AtS Timeline: AtS Season 5, after “Origin,” AU “Time Bomb”

Summary: Reeling from the betrayal of having their memories hijacked by Wolfram & Hart on Angel’s orders, the Fang Gang enlists the aid of Illyria and Lorne to discover and tell them what is really going on with Angel. Meanwhile, Buffy and company are back in LA following the recent events of “Damage.” Worlds will collide, time will shift, and only one souled vamp will make it out undead.

“So Angel has a son.”

“Bugger that he has a son—the son of a bitch had all of your minds wiped to erase the son?”

How many times had the resigned statement and subsequent question been repeated, in private and in this company, since Wesley had discovered and shattered Angel’s betrayal? The stunned faces gathered in Wesley Wyndham-Price’s office reflected that, despite the repetitive nature of the questions, no answers were, as of yet, forthcoming. Thankfully, Angel would be away in meetings for the entirety of this week; all of them would need the time. It was becoming clear that Wesley’s instructions to Illyria, to push away the memories and cling to the realities created by Vail along with Wolfram & Hart, were going to be impossible to follow. For all of them, except Illyria, the ache of trust lost, so soon after the loss of one of their own, was acute and all-encompassing. For all of them, including Illyria, the betrayal weighed heavily.

Spike, of course, had had no memories stripped or replaced; all he was able to feel in that regard was a deep kinship stemming from fellow feeling. He too had had his mind magically violated several times over by Willow, and technologically violated by the Initiative. If anyone outside Angel’s group of friends could understand the vast impact of an invasion like the one undertaken by Wolfram & Hart on Angel’s orders, Spike could. Aside from that, his trust had also been violated. He had chosen to stay, had signed on to help his grandsire come what may, regardless of the hostilities and history that lay between them. Angelus had no sense of loyalty, but Spike had somehow managed to convince himself that perhaps Angel was different. To find that, even with a soul, Angel still repaid devoted loyalty with selfish service to his own self-interests was not necessarily unexpected, but disconcerting nevertheless.

Gunn, so recently rescued from Wolfram & Hart’s suburban hell, had felt alongside his return with Illyria the return of his memories. The shock of the mental violation, coupled with his memories of torment, had initially sent him into near catatonia. He had finally managed to struggle his way through, the tough street fighter scrapping his way to the surface yet again and allowing him to reestablish himself, bruised and beaten but far the wiser.

Lorne felt the violation just as deeply, and perhaps more so. To strip an empath demon of his emotional history and experiences, to bury them under layers of falsehoods and create fake emotions and experiences to conceal them, was a violation of the highest order. Not only had Lorne’s mind been defiled, but his very nature as well. The fact that a trusted friend, for whom he had sacrificed much, had been his violator shook Lorne’s faith in Angel to the core.

Illyria had known of the layering of Fred’s memories, that something had been removed and something different put in its place. While it should have had no effect on her, she remained troubled by how much of her host remained inside her in this shell. The soul was gone, burned away—that much was certain—but certain softer feelings, inappropriate for a being such as herself, somehow managed to survive. If for no other reason than that his trickery had thrown her strange new existence into even more tumult, Illyria found herself with curiously strong feelings of displeasure towards Angel. Seeing the effect that his deceit had on Wesley, however, spoke to the softness inside her that she was unable vanquish. Despite her own best efforts she found herself drawn to the damaged creature her shell had once loved.

Wesley was, for all intents and purposes, a broken man. Shattered by the knowledge of what he had done and what had been done to him, he had retreated into himself, rarely leaving his office except to observe Illyria’s training, speaking only when directly addressed, and avoiding Angel at all costs. At first it was the guilt that kept him away—the knowledge that he had been responsible, however unintentionally, for the loss of his best friend’s child, was a painful blade in his consciousness. Second to the guilt, however, came the anger—this man had tried to murder him, and by hiding his son’s existence had hidden that fact as well. Wesley and Angel had managed to somewhat move beyond Angel’s attempt on his life, and Wesley likely would have worked with Angel knowing the truth of all of the events. The fact that his free will had been stripped from him and his choice taken away, however, smacked of a hubris that he hadn’t expected to see from Angel again since the debacle with Darla.

The result of all of these interior motivations was a rather confused, disheartened, and directionless crew. They still came to work, went about their daily business as though nothing had changed; however, none of them could truly trust Angel. It was this distrust that left them wandering the halls in Angel’s absence and gathering, although with no previous plan to do so, on the couches in Wesley Wyndham-Price’s office long after Wolfram & Hart should have been empty for the day. As they looked at each other, the silent questions that had echoed through their heads began to tumble out.

“Yes,” Wesley answered Spike as he placed the agreement Angel had signed on the coffee table, “Angel did arrange to have all of our realities shifted in order that Connor be given a happy, normal family life.”

“Stupid git and his bloody ‘normal’ lives. Buffy’s the Slayer, but she should marry some normal bloke that she can get herself killed trying to protect. Kid’s born of two vampires, obviously he should be given to the soddin’ Bradys to raise. Bloody hell, I know the man has daddy issues, but not everybody wants a fucking suburban life.”

“Be that as it may,” Wesley interrupted, more than a little amused at Spike’s rant and relieved at the break in the tension that the diatribe seemed to have caused in the room, “what concerns me the most is not only that Angel ordered all of our memories blocked and saw it through, but that he was willing to write the case off when it threatened to counteract his will.”

“Why does that surprise you exactly, Percy? He made sure none of you lot knew I had a soul, didn’t he? Seems the poof’s right eloquent with the silences when it’s something that goes against the way he wants his world set up.”

“You omit that he asked your trust of him even while the demon murdered his son,” added Illyria, not quite willing to participate in the discussion but still interested in the tide of near-rebellion that seemed to surge under the surface of the discussion. “Why a leader should ask trust, rather than demand obedience, is beyond me, but it seemed important to him somehow.”

“So he did all this to protect Connor, but when the only way for Connor to survive was to break the spell he didn’t want it broken? Ain’t no way that’s right, man—why protect him just to have him killed?” asked Gunn, still struggling to put the pieces of the story together from Wes’s recollections and Illyria’s occasional input.

“I don’t think that Angel meant that he be killed. I simply think that, at that moment, keeping the spell intact was more important than anything else. I don’t doubt that he has real affection for the boy, but his continued insistence on us trusting him does concern me. Before I was content to trust him based on all that has passed between us, but after this…”

“You mean after you kidnapped his son and he nearly killed you in the hospital? After you only came back to help so you could mack on my girl?” Gunn winced even as the words were spoken out loud; it seemed that along with his memories his bitterness toward Wesley had also returned.

“Not exactly what I meant, Gunn,” Wesley answered tightly, “but yes, in light of getting my memories back, I am less inclined to trust him. I also think the rest of us should be wary; a scheme of this magnitude could still be only a smaller part of something larger. This is all that I could find in records, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that this is all there is. Lorne, is there anything you can do to read Angel—maybe let us know what is in his head, just to put our minds at ease?”

“It’s not that I haven’t tried, scrumptious, but there’s no way for me to come out and just ask him to sing, especially not now. The on-staff psychics won’t go near him, and he’s not exactly the randomly musical sort. If I ask him to sing, Angelcakes will know I’m suspicious and that’s not a fire I’m ready to climb into just yet.”

“If this is all you found in contracts,” remarked Gunn, picking up the contract with Angel’s blood signature, “then there ain’t nothing else. I know that much for certain about this place—anything else that’s going on with him is all in his head. We’ve reached the end of the paper trail.”

Frustration was palpable in the room as each tried to find a way to have Angel tip his hand, to reveal something of what was going on. Finally, Illyria broke the silence.

“Perhaps I could provide some assistance. I pulled this one you call Gunn out of the other dimension.”

“Illyria, there’s a large difference between a shift between dimensions and a shift across time. You yourself told me that the world is as it is; how can you possibly be of assistance in this case?”

“Foolish creatures. The world is as it is only because you lack the capability to change it. Nothing is unknowable. You walk this world as though there are no others and so you are stuck blindly wandering down whatever paths you have set yourselves upon. You would do well to remember that I am unlike you. I wear this shell but I am a god…I need not follow a path set down by others and tread by blind fools.”

“Well, excepting the whole trail of fools, Highness, it’s a right interestin’ offer. I’m guessin’ you’re going to work some mojo with time, given how fun that seems to be for you?”

“Wait a moment, Illyria. Are you saying that the world isn’t mutable, that the choices we make effect nothing?”

“In your grief, Wesley, you see the situation as best assuages your own soul. Predestination is nothing but the will of humans bent to serve the will of those greater or more powerful than themselves. Anything beyond this moment diverges into any number of paths; all is mutable, but all endings are visible.”

“And how can you follow our path? If all is mutable, then any choice that is made could change the outcome. How can you can move forward and tell us what shall happen? Why would you help us?”

“Time is easily manipulated. Humans are so dogged in the treading of paths, it proves easy to follow its footprints forward across the ages. The ends of Angel’s actions are written in time itself. I can simply follow this path forward to its conclusion, or the conclusion of Angel’s presence, and return with this knowledge. Surely this should be sufficient for you know whether your obeisance to your leader is well-placed. I will help you because Angel has proved himself an unworthy leader and that weakness pleases me. I know that Angel wishes me destroyed. I wish to know whether I survive and if I am forced to remain in this helpless cage of flesh.”

“Then this could work, right? Illyria lets us know what’s going on in Angel’s head, and we get back to the business of helpin’ the helpless?”

“Charlie boy, you lot haven’t been near the helpless since you signed on to this bloody devil’s playground. How much of that is because of the way this place works, an’ how much of it is by Angel’s plannin’ is the question we need Shiva here to answer.”

“I’m afraid Spike is right. Nothing about this place allows us any similarity to what we once were. I know that we believed that we could work greater good with greater resources, but it does rather seem as though we are now the resources being exploited, instead.”

“So it’s a yes to Highness’s plan, then. Move forward, check out the possible nasty, and then on with life, or unlife as the case may be.”

