem of her sock before taking it in his teeth and slowly dragging it free. She gave a muffled giggle as he gave her big toe a dramatic lick, and the sucked it into his mouth, and then a sigh as he proceeded to lick and suck and nibble each toe after. He finally stroked the sole of her foot with his tongue, light on the outside, and firm licks on the sensitive inner. She struggled away, but he rested a strong hand on her leg, and she gave in to the thrilling torture.
He moved to her other leg, starting this time with the same kisses around the edge of her sock. Once her foot was bare, he now used his teeth on her foot, scraping lightly down the center as she bit on her lower lip to keep from crying out. He then swirled each toe with his tongue, slowly moving it up her leg again.

Now that he knew, he paid particular attention to behind her knee, and she was shaking slightly as he re-found the tender skin of her inner thigh. Willow shut her eyes more tightly as he moved closer to her center, her tense hands bunching the bedspread.
His tongue lapped at her clitoris almost curiously, then returned to swirl and suck the sensitive flesh. She whimpered as he drew his teeth over her, then soothed with delicate strokes from his tongue. Her moan of disappointment as he moved away turned into breathless moans of pleasure as he licked the length of her wet slit, then swirled his tongue back around her clit. He repeated the movement, like a cat licking at cream it wanted to last, and in desperation she found his head, and held him steady between her thighs.

His shoulders shook with what she suspected was a suppressed chuckle, but he obeyed her silent command and found her glory with his tongue, plunging into her. She thought back to when he had given her her own fingers to suck, and the taste she had experienced then. He was experiencing the taste full force, taking her within him …

Her hips lifted against him, and her murmurs rose to climbing moans. His tongue moved faster, and deeper, and finally he brushed his thumb over her clit while still lapping at her inner walls. His touch brought her over the edge, gripping him with her thighs while she threw her head back and screamed his name.

~ ~ ~

Spike closed his eyes as she screamed out the name, but nevertheless licked tenderly at her as she drenched his face in her juices. Smiling at the taste of her, he drew away, running his tongue over his mouth to clean away every drop. He then kissed her deeply, sharing her taste.

The kiss left her flustered and breathless, and her face prettily flushed.

His eyes fixed on her mouth, and his hard cock screamed for attention. He thought about changing their positions, to give her the control, and then mentally shrugged. Fuck it. She might have done this with the boy already, and he was pretty sure he could refrain from wildly driving into her. Maybe.

He knelt above her, and guided the glossy head of his cock to her lips.

~ ~ ~

Willow’s head drew back a little in surprise as she felt his hardness at her mouth. Oh Goddess. They’d never done THAT before, either. She moved forward the small distance, and tasted him gently with her tongue. Hmmm.

Tentatively, she leaned in and kissed the tip. She licked along the length of him, the coolness reminding her of a lollipop that had been left in a refrigerator. Her mind blacked out the fact that she was supposed to take all of this into her mouth, they would get to that when they got to that. For now, she licked eagerly, learning by touch and his slight noises the bits that made him squirm. He gave a ragged sigh as she found his balls and sucked them lightly into her mouth, and a sudden groan when she traced back down his cock, ever so gently using her teeth on the sensitive underside.

Bravely, Willow sucked the head of his cock into her mouth, her tongue tasting him again. She took as much in as she could, almost gagging but keeping her mind on what she was doing to him instead of what was happening to her. Inside her gentle mouth her tongue was playful and sometimes rough, and she heard his hands grab her headboard as the noises escaping him increased in number and apparent pleasure.

She rubbed at the underside of his head with her tongue, and felt him stiffen in reaction. His cock began to move in her, gently but with an urgent need. She wanted to smile around the hard length of him, that she could be so undoing. He grew faster, and rougher, and she relaxed her throat as he thrust into her mouth. He groaned, and tensed, and thrust quickly several times before slumping against her and the wall, his cool seed filling her mouth. She swallowed, learning the taste, and then licked him clean. He was still hunched over her, his body unseen but instinctively felt.

Smirking, she nudged the cock that still lay in her mouth with her teeth, and he gave a startled shout of surprise, finally moving from above her and collapsing on the bed beside her.

~ ~ ~

Spike was undone. He was absolutely … now he’d heard this term in a movie once … he was NINJA fucked. That he was.
He had a feeling that he’d been the first, that way. And she had … she’d … he couldn’t even think. Her tongue had been warm, her mouth warmer, and if he hadn’t already been dead, he would’ve died coming in her.

She was running her hands over his chest, gently, blindly, and suddenly he realized perhaps he wasn’t undone at all. Yet.

~ ~ ~

His hand covered hers, and Willow thought perhaps he would stop her. Yet he didn’t, he guided her firmly over his taut stomach, and through the rough hair to take his already hardening cock in her hands. He entwined his fingers through hers, and drew their hands over him. Willow drew a pleasured breath in as she felt him swell beneath her touch, and he showed her how to stroke him to readiness.

When he couldn’t keep from arching into her at every touch, she drew their hands away and to her own curls instead. Knowingly, he touched her clit with a thumb, and she mirrored the move. Stretching their hands, they moved in blind synchronicity, brushing her clit and then thrusting inside her, then tracing her lips back to her clit.

She found his mouth and kissed him hungrily as her own pleasure rose. She could feel him ready against her thigh, and their joined hands were wet with her juices. He moved on top of her, and drew her hand away, pressing it back into the bed as he left her mouth to nibble down her throat.

His mouth returned to hers as he took her other hand and stretched it out beneath his hand. She felt the strength of him holding her down, and the thrilling knowledge that he would never, could never use the same strength to hurt her.

He hesitated at her entrance, and teasingly ran the head of his cock along her slickness. She thrust against him, drawing in a tight breath of anticipation, and felt him shrug away any furthur delay. She gasped as he sheathed himself completely in her, feeling herself stretch around his delicious length.

He took away his mouth again as he thrust within her, his teeth returning to her neck, scraping along her tender flesh. Momentarily, Willow felt seperated from her body, and in that moment she saw Spike’s blond head at her throat. She tightened her closed eyelids, and the head became Michael’s tousled dark one. She moaned his name, and stretched herself against him, arm against strong, muscled arm, breasts against smooth chest, her center embracing his cock.

She felt his mouth hesitate hungrily on her skin, then tenderly biting. He surged once more within her, and she grabbed his ass as she tightened in ecstasy. Willow yelled his name, then repeated it in breathless sobs as she convulsed around him. She felt his seed wet at her womb, and sighed as their bodies relaxed. Only his mouth moved, sliding over her neck once more, before she fell gently asleep against him.

~Part 5~

Willow unconsciously leaned into Spike’s body as she reached for another slice of pizza. She finally felt as if she balanced, balanced the physical and non-physical presence of her lover with her everyday life. Calm, peaceful.

They were crammed into a booth in their favorite pizza restaurant, post-slayage and world-saveage. The happy normalcy was what she craved, what made her whole. And the Scooby Gang seemed to be at ease with each other.

Buffy failed to snipe at Spike as much, and he refrained from pushing her. Instead, they joked and congratulated themselves for their efforts, sharing conversation like friends. The warmth and acceptance the friendship created gave her wonderful happiness.

She scrunched closer to Xander as she felt the cool touch of Spike making room for himself beside her. Xander gave her a curious look, and she raised her eyebrows in query.

“I know he’s scary bad guy, Wills, but I think we got him covered,” Xander cracked, looking around at their friends.

“What?” she questioned, turning back to look at Spike.

They were seperated by a foot, by a space big enough for the cool form of nothingness that was Michael.

She swallowed convulsively, staring at air, yet feeling the press of his legs by hers. She was drowning, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t help staring at solid emptiness.

“Fuck, I need to piss. Get up, kids,” Spike said quickly, harshly.

“Do vampires even? … Forget it, don’t want to know,” Buffy amended, shuffling out of the round booth, Riley following.

Seeing that Willow sat frozen, Spike grabbed at the SOMETHING that had seperated him from her. He dragged the struggling form with him, and as she felt it depart, Willow snapped out of her daze. As Buffy went to sit again, Willow held up her hand.

“No … I …” she pointed vaguely after Spike.

“Sure … are you all right?” Buffy asked, concerned. Willow looked as if she’d seen a ghost. She’d been really good recently, happy and smiling, and now she looked haunted again.

Willow nodded distractedly, looking away to find the bathroom, unwinding the scarf she wore on her wrist unseeingly.

“Bathroom,” she said hollowly, and walked away.

Buffy’s eyes followed her, lost.

~ ~ ~

She closed her eyes as she saw him in the alcove leading to the bathrooms. Spike stepped towards her, and as he drew near, felt himself pushed from her. He struggled back, forcing the air from his way. He took the scarf she held loosely, and gently wrapped it over her eyes.

Tenderly kissing her lips, he led her forward. He smiled as he saw a handicapped toilet, separate from the men’s and ladies bathrooms. Leading her in, he slid the lock closed and took her in his arms.

He swore mentally as a hand pushed at his back. Damn bastard followed them in. Would he ever leave her?

Spike pressed against her warm, willing body, forcing her back against the wall.

“Quickly,” she said huskily, and he threw the hand free of his shoulder before sliding both hands over her breasts possessively.

She answered him by cupping his ass, drawing him in to her. She kissed his neck, chuckling warmly against his skin.

He couldn’t refrain from worshiping her with his mouth, his tongue and lips tracing the skin of her neck as his hands delved beneath her sweater to cup her warm breasts. Her hands moved as well, running over his hips to unbuckle his belt. His kisses grew more desperate as she unzipped and caressed his cock and balls, her hands warm and sure. He slid his own hands to her short skirt and lifted it by sliding his fingers over her hips, then back down to free her panties. His fingertips caught the warm surge of wetness, and he brought them to his mouth to draw in her taste.

