Spike, unobserved by the others – Tara was still trawling through the drawers – slowly edged himself forward. He’d stopped watching the action on the floor, fairly certain by now that this attempt, like the other attempts before it, would probably go cock-eyed again in any case.

He braced one hand on the night-stand, and one on the bed, and stared at a point somewhere between them. Okay, focus. Standing up unassisted – it couldn’t be that hard anymore. After all, he’d done it a thousand, a million times before… Sure, it was easy. Just had to focus…

Ignoring the faint blurring in the sides of his vision that had started when he’d sat hmself up, he steadied his feet on the floor, and then made a leap of faith – or possibly, bravado – and pulled himself abruptly to standing.

The sudden wash of blackness that descended over his eyes took him completely by surprise. The nausea, however, was familiar. He realised that he was going to fall about half a second before it actually happened, and managed to stagger one hand behind him before wobbling sideways, missing the bed totally and crashing inelegantly to the floor. His left foot skidded out from underneath him, kicking out the candles on his side of the witching circle, and connecting sharply with Dawn’s knee.

Willow and Dawn both gasped and jerked backwards, the soft bluish light that had developed between them sucking back quickly into each of their respective bodies. They both looked over at Spike’s sprawled form with matching indignant glares, and their voices wailed in unison.

"Spike!!"

He raised his head weakly from the carpet, peering around confusedly.

"What?"

oOo

12.42pm

"Now – remember what Giles and Uriel said." Angel said quietly. "Rest. Save your energy. You need it."

"Right," Buffy said as she mounted the stairs. There he goes again, with the over-protective gig. She cast a quick look back at Angel, her expression wry. "Thanks for the reminder, mom."

"My pleasure," Angel returned with a grin.

Then, as Buffy put her hand on the doorknob, he gave her a strange, faintly apologetic look.

"And hey – what I said before…about you and, uh, Spike. I didn’t mean –"

Buffy cut him off with an upraised hand.

"Don’t worry about it, it’s okay. I understand. Really."

Her voice was a bit weary – all this explaining, and apologising, and blah blah blah…it was making her head more tired than an all-night patrol. Too much effort, when all she wanted to do was shower and change into her comfortable (if old) Yummy Sushi pajamas and crawl into her own sweet bed…

The whole night had been like that. Angel, walking beside her, eyes downcast in his usual way, skirting certain topics of conversation, and trying to save her from throwing herself into the thickest parts of the fray, in a way she found increasingly aggravating.

She was beginning to wonder if this had been such a great idea. Sure, she needed the extra hands-on, but being with Angel again, all the baggage that brought to the surface – was it worth it? Having him around wasn’t making things any easier on her, emotionally. And her headspace was already too screwed up as things stood. The Gathering, her mom, Spike…

Spike…

She gave a mental sigh.

Instead, she swallowed hard and gave Angel a stoic smile.

"I’m fine. Honest. But…do you mind if we just drop it?"

His answering expression was reserved, a little confused.

"Uh – sure."

"So, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, okay?" She brightened her smile a bit to take the sting out of her stand-offishness. "Are you gonna be okay later? For a place to stay, I mean."

"Yeah, I’m good. But don’t worry about me. Just make sure you get –"

"- some rest," she finished with a patient nod. "Thanks, I got it. Well, I better get inside, in that case."

"Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow."

"Sure."

She was about to open the door, then felt bad that she’d been so abrupt. Turning back, she noticed that he was getting ready to walk off.

"Uh – Angel?"

Her voice encouraged him to look over his shoulder.

"Yeah?"

Buffy warmed her face, and her smile. He deserved that – more than that, in fact, but she just didn’t have the energy.

"I wanted to say thanks – thanks for tonight. And thanks for coming. This thing is big, way too big for me to handle alone, and…I really appreciate that you’re here."

It was a bit of an exaggeration, the last bit, for reasons all her own, and Buffy blushed a little, feeling like she was deceiving him. Not deceiving, she reminded herself, I really do appreciate the help. It’s just…sparing him my angst.

But Angel either didn’t seem to notice, or didn’t mind if he did. His grin lit up the night, and he ducked his head in acknowledgment.

"No problem. Goodnight."

"G’night."

And at last, she was free to turn the handle of the door and step inside. She closed it behind herself and leaned against the wood for a moment, head down, loose hair falling around her face. Her mind was crackling. She couldn’t bring herself to release the tension inside with a long breath. She felt the muscles in her neck and shoulders aching.

"So, what’s the count for tonight?"

Buffy glanced up and reached automatically for a stake, but then recognised the voice before her instincts to lash out kicked in. Dawn blanched for a moment to see her sister react – normally, Buffy would have let her guard down when she came in the door. Not tonight, though, it appeared.

Buffy took a look at Dawn’s cautious face, and grimaced in apology.

"Oh – hi. Sorry – still on over-rev, I guess."

"No kidding," Dawn breathed. She frowned at her sister in concern. "Rough night at the office?"

Buffy puffed out a mirthless laugh. Rough night – rough life.

"Yeah. Lots of blood-thirsty bad guys. But hey –" she reassured Dawn wearily, " – we kicked their asses."

"Oh yeah," Dawn remembered, "you and Angel did the patrol together. Did it help?"

Buffy thought about it for a second, but had to concede a nod.

"Yeah, actually. He’s a pretty mean fighter. Took out a dozen or so all on his lonesome."

It had been strange though, she thought, watching Angel work again. She’d forgotten what his style was like – workman-like, but with a smooth grace. She remembered the first time she’d seen him fight, really fight, taking on a group of vamps, killing them all with casual efficiency. At the time, she’d been awe-struck, wondering whether she’d ever get that fast and professional.

