*Ring*

"Hello?"

"Kate, this is Angel."

She sighed, picking up her mail off her coffee table, "I heard you left town."

"I did."

"The `detective agency' went under? Was it because you never got a license or did some other creature of the night run you out of town?" Kate had been like this to him ever since her father had been killed, though today there seemed to be an extra edge on her voice.

"Did you know Mary Collins?"

Kate froze in the middle of sorting her mail. "Yes, Mary was a friend." She willed herself not to cry and let her voice harden, "And one of you killed her." Kate had found out within the hour after Mary's body had been found. Bad news travels fast, especially since Mary had just transferred back into Kate's department. "I saw the coroner's report," she accused. "I saw what they did to her."

"That was a fast report. So fast that they conveniently forgot to mention she was shot three times," Angel stated.

The report Kate had gotten last night said nothing about gunshot wounds. "How do you know?"

"We have a witness," Angel explained.

"One, undoubtedly, that can't testify in court."

"This one can," Angel assured her. "But he'll need protection and not just from the murderers."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Come to Sunnydale and find out."

Closing her eyes, Kate considered it for a second. If what Angel said was true, than someone in the Sunnydale Police Department was covering up the murder of a fellow officer, and nothing, not even vampires, made Kate Lockley's blood boil like crooked cops. "I'll think about it."

"Don't think too long. We don't have the time here. If you do decide to come-" Angel gave her a location and a time to meet him at in three days.

"Please come."

"I said I would think about it." Kate looked down at her mail. Bills, bills, and . . .

She set the phone back in its cradle and stared at that envelope, postmarked in Sunnydale, California. With trembling fingers, Kate opened Mary Collins's Sunnydale research and began to read.

"David Nabbit, please," Judgment requested.

There was the sound of the line being connected elsewhere. "H-hello?"

"Hello, this is Cordelia Chase from Angel Investigations," she said in her perkiest voice.

"Hello, C-Cordelia," David brightened considerably. He loved hearing from them and their `life on the edge.' "Why are you calling here? Did you do some monster fighting or something really exciting?"

"Actually, we wanted to know if you were interested in doing something exciting . . ."

The Hierophant dialed a number, "Hello. This is Ripper."

"Really?" Ethan Rayne was intrigued. Ripper never called him, for any reason, which was understandable. On the other hand, he hadn't done anything to Ripper, lately. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Disorder and chaos problems," Giles told him. "I need your help."

"You want my help? I seem to remember you threatening me with physical harm the last time I was in Sunnydale. Added to the fact that I don't believe in stopping disorder or chaos."

"Let me rephrase that. I'm inviting you to Sunnydale in order to create some chaos."

"If you put it that way . . . when do you want me?"

"Brody Meat Lockers, Brody speaking."

"Hello, I'm looking for a friend, the mistress of the house," Angel requested.

"No one here like that," The man answered shortly.

"This is Angel, and I need to speak to her. Now," Angel growled.

The phone changed hands. "What is it you want?" an accented female voice asked.

"I need your help saving the world."

"We have already discussed this. The answer remains 'no.' I cannot risk my people for your world," Jheira replied.

"What if I cold promise you protection?" Angel went for the jugular on this one (or what ever an extra-dimensional demon had), "What if I could guarantee that the new ones would be able to control themselves completely within in a day of coming to Sunnydale?"

"Hey, Jonathan," Lover II said cheerfully, "Want to help me save the world again?"

"Wolfram and Hart, how may I direct your call?" The receptionist answered.

"I'd like to speak to Lindsay McDonald or Lilah Morgan," The Hanged Man handed the phone to Lover I.

"Hello, Lilah Morgan," a new voice said.

"Hello, luv. I understand you blokes are a bit interested in Sunnydale now."

"Excuse me, you must have the wrong number," Lilah looked down to see where this call was coming from. Her board didn't read a number or a place yet.

"I don't think so," Spike told her. "You see, I also thought you might have be wondering why one of your Las Vegas members was assaulted and marked with the words `El Boca de Inferno.'" Spike continued conversationally, "It might have also been bothering you that the last two representatives you sent to Sunnydale have not returned or communicated in any way with the firm today."

She didn't say anything.

"I see I got myself your attention. Would the firm be willing to discuss these matters in detail?"

"The Firm would be very interested. How could we arrange this?"

