Standing "O"

Rating: NC-17

Spoilers: General BtVS Season Six, specifically Smashed. Knowledge of Angel S5 (esp. The Girl in Question) will help.

Feedback: Yummy.

Thanks: To Irishrose, whose thoughtful comments made this much better than I could have done alone. Also to Anne Rose for her much-needed assistance.

Note: Everything within double asterisks (ex: **The cheeseman is here again.**) equal Buffy's thoughts at the time the action originally occurred, not at the time of her recollecting it.

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I can't sleep. Carlo is "attending to matters" in Venice for the nineteen thousandth time, and for the nineteen thousandth time I'm alone in this huge bed. Whoever started the rumor that vamps sleep in coffins obviously never met The Immortal.

For once, though, I'm glad he isn't here.

I still don't know what to do. Call? Write? Email? Will keeps telling me there's something big going down, stay away, just leave it. But maybe I should be there anyway. After all the non-helping with Fred slash Illyria, you'd think I could lend a hand if it's something apocalypsey. Carlo doesn't want me to go, either.

When Andrew let it slip about Spike being alive, I didn't know what to say. He ran out of the apartment immediately, so fortunately I didn't have to. I didn't tell anyone for three days. I cried in the shower, so happy he was alive, hating him for not telling me. Dawn finally got sick of my championship wall-staring and annoyed the truth out of me. After that, it was easy enough to tell Willow, Xander, and Giles.

When he and Angel showed up here two days ago, I wondered if Andrew hadn't fessed up on purpose. He rang my cell to let me know they were in town, though, and I stayed out with Carlo the entire night. Lame. I should have just seen him. I could have said everything I didn't have the chance to . . . whatever that is.

But I didn't. I chickened out. So, now I'm lying here listening to the Vivaldi Carlo always plays, and wishing I hadn't been so stupid. I miss Spike.

I can say that now. I miss him.

It's so dark in here my eyes might as well be closed. Honestly, all the black velvet and lace is a little much. I sigh and lean back into the mound of pillows. It's so hot in Rome now. Sleeping naked is pretty much the only solution.

I can't stop thinking about him.

I slide my right hand underneath the silk sheet to my thigh. It's so easy to imagine it's his hands that are touching me . . . caressing me. He always wanted me to do this in front of him. My eyes slowly close. I couldn't say no to anything then. I finger myself lightly, biting my lower lip. . .

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I hit him, a hard right cross that should have spun him halfway across the room, but he just laughed. I hated that he didn't even bother to vamp out when we fought. It felt like I wasn't even worth that much anymore. It was always easier to punch the demon's face than his beautiful one. I was always surprised my knuckles didn't come back dripping blood from connecting with his cheekbones.

"I wasn't planning on hurting you, much," he sneered, doing that quick eyebrow raise and I just knew he was thinking something nasty.

"You haven't even come close to hurting me," I snarled back. He shoved me harder back against the staircase and clocked me across the nose with his left forearm. God, I didn't even get a fist? I tasted blood in my mouth.

**He'd love to kiss me now.**

The idea kinda turned me on, in a sick way. Damn him.

"Afraid to give me the chance?"

I broke his hold and shoved him up against the opposite wall.

"Afraid I'm gonna-"

I didn't want to hear what he would say. Afraid he'd leave me? Absolutely. Afraid he'd love me like no one else does or should or ever will? Yes. So I kissed him instead.

Our first kiss was all exploration. He had returned it tentatively, as if he'd found something very precious. That was what he had whispered in my ear before I ran off half-blind and half-cocked. That I was precious. The second kiss was tender and he made me forget that I need to breathe.

This one was neither, and both.

As he lifted me up and slammed me against the wall, my hands were all over his face, trying to get him closer to me. I heard the beam overhead coming loose and pushed him away, following with stumbling steps. He scooped me up with his left arm as I grabbed the lapels of his coat. We moaned simultaneously against each other's lips as I wrapped my legs around his waist. I couldn't believe I was doing this. His tongue was battling with mine. His hands on my ass pulled me close, as his hips thrust against me. I felt his cock pressing against my inner thigh through his jeans and I pushed back against him, angling my body so my clit would rub against the hard bulge. I needed him to bring a little bit of heaven back down to earth. He was the only one who could.