Tonight, she’d realised that she had. In fact, her fighting style had improved a lot – quicker, more creative, more powerful, with a sparkling glamour that she noticed Angel lacked.

That had to account for some of it, she knew. But only some. Whether her fighting style had been given a little boost by the Gathering now or not, she felt the difference in her work that could only be accounted for by maturity. She’d changed, grown as a person, and it was reflected in her style. Battling beside Angel tonight had revealed just how much.

I’m seasoned, now – and…I’m better than he is. If we fought now, I’d win.

The thought came with a pang, but with a little exultant thrill as well.

Because she knew it was true. And she knew how it had happened too – above and beyond the whole ‘older, wiser’ thing.

It was from fighting with Spike. Sparring with him – to the death, or otherwise – had altered her methods, honed her rough edges to a brilliant sheen. He was a challenge, even when he wasn’t actively trying to kill her, and he brought out her excellence, her innate competitiveness, and her perpetual desire to win. She’d even taken on a touch of his brutal finesse.

She wondered, with an uneasy twinge, if her best would be enough for the Gathering.

Dawn was saying something, and Buffy returned to the conversation with an effort.

"Sorry – what did you say?"

Dawn smiled at her forbearingly.

"I said, must’ve been weird – goin’ strollin’ with the ex."

"Huh?" Buffy blinked at Dawn absently. "Oh – yeah. I guess. It wasn’t too bad. We –we didn’t really get into those vibes."

"Really?"

Dawn seemed interested. She was looking at Buffy’s face, thinking something over.

"Really," Buffy affirmed with a nod. "Less strolling, more fighting, y’know? Guess we were just too busy to think about it."

"Huh."

Wow – there it is. She’s really over him, Dawn thought with surprise. Even if she doesn’t know it yet. But it was probably better to let Buffy figure that out for herself. Dawn shrugged at her sister affably.

"Well – cool. That’s great."

Then she casually let slip the information she’d been waiting up to divulge.

"Oh, by the way, there’s something you should know."

"What?" Buffy said, her eyes narrowing immediately.

"I, uh, brought someone home with me."

Buffy’s frown darkened.

"Dawn, I don’t think –"

"Don’t wig out, okay? It’s Spike."

"What?"

Dawn grinned at Buffy’s double-take, then talked fast to ensure that her plans didn’t get squashed.

"Come on, Buffy – where else is he gonna go? The crypt’s not safe, Giles and Xander won’t go near him, and Willow and Tara’s dorm room is too small. Plus the fact that it might be a little uncomfortable, him bunking with a pair of lesbians – no matter how many suggestive comments he made to the contrary…"

Dawn rolled her eyes, remembering with a grin the saucy conversation that had gone on (over her head, supposedly) in the dorm room before she’d made her suggestion. And a good thing she’d offered Spike a bunk, too, she thought – as much as the witches had tried to be accommodating for Spike’s benefit, by the end of the day Dawn could tell that their patience was fading fast.

Buffy was looking a little taken aback, but her expression said that she could hardly object.

"Right. Well…I guess it’s okay. I mean, sure," she nodded.

Dawn’s smile broadened immediately.

"Great. So, I put him in your room, and you can sleep in Mom’s."

"My room?" Buffy squeaked.

"Well, yeah," Dawn shrugged. "He can’t exactly take the couch – he’s still recuperating. And Mom’s room is free til tomorrow."

"Yeah. I guess."

Buffy breathed out a sigh.

Trust Dawn to engineer something like this…well, at least she told me before I walked in on him.

It was fine, really, but…well, it was just a little unnerving. It was Spike, in her room, in her bed. In the bed that she’d been in this morning when she’d dreamed of him vamping out and attacking her. It just felt a little…weird.

Plus the fact that she was still trying to get her brain around the whole ‘me and Spike/Spike and me’ thing. Being with Angel during patrol, explaining the general situation with him beforehand, hadn’t really helped either. He’d been disbelieving, of course – no, make that totally amazed, utterly confused, vaguely horrified.

And with good reason, I guess, Buffy sighed. Me and Spike. Spike and me. It hardly seems like a match made in heaven. More like a match made in Hellmouth…

But…whatever her brain might be saying, her body certainly wasn’t listening. Whenever she and Spike were together lately – and even when they weren’t, which was, possibly, worse - all she could think about was his hands, doing…interesting things, and his lips…

She pushed the thoughts away. Stay rational – they’d kissed a few times, that’s all. Fine. And he was here, recovering from the encounter with Grace. Fine. It wasn’t like he was moving in or anything. Any involvement they had was still strictly at the ‘recently acknowledged’ phase, and surely they could both respect that while he was staying in the house.

So it was all fine. Spike and her could interract, like normal, non-kissing people, and Dawn was here anyway, and they could just talk at the door, and she wouldn’t even…um, touch, or anything…and they wouldn’t…oh…oh dear.

She shook her head to clear it.

"Buffy?"

"Huh?"

She blinked at Dawn owlishly. Dawn had one eyebrow crooked up, and was regarding her with a bemused expression.

"Geez – you are totally in the zone tonight. So, look, I was saying that I gave Spike some fresh sheets, and I’m gonna crash. I was just waiting up to let you know about the sleeping arrangements. Okay?"

"Uh, sure."

Buffy nodded her head and tried to sound focussed. She caught Dawn’s eye apologetically.

"Sorry, I’m just tired."

"S’okay. Me too." Dawn grinned at her. "Hey, I’m just getting a glass of milk before bed – you want any?"