Spike glanced over his two newest web members, formerly employed by Wolfram and Heart. They had been rescued by Buffy and Pike that very morning from a pack of zombies by the border. "I would like to meet with you and Mr. McDonald. I'll name the time and place, and believe me, you don't want to try any tricks."

"I want talk to Gunn," Angel announced.

"Yo! Who's this?" Gunn took the pay phone from one of his friends.

"Angel."

Ignoring the fact that he had no clue how Angel had known where the gang had moved to, Gunn greeted him, "Hey, long time no hear. How's the tan coming? I heard you left LA."

"I need a favor."

"Wait. I didn't know we were trading favors. I ain't no vamp lover."

"You'll like this one. It's incredibly dangerous."

"I'm listening."

"Okay," Tower handed out papers to High Priestess, Justice, and the Queen of Swords. "Here you go."

"I have to call all these people?" The Queen asked, fluffing her blonde hair.

"They're the surviving members of the Sunnydale High Class of 1999. Practically guaranteed to help us." The Tower pointed out.

"I didn't graduate," Justice reminded him. "I did the smart thing and got out of town."

"Believe me, the fact did not escape me, but you do know these people," Xander told his girlfriend.

"I may break a nail," The Queen complained.

"Harmony, you're a vampire. It'll grow back in an hour," Willow said, frustrated.

"Really?"

"To the phones," Xander reminded them.

Lover II lay her head on Lover I's shoulder, "How long do we have to wait?"

"Three days." He kissed her hair gently.

"So we'll wait."

"I hate waiting."

"I know," Buffy giggled.

"Hey, it's cruel and unusual punishment."

"Speaking of . . . I'm done patrolling for now, our bedroom's empty, dinner's not for a few hours, and we have three days."

Spike gave her one more soft kiss, picked her up off the couch, carried her up the stairs to their room, and closed the door.

Judgment took a deep breath and shrugged to Willow who had also been in the living room, "At least he's shielding, this time."

Willow blushed, "This time."

107 days till Apocalypse

"Be honest with me," Xander leaned back on the window sill of the room he shared with Anya, "Will this work?"

"What?" Anya pulled some black clothes out of the closet and set them on the bed.

"My plan. Tonight. Can it possibly work?"

"I'd give us fifty-fifty," Anya tossed him a black T-shirt.

"Anya! I thought you had confidence in me."

"I do. I thought the odds of you surviving the Ascension was on in a million." She stripped off her shirt.

Closing the curtains to keep curious eyes out since she apparently didn't care, Xander said, "So, in Anya terms, we have good odds."

She nodded, removing her white bra, "Good odds."

He gulped, "What are you doing?" They were supposed to be changing clothes before they greeted the anticipated arrivals. If she kept that up, they weren't going to leave the room.

She took off her red underwear, completely nude now, "You said we needed to wear all black." She crawled onto the bed and stretched.

"I meant the parts people could normally see." Xander took off his T-shirt, trying not to look at all that nice skin displayed on the bed. He started to pace, black T-shirt in hand.

"You seem very tense," Anya observed.

"Really? I hadn't noticed," Xander kept on pacing; he hadn't planned on getting this horny before the mission.

"You need to relax," Anya suggested to him.

"Not a possibility here," He tried to keep his thoughts on the mission, which was quite difficult since his head was basically repeating the word `sex' over and over now.

"Look," she climbed off the bed and stood in front of him. "I'm trying to seduce you here. Why isn't it working?"

Xander pulled her into his arms, letting her feel how aroused he was. "It's working."

Anya smiled, "Okay. Lay me on the bed, and let's have sex already."

He did lay her on the bed, pushing down his pants. Parting her bare thighs, he found her wet and ready. Holding tightly to his control, he slid into her inch by inch, asking, "So what are the odds that we'll do a repeat performance of this later tonight?"

Eyes rolling back, she murmured, "Very, very good."

And they did eventually put on their black clothes.

Cordelia stared at her face in the vanity mirror. Her hair looked seriously good. Make-up came next. Once that was done, she could put on her gloves to match the . . . outfit she was wearing.

She threw her bathrobe over it. Of all the possible choices in her closet, Wesley had picked this one.

There was a knock at the door. Cordelia glanced over her should at the closed bathroom door. Willow was in there showering before she got dressed too. (That was one of the reasons Cordelia liked this room, connected bathroom.)

