Order Now

Author: sinecure

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
 

~Part: 11~

In a cemetery on the edge of Sunnydale, in a place where the dead were long gone and no longer taking new arrivals, a creature known as a Wickaninnish looked at the girl screaming and crying.

He was impressed with her ability to produce so many tears in so little time.  She sobbed and cried, pleading and begging.  Her short blonde hair, tucked behind one ear, was a cute little perky hairstyle, reminding him of a pixie.  Her voice though, that was getting on his nerves.  She was loud, no doubt about it.  Pretty too, but he didn't think he could take much more of her fearful sobbing.

"Doll," he said softly, "please give my ears a break, hmm?"  He raised a purple eyebrow at her, seeing her eyes move to his pointy purple ears.  "Yes, see, they're very sensitive, and the blubbering is all well and good for projecting your emotions, I mean, I'm all empathetic towards your pain, but..." he leaned forward, shaking his head a tiny bit, like it was something that just wasn't done in polite circles.

She sucked in a huge breath, her chest working overtime to keep in her sobs.  Tears poured from her eyes, big fat wet ones, sliding down each cheek as she tried to get a handle on her emotions.  "P-- p-- please," she begged softly, her mouth turning down into sobs again, her lower lip trembling in the cutest way.  "Don't k-- kill--"

"I'm sorry, doll," he told her, shrugging his large, oversized shoulders.  His wings, currently encased in his leather bomber jacket, shifted with the movement.  "I have to.  I can't take the magick without killing the body.  It just doesn't work that way, you understand."

She shook her head frantically, sending her hair flying about her face like Dorothy Hamill in her early days.  Ah, so cute.  She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, earning a frown from him.

"Hey, now, no need for all that.  Just relax and I'll be done in a jiffy."  He looked down at the body struggling underneath him, and removed his hand from the mouth.

"You son of a bitch!  Let me go, fight me like a-- whatever you are," he ground out, the fear in his eyes hidden from his girlfriend, who was kneeling a few yards away.  The boy, a jock by the looks of him, was acting tough and brave, but Ralph could feel him trembling beneath his body.

Ralph rolled his eyes in irritation, he hated repeating himself.  "Didn't you just hear me explain it to your girl there?  I have to kill you in order to get your powers."  He raised his hand above the boy's forehead, ignoring the renewed struggle the boy was putting up.  "Hold still, it'll go rather quickly."

"I don't have any power," the kid yelled, finally showing his fear.  Tears slid from his eyes and he was sweating in the most offensive way.  "I don't know what the hell you're talking about!"

The fact that Ralph wasn't sitting on the boy's hips rather than lower on his legs, was something he was very grateful for because by now, he'd be wet and stinking of urine if he'd been just a little higher.  "You're a witch, don't deny it."  He tapped his purple nose, inhaling deeply.  "I can smell your power.  It's sort of my 'thing'."

The kid looked even more fearful now, shrinking back away from him with a look of disgust.  "Dude, you better keep your 'thing' far away from me, got it?"  He tried to pull his arms free, resulting in being held even tighter by Ralph's knees against his sides.

Big tough words from someone about to die, Ralph thought.  "I meant it was my thing as in, it's what I do."  He closed his eyes, nodding respectfully.  "I'm a witch hunter."

The girl laughed hysterically, stifling her laughter when Ralph looked at her oddly.  "Sorry," she mumbled, shrinking away again.

"Hey," the boy said, offended of all things, "you got the wrong gender there, buddy.  I ain't no witch, and I ain't got no power except my wicked throwing arm."

Ralph rolled his eyes in an uncharacteristic show of annoyance.  "Both men and women can be witches.  Contrary to popular belief, male witches are not warlocks, they're witches.  Evil witches are warlocks."  Why did he have to explain this time and time again?

The boy fell silent, glancing at his girlfriend, his eyes softening ever so slightly as he took in her fearful state.  "Why don't you let her go?" he said quietly, turning his attention back to Ralph.

"Oh," Ralph said, waving a hand toward the girl, "she's free to go.  She hasn't got enough power for me to bother."  He sighed, looking up at the moon, noting its downward arc had moved little in the time since he'd attacked the couple as they made out.  "Everyone has a small amount of power," he confided with a shrug, "but not everyone uses it enough to make it grow.  You have."

The boy frowned, shaking his head.  "Straight up, man, I don't have any powers.  I'm not a witch."  His big brown eyes, so full of sincerity, raised to meet Ralph's again, his brown hair falling over his face making him look much younger than his seventeen years.

"I'm afraid you do, and I need them," Ralph told him regretfully.  He sighed, shaking his head in puzzlement.  "How can a boy as young as you, with as much power as you have, not realize it?"  He grabbed the boy's face lightly, turning his head this way and that as he examined him.  "Could it be-- no.  Two witches in one town who have family powers?  What are the odds?" "Does this-- does this mean you'll let him go?" the girl asked hopefully, her wet eyes shining in the moonlight.

Ralph wished she was the witch; her eyes were so much nicer, their hazel color so varied that he couldn't pinpoint one from the multitude.  "I'm afraid not," Ralph answered, holding his hand on the boy's forehead.  He pushed the power through himself, into his hand, readying himself for retrieval.  His hand began to burn, turning into a flame of white hot heat.

The girl screamed shrilly, scooting back frantically on the dirt and leaf-covered ground, dirtying her nice clothes.

The boy screamed as well, his eyes widening for one brief moment before the flame entered his head.  The scream was cut off as the flame cooked his brain and scorched its way past his vocal cords.  It followed the path of his body, absorbing every bit of magick as it went, filling itself up and growing wide enough that it was able to be seen as it traveled to his feet.

As quick as that, the flame left the body and entered into Ralph, filling him up with the delicious taste of magick.  He leaned back, throwing his arms into the air as he inhaled all the magick, absorbing it into his every pore.  When it faded away, simmering beneath the surface, Ralph turned to the girl.

"You might want to leave now, dear, I've found this part to be rather distasteful to humans."  He pulled his small silver spoon from his jacket pocket and leaned down, prying open the boy's eyelid.

"Oh my God," the girl whispered, scrambling away, making a great deal of noise.  Probably drawing every creature nearby.  She got to her feet when she was a safe distance away, keeping her eyes on him until she reached the edge of the clearing.  Then she turned and ran, screaming at the top of her lungs as she went.

Ralph sighed in relief as the silence of the night descended on him once again.  Just him and his eyes.  He held open the boy's right eyelid and pressed the spoon against the outside of the eye, pushing down with gentle pressure.

The eye-removal wasn't a part of the magick retrieval; it was more of a personal thing.  He liked human eyes.  He had the largest collection in the western United States, and was hoping to gain the Midwest as well.

He scooped out the eye and held it up to the moonlight, examining it for flaws.  "Ah," he said triumphantly, "perfect."  Pulling out his hand-carved wooden box, made by three virgin men in China and blessed by the rare Premjun demons, he carefully placed the eye inside.  The wax paper lining the box crinkled softly as the eye rolled to the other side of the box, coming to rest against the side, iris-side up.

Just as he placed the second eye inside and snapped the lid back into place, a noise sounded behind him, drawing his attention.  He slipped the box into the inside pocket of his jacket and wiped the blood off of his spoon with the grass.  Sliding the silver spoon into the pocket with his box, he stood up and turned around.

"Hey," a girl yelled, running toward him.

Whoever the small blonde was, she had some tremendous power radiating off of her, but it wasn't magick.  This was something completely different.  Its scent was thicker, harsher.  Magick smelled like... strawberries and oranges.  Vanilla and almonds.  It had a flavor, every person who carried magick inside of them--which was nearly the entire human population and numerous demon species--had their own flavor, their own scent.  This girl had no such flavor.

He didn't want to stick around and figure out what she was though, because she was strong.  And, judging by the way she was jumping at him, she was unafraid.

As he turned to run, she soared across the distance between them, using a broken headstone as a jumping off point, and landed on him, taking them both to the ground.

"You're the Wickaninnish," she said angrily, glancing over at the dead, eyeless boy.  His singed face had trails of blood running from the side of his eyes like bloody tears.  "You're a monster."  She drew her fist back and planted it on his jaw, then drew it back again and punched him in the eye.

Instead of answering, he closed his eyes and focused his new magick powers on the slight girl, placing his hands, palms out, on her shoulders, he pushed with just his fingertips, sending her flying across the cemetery.  She dropped to the leaf-covered ground and was up again immediately.

Ralph wasted no time in climbing to his feet and running toward the tree line a few hundred yards away.  "Hide," he whispered, glancing behind him as he hit the tree line.

The girl stopped for a split second when he disappeared, but then she continued after him, following his trail almost eerily.  She had some kind of innate sensibilities to her, that was for sure.  She kept on him for a few minutes, unerringly turning when he did.

He needed to get rid of her, because he now knew she was the Vampire Slayer.  They were bad news, no matter what the creature.  Didn't like anything that wasn't human.  Stopping in his tracks, he watched her come to a halt and look around.  She held herself still and closed her eyes.

Beautiful eyes.  Definitely worth taking.

"Up," he whispered.

He watched her frown, and she even looked up in his direction as he rose to the top of a tree and perched on it, looking down at her.  But she couldn't follow.  Her magick wasn't strong enough.  Her physical powers were all that she had and she didn't use those to their full extent either, so climbing a tree this high in the dark was beyond her.

A few minutes later, she sighed and gave up, leaving the way she'd come.  Ralph watched her go, waiting until she was too far away to sense him before floating back down to the ground.  He fell to his knees, dropping to all fours as he stared after the Slayer.

Climbing to his feet, he dusted himself off, brushing dirt and leaves from his hands and knees.  His magick was depleted for the moment since he'd had to use so much of it at once, but it was still there, recharging and feeding his own.

"Well, now I'm irked," he muttered, sighing as he started off in the opposite direction as the Slayer.  "She made me waste some of that young boy's magick."

Willow looked up as the door was pushed open, admitting Buffy.  Dawn jumped to her feet, and ran to her sister when she saw the limping way she walked.

"What happened?" she asked, brushing Buffy's hair from her face to better see the bruised and scraped flesh of her right temple.  "Are you--"

"I'm fine," Buffy said dismissively, wincing when Dawn's fingers tenderly probed the fresh marks.  She looked past her sister, focusing on Willow who was still sitting on the couch, but was sitting forward intently.  "I finally saw the damn thing."  She winced again and brushed Dawn's hand away from her head.  "Hey, Slayer stuff here," she told Dawn irritably, "not really needing the Nightingale routine."

"Too bad," Dawn huffed, striding past Buffy and into the kitchen.

Willow chuckled at the rolled eyes the sisters shared and hid a smile when Dawn stuck her tongue out at Buffy.  She often felt like being that childish at times too, but she usually refrained.  Clearing her throat, she sat up a little straighter.  "You saw the Wickaninnish?"  Finally, something she could do.  Something she could help with.  She hated feeling like a lumpen thing, lying around, watching TV, kissing Spike-- okay, not so lumpen then.  "Did you stop it?  Did you-- did you kill it?"

Standing up was a chore, but it was one Willow was willing to put up with in order to reach her laptop from the side table.

"What happened?"  She plugged the cord into the laptop and handed Buffy the other end to plug into the wall.

Buffy bent over with a groan and plugged it in behind the couch, turning back to Willow while it booted up.

"This," Buffy said, pointing to her face.  "And a few other things."  She sat beside Willow, stretching her neck back and forth.  "And then it went poof."

Well, that could mean anything, Willow thought, frowning as she considered what Buffy meant.  "Poof as in smoke?  Like Dracula?  Or poof as in blowing up?"

Buffy shook her head, holding her arm in front of her face and reaching behind her back, pressing against the elbow to stretch her muscles.  "The disappearing kind."  She did the other arm and then flopped back against the couch with a sigh.  "I tracked him for a bit, in the woods outside the old Mine Cemetery, but he-- well, I think he went up."  She pointed to the ceiling, dropping her hand to her thigh tiredly.  "I felt him, but I couldn't see him, or hear him.  Saw a few branches shaking though."  Pushing herself forward with another sigh, she peered at the laptop.

Flying.  Neat-o.  And a little scary with the from-above-attack.  "What'd it look like?"  She clicked her ISP icon, connecting her modem to the phone line, turning the volume down while it squealed to connect.

"Purple, if you can believe it."  She chuckled at Willow's skeptical gaze.

"Like Barney?" Willow asked, shuddering at the thought of a giant purple dinosaur prancing around town, singing to the children and smothering people with hugs.  Ugh, it was enough to give a person nightmares.

Buffy burst out laughing, her eyes going wide as she considered it.  "Scary," she muttered, staring straight ahead for a few seconds before shuddering.  "No, this guy was-- he had, um, pointy ears and-- oh, hey, he was quite the snappy dresser.  Nice suit, a bit fussy-looking... I didn't get a real long look at him as I hopped on his back and tried to tackle him."  She stood up with a groan, dropping her head back with a sigh.  "He used magick, though.  I do remember that.  My *muscles* remember that."  She pointed to the upstairs and headed in that direction.  "Just stopped by for a bathroom break and to give you the info, then I'm on patrol again."

"'Kay," Willow mumbled absently, looking up only briefly as Buffy left.  A minute later, Dawn rounded the corner from the dining room, armed with a First-Aid kit.

"Where...?" she began, stopping when she heard footsteps upstairs.  "Never mind.  Guess I'll wait."  She set the kit down on the chair and sat beside Willow, glancing at the screen.  "So what's the new?"

"Not much so far," Willow answered, typing 'purple demon' in the search box.  She set her pinky on the enter button and was about to press it when she decided to add 'flying' at the last second.  Her eyes met Dawn's as the page loaded.  "It disappeared, and it was purple.  Also, there was a flying thing."

"A thing?  What kind of a thing?" Dawn asked, on the verge of disgust.  "I have issues with 'things' flying.  I mean, was the thing the Wickaninnish's... uh, thing?"  She slapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide as she fought giggles.  "Not that kind of a thing," she mumbled in embarrassment, and then a second later, "so, um... was it?"

Willow grinned, shaking her head.  "The Wickaninnish flew: He was the thing.  Not a separate... thing."  She happily clicked on a new link that she hadn't been to, grateful for the distraction.  She skimmed the page, not seeing anything of immediate interest.  Still, there was another link that looked interesting.

As she waited for the page to load, she thought about Spike, wondered if maybe he was right.  Should she bring him up to Buffy?  Mention to someone that she was... was what?  Attracted to him?  Wanted him.  Craved his touch.  Had to feel his hands on her at least once a day or she'd go insane?

Okay, that last one would probably not be the best thing to mention.  Ever.

But what about her feelings for him?  He deserved that much, didn't he?  He had feelings, and... well, she didn't want to hurt them.  Or him.  At all.  God, she was in for it but good this time.

Only a week or two, and already she was in deeper than her heart could recover from.  Hopeless romantic with a side of foolishness.

Turning to Dawn, whose intent face was fixed on the screen of the laptop, she exhaled.  "About Spike," she began, flicking her eyes up to the ceiling, hoping Buffy didn't come bounding down the stairs just then.  "I think, you know, for now at least, I'm going to keep it sort of... uh, not public."

"But, Willow," Dawn whispered, also darting a quick look upstairs, "he was really mad.  I-- I think you hurt him."  She glanced back at the laptop, fidgeting with her fingers, turning them round and round.  "Why can't you just tell Buffy?"

Willow was tempted, so very tempted.  Spike was right; she was an adult.  Someone who could make her own decisions.  But, she'd also been privy to Buffy's conversation with Joyce about Spike's feelings for her.  "You have actually *met* Buffy, haven't you?" she asked sarcastically.  It was sometimes hard being the best friend of someone so... well, suffice it to say, Buffy often wore blinders.  She saw things as good and evil, black and white.  With a couple of exceptions, there were no gray areas.

"No, I've never met her, why?" Dawn asked with an equally sarcastic tone.  Her eyes dropped to her lap for a second, then raised to Willow's face in determination.  "Look, Willow, advice from a fifteen-year-old is never highly regarded, especially when the recipient is older, but," she held her hand up, halting the protest Willow hadn't intended to make, "I think you should tell Buffy.  The sooner she knows, the quicker she'll warm up to the idea."

"I doubt she'll ever warm up to the idea," Willow laughed, glancing at the computer again.  She wasn't avoiding telling Buffy anything, she just... had some things to deal with and she'd do them on her own.  In her own way.  And time, don't forget time, you putter-offer, you.  "Do you think she will?" she asked hopefully.

Dawn shrugged, her face showing the lack of a clue there.  "Probably.  Eventually... right?"  She looked unsure now, frowning when Willow turned to look at her.  "Well, I'm not her, you know."

"I know.  I do, but, I was sort of hoping you'd lie to me and tell me it wouldn't be as bad as I think it will be."  She clicked a third link, this one having to do with magickal beasts.  As soon as she got there, she knew it was another dead end.  "Dungeons and Dragons.  Of course," she said sarcastically.  "What else would it be but that?"