"Uh, no – thanks."

"’Kay. Well, I’ll see you in the morning." In whatever bed you end up sleeping in, Dawn thought with a mental grin.

"Yeah – g’night."

"G’night."

Dawn gave her a quick smile, then headed for the kitchen, the tie of her robe trailing on the carpet.

Buffy watched her go, frowning a little at her sister.

She needed to collect her pajamas anyway. With an apprehensive thrill, which she tried very hard to stamp on, she began taking the stairs.

It felt kind of strange, to be knocking on her own bedroom door. She heard Spike’s voice come softly in reply.

"Yeah? Niblet?"

She edged open the door a crack, not wanting to peek inside just yet.

"No – it-it’s me. Are you decent?"

His grin was evident in his voice.

"Can’t remember the last time I was decent, love. Come on in."

She rolled her eyes, but opened the door and took a step inside anyway.

Spike was sitting on the window-ledge, the window wide open. He was blowing the smoke from his cigarette into the night air outside, and was in the process of waving away the remnants of it – considering that it was Buffy’s room at all. He turned to look over at her.

Buffy’s breath sucked in quickly. He was shirtless, and barefoot, clad only in his usual black jeans. His torso gleamed in the soft lamplight from her nightstand.

Decent. Oh yeah, that’s decent alright… She swallowed and tried not to blush.

Spike just smiled at her welcomingly.

"Hey – the mighty warrior returns."

"Hey yourself," she smiled softly.

Oh boy…casual, just casual, remember? She edged towards the dresser, waving a hand at it in an effort to be casual.

"I just need…um, pajamas and stuff."

"Oh – yeah, right. Well, help yourself. It’s your room."

"Yeah."

My room – my bed… She suddenly yearned to explain things, the mess her brain was in, tell him about her dream, assuage the awkwardness. But the words dried up in her mouth, and she was reduced to shrugging and looking around helplessly.

He looked apologetic about it all.

"Look, sorry about this, but the Niblet insisted that –"

"No, Spike – don’t worry. It’s fine. Really. I can take my Mom’s room."

"Right," he said, still looking oddly uncomfortable, mirroring her mood. "Sure. Still, I could crash on the couch if you –"

She held up a hand to stop him before he talked his way into sleeping on the back porch.

"Spike – it’s okay."

"Oh. Okay then."

She shed her boots, and set them aside on the carpet, then knelt down to open the drawer and gather her things. When she looked up again, he’d moved – silent as a cat, as always – and was now sitting on the edge of the bed, nearer to the lamp. His chin was down, and he was examining his chest, with a bit of difficulty, one hand raised to poke at the burnt skin there.

It was the first time she’d seen the wound since the morning, when they’d dragged him into Giles’ spare room. It was a nasty burn, only half-palm-size now and dark around the edges. His vamp-healing was kicking in okay, it seemed – the cut on his left arm was now only a vague red line - but the scorch-mark was still livid in the centre, and sore-looking.

She frowned, and stood up, coming over automatically to see.

"That still looks ouchy," she said, wincing sympathetically.

"It is."

He grimaced, and prodded it tentatively. It wasn’t that easy to check it out – it was too high up on his chest, and a mirror was out of the question, of course.

She frowned at him disapprovingly.

"Don’t pick at it."

"Can’t help it. It itches."

"Wait – just…"

She pushed his fingers away, with a warning look not to touch, then opened a drawer in the night-stand to pull out a tube of aloe vera ointment from her first-aid store. She slipped off her leather jacket, slung it over the back of a chair, and pulled the chair over to play nursemaid.

Spike watched her unscrew the cap from the tube with suspicion.

"This isn’t gonna hurt, is it?"

"No. Wimp."

The clear ointment was cold on her fingertips, and she began applying it to the wound with a carefully cultivated air of detachment. See? Just talking, and casual, and helping him out with this burn-thingy. And nothing else.

He had his hands down on the edge of the bed, and was playing it as coolly as she was.

"So – how did the patrol go?"

"Oh, fine. Busy – again. The angels were patrolling the other side of town, and Grace is still out there too, somewhere."

"Hm. Body count?"

"About a ninety, I think. I’m losing track."

"Sorry I missed all the fun. And the Big Brood was a gentleman, was he?"

She caught the edge of suspicion (is that a little jealousy, I hear Spike?) in his voice, and grinned, keeping her eyes on the burn.

"Perfectly." She thought about it for a minute, then went on slowly. "He was fine. Just a little…"

"What?"

"Well, he was a little too gentlemanly, if you know what I mean. Kept trying to screen me – kinda got in my way a bit."

"Right," Spike replied neutrally, his mind ticking over. And she really hates that…

"And it really got on my nerves after a while," Buffy went on with a little grimace.

"Sure," Spike nodded evenly. The touch of her fingers on his chest was tickling, and making him think of all kinds of naughty things, so he kept his eyes on her face, and prodded a bit more. He could see there was something else.

"And?"

"Plus…um…well, how can I say this? He seemed a little…slow," she admitted.

Well, she had to confide in someone about it, and at least he would know what the hell she was talking about. As she expected, her revelation made his face blossom into a wicked grin.

"So – now you know, eh?" Spike shot back, leaning back on his hands with a look of undisguised delight.

"Know what?"

His smile was expansive, entertainingly arrogant, and he spoke the words with relish.

"That I’m the better fighter. Always have been. Angel’s just too stingy to admit it."

"Geez – full of yourself much? And excuse me, but I think I was drawing a comparison between Angel and myself, not him and you."

Spike just shrugged, giving her a pointed look.