I didn't understand, I really didn't. With Angel it had been sweet and loving, and all the more romantic for being exactly what I dreamed of; how great it was to have those fantasies come true. I hadn't come, but who knew I was supposed to? Poophead Parker had been the first to go down on me. After the longest twenty minutes of my life (longer than the hour that wouldn't end at the Magic Box) I had finally felt, well, something. It had been good with Riley. He was always attentive, always making sure I came before he did. It took too much, though- I felt like one of his school projects. Must get A in oral sex. I figured I just had a slow fuse.

Not anymore.

Spike could pretty much make me come with a kiss. The minute he touches me it's like all thought leaves and I'm just my body. That night, in the house, I couldn't wait any longer. I reached down between our bodies and yanked down his zipper with my left hand.

**Now now now.**

His cock sprung free and I tugged my skirt out of the way. I broke our kiss. He probably thought I was going to kick him in the teeth and run. Not that time. With one decisive movement, I impaled myself on him. A moan escaped my lips and I leaned forward to look at him. I wanted to see him. Every emotion this man had was written all over his face. No one has ever looked at me the way he does.

The first night I had come back, he had been the first person to see me after Dawn had stopped my second swan dive. I had walked down the stairs in our house and he was there, looking at me. I don't think he entirely believed it was happening- that I had somehow found my way back from the dead.

It's sort of like that, the way he looked at me as our bodies joined for the first time- like he couldn't really believe it.

**He's mine.**

I held his gaze and slowly rode up and down the length of his cock. He stared back at me, mouth slightly open, the breath he doesn't need fluttering the hair that fell down around my face. His head lolled back a little and he timed his movements to mine, somehow hitting my g-spot at the perfect angle. He brought his mouth up to mine and claimed me again, spinning us around so my back was against the wall. I reached up above me and held the corner of some wall for some leverage. His lips trailed down to my throat, nibbling at the skin above my jugular. He pounded into me and there was nothing but that, the feeling of him inside me. I clutched his shoulders desperately and he buried his face in the hollow of my collarbones. He ground his pubic bone against my clit and I cried out, my orgasm shattering through my entire body and leaving me completely helpless. I lost my grip on the wall and we fell backwards, through the floor, to the level below us. As we landed I clenched around him hard and he screamed my name, emptying into me.

**God, he's still hard and he wants more and I can give it to him. I can finally give something to someone that isn't death and that look on my face that says I'm not really here.**

He snaked one hand between our bodies and rubbed my clit with his thumb. At the same time, he leaned up enough so he could catch one of my nipples and flick it with his tongue. He licked my skin and lightly blew across it until I couldn't take it anymore.

**I'm so close already.**

He pushed a stray two by four off me and I grabbed his hands, positioning them on my hips. I straddled him, head thrown back, staring at the hole we made in the ceiling.

**It hurts so good.**

"Buffy, Buffy," he moaned, in time with the movements of his hips. He switched the angle just enough to make me scream. He already knew my body better than I do. He knew me better than anyone else.

And he loved me anyway.

I needed to see him again. I leaned over him, covering his body with my own. Wisps of my hair fell onto his face and he opened his eyes to mine. He slowed our pace, lighter thrusts that teased my clit and made me shiver. When I tried to set the tempo he tightened his hold on my hips.

"No," he whispered. "We're doing this my way, now." He rolled us over so he was on top, and sucked gently at my earlobe. I moaned and scratched my nails down his back, forgetting we were both fully clothed. I didn't want to let go long enough to undress. He lazily slid all the way out, then thrust deep into me, once, twice, three times.

**If this is my new heaven, then he must be god.**

My enemy, my savior, my lover.

He turned his attention away from my ear and kissed me, slow and soft and leaving me completely breathless. "I love you, Buffy," he whispered, and immediately looked like he wished he could take it back. He got that little boy vulnerability in his eyes that makes me want to hug him or kill him, depending on the time of day. I wanted to hear it then. I wanted to hear everything and anything he could think to say to me. I didn't care how much it hurt him. I wanted him to drive out everything in me that wasn't wanting him and needing him and feeling him. I loved the sound of his voice and suddenly realized I could say that to him. So I did. It was the first real compliment I ever gave him on anything that wasn't work-related. He grinned, the wicked one that always got me a little too worked up when we fought.

"You're all mine, Slayer," he said.

I didn't want to admit that to anyone, least of all him. But I was. I probably would have saved us both a lot of trouble if I had just owned up, but how could I when I hated every minute I spent on earth, except the ones in his arms? Admitting I felt something for him meant connecting to the world again. I didn't want that, let alone think I deserved it. But that night, I let go. I honestly thought I could walk away after that. Spike reached something inside of me I thought I left behind when I fought my way out of that coffin.

