DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: A disastrous first day with Holly left Buffy all disgruntled and tense, so Spike took it upon himself to loosen her up, leading to some talking and resolving about what's going on between them. Before things could get too heated, though, noise from Buffy woke Holly up and interrupted the pair...

-----

20. Silver and Gold

He lingered longer than he wanted, every second that ticked by in the bedroom one more second he was away from the waiting Slayer in front of the fireplace. But Holly's eyes weren't budging, fixed on his face in solemn expectation as Spike turned from adjusting the curtains she'd been adamant were letting in too much light.

"Will you tell me a story?" she asked in a tiny voice.

He tilted his head, folding his arms over his chest. "You already got one, moptop. The first time you went to bed."

"I want another."

"And I want this bloody chip outta my head, but we can't have everything, now can we?"

Her gaze flickered to the closed door. "Do you not want Buffy to get mad at you again if you tell me another story?"

"Buffy won't---." Spike grimaced, shaking his head. This wasn't what he signed up for, damn it, and he especially didn't understand why it was the ankle biter had somehow latched onto him as the white hat in this scenario. Well, actually he did. He wasn't the one who'd almost accidentally choked the bint to death by trying too hard to be the pride of the party. That had been interesting to watch, to say the least.

"Look," he said, adopting a gentler tone, "Buffy's just new to this, and she's got this mad notion that she has to be ace at whatever she takes on, so she's tryin' just a tad too hard to please you. It's part of that whole Slayer, save-the-world complex she suffers from. Trust me, I'm workin' on breakin' that, 'cause it's bloody annoying, lemme tell you. But she's not so bad if you give her half a chance. And she only wants the best for you, pidge, so maybe you can cut her some slack."

She seemed to consider his words with a seriousness only a child could muster. "Do you think...maybe, she'll like me as much as she likes you?" she asked.

"What? No, Buffy doesn't..." But he couldn't finish the sentence, shock at the blunt declaration dissipating in light of the events Holly had interrupted. Buffy'd never said anything to him specifically, but it wasn't in her nature to get involved with someone on a whim spurred purely by physical attraction. Everything Spike had ever witnessed---even that Parker git in the beginning---had been about liking the bloke. And she'd been a bit less vociferous in her denunciations of him in the past few days. Maybe she did have at least an inkling in that direction.

"She'll like you more," Spike finally said. Better to not consider those kind of thoughts just now. They could be mood-breakers for the sex he had in mind once he was able to blow this room. "You're not a vamp."

For some reason, this made Holly giggle, and she burrowed down deeper beneath the blankets. She looked impossibly small in the giant bed, her eyes intolerably huge---rather like those soddin' Precious Moments dolls even Dru said were the devil's work---but the way she gazed up at Spike was something he hadn't seen since before he'd set about to cure his dark princess.

Adoration. Trust. Pure. Simple.

With a heavy sigh, Spike sat on the edge of the bed. "So. What kind of a story do you want?"

-----

The living room was silent when he finally emerged from storyteller hour, and Spike's first instinct was that the Slayer had fallen asleep on him. Would she take kindly to being woken? he wondered, as he closed the door behind him. A smile curled his lips. Just have to make the waking up worth it, he decided.

But the room was empty when he turned to survey it, the flames a steady dance in the hearth revealing the empty expanse of floor. The couch was likewise deserted, but a quick glanced showed Buffy's shoes still resting haphazardly next to the front door, so that ruled out a venture into the great white way. Even the bathroom was dark through the crack its egress still allowed.

His head cocked as he listened.

Two heartbeats oscillated in the warm cabin air, the fainter of the two coming from directly behind him. The other, a quick calypso that resonated with a familiarity against his skin, made him smile, and slowly, Spike's eyes slid to the ladder leading to the loft.

Slayer wants to play.

Maintaining a stealth that had served him well over the years, Spike closed the distance to the bottommost rung, testing for creaks with his weight. Her scent was stronger here, and unconsciously, he leaned into the wood, inhaling the aroma that seemed stronger on one of the middle steps. She'd stopped there, he realized. Most likely either sat on the rung or leaned against it, probably to contemplate just what in hell she was doing voluntarily going to his bed.

Didn't matter, really. Buffy's desire still coated the wood as strongly as if Spike had his face buried between her thighs.

The arousal that had abated with Holly's story returned with a throbbing vengeance, eliciting a low growl deep within Spike's chest. With measured steps, he climbed the remaining rungs, stepping to the floor above with a determination that had dissipated in the child's wake.

Only the faint glow from the fire below illuminated the space, but Spike didn't need any more light to see Buffy sitting up nervously at the head of the bed. She was still dressed---a mixed blessing; as much as he would've loved to see a naked Slayer package waiting for him with open legs, it was going to be just as much, if not more, fun unwrapping her himself---and for some inexplicable reason, had made the bed before climbing atop it. A brief moment of panic overwhelmed him when he remembered the journal he'd stuffed beneath the mattress, but the nervous chewing of Buffy's lip was all the reassurance he needed that she'd gone nowhere near it.

"Took you long enough," she said. "I was beginning to think..."

When she clamped her mouth shut, Spike frowned. "Beginning to think what?" he prompted.

"Nothing."

"It's not nothin'." He paused as the realization sunk in. "You thought I was just playin' with you?"

The guilt that flashed behind her eyes was the only reply he needed. Leaning forward onto his knuckles, Spike's weight bowed the end of the bed as he began to crawl up its length toward her, head lowered so that he could watch her through his lashes.

"Playin's what I had in mind," he said, his voice a rumble. "Just more of the full body contact sort. Think we'll both enjoy that a tad more."

He stopped when he reached her hips. His mouth was watering from the sheer ambrosia that met his nostrils, and before he could stop himself, Spike bent his head and sank his teeth into the soft junction of Buffy's thigh.

Even through the fabric of her pants, the sharp contact made her arch away from the mattress, her hand going automatically to his head to coil through his curls. To her credit, she didn't make a sound, and when Spike lifted his chin to gauge Buffy's response, he was met with her decisive gaze.

"Is Holly asleep?" she murmured. When he nodded, she slid her bottom down along the mattress until their pelvises whispered against each other, their eyes now level. "So, if I want this to last longer than Xander's attention span at a research party, I've gotta be quiet, huh?"

"As a mouse, luv. And, if you know what's good for you, don't be mentioning the boy again. He's a bit of a spoiler for the mood, don't you think?"

She didn't speak, only nodded in agreement before craning her neck to press her lips to his. A feather caress, her breath was hot and sweet as her mouth skated over his, and though it wasn't nearly as demanding as their kisses had been down in front of the fireplace, it left Spike trembling with desire when she fell back onto the pillow.

"Want to see you," Spike rasped as he swooped to taste the hollow of her throat. But when her hands came up to do undo her pants, he pushed them aside, locking her wrist in his grip for a steady second as he said, "My job."

Almost automatically, Buffy's arms fell lax at her sides, her eyes luminous when he sat up to see her. For a moment, Spike's throat constricted, the power of her beauty a tangible force that threatened to crush him, but he quickly hid his weakness with a smirk, reaching out to rest a hand on her flat abdomen.

Her muscles were tense beneath his fingers, the heat seeping through her clothing to leech into his flesh. There was a bare inch where her top rode up, exposing her golden skin, and slowly, Spike stroked what he could see, his thumb dipping beneath her waistband with a bandit's guile before resuming a silken path to the side of her waist.

"Have to admit," he said softly, lifting his other hand to deftly slide down the zipper, "didn't fancy you'd be quite so open to this." His palms spread to slide down the top of her thighs as he pulled the trousers down her legs, guiding her knees to part when they were free from the fabric.

"Not that I'm complaining," Spike continued. He tossed the pants to the floor behind him before returning his hands to her calves, gliding back up their length in a savoring of her skin. "Anyone ever tell you you're absolutely scrumptious, pet? The things you make me do, make me want..."

Slipping around her back and under her shirt, Spike's hands pushed it up and out of his way, exposing the delicate lace of her bra. Her arms rose unbidden to allow him to draw it over her head, but the only thing he could see was the lush landscape of her curves, the swell of her breast, the simple vibration along the rise where her pulse announced its presence.

It was hypnotic.

It was breathtaking.

And, more than anything else, it drove away all doubts that this dangerous girl was exactly what Spike wanted.

As he watched, it quickened to a lightning speed that drew his gaze upward. Buffy's aspect was taut with sudden apprehension, and her muscles were already tensing for flight.