"And you’ve only been sparring with me for what, the better part of two years now, right? Come on, Slayer – give praise where it’s due. The way I figure it, I score at least a few points worth of reflected glory."

Buffy rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help grinning back at him – he was right. And she’d been the one to bring it up, after all. She returned her gaze to his wound, and lathed on more ointment, then tapped the edge of the burn gently.

"Still didn’t keep you from getting your ass kicked by Grace," she reminded him, deflating his ego a touch in the process.

He grimaced and reached for his shirt.

"Yeah, well if that angel-bint hadn’t knocked the stuffing out of me I’d have been out there tonight. You’d have seen your little comparison test first-hand. You done?"

She nodded, replacing the cap on the tube, and sitting back on her chair. She watched him carefully pull on a white men’s shirt that looked like it had been scavenged from somewhere, probably the dorm, and tilted her head.

"So, you sure you’re okay?"

"Better," he nodded. "Almost up to scratch. Little Sis fetched me some bags from the blood bank – should help. I’ll be right by tomorrow."

"Good."

There wasn’t anything else to do, and all her excuses for still being in the room were used up. She put away the ointment, then turned to face him with a cheery smile.

"Well, I guess we should both get some sleep."

Would he sleep? It was still night… But it wasn’t her concern, so she should just… She braced both hands on her knees and started pushing off the chair.

Spike reached out swiftly and grabbed one of her hands in a light clasp. She sat back down with a little thump.

"Don’t I get a goodnight kiss?"

His voice was low and more than playful, and when she met his eyes, the blue of them magnetised her.

She cleared her throat, and composed herself.

"A goodnight kiss…um, sure, okay…"

This isn’t going to help clear your head, girl…oh, forget it. Just kiss him and get the hell out of here.

She leaned forward to meet him halfway, as he inclined his head towards her. With a little hitching breath, she inched closer and planted her lips on his.

It was light, tender – his lips were dizzyingly soft, faintly dry. She closed her eyes.

Too nice to be legal, in some states, she was sure.

Better check…

She opened her mouth just a little, and got a sudden buzz as she tasted the tip of his tongue. Wet, and supple…not intruding, just…waiting. She realised with alarm that her lips were trembling, and her breath was held tight in her throat.

And he’d hardly moved at all. He was just sitting, entwining the fingers of one of her hands lightly in his, relaxing into the kiss, not asking for more. Which was even worse – or better…or…oh dear.

When she pulled herself away, she was still holding onto her breath. And he was looking at her, through heavy-lidded eyes, watching her face as her colour rose, bare inches separating their lips. She was mesmerised by his gaze – so blue, so dark and inviting…

"This is the part where you toddle off chastely to your mum’s room."

His voice was now deep, gravelly, and ever so slightly rasping. It was the only indication that their kiss had had any effect on him. But she could feel the silent hum in his body, and she shivered.

"Yeah."

Oh god, casual – what happened to casual? But the sight of his lips had transfixed her, and she felt herself lean in again.

Their lips shuddered together, and she inhaled against his mouth. Her movement seemed to break through a tiny chink in his control, and he pressed in more firmly this time, encouraging her mouth to open just a little further, to knead in just a little harder. She made a soft noise, that sounded suspiciously like a moan. When they broke apart this time, it required somewhat more effort.

He stared at her and grinned shamelessly.

"Goodnight."

His eyes were laughing, hers were wide and hungry.

"Goodnight."

But it sounded weak, even to her ears. And she hadn’t moved a muscle to leave.

Then like a snake, unfurling slowly out of the basket to the strains of Indian flutes, she felt herself sink forward again. His lips were so close, and he was pulsing with energy kept in check, and it was intoxicating. And her eyes began to close as she slid towards him, and –

And after a momentary struggle with her body, which for one alarming second had refused to cooperate, she did. She veered her head back, avoiding certain impact and, doubtless, insanity, and shook it, keeping her eyes closed, away from the sight of him. Then she held up a hand, as if it ward him off, and heaved out a breath.

"Right."

She cleared her throat, and forced herself to look into his face. He was wearing a bemused, faintly disappointed expression. She nodded to herself, affirming her own decision – good decision, intelligent decision – and swallowed around the dryness in her mouth.

"Right. Goodnight."

"Oh. Okay. Goodnight then."

His apparently-relaxed tone of voice made her narrow her eyes at him. Right. Oh. Oh damn, what did she care? Determined now, she pushed up off the chair and took a step away.

It all happened very quickly. She moved, then Spike moved to match her, reaching out swiftly to grab her by one trailing wrist, pulling her to him in a single smooth motion - she whirled into his embrace, seeking his mouth instinctively, and the kiss this time was electric.

His soft lips parted, to take her mouth at an angle, deep and drawing and langorously sensuous. His tongue was lathing the inside of her mouth, pulling her closer, and she was sinking into him, responding in kind with a whimper.

Their tongues entwined, and Buffy could feel the thick warmth radiating up through her middle, to pour out into every limb.

The tingle drizzled all the way down to her toes, her fingertips, and she moaned against his mouth as Spike deepened the kiss, tasting the back of her throat. It was the most voluptuous kiss Buffy thought she’d ever experienced, and she didn’t want him to stop, ever.

She was standing between his legs, her hair falling loose around his face, one arm cradling his head, and one on his shoulders for support as her knees began to go watery.

Spike’s arms were wrapped tightly around her waist, one hand reaching up her back to stroke between her shoulderblades, and every place their bodies met it was like she was on fire.

Something changed – her response hardened him, he drew back a little, making a hungry growl deep in his throat, then plunged his tongue forward again, the tenor of his kissing altered, picking up pace and becoming more ferocious.

