*************

It came out of nowhere.  One moment, the midnight sky was twinkling down in refreshing mettle; the next, sheets of rain were sweeping across the cemetery, blacking out the heavens as the gales whistled over the headstones, the distant rolls of thunder adding their bass voices to the storm’s song.  A mouse tried skittering to safety under a bush, only to find itself picked up, tossed around like a lost ship at sea, and unceremoniously deposited over twenty yards away, muddied and more than a little dazed.  On unsure feet, it disappeared into the darkness.

Pulling her very non-waterproof jacket closer around her thin frame, Buffy bent her head against the wind as she headed back to the graveyard’s gate.  Slaying called on account of rain, she thought irritably.  And Giles better not give me any crap for it ‘cause I ain’t in the mood. 

It hadn’t been a good night for patrolling.  Within ten minutes of reaching the cemetery, Buffy had encountered two newly born vamps about to start snacking on an elderly lady who’d only wanted to pay her dearly departed a late visit.  But, when the Slayer had promptly staked both demons, Granny had turned on her, beating her about the head with her very large purse, screaming something about gangs and colors.  For a moment, Buffy had actually considered trying to reason with her, but that thought quickly vanished when the bag landed especially hard on her shoulder.  The blonde had turned and fled, convinced the old woman was packing something to the equivalent of a ton of bricks, putting as much distance between them as quickly as possible.  It’s not even like I can hit her back, she’d thought grumpily as she ran.  Stupid right and wrong.

It had gone downhill from there.  Something green had immediately disappeared the moment it saw her, and before she could set chase to it, three vampires decided that it was their turn to die by jumping her from behind.  She’d dusted the first with absolutely no effort.  When she’d turned and faced the others however, Buffy had been greeted by the pointy end of a very long sword, with a grinning vamp on its other side.

“You know what they say about demons overcompensating with their weapons,” she quipped.  “Big sword, little di---.”  Her words were cut off as she expertly side-stepped an awkward lunge, sending the armed vamp sprawling, but not before the tip of his blade snagged on the hem of her blouse with an audible rip.

“Hey!” she cried out, her brows furrowed as she fingered the hole in the fabric.  “This was one of my favourite shirts!”  Leaping into the air, Buffy flipped herself over the head of the standing vampire, landing softly on the ground behind him.  Before he could react, the Slayer had plunged her stake into his back, turning to face the last of the trio before the dust had even settled.

“This would go a lot faster if you’d just cut off your own head,” she said lightly.  When he just stared at her blankly, she sighed.  “No?  Well, if you insist…”

A carefully aimed kick at his wrist sent the sword flying through the air and Buffy dashed to catch it before it landed, swinging it around in a liquid arc that separated the vamp’s head from his body, both disintegrating in a shower before hitting the ground.  Giving the blade a swish or two, she nodded, saying, “Gotta love new toys.”

The storm had started almost immediately after that, and the Slayer had decided to pack it in for the night, tucking the sword under her jacket before heading out.  She was only yards away from the gate when she bumped into the tiny demon.  Literally.

It certainly looked harmless enough as it stared up at her with huge black eyes.  Barely reaching her waist, it was covered in a thick fur that was now matted down from the driving rain.  In fact, if it wasn’t for the long curled horns on either side of its pug nose, Buffy would’ve said it looked something like an Ewok, only not quite as cute.  Its short arms clung to the package it was carrying, and the young woman watched as it slowly began to back away from her.

“I don’t want any trouble,” it whined in a high-pitched voice.  “I just want to go home.”

“That makes two of us,” Buffy sighed as she pulled the sword out from underneath her coat.  Her eyes widened as the demon squeaked in terror, dropping its package and scurrying off into the storm.  “OK, not what I was expecting, but it’ll work.”  Squinting against the rain, she walked over to where the parcel had fallen, bending over to run her fingers over the odd, water-tight paper that protected it.  “Must be my lucky night,” she muttered, before slipping it under her arm and resuming her march home.

*************

The light was on in her room when she pushed the door open, and Buffy was surprised to see Willow still awake, hunched over a book at her desk.  At first, the redhead only glanced up at the new arrival, but seeing the saturated Slayer plop her things down in the middle of the floor before collapsing on her bed was enough to drive her to her feet, rushing to her friend’s side. 

“What happened to you?” she asked, her eyes scanning the dishevelled form of her best friend.

“About a million buckets of water,” Buffy groaned. 

Willow grabbed the other girl’s hands and pulled her back to her feet.  “You’re going to soak your sheets,” she admonished.  “You don’t want it getting out that the Slayer has bedwetting issues, do you?”

“Ha ha, very funny.”  The blonde began peeling her jacket from her wet shoulders, grimacing as the material came away with a sticky plop.  “I’m almost wishing I’d stayed here to study with you tonight.”  At her friend’s widened eyes, Buffy hastened to add, “I said, almost.”

“Did you at least catch lots of bad guys?”

The Slayer nodded.  “Sunnydale is officially minus five more vamps.”  She leaned over and picked up the blade from the floor.  “Plus I got this nifty sword.”

“What’s this?” asked Willow, squatting to finger the wrapping on the package. 

Buffy shrugged.  “Some teddy demon dropped it.  I figured Giles might be interested in it.”

The redheaded witch turned a shiny face to her friend.  “Let’s open it.”

“Really?  That’s awful renegade of you, Will.”  She settled down on the floor, crossing her legs and pulling the parcel onto her lap.  “It’s probably ruined anyway.  All that rain can’t be good for whatever’s in here.”

“That’s it, go with the rationalization.”  The young Wicca ripped the tape that bound it closed, tearing away the covering in obvious excitement.

“Geez, eager much?” asked Buffy, her brows lifted in amusement.

Willow blushed.  “Must be latent Christmas envy,” she admitted, and sat back on her heels, looking down at what her hasty unwrapping had revealed.

The colors seemed to glow in the artificial light, the figures almost leaping off the canvas as they stood, frozen in mid-swirl, smiles plastered on their beautiful faces as the unheard music played behind them.  Scarlet…sapphire…gold…emerald…each had a life of its own, whether it was in the flowing dresses of the female dancers or the tiles of the floor.  Even the black of the men’s tuxedoes appeared to come to life, providing a midnight satin that just ached to be touched.

Buffy’s fingers traced the gilt frame, dancing along the whorls, her attention fixed on the elegance of the painting.  As she slid her hand over, an index finger pointed to lightly touch the raised ridges of one of the evening gowns, Willow’s own hand shot out and slapped the Slayer’s wrist.

“Your mom has run a gallery for how long and you still don’t know you shouldn’t touch paintings?” she scolded.  “The oil in your skin can destroy it.  You know that.”

Buffy sighed, her hazel gaze still locked wistfully on the picture.  “How come life can’t be like that?” she mused.  “All pretty dresses, and being Fred and Ginger around the dance floor.  Plus guys in tuxes, always a bonus.”  As she shifted her weight, her clothing squished around her and she frowned in distaste.  “All I get is demon goo and vampire dust, not to mention no hazard pay for slaying in storms.”

The redhead reached to pat her friend’s shoulder, but at the first wet contact, pulled away, her nose wrinkling as she wiped her palm on her own pants.  “I know things seem really tough right now,” she said, “especially since you’re feeling all Andrea Gail.  But it’s nothing a good hot shower and tons of chocolate can’t cure.”  Willow straightened, brightening.  “Hey, and it could be worse.  At least you’re not engaged to Spike anymore.”

Buffy glowered at the young witch.  “I told you never to bring that up again,” she threatened.

Willow visibly shrank, ducking her eyes.  “Sorry.”  Her gaze flickered over to her desk.  “Wanna cookie?  I’ve still got some.”

Sighing, the Slayer picked up the painting by its frame, scanning it with longing.  “Something this pretty’s gotta be stolen.  Betcha Giles makes me give it back.”  Rising to her feet, she propped it on her desk, angling it so that she could view it from her bed.  “Well, tonight at least, it’s mine.  I’ll just worry about giving it up in the morning.”

*************

He lay on his back, hands behind his platinum head, a smile curling his lips.  Only moments earlier, he’d woken from another of those dreams, one of the fantasies that had been coloring his thoughts since Red’s spell had been reversed.  This time, Buffy’d been straddling him, her golden body a tight sheath as she rode his cock, head thrown back, hair flowing down her spine.  All he’d had to do was lie back…and enjoy.

Sure, Spike had had thoughts about shagging the Slayer prior to Willow’s “my will be done” fiasco, but since feeling the reality of her in his arms, her lips on his, her tiny hands roaming over his back as their tongues did battle, those thoughts had become constant, filling his every sleeping minute as well as a good number of his waking ones.  The urge to throttle her was still very much there, but now it was combined with a heightened awareness of her physicality…how her hazel eyes danced in anger when they argued…the way her hips swayed as she flounced away from him…the curve of her breasts that was only accentuated further when she folded her arms across her chest.  Even now, his mouth watered as her image danced across his mind’s eye, and he ran his tongue along his teeth as he savored the sensation.

The knock at the door barely registered on his consciousness.  It wasn’t his bloody flat and he certainly had no intention of playing Jeeves for the Watcher.  Besides, even though the rain was still coming down in waves, it was still day outside, and he wasn’t running the risk of a certain flaming death, not for reheated pig’s blood and shackles in the bathtub.

He heard the doorknob slowly turn and stiffened, wondering if Rupert was about to get burgled.  Figures it’d happen when he’s out and about, leavin’ me here helpless to defend myself, Spike thought, silently sliding his right foot over and down until it hit the floor.  He was about to ease the rest of his weight onto the carpet when the scent assailed his nostrils, and he paused as familiarity seeped into his senses.  Vanilla…the light sweat…only one person it could be…

“Giles?” Buffy called out.  Spike heard the door shut, the Slayer take a few tentative steps into the room.  No reason to let her know he was there, she’d find out soon enough.  “Giles?” she repeated, coming in even further.