**I'm going to let him give it back to me.**

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I come moaning his name.

God, I miss him.

Heaven's Demon

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Buffy S6, specifically "Life Serial." Angel S5 (but less so).

Thanks: To Irishrose and Anne Rose for their attention to detail and sense of style.

Feedback: Yummy.

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I still can't fall asleep.

If I lay in bed any longer I'll just keep thinking about Spike. Or, more accurately, sex with Spike. I check the clock again and realize it's not even midnight. Even on a Thursday, there are plenty of places open for me to grab a drink or something. I need to go out and leave my brain behind. Dawn's in Palermo for the week visiting a friend, and with Carlo out of town too I'm not responsible to anyone at the moment. The new slayers and babbling Watchers have set up in England, so it's just me.

I throw on a black tank top with denim capris, and slip my feet into black tennis slides. Carlo lives fifteen blocks from the Piazza Navona in a converted hotel, so I decide to ride my Vespa downtown. I may not be safe on the roads in America, but Italy was definitely made for me.

"Buona sera," the doorman says as I leave. He's used to me coming and going at the weirdest hours. I walk across the uneven sidewalk to where I parked my Vespa. Without bothering with the helmet, I jump on and start it up. Very satisfying. I bought it with my first paycheck from the Council. I think Giles was hoping I'd invest or something. The won't-live-to-25 excuse is wearing thin when it comes to my finances.

I weave between the haphhazardly parked cars and hit the gas. It never gets old, the freedom that comes with traveling like this. I hate riding in cars now, or anything enclosed. A little smile plays over my lips before I even realize I'm thinking it. So much for getting Spike out of my mind.

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I was tipsy the first time I rode on his motorcycle. After bitching for a while about my various jobs, we just started taking shots of whiskey. I'd never had anything but beer and margaritas, and he figured it was time to broaden my horizons. I don't know why I listened, except I listened to everything he said then. It helped, more than Willow's sweet face or Xander's jokes. Spike had knocked back a few too, so I think he was itching for a good fight, or a good something else. He convinced me that beating up some demons would make me feel better, and honestly, sometimes it kinda did. Also, we were out of alcohol so leaving seemed like a really great idea.

"Are there drinks in your world?" I asked, and he just smiled. Nice smile, I thought, kind of slowly. He was just glad I was finally coming around to his way of thinking. I was just drunk.

"Of course. Ladies' choice- where to?"

I screwed up my nose in deep, deep thought. "The Bronze?" I finally suggested.

He rolled his eyes at my predictability. "Big shocker there."

Before he could go off about the onion thing again, I narrowed my eyes at him. "Fine. You pick."

He winked at me. "Let's make it a surprise." Swinging a leg over the coffin we were sitting on, he got to his feet and offered me his hand. I took it, and for once didn't cringe at someone's touch.

**He can take care of me. I can let him.**

We left his crypt and walked past a couple of mausoleums, until we reached a small grove of trees. A huge motorcycle was parked behind them. "Where the hell did that come from?" I asked, glad I wasn't wearing the same skirt I'd worn to the Magic Box that day.

"I nicked it from the demon world's answer to the Hell's Angels," he replied with a wicked smile.

"Ah, mayhem, your favorite," I teased.

He cocked his scarred eyebrow at me. "Not always."

I looked away then. I could never entirely ignore that "something between us" he used to harp on all the time.

He swallowed hard and said, "I ate a Hell's Angel once. I should've just drunk JD straight. Tasted the same."

"Gross!" I exclaimed, but I was happy he changed the subject.

"The liquor or the blood?" he asked, and we both smiled.

"Both," I said adamantly.

He chuckled, a low sound I wasn't used to hearing. Lifting up the kickstand with his left boot, he wheeled the bike out to rest between us."So says the girl who finished off the rest of my whiskey all by her lonesome."

"That's different," I protested.

"I'll buy you some tonight. Twenty bucks says you'll drink it down like the greedy little bint you are."

"Deal," I agreed, and we sealed it with a handshake.

"All right, you ready?" He straddled the bike and put his feet down on the ground to keep it steady. I hesitated. "Get on then." I still didn't move, instead I kept chewing my lip. Suddenly this didn't seem like the world's greatest idea.

"Don't I need like, a helmet or something?"