Buffy countered with hunger of her own.

It was no use denying it – and with his lips and tongue ravaging her mouth, she had no inclination to do so. Instead, she let the tension sigh out of her, into his mouth, feeding her own fierceness, her teeth scraping his lower lip. And when he gasped, with surprise and delight, she thought she was in heaven, and her memory of everything in between faded to nothing, back to the last moment they’d been together, dancing slow, pelvis-to-pelvis grinding, on the floor of the Bronze…

Kissing, faster, more intense, lips moving in arcadian rhthyms, tongues thrusting, wanting, pushing harder…

It felt good, to release all the pent-up anxiety, and god, his hands on her waist, on her back, what he was doing to her mouth, just felt so goddamned good…

Her knees gave way finally, and she slid down, letting them rest on the edge of the bed between his thighs. Her face wasn’t so high anymore, and she had better access to his mouth, pulling her hand against the back of his head to bring him closer, snatching at his hair.

Spike didn’t need the encouragement. His head was already spinning from the intensity of the kiss, and he squeezed his eyes shut, losing himself in the feel of her mouth on his, and the firmness of her body under his hands.

Her hands were gripping him tight, and he dissolved into the ravening of their mouths.

The ferociousness of the embrace loosened the demon in him – he felt his eyes tinge behind his lids, and fought for control.

He pulled away – Buffy pouted disappointedly. But her pout turned into a glazed look of pleasure when he clasped both hands around her firm, round bottom, lifted her up smoothly and sat her down onto his lap. Her knees opened to embrace his hips, and her arms tucked around his neck.

She was playing with the hair at his nape.

"Comfy?" he murmured with a grin. Her fingers were tickling his neck, but other parts of him were tickling too, now that they were groin to groin.

"Mmm."

Buffy’s eyes were hazy, half-closed, and she leaned back a little to push down onto his crotch. Spike sucked in an unneeded breath. When she looked at him again, her expression was faintly remorseful.

"Spike, I’m sorry. I’ve been –"

He put a finger over her mouth to quiet her.

"Shh. Later."

He wasn’t sure of all the details, but he understood the gist of what she’d wanted to say – getting her head all in a muddle, probably. Fighting with the Watcher, and then Soul-Boy showing up.

But the situation was simple, really. Two stars, circling each other in opposing orbits – ice and fire, death and life, Vampire and Slayer. Complements, as Joyce had known and understood somehow. But Spike didn’t want to talk right now, and there were easier, better ways to explain.

He leaned forward, eyes lilting closed, and sipped at Buffy’s mouth delicately to remind her of current events. She snagged his bottom lip with her teeth and tugged gently, and when he looked into her eyes, she was smiling again.

Her hands were pulling against his shoulders, keeping her body suspended, all the pressure at their conjoined pelvises, and the sensation was dazzling. He rocked experimentally, and was rewarded by her gasp, and the exquisite feeling of her weight against his crotch.

Buffy closed her eyes and let out a soft groan. Spike’s bare shoulders, where she’d pushed back the fabric of his white shirt, were smooth and cool under her fingers, and she was already getting tantalising visions of how it would feel when they were skin to skin.

With another skittering exhalation, she initiated more rocking – oh, god…incredible. She could feel herself getting wet, dampening the denim of her jeans. Spike was hard beneath her, right under her, and she looked into his eyes to see the effect the motion was having on his face.

Spike was trying with some difficulty to reign in his control, but couldn’t stop the grin spreading over his face. He wanted more of her, and with Buffy’s arms keeping most of her weight steady, his hands were free to roam.

He slipped a hand up, flattened his palm against her collarbone and spread the touch over the top of her chest, easing down to her decolletage. Stopped the movement over the skin above her left breast, feeling her heart hammering, a slightly awed smile on his lips.

But while the sensation of Buffy’s heartbeat was fascinating, there were other realms he wanted to explore. He met her eyes, and enjoyed her start as he twisted the first button off her shirt, then the next one down, then the next one, hearing the buttons pop and land quietly on the carpet. Then there was enough of her front exposed for him to grin at her, and dip his lips onto her skin.

Buffy moaned – he was lapping his way down her cleavage with agonising slowness, nuzzling at the material of her bra with his nose. His tongue finally came into contact with one erect nipple, sucking at her through the lace. She let out the breath she’d been holding in with a gasp.

Mind-reading, Spike moved his hand to pluck at the other nipple where his lips weren’t, then swapped around. His cold fingertips on her breasts were driving her crazy, his other hand squeezing the side of her waist and making erotic strokes there with his thumb.

She leaned her head and body back, pushing herself hard into his groin, and watching fireworks going off behind her closed eyes as he sucked and licked his way down to her stomach.

When he returned to her breast, and peeled the lace away with one finger to draw her nipple fully into his mouth, she made a harsh, unintelligible noise.

That was what woke her up.

"Oh, crap. Spike, wait…"

"What?" Not second thoughts again…please, no – he’d be taking cold showers into the next millenium.

But that wasn’t it. Buffy looked at him then at the door, her eyes lusty, but trying to focus.

"Spike – the door. Dawn."

"Ah." Thank god. Small problems he could fix. "Right."

But he wasn’t about to let go of the wealth he had in his arms either. Ignoring Buffy’s brief whoop of surprise, he lifted her ass, keeping her legs wrapped around him, and carried her to the door. Their combined weight closed the offending partition with a quick slam, and now she was pressed against the door, kept up in the air only by the strength of his arms, and the constriction of her legs around his waist.

"Spike!" Buffy exclaimed with a helpless laugh, as she gripped his shoulders more firmly.

