DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'. Too bad.
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: A spurned lover has tried unsuccessfully to shoot Spike, after having knocked out Willow in the dressing room. Buffy has taken the vampire home to dress his wound, while Gino has taken the young witch to the hospital.

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

She looked so tiny in the over-sized hospital bed, the harshness of her make-up a stark contrast to her pale skin, almost making her look like a child too eager to grow up and play with her mother’s things. Against the white of her pillow, her red hair seemed to burn, and Gino felt that all-consuming urge to reach out and stroke it away from her forehead. He wouldn’t, of course. That kind of contact only happened in his dreams.

Lola was long gone, having given the doctors the information they wanted before disappearing to meet up with her new boyfriend. It was up to Gino to give the medical personnel the details of Willow’s attack---as near as he could figure it---and to try and explain his own presence without compromising her reputation. He hadn’t really fooled anyone; both of the nurses on the ward saw his awkward flush when the dark bouncer caught a glimpse of the young woman being stripped for a hospital gown, saw him quickly avert his gaze, only to steal glances out of the corners of his eyes. It had been their suggestion he stay until she woke up, offering her a familiar face as the first thing she saw, perhaps allay any fears she might have upon waking in a strange environment. He’d accepted it with a sheepish smile.

The chair he sat in at her side was too small for his large frame, his long legs spread out clumsily in front of him, hips wedged in between the narrow armrests. He wanted to shift his weight, maybe ease some of the pressure on his powerful thighs, but he was terrified of disturbing her rest and so kept still, uncomfortable in his vigil, ever silent in his watch.

Over an hour passed like this before she finally stirred, a small moan escaping her slender throat as her lids fluttered open. Immediately, Gino straightened.

Although the light was dimmed, it still felt as if the glow was cutting into her eyeballs, slicing into her pounding head, and Willow found herself blinking rapidly as she tried to adjust to it. She didn’t have to ask where she was; the acrid scent of antiseptic was a dead giveaway, and the young woman wondered briefly if the crazy girl from the closet had shot her. Probably, she thought. Knowing my dumb luck.

The large shape to her side caught her attention and as slowly as she could manage, she turned her head, green eyes widening slightly as she saw a solemn Gino wedged into a tiny chair. “Hi,” she said softly and was rewarded with a return smile.

“Hey,” he replied. There was a moment of awkward silence, before the dark bouncer added, “You need anything? I can get the nurse to come in, maybe get you some water or something.”

“Can they get me a new head?” she asked with a small smile. “’Cause I think I’ve broken this one.”

Gino chuckled. Yeah, she was doing better; this was the Willow he knew. “The doc says you’ll be tip-top in no time,” he said. “They’re just keeping you in overnight for…” His voice trailed off as he sought to recall the word they’d used.

“Observation,” Willow offered gently.

Gino’s face creased with relief. “Yeah, that’s it.”

“It’s nice to know I’m not---.” Her green eyes went wide as saucers as the memories of her encounter in the closet came flooding back. “Spike!” she exclaimed. “That girl was going to shoot---.”

“He’s OK,” the dark bouncer interrupted. “Don’t worry. Buffy said he didn’t need a hospital and took him back to their place.”

Relaxing into her pillow, Willow bit her lip in an attempt to stem the questions that threatened to bubble forth. Just go with what people say, Buffy had said. But…living together? And that woman with the gun, she’d been pretty clear about something going on between Spike and his new girlfriend. What exactly had happened to the pair when they’d come through?

“Who’s Oz?”

It was the last thing she expected to hear in her current state, and Willow’s head whipped around to stare at her guest. “What?” she breathed.

“Oz,” Gino repeated, his black eyes downcast as he absently cracked his knuckles. “When you were out of it…you mumbled the name. He a…new boyfriend?”

“Oh. No.” The tension eased from the redhead’s face, only to be replaced by a lingering sorrow. “Old boyfriend, actually.”

“…You miss him.”

“Sometimes.” When Gino’s questioning gaze flickered up to meet hers, Willow colored slightly. “OK, most of the time. But it’s like, I’m still trying to get my head around why he left, and how I could’ve been so blind that he could do…what he did…”

“Lemme guess. He was a musician.”

“Yeah, but that didn’t have anything to do with…” The young witch frowned. “How’d you know that?”

Gino snorted. “Because you dames are always falling for musicians, which I just don’t get ‘cause they’re about as reliable as---.” He shook his head. “Never mind. None of my business.”

“No, say what you mean. After all, we’re…” Oh goddess, she thought, please let me be right about this. “…friends.”

He seemed pleased by this admission on her part, half-smiling, ducking his head as one of his paws of a hand ran through his closely-shorn hair. “Still none of my business,” he said. “Although, I gotta say, this Oz was a real palooka to let a girl like you get away.”

To be honest, Willow wasn’t one hundred percent sure exactly what palooka meant, but from the dark man’s context and inflection, somehow she suspected that her ex wouldn’t be very flattered by it. “What about the girl?” she asked, ready for a change in subject, anything to get away from thoughts of Oz and the pain of his betrayal.

“You mean Pauline?”

“Um, yeah, Pauline. Is she going to go to jail for shooting Spike?”

Gino’s laugh was more of a bark. “You kidding?” he asked incredulous. “Mr. Lombardi will probably just give her the gate. No way does he want the cops crawling around the Sun. They find out he’s got pro skirts on the books, he’ll get closed down faster than they could spit in your eye.” He sobered. “And I’m glad Buffy talked him out of putting you on the roster with the rest of them. You don’t want that kind of mess in your life.”

“You don’t think it’s better than selling cigarettes?” Willow was confused. How could dancing be so bad?

“No.” His reply was firm, almost adamant. “Spike’s definitely got the right idea. Soon as Buffy said yes to getting hitched, he went in and demanded Mr. Lombardi take her off the active list. He said, no way was he going to share his girl with anyone, even if it was her job. Can’t blame him really. I don’t think I’d be able to see straight if I thought my girl was sleeping with half the town.”

Her mouth made a tiny o as the truth of what she’d almost gotten herself into opened up in front of her like a book. Memo to self, she thought. Thank Buffy.

“Is it the money?” Gino was saying. “’Cause, you know, I don’t have much, but if you need a loan or something---.”

“No, no,” Willow assured him. “That’s sweet, but most definitely no. You’ve just made the whole thing crystal clear for me and I promise, I will never ask to get put on the roster again.” And how, she added silently.

He desperately wanted to believe her---God, how he wanted to believe!---but Gino had heard this same promise before and still she’d almost been begging the boss for another shot just earlier tonight. Although she certainly seemed sincere, the dark bouncer couldn’t help but wonder what her true motivation for pulling active duty could be. “I should probably be going,” he said, struggling to pry himself from the chair and rise to his feet. “Buffy wanted me to call her and let her know how you’re doing. Don’t want to leave it too late, or she’ll kill me for waking her up.”

The redhead watched as Gino picked up his coat from a hook by the door and slid it over his broad shoulders, the fabric straining tightly across his back as it clung to him like a second skin. “I’ll let the nurse know you’re up,” he said, not looking back, and Willow found herself wondering what she’d said that had driven him away.

“I’m glad you were here,” she ventured as his hand touched the door knob. “When I woke up? I don’t think you know how badly I needed to see a familiar face.”

Gino paused, then glanced back at her, his dark gaze soft. “Doc said if you were fine, you could go home in the morning,” he offered. “Lola’s supposed to come by, but I think we both know she’s not exactly the reliable-type. If you want, I could…come instead…you know, pick up your stuff and bring it over…take you home if you get the green light.”

She couldn’t help the smile that lit up her face. “Thanks. I’d like that.” Willow watched him grin, his mood suddenly lifted, and sighed as he exited the room. OK, having a really big guy with the disposition of a puppy who seemed to worship the ground you walked on was probably a good thing when you were stuck in a place where you didn’t know what the hell was going on, or how in heck you were going to get home, or even where in the world you lived, and god, how she wished Buffy was here right now…

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

Her voice was a golden murmur, floating in from the other room on a cloud of ether, and Spike glanced again at the closed door that separated them. She’d been silent for most of their trip back to the apartment, although it was most definitely a different sort of silence from the previous evening. This time, the vampire knew she’d gone into Slayer mode, dissecting the problem of Tony, Red’s surprise appearance, and this new attack on his own person, with the diligence that had helped her survive so long in her calling. Giles had trained his charge well; assess your opponent before you strike. Too bad his instruction hadn’t included how to deal with your emotions at the same time.

Buffy had been right in telling Lombardi it was only a flesh wound. By the time they’d arrived at the apartment, Spike’s healing capabilities had already started to kick in, and the injury had required only a simple dressing. The Slayer’s touch had been firm, but surprisingly gentle, and the blond vamp had found himself wishing for something just a little bit more. However, after the events at the club, he wasn’t holding his breath. Not when she had other things to think about. So when she’d wished him a quiet good-night and disappeared into her room, he’d taken the hint, retiring to his own bed, the adrenalin from the excitement only then starting to ebb.

Problem was…he wasn’t tired. The pain in his arm was mostly gone, and as he stared up at the ceiling, he found his gaze wandering around the room, catching on the whips on the wall…the chest on the floor…the swing in the corner. His cock was at full attention, throbbing with an incessant rhythm that would’ve driven him mad at any other time, but now, with so many toys at his disposal, filled him an anxious anticipation. No reason he couldn’t get himself off, Spike thought. Certainly got the tools for it.

Ignoring the obvious, the blond vampire instead chose to extract the box of scarves from the nightstand where he’d placed them earlier, having kept his promise to Buffy that he’d remove them from her sight. The sudden image of her golden body spread-eagled against the black satin of his bed flashed across his mind’s eye, and he’d had to force himself to hold back the growl that bubbled to his lips. The phone had rung only moments earlier, so he knew she was just in the other room, speaking to whoever could be calling at such an hour, and the last thing he needed to do was draw attention to what was on his mind.

The rap at the door startled him from his reverie, and he glanced down with irritation at his hard-on. Don’t think Slayer will appreciate me lettin’ her in lookin’ like this, he thought, and grabbed the black robe draped over a nearby chair. “Just a sec,” Spike called out, belting himself closed, then realized that the satin actually did very little to hide his erection. Fuck. As the knob started to turn, the vamp leapt for the seat, settling himself into it just as Buffy stepped into the room.

“Which part of ‘just a sec’ was so hard to understand?” he groused, all the while drinking in her silk-clad shape.

“That was Gino,” Buffy said, ignoring his comment. “He says Willow’s going to be fine. He’s going to go pick her up in the morning.” Her hazel eyes flickered to the box of scarves lying haphazardly on the floor before returning to the one still in Spike’s hand.

“So what’s Rupes’ grand plan?”

