Order Now

Author: sinecure

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~Part: 6~

"Spike?" Willow said softly, her voice low.

He looked up from his book, seeing her standing in front of him, still dressed in the pink sweater and jeans.  He'd have to get her some new clothes, maybe pilfer a few of the real Willow's clothes.  "Hmm?" he inquired, going back to his book.

In the week he'd had her, she'd been a nice distraction to his Buffy obsession, throwing herself at him at every opportunity.  But it got old after a while.  Talk was in no way overrated.  Neither was a good book. The sex was all well and good, but it was getting to be all he did anymore.  Glory was out of the way now, and there was one less bad guy to worry about, so... now what?

Back to the old way of life.  With Willow-sex.  Lots of Willow-sex.  And though that was anything but undesirable, it did get to be annoying when one's life consisted of sleeping, waking up and having sex.  Patrolling, coming back home and having sex.  Having more sex, and then a little sex before sleeping again.

She moved closer, toying with the hem of her sweater.  "Shouldn't we go meet the others at the Magic Box?"

"No," he answered, lifting his book for her to see.  "I'm reading. We'll, uh... we'll go later."  Frowning as he looked around the crypt, he realized there was nothing interesting for her to do, and if he didn't find something for her, she'd eventually go seek out the others on her own.  He could only put her off for a while before she started wondering why he wouldn't take her there.  Or let her go herself.  "I'll pick you up some books later tonight.  Find something for you to--"

"Magick books?" she asked excitedly, dropping into his lap, startling him.  "I'd like that very much, Spike.  I love you.  You please me so much."

"Mm," he mumbled, letting her kiss him softly on the lips.  "Why don't you go watch the telly or something, love?"

She smiled widely, sliding her hand under his shirt.  "We could have sex.  I like having sex with you.  You're virile and have the stamina of a--"

"Willow."  He grabbed her hand from under his shirt and sighed.  "I'm reading.  Why don't you... oh, hey," he gasped, looking down at her hand currently caressing him through his jeans.  His eyes flickered to hers, seeing the sly grin working its way to her lips.  "Cheater," he whispered, leaning forward to nip her lip with his teeth.

"I don't cheat," she protested, "I only love--" her head went straight suddenly, her eyes losing focus.  They cleared a second later, and she tried to continue.  "I lo-- I lo-- I looooooooo--" her voice grew deeper, winding down as it ground to a halt.

Spike sat back and grabbed her head with his hands, holding it up. "Willow?"  He stood up, taking her with him, setting her gently on the floor, where she sagged completely, staring sightlessly at the chair in front of her.  "Willow?"

Guess she'd run out of power.  Huh, he'd forgotten about that.

Sighing in relief, he picked her up and carried her to the trap door in the floor.  Throwing her over his shoulder, he went carefully down the ladder and laid her on the small mattress he'd found a few days before. She flopped to the mattress, looking deader than him.  Her eyes stared sightlessly up at the ceiling, her body going completely limp.

Straightening her, hating that she looked so lifeless, he smoothed her hair back from her face and opened the panel in her stomach.  Pulling the big black cord from her insides, feeling like he was eviscerating her, he quickly plugged her into the wall socket beside his TV extension cord, and knelt beside her.

While she was sleeping, he should go out.  Get some clothes for her, some books, maybe a few spell ingredients for her to play with.  Didn't want her to think he didn't support her witchy abilities.  Chuckling, he climbed the ladder and shut the trap door, scooting his chair over to rest on it.  Just in case.

Books of the wiccan variety could be found in many places.  Giles' shop, the library, the college, Willow's house... Tara's room.  Anywhere just about.  However, he also wanted some advice on magick for someone just starting out.  He didn't actually think the Willow bot had any skills or magick in her, but it didn't hurt to be cautious.

So, he was headed to talk to Willow.  That he wanted to see her, the real her, didn't enter into it.  He knew she was fine, from Buffy, from Xander and Dawn, and everyone else he'd seen since Willow killed Ben. But he hadn't seen her in that time.

Not the real her.  She was... different from his bot.  He could immediately tell the difference between the two when he saw Willow sitting on the steps of Buffy's porch.  This Willow, even hurt and down in the dumps, had more life in her than the bot did on her best, most perky days.

Tossing his cigarette to the street, he stood and watched Willow unobserved for a few seconds.  She didn't look too bad off.  Her posture was a bit stiff and she winced once when shifting her feet, but as she rested against the brick pillar at the top of the steps, he knew she was healing.

He hadn't seen the damage himself, but according to Dawn it was, 'way wicked gross'.  And painful.

She was sitting in a pool of light from the house, the door wide open behind her.  Her eyes were closed, her head resting on the brick pillar.  Her loose white blouse was hanging a little too loosely on one side, exposing more than just her shoulders and arms to anyone who passed by.  Like him.  Stupid chit, baring herself to all and sundry. Rolling his eyes, he continued down the sidewalk and across the lawn.

"Nice show you got going there," he said loudly, startling her out of her reverie.  He stopped in front of the steps, shoving his hands in his duster pockets as she gingerly sat up straighter, frowning at him.

"What?"  She cleared her throat and looked around a little in confusion.  "It's going to rain."

"Right," he said in his own confusion.  "Is that due to you flashing the neighborhood?  Is it a rain ritual?  Show the world your goodies and it rains?"  He chuckled at her, motioning toward her blouse.

She looked down with a frown, and quickly fixed her shirt.  "Funny.  No, it's... no."  She looked up at him, sighing in... not annoyance this time.  That was a start, wasn't it?  "Buffy's not here."

He took the steps one at a time and sat across from her.  "Not here to see her.  I was looking for advice on magick.  Books specifically."  He sat facing her, one foot on the step, one on the porch, his back resting against his own brick pillar.  Pulling out a cigarette, he stuck it in his mouth before remembering he'd just had one.  Slipping his lighter back into his pocket, he left the unlit cigarette in his mouth, hoping it'd soothe the minor craving.

"Magick books?" she said, turning to face him slowly.  "Why?"

"A, uh, friend of mine is studying magick.  Thought I'd get her some books on it."  He slid his eyes past her curious ones and fixed them on the chairs to the side.  Peeling white paint and rusted metal.  Not as interesting as green eyes with a hint of hazel, but... sighing, he chanced a glance her way again.

She was watching him, still curious.  "Magick, uh, it's not really my area of expertise."  She laughed shortly, without humor and dropped her eyes to her hands.  "Obviously."  Spreading her hands out as far as she could with her sore back, she shook her head and shrugged.  "Behold the power that is Willow.  In all her supposed glory."

"What are you talking about?  Of course it's your area... it's-- it's your thing.  It's what you do."  He sat forward, taking the cigarette from his lips and setting it on the cement beside him.  "You're the witch of the group."

"I am."  She straightened up, leaning her back against the stone with a groan and a hiss.  "But I don't *know* enough about it not to screw up every... single..." she paused, shifting against the stone, "every spell I do."  She closed her eyes, hiding the pain from him, hiding the gasp, but not being able to hide the smell of blood.

"What are you doing?"  He climbed to his feet to yank her from the pillar.  She fell forward limply, resting against her knees, giving him a nice view of her bruised and bloodied back.  There were new scrapes and she was bleeding.  "Hey, I'm all for a spot of torture.  But self-mutilation is just plain stupid."

"Self-mutilation?" she laughed, her voice muffled by her hands and sweat pants.  "I'm not trying to hurt myself.  It's this stupid porch, it's not designed for invalids."  She sighed, scooting away from the pillar. "And, I forgot my shirt was, um, missing parts of it."

Spike was currently noticing that even more than a moment before.  His fingers, resting on her right shoulder, the only uninjured part of her back, tightened on the warm, bare flesh.  His other hand, pretty much of its own volition, traced lightly against one of the new scrapes, sliding through the warm, wet blood and going straight to his mouth.  "Your back's just... one giant bruise, isn't it?"

"What?"  Her voice was still muffled and low enough that he barely paid it any attention.  But the surprised tone did reach him.

She pushed against his hold, trying to straighten up, but he held her still for another second, just long enough to run his fingers over the scrapes again, scooping up a drop of blood.

"I said," he repeated, "your back's just--"

"--one giant bruise, isn't it?" she finished for him.  Turning to look over her shoulder, she noticed his finger in his mouth and shuddered a bit.  In disgust?  "I dreamed you said that."

He shrugged, feeling the haze of bloodlust settle over him more firmly. God, to be able to just tear into her throat and go at it... those were the days.  Realizing she was watching him, waiting for him to say something, he shrugged again and sat down, slipping his unlit cigarette into his duster pocket.  "It's not that strange a thing for a vampire to say."

"You also did that," she told him, nodding to his hand.  "Had an unlit cigarette and stuck in your pocket."

"It's not that strange a thing for a smoker to do."  Actually, it was. For him anyway.  He didn't obey non-smoking laws and such, so he lit up whenever and wherever he wanted to.  But tonight he didn't.  "You getting Buffy's prophetic dreams then?"

She shook her head, turning to look inside the doorway.  "No.  I don't get Buffy's... anything."  A small frown turned her lips down, her eyes losing focus for a moment before she shrugged.  "I just thought it was weird.  That's all."

He nodded, agreeing that it was weird.  But not enough to assemble the Scoobie Gang and have a meeting about it.  Still, it was a bit unusual. "What else did I do in this dream?" he asked, making sure to leer to cover up his real curiosity.

Her chuckle was less derisive than usual.  Less with the anger and fear.  "Well, there was a salve that Giles had you bring over, for my back, and there was nakedness," she said in a rush, hurrying right past that part.  "You said it smelled like the sewers and--"

"Willow, I whipped up... Spike.  Why are you here?"  Giles' voice held all the irritation Willow's hadn't.  And the derisiveness.  He held something in his hand as he stood in the lit doorway, scowling at Spike.

"You whipped what?" Willow asked, frowning at him, squinting at the jar in his hand.

"Yeah, Rupes, what is it that you whipped?"  He snickered loudly, making it clear what he was insinuating.

Giles rolled his eyes and sighed, stepping forward, toward Willow.  He ignored Spike completely.  "A salve.  For your back.  It smells a bit, I'm afraid, quite like the sewers, but..." seeing Spike and Willow's attention suddenly perk up, he frowned.  "What?"

"I dreamed that too."  She struggled to stand up.

Giles stepped forward and reached out a hand to help her up.  She accepted the help, but stood on her own after reaching her feet.

"Okay, that was weird.  If I sink into the carpet and end up in a pyramid, then I plan on freaking out.  Everyone okay with that?"  She headed inside, walking slowly.

Spike watched her, his eyes on her back.  It was beautiful.  So many colors and the blood... closing his eyes with a sigh, a sigh that held all his pent-up frustrations, he followed her to the doorway and tried to go inside, completely forgetting about being uninvited.

He bounced off the barrier, knocking himself back a foot.  Staring at the invisible thing keeping him from entering, he nodded, feeling the anger rising up in him.  "Right then.  I'll just--"

"Come in, Spike," Willow called back, ignoring Giles' frown and muttered protest.

"Sorry, love, that only works from someone who lives here."  He stepped back another foot, intending to go and beat on a few demons that were unlucky enough to get in his way.  "I appreciate the gesture, though." His glare fell on Giles.  "At least one of you's decent."

"I do live here," Willow tossed back, continuing her slow journey to the living room.

Spike glanced at Giles, noting the tense jaw, the narrowed eyes.  Ah, felt like home again.  Stepping cautiously toward the door, he put his hand where the barrier should be and felt no resistance.  Stepping over the threshold, he smirked his way past Giles and into the front room. "Thanks," he muttered, a little more respectful toward Willow than he had been to Giles.

He just... liked her more.

She tossed him a glance as she stretched a hand down, lowering herself to the couch carefully.  "Try to be nice, Spike."

"In other words, don't try to kill us," Giles interjected, his tone hard.

He was so tired of the threats.  Tired of needing to be told not to kill someone.  He got it.  And he couldn't do it anyway.  "I'll get a headache the size of Texas.  I'm not stupid."

"That's debatable," Giles said briskly, brushing past Spike like he was nothing more than an annoying house pet.  He set his small jar of salve on the coffee table and sat beside it, causing the wood to creak under his weight.  He faced Willow, his look one of disapproval.  "You shouldn't have done that, Willow.  This isn't your home, you don't know what Buffy--"

"He's here, isn't he?" she interrupted, gesturing toward Spike as he sat on the arm of the couch.

Spike glanced up briefly, looking away from her back, which he was in perfect view of.  Nice scenery.  "Means she does live here," he added for Giles' benefit.

"Yes, I know what it means," Giles said acidly, his imperious stare doing its level best to cut right through Spike.  "Buffy asked you to uninvite him for a reason."

"Yes, she did," Willow agreed.  "And then she trusted him enough to send Dawn and Joyce to stay with him.  I don't think she'll mind too much." She looked to the jar of green salve on the table.  "What is that?"

Giles sighed and grabbed the jar, twisting the lid off.  "An herbal salve I made for your back.  It should help heal it."  He got a whiff of it and twisted his face up in revulsion.  "Unfortunately, it stinks to high heaven.  I didn't take the time to pretty it up for you, sorry."

Willow shrugged, eyeing the jar of toxic-looking paste.  "That's, uh, that's okay.  I can handle stink."  When Giles scooped his fingers into it, her eyes opened wide and she moved backward a bit.  "You're not gonna put it on, uh, are you?"  She winced and looked up at him, biting her lip hesitantly.

Spike brightened a bit.  She didn't want Giles putting it on, and since he was the only other person around... looked like he'd be getting a little more touchy-feely from Willow.  "I'll do it," he offered.

"Well, yes, I was going to," Giles told Willow, wiping his fingers off on the edge of the jar.  He darted a glance up at her and noticed her fidgeting.  "Oh, does that bother you?"  He frowned, wiping more of the salve off the side of his index finger.  "I just thought... but that's all right.  I suppose it's rather an awkward... yes.  Okay, I'll just go wash this off."

"I'll do it," Spike said louder, standing up to take his duster off.  He threw it over the banister in the foyer and strolled back into the room, expecting Willow to be thanking him and smiling.  She wasn't.  She was frowning after Giles.

"Giles," she called as he started up the stairs.  Giles paused and she continued.  "I didn't mean to-- you're all father-ish, and it would be kind of icky."  She sighed and shrugged.  "It's a me-thing.  Nothing against you."

Giles chuckled and pushed his glasses up with an un-coated finger. "That's quite all right, I, um, I understand completely."  He laughed a little, sharing a cute little smile with Willow, bonding over their shared embarrassment.

But, hello, what about Spike?  He was standing there, waiting for someone to notice him, and allow him to rub stuff all over Willow.  He'd offered twice.  Once more and then he'd leave. He didn't need this.  He had his own Willow waiting for him at home... recharging her battery.

"I'll--" he began, seeing Willow roll her eyes in amusement.  Aha.  So she wasn't as unobservant as he was beginning to think she was.

"Okay, Spike.  Okay."  She twisted on the couch, turning her back to him.  "Rub me down.  In-- in a... non-sexual kinda way having nothing to do with anything in that, uh, that way."

"Lie down," he ordered, tilting his head to the side as he watched her. She was acting nervous.  Very nervous.  Was it fear or something more? And what was the babbling about?  Her heart rate was skyrocketing, about to take off into outer space.  Her skin was heating up as well, he could feel it even a foot away from her, and see the slight pale skin change to a pink hue.  "You okay?" he asked her, wondering if she'd hurt herself lying down.

"Fine," she mumbled, stretching out on the couch without moving too much.  "I'm good.  Are you okay?"  She chuckled derisively, groaning softly.  "Of course you're all right.  You're not hurt.  I'm the hurt one, and-- and... no, I'm fine."  She shoved her face into her crossed arms and groaned again.  "Shut up," she mumbled to herself, forgetting he had super hearing.

Spike kept himself from laughing, but just barely.  She did nervous so well.  Her heart rate, her pulse, the heat and color of her skin, all accompanying her bruised and bloodied back... he was in a place near heaven.  She shifted slightly, anticipating his touch, tensing her muscles.  He watched them move under her skin, raising it in spots, dipping down in others.