"What? Got the job done, didn’t it? Now, where were we…"

He raised one eyebrow, perusing her dishevelled state, and then flicked his glance down to her breasts.

"Ah, yes – right about here…."

And keeping his eye on her, with a wicked grin, he reached up and undid the front clasp of her bra. He lowered his head slowly, teasingly down until he was staring at one pert nipple, then with a happy sigh, he let his lips envelope it.

Buffy gasped and her head went back to hit the door.

Encouraged, Spike blew a cool whisper of air onto his handiwork, then nibbled from one breast to the other, becoming more inflamed with each taste, using his teeth, licking hard, biting gently, then more roughly as Buffy’s breathing came in short, sharp bursts.

When she started rocking her head back and forth against the door and moaning, Spike couldn’t take it anymore and let her shivering knees slip down, so her feet rested on the floor.

He pressed the length of his body against hers, and their mouths met again, fusing and melting. Her exposed skin was furiously hot, and he could smell her sweat, and the maddening scent of her arousal. He growled, and flipped her around, letting her prop herself against the door with her extended arms.

Buffy’s head lolled, her voice a thick murmur.

"God. Spike, what are you doing?"

He pressed his chest against her back, feeling the heat through the thin fabric of her shirt, and slipped his hands around to her front. Nuzzling at her neck, he could hardly think straight enough to answer.

"Want to touch," he muttered hoarsely.

He skimmed his hands up and down her body to demonstrate, turned on by the elicit feeling of slipping his fingers under material, over her silky skin, cupping her breasts in his palms, flicking her nipples with his thumbs and listening to her gasp in response.

Buffy’s shirt was flapping free now, after Spike ripped the final section apart. He slid his hands over her hips, and tickled his fingers under the waistband of her jeans, stroking her stomach.

A smell of damp muskiness rose up to his nostrils suddenly, and he had touch her - now. Working the buttons of her fly quickly, he opened the denim like the pages of a book.

Tracing the skin above her panties softly, feeling her shiver under him, was enough to open another crack in his self-imposed restraint, and he reached his left hand down to cup her groin.

The lace of her g-string was soaked. An explosion went off in his brain, and with a groan he pulled the material aside with a rough thumb, and slicked one finger into her.

Buffy let out a noise somewhere between a cry and a moan, opened her legs a little wider, as much as her trembling knees would allow. Spike’s finger slid deeper with the better access, and she let her head fall back onto his shoulder. When he eased another finger in, and then slipped his hand up to lathe her clit with her own wetness, she bit her lip to stop herself from yelling.

His mind was running away from him, as he dipped his fingers into her tightness, further, harder. A small pool of wetness was collecting in the hollow of his palm – he opened his fingers and let the juices drizzle onto her curls, down her thigh. A few more circling movements, picking up speed on her clit and slicking in and out of her, and he could feel Buffy shuddering against him and humming her moan back into herself through tightly closed lips as she flowed into her first sharp climax.

He drew his hand away, and while she reached her head back to gather his mouth in a searing kiss, he turned her body around again, letting their joined lips merge together into a full-blown embrace, until their bodies were pressed together, intent and needy and flushed with desire.

When Buffy surfaced for air, her face was shiny with sweat, and red-cheeked. She stared into Spike’s eyes, then let her gaze flick over to the rest of the room, searching for someplace close by, before kissing him again.

She pulled back long enough to whisper, her eyes on his lips.

"M-more."

Spike replied in shaking tones between sips at her mouth.

"You want more?"

"More. Want more. Want you…" she nodded through a haze.

Spike smiled and eased back as she snuggled into the crook of his neck. Then he leaned forward quickly and scooped her up from underneath the knees.

Buffy gave a little ‘argh’, but was happy to be carried. She wasn’t sure if her legs would hold her anyway.

Spike began taking the few steps towards the bed, but she shook her head.

"Not there."

He frowned at her confusedly.

"Some problem with being in bed? It’s the usual place, you know."

Buffy shrugged and grinned shamefacedly.

"It squeaks."

"Ah, does it now? Well then, I guess we’ll just have to settle with…"

And he went down on his knees to lay her down on the carpet. He met her grin with a matching one.

"Now unless your floorboards are creaky, Dawn won’t hear a thing."

Buffy felt her eyes glisten suddenly at his considerateness – How does he do that? How does he know what I’m thinking all the time? He’s amazing…

Then her attention was distracted as Spike propped himself up on one elbow beside her, his rangy body lined up with hers, his own open shirt loosely clinging to his shoulders, and began trailing his fingers down her neck, along her breastbone, down to the dip and curve of her stomach.

She wriggled, sighing into the ticklish feeling, then turned herself onto her side too so that they were facing each other. She let her head rest on the carpet, her hair pooling around her face, and reached out a hand to touch him.

Spike grinned and tried to slap her fingers away.

"Stop that – I’m playing."

But she wasn’t going to be distracted now, and the sight of him shivering as she traced her fingers under his ribs gave her further impetus.

"Uh-uh. My turn," she smiled coyly.

"Not yet, I want to – uhh…"

His voice died away as she brought her head forward and began kissing softly, lightly down his chest. Butterfly kisses – tiny nibbles and nudges. She blew on every spot she kissed, and Spike suddenly felt like all the nerves in his body had come back to life. He closed his eyes, and rasped out a whisper.

"Buffy, what –"

"Shh…"

Her lips on his silenced him, and he felt her give a little push on his chest, encouraging him to slip down onto his back. Then he let go of thought, concentrating only on the sensation of her mouth wandering over the landscape of his body.