Buffy frowned. “What’re you talking about?”

“Well, Red’s here so obviously it must have something to do with gettin’ us back to the hellmouth, right? Figure your Watcher’s got some scheme that needs her on the inside.”

She shook her head. “It was an accident she came through,” she explained. “There’s no great escape in the works. She’s just as stuck as we are.”

Spike was surprised at the glee he felt hearing they weren’t going back just yet. Getting sucked into another dimension with someone who was supposed to be your enemy should’ve been hell, but, so far, this was far from it. Here, he had respect, a little power, and a gorgeous girl living just a few feet away from him. OK, so someone had decided to take a shot at him tonight, but that wasn’t any different to everyday existence in Sunnydale. Shit, in some ways, it was even easier.

“Do I want to know why you have those out?” Buffy asked, nodding toward the scarves.

“Just because you don’t want to use them doesn’t mean I don’t,” Spike said, his lips curling suggestively.

“On your own?” Her hazel eyes widened. “Doesn’t that kind of defeat the purpose?”

He chuckled. “Just a few hours ago, you didn’t even know what their purpose was, Slayer.”

“Well, I do now,” Buffy proclaimed, arms folded across her breasts. She glared down at him defiantly for a moment, before biting her lip. “I think.”

Running the silk over his hands, Spike tilted his head as his blue eyes darkened. “Care to have a lesson?”

“From you? I don’t think so.” But she didn’t move, held her ground, holding her head even higher as she watched him tangle the scarf around his fingers.

Spike felt her pulse accelerate. There was no mistaking her excitement, and for a fleeting moment, he wondered if she had any idea how much it egged him on, expounding his own arousal until just looking at her made her seem outlined in red. God, this is going to be even better than fighting her, he thought.

“It’s not about the actual act, you know,” he said casually. “Doesn’t have to be any penetration at all in fact.”

For a split second, she faltered, frowning, before resuming her resolve face. “You’re just making that up,” she argued.

Spike shook his head. “Don’t expect a Slayer could understand the finer points of foreplay. After all, all you’re concerned with is…makin’ sure the stake gets stuck in, all good and proper-like.”

Her cheeks burned. “And here I always thought a vampire’s idea of foreplay was, you know…grrr…argh…bite.”

The azure of his eyes had darkened, pupils dilated as his excitement mounted. “It’s about trust, Buffy,” he said, his voice a roll of faraway thunder over her skin. “Or…don’t you trust me?”

“About as far as I can throw you, Spike.”

“Well,” he drawled, “seein’ as you’re the Slayer, I’d say that was pretty damn far…wouldn’t you?” The blond vamp couldn’t hide his amusement, his gaze dancing as it swept over her, daring her to come back with something even better, but not giving her the time to do it. “It’s not like I can actually hurt you now, not with this pesky little chip in my head, so don’t see what you’re so scared of.”

“I’m not scared.” Her heart was pounding in her ears, a tympani staccato that echoed throughout her body. She didn’t understand her reaction to him---didn’t want to---but really, there was no denying it. Not this time. “I’m not scared,” she repeated.

“Prove it.”

They squared off, blue eyes locked with hazel, each determined not to be the first to break, both silently daring the other to step up and face the consequences. For a moment, Spike actually thought she was going to run for it, or worse, grab something unexpectedly wooden and put it to the use she knew best. Instead, when her gaze darted rapidly to the bed, he realized…he’d won.

“And there’s no penetration?” she asked, the doubt lingering in her voice.

“I give you my word,” he promised. “Although don’t be surprised if you’re beggin’ for it by the time I’m done.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, Spike.”

“Don’t need to,” he drawled. “Got a century of firsthand experience that tells me otherwise.” He watched as she stepped tentatively to the edge of the bed, looking down at the black sheets as she bit her lip.

“What am I supposed to do?” she asked, her voice suddenly husky. He could almost feel the anticipation dripping from it.

“Lie down,” he instructed softly. “Then…absolutely nothing…”

By concentrating, Spike had been able to diminish the hardness of his erection, not sending it completely away, but allowing it to relax enough so that he could stand up without poking out the front of his robe. As casually as he could manage, the blond vampire scooped up the other scarves from the floor, doing his best to maintain an aura of nonchalance before the Slayer, deliberately keeping his gaze from where she’d lain back on the bed until he stood at her side.

Buffy watched as Spike made a quick knot around her wrist with one end of the scarf before looping its other around the headboard, drawing it tight, taut, pulling her arm up over her head so that it was comfortably outstretched, tightening the muscles that ran down her side. He repeated the process with her other arm, then both legs, leaving her slightly spread-eagled, all the while humming some aimless tune under his breath, matching the rhythm that was vibrating over her own skin.

The blond vampire seemed so composed about what he was doing, fingers firm but somewhat distant, blue eyes unperturbed by the enormity of what he was doing to her. “Not too tight there,” he commented as he withdrew from the final knot. “You want to, you can get out no problem.” He chuckled. “Must admit though, I much prefer bein’ on this end of the tying up for a change.” His fingers caught the tie of her robe, tugging at it gently, easing it from its bonds until the silk separated, slid to her side, exposing the long pink length of her gown underneath.

Buffy held her breath as Spike prowled around the edge of the bed, blue eyes intent on her shivering form, head slightly cocked as if assessing his next action. “How much do you like the negligee, Slayer?” he queried, stopping at the foot of the mattress.

“There’s six others just like it hanging in the closet,” she replied breathlessly.

“Good.” Crawling onto the black sheets, he knelt between her legs, long fingers gathering the hem of the silk into his hands. His sapphire gaze flickered up to her face, saw the flush growing in her cheeks, and his lips twisted into a smile as he jerked his hands apart, tearing the soft fabric of her nightgown in a single motion, baring the outlines of her curves to the cool bedroom air.

As the silk drifted to her sides, joining the robe that already lay there in disuse, Spike’s mouth went suddenly dry, soaking in the shape of the Slayer lying prostrate before him. She was exquisite. The dreams…the fantasies…even the occasional glimpse of bare skin her skimpy clothing sometimes afforded him…none of it had prepared him for the reality of seeing Buffy’s body in all its golden glory, a plethora of muscular curves making promises of power and passion as they lay taut against the mattress.

She watched his eyes begin to glitter, briefly wondering what the hell she’d gotten herself into before hastening to remind herself that the blond vampire was physically incapable of hurting her, not with that chip in his head. You’re safe, you’re safe, you’re safe, she chanted silently. Stop being such a baby about this.

Her nipples had hardened into tiny buds, but both of them knew it wasn’t the chill of the room that was the cause. Nor could the temperature be blamed for the wetness beginning to seep down her thighs. Spike inhaled deeply, savoring the scent as it tingled his tongue, and he edged backwards, off the bed, bare feet sinking into the carpet as he stood. “You have any idea what that smell does to a vamp?” he murmured, stepping around the edge of the bed to her side.

“What…smell?” Buffy whispered.

Her hazel eyes were riveted as he leaned over, one lean finger dancing along the moist skin of her inner thigh, drawing the digit back to his mouth, his tongue darting out to lap at the Slayer’s musk that clung to his cold flesh. “Not quite the ambrosia of blood,” he elided, “but nectar nonetheless.”

The realization sent shivers through Buffy’s body. All along, every time she’d been excited in his presence…he’d known, could…smell it on her…and for some reason, that thought only aroused her further. “No…penetration…remember…” she whispered, eyes wide as he sauntered over to the dresser, pulling open the top drawers like he was looking for something specific.

“I remember,” he replied. He glanced back over his shoulder. “As long as you do.” When Spike turned back, she saw the small vial in his hands, the clear liquid inside catching the dim light in the room.

“What’s that for?” she asked as smoothly as she could manage.

The vampire just shook his head. “It’s about trust, or the whole thing’s off.”

Buffy bit her lip, holding back the words, helpless against her own desire to do anything but lie there and watch as returned to the foot of the bed, opening the vial and tipping out a few drops of its essence onto his palms. As she watched him slowly…methodically…rub his hands together, spreading the liquid so that it coated every inch of his fingers, the young woman noticed for the first time the vampire’s own arousal, his erection tenting the black satin of his robe, obvious testimony to his deeper involvement in this scenario than she’d originally thought. Outside of seeing me naked---ohmigod please don’t let Giles find out about this---what can Spike possibly be getting from this? she wondered.

Her body jerked, pulling against the scarves, as he lightly grasped her bound foot, icy fingers trailing along its arch, kneading the pad of her heel with his thumb as his fingers splayed among her toes, stretching them…squeezing just enough to send shivers of anticipation along her legs. Buffy’s lids fluttered shut, breath quickening, her chest suddenly tight as the vampire abandoned her left foot for her right, repeating the quick massage in a moment of delicious delight before his hands left her body completely.

She waited…one breath…two…and the desperate thought that he wasn’t going to continue forced her eyes open to stare at him looming at the end of the bed, his blue gaze heavy, tongue running along the edge of his teeth. “That’s not it,” she said raggedly.

“It is if you keep askin’ questions,” Spike murmured. “Do you want me to stop? All you have to do is say so.”

The electricity passed between them, sparks catching in the other’s eyes, setting ablaze the pits each had hungering inside. “No,” Buffy finally breathed. “Don’t stop.”

His weight settled on the mattress between her legs, his icy presence tantalizingly near yet miles away. As the blond vampire resumed his erotic dance over her muscles, alternating his touch between light and heavy, molding her flesh beneath her fingers, the Slayer felt as if her legs had turned to jelly, melting into the bed, as much a part of her as far away. Even when he added her thighs to his repertoire, she noticed how carefully he stayed away from her soaking slit, avoiding direct contact, not even allowing a casual brush against the golden curls. Her clit throbbed from the anticipation of his touch, and Buffy couldn’t help the moan that escaped her throat, her body betraying her as she lifted her hips from the bed, straining to reach his long fingers if he refused to come to her.

Spike chuckled. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said the scarves were about trust, but he’d left out the most important part…to him, at least. Having her like this---bound before him, helpless against his onslaught---was more than an exercise in confidence; it was about power, and right now, the blond vamp had it in spades. All he had to do was…

Her back arched, leaping from the bed, as she felt his thumb flick over her clit, sliding amidst her moisture, tracing the path of her labia down one side…up the other…before finishing its short journey back to its original spot. Buffy hissed as she felt the ice disappear, and practically tore her hands free from the scarves as she shot upwards, fighting to sit before falling back onto the bed. “You said…no penetration?” she rasped.

“And there wasn’t,” Spike answered coolly, his voice suddenly in her ear.