“I don’t see that we have any other option. Illyria, how quickly could you begin you reconnaissance?”

“I can begin to shift as soon as you deem it necessary; I need only to know when you wish me to begin.”

“Should we call in any reinforcements? Perhaps Buffy…”

“Buffy doesn’t need to know word one of any of this until we have somethin’ a little more certain. She may not be exactly thrilled with the poof as CEO of Evil Inc. right now, but she ain’t going to be quick to believe he’s gone ‘Angelus’ bad again either. ‘Specially without the gettin’ laid to make him crazy. And then there’s the problem with her not knowin’ I’m back among the non-dusted, least I don’t think she does. Don’t know how she’ll take it, and don’t think it’ll be good news to break ridin’ along with the bad about His Royal Gitness. Better hold off ‘til we have some solid proof to take to her; soon’s we get that, we’ll face down the wrath and be rollin’ with slayers a-plenty.”

“So it’s the five of us, then. Until there’s proof,” sighed Wesley.

“Probably best that way, mate. Least for the time being,” agreed Spike.

“I’m in; don’t like the way any of this is turnin’ out, but I’m in,” promised Gunn.

“Happy to help, crumpet. There may be something along the way that will let me in Angel’s head, but for right now I’ll do what I can from the outside.”

“I’ve already sworn my assistance. I wish to make the investigation and be done with this; this lengthy focus on human concerns is beneath me.”

“Tomorrow then, while Angel’s still out of the office. We’ll meet in the lab; Illyria can shift during her testing session with Spike. After that, we’ll decide on whether any information needs to be disseminated further. Until then this will remain strictly between those of us in this room,” Wesley concluded.

A small cough from the doorway made them all start, turning apprehensively as one to face the intruder. Spike’s view was blocked by Lorne, and he tensed to move beyond the barrier presented by the demon; the next sound he heard froze him momentarily in his tracks. A bright, chipper, California-girl voice, asking in a tone generally reserved for her slaying quips “Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to share with the rest of the class? ‘Cause, not to be boasty Buffy, but I’m fairly certain I sort of started the whole ‘distrust the evil empire’ movement.”

Almost without thinking, and unable to deny himself any longer the glorious sight of the woman he loved, Spike surrendered to temptation. She was finally here, within his reach. Spike stepped aside and out from behind the protective cover Lorne provided and, in a voice barely above a whisper, asked tentatively, “Buffy?”

Spike gazed at her standing there flanked by her Scoobies, staring at him with her hands on her hips and her stubborn little chin jutting out determinedly like the warrior goddess she had always been. Cursing the weakness in his voice, he made a new attempt. This time he managed a slightly louder but no less emotional “H’lo, luv…I…um…”

Frustrated by his lack of eloquence (just who was he bloody kidding—frustrated by his inability to form coherent words), Spike felt himself freeze under her still, emotionless gaze.

“Spike,” she said coolly, maintaining eye contact with him but remaining still, “you always did have an incredible knack for knowing just what to say. At least you being here gives me one less thing I have to manage in the next five minutes.”

Heartbroken by the sheer blankness of her tone, but held captive by her level green gaze, Spike raised his scarred eyebrow and asked with more than a hint of confusion, mixed with anger, “Five minutes? And just what exactly were you predicting to have to manage in your first five minutes here in the City of bloody Angels? Especially with Captain Forehead on walkabout for the rest of the week.”

“Well, now that I know you’re here, that’s about as long as I could spend here in the same city with you,” Buffy began, only to watch Spike drop his head as a coldness, more desolate than death, gripped his insides. Taking one step forward, she started again, “That’s as long as I could manage to be here in the same city with you without touching you.”

Hardly comprehending, much less daring to hope, Spike’s head slowly lifted to meet Buffy’s gaze. He nearly staggered backward from the sheer brilliance of the grin lighting up her face. Rarely had she smiled like this; even more rarely had she ever smiled like this for him. Seeing an answering smile beginning to form across his handsome features, she took another slow step forward and whispered, “Any longer than that would just be hell, Spike. And we both know I’ve earned better. We both have!” Suddenly her tentative steps turned into a run, and she closed the distance between them, launching herself into his arms with a force that landed him against the wall. The kiss that resulted contained all the passion of long, lonely, grief-filled nights; of love given but denied; of mourning and longing, joy and lust, and a desire more eternal than death itself.

When they finally separated, foreheads touching as they both desperately gulped for air, the secretive, joyous smiles that grazed their faces spoke volumes of their emotions, to each other and to their captive and somewhat embarrassed audience.

The sounds of nervous throat-clearing brought them back to themselves and Buffy slowly unwrapped her legs from Spike’s waist, backing up only slightly and remaining in the protective circle of his arms. Lost in her eyes, Spike was too distracted to notice the tiny fist moving at light-speed toward his nose until it had made contact, snapping his head backwards from the force of the blow. Bringing his hands to his nose, Spike shouted “Bloody hell, you bleedin’ daft cow! What the hell was that for?”

Freed from the circle of his arms, Buffy began to pace in front of him, waving her arms dramatically as she ranted “You total bastard! I can’t believe you! You’ve been here all this time and you left me to go on thinking that you were dead! And I mourned you! All these months I have mourned you, and cried for you, and dreamed that you would come back, and you were here the whole damn time! And I still wouldn’t even know if Andrew hadn’t made with the ‘splainy on the plane, because he so knew I would kick his ass if we got here and then I found out that he knew, because obviously you’d be here…and how in the hell could you think I wouldn’t want to at least hear from you, you doof?”

“Buffy…luv…” Spike tried to interrupt, amused at the ramble and overwhelmed by the emotions she was so freely displaying, but Buffy was having none of it. The rant continued unabated, her arms flying as fast as her feet as she paced, tossing occasional glances this way and that but never veering farther than a few feet from him.

“I understand that you were scared, Spike, I really do, and I even get why, because God knows I was never touchy-feely Buffy with you….and I know that I waited too late to tell you and that you didn’t believe me, but I’m telling you again in front of everybody,” she paused for a moment, searching his gaze for his reaction to her words, “I love you, Spike, and I swear to God if you ever hide from me, or doubt me again I will beat you into dust.”

As his face shifted from amusement to a strange mixture of fear, joy, and adoration, the wild gesticulations began anew as she continued. “And I will dismember you piece by piece and put you back together just to do it again…I thought you wanted me to love you? You kept telling me I did, and then I tell you that I do, that I love you, and you’re all ‘No you don’t but thanks for saying it’ and what the hell was THAT anyway, you shirty bastard? You let me watch you…I had to see you burn and you wouldn’t even…”

“Buffy, luv…” Spike broke in again just as Buffy’s emotions tightened her throat and her voice failed her, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her roughly to him. His mouth descended upon hers, silencing her with lips and tongue in a gentle kiss that quickly became heated as he processed her rant and realized the true depth of the emotions she had just revealed.

Bloody hell, she loved him…had sworn it in front of the watcher and her mates and all of Angel’s crew…and never before had he felt what he was feeling now, much less from her: love, acknowledgement, adoration, completion, and oh God, passion that he could barely control and… “We need to get out of here NOW,” Buffy panted, whispering against his lips what his own mind had begun to chant, and they smiled at each other as they turned, finally acknowledging the now red-faced others in the room.

“Giles, could you… um… you know... make with the, er… expositiony bits… cause it seems like Buffy has some plans that we’re interrupting…” Willow interjected, blushing a bit at being the first to speak after the emotional display.

“Yes…quite” Giles quickly stammered, glasses off and handkerchief out, one lens already threatening to crack under the pressure he was exerting upon it. Buffy and Spike snorted simultaneously, each recalling a time their kisses had caused Giles to be grateful for blindness and amused by the prospect that he was about to inadvertently impose that condition upon himself again.

Spike looked up in near-shock at Willow’s words and Giles’ quick agreement, then hastily covered his emotional tumult with a raised eyebrow and a cheeky smirk as he teased, “Why Red, Watcher, one might almost take that as permission for me to leave here with the Slayer, unchaperoned.” Willow’s quick little wave, and accompanying genuine smile, knocked most of the wind out of his sails, but it was the next words spoken that left him completely gobsmacked.

“Well, Kinda Naughty,” said an eye-patched figure moving around Giles to stand by Willow, “we figure she’ll go with you no matter what we do. You’re only going unchaperoned because I don’t want to have to put out my one good eye from the horror of what I might see.”

Spike’s eyes shot from the Scoobies to Buffy (who wore a smirk that rivaled one of his best) and back to Xander, taking in the man’s lack of hostile body language and (holy hell, could it be?) genuine smile. “Well, then, Whelp,” he started cheerfully, minus his usual snark and with the beginnings of a genuine smile, “I guess we’ll just have to keep it kiddie-appropriate for you. Rate Watcher’s going on those glasses, they’re bound to turn to powder, and I don’t think we can afford two blind Scoobies right off. So then Rupert, it appears you have a story to tell?”

Quick introductions followed. The passion of Buffy and Spike’s reunion aside, the tension in the room was too great to allow for much of anything else.

Greetings accomplished, Spike gently prompted, “The story, Rupert?”

Giles hastened to respond; it seemed as though his love of lecturing had remained undiminished. “Well, yes. Although how much of a story really depends much more upon what you know. All we have at the moment are vague impressions of a forthcoming imminent dark force.”

“Bloody hell—forgot how much dealing with you was like watching sodding Star Wars.”

“See, that’s what I keep telling him. Andrew and I try and try to convince him that all the vague isn’t really helping anyone, but nothing will do but ‘imminent forces, prophetic implications, world on the verge of infinite doom, blahdiddy blah.’ That’s why I’m learning the languages—at least that way I know whether or not there’s detail he’s hiding behind all that vague. And it helps when it comes time to translate it all into Scoobie-speak. Oh, and hi Spike. Kinda good to see you.”

“Really, Nibblet?” Spike asked, eyebrow cocked, bravado firmly in place to shield just how desperately he was hoping for a positive answer to his question.