They heard Buffy bound down the stairs, and grew silent on the subject of Spike.  She'd changed into looser fitting clothes for better movement, and put her hair up in a ponytail.  Her face was also scrubbed clean.

"A shower would be great for my poor, achy muscles," she pouted, dropping into the chair with a sigh, "but, no, a Slayer's work is never done it seems.  Ho hum."

Dawn stood and retrieved the First-Aid kit from the chair, sending Buffy a not-so-sympathetic look.  "Poor, baby."  She set the kit on the arm of the chair and rooted through it.  "Like it or not, I'm disinfecting you."

Buffy rolled her eyes, looking past Dawn's shoulder so she could see Willow.  "Find anything?"

"Not yet," Willow sighed, scooting gently back into a more comfortable position.  "I don't get it; there's, like, no information on these guys whatsoever.  How'd you know what it was in the first place?"

Buffy hissed and drew back when Dawn dabbed a piece of cotton dipped into rubbing alcohol to the scrape on her face.  "Ow," she said pointedly, glaring at Dawn.  "I already washed it, you know."

"Big Slayer-baby," Dawn told her, purposely dabbing harder.  "Want a sucker when I'm through?"

Buffy glared at Dawn for a few more seconds before turning her attention back to Willow.  "Giles.  He found something about them in..." she frowned, biting her lip in thought, "um, a book."  She snorted at herself, rolling her eyes in self-deprecation.  "God, that sounded so blonde, didn't it?"

Willow and Dawn both nodded in agreement.

Buffy sighed, looking tired as she slumped back against the chair cushions.  "I'm lacking in the sleep department, so I'm entitled to a few blonde moments.  Anyway, there was just a name--Wickaninnish--and what they do.  That's it, nothing detail-y."  She sat up, sighing as she stared at the silent TV.  "It was all rather lacking in that department actually."

"All we know is that they Jones after witches," Dawn said, glancing at Willow over her shoulder before turning back to Buffy.  She opened a Band-Aid, peeling the small plastic tabs off and started to put it on Buffy's temple.

"Neon orange?  I don't think so."  Buffy stayed Dawn's hand, shaking her head with a doubting look for her sister's sanity.  "Some of us," she said with a grin, "have actually made it past the first grade."  She slapped her arms on the chair arms and pushed herself to her feet, joining Willow on the couch.

Willow clicked to the next page of search results, seeing the possibilities dwindle even further.  "How does it kill?  Do we know that at least?"

Buffy half-nodded and half-shrugged.  "Sort of.  I mean, tonight was the first time I ran into it, and the kid was already dead when I got there."  She frowned, staring at the far wall.  "They're burned from the inside out.  Singed all the way through."

"Oh," Willow said faintly, trying to be clinical and research-oriented, but... the thought of being roasted alive, inside out, was a bit of a downer.  She really hoped they got this guy before anyone else was killed.  "Okay, I'll add that to my search."  She typed in the appropriate words and hit enter, being faced with a whole new realm of possibilities.  "Why does it do that?"

"That we don't know," Buffy answered, swatting at Dawn when she stuck the Band-Aid on her as she passed by.  "Thanks, now the vampires will be sure to see me tonight."  She peeled it off, folding it up and tossing it on the coffee table.  "Ugh, speaking of vampires--"

Willow's head darted up, and she was afraid she knew exactly what vampire Buffy had seen and what he might've said to her in that time.  Had he told Buffy about the kissing and the making out and the groping sessions they'd been participating in lately?

Well, maybe it was best if she took the bull by the horns and told Buffy before Buffy could chastise her for not being honest with her.  Or, clear her conscience, or... something noble like that.  It wasn't because she was a big chicken or anything.

"Vampires... neat.  Um, Buffy?  Can-- can I talk to you?  You know, about something?"  She glanced over at Dawn who was sitting in the chair with a bottle of water, pretending not to suddenly be interested in their conversation.

In the process of standing up, Buffy dropped back down to the couch.  "Nope.  You can never talk to me at all, Willow.  You know that."  She looked from one to the other, a curious glint in her eyes.  "Hmm, something Dawn already knows about, and you're being all secretive about.  Patrolling can wait a few more minutes."  She leaned forward, grabbing Dawn's water bottle.  "Dish," she ordered Willow, taking a drink from the water and handing it back to Dawn.

Willow wanted to do just that.  Wanted to tell Buffy the truth about Spike and her feelings for him, but Dawn was watching nervously, and Buffy was sitting forward eagerly, waiting for secrets.  Secrets that Willow could guarantee her she wouldn't like.

She lost her nerve.

"Never mind, it's not important--" as soon as she said the words, she regained her nerve because it was important, very important.

Spike was important.  She really and truly had strong feelings for him and she wanted Buffy to know.

"On second thought," she mumbled, "you'd better sit down.  Oh, look at that, you are.  Uh," she set her laptop on the coffee table and exhaled slowly.  "There's this..."  Okay, how to go about this exactly?  She couldn't just blurt out that she had the hots for Spike.

"Will?" Buffy said worriedly, "is everything okay?  You look a little green.  Are you going to throw up?  Um, trash can..."  She started to get up, but Willow stopped her with a hand on her knee, shaking her head.

"No.  No, I'm good."  She thought about that for a second, felt the throbbing in her head, and changed that.  "Well, actually, I could use some aspirin for my headache, but I'll get them."

Dawn jumped up, spilling water as she did so.  She recapped the bottle and plopped it down on the coffee table, setting it to sloshing wildly.  "I'll get them."  She tossed Willow an encouraging smile as she ascended the stairs, and even gave her a thumbs up.

Buffy watched Dawn go with a confused gaze before turning back to Willow, sitting sideways to better face her.  "So, what's the what?"

Her look of anticipation made Willow swallow hard as she fought to keep her courage wrapped around her like a cloak.

"Okay, so... there's this guy," she began, turning to face Buffy a little more slowly.  "And this guy--"

"There's a guy?" Buffy asked, grinning, practically wiggling in her seat in anticipation.  "Oo, Willow's got a guy."  But then she stopped and furrowed her brow in confusion.  "Wait a minute, there's a guy?  I thought you were, um, 'gay now'?"

Willow nodded, clearing her throat nervously.  Okay, so, here it goes.  "Um, yeah, sort of.  I-- I mean, not this time.  Bi-sexual," she said desperately.  "That... that's what I am.  Guys and gals... I'm greedy, I guess."  She tossed a smile to Buffy, hoping she interpreted it as joking and not sickly, like it felt at the moment.  "So, now, there's a guy."

Buffy nodded in consideration.  "Okay, works for me.  Now," she said excitedly, acting like the teenager she hadn't been for a while now.  "Who's this guy that made you switch teams again?"

"Switch teams," Willow chuckled, focusing on that part of the question for no particular reason except as a method of avoidance.  "I like that analogy, I don't know why.  But--"  Seeing Buffy about to interrupt, she hurried to get back to the point.  "Uh, not the point.  He's a guy I've known for, um... years, a long time.  And, it just sort of happened.  All of a sudden."

"Really," Buffy said, looking like she was being faced with a sudden mystery.  "Hmm, it's not Xander again, is it?"

"No.  No, not Xander."  She laughed at that, imagining Xander and Anya's reaction to her declaration of love.  "Anya's love is safe, she can keep her man."  Taking a deep breath, she began her explanation, skirting around the issue of who it was in order to explain why it was.  "I only just realized it.  Like, all of a sudden, poof, here was this guy that I'd known for a while and he was attractive.  Well, he'd always been attractive, but I only just--"

"Realized it," Buffy interrupted, nodding dismissively.  "Is it-- oh God," she muttered, looking sick, "please, please tell me it's not Giles."  She shuddered, a disgusted frown turning down her lips.  "Ew."

Willow stared at her for a second, unable to believe Buffy could even think she'd have a thing for Giles.  "Ew," she echoed, sticking her tongue out in disgust equal to that of Buffy's.  "No.  That's just--"  She shook her finger at Buffy.  "You're yuck."

Buffy closed her eyes with a relieved sigh.  "Horror of horrors."  A small smile followed her relief.  "So... not Xander and not Giles, who--" her eyes darted to Willow's, her smile fading.  "Oh, Willow, it's not--"

Willow nodded, swallowing again.  She could really use some water about now to combat this dry mouth and nervousness.  "It is."  Buffy's face fell, and Willow could understand that.  She was obviously concerned for Willow, afraid she'd get hurt, and Willow was right there with her.  She, too, was afraid Spike would hurt her.  But, what else could she do but try?  She didn't want to run from her feelings, that was just not an alternative for her.  "But, don't worry..." she wanted to tell her not to worry about her getting hurt, or being used or whatever, but she couldn't.

She didn't know herself what was going to happen, so she couldn't promise Buffy that everything would be all right.

Buffy stood up, pacing away from her.  "How, um, how long have you... felt this way?" she asked quietly, her voice near breaking.

Willow frowned at Buffy, wondering at the sadness she'd seen in her eyes briefly before Buffy paced away.  "I-- I don't know, exactly.  Um, I only just realized it this past week."

"Is that why you and Tara broke up?" Buffy asked, turning back around to face Willow.  "Because she knew?"

Willow shook her head, standing up slowly to look Buffy in the eye, to make sure she knew this wasn't a decision she'd come by lightly. "No, Tara was a whole other thing.  Separate completely.  She doesn't even know about--"

"Angel," Buffy finished for her, shaking her head.  "I had no idea--"

"Spike," Willow corrected, her eyes widening when she realized what Buffy had said.  "Oh jeez, Buffy, you thought I meant Angel?"  She darted forward, taking Buffy's hands with a smile of reassurance.  "No.  No way, I don't... ever, with Angel.  I'm so sorry, I thought you knew I meant Spike."  Seeing Buffy's eyes narrow and her frown deepen, she grew nervous again.

Uh-oh, cat, empty bag... and guess who'd done the lettin' out?

"Um," she dropped Buffy's hands, stepping back a foot or two, well out of striking distance, not that Buffy would strike her.  Right?  "Say something.  Please?" she begged.

Buffy's eyes widened, her mouth opening and closing a few times before she finally shook her head in disbelief.  "Spike?  You're in love with-- oh," she moaned loudly, "it's not love, is it?"  She spun around, striding quickly into the foyer before turning around and facing her again.  "Willow, how could you like--"  She shook her head again, refusing to believe the truth of Willow's words, or the truth on her face and in her eyes.  "No, I-- I can't believe it.  It's..." she searched desperately for a reason for Willow to lie to her, but came up empty, "it's not true.  You're-- you're the smart one.  The one who doesn't get swayed by evil blood-sucking fiends," she finished with a pouted whisper.

Willow stepped forward, not wanting to, not wanting to be near Buffy when she finally went off.  This calm would pass, Willow knew, and when it did, all hell was going to break loose.  "It is true, Buffy.  I..." she sighed, drawing in a deep, steadying breath, "I'm starting to fall for Spike."

Buffy shook her head for a third time, but stopped suddenly, smiling halfway through her denial.  It was a smile that made Willow nervous.  "Of course!  Duh, I'm an idiot."

"What?"  Willow was at a loss as to what Buffy was talking about.  "You're...?  No, you're not.  Why are you?"  She rolled her eyes at herself, and headed into the foyer with Buffy.  "What are you talking about?"

Had Buffy gone completely round the bend?

Buffy waved her hand in dismissal as she sighed and laughed a little, looking way more relieved that Willow thought was necessary.  "I'm an idiot for not realizing it right away."  She moved forward, taking Willow's arms gently, her face softening.  "You don't love--or even like--Spike, Willow."  She pulled Willow into a hug, startling the other girl.  "It's the magick.  The stuff that made you go scary on us."

Willow frowned, pushing away from Buffy.  "That's not what it is, Buffy.  This isn't magick-induced."  She shook her head and headed back into the front room, sitting on the couch a little harder than needed, hurting her back in the process.  "I'm attracted to Spike," she told Buffy, her back straightening at the confession.  She felt like a weight was being lifted from her shoulders.  "I have feelings for him," she said loudly, nodding in agreement with her own words, realizing just then how deep those feelings already were.

Lost?  Bah, she was more than lost.  It was possible there was a little love swirling around inside her, gently poking at her heart like a kid with pin and a water balloon.

Buffy followed her into the front room, but stayed standing.  "Willow, think about it.  It just started this week?  That's not a coincidence."  She paced by, standing in front of the coffee table.  "You don't even like Spike.  You've never liked him.  Now suddenly you have the hots for him?"

"It's not the magick," Willow repeated, her anger flaring up.  Where was this coming from?  "Oh please," she scoffed, "like the only reason I could ever be attracted to someone not a goody-two-shoes is under the effects of a spell?"

Buffy actually looked even more convinced.  She nodded, as if the answer was obvious.  "You've had a taste of the darkness, Willow.  It's enticing, very provocative, and Spike embodies that darkness in a nice, neat little package."

Willow rolled her eyes at Buffy and her nice, neat little answer.  "That's not it.  I have feelings for him, Buffy.  And he--" she took a deep breath, preparing for the next bombshell.  "He--"

"Is in love with me," Buffy finished softly, her eyes showing her regret.  "As much as I'd prefer he wasn't, Willow--and believe me, I hate that he is--he..." she sighed, shrugging, "well, he is.  Or at least he claims to be."  She moved around the coffee table, sitting beside Willow to take her hands.  "I don't want you getting hurt.  And vampires hurt people, Willow.  It's-- it's their thing, it's what they do."

Willow nodded, completely agreeing with Buffy.  She knew this, she understood this.  "I know.  I've been right there beside you for the past five years, remember?  But," she sighed, hating this.  Hating having to explain things.  "He doesn't love you, he never did."  Seeing Buffy's skeptical look compounded by hope, she rushed to finish.  "He thought he did.  It's my fault, really.  That engagement thing made him obsess over you.  He said it made him feel something, something that'd been missing since Drusilla left him.  It was strong, and real, but not love."

Buffy looked so hopeful, it was obvious she wanted to believe Willow's words, but she wasn't quite able to do so.  "Or he's using you.  He's lying because he wants you to believe him."

"Using me?" Willow asked incredulously, the words echoing her own thoughts.  "Why would he be using me?  What could he possibly accomplish?"  She shook her head, not allowing herself to believe it.  "Is he using me to get to you, Buffy?  Is that what you think?"

"No.  That's not what I meant, Willow, at all.  If he's doing this for any reason, it's because he's a sick demon who gets his jollies from hurting others."

Willow felt a little guilty for accusing Buffy of being that self-involved.  It wasn't true, it never had been.  Buffy was one of the most selfless people she knew, it was just sometimes easy to forget that.  "I'm sorry, I didn't really mean it.  I'm just... this is all so confusing and new and I'm scared."

"He feels the same way?  Or so he's said?" Buffy asked, not looking too convinced of that.  Her hands were clenched at her sides, her mouth thinning into a tight line.  "Do you believe him?"

Willow sighed, leaning back against the couch.  "I don't know," she said truthfully.

~Part: 12~

Willow's body moved slowly and sensuously across Spike's crypt, enticing Spike to come nearer, to touch her.  He resisted, as he'd been resisting for the past few hours.  She was in a strange mood, this bot of his.

"Spike," she whispered, trailing a finger along his sarcophagus.  The dust she collected on her fingertip was blown off with pursed lips and a breath of air.  "Why won't you touch me?"  She stopped and turned to face him, her eyes wide with an innocence she didn't know, that she wasn't familiar with.

He sighed, wondering what the real Willow was doing.  Probably pretending she didn't have any feelings for him, pretending she didn't have a care in the world.  Pretending he was a piece of chewed gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe, annoying her with every step she took, but not concerning her enough to say or do anything about it.  To scrape him off.

To tell her friends about him.

He closed his eyes, dropping his head back to smack into the marble wall.  The pain that shot through his head felt good, it helped to clear his mind, to make him realize that--

A hand touched his hip, sliding across his stomach to stop with clawed fingers, tightening minutely in the cotton of his shirt.  Lips touched his ear, whispering to him, sending shivers of desire coursing through him.  "I always want you, Spike..." teeth nipped lightly at his ear, nibbling on the lobe, her tongue sliding behind the flesh to lick at his neck.  "Why don't you want me anymore?"

Her hand clenched tighter in his shirt, lifting it from his jeans slowly, inch by inch.  Her other hand joined the first, teasing his flesh with light touches and scratches across his abdomen.

His eyes flew open when she slipped her hand under the waistband of his jeans, sliding down to cup him.  He raised his hand, halting hers. Leaning toward toward her, he pressed his lips to hers, devouring her mouth with all the desire he felt for her.  For Willow.  He spun them around, pushing her against the wall, pressing his body to hers, letting her feel how much he wanted her.