Grabbing the jar from the table, he unscrewed the lid and scooped out a fair amount of the green goo, working it between his hands to warm it a bit before slowly reaching down to touch her back.  Her skin, so soft and supple, was smooth and tender, scraped in a few spots, but very similar to the bot's.

"Oh, cold," she muttered, tensing some more.  "Very cold."

"Sorry."  His hands were cold, as much as the salve was, so they hadn't warmed it up much.  Lack of body heat and circulation did that to a person.  He smoothed his hands down her shoulders, rubbing the smooth goo into her muscles, but not pressing hard enough to cause discomfort. The heat from her back was warming his hands as they moved on her.

Shoulders, shoulder blades and down to her waist.  He repeated the movements a few times, rubbing in a fair amount of it as he went.  He was turned sideways, at an awkward angle, and he wished he'd told her to lie on the floor, so he could straddle her legs.  Not out of any wish to touch her more, but to have better access.

And the moon was made of cheese.

It was probably a good thing he couldn't straddle her, because he was getting turned on.  Being with the bot, essentially feeling this woman moving underneath him as he pleasured them both, seeing her face, hearing her voice as she came, God, it was a thing of beauty.

Hearing her tell him she loved him.  That was what always did it for him.  He was a sap and he knew it, but he couldn't help it.  He was, and forever would be, love's bitch.

This Willow, the real one, the one he was currently caressing with every ounce of enjoyment he could stand without stripping her and plunging inside of her... she was moaning softly.  With every touch of his hands, every stroke of his fingers on her back, she made a small sound in the back of her throat.

"That feels good," she mumbled, sighing into her arms.  "I could use a good masseur.  You free every day for the next thirty years?"

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss her neck before realizing what he was doing.  He jerked back into a sitting position, just as he heard footsteps on the stairs.  Thank God he hadn't kissed her.  Resuming his stroking in a business-like manner, he cleared his throat.

"Willow, are you insane?" Giles asked sharply, coming into the room. "He's--"

"Really, really good at this," she mumbled, moaning loudly when Spike worked the stiff muscles in her shoulders.  "What'd you put in this stuff?" she asked Giles, turning her head to look at him over her shoulder.

Giles moved around the table so he could see Willow better and watch Spike's hands to make sure they weren't going in places they shouldn't be.  "Nothing of any importance really.  Just a few demon scales, some ground up dried eye of newt, and, uh... sage," he finished quietly.

Willow stiffened suddenly, her eyes narrowing on Giles.  "You think I'm evil?" she asked softly, and Spike could hear the tremble in her voice.

"What's that about?" he asked, glaring at Giles for somehow causing Willow's sudden change in mood.

"Sage is used for cleansing evil," Willow mumbled, turning her head to the back of the couch so she wouldn't have to look at the accusation in Giles' face.

There was none though.  Spike could've told her that, but he didn't.  He stayed silent, letting Willow think the worst of Giles.  He frowned at his hands, still moving slowly along her back, feeling the tingling of medicinal things going to work, and had a horrible thought.  "Uh, hey, the sage won't effect me, will it?"

Giles snorted rudely and removed his glasses, taking a cloth from his pocket to clean them.  "No, Spike, your evil isn't the kind that can be ousted by a little herb.  More's the pity."  He sighed and replaced his glasses, squinting through them in irritation when they remained dirty. "And Willow, I put the sage in there for its calming effect.  It soothes tense muscles and nerves, promotes wisdom and cleanses evil."  He moved closer, frowning at her.  "Willow."

Spike tossed him another glare, hiding his smirk behind a concerned frown.  "Haven't you done enough?"  Maybe, if he was lucky, Willow and Giles would argue and then Giles would storm out and leave him alone with her.

To do what? he wondered suddenly, sitting up straighter.

What the hell was he thinking?  He had enough women on his plate to try to tempt Willow into bed with him too.  Even if she did smell good. Although, there was no cinnamon and apple this time, he realized. Leaning down a little, hoping Giles didn't notice him surreptitiously sniffing Willow, he turned his head to look out the window and inhaled slowly, closing his eyes to concentrate.

Not cinnamon and apples, definitely not that this time.  But what was it?  Sort of... vanilla-like.  Scented candles?  Shampoo?  Soap?  What the hell was making her smell the way she did?

"You're done, Spike."  Giles' voice cut through Spike's concentration, making him remember where he was and what he was doing.

Good thing too, because his hands were getting a little close to her breasts.  Clearing his throat, he nodded, standing up and heading toward the foyer.  "Gonna... wash up," he muttered.  Taking the stairs two at a time, he hurried down the hall and into the bathroom, washing his hands as fast as inhumanly possible.  Drying them on the pink towel on the rack, he turned to the shower and inspected the bottles.

Uncapping and sniffing each one in turn, he found Dawn's shampoo and conditioner as well as her soap and moisturizer.  And Buffy's as well. As tempting as it was to steal Buffy's, he left them there and spun around, looking for Willow's things.  She'd showered recently, but not in here.  He could only smell a faint hint of her in this room.

If she was living here, she was staying in Joyce's room, right? Quietly, stealthily, he made his way down the hall, hurrying as fast as he dared.  Joyce's door was open.  He stepped inside, smelling Willow all over the place.  Soap, shampoo, sweat, blood, tears... and an elusive scent that was all hers, but he couldn't identify it.  It was just... her.

Skirting around the bed, he darted into the bathroom, taking note of all the bottles of shampoo and conditioner he spotted.  He'd buy them for his robot, and the soap too.  Vanilla-scented.

He picked it up and sniffed, frowning when he smelled lilac, not vanilla.  What the hell?  Where was that smell coming from then?  The shampoo was some flowery concoction and the conditioner was the same. Bloody hell.  Perfume?

He went back into the bedroom and moved toward the door, listening for sounds of someone approaching, but all was quiet except for Giles and Willow talking.  Their heartbeats were faint and distant still, so he was safe for the moment.  On the dresser was an array of perfume bottles, but he could tell without even nearing them that none of them were what she'd used.

Spinning around in frustration, he sighed and headed back out, but stopped halfway to the door.  Yanking open the top drawer of her dresser, he dug through the clothing inside.  Panties and underwear.  Nice.

Stuffing a pair of lacy red panties and matching bra into his jean pocket, he knew he'd never get away with it.  There was a big bulge in his jeans, making him look way too happy.

Window.

Grabbing a blouse from the closet, he tossed them out the window, hoping they landed on the ground rather than the roof.  Be a bit of a bother to explain to Buffy or Willow or Dawn why he was walking along their roof if he was caught.

Walking quickly out of the room and down the hall, he prided himself on being sneaky.  Nothing like a bit of theft and deception to put him in a good mood.  Except blood.  But this was good too.

Taking the stairs down with a bounce in his step, he paused, listening to the conversation before rejoining them.  They were quietly talking. Actually, Willow was sniffling and crying while Giles did his best to calm her down.

"Like to make the girls cry, don't you?" he tossed at Giles, loving the furious glare that was aimed his way.  Ah, felt almost like old times.

"Oh, do shut up," Giles ground out, still glaring at him from his spot on the couch beside Willow.

She sniffed once or twice and stared at her hands, which were sandwiched between her knees.  "Spike," she began, looking over at him.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he sighed, "Spike, quit being annoying."  Well, it was time to make his exit.  He had clothes to pick up, shopping to do, and a robot to check on.  He'd gotten in some quality Willow-rubbing. Not a bad night at all.

"Uh, no," Willow said in confusion.  "Ac-- actually I was going to thank you, but since you probably don't want to hear it, with you being evil and all, then I won't.  But I do."

"You do?" he asked, frowning at her.  She was thanking him?  Well, didn't that beat all?  He rarely, if ever, got thanked for doing something.  Let alone something so simple as rubbing ointment on someone's back.  And enjoying it as he did so.  "Do what?"

"Thank you."  She shrugged, wincing a little at the movement of her shoulders.

"Oh.  Well, good.  I mean, you're welcome."  He was a vampire; he didn't do niceties.  It wasn't his thing.  If she needed someone to tear a throat out and bring body parts back to her, he was the man for the job, but thanking people?  It was actually kind of nice though.  Felt good. "I'm going now.  Uh, where's Buffy?" he asked on his way out.

Didn't want to run into her somewhere carrying Willow's stuff.  She was nosey and was bound to find them no matter where he put them on his person.

"She said something about another woman being killed in the park near Ridge," Willow said absently.

Spike stopped his retreat and turned around, raising an inquiring eyebrow at Giles.  "Another one?"

Giles nodded, telling Spike with just his eyes that Willow still didn't know.  "Possibly.  I saw the taped-off area on my way home from here and got a glimpse of a dead woman.  So I sent Buffy to find out."

"Find out what?" Willow asked, looking curiously from one to the other. "Are we thinking vampire?  Or something worse?"

"Something worse," Giles and Spike said in unison.

~Part: 7~

"Remember the spell I was doing before the magick dust?" Willow asked, sighing as she tried to settle back against the couch cushions.  Finally giving up on that, she rested her arm on the arm of the couch and propped her head in her hand.

"Not the specifics, since you never told me that part, but yeah.  The condor feather one."  Spike sat back down in front of her, taking Giles' previous seat on the coffee table.

Giles had left a few minutes before, heading off to the magic shop. He'd glared pointedly at Spike, waiting for him to take his leave as well, but Spike had decided he didn't want to go yet.  A witch hunter was out there and Willow wasn't in tiptop shape at the moment.  She could do with a little protection.

Giles pulled Spike to the door with him and told him that he could stay until Buffy returned.

Wow.  Wasn't that spectacularly kind of him?

Spike had imagined planting his fist in Giles' face, watching as blood poured from his broken nose, dripping to the floor in a beautiful red gush.  Oh, what nirvana.  The image drifted away as Giles slammed the door shut, but the feelings he'd invoked in Spike didn't.  He was furious at the assumption that Giles could tell him to do anything.

He was his own bloody person.  In charge of himself and the people around him.  He was... not in the best shape himself, just like Willow. When he got his chip out, then he'd make the pathetic ex-watcher pay. Until then, he headed back into the front room with Willow.

"Giles did some research on the spell and the ingredients I used."  She shrugged, gazing past him to the room beyond.  "Apparently Lornack eyes are no longer offered to gods and goddesses because it gets them drunk. Or drugged.  According to Giles, wars and disasters have taken place due to the offering of Lornack eyes."

Spike shrugged, wondering where she was going with this.  His mind was still stuck on the witch hunter out there, killing witches for their power.  Burning holes in their foreheads to suck the power out and then leaving behind a dead husk of a person.  If this latest girl was killed the same way, she'd be the third.

Why weren't they protecting Willow better than they were?  Why did they let her sit outside on the porch, alone, unaware of what was out there?

"I didn't know.  Giles said the book I got the spell from was an old one, so it didn't have a warning.  The only reason he knows now is because he's done research on it since I killed Ben."

"Killed Glory," Spike corrected absently, wondering if he should tell her about the hunter.  Forewarned was forearmed.  If she knew about the threat, she could protect herself, right?  Why were they keeping her in the dark?

And why in bloody hell did he care so much?

Because she smelled good wasn't going to cut it.  Even if it was real nice.  He obviously cared about her.  Obvious if he wasn't a stupid, ignorant vampire obsessed with one woman and the smell that was coming off of this one.  What the hell was that?

When she sat straighter, moving forward to stretch her back with a sigh of discomfort, he inhaled subtly.  There it was again.  Vanilla.

"How do you do that?" he asked suddenly, interrupting her musing. "Where is that coming from?"  He was going to go insane trying to figure out how she got herself smelling like vanilla one day and apples and cinnamon the next, without external rubbish like perfume.

"Do what?" she asked slowly, tearing her eyes away from the far wall to look at him.  To say she looked confused was a huge understatement. Lost adrift in a sea of confusion was closer to the truth.

"Smell like that," he said in frustration, leaning closer to sniff again.  Definitely vanilla.  With a hint of something else.  Bloody hell!  "What is that smell?"

"Oh."  She sat forward a little, looking past him at something as she dropped her hands to her lap.  "Um, the salve?"  She darted a quick look to the table, raising her eyebrows in question.  "Giles made it.  You, uh, you don't like that smell... do you?"  She shuddered, crinkling her face up in disgust.  "It's really gross."

She was so close to him now.  So close.

"Not that," he said in dismissal, his eyes dropping to her neck.  It was there, on her neck.  He inhaled deeply.  There it was, so sweet and tasty smelling.  He wanted to taste it, to taste her.  She was absolutely delicious smelling.  "You.  You smell like... vanilla," he mumbled, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

"I do?"  She lifted her eyes to his, frowning at him as he leaned forward again.  She looked a little fearful.

When her eyes dropped to his lips, he amended that thought.  Not fearful.  Huh.  Her heart started to speed up again as her eyes raised back to his.

He nodded, swallowing thickly, resisting the urge to kiss her even though he really wanted to.  More than anything.  Without even realizing it, he was reaching for her arms, drawing her closer as he sat forward. Her eyes dropped again as he turned his head to the side, sniffing instead of kissing her.

Her breath caught in her throat and he knew she'd been expecting him to kiss her.  Maybe even anticipated it.  His cheek touched hers, his eyes dropping to her lips now.  They were right there, so close to his own. He licked his lips, resisting the urge with all his waning willpower.

She sucked in a breath, her body shuddering lightly.  Her small, white teeth nipped at her lower lip, drawing it into her mouth to worry at it as her breath left her in a sigh.

"Let me get that for you," he whispered, giving in.  Pressing his lips to hers softly, he pulled at her lower lip with his own teeth, drawing the flesh into his mouth.  Sucking on it gently, he slid his tongue over her lip and then into her mouth.  She drew in another breath, sighing it out as he slid his hands down her neck and shoulders to slip around her back.  Careful not to hurt her, he slipped his palms along her flesh, sliding his thumbs under the cloth covering her breasts.

His teeth worked at her lip a little more before opening his mouth on hers completely.  Her tongue slid along his lip, then met his and pressed against him.  One of them moaned and he couldn't be sure who. He wanted to moan, he wanted to pick her up and set her on his lap, to press her against his hardening erection.  To drown in her scent as well as her body.

Instead, he drew away, staring down at her as he sucked in a breath. Holy... something or other.  She'd gotten him hard from a kiss.  A single, bloody kiss.  Hard? he nearly laughed, he was more than hard. He had a raging hard-on and felt like he'd just gone ten rounds with a Trunkle demon.  And the smell was still there, still wrapping around him, drawing him toward her.

She opened her eyes only now, exhaling sharply as he grabbed her arms again and pressed his mouth to hers.  There was no softness this time, no gentleness.  With all the force he could muster without hurting them both, he kissed her, thrusting his tongue between her lips to explore the soft recesses of her mouth.  His teeth nipped at her lips, his tongue thrusting against hers, tangling with the flesh with abandon.

She moaned, and this time he was sure it was her, because he was too busy growling low in his throat to moan.  Her hands planted themselves flat against his chest then gripped his T-Shirt, fisting in the black material, stretching the fabric as she pulled him closer, straining toward him.  Her mouth worked against his just as feverishly as his was, opening wider with each breath as they tried to devour each other.

Something was happening to him.  His hands, frantically working at the knot of her shirt, trying to untie it from her waist, were starting to tingle.  His lips felt numb, but so full of pleasure.  His breath was coming in pants, his whole body felt... energized.

Freeing the shirt finally, he slid his hands beneath the material, cupping her breasts with a sigh.  She arched into his hands, moaning louder when he rubbed his thumbs over her nipples.  She clawed his chest, clenching and unclenching her fingers.  He stood up, shoving the table back with his foot and knelt on the floor, taking her with him. Popcorn crunched beneath him, smashing into the carpet.

Settling her on his lap with a satisfied groan, he was pleased to feel her wrap her legs around his waist with only a minor groan of discomfort.  Sliding his hands up to her cheeks, he pulled back a little, looking down into her heated face, into eyes filled with desire.  "Why do I want you so much?" he whispered to himself, frowning at her.

Her eyes widened and she climbed off his lap, crying out in pain as she scrambled away from him.  She turned away, leaving him not just empty without her, but feeling alone as well.  Climbing to his feet, he stared at her back, feeling a surge of desire shoot through him at the sight.

"You're gonna turn into Ben," she whispered, her shoulders dropping in defeat.  "You're-- you're gonna become a decomposing, Glory-hair wearing, Ben corpse."