She was being careful to avoid the burn, but there was plenty of other space to explore. She had lifted herself onto her hands now, and her arms were straddled across him, and Spike could feel her silky hair drift across the muscles of his chest and stomach - something he’d always dreamed about but hadn’t experienced until now.

Buffy shed the remains of her shirt and bra hurriedly, feeling constricted, then went back to work, her tongue and teeth getting involved now, and her ministrations becoming more and more erotic. She looked up at him briefly, from her position near his ribcage, and felt a flush of sensual power to see him, head thrown back, eyes closed, mouth open in a silent ‘oh’.

She travelled as far as his navel, and dipped her tongue in lightly. His back arched, and the closer expanse of his stomach was way too tempting – she bit down gently, grinned as he gasped, then worked her way back up to his chest.

She gave him a look then of pure delight.

"You know, I’ve been fantasizing about doing this for ages…" she purred in a saucy voice.

Then without further ado, she bent her head and bit firmly on one flat golden nipple.

Spike had about a millisecond to form coherent thought before the facility completely escaped him. He arched convulsively, and groaned as she worked her tongue over his nipple, his hands squeezing into fists.

Buffy grinned, delighted to have discovered his sensitive spot, and drove in harder, alternating from one side of his chest to the other, letting her free hand roam over the ripples of his abdomen. By the time she relaxed her onslaught, and began licking down to the soft skin above the fly of his jeans, Spike’s teeth were chattering.

One of his hands was kneading the carpet, and the other was gripping her shoulder tightly, heedless of the bruising he was causing – he was concentrating too hard on not losing control completely. The feel of her mouth, hot and wet, on his skin was enough to unleash the demon in him, and he felt his fangs elongate before he could stop himself.

Then he felt her fingers on his belt buckle, and jerked up with surprise.

"What?"

She was looking up at him, seemingly unperturbed by the sight of his demon visage. Feeling oddly self-conscious, he shook his head a little, and returned to his human face, removing her hand from his belt as he did so.

"’Cos…" he explained gently, fumblingly, "it’s – it’s…I can’t keep it together if you –"

Buffy pulled away from his hands with a sly grin.

"But, Spike, I don’t want you to stay together. I want to touch you, like you touched me." She leaned in, and slipped a sultry whisper into his ear. "I want to see you lose control."

He closed his eyes, swallowing hard, as she swooped on his lips and kissed him hungrily. The intensity of her mouth pushed him back onto the carpet, and he gathered the back of her head with one hand as she trailed her fingers down, unbuckled his belt and worked at the opening of his jeans.

They were still face to face, lip to lip, and she was staring into his eyes, as her fingers made first contact with the sensitive skin above his erection, playing lightly, teasing the soft hairs there. He whimpered, deep in his throat, and Buffy smiled.

"See?" she whispered again, watching his face, "What’s the point of having self-control unless you let it loose sometimes?"

Spike’s eyes rolled back, and he let out a thick groan, as her hand tickled over the crease of his groin and closed on the hard, cool length of him. Forgetting now all the reasons why he hadn’t wanted her to do this, he arched his back and thrashed, bucking under her hand.

Buffy grinned, turned on and a little awed by his animalistic response.

Angel, Parker, Riley – they all paled in comparison. There was no quiet desperation, no awkward fumbling, no cloying tenderness – it was just Spike, in all his wild, uninhibited, voluptuosly sensual glory.

She flung away the thoughts of past experiences to concentrate on the one she was giving him, right now. She increased the movement of her hand, using her fingers to tickle and tease, slicking some of his own juices down to increase the friction. Spike gnashed his teeth, head thrown back, moaning uncontrollably. Buffy’s eyes darkened as she watched him.

She lowered her head to his chest, and snagged one of his nipples with her teeth, biting gently.

Spike let out a roar, and in a lightening-quick second, flipped her over onto her back. He was vamped-out, the glow in his eyes yellow and raw, his whole body quivering. As he loomed over her, holding her wrists down on the carpet, she felt a sudden rush of paralyzing fear.

Then, in a move that made her jerk and flush, he lowered his head to her breast, and began licking his way down her body.

Her limbs unfroze slowly – then she started writhing. His forehead ridges felt strange on the skin of her stomach, but…erotic. And his fangs, grazing her nipples, then nipping lightly all over her, were making her see little sparkles every time he moved his mouth.

By he time he reached her crotch, she was wriggling like a fish. His cold hands stripped her jeans and panties down, and he used his nose to nudge her dark curls. Dimly, she heard his voice waft up, a throaty murmur.

"Mmm…my turn now…"

Then she gasped, and her back curved, as his tongue touched her, dipped into her, slicked into her dripping folds. He drew back for a second, only to lip softly at her clit, then apply his tongue there in dazzling, lingering circles. Buffy let her knees fall open, feeling her whole body shake, and finding it impossible to breath.

Spike closed his eyes and enjoyed the feel of Buffy’s body quaking under him, the taste of her juices in his mouth, savouring the thick musky flavour and the delicious scent. He realised his human face had returned, but it was only a vague awareness, he was too aroused by the shivering woman opening herself so completely to him now to notice.

The thought trickled in from somewhere, and he grinnned. But his mind was rapidly dissolving all thoughts as he began focussing on drawing out Buffy’s pleasure, teasing her with lips and teeth and tongue, watching her gasp and squirm in ecstasy.

His own erection was straining, the brush of the carpet providing rough encouragment. He could keep this up all night, but he knew she couldn’t – her climax was beginning, and he wanted to be inside her when it happened, to feel her hot sheath around him clench and tighten…

Buffy groaned, began to shudder, and he slipped up quickly to shed his shirt and writhe out of his pants before kissing up her body to her face, propping himself up over her body with his arms. She was panting, and a look of pain crossed her face.