"I do want you," he told her, kissing her soundly before pulling away and striding across the room.  "I want you all the time," he admitted, turning back to face her, breathing heavily, laughing as he gestured to his chest, which was rising and falling.  "Isn't it obvious?  I don't breathe, Willow.  I don't--" he paused, taking a deep, steadying breath, calming his breathing, moving further away from her.  "Just because I don't want sex all the time, doesn't mean I don't want you.  Can't we just talk every once in a while?"

She pushed away from the wall, completely recovered from her lust-filled foray into being a sex-kitten.  "You want to talk to me?" she asked in surprise.  Her eyes went to the wall behind him, signaling that she was searching her software.  A wide smile graced her lips.  "I like to talk."  She nodded excitedly, sitting stiffly on the chair arm.  "Let's talk."

Spike turned away from her, hating to see her acting like a blasted robot.  One minute she was all Willow, just like the woman he wanted so damn much, the next, she could've been anyone.  It was at times like these that he wanted the real Willow even more than he normally did.

She had a unique voice, her own special way of speaking.  She was different, not the usual run-of-the-mill woman with boring interests and stupid comments to make.  She had insight and points of view, she was smart.  Beautiful.  Interesting.

"What would you like to talk about?"  She frowned thoughtfully, processing information quickly, searching for subjects of interest to him.  "Blood?" she asked perkily, her smile still firmly in place. "Killing?  Torturing?"  With each subject she mentioned, her smile faded until it was gone completely.  She dropped her eyes to the floor, scuffing her shoes against the dusty floor.  "I-- I don't want to talk about any of those things, Spike."  She raised her eyes, pleading with him to understand.  "Please don't be mad," she hurriedly added.

Mad?  He was actually happy about it.  Seemed the longer she was around, the more like the real Willow she acted.  She was fighting against her programming, not happy with just pleasing him anymore.  She now cared--was that even possible?--about things other than just him.

She wanted to be with her friends, wanted to do magick, to help kill the bad guys.  Not because that's what her programming told her to do, but because it was something she wanted to do.  She cared that he was now able to kill.  She'd made him snack on bad guys, talked him into eating the nastiest of the nasty humans.  That wasn't a part of her programming as far as he knew.

Nothing that'd happened with her at all was normal, though.  She was supposed to be Buffy.  Supposed to be the woman he... was falling out of love with.  Had he ever loved Buffy?

He closed the distance between them, hating seeing her upset.  Pulling her up by her arms, he kissed her.  "I'm not mad, love.  We can talk about anything.  Whatever you want."  He dropped into the chair, pulling her into his lap to cuddle.  "Magick?"

"Mmm," she agreed, laying her head on his shoulder.  "I've read all the books, and I think I'm ready to do a spell that will likely go wrong because I'm not very good at what I do."  She lifted her head, smiling down at him.  "We should go get some supplies.  At the Magic Box."

He shook his head, frowning at the frown that creased her brow. Settling her head back on his shoulder, he sighed, wishing he could take her out.  "Willow, pet... you, uh, you know we can't--"

"Why?" she inquired, once again raising her head to look down at him. "Spike, I haven't left this crypt at all, except when we went to find Warren.  I'm getting cabin fever.  I feel cooped-up."  She climbed out of his lap, crossing her arms over her chest.  "I want to go out." Glancing down at her feet, she stomped one, then glanced back up at him.  "Now."

Pouting?  His robot was pouting?  He burst out laughing, sitting forward in the chair to take her hands.  He kissed the backs of each one, still chuckling as he peered up at her.  "Okay, love, okay.  We'll go outside for a bit."

"Really?" she squealed, waiting for his nod before turning around with a jumping step as she rushed toward the door.  "Come on, let's go!"

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait," he told her, stopping her just as she reached the door.  "Ground rules first.  Okay?"

She sighed, looking annoyed.  "Okay, Overprotective Guy, just hurry up."

"If we run into anyone, and I mean anyone, most especially one of your friends," he emphasized, bending a little to look into her face, "you come back here.  They're... uh, still angry.  About us.  They-- they don't like the idea of us together, and they might say mean things."  He drew her closer, hugging her to him, hoping they didn't run into anyone at all.  "I don't want you to be hurt by them.  So..." he sighed, pulling back to look at her, "if we see someone, we turn around and leave, got it?"

"Yes.  Yes.  And, yes, Spike.  Yes," she said impatiently, turning the doorknob with a yelp of excitement.  "Let's just go."

Spike followed her into the night, hoping Buffy et al weren't patrolling his cemetery tonight.  That'd be a fun one to explain.  Then again, he thought, watching Willow take in the night air and the sliver of a moon with glee, if they ran into Buffy, and Willow didn't give away that she was a robot, maybe that'd take care of his problems with the real Willow.  Buffy would then know.

And kill him.  Maybe not such a good idea.  Sigh.

He rolled his eyes at his thoughts.  It was possible he was spending too much time around both Willows.  The one with him currently hopped up on a headstone, parting her arms wide, tilting her head back as she closed her eyes.

"I feel so alive, Spike."  She smiled, enjoying the simple pleasure of being outside.

Seeing Willow spreading her arms wide, inviting all and sundry to look at her, he had to think she was the most enticing woman he'd ever known.

Her hair, darker than the real Willow's, flowed down her back in a waterfall of red, reminding him of blood, something very near and dear to his heart.

The shape of her body was perfect; she had a long, pale neck leading down to a chest that sported small mounds of firm flesh.  Her waist was trim, curving in and then flaring out again for her hips, just enough for him to wrap his arms comfortably around her.  Long, muscular legs, shapely and strong, led to perfect feet.

She was just... breathtaking.  Everything about her drew him to her. She breathed in deeply, drawing his attention to her back, which, on this Willow, was pale and unblemished.  Unhurt.

"In a sea of death..." she mumbled, opening her eyes to stare straight up, balancing on the thin headstone, "I'm the only person alive in this cemetery."  She spun around quickly, not losing even a small amount of her balance.  "Maybe in the world."

"Feeling philosophical?"  He walked over to her, taking her hand to help her down.  Instead of jumping down, she hopped from one marker to another, moving fluidly.  Graceful as a tiger.  "Come down from there," he told her, tugging lightly on her fingers.

"Uh-uh."  She pulled her hand free, jumping to the next marker with a giggle.  "Come and get me," she taunted, wriggling her eyebrows at him.

"I'm not going to chase after you," he scoffed, eyeing her shapely legs and behind as she turned to the side and walked down the row of headstones in the aisle they were in.

"Suit yourself," she told him, shrugging as she turned away.

As soon as her back was turned, he grinned and headed after her, moving as quietly as he could.  Stepping lightly on the grass, avoiding the twigs and dried leaves that littered the ground, he crept toward her, still watching that lovely backside of hers.

She continued to walk the headstones, slower now, but with just as much eagerness as before.

When he was right behind her, he reached up and pinched her butt, laughing when she squealed and spun around, falling right into his arms.

He caught her easily, kissing her quickly before setting her on her feet.  She laughed lightly, swatting at his arm as he nudged her with a wink.

"That wasn't nice," she laughed, leaning against a tree as she watched him.

He closed the distance between them and leaned into her, sliding his hands under her shirt with a chuckle.  She once again swatted at him, but weakly this time, biting her lip on a chuckle.  Her laughter died when his hands moved up to her breasts and his mouth settled on her neck.

"Is this nice enough for you?" he whispered, nipping lightly at her flesh, wanting to sink his teeth into her.  She tasted like flesh, felt like flesh, but she just wasn't made of flesh.  It was synthetic something or other, and he had no desire to take off a chunk of it.

She tipped her head back, giving him better access.  Her hands gripped his hair, holding him to her.  "That's very nice," she whispered back. Her moan echoed in the quiet night, broken only by his heavy breathing. Why did she do that to him all the time?  Make him breathe when he didn't need to?

He lifted her black blouse, baring her pale stomach and red bra to his hungry gaze.  Trailing small kisses down her neck, he raised his head briefly, long enough to move past her bunched-up blouse and settle his mouth on the swell of her left breast.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, her chest arching closer to his mouth.  One hand slid down to take its place in the same spot it'd been in earlier.

He sucked in a breath, giving her easier access to the waistband of his jeans, allowing her hand to slip down and cup him.  Pulling away from her breast, he raised his head to her mouth, licking her lower lip as she stroked him.  She opened her heavy-lidded eyes, smiling at him with love.

"I think I'm learning to love you," he mumbled, shaking his head thoughtfully as he gazed at her.

"More, you mean," she told him, curling her fingers around his erection.

"More," he agreed, kissing her softly.

A tingling feeling passed over his spine, and he halted her hand, darting his eyes around the surrounding darkness.  Sliding her hand from his pants, not an easy feat, he leaned down and whispered for her to stay there while he had a look around.

"Uh, I don't think so," she disagreed, straightening her shirt and following closely behind him.

He crept quietly toward the left, where the feeling was even stronger, and concentrated on what it was he felt.  Willow's hands gripped his shirt in the back as she peered over his shoulder.

A second later, he realized it wasn't a vampire he felt nearby, but Buffy.  Heading in his direction.  Bloody hell.  He turned around, gripping Willow's arms tightly.  "Go.  Now," he told her, "get in the crypt, go below, and wait for me."

She frowned, looking about ready to argue with him, but he shoved her from him, not giving her the chance to do so.  "Be careful," she whispered, walking quickly back in the direction of the crypt.

She wasn't completely out of sight before Buffy stepped in front of a tree, glaring at him.  He darted his eyes in Willow's direction, hoping Buffy hadn't seen her.  Her red hair was distinctive, as was her body and her movements... or was that only something he'd noticed that well?

"Spike," Buffy stated, pulling a stake from her jacket as she moved closer.  "Just the person I wanted to see.  Who was that?"  She didn't even bother looking in the direction Willow had gone in.  Circling around him in a wide arc, she wove her way through headstones.

"A friend," he answered carefully.  He relaxed his posture, knowing the first thing to give him away would be his nervousness.  She always knew when he was lying, and this time the stakes were too high to get caught.  "A witch," he added, probably not wisely.  "Beginning witch," he corrected, going through the ritual of searching out his cigarettes and lighting one.

"Got a sudden fondness for witches, don't you?" she pondered, tilting her head to the side as she studied him.

His eyes darted her way, wondering if she did know.  "How's that?" Soothing smoke flooded into his lungs as he took a deep drag off his cigarette.

She shrugged, staring the way Willow had gone, her eyes narrowing.  "A beginning witch... shouldn't you make sure she gets home okay?"  She stalked closer, tapping her stake against her leg as she approached. "The Wickaninnish is still in town."

"Actually," he said, grabbing that excuse as a means of getting away from Buffy, "I probably should.  She's--"

"Great," Buffy agreed, "let's go.  I'd love to meet this 'friend' of yours."  She started in the direction of his crypt, not looking back to see if he was following her.

Of course he was.  Nipping at her damn heels like a puppy dog.  He dropped his cigarette to the grass, hurrying after Buffy's retreating figure.  Her hair bounced in its ponytail, her short muscular legs striding across the distance, eating it up faster than he liked.

"She's not one for company, you know?" he muttered, striding a little faster than Buffy in order to-- what?  Hold the Slayer back while his robot hid under his crypt?  "Not a big Slayer fan, and all that rot, like you and your fan group."

Maybe if he got there first, he could signal Willow to leave, or... something.

Buffy shrugged, again.  Unconcerned.  Was she ever concerned about anything other than her tight little group of friends.  Friends that hung off her every word and worshiped the ground she walked on.  He could understand her; he knew what she was like.  He was the same way. Liked the adulation, the caring, the needing.  And her friends did need her.

Like a tall man filled with the richest blood in the world.  Or, in her case, maybe a tall glass of cold water.  The analogy fit either way. And either way, this wasn't going to end well.

Desperate measures and all that.

He grabbed her arm, halting her frantic pace towards his crypt.  "What do you want?  Why are you here?"  He wanted answers and, by God, he would get them.

She stopped, yanking her arm free of his touch, even going so far as to stare at the spot he'd deigned to touch her in.  Her eyes, filled with a fury he didn't understand, raised to his.  "You're going patrolling with me."  It wasn't a suggestion.  It was an order.

"Yeah, sorry, not feeling up to it at the moment," he said bravely, shrugging a shoulder in a display of disinterest.  "Got things to do... witches to-- help."

Her eyes narrowed even further, her mouth tightening into a thin line of anger.  "Witches..." she said thoughtfully, slapping her stake even harder against her thigh.

She didn't watch it, she'd be taking out chunks of her thigh before long.  "Yeah.  My witchy friend there."  He motioned toward his crypt, standing in the distance with Willow waiting inside of it.  Hopefully hiding like he'd told her.  "She needs..." he stopped and thought about it for a second, tilting his head to the side before chuckling.  "Well, she needs me."

Buffy moved in a blur, shoving him to the ground with a leg behind his and landing smack dab on top of him.  Her stake was poised above his heart, waiting to take that final plunge into his chest.  Her eyes were wide, her nostrils flared.  She was loving this.  She wanted to kill him; with every fiber of her being, she was fighting the urge to sink her stake into his chest and end his life.  Without a thought.

He looked down at the stake, then back up at her, smirking a little. "See now.  I always knew you wanted me--"

"Dead," she panted furiously, shoving the stake into his flesh half an inch, smirking at his groan of pain.  "I always wanted you dead, Spike."  She shoved even harder, pressing in a good inch, her hand shaking with the force of holding back.  "You hurt her, and I swear to God and anyone else who's listening that I will gut you an organ at a time.  Days apart.  Pain will be a distant memory to what you'll be feeling, which will be so far beyond that, that you'll--"

"Oh, for God's sake," he bit out, smacking her hand away from his chest.  The stake dropped to the ground with a quiet thunk, but neither one looked at it.  They were too busy staring at each other.  "Kill me, or get the hell off of me."  He raised his hips up, still hard from his earlier play with Willow, and despite himself, harder because of Buffy.

The force she used, the way she was straddling his hips, plunking herself right on his erection, and the pain from her attempted threats of staking, all of it served to turn him on even more.

He was a man.  That was his only excuse.  And a vampire to boot, so this was all serving to make him way more excited than he should be.

She twisted her face up in disgust and punched him.  His head was still moving from the force of the punch when he felt her climb off of him. He pushed himself into a partial sitting position, leaning casually back on his elbows as he observed her.  A single eyebrow raised at her, a smirk curling his lips.

She was standing a few feet away, hands fisted at her sides, her body poised for flight.  At him, he knew, not to run away.  She really did want to kill him.

She pointed at him threateningly, warning him not to move from that spot.  "You disgust me.  You're a-- a thing.  And if you think I'll let you anywhere near her, you're sorely mistaken."  She stalked closer, reaching down to grab her stake from its spot at his feet and sprang right back up again.  "Humans are off-limits to you, Spike.  Forever." She snickered at him, laughing derisively.  "In more ways than one."

He watched her turn around and start off in the opposite direction of his crypt, wondering what in bloody hell had just happened.

Not bothering to stick around and find out, he jumped to his feet and ran the rest of the way to his crypt.  Shoving the door open, he stopped in the doorway, looking for Willow.  She was nowhere in sight and he smiled in satisfaction.  At least one person cared enough to listen to him.  To pay him some attention.

He shut the door, calling out for Willow to come back up.

"I-- I didn't go down there, Spike," Willow mumbled nervously, raising up from behind the end of the sarcophagus.  "I'm sorry..." she started to say, but then her eyes widened and she skirted around the coffin, heading toward him.  "Are you okay?  What happened?"  She stopped in front of him, raising her hand to his chest.  "You're bleeding."

He looked down at his chest, fighting his anger at her for disobeying him, and saw the blood on his t-shirt.  "I'm fine, ran into one of your little friends."  He grabbed her arm, tightening it a little more than he'd intended, causing her to yelp in pain.  Like she even felt pain. "Why didn't you go downstairs?" he bit out.

His ego had been tossed by the wayside by Buffy, the Vampire's Bitch, and he was raring for a fight now that he knew Willow was safe.

"I was hiding," she told him, yanking her arm from him angrily.  She raised his shirt, wincing at the small wound there.  More like a scratch in his eyes, apparently a major deal in hers.  "I was safe there.  Who did this to you?"  Her voice held a lot of anger that wasn't directed at him and her eyes were narrowed, her mouth snapping shut with a clack of teeth.

It'd be better not to tell her the truth.  If he did, she looked like she'd be paying a visit to Buffy with words and possibly a good poking in the chest.  He snickered a little as he pulled his bloody shirt off. "No one, love.  Don't worry about it."

"Don't worry about it?" she echoed, clenching her hands by her sides.

He half expected her eyes to turn black and her hair to start blowing in a non-existent wind kicked up by her magick.  But this was Willow the robot, not the real thing.  She couldn't do magick most likely.  He hoped.

He fisted his shirt into a ball and wiped the blood from his chest, and then threw the shirt on top of the sarcophagus.  "Yeah," he repeated, taking her arms and staring into her eyes, making sure she paid attention to him this time.  And obeyed him.  "Don't worry about it."