"Scrumptious implies edible," she said. "And funny, but that look in your eyes makes me think you want to eat me, not...you know."

He knew he shouldn't. The severity of her tone, the seriousness of her face...it all screamed at him how not kidding she really was. But...it was her words, or rather lack of them, that drove him to first smile, and then chuckle out loud, and before he could stop himself, he was saying, "You can do it, but you can't say it? Didn't figure you for bein' a priss in the sack, Slayer."

"What're you talking about? I'm not here to become your new chewtoy! That's not what---."

Her rising voice stiffened his spine, and without thinking, Spike settled his hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. "Shut it, will you? I didn't waste my time putting the rugrat to sleep just to have you spoil it by bein' completely and utterly daft." His finger jabbed at his temple. "Forget 'bout my little leash problem already?" he demanded. "Can't hurt you even if I wanted to. So stop thinkin' like a Slayer for half a sec, and consider that maybe, just maybe, you might just amuse the hell out of me because you can do the deed but you can't say the bloody word. Ever think of that?"

She lay frozen beneath him, each muscle coiled in preparation for argument. Then, slowly, one hand came up to pry his from her mouth. "You looked at me like---."

"---you're the most tantalizing morsel I've seen in the last decade?" Spike finished. "Yeah, I did. 'Cause there's nothin' more I want right now then to taste you all over, pet." He fell forward, hands on either side of her head while his mouth ducked down to skate along her jaw. "In case it's escaped your attention, I'm a bit orally fixated here..." Now, his tongue was lapping at the soft spot just beneath her ear, swallowing down the tiny tidbits of her that he could, feeling her body begin to relax again beneath him. "...and all I can think of, and all I can see, is how amazing you're goin' to be when I can finally get my mouth where I want it."

All the tension was gone. "And where's that?" Buffy whispered, and the shakiness in her voice betrayed her desire even more than the languor of her limbs.

Spike didn't answer. Instead, he slid back down the length of her body, glorying in her stifled moan when his clothes scraped against her sensitive skin. When he reached her pelvis, he didn't stop, letting his hands take the silky fabric of her panties in a liquid motion as they continued down her legs, leaving her wet and exposed and waiting in hungry anticipation of what might happen next.

"Take your bra off," he ordered huskily, resting his hands on the inside of her knees to push them to the side.

Her arms lifted to do as he instructed, but then froze as a playful glint appeared in Buffy's eye. "What happened to that being your job?" she asked innocently.

He grinned. He had to. The sheer taunt in her voice was like ambrosia, and certainly not a tone he ever expected to be on the receiving end of, especially in light of her most recent over-reaction to his good humor. "Hope it's not one of your favorites then," Spike warned as he began to reach for it. "'Cause if I'm the one who takes it off, it's not goin' to be wearable again."

Buffy's hands moved so quickly, he couldn't help but laugh when the garment went slingshotting over his head. It took only a moment for her to join him in the mirth, but when Spike bowed to run his tongue along her inner thigh, she choked on the sound, her fingers digging into the blanket they rested upon. "What...what're you...going to do?" she said.

"Thought that was obvious," he replied. He planted a row of tiny nibbles along her skin, each bite creating a new quake that undulated down Buffy's thigh. "I'm goin' to eat you."

"That's...that's...that's...crude," she panted. "You're a...pig, Spike."

He smiled, his mouth hovering above the wiry curls. "That's my Slayer," he breathed, and then darted out his tongue to draw a long swipe along her outer lips.

Buffy's hips bucked from the bed at the contact, but she surprised him by staying silent, not even moaning when he pushed her back down to begin a more deliberate exploration with his tongue.

Prats don't know what they were missing. Bloody nectar of the gods, she is.

When he felt Buffy's hands tangle in his hair, drawing him closer with a strength he couldn't---and didn't want to---fight, Spike dove back in, sinking a single finger into her heat, nearly coming in his jeans when her inner muscles sucked and tugged him even deeper.

Buffy's breathing was a ragged symphony to the rising pounding in her blood, and it---more than anything else---urged Spike to quicken his slides into her depths, to alternate his sucks and flicks with hungry nips between blunt teeth, so that both of them were rapidly riding the crest of their excitement. When he felt her tighten around his hand, he curled his free arm beneath her bottom to draw her even closer to his attack.

Her thighs locked around his head when she came, though moving away from her succulence was the last thing Spike could envision. Drinking down her juices, Spike reveled in the pliant flesh beneath his hands, all life and death and power and vulnerability wrapped up in Slayer skin that gleamed pink and gold in the dim light. How had he gone so long without this? he wondered as she shuddered around him.

He had no answer to that. He only knew he wasn't about to let it get away without a fight. He didn't care what Buffy's thoughts on Sunnydale were.

------

She couldn't think.

She couldn't breathe, for that matter, not when her entire body was still reeling from the Orgasm of Where-the-Hell-Did-That-Come-From. Nobody had ever gone down on her before; she and Riley had barely made it past second base before his manhood wigged out on her and split for the safer ground of non-Slayer sorority girls. And as for Parker and Angel...well, the less said on those two, the better.

She'd been curious, of course. Willow had told her about it once when she and Oz had been experimenting, but Buffy had begged off on knowing too many details because thinking of a guy she saw so often with his face between...OK, not even finishing that thought.

Not finishing any thought because the power of free will had completely escaped Buffy's control.

This was so not going how she'd thought it was going to. It wasn't bad---oh god, far, far from it---but she'd given up trying to predict just what was going to happen when Spike was around. She supposed part of it was her fault. She'd gone up to the loft with the thought that it was further from Holly's door; if they made noise, they'd be less likely to wake up the kid. And when the vampire took so long to join her, she'd set about to tidying just to keep herself from chickening out, though she was kind of glad he hadn't actually pulled back the blanket to see that she'd just straightened it out on top of the still-askew sheet beneath it. Buffy'd even considered stripping down to nothing just to surprise him, but that had smelled of desperation, even to her.

Maybe it was because she was really only familiar with traditional, vanilla sex. Even with Angel, as wonderful as that night had been, it had been about love and feelings, not about lust and desire. OK, some lust, but not like this. Not like Spike. Spike had set about devouring her with a hunger that was both exhilarating and terrifying, hence her temporary freakout when she thought he was going to try biting her.

Even now, he stayed nestled between her legs, his silvery hair glowing against her tanned skin, his tongue still luxuriating in the fluids that were coating her thighs. Unconsciously, Buffy's hand stretched down to flutter through his disheveled curls---did I do that?---and she was greeted with desire-darkened eyes that seemed to bore straight through her.

"She lives," he commented with a sly smirk. His voice was rough, serrating across her skin with a drowsy pull that made her clit start to tingle again, and Buffy's throat tightened as she tugged at him to sprawl atop her.

"You know," she said, and squirmed when his zipper grazed across her mound as he adjusted his weight along her body, "the old Buffy would just kick you out of this bed and say, 'Get yourself off, Spike.'" When his eyes began to narrow, she expertly scissored her legs around his hips and flipped him to the side, leaving her straddling his still-straining erection, her hair falling over her shoulder to tickle his cheek. "Good thing you've got the new, improved Buffy, huh?"

The corner of his mouth lifted. "What happened to me not bein' beneath you?" he teased.

She pretended to pout. "You don't want me on top? Fine. I'll just---." She was cut off with a squeak when he yanked her down to slam his lips to hers, stopping her from where she'd been ready to dismount, and driving his tongue deep into the hot recesses of her mouth. It was a demand for possession she didn't ignore, returning his ardor just as fervently, just as willfully, until the need for air dictated she pull away.

"Your turn," Buffy panted. Before Spike could question what she meant, her hands were on his waistband, fumbling with the stiff denim until he sprang free, and she slowed as she worked the jeans away from his hips.

She'd seen it the previous night, of course. She would've denied it until she was blue in the face, but watching him sleep, stretched in silver radiance atop his sheets, all sinewy splendor with muscles she'd only gotten a hint of during Willow's spell, she couldn't help but feel her pussy instinctively contract, squeezing her thighs together while she imagined what he would feel like inside her. He'd shattered that spell as soon as he'd opened his mouth, but it didn't detract from the lingering desire, especially when he stood and she felt his erection brush against her stomach.

And now here it was again, defiant and determined as it jutted from the dark hair between his legs. Spike's eyes were intent, but rather than touch him as she knew he expected, Buffy grabbed his hands and pulled him into a sitting position, meeting the puzzled lift of his brow with a smile.