“Oh, yeah. Of course, you and me are gonna have a talk after we’re done here and once Buffy’s done with you,” she paused and gave him a wicked wink that spoke far more of how much she had grown up than he really wanted to know, “…THEN I’ll kick what’s left of your ass for not telling us you were back.”

“Least you’re not telling me I’ll wake up on fire.”

“Well, there is that,” Dawn answered, smiling quietly just as Buffy squeezed his hand reassuringly. Dawn’s eyes told him there might still be some bridge-building to be done, but he could still have his Li’l Bit back in his life. He’d rebuild the damn Brooklyn Bridge from scrap for that chance.

“I don’t mean to interrupt, and I’m certainly glad that a reunion of sorts has been possible, but could we perhaps hear what call has brought the Council into this matter,” interjected Wesley.

“Yes, I do agree. Willow and I work very closely with a coven in Devon; they were instrumental in…”

“Bringing me back from the brink of eternal Elvira-hood?”

“Quite. It was the coven who first sensed the rising of the dark power that turned out to be Willow; they also had some very strong indicators in the early days of the rising of the First. They’ve sensed something else to be rising soon in Los Angeles, something so dark that both of their prior experiences seem rather pale in comparison. So far, however, they have been unable to come up with any sort of definite indicator as to what the force may be. Simply put, we only know that there is an enormous evil on the way, potentially a greater enemy than the First, and that this evil will appear here.”

Buffy’s hand had tightened to near-crushing pressure around Spike’s as Giles mentioned the First; the costs of defeating that enemy all too well-remembered in the face of the miracle next to her. Spike turned to her, giving her a quiet smile, and mouthed “we’ll be ok, luv” before turning his attention back to the discussion between the two watchers.

“It would certainly be helpful if there was some sort of direction in which the coven could point us.”

“Wesley, it sounded when we came in like you have a pretty solid direction that we should be looking towards,” Willow prodded gently, noticing the pain etched across the man’s features. She hated to awaken this in him, knowing how much he had suffered over the past years in Los Angeles, but any information that he had on Angel was too important to be buried under the weight of sorrow.

Wesley glanced at her and gave her a small smile, grateful for the understanding written so plainly on her face. She, too, had lost the woman that she loved, had killed the man responsible, and had seen more darkness inside herself than she had thought possible. Clearly, she had moved beyond it to forge some new self, even stronger than the Willow he had seen the previous year. She was the best possible example he could have asked for during this time of turmoil. Strengthened by that small revelation, Wesley steeled himself to recount his fears to this new group of allies.

“For this information to be its most pertinent, I suppose it would be easiest to start at the beginning, with Connor’s origins. I’m not certain…exactly how much do you already know?”

“Giles just knows the basics—Angel has a kid, I met said kid when I was re-ensouling Angel last year, suddenly the kid is never mentioned by anyone anymore. I never really got much more of the back-story than that. Fred only told me the high points,” Willow finished with a wince, noticing the grief-stricken looks briefly passing over the faces in front of her and tossing a glance towards Illyria. Whatever that was, it looked like Fred—it wasn’t, of course, but what exactly it was needed to be explained. If nothing else, it was just kind of creepy.

“And why didn’t I hear any of this? I was on the plane, too!” Buffy broke in indignantly, clearly not happy at having been left out of the loop.

Willow snorted with barely-concealed laughter as she answered. “Maybe because you were busy tearing Andrew a new one for the entire length of the flight, Buffy. It just seemed like you had something more important on your mind than Angel.”

“I guess I did,” Buffy answered, pouting a bit at being left out but fairly unapologetic for missing the briefing on the plane now that she’d remembered the reason for her distraction.

“Did you, now?” Spike asked her, cocking his eyebrow at her and then allowing his gaze to wander from her eyes to her pouting lip and back. “Might wanna watch that lip, luv. Know I have a bit of a soft spot for it…”

“Nothing soft about the spot you’re talking about.” Buffy giggled back in a whisper against his ear, causing him to grin and their audience to hide smiles and roll their eyes; their joy, even in this dire situation, seemed at least a bit contagious.

“Alright, alright, cuddles with the still walking & talking dusty undead aside, there’s some stuff we need to know. How did Deadboy have a baby, exactly? Thought he couldn’t get groiny without losing it?”

Wesley resumed his story, more than a bit relieved by the lighter sensibility that had entered this discussion since the arrival of Buffy and her friends. The wounds within him were still raw, but the presence of others was helping. “A year after Angel’s arrival in Los Angeles, Darla was resurrected by Wolfram & Hart as a terminally ill human. Angel attempted to save her but was unable to stop Wolfram & Hart from having her turned by Drusilla. Something about the experiences with Darla, and the loss of having her turned, snapped him; he didn’t lose his soul, but he was no longer stirred by it, either. He allowed Darla and Drusilla to kill a number of the firm’s lawyers, fired all of us and tried to eliminate the two of them on his own. He failed, however, and ultimately had relations with Darla.”

The pained gasps from the Scoobies were little surprise to him. Of course they’d known Angel slept with someone in order to have a child. However, they had been the ones to suffer when Angelus had made his first reappearance in a century the last time such a thing had happened.

“He didn’t lose his soul,” Gunn hurried to add, noticing but not understanding the change in the stress level of the newcomers. “That night’s what brought him running back to all of us, but a few months later something else came running in too.”

“Angel had a son…” Buffy whispered, trying to wrap her mind around the strangeness of what she was hearing. “Darla was pregnant? But I thought that couldn’t happen?!” she exclaimed, volume escalating as she turned stunned eyes to Giles. “Dead seed and all that—you said…”

“Buffy, I’m quite certain that this was a matter of prophecy. Vampires cannot and do not procreate. Although in the strictest sense, turning could be considered a type of breeding…” Giles allowed his academic ramble to taper off, given that his slayer was showing no signs of interest in continuing the conversation.

“Relax, luv,” Spike bent to whisper in her ear, stroking the back of her hand with the pad of his thumb gently, “no little fanged nibblets to breastfeed in the offing for you.”

He chuckled as she slapped him and whispered “Pig!”

“Erm…if I might….Connor was indeed born of prophecy; Darla sacrificed herself that he might be born, and Angel began to raise his son. Wolfram & Hart, however, had other plans and brought forth in time a vampire hunter whose family Angelus and Darla had slaughtered. Holtz decided that to take the son would be a far greater punishment than to simply destroy Angelus, and so he kidnapped the boy…with some help.”

No one missed the grimace of pain that crossed the younger watcher’s face at the memory, and Lorne decided that for once the narration wouldn’t have to involve the ripping open of old wounds. He hadn’t seen Fred’s fate in time, but he would do what he could for this wound of his friend’s.

“Scrumptious here had a prophecy that told him that Angel would kill Connor. Angelcakes was already acting mucho strange around the baby, also part of Evil Incorporated’s plan, so the prophecy didn’t seem that far-fetched. Wesley didn’t want to hurt any of us more than necessary, so he took the baby to raise.”

“Holtz’s paramour slit my throat and stole Connor.” Wesley finished the story in a near-whisper, fingers ghosting against the scar on his throat, and then looked up in surprise at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder. Willow, perched on the arm of the couch with her hand just resting on his arm and her level gaze meeting his, loaning him silent strength for the endurance of pain conjured by the past. “When Connor returned, he was essentially a feral warrior who had been raised in the most hellish of dimensions and taught to hate Angel above all else.”

“We all tried to get to him, to let him know Angel wouldn’t hurt him, but he wasn’t havin’ none of it. He sank Angel to the bottom of the ocean and left him there for months; English saved him, but nothin’ was gonna bring Connor back from that. When Cordelia came back all demon-infested, that was just the last bit that he needed to lose it—kid was barely hanging on by a thread after we got rid of Jasmine,” finished Gunn.

“So Angel may have had some altruistic motives for wanting his son to be given a new chance at life, then?” queried Giles, still trying to make his way through the information he was receiving. They’d heard of Jasmine—he’d discussed that much with Angel in the days immediately following Sunnydale’s destruction, a bit of apocalypse comparison among fellow warriors—but any information regarding a son had most definitely been excluded.

“He had absolutely altruistic motives for that action—I truly believe that,” answered Wesley, “although he did not have the same for having everyone’s memories erased, and reality shifted in order to accomplish it. Doing that erased not only Connor’s existence, but all of the strife and stress that our relationships as a group had suffered as well. Quite simply, he erased our memories of things he, and we, had done wrong in order to create what seemed, to him, a better world. All of these things, coupled with his refusal to break the spell, even when it was the only thing that would save Connor’s life…”

“Reeks of hubris,” Giles finished, sighing inaudibly. God, how desperately he had hoped that this wouldn’t happen. Since he had learned of Angel’s takeover of Wolfram & Hart, he had been apprehensive of what the power would do to the vampire. Memories of the near-apocalypse resulting from Willow’s loss of control ran on a loop in his head. It was in memory spells that her desire to bend the world to her will had first shown itself, and her ability to achieve a world to her liking, if only for a short while, had resulted in a hubris that had torn his slayer from heaven and almost ended the world. As if by some unseen force, the eyes of all the Scoobies, including Spike, met for a moment; surprisingly, it was Willow who broke the silence.

“So it’s the beginning of the end for Angel, then.”

“We don’t know that!” Gunn exclaimed, although it was clear to all concerned that he was simply saying it out of his remaining sense of loyalty. He knew it, too. He would’ve never found himself in this room if he didn’t believe that Angel was on his way to something very, very bad.

“We don’t know that it’s not, either, young man. Angel is on a dangerous path, a path one of our own has tread before, and there’s very little that will shake him from that now. Angel has always been given to a certain grandiosity,” here Giles paused to throw a slightly amused glare at Spike after the bleached vamp’s exaggerated snort, “and that tendency, coupled with the amount of power he currently finds at his disposal, means that he is extraordinarily unpredictable at the moment. He may not be able to stop himself.”