When she reluctantly nodded, he dropped into his chair, stewing over the night's events.  Highs and lows, ups and downs... perfect night.  Fit his life to a T.

Willow sighed and turned the TV on, sitting in front of it.  She was pouting again.  Sure did that a lot.  More than the real one.  Realizing he actually didn't know that for a fact, he wondered how much else he didn't know.

He closed his eyes as the sounds of a commercial jingle echoed throughout the crypt.  Dropping his head back with a sigh, he crossed his hands over his stomach and relaxed, trying to forget how easily Buffy had taken him down.  How quickly she was able to get his goat.

To piss him off so bloody royally that he couldn't relax!

Damn it.  Sitting forward, he trained his eyes on Willow, watching her smile and laugh at the stupid sitcom assaulting his ears.  She was everything he wanted all wrapped up in a neat little Willow package.

Laughter and beauty, loyalty and fierceness.  She was his.  His lover, his girl, his witch, his... equal.  There was darkness to her, and now they were all aware of it.  But instead of it scaring him away, it actually made him want her more.  Made him respect and admire her.

When she killed Ben, he'd watched her come alive for the first time he could ever remember.  So radiant and shining was that darkness in her. It enveloped her, took her over, and he liked that.

But he also liked the goodness in her.  She was trustful and truthful. She didn't lie to get her way, didn't cheat and steal and then turn around and claim it was for the best.  She just... was.

After a few more minutes of watching her, he felt his body responding to her.  The way she moved when she laughed, the way her hair swayed back and forth when she swung her legs around and sat cross-legged, staring intently at the TV.

He wanted her.  And he was still feeling the blow to his ego that Buffy had dealt him.  He wanted Willow.  Now.  But he wanted something else too.

Compliance.

He waited until the show she was watching was over, then spoke up over it.  "Turn that off."

She leaned forward, turning it down before looking over her shoulder at him.  "But, I wanted to watch the next show," she said excitedly, like a kid given free rein in a toy or a candy store.  "It's about a--"

"Turn it off," he repeated, his eyes unblinking at he stared at her. "And then you can undress."  He motioned to a spot a few feet away from the TV set, a nice good spot for him to see her completely.  "Right there."

She smiled wider, clicking off the TV and standing happily, in her element now.  Sex, that's all she seemed to be about.  Though occasionally, there was more.  At the moment, she seemed to sense that he needed more.  She frowned at him as she stood in the spot he'd indicated and looked a little nervous.

"Spike?"  She bit her lip, raising her arms to her abdomen, covering the flesh from his eyes.  "What's wrong?  Why do I have to--"

"Do it," he ordered, watching her raise the blouse slowly over her head and stand in her lacy red bra.  There was no way to see her standing there and not be affected by her.  His body hardened even more as she shifted nervously, looking at him under her eyelashes.  Playing the little tease.  "More."

She reached behind her to unhook her bra, but he shook his head.

"Leave that.  Take off the pants."  He leaned down and unlaced his boots, kicking them off one at a time and shoving them out of the way.

She untied her tennis shoes and kicked them off, setting them neatly aside.  He smiled at her fastidiousness, knowing she was doing it on purpose, teasing him.

He raised his hands to the buckle of his belt at the same time as she did, and unbuttoned his pants along with her.  One button at a time he watched her expose herself to him, and he did the same.

Her eyes fixed on his lap, watching and waiting for him to reveal his erection to her gaze, but he stopped just shy of letting her get what she wanted.

She drew in a deep breath, exhaling in disappointment.  Shoving her jeans down her hips, she bent over and pulled them off, one leg at a time.  She folded them up and set them on top of her shoes.  Her socks were pulled off and dropped to the jeans.

He nodded in satisfaction, taking in every inch of her bare body.  Red suited her, beautifully showcasing her smooth, pale skin.  She was firm and toned, but not tanned.  Her teeth nipped her bottom lip again, making him moan softly as he imagined her lips on his aching erection.

He raised his arm, gesturing for her to come closer.  She swallowed, still playing the nervous little virgin.  Made him feel all manly.  Her steps were small, her legs long, and after only ten steps she was in front of him, standing there with her arms once again crossed over her stomach.

That wasn't where his eyes were anyway.  The swell of her breasts, pushed higher thanks to her bra, were enticing, begging him to touch them.  He reached out and touched her thigh with his right hand, running it slowly up her leg.

She started to breathe a little heavier and lean toward him, but he kept her at a distance.  Hooking his finger in the side of her panties, he pulled the material away and let go.  "Take 'em off, Willow."

"Okay."  Stepping back, she darted nervous eyes in his direction, silently watching him watch her as she hooked her own fingers in the thin red material.  The lace, which made patterns of swirls in the spot he most wanted to see, slipped easily down her thighs and to the floor. She stepped free of them, pushing them away with her toes.  "Can I touch you?" she asked, moving back into position in front of him.

He chuckled, standing up straight, an inch from where she stood. Without touching her, he stripped his jeans off.  As he stood up straight again, there was only one part of him touching her, and it was the part they both wanted so much to touch her.

Her eyes dropped to his very prominent erection as he dropped back into the chair and settled his arms on the chair arms.  "You can touch me," he told her, "but not with your hands.  Why don't you have a seat, love?"

She smiled, licking her lips in expectation.  "Okay, Spike.  I like this game."  She knelt on the seat beside one of his legs, and hooked the other over him.  Placing her hands on the chair arms, careful not to touch him, she lifted herself up and moved closer, raising up over him, touching just the head of him with her wet heat.

They both gasped in pleasure, him arching up, her sliding down. Together, they seated her on top of him.  She fell forward, leaning against him, pressing her breasts against his chest and kissed him. "Are lips okay?" she whispered, sliding her arms beneath his own, gripping the chair arm.  "I like tasting you.  You're manly tasting, and you smell good too."

Spike nodded, taking her lips with his own, pushing her back a little with the force of the kiss, clenching his fingers into the fabric of the chair, resisting the urge to grab her and run his hands over every inch of her body.

Her muscles clenched around him, giving him the tightness he craved, but not the friction.  "Up," he muttered, occupying his mouth with her neck, dipping his head lower to lick the swell of her breast.

She lifted herself using her arms on the chair and her legs, sliding slowly along his entire length, stopping only when he thought she'd leave him completely.  "Up," she echoed, holding herself poised above him.

He chuckled, sliding his tongue under her bra to tease her nipple. Thrusting high, using his own arms on the chair, he gasped at the feel of her hot body clenching and sliding around him.  "Bloody hell, you feel good," he told her, thrusting back out, and then up again.  "You have no idea..." he grunted, thrusting again, "how good you... oh, God, how good you feel."

He was close, even now, and the blame for that was all laid at Buffy's feet.  She'd pissed him off, made him feel weak and useless.  This was Willow he was using, not Buffy, and he didn't want it to be Buffy, but he did want to show her.  While he was thrusting inside of Willow, giving her just as much pleasure as he was receiving, he was sticking it to Buffy.

"You feel good too, Spike.  I want to touch you."  She tried to free her hands from beneath his arms, but he pressed down on them.

"No," he ordered, holding her arms still.  "You're touching me enough. Where it counts."  He dropped his eyes, hoping like hell he meant on his body and not his heart.  Unfortunately, he was pretty positive he meant his heart.

And she thought so too.

Her eyes softened, her smile loving.  "I love you too, Spike."

He was so damn close now, he was thrusting into her with abandon, feeling her clench around him tightly, but he wanted a little more. "Bite me," he told her, his eyes pleading with hers.

She didn't protest this time, just dipped her head down and licked his chest, licking at the blood from the stake wound.  As his hips jerked up on the edge of orgasm, she bit into his shoulder, sucking at the blood that slowly seeped from the wound.

Spike thrust into her one more time and came with a groan.  His hips continued to jerk, moving him inside of her, deeper and deeper, pressing higher until she came.  Her teeth clenched tighter on him, her mouth sucking at the blood, drawing out the little he had to spare.

"I love you," she whispered, collapsing on him, tearing her mouth from the wound she'd made.  He raised his hands, cradling her to him, holding her close, needing the feel of her hair and her skin under his hands.

He was tempted to say the words, to confirm what she thought, but he couldn't, not yet.  He was headed that way though.  This was not about sex anymore.  This was about Willow and his feelings for her.  Big feelings.

He could only hope the real Willow felt something close to what he felt for her.  Sliding one hand down her hair and the other down her back, he breathed with her, lifting his chest up and down in time with her breathing, falling asleep with her in his lap and him inside her body.

~Part: 13~

Spike's foot slipped for the fourth time as he walked along the roof of the Summers' house, rounding the corner to the back, heading for Willow's room.  He was still pissed from last night's run in with Buffy, and maybe it wasn't the best thing to come traipsing across her roof at odd hours of the night, but he wanted to see Willow.

He'd waited one day, an entire twenty-four hours, before coming to see her again, but now he was wondering about the wisdom of his choice to come in the back way.  Running into Buffy or Dawn wasn't on his list of things to do tonight, so rooftops and windows it was.

He just hoped Willow would let him in.

The gravel on the shingles was slippery as hell under his boots, making his route a tricky one.  The moon was high, unnecessarily lighting his way, covering the entire house and backyard in a yellow glow.  Windows lined the whole of the back, and Willow's was just ahead of him.

He could see light shining through the cracks in the heavy flowery curtains hanging there.

He felt Willow's heartbeat, and concentrated on its steady beat as he knelt before her window.  Would she call Buffy immediately?  Was Buffy even there?  He heard three heartbeats in the house, but they could be anyone.

Would Willow open the window and allow him into her room without a second thought?  Or maybe she'd already had second thoughts and would turn him away.

The agony of not knowing was killing him... again.

It'd been a day since his run-in with Buffy, a day since he'd stormed out of the house and sulked in his crypt for a few hours, ignoring his poor Willowbot.

There'd been the thought of killing someone as soon as he remembered he could, and he'd gone out, hunting like he used to do.  Killing like he used to do.

He'd found a man in a bar on the docks, and followed him and his date to an empty warehouse.  The man hadn't tried to rape the girl like Spike thought he would.  They'd had sex while Spike watched, gotten themselves off while Spike waited to kill them.  After all the wasted time and energy of forcing himself not to attack them and simply feed off their frightened little selves, he'd waited, ignoring their groans and moans of pleasure.

As soon as they were done, while the man zipped up his pants, Spike attacked.  He beat the man to the ground, listening to the screaming as long as he could before knocking him out.  The woman, cowering in a corner, her shirt half off, her mini skirt still hiked up about her waist, and her hair and make-up in disarray... well, he let her go.  Let her go and killed the man.

He'd lied to Willow, the robot version of her anyway, told her the man had tried to rape the girl, and he'd saved her.  Let her go free while he killed the man.

She'd believed him without a second thought, and that made him feel guilty.  He'd tried.  Was it his fault the man hadn't been as bad as Spike thought he was?

Next time he went out and fed, he'd try to eat only bad people.

"Pansy."

The real Willow didn't know that he could kill again, and he intended to keep it that way for a while.  As long as he could, in fact.  The bot insisted he eat only bad people.  That's what she called them.  Bad people.  They were food to him, nothing more.

"Enough of this," he muttered, lifting his hand and rapping on the window with his knuckle.  He heard Willow's heart speed up, but she didn't rush out of the room screaming for Buffy.  She neared the window slowly.  He could feel her as she approached, see her through the crack in the curtains.

She was dressed in something white and see-through, with her back to the lamp in the room.  He got a glimpse of her stomach, tight and firm, and one thigh, toned with muscles, as she stopped in front of the curtain.

She tilted her head a little to see out the crack in the curtains, her eyes widening when she saw him kneeling there.  She threw the curtains open and started to unlock the window.  Her hand froze on the lock, her eyes narrowing a little in fear.

"What are you--" she began, her voice muffled through the glass.  She looked over her shoulder and lowered her voice, stepping closer to the window as she faced him again.  "What are you doing here?"

Spike considered his answer as he looked his fill of her.  Her white, see-through nightgown was short, only coming to mid-thigh.  The thin spaghetti straps hid nothing of her freckled shoulders, and the low bodice did nothing more than emphasize her chest.

"Nice bit of fluff you got there," he said after clearing his throat quietly.  His eyes stayed fixed on the bodice for a second before raising them to her eyes.  "Waiting for someone special?"

"Tara bought it for me."  She glanced over her shoulder again, lowering her voice as she crossed her arms over her chest.  "Again I ask: What are you doing here?"

Her breasts rose even higher, fueling his desire even further.  The lust burned a path through him as he took in every bare inch of her legs and arms.  Her eyebrows rose, waiting for him to answer her question, but he decided to answer with one of his own.  "You always answer knocks on your window in the middle of the night dressed in a slip of nothing?"

Willow sighed.  "Yes, Spike, I do.  You see," she leaned closer, looking around to make sure no one was listening but him, "I'm an exhibitionist."  She straightened up again, rolling her eyes.  "I thought you knew that."

"How about you let me in and I look at you to your heart's content?" he asked softly, his eyes boring into hers with a height of awareness he hadn't felt since Drusilla.  This was different though, he felt this pull toward Willow that he'd never felt toward Drusilla until after he'd been turned.  "I can even add touching to that scenario," he said calmly, though his body felt anything but calm.  He was on fire for her, just from seeing her again.

He was lost.

She dropped her defensive pose and bit her lip, unsure of herself. Finally, she closed her eyes with a brief sigh and then opened them, unlocking the window with a flick of her fingers.  She opened the window, stepping back hastily.

"You have to be quiet," she said in a near whisper.  "Dawn and Xander are downstairs playing a game or watching TV or something."

Spike stepped over the sill and into Willow's private domain.  He stood there looking around for a second, taking it all in.  The room smelled even more strongly of her tonight, and there was hardly a trace left of Joyce's scent.  She had a damp towel hanging on the door to the bathroom, her shoes were on the floor at the end of the bed, and a few items of clothing were strewn around the room.  A shirt on the back of a chair here, a pair of jeans on the floor there.  She was neat, but in a cluttered way.

His eyes fell on her as she went to the door and shut it quietly, grimacing when she moved too quickly.  He looked around the room, knowing it was there.  He spotted the dread-smelling salve on the small make-up table across from the door.  Slipping off his duster, he strode over to it and picked it up.

"Lie down," he told her, his eyes promising relief from the pain, and maybe a little more.  Dropping the duster to the chair back, he watched her and waited.  A step closer and she was backing up toward the bed.

"Um, you know, whenever that stuff comes out... things get--" she shrugged, at a loss.  Or maybe it was because she was staring into his eyes and she saw the want and need for her there.  "Sort of... uh, well, heated."

He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers as he moved closer.  "... and?" He was only a few feet away now.

The backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed, stopping her in her tracks.  She turned around and glared at the bed, like it was at fault. When she faced him again, the glare was gone, but the nervousness was still in place.  "And," she repeated in confusion, having lost track of the conversation.  She looked around, searching for the subject, darting her eyes around before finding it again.  "Oh, and," she stressed, holding her hand out in front of her as if the answer was so bloody obvious even an idiot could see it, "and... we shouldn't."

She nodded in confirmation of her words, smiling at having solved their little dilemma.

Spike chuckled, tilting his head to the side, studying her intently.  "I think we should."

"Oh, do you?" she tossed back.  Her tongue darted out to wet her dry lips, and he knew she wanted him.  Even if she hadn't practically squeaked out her response.

"Yes," he answered with confidence.  "I do."  He closed the distance between them, tossing the jar on the bed behind her.  He felt her heat radiating off of her, seeping into his skin and clothes, warming him with her body.  Her skin was so close to his own, her lips almost touching his, but he didn't let them come into contact yet.

He'd learned last night that it was a fun game to play.

He looked up at her with just his eyes.  "And I think you think we should, too."  He groaned inwardly at the convoluted sentence, hoping she hadn't noticed.

She swallowed, her eyes dropping briefly to his lips, her breath becoming more ragged than before.  He watched her chest rise until it almost touched his, then fall again as she exhaled with a shake of her head.  "No."

His heart sank.  Had he read her that wrong?  She did want him, he knew she did.  No matter how much she denied it, he knew she--

"I don't think we should."  She looked up, the frown on her brow creasing even more when she sighed.  "But I want to."

He smiled a little in relief, happy he hadn't made a fool of himself. She wanted him, and even though she didn't think it was the right thing to do, he was pretty sure he could make it happen anyway.  "Then you will."

She shook her head again.  "I can't.  Spike, things are just too... weird right now.  I can't just hop into bed with you."

Chuckling in satisfaction, he trailed one hand along her arm, not quite touching her skin, leaving her flesh tingling in his wake until he reached her shoulder.  "Yes, you can."

She looked tempted, but also determined.  "Okay, semantics not really needing to be argued right now.  Let me just clear this up for you.  I'm not going to," she said sternly.