Buffy’s eyes shot open, breasts heaving as she turned to see the vamp at her side, his mouth inches from hers, eyes almost black with desire. Before she could even think, she’d lunged forward, forcing her lips to his, devouring him with her tongue…her teeth…wishing against everything that was good and reasonable that he would just climb on top and fill the aching need in her center…pound her into the satin sheets until she couldn’t stand…join her in the swirl of desire that she knew encompassed him just as strongly as it did her.

As much as he wanted to grab her, Spike kept his hands to himself, returning her kiss with matching fervor, but refusing to allow her the release his touch would give. Bugger that, he thought. What about my release? For a second, the question of who really had the power here flashed across his mind, but he shoved it away, at the same time breaking from her lips, standing back as the young woman collapsed against the mattress.

“I’m beginning…not to like…this game…” Buffy breathed.

“Is that what this is for you?” he demanded. “A game? Because if that’s what the Slayer wants, I can most definitely play…” His hands reached out, grabbed the torn silk of her gown, yanking it away to slide with a sensual burn across her back as he wrenched it free, leaving her completely exposed and bare on the bed…

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

Panic rose in her throat like bile, and Buffy couldn’t help the sudden anxiety that twisted her gut, widening her hazel eyes as she stared up at Spike, his own gaze glittering sapphires as the muscles in his jaw twitched. She’d seen that face before, had fought it more than once, witnessed its slide into demon as the vampire went in for the kill. Shit, her mind raced, what the hell have I gotten myself into…As her right hand balled into a fist, the young woman twisted her upper body to look back over her shoulder, intent on the silk scarf that held her.

“…Don’t…” His lips were on her ear, tongue darting out to trace the inner curve, and she froze, watching his long hand reach over her body to grasp her wrist, staying her escape. Buffy’s eyes fluttered closed as Spike caught the lobe between his teeth, biting it gently, tugging with inexorable vigor, his shoulders lying across hers, pressing her back into the mattress with an exigent weight that answered her own ravenous need. The whimper escaped her throat, and she felt his mouth follow its path down her neck. So intent on his actions, she almost missed the blond vampire’s second word. “…Please…”

The Slayer turned her head, looking down at the platinum curls as he settled at his favorite spot at the base of her neck, sucking at the pulse-point he found there, the sharp point of his tongue tapping against her skin in time with the pounding inside her flesh. He was…asking…? That wasn’t Spike’s style; see what you want, take what you want…that was his modus operandi. And he was the one who’d started all this; this was his game, not hers.

Oh, really? There it was again, that little voice that had nagged Buffy ever since their faux engagement back in Sunnydale. You didn’t have to accept his dare. All you had to do was walk out of the room.

Have I mentioned lately how much I hate you? the Slayer groused silently to her inner voice. She watched as the blond vampire lifted his head and met her steady gaze. Neither said a word; neither moved, frozen in their own tableau as the tacit accord passed between them. Where the length of his arm snaked along hers, a line of fire burned its path to her breast, enflaming the young woman both on the inside and out. They held that pose for seconds…

…a minute…

…then two…

…and languidly, Buffy’s fingers relaxed…eased from the fist she’d made…stopped the struggle against her bonds.

Almost tenderly, Spike’s head lowered yet again, his tongue running along the curve of her bottom lip, tracing her mouth with an animal grace before taking her lips with his. To the casual onlooker, the kiss might’ve seemed almost chaste, so simple in its execution, his mouth lingering over hers as he sucked away her breath. For the Slayer, it scalded, drenching her in waves of flame, and she felt an unquestionable loss when he pulled his body away.

The vampire’s hands danced over her flesh, fingers tracing the curve of her breast before cupping it, his thumb flicking over the hardened nipple. She gasped, only half-hearing his murmured, “Cor, Buffy, you are so beautiful.” As her eyelids fluttered shut, she saw his head come down, his teeth capturing the pink bud before sucking it hard against the roof of his mouth.

Time seemed to stop for the young woman, as the world became a cascade of icy tongues and feather fingertips, the blond vampire addressing every inch of her torso with cool precision, setting her skin ablaze while creeping lower…and lower. She squirmed against the onslaught, hips writhing…thrusting…legs desperate to curl themselves around his powerful shoulders and pull him in. “Spike…” she whispered, and felt his chuckle against her pelvis, a reverberating rumble that rippled into her bones, sending her clit aquiver.

He was only inches away from her sex, the musk heady…dizzying…and Spike had to struggle to contain the demon within, its need acute. Can’t hurt, he intoned silently. Mustn’t hurt…but the bright flare of a faraway possibility beckoned to him, willing him to dare…and he almost smiled as he realized its potential.

Laying between her legs, the vampire felt his own erection throb in rhythm with her heartbeat, and used the cadence as a guide as he spread apart her outer lips, separating the golden curls to expose her engorged clit…the tiny nub standing out above the Slayer’s pink inner labia. He felt her stiffen with the tension, waiting…anticipating his next move…even going so far as to hold her breath. Spike knew just how long to delay touching her, gauging his momentum from the erratic tempo emanating from her skin; the difficulty for him lay in controlling his own instincts to throw caution to the wind and fuck his promise of no penetration.

Just before he knew he was going to lose her, the platinum-haired vamp inhaled sharply before pursing his lips, directing a sharp stream of icy air onto her waiting clit. She bucked, straining against the bonds, before he could push her hips back down, bracing her with his muscular forearms, locking her into place to prevent her from moving again.

“What’s the point of tying you down if you keep moving?” he taunted, his voice barely audible as he lowered his mouth to her inner thigh. He wasn’t expecting a response---didn’t want one---and stopped her from doing so by nipping at the tender flesh where her leg merged with her pussy.

Her scent was overpowering and though he suspected he could go on like this for quite a while---teasing both her and him---the urge to devour her was growing with alarming haste, mounting within his skin like a pressure cooker. No reason to wait, he thought. As soon as his tongue darted out, though, catching the very tip of her clit with a purposeful lick, he knew…he was lost.

It was unlike anything she’d ever felt before. Oh, sure, she’d fantasized about it; what girl wouldn’t? But her reality came down to two men, both only one-time occurrences, neither affording her the opportunity to extend her sexual repertoire beyond anything other than the normal copulation. This, though…

She could feel his tongue curling around her clit, sucking at it…pulling…his cold fingers keeping their promise and stroking her outer lips…raking along her inner thigh. Thrusting her hips forward, Buffy’s gurgled cry filled the room, its desperation beckoning to him…begging him to fill her…damn if he hadn’t been right…

When his mouth left her wetness, sliding along the damp curls to lap at the skin of her leg, she almost screamed in frustration, forcing the scarves so tight that they cut into her wrists and ankles, threatening to give within moments if she were to utilize her Slayer strength. Spike’s hand shot up, pressed her back down onto the bed, then reached for her breast, rolling her nipple between two fingers as she shuddered in ecstasy.

Tiny, infinitesimal nibbles began dotting the flesh of her thigh, and the young woman began pushing back against the elusive strokes down her pussy, grinding against them as the nibbles became bites…

…the strokes more insistent…

…sliding up…then down…encircling her clit before flicking across its tip…

…the catch of his nail driving her over the edge as wave upon wave of pleasure rocketed through her body…

Recognizing his moment, Spike’s eyes closed, his jaw dropping as the ridges appeared in his forehead, his fangs gently breaking the tender skin as he sucked and rode Buffy’s orgasm...

Somewhere…deep within the recesses of her conscious…the Slayer felt the familiar sting of the vampire’s bite, but trapped within the fetters of her climax, the pull only added to her pleasure…augmenting the waves washing over her….throwing her against a fiery wall before sucking her back into their depths…

He didn’t need to come…not now…not with the Slayer’s blood seeping into his mouth, drowning him in memories of scarlet and pain as he lapped at the essence that was uniquely Buffy’s. As he felt the shudders wracking her body begin to lessen, he slowly retracted his teeth, easing back into his human mask, gold shifting to azure within a single blink. In terms of days, it really hadn’t been that long since Spike had fed on human blood, but somehow…it seemed an eternity since he’d supped on anything so potent…so intoxicating…Neither of the other Slayers he had killed had tasted like this, and while he would’ve sworn upon everything that was evil he’d drunk of the best, he knew now…that wasn’t true…

Slowly, the room began to stop spinning for the young woman, and she blinked once…twice…the reality of what had just happened only then beginning to seep into her consciousness. Oh god, she thought. What the hell was that? He’d…bitten her? How was that possible? But she knew, could answer that without even having to resort to listening to that annoying little voice.
It hadn’t hurt. Only pain in his victim set off Spike’s chip.

She swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump that had formed in her throat, the stickiness between her legs suddenly uncomfortable. He was still there; she could feel him hovering, could hear his skin slide across the satin sheet. “You…lied,” she said, her voice barely a breath.

“What?” It wasn’t what he was expecting…accusations, maybe…threats, most definitely…even silence. But this calm, out-of-the-blue statement…he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“You said…no penetration.” Buffy’s eyes closed, suddenly desperate not to see him. “I think…biting…counts.”

Spike eased himself off the foot of the bed, cinching his robe tighter around his waist. What was he supposed to say? He wasn’t sorry about what he’d done; if she was expecting an apology, she’d be waiting forever, because it sure as hell wasn’t going to happen.

“You know I should stake you.”

For a brief second, the vampire felt fear grip his stomach, twisting the knife that already seemed embedded there, but just as quickly, it disappeared. She’d said…should, not will.

Keeping his gaze averted, Spike reached for the scarf at the foot of the bed, undoing the knots in silence, sliding the silk from her ankle. A ring of crimson encircled her flesh and before he could stay the instinct, the vampire had leaned over, running his cool mouth over the reddened skin, alleviating the slight burn by adding his tongue to the equation. Buffy watched as he repeated the process on the other side, then stepped to the bedstead to free her bindings there as well. “Will the bite…leave a scar?” she asked softly.

His face was stolid. “Shouldn’t,” he replied, just as quietly. “I was…careful.”

With her hands now free, the Slayer pulled herself up into a sitting position, drawing up her legs to look down at her inner thigh. He was right; the tiny scarlet pinpricks were barely there, and she knew there would be little evidence of his feeding once her healing capabilities kicked in. “That’s a relief,” she said, almost with a smile. “I think my puppy-bit-me excuse would be kind of…inappropriate for this one.” Quickly, Buffy closed her legs, drawing her knees up to her chest in an attempt to hide her nudity. “I don’t suppose…you’d let me borrow a shirt or something?” she asked, hesitatingly.

His cerulean gaze tilted his head as he glanced back at her, the tiny line between his heavy brows. “You’re…stayin’?”

“Don’t you want me to?”

“Well, yeah.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Am I missin’ somethin’ here? ‘Cause I could’ve sworn that this would be the point I’d be lyin’ here in a bloody pulp.”