"I said, it was your turn," she said, and slid around behind him so that their bodies mirrored how they'd been sitting in front of the fireplace. A deep inhalation before she grabbed the hem of his tee flooded Buffy's senses with his smoky scent, and as soon as his skin was bared, her lips were on him, licking and nibbling along his shoulder blades as her hands slithered around and across his chest.

Because she had to taste him. She had to touch him. What he'd done to her...she wanted that again.

But not until she gave him a taste of his own medicine.
 

To be continued in Chapter 21: Here Comes Santa Claus...

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Spike and Buffy are finally giving in to their desire for each other...

-----

21. Here Comes Santa Claus

She molded to him like a second skin, tiny hands splayed across his chest, thighs clamped around his, hard nipples threatening to prick his back where she leaned up against him. The spread of her legs around him was a tickling sensation Spike was more than willing to enjoy, to savor along with all the others. His head was swimming with the abundance of Buffy---on him, inside him, all around---and the glimmers of potency her whispering hands promised made him brace against the trembling that was already starting deep inside his groin.

Her mouth was consuming him in flame, and Spike's muscles twitched as she alternately bit and licked between his shoulder blades. "Buffy...luv..." he murmured, and lifted his hand to capture both of hers from the gentle torture on his chest.

The brush of her hair when she stretched to perch her chin on his shoulder made him shiver, and Spike swore he could hear the smile in her voice when she spoke. "You can't be wanting me to stop already," she said quietly. "What happened to that vampire stamina you've been so puffed-up about?"

With a chuckle, he raised her wrists to his mouth and suckled the sensitive skin along the left. "Don't you be fussed 'bout me not lasting," he said. "It's just..." But the words caught in his throat, refusing to obey his command.

Don't be a git, his demon was arguing. The Slayer's not interested in listening to you wax rhapsodic 'bout her charms. Just let her get that pretty little mouth back to work so you can get off before she has a chance to change her mind on the subject.

There was more than a bit of logic in the reasoning. Spike still wasn't convinced Buffy wouldn't do an about-face on the matter of their intimacy; in fact, he was almost shocked that she hadn't done a runner after getting her own rocks off. After all, he was still the same bloke she'd spent the past two years denouncing and demeaning at every opportunity. If he were in her shoes, he'd be doing that very thing.

And before he'd gained an inkling as to how enthralling the Slayer actually could be, Spike would've given her his best it's-been-fun-and-that's-it speech. Well, it wasn't actually a speech. In the past, the speech had been more of a quick kill, but since he wasn't in a position to do that presently, words would have to do.

Or would've had to do, because this was a spot of fun Spike had no intention of losing any time soon.

"It's just what?" Buffy prompted, when his silence lagged for too long.

"It's just...we need to remember 'bout the moptop down below," he finally said. His tongue traced the fine veins of her wrist in a silken path to her palm. "Last thing I'm interested in havin' right now is another bottle break 'cause a certain Slayer couldn't keep her mouth shut."

"You want my mouth shut?" Her bottom lip was jutting out in a pretty pout when she slid around to face him, leaving Spike's back oddly cold in her absence. "And here I had all these plans for it."

His brow quirked. "Oh? Care to share with the rest of the class, pet?"

A wicked gleam appeared in the green. "I'm more of a show than a tell kind of gal," she said. Leaning in to press her mouth to his neck, Buffy straddled his thigh, unconsciously nudging him with her knee.

The tease dragged a groan from Spike, and his hands reached to grip convulsively at her waist. "Far be it for me to keep a girl from her natural talents," he managed as her hot tongue slid to his chest.

She must've remembered his reaction from their first kiss. Before he could coax her anywhere near them, Buffy was drawing circles around his dusky nipples, allowing her nails to flick the odd scratch across the charged skin. Each brush made his erection jump, but Spike remained helpless beneath her touch, shuddering when she caught one between her teeth.

"Surprise, surprise," she murmured as she slid further down his stomach. "A vampire who likes to be bitten. You're a walking cliché, Spike."

His mouth opened for a smart retort, but it was arrested by the gasp of pleasure that escaped the moment Buffy's lips wrapped around his arousal. She didn't slide down, instead choosing to focus her tongue's attention on the tip, and Spike fell back on his elbows as the strength in his arms seemed to disappear.

Knew Soldier Boy was an idiot. How in bloody hell could he walk away from her

He lost himself in the sensations when Buffy began to take him deeper, using her hand in conjunction with her mouth. So tight, he imagined that she wasn't even aware of how much of her strength she was putting into it, and he moaned in encouragement, wondering if he dared voice that she could go even rougher. When her other hand dropped to stroke the soft skin of his thighs, though, his moans turned into words.

"Fuck, Buffy, yeah...like that...so hot, so gorgeous, love that pretty little mouth of yours...don't stop...there, like that, god, Buffy, don't know what took us so bloody long...want you...want you...luv..."

She never broke her rhythm. Even when Spike began thrusting up into her mouth, Buffy only increased the pressure. The tightening came too soon, all heat and up and heaven and down, and Spike scrabbled for Buffy's shoulders, tugging to pull her off even as his hips refused to stop their rocking. "Buffy, pet, stop," he begged, and somewhere in the back of his brain wondered who it was that was sounding so desperate.

She slid off with a reluctant swipe, leaving him cold and aching and for a moment resentful of his decision. "What is it?" she asked. "Did I do something wrong?"

His eyes shot open in disbelief. "What? No. Don't be daft."

"Then why---?"

"Because I was about two seconds away from coming, luv."

"I thought that was the whole idea."

"Yeah, but..." Slipping his hands beneath her arms, Spike twisted to his side as he guided her to lie on the mattress next to him. This close, he could see the confused shine in her eyes, but what transfixed him was the soft curve of her bottom lip, still swollen from its rigorous attention to his cock. "Have I mentioned yet how much I love this lip?" he murmured, brushing it softly with the pad of his thumb.

She actually blushed. "I think you might've said something along those lines once upon a time," Buffy said, pulling away to break the contact.

Too far away, he decided, and curled his arm around her back to pull her against him. His kiss, when their lips met, was slow and determined, forcing her to respond when it felt for a moment that she might pull away, exacting as much control over his precarious nerves as he could feasibly manage. He wasn't ready for this to be over, and if Spike had to settle for kissing---though what a way to settle, he could drown in these kind of kisses---while he waited for his threshold to ebb, then that's what he'd do.

"Spike...Spike..." Buffy's hands were on his chest, pushing him away even as she opened her mouth to his.

He tightened his grip, growling against her denial.

"I don't...Spike!"

His eyes opened, and immediately his stomach fell. He knew that look on her face. It was old Buffy's favorite whenever she was talking to him. Or talking down at him, rather.

He knew it was too good to last.

"Kinda spoiling the mood here, Slayer," Spike said. "Thought we were in the middle of something." He'd almost added the word "special" before he caught himself. Wouldn't the Slayer love that, considering her current state of mind?

"Well, I thought I was," she replied. Something was getting her dander up, and while he normally considered that a good thing---there was nothing better than a worked-up Slayer---now, it was getting in the way of some serious shagging. "You stopped me."

Was that what was bothering her? "Because I didn't want to come yet. Told you that." He slipped his hand between their bodies to plunge two fingers into her wetness. "In case you didn't notice, I'm holding out for someplace a little...deeper."

Her indignant resolve softened when his thumb started pressing against her. "Oh," Buffy breathed. Her tongue darted out to lick her suddenly-dry lips. "I thought...oh."

"Don't be tryin' to tell me you didn't know what you were doin' to me," Spike murmured. Pressing her back onto the bed without breaking his rhythm, his mouth lowered to the slope of her breast, tasting the salty tang that coated her skin. "Bloody intoxicating, you are."

He almost smiled when she tangled her fingers in his hair to hold him closer. "It's just..." She squeaked when he sucked her nipple against the roof of his mouth. "I haven't...I wanted it to be as good for you..."

"And me almost coming doesn't prove that to you?" he asked, lifting his head. Extracting his hand, Spike threw his knee over Buffy's body until the tip of his arousal was brushing against her, and his brow dropped until it rested against hers. "Know you said no more talkin' 'bout the exes tonight, pet, so I'll make this quick. Forget about that prat. Forget about all of 'em. Not one of 'em knew what a good thing they had in you."