“But his soul…” started Gunn, only to be interrupted by Wesley.

“His soul wasn’t enough to keep him from the dark path with Darla before. It merely pulled him back before he was too far gone to return. We have no reason to have faith that it should be enough now, especially not with the stakes as high as they are.”

“You lot have no concept of what the soul actually does, do you? The soul didn’t pull Angel back before he was too far gone; Angel had to make the conscious decision to slink back to the bosom. I’m willin’ to bet he only decided that shaggin’ Darla was the bottom of the barrel because it hurt the hell out of his pride to think he’d sunk so low—he’d reached bottom on his self-pity scale, ‘s all. Bloody hell, for years I’ve had to listen to the superiority of the Poof because he had a soul and that made him noble. Soddin’ soul doesn’t make you noble… tells you that everything you’ve ever done wrong is bad and lets you know just how bad in Technicolor, but that’s not somethin’ any git with a teaspoon of sense can’t figure out on his own.”

Spike’s brow furrowed as he contemplated the slights he had suffered over the years from the Scoobies due to his lack of a magical get-out-of-bloody-jail-free soul. As his level of tension increased, he found that he couldn’t stop himself from pacing. “I always knew right from wrong… so did Angelus… so does any fledgling, but when you’re a vamp you just don’t care. The ponce had a soul for years before he started doing anything approaching noble, and that’s only because of Buffy. I had the chip—you lot always told me that the chip wasn’t a soul. Bloody well knew that—if I’d really wanted you lot destroyed, I coulda done it chip or no. You helped me—bought you a certain amount of grudging respect—and over time I came to like some of you, ‘n love one of you. Knew enough to help Buffy… loved the Bit like my own child… helped you guard the hellmouth… and all of that without that bright sparkly soul.”

“So you’re saying what, exactly?” interrupted Giles. “That everything we know about the soul…”

“Is suspect because it came from Peaches? Yeah, Rupes… got it in one. Why would he tell you the truth about it? Not like there was anybody else before me to shake up that little view of the world he gave you, and you never really asked me ‘bout it, did ya? Angelus and Angel aren’t two bloody people, any more than I am. He’s not bleedin’ schizophrenic; the Poof could just never handle shades of grey, soul or no soul…not surprisin’ he’d want you lot to have the same soddin’ blind spot. The soul… it… throws everything into sharper relief, yeah? But it doesn’t make you a new person—good ‘n bad are still there like they always were. Good without the soul is psychological strength… knowin’ who you are and what you’ll stand for.”

He sighed in frustration and scrubbed his hands agitatedly through his hair as he searched for the right words to help this lot understand. “Angelus, with the soul or without it, always defined himself by others… their fear, their hate, their pain, their adoration, their trust… never bloody well knew who he was. I got my soul cause I did the one thing I swore I wouldn’t do… the thing I wouldn’t stand for…” here Spike’s voice broke, and Buffy wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing small kisses to his chest and stroking the base of his spine softly. Her silent support allowed him to finish, although considerably more subdued. “Angel didn’t go lookin’ for a soul… he got it from rotten luck an’ some very brassed-off gypsies. He never had a moral code to violate, even when he was a human—he’s never had to own up to doin’ anythin’ wrong, and now he just won’t. He’s decided he’s above mistakes and he’s draggin’ you lot along in those decisions whether you like it or not.”

The group looked by turns chastened, intrigued, and somewhat convinced; Wesley, however, took up the voice of the opposition. “How can you say that he’s never had to own up to doing anything wrong? The guilt that attends the soul…”

“Is just that—guilt. Nauseatin’, cripplin’, horrifyin’ guilt if you’ve done the kinda things Angelus and I used to do. But there’s all kinds of guilt; you can hit a parked car and not leave a note and feel guilty about it—doesn’t mean you owned up to it. Every bad thing Angel’s done is laid at Angelus’ door, but they’re the same bloody person. I own everything I’ve done… it’s all on me, in here, and I deal with it best I bloody well can. Angel hides himself under the blanky of Angelus and taught you lot to do the same—if the soul was scarpered when he did it, then it’s not his to pay for. But it’s all him… that’s the big bad truth in his closet. He knows it’s all him… that all that dark-n-nasty is much closer to who he is than even he wants to believe… that’s why he can’t let you believe it.”

For a moment, pained silence reigned in the room. For Angel’s friends, Spike had provided deeply disturbing insight into the man to whom they’d tied their lives and, to no small extent, their fates. It seemed now as though they had indeed built their castle on shifting sand. They had been so quick to believe, so quick to trust—even after the Darla debacle—that realizing that the darkness they had all seen in Angel might actually rule him was just another sharp blow to already demoralized psyches.

For the Scoobies, the news didn’t seem wholly shocking, a fact that surprised Spike. He knew how the whelp had always felt about Angel, and knew that Red didn’t really trust him either, but the looks passing between Buffy and Giles told him that the very issues he had brought up had been, at least in some small part, discussed between the two of them. Damn, but he was proud of his girl… looking beyond what she had been told. Of course, it had taken him getting a soul and going up in flames and the git taking over Evil Inc., but she had finally taken the steps to look at the issue on her own. She really had grown so much… he had been right. She was one hell of a woman. He squeezed her gently and she looked up at him, giving him another brilliant smile before turning to face the room again.

“Alright, guys, battle plan? I don’t think any of us wanna sleep here tonight, and we need to move quick if…”

“Luv, we’ve already got a plan.”

“Oh… well…. that’s good. So this would be the plan you weren’t going to tell me about?”

“Well, yeah. No reason scrappin’ a perfectly good plan ‘cause you lot had to run in and share the glory, now is there?”

Buffy gave him a glare that made it clear that he would be paying for that little remark, though not in an entirely unenjoyable way. Turning back to Wes, she asked, “So, Wes—the plan?”

“Yes, well… Illyria has offered her services in following Angel’s path through time to let us know what his coming actions will be.”

“And she can do that because….? Who is she again? And, um, why does she look like a goth dominatrixy Fred?” asked Willow, relieved that she could finally investigate the whos and whys of the being in front of her.

“Illyria…” Giles appeared to be turning the name over in his head, searching his mental databases for the source of the familiarity the name had triggered. “Good lord… Illyria is one of the Old Ones, buried in the Deeper Well… but how is this possible? The legend is so old as to be believed only a myth.”

“Giles, you were contacted regarding this; Illyria’s tomb was drawn from the Deeper Well and delivered here. She infected Fred…” Wesley stopped, unable to finish the thought so horrible that he had yet to grasp it fully. “Illyria… inhabiting Fred… was the reason Angel asked you to contact Willow to assist…”

“I recall the conversation, Wesley, and that’s part of the reason that we’re all here. I didn’t send for Willow immediately because I simply couldn’t contact her, as I attempted to explain to Angel; also, he was rather spare with the details. He didn’t seem to want to explain the situation very clearly, and although I understood it to be a deeply emotional time for your group here, I don’t take kindly to be ordered about like a minion. He refused to give me clear information or let me know exactly what we were dealing with, and quite frankly, I wasn’t inclined to trust him with an extraordinarily powerful witch. An impulse I’m rather grateful for at the moment.”

Wesley looked both chastened and extremely uncomfortable, as did Gunn and Lorne. Illyria had turned her attention from the conversation to the plants in the corner of Wesley’s office early on, but at Willow’s question had turned back to the assembled group. Head cocked to one side, she approached Buffy slowly, stopping a few feet away.

“This one has extraordinary power for one so small and young. She pulses with strength beyond that of the half-breeds. What is she?”

Buffy took one step forward, but Spike’s hand on her arm stopped her. “She’s not tryin’ to be rude, pet…’s just how Shiva is. She’s not exactly been around these parts in a few millennia.”

Buffy turned to Spike, a small frown crossing her face before she realized that, whatever was going on here, he had a pretty good handle on it. At the very least, he’d nicknamed whoever this was—that meant she had a certain standing with him. She turned back to the strange figure in front of her and replied calmly, “I’m the Slayer.”

“This is the warrior for your kind you spoke of, Wesley? She is your race’s hope for salvation from the demons?”

Spike’s grip grew a little firmer, but Buffy was already squelching the urge to show the strange woman just how much of a warrior she was. She had faced down a goddess before—for that matter, she’d stood toe to toe with the First Evil. While she could feel the power radiating off the figure in front of her and knew that this woman put Glory to shame and could give the First a run for its money, she knew instinctively that power would respond to power. Keeping a level gaze with Illyria, she simply stated, “What can I say? I’m stronger than I look.”

“So you are.” Illyria replied flatly. Interest apparently sated, she returned to the corner and her murmured conversation with the ficus.

Buffy looked at Spike and the others, taking in the amused grin on his face and the mingled amused and confused expressions on the faces of the others. “Ooookay, guys, so Illyria is going to track Angel through time and let us know what he’s planning.” Looking at Spike, she mouthed “You are so going to explain all this later” before turning back to Wesley. “That works, I guess, as long as he doesn’t do anything other than what she sees between now and then…”

“I have already explained far more than I am required to. Further explanation…”

“Illyria, if you’ll allow me,” interrupted Wes, certain that the condescending tone of the god would not go over well with the new arrivals. “According to Illyria, paths through time are not set. Free will still exists, but we are rather predisposed as a race to continue on one path once we have set upon it. For this reason, she feels certain that she will be able to travel forward and report back to us Angel’s actions. The explanation is far more complicated, and I’ll be happy to go into further detail later, but for now this explanation should be sufficient.”

“Indeed. So this, erm, excursion will take place…”

“Tomorrow, Rupes. I work with Blue here every day… testing her skills, strengths and whatnot. Won’t cause any raised eyebrows if we’re in there again, and with the Poof gone nobody’ll come in to observe ‘cept Wes. She’s a bit of a handful… nobody else wants in the line of fire.”