Buffy shrugged. “Well, if you want me to beat you up, I guess I can do it. Have to tell you though, I’m kinda tired. Won’t be the best fight we’ve ever had.”

Spike’s jaw opened, closed with an audible click, then opened again. “I’m goin’ to ask, and I’m probably goin’ to regret it, but damned if I can suss it out. What the hell is happenin’ here? You’re the Slayer. You’re supposed to be all self-righteous and pissed off ‘cause I took advantage of you. Hell, I drank from you, Buffy. That should warrant at least a punch in the nose.”

“Because…” She inhaled deeply, trying to steady her racing pulse. Just say it, she thought. Get it over with. “…you didn’t. Take advantage of me, I mean. I was asking for it.”

He cocked his scarred eyebrow. “You didn’t ask for me to bite you.”

“Well, technically, no, you’re right. But…” She swallowed, ducking her head. “…I was asking for you, Spike. I wanted you. I knew what I was getting myself into. And it…didn’t hurt. So…no harm, no foul…right?” She snuck a look at his confused face out of the corner of her hazel eyes. “If it’ll make you feel any better, you ever tell Giles what happened here, I’ll stake you in a heartbeat, OK?”

The vampire couldn’t help the laughter that erupted from his lips. Now that was the Buffy he knew.

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

She’d been lying about feeling tired. Although the orgasm had been like nothing she’d ever experienced before, Buffy felt more alive than she’d felt in ages, her skin still tingling even now, half an hour after the fact. Behind her, Spike curled against her back, his arm thrown protectively around her waist, his semi-hard cock nestled in the crack of her ass. As she burrowed down into her pillow, the vampire growled, tightening his grip, his mouth coming to the back of her neck to nuzzle her hair.

“You’re not sleeping,” he murmured.

“Neither are you,” she replied.

“I’m not the one who said I was knackered.”

Buffy giggled. “How did the English ever get knackered from tired? What a stupid word.”

“Bloody great word,” Spike argued. “Got a real bite to it.”

“So sayeth the vampire.”

“Listen, if you’re not goin’ to sleep…” She felt his cock twitch against her, his hand start to slide down her belly.

Buffy slapped at his fingers. “You had your chance. You said you didn’t need to…you know.”

“And you said you wanted to sleep,” the vamp laughed. “You expect to tempt me like this and not make me want more? Should just send you back to your own room. Make you sleep on your own.”

“You’re the one who asked me to stay.”

“And so the selective memory begins,” Spike said. “I only asked you to stay after you said you wanted to, pet.”

“I can still go.” She almost cringed when his arm disappeared, and Buffy wondered for the millionth time since coming into the room when she’d starting caring about where the blond vampire was or what he was doing. She’d shocked herself with her response to his earlier actions, but couldn’t argue with how…right it felt. God, this has got to be a spell, she thought desperately, as she reached around and grabbed his hand, pulling it back around her waist, pressing herself back into him with a satisfied whimper. That’s the only thing that could explain this. Magic…

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

He didn’t get it. She should’ve run; she should’ve staked his ass long before now. There was no reason he should be lying here, holding a naked Slayer in his arms, sated with human blood for the first time in weeks, hoping against hope that morning would never come. And, to top it all off, even after giving her the opportunity to leave, removing his hold from her glorious shape so that she could exit gracefully…she had chosen to physically replace his arm around her, to snuggle against him, to…stay.

Turning down her offer for his own release had almost been a simple choice. Neither of them was ready for that kind of drastic change in their relationship; whether Buffy realized it or not, once that step was taken, there would be no going back. Not that he wanted to at this point, but bugger if he was going to take that choice away from her now.

It had happened. He didn’t know how. He didn’t know when. He only knew…

…she walked into a room and he couldn’t even think of looking at anyone else…

…he touched her and the itch to claim her as his own crawled over his skin…

…she turned those luminous hazel eyes to look at him and the world melted away…

…somewhere…somehow…

…Spike had fallen in love with Buffy Summers, the vampire slayer…

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

She was gone when he woke up. Slumber had been heavy, a down-filled comforter cocooning him from the outside world, holding at bay the dreams that had been visiting his sleep for weeks now. Now that he’d had the reality, had drunk at the well of the Slayer herself, the visions had been driven away, insubstantial ephemera frightened of the vibrance that was his golden Buffy.

Spike grimaced, closing his eyes as he mentally chastised himself. Not yours, you pillock, he scolded. Start thinkin’ like that and you’ll end up on the wrong end of her stake. But the memory of her skin sheathed him in want, arousing him to pinnacles he’d have claimed were unattainable, calling forth feelings he’d thought dead and buried when Dru had deserted him. It wasn’t supposed to be about love; seducing the Slayer was supposed to be about fire…perhaps an engaging diversion while they sorted this painting mess…at the very most, a bit of fun to keep him distracted from the all too real desolation that had become his undead life. Knowing that he was involved now, that he---fuck!---cared about Buffy, didn’t necessarily fill the blond vampire with joy.

Between the damn chip and being held a virtual prisoner at the Watcher’s flat, his life was hard enough without having to add loving the Slayer into the equation. How would she react to such a revelation? The answer was swift. Violently. That’s how she responded to everything major in her life. Don’t understand it, beat it up. Spike had certainly been on the receiving end of her fist enough to know that.

Yet…she wanted him, as much as he wanted her, if that was possible. As much as she may wish to deny otherwise, Buffy couldn’t renounce her own body, how it reacted to his presence, how he could make her writhe by merely touching her. More than that, though…she hadn’t run away afterward, had deliberately chosen to stay with him. Perhaps the situation wasn’t as bleak as he thought…

Snap out of it, Spike, he silently admonished. Take what you got and be grateful for it.

Swinging his long legs over the edge of the bed, the vampire stood, stretching his arms overhead, his naked muscles gleaming in the dim light of the room. He could hear no other sounds from the apartment, but grabbed his robe just in case, tying it around his waist as he strode to the door.

“Buffy?” he called once in the entrance. Cocking his head, his ears strained for something…anything, but were met only with the echoing silence of the apartment and the soft patter of raindrops against the windows. Must’ve already left for the hospital, he thought. Good. What he had in mind for his day would go a lot easier without having to worry about soft Slayer sensibilities gettin’ in the way…

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

The rain splashing into pools on the concrete filled the young woman with the overwhelming desire to take a running jump and land right in the middle of the nearest puddle, to feel the water spatter against her muscled calves, sprinkle against her cheeks as she lifted her face to the sky. It wasn’t as if it was even a pretty day; the showers had been continuous ever since she’d left the apartment, and the occasional flash of lightning had seemed to make Gino nervous as he drove slowly through the wide streets. More than once, she’d had to stifle a giggle as a crack of thunder would cause the dark bouncer to jump, jerking the wheel ever so slightly as he struggled to maintain his composure. She’d have to remember to tease him about it later.

No, the weather had absolutely nothing to do with her mood and Buffy knew it. She’d woken feeling lighter than she’d felt in ages, all worries shoved aside, the residual joy from her unremembered dreams still lingering even after her shower. Picking out her clothes, doing her hair, answering the door to Gino’s knock…all of it had passed in a fuzzy cloud, and before she knew it, she’d been standing before the hospital, arguing with Spike’s partner about why she wasn’t going inside with him.

“You’re her friend,” he’d said, frowning. “She’ll want to see you.”

“And I’ll see her when she comes out,” she’d countered. “Buffy doesn’t do hospitals, and that’s that.”

And now she was waiting, hiding under the foyer’s canopy, not even realizing she was humming under her breath. When the doors opened behind her, she whirled, her skirts swishing around her legs, a huge smile splitting her face. “Will!”

The redhead gasped as the Slayer threw her arms around the witch, squeezing her tight in spite of the constraints of the wheelchair. “Buffy…” she rasped. “Can’t…breathe…”

Blushing, the blonde drew back, straightening as she glanced up at Gino’s hulking form at the back of the chair. “What’s with the wheels?” she asked.

Willow stood, pulling her coat more tightly around her. “Standard hospital procedure. I’m fine.” Her hazel eyes turned firmly to the dark bouncer. “Really.”

Gino snorted. “Stay here,” he ordered, picking up the small bag she’d left sitting on the seat. “I’ll bring the car around.”

The two women watched as he pulled his jacket up around his ears, shielding his dark hair from the rain, flinching slightly as a distant roll of thunder rumbled through the air. It was all Buffy could do not to laugh out loud as he ducked his head and began to run toward the parking lot.

“So what’s the plan?” the Slayer asked. “Did the doctor put you on bedrest or anything?”

“Yeah, I should be so lucky,” Willow complained. “Everything checks out a-ok. I can go back to work tonight if I want.”

“You don’t sound too thrilled about that.”

The redhead’s eyes widened. “Did you see the shoes I have to wear?” she complained. “And the costume? They make me all Betty Boop, except in Technicolor.”

“It could be worse,” Buffy chirped. “You could be on the roster.”

“Oh, goddess!” Willow exclaimed. “Thank you so much for getting me out of that. Gino told me what it was, and when I think I offered to give the boss a private demonstration…” Her voice trailed off, face pale, and after a moment of remembering, she shuddered.

The Slayer laughed. “See? Cigarette girl equals goodness.” She patted her best friend’s arm. “I got lucky, too. I got the big-bad-boyfriend card to play.”

“Speaking of boyfriends…” The young Wicca bit her lip. “I’ve heard some…things, about you and Spike. And I’ve had way too much time on my hands since I got here to be thinking about all the possibilities and permutations, so…you want to throw some wattage my direction so I can stop thinking the worst?”

“Out of curiosity, what’s your worst?”

“You and Spike, married with two point four children, and a vampire dog running around your crypt.”

“Is there any such thing?”

“What?”

“Vampire dogs. ‘Cause, you know, I’ve been slaying for a while now, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen one. You don’t think Giles is holding back, do you?”

“I don’t…” Willow frowned. “Wait. I say all that, and you pick up on the pooch? Is there something you want to tell me, Buffy?”

The Slayer rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry. There are no little bloodsuckers, I am not married to Spike, and I most definitely do not live in a crypt.” She paused, suddenly intent on gazing over the parking lot. “We’re just…engaged. No big.”

“What? Are you kidding? That’s massive!” She stopped. “Is it another spell?”

“No,” Buffy disclaimed. “We both know it’s a sham. Remember how I said the painting creates this whole history for you when you come through? That was just part of the baggage we inherited when we landed here in Wonderland.” Her lips curled into a mischievous smile. “And speaking of history, have you figured out what the deal is with you and Gino yet? Any sparkage I should know about?”

“Did you know he spent the entire night at the hospital?” Willow asked. “He told me he was going, but he didn’t. He slept in the lobby in one of those little tiny chairs ‘cause he didn’t want me to know he was hanging around.”