-----

It was the remarkable similarity to when they'd been under Willow's spell that had first started wigging Buffy out. Spike's fixation on her bottom lip was something out of a dream---nightmare, she hastily corrected---and not something that was supposed to pop up in the middle of a blowjob. Or what would've been a blowjob, if he'd let her finish. She was half-tempted to toss him to the floor and force him to submit to its completion; that's how turned on she'd been on by his response to her.

But then he'd stopped, and what guy didn't want to come?, and the whole trying to distract her with one of those amazing kisses, and Buffy was thisclose to calling the entire arrangement off. She didn't need him toadying over her oral inadequacies once they were out of this place. How would she ever explain that to the gang?

Her body betrayed her the instant his hand had returned to her body. She wanted him. Badly. So badly she was ready to admit to Spike just how good it had been for her when she knew that was a bad, bad idea of epic proportions. But she'd stopped herself in time, only to feel the knots inside loosen further when he made that startling, terrifying, electric observation.

She didn't answer him with words. She couldn't. Buffy's mouth was suddenly dry, her throat too tight to work as the depth of what he'd said sank in. Relief that he wasn't looking at her---that those eyes that saw straight through her, hooked their claws and yanked until she had to see it, too, were shuttered behind his admission---made it easier to open her body beneath his, her legs sliding around his hips so that she was exposed for the next step. She almost held her breath when Spike lifted his head to look down at her, and then sighed in pleasure when he pressed forward, to sink with excruciating patience into her depths.

Buffy tightened her legs around him, stilling Spike as she sought his eyes. "We have to be quiet," she reminded him. "I don't want..." She swallowed. "I don't want to have to stop."

He only nodded, leaning in to capture her lips as he began the familiar rhythm of pumping in and out of her heat.

He went slow, taking his time with each stroke as if he was a connoisseur savoring every taste. To Spike's credit, the bed she'd feared would creak with their movement remained just as silent as he was. He almost seemed to be taking her instruction literally, maintaining a quiet that was too eerie and out of place for the vampire. It forced her attention to his body, though, the way the muscles across his back rippled with every thrust, the way his mouth never stopped worshipping hers with those possessive kisses, the way she could almost imagine that somewhere deep inside he was trembling.

When he brought his hand up to palm her breast, Buffy arched away from the mattress, breaking from his mouth for the first time since he entered her. Spike was having none of that, however, and hooked his other arm behind her neck to keep her head in place, slamming his lips back down in a hunger matched only by his fingers. Desperate, she clawed into his powerful back, raking her nails across the smooth skin.

He surprised her by sitting up, perching her on his lap, still buried to the hilt inside her. Buffy broke from his mouth to stare at him wide-eyed, but Spike remained mute, coaxing her back into movement with a slight rocking of his hips. As she slid up his length, watching his dark lashes flutter closed for the briefest of moments, his nostrils flare from the overpowering sensations wracking his body, she decided she couldn't take it any longer. It was just too unnatural.

"Talk to me," Buffy whispered.

Though he tilted his head in questioning, Spike didn't stop moving, helping her ride him by directing her hips to the deepest of depths before allowing her to slide back up again.

"Don't want to wake the little nipper," he murmured.

"We won't," she promised.

"And bedtalk's goin' to make this better for you?" There was a devilish gleam in his eye as their pelvises met. "I must be losing my touch." He cock slid away, and she clenched, making him chuckle. "So, then, tell me, luv." He pulled her closer, running his tongue along the curve of her breast to catch the drop of sweat that had collected there, but the fluid did nothing to smooth the husky cadence to his voice. "Tell me what you want to hear."

She clung to him in hungry desperation, his request resounding inside her skull. How could he expect her to think coherently when every stroke, in and out, up and down, was slamming rational thought away to the farthest recesses of her mind? Even such a simple act as kissing the line of her collarbone created havoc with her synapses, firing in so many directions at once that Buffy was sure she was going to fly apart any minute now.

But she had made the appeal.

She wanted it.

She needed it. For some unknown reason.

And so she answered him.

-----

He didn't expect a response. Buffy's reception to their fucking was quickly chasing away all of her famed control, and Spike was exultant that he was the cause of it. There'd been so many hints of the passion that lay beneath the Slayer exterior, and now, to have it, to have her staring at him in mixed lust and respect, was enough to rouse his own passions to unforeseen heights.

So, when she leaned into him, and settled her sweet mouth at his ear, not once breaking her rhythm, it was all Spike could do not to come on the spot.

"Just you," Buffy said, and her warm breath sent a scintillating tickle down his spine. "All I want...is you."

He growled when she began kissing and biting the sinew of his neck and shoulder, and held her tighter, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips, her breasts crushed so close to his chest that, for a moment, Spike thought it was his own heart he felt beating.

When he spoke, he gave no thoughts to the words, just let them come forth in a torrential pulse that flowed over and around them in tandem with their movement. He wasn't even sure what he said---certainly, there were many effusions on how beautiful she was, how good and tight she felt, how bloody marvelous he felt inside her, though what the specifics were, were beyond his grasp---but they seemed to do the trick, because Buffy began to burn even brighter, her skin so hot and slick, he was fighting to hold on.

She was even speaking back, in his ear, against his skin, creating a tattoo of want for Spike that left his flesh feeling branded.

As her orgasm approached, Buffy's pace quickened, squeezing and riding him with tiny sounds that were almost squeaks. With her legs wrapped around his waist, Spike could feel the trembling begin in her calves, creeping upward and inward with alarming haste, fuelling the soft keening until he began to fear of waking the child below. He entwined his fingers through her hair, dragging her mouth away from where she was still attacking his neck and as he felt her contract around him, slammed his lips to hers, swallowing down the scream he knew she wouldn't be able to hold as she rode out the waves of her orgasm.

Even as it ebbed, though, she didn't slow down, not even whenl there was no more fighting the tornado inside his flesh. Spike came with a blinding explosion, forcing her with demanding hands to remain still as surge after surge echoed within his body. His mouth left hers when he buried his face in her shoulder, breathing in the musky scent of her skin as the sweat that had collected there tickled his tongue, and gave one last shudder when her hands softly caressed the broad of his back.

They stayed like that for several long minutes. Though Buffy had relaxed the hold her legs had around his waist, her arms still clung to Spike's torso, and he luxuriated in the heat that radiated from her center.

Could get used to this. Forgot how good a warm body can feel. Buffy's body. Bloody hell, how could I have known?

He couldn't stop tasting her, his lips sliding across the tender line of her neck, his tongue capturing every essence it could find. But when Buffy twisted to find her clothes lying haphazardly on the floor, it broke him away from the suction of her body, driving his eyes to her face.

She wouldn't look at him. Those tempting eyes, still dark with manifest desire, were jumping between her various articles of clothing, to the edge of the ladder, to the dishevelment of the blankets beneath them, and already, Spike could feel her pulling away, the wall she was so adept at hiding behind resuming its place between them.

"Where are you goin'?" he asked, grabbing her wrist when she finally slid off his cock.

She didn't pull away, but just stood there, staring at his fingers so white against her tan. "Someone needs to sleep downstairs," Buffy said quietly. No word of what had just transpired between them. What had he expected? Spike knew he should count himself lucky for actually getting to come. "Holly might decide to sleepwalk again," she added.

"No reason to babysit the front door," Spike argued. He wasn't going to give in to her stubbornness so quickly. Not without a fight. "Let me block it off. You won't have to fuss 'bout her doing another walkabout."

"She could do anything down there---."

"So I'll stay up and keep an ear out for her." Gently, he tugged, pulling Buffy back onto his lap, and resumed kissing the curve of her neck. "Don't go."

He could feel her hesitation to acquiesce to his request, and pounced on the fact that it wasn't a straight-up no to come hurtling from her fists. "Got a nice warm bed here that's more than big enough for the two of us," Spike continued with a pat to the mattress, as if she needed to be reminded of its presence. "Don't tell me it won't be more comfy than the couch. And a good night's sleep will do your body good."

"You could always sleep on the couch for a change," Buffy said.

His head tilted. "When it's my bed? Don't think so, pet."

"And...what? You want to cuddle?" There was no masking her disbelief, but she still wasn't moving. "That's too weird, even for you, Spike."

He fell back onto the mattress, taking her with him so that they were stretched out along its length. "Not so weird, if you think about it, luv." Turning her in his arms, Spike cradled her against his chest, feeling her ass automatically burrow back into his groin. Carefully, his fingers played with her breast, teasing the nipple back to hardness, and he smiled unseen when Buffy rested her head on his bicep. Already, she was half-asleep, and he dropped his voice to its most soothing rumble as he continued to coax her.