He glanced back over his shoulder. "Think we're going to crash and burn?"

Not for the first time, I noticed his eyes were blue and not brown. It always surprised me.

**Maybe.**

I gingerly stepped closer and lifted my right leg up enough to slide on behind him. "Good thing I'm flexible," I said perkily, trying to cover up my awkwardness.

"I'm just gonna let that one go, pet," he muttered, starting a little as I moved closer to him on the seat. The insides of my thighs rested lightly against his hips. "Put your arms around my waist," he instructed.

**How convenient.**

I did as he said and clasped my hands together in front of his abdomen, feeling his toned body against my wrists. "And hold on." The engine turned over and he peeled out of the cemetery and onto the street.

It was absolutely incredible. I felt like we were flying. My hair streamed out behind me and I pressed closer to him, resting my cheek on his back. The faint smell of tobacco and worn leather made me feel heady and reckless. As we evened out our speed, I went for a quick peek and felt a little queasy as the telephone poles rushed by at supersonic speed. I squeezed my eyelids shut and decided to spend the rest of the ride blind. I could feel him laugh as I gripped him tighter. The bike slowed. I unclenched my fists and splayed my fingers across his abdomen, feeling the smooth muscles. He stepped on the gas and we shot forward through what I hoped wasn't a red light. It didn't occur to me then that I could affect him that much with my hands. So I groped a little more. Who was it hurting? Him, but I didn't think about that.

**Oh, boy.**

I traced his right pec with my fingertip, and he sucked in a breath. I wasn't unobservant enough to have never noticed how hot he was, but I'd never come this close to his body before without the punching and the kicking. He felt so good under my hands. "Open your eyes, luv!" he screamed, his voice carrying over the sound of the engine. Screwing caution, I peeped again.

**Wow.**

We weren't close to downtown. Or the seedy underbelly. Or Sunnydale, at all.

We were on the PCH.

I smiled against his coat. He dropped to a comfortable speed so I could keep my eyes open. I love the ocean at night. There were tons of phosphorescent plants glowing under the water's surface as the waves hit the shore. I could hear the crashes along with the purr of the motorcycle. I hadn't been down to the beach in over a year. I used to go all the time when I lived in LA. It was a full moon that night, and for once I wasn't thinking about werewolves and claws and sickles. All I was thinking, was thank you. I opened my mouth to say it.

"Bloody incredible!" he shouted.

I bit my lip. He'd caught me on the verge of saying more than I wanted to. I sighed instead and snuggled into him. I didn't want to have to let go of him. We could communicate like this, whispers and shouts and hands and breaths, forever.

**This is heaven.**

I thought it dreamily, like a girl on her first date with a boy she really likes. After a minute, I realized what I'd done. I'd forgotten. For the first time. I'd forgotten what that word really meant to me.

I closed down the second we got off the motorcycle.

I was such a bitch to Spike later that night. I was so angry with myself, for feeling so good, and at him, for making me feel at all.

I'd forgotten that moments like that were what made life worth living.

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I park the Vespa up by the fountain and shove the keys into my back pocket. Two men I recognize from one of Carlo's parties eye me as I cross the piazza and enter Bevitoria Navona. For all I know, they're spying on me. The bar is crowded, five or six people jammed at tables meant for two. I love this place. No one cares that I'm American, the bartenders are cute, and Carlo has a running tab. There are old movie posters up on the wall, reminding me the films Mom and I watched. It's just comfortable.I elbow my way up to the bar and catch Toni's eye.

"Il usuale?" he asks. I shake my head.

"Whiskey. A shot," I reply, hoping that'll translate right. Alcohol is a pretty decent universal language. He hands me the glass and I swallow it in two gulps. "Un altro." Toni raises his eyebrows at me but obliges.

Before I can drink it, one of the men I noticed earlier sidles up next to me. He has a glass of wine in his left hand.

"Care to make a toast?" he asks. The deeply accented English surprises me. For a minute I think he's talking about bread, but then it clicks. I smile, not really looking at him, and clink my glass against his.

"To Spike," I say.

I down my drink without making a face. Spike would be proud. I bit my lip and drop my head into my hands, suddenly fighting back tears.

I can't go on like this.

Every Night

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: BtVS S6, specifically "After Life." Knowledge of AtS S5 will help. Just a warning- we're heading AU after "The Girl in Question."

Thanks: to Irishrose and Anne Rose for their input and support.