His fingers slipped very quickly under the thin strap of her nightgown, dropping it to her arm.  The cloth sagged a little, giving him a nice view of the top of one breast and the side of the other.  "Yes, you are."

"Um, hello, Mr. Cocky," she mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest, blocking her breasts from his view as she tried to move his attention back to her face.  She bent down, ducking her head to the height of her breasts.  "Up here."

He glanced her way with a chuckle before going back to the sight of her breasts.  "Yes?"

"I'm up here, Spike."  She reached out a hand, lifting his head up with her fingers beneath his jaw.  "And, I'm not having sex with you. Tonight," she added softly, but it was loud enough for him to hear.

"Yes, you are.  Because..." he dropped his eyes to her freckled chest again.

She rolled her eyes at his continued preoccupation with her chest. "Because...?"

Instead of answering her question, a question he had no idea about, or what he'd been about to say, he slid a finger down the front of her nightgown, between her breasts.  "I like this gown."  He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her shoulder, his lips barely touching her flesh. Moving his lips to her ear, he whispered just loud enough for her to hear him.  "Makes you look all innocent and sweet.  And naughty."

"Spike," she started to say, her voice croaking out pathetically.  She cleared her throat, ignoring his chuckle, and continued trying to convince him he was delusional.  "Stop it.  It's not going to happen." A breath left her, a short one that was quickly taken back again.  Her chest rose and fell faster than before.

He raised his eyes to hers, enjoying the effect he was having on her. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to her other shoulder, sighing out a breath, watching her skin react to him.  "Touch me," he whispered, flicking his tongue out to lick her skin, to taste that flavor that was all Willow.

She shivered under him, panting once or twice before holding her breath in, trying to get a hold on herself, but it was a battle she quickly lost.  She exhaled and shifted closer to him, raising a hand to his waist, hooking her thumb through one of the belt loops on his jeans. "Just a little," she conceded.  "That can't hurt."

Bingo.  He had her now.

He slid a hand along the curve of her right arm, not touching the skin just like before.  His fingers slipped under the strap, lifting it free of her shoulder and letting go, watching it fall like the other.  Her breasts were half-exposed now through the gaping bodice of her nightgown.  He placed another kiss on her shoulder.  "So sweet and pure."

Her other hand joined the first, hooking in a belt loop on the other side of his waist, drawing him closer.  She dropped her head down on his chest, breathing deeply.  "I'm not pure," she mumbled into his chest, the feel of her damp breath against his skin and shirt making him hard.

"You are to me," he told her, brushing her hair out of the way to get a better view of her back.  He trailed the fingers of his right hand down her left shoulder blade, raising goose bumps along the way.  "Does it hurt?"

She nodded, sliding her arms around his waist.  "Yes," she admitted.  A few breaths later, she turned her head to the side, resting her cheek against his chest.  "But I don't want you to go," she whispered.

Spike smiled, satisfaction coursing through him.  She wanted him.  He pulled away, just enough to lift her head with his fingers and take her mouth.  Being needed had its own special appeal to him.  His lips crushed hers, moving with an urgency he could feel in her as well, but... first things first.

She had some salve application coming to her, and damn if he hadn't waited long enough to give it to her.

"Lie down," he repeated, reaching around her to grab the jar from the bed.

She looked behind her at the unkempt bed with its rumpled sheets and blankets, then to the door.  He was afraid she was considering fleeing the room, but she didn't.  "I should lock that."  Her voice was deep and husky, filled with lust.

"I'll get it," he told her, his own voice filled with just as much desire as her own.  He strode over to the door, turning the lock with a click, and even checking to make sure it was closed all the way. "Strip--" he turned back to her to see her already removing her clothes.

She spun around, holding the gown to her chest, hiding most of her body from him.  "Uh, c-- could you turn around?" she asked frantically, looking ready to dive under the covers.

He shrugged, turning to face the vanity table against the opposite wall from the bed.  She took a deep breath behind him and he heard the cloth drop to the floor.  Her naked image came into view of the mirror, displaying every inch of her body for him.

His breath caught in his throat as his eyes ran down her chest, and the perfect mounds of flesh there, down to her flat, muscular abdomen, white and pale as a vampire's skin.  She glanced at him quickly before she stripped off her panties, letting him see the bit of red at the juncture of her thighs, telling him the real story behind her hair color.  Her legs though, they were what held most of his attention.  He could just imagine those pale, muscular legs wrapped around him as he thrust inside of her warm, moist body.

He groaned, dropping his head back as she turned away and climbed into bed, rolling onto her stomach and covering herself up.  "Okay," she called, her eyes finding his in the mirror, even though she couldn't see him in it.  She adjusted her pillow underneath her cheek, smiling shamefacedly.  "Salve application away."

He tossed the jar into the air and caught it as he stood there staring at her back.  Still so beautiful.  He started toward the bed, eager to get to it, but realized he was overdressed when he felt the restriction of his pants.

Setting the jar down on the vanity, he untied his boots, keeping his eyes on her.

"Spike," she protested, the words not coming easily to her.  "I'm not sleeping with you.  The clothes stay on."  She started to turn her head, but a small head shake from him had her staying still.

"Just getting more comfortable, love."  He kicked off his boots, leaving them where they fell.  "Don't want my boots dirtying up the bed, do you?"

She sighed, knowing exactly what he was doing, but remained silent, even when he raised his hands to his belt buckle.  The jangling of the buckle was loud in the silence of the room, broken only by her snort.  "I suppose I don't want your spotless jeans dirtying up my bed either?" she asked sarcastically, not buying his innocent routine for a minute, but also pretending she wasn't waiting breathlessly to see him.

"No," he admitted with a chuckle.  "I don't want to dirty up my spotless jeans."  He winked at her, laughing in delight as a nice pink blush stole its way up her neck and face.

He loved her response to him.  Humans had some things over vampires, and this was one of them.  Dropping his head to his task, he kept his eyes on her, watching her irises dilate as he lowered the zipper, hearing her heart speed up as he undid the button.  Her breathing grew more shallow, her body heating up enough for him to notice this far away.

Instead of giving her what she wanted, revealing what she was dying to see, he reached behind him and grabbed the back of his t-shirt, yanking it up and over his head.

She actually sighed when his chest was revealed to her.  Without conscious thought, he puffed out his chest, basking in her approval.

He was sometimes a proud man, and this time it was going to cost him. She sat up, keeping herself fully covered by the sheet, and stared at his chest, but not because she liked what she saw anymore, this was something different.  Just as she opened her mouth to ask him a question, he glanced down, seeing the very visible bite mark there, as well as the stake wound.

Instead of asking the questions on the tip of her tongue, she just continued to stare, waiting for an explanation.  After a few seconds of silence, she grew impatient.

"Did Buffy do that?"  Her voice was hard, her eyes narrowing angrily. "Did she-- did she try to dust you?"

So Willow knew something about last night's confusing visit from the Slayer.  "We had a bit of a tiff," he said lightly, not wanting to get into it too deeply right now.

She was the only thing he wanted to get deeply into at the moment.  Call him a one-track-minded fool, but that's all he cared about at this point in time.  That, and getting her mind off of the bite mark as soon as possible.

"Wasn't that big of a thing," he said dismissively.

She nodded, letting it slide for now, but he could also see a fair amount of anger moving beneath the surface.  She was pissed, and rightly so to his thinking.  You go, baby, stick up for your man.

He turned away with a slight snicker, hoping to bypass any comments on the bite mark, but of course she didn't let him off that easily.

"Did she... bite you?" Willow asked in disbelief.  She sat forward, trying to peer more closely at the mark when he turned back to face her.

He shook his head, rubbing his fingers across the mark.  "Uh, no."  That was all he said, leaving her to wonder about it.  Hopefully she wouldn't wonder too much.

"Who did then?  That's-- Spike."  She raised her eyes to his, sitting straighter in the bed, sheets pooled around her, her naked body calling to him, her eyes daring him to come any closer.  "That's a human bite."

"Yeah," he agreed, still rubbing his fingers over it, wanting to tell her she did it.  That she'd bitten him as he came, as he made her come, but he stayed silent.  She wouldn't understand.

Understatement of the year.

"Or did yet another Lairman demon try to take your crypt?"  Oddly enough, she sounded skeptical and looked it to boot.

"No," he denied, remembering his excuse from the other night.  Damn, he'd forgotten about that altogether.  Bloody f'in hell.  "Wasn't a Lairman this time."

"Then why did a... human..." she frowned and then her eyes went wide, landing on his face with accusation.  "I thought you said you weren't with her anymore.  You told me--" she held the sheet more firmly to her chest and struggled to get out of the bed without hurting herself. "God, Buffy was right."

"About what?" he asked, dropping to the bed and reaching for the sheet as she stood up.  He yanked on it, pulling her back to the bed.  She bounced a few times, keeping her back to him, giving him a nice view to look at, but not letting him see what he needed to see.  "What'd Buffy say, Willow?"

Willow kept her back to him, but turned her head towards him, her face blank, her eyes flat and emotionless.  "That you were using me, and look, all true."  She pulled the sheet free of his hold, yanking hard enough to throw herself forward with the force of it.  "Ouch," she ground out, clenching her jaw.  "Go home, Spike, go be with... whoever she is."

Spike ignored her suggestion; to him that's all it was.  Not the order she'd made it out to be.  Could be he was sometimes delusional as well as proud.  "You told Buffy about us?" he asked in surprise.  After all her protesting the night before, she'd actually told Buffy?

Well, that was unexpected.

"Yes."  She stood up, sweeping the sheet far out of his reach as she did so, wrapping it firmly around her a few times.  She strode across the room, also keeping herself far out of his reach.

He stood up as well, following her across the room.  "So that's what she was on about last night," he said absently.  "Warning me away from you and all that rot... I thought she was talking about the other-- uh, my friend."  Almost gave himself away there, wouldn't that have been fun? "Well, she's got some nerve, hasn't she?"  He frowned deeply, wondering if he could kill Buffy without angering Willow.  Eh, probably not.

Willow was looking at him like he was insane.  "Uh, Spike," she said clearly, succinctly, "I'm mad at you, not her, and I'm not about to gang up on her with you."

Her words finally caught his complete attention and he dragged his mind away from thoughts of burying Buffy in his crypt somewhere, after he killed her, of course.  Slowly, just like she'd promised him, over nice, long, hot summer days, sweltering heat, nasty humidity, making her as miserable as she could get while he was torturing her.

But that was just fantasy, he'd never actually... well, not as of yet. Maybe someday in the future when he didn't still feel... something for her.  "What?"

"Go home," she said in defeat, turning her back to him.  "Just... go." She sighed heavily and he was pretty sure her breath hitched in a little.  She was on the verge of tears.

"She's a friend, Willow, that's all," he assured her, moving directly behind her to smooth a hand down her bare back.  The sheet draped artfully down her colorful back, leaving it partially bare, gathering in an excess of cloth at her lower back, just above the rise of her sweet little behind.

Dragging his eyes up, away from parts that made him want to throw her down and have at it, he wondered if the truth would serve him in good stead at this point.

Seeing her stiff back, and remembering the sadness in her eyes when Buffy told her about April's rundown demise, he decided against the truth for now.

"Doesn't matter."  She started to move away from him, to leave him standing alone without her heat and her strength, to leave him forever, but he reached out and grabbed her left arm, halting her progress.

"It does matter.  She's a friend," he stressed, "nothing more."  He turned her toward him, lifting her face up so that she could see the sincerity in his eyes, on his lips... lips that were spouting lies that she was starting to buy.  "Nothing more, and nothing less."  He chuckled, shrugging a little.  "I'm right fond of the bird, but not like I am of you, Willow."

Her eyes lost a little of the frostiness, her face taking on a little life as she bought every lie he tossed out there.  So he decided a little truth was needed as well.

"She pales in comparison to you."  The lying was giving him time, but the truth is what reeled her right back in to him.  He felt a little disgusted with himself, but he couldn't stand it if he lost her.

She dropped her eyes to his chest, lifting a hand to touch hesitantly at the bite, running her fingers over the mark with a frown.  "Did she do this?"

And now it was time to lie again.  He shivered at the touch of her fingers, raising his own hand to halt hers.  "No," he denied, shaking his head, his eyes holding more sincerity than before.  He had to pile it on thick.  "No, she didn't.  It was a vampire."

Her eyes widened at the lie, not buying it anymore.  She dropped her hand, stepping back, away from him.  "Yeah, right.  Nice try."

He rolled his eyes, opening his mouth, showing her his human teeth.  "We do have normal teeth too, you know.  He was a vampire, but he wasn't a very bright vampire."

She frowned at him, sighing, not sure if she should believe him or not. In her eyes, he could see that she wanted to, she wanted to think he'd tell her the truth, that he wouldn't lie like the rug he was being, but she was weary, tired of the whole conversation, and maybe him.  "Why would he do that?"

"Because I was trying to kill him?" he guessed, shrugging widely, making big movements to cover his weak story.  "He was a fledgling, didn't have control over it, I guess."  Taking her arm, he walked her back over to the bed, setting her down comfortably.  "I'll go," he bluffed, "you get some rest."

He picked his shirt up from the floor and slipped it on over his head, reaching down to grab his boots and turn away slowly, heading toward the window, hoping she stopped him before he got there.

She did.

"No, it's okay," she called quickly, halting him just before he reached the window.  "I believe you, against my better judgment, and probably against common sense, because, hello, vampire.  Evil... but-- that's not your fault."  She chuckled, shaking her head at herself.  "So... you can stay."  Her eyes raised threateningly to his as he turned back around to face her.  "If I regret this, at all, ever, I'll sic Dawn on you."

Spike snorted with laughter, covering up his relief.  "Anything but that," he joked softly, dropping his boots to the floor and joining her by the bed again.  His little dead heart fluttered in response to the smile that spread across her face, lifting the weights from his shoulders with a smile, and the soothing gaze of her eyes.

And then he knew.  He was falling in love with Willow.  Deeply, and thoroughly, the most precious kind of love.  And also the worst.

~Part: 14~

Spike sat on the bed with a groan, trying to hide his sudden stunned realization from Willow.  She didn't need to know how far gone he was. Not now.

There'd be plenty of time for that later.

He closed his eyes with a sigh, hating the un-beating piece of muscle in his chest, constantly getting him into one heartbreaking situation after another.  His life was filled with pain caused by the fact that he couldn't seem to stop himself from caring so bloody much for people.

Cecily, his mother, Dru... Buffy.  And now Willow.  Would it ever stop? More importantly, would he ever find someone willing to care for him just as much as he cared for them?

"So..." Willow said awkwardly, not noticing his sudden mood change.  She shifted on the bed, sitting beside him, glancing toward him quickly before looking away again.  "Now what?"

"Hmm?"  His mind wasn't on the woman beside him anymore, it was on his future with the woman beside him.  Did they have a future together? It'd be nice if they did, but he knew for a fact that nothing in life was a sure bet.

"Spike?"  She nudged his shoulder with her own, and then waved her hand in front of his face.  "Hello?"  When he snapped out of his reverie, she grew more nervous.  "Or, maybe there is no 'now what?'.  Maybe you wanted to leave when I stopped you, and then I stopped you, and you didn't leave, and now you want to.  So, you should.  If-- uh, if you want to."  She cleared her throat, scooting a few inches away from him. "Do you want to?"

"No," he told her, clearing his throat as well as his thoughts.  "I was just thinking.  I do that occasionally.  Got brains and all."  He frowned at the bed behind him.  "Uh, lie down."

She lost the nervous, babbling routine real quick, and raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, shaking her head.  "Yeah, I don't think so," she scoffed, snorting a few times too.

"Relax," he chuckled, reaching behind him for the jar of salve.  It was hiding under the corner of the blanket on the far side of the bed, making him work to get it.  "I'm just gonna rub some of this--aha," he grabbed the jar and straightened up, tossing it into the air and catching it, "smelly rubbish on you."

She scooted back on the bed with a stern look at him, making sure he understood that's all they'd be doing as she rolled over to lie on her stomach.  "You know just what to say to make my heart go pitter-patter, Spike."

"It's a gift," he muttered, opening the jar as he climbed on the bed, straddling her waist lightly.  Pushing the sheet aside, baring her back to his gaze, he ran his salve-free hand down her side.  "So you told Buffy?"  After last night's argument, he was sure she wouldn't be telling anyone anything ever.  At least nothing having to do with him. "What'd she say?"

Willow sighed, shifting underneath him a little as he started to rub the stinky gunk onto her skin.  "Buffy's a skeptical kind of person," she told him, defending Buffy, which only served to annoy him more.  "She can't help that she doesn't always believe things right away."  She shivered when he slid his left hand down to her waist, and then a little lower, sliding around to the front.  "Hands," she chastised, waiting until he'd returned to her back before continuing.  "And she had good reason to be skeptical with you it turns out."  She glanced back at him, shrugging.  "I mean, you said you were in love with her, and now you say you're not."

"Not my fault," he muttered, sliding both hands to the front, cupping her breasts despite her attempts to wriggle free of his touch.  "It felt like love."