Doing a quick mental sweep, Cordelia detected nothing. That meant one person. Well, actually, one of two people, but since she, currently the second strongest empath in the web, couldn't sense Spike at all, she was betting that wasn't Buffy at the door.

It wasn't. Cordelia opened the door, "Hi, Angel."

He smiled awkwardly. "Hi." He was dressed in his normal black attire and seemed confused by what she was wearing. "Aren't you-"

"Part of the girls' team? Yeah, that's me." Cordelia asked shrewdly, "You're here for?"

Angel didn't meet her eyes, "Willow."

"You need her because?" Cordelia gave him her best `tell me now' gaze.

"I wanted to talk to her before she leaves about what happened at Willy's," he conceded.

"Oh," Cordelia understood the problem. She'd had a feeling that there was a huge tension thing between those two since that Spike-induced kiss of theirs. Especially on Willow's part. Cordelia had been sensing a huge amount of guilt from her. "Do you want to come in? She's dressing in the bathroom." He nodded and entered.

Noticing his discomfort, Cordelia decided it wasn't her place to be here, much as she wanted to see what would happen. "Here, sit on my bed and wait for her to come out. I'm leaving."

"You don't have to-" Angel protested.

"Yes, I do. You two have to talk out this whole thing." She picked her gloves off the bed with her left hand. "If you don't work it out soon, Spike is gonna stop ignoring it and put his nose in it when it starts to affect the web." She grabbed her make-up case and started out the door.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Your room," she shut the door behind her.

The bathroom door started to open. "Cordelia?" Willow stepped out of the bathroom, hair still wet, dressed only in a towel, and froze. That was not Cordelia.

Angel rose to his feet, staring at her. He watched the water flow down her pale freckled shoulders to the top of her towel, catching on the curves of her breasts. She smelled like strawberries from somewhere, maybe her shampoo. Her mouth was parted slightly in surprise, red lips welcoming him for a kiss.

Willow's green eyes were very wide. Angel was in her room, fully dressed compared to her nothing at all, and he was looking at her like that. Like he wanted to take the towel off and do that.

She blushed hard; she had be as sexy right now as a drowned rat. "I didn't know you were in here."

"Cordelia let me in," Angel examined his wet prize, thankful he was wearing his jacket to cover his obvious reaction to her. He thought she looked good enough to eat, preferably by licking off each droplet of water, starting with her neck and going lower until he found those hidden red curls.

*Stop it!* He shouted mentally at himself and said out loud, "I wanted to talk to you."

"You did?" Willow glanced around wildly. She couldn't hide from him or run, and she didn't have anything she could put on right now to cover up more.

"We need to have a talk-"

Willow hoped he needed help with Buffy or magic or absolutely anything but that thing that haunted her dreams.

"-about that kiss," Angel said.

She sat back on her own bed, growing redder, "I'm sorry about that." Willow looked anywhere but actually at his face. "I felt bad about you seeing Buffy with Spike, and then all that colossal Spike lusty smoochie weirdness happened." She hid her head in a hand, using the other one to hold the towel up. "It really wasn't me doing that to you. Well, it was me, but - I'm so sorry."

"Willow," Angel got closer to her, catching her hand. "Look at me here."

She dropped her hand from her face, and he saw that tears had began to fall down her cheek. "I know you love Buffy. I shouldn't have kissed you. I'm sorry," She cried.

Angel's soul stirred at the display. Willow honestly didn't want to hurt him, even though it was hurting her. "Willow. I've known about Buffy and Spike for a long time. I wasn't married to her or anything. She's with him now, and it doesn't hurt me so much to see them together." That was not the whole truth, not by a long shot, but he wanted to ease Willow's pain at least. That he could take care of, unlike the Buffy situation. "And about the kiss, I'm not sorry at all."

Her mouth flopped open, and he used it as an opportunity to kiss her.

The towel fell to her waist, totally forgotten as her mouth molded to his. Willow welcomed his cold tongue into the warm cavity of her mouth holding him in her arms. It was happening again, this time on her own free will. He smiled a little bit in the midst of the kiss at her response.

Pulling back, Angel gave her a chance to catch her breath, remembering she still had to breathe. She looked so lovely, chest heaving, eyes wild and welcoming at the same time. He had almost forgotten what it was like to be with someone alive. The kissing had made her mouth extra red, though the tearstains were still there.