Feedback: Of course.

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I would take someone's half-turned back as a sign that they aren't feeling too chatty. Carlo's friend Marcellus has yet to figure that out. Whoever sent out the memo that I'm Miss Conversationalist obviously hasn't seen me since Hemery.

Toni shoots me a sympathetic look and refills my water for the third time. Marcellus drains another vodka tonic and gives me his big smarmy smile. "How much longer do you intend to stay in Italy?"

"Until my sister finishes high school, so another year at least," I answer, talking into my glass.

"Well, if you desire to explore, I have a lovely villa in Tuscany."

"That's nice," I say tightly.

"You should join me the next time you are left alone." He leers at me like a just-fed vamp out for a little slayer dessert. What a jerk. If I told Carlo about this conversation he'd probably have this guy strung up on the rack. Or freeze his assets. Whichever.

I'm sober enough to drive, which is what I've been waiting for. Marcellus is waiting for a response.

"I need to go." I put my glass down and sliding off the barstool.

"Let me walk you-" he starts but I'm halfway to the door before he can get the rest out. So much for feeling comfortable. I push through the glass entryway and step out into the cooler night air of the piazza. Taking a deep breath, I try to release some of my tension. I've had plenty of practice escaping from smothering situations.

I start walking over toward my Vespa, which, fortunately, is still there.

Usually, I'd have been escaping to visit Spike.

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Patrol. Patrol. It was as good an excuse as any. I couldn't take it anymore, sitting around that damned table trying to figure out what demon hitchhiked back to earth with me. I wanted to scream, "That's not what happened! It couldn't be!" but then of course there'd be the questions and the finding out where I really had been, barely twenty-four hours earlier. Couldn't have that.

Instead I announced I was going to patrol and practically ran out of the Magic Box.

Fortunately I had a stake tucked into the back of my pants, so I could keep up the pretense. It didn't matter, really. I walked straight to Spike's crypt. We never had the chance to finish our conversation the night before. The Scoobies started giving me the third degree the second they had burst inside the house and found me on the couch. They all but ran Spike out of the house. I couldn't have gone after him then- they definitely would have thought I came back minus a brain cell or two.

So I waited. Fleeing the Magic Box wasn't exactly the most subtle option, but it was as good as I was bound to get. When I arrived at Spike's I didn't bother to knock. Instead, I slipped inside without a word. I wandered around, looking at all his candles. For someone who could be killed by fire he certainly was tempting fate. He must have heard me from downstairs, because I wasn't in there a minute before he spoke.

"Buffy." He sounded surprised. I turned to face him, instantly noting the dagger in his left hand. "You should be careful. Never know what kind of villain's got a knife at your back."

"Your hand is hurt." I ignored his warning and gestured toward his bleeding knuckles with my chin.

"Hmm. Same with you," he came back, but quietly.

I self-consciously tucked my hands behind my back. It was too painful a reminder. "Right," I acknowledged, staring at the floor.

He moved across the small space and set the dagger down on the window ledge.

"Willow's getting pretty strong, isn't she? Bringing you back. It's hard to get a good night's death around here," he began, trying to make conversation. He gave me a nervous half-smile, letting me know he felt just as awkward as I did. "You can sit down. Got furniture."

I didn't want him to see how relieved I was that he invited me to stay, so I sat silently on a dingy armchair.

"You should see the downstairs, too, it's quite posh."

Instead of taking his own advice, he merely leaned against the opposite wall from me. He took a breath like he was going to make another mundane remark. What came out of his mouth next couldn't have been more surprising.

"Uh . . . I do remember what I said. The promise. To protect her. If I had done that, even if I didn't make it, you wouldn't have had to jump."

My eyes started getting bigger and bigger, along with the lump in my throat that had been threatening for hours.

"But I want you to know I did save you. Not when it counted, of course," he said, chagrined, "but after that. Every night after that." He shook his head, like he was remembering something. His voice went softer than I'd ever heard it. "I'd see it all again, do something different. Faster or more clever, you know? Dozens of times, lots of different ways . . .

"Every night I save you."

**That's the most amazing thing anyone has ever said to me.**

I loved him a little bit for that. My friends' happiness touched absolutely nothing in me. Spike's beautifully simple words nearly brought me to my knees.

"Buffy?" he implored. I forced myself to meet his concerned gaze and not burst into sobs. I wanted to tell him I hadn't come for apologies; it hadn't occurred to me that he had one to make.