She guided him to her, and he smiled as he thrust deeply within her warmth. His mouth found hers, kissing her as deeply as he moved within her.

Again she chuckled as he let her breathe, her laughter heating his mouth.

“Oh, Michael, Michael,” she said breathlessly, and his face twisted in pain before he kissed her again.

“Michael, please.”

Spike’s shoulders set as he felt the cool push at his shoulder again. He threw it back off, his demon face emerging unseen by Willow. He lifted her from the floor, crushing her against the wall of bathroom, and thrust into her almost savagely. One hand balanced her while his other thumb and finger took possession of her clit.

She bucked against him, her arms locked about his neck and her mouth wild upon his mouth and skin. As she buried her mouth in his shoulder, he heard her muffled cry of her dead lover’s name.

Despite her cry, his release washed through him, and he came into her hard, shooting his cold, dead load with violent force. His head dropped to her breasts as her sweater slid down over them, and he realized that if she had been naked, he would have bitten her.

Angrily, he slid her to the floor, and pulled her panties up and her skirt down. He ran quick hands over her tousled clothes, and pushed her out the door, closing it again behind her.

Spike stood over the basin, his hands gripping the edges powerfully. He looked up as he swallowed, into the glass that reflected the wall behind him. And the fuzzy, faded air.

He spun to face her ghost, his face still demonic.

“Mine,” he said through clenched teeth.

He staggered backwards as it punched him. Hissing, fangs bared, he stalked it about the small bathroom. It created the faintest disturbance in the air, but there was no smell or sound, only cool air and the slightest drift of movement.

Spike lashed out, contacting a glossy patch of solidified air. He hit it again and again, finishing with a vicious head butt.

“Mine.”

~ ~ ~

Willow stumbled from the bathroom with a soft cry, and tore the blindfold from her eyes. Spinning, she stared at the closed door, and her mouth trembled before she walked back to her friends.

Her skin tingled, but she knew he had not come out of the room with her. It was worrying, that he had stayed while he … while THEY …

She shook her head to ward off the truth, and smiled weakly at her friends.

“Xander, if you ate all my pizza I’ll turn you into an insect …” she warned as Buffy and Riley slid out to let her in again.

“Hold on,” a voice called, and she turned back to see Spike run up behind her.

“Get in, pet, my pizza’s gettin’ cold,” he said in faint annoyance, and she frowned slightly at him, moving back to her seat.

“It’s not like you need it, Pops,” Buffy returned snidely, as she and Riley sat back down. He glared at her.

“Is that a crack at my age or my temperature, Bitchy?”

Buffy sat up, furious, and looked as if she would try to stake him right in the restaurant. Then she frowned. “Spike, how’d you get cut?”

He pressed a finger below his right eye, and stared at the blood on it when he lowered the hand.

“Didn’t see that,” he said woodenly, then rubbed brusquely at it.

Willow stared at him, then over at the bathrooms.

*Did he … hit him? Who hit who? Why …?*

~ ~ ~

As they left the restaurant, the group naturally broke into couples as they walked. Willow smiled tensely at Spike as they were left to walk together, and from her face he knew she wasn’t ready to talk about it yet, that she couldn’t separate what she did with him from what she did with Michael. Yet. He hoped.

His eyes closed briefly when he felt the boy return. Moving between them, keeping them apart. They both felt it, staring straight ahead as they walked and keeping the distance of about a meter between them. He hated it. Hated the feel of the cool air beside him, hated someone he couldn’t even fight keeping him from her. Hated that he couldn’t claim her – if the bloody chip would let him, anyway.

As Xander and Anya peeled off the group to head for their home, Buffy and Riley paused a little to let the slower walking Willow and Spike to catch up.

“Uh, Wills, I’ve got patrol and I’ll probably crash at Riley’s again. Cool?” Buffy enquired.

Spike scowled at her. Big help she was. Nothing as important as getting her shag.

“Fine,” Willow replied in that hurt little voice she had when the boy was around.

“I’ll walk her home, be glad to help thanks for askin’,” he said sarcastically, glaring at the blonde twosome of moronity. Well, semi-blonde.

Probably about the same hair color naturally.

Buffy shook her head at him in confusion, and pranced off with her idiot. Leaving him to walk Willow home in their practiced silence.

For what did they really have to say to each other? And as for HIM – what could the damned really say to the damned?

~ ~ ~

Willow lifted her key to the lock with a shaking hand. He was right there, right there with her. He would come into the room with her. There was no way she could spend a night alone with him. But, but, was it too much to wrap a blindfold about her head again?

“Do you need me to check out your bed for bed bugs?” Spike said suddenly, his tone casual.

“Yes,” she breathed hurriedly. “Yes please.”

He took her key from her hand, his right hand going around her back. She leant back into the safety and strength of him, eyes closing, but her body continued to tremble. He laid a small kiss upon her head as he unlocked the door, and guided her in, closing the door firmly behind them.

The sound of it made her eyes flutter open, and she stared at him wildly.

“Going to check the bed,” he told her calmly. “You want to change or something? Do what you like.”

She blinked at the firmness of his voice, then nodded, picking up the satin pajamas from her chair. Underneath them lay the blood red satin tie from Buffy’s skimpy little bathrobe, and she touched it shyly. *Whatever I like*. As she stroked it, her hand was batted away and the satin thrown to the floor.

She began to shake in earnest as she fumbled to pick it up. A glance showed her that Spike was looking out the window of the dorm room, waiting for her to give the word. He knew, he felt it too.

She changed quickly into her pajama pants, savoring their cool touch. She looked over her shoulder as she picked up her pajama top, and saw Spike staring hard into the window. At her naked back? The set of his shoulders was so intent, surely he wasn’t just staring at nothing?

She heard the curtains pulled shut and realized he had seen her turn. But she couldn’t shake her wonder, that perhaps he had been drinking her in, that he might want her. She wished she had been able to see his face in the glass, to know.

Until she felt the cold touch on her breast, not the cool hands that made desire pool inside her, but the iciness she feared.

She stepped back from him involuntarily, shrugging on her pajama top with hands that once again shook. She hated being so afraid. So needy.

Willow was barely able to knot the satin around her head as he continued to touch her. Not lengthy touches, but brushes of varying strength, as if he had to concentrate to generate a force. She almost whimpered as she found herself blind to his hands, but hurriedly turned and stepped cautiously over to where he stood.

~ ~ ~

She was behind him. He couldn’t see her anymore, not since he had noticed her looking over her shoulder at him. Possibly at him. She could see him and her reflection, he could see only her reflection. Who knew what she had seen?

But she wore her blindfold again. She needed him again.

Spike let out an involuntary sigh as she slipped her small hands over the shoulders of his leather duster, pulling it from his shoulders. She pulled his T shirt from him with a little of his help, and he stood there almost shyly as she ran her fingers over his back.

She traced every muscle, every line, every faint dip or curve. Her fingers dipped low into the sensitive skin of his spine, and lower into the back of his jeans, then up his spine again and over his shoulders. Her thumbs brushed against random spots of his skin, and he wondered at what she touched, if it were the faint rise of a mole or the down-dark feather of a hair.

The moments like this broke him. He would breathe shallow breaths in and out again, unneeded but a natural reaction, unforced.

She reached up on tiptoe behind him and whispered in his ear.

“Take them off.”

He bit his lip in pure delight as he shucked off his boots and jeans, standing naked in front of her. He was already hard, but the slow
anticipation built his need further.

Willow traced his shoulders again, and then traced her tongue down his spine. He gripped the desk in front of him at her hot, wet touch. When she bit lightly on his ass cheek he gave a surprised yelp, and felt her warm breath as she laughed at him. He gave a muffled grunt as she traced the deep cleft between his buttocks, his hands clutching at the desk edge. She swatted his ass at the noise, and he swallowed hard.

She crouched behind him as she learnt the muscles of his thighs and calves. Like her, he was deliciously sensitive behind the backs of his knees, and his slight whimper as she teased him earned him another, harder, smack on the ass.

Her hands rose again, warm over his hips, and she guided him to turn.

He drank her in. Her face was pink and her lips wet, curved in a mischievous smile. The pale green of her pajamas lay shining against her pale skin, and he could see her nipples hard against the fabric.

In his own charming mischief, he took her breasts in his hands, thumbing them firmly. She leant into his touch, her mouth open in
anticipation. He bent his head to hover his mouth over hers, brushing her lips with the faintest touches before dropping his hands and raising his head. Grinning, he clasped his hands behind his back. Of course she couldn’t see the arrogant stance, thrusting his shoulders back and cock forward, but she would get to that. He bloody well hoped.

She laid her palms against his chest to orient herself, and then expertly flicked his nipples with her nails. He made a slight hiss, and she held a hand over his mouth commandingly. He nodded against her hand, his lips brushing against her skin, and watched the triumphant smile she allowed herself with a lecherous glint in his eye.

She began to sway as she stroked his chest, moving to some unheard music. Her hips moved slowly as she stepped closer, and she began to unbutton her pajamas with one hand while the other dipped and swirled over him. Each slow movement revealed more flesh, and increased his hard on. And he was enjoying it.

She shrugged the satin off in a sensual movement and moved her hands to her own body, cupping her own breasts. His mouth parted as he watched her intently. She teased her own nipples, engorging the pink buds. Her hands then stroked towards the waistband of her pajama pants, and she shimmied out of them, her breath misting over his cock as she slid her hands and pants to her ankles.