The erection with which he’d awoken had eased in the past few minutes, but the sound of her voice brought it back with a raging vengeance.  Spike closed his eyes, gritting his teeth, as his jeans tightened uncomfortably, and slowly lifted his leg back up onto the couch to ease the pressure on his groin.  What she might know could potentially kill him, so better to just keep this not-so-little secret to himself.  The sound of paper rustling, then ripping, jerked his lids back up, and he frowned as he strained to figure what exactly she was doing.  Shit, footsteps…

“What’re you doing?”  Buffy loomed over him, the you-annoy-me-by-just-being-here look in her eyes, her arms folded across her breasts.

The blond vampire casually crossed his ankles, lowered his arms to his waist, doing his best to nonchalantly hide his arousal.  “Most people call it lyin’ down, Slayer,” he responded.  “What’re you doin’?”

He didn’t even see the fist as it shot out and connected with his nose, and with his head against the pillow, there was no room for his head to go from the recoil.  “Bloody hell!” he cried out, jumping to his feet and away from Buffy.  Gingerly, he pinched his nostril, sniffing to stop the blood from flowing, and looked at her angrily through hooded eyes.

“Where’s Giles?” the young woman asked, unfazed the vampire’s obvious discomfort.

“Out,” he growled.  “Seems he feels the need to occasionally venture into the outside world, do somethin’ that’s not Slayer-sanctified.  I believe nowadays they call it grocery shoppin’.”

Buffy’s face fell.  “Oh.”  As Spike watched, she turned away, her hazel eyes settling on the Watcher’s desk, and for the first time, he noticed the large oil painting that was propped up there.  “Any idea when he’s going to be back?”

“I’m not his bleedin’ secretary.”  He strode the long way around the couch, maintaining as much distance between them as possible, to look at the artwork more closely.  “What’s this?  It’s not ol’ Rupe’s birthday, is it?  Someone should’ve told me.  I’d’ve baked him a cake.”

“It’s something I picked up on patrol last night.”  Stepping forward, the young woman tilted her head as she gazed at the painting, her face softening as she drank in its lovely lines.  “I don’t suppose it rings any bells for you.”

Spike shook his head.  “Sorry, no clang clang for this trolley.  It’s good work, though.  Really captures the era.”

Buffy’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth to speak, only to shut it almost immediately with an audible click of her teeth.  When the vampire’s scarred eyebrow lifted in amusement, she said, “I keep forgetting you were actually around then.”

“One of my favorite decades.”  He smirked.  “Nothin’ like war to really get the blood flowin’.”

“Ewww.”  Turning back to the painting, Buffy sighed.  “Still, it must’ve been nice.  Everything seems so elegant in there, doesn’t it?  Like out of one of those old movies Mom is always trying to make me watch with her.”

“Appearances can be deceiving, Slayer.”

She didn’t hear him.  In fact, in her head, she wasn’t even there anymore.  Instead of being in Giles’ apartment, Buffy was imagining herself being twirled around a dance floor, silk skirts swooshing around her legs, the music suffusing her body with waves of pleasure, arms uplifted around the broad shoulders of some tuxedoed stranger.  The colors of the painting were hypnotic, blinding her to anything else in the room, sucking her in with their reality, and she didn’t even realize that she’d reached out her hand, gently touched one finger to the dress hem of one of the dancers.

Spike saw it first.  The instant the Slayer’s skin touched the oil of the painting, the color began bleeding into her flesh, creeping its way up her index finger…past the first knuckle…into the second.  His blue eyes widened.  “Bloody hell, Buffy,” he said.  “Get away from it.”

She was transfixed, frozen in place, but the vampire could see the strain in her face.  “I…can’t…” she breathed.

As he watched, the hues began to seep into her entire hand, and he saw the fear leap into her eyes.  He didn’t know what the hell was goin’ on, but whatever it was, if something happened to Buffy, Spike just knew that Rupert would come looking for his houseguest first for some kind of answers, most likely with something sharp and wooden.  Silly bint’s goin’ to get me staked good and proper one of these days, he thought irritably, and grabbed her upper arm, fully intending to yank her away…

*************

Giles shifted the shopping bags to his left hand as he reached out and opened the front door of his apartment.  Flat, he mentally reminded himself.  I’ve been living in this country for far too long; I’m even beginning to think in American. 

The silence of the living room consumed him as he entered, shutting the door quietly behind him.  Spike must be asleep, he thought.  Thank god.  A few hours of peace and quiet, with no Passions or bad telly blaring in the background.  Setting down the sacks, the Watcher spotted the painting on his desk almost right away, the vividness of the portrayal jumping out at him like a shock.  That must be the picture Buffy called about, Giles realized.  I must’ve missed her.

Although he studied the painting for a moment longer, the Englishman quickly lost interest in it, picking it up by the frame and leaning it against the wall, its vibrant hues turned away from the room.  Whistling quietly under his breath, he retrieved the first of his shopping bags and headed for the kitchen, oblivious to the empty apartment that surrounded him…

*************

She blinked.  She had to, because what she was seeing, she wasn’t really seeing…was she?  It was her, or rather her reflection, staring back at her, but Buffy didn’t recognize this person, didn’t know how this…incarnation had occurred.  And it was giving her major wiggins.

Everything about her seemed…immaculate.  Her golden hair was perfectly coiffed, ends curled under, the left side swept back and held in place with a large white flower.  Equally praiseworthy was her make-up, a flawless mask of ivory perfection, highlighted by the ruby gloss that detailed the fullness of her lips.  Dramatic, she thought, but effective. 

Her hazel eyes swept down, and she felt her breath catch in her throat as they drank in the gown she was wearing.  A lush rusty red velvet, it sat slightly off her shoulders, extending down into form-fitting, three-quarter length sleeves, with small fabric-covered buttons running along the center of the bodice, ending at the princess waist.  From there, it fell in sweeping folds, an exercise in decadence as the hem just skimmed the floor, hiding the heels she could feel strapped to her feet.  Although it covered her more effectively than most of her wardrobe back in Sunnydale, the dress clung to her with a sensual grace that left very little to the imagination, her breasts rising in gentle swells above the sweetheart neckline, her waist made even tinier by the gown’s fine boning.

Slowly, Buffy turned around, her eyes locked to the full-length mirror, head swivelling as she examined the view from the rear.  More opulence, more elegance, and she completed the circumvolution with even more anxiety than when she’d started.  She looked like something out of a movie.  Or maybe from…the painting…

Leaning against the dressing table at her side, the Slayer closed her eyes, the memories flooding back into her head.  The crawling sensations as the hues seeped into her skin…the inexorable tugging at her innards, drawing her forward…the wind whistling past her ears although she knew that her body wasn’t actually moving…the powerlessness she’d felt when she realized she couldn’t tear herself away…and the iron grip around her upper arm, melding to her flesh in an icy vise…

Her lids snapped open, her head shooting up, and Buffy pursed her lips as her jaw locked.  “Spike,” she muttered, and with a graceful swirl of her skirts, she turned and marched for the door.

*************

It was the scents that hit him first.  Dozens of perfumes mingling with cologne…the musk of sweat as the couples whirled around the dance floor…and the blood, hot and heavy, pulsating in the thousands of veins that surrounded him.  It was dizzying, and the growl had escaped the blond vampire’s throat before he’d even realized it.

“Which one is it?”

The masculine rumble was too low for anyone else to hear, but Spike’s head whipped around to his left, taking in the bulky form of the tuxedoed man standing next to him, the stranger’s black eyes constantly darting around the room even though his body was motionless.  In spite of the fleshy rolls around his neck and the thickening waistline, the man exuded strength, and the vampire felt the unexplainable urge to stand straighter, throw his shoulders back.  “Which one’s what?” he asked.

The ebony gaze looked down at the blond.  “You made that noise,” he explained. “So which one’s the meat?  I haven’t had a chance to do a number on anyone all night.”  As he spoke, he clenched his fists, audibly cracking his knuckles with the movements, and stretched his neck within the collar of his crisp white shirt, almost as if he was warming up for a fight.

Spike’s blue eyes narrowed as his head slowly swivelled back to survey his surroundings a little more closely.  It was the bleedin’ painting, all right---although the doorway in which he stood would’ve been off-frame---and this was a nightclub of some sort, set smack dab in the middle of what looked like forties America.  If it was a spell, it was a damn good one, because everything around him felt real, right down to the cacophony of heartbeats on his eardrums.

“Well, Spike?” the man prompted.

The realization that he was known here, that somehow he’d been integrated in this milieu, was not lost on the vampire.  Gotta be a trick to it somewhere, he thought.  Better to just play along ‘til I get it sorted.  “False alarm,” he said, answering his “partner’s” question, and, not knowing why, added, “He backed off.”

Spike could feel the man deflate in disappointment.  “Girls are getting too good,” he muttered.  “They’re keeping ‘em hands off on the floor all the time now.  Pretty soon, they won’t even be needing us.”  He smirked.  “Too bad we’re not allowed in the private parties, huh?  They are some lucky bastards, lemme tell you.”  His voice trailed off, and the vampire felt his gaze turn back to him.  “Not as lucky as you, though.  Must be nice having a permanent invite.  Plus, you’re keeping her off the market.  I know some guys are pretty upset---.”  His words cut off in a strangle as a lean hand clapped down on his shoulder.

“You talk too much, Gino.”  The voice belonged to a new arrival, this one tuxedoed as well, who had come up on his partner’s far side.  “He bothering you, Spike?”

Glancing up at the suddenly scared face of Gino, the vamp shrugged.  “He’s just bored,” he said, fishing for anything that might make sense given the current situation.  “Been a slow night.”

That seemed to be all the explanation the other needed.  “Just lemme know if he’s any trouble,” he said, already turning away and melting into the crowd at the bar.

Once he was gone, Gino sighed in relief, almost smiling down at his partner in gratitude.  “Thanks.  They told me you were a stand-up guy.  Glad they were right.”