“Well, then, should I perhaps be here? I could observe with Wesley…”

“And immediately raise suspicion. Rupert, I think it might be best if you should all remain hidden until we’re quite certain of what we’re facing. We can gather again tomorrow, away from the office and discuss what Illyria found and what steps we should take next. Have you found accommodations? Perhaps we should arrange a time to meet at your hotel?”

“That might be best, yes. We’ll be staying in an apartment complex the Council owns; I’ll be happy to provide you with the address. Actually, it might prove useful if you should stay there as well tonight; I’d like to hear more of this plan and of what exactly has been happening here.”

“I think you might be correct. I should catch you up on events tonight. We should make every effort to hide your presence here until we’re absolutely certain that you’re needed; a secret weapon would be quite a good thing, I’m beginning to fear.”

“I’ll get the security tapes,” interjected Gunn, tugging his jacket on as he started to leave the office. “I’ll just dupe some of last night’s and throw ‘em in—the guys’ll never know the difference… empty halls are empty halls.”

“I’m just going to go sleep, cupcakes. A sleepy empath is no help to anyone, and Blueberry Streudel there may need me tomorrow.”

Plans made, the group began to file out, Giles and Wesley following Gunn and Lorne with the rest of the Scoobies trailing behind. Hanging back for a moment alone, Spike and Buffy turned towards Illyria, the only straggler remaining.

“Blue, you walkin’ the halls here again tonight?”

“I need no rest; I find myself better engaged in exploring my surroundings.”

“Alright, then, Highness—be seeing you for the usual tomorrow.” His closing remarks had been for naught, as Illyria had already disappeared down the hall, and finally Spike and Buffy found themselves alone in the corridor leading to the elevators.

“So where might you be plannin’ on settlin’ in tonight, pet?”

Buffy stopped and turned to look at him, annoyance writ large in her expression. “What part of the dramatic declaration of love did you not get, there, Spikey? I think I might be ‘settlin’ in’ where you do, for as long as we’re here.”

“What’re the watcher and your mates gonna say ‘bout that, luv? Wait a minute…we?”

“If they have any sense at all, they’re going to say ‘Have a good night, Buffy, and we’ll see you tomorrow.’ New day for us, Spike—they know, and they’re OK with it. May not understand it, but they’re OK with it. And even if they weren’t…. not letting you go again. I’m just not. So that’s it… they get that, if nothing else. Don’t mess with Buffy’s boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Spike asked, quietly incredulous. Such an inadequate word for what they were to each other, but it was still the sweetest thing he’d ever heard. His mind, however, quickly reeled back to the question she hadn’t answered. “We, luv? You said as long as we’re here? Do you mean the Scoobies, or…”

“No, Spike, WE.” Buffy answered, rolling her eyes despite her smile and pointing her finger back and forth between the two of them. “You and me, in a relationshippy sense, as indicated by the we.”

“So you go where I go?” he asked, wonder laced with a bit of Big Bad bravado in his voice.

“Looks like you’re finally getting the plan, Blondie… I got nowhere I’d rather be.”

“So you plannin’ on hangin’ round my neck like a monkey all night, luv?”

“Yep!” Buffy replied brightly from her perch on his back, legs around Spike’s waist and arms around his neck. “And don’t be such an ass…it’s not like I’m too heavy for you to carry.”

Spike laughed a bit, hitching her up slightly as he walked towards the garage. “Not complainin’, luv—not at all. Take you as long as I can have you, ‘s just…’s a bit new, innit? Not like we were ever this friendly…or this open…before. Hell, your watcher and the whelp just watched you jump on my back after you told them you were stayin’ with me and nobody said a word ‘cept for the Bit and Red gigglin’ like demented schoolgirls and Andrew goin’ on about the glorious reunion of Arwyn and Aragorn. ‘m not used to this, luv.”

“Well, they did kinda see me jump on your front too… with the whole grand reunion smoochies… and I told you—get used to this. You died to save to save the world, Spike—that buys you a certain amount of slack. Willow and Dawn are happy I’m happy, and they both lean towards the liking of you anyway. Giles admitted he was wrong about you in the first hour out of the hellmouth… doesn’t mean things are all hugs & bunnies between he and I, but it helped that he realized what… who you were. And Xander… well, Xander and I had a lot in common after…”

“Anyanka…?”

“Didn’t make it out. Died protecting Andrew, of all things,” Buffy giggled through sniffles and the tears that had started to spill. It was somehow easier to deal with the big emotional revelations this way, when they didn’t have to maintain visual contact. Spike had always been better at the emotional than she was; she’d been working on it, but she still had a years-long tradition of holding in her feelings that was tough to break. For now, his hands on her knees holding her up were support enough to let her continue.

“We both lost someone we loved in that fight, and I think… Xander found me one night, laying on top of the bus crying, and we talked—really talked—about you and Anya and what you meant to us. I think he saw then that it was real… that we were real to me… and he understood. Xander and I were the two left behind. There were a lot of those nights when we couldn’t sleep, and we took turns—he told me everything he could remember about Anya, and I told him everything about the year I came back, the way I turned to you, needed you… the way you took care of me. And then how things went bad, how much I hurt you… how you tried… that night… which he sort of knew but not really. And how you got your soul, and came back for me. I don’t think he’ll ever really understand what it meant for you to do what you did with the soul… but I think he’s trying to. He told me on the plane after Andrew told me about you that he’d never seen me look so happy, and that he was glad ‘Deadboy Jr.’ did the right thing and came back for me—that it was time for one of us to take the happiness the Powers or whoever wanted us to have and hold on to it.”

“Bloody hell…” Spike whispered through a throat suddenly impossibly tight with emotion. “Never thought the whelp…”

Buffy’s arms and legs tightened slightly around him, hugging him as best she could. “Xan grew up, Spike. He fought and loved and lost, and it made him a good man.”

“That it did, luv… seems that it did.” Why was he swallowing around a lump in his throat? Shouldn’t mean this much that Xander of all people approved of he and Buffy, but it did. Spike shook his head slightly, deciding for himself to definitely blame the gushy feelings on the soul—poncy William and his need to belong. Yeah, it was all William.

“You doin’ alright, there, Big Bad?” Buffy asked, sliding forward until her cheek rested against his and squeezing him tightly.

“’m fine, Slayer. Just a lot to try to take in all at once, is all.”

“I know… and I’m sorry. I wish it wasn’t coming down all at once like this... whoa, pretty cars!”

Spike laughed and fished in his pocket for the keys to the car du jour he had grabbed on the way past Harmony’s desk. Pressing the auto-unlock button, he hid a grin when the car turned out to be a classic Thunderbird…had to be karma. Feeling his grin against her cheek, Buffy started giggling uncontrollably as he let go of her legs and she slid to the floor. “Let me guess… Angel’s car?”

“They’re all Angel’s, luv… this just happens to be a favorite,” Spike replied, very close to unmanly giggles himself. “Was just thinkin’ it’s a great streak of luck… leavin’ the Poof’s office in his favorite car with his ex to whom I plan to do unspeakable things…”

“Unspeakable?” Buffy repeated, eyes slightly glazed as she moved towards him, pressing herself against him and tipping her head backwards. “Promise?”

“God, I love you, woman,” Spike growled, pulling her impossibly closer and crushing his mouth to hers. They both lost themselves completely in the moment, Spike backing Buffy up towards the car before lifting her and sitting her on the bonnet.

Buffy raised her legs around his waist, circling her hips to grind against him as she broke away from his lips panting. “Want you, Spike… god, want you so much… wanted you for so long,” she gasped, dropping her legs from his waist and scooting forward, pushing him backwards gently while she ran her tongue and teeth gently across his jaw and down his throat.

“If you want me, luv, why push me away?” Spike asked in a husky whisper, only to gasp as he was shoved up against the car door, small impatient hands tugging on the waistband of his jeans. “Buffy… what’re you…?

“Has it been so long that you’ve forgotten, Spike?” Buffy giggled, dropping to her knees as she started to drag the zipper down. “I think once you called it cheating… most people just call it blowing.”

“Bloody hell… I remember, luv… believe me…” He nearly whimpered as he felt her hand wrap around his erection and deftly remove him from his pants, but he couldn’t stop the groan that escaped his lips as he felt her tongue slide up the underside of his shaft. His hands flew up into her hair, and he looked down to see her looking straight back into his eyes, tracing her tongue around the head of his cock before closing her lips around him and easing him further into her mouth. The sight of that beautiful mouth wrapped around him when he had resigned himself to never even seeing her again nearly pushed him over the edge, and he closed his eyes and dropped his head backwards, determined to enjoy every second of this blessing.

Buffy hummed softly in approval, bobbing her head and easing him more deeply down her throat. When her lips were wrapped tightly around the base of his shaft, she slid her hands up the backs of his thighs to cup his ass through his jeans, pushing him gently forward before sucking in her cheeks and pulling backwards. Spike seemed to know intuitively what she wanted; tightening his hands in her hair he began to rock his hips back and forth, gradually increasing his pace. Buffy’s hands had moved forward and beneath him to cup and gently squeeze his sac through his jeans, and she focused on the contractions of her throat around him as he sank fully into her mouth and the maneuvering of her tongue around all the super-sensitive areas she knew so well as he pulled back. Desperate to bring him off, to have that one further proof that he was really there with her, she began to bob her head faster in opposition to his thrusts, forcing him deeper down her throat and drawing back until he nearly escaped the confines of her mouth.

Spike could hardly get his mind around what was happening, but he couldn’t really be bothered to care. All he knew was the absolutely glorious feeling of Buffy’s warm mouth wrapped around him and oh, Christ, that marvelous little throat letting him in and contracting around him. He could hardly believe that Buffy had begun this, much less encouraged him to thrust into her mouth at will while her hands played elsewhere; she’d blown him before, of course, but never had she let him have complete control. When she began to move in synch with him, slamming him into her throat and pulling back with her tongue working feverishly against his veins and the tender little ridge right beneath the head, he stopped trying to control himself at all. He gave himself over to mindless thrusting, groaning and babbling what he knew was utter and unintelligible nonsense about her beauty and perfection as he felt his balls begin to tighten. Summoning all his remaining faculties, he managed to choke out a “Buffy… love you…” before he lost complete control, holding her head still as he came in short, quick bursts.