She stood straight again, as naked as he, close enough to feel her heat. And she swayed closer, brushing her breasts against his chest, her center against his. Her hands slid over his shoulders and followed the strength of his arms to his hands, unclasping them and taking them in her own. Her body was curved against his, her warmth embracing him. It was pure, trembling bliss.

Spike watched her raise herself to kiss him, and closed his eyes as their lips touched. Her mouth was gentle yet eager, and so wonderfully warm.

He felt the presence as their kisses grew more passionate, and then Willow’s hands were yanked from his, and she flew backwards to land in a startled heap on the floor. His eyes snapped open, yellow, and he swatted at the air with a snarl.

There was a muffled noise as he connected with the solidified air, and he rushed to where Willow crouched on the floor, tears wet on the satin blindfold.

“No, no, Michael, no,” she mumbled in a shaking voice, her hands protectively raised in front of her.

He picked her up gently, enfolding her in his arms and carrying her to her bed. Her hands fluttered at his skin, touching tentatively then contentedly.

“Michael,” she murmured happily, over and over as he settled his body over hers. He traced her lips with a finger, smiling softly, his face smoothing back. He laid his lips upon hers, kissing her as he moved his finger over her breasts and then her stomach. She squirmed gently beneath him, and he took the opportunity to nudge her legs apart with his knee.

As his fingers traced their way to her damp curls, she smiled against his mouth and lifted her hips in encouragement.

“I love you,” she said softly, and he reared his head back, staring at her in surprise.

A fierce breath of noise beside him brought him back to ground zero. Oh yes, she loved HIM. And would until he bloody well left.

His face shifted again in the anger, and he took a nipple between his lips, sucking it with his cheek laid against her breast. Facing the ripples in the air beside him, taunting the ghost. He could feel its eyes upon him as he grazed the pale skin with his fangs, and Willow gave a startled, ecstatic yelp at the touch. His long tongue came out to trace down her stomach, and his fingers worked steadily at her clit and wet pussy. She whimpered and bucked beneath him, and he watched the thin air as he roughly entered her with one finger, then two, then a third.
 

“Please, please,” she gasped, thrashing against him, and he raised his head, staring into the supposed eyes of his enemy.

MINE, he mouthed at the air, his eyes burning gold as he buried himself in her tight core. MINE.

The air howled, but she was beyond it, pushing up to meet his wild, driving thrusts. She was liquid velvet around his cock, melting into him as he melted into her. She moaned the bastard’s name as she quivered into ecstasy, but only once, as he choked his own cry, and spent himself within her, sinking his head to her breast as his human face slowly returned.

The air grown silent and still again beside them

~Part 6~

Willow sank against the white satin sheets, her hair spilling onto the snowy pillows in stark contrast.

“I can see your hair,” Spike mused, looking at her in consideration, “But your skin just fades in … silk into satin.”

He traced her body teasingly, his hands running over her and then dipping against the bed. She yelped as he tickled beneath her arms, arching into his hard, cool body.

His eyes lit up as they caressed her.

“I know …” he began, and she watched, her bottom lip caught in her teeth, as his face morphed.

He ran his fangs over her skin, and she pressed herself against him, her body humming with need.

His mouth stilled against her breast and she held steady in anticipation. The fangs ripped into her skin, and she bucked up yet again, accidentally on her part if not his sheathing him inside her.

They thrust together, his tongue lapping and soothing at the wound, his cock pumping inside her. Their names were murmured in growing excitement, their bodies entwined. She arched against him as she came, and he drank the hot blood from her breast as he gave her his cold seed to replace it.

He drew back from her, and his face slid back to human.

“_Now_ I can see you,” he said in satisfaction, the blood crimson against her pale skin.
 

~ ~ ~
 

She came awake in shock, her breathing harsh, her core damp and aching. Tremors from her orgasm rocked through her, and her hand fumbled to pull down her T shirt, to see the mark he had made.

Her breast was unmarked, pale in the darkness but for the hard, flushed nipple. She blinked in confusion. She’d dreamed about sex with Spike before, but normally loving, unbiting sex.

That was … that was _claiming_. That was full force, bitey, vampire sex. And she had come in her sleep from it.

Willow settled back against her pillows, thoughts tumbling through her mind. She could picture his face still, the feel of his fangs piercing her, the way he had said her name.

Wonderingly, she traced her hand over her breast, her eyes closed. Brushing her thumb across her nipple, thumbing the swelling bud. She imagined the coolness of a vampire hand against her skin, sliding underneath her T shirt and down into the waistband of her boxers, the other hand continuing its tempting play with her breast.

“Spike,” she moaned tentatively, then more earnestly as her fingers found her sensitive clit. “_Spike_.”

She stilled suddenly, her breath drawn at the sensation in the air.

“Let me go,” she begged softly. “Please let me go.”

The air drew away, and she felt herself calm as it left. But she still lay alone, wanting.

Willow drew off her T shirt and drew both hands to her breasts. She toyed with herself, every touch increasing the wetness pooling between her thighs. Pinching her nipples, she hissed at the excitement which sparked through her, and chuckled his name again.

“Mmmm, Spike.”

Her hands skated across her stomach smoothly, her thumbs playing with the elastic band of her boxers. Her eyes were closed as she slid the shorts free, and her fingers trailed up her thighs.

She imagined his thumb and fingers knowingly finding her clit. She arched against him, her body readied by his touch in sleep. Thrusting against her fingers, she slid two inside her wet pussy, then whimpering, a third. She felt her damp walls clutch at his dreamed fingers, questing and begging for his more filling cock. She gave herself as much as she could, and with her fingers deep inside her, her thumb languorous on her clit, she came with his name on her lips.

Damp with sweat and release, she drifted to sleep.
 

~ ~ ~
 

Spike gave a hollow gasp as he watched her. He had been asleep in Willow’s armchair, unwilling to leave with Michael’s presence still near. He had watched her draw on a T shirt and boxers in the darkness, smiling at her shyness. And then she had woken him up with the muffled noise of dreams, and started to touch herself.

He had almost stood to go to her when she begged Michael to leave, but the unseen boy had come to jealously stand by him instead, blocking him from Willow. He could have fought the boy off, but realization had come too soon.

What if she pushed him away? Was embarrassed that he was still there – had watched her imagining herself with him at last?

And so he had watched her pretend he was there, nearing the point where she could maybe accept him for himself.

He grew harder and harder with each moment, each dim vision of her pale skin in the dark room, but he kept still, only watching her.

He gave up when she slid off her boxers, and unzipped the jeans he had shrugged on before watching over her. Taking his cock in his hands, he stroked it eagerly as she played with her clit. She had shut her eyes but his remained open, taking in the thrust of her breasts into the air and the slickness glistening on her fingers as she fucked herself with her fingers.

He could smell her arousal in the air, thick and heady, and he breathed in the scent in delight as he matched his movements to hers. Instead of into his hands he thrust his cock into her tight, wet warmth, deeper and harder.

She bucked upward, gasping his name, and he spilled instantly, only just biting back his own cry.

Spike slumped back in the chair, his head bowed, her name silent on his lips. The boy moved away from him, back to Willow’s side.
 

~ ~ ~
 

“I’m awake, Mom,” Willow said drowsily, her shoulders rocking back and forth with her mother’s touch. Her mother’s cold touch?

She sat upright in the bed with a gasp. The air had its greasy feel in front of her, but she could see quite clearly through it to the view of Spike sitting in her armchair, wearing only his jeans. Wearing only his jeans in a very handsome and leanly muscled way. And smoking.

She frowned, she wasn’t supposed to smoke in her room. Which presumably meant he wasn’t either. She started to get out of bed to tell him so -

And hello, she was naked.

Her mind flashed back to the night. She had … and he’d been _watching_? And had he …? Waking up more, she looked at him closely. Was he asleep? It was hard to tell with the undead. But if he was smoking …

She leapt out of bed and threw the curtains noisily shut. Spike jolted awake and was probably audience to a nice view of her ass as she moved. As she spun to face him, he took in her nudity, and then gave a yell of pain, grabbing his reddened chest.

“What the _fuck_?”

Willow grabbed a sheet from her twisted, lust-unmade bed, and clasped it to her to rush to his side. Only the air, the air that could kill, stopped her.

She stumbled back from the unseen shoulder charge, and threw out an accusing finger at Michael.

“You tried to kill him!” she shrieked, unintentionally losing control of the sheet.
 

~ ~ ~
 

Spike gave himself a nice eyeful of her body and received a bottle of holy water in the chest for his trouble. On top of the sunlight burns, it was a little bit more than painful, and he blacked out momentarily.

He tuned in again to see Willow hit the floor, crying out in pain. He leapt up, demon face intact, and was forced to grab hastily at the incoming stake of death.

“Fuck!” he yelled in surprise, struggling to knock the stake away from the air. The air fought back readily, and finally he had to wrench the stake from its hands, chucking it under the bed so he couldn’t pick it back up.

He could just see the boy picking it up while he was shagging the kid’s girlfriend. A stake in the back, wouldn’t that be a fun turn of events.

Enraged, he threw himself at the indistinct form to give it the thrashing of its unlife.

“Leave her alone! Give her some bloody peace!” he raged at the boy, scoring several lucky hits while avoiding any himself. Feeling it weaken, he threw a couple of strong lefts and a knee in the stomach, and then stalked over to the bed where she sat, whimpering in pain and fear.

He lifted her gently to the bed, and she lay there, eyes closed, tears running over her silken skin. His face relaxed, and he reached out to touch a tear.

Her eyes flew open. Taking in his pale form above her, she shook her head and stared into the center of the room.

“No … Michael …” she moaned, and he closed his eyes in frustration. He crouched there on his hands and knees, his shoulders slumped, for indeterminate seconds.