The vamp didn’t know what to say to that.  Everything about this screamed magic, yet the detail it encompassed was staggering.  Apparently, he had some kind of rep here…and the concept brought a smile to his face.  ‘Bout time I get recognized for my true talents, he thought, crossing his arms in front of his chest.  Too bad the Slayer’s not around to appreciate it.  Remembering Buffy caused Spike to stiffen, his gaze resuming the lookout over the room.  Well, hell.  Bitch drags me into her little lala-land and then does an Amelia Earhart.  His blue eyes began darting around the dance floor, lighting on every single blonde, waiting for her to turn around, only to become increasingly agitated when none turned out to be her.

Gino grinned.  “Damn, you really are dizzy for that dame, aren’t you?  You didn’t last five minutes before you started looking for her this time.”

“What’re you natterin’ on about?” Spike asked, only half-paying attention to the other man.

“Buffy.  You’re looking for her, right?”

At the Slayer’s name, the vamp’s arms dropped as he faced off with Gino.  “You know where she is?”

“Well, yeah.  At least, I can make it a pretty good guess.”  He laughed.  “You of all people should know she’s the last of the girls to hit the floor.  She’s probably still in the back, getting all dolled up…”  His voice trailed off as the blond rushed past him, skirting around the edge of the club, nearly knocking over one of the trumpet players as he hurried for the far exit.  Shaking his dark head, he muttered, “Lucky bastard.”

*************

If he hadn’t been a vampire, the stark difference in lighting between the brilliance of the dance floor and the duskiness of the back hallways would’ve blinded him.  As it was, Spike needed only a moment to readjust his vision before scanning the area for anything that might pass as a dressing room.  His search was short.  Within seconds, his gaze fell upon a pair arguing in the hall, a scrawny kid with a pitiful excuse of a moustache holding a clipboard and…

She was resplendent.  Even turned partially away from him, he could see her scarlet lips, made even more impossibly luscious by the make-up, lashing into the poor schmuck, the fury lending her face that familiar Slayer edge that he knew so well.  His sapphire eyes slid over the line of her jaw, exposed by the upsweep of her golden tresses, to the pulsepoint in the gentle hollow at the base of her neck.  Across the distance, it seemed to be throbbing in rhythm with his now-hard cock, and if it wasn’t for the invitation of her outlined curves, Spike doubted he could’ve torn his gaze away from it without the help of a crowbar.

The dress made promises that any man---living or not---would’ve been unable to ignore, hugging Buffy’s body like a second skin, demanding to be stroked…petted…caressed…and the vampire took an involuntary step closer, a moth drawn to her living flame, his arousal more intense than anything he’d felt since returning to Sunnydale.  The movement caught her eye, and in mid-argument, her head turned, ensnaring him with her hazel gaze, and Spike sensed her hesitation…

*************

“…because I’m not…” and the flash of platinum in her peripheral vision diverted Buffy’s attention from the idiot standing before her.  She only meant to glance at him, to confirm that the chipped vamp had in fact followed her through; she certainly hadn’t expected him to emerge from the shadows in a blaze of black and white, lean hips and broad shoulders accentuated by the double-breasted jacket of his tuxedo, one hand thrust jauntily in his trousers pocket.  Her throat constricted, and the young woman was shocked at her sudden inability to breathe, the warmth that seemed to boil out of nowhere in the pit of her stomach, pouring down the insides of her legs like molten lava.  Snap out of it, she mentally scolded herself.  It’s only Spike.  Vampire, remember?

Breaking away from her dispute, Buffy closed the distance between her and her ex-nemesis, the velvet of her skirt a luxuriant swish against her legs.  “Where the hell have you been?” she hissed as she approached.

“How come you get to be the pissed off one?” he demanded.  “I’m the one who got sucked into the lookin’ glass here.”

“Well, no one asked you to grab me,” she muttered.

“And you of all people should know better than to play touchy feely with the artwork,” Spike continued.  “Hasn’t Joyce taught you anything?”

“Don’t.  Start.”  Buffy glanced over her shoulder at the young man who still watched her, and deliberately lowered her voice.  “Scratchy back there keeps trying to drag me out front, whatever that means.”

“That’s because it’s your job.  You’re one of the dancers here, I think.”  Better to keep his suspicions about the girls’ other responsibilities hush right now, didn’t want the Slayer getting annoyed and staking the messenger.

“What about you?  You’re all…”  Her gaze scanned his suited form as she searched for the adequate words.  “Dandified,” she finally said.

“Hardly.”  He snorted in derision.  “Gotta give whoever came up with this scenario a little credit for dramatic irony, though.  I’m one of the bleedin’ bouncers.”

“And that’s ironic how?” Buffy queried.  “I would’ve thought you’d love the idea of roughing it up…”  Her voice faded as the vamp tilted his head, his blue eyes annoyed, waiting for her to remember the whole reason he’d been stuck at Giles’ in the first place.  “Oh.”  She bit her lip.  “Well, the first thing to do is figure out how far the whole magic thing goes.  I mean, are we us or someone else?  I’m thinking us.  That guy called me by name.”

Spike nodded.  “They know me up front, too.”

“And I still feel Slayer-ish.  What about you?  Do you feel…vampire-ish?”

Sighing and rolling his eyes, he ducked his head as his game face flashed across his features, almost immediately dissolving back into his human mask.  “So.  We’re still who we are.  We’re just not on the hellmouth anymore.”

“Stuck with you doing god knows what?  Feels like the hellmouth to me.” 

She was about to go on, even going so far as to open her mouth to speak, when a door directly opposite them flew open, revealing a portly older man, face red with anger.  He pointed directly at Spike and Buffy.  “You two.  In my office.  Now.”  He whirled, disappearing from view, leaving the pair just looking at each other.

“You heard the man,” the blond vampire finally said, sweeping his arm toward the open door.  “Ladies first.”  He held the position, his blue eyes locked with her hazel, until she acquiesced, sighing as she turned away from him and strode toward the door.  His gaze swept down her back, over her hips, imagining the lithe legs under the full skirt, and Spike’s lips curled into a lascivious smile.  Yep, the view was almost as good from this end as well.  Thrusting his hands into his pockets---mostly to alleviate the strain on his trousers from his returned erection---he ambled after her.

As the door closed, the young man with the clipboard finally expelled the breath he’d been holding ever since Buffy had first started laying into him.  His heartrate was only just starting to slow; of all the girls in the club, Ms. Summers was the only one who could fluster him so effectively.  She wasn’t the most beautiful---although in those kind of glad rags she definitely ranked up there---and he wasn’t sure what bug had flown up her skirt tonight, but generally speaking, there was something about her, something almost…magical, and he would’ve done anything for her.  All she had to do was ask.  He sighed.  One thing he knew for certain, even if he and half the guys weren’t thrilled about it…

Spike was one helluva lucky guy.

*************

The office was everything he’d expected it to be---dimly lit, heavy dark furniture, a tall liquor cabinet towering against the wall.  Not much else occupied the small space, and Spike, standing just behind and to the side of the Slayer, watched as the man grabbed a lit cigarette from an ashtray on his desk, stuffing it into the corner of his mouth, before settling into his chair, the leather squeaking in protest from his weight. 

“Why do you do it to me?” the man asked, his watery blue eyes resting on the pair.  “You know I like you.  Hell, you two are probably my favorite employees in the whole joint.  But you’re setting a bad example.  Lola---Lola!---actually had the balls to come in here and tell me she’s going to be late on Saturday, all ‘cause of some newshawk she met at a coffee shop.  Not only is she stepping out with one of the worst kinds of people for those in our line of work to be associating with---outside of the cops, of course---but she’s doing it on our busiest night as well.  And guess who she says talked her into it?”  He puffed out a large cloud of smoke, waiting for one of them to respond.  After a moment, he used the cigarette to point to the Slayer.  “I like you, Buffy.  That’s why I pulled you from the active duty roster when you two made your little announcement.  Well, that and because Spike here threatened to tear out my eyeballs if I didn’t.  But you can’t be putting those kind of notions in the other girls’ heads.  It ain’t right.”

The young woman bit the inside of her cheek.  OK, everything had just officially gone from weird to weirder.  Here she was, being called on the carpet for something she didn’t even do…well, maybe she did do it but it happened before she’d even got here so how could she be held responsible for it?  And what was this little announcement he was talking about?  And where in hell did Spike fit into the whole picture?  “I’m…sorry,” she finally said, hoping that that might be enough for him to let them go, her head whirling from confusion.  “It won’t happen again.”

The man smiled, his fleshy face creasing into multiple folds.  “That’s my girl,” he said, and then held up his hands in mock horror.  “Oops, sorry, Spike.  Old habit.  Guess I’m still getting used to the whole idea of you two getting hitched.”

Buffy’s eyes widened, and she felt the vampire stiffen behind her.  “What?” she exploded.  “Spike and I are so not getting married!”

For the first time since they’d entered, the man frowned.  “Since when?” he asked.  “You two just---.”  A sharp rap at the door jerked his attention.  “What?!?” he barked.

The door opened, and the young man with the clipboard poked his head in.  “Gino needs Spike out front pronto, Mr. Lombardi,” he said, keeping his eyes averted from Buffy.

“Tell him he’ll be there in a sec.”  As soon as they were alone again, the boss stood and came around the desk to square off with the pair.  “If this engagement’s off, you’re going back on the roster, Buffy.  I’ve got at least three guys here tonight---.”

From out of nowhere, the Slayer felt Spike slip his arm around her waist, pulling her back against his chest.  “It’s not off,” she heard him say, and then his mouth was an icy tickle on her skin as she felt him nuzzle her neck.  She was about to jerk away when his murmured words floated to her ears, freezing her motions.  “Go with me on this, Slayer.”

Lombardi’s eyes narrowed.  “But she just said---.”

The vampire chuckled.  “One little fight and pet’s ready to pack it in.  Trust me.  Everything’s still very much a go.”

“Well, if you say so, Spike,” he said slowly, still unsure, his gaze flickering over Buffy again.  “Stop messing with my head, young lady,” he admonished.  “And what’ve I told you about your dresses?  Customers want skin.”

Spike’s embrace tightened.  “She looks like heaven in Technicolor, and you know it,” he growled.