"You did the best you could," I said finally, and shrugged. "That's all we can do."

"It wasn't enough," he muttered, crossing his arms.

"Sometimes it is," I contradicted him, my voice gentle. "You looked out for Dawn while I was gone. You kept my friends from becoming demon handisnacks. You did my job when I couldn't."

He snorted at that, like he couldn't believe how ridiculous I was being. "Well, I shouldn't have had to, now, should I?" he spat out.

"Could you get more tenses in that sentence?" I asked, trying to lighten the mood. "Everything worked out," I lied through my teeth. I was getting very good at it. "Dawn's safe, I'm here-"

"Not like I had anything to do with that," he interrupted.

**I wouldn't be here if you had.**

"They didn't even tell me," he continued, and I could see how hurt he felt. "Messing with magic like this- they had no bloody idea what they were getting into." I suspected he'd given this one line lecture before.

"Would you have stopped them?" I couldn't help but ask. He sighed and reached into his coat pocket for a pack of cigarettes. Grabbing a lighter off the table beside him, he lit one and stuck it between his lips. All his tension melted away with the practiced routine.

"How can I answer 'yes' with you sitting right here in front of me, love?" We both smiled. He took a long drag on his cigarette and flicked the ash off its tip.

I faked a little cough for his benefit.

Instead of rolling his eyes like usual, he cocked his head and stared at me. "Why are you sitting here with me?"

His voice dropped an octave and a shiver ran down my spine.

**Because I'm miserable and vulnerable and weirdly attracted to you right now.**

"Because I didn't feel like getting all researchy," I replied. Obviously he didn't have any idea what I was talking about, so I continued, "Some demon has been taking over our bodies and making us see and do things."

He raised his eyebrows and managed to restrain himself for about fifteen seconds. "A side effect from your return?"

"So they say."

He allowed himself a little satisfied gloating and then asked, "Need any help?"

"I'll let you know," I promised. The talk of that day's dire made me grudgingly realize I should probably go home and see what was up. I thought calling the Magic Box might be a little less painful than actually sitting in it.

I didn't move.

"If it does have something to do with your . . . with the spell, you know it's not your fault, right." It wasn't a question.

"I know," I said softly.

"Doesn't make it any easier, does it?"

"Not really," I answered. I stared at my hands, at the scabs forming over my knuckles. I wished they would heal as quickly as the other wounds I'd had, but they stubbornly refused to get better. I pushed off the chair and got to my feet.

"I should get back," I mumbled. He took a step toward me, wounded hand outstretched.

"You don't have to." He noticed his hand and immediately dropped it back to his side. "I mean," he gave me his rakish little smile, "I taped today's 'Passions' if you want to get caught up."

I smiled despite myself. "I'm four months behind."

"You haven't missed that much." We stood there, staring at each other. I felt that "something" again, and it made me want to snuggle up next to him on a chair and let him hold me.

**What can one hour hurt?**

"Sure," I said, settling back down in my seat. The mix of surprise and happiness in his face was heartbreaking.

"Okay then." He went over to the VCR and pushed play, and then took the chair next to mine. "So, the last time you watched . . ."

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I storm in the front door to Carlo's and let it bang shut behind me. I brought some papers over from my apartment and I start digging through the mess on the library table. I manage to unearth the post-it with the phone number for Dawn's friend Elena.

It's nearly three am and they probably just made it in from a night out, but I need to talk to her now. I dial with shaking fingers. A sleepy voice picks up after four rings.

"Hello?"

"Dawn, is that you?" I ask, surprised by both the English and my sister's voice answering a call at someone else's house.

"Yeah. I figured I might as well answer the phone- who else would call this late?" I can almost hear her roll her eyes on the other end.

"I'm sorry, but it couldn't wait."

"Is everything okay?" she responds, a worried note in her voice.

"It's fine. I just need to go out of town for a few days."

"Can't live without Carlo for a whole week? God, you're whipped."

I run my tongue over my lips and take a deep breath. "Actually, I'm going to L.A."

End Part Three.

The Begging Kind

Rating: NC-17

Spoilers: Buffy S6, "Dead Things"

Notes: Irishrose is fantastic. Even with my long pauses between chapters, she stays right on target!


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I love to fly. I don't mind the cramped seats or the snoring passengers. The sight of pure sky outside the window reminds me of heaven.