Spike burst out laughing, wondering where she'd come up with that image.  "I don't have any plans to do that soon."  He stepped closer, intending to touch her back, to slide his hand along the smooth, bruised flesh, but he halted his hand a few inches from her.

"I dreamed this too.  I--" she spun around, wincing and then rolling her eyes in irritation.  "You were more naked though.  You turned into Ben. Rotting and decomposing, and the table was out there too.  The popcorn."  Her breathing was slowing down from their frantic making out session, but speeding up as well from panic.  "What's happening?"

"Maybe it's a part of the magick.  Left over from that night."  He stepped closer, moving to stand in front of her when she tried to sidestep him.  "What else happened in the dream?  Anything we need to worry about?"  He chuckled lowly, raising an eyebrow at her.  "Am I gonna suddenly sport a tutu and dance the Nutcracker?"

She shook her head, a smile threatening to creep up her lips.  "No, but if you suddenly find yourself in a fluffy yellow towel..." she shrugged, smiling lopsidedly, "don't say I didn't warn you."

He chuckled in amusement.  "Thanks for the warning--"

"Why did you kiss me?" she asked, frowning again.  "Why did I let you kiss me?  Why with the-- the touching and the..." she looked down at her hands.  "You should probably go.  I'm tired."  She sat on the couch, dropping stiffly to the cushions with a sigh.  "Thanks again."  Her head shot up, her eyes darting away from his quickly.  "Not for the kissing... but the, um, salve.  And-- and, I should go.  You're tired. I mean.  Um, I'm tired, you should go.  So, I'll see you."  She looked up, smiling and nodding, bobbing her head up and down, straining her lips to the edges of a smile that was quickly turning into a grimace.

He nodded, agreeing with her wholeheartedly.  He should go.  Walk out the door and leave her behind, leave behind that smell that was once again drifting toward him.  Instead, he pushed the table back to its rightful position and headed into the kitchen for the trash can.

He heard her exhale sharply and quickly draw in another breath as he rooted under the cabinets for the trash.  It was under the sink, along with a dust buster.  He had to do something.  He felt like he needed to stay there, to protect her.  To clean up to keep Buffy from knowing he'd just--

Dropping the trash can to the floor and the dust buster to the table, he paced away a few feet and returned.  Okay, so he'd made out with Willow.  Big deal.  He had a Willow robot at home that he'd had sex with too many times to count, why was this any different?

Well, that was bloody obvious.  This Willow was real.  A real human being with real friends that could kill him.  With real weapons.  And he was supposed to be in love with her best friend.  Not her.  Willow was just... someone to use.  That's all she was.  He could use her and be done with it.  Like a plastic cup.  Use her and trash her.

Nodding to himself, he grabbed the trash can and dust buster, heading back into the front room.

As soon as he saw Willow, kneeling on the floor, gathering the crushed popcorn into a pile on the carpet, he knew he was lying to himself.  He could never do that to her.  Not anymore.  She was someone he cared about, wanted, needed.  As soon as he cleaned this mess up and Buffy returned home, he would head to his crypt and have fantastic sex with the substitute Willow waiting for him.

Without looking up, Willow pushed a few more pieces of white into her small pile.  "You've got a dust buster in your hand, don't you?"

Spike glanced down at the small red vacuum as he set the trash can beside the couch.  "Yeah."

"Dreamed that too."  She scooped her pile of popcorn into her hands and dropped them into the trash can.  "So, what, I'm Psychic Girl now? Precognitive Girl?"  She brushed her hands off and held one out for the dust buster.

He started to hand it to her, but thought it might be quicker and easier if he did it himself.  "I've got it.  I can move better than you."

"You're a lot nicer than dream-you," she said absently, climbing to her feet with a groan.  The ends of her blouse trailed down her sweat pants, hanging loose.

His eyes automatically moved up, trying to get a glimpse of flesh he'd felt and could still feel in his palms.  The bot paled in comparison to the real thing, but she'd have to do for now.  Dropping his eyes to the floor, he knelt down and turned the small vacuum on, running it across the floor.

Smashed and crushed pieces of popcorn got sucked into the small appliance, leaving behind the smell of burning kernels.  The humming of the vacuum kept them from making small talk, for which he was somewhat grateful.

What could he possibly say to her anyway?  'Sorry I kissed you breathless and came *this* close to shagging you sore.'

Once the floor was shining and sparkling like new, as much as a carpet could, he took the trash can and dust buster back to the kitchen and put them away.  Turning the water on, he absently washed his hands and rinsed them, taking his time as he thought about what to do next.  He didn't feel like talking and was positive that if he went back out there and sat down, Willow would want to talk.

To ask him what the hell he'd be thinking.  Since he couldn't answer the question for himself, he had no hopes of answering it enough for her. So, he dried his hands off and quietly headed into the foyer to grab his cigarettes from his duster.

He tossed a look into the front room, seeing Willow in the same spot as she'd been before, staring at nothing.  Doing nothing.  Her left hand was playing with the fingers of her right hand, but other than that... she'd zoned out sometime ago.

Taking his pack and his lighter out front, he sat on the porch and lit one, inhaling deeply to rid himself of the smell and taste of Willow. The nicotine entered his lungs, filling them with noxious black smoke and it wasn't enough.

He could still smell her.  Still taste the unique flavor of her lips and her mouth.  It was so different from the bot. From Harmony and Drusilla.  Different even than Buffy from when they'd been engaged.  Quite a few lip-locks had happened during that one fateful night, and he still had the memory of her taste imprinted on his mind.

But Willow was different.

Sweeter, saltier, more.  Everything about her was just more than any other woman he'd been with.  And that's what had him worried.

He bent his knees, resting his elbows on his thighs as he stared at the house across the street.  A shadow walked in front of the lit window, pausing briefly to peer out the faded gold curtains.  The old guy continued on his way, leaving the curtains swaying a bit as Spike pondered the mysteries of his attraction to Willow.

Willow listened carefully for the sound of Spike's return, wondering if she was more anxious for him to come back, or not come back.  Either way, she was on edge right now.

Kissage.  Spike kissage.  What the heck was that about?  Having just recently admitted to herself that she found him attractive did not give her the right to practically attack him at the first provocation.  Sure, there'd been circumstances and reasons for what happened, not the least of which seemed to be his obsession with the way she smelled, but she was not allowed to just... make out with the first person to come along.

Pushing herself to her feet, she slowly made her way to the foyer.  Her back felt rather numb and tingly, not as painful as it'd been earlier. Most of the pain was gone, from the salve she figured, and so she was going to take advantage of it and go upstairs.

As she passed the open front door, she glanced at Spike's back, watching him smoke his cigarette.  He rolled his shoulders back and tilted his head to the side, cracking his neck.  As she passed, he turned his head to look at her, his face hidden in shadow.  She had no clue what he was thinking and would rather not know at this point anyway.

Probably regret.  Or boredom.  Had she bored him?  Was she not sophisticated and worldly enough for him?

Was she going to ask herself stupid questions all night?

Sighing lightly, she continued to the stairs and slowly went up them, feeling every muscle working to make her move.  A couple of groans escaped her, even when she tried to bite them back.  He most likely thought she was a big wimp for complaining so much about her pain but... this was the worst she could remember ever feeling.

Coma withstanding.

The ends of her shirt, hanging down to her knees, brushed along her thighs with each step she took, reminding her just how wanton she'd acted.  Throwing herself at him like a hussy.

Rounding the stairs, she headed toward her room, wondering if he'd even wanted to kiss her.  Maybe he thought she wanted it and just didn't want to be rude.  She had wanted it and been disappointed when he didn't kiss her the first time, but not if he was only--

"Oh, stop it," she ground out angrily.  "You're an idiot, you know that?"  Rolling her eyes at herself, she pushed open her new bedroom door, looking around for the books she'd come upstairs for.  Aha.  On the bedside.  Dawn had borrowed the books and only just returned them this week.  Across the hall was much easier to remember than across town.

She smiled a little, remembering Dawn's impossibly wide grin when she brought them over.

The smile left her face when she remembered why Spike wanted them.  His 'friend.'  She suspected it was more along the lines of 'girlfriend' but she wasn't positive.

Well, one more reason to heap on the pile of wrongness.  Spike had a girlfriend.  And Buffy.  He didn't have Buffy, but he loved her.  It was a huge wall being thrown up between them even if there weren't a hundred others.

Glancing down at the three books, all looking well-read, she sighed. "Kiss the boy, then give him things for his girlfriend... yeah, that's normal."  She picked them up and headed back downstairs.

He was still outside, the door still wide open, but he was turned to the side now, like he'd been before, when she was out there with him.  His back was against the short brick pillar, his knees bent, his head turned toward her.  His eyes, no longer in shadow, followed her slow progress down the steps, moving from her face to her hands.  The books.  She was sure she saw a smile touch his lips, but it was gone when she blinked.

"You, uh, still want them?" she asked, holding them out a bit.  She settled her feet on the floor and sighed with relief.  Stretching and bending was not doing a lot of good for her at the moment.  In the long run, yep, but currently, with the pain and stuff, nope.  She went outside, walking across the cold concrete toward him.

"Yeah."  He left his cigarette between his lips and reached up for them, squinting through the smoke at the titles as he shuffled the books. "You shouldn't be out here," he told her absently.

His voice was offhanded, but his look wasn't.  He surveyed the neighborhood, searching for bad and evil things out to... do what?

"Why not?"  She moved to the steps, intending to sit down, but he stood up quickly and tossed his cigarette to the sidewalk below.  Grabbing her arm, he moved her slowly back in the direction of the door.  "If you didn't want me out here, you should've just said..." she trailed off in embarrassment when he followed her inside and shut the door, locking it tightly.  "What's going on?"

"Nothing," he denied, tossing the books on the coffee table and dropping into the chair across from the couch.  He stared at his boots for a minute, then jumped up in irritation.  "Turn around."

She looked over her shoulder, wondering what he wanted back there.  His fingers brushed against the skin of her back, causing an un-pain-related hiss to escape her.  But he was only tying her blouse.  His hands lowered to the strips of white cloth dangling by her hips and lifted them to her back, tying them loosely to rest against her waist.

Before moving away, he trailed his palms across the expanse of her back and dipped down to kiss her neck, exhaling against her skin, raising goose bumps.  A shiver of desire worked its way through her, forcing breath out of her lungs.  She gasped back in again, and stepped forward, away from him.

"Th-- thanks."  She dropped to the couch with a sigh, grabbing the remote quickly and flipping the TV on.  She needed something besides Spike to concentrate on, and though she doubted the TV would hold much of her interest, she was grateful for the noise it provided the silent room.

"Welcome," he muttered back, lifting his feet and propping them up on the coffee table as he turned his attention to... oh, not the TV.  It was on her.  His eyes were on her.  Unnerving her.

Making her really nervous.  Why was he staring at her?

She tried hard to ignore him, deciding to flip through the channels, but her eyes kept trying to slide to him.  He hadn't moved since sitting down, and it was really creepy that he could hold still like that.  He'd make a great statue.  Certainly had the physique for it.  And the pale skin that resembled marble.

She gulped quietly and pressed the down button on the remote, reaching for her water to quench the sudden thirst she had.  The remote slipped out of her sweaty palm and dropped to the floor.  Her water teetered on the brink of taking a dive, but stayed upright.  She wrapped her fingers around the neck and sat back with it, uncapping it slowly, so as not to seem too anxious beneath his watchful gaze.

The sound from the TV entered her mind as she twisted the cap. Moaning.  Lots of loud, sexual moaning.  And kissing.  Her eyes darted to the TV screen, taking in the naked couple onscreen as they bumped and grinded against each other.  Her eyes widened and her mouth went even drier.

Oh, dear God.  There were breasts and legs and-- and a whole smorgasbord of body parts being artfully displayed.  In closeup.  She was pretty sure she squeaked in embarrassment before scooting forward on the couch to pick the remote up from the floor.

A short, quick look in Spike's direction found an amused glint in his eyes, and a smile on his lips.  And he wasn't helping her in her quest for the remote.

She sat further forward and bent over completely.  "Ow!" she yelped before she could stop herself.  Tears of pain sprang to her eyes, but she got the remote.

Spike's boots dropped to the floor and he stood up, sitting beside her by the time she straightened up.  "Is it really worth all that?" he asked with a shake of his head.

She clicked the TV off, nodding frantically, eyes wide.  "Yes."  A giggle threatened to escape her, but she managed to hold back.  What was it with her evenings with Spike?  They were always filled with sex and nakedness and her nervous laughter.

He sat back beside her, his arm brushing against hers, his jean-clad leg resting against hers.  He took the remote from her and turned the TV back on.  More loud moaning burst through the speakers, followed by an exultant scream of ecstasy from the woman in the movie.  She was panting and gasping and-- thankfully Spike changed the channel.

She had no clue what was on, and what he settled in to watch.  A show. About something or other.  Or it could've been a movie.  Maybe a music channel.  Her whole mind was stuck on him and his close proximity.  She hadn't felt this nervous since high school.  Her whole attention was on Spike, her eyes on his leg, which was right next to hers.  Her ears heard only his chuckles and the occasional breath he took in.

All she felt was him, the coolness radiating from his body, seeping into hers.  The fabric of his shirt sleeve brushing against her bare arm when he shifted.  And the smell of him.  Cigarettes, not the best smell, but it was Spike.  And something else, something... earthy.  Spicy.  Like cologne.  Did he wear cologne?

Maybe it was soap.  Or shampoo and conditioner.  Perhaps it was the gel he used in his hair, which she knew he had to use.  No way did it stay slicked back like that without help.  Maybe it was shaving cream or aftershave.

Or, maybe she was obsessing over something that didn't concern her.  He had a girlfriend.

An overabundance of women to choose from too.  True, Drusilla had left and Buffy wouldn't give him the time of day, but clearly others found him attractive.  Even Harmony would probably come running back if he gave her any kind of encouragement.  And now she herself was beginning to succumb to his charms.

If she did, would that make her a vampire ho?  Or him?  It was all too confusing.

She snickered quietly, hiding her laughter behind a cough.  He glanced at her, raising an eyebrow curiously, knowing full well she was laughing, but having no idea why.  And for once, he didn't ask, just sighed and went back to his TV-watching.

A few minutes later, he glanced at her and did a double-take.  "Your nose," he said, reaching a hand out toward her.

She jerked back, having no clue what he was talking about.  "What are you doing, playing 'got your nose'?"  His laughter soothed her fear, his amused eyes and smile lessening her tension.

"It's bleeding.  I just--" he stopped, looking around before coming up with the box of tissues Giles had placed there earlier.  "Here."  He pulled a few free of the heart-covered box, handing them to her.

"Thanks," she mumbled, raising one of the tissues to her nose to blot away the blood.  Her mind, for one tiny second, thought about letting him have the blood, but there were so many things wrong with that, not the least of which was the ew-factor.  And the embarrassment of offering a cute guy her nose blood.  A cute guy she'd just made out with.

~Part: 8~

Buffy sighed as she walked up the steps to her porch.  It was a rare night when she wasn't covered in demon goo or vampire dust.  She could actually count those times on one hand.  Possibly even one finger. Usually that was a good thing, but tonight it meant bad news.

The Wickaninnish had killed another witch.

This made four in all.  Two in one night.  He was stepping up his power-crazed luncheons and witches were paying the price.

Her hand closed around the doorknob, and two things struck her at once. One, there was a vampire inside.  Two, the door was locked.

She raised her fist to pound on the door and yell for Willow before remembering the key in her front jean pocket.  Duh, handy little tool, that.  Digging the ring of keys out of her tight pants pocket, she slipped it into the lock and quietly opened the door, pocketing the keys once more.

Nothing jumped out at her.  No blood covered the floor, and she had hope that her senses were wrong, that she was reading something else as vampire.  But as she rounded the corner into the front room and heard the TV playing low, she saw the vampire plain as day.  Only it wasn't a currently dangerous one, just an annoying one.

She sighed and took off her jacket, tossing it over Spike's duster on the banister.  "What are you doing here?" she asked him as the TV clicked off and he stood from the chair to face her.