Lombardi just shook his head and sighed.  “Fuck if I know why I put up with you two,” he muttered.  “If you weren’t the best in the biz, I’da tossed you out the minute I found out you two were shacking up.”  Crossing to his liquor cabinet, he opened the door and pulled out a half-full decanter of whiskey.  “Now get back to work before I change my mind about the roster.”

*************

In the hall, Buffy whirled to face Spike.  “What the hell was that---?” she started, only to have the words stifled as he pulled her to him, crushed his lips against hers.  She started to struggle, then felt the familiar iciness of his tongue as it began to explore the recesses of her mouth, expertly evoking the memories of their passion during Willow’s unfortunate spell.  She felt herself relax in his arms, and began kissing him back, unable to answer why, hating her body for betraying her, when his lips moved from hers, sliding across her cheek to hover by her ear.

“We’ve got an audience,” he whispered.

Buffy glanced over her shoulder and saw Scratchy watching them, his knuckles white around his clipboard.  “Go tell Gino I’ll be right there,” she heard Spike say over her head.  The young man hesitated, then turned and fled, at which point the vampire’s arms dropped and he stepped back.

“Right,” he said.  “We’ve only got a second so let’s get this straight.”

“You know what’s going on?”

He half-shrugged, half-nodded.  “Sorted most of it out, yeah.”

“And you were going to tell me when?”

“I’m tellin’ you now, unless you’re not interested, in which case, I apparently gotta job to do.”  He started to turn, only to be stopped by her grip on his arm.

“Spill.”

“You know that roster he keeps bringin’ up?”  At her nod, he smiled.  “Well, it’s not about dancin’, I’m pretty sure.”

“Then what is it?”

“Let’s call them…extra-curricular activities.  Of the horizontal nature.”  He waited as the understanding widened her hazel eyes, the shock in them almost amusing enough for him to laugh.  Better not, he warned himself.  Somehow, I don’t think this is somethin’ she’s goin’ to think funny.

“I’m a… This is a…Oh.  My.  God.”  She couldn’t even bring herself to say the words, could only stare at him in disbelief.

“Actually, I think it’s more of a private club,” Spike explained.  “I saw the clientele.  Very posh.”  Behind him, the young man poked his head back into the hallway and cleared his throat.  The vampire stepped back and smiled, his head tilting in wicked amusement.  “Buck up, Buffy.  Isn’t this what you wanted?  Just like in the movies…” 

She could only watch as he pivoted on his heel and sauntered away, his laughter floating back to her.  No, this is most definitely not what I wanted, she wanted to scream, but held back.  Somehow, she was going to get through this.  She was the Slayer, right?  That’s what she did.  I’ve survived at least three Apocalypses, I can handle doing a little dancing until I figure out a way to get back home.  She smiled grimly.  And when it was all over, a certain blond vampire was going to find himself getting very closely acquainted with a certain Mr. Pointy…

*************

For a split second, she found herself swept away by the elegance of it all.  The room looked just as it did in the painting…the beautiful young women with their vibrant dresses…the tuxedoed men of varying age scattered amongst them…the brass band creating a heady ambience reminiscent of some wartime movie.  Even the sight of Spike with some burly dark-haired guy lurking in the doorway seemed somehow appropriate, somehow…right.

As she stepped into the club, Buffy felt the eyes of its occupants, men and women alike, turn to look at her, and she unconsciously straightened, holding her head just a little higher, her hazel eyes defiantly staring down the most blatant of the admirers.  It was obvious from the appreciative stares that not only did she look good---something even Spike had attested to, much to her astonishment---but she must have some sort of rep as well, the crowd parting automatically to make room for her to pass without hindrance.  Her gaze immediately lit upon the bar.  She could do this; she just needed a little…alcoholic support.

The bartender seemed to be waiting for the young woman as she reached the counter, an attentive smile on his leathered face.  “The usual, Ms. Summers?” he asked.

Oh my god, Buffy thought.  I have a usual.  Maintaining as calm an exterior as she could manage, she flashed the bartender her brightest smile.  “Sounds good.”  When he turned away, presumably to get whatever it was she’d just agreed to, the Slayer let her eyes return to roaming over the club, assessing both guests and employees.

They were just people, some of them dancing, others talking, but none of them seemingly dangerous.  Not a demon in sight, and with nothing going off on her Slayer radar, Buffy began to wonder if maybe she’d over-reacted about the potential evil about this place.  Maybe it was just a silly spell, some lingering charm on the painting, and once the Scoobies realized what had happened to her, she’d be home faster than she could say, “Bite me.”  All she had to do was put up with a little bit of dancing and people thinking she was engaged to Spike.  How hard could that be?

The sound of a drink being set down behind her brought Buffy back to the bar, and she turned to see the shot glass twinkling up at her.  Well, at least it’s little, she thought ruefully, reaching out to pick it up.  And it’s not like I haven’t drunk alcohol before. 

The bartender waited, watching as she tilted her head back, the clear liquid disappearing down her throat in a delicate gulp.  It was all he could do not to shake his head; Buffy Summers was the only dame in the joint who could handle that kind of shooter and he just knew it had something to do with Spike’s influence.  Lord knew that one could handle his drink; shit, the blond bouncer could handle just about anything.

Nothing could’ve prepared the Slayer for the shock of the liquor as it burned down her throat, stomping down her breath as it sizzled to her stomach.  She could feel the sting of tears in her eyes and blinked once, twice, before lowering her head and the glass.  Hold it together, Buffy, she thought.  This is your usual; you start crying and they’ll know something is up.  Instead, she smiled, a little wavery but endlessly bright, and chirped in a voice just a little too high, “Just what I needed.”

He nodded with a satisfied grin, and turned away as two men approached the other end of the bar.  As soon as she was out of his line of sight, Buffy closed her eyes, feeling the alcohol already starting to take its effect on her system, her limbs loosening, the anxiety in her gut easing.  I can do this, she reassured herself.  It’s only dancing, right?  I’ve certainly done enough of that. 

Squaring her shoulders, the Slayer turned to face the club just as the band picked up its instruments to launch into a loud, brassy number.  Her smile faded as she saw the couples take to the floor, their feet moving faster than she thought imaginable, skirts flying through the air as the women were whipped around and dipped, the energy pulsating against their skins as the beat of the music swept them into a frenzy.  The small of her back pressed into the counter as she leaned backward, and she felt rather than saw the bartender return behind her.

“Get me another,” she murmured, her hand fumbling to her side to push the shot glass closer to him.

*************

So far, so good, thought Spike.  Gino’s earlier problem had been solved without any physical interference on behalf of the vampire; a few choice words in the offending gentleman’s ear and everything had been settled within moments, with no one, except for the bird whose “honor” had been sullied, any the wiser.  Truth be told, he was rather chuffed with himself.  Although he definitely missed the actual fighting, knowing Big Bad could scare just as devilishly with only his words was a tremendous boost to his ego.  And the look on the bloke’s face had been priceless.  Even now, two hours after the confrontation, he jumped every time Spike’s resolute face came into view.

The only fly in the ointment was the Slayer.  The vampire had watched as she downed three straight shots, and even across the room, he could feel her intoxication, hear the blood pounding through her veins.  She wasn’t actually doing much dancing; in fact, she seemed to be doing everything she could to avoid the main floor, flirting and laughing with the group of men encircling her at the bar instead.  Occasionally, she’d allow herself be led out for a slow waltz, but every time someone slid his hand down a little lower than was appropriate, or held her just a little too close, Spike’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tensed, and the thunder in his gut threatened to turn his hands into fists.

At one point, Gino leaned over and whispered, “Relax.  She’s just doing her job.  You’re the one she’s going home with tonight, remember?”

The vampire snorted.  “Hardly jealous here,” he muttered, his blue gaze darkening to the shade of storms, riveted on her scarlet form.

The other bouncer laughed.  “Whatever you say, Spike,” he said, but the disbelief in his voice was obvious. 

The thing of it was, the blond vamp didn’t know how he felt.  What Buffy did certainly wasn’t his business…except when everyone thought they were a couple.  In this world, the Slayer was his---how many times had that been made clear to him tonight?---and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, Spike was possessive, hating to share what he claimed with anyone.  When Dru had been so attentive to Angelus during that whole Acathla debacle, it had eaten him up, ripped out his heart to see her fawn all over the ponce, to witness the wanker’s hands on his dark princess’ slender form.  But this is different, he mentally argued with himself.  I bloody well loved Dru, and this is…Buffy…

…Except it didn’t feel any different.  The anger was there, boiling under his skin, and Spike could only think that it was because it seemed as if he was being made a fool of yet again, that people were thinking that the woman they believed was his, was only interested in getting as many men as possible.  Well, of course they are, he chastised himself.  That’s her fucking job.  And so, the internal battle raged, back and forth, sending the vampire’s mood into a seemingly endless downward spiral, until finally, even Gino was beginning to feel frightened of what he might do.

When the conductor announced the last dance of the evening, Spike bolted from his post, striding determinedly to the bar and the cluster of men who surrounded Buffy in her chair.  He heard her laughter tinkle in the air, smelled the perfume of her skin, and felt his irritation spread like wildfire.  Reaching past the throng, the vampire wrapped his grip around the velvet of her upper arm, yanking her from her perch.  “C’mon,” he growled.

“Spike!” Buffy cried, her face brightening as she stumbled against his chest.  Steadying herself with an open palm, she turned a beaming face back to the other men.  “This is Spike.  He works here, too.  He’s my boyfriend.”  She swung around to face the vampire again, swaying slightly as she did so.  “And we’re going to get married, aren’t we, Spike?”

He heard someone mutter, “Lucky bastard,” diverting his attention momentarily from the Slayer’s body pressed against his.  He could smell the alcohol on her breath, and wondered when he’d missed her downing more of the shots.  “You’re drunk,” he stated, holding her up firmly with both hands.

The young woman pouted.  “No, I’m a ray of sunshine.  I work here at the Rising Sun, and that makes me a ray of sunshine.  Right, guys?” she asked of the men behind her.  Their vehement nods were the only affirmation she needed, as she looked back up to Spike.  “Oh!  Show them your bumpies!”  Her head whipped around in excitement.  “You’ve got to see this!  When he gets all mad and scary, his face goes all ridgy and he growls and everything.”  Buffy giggled.  “He thinks he’s the Big Bad, but he’s not.  He’s just a widdle puppy, aren’t you, Spike?”