He leaned over her, licking each one off her cheeks. Gently, so she could stop him if she wanted to, he pressed her down to the mattress.

When she didn't resist, Angel slurped up the water he'd noticed before, starting at her neck. She moaned as his cool mouth worked its way down her collarbone, up the slope of her breast to settle on the puckered rosy nipple. Angel grazed the tip with his teeth, marveling at the moan his action elicited as she tried to lift her hips against him.

He repeated the action on the other side, neck, collarbone, breast, loving the way she responded to him.

She wanted him. He was doing all of this to her. He was making her feel this way. In this moment she was all his, no one else's. Not Oz's as she had once been. Not Spike's as Buffy was now. His.

The strawberry smell he'd noticed had to be a lotion because he could taste it as he teased the full red berries of her breasts. The scent seemed to get stronger lower, so he nibbled his way down her stomach while sliding his hands up her smooth legs, opening those strawberry scented thighs.

He was ready to pull off that towel when Willow suddenly grabbed his hands, "Stop."

Angel raised his head from her skin angrily and glared past her trembling flesh to her serious, needy face. She pushed him off her firmly, rewrapping the towel. "We need to stop. Now."

Her tone was so clear that Angel forced himself to think rationally. Why was he angry with her? What had he been doing? That was Buffy's best friend. What had he been thinking?

That was the problem. He wasn't thinking at all. He had just planned on taking her right there, to Hell with all the consequences. Had he been trying to prove something by partaking in some forbidden fruit with his ex's best friend? He liked Willow, and she deserved better than that, "I'm sorry. This was a mistake."

In more control of herself now, Willow shook her head, "It wasn't a mistake, yet. If we'd let it go for a few more minutes, it would have been a mistake."

Angel blinked at that one. She was so right. The next stop would have taken them past the point of no return, which was more than a potential disaster. Making her his would have made him happy, and that would have meant Angelus.

Angelus. He'd been back up once, and he'd almost killed Wesley and Cordelia. No one loved destruction like Angelus, and Angel had just then almost practically begged Angelus to take over again.

*No. I won't let that happen.* "I should go." Angel stood.

"Wait," Willow followed him, towel held securely. "I didn't mean I wanted you to go. We can do other stuff." She paused when she realized what connotation that could have been taken in. "Other stuff like talk, after I get dressed." Willow shrugged, "Liking someone doesn't have to hurt." She clamped a hand over her mouth, "Did I say that out loud?"

Angel cracked a smile, and took her hand from her mouth, "Talk?"

"Yeah, about non-apocalypse stuff." She thought for a second. "So what's your favorite scary movie?"

"The Sound of Music," Angel told her. Here was a rare woman indeed. She was intelligent enough to stop things before they got out of hand and smarter still to want to talk it out. He might be forced to like this, a lot.

He released her hand, "Go change your clothes. I'll wait." Then he added, "What's yours?"

She walked toward the bathroom and threw over her shoulder, "Interview With a Vampire."

*Makeup, perfect and done.* Cordelia ran a critical eye over her face. She'd mixed the charcoal eye pencil just so that it contrasted the correct way with the blue shadow she'd used. And she'd done it with her bandages on, which was no small feat in itself.

She took off her robe, setting it on Angel's bed, and silently cursed Wesley again for his choice. The instructions Xander had given her was to dress `cheap and easy.' Funny how he hadn't put his girlfriend on this assignment.

Blue vinyl. That was the only outfit Wesley had taken from her apartment that fit the bill. The blue vinyl made up an extremely small mini skirt, knee-high boots, a bag, and a top with matching gloves. The top was not much, lacking a back and most of a front. One string held it up, precariously supporting her tanned chest while raising it to the point where she was practically popping out. She looked new age, retro, and, noticing the points in the fabric, cold as well.

Now all she had to do was put on the gloves. She'd healed enough that she didn't use the sling anymore but taking the bandages off would be a problem. Her right hand was fine; it had healed without a scar. Its wrapping was just for show, unlike her left hand's. She'd been able to put the makeup on with her right hand alone but unwrapping her hands and putting on the gloves required two working hands.

She tried the right bandages with her left hand. It was really difficult since her left was wrapped so tightly she couldn't even get a good grip.

Her concentration was so total she didn't hear the bathroom door open or hear the person walk out. The first clue that she wasn't alone came when someone enveloped her from behind, bare skin touching her back and catching her hands.