Willow was fast asleep on the couch.  Unaware that Spike was there?  Her back actually looked a little less bruised and there was a really horrible smell coming from... somewhere.  Smelled like a sewer.  Must be Spike.

Spike barely glanced at her as he passed into the foyer.  "Was it a witch?"  He took his duster from the railing and swung it around behind him, sliding his arms into the heavy leather.  "Was it the Wickaninnish?"

Ignoring the fact that Spike was ignoring her question, she nodded. "There were two witches tonight.  I found a man on my way home... his eyes were--" she frowned, shaking herself from the memory of the man's blackened eye sockets, missing their key ingredient, which was of course, eyeballs, and the burned mark on his forehead.  A dead giveaway that the Wickaninnish had struck.  "Yeah, it was him.  Or her."  She stopped suddenly, remembering the fact that this was Spike, and evil. Not a friend.  "Why are you here?" she asked again.

"Might wanna keep a better eye on your *witch* friend there," he said nastily, nodding toward Willow's sleeping body.  "And how's about maybe, oh, I don't know, telling her there's a witch hunter out there?"  He shrugged lightly, his chuckle dark.  "But then again, telling a friend she's in danger might not be your thing... maybe I'm just quirky that way."

Buffy glared at him, her favorite expression when dealing with Spike. She couldn't help it, he just brought it out in her.  "Not that it's any of your business, Spike, but we'll tell her when we need to.  She's not in any condition to deal with this right now."  She took in a deep, steadying breath, counting to two before breaking off the mental calm-down and snapping at him.  "And, again, still none of your business, Tara did a protection spell on the house.  Willow's safe here."

He chuckled again, though there was little amusement in the sound or in the look on his face.  "That's great... for when she's not sitting out on the porch, alone, in the middle of the night."  He yanked open the front door, starting out.

"The porch is part of the spell, she's safe."  Buffy paused, tilting her head to the side as she studied Spike suspiciously.  "Why are you suddenly caring so much about Willow?"

Spike paused with a sigh, turning back to face her slowly.  "She's one of you lot, isn't she?"

Buffy nodded unnecessarily.  "Well, duh, yeah.  But, since when do you care about any of... us."  As soon as she said the words, she wished she could take them back.  It was a stupid thing to say really, because now he was probably going launch into yet another declaration of love.

He looked at her pointedly.  No sarcasm, no smart remarks, nothing but honesty.

She was the one to look away.  It made her extremely uncomfortable knowing about Spike's feelings.  She wished often that he'd kept them to himself.

She didn't apologize, as was her first instinct, just nodded.  "If this is a way to... I don't know, get in my good graces, it's not gonna work.  Just stay out of this.  Okay?"

Spike laughed as if he'd known she was going to say something like that.  He nodded, turning away before coming back and standing right in front of her, forcing her to retreat a step.  "Brace yourself, Buffy, because I'm sure this is the only time you've ever heard this, but... this has nothing to do with you.  It's not about you at all."  He kept his eyes trained on her, until she grew uncomfortable, then spun around, and jumped down the porch steps.

His coat billowed out behind him before landing against the back of his legs, settling into a swaying motion as he walked across the grass and away from her house.

Buffy watched him walk away, closing her eyes for a brief second.

Truth be told, if Spike weren't an evil bloodsucking vampire, she might've considered him.  But he was, and she didn't.  It was as simple as that.

Closing the door softly, she turned the lock and sighed.  Life--and she'd said this before--sucked.

~~~*~~~

Spike waited until he heard the click of the lock turn before veering off to the left and heading into the backyard in search of his Willow-stuff.  Skirting around the house, he listened for any sounds in the house heading toward the backyard, but all was silent.

Buffy's stunned face stayed in his mind though.  He'd gotten one up on her.  Finally.  He was due a little upper hand.

The soft grass beneath his boots kept his footsteps silent as he rounded the corner, seeing his goodies just a few feet from the back porch.

A pair of silky red panties and a matching bra.  Sexy.  The blouse he'd pilfered, a black number with short sleeves and an even shorter midriff was something he'd never seen Willow wear.  Too bad, 'cause she'd probably look damn sexy in it.

Face it, he told himself, you think she'd look sexy in anything.  Or nothing.  Definitely nothing.

Stuffing the clothes into his duster pocket with the books Willow had loaned him, he left the Summers' house and headed home.  His Willow-bot was waiting for him and he had a burning... raging... need, to see her. Touching the real Willow had whetted his appetite.  Tossed a bit of kindling on the heaping fire that was flaring up inside him for her.

What was that about?  He loved Buffy.  The Slayer.  She was the one he loved and wanted and needed to be with.  Buffy was the light in his darkness.

"Oh, bloody hell," he ground out.  Next thing, he'd be spouting poetry, which was not needed here.  Absolutely not needed.

Buffy, he thought to himself as he turned a corner, heading for the 24-hour supermarket.  She was his life now.  He didn't like her much, she was a bit self-involved, but he had fallen in love with her.  So why was he all hot and bothered by Willow?  The idea that it was a spell came to mind, of course, but he couldn't be sure.  It felt natural.

Of course, so had getting engaged to Buffy last year.

So, what then?  A spell to make him fall in love with Willow.  To what end?  To take his mind off of Buffy.  That was the most logical reasoning he could come up with, but he doubted anyone in the Scoobie gang would agree to that.  Especially Willow.  And she seemed to feel something for him, so... maybe it was real.

Or something else was causing this.

He headed into the brightly-lit store, which had neon cardboard signs cut in weird shapes taped to the windows, proclaiming it had the lowest prices in Sunnydale.  Due to it being the only big market in the city, that was pretty much a given.  He headed straight for the shampoo aisle.  The store was empty but for two cashiers talking to each other in checkout lane eight.  They were giggling over a tabloid magazine, paying him no attention.

Absentmindedly, he made his way to the aisle where the toiletries were located.  Striding down the end of the aisles, past the giggling cashiers, he rolled his eyes.  What a silly waste of time.  He should be out killing for money and smokes, not shopping for soap and shampoo, so his bot would smell like someone who wasn't even Buffy.

His boots echoed throughout the store, ringing loudly even above the music currently being piped through the speakers.  Smells assaulted him, salty, sweet, peppery, sour.  Fruity and tangy.  It was all there, every scent known to man and then some.  And every single one was wafting toward him, driving him mad.

Heading down aisle four, he stopped in front of the shampoo.  The brand Willow used was on the end and the scent was there as well.  But it wasn't her.  The vanilla scent was something else entirely.  But for now, this would help create the illusion that his robot was the real Willow.  Grabbing a bottle each of shampoo and conditioner, he swung by the soap and grabbed that as well.

Taking his items up front, he passed by the sundries aisle, seeing candles lining one of the shelves.  Maybe.  Heading down the aisle, he picked up a red pillar candle, sniffing it.  Cinnamon.  Very close to the smell Willow had going the other night.  A white one caught his eye and he picked it up as well, juggling the bottles of soap and shampoo to sniff the white candle.  Vanilla.

Oh yeah, this was close.  So very close.  Anything to help.

He headed up to the checkout counter, in no mood to deal with the two giggly teenagers.  As he neared, they both looked up, and stared at him, whispering quietly to each other.

Both were pretty and--he inhaled--smelled so good.  The blood pumping through their veins was calling to him, inviting him to snack on them. Make a meal out of them.  And he wanted to.  More than anything he wanted to sink his teeth into their pretty little necks and gorge himself on their hot blood, but he couldn't.  Not anymore.

Dropping his items to the counter with a little more force than was necessary, he sighed.  "Carton of smokes too," he told the blond. "Marlboro."

The blond--her name tag labeled her as Candy--nudged the brunette. Lisa, the brunette, nudged Candy right back.  Neither one took their eyes off of him as they nudged and pushed each other.

"Smokes," he repeated, louder, not in the mood for-- anything really. Except sex.  Lots of sex and drinking blood.  But the blood wasn't going to be happening.  So sex it was.  With Willow.  The robot version of Willow.

Finally Candy sighed heavily and smiled coquettishly.  "One moment, sir," she mumbled, stomping off to the locked case of cigarettes while Lisa scanned his items, keeping her eyes on him the whole time.  A smile broadened her lips, meant to be seductive, but coming out as infantile.

She'd be the perfect meal.  Dumb as a post, pretty as can be, and young to boot.  Both of them would make a tasty little snack.  His stomach rumbled with hunger, mocking him.

Candy returned with his cigarettes as Lisa was finishing the scanning. She tapped a few keys, giggling when she made a mistake.  "Oops.  Sorry, I double charged you for the... um," she held up the shampoo bottle, "shampoo.  Oo, lilac," she muttered, her smile widening even more.  "For your girlfriend, I hope."

Both Lisa and Candy burst out in giggles, and Spike had enough.  He rounded the counter while they bagged his things, tossing the money on the counter as he passed it.

Standing at the end of the conveyor belt, by the girls, he vamped out and grinned at them.  "Time for lunch," he laughed, watching as they screamed and backed up into the cigarette cases.  The plastic casing rattled as they huddled against it, gasping and pleading for their pathetic little lives.  He was having fun.  He didn't want to leave, not yet.  This was what he missed.  The fear, the crying and pleading, the sobbing, the begging for mercy.

That, and the blood.  He could practically taste it.

He stalked closer, grabbing Candy by her arms and hauling her up, not hurting her.

"Please..." she begged, her tearful face aimed at the floor, away from his vampiric one.  "Please don't hurt me.  I-- I didn't mean... don't kill me," she finally yelled, trying to worm her way out of his grasp.

"Kill you," he repeated, shaking her a bit.  Seeing Lisa starting to crawl away, he turned Candy and himself around, snarling at Lisa. "Stay," he commanded, like he was talking to a nervous dog.  "Atta girl."  Pressing Candy back against the locked case, he leaned forward, sniffing her neck.  "Vanilla," he muttered, "just like Willow."  He pulled away, staring down into her face.  "You smell like her, yet you hold no appeal for me.  Why is that?" he asked.

"I-- I-- I don't know, sir," she sobbed, getting on his nerves.  She cringed away from him when he brushed her long blond hair behind her back.

It was straight and beautiful, but she didn't draw him in.  Why, damn it?  Why was it only Willow?  He slammed her back against the plastic, chuckling when she screamed, reaching her hands back as far as she could with his hold on her arms.  "Well, Candy, how about a taste, huh?"  He leaned forward, intending nothing more than a small bite to scare her, and then he'd take his groceries and go.

But when he bit her, there was no pain.  No pain at all.  He drew her closer, holding her body fully against his for better access and shoved her head to the side.  His teeth sank deeper, fully into her neck, spilling the rich, hot blood that was keeping her alive.  She screamed again, and he felt it against his chest, but his other senses were so full of her that he didn't notice Lisa getting to her feet and running away.

Candy whimpered a few times, her body jerking against his in a death dance as he drained every last drop from her, reveling in the feeling of being a predator once more.  Her warm body against his... oh, it hadn't gotten him hard before, but, damn, if the blood hadn't done the job.

He dropped Candy to the tile floor, hardly registering the thump of her head hitting the counter as he threw his head back and laughed.  God, he felt like an animal again!

Grinning evilly, he turned toward his other snack, only to find her gone.  Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, listening for her heartbeat.  It was there, close by.  The stupid chit hadn't made a run for it while she had the chance.

"Here, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa," he sing-songed, stalking toward the checkout counter he knew she was hiding behind.  He could hear more than her heartbeat.  Her whimpering was like music to his ears and his body hummed along.  "Here, girl," he whispered, circling the counter.

She was huddled under the counter, sobbing and wet.  Shaking like a leaf, poor thing.  "Boo!" he yelled, laughing when she shrieked and tried unsuccessfully to melt into the floor.

"Please," she screamed, covering her head with her arms, cowering like the human she was.  "Please don't hurt me!"

"But, I thought you *liked* me," he complained.  "I heard your little whispered conversation with Candy over there."  He reached across the counter and grabbed her arm, yanking her to her feet.  "You thought I was cute.  Don't you still want me?"  He dragged her with him to the where Candy's body was and spun her around.  "You said you'd screw me right here, on this counter.  Don't you still want to do that?  Huh?"

She cringed and shook her head, not looking at him and his demonic face.  "No-- no, sir.  I-- I was just... I didn't-- we were kidding!" She swallowed a sob, sniffling a few times as she lifted her eyes to his face, her lips trembling.  "I don't want to die."

"Nobody does really."  He shrugged and drew her closer, spinning her around so her back was to him.  Much easier to feed that way.  "But we all do.  Some sooner than others."  He bit into her heated flesh, tearing through the skin like it was tissue paper and sucked out huge mouthfuls of blood, moaning at the flavor and the taste of such sweet, young blood.

"Hail Mary full of grace," she whispered, "the... the Lord is with thee..." her voice trailed off as she fainted.

Spike drank her dry and dropped her body on top of the counter.  Wiping his hand across his mouth to remove any blood, he stared down at the mess he'd made.

The chip was gone.  Malfunctioning or something.  He was free.  Grabbing his plastic sack of groceries, he headed home to his Willow-bot, feeling like a new vampire.

~~~*~~~

"Honey," Spike called loudly, "I'm home!"  Slamming the door shut with his foot, he stood amid his dusty crypt, taking stock of his shabby surroundings.  Used TV, used chair, used mattress-- he didn't even have a proper bed, for God's sake... and felt the world rush back at him again.

He was free, yes, but what did that mean?  Buffy would be after him. Willow wouldn't want to be near him, and the Scoobies, as much as he hated and despised... some of them, wouldn't want him walking around enjoying life anymore.

Dawn would be disappointed in him, that was a sure thing.  She'd glare and cross her arms over her chest, just like big sis.  But he didn't care.  He was an animal again, not a lapdog of the Slayer's.  He liked killing, and killing he would do.

Shoving his armchair from the trap door, he yanked it up and jumped down, rather than taking the ladder.  Although, now that he was down there, he had to climb back up and close the door.  But he in no way lost any points for evilness.  He was evil.

Bad as they come.

And in the mood for a good shagging.  He and Dru had had some awesome sex after a good killing.  Except... tonight's killing, although fun in the way that he was able to actually do it... left a little something to be desired.

They had been weak, giggly girls.  No challenge for the Big Bad.

He pushed that thought aside, searching the darkness for his girl.  She was on the bed, in the same position as he'd left her, looking ripe for the plucking.  Perfect for a seducing.  Shagging after a good--decent--kill was unlike anything else in life.  It couldn't be replaced by anything.  There was no substitute for a good shagging after a kill.

He wanted to feel Willow's warmth beside him, around him, and below him.

Dropping the bag to the floor, he tossed his duster to the side and knelt down, crawling up the mattress toward her.  "The Big Bad's home, baby."  He chuckled, licking his lips as he smelled her and felt the warmth radiating from her.  "Did you miss me?"

When she didn't move or reply, he glanced up at her face, frowning in frustration.  She was recharging.  Bloody hell.  He had all this human blood pumping through his veins, so much richer than the pig's blood he'd been forced to subsist on, and he wanted a good shagging.

He kissed her lips lightly, hoping she'd wake up, but she didn't even stir.  Hell.

Rolling to the side, he sat on the thin mattress, raising his legs to rest his arms on.  Okay, no sex.  Unless he wanted to go solo, which he didn't.

Heaving a huge sigh, he grabbed the bag from beside him and took out the candles.  Red and white.  Vanilla and cinnamon.  What flavor did he want tonight?  Vanilla.  It reminded him of his most recent encounter with Willow.  The touching and caressing, the kissing.  Groaning, he pushed himself to his feet and looked for a good place to set the candles.

There was the dirt floor, or the mattress.  The altar was across the room, bare now but for the box of Willow-stuff, but it was too far away.  He wanted to be able to actually smell them.  There was a rock resting on its side a few feet away from the mattress, and it had a few broken off and worn places where the candles might fit.  The rock it was.

He put the white one on the highest part of the rock, shoving the red one into a tight space by the end.  Wax got shaved and broken off, sending up a hint of cinnamon, but he stuck to his plan of lighting the white one.

He crossed over to his duster and dug his lighter out of the pocket, lighting the vanilla candle.  Black smoke wafted around in the air as the flame brightened and then lowered a few times, flickering back and forth.  There had to be a breeze coming from somewhere.  Inhaling the scent, he stared down at the girl lying in his bed.