He sighed.  She might as well slap a sign on his back that said “vampire” if she was going to go on prattling like that.  Had to nip this in the bud before it got even more out of hand, but he just knew that pulling on her any harder would set off the bloody chip, and it certainly didn’t look like she was going to come with him of her own accord.  Time to try another tactic…

Leaning over, the blond vamp ran a proprietorial kiss across her cheek, his arm sneaking around to hold her even tighter against him.  “It’s the last dance, Buffy,” he murmured, just loud enough for the others to hear him.  “You always save that one for me.”

“I do?”  Her hazel eyes widened as she looked up at him, then softened as she smiled.  “Of course, I do.  Because you’re my boyfriend.”  She turned to her now-disappointed admirers.  “Sorry, guys.” 

She let herself be led out onto the floor, and melted into his arms as he pulled her into the slow dance.  Spike’s eyes darted to Gino and then the back exit, hoping against hope that Lombardi wouldn’t decide to make an appearance.  Somehow, he had a feeling that employees who fraternized during business hours were at the top of the boss’ not-good list.

As she snuggled against his chest, the blond vamp caught the first whiff of it, the unmistakeable aroma of her excitement.  During their spell-induced engagement back in Sunnydale, he’d certainly learned quickly what she smelled like when she got all hot and bothered, and here it was again, only this time…thicker…more intense…and infinitely more mouth-watering…His own arousal jumped to attention, and he found himself holding her even closer, appreciating the curve of her breast against him, the soft skin of her hand an inferno in his own grasp.

He ended the dance in oblivion, conscious only of her body pressed against his, and was almost shocked when she pulled away and started clapping with the rest of the crowd.  He was about to lead her back to the dressing room when Gino’s hand clapped down on his shoulder.

“Car’s out front,” the other bouncer whispered in his ear.  “Get her outta here.  I’ll cover with Lombardi.”

“Thanks,” Spike muttered, and with a firm grasp on her arm, piloted the Slayer toward the front door.

*************

So lost in her thoughts, she almost didn’t hear him as she walked down the hall, her bag swinging against her hip.  “Willow!” he yelled again, and this time the redhead turned to see Riley rushing up to meet her, his wide brow furrowed in worry.  “Are you going to see Buffy?” he said as he reached her side.

She shrugged.  “Probably.  Kinda goes hand in hand with living with her.  Occasionally, we do bump into each other.  Why?”

Reaching into the stack of books in his arms, he pulled out a thick folder and handed it to her.  “She was supposed to pick this up from me today, but she never showed.”  He paused.  “She’s not…mad at me…is she?”

“Buffy?  No, not that I know of.”

He let out a sigh of relief.  “She’s just been acting so…weird lately.  I mean, there was that whole I’m-engaged-no-I’m-not thing, which still seems awfully strange to me, and now she’s not showed for two of our meetings.  A guy could start getting ideas, and not necessarily very flattering ones.  I’m not sure my ego could handle that right now.”

“She’s just busy,” Willow assured him.  “I will properly scold her for being so callous about not letting you know, I promise.”

“Thanks.”  Riley smiled.  “This would be a lot easier if I didn’t like her so much.”          

“Relationships and easy only go together in Fabio novels.  Real life is a lot messier than that.  People fight and make stupid choices, but all that just makes the nice stuff much…nicer…”  The redhead’s voice trailed off as she grimaced.  “Sorry.  That sounded way more insightful in my head.”

“Well, thanks anyway.”  Willow watched as the young man ambled away, her face immediately settling into a frown when he disappeared from view around the corner.  She’d been a little worried when Buffy hadn’t shown for psych class, but now, hearing that she’d missed other stuff as well, the witch’s anxiety was growing.  Maybe Giles knew something about the painting, she thought, as she started walking again.  Better call him when I get back from the library…

*************

Yep, Spike thought as they stepped out into the cool night air, forties California.  The long black car parked along the curb reeked of the era, as well as the styles of the signs and buildings that decorated the street.  Chalk another one up to the longevity of the vampire.

As soon as the pair emerged onto the sidewalk, a waiting chauffeur opened the back door of the auto, moving back to allow them room to climb into their seats.  “Home, sir?” he queried as Spike waited for Buffy to get in.

Oh, this one oughta be good, the vamp thought, and drawled, “Sure.”

He got in to find the Slayer with her skirts up around her thighs, hands tugging at the sandals that seemed glued to her feet, and Spike found his gaze straying to the nylon-clad curve of her leg as she struggled with them.  “Stupid shoes,” she finally cried out, and thrust them at the vampire.  “You seem to be the expert on everything else tonight,” she said.  “You get them off.”

The movement shoved her dress up even further and Spike saw the chauffeur glance in his rearview mirror at the pair, his eyes narrowing.  Shit, he thought.  Forgot about the reflection business.  Shifting so that he would be out of the other man’s line of sight, the vampire took Buffy’s small foot in his hand and skilfully undid the buckle, sliding the leather sandal from her swollen flesh, causing the young woman to throw her head back and moan in ecstasy.  “Stop over-reacting,” he chided.  “It’s only a bloody shoe.”

“I didn’t see you two-stepping all night,” she accused grumpily.  “There’s no way you can understand my pain.”

“Didn’t exactly see you do much dancin’ either,” he shot back, pulling off its mate.  “You seemed too busy with the flirtin’ and gettin’ drunk and givin’ every bloke in the place a hard-on.”

“That’s my job, remember?  And I thought we were supposed to be going along with this whole magical, mystical, miraculous, momentous, mystifying…”  Her voice trailed off, her brow furrowing.  “What was I saying?”

Spike sighed.  “Go to sleep, Slayer.  Maybe you’ll wake up back in your own bed in good ol’ Sunnyhell.”  And I can stop thinking about you every bleedin’ second, he added silently. 

She kicked out at him, catching him just under the ribs.  “You’re cranky.”

“No, I’m tired.”

Buffy’s foot slid down his abdomen, coming to rest in his lap, and her eyes widened as it felt the bulge just beneath the zipper.  “Is that what you’re calling it these days?” she teased, running her arch along its length, using her toes to outline it against his trousers.

Spike grabbed her foot and not very delicately shoved it away.  “Not in the mood for games, Slayer.”

She was on top of him before he could react.  “Not even Twister?” she said before biting at his chin, curling her leg around his.  “Buffy hand on Spike…”  Her hand mirrored her words, sliding between their bodies to squeeze his throbbing cock.

He was tempted to take her up on her offer, to just throw caution to the wind and rip the velvet from her skin, plunge himself into the depths of her wetness and ride her senseless right there in the car.  God knew, she was certainly asking for it.  Trouble was, Spike also knew that as soon as she woke up and remembered what had happened, that the chipped vampire had taken advantage of her drunken state while most likely conveniently forgetting that she was the one doing the throwing here, he would end up on the wrong end of a very pointy stick.  And he wasn’t ready to check out just yet. 

Setting his jaw, the vampire said coldly, “Never knew the Slayer was a horny drunk.  Is that how college boy got into your pants?  What was his name again?  Porter?  Prentice?  Oh, yeah.”  He almost spat out the name.  “Parker.”

That did the trick.  Buffy froze in his arms, her lips pursing, the flush creeping into her cheeks.  “Asshole,” she muttered, sliding away to the other end of the seat, pressing herself into the door.

For some reason, that bothered him, but Spike shrugged it off.  “Yeah, well, at least I’m a still-breathin’ asshole, metaphorically speakin’, of course.”

“Just wait until we get home,” she grumbled.  “I’ll give you metaphorical.”

In the front seat, it was all the chauffeur could do to keep from smiling.  These two were always at it, and the passion with which they tackled their relationship---whether it was fighting or making up---wasn’t something he’d seen very often in his forty-five years in this world.  When it came to driving Buffy and Spike around, he was always the first to volunteer; somehow, being in such close proximity to the lovebirds managed to give him an extra spark when he got home to his own wife…

*************

Her ear lobes were vibrating.  As Buffy battled between dreams and waking, the first thing she became aware of was how the pounding in her head was cascading into her ears, setting them into motion.  At least, that’s what it felt like.  Another veil of sleep lifted, and the pulsations were joined by a matching set behind her eyes, beating on them from the inside out, a tom tom in the orchestra of her hangover.  Because that’s what it was, and the Slayer wasn’t so far gone that she didn’t know exactly what was going on, why she felt like this.  CaveBuffy hadn’t been that long ago.

She tried to swallow and immediately regretted it.  Somewhere, she had lost the lining of her throat and been left with this sandpaper chute, leading down into the tumult that was her stomach.  Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, and she could’ve sworn that it moved in slow motion, too thick for her to control, too dry to do any good.  What the hell had she been thinking last night?  Hadn’t she learned anything by going one hundred million years b.c. last fall?

As her eyelids fluttered open, the memories of the previous evening came flooding back, and she blinked in open embarrassment as she remembered her behaviour, the obvious flirting, the clinginess, the…She froze.  Oh my god, she thought.  I hit on Spike.

She’d certainly not planned it.  All she’d wanted was to get through the night as quickly as possible, and the alcohol had definitely helped with that goal.  She wasn’t blind, though; she’d seen how he’d been watching her at the bar, staring at her every time she went out for a dance, his own personal thundercloud hanging over his head every time she let some guy grab her ass.  After awhile, it had turned into a little game; what else could she do to piss him off, push him just that little bit further?  After all, it wasn’t as if the chipped vampire could actually hurt her; thank god for those government guys for that, at least.

When he’d pulled her off her stool during that last dance, Buffy’d noticed for the first time since coming out into the club just how much better Spike looked than the other men in the room, and felt her body respond to it in spite of her better intentions.  Feeling his muscled chest pressed against her, the barriers of his jacket and her dress only adding to the sensuality, had been even more intoxicating than the shots, and her excitement had only grown until her actions in the car had become inevitable.  Of course, he’d gone and ruined the whole thing with the Parker snipe, but that was probably of the good; the last thing Buffy needed right now was encouraging Spike to think that she might be softening toward him, let alone attracted to him.