She cleared her throat loudly, pointedly.  "Hands, Spike, they seem to have wandered."  She sucked in a breath, fighting the way her body was reacting to him, trying to calm her breathing, to not be affected by him.  She was losing miserably.

He brushed his thumbs over her nipples a few times before retreating again.  She was getting aroused, he could smell her, feel the difference in her body heat.  Her heart was speeding up, her breathing becoming erratic.  She wanted him.

Once his hands moved to her back again, she drew in a deep breath and relaxed as much as her tightly-strung body could with him this close. "How do you know it isn't love?" she asked, turning to look over her shoulder at him.  "You thought it was, mistook it for love, so how do you know it's not?"

He followed the movements of his hands with his eyes as he splayed his fingers down again, across her stomach.  He was wondering just how much he should tell her, how much she could be told before he scared her away.  So long as she didn't laugh or ridicule him, he thought he was pretty well off.  And since honesty was something that was lacking tonight, aside from a few half-truths and bent facts, he decided to tell her the truth.

"Because I'm remembering what real love feels like."  Raising his eyes to hers, he slid his hands further down, avoiding where she wanted to be touched, sliding them down the front of her thighs instead.

She stared back at him for a second, looking like she didn't quite comprehend his words, but then she got it and her eyes widened.  "Oh." She frowned, still staring back at him, not exactly sure how to respond to his partial declaration, so she just added another, "Oh," and turned to face the headboard again.

Safer territory.  Better to stare at a wall than respond to a vampire who'd just told her he was falling in love with her.

He'd probably do the same thing, he thought with a sigh.

Sitting up, he dropped his hands to her legs, resting them there while he contemplated leaving again.  No response from her probably meant she didn't feel the same way, and wasn't starting to.  Yeah, leaving would be best about now.

He shifted on the bed, climbing off of her legs as he prepared to stand up, but she turned around suddenly, sitting up and gripping his wrists.

"Me too," she admitted, tightening her hands on his wrists until it became almost painful.  "I think I'm starting to remember that feeling too."

He exhaled shortly, staring at her hands on his wrists, not allowing the joy he felt to show through quite yet.  That she felt something for him was enough for now.  It was enough.  He drew in a deep breath, smiling at her, but she didn't notice, she was still looking down at the bed.

"And, though it's different this time, it's nice."  Her eyes darted up to his before planting themselves right back onto the bed.  "It's... I like this.  It's--"

"Nice?" he ventured, ducking his head to catch her eye.

She nodded, tightening her hands even more.  "Yeah.  And scary."  She finally realized she was still gripping his wrists and released them with a surprised grunt.  "Sorry.  Good thing you're a vampire," she chuckled, fidgeting with the sheet, straightening it over her chest, smoothing it out over her legs.

Standing up, keeping his eyes on the top of her bowed head, he stripped his shirt off again, dropping it to the floor beside the bed.

Her head raised up, her eyes showing her amusement.  "You just don't give up, do you?"

He shook his head, lowering his hands to the waistband of his jeans, intending to strip them off before remembering he was going to tease her a bit.  Get her used to the idea of the two of them dirtying up the bed.

Her eyes dropped to his hands, waiting, but she was about to be disappointed.

He put one knee on the edge of the bed, leaning down to her long enough to plant a kiss on her lips.

"Mm," she mumbled, closing her eyes as he continued to move his lips over hers.  After a minute, she pushed him away, breathless and panting.  She stared at his chest as she tried to catch her breath.

"See anything you like?" he asked, tucking his tongue behind his teeth to keep from laughing at the blush creeping up her cheeks.

Three times in one night, had to be a record.

"Not really," she answered thoughtfully, smiling up at him.  "Seen one blonde god, you've seen 'em all," she said in dismissal, shrugging her naked shoulders.

Spike burst out laughing, wondering if she'd been talking to his robot. "Ain't that the truth?" he agreed, running his eyes over her colorful back.  "I'm starting to prefer red anyway.  And black and blue mixed in with a little green and yellow."  He raised his eyes to her hair, taking it in, sliding a hand down the red strands.  "Yeah, red's more my thing these days."

She sighed contentedly, rolling over and lying down, snuggling into the mattress.

She was in the middle of the bed on her stomach, covered only to the small of her back.  The rest of her was open to his eyes.

Crawling across the bed to her, he gently straddled her thighs, moving up a bit to be able to reach all of her.  The jar of stinky salve was dropped to the bed in favor of him running his hands along her skin again.

She shifted underneath him, anticipating the first touch of his hands on her back, expecting more of the cold wet salve.  What she got was strong, cool hands caressing her lower back.  He spanned his hands along her back, covering the mottled bruising that had her whole back looking like an abstract painting.

Trailing his fingers along her sides, he watched her skin shift and move with each breath she took.  His fingers slid along the sides of her breasts again, and she drew in a breath, making the skin stretch taut.

He leaned over her, not pressing against her, but close enough to become a few degrees warmer.  "How badly does it hurt?" he asked, running his hands up her back with a little pressure.

"Ow," she mumbled, turning her face into the pillow with a gasp.  "Kind of badly."  Her voice was pain-filled, her back collecting a fine sheen of sweat as she panted.  Both pain and desire were fighting for dominance, and he took pity on her.

"More stinky salve to the rescue," he said with a chuckle, hiding his frown from her.  The fact that she was still this sore and filled with pain had him worried.  She was hurting and he didn't like that.  He wanted her to be pain-free and worry-free, to be walking around without a care in the world except whether or not he intended to make love to her once, or more, that night.

"Oh, yay," she said, "more Eau De Sewers."  She turned her head to the left, sighing softly as she pushed herself onto her elbows.  "Spike...?" trailing off, she glanced over her shoulder at him, then straight in front of her again.  "Thank you.  I mean, you know, for being so nice to me af-- after last night."

He unscrewed the lid on the jar of salve, dipping a few of the fingers of his left hand into the goopy stuff.  "Well, I can't really help it," he muttered, "because you really, really turn me on.  You get me hotter than a griddle during a pancake cook-off."

"Pancake cook-off?" she repeated, snorting with laughter.

Of course she focused on that part of his comment, completely ignoring the compliment he'd paid her.

He shrugged lightly, chuckling at her.  "They've got chili cook-offs, why not a pancake one?"  He rubbed his hands together, trying to warm up the salve, sending up a smell like the sewers of a zoo.  "God, this stuff seems to get more disgusting each time I use it."

Shifting a little to get into a better position on her thighs, he leaned forward, pressing his lips to the nape of her neck before sliding his hands along the bruising below.

"Oh, hey," she gasped, wriggling underneath him, "that feels good."  She glared at him over her shoulder, her stern voice making him laugh all the more.  "And you're so not playing fair."

"If that's how you react to a repulsive-smelling salve, I can't wait to see how you respond to me."  Her skin heated again, turning the pale flesh of her neck and face pink.  She was sexy when she blushed.

"You know that's-- wait.  What?  No," she denied, trying to sit up and turn to face him at the same time.  He held her still, keeping her from moving anything more than her head.  "There'll be no responding to anyone or anything.  Not tonight.  There's too much--"

He leaned down again, kissing her shoulder blades one at a time, then smoothed his hands over them.

"Cheater."  She closed her eyes with a moan, shivering underneath his hands.  Another moan escaped her as he rubbed gently along her neck and shoulders.

Spike fought the urge to strip off his jeans and take her right then and there, any way he wanted to.  She wasn't his bot, and she was already hurt, so he had to be gentle with her, but it was hard.  He was hard. Harder than flippin' concrete, he thought with a groan.

He finished spreading the salve, raining a trail of kisses along the salve-free parts of her neck.  Wasn't long before he needed to seek relief or die trying.  He climbed off of her and headed into the bathroom.

She frowned at him, opening her mouth to-- protest?  Or encourage him to leave?

"Gotta wash this gunk off my hands."  He stopped in the bathroom doorway, running his eyes over her, feeling his own body heating up with every inch he took in.  Left silent was the part where he needed clean hands to touch her everywhere he intended to touch her.

"Oh.  Yeah, you should probably do that."  She laid her head back down on the pillow, closing her eyes.

He dashed into the bathroom, slowly, of course, and hurriedly washed off all the salve, needing to use soap three times before the greasy feel of it left him, along with the smell.  Drying his hands off he glanced idly around for lotion.  He didn't want to touch her with dry, papery-feeling hands.

"If you want some lotion," she called to him as he entered the bedroom again, "um, I think there's some on the table over there."  She gestured behind her.

Was she reading his bloody mind?  He scoffed loudly, rolling his eyes, pretending he had no intention of grabbing it as soon as possible.  "I'm a vampire, love.  What use would I have for lotion?"  He sat on the bed, running his eyes over her, following some of the trails his eyes took with his hands.

"Then I'd think you'd need it even more," she said reasonably.  "Dead skin and all that."  She shrugged a little, moving less stiffly than before, but obviously still sore.

"Hmm," he muttered, taking in every freckle and mark on her.  "Shows how much you know."  God, she was beautiful.  The bot was an exact replica of her in every way, except freckles.  And moles.  Scars.  Anything and everything that marked skin was missing from the bot, and he liked that the real Willow had all that.  Made her feel more real to him, as if she wasn't already more real than anyone he'd ever wanted.

But, before he touched her too much, he did need some lotion on his dry hands.  He stood up with a heavy sigh and skirted the bed, moving gratefully toward the vanity table.  "If you want me to use some, I'll use some.  It won't kill me, I guess."  He squinted at all the bottles and tubes of things, reaching for the only one resembling a lotion bottle and raised it high enough to read.  "I just better not start smelling of perfumy things."  But the lotion wasn't perfume-scented.  He lifted an eyebrow, staring at her back.  Vanilla.

Could this be where one of those unique smells was coming from?  He uncapped the bottle, taking a deep whiff of it, pulling it away from him almost immediately.  This wasn't it at all.  The smell was completely different.

"You won't," she told him, amusement evident in her voice.  "I don't like perfumy things."  She opened her eyes, watching him.  "But it'd serve you right if you did."

He looked up at her innocently as he tipped the lotion up, dumping a small amount of the thick liquid into his palm.  He quickly recapped the bottle, setting it back in its place on the table.  He rubbed the lotion into his hands with relief, and skirted around the bed again.  "Here now, no need to get evil," he told her, grinning at the rolled eyes she sent his way.

"Please," she scoffed, not buying the innocence one bit.  "You came over here with the express purpose of trying to get me into bed.  *I'm* not the one who's evil in this room."

Well, she had him there.  He shrugged as he stood over her, grinning and clapping his hands once loudly, before rubbing them together eagerly. "So!  All ready to have sex?"

She snorted with laughter, her amused eyes landing on his.  "Oh, yeah, primed and ready to go.  See me going?"  She settled more comfortably into the mattress, smiling in contentment.

"I see you going..." he admitted, sitting on the bed as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.  "Going at it all night.  With me, of course."

She raised an eyebrow at him, looking very much the haughty lady.  "Of course.  But it's probably not going-- I mean, it's not going to happen.  Definitely not going to.  'Cause... well, you're going to be a gentleman."

He shook his head, staying right where he was.  He had no intention of leaving until sex was had.  With Willow.  The real Willow.  He smiled and leaned down, kissing her cheek softly, just on the outside of her lips.  "I can be a gentleman, Willow."  He slid a hand down her shoulder and arm, settling it on her waist.  "When I make love to you, I'll say 'please' and 'thank you' and 'can I have some more?'.  You know," he said absently, "this body of yours is perfect..."

"Oh," she accused, "you're a peeker!  You're so busted."  Her eyebrows drew together in a frown, her lips pursing in anger.

"Guilty," he admitted, glancing briefly up at her face before returning his attention to his hand on her hip.  She shivered, squirming when he touched a ticklish spot.

"No tickling," she warned him, turning as she sat up, pulling the sheet to her chest.  "I mean it.  I get violent when I'm tickled.  I don't like it."  She stared at him, waiting for him to agree.

He held his hands up innocently, chuckling at the threatening look she tossed him.  Apparently tickling wasn't one of her favorite past-times. "All right, agreed.  No tickling.  Is there a story there... or...?"

"Yeah.  I don't like being tickled, end of story."  She laid back down, watching him closely, making sure he didn't dart a hand out, one that was intent on tickling the bejesus out of her.

"No tickling," he promised, smoothing her hair behind her ear, tucking it there with his thumb.  "But I can't promise there won't be touching."  Her eyes stayed steady on his, not moving away nervously, searching for something other than him to look at.  "Because there's going to be touching.  Lots of it."

She sighed in a put-upon way, looking like he'd just taken all the fight out of her and knocked down her resolve.  "Touching is... good, I like touching.  But, I'm sore.  And you're..."

"Turned on to the point of embarrassing myself at the first touch of your hands on my oh-so-hot body?"  The smile on his face turned rueful. She thought he was kidding.

She chuckled softly.  "Well, I was gonna say, 'you're in a house full of people who aren't real fond of you at the moment.' but yours works too."  She looked away, lifting a hand to free the hair he'd tucked behind her ear as she contemplated his words.  "Are you really?"

Instead of answering, he stood up, raising an eyebrow at her.  Her eyes lowered slowly to the bulge in his jeans, and then jumped back up to his face with an exhaled breath.

"Men got it hard, love--"

She burst out laughing at his poor choice of words, silencing her snickers with her hand.  Her amused eyes flittered back down to his jeans, unbuckled and partially undone.  The amusement faded away, replaced by a lingering fire that burned inside her.  "You know," she said quietly, "maybe it wouldn't be a horrible thing to... well, we can have--" her eyes raised to his, her look almost pleading with him to agree.  "Sex between us wouldn't be wrong, per se, right?  I mean, my happiness isn't with her anymore.  And hers isn't with me.  Diana said so."

"Who's Diana?" he asked in confusion, knowing he'd missed something somewhere, but he wasn't sure what.  "And does this mean you've decided to be naughty?"  He couldn't stop the grin that stole up his face, smirking at her as he stood up and shed his jeans, not giving her time to stop him.

"Not naughty," she disagreed, letting her eyes stray ever so subtly to his erection, as if it was a scenic route on the way to other places. Only, her eyes never left it when they found it.  "Being naughty implies wrongness, and there's nothing wrong with us having sex.  We're adults. We're single.  We're... obviously attracted to each other."  Her eyes were still on him, unmoving, looking all contemplative and thoughtful.

"Up here," he teased, snapping his fingers in the air by his face. "Hello, I'm up here."  His words echoed her own from earlier, and he was rather satisfied to be able to turn the tables on her a bit.

She blushed, closing her eyes in embarrassment as she dropped her face into the pillow with a groan.  Poor, miserable thing.  He should comfort her.

Usually, he'd stand proudly, displaying his rather decent-sized hard-on, but he didn't this time, choosing instead to be the gentleman he'd promised her he could be.  Sitting on the bed beside her, he smoothed a hand down her back, doing his best to comfort her in her time of shame.

Leaning down, he placed a kiss on the nape of her neck.  "Need another look, love?  I could stand here a bit longer... I'll even pose if you'd like."  He snickered his laughter against her skin when she only groaned louder.

"It's been a while," she said into the pillow, her voice muffled, her words almost indiscernible.  She lifted her head slowly, biting her lip as she dragged her eyes to his face.  "Since Oz.  I mean, obviously there was Tara.  And we did things."  She grinned suddenly, her eyes losing focus as she fell into her memories.

"Did things," he repeated with a snort of laughter.  "What, uh, what sort of things did you do?  Come on, kiss and tell."  His encouraging smile had her rolling her eyes.

"Stop making fun of me.  I'm just saying, I haven't-- well we didn't... use things, it was all rather vanilla between us."  Once again, her eyes lost focus and her smile turned sappy.  "Like French Vanilla... with whip cream and cherries on top," she said absently.  "And chocolate. With nuts."  Her eyes darted quickly to his, narrowing, daring him to say anything.  "You know what I mean."

He nodded sagely, not making a snide comment, like he wanted to.  "So, no whips and chains.  Right."  Tilting his head to the side, he pretended to consider the situation.  She was so naive and sweet at times.  "I think I can do that."  His grin turned lascivious, he couldn't help it, he was imagining her dressed in lots of leather. "Although, leather is a valid fashion choice."

She slapped his arm, harder than he thought necessary.  "Hey, I'm being truthful here, and you're making fun of me."  Sitting up under his semi-trapping hold, she glared his way.  "I was gonna have sex with you.  Was gonna let you do things to me--"

"Things," he mumbled, his imagination working overtime.  "What sorts of things, love?"  He reached out and tried to lift the sheet from her.

She crossed her arms over her sheet-clad chest, pouting at him.  "You'll never know now.  Nope," she assured him, "you lost your chance."

"Oh, hey now," he tried not to whine.  "No need to get irritated, I was just playing with you."  Seeing the grin working its way up her lips, he had to chuckle.  "Now who's being evil?"