The flame painted her in orange, shadowing parts and then revealing them.  Her hair was spread out on the mattress, one lock tucked behind her ear by his own fingers.  There was no expression on her face, she was just... there.

He stripped off his clothes, watching her for any signs of movement. His boots went first, then his jeans.  As he unzipped them, and unbuckled the belt, he started to reconsider his decision not to go it solo.  But he could wait.  He was hard and energized from the blood rushing through him, but he was also a bit tired.  Sated.  Tossing his T-Shirt on the pile of clothes, he knelt at her feet and untied her shoes, throwing them aside.

He straddled her legs, touching only the outside of her thighs, and unzipped her jeans, sliding them off her hips and down her legs.  The right foot got caught, and the jeans went flying when he yanked on them.  They smacked against the far wall, dropping to the dirt floor with a plop.

Crawling higher, he slid his hands under the hem of her sweater and pushed it up, exposing her to his gaze.

"You're bloody beautiful, you know that, love?"  He leaned down and pressed his lips lightly to her stomach, tasting the unique flavor of the robot.  Now that he'd tasted the real thing, he could definitely tell the difference.

His hands slid around to her back and he sat her up, stripping the sweater from her body.  She flopped forward against him, tickling his face with her hair, the cord coming from her stomach pushing into his side.  He kept his arms around her, trying to unhook her bra.

"Stupid... little-- why do they make these things so small and-- hard to open!"  He yanked hard, tearing the strap, but he finally got it loose. Slipping his fingers under the shoulder straps, he peeled it from her body and laid her back down.  Her breasts bounced a few times, her hair falling over her face.  Brushing the hair from her cheek, he scooted back down and stripped off her panties as well.

"Hello," he muttered, ignoring his straining erection.  She was out, and he was not going to use her.  He would in no way use the bot like that. It was bad enough he had to resort to having a robot... he wouldn't have sex with it while it was charging.  Or touch it.

Lifting his hand from her thigh, he sat back on his heels and looked at her, shaking his head at himself.  Ponce.

He stretched across Willow, reaching for his duster, and yanked it toward him, ignoring the reaction his body was having at the feel of her flesh against him.  He could handle a little abstinence; he'd done it with Dru enough times.  This was no different.

He dug into the pocket again, and freed the clothes he'd taken from Willow.  Holding them in his hands, almost reverently, he lifted the red and black pieces of cloth to his face and sniffed them.  They didn't carry Willow's scent, being freshly laundered, but they were better than the clothes the robot had been wearing all week.

Making quick work of it, he dropped the clothing beside her legs and picked up the panties.  Sliding one foot through the leg hole, he picked up her other foot, still hoping for a little movement from her.  She could wake up at anytime.  He glanced at her face, disheartened when she didn't open her eyes and call his name in that unique way she had.

Sliding the panties up her legs, he put them on as best he could, but he knew from experience that a body could not be dressed by an outside person, something was always a little off.  The bra could stay off for now.  He tossed that by the mattress, catching a whiff of vanilla as it floated toward him.  Tossing the shirt to the side as well, he left her as she was and blew out the candle.

If he kept on smelling that scent, he'd either force her to wake up, or be forced to take care of himself.  He crawled across the bed, reaching out for the pillows and blanket he'd thrown down here the other day.  He slipped one pillow under Willow's head and the other under his own and settled the blanket over both of them.

He rolled her over onto her right side and laid down behind her, sliding a hand around her stomach.  His hand hit the cord attaching her to the wall, reminding him once again, as if he wasn't already aware of the fact, that this was not a real person.  He repositioned his hand, cupping her breast instead, and shifted around a bit, trying to get comfortable.

The hard-on he was currently sporting didn't make that easy, but after a few minutes, he began to relax and fall into a deep sleep, fueled by vivid dreams of Willow.

~Part: 9~

Spike swatted at something tickling his stomach, snarling at the light, feathery touch dancing across his skin.  The tickling didn't stop, so he forced his eyes open, ready to kill whatever was interrupting his sleep.

He was tired, damn it.

The thing crawling across his stomach was a hand; a female hand.  The fingers clenched and unclenched against him, just brushing his skin as they opened and closed.  He threaded his fingers through Willow's and groaned, pulling her close against him as he tried to settle back into sleep.

She moaned a few times, moving restlessly against him, shifting this way and that, and he wondered if she was having a nightmare.  His mind was sleep befuddled, forcing him back to reality when all he wanted to do was sleep some more.

"Go back to sleep, baby," he muttered against her forehead, placing a kiss on the smooth flesh there.

"Mm, Spike," she whispered, trailing her hand up his abdomen to his hip.  She rested her hand against his waist and cuddled closer, pressing against some parts of him that were happy for the wake-up call.  "I love you."

He opened his eyes, chuckling at the purely feminine sound that Willow made when she felt his erection hardening against her thigh.  To hell with sleep, he could do that later.

Rolling her onto her back, he dropped kisses along her shoulder and neck, brushing her hair out of his way.  She sighed and slid her hand around him, trying to press him closer to her, to get him to kiss her, but he stayed on his side, worshiping her slowly.  Tasting every inch of her skin.

Her hands slid along his back and down again, slipping along the curve of his butt, squeezing the flesh.  He took her hand and guided it to his erection, which was already straining for her touch.  Her fingers wrapped around him, spreading out as she squeezed and caressed him.

"I like touching you," she told him, pushing him back and climbing on top of him.  "You feel so good.  Oo," she practically squealed, "you undressed me.  You're naughty."

"Eh?  Not yet, love, but give me a--" he opened his eyes, not wanting to, since he was enjoying just feeling, and looked up at her, seeing her breasts right there.  Directly in front of him.  Well, apparently he had.  He looked down, seeing lacy red panties and remembered the night before.  He was with the bot, not the real Willow.

Sigh.

He reached up to curl his fingers around her upper arms and pull her down.  "I did.  And I was all..." he drew in a breath, sliding a finger around one of her nipples, letting his eyes follow the movement, "hot and bothered by you."  Glancing down, he was relieved to see no wires or cords springing from her stomach.  Had she unplugged herself and wiped it from her memory like Warren said she would?  "Care to make it up to me, love?"

She bit her lip, watching his hands cup her breasts.  "Oh, yes."

He could feel the heat from her body seeping into his, warming him with every touch.  She tightened her legs around his waist, and he felt wetness, smelled her arousal.  How had Warren gotten that to work? he wondered absently, as he spanned her waist with his hands.  She was small, but nowhere near as small as Buffy.  Nor as thin as Dru.  Not as busty as Harm.  She was... all her own.  She had her own curves and dips.

Her own taste and smell.

And he wanted it all.  Sitting up, he lifted her from him.  "Take 'em off."

She climbed to her feet and pushed the thin, lacy material down her hips, letting them slide down her legs to the floor.  She stood in front of him, smiling as his eyes roamed over her.

He looked his fill, taking in her perfection as he rarely did anymore. Taut stomach, perky breasts, long, muscular legs, beautiful face.  Curvy hips.  Pale flesh.  He wished she had freckles, or a mole, scars maybe, something, anything to break up the perfect expanse of her smooth, white flesh.

She trailed a hand down her hip, then slowly knelt on one leg, crawling across the mattress toward him, her smile firmly in place.  When she neared him, she rested her hands on his stomach, and crawled on top of him, straddling his waist.  "Mm," she sighed, "you're so cold... and I'm so..." she paused, looking at him from under her lashes, licking her lips, "hot."

He'd have to agree with her there.  In more ways than one.  The heat of her body was surrounding him.  Her legs, where they were pressed against his sides, made him want to melt into her.  And she was definitely hot in the looks department.

He chuckled, lifting her atop his erection.  "Ready, baby?"

She nodded, her eyes shining with desire, her chest rising and falling as she helped him lift her.  He hooked his hands under her and pressed his fingers into her flesh, drawing her down on him.

"Oh, Spike," she gasped, squeezing her muscles around him and holding herself still.  "Your manhood is so hard and so big."  She leaned forward, nipping at his lips with her teeth, smiling seductively.  "Give it to me, Spike.  Take me with all your virile strength.  Use me for your own dastardly pleasures."

Spike snorted with laughter, pressing her against him and wrapping his arms around her back.  "Up, Willow," he urged, arching his hips off of the mattress.  She quickly obliged, raising herself onto her knees before lowering back down.  "That's it, baby.  Keep going like that." He leaned back against the wall, keeping his hands on her hips, helping to lift and lower her.

Her hands moved behind her, her fingers gripping his thighs, clawing at the flesh, bracing herself against him in order to keep the pace rhythmic.  Her hair brushed his cheek, her tongue darting out to taste him.  "Do I please you, Spike?"  She smiled against his neck, her voice a purr.

She sounded more like the real Willow in that moment than she ever had before, and his body responded.  His stomach tightened, his fingers clenching on her waist, gripping her even more tightly.  "Oh, God, yes."  He rested his head back, closing his eyes as she took over.  He dropped his hands to the mattress, bracing himself to thrust inside her, bending his legs at the knee.

"Do you love me, Spike, my Blonde God?"  She raised and lowered herself at a quicker pace, gasping with each stroke.  Her fingers gripped him more tightly.  "Do you..." she trailed off as he thrust even more deeply, then sagged against him with a few gasps, "oh, oh, do you love me?"

He opened his eyes, gazing into her face as she moved on him.  He wasn't going to lie to her, so he kept silent, flinching at the disappointment in her eyes.  She was only a robot, she didn't have feelings.  She didn't know what real love and caring was.  "Willow," he whispered, feeling guilty for hurting her.  A blasted robot.  "I care about you, baby."  He brushed her hair over her shoulder, planting a small kiss against her shoulder.  "Don't be sad."

"You love me," she insisted, clenching around him, tightening her muscles almost to the point of pain.  "I know you do because you make such sweet, tender love to me.  You need me like I need you."  She smiled and ran her fingernails down his back.  "We're a match made on a hellmouth."

"Yes, baby," he agreed, about ready to agree to anything at this point. She was driving him wild.  He thrust inside of her with wild abandon, hardly in control of himself any longer.  "God... faster, Willow."

She obliged, moving more quickly.  Riding him like the animal he was. The wild beast.  He vamped out, moving toward her neck before remembering he couldn't bite her.  Motor oil issues.  Bloody hell.

"Bite me," he told her, pushing her mouth down to his shoulder.  "Hard, Willow."  He needed the excruciating pleasure only pain could give him now.  He wanted to be the one doling out the pain and the biting, but in lieu of that, she could bite him and give him almost as much pleasure.

She bit into his shoulder, lightly, not wanting to hurt him.  Giving him a small love bite.  It was nowhere near what he needed.

He pressed her closer, digging his fingernails into her flesh. "Harder.  Please, Willow."  He pulled back to look beseechingly into her eyes.

"What if I hurt you?" she asked with a worried frown, her mouth turning down in a pout when he laughed at her question.  "You're making fun of me."

"No, I'm not-- you can't hurt me," he insisted.  "I'm a vampire, remember?  Superhuman strength and all that?"  He nipped her lip, sucking it into his mouth for a second, biting it lightly.  "It'll please me.  You want to please me, don't you?"  If all else fails, use manipulation.

"Of course, I do, Spike.  I love you."  She smiled a little nervously, dropping her eyes to his shoulder before leaning down to kiss it softly.  A second later her teeth sank into his flesh, forcing a yell of pain from him, but God, it felt so good.

He gasped, panting against her hair as she bit into him harder.  His body surged forward, forcing him deeper inside her and he came with a groan, jerking against her a few times.  As he went still, he felt her body tighten around him.

Her mouth left him, her head going back with a gasp.  "Oh, Spike," she whispered, "Oh, I love you so much."  She collapsed against him, tucking her head against his uninjured shoulder.

He lifted her head up with a finger under her chin and kissed her thoroughly, licking the blood from her lips.  "I never get tired of hearing that," he muttered.

She smiled and sat up on him, fully recovered already; the advantages of being robotic... a faster recovery time than even a vampire.  "I never get tired of saying it," she said absently as she climbed off of him and stood there looking for her clothes.  "Because, I do.  Love you, I mean."

Spike stared at her, wondering if it was just his imagination that was making her sound so much like Willow.  "Uh... what?" he finally asked, sitting forward.

She smiled in triumph when she spotted her panties on the floor by the mattress and stepped into them quickly.  "What?"  She looked over at him in confusion.  "Where did you put my bra?" she mumbled, snatching up the red lace when she saw it by his duster.  "Pretty."

"Why are you talking like that?"  He stood up, grabbing his jeans from the floor.

"I always talk like that," she laughed, tossing him a puzzled smile. "Did you buy me new clothes?  And..." she looked into the plastic grocery bag.  "Soap.  Do I smell?"

"No," he said dismissively, "I got them from a friend and, no, you don't stink.  Anything but."  He buttoned his pants and zipped them up, leaving the belt unbuckled.  "Did you... or someone else, modify your programming?"

In the process of slipping the black blouse over her head, she turned to stare at him blankly for a moment before busting out laughing.  "I'm not a robot, Spike."  The way she held her head stiffly to the side said otherwise.  "I'm made of... flesh and blood and... other things.  You're acting weird."

He bent down, searching through his pockets for his pack of cigarettes and Zippo.  "I'm not acting weird," he denied, sliding a cigarette between his lips as he tossed her a look.  He stood back up again and lit the cigarette, snapping his lighter shut with an echoing click. "You're different."  Sliding the Zippo into his front pocket, he squinted at her through the smoke drifting lazily up between them.  "You don't talk like that.  You talk like a bloody bodice ripper."

"I do not."  She frowned at him as she pulled the hem of her blouse down, not happy when it settled just shy of her hips.  "Why is this so small?  Who'd you borrow it from, Minnie Mouse?"  She stopped trying to yank it down and looked around.  "No pants?"

He shrugged, picking up her old jeans and tossing them to her.  "Sorry. I'll get some tonight."  Taking a deep drag of his cigarette, he watched her.

"Oo, can I come with?  I haven't left the crypt in... a week."  She frowned at him, sliding into the jeans.  "Why can't I leave, Spike?  I miss my friends.  I miss the town."  She pulled the jeans over her hips and fastened them, pleading with him with her eyes to let her go out.

He took the cigarette from his lips and sighed.  He wanted to take her out.  He didn't like keeping her cooped up here like a prisoner, but in this town, where everyone knew Willow... it just couldn't happen.  "I got you something."  He dug the books out of his duster pocket and handed them to her.

"Magick books!"  She hugged them to her like they were precious diamonds and hopped up and down a few times before kissing his cheek.  "Thank you so much."

This new version of the Willow-bot was baffling.  Why was she suddenly talking like the human Willow?  Why did she smile like her more, and act like her, move like her?  Something weird was going on.  As if getting the completely wrong robot in the first place wasn't weird.  Something, or someone wanted him to want Willow.  Question was: who was it?

Because, wow, did he want Willow.  Like the dickens.  Buffy was a pale shadow compared to his new obsession.  Now that he had his bite back, maybe he'd go out searching for the reason behind his newfound desire for the witch.  Maybe he'd kill a few people and just enjoy it.

Well, no, there was no fun in that.  He needed a challenge.  Killing two teenage girls that'd whispered and giggled over him didn't make him a fierce predator.  It made him weak.  He needed more.

"Willow," he said slowly.  He looked up to find her flipping through the books excitedly.  "What would you say if I told you the chip wasn't working anymore?"

Her head shot up, her wide eyes staring at him fearfully.  She dropped the books and swallowed thickly, stepping back once.  Just once, but he felt like she'd stepped out of his life.  She wouldn't be okay with it. The real Willow wouldn't be okay with it.

"Are-- are you going to kill me?" she asked softly, biting her lips nervously.  Her eyes darted toward the trap door, and he could've kicked himself for bringing it up.

He'd thought to use the bot as a sounding board, sort of see how the real Willow would feel about it.  But apparently that was a bad idea, because now she was afraid of him.  "No," he insisted, striding forward to take her in his arms and reassure her, but she frowned at him, halting his progress.  "No, I'm not going to hurt you.  At all.  I don't want to kill you."

Her frown actually deepened, her eyes turning to his with accusation. "Why not?"  She crossed her arms over her chest restlessly and dropped her eyes to the floor, where her foot was drawing patterns in the dirt. "You don't want me around forever?"