Resigned, Spike’s eyes flicked open again. *So bloody be it*. But his eye caught on the length of satin she had taken off in her sleep.

He slid it over her distracted eyes, and she drew in a breath of startled surprise. He gained another when he traced a finger between her breasts, over the curve of her stomach, and then back to her throat.

He moved his mouth to her throat, kissing the soft skin delicately. His mouth curved in a smile as she relaxed against him, and he kissed down her throat tenderly. Instead of traveling towards her breasts, he continued across her shoulders and down her left arm, slow and gentle. Every kiss was a portion of his love for her – aye, he admitted it, it wasn’t just friendship or lust or possession – an adoring caress.

Maybe more than love, the kisses were a plea for acceptance, he thought as he traced the fragile bones of her wrist. To be here on his own, for her to scream his name, for their eyes to meet as they became about as close as two people could be.

He moved to her hand, sucking each finger into his mouth and playing with them with his teeth. She made little giggles and gasps, growing more and more eager with each touch.

As he let go of her left hand, he traced his hand up to her shoulder and rested it there while he kissed the hollow of her throat. He brushed a casual thumb beneath her arm, and she bucked into him with a soft gasp at the tickling touch.

Spike smirked and moved his lips to her other shoulder, tracing the same path of gentle kisses to her fingertips, then sucking each digit into his mouth again. His body rested against hers, and she arched her body into his for further contact. His jeans were excruciatingly tight, but they allowed him to keep control, to truly love her.

He repeated the wandering of his hand back up her arm, and moved both hands to cradle her face. He laid his lips against hers in the tenderest of kisses, kissing and then tracing her lips with smaller kisses, then kissing her deeply again. Her arms locked around his neck, her hands running through his hair in the passionate embrace.

Willow was neither protesting or murmuring her ghost’s name, just pleading silently with her body for him to touch her. He welcomed the opportunity, his hands wandering across her warm stomach and just below her breasts teasingly. She whimpered every time he came near their twin curves, but he refused to give in. It was only when she arched herself against his hands that he considered it, and her whisper that undid him.

“Please,” she said breathlessly, her body curving to his unseen touch.

He cupped a breast in each hand and drew his mouth across each in turn. She whimpered again, and gave a harsh moan as he traced around the aureole with his cool tongue. He repeated the teasing move on each breast, his thumbs also achingly close in their caresses. Her moans took on a pleading tone, and finally he sucked the hard nub of her nipple into his mouth.

Willow cried out and pushed herself against the length of his body as he suckled on the rosy peak. Her naked body thrust against the rough material of his jeans mindlessly, and he thrilled at the way her cries were wordless, not his name, but not the ghost’s either.

He took her other nipple roughly, and the pitch of her moans climbed. Her breathing was ragged, and her nails bit into his back. He caught the scent of his own blood and thrust his jean-clad erection hard against her at the familiar, intoxicating smell, fighting for control of both the demon and his body.

At the feel of him, she ran her hands down his back – over the raw wounds, the touch thrilling through him – and then around to his zipper. She played momentarily with the button that he had left loose, brushing the flap with her fingers, teasingly close to his cock. He ground himself against her hands, and she gave him a sexy chuckle.

She drew his zipper down and took his hard cock in her hands, her fingers running over the length of him. He closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath at her touch, warm and firm. Her hands moved to caress his ass as she drew down his jeans, and they moved together to pull them completely free. As he moved back atop her she stretched to run her fingernails up his legs and over his ass, and he bucked into her at the touch.

She held him close to her and ran her teeth over his shoulder.

“Oh, please,” she said close into his ear, and he shimmered a hand over her stomach and teasingly through her wet curls. His thumb found her clit, and she shivered into him with a delighted moan. His mouth re-found a nipple, his other hand enveloping her breast and teasing its hard peak.

His fingers found her core, dipping into the liquid warmth. She rose up to meet his touch, her muffled moans growing more and more ecstatic. Sensing her readiness, he moved his mouth down her body, his tongue and fingers running toward her center. She began to gasp in desperation as his tongue touched her clit, his fingers rhythmically pumping into her.

His tongue circled and lapped at the delicate nub, and her thighs quivered against his skin. With a drawn-out cry, she thrust wildly against his mouth and hands, her body bucking and then falling back on the bed. She gulped in breath as she lay back, the arch of her back offering her breasts to him.

Spike took the offer, pushing her breasts together with his hands, and then laving first one then the other with his tongue. Gradually she regathered her energy, and her hands clasped his head, holding him to her. He moved back up to kiss her urgently, his body hard and ready against hers.

Her mouth fluttered against his in a silent moan when he returned again to her clit, his fingers at first hesitant. Once again she bucked herself unconsciously, uncontrollably against his fingers, demanding more. He moved his mouth to her neck as he brushed her soaked slit again, his fingers finding her questing pussy. As he thrust his fingers once more into her, her mouth returned to his shoulder, her teeth lightly scraping him as she moaned in pleasure against his skin.

He moved his fingers faster, and Willow moved faster against him. Her wordless cries were desperate, but still he waited. He felt her shake as she began to come, and smiled against her neck.

Her teeth sank into his shoulder as the walls of her pussy clutched at his fingers. The pain and the blood called forth the demon, and he sunk into her in one rough thrust. His fangs slid to the pulse point in her neck as he withdrew from and plunged into her forcefully. He made to bite her, the fangs pricking into her soft skin, and she flinched away from the sharp touch with a gasp.

Spike stilled, and somewhere he found the presence of mind to push back the demon, and calmer, he kissed and licked the tiny red marks on her neck. She softened back against him, and he began to move within her again, his cock pushing deep inside her.

Her hands moved on his ass, a finger delicately brushing the puckered opening. He hissed in delight and sucked at her neck, then moved to kiss her possessively. She met his kiss as passionately, their bodies unconsciously echoing in movement.

He felt his balls tighten, and moved his hand to her clit. Her pussy tightened in response, and he drew his lips from hers to let her suck in a hungry breath.

“God, Willow,” he groaned against her mouth.

He froze as he heard himself speak, his cock halfway into her.

*Oh FUCK!*

Willow’s expression was shocked, her mouth open but silent. Then shook her head gently, and reclaimed his lips, kissing him softly. Her hands were still eager, her heat pressed against him.

As she grew wilder against him, and he began once more to thrust into her waiting warmth, he felt the chill that had been at his neck for so long now drift away.

“Goodbye,” he heard, very clearly, in the air, and she shuddered around him.

“Michael,” she gasped in answer. “Michael, goodbye.”

She clung to him, and for the first ever time ran her hands over his face.

“Touch me,” she whispered raggedly. “Please … Spike.”

He brushed his thumb against her clit as he drove deeper inside her. They slammed together, once, twice more, and then he finally yelled her name as he came, feeling as if he were being poured into her. Her own orgasm was for the first time silent, her cry of her lover’s name absent from her lips.

And after, she pushed loose the blindfold she wore, and looked into his eyes.

“Oh, Spike.”
 
 

~Part 7~

She missed him. She missed _Spike_.

Willow sighed, twirling her hair around her finger. The Scoobies were researching at Giles’s, and for the second night in a week he had not joined them. She wondered if he were giving her space, or giving her up.

She didn’t _want_ to be given up.

When he was here she would move unconsciously near him, draw in the cool comfort of his form. They would touch with the familiarity of lovers, and his hands drew a longing echo from her body. She would recognise his touch blindly for the rest of her life, know his hand from any other.

She growled slightly and twisted in her chair, ignoring the book in her lap. It was funny. Finally, she was free of the terror and sadness and love that Michael had haunted her with, and instead of skipping forth, all she wanted was to be with Spike.

Actually, all she wanted to do was _shag_ Spike.

To see what he looked like naked. To see the look in his eyes as he pumped within her. To hear him speak to her as they made love softly, to hear him shout her name as he came.

She tapped her foot in annoyance, and finally stood, stepping over to one of the bookshelves. Crouching, she found the volume with a practiced touch, near the books on Angelus and his exploits, and tucked it discreetly into her backpack.

Picking up one of the other books, that Giles had recommended researching, she walked back to her chair, and focused on the task, knowing she had some vague plan for later that night
 

~ ~ ~
 

He missed her desperately. Every time they were together, surrounded by their oblivious friends and … whatever you wanted to call them from his perspective … every time, he wanted to grab her. And kiss her, shag her, love her, fuck her, hold her.

But her ghost was gone, and she didn’t need him anymore.

Bloody hell, in love with a mortal. He hadn’t imagined it could be so painful, that he would long for her incessantly. And mixed in with the wanting was the confusion. They had never had anything real, had never talked as lovers.

Because hello, he was a sometime blood sucking demon, scourge of Europe, vicious, killer, hell maker. And she was …

Innocent, sexy as hell, passionate, caring, intelligent.

She was Willow. That had been what drew him in to help her. He bloody wouldn’t have given himself to Buffy like that, no matter how tormented she was. Hell, he probably would have laughed at her in the same situation.

With Willow, he had wanted to protect her, save her.

And bloody touch her.

He groaned, and stuffed his face into the blankets beneath him.
 

~ ~ ~
 

Willow flicked through the pages of ‘The History of William the Bloody’, glad that Buffy was yet again absent. And couched in the stuffy prose of some long-dead Watcher, she found traces of the Spike she knew, the Spike hinted at in the way he had helped her, the way he had loved her so tenderly and passionately.

She also found herself shivering in delight at the dark Spike, the Spike from her dream, the Spike who fought off Michael, the demon whose fangs had almost opened her neck. Some of his exploits were beyond her capacity to understand, but through them she felt his sense of fun, danger and adventure.