Cordelia turned and remembered there was a third person everyone had some difficulty sensing Angel's roommate, Oz. A shirtless, just showered Oz to be exact, who was a bit confused by her presence in his room.

"Hi." He greeted her.

"Hi," she replied, pulling her hands back from him and turning to face him. "I suppose you're wondering why I'm here."

"I could be," He acknowledged.

"Angel's in my room talking to Willow - opps!" Cordelia shut up.

"It's okay," Oz told her. "It's not like we were married."

"Well, I need to finish changing for my mission," she examined his outfit, a whole pair of pants. He did have very nice strong muscles in his chest and shoulders though. Dragging herself back to the real matter, she said, "Aren't you changing into something for your mission?"

"This is it. I'm wolfing tonight."

"Oh. I'm busy here," She turned away again, fiddling with the bandages.

"I saw." He halted her. "Do you need help?"

"No," She said sharply. Then she checked her hands sadly. She was never going to get them off if things kept up that way. "Yes," she deflated. Oz had already smelled her blood at the church, what did it matter if he helped her now? Cordelia extended her right hand, "I need to take off this bandage."

"Alright," Oz began to work at freeing her hand, starting at the elbow and moving down to the palm. When it was off, she flexed her fingers experimentally, and he picked up the right blue glove from the bed. He held it open for her.

She sighed, putting her hand in, "I'm okay now. I can get the other one."

"Don't worry. I can do it," Oz reached for her left hand.

"No. I told you I can get it," Cordelia tired to pull off some of her left's bandages. She pulled too hard and bit back a scream as the pain shot up her arm. A small tear formed in the corner of her eye. She brushed it away unhappily with her gloved hand.

"Let me help," Oz took her left. Cordelia didn't stop him this time, so he started to unwind the white cloth.

"I'm okay. It's really nothing," Cordelia hissed through the pain as he approached her palm. She flipped her hand over, palm down so he couldn't see it.

He gently turned it over, and she heard his sharp intake of breath when he saw it. She didn't need to look at it to know what was there. Cordelia closed her eyes in shame, "It's healing. The bleeding stopped when Spike came back. It's getting better. It is. I guess this means I'm not going to be doing any more hand lotion commercials soon." She said bitterly.

Oz examined the wound on her palm. It was an almost perfect circle, scoured deeply into the skin. Stained a painful red, it was a giant loop of cuts criss-crossing over each other in the center. He knew what it was, and she did to; it was posted all around the mansion. A katra web. One that was cut into her flesh. "How did it happen?"

Cordelia bowed her head, "I did it during a seer trance. Only Giles knows I have it. He told me that it should have healed already and that it shouldn't look like this. He also told me that it will probably never heal. It's going to scar, and it will be there for the rest of my life." Another tear fell, this one in sadness, "You don't have to say it. I know it's ugly."

She felt something on her cut, something soft and gentle. She opened her eyes to see Oz plant a careful kiss on her palm. The tears stopped, and Cordelia could only stare at him.

"It's beautiful," There was such warmth in his words that she was compelled to believe him.

"But-" Cordelia felt much younger than him at that moment.

"You're fine," Oz told her, picking up her other glove. With most care he could manage, he pulled it up her left arm. "Scars are life stories." He showed her his own scar on his wrist.

It was a set of teeth marks. "The bite that did you in?" Cordelia guessed.

"Yeah, Jeremy," Oz confirmed, gazing at her earnestly.

They stood there for a few minutes without saying a word, but their thoughts were traveling in synchronous directions. It was nice to have someone who truly understood what kind of agony they faced.

Finally dropping her eyes, Cordelia said, "I don't want anyone to know, especially not Angel."

"Angel?"

"Yeah, if he knew, he'd blame himself, and I don't want that. Things are hard enough for him as it is without adding on one more thing for him to brood about."

"I understand," Oz answered, and Cordelia trusted his word. He was Oz; he wouldn't lie.

"And Oz-" Cordelia paused, not sure what she wanted to say or do next. She was honestly feeling something here. What was she going to do about it?

Take the easy was out apparently. "Thanks," Cordelia blushed slightly and left the room.

"Don't mention it," Oz told the door.

"I'm telling you right now," Spike folded his arms over his chest and stood in front of the door. "You are not leaving this room wearing that."