Her heart skipped a beat as she realized what she’d just thought.  I’m not, she argued with herself.  I can’t be.   Not to Spike.  He’s annoying, and potentially dangerous, and hates me and everyone I care about.  How could I possibly be attracted to that? 

But isn’t that what you told Willow? the little voice inside her head whispered.  That the fire in relationships came from the danger?  And you have been having those dreams about him ever since her little spell…remember?  Buffy grimaced.  Stupid sneaky little voice, she grumped.  Always bringing up everything I just want to forget.

Because she had been having dreams, not very many, maybe two…OK, three.  But they’d been pretty innocuous, mostly just lots of kissing and handholding, mainly what had happened during that entire night at Giles’ apartment.  Certainly not anything to get all steamed up about.  Nope, you’re right, the little voice agreed.  That’s what the real Spike is for.

For the first time since waking, Buffy became aware of the sound of running water coming from behind one of the closed doors on the opposite wall.  Propping herself up on her elbows, she had to stifle the giggle as the vampire’s voice filtered into the room, singing very loud and very off-key. 

“…Eat your heart out on a plastic tray, you don't do what you want then you'll fade away, you won't find me working nine to five.  It's too much fun a being alive…”

Shaking her head, the Slayer laid back, pulling the pillow up around her ears to shut him out.  Spike had the worst taste in music…

*************

She must’ve fallen back to sleep, because the next thing she knew, an icy hand was shaking her shoulder, spraying little tiny droplets of water across her cheek.  “C’mon, Slayer,” she heard Spike say, his voice sounding more than a little annoyed.  “Haven’t got all day to lay about in bed.”

Buffy opened her eyes, scowling, to see the blond vampire hovering over her, arms folded across his bare chest, his hair a tumble of still-damp curls.  “Go away,” she said, and pulled the blanket over her head, blocking out the sight of him, and his muscles…

The comforter went flying through the air as he ripped it away from her, tossing it onto the floor.  “Hibernatin’s not goin’ to make the hangover go away, pet,” he said.  “Get up and get movin’.  You’ll feel better.  Trust me on this one.”

“I’m not hung over,” the young woman lied.  “I’m tired.  Big difference.”

He just stood there, his blue eyes dark as he watched her, before finally shrugging and shaking his head.  “Suit yourself,” he said, moving away to grab a shirt hanging on the back of a nearby chair.  “Just thought you’d fancy gettin’ outta that dress, considerin’ what you did in it last night.”

Buffy bolted from the bed, the red velvet only slightly hindering her movement, and whirled around, looking down at herself from every angle.  “What?  What did I do?”  Probably threw up and don’t even remember, she worried.  And then I slept in it?  Ewwwww…

Spike’s laughter filled the room.  “Nothin’,” he said.  “But that little twirly thing is hysterical.  Do it again.”

Her hazel eyes were venomous as she glared at him.  “Fine.  You win.  I’m up.”  Her gaze strayed to her surroundings, absorbing the delicate colors of cream and lilac, the antique furniture scattered around the perimeter, the enormous windows that took up one entire wall.  The curtains were drawn, and Buffy felt an overwhelming urge to walk over and throw them open, scare the pants off the obnoxious vampire.  Maybe later, she thought, when I can actually feel my toes enough to walk straight.  “So where are we?” she asked.

“Well, told the chauffeur to take us home, so I’m guessin’…this is our place.”  His tongue tapped against his top teeth as he waited for her reaction, the amusement still glinting in his blue eyes.

“Obviously, I did the decorating,” Buffy commented.  When she saw the slight frown on his face, she added, “The complete void of black is a dead giveaway.”

Spike shook his head and turned to point to each of the three doors in the room.  “Closet.  Bathroom.  Rest of the flat.”  The gleam returned to his gaze as his lips curled into a smirk.  “Pretty posh digs, if you ask me.  You must be very good at what you do, ‘cause even the best bouncer couldn’t afford this place.  And we both know…”  He left it hanging, but both of them knew what his implication was, and no way was she going to rise to the bait.

Ignoring the vampire’s gibe, the young woman did her best to stride toward the bathroom, concentrating on not letting the ache in her head cause her to topple over.  “You better have left me some hot water,” she said.  “Or you’ll be the best pile of dust this side of the Mississippi.”

*************

A long hot soak in the tub did wonders for Buffy’s hangover, and she emerged from the bathroom with major wrinklage, but feeling much more like her normal self.  There’d been one moment of panic when the Slayer had realized she couldn’t reach the zipper on her dress to disrobe, and the thought that she was going to have to call in Spike to undo it for her had sent her into a desperation of intense creative thinking.  In the end, a full-length mirror, a hair pin---at least, she thought it was a hair pin---and really flexible limbs had done the trick for her, allowing her to shed the gown and slide into the bubbly water without the vampire’s aid.

As she stood in the entrance of her wardrobe, though, Buffy had to admit he’d been right about one thing; escort or not, she was doing extremely well at her job.  The “closet” wasn’t like anything she’d ever seen before; in fact, it could hardly be classified as a closet at all.  Wandering into the wide-open space, the young woman drank in the clothes that lined two of the twelve-foot walls in double rails, a plethora of color dazzling to the eyes, every permutation of attire imaginable hanging there just waiting to be worn.  Men’s clothes---Spike’s, most likely---adorned a third wall, while the remaining was dedicated to a dressing table and accessories.  Sliding open some of the drawers, the Slayer was shocked into silence by the jewelry she found there---gemstones of every hue, set into necklaces, earrings, bracelets, even a few tiaras.  Whether they were real or not, she had no idea, but the thought of getting the chance to wear some of them was sending ripples of excitement throughout her system.  Buffy was feeling like Charlie inside the chocolate factory.

Half an hour later, she stepped out of the bedroom, hair still damp, and found Spike sitting in the main room of the apartment, feet propped up on a large coffee table as he lounged on an overstuffed settee.  Cigarette smoke hung in the air, and he slowly exhaled as he watched her glance around, taking in the comfortable décor.  The knit dress she’d chosen clung to her hips, the shade of peach bringing out the color in her face, and he felt the familiar stirring in his groin.  For the first time, he was glad of the baggy trousers that were so fashionable for this era; they concealed his growing erection without him having to move and bring further attention to it.

“Took you long enough,” he said, leaning forward to stub out his cigarette.         “You try picking something out of that wardrobe,” she replied, coming in further and running a wary hand along the edge of the couch, enjoying the plush feel of its fabric under her fingers.

“I did,” Spike replied.  “Took two minutes.”

“Oh, yeah.”  A distracted Buffy began wandering around, just letting it all sink in, flitting from one piece of furniture to another without exploring any.  “This place is amazing.”

“I think I already told you that.”  He watched as she stopped in front of a closed door not too far from the bedroom.  As she began to reach out for the doorknob, he said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“The English accent does not make you my Watcher,” Buffy replied, and pushed the door open, not seeing Spike shake his head and lean back, an amused smile on his face.  Silly bint will learn one of these days, he thought.  Can’t say I didn’t warn her.

It was another bedroom, just as large as the other, but so differently decorated that the young woman froze in the doorframe, her hazel eyes widening in shock as they swept over the furnishings.  A huge bed dominated the center, dressed in black satin, with piles of red pillows thrown across the head.  Hanging from the ceiling in the far corner was a swing---at least, she thought it was a swing as it appeared to be made up of just a few dark straps---while the wardrobe next to it was open to reveal an array of costumes, both male and female, that were clearly not meant for Halloween.  On the opposite wall, a set of manacles hung in repose, eerily not out of place within the context of the room, with a rack of whips, chains, and other oddities she was glad she didn’t recognize hanging nearby. 

Tremulous fingers pulled the door shut again, and Buffy just stood there, not even turning around, as the pounding in her head slid down to include her heart.  “This…is obviously…your room,” she said as steadily as she could manage.

Spike laughed.  “Takes two to tango, pet,” he said.  “And speaking of tango…”

The young woman turned to see the blond vampire rise to his feet, cross to a large cupboard against the wall, and open it to expose an antiquated record player.  She frowned as the quiet strains of some oldie filled the room, its jazzy undertones creating ripples down her spine.  “What’re you doing?” she asked as he turned around to face her.

“Goin’ to teach you how to dance proper,” the vamp replied, cocking his eyebrow.  “You didn’t know what in hell you were doin’ last night, did you?”

“I know how to dance,” Buffy protested.

“Maybe for Sunnydale circa nineteen ninety-nine, but for this place…”  He shook his head.  “You’re outta your depth, Slayer.  And seein’ as how we’ve gotta fit in ‘til Rupert susses out how to get us back, you’re goin’ to need a few lessons.  Unless you want to just keep goin’ with the whole barfly routine, ‘cause I gotta admit, that did work for you…”

“No!”  She winced as her head protested against her vehemence.  More quietly, she repeated, “No.  You’re right.  I can’t do that again.  Drunk Buffy is not Happy Buffy.”

“Actually, I’d say Hungover Buffy isn’t Happy Buffy,” Spike argued.

“And you can really teach me what I need to know?” she questioned, the doubt evident in her voice.

The vampire sighed.  “Been there, done that, remember?  Dru was a nutter for dancin’.”

“Dru was a nutter period,” she muttered.

“I heard that, Slayer.”  He sauntered forward, waiting in the middle of the room for her to join him.  When after a minute she still hadn’t moved, Spike tilted his head and looked at her with annoyance.  “This works better if you’re actually within, say, ten feet of me.”  He watched as she hesitated, then with a roll of her eyes, walked up to stand in front of him.  “We’re goin’ to start with somethin’ easy.”