Spike sank against the support provided by the car against his back, both grateful that Buffy had had the foresight to move him here and impressed that he was still standing. He looked down to see Buffy smiling at him, tucking him back into his pants before re-fastening them and standing up to face him. He focused his slowly-recovering muscle control into pulling her tightly against him, brushing his lips gently against hers before deepening the kiss, her arms wrapping around him as their tongues tangled gently. Buffy finally pulled away, positively beaming with happiness, and Spike felt a catch in the breath he didn’t even need as he felt his eyes fill with tears. Buffy didn’t mention them, simply pulled him forward gently and pressed light kisses to each brow before pulling back, meeting his gaze, and whispering, “Baby, let’s go home.”

Mercifully, the drive to Spike’s apartment was short—at least with the way he was driving. Buffy had never been so simultaneously annoyed with and thankful for traffic lights in all her life; every red light offered a new opportunity for heated kisses and frenzied explorations, bittersweet for their brevity but absolutely exhilarating.

As they merged onto the sparsely-trafficked freeway, Spike reached across the small space separating them, allowing his hand to slide slowly up her thighs. Buffy moaned softly and leaned back against the seat, parting her legs and pressing her hips up in a silent plea. Spike chuckled, glancing out of the corner of his eye to take her in, absolutely radiant in her desperate lust—eyes glazed and fixed on him, lips parted, chest rising and falling rapidly with each panting breath. God, she had always been so beautiful this way, so wanton and vulnerable all at once. Damned if he could resist her now or ever.

Turning his eyes back to the road, he allowed his hand to move the few remaining inches until he was cupping her mound, gasping at the intensity of the heat and moisture he could feel even through the denim of her pants. “Christ, luv,” he murmured reverently as he moved his fingers gently, manipulating the seam of her jeans against her clit. Her gasped cry of his name let him know that she was close to her release, and her hand wrapped around his wrist as if to trap him there. “Not gonna leave you wanting, precious girl,” he promised, speeding the motion of his fingers slightly and smiling as the volume of her whimpers rose. “Come for your Spike, Buffy. Let me do this for you. Such a beautiful, beautiful girl… can’t believe I have you here with me, luv. Never gonna let you go again. Gonna make you feel just like this every day… make sure you know how much I love you.”

Every word from his mouth was taking her one step higher, closer to orgasm. His voice had always been able to do that to her, to ratchet up desire she didn’t think could get any more desperate. But now… every syllable and every delicious motion of his hand had her begging in wordless syllables for release. Not able to tear her eyes away from him, she tightened her grip even more on his wrist as she pressed her thighs together. “Spike, oh God…” she moaned before her words faded into pants and gasps as orgasm overtook her.

Thankful for the late hour and the nearly empty road, Spike couldn’t help but turn his head to watch as she came. Shuddering against his hand, lower lip caught between her teeth as she whimpered and gasped, widened and unfocused eyes still not moving from his face—he knew effulgent was a ridiculous word that made him sound like a ponce, but right now he didn’t care. That’s what she was, arbiters of poetic quality be damned, and she was his.

As soon as the last tremors had faded, Buffy scooted closer to Spike and rested her head against his shoulder, slipping her hand from his wrist to entwine their fingers. Her other hand briefly came to rest on his shoulder before reaching up to run through his hair, finishing what he had started during the meeting and tugging it completely free into freeform curls and spikes.

Spike had turned his head again as Buffy had curled into him, placing a quick kiss to her forehead before turning back to the road. He frowned briefly before succumbing to her lighthearted makeover, proud that he managed to only briefly grumble, “Don’t know why you wanna make me look like a git, luv.”

Buffy simply laughed and leaned up to brush a kiss across his cheek. “Like curly…curly makes you look all ravaged and yummy.”

“Oh.” Spike couldn’t stop the little smile from crossing his face. “Muss away, then.”

“Done mussing… but I haven’t even started with the ravaging,” Buffy responded in a voice so husky with desire it made Spike’s foot descend on the gas pedal with every bit of force he could muster as he veered off the freeway at their exit.

“Hold that thought, luv…there in a heartbeat.” Never had he thought he would be so grateful for an apartment so near the bloody freeway. The morning traffic jam symphonies were hell on vamp hearing and the exhaust smells weren’t exactly English rose gardens, but what a sweet compensation for the pain was the treasure sitting next to him. He made the sharp turn into his parking lot, then braked hard in the first parking space he could find. Slamming the car into park, he turned his head and met Buffy’s lips for a passionate kiss, pulling her towards him as he slid out of the car. Lifting her into his arms as she wrapped her legs around his waist, he slammed the car door closed and fought the urge to break into a run as he carried her towards his apartment.

Spike forced himself to break away from Buffy’s mouth on his way to the door. It wouldn’t do to drop her, and truth be told his balance was nearly shot, a condition not at all helped by the grinding of her pelvis against his or the presence of her teeth and tongue along his jugular. He sobbed with relief when the door came into sight and he quickened his pace, reaching it and pressing her up against it as his hands dropped to madly search his pockets for his keys. Growling with frustration as he groped futilely in his empty duster, he heard a jingle and looked up to see Buffy’s mischievous smile and small hand dangling the keys in front of him. *Little wench had the pickpocket skills of a Whitechapel strumpet.*

“Um, Spike? You might wanna look into getting an internal monologue, ‘cause I’m pretty sure you just called me something I’d normally kick your ass for calling me.”

Spike’s eyes widened as he realized he had muttered that last bit out loud. He had the grace to look sheepish, although it was clear from the laughter in her eyes that she wasn’t really angry. “Ta, luv… but are you sure you don’t wanna maybe prove some other skills in that direction?” he asked, eyebrow raised and smirk firmly in place.

“Oink, Spike,” Buffy answered, rolling her eyes to hide her snort of amusement. “Now would you like to open the door… please?”

Spike swiftly twisted the key in the lock, and Buffy’s arms shot back around his neck as the door swung open behind her. Recapturing his balance and managing to avoid tumbling forward into the apartment, Spike tightened his arms around her waist and made it through the door only to be pushed against the other side of it by Buffy’s strong arms. Their tongues continued to tangle heatedly, and Buffy’s hands slid back down towards his jeans. Spike tore away from her lips, and the look in his widened eyes stopped her in her tracks.

“Buffy, luv… not this time… not like this, please.” He could hardly get the words out, but the horrific sense of déjà vu wouldn’t let him continue without voicing his fears. He knew in his head that everything was different—hell, he had heard it, seen it, and felt it—but as he stood there against the door with her around him his memories merged with the present and he couldn’t have said for certain where he truly was. As Buffy unwrapped her limbs and slid down to stand in front of him, he closed his eyes and began mentally berating himself. *Just brilliant, you soddin’ wanker. Throw your bloody dreambird off of you because you can’t let the past go. I’m just sure she’ll take it well.*

Buffy took a step back, angry at herself for not having the sense to know that this was the wrong way to go about this first time. When she had seen him and held him earlier, everything had just melted away; she had almost been able to forget the painful history behind them in the miracle of his presence. Now, however, it all came back full force, and she realized that Spike had shown more terror in his eyes in that one moment of unshielded emotion than she had ever known him to feel. He thought this was it for them, that she was just going to use him again, and it broke her heart.

Praying silently that she was handling this correctly, she met his gaze and held her hand out to him. When he reached out and laced his fingers with hers, she smiled softly and said, “I love you—I want you to know just how much. Take me to bed, Spike. Let me show you how much things have changed.”

Taking a tremulous breath and gracing Buffy with a smile that was nothing short of beatific, Spike led her towards the bedroom. “’S not exactly the Plaza, luv…”

“But it’s home,” Buffy finished for him.

It was hard for Buffy to believe that Spike could live in a place as sterile as this tiny apartment. Granted, he didn’t need much, but he hadn’t needed much when he lived in the crypt, either. And how strange was it that a stone monument should seem so much warmer than an actual human dwelling? She couldn’t help but compare the bare walls and stark coloring here with the rich, vibrant colors and fabrics with which he had surrounded himself in Sunnydale.

Something about the lower level of the crypt had always seemed so completely decadent—candles playing with light and shadow, satin sheets and worn but still beautiful rugs providing point and counterpoint of sensation, dark woods that seemed to absorb light and reflect it back in deeper, more seductive shades of itself. That room had been designed as a sanctuary—as much Spike’s as hers, she knew that now, though then she had believed it to be all for her—and she hadn’t been lying when she had told the slayers-in-training that it was cozy. Spike was nothing if not ruled by physicality, and his sensuality had been borne out by the pleasure palace he had created in that makeshift home.

Buffy had taken so much time to reflect on every little nuance of him in her memories, afraid to let anything slip for fear of losing him forever. Thinking about the nights they had spent in the basement of her house, holding each other in sleep, had brought forth memories of other nights spent in his crypt, in each other’s arms for a very different reason. Those nights had brought comfort in their own way, but nowhere near the sensation of completion she got from closing her eyes and resting her head against his chest, knowing that she was safe because he would protect her.

“It’s spartan I know, luv… but ‘ve not been here long an’ there hasn’t been time for decoratin’ with Fred an’ Blue an’ all…” Spike’s voice shook her from her thoughts, and she looked at him only to find him ducking his head shyly and absentmindedly rubbing the back of his neck.

“Spike, shush. You’re here. That’s all I need.” Buffy answered, squeezing and then releasing his hand as he led her through to the bedroom. She couldn’t help but notice that the bed was a little small, but that just meant closeness would be called for. That fact coupled with the satin sheets that met her fingers when she bent to turn down the bed combined to create a deeply wicked smirk that she turned on Spike.