Spike's heart lightened at her whispered words.  She was afraid he didn't want to turn her, not that he'd kill her.  A grin split his face and he chuckled as he took those last two steps to slip his arms around her.  "It's not that at all, Willow."  He tipped her face up with his finger, kissing her softly.  "I don't want you to change; I want you just the way you are.  Except immortal."

She nodded, partially convinced he was telling the truth.  "So, if we could find a spell to attach my soul permanently, you'd--"

"In a heartbeat, love."  And he wasn't lying.  He did like the idea of her being around for forever.  Maybe even a little longer.  She wouldn't leave him.  At least, he didn't think she would.  Admittedly her track record wasn't as spotless as he'd like, but it was loads better than Dru's.  She was loyal, and committed.  She loved fiercely and deeply. There was a strength to her that everyone who met her noticed right away.

He'd do well to have her near him for eternity.  Well, the real her. The robot version?  Eh, not so much.  She was nice to have around, and he was rather fond of her, but she couldn't satisfy all his needs.

She kissed him suddenly, startling him, bringing his attention back to the matter at hand.  Confessing and finding out how she felt about the chip.  Right.

"Love?"  He pulled away with regret, kissing her soundly a few more times before setting her away from him.  "About the implant?"

Her grin faded completely.  All happiness fled her face.  "Did..." she swallowed, looking extremely reluctant to continue, "did you kill anyone?"

He nodded, his face blank.  "I did."

"Oh."  She sighed and moved away from him, picking up her shoes from the floor.  She sat on the mattress and dusted off her feet before putting her shoes on.  She tied the laces and raised her knees, resting her arms across the tops of them.  Gazing across the few feet separating them, she set her chin on her arms.  "Oh."

"But I didn't enjoy it," he hastily added, then amended that.  "Well, I did, because... first time killing a human in over a year.  So, of course I liked it.  But I didn't--" he sighed, not sure how to explain it.  This wasn't going well.  He'd better do it better with the real Willow.  "It's wasn't as fun as it used to be.  Not as pleasurable."

Willow's eyes followed him as he paced in front of her, kicking up dust with each step.  "Can you stop killing?  Do you... do you have to do it?  Can't you just... not?"

Spike tossed her an irritated glance.  "Easier said than done, love. I'm not going to stop.  I'm a vampire, it's what I do.  It's how I live, how I survive."  Stopping in front of her, he knelt down rubbing his thumb across her cheek softly.  "I need it."

"But."  She gazed at him, trying to understand what he was telling her, but not quite able to grasp the importance of it.  "Could you, for now, just kill bad people?  Like murderers and rapists and stuff?"

Spike slipped his hand around her neck, drawing her closer for a kiss. "I think I can do that.  For now," he added, pressing his lips against hers, opening his mouth and kissing her deeply.  Sliding his tongue into her mouth, he pushed away all thoughts of being caged just as much now as he had been when the chip was active.  This was different.

And he did have to be careful.  Buffy would kill him without a thought if she found out.  Xander and Giles as well.  Anya probably wouldn't give a damn, but Dawn would be regretful.