She curled up to read one particular night’s revels. He, Angelus and Drusilla had leveled a town, draining its inhabitants and then burning the houses to the ground.

Her eyes flicked to the date, realising it was just before Angelus had regained his soul. Her author wrote in shock of the bloodbath, but every word she read seemed laced with fun and spirit. They had been celebrating something, ecstasying in the glory of being eternal.

'In celebration of William Cameron’s human birthday, the vampires torched the houses as if they were mimicking the new fashion of small candles upon a ‘birthday cake’. Their revels crushed the lives of two hundred residents and the smoking remains of the town has never seen inhabitation again.'

Willow dropped the book in shock.

His birthday?

William _Cameron_?

She looked at the date of the entry again, and bit her lip in astonishment. How perfect, giving her the opportunity, the reason to go to him.

She just had to hang on for two more days.
 

~ ~ ~
 

Spike was pissed off. She had been so bouncing and happy that day, she was over Michael and him and any other bloody problem she had been part of. She had even given him a hug and a kiss – on the bloody cheek! – as she had left Giles’s, telling him to cheer up. If he hadn’t been so startled, he would have kissed her back, but she had been gone in seconds.

He gave a frustrated growl and slung his leather duster onto the floor. As it whooshed to the ground, he heard something skitter onto the cold stone.

He looked at the white envelope in disbelief. Crouching closer, he saw it had his name written on it. His real name, William Cameron. Was this from the poof?

He slid open the envelope and gaped at the card inside.

Happy Birthday? _Happy Birthday_?!

He hadn’t even realized. After a hundred and more, they just sort of … blurred. Nothing remarkable happened, the only one that stood out in memory was that time in Europe when they’d torched a whole fucking town.

He smiled at the thought, the brief smell of smoke and blood, the remembrance of screams, and then scowled at the card. If he ever met up with the poof again after he sent this flowery scrap of tripe, he was going to stake the wanker.

Inside the card was a plastic card, emblazoned with the name of the nicest hotel in Sunnydale, and a suite number.

*Oh, bloody hell, no, Peaches wants to make up?*

But it was not Angel’s writing or name in the card.

There was only one word, written in her neat hand.

_Willow_.
 

~ ~ ~
 

The keycard in his hand matched the door in front of him, yet still he hesitated. What was she doing? Judging from the space between the doors on this floor, there was a very expensive suite behind the door.

Her happiness, and the absence of chill touches in the air or on his neck, meant that she was still alone, unhaunted. So what the bloody hell was she doing here?

Resigned, he swiped the card through, and opened the door. He was met with that unseen resistance, and he searched the room for her while he waited helplessly.

“Oh, bugger,” her voice said softly, and he grinned at the word. “Come in?”

Invited, he walked in, closing the door behind him. The room was enormous, its key feature a very large bed. And atop that bed was a scantily clad goddess.

His eyes drank her in. She wore a bold red gown that clung to her, shining against her pale skin. A long split in the side revealed the length of her leg, and every time she drew a breath her breasts threatened to spill over the lace bodice.

She crooked a finger at him, and he moved to her, spellbound and silent.

“Kneel,” she commanded when he reached the bed, and he obeyed again.

She laid a tender kiss upon his lips, her hands soft on his face.

“Close your eyes,” she whispered against his mouth.

His eyelids fluttered shut, then flared open to darkness as he felt material placed against them. She wound the dark silk about his head, knotting it at the back, and his cock hardened at the possibilities.

She gave him her hand, pulling it up to indicate he could stand. He did, hearing her stand with him. And her hands then moved to his shoulders, pushing loose his duster. She moved her hands to his waist, pulling his dark T shirt free and playing with the skin underneath. Her touch was warm, her fingers dancing over his chest as she bared it.

He smirked as her deft fingers found his belt, and she kissed him again. He could feel the hot touch of her breath as she laughed softly at him, and he reached out to hold the back of her head, lowering her forehead into his. He held her tenderly, unmoving, for a few seconds, and then he let go as her fingers returned to unzipping his jeans.

“Mmmm, it’s almost like it’s _my_ birthday,” she giggled as his cock sprung free.

He shrugged, a sheepish look on his face.

“You can talk to me, you know,” she said softly, her fingers working on him.

“I’m preoccupied,” he retorted, unable to keep from thrusting against her hand.

She laughed again, and her hands moved to the top of his jeans. She drew them roughly down, and then giggled as they fell against his boots.

“Ooops … boots.” Willow pushed him gently down onto the bed, and he felt her head against his knees as she worked the laces loose, and then pulled his boots free. She slipped his jeans over his feet, and he sensed her looking up at him.

“You’re not a natural blond,” she said huskily, and he felt her brushing the dark hairs of his thighs with a light hand.

“You didn’t guess?” he teased, trying to keep from trembling under her touch.

He felt her breath warm against the head of his cock, and gripped the bedspread on either side of him.

“And how many innocent girls have you half frightened to death with this monster?” she asked, her words blowing heat across the twitching tip.

“They never ended up complaining,” he told her firmly, fighting for the strength not to arch into her mouth.

His hands clutched at the bed as her tongue brushed lazily at his tip.

“Oh?” she asked conversationally, moving her mouth away from him.

“Willow,” he growled in frustration, and she laughed again.

“Would you like something, Spike?”

“If … if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, pet.”

Her warm lips enclosed the head of his cock, her tongue swirling at his tip again. He groaned as her mouth engulfed him further, taking him deep into her.

His hands found her head, holding her against him, a disappointed sigh escaping his mouth as she drew away for breath.

“Indulge the human,” she laughed, flicking a slap against his thigh. He flinched at the proximity to his balls, then gifted her with a suitably indulgent smile.

She moved her mouth to his balls, gently tracing over the sac with her tongue. She licked her way back down his cock, her tongue firmly brushing over him. At the tip, she took him back in her mouth, sucking him into her.

He made a muffled noise of pleasure as her mouth pumped him, her tongue rough against the sensitive skin. Her hands ran over his thighs again, brushing close to his balls and then cupping them. At her touch he began to thrust into her mouth, briefly thanking any nearby deities for releasing him from a pact of silence, and then yowling in delight as she met the deep thrusting with pleasure.

He wound his fingers into her hair, his back arching as he plunged into her hot, small mouth. She licked and worried at him, and he threw his head back, groaning harshly.

Her mouth grew more urgent, and he met her urgency with rushing thrusts.

“Willow!” he groaned, spilling into her mouth, sucking in unneeded air as he collapsed against the bed.

She licked at his cock, cleaning any trace of his seed from him, taking every drop into her mouth. Then he felt the bed sink a little as she laid next to him, her body curled by his. She took his mouth in proud possession, and he tasted himself on her tongue as it swirled against his.

“Lie on your stomach for me,” she said softly, and he quirked a brow, but nevertheless complied.

Her hands began to explore his body, taking in the details she had never seen. He grinned at the thought that she would likely begin with his back side – and his backside – before continuing with his front, learning every part of him.

Willow’s touch was light on his neck and shoulders. Every now and then her fingers would circle around some mark, like a small scar he had on his back from when he was human. Her lips would follow her touch, kissing delicately on his cool skin. His reaction to her hands and mouth was half desire, half drowsiness at the gentleness.

She giggled suddenly, and her a single finger dabbed down on his shoulder.

“Freckle …” she said in delight, and the finger shifted to his spine. “Freckle …”

She began to shake with laughter, her finger settling on his ass, and wobbling with her amusement.

“Freckle!” she exclaimed, and then laid a kiss on his ass.

He decided that he wasn’t really that tired, especially as she traced his ass cheeks.

“You know, you have a _great_ ass. This is possibly the best ass I’ve ever seen. This is an ass that could rival any comers.”

“I’m so pleased I could pleasure you with my ass,” he answered sarcastically, and she gave him a stinging slap. He groaned in enjoyment at the feel.

“Oh, you like that?” she asked mercilessly, slapping him again. “Baby likes it rough, huh?”

He rolled over and grabbed for her blindly, sweeping her into his arms.

“Baby just likes _you_,” he growled, kissing her hard.

“Is that right?” she asked archly, running a stroking finger over his cock as they kissed.

Willow pulled herself away from his mouth regretfully, and pushed him back against the bed. She straddled him, the splits in her gown separating so he could feel the warmth of her thighs against his. Her hands slid over his chest, her nails scratching lightly over his nipples. He grinned at the sensation, and felt her hair tickle against his chest as she bent forward.

Her mouth brushed at his nipple, then her tongue, lapping at his skin. She drew away momentarily, and flicked at the skin near it. He hissed.

“What was _that_ for?”

She collapsed on him momentarily, giggling again.

“Freckle.”

“Then I should hope I don’t have any on my cock, pet.”

“Oh, you don’t. I checked,” she replied seriously.

She lifted herself and began to run her hands over his chest again.

“Mmm … I think you should never wear clothes, ever.”

She bent her head to his other nipple, biting the skin lightly, then soothing it with her tongue.

“If you don’t wear any either, we could make a deal,” he laughed.

“The university frowns upon nudists,” she returned, her fingers ducking into his armpits. He yelped, squirming as she tickled him.

“Uncle!”

“Don’t mention your uncle when I’m shagging you!” Willow exclaimed, affronted.

“I meant I give _in_. Don’t tickle … please?”

“Maybe.”

Her hands moved down his chest, and she pointed out a few more freckles of interest, then swirled her tongue into his navel. She avoided his cock, leaping for attention as it may have been, and brushed her hands over his legs, playing with the dark hairs.

“Have you explored to your satisfaction yet?” he asked tensely, his own hands returning to the bedspread, holding on to it like he held on to his control. He could smell her arousal, if not feel or taste it, and he was fair desperate for her, even after merely innocent touches.