“How do you know that?”

“One of the nurses told me,” she explained. “And then when he came by this morning, he was all like, ‘Wow, I got such a good night’s sleep,’ and being mister pretendo guy about the whole thing.”

Buffy giggled. “Willow and Gino, sitting in a tree,” she sing-songed.

“It’s not like that,” the redhead argued, but her blush belied her denial. Her eyes widened as they caught the car pull up to the curb. “Sshhh! He’s coming. And he doesn’t know that I know, so don’t let on that you know, OK?”

From the safety of the canopy, the two young women watched as the dark bouncer clambered out of the car, opening up a large black umbrella to shield himself from the rain as he hurried to where they stood. “You jake for walking?” he asked Willow, his brow creased.

The redhead froze for a moment before Buffy leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Jake means OK.”

“Oh, yeah,” the Wicca breathed. “Just fine.” Throwing a grateful glance back at her best friend, Willow followed Gino to the car under the tent of the umbrella. Buffy couldn’t help the smile when the duo bumped into each other as both reached for the door handle at the same time, the redhead finally stepping back to allow the bouncer to open it for her. They were just too cute.

“How’d you know that?” Willow hissed as the Slayer slid into the backseat.

“You forget,” she replied. “I’ve had two days to pick up the lingo. Watch this.” Buffy scooted forward, perching herself on the edge of the leather, arms draped over the front seat as Gino climbed behind the wheel. “That dame who clipped Spike, is she in dutch with Lombardi?” she asked, flashing a proud smile back at her friend.

The bouncer nodded. “He told me this morning he gave her the boot. Good riddance to bad trash, I say. Stupidest thing Spike ever did was get mixed up with her.”

She was halfway in her seat when she stopped, turning a frowning hazel gaze back toward the front. “What’re you talking about?” The sharp pang in her stomach seemed to shear her mood in half, and the urge to hit something suddenly overwhelmed her.

Gino glanced at her in his rearview mirror, before pulling away from the curb. “You know,” he said. “Spike and Pauline’s thing. Before you two started up.”

Willow grabbed Buffy’s arm, pulling her back. “This one, I can help with,” she murmured. “I’ll explain it later.”

As she leaned into the soft leather, the Slayer’s irritation eased, but it didn’t stop the questions from seeping into her consciousness. What exactly had been going on between Spike and this other woman? Especially since she now seemed like she wanted to kill him? Had they been…lovers? For some reason, that bugged her more than thinking someone was gunning for the blond vampire. The possibility that he’d been fooling around with another of the dancers ate at her nerves, blackening her mood, until the only thing she could think was…I’m going to kill him.

Willow saw the change come over her friend like a shade being drawn in a brightly lit room, and frowned. If I didn’t know better, she thought, I’d almost say she was…jealous…

“So how come you’re not more wigged about this whole arrangement with Spike?” the redhead asked, her voice low enough so that Gino couldn’t hear them.

Buffy shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said evasively.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” came from the front. Both young women looked forward. “Mr. Lombardi told me to tell you two girls that you could have tonight off,” he said. “You know, ‘cause Buffy’s got Spike to take care of.”

“But I’m fine,” Willow said. “Not that I’m saying I want to go to work, but there’s nothing wrong with me so that I can’t.”

“Well…” Gino’s knuckles tightened around the steering wheel, white knobs against the ebony. “He thinks…well, I told him…the doc said you needed another day off.” He glanced into his mirror. “Resting won’t do you any harm, Willow. Take advantage of it.”

“Oh. Ummmm, OK. Thank you…I guess.” She colored, squirming slightly as Buffy leaned over and pinched her playfully, the diversion of the bouncer’s crush enough to distract her from thoughts of staking.

Gino cleared his throat. “You know…” he started, and the Slayer could’ve sworn she saw the sweat start to bead on his forehead. “Tonight’s…my night off…I thought…maybe…”

The Slayer saw the panic rise in her friend’s face and suppressed the chuckle. Buffy to the rescue, she thought. “Actually, Will’s coming over to my place tonight,” she offered, glancing at the redhead out of the corner of her eye. “We’re going to order in and she’s going to tell me all about her vacation. No slides, though.”

“Oh.” His disappointment was obvious, almost as evident as the Wicca’s relief.

Now’s the time for fun, Buffy thought, and cocked her head. “Actually,” she said, “why don’t you come over, too?” She refused to look over at Willow, and shook off the other girl’s hand when the redhead grabbed her. “You can keep Spike company while we talk girlie stuff. You know how much he hates it when we start going on about clothes and make-up and such. Plus, free food.”

“You sure?” He was questioning her invitation, but the hope lit up his face. “I don’t want to get in the way.”

“I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t sure,” Buffy chirped.

“Then I’m there.” His black eyes caught Willow’s, and he blushed. “Thanks.”

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

OK, bloody stupid idea, Spike thought as he made a dash for the building’s entrance, the thick coat draped over his head like that tatty blanket he’d had back in Sunnydale. Although the cloud cover was a bonus, the incumbent sunlight was still there, and the blond vamp could feel the smoke begin to steam over his hair as he slid inside the front entry. What I wouldn’t do for that damn Gem of Ammara now…

A quick glance at the mailboxes told him what he needed to know, and he bounded up the stairs, grateful for the spot of exercise. Yeah, he liked the respect his job afforded him, but it was definitely lacking in the mobility department. And, outside of his little romps with Buffy---including the dancing---there had been very little physical exertion on his part since he’d gotten here. Gonna have to change that, he thought grimly, as he stopped before the plain wooden door.

It opened within moments of his first sharp rap, and the blond vamp saw the musician’s face fall as he realized who was there. “Spike,” Tony said, frowning behind his spectacles. “Didn’t expect to see you up and around so fast.”

“Gonna take more than a bullet to take me down,” the vampire said dryly. There was a moment of awkward silence. “You just goin’ to let me stand out here or are you goin’ to invite me in?” he questioned.

“Oh, sorry.” The trumpet player stepped back, holding the door open wider. “Come on in.”

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Spike sauntered over the threshold. First obstacle out of the way, he thought.

Tony looked past him, brown eyes darting up and down the hall. “Where’s Buffy?”

“Went to check on Red.” His blue gaze flickered over the tiny apartment, taking in the sparse furnishings, the music stand propped up in the corner. He waited until he heard the click of the door behind him before turning to stare at the other man. “But we don’t need her…do we…”

Tony swallowed. “Can I get you…something to drink?” he asked, stepping hurriedly for the kitchen, jerking to a stop when Spike suddenly appeared in front him, eyes glittering.

“That’s not what I’m here for,” he growled. “Let’s just stop with the games, shall we? ‘Cause you have got to be the daftest thrall I’ve ever had the displeasure to meet.”

The vampire was rewarded with the musician’s quick pall, Tony’s mouth opening and closing like a fish as he gulped at the air. “What’re you…I don’t…” he struggled, and Spike rolled his eyes.

“Do us both a favor, mate, and save the innocent me act for the birds who fall for it, ‘kay?” Reaching into his pocket, he extracted a pack of cigarettes and pulled one out, slipping one between his lips as he went digging for his lighter. “I know a thrall when I see one. And I don’t plan on leavin’ here until we’ve had ourselves a little chat.”

Tony stiffened, raising his chin in some semblance of defiance. “And why should I do anything you say? You’re not so tough. I haven’t seen you hit one guy since you came through the painting.”

Spike raised his head, and curled his lips into a smirk. “My fists aren’t what you should be worried about,” he commented, and welcomed his demon, cerulean eyes shifting to gold, his fangs extending into a deadly smile…

*************
 

The musician flinched, coughing slightly, as Spike blew the cigarette smoke into his face, a hazy cloud now separating him from the deadly golden eyes. “If you ask me,” he drawled, glancing down over the other man’s slightly dishevelled appearance, “I just don’t get the appeal. I mean, you even had Buffy for a bit there. ‘Course, she’s got a tendency to go all blinkered when it comes to blokes who play the Mr. Sensitivity card, but still…” When Tony’s body tensed, turning ever so slightly to bolt, the vampire’s arm shot out, blocking the path to the kitchenette without actually coming into contact with the musician. “Didn’t want to talk, shouldn’t’ve invited me in,” the blond said. “And I’d lay good odds I’m just a bit faster than you.”

“What do you want?” Tony croaked.

“Already said,” Spike replied, taking a deep drag on his cigarette. “We’re goin’ to have us a little chat.” Turning ever so slightly, the vampire tilted his head in the direction of the couch, allowing the trumpet player just enough room to squeeze past and settle himself into the threadbare cushions. So far, so good, he thought. Keep him scared and won’t have to worry about this little chip problem.

“I’m not a thrall!”

His scarred eyebrow lifted. “That mark of yours says otherwise,” Spike commented. “That’s not a one-time suckjob. You only get that kind of scar when someone’s feedin’ from you regular-like.”

Tony shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “That still doesn’t make me a thrall. Melinda…loves me.”

“Sounds like a thrall song to me. I believe the next verse goes somethin’ along the lines of how she’s your world, how you’d do anything for her---.”

“Oh, god no!” The musician’s denunciation was vehement, two bright spots of red showing up in his pale cheeks.

Spike tilted his head, his lips curling in amusement. “Well, this just got more interestin’,” he said. “This Melinda…she tie you up…torture you…force you to be her little blood buddy?”

“Actually…” Tony ducked his head under the vampire’s azure gaze. “…we were high school sweethearts---.”

Grimacing, Spike held up his hand, cutting off the musician in mid-sentence. “Got it. You can stop right there. I’m not interested in hearing the lovey-dovey crap.”

“Then why are you here?”

“’Cause as much as I love Buffy doin’ the whole Florence Nightingale gig, I’m not really so fond of thinkin’ somethin’s going to muck up our little arrangement, you know, by killing her. So, dish the dirt, Tone. You know what’s goin’ on in Oz here, and you’re goin’ to tell me, or I’m goin’ to have me a tasty little treat for my afternoon tea.” He made a sucking sound through his teeth, golden eyes glittering, enjoying the other man’s discomfiture. “Hope you’ve got some biscuits on hand. Nothin’ I like more than a bick with my blood.”

“I don’t know…much…” Tony managed, swallowing hard as he tried to tear his spectacled gaze away from the vampire’s glistening fangs.

“Not much is more than what Buffy and I got. Fess up.”

The trumpet player cleared his throat. “Accidents.” The single word was almost inaudible, a hoarse whisper echoing in the tiny lounge. “People who come through the painting…seem to have…accidents…”

“Like gettin’ shot.”

Tony nodded. “Or the…scorpion Buffy mentioned. One guy came through, I saw him get run down in the street right in front of the club.”