She rolled her eyes at him, shaking her head sadly.  "Men."  Her eyes turned solemn again, her smile losing most of its steam.  "Can we just go slow?" she asked, reaching out a hand to touch his leg.  "I need some time to get used to--" her eyes widened, a stunned look crossing her face.  "I just realized that... I'm going to have Spike with sex.  I mean, I'm going to have sex with Spike.  Wow."

"Never in a million years?" he wondered, watching her to make sure she was happy about it.  Wouldn't do for her to be depressed about the thought of having her way with him.

She nodded almost frantically.  "Pretty much.  So... slow?"

"Wouldn't have it any other way," he answered, letting her hand explore his skin.  She seemed content with just letting it rest there while her fingers traced circles, but he wanted more.  "As much as I want to just lay you down and slide inside of you, to touch you..." he trailed off when her tongue darted out to lick her lips.  Swallowing thickly, he had to close his eyes, to try to erase the image he suddenly had of her lips wrapped around him before continuing.  "To have you moving underneath me, or on top of me.  I want you, and I'll take it as slow as you want me to."

Her tongue slid between her lips, wetting them slowly.  "Never in a million years?" she queried, looking a little confused, and a lot turned on.

He shook his head, slipping his hand behind her head to draw her closer.  Just before his lips touched hers, he whispered, "I've thought about you before."

Her eyes flickered to his, half-closed, sliding shut as his lips touched lightly to hers.  "Mm, I'll bet there was a lot of death and blood involved in those thoughts."

He shrugged a little, as if it was a given.  "Mostly."  She knew he was a vampire, so he was pretty sure she wouldn't be shocked by the admission.  Touching his lips to the side of her mouth, he darted his tongue out, sliding it along her lip as he smiled naughtily.  "You should've been inside my head while I was chained up in the Watcher's loo."

"Fantasies?" she asked in surprise, pulling back to stare at him. "About us?  I mean, the good guys us.  The Scoobies.  Not... us, us. You and me, us."

He pulled away with a sigh, tired of all the interruptions keeping him from getting what he wanted, which was Willow.  "About you.  And a few about Buffy.  Mostly, those involved me chaining her up and forcing her to eat something she hated for a few weeks."

Willow's lips twitched as she tried not to laugh.  "Um... really?" she giggled, snorting with laughter despite her best efforts.

"Really," he mumbled, pressing his lips firmly to hers.  The laughter died in her throat and the questions faded from her eyes as they slid shut.

Lips melded, tasting, touching.  They breathed as one, moving their lips over each other's, exploring the now familiar flesh of one another's mouths.

Spike wanted so desperately to kiss her with all the force he could muster, which, being a vampire, was considerable, but he kept himself from doing that because he knew he'd hurt her.

She scooted closer to him, placing another hand on his calf, tracing small patterns on his skin.  He tried to lift her up, encouraging her to move into his lap, but she resisted.

"Slow, remember?" she mumbled, opening her mouth fiercely on his, pulling herself nearer to him.

He didn't bother answering, since he'd have to pull away from her delicious mouth to do so.  He'd prefer to keep his lips on hers, run his tongue over her teeth, slide her lip into his mouth to suck on the flesh, making her moan.

Slow was working just fine for him.

She placed a hand on the bed beside him, keeping her lips moving firmly on his as she raised up onto her knees.  And then her mouth left his, leaving him extremely dissatisfied.  Instead of allowing him more, she planted her other hand on the bed to the right of him.

Apparently it wasn't working for her anymore.

She groaned in frustration.  "Slow is too slow."

He pulled back a ways to get a good look at her lust-filled eyes.  Her face was flushed, her hair wild about her face, her skin heated with desire.

"Bloody gorgeous," he muttered, sliding a hand behind her head to draw her mouth down to his.

She leaned forward, kissing him lightly, just a teasing touch before pulling away again.  He grinned and allowed her to push him back until he was lying on the bed with her poised above him.

She crawled over him like a predator, her eyes steady on his, her mouth dipping down to touch him, lick him, taste him wherever her eyes happened to land.  He was enjoying this side of her.  He'd assumed she'd be a kitten in bed.

Apparently she was more like a tiger, all grace and fluid movements.

Even her back arched like a cat's as she moved up his body, her eyes lighting on his with heat and promise; a promise of things to come. Once she was on his waist, she sat down, straddling him with a sigh.  He could feel her skin against his, warm and soft, but muscular.  She was strong, just as he'd known she would be.

And to finally have those legs wrapping around him-- he closed his eyes with a happy sigh, letting her have her way with him.

He felt her mouth touch his, but instead of a kiss, she took his lip between her teeth, as he'd done with hers, and sucked it into her mouth, nipping at it with her teeth as she splayed her body over his.

"Careful of your back," he warned her, sliding a hand down that very part of her body and lower, to her softly rounded behind.  She pressed her hips down on his stomach, sliding backwards a little, leaving a wet trail as she searched for friction, but, judging by the frustrated sigh she emitted, she was disappointed.

He ran his hands over her back and thighs, caressing and touching, sliding and tracing patterns along the back of her body with eagerly exploring hands.  He pressed her closer to him every chance he got, unable to get enough of touching her.  Opening his eyes, he pulled her face down to his.  Threading his fingers through her hair, he lightly brought her closer, touching his lips to hers.

"You're beautiful, you know that?"  He breathed in deeply, inhaling her scents, all of them.  Desire, sweat, the smell of her skin, which was salty and sweet at the same time.  He inhaled all of it before lowering her neck to his mouth.  A small amount of fear seeped into the air around her, making him even harder.  God, she was just... everything about her was turning him on, making him hard, spiraling around inside him.

Her skin beneath his lips was tangy.  He slid his tongue out, moving his lips wider to suck on the flesh in preparation for biting her.  His face changed, his eyes going wide as he realized what he was doing.

He shoved his face into her neck, hiding his vampire visage from her, hoping she hadn't noticed.  The level of fear rising from her didn't go up, so he was sure she hadn't gotten an eyeful of ridges and fangs. Shoving the persona away, he concentrated on her hands, sliding down his shoulders and arms.  One slid behind his head, encouraging him to... not bite her, not to taste her blood, but to taste her skin.

She moaned in disappointment when he pulled away from the enticing smell and feel of her neck.  "I thought vampires were supposed to *like* necks," she complained, her laughing eyes finding his.

"Normally, yeah," he agreed, leaving his explanation at that.  The feel of her weight on top of him was driving him wild.  He wanted to be inside of her already.  Had wanted that since before he'd reached her house.  Did he ever not want to be inside her?

These days?  No.

The Willow bot was his one saving grace, but now, not even that was enough.  He had to have the real thing.  All of her.

But what he wanted most, eluded him.

The sheet was still trapped between their bodies, keeping him from feeling her stomach and thighs, her breasts, everything he wanted to feel against his own skin.  He minded that a great deal, though she didn't seem to.

She hooked her legs back behind her, beneath his, wrapping her feet under his calves.  Sliding down a little, to where his erection was prominently displaying the sheet for all and sundry, she moved down until she came into contact with him.

"Oo," she breathed, her eyes flying to his when his hips jerked up.  She tightened her thighs around his sheet-enshrouded erection, forcing a gasp from him.

"We'll just get rid of this," he mumbled, reaching between them to pull the sheet free.

She shook her head, not moving enough to allow him to move it.  Her smile was eager and sexy, her eyes wide with lust.  "Not yet."

Okay, he could play her games for a little while.  But not long if his body had a say in it.

She moved again, sliding against him, lowering herself until she was splayed against him completely, shifting the sheet with every movement. It slid against the tip of him, the sides of him, every damn inch of his sensitive skin, forcing a gasp of discomfort and pleasure from his lips.

His fingers clutched tighter against her backside.

"Ooo, again," she gasped, making him smile lustily at her.  "I think--" she began in a whisper, looking over her shoulder at the tent he was pitching.  She cleared her throat and turned back to him with a cheesy grin.  "I think someone's happy to see me."

Spike rolled his eyes and grinned just as wide as her.  "I think someone was happy to see you before he even got here."

Her grin went from cheesy to sweet.  "Ya know, I think I kinda like this new you... well, not new, probably," she amended, frowning thoughtfully, sitting up on him a little, depriving him of her body.  "Probably just new 'cause I've never seen it.  You're always grr-this and grr-that when you--"

He growled, pressing her back down against him, flattening her body along his.  "Stay," he warned her when she tried to sit back up again.

"See?  Just like that," she continued, giving up trying to move.  She crossed her arms over his chest and rested her chin on them, smiling at him.  "I think my happiness lies with you," she told him with a far away look, working through something in her mind.  "She told me it wasn't with Tara anymore, so... makes sense, doesn't it?"  She sighed, returning her gaze to him.

She leaned forward, pushing herself up so that she could kiss him.

Her mouth settled over his, but only for a second before trailing a path down his jaw and neck, leaving him unsatisfied with the quick kiss.  She sat up a little, rocking against his hip, trying to get a little pleasure, but he could see it wasn't working.  For him, on the other hand, it was working maybe too well.

The sheet slipped and slid around him, creating the oddest sensations on his body.  The slightly rough fabric rubbed his sensitive skin the wrong way which was creating all the right sensations.

Her body was hot, warming him with each touch, every kiss.  Her hands slid down his arms, scratching his skin, then raised up to his chest, scraping down there as well.  He gasped, arching up again, wanting to be inside her.  The sheet was hot, transferring her body heat to him.  It was also wet in spots.

Her body was wet for him, ready for him to take her, but she wasn't taking that pleasure.  Wasn't allowing him to either.  She continued to rub herself on him, gasping when she managed to get a little friction going.

Lips descended to his, taking his mouth forcefully.  He clenched his fingers into her flesh, holding her against his erection.  His hips were arching more quickly now, seeking out the friction she was denying him, but finding it against the sheet and the elusive touch of her shrouded skin.

She panted on him, moving more quickly, lowering herself until she was able to slide completely along his body.

"Enough of the teasing," he ground out, thrusting into the air again, groaning in frustration when she moved away again.  Enough was enough. He wanted her now, and he'd damn well have her.  He wasn't going to allow himself to go off on the bloody sheet like a prepubescent boy having his first sexual experience.

She nodded, lifting herself enough to push the sheet from their chests and stomach, but that was all she did.  She laid back down, pressing her soft, warm skin against his own, flattening her breasts on his chest with a sigh.  Her teeth lowered to his lip again, biting and tugging it into her mouth as he attempted to lift her high enough to free the rest of the sheet, but she wouldn't let him.

"Use your imagination, Spike."

He didn't need imagination, he had Willow, and she was everything he craved.  But she wasn't letting him have it.  She trailed her lips down, shifting against his erection again, forcing him to grab her arms and hold her still.

The sheet was dragged against the tip of him and along the side while one of her legs brushed him, pressing down.  His hips jerked up again and he came, desperately trying to get the sheet free and slide inside her.  It didn't happen though and he ended up dirtying her sheets anyway, trying to calm his bucking hips beneath her.

She groaned in frustration, sliding herself along his sheet-covered thigh, gaining no pleasure for herself.

He felt her body sliding against his as he started to recover.  Not wanting to leave her unsatisfied, he grabbed her arms and sat up, turning with her in his lap.  "Grab the headboard," he told her, lying back as she frowned at him.  He threaded his hands through her hair, smoothing the sweaty strands from her face, motioning for her to grab the headboard.

"Why?" she asked suspiciously, crawling hesitantly up his body.  Her knees landed just outside his torso as she slowly moved up to his chest, but then she stopped, looking down at him in embarrassment.

He slid his hands down her thighs, which were on either side of his chest.  The smell she was giving off made his nostrils flare.  The heat and moistness seeping into his skin from between her legs was the most erotic thing he'd ever felt.  He'd never had a human like this.  Lifting his head a bit, he kissed the inside of her right thigh, darting his tongue out to taste her, but she wasn't close enough yet.

"I want to taste you, Willow.  More than anything, I want to feel you." He scooted his hands beneath her and gave her a little push.

Her arms raised slowly and her hands closed around the wrought iron headboard, gripping and un-gripping it a few times as she waited, biting her lip.  "Are-- are you sure you want to--"

He raised an incredulous eyebrow at her, unable to believe she had to ask.

She swallowed, moving higher on the bed, even with his head.  "And this, Willow, is at the top of the list of things you never thought you'd be doing," she mumbled to herself.

He chuckled, grabbing her left leg and hooking it over his head, looking up at what he'd been denied.  "Hang on," he said hoarsely, feeling her warm legs tighten and then loosen as she hung in midair, kneeling stiffly above him.

She eeped and squirmed around, but didn't move away, just looked down at him.

"Open," he whispered, closing his eyes at the smell wafting to him from so close.  All he had to do was slide a finger in, she was right there, waiting for his touch, trusting him not to hurt her.  But he wanted to taste her first.

He opened his eyes, which he was sure were flickering from human to demon, and growled low in his throat.

She spread her legs further apart, still waiting.  Waiting for the pleasure he was promising her with his eyes.

Sliding his hands back up her thighs, he slid them around to the inside, teasing and touching lightly, drawing little patterns on her flesh until he reached her hips and drew her down to his mouth.

At the first touch of his tongue on her, she gasped and jerked up.  "And again that scary part comes into it," she whispered as she lowered herself down to his mouth again.  She swallowed, relaxing over him as his tongue slid inside of her.

"I won't hurt you," he told her before sliding his tongue deeper into her wet heat.  She shuddered, quivering over him, stiffening up as he tried to press her lower, giving him better access.  "Relax."

"Little hard to do..." she panted, pressing down as he thrust his tongue inside her.  His lips worked against hers, his tongue tracing the outside of her, tasting her essence, tasting what she was.

He wondered if there was magick in there.  In every part of her body, in every pore, droplet of sweat, and in the hot moist center of her.  His arms hooked around her thighs, pulling her closer, spreading her wide with his fingers.  Her skin was soft on her thighs, rough inside her, and he was getting hard again.  She smelled and tasted so good.

He licked her and then slid a finger inside, opening her even more, flicking against her clit.

She shuddered again, grinding down on him rhythmically, sitting lower with each thrust.  "This is so wrong," she bit out, tightening her muscles on his finger and tongue.  "So very-- oh God," she gasped, her panting growing louder.

He darted a glance toward the door, keeping an ear out for approaching voices, steps, or heartbeats.  All remained silent as far as he could tell, but Willow was getting louder with each breath.

"Shh," he chuckled, flicking his tongue over her clit.  "Don't want guests right now, do we?"

"No," she ground out, "no, God no!  We don't," she practically yelled, pressing herself fully down on his mouth.

He lifted a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle her cries of ecstasy. He slid a finger inside her mouth to suck on at the same time as he slid his tongue deeper inside her, lapping at the delicious taste of her.

She bit down on his finger, forcing a growl of pain from him as well as a moan of his own kind of ecstasy.  It hurt, but felt so good, so right.

She sucked on his finger as she thrust her hips against his mouth, moaning and crying out, but in a much more muffled manner.  Seconds later, she threw her head back and screamed around his finger as she came.

He sucked on her flesh as much as she sucked on his, flicking her clit a few times with the tip of his tongue.  She tasted so bloody good.  So heavenly.

She shuddered on him, relaxing into his mouth.  Her hips jerked a few times as he blew on her, teasing her with his tongue.

Her muscles clenched around his tongue, her teeth scraping against his finger as he pulled it free.

She sank bonelessly to the wall, knocking the headboard against it once or twice.  He lifted her up, drawing her down beside him, tucking her against his side.  Her breath left her in a rush as she snuggled back against him.

"Mm, that was... wow and stuff," she mumbled tiredly, scooting back even further.

He was hard again.  And still wanting to be inside of her.  Sliding his hand down her side, he lifted her leg behind her, setting it on his as she sighed in contentment.  "Please," he mumbled, playing the gentleman as he leaned forward, whispering in her ear, "can I have some more?"

"More?" she yawned, covering her mouth with her hand before letting it drop to the bed in front of her.  "Already?"

"Vamp recovery time is faster than a human's."  He thrust his hips forward a little, letting her feel his erection against her entrance.

She looked over her shoulder at him, smiling crookedly.  "Wanna share some of that vamp recovery time stuff?"

He moved forward, kissing her lips lightly as he slid inside her body with a groan of pure pleasure, finally sheathing himself in her heat. "God," he ground out, feeling her tighten around him.  He draped an arm around her waist, hauling her back against him, moving deeper into her as she pressed back with her hips.  Careful not to jostle her back, he slowly and carefully moved inside her, building her pleasure as well as his own.

She was hot and wet, her muscles clenching around him.  A few mewling sounds came from her as he slid his hand down and caressed her clit. Her hand reached back to grab his leg, clutching it tightly as she began to move faster against him.  Her voice rose again, but this time, instead of sucking on his finger, she turned her head into the pillow, muffling her moans and whimpers, and eventually her scream as she came.