Willow would... ask him to stick to killing bad people?

~~~*~~~

Willow glanced at the door to the training room.  Loud, arguing voices were coming from there, but she couldn't hear what was being said.  All she knew was that Giles, Xander and Buffy were arguing about something. Anya looked toward the room in irritation as she closed the register drawer and handed her customer his change.

She smiled widely, in a fairly freaksome way and gave the man his bag of jellied bat eyes.  "Have a nice day.  Come back soon.  Tell all your friends," she called to him, chasing the poor man from the store with her platitudes.  Rolling her eyes, she tossed another annoyed look at the training room.  "They're scaring my-- Giles' customers away."

Dawn, sitting at the table with her homework, shared a grin with Willow.  "I'm sure they're very sorry."

"Hmph," Anya said absently, straightening items on the counter that were already perfectly positioned.  "I doubt it."

Willow chuckled, curling up a little more comfortably on the big, oversized chair by the table.  The voices--one of which was male and of the British variety--was raised even higher, drawing her attention. She'd been sitting here in this same spot almost all day.  Buffy had talked her into going with her to the shop, and Giles had even come by to pick them up in his car.

She'd wanted to stay home, alone, thinking her Spike-thoughts, but Buffy had practically shoved her out the door with her.  It'd do her some good to get some fresh air.  And they'd be nearby in case she needed anything.  It'd be fun.

Buffy had piled on the cheer, and goaded Willow into agreeing, but now she was regretting it.  Her back was hurting again, she was due another application of the salve, and everyone was either fluttering around her with endless, 'how are you?' questions, or ignoring her completely. They hadn't even let her do research on the web for the new demon in town.  Like her brains had been affected by the back injury.  Please. She could click circles around any web user out there.  Her searches were legendary.  She was the queen of all that she surveyed.  Or something.

Well, at least she hadn't had a nosebleed today.  Just the headache that didn't seem to want to vacate the premises anytime soon.

"So," Dawn chirped, drawing her attention with a strained smile.  "How are you at Latin?"  She dropped her pencil to the table beside her open text book and sighed.  "I have to do an essay."

Willow glanced at Dawn, but went right back to frowning at the training room door.  "In Latin?" she asked skeptically.  Buffy was getting really angry, her voice was lowering, becoming sharp.  "They make you essay in Latin now?"

"Um, well, no," Dawn admitted with a shrug, laying her head on her arms.  "I'm trying to get your rapt attention off the fight in the other room."

"What's going on?" she asked, slipping her feet to the floor.  If Dawn knew what was going on, then it was something big.  That they didn't want her to know?  Or didn't want to worry her about?  Either way, she was angry.  Yeah, big-time mad.  Friends didn't keep friends in the dark.  They didn't keep huge secrets... unless it dealt with Spike and kissing.  But that was on a whole other playing field of secret-keeping.

"Nothing."  The reply was quick and immediate, and so much a lie. "Really," she insisted, nodding her assent.  "It's just... you know, the normal.  Big bad.  Demons galore.  Evil..." she glanced over her shoulder at the doorway, then back at Willow again, "things."

Anya skirted the counter and headed over to a customer browsing the book shelves.  "Oh, even I don't believe that pathetic lie," she told Dawn. "Hi.  Can I help you find something?"  She stepped up the single stair and joined the woman in front of the books.  "We have jellied bat eyes. They're on sale."  She smiled widely, crossing her hands behind her back.  "And bat wings are half off with a purchase of the jellied eyes."

The woman's smile faltered a little.  "Um, I'm okay here.  Just... looking for a book on spells.  Uh, to protect witches."  She glanced Willow and Dawn's way, obviously way out of her element here.  "My-- my daughter is a witch, I mean, Wiccan, I guess is the correct term.  And with all the deaths--"

"We have just what you're looking for over here," Anya said loudly, grabbing the woman's arm and hauling her a few feet away.  "Yes, see. Right here," she proclaimed, staring pointedly over her shoulder at Dawn.

Willow's frown was considerable.  Now she knew there was a conspiracy. What the heck was going on?  "Dawn, what--"

Dawn laughed shrilly, startling Willow.  "Oh!  There was this joke... that I just remembered."  She grinned wide, her eyes sparkling with a lack of amusement.  "There was a guy, and he walked into a bar... but. Wait, no.  Um, there were three guys, and they walked-- no, that's not right.  Um, three guys walked into a bar, the fourth one ducked."  She laughed some more, way more than the joke warranted.

When Willow only stared at her, she closed her mouth with a snap, erasing away the false cheer.

"It-- it probably wasn't funny.  I ruined it.  Or you had to be there." She nodded, falling silent.

"Okay," Willow said in puzzlement, pushing herself to her feet.  "What's going on?"

Dawn jumped up, taking her arm and gently pushing her back into her chair.  The cushion padded her back from any pain as she dropped into the seat, but she was still angry.

"Willow, you can't--" Dawn began, tossing a frantic look toward the door, and then, when that remained empty, she look for Anya.  "Stay here.  I'll be... right back."

"Not gonna happen," she mumbled, standing up again.  As she headed toward the doorway of the training room, Buffy suddenly appeared in it, followed by Giles and Xander.  A sheepish-looking Dawn trailed behind, tossing an apologetic look at Willow.  Well, now that they were out here, she'd sit back down, but she also intended to demand answers.

Giles moved behind the counter, smiling at her a bit.  Xander sat in the chair at the table directly in front of Willow while Dawn took her seat again.  Willow's eyes were on Buffy though, since she was the decision maker for all things demon-y.  Usually.  Or, well, occasionally.

"Guys, what's going on?  What's the big?"  She sat back, shifting lightly against the huge pad behind her, stifling a sigh of relief. This was her favorite seat in the whole world.

Buffy stopped in front of Willow, kneeling there like she was about to say something to a five-year-old.  A five-year-old who wasn't going to like what she had to say.  "How's your back?" she asked instead of answering.

There was genuine concern there, and Willow was mentally aw-ing over it, but she also wanted answers.  But she could play the innocuous game. "I'm going to steal this chair when I get better and hide it away in my room where Giles will never find it."  She patted the cushion, rubbing her hand along it.  "I'll tell him Chair Gnomes did it."

Buffy laughed lightly, pausing on a sigh.  "Willow, those girls--and there was a man--are being killed by a Wickaninnish."  She sat back on her heels, waiting for the news to sink in.

Willow nodded, at a loss as to why that was so important.  "Oh."

Buffy nodded as if she completely understood Willow's feelings and lack of a response.  "I know, and I didn't want to tell you.  I fought against it, in fact, 'cause I didn't want you to worry, but I was outvoted."

Frowning, Willow looked from one concerned face to another.  All except Anya.  She was still with the lady looking for the spell book-- oh wait.  Dead.  Girls.  Witches?  "Buffy, what's a Wickaninnish?" she asked slowly, her suspicions showing quite clearly in her eyes and face.

"Oh, I thought you knew," Buffy answered, resting her hands on her thighs.  "It's a witch hunter."

Willow's eyes widened and she tried to stand up, to get to a phone. "Tara.  Is she all right?  Is she--"

"Tara's fine," Buffy quickly assured her, holding her firmly in the seat with her slayer strength.  "She's good.  I talked to her earlier this afternoon."

She relaxed a bit, but not completely.  There was a witch hunter out there and they hadn't bothered to tell her, to let her know?  "Buffy, Xander..." she turned her angry gaze to her best friends, the hurt showing through, "why wasn't I in the loop?"

Xander sighed, looking defeated.  "Sorry, Will," he said simply, shrugging his hands on the table before turning back around.

"If it were up to me, I wouldn't even be telling you now," Buffy told her, her mouth in a tight line, her eyes solemn.  "I wanted to take care of this without you ever knowing, or at least not knowing until after I killed the Wickaninnish, but someone else thought you needed to be told."  She looked over her shoulder angrily, her eyes falling on the person standing in the doorway to the training room.

Willow's eyes followed Buffy's, already knowing what--who--she'd see. There was only one person left.  Spike was leaning against the jamb, his arms and feet crossed.  His eyes slid from her to Buffy, then back again as he pushed away from the wall with a shrug.

"Left to you all, she'd be six feet under before you told her anything."  He strolled unhurriedly to the ladder and climbed up a ways before sitting down.  His boots clunked loudly as he settled them in front of him, crossing his legs and leaning back to watch them all. "Forewarned is forearmed."

Xander snorted rudely, shaking his head at Spike.  "Like you care.  Why are we listening to him again?" he asked hotly.

Anya and the woman bustled into the sudden silence, heading for the cash register.  The woman's arms were full of books and she looked quite overwhelmed.  Anya skirted the counter and stepped behind the register, bumping Giles with her arm as she did so, the smile never leaving her face.

The woman smiled a little awkwardly and dumped the books on the counter with a sigh.  "Um, are-- are you sure I'll need all of these?" she asked hesitantly.

"Of course," Anya answered, quickly ringing up the books so as not to lose the sale.  "The more protection spells the better, I say.  And you'll need ingredients," she said cheerfully, "you don't want your daughter to get hurt because you forgot to get fish tails and mushrooms, do you?"

"I-- I..." the woman looked like she wanted to refuse, but didn't want to look bad in front of everyone there.  "My daughter has some things at home.  She *is* a witch.  And she does spells.  So, maybe I don't need to buy all--"

"Nonsense," Anya disagreed, waving away the woman's protest as she bagged the books.  She ducked behind the counter, coming back up with a jar in each hand, both filled with dried animal parts.  "Your daughter could get hurt, you don't want--"

The woman's eyes widened and she looked a little green.  "I think I'll wait and check to see what my daughter has before-- um, are those real eyes?"

Giles handed the woman her bag and took the jars from Anya, replacing them beneath the counter.  "Have a nice day, ma'am, and don't worry about the other..." he cleared his throat uncomfortably as the woman handed him her credit card.  "Oh, yes, I suppose paying would help."  He cleared his throat again.  The rest of the transaction was made in silence.

Anya glared at Giles a little, but refrained from sniping at him.

As the lady left, Giles kept his strained smile on.  "Anya, what have I told you about badgering the customers?" he said tightly, sighing when the door closed behind the woman and the bell faded away.

"That's why you never make any money," Anya complained, resorting to straightening items on the counter again.  "You don't know how to go for the hard sell, it's all about--"

"Anya, shut up," Xander said in frustration, startling everyone there, but added, "Uh, honey," ruining the effect.

Anya frowned his way, then harrumphed away.

Willow stared at Xander's back, keeping her eyes trained solely on him. If she didn't, they'd drift towards Spike and that was something she didn't need to be doing right now.  She was angry, and insulted.  And kind of touched that Spike had championed her.  In a way.  But still angry.

"Why was I not involved here, guys?  Research girl, remember?  I could've been helping all this time."  She wanted to say more than that, but couldn't find the words to express herself at the moment.  They were all watching her, stealing looks her way, staring at her.  Well, no, that last one was only Spike.  But it made her nervous.

"Will," Buffy said gently, like she was a kitten who'd clawed up the couch, "you were hurt.  You could barely get out of bed."

"Granted," she agreed, nodding a bit crookedly, "but-- there's something out there hunting what I am.  I think that's pretty important."

"It is."  Giles rounded the counter, darting quickly out of Anya's way as she headed toward the counter with a dust rag and began swatting it at the jars and books.  "Willow, you must understand that things have changed since..." he paused, his eyes softening slightly, "since you killed Glory.  We couldn't be sure what might happen."

Anya, ever the truthful pragmatist, told it like it was.  "They were afraid you'd go evil again and kill someone else."

"Anya!" Xander yelled, standing up angrily and walking over to her.  He grabbed her arm and hauled her with him toward the training room. "Excuse us, gotta talk."

Willow sighed, knowing she should be wondering what was up with Xander, but they were worried enough and she had her own problems.  Her friends thought she was going to kill again?  Did they think Ben was innocent? That she'd killed him just for the heck of it?  She'd been eliminating a threat from their lives, a huge threat.  The biggest.

"I think I wanna go home," she said quietly, climbing to her feet a little too quickly.  Pain tore through her back, but she ignored it. She didn't need their sympathy right now.  They thought she was a murderer.  "Dawnie, you wanna walk with me?"

Dawn closed her book with a snap, nodding.  "Sure.  But, shouldn't we have some muscle too?"  She bit her lip, looking toward Buffy.

"No," Willow said stupidly.  She was in no condition to protect herself, let alone Dawn as well.  Of course they needed someone to go with them, but at the moment, she really didn't want to talk to Buffy.  "We'll be fine."

"I'll drive you," Giles said quietly, grabbing his keys and starting around the counter.  "Get your things, Dawn."

"No."  Again, that was Willow turning down an escort.

"There's no room for discussion on this," Giles insisted.  "I'm driving you.  Come on."  He walked past her to the front door, holding it open as he grabbed his jacket from the rack beside the door and waited for them.

Willow walked past him without acknowledging him in any way.  She went straight to the red convertible and waited.

She was not evil.  Why would they even think that?  Didn't they know her well enough to know that she wouldn't just... kill willy-nilly? Apparently not.

Giles came out a minute later, followed hastily by Dawn carrying her books.  Her papers were stuck inside her books, sticking out this way and that.  She dropped her pencil and bent down to pick it up, giving Giles a nice, healthy glare as she did so.

"Couldn't wait an extra thirty seconds so I could put these in my backpack?" she muttered, striding past Giles to the back of the car.

"Take the front, Dawn," Willow told her, climbing slowly into the back seat.  The front would entail conversation most likely, and she didn't want to have any at the moment.  She wanted silence and time to think. Think, not about their subtle accusations of her being evil, or even about Spike, nope, she wanted to think about Tara.

Her first and immediate thought had been for Tara when she heard about the witch hunter, but it wasn't in the way one might expect a lover--or recently broken-up lover--to feel.  She'd been worried and afraid for her, but not in the sweat-inducing, heart-pounding way she'd felt when she thought Tara was going to leave her to be with her family.

She'd been worried about her as a friend.

She hadn't spent one moment thinking she'd never hear Tara's voice whisper to her in the middle of the night, or feel her hands on her. She didn't worry that she'd never feel Tara's kiss again, or miss the sounds she made during sex.  What she'd worried about was missing her as a whole.

Giles circled around the car, glancing at her briefly, but begging off saying anything.  Dawn climbed in the front, dropping her things to the seat beside her with a sigh.  He slid behind the wheel, started the car, and sat there for a minute, looking in the rearview mirror at her.  But not leaving.

Just leave, she wanted to shout at him.  Turning her face to the side, she glanced inside the shop, seeing Spike and Buffy arguing again.

He looked in her direction almost at the same time as she saw him, but his attention was right back on Buffy.  Well, guess he wasn't over that little love-thing he had for her.

Jealousy now? she screamed at her mind.  Of all the stupid times to be thinking about something as pathetic as that.  Okay, not so pathetic, she knew.  She cared about Spike.  Obviously.  Kissing a person tended to make her take notice of things like that.

Giles sighed at her lack of attention toward him and finally put the car into gear, pulling out into the street.  Dawn asked Giles a question, which got them both talking quietly.  Willow ignored their chatter throughout the drive, preferring to keep her own company for the time being.

She was free now, and Spike was someone she had a sudden interest in, but he wasn't free.  And he loved Buffy.  The question was, where had this sudden interest for him come from?  She hadn't even known it was there before he kissed her.  Well, maybe a little before that.  When she caught him and his girlfriend in the middle of... stuff.  There'd been a little uncomfortable wriggling in her mind that she later identified as jealousy.

Or envy.  Maybe it was just that she envied him his happy sexual relationship.  Hers had been going downhill for some weeks and then to hear Diana, a Goddess for heaven's sake, say that her happiness lay elsewhere... well, it was a little much to take in.

So, were her newfound feelings for Spike going to be a problem in her newfound life of less than supportive friendships to bask in?

No.

She'd simply forget about him, and move on with her life.  Even if it was a life without supportive friends.  Or a lover.  Or... the self-confidence to use magick again.  Ho hum.

She laid down on the back seat, keeping her back to the front of the car so it wouldn't rub, and closed her eyes, feeling the wind blow her hair around and slip under her clothes.  The loose shirt she had on now was less revealing than last night's mistake, but it had big sleeves for the wind to slip through.  She shivered in the cool night air, wanting nothing more than to lay down on her bed and go to sleep under the nice warm blankets, hugging Harvey, the stuffed penguin she'd gotten as a birthday present from Xander when they were eight.

Giles pulled up in front of Buffy's house and turned around to talk to her, resting his arm along the back of the seat.  She pushed against the seat in a hint for Dawn to get out and waited, not looking at Giles.  As soon as Dawn was out, she followed suit.

"Willow, we love you.  We're only concerned that the magick is still with you."  Giles' voice raised over the sound of his car door shutting, and she just knew he was heading up the sidewalk with them, intending to explain things.

To make her listen.

Placating him seemed like the best way to avoid a long drawn out conversation filled with accusations and betrayals, so she nodded and smiled.  "I know, Giles.  I understand, I do, but I--" oops, there wasn't supposed to be a but, there was supposed to be agreement and then a goodbye.  "I'm hurt that you guys act like I killed him just for the fun of it."

"We think no such thing," Giles retorted angrily, drawing his brows together to glare at her.  "Willow, have we ever given you reason to think we'd actually accuse you of... of killing someone for the simple pleasure of it?"

She dug her keys out of her pocket with a sigh, wishing he'd just go away.  But that didn't seem likely.  Sticking the key in the lock, she opened the door and motioned Dawn to precede her inside.

"Finish your homework," she told Dawn, reaching inside to turn on the porch light.  As Dawn sighed and headed into the dining room to do her school work, Willow turned back to Giles.  "You as much as said you did," she answered, just as angrily.

"No, what I said was that we were afraid of what might happen."  He pulled his glasses off, rubbing the bridge of his nose for a few seconds as he calmed himself down.  "Look, the magick you were inside of was pure.  It's different from the magick used during spells.  Spell magick is... is earth-bound.  It's governed by laws and rules.  This stuff wasn't."

"I know that," she sighed, sitting on the brick pillar to face him.  "I know.  I mean, you guys don't seem to want to let me forget.  I screwed up.  Again.  My fault.  Again."  She looked out across the yard, wondering if it had ever rained the night before.  "I get it," she whispered.

Giles sighed, replacing his glasses as he sat on the opposite pillar. "No, I don't think you do.  This is our worry.  Our-- our concern for you.  We don't want you getting hurt."  He set his hands on his thighs and stared at her.  "Have you considered the fact that the magick may still have a hold on you?"

Okay, startling.  "No.  I-- I mean, I'm fine.  Feeling really non-evil and stuff.  Nothing unusual has happened..." she trailed off, remembering Spike's hands on her, his lips settling softly, one last time, on the nape of her neck, the look in his eyes as he watched her. Perhaps she was being a bit hasty in her dismissal of the magick.  It wasn't unbelievable that Spike could have an interest in her, but it was all rather sudden.  Her own feelings had come about so quickly.  What if she'd said or done something to make them attracted to each other?

Oh, God.  What if it was another 'my will be done' spell?  He'd kill her for sure this time.  Good thing he had that chip hanging around in his brain.

Giles sat forward intently, waiting for her to continue.  "What is it?"

"Oh," she said dismissively, waving her hand in front of her, "nothing. I was just trying to remember if anything weird had happened.  But, there's nothing," she said cheerfully, standing up and heading toward the door.

She had to talk to Spike.  But, how to get a hold of him?  Call the shop, ask for him?  Big no.  She couldn't go to his crypt and wait for him... even if she could move around.  Girlfriend issues.

Giles touched her arm, halting her speedy retreat.  He hugged her quickly and awkwardly, smiling a little at her surprise.  "Feel better. Another application of the salve should get rid of the ache and the muscle pulling."  He chuckled as he headed toward the stairs.  "I'm rather happy Spike isn't here tonight, but I suspect Dawn will do as well."

"Mm," she agreed, hurrying inside.  She shut the door, leaning back against it with her butt.  What to do, what to do?  Nothing.  That's what she'd do.  Wait to see if it went away on its own, and, barring that, wait until the next time she saw Spike.  There was no way to actively seek him out, so, waiting was the way to go this time.

Flipping off the porch light, she locked the door and glanced into the dining room.  Dawn was at the head of the table, her books spread out in front of her, her lip between her teeth as she thought, then scribbled her answer on the wrinkled piece of paper in front of her.

"Need some help?" she asked.  Homework was the last thing she wanted to do right now, but at least it would occupy her mind, leaving her unable to feel guilty and horrible for possibly putting a spell on Spike.

"Nope," Dawn answered, looking up briefly from her book with a smile. "I think I can handle the history homework on my own.  It's the math I may be begging you to help me with later."

"Okay."  She looked longingly up the stairs, wanting to climb up there and go to bed, but she didn't want to leave Dawn alone down here.  She was old enough to watch out for herself... in a normal town maybe, but here?  Nah.  Instead of her bed, she headed into the front room and the company of the TV.

Without Spike this time.  Dropping onto the couch, she sat back gingerly, turning on the set.  After five minutes of surfing, she found a show on the discovery channel about vampires.  She left it there, but soon changed when she found out the 'vampires' were actually humans with a taste for blood.

Music videos it was then.  And a few aspirin.

The kitchen was dark when she went in there, but she left the light off as she grabbed a can of soda for her and another for Dawn.  She popped the top, downing three aspirin with a gulp of the soda.  Her back seemed determined to make itself as annoying as possible.  It was starting to itch now as well, and some of the muscles were twitching.

"Here ya go."  She set Dawn's soda on the table by her papers and headed back into the living room just in time to change the channel from one of the boy bands she hated.  After another five minutes, she turned it off and went in search of her laptop.

Research gal to the rescue.

~Part: 10~

Willow started awake when someone knocked on the front door.  She almost dropped her laptop to the floor, but caught it as it started to slide down her legs.  Setting it on the cushion beside her, she frowned, trying to orient herself.

Dawn poked her head into the front room with a cheerful, "I'll get it!" Then disappeared toward the front door.

"Dawn, wait."  Willow untucked her feet and stood up, shaking off the dizziness of standing up too quickly.  "Don't--"

"It's only Spike," Dawn called back in an irritated tone.  "And he can't come--"

"Hey, Short Stuff," Spike called to Dawn as he passed by her and moved straight into the living room.

"--in," Dawn finished before slamming the door shut and standing there with her hands on her hips.  "Why can he come in?  Does Buffy know about this?"

"Giles knows," Willow answered, frowning as she thought about it.  "I don't know if Buffy--"

"She knows," Spike said flatly, taking his duster off and tossing it over the arm of the couch.  "I was still here when she came home."