“I haven’t checked your toes for freckles,” she told him seriously, then giggled as she balanced herself directly over his cock.

His hands reached up to claim her breasts, caressing over the satin and lace covering them. She was still wearing the gown, and he moved to untie the flimsy straps.

“Leave it,” she murmured, pulling the skirt of the gown up a little and then settling down.

He made a mocking, disapproving noise as he felt her, hot and wet against him.

“Some little girl isn’t wearing any knickers.”

“Some big boy hasn’t got any grounds to talk.”

He rubbed against her, his cock outlining her pussy. His hands delved below the dress she insisted on wearing, and he felt her fresh juices saturate his cock.

“Gonna fuck me, Spike?” she asked breathlessly, and he ground into her, drawing a gasp.

“Oh, I like it when you talk dirty, Red.”

She leaned against him, the weight of her breasts falling into his hands, and her center pressed against his cock invitingly. She kissed his jaw line, and then whispered into his ear.

“Fuck me, Spike.”

“Fuck _me_, Willow,” he retorted, arcing into her again.

“There’s always that,” she agreed, and positioned herself above his cock.

She was as wet and hot and tight as always, silken against his skin. She moaned slightly as she filled herself with him, controlling their pace and rhythm. She moved up, almost to the point of releasing him, then sank down again. He was as deep as possible within her, embraced by her heat, and he felt her juices on his balls as well as his cock.

He slipped his hands from her bodice and ran them over her satin clad body, dipping at last under the skirt to touch her clit. As his fingers found her, she gasped in delight and rocked against him. He teased her to the brink of ecstasy, rubbing her as she claimed his cock.

Her movements grew faster, met by his increasingly desperate thrusting, and he moved his hands to her hips, grinding her firmer against him. He felt her walls begin to convulse, and let himself go, thrusting wildly into her before filling her with his seed. She lay against him, catching her breath, and he held her tightly.
 

~ ~ ~
 

Willow was in absolute heaven. Never much of a plotter, this evening had beyond succeeded her hopes and expectations. Finally seeing his body was amazing – he was gorgeous. And he was so fun to be with! He took her giggling and teasing in stride, humoring her back.

She played with one of the small nipples beside her cheek, and felt his cock stir against her thigh.

“Aren’t we the horny devil?” she smirked, licking suggestively at the nipple.

“Told you, it’s the company, pet,” he returned, his hand brushing at her own nipple.

She arched her breast against his hand, sighing in satisfaction. He moved his strong fingers beneath the lace again, twirling meaningfully around the hardening nub.

“Can I take this off you yet?” he asked plaintively, and she felt herself giving in.

“If you wa – no! No, no taking off. This dress still has plans attached.”

He ran the cheeky fingers of his other hand over her body.

“I don’t feel any.”

She pulled his hand from her bodice and dropped it cheerfully against his chest.

“Stay here. I’m going to pour a bath.”

“For me or you or two?” he pouted, and she kissed the expression.

“That depends whether or not you like vanilla bubbles.”

“Anything … if it’s on _you_.”

“Maybe …” she teased, leaving the bed to move to the bathroom.
 

~ ~ ~
 

She breathed in the heady aromas in the hot air with excitement. The enormous, sunken bathtub was filled with very hot water, and piled with vanilla scented bubbles.

She scooped up a handful of the thick fluff, and walked back into the bedroom.

Spike lay sprawled sexily on the bed, his pale skin and bleached hair in stark contrast to the black blindfold he obediently wore. His head moved at her approach, and she stood over him, contemplating his lean body and the bubbles in her hand.

Finally deciding, she smooshed the faintly popping bubbles against his flat stomach and rubbed them into the dark hair his cock nested in.

“The bath is ready.”

“I believe I noticed that.”

“Do you want to join me?”

“Do I bloody what,” he grinned, standing smoothly. “Can I take the blindfold off? Hard to check if you’re clean if you can’t see.”

“Maybe it’s not about getting clean,” she answered, her damp hand taking his. She led him carefully to the bathroom.

He climbed into the bathtub, and stood there, waiting.

He was thigh deep in the thick bubbles, and his cock jutted out above the foam, already wanting her. She smiled at him, and stepped onto a seat within the bath. The water was just above her ankles there, wetting the hem of her gown.

“Come here,” she commanded softly, and he instantly obeyed. His hands reached for her, and then pulled back in surprise when he encountered the gown.

“But - ” he began, and she interrupted him.

“You can take my gown off _when_,” she emphasized, “it is completely wet. And I am not allowed to be splashed, or dunked. Hands only.”

“Paint you in bubbles, like?” Spike clarified, lost in a mixture of shock and awe. He had unconsciously thought of her as innocent and clean in her fun, not this creative and sensual. In fact the whole evening had knocked him for six, her whole jaunt of blindfold fun.

“It’ll get me wet … and naked,” she agreed. “And _wet_.”

He grinned at that.

“I’ll do my best.”

“Oh, and Spikey?” she enquired sweetly.

He gave a low growl at the name.

“If you do it well … I might just let you give me a full demonstration of vampiric non-breathing talent. Okay?”

“Absolutely, baby,” he said hotly, engulfing clouds of bubbles in his hands as he moved closer to her.

He swirled the bubbles over her breasts first, wetting the satin so it outlined each curve. Her nipples pressed hard against the fabric, and he rinsed his hands then toyed with the buds, drenching the satin so it was thin and clinging.

Gathering more foam, he ran his hands down her sides, and over her hips, smoothing the hot water and satin against her body. Trails of thick bubbles moved slowly down the skirt of the gown, helping his cause. He dunked his hands again and covered her back, first with bubbles and then wet hands, soaking the material.

With another handful of bubbles he stroked her ass, squeezing playfully. She wiggled against his hands, giggling. He ran his white-shrouded fingers down her legs, making sure the back of her gown was entirely wet. It felt heavy with the warm water, completely saturated.

Willow watched him soak his hands in the bubbles, and then cover her breasts in foam again.

“Uh … you’ve already done those,” she said helpfully.

He smirked.

“I know.”

She ruffled his blonde hair, making a mental note to do the same with bubbles once she was in the water. Spike laid foam-filled hands over her thighs, stroking downwards to spread the wetness. He wet his hands once more and carefully skimmed her body, his light touch finding any remaining bubbles and smoothing them into dampness.

He repeated the steps to find any material that wasn’t wet, although she hadn’t planned on being too militant.

There was a pronounced dry patch below her stomach, but she refrained from drawing attention to it. Spike was no doubt saving that for last.

He laid newly wet hands on a couple of dry places he had found, and then dunked them again. She gave a light laugh as his hands ended up on her breasts again.

“It’s beer bubbles that destroy brain cells, not bath bubbles,” she teased.

“I just happen to like being thorough in this area,” he said smugly, his thumbs brushing underneath the wet lace.

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” she retorted dryly.

He ran a fingertip through the bubbles and carefully laid it against her stomach. He repeated the action, and then with more bubbles traced a line beneath them. She ducked her head curiously, then laughed in pleasure as she saw the slightly uneven, but recognizable, smiley face.

His face lighted up with a grin as he guessed from her reaction that it had worked. He rinsed his left hand, and then cupped her mound with the wetness, completing her saturation.

She stepped into the water, sliding against his body as she dropped. The water soaked further into her gown, making it heavy and clinging.

Spike took her in his arms, drawing her to kneel with him. He then ran his hands over the heavy fabric, feeling the way it molded to her body. He gathered the skirt, and slowly lifted it, pulling it further when she gave him no resistance. She raised her arms to let him draw it over her head, feeling the rush of the hot water and cooler bubbles against her finally bare skin.

Willow watched him carefully lay the gown over the side of the bath, then slide his hands over her stomach and to her breasts. She moved closer to him, running her hands over his body.

He was beautiful, kneeling in front of her. Beneath the dark line of the blindfold lay his angular cheekbones, and his curving mouth. Angry or moody, his lips were thin, but in tonight’s ever-present smirk they grew full and infinitely kissable. And the dimples when he smiled at her …

She sighed happily and traced her fingers over his flat stomach to his cock. The water gave her the funny feeling of liquid resistance as she stroked him, but he thrust eagerly into her hand.

He shifted his hands from her breasts, one sliding down her stomach as hers had on his, the other moving to her back. He cupped her ass, pulling her towards him, and his other hand met her there, his wet fingers sliding into her pussy. It was intoxicating, wet cool skin probing her juicy warmth, surrounded by the hot water.

She lifted her mouth to his, his tongue plunging into her in a rhythm he matched with his fingers. He soon added his thumb to the mix, brushing her nub as he thrust his fingers within her.

He broke away from her to whisper against her skin.

“Did I do well?”

“What?” she asked in confusion.

“Before. Did I do well?”

“Oh. Oh, yes.” She licked her lips in anticipation as he pushed her gently back against the side of the bath, spreading her legs apart to the hot touch of the water. She felt herself grow wet as she thought of his cold tongue added to the mix.

He ducked his head beneath the water, and slowly approached her, blowing bubbles. He resurfaced, grinning madly, as she giggled uncontrollably.

“Spike, the great white shark,” he announced proudly, nodding his head.

She gathered a handful of bubbles and roughed them through his hair, making it stick out in places. He kissed her hungrily, and then moved his mouth to her breasts.

He sucked and nibbled at each nipple before sweeping his tongue down her body. His head disappeared again beneath the bubbles, and she finally felt his tongue at her clit, while his fingers brushed at the lips of her pussy.

The combination of hot and cold sent thrills through her. Every touch of his tongue, every stroke of his fingers, was accompanied by a push of hot water. The heat and opposition of the water made his movements languorous in their arousal, filling her with slow, yet urgent, desire.