*************

It hadn’t been what she’d been expecting.  After a few false starts, punctuated with the occasional, “Bloody hell!”, Buffy had finally grown comfortable being held so intimately by the blond vampire, his hands roaming over various parts of her body as they moved, his hips occasionally brushing against hers as they executed a twist or turn.  For some reason, the contact never seemed inappropriate.  Instead, the young woman began to discover that she actually quite enjoyed him as a partner, the feline grace he’d exuded when they’d fought coming through naturally in his dancing as well, making the entire learning experience incredibly pleasant.

They’d progressed quickly from the foxtrot to more of the swing moves that Buffy had seen being revived around Sunnydale over the past few years.  Her own natural grace made learning the steps simple, while her Slayer training had conditioned her to catch on to things quickly.  Within an hour, she was moving like a pro, her own feet matching his during the faster numbers, her hips swaying provocatively during the slower.  At one point, the young woman had thought Spike was going to call it a day, pulling away from her at the end of a song and just standing by the player for what seemed an eternity, while her pulse raced, the sweat gleaming on her forehead.  Instead, he’d merely switched records, returning to her side, sweeping her into his arms as the beat of the melody began thrumming through their bodies.

Buffy found herself gasping for breath as the current song ended, bending over at the waist as if she’d just finished running a marathon.  “That’s enough,” she panted.  “I think I’ve got it.”

Spike clicked his tongue in reproval.  “You know better than that, Slayer,” he admonished.  “You don’t finish a workout without a final stretch.”  Without straightening, she lifted her head, watching him return to the stereo and the stack of records next to it.  A tiny line appeared between her brow as he flicked through the albums, almost as if he was specifically looking for something, then pulled one from its sleeve and slid it under the needle.  His eyes glittered as he came back to her, reaching down to grab her wrist, guiding her firmly into a vertical position.  “Cooldown dance,” the vampire murmured as the ballad filled the air, pulling her tight against him.

Both of them were perspiring, their clothes clinging to them in moist anticipation, and Buffy could feel the beads of sweat trickle down between her breasts.  Her heart was racing, but if it was from the exertion or Spike’s nearness, she had no idea.  The only thing she did know was that the iron of his hand in the small of her back was making ripples of excitement tremor through her thighs, causing her to stumble slightly. 

The blond vampire caught her against his hip, and this time, there was no mistaking his arousal as his hardness pressed into her pelvis.  For a brief moment, he considered pulling away, then thought, what the hell, and instead lowered his lips to her neck.

Buffy’s first instinct was to jerk herself out of his arms---this was Spike, the bane of her Sunnydale existence, after all---but as his mouth slid to the hollow under her ear, sucking at it gently, those instincts disappeared, replaced instead with an aching want in the pit of her stomach.  The moan escaped her throat before she could stop it, and her hand reached around his back to pull his head closer, her breathing quickening even as the music seemed to slow, an allegretto to its adagio…

The shrill ring of the telephone shattered the young woman’s trance, and she yanked herself out of the blond vampire’s embrace to go skittering across the room to answer it.  His sapphire gaze was thunderous as he watched her pick it up, holding it like a lifeline, his own hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“Hello?” she breathed, completely avoiding looking over at Spike.  “…No, no, you’re not interrupting anything…”

He didn’t even hear the rest of the conversation.  Disgustedly, the vamp marched over to the record player, scratching the needle across the vinyl as he snatched it off the turntable, before tossing it carelessly aside atop the other albums.  Thinking with your cock again, he chastised himself harshly.  Slayer’s goin’ to stake you in your sleep, you keep pullin’ shit like that.  Of course it was nothing to her; she knew he was a non-threat in her pretty little existence, an annoying gnat that kept buzzing around her light.  One of these days, she was goin’ to stop saying she was goin’ to dust him and just do it, and it wouldn’t be anyone’s fault but his own.

He heard her return the receiver to the cradle, but didn’t look up or even glance at her, concentrating instead on picking out imaginary dirt from under his fingernails.  “That was Lombardi,” she said, her voice still slightly unsteady.  “He says the car will be around to pick us up in an hour.”

Spike nodded.  “Right,” he said, taking a deep unnecessary breath.  “You go take a shower first.  You need more time than I do to get yourself ready.”

He heard her hesitate, and wondered why, but refused to give in to the impulse to raise his eyes.  Within a minute, the soft click of the bedroom door told him that she was gone, and his head fell into his hands.  What a fucking mess, he thought…

*************

“You lost it?”  Her strident voice filled the room and the tiny demon shrank back into his seat.  “What do you mean, you lost it?  That’s what your species does, right?  You find stuff and bring it back to people who are looking for it.  So you tell me, how can you have lost my painting?”

His horns quivered in fear as he kept his eyes down.  “Well, maybe lost isn’t the right word,” he squeaked, his normally high pitch made even higher by fear.  “More like…dropped…”

“Dropped is not better.”  She bent down over him, putting her cold blue eyes within inches of his.  “Tell me what happened.”

“It was that storm, and she came out of nowhere, and when I saw it was the Slayer---.”

Her hand shot out and grabbed one of his horns, pulling his head sideways against the arm of the chair, bending his furry body into an impossible contortion.  “The Slayer?  Are you telling me that the Slayer has my painting?”  He cowered as she abruptly let him go, pacing violently around the room.  “I spend I don’t know how much to get it back, and now I find out…”  Her voice faded, and the tiny demon was surprised to see a grin slowly spread across her narrow face.  “The Slayer…” she contemplated.  “Wait a minute.  This might actually work for me.  Maybe the Slayer can take care of my problem without me having to get my hands dirty…”  She flashed a bright smile to her messenger.  “OK, you can live.  For now…”

*************

“Buffy!” roared Spike, pounding on the locked door of the dressing room.  “The bloody car’s been waitin’ for twenty minutes!”

“I’m hurrying, I’m hurrying!”

Pacing like a caged animal in front of the closed off room, the vampire wore his fury in shades of black that matched his tuxedo, his blue eyes stormy, the muscles in his jaw twitching.  As soon as he’d gotten dressed, the Slayer had kicked him out, shutting herself away as she went through the wardrobe, refusing to allow him entrance even when the chauffeur had first rung up to announce his arrival.  He’d never known a woman to be so obsessed with her appearance; even the stupid bint Harmony hadn’t spent this much time getting ready.  Of course, she had the whole no-reflection issue so that probably cut back on some of her primping time, but still…

He banged his fist against the wood again.  “I’m leavin’!” he threatened and turned, holding the position as he kept his gaze locked on the door, waiting for it to open.

“Five more minutes!”

Swearing under his breath, Spike stomped toward the bedroom’s exit, only to pivot on his heel before he got there to return to the closet door.  “If you’re not downstairs in three minutes, you can bloody well walk!” he barked.  This time, he made his departure even louder, slamming the doors shut behind him, rattling the windows in their frames.

The apartment hung in silence for a full minute.  From the street, the faint sounds of cars moving up and down the road filtered through the drawn curtains, the first signs of stars beginning to twinkle through the slits. 

A muffled curse came from the dressing room, followed almost immediately by the door being thrown open and Buffy stumbling out, trying to slip shoes onto her feet while walking at the same time.  Half-hopping, half-running, she dashed for the bedroom door, her coat flapping around her dress.  He better appreciate this, she fumed silently.  I spend all this time to look good, and he has the balls to rush me. 

As she stepped into the corridor outside the apartment, an irate Slayer had one last thought before scurrying toward the elevator.  If I don’t get at least one compliment on how amazing I look, she bristled, I swear I’m going to stake him.

*************

Spike frowned as the limo eased to a stop along the curb.  On the sidewalk, a waiting Gino was rushing forward to pull open the back door, his dark eyes darting between the pair.  “What’s wrong?” the blond vampire asked, climbing out of the car. 

“Mr. Lombardi wants to see you two,” the bouncer rushed.  He glanced over his shoulder.  “In the front.”  His gaze slid to the young woman as she stepped onto the sidewalk.  “Evenin’, Buffy.”

The Slayer nodded, smiling.  What had Spike said his name was?  Something Italian… “Hi, Gino.”

“You know what it’s about?” the vamp asked, not even realizing he was holding the front door of the club open for Buffy.  She looked at him quizzically as she entered, unsure whether the gesture was part of their guise or if it meant something else entirely, but Spike seemed oblivious to his actions.  Mentally, the young woman shrugged.  Stop thinking so much, she thought.  It’s nothing.

Gino shook his head.  “You’re tooting the wrong ringer,” he said to his partner.  “Why would Lombardi say anything to me?”

Buffy hung back, allowing the men to lead the way into the darkened club, her memories of exiting the previous evening still a little fuzzy.  As she hugged her coat tighter around her, her mind jumped from possibility to possibility, trying to assess what could be wrong now, how else she could lose even more control over her situation.  It was frustrating to say the least; between being thought of as Spike’s sex kitten and not knowing how to get home---let alone why they were here in the first place---the Slayer’s limits were officially being reached.

The club’s main room was in darkness, a pitch black that even Spike found difficult to see into.  As he began to turn to Gino to question what in hell was going on, someone---somewhere---switched on the overheads, erupting the dance floor with illumination and unveiling the Sun’s employees all standing there with huge smiles plastered across their faces.

“Surprise!”

Instinctively, a startled Buffy jumped into Spike’s side, pressing herself into his length, her tiny hand gripping his upper arm.  Together, they watched Lombardi step forward, arms widespread. 

“Didn’t think I’d let you two get away without an engagement party, did you?” he boomed, before scooping the pair into a huge bear hug.  They glanced at each other behind his back, her eyes wide, his bemused, then stepped back as he released them.  “Closed the club for the night just for the occasion,” the boss continued.  “Tonight, it’s just about you two lovebirds.”

Spike looked back at the burly bouncer, his eyebrow cocked, but Gino only shrugged.  “I just do what I’m told,” he said innocently, unable to contain his own grin.  The vamp sighed and turned to Buffy, who still clung tenaciously to his arm.  “Looks like we’ve been hijacked, pet,” he said.  “Feel like a party?”

“Good thing we dressed for it,” she replied, doing her best to maintain the façade with a smile.  Releasing her grip, she inched back, sliding the coat from her shoulders, revealing the gown underneath before turning to hand the outer garment to Gino.