Buffy put her hands on her hips, "There is nothing wrong with my outfit."

"Like Hell there isn't. What's it made of, tissue paper?"

She gave her dress a once over. So there wasn't much to it. As per Xander's instructions, it was `white and tight,' a backless halter dress that stopped well before mid-thigh. She was supposed to be the most innocent and sweet looking one between Willow and Cordy. Then again, judging by the vibes Spike was sending her, that idea had backfired just slightly. "It's fine. I'm all covered," She pointed out.

Spike's eyes glittered, "Not for long." He took two steps forward to place his hands on her hips. Heat flooded her system, and she trembled against him. Placing his cool mouth by her ear, Spike whispered, "And trust me, I can see everything." To demonstrate, he pulled back slightly and ran one hand across her breasts. In instant response, her nipples tightened up, clearly visible through the thin, white fabric.

Smiling, Buffy silently decided she'd rather have sex now than argue about the dress, since she'd wear it no matter what Spike said. Besides, she might be able to really push him over the edge. After their problem at Willy's with the web, things hadn't been too spontaneous or wild. Actually, that wasn't completely true. Sex had still been great, but she sensed that he was holding back the demon on her like he was afraid he could break her. It was understandable because he had nearly killed her not too long ago . . . Still he'd acquired this protective attitude over her for the past three days that she wasn't sure she liked.

So it would take some serious offense here on her part to jumpstart things. "I was trying for cute and friendly." She leaned into him and gyrated her hips, rubbing his erection through his jeans. The more she tempted him, the more likely he was to cut loose.

"You might have been trying for that," Spike held her hips in their close position, effectively stopping her, "But you got something that is shrieking `lay me now!'"

"Did you get the message?" Buffy raised one eyebrow.

He gave her a condescending smile; his hands reached up and cupped her chin, gently brushing her lips. He was being so sweet, so careful with her. She loved it; it was cute, but it was almost brotherly and she wanted something . . . rougher.

She yanked his head down to hers, crushing her mouth to his. Aggressively taking the initiative, Buffy practically forced him to open his mouth with her tongue.

A half second later, his arms caught her, hauling her close to him and kissing her with renewed fervor. Buffy responded by tugging at his T-shirt. When it didn't budge, she solved her problem by just tearing it open. Eagerly testing his smooth skin, Buffy dug her fingernails into his back, hard enough to draw blood, scraping him from spine to shoulder blades.

That brought the response she'd been waiting for. Wildness exploded on their bond, and Spike's demon surfaced without warning, cutting her tongue. Happily tasting her flavor, he could hear her heart beating, faster and louder for him. The need to take a drink of her was so strong. Only a small bite . . .

He flung her all the way to their bed. Buffy watched him clench and unclench his fists several times as he tried to regain his control. "Sorry. I didn't-"

She was already on her feet, smearing her blood on his mouth in a rough kiss. The demon resurfaced while she grabbed his belt loops and told him, "Keep it out. I want it." Before he could try to say anything else, she none too gently unzipped his fly and pushed his jeans down his legs. She gazed appreciatively at his completely nude form.

There was a war raging within Spike now. He wanted to take her right then and there, demon out. But he couldn't do that because there were very good odds that he could hurt her severely. His face flickered back and forth between demon and human as he tried to reach some sort of compromise with himself.

However, Buffy had no intention of letting him keep up the fight. She tackled, wrapping her hips around his waist and rubbing against his obvious hard-on. Combined with the enthusiastic kiss she planted on him, Spike gave up the fight and gripped her shoulders so tightly that she let out a small squeak of surprised pain.

Horror crossed Spike's face, and he froze. He wanted her so badly, but he didn't want to hurt her. Having the demon out made him less controlled, more apt to be rough on her. He didn't have a chip anymore that told him when he was pushing her too hard. He could feel she wanted this, she was asking for this, begging for it, but the fact remained. It would be so easy to break her.

Her fist caught him in the jaw. "Don't even think that. I'm not a piece of glass." She licked the side of his face, "I love this new gentle you. I really do, but it's not really you." Squeezing his butt, she climbed off him and twirled around once. "Do I need to actually scream `lay me now?'" She lifted her skirt up so he could see the tiny white thong she was wearing.

Spike's wave of hot lust hit her with such force she staggered for a second, a trip helped along by Spike's body knocking her to the floor.