His tongue lapped slowly from her clit to her pussy, hungrily nibbling at her lips and then licking further into her core. Long and cool, his tongue then thrust into her, slowly but deep.

She entwined her fingers in his hair, holding him against her. There was no struggle, no need to back away for breath, just constant touch. As his tongue grew wilder, and he moved his thumb to play with her clit, she ground her pussy into his face, wanting more and more of him inside her.

He moved his tongue back to her clit, and this time his fingers pushed inside her instead of playing at her lips. She thrust against him, her walls clutching desperately at the increased penetration. His tongue lapped faster, and she threw her head back as she felt herself begin to come.

His tongue was coaxing, and as his fingers plunged within her she gave in to the sensation, her core throbbing as she shuddered in her orgasm. She gasped Spike’s name in breathless cries, her body moving in final heaviness against his tongue and hand.

Spike resurfaced, licking his lips. She chuckled softly, then kissed him as his mouth met hers. Vanilla and her own taste were thick on his tongue, and in curiosity she tasted her own flavor.

She felt his cock pressing hard at her entrance, and parted her thighs a little, drawing him closer. His hand traced its way back to her clit, and within a few strokes she was moving readily against him.

He thrust inside her with one push, plunging deep. She lifted her knees up, clasping her ankles loosely behind his back. She saw the tense lines on his face, the strain from keeping back the demon, as he moved within her. She knew her own face would be strained, showing the desire that thrummed through her.

He shifted his hands to grip the edge of the bathtub, and his weight also shifted, settling his cock even deeper within her. She lifted her body to meet each thrust, embracing him. He said her name with every thrust, and she murmured his between gasps as he sunk within her core.

She moaned wildly as he moved faster, and finally with a low cry she came, her pussy clenching powerfully on his cock.

“Willow!” he yelled wildly, spilling with his one last thrust. Her throbbing walls milked him of the seed, and he rested against her, his head falling to her breast.

Her hands came up to brush through his hair tenderly, and she slipped off the blindfold. Too sated – at least for the moment – to move, he merely kissed her breast gently, and slipped his hands back into the water, one possessively on her hip, the other cradling her back.
 

~Part 8 ~

He picked her up from the cooling bath, trails of water and the remaining bubbles drifting over her breasts and thighs. Well, over all of her, but those were the parts he was looking at.
  

She opened one eye, then shut it again firmly, snuggling into his arms.
  

Spike sat her gently on the edge of the bath, and turned to take one of the fluffy white towels from the heated towel rail. He felt Willow’s eyes reopen and fix upon him, and “accidentally” dropped the towel, flexing his buttocks as he picked it up from the floor.
  

Her eyes swung guiltily to his face as he turned back around, and she was blushing.
  

“Nice eyeful, pet?” he smirked.
  

“Lovely,” she giggled, flushing even more.
  

He ran tender hands over her skin with the towel, patting her dry. He toweled himself off briskly, then cocooned her in one of the hotel’s bathrobes. It was also white and fluffy, setting off the dark fire of her wet hair.
  

Spike tossed the towel back on the rail, and reached out to Willow. She took his hand and they walked back into the bedroom, where he bounced onto the bed, sprawling casually.
  

Her eyes trailed over him.
 
 

“Spike, why am I in a bathrobe, and you’re still …?” She gestured at his nudity, and he responded by patting the bed next to him. Hesitantly, she sat down.
  

“I thought you’d be more comfortable. But I’m more than willing to have you naked beside me …” he suggested, his hand stroking her back.
  

“Mmmm …” she agreed, sinking back into his arms.
  

His fingers worked quickly at the knot on the robe, and he slid it back over her shoulders. She turned to him, nude, and he ran his eyes over her. She returned the gesture, bending towards his hard cock and brushing her wet, silky hair over it.
  

He groaned in pleasure as thick trails of it moved over him, tickling and stirring. Her breath passed over him next, warmly, then the light touch of her tongue. She licked and sucked at him, then brought her face back up to his, kissing him as her fingers silkily stroked his balls.
  

He growled against her mouth, trailing his own fingers down the fine column of her spine. He used his nails to lightly scratch over her skin, and she pressed against him at the touch.
  

“Lie on your stomach,” he whispered huskily, and she obeyed him without hesitation.
  

He trailed a hand and his mouth over her, tracing her shoulders, her back, the bewitching curves of her ass. His finger dipped between the deep cleft of her cheeks, and then he touched her small hole. She stiffened a little, and he moved his mouth to her ear.
  

“Not there … not yet … not until you beg me to.”
  

She gave a startled chuckle, and he brushed over the entrance again, feeling her resistance fade at the pleasurable sensation.
  

Satisfied with his exploration of her skin, he knelt behind her, urging her up with his hand beneath his stomach. She rose onto her knees, stopping abruptly as she backed into his stiff cock.
  

“Well, hello,” he breathed into her ear, his mouth trailing around her jaw to claim her lips.
  

She kissed him eagerly, pushing subtly back against him. His hands moved from the warm curve of her stomach to the twin globes of her breasts. She was small, but the weight of them nevertheless pressed into his palms, filling each hand as he leant himself against her.
  

His fingers toyed and plucked at her nipples, while his thumbs brushed the curve of each breast. He could feel the heat of her core radiating against his cock, and smell her arousal. She arched against him as he played, her breasts pushed out against his fingers, her back into his chest, her ass wiggling further back against him.
  

He trailed one flat hand over her stomach, brushing low into her damp curls. She arched her hips forward this time, pressing herself against his hand. His thumb found her clit, rubbing in little circles, and he shifted his other thumb to work the same path on her nipple.
  

Her breathing was ragged, and as he slid his cock against her wet core, she moaned. He flicked her nipple and clit at the same time as he thrust teasingly over her velvet folds, his mouth trailing back down her neck and licking and nibbling at her shoulder.
  

Their weight was balanced by her arms, and he saw them tremble as he continued to touch her. Her ass thrust wantonly against him, the warm curves silken and maddening.
  

He entered her slowly, his cock firmly sliding through her molten core. He lay still in her for a moment, then withdrew fully to thrust inside her again. She groaned as he came within her again, stretching her walls with the deep, new penetration.
  

She met each thrust, pushing back as he pushed forward. Spike ran his hands back to her breasts, cupping both as he penetrated her deeply again. Each thrust was tormenting in its slowness, fulfilling in its depth.
  

Willow’s arms shook again as he increased the speed of his hips, his cock pistoning inside her. His hands moved to her shoulders, running over her arms then settling firmly on the bed as he shifted his weight from her, conscious of her growing, blissful weakness. His balls slapped against her ass as he took her fully, and she yowled in pleasure.
  

“Goddess, Spike, oh please,” she whispered heavily, and he drew one hand up to brush her clit again.
  

She shook against him as she came, her arms almost buckling as she struggled to remain upright. His cock was drenched in liquid, and he slid home one last time before shouting her name.
  

Willow collapsed face first against the bed, and he relaxed on top of her, then slid to lie beside her, his arms curving about her waist. She continued to tremble next to his chest for a long time, her pale skin rippled with gooseflesh, until she fell gently asleep.
  

He nuzzled against her neck, his mouth paused on her silken throat as he joined her.
  

~ ~ ~
  

Willow had turned in her sleep, and lay comfortably in Spike’s arms. She awoke with a sigh of contentment, and at the breathy noise his eyes flicked open.
  

“Mmmm,” he murmured, stretching a finger to trace her breasts. His eyes widened as he felt her, and he drew the finger away.
  

“You’re warm … you’re _real_ … I wasn’t dreaming …” he said in amazement.
  

“Nope, you weren’t, 100 percent Willow,” she nodded, watching him carefully.
  

“Imagine that.”
  

She sat up, her hand lightly dropping to his thigh and drawing small circles.
  

“You know … that I was here with you, for you?” she asked quietly.
  

“You were with me, wanted to be with me?” he repeated.
  

“I wanted to.”
  

“Is it a … rebound thing?” he asked cautiously, his still heart heavy.
  

“No. No.” She smiled dreamily. “Your touch echoes through me … now that I hear your voice it does the same. And I love to look in your eyes and see myself reflected there.”
  

“Ah, so it’s _vanity_,” he chuckled, running his fingers behind her knee and into the curve of her thigh.
  

“_Wanting_ … needing,” she said huskily, moving her fingers to his stomach, and promising to go lower.
  

“Touching … tasting,” he matched, pulling her into him as his lips found hers.
  

“Touching … tasting,” she repeated, her tongue sliding to tangle with his.
  

His hands moved to her back, cradling her gently as they kissed. Her fingers were still playing on his flat stomach, and she slid them up to slide over his cool chest. She rubbed at his nipples, and he stiffened under her touch with a sigh.
  

“Will it ever stop?” he wondered against her mouth.
  

“What?” she asked softly, trailing her lips along his jaw.
  

“The wanting you,” he murmured, his hands lifting her ass so she could feel his erect cock.
  

“I hope not,” she breathed, throwing back her head as his hips nudged him against her core, then wrapping her arms about his neck and tracing down it with her tongue.
  

“Because if you do, I’ll be left wanting … craving … hungering for you.”
  

He drew her closer still, his hands sliding to cup her breasts.
  

“I can unlive with that.”
  

She laughed softly, arching into his large, cool hands. Her blunt teeth nipped softly at his throat, and he growled in delight. She wiggled her hips to settle herself on his lap, his cock pressed against her.
  

Spike hissed as Willow rubbed herself wantonly into him, his head dropping back as she continued to nibble and scrape his neck. His thumbs and fingers had teased her nipples into strawberry peaks, and she saw him lift his head to admire them as he played. He licked his thumbs then ran their pads over the buds again and again, watching them continue to swell.
  