"You can argue about it with me in the mornin'," Spike murmured. "In fact, I'll make sure you do. Can't have you goin' too soft on the Big Bad here, can we?" He nudged his returned erection against her bottom, drawing a quiet moan from Buffy's throat. "I think I'm hard enough for the both of us for now, though."

"Oink, oink, Spike." But she was so close to slumber that it came through with no conviction, quiet and ephemeral in the air between them.

He stroked her hair in delicate sweeps, waiting until her breathing had evened before replying.

"That's my Slayer."
 

To be continued in Chapter 22: Christmas Is Coming...

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy and Spike have consummated their relationship, and when Buffy tried to leave his bed, Spike convinced her to stay...

-----

22. Christmas Is Coming

Something was wrong with her feet.

Like...heavy kind of wrong.

Like...not really a part of her kind of wrong.

Just...wrong.

As she struggled through the clouds of sleep to wakefulness, Buffy fought to remember what it was she had dreamt about that could render such a reaction in her conscious world. Had she been Bozo the Clown? A demon with enormous blocks for feet?

...Nothing.

She didn't think she'd dreamed anything.

She did, however, more than remember what had happened directly prior to falling asleep. The sex with Spike. His insistence that she stay. Her reluctance to go, even though she knew that staying was only going to encourage him into thinking that they had any kind of real future when they both knew it was impossible. He'd been so surprising, almost gentle, as he'd tugged her back to the bed. That was a memory that wasn't going anywhere.

And did she mention the great sex?

She could feel him now, the weight of his arm curled around her waist, his erection poking into her bottom. He wasn't moving, not even a surreptitious grope like he had that first night on the couch, so...asleep maybe?

Buffy frowned, though she had yet to fully break from the vestiges of slumber.

Asleep? So much for keeping his ears open. Stupid vamp couldn't even keep his eyes open.

Damn it.

She really hoped Holly had stayed put for the night. She didn't want to have to explain to the Ghosts of Christmas Past that she'd lost their little girl because she'd been too busy boinking the vampire who was supposed to be the bane of her existence. What could she possibly say to them? Oops?

In the meantime, she really had to figure out what was wrong with her feet. She couldn't go chasing after anyone if her toes were going to be on the missing in action list. Maybe it was an afteraffect of the frostbite.

Slowly, Buffy cracked her eyelids, grateful that there wasn't any sun in the loft to blind her. She was about to push the blanket away when she spied the reason her feet felt so heavy.

"I'm hungry," Holly said, from where she was perched on the end of the bed.

"Ssshhh..." Buffy automatically said. "We don't want to wake---."

"Already up."

Her head whipped around to see Spike gazing down at her, curls tousled into sexy spikes, and she felt the irresistible urge to reach up and tangle her fingers in them. Bed hair. Yum.

Buffy blanched at her traitorous thoughts, and started to push the comforter back to get away from the vampire, only to feel the cool cabin air glide across her naked breasts. With a quick yank, she held the blanket to her chin as she sat up against the headboard, her eyes jumping between the two who seemed so intent on watching her.

It was evil. Like they'd planned it ahead of time or something. No matter which one she was looking at, both Holly and Spike's gazes followed her like a demonic painting.

"What?" she demanded, when the silence stretched too long for comfort.

"I'm hungry," Holly repeated.

"Moptop wants breakfast," Spike said casually.

"I heard her the first time."

"Can I have hot chocolate?" the child asked.

Buffy frowned, her head swiveling to the foot of the bed. "No, that's not breakfast food."

"But I played the game like Spike said," came her plaintive reply. "He said if I played, I could have hot chocolate."

Back to Spike. "What game?"

"She wouldn't stop blathering," he explained. "You seemed like you could use the shut-eye, so I made a deal with her. Play the Quaker Meeting game 'til you woke up, and she'd get what she wanted for brekky."

Buffy shook her head. "OK, first of all, making deals with three-year-olds? Not exactly going to win you any awards as Babysitter of the Year. What if she'd wanted an ice cream sundae, Spike? What would you have done then?"

"Oh! I can have ice cream?"

She ignored the child who was now bouncing on the end of the bed. "Secondly, why couldn't you make her breakfast? Why wait up for me to do it?"

His chin jerked in the direction of the dresser on her side of the bed. "Clothes are in there," he said, a sly smile already breaking through. "And you were all twisted up in the duvet. You really want me to be flashing her my goodies?"

The fact that his jeans were dangling over the loft railing didn't escape Buffy's attention, but the last thing she felt capable of dealing with right now was a bunch of questions from a far too inquisitive young mind about why they were both naked in the first place. Instead, she asked, "So why didn't you send her back down while you got dressed?"

Holly stopped jumping at that, and shook her head. "I don't do down. I fall."

Spike's faux innocent shrug, as if he was saying you heard the kid, what do you expect me to do?, made Buffy want to scream. "Fine," she said. "I'll do breakfast." She leaned over the side of the bed to pick up her shirt, but realized her pants were slightly out of her reach, and she wasn't even going to think about where her bra might have ended up when she'd slingshot it.

Scrunching down further under the blanket, she slapped Spike's hand that had followed her beneath its cover. "Can you get my pants, please, Holly?" Buffy asked before ducking to pull the shirt over her head. When she re-emerged just a few seconds later, she frowned when she saw that the child hadn't moved from her perch at the end of the bed. "What's wrong?"

"Are you going to yell at me for helping again?"

The query made her wince. "No," she said gently. "No more yelling."

That seemed to satisfy Holly, and she scrambled off with a tumble to fetch the garment in question. Under the blanket, Buffy had to push away Spike's questing fingers again, and shot him a dirty look before the child turned back to face them.

"How come you came up here?" Buffy asked as she slithered into her trousers. Ick. First thing I do once I get downstairs is find some clean underwear.

"I couldn't find you. I got scared." She looked back and forth at the two adults. "Were you scared, too? Is that why you came up here?"

She could hear Spike chuckling, but Buffy ignored it as she slid off the bed. "We were talking," she offered in careful explanation.

"Without your clothes on?"

How do I get myself into these corners? But before she could reply, the mattress squeaked behind her as Spike spoke up.

"Sometimes that's the only way to get yourself heard," he said nonchalantly. Scooping Holly into her arms, Buffy pivoted to see him sprawling against the headboard like he was king of the castle. "'Specially when one of you is a stubborn bint who's got delusions of self-grandeur."

Her jaw dropped to argue with him, but snapped quickly shut again when she caught the twinkle in his eye. "C'mon," she said, heading for the ladder. "Let's go get something to eat."

As uncomfortable as it had been, Buffy decided as soon as they were downstairs that it was better she had been wakened in that particular manner rather than some other way. If it had just been she and Spike on that bed, she was positive one of two things would've happened. Either Spike would've insisted on having some kind of post-coital confrontation or they would've had a repeat of the previous night. Possibly even both.

Her thighs automatically warmed as the memories flooded her mind.

OK, so the sex had been good. Really good. Better than chocolate good. And she had to concede the bonus points for Spike not going evil---because, hey, already evil---and for actually being there when she woke up. That was more than she'd gotten from a human, albeit jerk-y, Parker, and...

She really didn't want to finish that comparison.

But being a cuddler, and being amazing in bed, didn't mean anything in the grand scheme of things, right? Because it wasn't possible for the two of them to have any sort of real relationship when they got out of here, even if they seemed to be getting along better now, and even if she couldn't honestly say she hated him any more, and even if just thinking about his lips made her start quivering like a leaf all over again.

Or was it?

Absentmindedly, Buffy took the eggs out of the refrigerator, setting them on the counter as she filled a pan with water. So lost in thought, she didn't even realize she'd pulled out the second pan until a small voice from the table stayed the hand she was reaching back inside the fridge.

"Can I try some?"

Buffy looked down to see the blood bag in her grip, then glanced up at the soft step of the approaching vampire. He was dressed now, though his feet were bare, and he watched her in wary expectation as he straddled the far chair. For the long moment their eyes held, the events of the past twenty-four hours went rushing through Buffy's brain, all his words and all his deeds tumbling into an oddly comforting pattern that seemed to settle at least one of the questions that had befuddled her.

"No," Buffy said firmly. She resumed the task of heating up his breakfast, studiously avoiding Spike's gaze again. "Little girls don't drink blood. Little girls eat eggs."