He was sitting on her open legs with his demon out and his erection propped casually on one of her thighs. The careful, cautious vampire that had existed for exactly three whole days had disappeared, and now a much different predator was reaching down and pinching her nipples though the cloth of her dress. She moaned, attempting to raise her hips to get some friction against him. His weight held her down firmly, and he loomed over her, nipping the skin on her neck.

"Say it," he brushed his lips over the soft cotton fabric.

"What?" she tired to shift again as his tongue trailed down her breast, outlining one hard peak.

"Scream it," he demanded, fastening his mouth to the distended tip.

*Scream?* Buffy's brain tried to think with little success as he switched to her other side.

He suddenly bit her hard, drawing a startled gasp from her in both pleasure and pain. Grinning with a mouth full of fangs, Spike slid one finger under the thong and into her slick channel. Flicking his thumb across her clit, Spike refused to let her move her hips even a millimeter. Drawing his face over hers, his shining yellow eyes bored into desperate her hazel set. Mouth less than an inch from hers and punctuating each word with a twitch of his fingers busy on her center, he growled, "Scream it."

Comprehension finally dawned on her addled brain, or at least the part that was able to think about something other than the orgasm she was on the verge of having. Buffy threw her head back and screamed, "Lay me now!"

His weight was completely gone for a second, confusing Buffy because it was the very last thing she'd expected out of him.

That was before he'd plucked her up off the floor, forcing her to stand, and then tossing her directly into the wall. He did it with such strength that she was honestly surprised. She'd forgotten how much stronger drinking her blood made him. It gave him an advantage over her now, but she didn't mind the least bit.

Spike was already behind her, ripping her thong off in wild haste. As he lifted her hips just high enough, he slammed himself into her. He pounded into her furiously, mercilessly banging her against the wall.

Buffy braced herself against the wall and hung on for one hell of a ride. It was going to leave bruises, lots of them, but it was worth it. In this position, her back spooned against his chest, she could feel his every movement, each muscle straining. The demon was unleashed, there were no holds barred, a primal force consuming them both. Without a chip to restrain him, Spike was an angel and devil rolled into one. Stronger than her, dominating and controlling her, but still as fragile as she.

He drove into her, riding her from behind like one possessed. She responded with shrieks, urging him faster and harder. He'd brought her to the brink before, and now she was on the crest of the wave, almost there. Spike was on the edge too, and they both could clearly hear the call he was fighting off so valiantly.

He wanted to do it so badly. He didn't have to, and she didn't have to let him, but he wanted to.

"Now!" Buffy squealed when one of his hands rubbed her swollen clit to make sure she was ready. "Now. Please, please, please!" Spike picked up the pace, jolting her forward, and she called to him on every thrust, "Now! Now! NOW!"

Those fingers twisted, and the fangs came down, piercing her neck. The wave broke, and Buffy shattered into a million pieces as her existence dissolved into Spike, who flew off too, following her in the climax.

Slayer, vampire, good, evil, light, dark. It was all so close, so near, so powerful. They shared a thought, a mind, a heart. All they were was one, perfectly matched in every way, spinning together out of control over the precipice.

After what may have been seconds, minutes, or hours, reality finally reestablished itself, placing them back in their own bodies. Spike was already human, having long since withdrawn his fangs from her neck. He held them up with Buffy reclining in contentment, her head on his shoulder. He sighed into her hair, equally glad to simply be part of her.

Eventually he stepped back, pulling out of her, and said, "You can't wear that dress. Anywhere."

"Why?" Buffy walked over to the dresser mirror and saw why. There was blood all over the collar of the dress and - "You bit through my dress!?" She lifted the cloth to see two little circular holes going all the way through.

"I assumed that was what `now' meant. Though, come to think of it, you could have meant, `stop now for the five minutes it will take to get this blasted dress off.'"

"You want the dress off? Fine," Buffy pulled the dress over her head and chucked it at him. "I guess I'm going out like this." She lay down on their bed and struck a lazy sated pose.

"Over my dead body," Spike hissed at her, his shaft tightening at the mere sight of her sprawled out like that.

"Newsflash, you've been dead for a century." Buffy rolled her eyes in annoyance and beckoned him. "Are you coming or not?"

Silently cursing himself for not being able to resist her, and still practically whistling with joy, Spike joined her on the bed.