Willow released his neck from her teeth and used her tongue instead, soothing the tender skin. He finally slid his hands from her breasts, one cupping her ass towards him and the other threading through her red curls to tease her clit.
  

She pushed against his fingers, her wet core aching for the cool length of his cock. She surged against him, her breasts heaving into his chest, as he played.
  

Willow lifted her face from his neck and found his mouth, kissing him deeply as he rubbed her slit with the tip of his cock.
  

He drew her legs around his waist, the head of his cock poised at her entrance. She wriggled impatiently, feeling the cool tip of him sliding against her but not inside. He smirked, his tongue tracing her lips, then kissed her again as his finger traced around the head of his cock and her silken pussy.
  

“Spike…” Willow groaned impatiently, thrusting herself against him.
  

He relented, taking her by the hips, and impaled her fully onto his hard cock. Her walls clenched instantly, and her legs tightened around his waist as she moaned hard. He grunted as he lifted her ass, not quite letting his cock slip free of her embrace, then drew her back forcefully, lifting his hips to meet her.
  

Willow keened as he filled her again, and he licked rhythmically at her neck as he thrust. Her legs were locked against his back, and he slipped one hand between them to touch her clit, to draw her over the edge. He twisted the moist nub between his fingers, and she stiffened, feeling herself shudder around his cock as she threw her head back and screamed.
  

He ran his wet fingers over her lips as he thrust twice more inside her, and she sucked at his fingers hungrily. As her mouth closed, and her tongue ran over his fingers, he yelled her name, spilling his cool seed into her with a last deep thrust.
  

~ ~ ~
  

His head was pillowed against the soft warmth of her breast, her fingers running lightly through his hair. He couldn’t believe how content he felt.
  

“You know, it’s Valentine’s Day today,” Willow said quietly.
  

“St. Valentine’s? I guess I’ve already got my gift.” He traced her breast lightly with his tongue, savoring, possessing, the taste.
  

“Mmm,” Willow agreed, distracted. “But have you got anything for me?”
  

“Not yet,” he chuckled against her soft skin. “I didn’t _have_ you until today.”
  

“There’s something I want,” she told him earnestly, taking his head between her hands and forcing him to stop teasing her.
  

“Anything, luv,” he said seriously, his eyes fixed on hers.
  

She settled back into the pillows, smiling gently at him, and ran her thumb lightly over her throat.
  

“Make me yours?”
  

He pulled back and stared at her, his face stunned. He tried to speak, but couldn’t. He had neither the words nor the voice.
  

“I love you, Spike,” she said softly, her heart in her eyes.
  

The emotions overwhelmed him, and his face twitched involuntarily into that of the demon. As he sat back to find some control, she knelt forward to him. She took his face in her hands again, and kissed the ridges of his brow.
  

He pushed the demon back, for now. He was filled with human, but not unpleasant, emotion. Just as well he wasn’t all soul-having, because if he hadn’t lost it now, he would have completely in this moment.
  

“I love you,” he whispered, taking her mouth with his own. “I love you back, Willow.”
  

She bit her lip nervously as they separated, her hands light against his chest.
  

“How long have you loved me?” she asked curiously.
  

“Always,” he murmured, his lips buried in her throat. “When I first touched these …”
  

He ran his fingers over her breasts, stroking the soft skin beneath them.
  

“When I first came into you … the first time you let me say your name … when I had to break you free … when you blindfolded me … when you said my name … always.”
  

He finally let his lips part from her skin, looking her in the eye as he touched her lips with a finger. “All along.”
  

She shivered beneath his touch and his gaze. “Oh.”
  

He pushed his finger gently into her mouth, as he had before. She nibbled up to the knuckle, her eyes meeting his the whole way.
  

“Are you going to bite me now?” she asked huskily, and he licked his lips as he smelt her arousal.
  

“Might …” he teased, withdrawing his finger and running it down her chest and to her navel. But then he frowned. “If I can.”
  

Her eyes widened.
  

“Oh! Oh … we’ve been here before, haven’t we?”
  

“Well, I don’t want to kill you, this time. _Much_.”
  

“Kill as in have me for all eternity, not just kill me for fun, right?” she asked semi-worriedly.
  

“Yes, Miss Willow,” he grinned. “Kill you ’cause I like _you_, not just how you taste.”
  

She shrugged philosophically.
  

“I suppose there’s only one way to see.”
  

“What way is that?” he teased, his mouth slanting over hers.
  

“It’s this things humans do … humans and the undead … well, actually, there’s a name for _that_ and it isn’t flattering …”
  

His tongue dove into her mouth to distract her, entwining with her warm one.
  

“Trouble is it feels so good,” she gasped as he released her mouth, moaning as he sucked a nipple into his mouth. “Really … really good.”
  

He let the rosy bud spring free from his mouth, then caught it again with his tongue.
  

“Incredibly good …” she continued, her voice growing breathier with each word.
  

“Necrophiliac,” he teased, shifting his mouth to her other nipple.
  

“Viviphiliac,” she murmured back, brushing her thumbs over his spine.
  

He snorted, freeing her nipple yet again, and played his fingers over it as he looked into her eyes.
  

“We don’t see it as a crime, you know.”
  

“Well, you know vampires …” she teased. “No morals, they’ll do anything, even the living.”
  

He sighed mockingly. “It’s a disgusting habit, I can’t lie.”
  

“There are people who would probably forgive you … say, if you put your thumb … oh, I don’t know … here?”
  

He slid his thumb to her clit as she directed, brushing over the nub slowly. Willow arched into him, and as she did he touched her again.
  

“Am I forgiven?”
  

“Not … yet …” she gasped, grinding herself against the pad of his thumb.
  

“More?” he questioned, rubbing in firm, then gentle touches.
  

She made a questing sound, wordless, but he could feel her increasing heat, hear her fluttering heartbeat.
  

He touched her again, and she moaned loudly, her knees trembling against him.
  

“Am … I … forgiven?” he insisted, and as he touched her again she cleaved to him.
  

Her arms clasped about his neck again, and she throbbed against his thumb. He slid his thumb along her slick pussy lips, feeling her warm, damp release.
  

“You are _so_ forgiven,” she panted breathlessly, her body still trembling.
  

“Oh, good,” he said huskily, moving his thumb back to her clit. She gave a keening cry as he touched her again, pressing once more into his hand.
  

He touched her casually at first, then quickly increased the pressure again. He slid his fingers into her core this time, but continued the stroking of her clit with his thumb. She pushed against him wildly, rubbing over his hand and her breasts over his chest. The hard peaks of her nipples sent shivers through him, but he concentrated exclusively on his hand’s movements.
  

Willow made little pants as she neared her second orgasm, her juices drenching his hand.
  

“Please, Spike, oh please,” she begged, but he shook his head at her pleas.
  

Her velvet walls constricted on his fingers as she came again, his fingers stretched as deep as they would go inside her. Her hands fluttered at his back, and she trembled for longer this time, her breath shaky.
  

He slid his hand from her pussy, and slowly licked his fingers, sucking every drop of her clean. She watched him with fixed eyes, panting slightly as he finished.
  

Spike kissed her deeply, sharing the taste of her on his tongue. His hands played all over her body, from her breasts to her stomach, cupping her ass and then running down her thighs. She started to shift her hands to stroke his straining cock, but he caught her fingers and sucked at them instead. His rhythmic tugs on her fingers increased the rate of her breathing, and as his thigh moved between her legs he felt her warm juices flow over him.
  

As he touched her clit again she bucked against him, crying out.
  

“Oh Goddess, oh Spike, you have to, please please please!”
  

“Well, if you insist …” he grinned, and moved the head of his cock to her soaked entrance. She thrust up against him, but not quite enough to engulf him, only to further arouse herself.
  

“Spike, NOW!” she insisted raggedly, and he thrust into her with a single, deep movement.
  

She clamped instantly around him, yelling loudly as he thrust again. He was half-raised, his hands supporting him as he surged further with each rock of his hips. He moved his mouth to her throat, running over it with his lips and tongue, trying not to focus on the spot where he would … would kiss … would touch …
  

Willow began to tremble again, her core hot and tight around his cock, and he let the demon slide forth. He grunted as he increased the speed of his thrusts, throwing off the control he had held tightly. His fangs lightly brushed her neck, and her hips bucked against him, her hands holding his head tightly to her.
  

He bit quickly into her pale skin, and felt the hot rush of blood into his mouth. He came instantly, spilling uncontrollably against her womb, sucking desperately at the fresh, human, _alive_ blood.
  

She came as he sucked, her body feeling as it were poured against him, her skin glued to his. Her fingers were tight in his hair, and the unthinking pressure brought him back to reality.
  

Spike lapped gently at the softly welling blood, soothing the pink skin surrounding the drops. Willow’s fingers eased their grip, and she stroked his head, her breath erratic.
  

“Am I yours?” she asked finally, her heart still fast.
  

“You are mine,” he answered, falling against her shoulder, into her. “_Mine_.”
  

~ ~ ~
  

Willow laid the white roses against the base of the dark gray stone, and traced the gold letters with a soft smile.
  

“Thank you Michael. For loving me … and for letting me go.”
  

She walked back into the dusk, and looped her arm into Spike’s.
  

“All done, pet?”
  

“I’m done. Thank you for coming with me.” She kissed his cheek, her smile curving against his lips.
  

“Well, I wanted to show him I was still lookin’ after you and all.”
  

She looked up at him as they made their way through the darkening cemetery, smiling softly. She had a feeling there would be no ghosts to let go this time.
 

E N D
 

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