"What about my hot chocolate?"

The last thing she expected was for Spike to try and fix what he'd done. "How 'bout we have that for special tonight, pidge?" he said. "Seein' as how it'll be Christmas Eve, it'll be a treat, don't you think?"

"Are we going to leave some for Santa, too?"

Buffy froze in mid-stir. Crap. I never even thought about that.

"Don't think Father Christmas knows where we are," Spike offered. "We're playin' hide-and-seek, remember? Like Doyle said. If everyone knew we were here, it wouldn't be much of a game, now would it?"

"But---."

"Why don't you go and wash your hands?" Buffy interrupted with a bright smile. "Breakfast is almost ready."

It was obvious she didn't like the suggestion, but Holly obeyed anyway, sliding from her chair and padding quietly to the bathroom. Hesitating at the door, she stole a glance back at the pair in the kitchen before disappearing inside. In an instant, Buffy was at Spike's side.

"What're we going to do?" she hissed.

He frowned. "'Bout what?"

"About..." Buffy waved in the general direction of the bathroom. "...that."

"Still not following, pet."

"She's going to expect Christmas tomorrow, especially since you've gone ahead and reminded her that it's right around the corner."

"And here I thought the giant tree in the living room was what gave us away. My mistake."

"I'm serious, Spike. She's three. She deserves to have some kind of holiday. And we've got nothing here."

His eyes narrowed at that, and he peeled himself off from the back of the chair. "Don't know if it's nothin'," he said slowly. "Thought we were doin' pretty good, considering."

In less than a blink, he'd completely changed the subject on her, and Buffy threw up her hands in exasperation. "I don't know why I bother---," she started to say, only to feel his hands grab her waist to pull her onto his lap.

"Tired of seein' the back of you," he growled into her neck. His mouth was already working along her skin, even as his fingers found their way beneath her top to hold her firmly against him. "Not that it's not a very pretty back, but---."

"All clean," Holly announced as she came back into the room.

Buffy tried to get off Spike's lap, but outside of pushing him off the chair, there was no way to gracefully break his grip. The thought of choosing a more physical means of getting free flitted across her mind, but somehow, she had the feeling that direct manhandling of the one person Holly actually seemed to like wasn't going to help boost her approval rating with the child.

The child who now gazed at the pair of them as if seeing them in such close contact was the most natural thing in the world.

"Got a plan for you today," Spike said.

Shifting to ask what it could possibly be, Buffy stayed silent when she saw his eyes resting on Holly.

"You like snow?" he went on to ask.

She nodded.

"Well, Buffy here's been bugging the hell outta me 'bout gettin' some fresh air. So, I was thinkin'...can you do me a favor and keep her company when she goes? I got this pesky sun allergy or I'd do it myself, and I can't just let her go out on her own, 'cause she's always picking up stray demons and bringing 'em home. And the only demon I want around my Slayer is me."

Spike took that opportunity to pretend to bite at Buffy's shoulder, eliciting a giggle from Holly. Though she was still stiff within his embrace, Buffy could feel her resolve dissipating, and she just watched in amazement as he finished the negotiation with the child. He really was good with her; without even having to try very hard, he had Holly insisting on accompanying Buffy out into the snow for a day of fun and frolicking that would supposedly be good for the both of them.

"I need to stir your blood or it's going to burn," she interrupted as she heard it start to sizzle in the pan.

Spike sniffed at the air, but released her without question. When she rose to go to the stove, however, he followed after her, leaning against the counter at her side with the casual ownership of a man who had little desire to be long separated from...what? What exactly were they?

It didn't matter. Having him so near felt strangely right, even if she didn't get why. Buffy didn't even protest when he stretched a finger to swipe at the blood that spattered on her wrist, returning it to his mouth to absently suckle.

Only when Holly went scampering off to the bedroom to fetch her outdoors gear, did Buffy speak again.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "You didn't have to do that, you know."

"Do what?" Though he feigned innocence, she was more than aware of how he couldn't quite meet her eyes. "Don't think I'm doin' this just because you failed so miserably yesterday. I just fancy gettin' a bit of kip at some point today, is all. That's not goin' to happen if the pair of you are hovering about, 'specially if I have to play doctor to the nipper because of an unfortunate doily-making incident."

She didn't react when he moved to stand behind her, his hands on either side of the stove as he leaned in to run his lips along her neck. "Now, if you fancied a turn at some doctoring," Spike murmured, "I wouldn't fuss about that. Bet we could find a whole slew of new ways to check your temperature."

"We've been down that road, remember?"

"Yeah, but this time, we've got a whole new map, luv."

Tilting her head to allow him better room to her neck seemed almost natural, and Buffy's eyes fluttered closed against the goosebumps his mouth was raising along her skin. She knew she shouldn't be giving in so readily to his touch; hadn't she come up with some sort of argument about why at some point? At the moment, though, it escaped her. It must've not been a very good one.

"Could always send the kid out to play on her own," he was whispering. Now, his hands had joined in the exploration, slipping beneath her shirt to stroke the tender skin of her stomach. "Missed the chance to wake you up good and proper this morning."

"Someone has to watch her," Buffy breathed. She grabbed his hand before it could disappear down the front of her pants. Time to nip this in the bud before Holly came back to find them naked on top of the table or something. "And I woke up just fine, thank you very much."

He pouted when she turned and shoved the saucepan of blood into his hands. "And here I thought gettin' laid might actually make you a sight more pleasant to be around," Spike groused.

Her jaw dropped, the last consideration in continuing with his touchy-feely flying away on the wings of his statement. "Excuse me?" she asked tightly.

"I'm just sayin'---."

"Yeah, I heard what you said." The plate she pulled out of the cupboard shattered when she slammed it down to the counter, and Buffy swore under her breath as she began picking up the pieces. When Spike reached to try and help, though, her elbow automatically shot back, connecting with his solar plexus and sending him stumbling into the table to skid it across the floor. "Is it so hard to keep your hands to yourself?" she complained.

"Didn't hear you protesting so much about my hands last night." He was already back up, strong fingers on her shoulder to whirl her around to face him. "What's really goin' on here?" he demanded. "Gettin' cold feet after the fact, pet?"

"My feet are just fine." Wrenching free, Buffy pushed past him to head for the bedroom. "Holly's eggs are done. If she complains about the yolks, just tell her they're yellow, not orange."

"Where are you going?"

"I've got a snowdate to get dressed for, remember?"

"What about hashing out whatever it is that's bothering you?"

She stopped with her hand on the doorknob, but didn't bother to turn around and look at him. "I think I like my hash exactly where it is right now," Buffy said, and her voice was a bitter rasp in the wide room. It had all started out so promising; Spike had actually been pleasant. Of course, then the real Spike had stepped up to the plate. He thinks he can make it easier for himself by getting me laid?!? She knew it had been too good to be true.

"Buffy---."

"Save it, Spike." She pushed the door open and almost knocked down an overdressed Holly on the other side. Immediately, she stepped forward to take the little girl's hand in hers, ignoring the fact that the child seemed to be wearing half her wardrobe. "Ready to go play?"

-----

The local cops thought she was crazy. Even with the facts she had in hand from John back in Sunnydale, the police weren't willing to give Joyce any additional information that might help her in locating Buffy. If anyone had survived the crash, they explained, he or she would've turned up already. Since no one had, it could be safely assumed that the storm had probably killed them.

She refused to believe them. Giles was alive; she'd had the phone call to prove it. She couldn't use that as evidence, of course, because then they'd start asking awkward questions such as where he was or how he'd walked away from the accident. Without those answers, Joyce was just another overprotective mom with a missing daughter. Still, she couldn't just give up. Rupert had called her for a reason; she had to be diligent as she sought out the truth behind the crash.

The morning sun made the snow crisp and clean, as she slowed to a stop along the highway. Though she didn't know exactly where the accident had occurred, the reports had narrowed the stretch of road she was going to search to a mile's length. An early dusk the night before had prevented Joyce from going out then, but with a new day dawning so brightly ahead of her, she was ready to start the hunt with gusto, heavy boots on her feet, thick gloves on her hands.

Two hours later, she'd walked the mile four times, scrutinizing the trees carefully for any sign of the accident. There had been one point where she thought she might've seen some broken branches, but after following them for a few feet, she'd come to a very steep drop-off, and knew she was in no position to make that sort of hike. Still, she remembered the spot as somewhere to go back to, lest all of her other attempts failed.

Though what those attempts were going to be, Joyce had no idea.