"Oh."  That was news to Willow.  "I thought you left after I fell asleep," she admitted, sitting back down with a sigh of comfort.  She could hardly remember what it felt like to be pain-free anymore.

He sat in the chair, sitting forward a bit intently.  "Find anything?" He gestured toward her laptop, raising an eyebrow questioningly.  When she shook her head, he nodded with a sigh.  "Hey, Bit?  Gonna stand over my shoulder glaring at me for the entire time I'm here?"

Dawn cleared her throat loudly and shifted from one foot to the other. "Maybe."  She dropped her arms to her sides with a frustrated sigh. "You chained my sister up and set your pet vampire on her."  Her accusing eyes settled on Willow.  "Why are you even talking to him?"

Good question, Willow thought.  Why was she talking to him?  An even better question was why was she thinking about his hands on her back, his lips settling over hers, and his tongue doing the neatest things to her body?  Picking up her laptop, she settled it on her thighs.  "Dawn, go finish your homework."

Dawn huffed and shifted her feet, looking like she wanted to protest, but she simply stomped out of the room.

Spike tossed a look behind him and quickly stood up, joining her on the couch.  "So why are you?"

Willow shrugged, unsure herself.  He hadn't hurt Buffy... well, aside from tazering her sort of and almost getting her killed by Drusilla and Harmony.  Again, she wasn't sure of the answer.  "You protected her from Drusilla and Harmony," she said simply, fidgeting with the cord to her laptop.  It'd come undone while she slept and the battery had run done some time ago.  Plugging it back in, she restarted the computer and kept from looking at Spike.

"That right?"  He moved closer, tossing another look toward the dining room to make sure Dawn wasn't watching.  "Sure it's not something else?"

"Like what?" she asked innocently, pretending not to know what he was talking about.  "You've helped Buffy.  You helped me a couple of times. I--" she smiled a little tiny smile and shrugged.  "I guess I sort of like you.  As a friend," she hurriedly added.

"A friend," he repeated, nodding in consideration.  "It's a start." Before she could comment on that statement, he tipped the laptop screen back a little and moved closer to her, making a big show of not being able to see well.  "Could you tilt it just a little...?  Perfect, thanks."

Willow went back to her Internet search, ignoring Spike as much as she could with his arm once again touching hers and his leg pressing close to her own.  Sure liked the touching thing, didn't he?  Okay, she could handle it.  Absolutely.

"What have you tried so far?  Witch hunter, wiccan hunter, witch killer?"  He eyed her quickly, before returning his attention back to the screen.  He actually seemed to be gaining interest in the computer. This was a good thing.

"All those.  And Wickaninnish, which brought up a beach on Vancouver Island, and an inn... but not a whole lot on witch killers."  She clicked a promising link that mentioned wiccans and then trailed off, but once there the black background and blood-dripping letters had her pressing the back button.  "What's this guy do anyway?  Do we know? Well, do you know, because I know nothing.  Out-of-the-loop girl. That's me."

"Pity doesn't suit you well, love," Spike chastised, pointing to another search link.  "Try that one."  As she clicked on it and waited for it to load, he continued.  "It steals their power.  Sucks them dry."

"Ew.  How?"  She had visions of Glory sticking her hands inside her head and slinking around inside.  The memory of that feeling alone was enough to make her squirm.  It had felt dirty and intrusive.  Violating.  She hoped the witches being killed weren't suffering something similar. "Glory did this..." she held her hands out in front of her, mimicking Glory's movements, "brain sucking thing.  Well, you were there."

The page of promise held nothing more than herbal recipes and spells, a personal Book of Shadows... oh, and it also sold things, like candles and athames.  Hey, this could be helpful to her in future.  Mmm, scented candles.  And incense.  Of course, Giles carried that stuff too.  Back button again.

"It doesn't work the same way."  He sat back a little, giving her some space to breathe and shift maybe if she wanted to.

No, don't shift toward him, you idiot.  She rolled her eyes at herself and rolled her shoulders back, masking her movement toward him with trying to relieve her aching back.  "What's it do?  Details might help. I could search that."

"Your back hurting?" he asked instead of answering her.  His eyes found hers, a seductive smile creeping up his lips.  "Need some more salve?"

"Uh, no," she denied, wanting nothing more than to jump to her feet and scream for the world to hear just how much she did indeed need more salve.  And for that salve to be applied by Spike, and Spike alone.  But she didn't and she wouldn't.  "Nope.  I'm good."

"Really," he said slyly.  "Then, why is Dawn standing back there with the jar of salve in her hand, shifting from foot to foot, waiting for the best time to interrupt?"

Willow looked from Spike's smug face to the empty foyer.  "Dawn?" she called, not really expecting her to answer, at least not from the foyer.  "Whatcha doing?"

Dawn stepped forward, looking a bit sheepish and caught.  "Um... Giles mentioned the salve and I figured, Spike should go now so I can do that."  She tossed a glare in his direction, raising her chin as she turned her attention back to Willow.

"I'm fine, Dawn, I don't need it.  Now."  She ducked her head, going back to her search, wishing the two of them would leave her alone about the salve.  Yes, she needed some right now and, yes, she wanted it applied.  But she didn't want Spike to leave so Dawn could do it.  She wanted Dawn to leave so Spike could do it.  "Way fine, just... perfect. Thanks, though."

Dawn sighed, acting like a ten-year-old as she shrugged and started out of the room.  "Whatever.  But when he kills you," she muttered, "I don't wanna hear about it."

Willow burst out laughing, trying to hide it from Dawn, but judging by her stiffening back, she'd heard.

"Hey, Half-pint, toss me that stuff, would ya?"  He held his hands out to catch the jar, looking oh-so-innocently in Dawn's direction.

Dawn turned back around, her eyes narrowing on Spike.  "Why?"  She looked at Willow, and had to catch the widened eyes and blush creeping up Willow's cheeks as she ducked her head even further to her task. "Willow?"

"I'll put it on, pet.  You go do your school stuff."  He was acting as if nothing had changed between him and Dawn, and that was throwing Dawn's snit off.

She frowned, wanting to agree, but her common sense got the better of her.  "No."

Willow sighed in relief.  Good, she didn't need to explain to Dawn why he wanted it, though she was a bright girl and there was only one reason for him to want the salve.  Unless he was curious about the smell of it, he was so obviously going to try to apply it to Willow's back.

Dawn's attention was still on Willow however.  Noting the lack of protests from her and the blush still heating her face, Dawn's eyes widened at Willow and she tossed the jar at Spike, narrowly missing his face.  Without a word, she turned on her heel and headed out of the room.  There was dead silence, similar to the calm before a storm.

"She's calling Buffy," Willow sighed, glaring at Spike.  "What's wrong with you?  I don't need, or want you to put that junk on me."  She twisted in her seat, moving from side to side, showing him how unhurt she was.  "See?  All better."

He nodded, watching her move with a critical eye.  His hand reached out suddenly and pressed against her shoulder blade, forcing a cry of pain from her.  "I can see how better you are."  He opened the jar and scooted back, giving her room to lay down.  "Look, I'm just trying to help.  That's all."

"Right.  And I'm Glinda, the good witch."  Maybe now was the time to tell him what she suspected.  It might make him angry, and anxious to kill her, but he deserved the truth.  "I think it's a spell."

He glanced up at her absently before holding the jar to his nose and pulling it away in disgust.  Like it was going to smell better suddenly.  "What is?  The salve?  Or your back?"

She lost her nerve.  Something inside her was happy about his feelings toward her, whatever they were, and why-ever they were there.  She wanted them to continue.  Wanted him to want her, because, she really did want him.  "The-- um, never mind.  I was thinking about... something else."  Sighing heavily, knowing she was putting herself into a position of badness, she stretched out on the couch and let him lift her shirt.

The first touch of his fingers as they grazed her back, raised goose bumps on her skin, making her shiver.  She held her breath, waiting to feel his hands on her, waiting for that erotic feeling of Spike's hands, covered in something cold and wet sliding along her back, easing her muscles and beginning the process of turning her on to the point of insanity.

Okay, so she'd thought way too much about this.  His hands were not erotic, and they didn't make her all hot and bothered with a single touch.

When they finally did touch her, they weren't cold, or covered in salve.  He slid them along the middle of her back, caressing and rubbing in all the right spots to make her moan, which she did quietly.  After a few seconds of the delicious feeling, she managed to remind him why they were doing this.  "Salve," she muttered, swallowing thickly.  "It works better if you use it."

"Mm."  He didn't so much say it as he voiced it.  Just a rumble in his chest.  He leaned forward.  She felt his shirt brush across her back, and then his lips, though they didn't touch her.  He whispered in her ear, his voice husky and filled with the same thing she was filled with.  Desire, and lots of it.  "What are you doing to me?"

She went still, knowing this was the time to tell him.  To be honest. "A spell," she blurted out.  "I-- I think it's a spell."

His hands halted on her waist, squeezing her a little too hard.  "What?" he forced out between stiff lips.  "You did a spell on me?  Again?"

Oh, and there was definitely fury there.  Definitely some big-time anger.  And deservedly so.  She turned on her side to look at him, her eyes filled with apology.  She opened her mouth to say yes, but then just nodded and dropped her eyes.

"What is it this time?" he ground out, pushing to his feet to stare down at her.  He twisted the lid back on the jar with enough force to break it, but didn't.  Slamming the jar down on the table, he paced away. "What in bloody hell is the matter with you, Willow?  Your magick is a hazard to you and everyone else around you."  He paced back, dropping to the couch beside her, taking her face in his hands.  "What did you do to me?"

She tried to pull away from his hands, but he held her there, glaring at her, making her feel about two inches tall.  "I don't know.  Giles said the magick from that night might still be with me, and that's when I noticed this-- this thing for you... but I didn't know.  I didn't do, you know, whatever I did, on purpose."

He frowned, loosening his hands on her cheeks, rubbing his thumbs absently against her temples.  "The night you killed Glory?"

She nodded, fighting tears, not wanting him to run from her.  Not wanting him to go back to wanting Buffy.  If he'd ever stopped.  Or his girlfriend.  Ugh, her life was so messed up.

He laughed deeply, shaking his head at her.  "This started before then, love.  You didn't do it; at least not with magick."  He leaned forward, pressing his lips lightly to hers.  "It's real."

She stared back at him in obvious disbelief.  He'd had a woman in his crypt the night she killed Glory, that much was painfully obvious to anyone with eyes and ears.  "Before then?  How-- how long before then? Because, you know, I walked in on you and..."

He sighed, settling more comfortably on the floor, sliding his hands down to her shoulders and then her hands.  "That was just a diversion. Didn't work," he said with a dismissive shrug.  "I'm not sure when I started falling for you.  But the night I ran into you at the Magic Box?  I--"

"Wait a second,"  Willow cut him off abruptly.  "What do you do mean 'just a diversion'?"  She tried to pull her hands out of his, but he resisted.  "You trying out for the Don Juan of the year award?" she asked, only half-joking.  "And what about Buffy?  I thought you loved her."

Spike looked up, embarrassed and angry.  "Since that spell you cast, where we were engaged..." he glanced away for a split-second, his face distracted, "I've been drawn to her, obsessed even.  It was so intense, I didn't know what to call it other than love.  But it was never the same as what I felt for Dru.  Or for you."

Willow's face was still tight, but her heart was no longer racing and she was no longer trying to move away.  He continued doggedly even as Willow kept her face turned away.

"There hadn't been anyone since Harm.  Buffy wouldn't give me the time of day and you were with Tara."  Spike's voice trailed off for a moment as he shrugged uncomfortably.  "I needed someone for a while, you know?"

Something melted in Willow when she heard that stark declaration.  That kind of loneliness was something she could relate to.  Big time.  And at least she knew his feelings for her were there before the magick mess-up.  And before her spell to talk to Diana as well.  That was all good news.  Wonderful news.  But then she frowned suddenly, remembering something else.  "You did sniff me!"

He shrugged one shoulder, looking anything but apologetic.  "Can't help it."  Dropping her hands, he stood up, resuming his seat beside her. Her shirt was lifted again, his hand landing on her shoulder to press her down softly.  "You should bottle that scent."  He leaned forward, inhaling deeply, dropping a kiss on her shoulder, then her neck.  Lower, to the middle of her back.

She squirmed, feeling so naughty for allowing Spike to touch her and kiss her, to caress her and smell her.  And last night, she'd felt parts of him that she'd almost gotten a glimpse of that night in his crypt. Felt his erection; cradled it between her legs, rocked against it very briefly, just for a moment before coming to her senses.

"Spike," she whispered, closing her eyes and resting her head on her hands, "as good as that feels, and, boy does that feel good, I don't think you should... we shouldn't.  At all.  Ever."  She wanted to whine and pout and cry.  Doing the right thing was always hard, no matter what anyone said.

"Why not, love?"  He was whispering in her ear again, not playing fair at all.  "We're adults, we can make our own decisions."  His hands tightened on her waist again, rubbing harder.  "Don't let Buffy make this one for you."

Buffy.  That was very possibly the last thing he should've said.  She tried to sit up, but he held her still, grabbing the jar and making a show of opening it and scooping some out.  "You still have feelings for her," she protested.  "And I love Tara."

"Let's not," he said darkly, slathering a healthy amount of the salve onto her back.  He slowly and gently rubbed it in, but there was no sensuousness to it this time.  "Let's not bring them into this, okay?"

All business-like, he finished rubbing the ointment in and capped it, wiping his hands on his jeans.  Setting the jar down on the table, he turned to her with a baleful look.

"Why do you do that?  Think everything through until there's nothing left but the facts, minus feelings, minus intuition, minus everything. And then you reason it through some more and come out with the only logical answer for yourself: That it's wrong."

Willow sat up, pulling her shirt down.  It stuck in a few places and she couldn't reach back far enough to unstick it.  Spike sighed, reaching behind her to loosen it.  "I don't do that.  I've-- I've done a lot of wrong things.  A lot.  I mean, hello, spells?  You just got through yelling at me about them."  She took a quick drink of her soda and stood up.  "See?  Stupid idea, leading to nothing but-- mm."  The moan wasn't a part of her angry rant, but it more than expressed how Spike's lips on hers felt.

His mouth opened on hers, his hands gripping her arms and pulling her toward him.  One of his hands slid down her back, very lightly, and landed on her butt, pressing her even closer to him, letting her feel the reaction she'd had on him.

She hoped it was from her.

"That," he said, pulling away to kiss her jaw, "is in no way a bad thing, Willow."  He kissed her again, more deeply this time, before sliding his tongue along her lower lip.  "I want you--the real you--and I'll do just about anything to have you."

Willow's mind was stuck back on the wanting part.  Spike wanted her. That much was very obvious, the results of that want were currently pressing into her abdomen.  It felt good, so very good.  She missed being wanted.  Tara had wanted her until the end, as she'd wanted Tara, but it was different.  And then the killing of Glory, and the isolation from her friends, and being cooped up in the house.

She was needy, and she admitted it.  Needed a whole lot of contact to feel alive.  To feel worthy.

And she wanted.  Wanted someone to touch her.  A touch that made her feel beautiful and loved.

She kissed him back, sliding her arms around his waist, to keep him there, to let him know she didn't want him to leave.  Even if she said she did.  Pulling back for air, she rested her head against his shoulder, staring at the white expanse of flesh visible above the collar.  It looked so soft.  Touchable.  She glanced up at him, then back at his neck.

Sliding her hand along his shoulder, she explored his skin, touching him just where she wanted to, how she wanted to.  She leaned forward, pressing a kiss on his neck, which he seemed to like, since he sighed, then she moved lower, pulling the shirt down so she could reach more of him.  She kissed his shoulder, then his chest, the small bit she could see, and lowered the shirt further.

He dipped his head to capture her mouth, kissing her so hard she had to fight to keep her balance.  His hands went around her again, resting on her butt to hold her still.  His mouth moved over hers, demanding in its urgency.  Her hands slid further into his shirt, the fingers of her right hand brushing over something strange.

She moved away, not allowing him to recapture her mouth, much as she wanted to.  Frowning, she pulled his shirt away from his shoulder and looked down at it.  "What is... that?" she asked, trailing away when she saw the bite mark.

"Got bit last night," he said, looking down at the bite.  "Hurt like a bugger too."  His hands brought her closer, his eyes caressing her face with the promise of sensual things to come.

Her mind was doing that thing he'd only just accused her of doing. Working overtime.  The bite wasn't from a vampire, it looked human.  How had a human bitten him?  Why had a human bitten him?

"What happened?"  She looked up at him, waiting for an answer.

He smiled and kissed her lightly.  "Lairman demon.  It wanted my crypt; I didn't wanna give it up."  He shrugged, looking unconcerned.  "It's not that bad a bite."

"Okay."  She believed him.  Why would he lie?  Unless he'd gotten the chip out or it was malfunctioning... which was a possibility.  But he wasn't acting weird or cagey, so she decided to believe him.  "Did you clean it?  What if the demon has rabies or something demon-y?"

"It's fine," he said, dismissing her concern with a wink.  "However, other parts of me are not so fortunate."  He shook his head sadly, the mock regret in his voice making her crack a smile.

"Oh, really.  And, uh, where would these other parts be?"  She held a hand to his forehead.  "Here?"

"Lower.  Much lower," he whispered, taking her hand from his forehead and guiding it to his thigh.  "Now you're getting warm."

"So are you," she noted, nodding wisely as she slid her hand around to cup his butt.  "This it?"  Her laugh was smothered by his mouth, cutting off her taunt about-- what was it again?  Who cared?  Her arms went around him in surrender, her mouth moving against his with abandon.  His hands cupped her butt, lifting her against him, letting her feel every inch of his lean, muscular body.

He tore his mouth from hers, trailing frantic kisses along her jaw and neck, settling on the pulse point there.  He paused for a brief moment, then nibbled her ear, licking the flesh below it.  "How do manage to smell different every time I see you?"

She shrugged, dropping her head to the side with a gasp.  Desire curled up in her belly, sending shocks of want and need through her.  "I don't know," she admitted, having no idea what he smelled coming from her.  "I don't wear perfume-- oh, that tickles," she giggled, standing on her tiptoes to give him better access.

"Apples and cinnamon that night in the magic shop."  He ran his tongue along her jaw, grinding against her a little.  "Vanilla last night." One hand slipped under her shirt, the cool skin of his palm, rough and callused, touching her stomach and breasts, pushing her bra out of his way.  "Tonight," he breathed, drawing in a sudden, sharp breath, "tonight you smell like cherries."  He went still, holding her tightly to him, opening his eyes as he raised his head to look over her shoulder.  "We have company."

It took a minute for his words to sink in.  As he pulled away, he dropped his hands to his sides, then lifted one, rubbing a hand across his forehead and she finally understood what he'd said.  She stood still, afraid to turn and look to see who it was.  She cradled her head in her hands, horrified by being caught kissing and groping Spike.

"Oh God," she whispered, her face flaming as bright as her hair.  She licked her lips, taking in a few deep breaths before turning to face the accusatory look of-- "Dawnie."

Dawn's face showed nothing more than shock and disbelief.  "Willow?" she said in confusion, her frown widening as she took in every detail of their disheveled and flushed faces.  "I-- I--" she shook her head, unable to absorb what was obviously happening.  "Oh, wow."  Her eyes widened, her breath leaving her in a sharp exhalation.  "But."  She looked toward the door.  "What about Buffy?" she practically yelled.

Spike sighed impatiently.  "What about her?"  Dropping to the couch, he kicked at the coffee table, almost petulantly.  "She wants nothing to do with me.  And I don't think I want anything to do with her either."  His eyes lifted to Willow's.  "Not anymore."

Willow was relieved; that certainly helped her deal with it all.  And how.  "Dawn, I didn't... well, we weren't..." very believable, Willow, very much not a lie.  "Buffy doesn't want--"

Dawn sighed heavily, gesturing toward the door.  "I mean, what about what she's going to do when she comes in here and finds the two of you practically-- well, you know what-ing, here in her living room?"  She moved past them to kneel on the couch and look out the window, moving the curtain aside.  "She's on her way home."

"What?" Willow gasped, darting a look around the living room as if Buffy had just magickally popped in.  "When?  No, wait, it doesn't matter." She turned to the man she wanted to take upstairs, even now.  "You need to go.  She'll-- well, I don't know what she'll do, but it can't be good."

"Yeah, and?"  He stood up, gesturing to Dawn to leave them alone.  For once, Dawn didn't argue or complain; she went silently, keeping watch at the front door.  "I told you earlier, you're an adult.  Time to make your own decisions, Willow."

"But, I can't," she told him, shaking her head frantically.  "I'm not ready to do that yet.  Not now, not while I'm still hurt and unable to fight back with--"

He burst out laughing, rubbing her arms with his hands.  "You don't think she's going to hurt you, do you?"  He shook his head with another laugh, kissing her forehead.  "You're so damn..." he trailed off, sighing as he shook his head, at a loss, "amusing."  His chuckles deepened, following her as she paced away.

She tossed him a scoffing look.  "I meant verbally.  You know there's going to be huge fighting.  And I'm not feeling a hundred percent." Stopping in front of him again, she dropped her head back and sighed. "Buffy will not be okay with this.  Ever."  She stared at him, looking at his beautiful face, so full of... desire.  That's all there was, and a little amusement.  Possibly some disappointment that she didn't want to tell Buffy about them.

"All right," he agreed, nodding once as he grabbed his duster from the chair.  "We stay silent until you're ready to ask your friends for permission to see someone you want to see."

His scornful eyes and clenched jaw almost changed her mind, but she stuck to her guns.  She moved forward, resting her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, I-- I just can't yet."

"Okay, well, when you grow a backbone, let me know.  If I'm still interested..." he shrugged, turning on his heel and heading into the foyer.

"Hey," she called angrily, "you're giving me orders here?"  She followed after him, moving better since the salve went to work on her a few minutes ago.  "I have backbone, mister.  I'm just not as fickle as you are."

Ignoring Dawn's rapt attention on them, Spike strode toward the door, yanking it open and standing in the entrance.  He turned back around to face Willow, his voice low and even.  "There's only one woman in my life now and that's you."

Willow's anger left her in a flood of regret, leaving her feeling drained.  "Spike, I'm sorry--"

"Save it.  But you better make up your mind soon, because I won't wait around forever."  He stepped outside and closed the door behind him, leaving a pregnant silence in his wake.

"Are you okay?" Dawn asked quietly.  "I mean, I don't get it.  Don't even pretend to understand what's going on here, but... are you all right?"

Willow nodded, turning away before the tears could fall.  In the forefront of her mind was a nagging question: Since when was Spike someone she cried over?  Heading back into the front room, she sat on the couch, staring at the wall in front of her.

Dawn came in a few seconds later and sat beside her.  "I'm sorry."

Willow smiled sadly.  "It doesn't matter.  It probably wouldn't have worked anyway."

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