He lifted her leg higher, sheathing himself further inside her body, thrusting harder and faster with each stroke.  The feel of her body tightening around him pushed him over the edge and he followed her into orgasm, groaning into her neck.

She relaxed against him, sighing as she loosened her hand on his leg. His hand loosened from her waist, raising to trace patterns along her stomach.  He pressed a kiss on her neck, pulling her tighter against him.

~Part: 15~

Willow stretched her body as much as she could, reveling in the pain that was currently not showing up in any of her muscles.  It was good to wake up beside someone-- a someone who felt something sort of love-ish toward her.

That she felt sort of love-ish right back at him was nice too.

She relaxed against Spike's side, wondering when, and why, he'd raised her into a sitting position beside him.  She'd obviously been deep into her slumber.

He was sitting up with his back against the headboard, while she rested against his left side, facing his chest, that naked and muscle-bound chest she was growing really fond of.  Her head was tucked against his shoulder, her left arm stretched out across his stomach.

Had he draped and posed her against him?  Like a Barbie doll, she thought, stifling a giggle.

She could feel his muscles loosen and tighten as he moved, feel the softness of his skin beneath her own.  Her breasts were pressed against his chest, warming his skin with her own heat, giving him borrowed heat.  And--aw--his hand was resting on top of her head, holding it still for a kiss.

Double aw.

Spike was being so sweet and tender toward her.  Seeing this side of him compared to the hard-as-nails, always arguing, furious vampire she was used to seeing when he dealt with Buffy, she had a hard time reconciling the two personas.

He shifted against her the smallest bit, resting his cheek comfortably on her head while the flat of his hand rubbed up and down her arm. Holding herself still, she took stock of the situation and her feelings.

The situation was nice, and heck, she felt pretty good.  That worked for her.  She was satisfied with that.  Not to mention the feeling of Spike's nicely muscled arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly to him, his cheek still resting on her head... and the feel of his hand as it smoothed the hair back from her forehead.

"Tell me about Tara," he said quietly, startling her with the suddenness of his deep voice.  "What happened?"

Uncurling her fingers from where they'd clenched into his side, she started to push away to look at him, but he held her still.  Well, she could stay here if he wanted her to.  It was a nice place to be.  "What do you mean?"

There was a tiny thought that he was curious about Tara because he wanted to run to seduce her too.  Maybe he was making his way down the ranks of the Scoobies, from one end of the women to the next.  Seducing them all in his quest to-- okay, stupidest person of the year?  Willow Rosenberg, ladies and gentlemen, Willow Rosenberg.

"Why aren't you two still together?"  His hand slid down to her back, rubbing her gently up and down, smoothing the tired and sore muscles there.  "What broke the unbreakable lovebirds up?"

Unbreakable no more, she thought, though there was no sadness there anymore.  She'd come to accept the facts over the past week, and Spike had certainly helped in that regard.  He took her mind off of things that couldn't be changed, gave her something to think about besides the loss of Tara and the evil magick-crazed person she'd become for a while.

Not to mention the death she'd caused.

"Well," she said slowly, snuggling closer to his bare chest, cuddling against his hard body.  "A few weeks ago, Tara found a spell and she wanted to try it."

"I'm going to take a wild guess here and say... something went wrong?" There was no accusation in his voice, no blame or suspicion, which was unusual.

Whenever she mentioned spells, it seemed like everyone around her groaned and asked what she'd done wrong.  He wasn't technically blaming her.  Just... inquiring.  "No, nothing went wrong."

She pulled away from him, to be able to see him.  His deep blue eyes, eyes that she now knew were deep blue, were watching her with interest, and they only dipped down to her naked chest once.

Hurray for him.

"Nothing went wrong," she repeated, straightening up, keeping her back free of the sheets behind her.  She pulled the blanket around and draped it in front of her, shivering in the chilly air.  "Everything worked, it was all good.  Well, you know, except the part where Tara was hit with my magick... thingie, and knocked out."  She shrugged, not having any answers for that part of it.  "Once she started breathing again, she was fine."

His eyes widened in surprise.  "You hit her with magick and killed her for a few seconds and this is a spell that went *right*?"

She rolled her eyes in agreement, knowing he was thinking the same thing she'd thought at the time.  She'd done something big to screw up again. Only... looking more closely at him, she realized that he wasn't thinking that.  He was just curious, still not being blame-y.  "Yeah, I thought I screwed it up too, especially after we began to lose interest in each other."

"Knocked the feelings right out of you, did it?"  Okay, now he sounded skeptical.  His eyebrows raised in disbelief, his mouth twisting into a scowl.  "Don't do that spell on me.  Ever."

"I won't," she hurriedly assured him, looking up from where she was tucking the end of the pink blanket into the makeshift dress she'd fashioned on herself.  Plain and simple, but beautiful, dahlink.  "It didn't actually take our feelings away either.  They're still there, and probably always will be.  But we just..." she sighed, trying to think of the best way to describe the effects of the spell on them.

His hand lifted up, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear again.  He seemed to like to do that, and though it was nice, and kind of sweet, it was also bugging her.  She resisted the urge to pull the hair free from where it was tickling her jaw, and focused her attention on his hand as it dropped to his lap.  He raised one knee up, resting his arm on top of it as he waited, watching her with interest.

"Then why are you two not two anymore?"  His other hand, the free one, moved to the back of his neck, rubbing his muscles.

Her eyes followed his hand, frowning at the marks on his wrists.  "It took all the pleasure out of our relationship," she said absently, frowning even more when she saw his other wrist was in a similar condition.  "Where'd those bruises come from?"

"Hmm?" he said in confusion, glancing down at his wrists, which were ringed in bruises.  He raised his left arm to eye height, turning his wrist around in puzzlement.  "I don't-- oh, uh, you."  He chuckled at the wide-eyed look of blank surprise on her face.

"Me?" she echoed, shaking her head.  "I didn't do that."

"When I tried to leave," he reminded her, smoothing the back of his fingers across her cheek.  "You persuaded me to stay."

"Oh."  She hadn't realized she was gripping him that hard.  Huh.  She'd bruised a vampire.  A smile slipped across her lips, causing him to frown.  "Guess I don't know my own strength."

"Mm," he agreed, tracing his thumb across the arch of her eyebrow.  "So, the pleasure was gone, but everything else was still there?"

It took her a few seconds to figure out what he was talking about, but then she remembered their conversation.  The one they were having where they were talking and not just concentrating on touching.  "Oh, right. Yes, duh.  It was a Happiness Spell.  Supposedly, when done, the spell allows the people involved to feel the full extent of their happiness in all things.  All the time."

"So, you did the spell, and it took away the happiness rather than giving it to you?"  She nodded, causing him to tilt his head to the side in confusion.  "But you said the spell worked.  Sounds to me like it went poof."

Willow nodded some more, while staring at his lips.  Had they always been that kissable?  "It worked, but..." she sighed, turning around so that she could sit against his side, tucked comfortably under his arm. "The spell was-- um, instead of giving us all the blah, blah, blah, it took it away so that we could find the person we're meant to be truly happy with."  She shrugged, feeling his arm raise up with the movement. "At least, that's the way I took it.  I asked Diana--"

"Again with the Diana," he interrupted, wrapping his other arm around her waist, holding her in his embrace.  "Is this the Goddess Diana?  As in the Goddess of love and all that?"

"That's the one.  The condor feather spell?" she reminded him, tilting her head back to look up at him.  "That was for a spell to talk to Diana, to ask her what I did wrong."  Sliding her hand behind him, because it was simply more comfortable there, she cuddled into his side.  "She said I didn't do anything wrong, just that my happiness didn't truly lie with Tara."

He was silent for a minute, but when he spoke again, his voice was quiet.  "You think your happiness lies with me?"

She was sure she heard a small amount of hope in there, but she couldn't have.  Big bad vampires did not crave the company of little human witches.  It just wasn't done.

So, she played dumb.  "Um, no.  I-- no, why?"  Smart, real smart.  He wasn't going to suspect she was lying at all.  Nope.  She sighed softly, closing her eyes in aggravation at herself.  "Maybe," she admitted, cringing in anticipation of his response.

"Works for me," he told her, tightening his arms around her even more.

Willow nodded silently, wondering if he felt like he could possibly find happiness with her.  It'd be nice if he mentioned it, but he seemed content to hold her and stay silent.  "What about Buffy?"  He'd told her already that the feelings he thought he had for Buffy weren't what he'd thought they were at the time.  She believed him.  She did.  But, if there was a chance that that was going to change again, she'd rather know now.

His hand stilled on her back, his chest rising and falling with a single breath.  "You know," he said thoughtfully, "I think my Buffy-obsession was little more than misplaced feelings.  Told you before; Dru was gone, and I'd been with her my whole life, but for the first twenty or so. Harmony was a replacement body, nothing more."

She nodded, understanding what he was saying, and even feeling an affinity for him and his floundering.  Oz certainly had thrown her for a loop when he left, so she could understand how easy it was to want someone--anyone--so badly that he mistook that need for love.

She hadn't done that with Tara, but she easily could have.  "When you came to us for help, Buffy was all, 'punch first, demand answers later'.  And, oddly enough, you liked that?"

"No," he denied, "I didn't.  Hated it in fact.  But as time went on... Buffy became something in my mind.  Something untouchable, out of reach.  Forbidden--"

"--fruit," she finished for him, stretching her arms further around him, touching the tips of her fingers together around his waist.  "I know the feeling well, Grasshopper."  She tipped her head up, smiling at him. "Xander."

"Xander?"  He shook his head in confusion, looking a bit repulsed.  "I'm sitting naked here, love, don't bring *him* into the conversation. That's just..." he paused, shuddering in disgust, "gross."

"Gross?" Willow laughed, grinning at him.  "Spike, you've killed hundreds, even thousands, of people--" she stopped suddenly, frowning at the realization that what she'd just said was true.  Absolutely true. And that wasn't okay with her.

Her boyfriend was a mass murderer.

She sat up straight, moving nonchalantly away from Spike's side, pretending she wasn't running from him.  Pretending she was okay, and nothing was wrong, but she could tell that he knew.

He watched her carefully, through hooded eyes, as she wrapped the sheet around herself and stood up.  "I won't deny it," he told her angrily, pushing himself to his feet as well.  Only with less covers.  "I can't deny it, because it's true.  All of it, everything.  I've killed, I've enjoyed it... and if I had this blasted chip out--" he began, but then he suddenly clammed up, snapping his mouth shut.

"You'd still be killing," she finished for him, hating that he was confirming one of her biggest fears.  She nodded slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed to watch him dress.  He was so beautiful, and though she knew men didn't like being told that, she had to at least think it.

He was beautiful, and strong, and a killer.  Could she live with that? Could she forget that he used to suck the life out of people while they pleaded for help and begged him not to kill them?

She'd killed a man, she knew what it felt like to snuff out someone's life.  But she hadn't enjoyed it, and that's where they differed.

Spike paused in the middle of buttoning his jeans.  "Yes.  If I ever--" he sighed, finishing buttoning his pants as he walked over to her.  He looked down into her face, smiled a little as he reached a hand out to touch her hair, playing with the strands absently.  "When this chip is gone," he looked away for a second, "if it ever malfunctions?"  His eyes returned to hers slowly, a frown playing across his brow.  "I'm going to start feeding again.  But if you want me to, I can eat junk food."

"Junk food," she echoed, tightening the sheet around her.  "Junkies? You mean druggies?"  That so wouldn't be okay, it was still wrong.

What if one of them was a father of three?  Or a single mother who made some wrong choices?  That didn't make it right.

"Not druggies."  He dropped his hand to his side, his face tightening in anger at her lack of acceptance to his compromise.  "I meant murderers and rapists."  Stalking over to his t-shirt, he bent down, grabbing it from the floor to yank over his head.  "You told me--" his eyes went wide for a second, then narrowed.  His head shook in self-recrimination.  "Forget it."

"No."  She stood up, feeling like the wronged party in this whole thing.  "What did I tell you?  We've never talked about this, Spike. Ever.  So what could I possibly have told you?"

He shrugged, sliding on his socks and slipping his feet into his boots. "Doesn't matter."

Beg to differ, she thought, walking across the room to stand in front of him.  "Yes, it does.  The very fact that you kill people for fun is sort of a big turn off for me."  She moved past him to her dresser.  Yanking the top drawer open, she pawed through her underwear, searching for something to wear.  "I know I killed someone too.  And I feel-- horrible about it, but it needed to be done."  Grabbing a pair of nice, plain, white cotton briefs, she stepped into them and smoothed the sheet back down over her legs.   "You, on the other hand, don't kill out of need, you kill for fun."  Slamming her drawer shut, she opened the third one down on the right side, pulling out the first nightshirt she happened upon, which happened to be one with a giant cartoon cat on it, winking at whoever saw it.

She slipped it over her head, loosening the sheet from around her chest and letting it fall to the floor.  Turning around, she picked it back up and threw it at the bed as she neared it.

Spike was looking at her as if he just couldn't believe his ears. "Hello!" he yelled, "I'm a vampire.  I need blood to live.  Otherwise?" He held his hands out, mimicking a small explosion.  "Poof!"

"Pig's blood," she argued, planting her hands on her hips.  Not a favorite position of hers, and one she only used once in a great while, but Spike was aggravating her and she felt it was needed.  "You could continue to drink--"

"Swill," he ground out, narrowing his eyes on her.  "Would you give up every food you've ever liked to eat one very nasty type of food just to stay alive, Willow?"  He sat on the bed to tie his laces, glaring at her as he did so.  "Try eating a slice of bread for every meal for the next week and see just how much you like it."

"I could," she bluffed, knowing darn well she'd get sick of it after only a day or two.  When he put it that way, using logic and stuff, well, she could see his point.  And she didn't like it.  She dropped her hands to her sides, exhaling a long breath as she considered the man on her bed.  "Is it really that bad?"

He tilted his head at her in disbelief.  "What do you think?"

Dropping her eyes to the floor briefly, she sat beside him.  "I-- I don't know what to think."  She shrugged helplessly, furrowing her brow unhappily.  "I can't just say, 'Oh, go on, Spike, go kill, and have fun.  Be back by dawn.'  It's just... it's not that easy for me to accept."

"Yeah," he said quietly, his voice resigned, "I know.  I knew before I mentioned it."  Turning just his eyes to her, he looked at her curiously.  "And if I could kill again?  What then?"

She once again lifted her shoulders in a shrug, this one just as helpless as the last one as she folded her hands between her knees. "I-- I don't--" sighing in annoyance at her inability to answer him, she just shook her head, keeping her eyes trained on her thumbs, sticking up from between her knees.  "I think it's a good thing we don't have to worry about that right now."  Lifting her head to face him as a sudden thought struck her, she swallowed back a groan.  "We don't, right?"

He stared back at her, his silence speaking volumes.  "I should go. Buffy'll be home soon and I'd prefer not to run into her."  He settled his hands on his thighs and pushed himself to his feet.  Without turning back to face her, he walked over to the chair at her vanity table and picked up his duster.  "I won't be running into her, will I?"

"No," Willow whispered, blinking back tears.  She felt like such a hypocrite.  What right did she have to judge him when she was just as much of a murderer as he was?  Not in quantity, but the one life she'd taken weighed heavily on her soul, despite the necessity of it.  How could she possibly be with Spike knowing he was out killing every night?

The creak of leather drew her attention back to him.  She watched as he crossed to the window, sliding his arms into the duster as he went.  The bottom hem of the leather coat swished back and forth with every step he took.  And every step took him further and further away from her.

He slid the window up, turning to her at the last second before climbing onto the rooftop.  His eyes softened, the blue of his irises striking her even this far away.  "It'd be so easy to --" he closed his eyes with a sigh, shaking his head as he hooked an arm out the window, preparing to leave her.

And with a comment like that!  Without even finishing the thought.  She jumped up angrily, stalking over to the window.  "To what, kill me?" Crossing her arms over her chest, feeling a slight breeze blow through the window and kick up her nightshirt, she frowned at Spike, daring him to confirm her worst fears.

He chuckled bitterly, shaking his head as his eyes ran over her in disappointment.  "To fall in love with you," he said flatly, climbing through the window and disappearing into the night.

Willow stared after him, wanting to call out for him to stop, but not daring to.  It would be best if he left.  She couldn't have any sort of relationship with him, not if his chip was malfunctioning, and it would only hurt to prolong their time together.

But it was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to stop.  Even knowing he was armed and dangerous.  Even knowing he could very well have killed again already.  She stayed silent, listening to his fading footsteps crunching along the shingles.

She'd keep an eye out for news from Buffy or other demons to see if he was killing again.  But she wouldn't tell anyone.  Disapproving of his actions herself was one thing, telling the others, knowing full well they'd go after him to kill him... that wasn't possible.

Because, she'd already begun to fall in love with him, and she wasn't Buffy.  She couldn't willingly kill Spike, or be responsible for his death.  He was where her happiness lay.  A goddess had as much as told her so.

next