-----

From her vantage point across the road, she was motionless as she watched Joyce get into the car for the third time to warm up, only stirring when she felt Jenny's presence appear at her side.

"What's going on?" Jenny asked. "I was in the middle of---."

"Mrs. Summers is here," the first woman said, pointing.

Jenny frowned. "Why?"

"I think she's looking for Buffy."

"But...I thought the police didn't identify Buffy as being in the car."

"They didn't."

The implications hung in the air between the two ghosts, and it wasn't until Joyce emerged to begin the trek along the road one more time that Jenny spoke up again.

"If Rupert told her where he was, Joyce wouldn't be here," she said.

"But he might've said something else to her," the first one argued. "Maybe there was a clue that she just doesn't recognize."

"And what would we do if we found him? Maria will be too heavily warded for us to get through. No, I still think our best bet is to keep an eye on Holly here. For the sacrifice to work, Maria has to come to her, so this way, we're safe."

They watched as Joyce stopped at the broken branches again, this time venturing further down the slope to investigate. "If she keeps this up," the first one said, "she's going to find Buffy and Spike before sundown."

"Or get herself killed."

"Neither option is acceptable."

"So, what're you saying? We stop her from looking for her daughter?" Jenny shook her head. "We've interfered too much as it is."

The first woman smiled. "That's funny, coming from the one of us who arranged to have vampires attack Buffy."

"It worked, didn't it?"

"I think that's why you don't want to look for Giles," she teased. "You're afraid of what he's going to say if he finds out what you did."

"If I see Rupert," Jenny countered, "I think the last thing he's going to be freaking out about is a couple of vamps."

"This isn't solving the problem with Mrs. Summers."

"No, it's not."

Silence. If they'd had breath to hold, the two ghosts would've done so as they waited to see if Joyce would come up from the slope. When she finally did...

"So..." Jenny looked at her partner. "...do you have any brilliant ideas?"
 

To be continued in Chapter 23: Pine Cones and Holly Berries...

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Joyce is searching for Buffy, with Jenny and her ghostly companion on the watch, while the morning after for Buffy and Spike was less than stellar, resulting in Buffy storming out to play with Holly...

-----

23. Pine Cones and Holly Berries

Sleep was elusive.

His body was hungry for rest, having fulfilled its promise to stay awake and alert for signs of Holly's potential waking. Spike had given Buffy that vow with the sole purpose of seeing her get some well-deserved sleep, and watched over her during those midnight hours, not once aware of the time that slipped by until tiny feet announced their presence on the loft ladder.

She seemed so much smaller when she slept, fragile almost, though Spike knew the truth of that beyond any lingering doubts. What had transfixed him for the majority of the night, however, had not been the glory of the body she'd shared with him. It had been her face. More specifically, Buffy's mouth.

Soft. Still swollen from their kisses. The tightness around her cheeks gone in the comfort of her slumber.

He'd touched it once, and she'd moaned in her sleep, rolling around to curl into his chest like that was where she belonged. A small smile had seemed to play along its delicate curves, and Spike had impulsively brushed a kiss across it, tasting the innocence Buffy fought so fiercely to protect. He didn't know if that was a gesture she would allow once the morning came and, with it, the light of reason that she clung to with desperation; he only knew that he wanted it for as long as he could take it, and damned if he was going to let projections about her foolish pride get in the way of his current pleasure.

But her mouth...so many of the worries that hardened Buffy while she was awake vanished in the luxury of sleep, and Spike had spent the hours envisioning how to recreate the peace of her dreams in her waking world. He often enjoyed her caustic tongue, pleasured in the tension he could embroil within her body, but this was something beyond that, beyond wanting to provoke the Slayer into an attack, verbal or otherwise.

Why, though, he had no sodding clue.

So, he wanted to sleep, needed to, really, if he didn't want to exhaust himself into being less than useful in keeping the nipper at bay. With Buffy and Holly out to play in the great outdoors, it was the perfect opportunity to get a few hours of uninterrupted rest. It was just...

He rolled over to face the wall.

His bed now smelled of her.

The blankets, the sheets, all of the bloody pillows. Everywhere he turned, Spike was assaulted by the scent of eau de Slayer---her arousal, her sweat, the perfume of that golden skin where it had rubbed and rolled across surfaces he'd never imagined she would embrace. It was too much, keeping her tangible and elusory in all her blood-tingling vexation, his nerves stretching to find her though reason whispered the truth of her absence.

With a growl, Spike threw the pillow against the wall and leapt from the bed, circling around its foot as he glared at in defiance. Bugger if he was going to let her get to him when she wasn't even around. He needed to sleep, and sleep he damn well would. The sight of the rag rug on the floor caught his eye and he pounced on it, stretching along it as a poor cousin to the comfort of the sheets. It would have to do.

But without the direct distraction of Buffy's not-long-gone presence, Spike's brain defied his body's decree for rest, playing over the events of the morning with a repetition that made throwing a few pillows the least he wanted to do. Where had it gone wrong? He'd let her sleep, keeping the kid from doing her worst in waking her, and then she'd seemed almost shy when he'd wandered down for breakfast. Hell, she'd even been warming up some blood for him; surely, if she was so uptight about what had happened, she wouldn't be going to those lengths, would she?

His mind turned over her anxiety about Christmas for Holly. That had been when things had started to feel off to Spike. He'd deliberately changed the subject on her, hoping that she'd see through his subterfuge and take his tentative hint that maybe there was more to them than just the amazing sex.

And she'd promptly tried to run. Like she was so wont to do.

Coaxing her back into his arms had been relatively simple. Their bodies knew---had always known, if he bothered to give some thought to it---how to respond properly, how to ignore the trappings of labels and get to what truly mattered. It wasn't necessarily about the sex, Spike was learning. No, spending nearly a dozen hours just holding Buffy, feeling her molding to him in a carefree compulsion while his body did the same to hers, had begun to insinuate other, more terrifying notions about what exactly they were to each other. He wasn't ready to address those; there was enough to sort through already.

It didn't mean that they still didn't exist, though.

And it didn't mean that he couldn't expect just a tad more civility from the Slayer when it was obvious she was feeling the same. He didn't think that was asking for that much, in the grand scheme of things.

In frustrated anger, Spike's fist shot out and slammed into the wooden rail of the bed. It didn't break under the pressure---not with such solid oak beams holding the thing together---but it shot reassuring knives of pain through his curled fingers and up his arm. The sensations helped him focus as he fell onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.

They couldn't go on like they had this morning. Not with eight more days left of their incarceration. Little Holly would be a mincemeat pie if he and Buffy didn't work this out. Hell, he wasn't sure they wouldn't all be mincemeat pies if things kept going like they had been.

He didn't particularly care for mincemeat. That was one English tradition he'd been glad to cast aside.

-----

She deliberately set aside thoughts of the disastrous morning with Spike, and instead lost herself in the simple joys of plunging through the snowy forest with Holly. Being a California girl, Buffy didn't get many opportunities to escape into wintry fantasies plucked straight out of Hollywood, but scampering among the trees after a giggling little girl who acted for the first time since she'd met the child as if she didn't have a care in the world, Buffy couldn't help but feel that maybe she'd discovered a forgotten pocket of tranquility.

She laughed as tiny arms appeared out of nowhere, wrapping around her leg with surprising strength.

"Gotcha!" Holly shouted.

"Don't think so," Buffy said, and before the child could escape, had bent and pried her away, hoisting her over her head and onto her shoulders with ease.

"Up! Up!" As Holly grabbed onto a low-hanging branch, the weight on the Slayer's body disappeared. Booted heels kicked at the trunk as she tried to swing her legs over, and it was only when Buffy pushed to help her onto the thick limb that Holly was able to clamber up.

"Looks like you're stuck now," Buffy commented. She took a small step back, watchful that the child was secure, and waited for the frightened response to come.

It didn't. "Wanna come up?" Holly asked.

Buffy shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

The branch was gnarled and sturdy as she settled into a bend further along its length, and the ground seemed surprisingly far away when she looked down. It hadn't seemed that high from below, and her eyes narrowed as Buffy began to rethink her decision.

"It's OK," Holly said. "It's not scary."

"You don't seem to get too scared about very much," the Slayer commented casually.

"Yes, I do."

"You're not scared of Spike."

This confused her. "Why should I be?"

"Maybe because he's a vampire?"

"But he takes care of me."

"Only because he has to."

"And he's funny. Funny isn't scary."