“That could’ve happened to anyone. Doesn’t mean anything.”

“Things have been happening to me, too.” His admission seemed forced and the musician finally found the strength to tear his gaze away from the blond vampire. “Not until recently, but they’ve been happening. I’ve been pretty lucky so far, though. Nothing too life-threatening.” He glanced up. “And your friend, the redhead? She gets knocked out on her first night here? You don’t think that’s just a little too coincidental?”

There was more to it than the musician was telling, but Spike could tell that the other man honestly believed what he’d already shared. And, since the vamp wasn’t too sure how far he could take this little demon-on-the-edge routine before he’d have to do some actual violence, he was sorely tempted to call it quits right then, take home his info and warn Buffy about keeping on her toes. He wasn’t too worried about himself; short of a well-placed wooden stake or an inopportune beheading, there was little the vampire had to fear. Getting shot or run over might hurt like hell, but it wouldn’t kill him, and that was the important thing.

“How’d you know Red came from the other side?” Spike queried. “And how come you knew about me and Buffy not bein’ from around here?”

“Because I’ve been here long enough to remember what it was like before you showed,” Tony explained. “One night, it was Gino. The next, both of you were at the door. The others might get their memories scrambled but I didn’t. I think if you’re not from around here, you don’t get affected in the same way by new arrivals. I didn’t know about Buffy until the party; I don’t pay too much attention to the dancers. But the redhead, well, her entrance was a little more...noticeable.”

Spike let his game face slide away, digesting this last bit of information. There was more, but without Buffy’s fists, getting it would be nigh impossible. The trumpet player was already starting to regain some of his composure, straightening in his seat, raising his head to stare down the vampire.

Taking one last drag on his cigarette, Spike dropped it into the half-full cup of coffee on a nearby table, hearing the butt sizzle as it was extinguished. “I’d say you’re feeding me a line of cack,” he said casually, “but somehow, I don’t think even you’d be stupid enough to lie to a vamp, not after your little tete-a-tete with…what’d you say her name was?”

“…Melinda…”

Spike shrugged. “If I were her, I’d be feeling like a right git for choosing you as a thrall---.”

“For the last time---.”

“Yeah, yeah, not a thrall. I’ve heard it.” He turned, walked over to the door. “Don’t be thinkin’ we’re through here, bugle boy. I’m sure Buffy’s goin’ to have some questions of her own for you.”

Tony laughed in spite of himself. “Buffy? She’s just a girl. I think I can take care of myself around a girl.”

His hand hovered over the doorknob as the blond vampire glanced back at the musician out of the corner of his eye. “Really? That Melinda of yours ever tell you about the Slayer?” He smiled when Tony blanched and pushed the door open. “See you at the Sun,” he called back, as he sauntered down the hallway. Nothin’ like a little power to put a bloke on top of the world.

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

“I feel bloody ridiculous,” Spike grumbled, his brows knitted thunderously together, as Buffy tightened the sling around his neck, yanking with unnecessary vigor against the fabric so that it burned against his skin. “Hey!” he yelled, jumping away and rubbing at his nape with his free hand. “I can think of better ways to pay me back for our little adventure last night, if that’s what got your knickers in such a twist.”

He watched as she marched to the open bathroom door, the first aid kit held tightly within whitened knuckles, her head held high, nostrils flaring as she fought to keep her temper in check. The blond vampire had barely beaten her back to the apartment, and though she seemed fine whenever she spoke to Red, he couldn’t help but notice how short Buffy was when she addressed him, clipping her words with an icy precision, hazel eyes shooting sparks that would’ve ignited his cold flesh had they taken physical form.

“You want to be the one to explain to Gino how you can get shot one night and be perfectly fine the next, you be my guest,” the Slayer barked from the bath.

“And what’s that all about?” the vamp demanded, stepping into the doorway to watch her struggle with a load of towels that had fallen from the cupboard. “Since when are we the entertainin’ types? I would’ve thought you’d want to maintain as low a profile as possible, stay away from the locals when we didn’t have to.”

“I thought you liked Gino.”

“I do, but---.”

“So I thought you might want some company. Pardon me for trying to be considerate.” She slammed the door shut on the closet and found herself facing a resolute vampire blocking the entrance. “What?” she demanded.

“You just goin’ to throw a wobbler, or are you actually goin’ to tell me what’s gotten you so pissed off? ‘Cause I’m not a big fan of the whole slammin’ door scene if I’m not the one doin’ the slammin’.”

Buffy glared at him, the adrenalin surging through her veins, drinking in his chiselled cheekbones, the sapphire eyes. It had been gnawing at her ever since the car ride, but did she have the nerve to bring it up? What could he possibly have to say about it? And why did she care so much about he thought anyway? What the hell, she thought wildly. It’s only Spike.

“What’s the deal with Pauline?” she demanded, folding her arms over her chest.

“What?” He frowned. “Who the hell is Pauline?”

“The woman who shot you. You were messing around with her.”

“And when was I supposed to be doin’ that?” Spike asked. “When I was teachin’ you how to dance? Or maybe when I was savin’ you from that scorpion? ‘Cause I’d like to know---.” He stopped, cocking his head as his blue eyes narrowed. “You’re jealous.”

She stopped. “I’m…what? No.”

“Then what do you call gettin’ so hot and bothered by me doin’ some bird at the club? Especially when I didn’t.”

“But you did,” she argued. “You broke her heart. She told Willow you dumped her---.”

“When? Before we got here? Oh, that’s rich. Now I’m havin’ to take blame for stuff I didn’t even do.” The vampire’s gaze was incredulous. “You don’t see me taking the ump because you’ve fucked half the town---.”

“Because I didn’t!”

“Really?” Spike lifted his eyebrows. “That’s not what everyone at work thinks---.”

He didn’t see it until it was too late. The blood spurted from his nose as her fist connected with it, and his arm jerked from the makeshift sling, his hands coming up to catch the scarlet fluid. “Truth’s supposed to hurt you, not me,” he growled, pinching his nostrils.

“Don’t go calling me a ho then.”

“I didn’t. I was just tryin’ to make a point. Obviously, not very well.” The vamp stared down at her, sniffing to stop the bleeding, jaw locked as his mind raged. He should’ve known better than to think their truce would last; Buffy handled reality about as well as she managed her lovelife. Badly.

There was a moment of silence, each doing his or her best to stare down the other, before the young woman grabbed his arm and yanked him toward the toilet. “Sit,” she ordered, and went back to the closet she’d put the first aid kit.

“So why does it bug you so much?” Spike asked, his voice low, watching as she pulled out a wash cloth and crossed to the sink.

Her response was almost drowned out by the running water. “I don’t know.” With the dexterity of years of practice, Buffy wrung out the cloth and stepped in front of the blond vamp, tilting his head with her free hand before dabbing at the blood on his face. “You think I like feeling like this, you’re crazy. I was having a great day until Gino told me…” She was looking every place she could without having to meet his gaze, the steadiness she knew she’d find there too much for her to handle at the moment.

He didn’t need to hear her say it. Spike knew the truth, could see the pain etched in her fine features, and felt a strange spark flare deep within him. “What was so great ‘bout your day?” he asked, struggling for some sense of normalcy.

Buffy shrugged. “Woke up in a good mood,” she said simply. But those six syllables carried more import than she intended. The Slayer heard how they sounded as they drifted from her mouth to his ears, and she stepped back before it overwhelmed her. “Willow’s going to be wondering what happened to us,” she said, and turning on her heel, walked out of the room with a bemused blond watching her exit.

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

When the rap came, the redhead glanced nervously from the front entrance to the still-closed bedroom door, and back to the entrance again. She’d heard some faint yelling earlier, but everything had gone all quiet again, and Willow bit her lip as she wondered just what was going on, not for the millionth time since she’d shown up at the apartment. Buffy had given her a quick tour, and though she’d been eager to show her around, the young witch had noticed how studiously she’d avoided detailing Spike’s room, even going so far as to grab Will’s hand when she reached for the door knob.

“Not a good idea,” the Slayer had said. “He hates it when people go through his stuff.”

The knock came again, and the redhead rose to her feet, wobbling slightly on the narrow heels as she walked to the front door. There was only one person who could be on the other side of it, and as much as she kinda sorta liked the guy, the last thing Willow wanted to be dealing with right now was…

“Hi, Gino,” she said, smiling gamely as she held open the door.

It was the first time she’d seen him not in a suit, and her hazel eyes widened slightly as he stepped across the threshold, the stiff gabardine of his shirt brushing against her arm. If it was at all possible, he seemed even bigger, looming over her like a hulking shadow. Six-four, six-five easy, she thought irrationally as her gaze travelled up the length of him. And about two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle. Wow.

She blinked. I did not just think that, she scolded herself. There is no wow here, wowage is not good. He’s not even real, this is all just some magical world thingy and he’s just a figment of someone’s overactive imagination. Except, for a second, it was her imagination that was overacting, sudden flashes of sweaty muscles sweeping her onto a soft mattress, covering her, pressing her back into the bed…

OK, stopping now, she thought. Not productive and not helping in any way, shape, or form.

Gino smiled, hovering near the edge of the living room, black eyes darting to look at Willow as she hung back by the door. “I’m early, aren’t I?” he said. “I’m always early. I get so nervous about being late for stuff that I end up going a hundred percent the other way and show up miles before I should’ve.”

“Sometimes, early is good,” the redhead reassured, taking a small step forward. Oh goddess, that’s encouraging him. Can’t do that. Gotta be cool and distant.

“You’re looking better,” the bouncer commented, his gaze darting over her slender form. “Must be the dress. You always look great in green.”

“Really?” She couldn’t help moving even closer, her face puzzled into a frown. “I always thought it made my hair seem brighter, you know, too contrasty.”

“So? You got great hair. I don’t know why you keep trying to hide it. I know at least a dozen dames who’d kill to have hair like yours.”

In spite of her earlier conviction, Willow found herself blushing. “You’re just saying that.”

His coloring mirrored her own. “You know I don’t do that. Not with…” But he couldn’t finish the thought, letting it trail off until it hung in the room between them.

The pair stood there in awkward silence for a moment, each nervously avoiding the other’s gaze, before Willow finally said, “You know, you can sit down if you want. I’m sure Buffy and Spike will be out any minute.”

Gino laughed, glancing over at the closed bedroom door. “Yeah, right. They’re like rabbits, those two. Can’t keep their hands off each other. If they’re in there, we won’t see them for hours yet.” He looked back at the redhead. “Besides, I can’t anyway. You’re not sitting yet.”

She was saved from an embarrassed reply when the door opened and Buffy came sweeping into the room, a bandaged Spike strolling in after her. Willow’s eyes narrowed slightly as she saw the redness about his nose, the studied casualness about their manner. That was the fight I heard, she thought. Wonder what sparked this one.