My first time on an airplane was the flight from LA to London with Willow, Xander, and the rest of the Sunnydale survivors. After a couple of months at Giles' flat, Dawn and I relocated to Rome. I haven't been on a plane since. That was ten months ago. I pull my blanket closer around my chin and rest my head against the back of the seat. I've already changed planes in New York, and LA is only a few hours away. Spike is only a few hours away.

I don't know what I'm going to say, or what I even expect from him. There's too much and not enough to explain how I feel. I just want to hold him. I just want to tell him that I love him when the world isn't falling down around us. Maybe then, maybe, he could finally believe me.

Angel's going to love that. Weirdly enough, I'm freaking out even more about what I should tell him. The last night I saw Angel, I compared myself to cookie dough, said I needed to finish baking, and that once I was done he could eat me. Figuratively, that is. Translation of lame analogy? You're the one. Of course, I also thought I was going to die the next day, so I was counting on the lack of follow-through.

I told Angel what he needed to hear.

That doesn't mean it was the truth.

From Andrew's report I know they were both in Rome, and working together even. Just the idea of it makes me want to laugh. How those two hate each other. I have to admit, the idea of them getting all riled up over me is pretty gratifying in a egotistical way. Of course, there's a lot more between them than just me.

I sigh loudly, then look at the older man beside me to make sure I didn't disturb him. He keeps snuffling in his sleep. All clear. I shut my eyes and try for the millionth time to force myself to sleep.

After a minute I yank off my seatbelt and get to my feet. Fortunately I don't have anyone to climb over. I maneuver past the stewardess and head to the tiny bathroom at the rear of the plane. Checking to make sure the one on my side is unoccupied, I squeeze in and lock the door behind me. I splash some cold water on my face and stare at my blurred reflection.

Airplane bathrooms aren't exactly the sexiest places on earth, but I can see the appeal. It's all about the thrill of getting away with it. Before I had much sexual experience of the kinky kind, I used to fantasize about joining the Mile High Club. Of course, once Spike and I started up, I had no need to fantasize . . .


@}---}---- @}---}---- @}---}----


I couldn't even explain what we did to each other, let alone how we got underneath the carpet that particular time, but as usual, it was hotter than hell.

"Have you seen my underwear?" I asked, starting to get panicky. I disappeared under the carpet to keep looking.

"What is this to you? This thing we have?" His voice was low and questioning.

Our clothes were all over the place, so I counted myself lucky when my fingers closed over my thong. For once Spike hadn't ripped it apart with his teeth. I shimmied it up my body and reemerged.

"We don't have a thing," I answered definitively. "We have . . . this. That's all." Raising myself up on my elbows, I tried to avoid eye contact.

He stared at me, not so much like he knew I was lying, but that he hoped I was. His next question caught me totally off guard.

"Do you even like me?"

This was Spike. Hard as ice. Utterly unbreakable. I admit it; I was totally shocked. It was the first time he'd asked me point blank how I felt about him, without any of the usual wheedling or bitching. He just wanted to know.

"Sometimes," I answered softly, looking away. I didn't want to see the face he always made when I wounded him. Seemed like lately it was more from my words than my fists.

"But you like what I do to you."

**Oh god yes.**

I stared at the carpet and said nothing. He knew the answer to that one for sure. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him lean over and pull something out. The faint jingling was too much; I had to look.

**Handcuffs?!? He's got handcuffs?! And why am I surprised by this?**

He dangled them in front of me like a present. "Do you trust me?" he asked, voice beautifully throaty, and I knew I was lost.

"Never."

Cocky bastard. He didn't even move to put them away. "Get on the bed," he ordered, a wicked grin parting his lips.

I crossed my arms as indignantly as I could while under a rug.

"Spike . . ."

"Just do it." He leaned in close and nibbled at my earlobe. I shoved him away with my right hand, but got up anyway. We'd only fucked on his bed once, the night I was made invisible by Warren and the nerds of doom. It felt strange- I was used to the hard surfaces of walls, floors, and gravestones, not a down comforter.

He watched me as I crawled onto the bed and laid down on my back. As I settled, he stood up and crossed the distance between us. I loved how he was so comfortable with his own body. I had never walked across a room entirely naked until we started seeing each other. With Spike, I lost my inhibitions completely, one right after another, until there was nothing left.

"I was just about to go," I grumbled, adjusting the pillow behind my head. He knelt on the bed next to me and fastened one cuff around my left wrist.