He gave her the sweetest grin in response—no trace of snark or innuendo, just pure masculine joy stemming from having a beautiful woman by his bed—and she shivered with lust. This time was going to be different, she knew—more meaningful than any of the other times they’d had sex—but that didn’t mean that she didn’t know what she was in for. She had very vivid memories of what was awaiting her, and they set her on fire.

And then suddenly, inexplicably, she was nervous—so nervous that she could hardly stand. She pressed her hand against her stomach, wondering at the fluttering that seemed to have taken it over, and caught Spike’s worried glance out of the corner of her eye.

“Just….nervous, I guess.”

“This is somethin’ new for us, yeah?” he asked, almost blushing and looking up at her through his lashes as he focused his gaze on his boots. And just like that, she was over it. He was at least as nervous as she was, if not more so. Whatever happened, they were in this together.

“Well, we are starting out in a bed this time. That’s definitely new,” she teased, delighting in the boyish grin that lit up his face as he raised his head again and met her eyes.

“I had sex with Harmony.” *What the fuck?* The sentence was out before Spike could stop it, and it had certainly not been what he had planned to say. From the look on Buffy’s face, it wasn’t exactly what she had planned to hear, either.

*O-kay. Not what I was looking for there.* Buffy just stared at him, blinking. His eyes were impossibly wide, and it was clear he had no idea what to do now. What was that supposed to mean for her? What exactly was she supposed to say? “Um… I’m sorry?”

“Buggerin’... Buffy, I have no idea why I just said that, but I guess it bears the tellin’ before…” he gestured helplessly to the bed. “Know the more annoying of the whelps probably told you most of this on the plane, but he didn’t know everythin’. You need to know, and I need to tell you all this anyway, luv…might wanna sit for a bit.”

Once Buffy was seated, Spike started pacing in front of her. “I was a bloody haunt when I came poppin’ out of that bauble I wore in the hellmouth—couldn’t touch, couldn’t taste, couldn’t do anythin’ really ‘sides hauntin’ Peaches, an’ I kept fadin’ in ‘n out—one of the Wolfram and Hart resident spooks tryin’ to send me to hell in his place. Tried to leave, to find you, but every time I got to the city limits I got yanked back to that place. You were the first thing I asked about, luv… wanted to know if you were OK. All the Poof would tell me was that you were in Europe, that you were fine. That you didn’t really—that you didn’t really love me—didn’t even care about me. That’s been a recurring theme,” Spike added in a tight whisper.

His pacing, while giving him an outlet for the tension coursing through him, caused him to miss the look of pure murder that crossed Buffy’s face at his last revelation. Spike might not have believed her declaration in the hellmouth, but Angel knew better—she had told him Spike was in her heart, and she had told him more than that when she had called to tell him where they had all ended up after the smoke had cleared from the battle with the First. That he’d broken Spike’s heart on purpose by hiding what he knew, and by extension broken hers also, simply hardened her heart a bit more against her first love. The more she discovered about Angel, the more she doubted she’d ever really known him at all.

Spike had stopped in front of her when he noticed that she had gone completely still, her face getting angrier by the moment. He wasn’t entirely sure what had done it, but he thought it had been the bit about Angel and what he’d said. Seeing the cold fury on her face gave him a warm feeling in his stomach—one more proof that she was apparently willing to take on hell itself for him. He waited until she looked up at him and gave him a reassuring smile before he continued, returning to his laps around the room as well as his story.

“He hadn’t told anyone here ‘bout you ‘n I—not that that was a surprise—or ‘bout the soul; ‘s far ‘s they were concerned I was still an evil vamp for the stakin’. Even once they knew they still weren’t real welcomin’, an’ I just kinda wandered about. Fred… the bird whose body Blue’s wearin’… she was kind, kept me sane… tried to help me get m’body back.”

“Which explains why you’re so close with… what’s her real name? Blue?”

“Name’s Illyria, luv, but yeah. She’s not Fred—anyone could tell that—but she’s what’s left of a right nice bird, so yeah… got a bit of a soft spot for her. ‘Sides, she’s good fun all on ‘er own, once you’ve learned her a bit.”

“So if Fred couldn’t get you back, how did you get all touchable again?”

“Still not right sure, pet. Box shows up in the mail one day for me, open it up, flash of light and there I am, a real boy again.”

“And that’s when you and Harmony…?”

“Yeah,” Spike sighed, unable to meet Buffy’s eyes. *Way to let her down, ponce. Undying love ‘til you shag some other bint.*

“Why don’t you let me try to… see if I can figure out what you’re telling me?” Buffy asked calmly, and Spike was just certain that a storm was just raging beneath. Would be just his luck if all that fury she had going for Angel had just transmogrified into righteous indignation at him. Still unable to meet her gaze, he nodded.

“You, the most physical person of anybody I’ve ever known, were stuck not able to touch, taste, or feel anything. Once you finally could, I’m willing to bet the first thing you did was eat, am I right?” she asked, putting her hand under his chin and gently forcing his head up to meet her eyes. He nodded slightly, confirming her suspicion, and she moved her hand back.

Confused by the… was that really understanding?… in her eyes, he couldn’t look away again. Instead, he watched her closely, trying to figure out exactly what was happening.

“Once you’d eaten, you realized there was something else you hadn’t done in what I’m sure felt like forever. You didn’t know where I was, didn’t have much hope of finding me or of me caring if you did, and you were, well, horny, right?”

“Uh-huh.” Spike said, eyebrow raised, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Any minute now.

“So Harmony’s there. Harmony your ex, who’s familiar and who you know you can get into bed with not much more than a smile, so you go for it.”

“Well… yeah.”

“Okay,” Buffy said brightly.

“What?” Spike asked, looking at her like she’d very much been replaced by the Buffybot.

“I said okay, Spike. I’m not happy about it, but I get it. You used somebody because you wanted to feel. Not the best move, but understandable. Been there, too, remember? Do it again and I will so kick your ass, but I’m giving you a pass on this one because of ghostiness and confusion and my asshole ex.”

“Uh-huh.” Spike stared at her, far from convinced. “And you’re sure you’re Buffy. Not feeling, well, programmed at all?”

“Spike, if you don’t get your ass over here right now, the only program you’re gonna see is the Buffy punches annoying bleached vampire program. Now come here and make with the smoochies, dammit! Unless you wanna tell me you ‘shagged’ Angel, too?” she added with a wicked grin.

“Bite your tongue!” Spike gasped, absolutely horrified. The look on his face was priceless, and Buffy couldn’t stop the attack of giggles that doubled her over.

“Nothing better I could do with it?” Buffy finally replied innocently, her giggles gone as she took a step towards him. It was the look in her eyes that gave the depths of her desire away and that damn near brought him to his knees.

“Can think of a thing or two I’d rather you do with it, luv. Got any suggestions yourself?” Spike swaggered the rest of the distance between them, placing his hands on her hips and pulling her towards him.

“Well, how ‘bout I start like this?” Buffy asked, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning up to brush her lips against his. Running her tongue along his bottom lip, she smiled to herself when he groaned and opened his mouth, allowing their tongues to touch and tease each other slowly. It seemed like they’d had every kind of kiss over the course of their relationship, and they’d covered most of those bases again tonight. Still, this one seemed somehow different. They lost themselves in each other as the kiss deepened, becoming more passionate but never crossing the line into rough—there’d be time enough for that later, but this was their fresh start.

Spike slid his hands slowly up from Buffy’s waist to her breasts, teasing and tickling along her sides as he covered the distance. When he cupped one gently and flicked his thumb across the tightened nipple, Buffy’s mouth broke from his in a gasp. Taking advantage of the distance, he slid his hands quickly back down to the waistband of her thin t-shirt, sliding it up and off. It was his turn to gasp when he realized that she wasn’t wearing a bra, and he raised his scarred eyebrow in question and teased, “Naughty little kitten, aren’t we?”

She smiled back coquettishly. “It’s in my purse. I took it off in the parking garage when you went around to get in the car.”

“Beautiful, wonderful girl, you are,” Spike answered, grinning and moving back to kiss her. Their lips touched again, and Buffy allowed the kiss to deepen and continue until she felt Spike’s hands on the button of her jeans. She waited until he had unbuttoned them and lowered the zipper before she pulled back and pushed his hands away. He looked at her, confused, until she gripped the hem of his own shirt and began dragging it upwards.

“It’s only fair, you know… I show you mine, you show me yours?” She tugged the garment up to his neck before he finished what she had started and stripped it off over his head. Once her hands were free from the task of baring his chest, she found her fingers tracing first his nipples and then every plane and cut of his abs, slowly moving lower and following the line of his hipbone down to the low waistband of his jeans. Sliding her fingers along the top of the denim and feeling his muscles tense under her hand, she again worked the button and zipper, leaning forward to brush her tongue along first one nipple then the other. The low growl she received in response made her smile, and she moved lower, allowing her tongue to retrace the path her fingers had just followed. The growl intensified, and she suddenly found her feet no longer touching the ground as she was lifted into a tight embrace and then lowered carefully to the bed.

Spike knelt before her, sliding his hands slowly up the backs of her legs, over her ass, and around to her hips, curling his fingers around her pants and dragging them slowly down her legs, catching her panties along the way. Buffy whimpered at the exposure, raising her hips slightly, and Spike leaned forward and traced his tongue lightly around her bellybutton. He chuckled hoarsely against her when she moaned in protest and raised her hips a bit more in another wordless plea. Rather than give in to her demands, he slid further up her body, cupping her right breast as he licked and nibbled gently on her left. His tongue flicked first gently and then a bit more roughly against the rosy pebble-hard flesh, tormenting her with the variations in pressure until she bucked against him and her hands threaded through his hair.

Her tiny whimpers were fast becoming louder moans, and he replaced his mouth with his hand on her left breast as he teased his way across her chest with teeth and tongue to pleasure her right. Her hands tightened in his hair to hold him to her as he continued the blissful torment of her right nipple, and her legs wrapped around his waist as she ground herself against him, circling her hips in figure-8 movements. Her moans increased steadily in volume as the rough denim rasped over her clit, and her hands slid from his hair to wildly caress his face, neck and shoulders in short, random strokes.