“Right, now,” the blond vampire was saying. “Who’s feelin’ peckish?”

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

Giles hung back and watched as Anya poured the black powder in a circle on his living room floor, being careful not to disturb the symbols they’d already spent hours transcribing from the books she’d brought with her. “That’s not going to stain, is it?” he asked, the line heavy between his brows.

“Oh, no,” the young woman reassured. “A little elbow grease, maybe some meths, it’ll come right out.”

At her side, Xander leaned in, whispering, “I thought you said---.”

“Ssshh!” she hissed, then flashed a brilliant smile at the Watcher. “Almost done here,” she said, too brightly.

“Good.” It had been over three days since Buffy had gone missing, and, with each passing hour, Giles’ anxiety about her safe return grew, filling him with black clouds of doubt. Although he knew that---technically, at least---he wasn’t her Watcher any longer, that didn’t stop the concern over her well-being, the guilt about his own laxity in protecting her. I should’ve been here, he silently scolded himself. I could’ve stopped her.

Straightening, Anya stepped back to survey her work, scrutinizing it carefully while Xander set his jar down on the mantle. “You missed a spot,” she said, pointing to a small break on the far edge of the ebony ring.

The young man frowned. “Where?” he said, leaning over to inspect it more closely. “Don’t tell me you’re talking about this little itty bitty hole here?”

Anya sighed. “That little itty bitty hole is big enough for H’roven to harpoon you like a whale,” she replied. “Fill it.”

Although he didn’t know what the big deal was, Xander did as he was told, wishing yet again that his girlfriend had been a little more forthcoming about what was in store for them. Every time he’d brought it up, though, she’d buried him in more work. And the last thing he wanted right now was to be told to go and wash more of those newt eyes. Yuck.

The two men watched as Anya paced around the room, picking up various items before setting them back down again, inspecting the symbols a fourth and fifth time, correcting the placement of a tiny artefact that hung over the door. “OK,” she finally said. “I think we’re ready…”

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

Buffy was the one who opened the first bottle. When she’d emerged from the kitchen with the wine dangling from her fingers, a bright smile sharing its devilish twinkle with her dancing eyes, Spike cocked his eyebrow.

“Think that’s a good idea, luv?” he’d queried, barely able to contain his amusement.

“What’s the point of having the stuff if we don’t drink it?” she’d retorted and flounced back into the kitchen.

Willow had followed her out of the room. “I think Spike’s right,” the redhead had said, watching as Buffy pulled open drawer after drawer, on the hunt for a utensil to tackle the cork. “Neither one of us have been shining examples of sobriety this semester, remember?”

The Slayer rolled her eyes. “I don’t think my brief stint as Cave Buffy or your one night of break-up blues at the Bronze makes us candidates for AA, Will.” She held up a corkscrew triumphantly. “Besides, who ever got drunk on a single bottle of wine?”

That had been two hours ago. Now, scattered amidst the various Chinese containers were four empty Merlot bottles while a fifth was in the process of being drained into Willow’s glass. When the redhead tipped the bottle up over her head, peering into its narrow neck to see inside it, Buffy couldn’t suppress her giggles when a single drop of the scarlet liquid dripped directly into her friend’s eye, causing her to begin blinking wildly in an attempt to clear her vision.

“We told you it was empty, Red,” Spike commented, his own half-full glass resting on the wide arm of the chair in which he was lounging.

As Willow wiped at the red wine that ran down her cheek, the Slayer cocked her head. “You look like one of those cheesy horror movies where they make the vamps cry tears of blood.” She swivelled, twisting her body so that she could look up at Spike, her arms resting on his knees. “Why do they do that? I mean, it’s soooo unrealistic.”

His azure gaze flicked to Gino. “I don’t know, luv,” he replied, his voice wary. “Why don’t you ask them?”

“Well, I think you’d get offended,” she said. “I know it drives me around the bend when I see fight movies---.”

“So who’s still hungry?” Spike interrupted, his abrupt standing knocking the Slayer sideways.

“Hey!” the blonde cried out.

“No more for me,” Gino announced.

“Me, neither,” chimed in Willow. “I am officially moo shu max’d.”

“You knocked me over.” From her seat on the floor, a pouting Buffy shot daggers at the vamp hovering above her, her hand automatically reaching out for his. “Help me up.”

“Since when do you need my help, pet?”

“Since the room decided to go all swirly. Now stop being such a jerk and help me.”

From his vantage point on the couch, Gino watched the pair over the rim of his glass, his jealousy at the ease of their intimacy only barely concealed in his black eyes. Things had been stiff at first, and it hadn’t taken the bouncer that long to figure out that he’d arrived on the tail end of a fight, a real doozy of one if the slight swelling in Spike’s nose was any indication. Once the wine had started flowing, however, the tension had dissipated, each of the girls relaxing more and more, at one point even giving the guys an impromptu fashion show of what he assumed was every evening gown in Buffy’s wardrobe. Spike’s attitude at his fiancee’s advancing inebriation was more laid-back here than at the club; probably because he doesn’t have to watch her fawn over anyone else, the dark bouncer thought. He gets her all to himself.

Although there had been no overt displays, Gino couldn’t help but notice how Spike found every opportunity he could to be touching the blonde beauty…playing with her hair as she sat between his legs on the floor…holding her wrist steady as she dished out the fried rice, long fingers absently stroking the back of her hand…even the tilt of his knee, pressing into her side, providing her just a little more support as she and Willow laughed and chatted. So subtle was the contact, though, he doubted Buffy was even aware of it, lost in the kaleidoscope world she was weaving with her friend, oblivious to her partner’s territorial claims.

Willow was the one who was surprising him. He had seen her reaction to Buffy’s invitation, knew she’d been skittish at his arrival, yet, ever since her second glass of wine, she’d become more and more animated, joining in her friend’s girlish glee, erupting in more than one paroxysm of giggles, even going so far as to tease him about how he’d nearly run them off the road this morning after a particularly loud clap of thunder. Gino didn’t need to analyze it; all he cared was that the slender redhead wasn’t in pain; she wasn’t crying because of thoughts of her ex; and, most importantly, she seemed to be enjoying herself.

“I’m bored.”

A now-standing Buffy turned to look at her friend, misjudging the rotation slightly and pitching sideways against Spike’s sling. “I hope you have some ideas about entertainment because we are in a tv-free zone here,” the blonde said, straightening with the vampire’s aid, her hip still casually brushing against his.

“We could play a game,” Willow offered.

“A game.” Spike cocked his head. “Don’t particularly fancy a round of charades, Red---.”

“Cards!” Buffy’s voice seemed too loud, even for the large living room, and when she turned to face the blond vamp, he found himself leaning back, hoping the added distance might ease the pressure on his eardrums. “We have cards! I saw them! In your nightstand!”

“Wonder why…?” Spike started, only to stop almost as quickly. “Right. Never mind.”

Willow scrambled to her feet. “Well then, let’s go get them,” she said, and began weaving her way toward the vampire’s closed door.

“No!” In spite of her intoxication, the Slayer was still faster than the redhead, and almost leapt over the furniture to block her friend’s path. “I’ll get them.”

“Geez,” the young witch muttered as Buffy slipped out of the room, “it’s only a deck of cards.”

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

“So what are we going to play?” Buffy asked as the quartet settled around the coffee table, turning expectant eyes to each before finally settling on Spike.

He sighed. “How ‘bout poker?”

She grimaced. “I was thinking more like Go Fish.”

“Poker is good.” Buffy’s surprised gaze colored Willow’s cheeks, and she fidgeted on her cushion on the floor. “Xander and I used to play for M&M’s. I’m the M&M queen.”

Gino’s quick agreement brought a slump to the blonde’s shoulders. “I always get outvoted,” she whined.

“Since we don’t have M&M’s, what’re we going to play for?” Willow asked.

Buffy turned to Spike. “This was your brilliant idea, you pick.”

“Luv, last time I played was at Willy’s, and I don’t think you want to know what the ante was there.”

Her face was blank for a moment, and then the possibilities began flooding through her head. “Ewwwwww!”

“We could play…strip poker.”

“Willow!” Buffy’s hazel eyes were wide with shock as she swivelled to stare at her best friend.

The vampire chuckled, straightening in his seat. “Well, I think I just got a little more interested,” he drawled.

“Spike!” The Slayer’s head shot back, shock hardening her voice.

“What? It was Red’s idea.” His lips curled into a smirk as Buffy grabbed her best friend’s arm and pulled her to the other side of the room. Although he kept his sapphire gaze averted, the drunken whispers of the two women cut through his vampiric hearing with clarity only bettered if he’d been standing right next to them.

“What’re you doing?”

“What?”

“Strip poker? What the hell is going through your head, Will? I’m going to be naked faster than Xander can eat a jelly donut!”

“You won’t be naked.”

“Hello? Strip means minus clothing. And I suck at poker.”

“But I don’t. I told you, I’m really good at this game. And have you seen how big Gino is?”

Spike almost choked on his wine as he fought to suppress the laugh that threatened to erupt from his lips. So Red had finally noticed the dark bouncer’s attentions. Well…good for her. Even if it had taken getting drunk off her ass to get the nerve up, at least she wasn’t moping about dogboy anymore.

“I don’t care what you think you saw between me and Spike,” Buffy was saying.

Shit. What had he missed?

“Fine. You pretend this won’t be fun. I’m going to see me some muscles.”

“What happened to that girl who was scolding me this afternoon for not trying harder to get back to Sunnydale?”

“She’s drunk, and she’s lonely, and she’s been sitting all night next to a really cute guy who smells amazing. Aw, c’mon. Have you taken the time to really smell Gino? Oh, no, of course not. Because you’re too busy sniffing around Spike.”

“Willow---.”

“Go on, be a party pooper. I’m going to play cards.”

When the young witch plopped down at her place at the coffee table, she threw a dazzling smile to the waiting men. “My deal,” she perked, and reached for the cards as a thunderous Buffy slinked back to her seat.

Spike didn’t need to look over at the Slayer to see her conflicting emotions; he could feel it in his skin. The vibrations of her racing heartbeat set his nerve endings alive, suffusing his system like cocaine to an addict, thickening his arousal until even the baggy trousers he wore couldn’t hide it without his moving.

As he shifted his weight, the blond vampire noted with satisfaction that the two young women weren’t the only ones attuned to the smells of those surrounding them. No, most definitely not. For under the veil of spicy Chinese and rich red wine, there was the most distinct musky aroma, a scent he’d become only too intimate with less than twenty-fours before…

…the Slayer’s own excitement…

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

As she had promised, Willow won the first hand with a straight flush that seemed to come out of nowhere. “Why don’t we start slow,” she’d said to Gino, a mischievous gleam in her too-bright eyes. “Let me have your shoe.”