"Oh god, don’t…please, Spike, don’t stop…so close, don’t –"

"Shh, love – it’s alright."

He kissed her quickly, then gathered their abandoned clothing in a rough pile, and slid it under her hips as a makeshift pillow. Buffy looked up at him, with a dazed, confused expression.

"Spike, what are you doing?"

He grinned, and leaned over to peck her on one breast.

"S’a surprise. Don’t worry – you’ll like it, I promise."

"What kind of a – ohh…"

That kind of a surprise. With her hips lifted high, she was presented to him like she was on a platter, and Spike had descended again to coax her to heaven. She twisted her fingers on his shoulder, making short, raking red lines, as he sucked her hard, then licked into her, deeper than she’d thought was possible. With a few long strokes of his tongue, she was almost at the point of orgasm again in a matter of seconds.

He’d found the spot, unique to every woman, that sent needles of pleasure to the core of her. And he lifted himself up, watching carefully as Buffy gasped out hard, heaving breaths, reading the timing perfectly.

He readied himself at her wet entrance, reaching into himself for a last smidgin of control, knowing that it would be worth it. He leaned over her on one arm, and slipped his other hand down, keeping his thumb on her clit, rubbing delicately at the soft nub.

Buffy’s face was flushed, her lips trembling as he kissed her.

"Buffy –"

Her head lifted towards him, her gaze glassy, and needy, and lost to sense. She grabbed his shoulder with preternatural strength, nails clamping down, drawing blood.

"Spike, if you don’t fuck me right now I’m gonna die."

That’s what I wanted to hear… The look on her face and the ferociousness of her words sent him over the edge. Unable to hold on anymore, he groaned, flung back his head and drove himself into her.

"Unhh!"

Buffy’s head thumped back down onto the carpet as she climaxed. The first shockwave hit her like a lightning bolt, and her vision danced. She felt Spike draw out slowly, drawing the spiral of her orgasm out with him. His thumb was still on her clit, and she wanted to tell him to stop, it was too much, too strong –

Then he plunged into her again, and she came a second time. She clenched her hands as the force of it rushed through her, felt the scream building in her throat.

Again. Again. Drawing back, easing off, then – another climax, and oh god, she was burning…

Spike gritted his teeth, the muscles in his arms taut, fighting for restraint when all he wanted to do was move harder, faster –

The sight of Bufy gasping and arching on the floor beneath him was something out of a fantasy, but this was real, and she was real, and her inner muscles squeezed around him again, and he couldn’t contain himself. His hips began thrusting faster, and faster, and then as Buffy’s voice lifted in a keening wail, he rammed deeply into her, threw back his head and bit down on his own hand to stop himself from screaming as he came.

Buffy’s body curved like a bow with the final thrust, her mouth opening to yell, but no sound coming out. Wave upon wave of pleasure pierced into her, her eyes pinched tight together, and she felt her muscles cramp with the force of her climax.

When she opened her eyes, and remembered to breathe, she found herself gazing at the leg of the chair she’d sat on when she first came in. She was still rolled back on the crown of her head, and it was an effort to move.

She felt Spike’s hand under the small of her back, helping to ease her back onto the carpet, pushing away the pillow of clothing from underneath her. Beyond being able to assist, she could only stare into his face, with a look of astonishment and exhausted repletion. Her mouth opened and shut a few times before she found the strength enough to speak in a rasping whisper.

"Spike…what…what the hell…did you…do to me?"

With a deep sigh and a happy grin, he hunkered down over her, resting on his elbows either side of her chest. He leaned forward to plant a lingering kiss on her lips, his eyes dancing.

"Told you you’d like it."

Buffy blinked at him, then puffed out a giggle. Once she’d started, she couldn’t stop – the laugh rippled through her, Spike watching with one bemused eyebrow raised as her breasts and belly shook.

"Oh god… oh god…" she hiccupped helplessly.

"What? What’s so funny?" he asked with a grin. He liked watching her laugh – hadn’t seen her do it in ages.

Buffy reached up with one still-trembling arm, hooked around his neck and pulled him down next to her. She peppered his face with soft, smiling kisses, echoes of giggling running through her.

"You. Me. Just…everything," she tried to explain. Everything that I wanted to tell you, but couldn’t…

It didn’t seem to matter now. She quieted, and cupped a hand to the side of his face as their bodies pressed together. Spike was running his fingers lightly along her bare flank, and she shivered, slightly awestruck that she still had the energy to feel a responding tingle in her body.

"Spike…that was…that was amazing."

He stared into her eyes for a reverent moment, silently agreeing, with a slight mental amendment – you’re the one who’s amazing, love. Then he couldn’t help himself, had to grin with his usual air of bluff swagger.

"Yeah. It was pretty good, eh?"

Buffy giggled again at his mock self-satisfaction, swatted him on the shoulder, and pressed her lips gently to his cheek.

The single soft gesture seemed to stun him more than all her multiple-orgasms put together. He blinked and stared into her face.

"W-what was that for?" he whispered.

"For everything," Buffy replied in the same quiet tones.

For a moment, Spike didn’t know what to say. Then he decided to say nothing, and kiss her instead.

When their lips reluctantly parted, the gleam was back in his eyes, and he ran a hand lightly over Buffy’s breasts, giving her nipples a playful tweak. Her breath drew in sharply, which he was quick to notice – he grinned at her lasciviously.

"Wanna try everything again?"

oOo