Buffy could tell she wasn't going to get anywhere with this thread of conversation. For whatever reason, Holly was firmly entrenched in Spike's goodwill camp and there was going to be no budging her.

"Well, I still think you're a very brave little girl," she said. "Doyle said you've been through a lot. I don't know if I would've been so brave when I was your age."

Holly fell silent at that, her mittened hands absently stroking the rough bark of the tree. Beneath the coats and scarves Buffy had probably gone a little overkill with, wind-chapped cheeks made a sharp contrast to the pallor around her eyes, though Buffy couldn't help but wonder if that was because of the sudden dilation of Holly's pupils. For a long moment, all they could hear was the soft whistle of the wind through the branches and the occasional soft swish when something would fall into the snow in the distance.

"Do you have a mommy?" Holly asked.

Buffy nodded. Her throat was suddenly too tight to speak, it would seem.

"Where is she?"

"Home," Buffy replied. "Sunnydale."

"Do you miss her?"

Another nod. What she was really missing was the gaiety of their games, but if Holly felt like she needed to talk about this, Buffy wasn't going to be the person to tell her no.

"My mommy comes to me when I'm sleeping."

Buffy frowned. Her first thought was Ghosts? before common sense kicked in and booted her in the butt for living too long on the Hellmouth. "You mean, when you're dreaming," she clarified. "You have dreams about her?"

"She makes the bad stuff go away."

"That's what mommies do. It's part of their job description, I think."

More silence.

"Do mommy jobs make them die?"

The matter-of-factness of Holly's question took Buffy by surprise. "What? No, it's not like that," she said, but it sounded silly coming from her mouth. "Why would you think that?" she tried again.

"Doyle said she died because of her job."

"He told you that?" She was beginning to reconsider her opinion of Doyle.

"No, I heard him when he thought I was sleeping."

"Oh." Maybe not such a bad guy after all. "Do you know what she did? Sometimes, mommies have jobs that are completely separate from them being a mommy. Like, my mommy has an art gallery where she puts up really old and sometimes kind of creepy art stuff. But most of it's pretty. As long as it's not trying to turn people into zombies or anything."

"My mommy made bad stuff go away."

It was then that Buffy decided that all prophecies must've been written by three-year-olds. When it came to cryptic, nobody could hold a candle to a little kid.

"Was she a nurse or a doctor or something?" Buffy asked, hoping to coax a little more definitive information from the child. Maybe if she knew more about Holly's background, they'd be able to figure out exactly what it was this Maria was after her for.

Holly only shook her head.

This was another line of questioning that was getting them absolutely nowhere. Plus, it boasted the added disadvantage of getting Buffy thinking about home, and her mom, and the fact that she still had no idea what could've happened to Giles. Thinking of her Watcher inevitably dragged her thoughts back to his houseguest, and very quickly, both Buffy and Holly were lost in their glum musings.

She didn't want to admit it, but Spike's offhand admission about fucking her into being nicer had sliced deeply, deeper than should've been safe to confess. They'd gone into the physical with clear heads about the absence of any sort of real relationship between them, but somewhere during the course of the night, between whispering things against her skin that not even Angel had admitted and pulling her back to the bed to fall asleep in his arms, she'd begun to suspect, maybe even hope, that she'd been wrong. The doubts had lingered when she'd woken, but while the light of day had seemed to bring with it a clarity of their situation that had been lacking in the shadows between his sheets, Buffy wondered how truthful it had been.

Well, she had wondered. Right up until Spike shot off his mouth and shocked her back into remembering just what he was.

She almost jumped when a tentative hand came to rest on her leg. Looking up, Buffy saw Holly inching her ways forward, closer to the Slayer and further out on the shaking limb. "Wait," she instructed the child. Shifting, she dropped back down to the ground, and then reached up to take the little girl into her arms.

Holly slithered through her embrace to land with a soft plop. "I got snow in my shoe," she complained.

Bending down, Buffy ran her fingers along the girl's ankle, tucking her pants tighter into her boots. "Do you want to go in?" she asked. She wasn't sure what answer she wanted to hear. The prospect of facing Spike again wasn't exactly a thrilling one.

"No."

"Wanna go exploring?"

"OK."

They headed off in a direction they hadn't yet gone, the cabin disappearing behind them. The companionship was nice, but still left Buffy with too much quiet time to resume her disloyal thoughts, and so she decided to give one last go at digging some info out of the little girl.

"Did you and Doyle talk a lot when you were coming here?" It seemed like a nice, neutral question; no way could there be anything wig-worthy about it, Buffy reasoned.

Holly's eyes were large and solemn as she looked up at Buffy. "Doyle's a ghost," she said simply.

So not the answer she was expecting to hear. "You think that means he can't talk?" she joked, hoping being light-hearted about it would help hide her surprise. She hadn't thought Holly knew the truth about Doyle; what else did she know? "I got the impression he does it a lot."

"He told me about you and Spike. He told me you were going to take care of me now."

And I'm doing such a good job of it, too.

"Doyle said you were both good at taking care of little girls and that I shouldn't be scared if you guys were there."

"He said that?" How did we get to talking about Spike again?

"Didn't Spike take care of you when you were hurt?"

Every question was just dredging her deeper into a world of so-not-wanting-to-go-there, making Buffy's head spin with images of blond vampires who mocked her mood, and cradled her to sleep, and wanted her dead just to save her life. "Yeah, he did," she replied slowly.

"Spike doesn't have a mommy, either. He told me so."

"Oh?" She shouldn't be surprised that Spike had shared such details with the little girl. After all, he'd been chockfull of surprises ever since they'd had the accident. "Why don't you tell me what else Spike told you?"

-----

She hadn't wanted to take a break from her search, but her stomach had other thoughts, growling in protest when the hour stretched past one and she still had yet to find anything definitive that might help her pinpoint where the accident had occurred. It wouldn't do Buffy any good if Joyce passed out from hunger, and so she reluctantly returned to the car, driving back to where she was staying.

The small town she was stuck in didn't have a McDonald's she could pretend to eat healthily at, the hotel barely hospitable enough for sleeping. Instead, it boasted a one-stop grocery store, a gas station with a single pump, and a country-western bar with the unfortunate moniker of "The Prickly Pine Cone." For some reason, Christmas Eve hours already seemed to be in effect, leaving Joyce only the option of the bar if she didn't want to go cruising down the highway for something else.

She'd just be careful about what she ordered, she decided.

The interior was nearly deserted, the only other occupants the bartender and a dark-haired young man standing at the juke box. When she entered, Joyce paused to let her eyes adjust to the dark, then flashed a tight smile to the man when he nodded at her, carefully avoiding his eyes as she walked over to the bar.

"Do you serve food here?" she asked.

"It's food," came the reply. He was probably her age, but looked a decade older, three days worth of stubble coarsening his face, watery blue eyes slightly bloodshot. "Don't know how edible it is."

"I'm going to guess you don't handle your own marketing," she joked, but the only response she got was a chuckle from behind her. Joyce sobered and pulled out her wallet. "What exactly do you have?"

After placing an order for wings and fries, she waited while he ran to the back to fetch the bottled water she'd requested. It took only a moment before she felt the presence at her elbow.

"Must be car trouble."

With a frown, Joyce looked at the young man who'd slid onto the stool next to her, his eyes bright even in the murk, a friendly smile curling his lips. "Excuse me?" she asked.

"Car trouble," he repeated, and this time she was certain she heard the accent in his voice. "That's why you're here, right? No other reason a lovely lady such as yourself would be in this hole the day before Christmas if you didn't have to be."

She smiled, in spite of herself. "Is that your excuse?" Joyce countered. "Because you don't exactly sound local."

"Never judge a book by its cover."

"So you are local."

"Now, did I say that?"

She was saved from replying when the bartender returned with her water, and was about to pass over the twenty to pay for everything when the young man held up his hand.

"Let me," he said, reaching for his back pocket. "Consider it a Christmas gift."

"Thank you, but no," Joyce insisted. She passed over the money, keeping her eyes forward, and then took her water to a corner booth when she got her change, hoping that would be enough to let him know she wanted to be alone.

It wasn't.

"So, if it's not your car letting you down," he said cheerfully, stopping at the edge of the opposite bench, "it must be family that's got you in town." Her shock must've registered on her face, and he slid onto the seat, extending his hand in a belated greeting. "My name's Doyle, by the way..."
 

To be continued in Chapter 24: Have a Cup of Cheer...

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