When the dark bouncer had leaned over to slip off his loafer, however, the redhead had been on him like a shot, small hand grabbing his beefy one, stopping his motion. “New rule,” she’d announced as the flush crept up Gino’s neck. “Winner gets to do the disrobing personally.” And with that, she’d yanked off the shoe, tossing it casually aside before returning to her seat.

There was no hiding his smile this time, and Spike picked up the cards, shuffling as best he could with the makeshift sling still hampering his movement. No way was he going to let this opportunity pass by. Absolutely none.

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

Five hands later, and Buffy was minus two silk stockings that had been Spike’s extreme pleasure to take off. She’d grumbled at the first but when his free hand had slipped up her dress, expertly undoing the garter that held it in place, the blond vamp had slid his icy fingers around to her inner thigh, skating over the tiny bites that still marred her soft skin, brushing against the thick dampness of her underwear before sliding the stocking from her muscled calf. Her hazel eyes had widened, and he’d seen her do the hard swallow thing, his own sapphire gaze resting for a moment on the hollow of her throat before settling back in his chair with the hosiery dangling from his fingers.

When he’d won the second time, Buffy hadn’t even waited, merely leaned back onto her elbows and lifted her leg onto his lap, tiny toes pressing gently into his erection in a move reminiscent of their drunken car trip their first night here.

The kicker was Red. She’d won the other three hands, had taken Gino’s other shoe and a sock with a cheery smile. This most recent win, though, when the dark-haired man had obediently stuck out his foot for her to remove his remaining sock, had produced merely a shake of her head. “Nope. Want the tie.”

A very shocked Buffy and a very amused Spike had watched the young witch climb onto Gino’s lap, straddling his powerful thighs as she began nimbly to untie the silk around his thick neck. The bouncer hadn’t moved, but Spike had seen his hand tighten around the armrest, knuckles so pale they looked as if they were going to pop through his skin. He knew the man wanted more than anything to just grab the redhead and ravish her on the spot, but that wasn’t what the blond vamp found so funny. No, what amused him so was much more delicious, much more surprising…

Willow had cheated to win.

He didn’t know how---magic, most likely---but Spike knew for a fact that he’d thrown the three of diamonds, only to see it show up a minute later in Red’s second straight flush of the game. He also knew why, even if he didn’t understand it. Hell, it was why he himself had cheated the second time, why he’d deliberately slipped aside the extra queen so that he could fill out his straight and get his hands on that second silk stocking of Buffy’s.

But, in spite of how entertaining the vampire found the whole situation, a small niggle had started in his gut, something he was actually embarrassed to be feeling, but something he found increasingly difficult to ignore as he watched her tease the tie from Gino’s collar. This wasn’t really Willow. This was too much wine, too much insecurity about her own self-worth, and definitely too much loneliness, and as the most sober one of the group, Spike knew what he had to do, even if he felt disgustingly human by doing so.

“OK,” he announced, rising to his feet. “Game’s over.”

Willow turned wide green eyes toward the blond vamp, disappointment shining there like a beacon. “No,” she pouted, but slid off Gino’s lap anyway, settling on the seat next to him, curling against his beefy side as if it was the most natural thing in the world. After only a moment’s hesitation, the bouncer’s arm came down to rest gently across her shoulders.

Buffy stood up, weaving only slightly as she did so. “Spike’s right,” she said. “It’s late. We should call it a night.”

“But I’m not tired,” Willow argued, then almost immediately stifled a yawn. She blushed. “OK, maybe a little.”

“Well, I know I’m beat,” the Slayer said and casually picked up her hose from where they were draped over the chair. The vampire watched as she strolled languorously to her bedroom, hips swaying gently beneath her skirt, stockings dragging along the floor behind her as they dangled from her hand. When she reached the door, she stopped, hesitated, and then half-turned to gaze back at him. “Aren’t you coming to bed, Spike?”

The invitation was unexpected. His cerulean eyes narrowed as he tried to read the soft planes of her face, searching for some hidden meaning behind her words that he might be missing. “What about our guests?” he finally asked, his voice a distant throb, the unspoken query slicing right through it.

Buffy glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “Somehow, I don’t think they’ll mind.”

Looking back at the couch, Spike was greeted by the sleeping forms of Willow and Gino, her cheek resting against his burly chest, his on the top of her head. If he’d been forced put words to it, the vamp would’ve said they looked almost…at peace.
She waited as he sauntered to her side, extracting his arm from the phony sling as he walked. “How does it feel?” the young woman queried as she pushed the door open.

They both knew she wasn’t really talking about his arm. “Absolutely right as rain,” Spike murmured, and followed her into the darkened room.

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

As the chanting filled Giles’ apartment, Xander tightened his grip on the crossbow, holding it steadily aimed toward the circle in spite of the adrenalin that was surging over his skin. His eyes widened as the ebony powder ignited, and then---somehow---started to climb, growing taller and taller until finally the flames reached waist-high, creating a column inferno that suddenly consumed the now-too-small lounge in heat. Beads of sweat burst out onto his forehead, and he heard the anxiety begin to creep into Anya’s voice, shading her words in clouds of fear as she and Giles finished the summoning spell.

Within the confines of the circle, the air seemed to thicken…take form. Xander felt his heart stop beating as the demon appeared, the scarlet-tipped spines that covered much of its body bristling from their own internal energies, catching and refracting the illumination from the fire so that thousands of little points of light scattered throughout the room. Cool, the thought came to him unbidden. Disco demon.

Although the Watcher’s voice never stopped, Anya scrambled to her feet as H’roven appeared, small chin held high in a defiance she certainly didn’t feel. She and her boyfriend watched as the demon’s beady red eyes darted about, adjusting to his new surroundings.

“Who dares to summon me?” he growled, then froze as his gaze settled on the young woman. “Anyanka!”

When the deadly needles seemed to erupt from the demon’s flesh, Anya screamed, throwing her arms up and twisting sideways as if the sudden deflection off her skin would shield her from harm. Before he could think, Xander’s finger jerked, letting loose an arrow that whistled through the air, and he quickly reached into the bag at his side for another missile.

The young woman blinked, frozen in her position, then slowly lowered her undamaged arms to see the spines lying on the floor within the confines of the flames. H’roven clutched at his shoulder, the arrow embedded there protruding slightly out his back. “God, I hate these type of containment spells,” Anya whined. “It looks likes there’s nothing there and totally freaks me out every time.”

Giles glanced up at the new arrival, a movement not unnoticed by the ex-vengeance demon, and she held up a finger of warning to the older man. “Don’t stop chanting,” she admonished. “That’s the only thing holding him in right now.”

“You’re lucky you’ve bound me so,” the demon sneered. “Otherwise, you would be dead right now, Anyanka.”

“So…long time no see,” she said lightly.

“Not. Long. Enough.”

“C’mon, Anya,” Xander prompted. “We don’t have all day.”

The demon’s eyes flickered to the young man and the weapon in his hands. “Interesting company you’re keeping these days,” he said. “Mortal men? And he’s not been…” His eyes narrowed, and an evil smile turned his mouth into a snarl as his gaze returned to the girl. “Do my eyes deceive me?” he queried. “Where is your necklace, Anyanka?”

“This isn’t about me,” she replied evasively. “This is about some information we need.”

“So the vengeance demon is now human herself.” There was no mistaking the delight dripping from H’roven’s voice. "Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

“Listen, you spiny bastard---.” The young woman’s voice rose, a strident song of pain as she involuntarily stepped forward, closer to the column of fire.

“Anya!” Xander’s hand shot and grabbed his girlfriend’s elbow, pulling her back. “We’ve got a plan here. Focus on the plan.”

“Right. Plan. Focus. Got it.” She took a deep breath. “We summoned you here for a reason, H’roven. We need to know some specifics about one of your pictures.”

“Like I’d share anything with the bitch who turned me into this!” he spat.

“Oh, you’ll share---.”

“Ahn, what’s he talking about?”

Glancing at the young man out of the corner of her eye, Anya slowly extracted her arm from his grasp, stepping slightly to the side while glaring at their captive. “I told you I didn’t want to do this. You didn’t want to listen to me.”

“You…turned him into a…demon?”

“She stole my life!” H’roven growled.

“Hey! Wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have such a lucrative career!”

“And I wouldn’t be confined to my cell either, now would I?”

The current and ex-demons stared at each other, fury and hatred passing between them like an electric current, while Xander’s brown gaze darted between the two. “OK, I think this little trip down memory lane is getting just a tad too bumpy here,” he said. “What say, we get back to the topic at hand?”

“I won’t help you.”

Anya’s smile was tight, grim, and she reached for the small leather pouch that hung at her waist. “I think you might,” she said, pulling out a handful of the fine powder the sac held. When the demon’s eyes flared in fear, she laughed. “You think I’m stupid enough to summon you here and not have some thalatic dust ready? Tell us what we need to know, or you’re going to be in more pain than if I forced you to eat your own entrails.”

Xander blanched at the sudden image in his head, and watched as their hostage began pacing within the circle, tiny movements limited by the narrow diameter. “What is it?” he finally snarled.

“That.” Anya pointed to the painting that was propped up on the couch, easy viewing from the circle, but far enough away to be safe.

“You’re stealing art now? Very noble.”

“We found it,” Anya stressed. “And we need to know more about it.”

“Its owner will be quite distressed about having lost it,” H’roven commented. “She was very specific about its need when she purchased it from me.”

“She? Who is she?”

Xander wasn’t even sure he could call the grimace on the demon’s face a smile, as it replied, “I’m sorry. Client confidentiality. I’m sure you understand.”

“What exactly does it do?” the young man demanded, his frustration at the interrogation’s slow pace growing. “Touchy feely with the artwork is bad, we know that. But banishing someone to someplace like that doesn’t seem like such awful punishment.”

“It’s very simple. The portal gives whoever crosses it one of their greatest desires, and then, once they’re happy, it rips it away from them, leaving the person broken and miserable and desperate for anything.”

Anya tilted her head, her face softening as she digested this information. “Huh,” she said. “I almost think I like that. There’s a certain…symmetry to it that appeals to me.” At Xander’s startled look, she stiffened. “In an ex-vengeance-y kind of way, of course.”

The young man turned back to look at the demon. “And that’s it? You just make them unhappy.”

“Well, of course not,” H’roven replied. “I’d hardly be able to charge what I do if that was it.” There was a moment when the only sound in the room was Giles’ continued chanting, the demon on the inside of the circle staring out at the pair who were quizzing him. Finally, he sighed in exasperation. “You go through the portal, you get what you want, it takes it away from you, and then…you get to die.”