Behind Spike, Lombardi groaned.  “Oh sure, tonight she decides to show some skin,” he complained, but the vamp didn’t hear him; his only focus was on the iridescent shape of the Slayer before him. 

It was hard to decide what color the dress really was.  Green taffeta formed the foundation, but layers of blue and green tulle over the long skirt caused the hues to shimmer, changing in the light…sometimes royal, others hunter.  The shades intensified the vibrancy in Buffy’s eyes, causing them to dance and shine when she looked at him, something the vampire knew had to be a mirage of the gown; there was no way he could’ve caused such excitement.  Her arms and shoulders were bare, the rhinestoned bodice offering her cleavage to the supplication of anyone looking.  In a word, she was…breathtaking.

Without thinking, Spike reached forward and grabbed the young woman by the waist, his lean fingers digging into her hip as he pulled her close, his blond head dipping so that his lips could brush against hers.  “Worth every minute,” he murmured.  “Next time I tell you to hurry it up, you’ve got my permission to stake me.”

Buffy’s head was a whirlwind as the vamp lifted his from the kiss, not breaking the contact of his hand on her waist.  All part of the act, right? she questioned.  Had to be, yet…The tenderness of the kiss, the fleeting feather touch…it had seemed remarkably genuine.  And his words…It dawned on the young woman that he’d spoken too softly for anyone else to hear him, his sentiments directed toward her and her alone.  If this was all part of the whole Buffy-and-Spike-in-love show, why wasn’t he sharing with the group?

She felt herself being led to one of the tables, heard the girls around her giggling as they passed, their eyes flitting in jealousy from Spike to her, and back to Spike again.  Somewhere on the other side of the room, Lombardi’s voice barking orders slipped into her consciousness, followed immediately by the brass of the band striking up the dinner music.  As she sat down, Buffy glanced once more at her blond companion, watched as he laughed and joked with Gino sitting on his other side, and decided then and there that she had definitely stepped into the Twilight Zone. 

*************

“What a load of rubbish,” Giles muttered, his thumb punching angrily at the remote control.  As he tossed the device aside, the Watcher rose from his couch, stretched, and pulled off his glasses to rub tiredly at his eyes. 

He’d had a late night the previous evening; when Buffy had failed to check in after her patrol, he’d gone out in search of his young charge, trolling through the cemeteries until well after three o’clock, only deciding not to check in with her at her dorm room when he noticed the large security guards walking through campus.  Middle-aged men would probably be frowned upon as impromptu guests of young college co-eds, he’d reasoned, especially those that carried around weapons in the wee hours of the morning.  So he’d returned to his flat, hoping his Slayer would’ve left him a message.  As of now, he still had yet to hear from her.

Spike’s disappearance was worrisome as well, but Giles found himself not as hugely bothered by the vampire’s departure.  Yes, there was the possibility that the chip would malfunction, allowing him to begin feeding again from the populace, but the Watcher didn’t really believe that would happen.  Spike was fairly neutered these days, and little threat to anyone.  Besides, if he was still in Sunnydale, Buffy would certainly find him quickly enough…if Buffy ever decided to check in again, that is…

The harsh jangle of the telephone broke him from his reverie, and Giles strode over to answer it, glasses dangling from his fingers.  “Hello?”

“Giles?  Please tell me Buffy’s there.”  There was no greeting from Willow, just a direct launch into her worry.

The older man replaced his spectacles, pushing them up his nose as he frowned.  “No, she’s not,” he replied.  “Why are you asking?”

“She didn’t come home last night,” the witch rushed.  “Her bed hasn’t been slept in, and nobody’s seen hide nor hair of her since yesterday.  Plus, she missed one-on-one Riley time as well as all her classes.  I think something might’ve happened to her.”

“Well, she was here yesterday morning.  She left the painting that she’d called about.”

“And you haven’t seen her since?”

“No.  I didn’t see her then, actually.  She stopped by while I was out.”

“So, can you ask Spike if he noticed anything weird?” Willow continued.  “Maybe she said something about where she was going, or maybe she was acting funny, or something.  Anything.”

“Believe it or not,” Giles said, “Spike’s not here, either.  He’s managed to escape again.  I haven’t seen him since before I left yesterday.”

There was a long pause.  “Maybe Buffy went looking for him,” the young redhead finally said, some of the edge fading from her voice.  “She showed up at your place, saw Spike was gone, and went to go bring him back.”

The obviousness of it all flooded Giles with relief.  “Of course,” he said.  “That’s most likely what’s happened.  I’m not sure why I didn’t think of that already.”

“If she stops by there before coming back to the dorm, can you have her call me?” Willow asked.  “Just to stop the worry monster, you know.”

“As long as you promise to do the same.”

“Done.”

Replacing the receiver in its cradle, Giles glanced back at the painting leaning up against the wall, hesitating a moment before gingerly picking it up.  His head tilted as he peered down at the dancing figures, flicking over the lithe forms.  Certainly looks innocuous, he thought, and set it down on the desk, turning to his book shelves as his brain began to set into motion.  Perhaps a little research before Buffy comes back, figure out what this picture is actually for…

*************

She was only a little intoxicated, the champagne tickling the inside of her head with fizzy bubbles, making her feel slightly euphoric as the evening progressed.  The food had been glorious, and Buffy had quickly remembered that she hadn’t eaten all day, stuffing her face with each concoction as it was brought to the table.  Spike seemed amused by her appetite, but didn’t say anything, choosing instead to pick at some of the delicacies himself, savoring them with her.  At one point, the blond vamp had dropped one into his lap and before she’d even realized what she was doing, Buffy had dipped her hand down, plucked it from the creases of his trousers, and popped it into her mouth.

Raising his scarred eyebrow, Spike had run his tongue over his teeth before leaning over to whisper in her ear, “Lucky canapé…” 

The burning in her cheeks had caused him to chuckle, and the young woman had deliberately avoided looking at him for the duration of the meal, concentrating instead on speaking to the young girl on her other side.  That deliberate focus had been difficult, though; during the after-dinner drinks, Spike’s arm settled around the back of her chair, its weight pressing into her shoulders, bringing his nearness sharply back to her attention.

As the dinner plates were cleared away, the blond vampire pushed his chair back and rose, grabbing Buffy’s hand at the same time.  “C’mon,” he said, pulling her to her feet. 

She followed him around the edge of the room, her featherweight skirts floating around her legs, hazel eyes darting around to the multitude of faces that swam before her.  God, I hope we get out of this soon, she thought desperately.  This is all beginning to feel just a little bit too…real.

Spike stopped in front of the orchestra, taking the singer’s microphone while at the same time motioning for the musicians to stop playing.  He turned to face the waiting group.  “On behalf of Buffy and myself,” he said.  “I’d just like to say thank you to Mr. Lombardi for such a nice surprise party---.”

“And for the night off,” Buffy added with a smile, relaxing as she finally realized what he was doing.

Light laughter rippled through the room, and the vamp glanced down at her, his lips slowly curling into a smile.  “That, too,” he agreed.

“Speech!” cried someone from a far table. 

“What’re you talkin’ about?” Spike joked.  “That was the speech.”

“Tell us about when you first met Buffy!” someone else called out.

That stopped him, sent his blue eyes back to the Slayer’s face.  “When I first met Buffy…” he mused.  “Yeah.  I can do that.”  His head tilted, but he didn’t turn back to his audience, instead remaining focussed on the young woman before him.  “’Course, she was dancin’.  Didn’t like the look of the bloke she was with, thought she could’ve done better and didn’t know why she was wastin’ her time with him.”  He paused, lost in the memory.  “She didn’t know I was there, that I was watchin’ her.  Probably just as well, ‘cause if she had sussed it out, I probably wouldn’t be standin’ here today.”  The crowd tittered.  “There was something…I couldn’t keep my eyes off her.  She…glowed.  I’d never seen anyone…move like that before…the power…the grace.  And I just knew it was goin’ to be a tasty little battle we’d have…”  His voice trailed off, and a transfixed Buffy realized he was recounting that night so long ago at the Bronze, the night he’d announced he was going to kill her.  Funny how things changed…

 “What about when you fell in love with her?”  This was from Gino, his face flushed from drink.

Spike laughed, finally breaking the spell that hung between him and the Slayer as he looked over at his work buddy.  “Sorry ‘bout that, mate,” he said.  “That’s the exact same story…”

An “awwww” spread throughout the room and the blond vamp quickly leaned over to the conductor, whispering something before turning back to the microphone.  “That’s enough talkin’,” he said as the music started to swell behind him.  “Time for dancin’.”  He held his hand out to Buffy, grinning.  “Feel like showin’ off what you learned today, Slayer?” he said in a low voice.

She didn’t answer, only took his outstretched offer, following him out onto the dance floor before slipping inside the circle of his arms.  Her heart was pumping a mile a minute, her head a cascade of unanswered questions and theories.  Either Spike was better at this whole act thing than she’d originally thought, or…

But she didn’t want to contemplate the or; the or made her dizzy, more so than any amount of alcohol might, and Buffy wasn’t sure she was ready for that.  That way led madness, or at the very least, a whopper of a headache.  Better to just not think about it…as if by saying so, her mind would actually listen to her and do it.

The song ended too quickly, but before they could break apart, the band launched into another number, slower this time, more languorous.  Spike pulled the young woman against him, cupping her hand in his, and together they swayed across the floor, an execution of elegance as their bodies matched each other, attuned to its partner’s, anticipating before opportunities even approached. 

Buffy didn’t dare look up at the vampire, instead keeping her eyes on other things in the room…the other couples…waiters…the orchestra.  When the spectacled trumpet player stood for his solo, it gave her the perfect thing to focus on, and she watched as he blasted his instrument, a pealing cry within the confines of the love song.  The musicians had long since shed their jackets, loosening their ties in the casualness of the evening, and the young woman found herself frowning as she and Spike spun closer to the soloist.  There…on his neck…just a glimpse…and as she turned again, this time just a few feet nearer, she knew…

Buffy Summers had been a Slayer long enough to recognize the scar of a vampire’s bite when she saw one…