He could tell by her responses that she was perilously close to orgasm, and he slid down her body slowly, nipping and licking along the exposed flesh until he reached her sex. Breathing in the scent of her arousal, so strong now as to be almost overwhelming, he dipped his head and slid his tongue in gentle, torturously light strokes up and down her outer lips, gathering and savoring the moisture he found waiting for him. Her legs instantly rose to rest on his shoulders, and he ran his hands softly up the silk of her legs while he slid his tongue further into her. Spike pierced her entrance only slightly before removing his tongue and running it instead along her inner lips and up to her clit. Closing his lips around the tight bud and nipping it gently before soothing it with his tongue, he moved one hand from her outer thigh to the inner and brushed a few light finger-strokes over the delicate flesh there before easing two fingers inside her passage.

Buffy’s hips shot farther up off the bed as her thighs tightened around his head, and those cues together with her hoarse cry of “Please… Spike” were enough to let him know that she was on the verge of release. Curling his thrusting fingers inside her, he applied gentle pressure to the soft swollen tissue that greeted them on each pass and intensified his torture of her clit, nipping harder and lashing his tongue against her in random, varying patterns that sent her higher and higher with every touch. Her hands came down to tangle in his hair, and he closed his lips around her clit one last time, increasing the pressure of his mouth and tongue against the hyper-stimulated little bud.

He reveled in every gasp, plea, and cry; the more nonsensical and breathless she became, the more he exulted. All too soon he felt her release begin in the fluttering of her inner muscles around his fingers and the clenching of her thighs around his head, and as orgasm tore through her she tightened so intensely that he found himself frozen in place. Not content to simply let her come down gently, he took advantage of his captivity, teasing and tasting her into another, briefer release and again savoring every gasp and cry before leaning back gently against the legs that were now bonelessly draped across him.

Spike stood slowly, staring down at her in utter joy. As he looked down at her spread wantonly before him, glistening from her exertion with her hair mussed wildly about her, he wondered how he could have ever hoped to continue his life without this. Never would he have been able to forget her taste, the passion she raised in him that she met in equal measures, the sounds and smells and thousand other elements that made having sex with his slayer a brush with divinity.

Buffy looked up at him through glazed eyes, drinking in every aspect of him: the sharp planes and angles of his face, softened by that delectably full lower lip and rounded chin; the flawless ivory skin that covered sinfully taut muscles; narrow waist, flat abs and well-defined hipbones just begging to be tasted. And under that denim… God, he was even more perfect than the rest of him could suggest. But the attributes that outshone all others were those beautiful, shockingly cobalt eyes—those eyes that held the key to his every thought and emotion, eyes which opened a window into the heart that was supposed to be dead. What a miracle the Powers had accomplished, bringing him back to her. She held her arms out to him, the smile on her face widening when she saw the almost boyish grin that lit up his.

Spike toed off his boots quickly and stepped between her spread legs, dropping down to kneel on the edge of the bed. Once he was within her reach, Buffy slid her hands down his body to the waistband of his pants and pushed them down as far as she could, unconsciously licking her lips as his erection was freed from the confines of his jeans. Spike watched, mesmerized, as her tongue traced her lips and was caught off guard when she tugged him forward, pulling him on top of her. A mutual groan sounded through the room; Buffy reacting to the feel of the cool hardness pressing against her clit, Spike responding instead to the heat and wetness he had never dreamed of experiencing again suddenly pressing so erotically along his shaft.

Buffy brought her legs up around Spike’s waist and slid her feet into the jeans still wrapped around his thighs, pushing them down his legs until they slipped off his feet to the floor. The movement of her legs had also worked to settle him between her thighs, and the head of his cock was now perfectly positioned against her opening, close enough to apply an absolutely torturous amount of pressure. Buffy locked her legs around his waist and brought her arms up to encircle his neck, and their tongues tangled in one more slow, sweet kiss as he pressed his hips forward and slid himself inside her.

Their joined mouths muffled the sounds of their gasps as he pressed forward, stretching the tight walls surrounding him slowly in gentle rocking thrusts until he was fully seated inside her. Completely surrounded by her heat, he held himself still and broke from the kiss to allow Buffy to breathe. He closed his eyes for a moment to attempt to rein in the emotions flowing through him with lightning intensity, and felt tears of joy and gratitude burning his eyelids. Determined to hold them in, to not ruin what was proving in every single instant to be the most beautiful experience of his existence, he squeezed his eyes even more tightly.

Buffy was in ecstasy, head thrown back and eyes closed to better savor every sensation. Wrapped in Spike’s arms with him buried deep inside her, surrounded by his love and his strength, she was unable to think of a time that she had felt greater bliss. Her memories of heaven were fading every day, but she was nearly certain that nothing there had ever come close to the glory of this moment. Sex with him had always been incredible, but to be here with him after he had been miraculously returned to her, to be openly in love with him and loved without bounds in return, elevated the experience to an entirely separate plane. She felt his arms trembling around her and she looked up at him, noticing instantly how tightly his eyes were closed and knowing instinctively the reason why. With shaking hands she reached up and brushed her fingers across his sharp cheekbones before pressing a light kiss to each closed eye.

“Open your eyes, Spike… it’s okay. Be here with me… let me see you…please, let me see you.”

Spike’s trembling increased as she touched his face, and he dropped to his elbows over her in an attempt to stabilize himself. Her soft kisses and softer words, however, forced him to open his eyes despite his tears, and he looked down to see that hers too were damp and shining. “This is real…” he said in a choked whisper, and she nodded and rocked her hips gently up against him.

“Keep looking at me, baby,” she requested, locking her eyes on his as he nodded his agreement. “This is real, Spike… you’re here with me, and I’m here with you… can’t ever let you go again… won’t…” Buffy chanted softly as Spike began to thrust in time with her movements, meeting every lift of her hips with a strong downward thrust.

“So bloody beautiful… never dreamed… never even let myself hope… God, Buffy… never thought I’d see you again… never thought I’d earn this…” Spike answered in heated whispers. The emotional force of their reunion inspired them to a level of passionate secrecy, each softly spoken word carrying more force than the headiest screams of pleasure.

Their lips met again, tongues melding with increased fervor as the speed of their movements increased. Spike could feel the quivers that signaled Buffy’s orgasm begin around his cock, and he lost himself in an instinctive rhythm as the clenching of her walls grew stronger. Her hips rose faster and harder to meet his, his pelvis brushing hard against her clit with every thrust and shooting ardent bolts of pleasure through her. Their words had long since faded into nonsensical syllables, bits of vows of love and promises of forever occasionally breaking through.

Buffy forced herself to keep her eyes open and locked on his as she came, tightening around him forcefully and trapping him against her with deceptively delicate limbs. She had never before let him look her in the eye as she orgasmed, because she had feared both what he might see in her while her guard was so thoroughly discarded and the undying devotion she knew she would see in him. She had nothing to hide now, and she refused to hide from him any longer, so she held his gaze as her eyes glazed over in bliss and her lips parted to issue forth the pants and moans whose ecstatic meaning he had long before committed to memory.

Spike was transfixed by the look in her eyes, by the gift that she was giving him in her refusal to turn away. He could see straight to the core of her, and all that waited there for him was unabashedly passionate love. The revelation intensified his already acute need for release, and his thrusts escalated to almost bruising intensity as he sought his end in her.

Buffy knew exactly how to give him what he sought; she slid her hands down his back until she was cupping his ass, pulling him into her repeatedly as she began to rock harder against him, rolling her hips every time their pelvises touched. She could tell by the sharp inhale of breath and the tightening of his jaw that he was right on the edge, and she slid her hands back up to hold the back of his head as she rotated her hips one final time. As she felt the first spasm of his cock inside her, she tilted her head and struck quickly, sinking her teeth into the right side of his neck with all of the strength she could muster, tearing through skin and muscle until the wound began to bleed freely. Swallowing reflexively as her mouth filled with the coppery fluid, she took four quick but substantial gulps before tenderly licking the wound clean and pulling her head back to meet Spike’s shocked gaze.

Spike had frozen, lost to rapture, when he felt her teeth rip into his neck in a bite somehow savage and tender all at once. Despite his lack of movement, his orgasm continued and extended as the unbearably erotic sensation of her taking in his blood sent him into a sudden second release, forcing every trace of his seed out of his body and into hers. He felt her muscles begin to quiver around him again, and he looked down at her silently, completely stunned. She looked radiant, flushed and glistening, his blood staining her lips a wicked crimson.

Buffy smiled up at him, the first twinges of another orgasm responding to his seemingly neverending one. She held his face between her hands as she met his gaze and vowed in a strong, clear voice, “mine, Spike. Bound by blood unto eternity.”

Spike’s eyes widened impossibly farther for an instant before he gave her a look so heated it alone could have sent her over the edge. She watched as his bones shifted, the guise of the demon coming forth, and at the gentle urging of her hands he dropped his head and sank his fangs deeply into the right side of her neck, obliterating all of the marks already there, taking her as his and only his. Her walls contracted around him as she gasped out his name in climax and he gloried in her pleasure, but even this abandoned to frenzied desire, he was still careful of her welfare. Taking only a few small mouthfuls, he tore the marks slightly and carefully removed his fangs, rasping his tongue gently across her wounds as he started her healing process. Spike’s human mask fell back into place as he met her gaze again, and he echoed her declaration in tone and passion. “Mine, Buffy. Bound by blood unto eternity.”

His mouth descended upon hers, and she met him with a frenzy that matched his own. Tongues explored every possible inch of the other’s mouths, and the taste of blood added a deeply primal element to the already rampant passion. Once the last trace of blood had been removed from lips, teeth, and tongue, Spike pulled back and rested his forehead against Buffy’s. She slid her hands down along his arms to twine her fingers with his, and they exchanged brilliant smiles as they spoke together the final word of their claims.

“Yours.”

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