"So go," he suggested, but only because he knew I would do no such thing. He threaded the remaining cuff through the metal bars that made up the headboard. I held my right hand up to him and he snapped the metal closed, chaining me to the bed with my arms above my head.

A thrill ran through me when I heard that click. I was completely at his mercy, and more than a little nervous.

It was a huge turn-on.

"My mother always told me to have a safety word," I informed him as he ran his fingers lightly down the insides of my wrists to my elbows and biceps.

"Safety words are for pussies," he shot back. "Though in this case," he touched his tongue to his teeth, "I suppose it would apply."

The things he could do with that tongue. I was quickly losing self-control, and there was nothing I could do about it. "Shut up and kiss me."

He did nothing of the kind. Instead, he stretched out on my left side and started playing with my nipples. One breast, then the other, the light swirls and hard pinches that he learned would keep me on edge. I bit back a moan and tried to ignore the erotic sight of his long fingers dancing across my chest. His fingers looked so white against my tanned skin.

A slow warmth was igniting every single inch of my body. Ordinarily I'd grab him, fuck the foreplay and fuck him instead. But I couldn't. I tried not to pull against the cuffs and give away how much I wanted him.

He cupped my left breast in his hand and leaned forward, flicking it with his tongue. I was so tense I couldn't help it- I shivered and he immediately pulled his mouth away.

"You like that, don't you." I gritted my teeth. "You want me to do it again?"

"I don't care," I snarled. He just laughed, so I finally said, "Yes."

He returned his attention to my breasts, leaning over me enough so he could knead them softly and suck on the nipples; first hard, then soft, then hard again until I moaned and arched my chest against him.

And then he stopped.

**Unbelievable.**

I was going crazy from not touching him. "Keep going," I told him.

"Be specific," he enunciated, giving me a shit-eating grin.

"Kiss me," I managed to get out, still trying sound like the boss. He changed positions, swinging his right leg over my body and straddling me gently. I could feel his erection pressing against my thigh and resisted the urge to move against him. He kissed the slope between my breasts and up to my throat, trailing his tongue against my skin. He nipped at my jugular, tangling his fingers in my hair and tilting my head back.

"My mouth," I whispered. I needed mutual contact, something, anything but this slow torture. He lifted his head and stared at me.

"Not yet."

Painfully slowly, he pulled back until he was resting entirely between my legs. I licked my lips in anticipation.

"Expecting something?"

I gave up all pretense and nodded yes.

"And what would that be, love?" he asked, faking utter confusion.

"I want you to go down on me," I said as confrontationally as possible. He slid his thumbs underneath the silk straps of my underwear. What with Anya doing my finances, I'm lucky she didn't bring up all those Victoria's Secret credit card charges in the middle of dinner or something.

As he slid the material down my legs, I rattled my cuffs a little. He peeked up at me, his hair shining in the half-lit room. I gave a little breathy moan to tempt him.

He sighed heavily, like it was a great sacrifice. The guy loved doing this! Spike knew how good he was, and he enjoyed pleasing me. And the not having to breathe? Definitely a plus.

**I can't take it.**

I was helpless, and he had me. Giving in, he fingered my clit with a touch so light I could barely feel it. I closed my eyes when I felt his tongue slide over my outer folds. He took his hand away and replaced it with his tongue, sucking and lapping at my clit. I moaned and bucked my hips against him. He slipped his right arm underneath my ass to steady me, and kept perfect time with the rhythm of my body.

I clenched my hands into fists, pulling against the metal cuffs and the bedframe as he nibbled at my clit and bit delicately at the surrounding skin. I couldn't help but stare at him- the workings of his jaw, the dark dark eyelashes against his pale skin. He looked so beautiful to me in that moment. He was doing what only he could do the way I needed- love me.

My whole body tensed in preparation for my seventh orgasm of the night.

And he stopped.

Raising his head, he licked his lips in a manner that could only be described as saucy, and then he smirked at me.

"How, what, huh?" I panted. "This is so not fair," I got out, chest heaving.

"Turn about is fair play." He crossed his arms and settled back on his heels, grinning at me. Two nights before, I had left him hanging, literally, halfway through a blowjob behind the Millerson crypt. Not because I had to get home, or slay anything- just because I could. Should've known he had an ulterior motive with those damn cuffs.

To my unbelievable shock, he slid off the bed and grabbed his pants from the floor.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I screeched.

"Time for a smoke, pet," he tossed back, stepping into his jeans.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I could break the cuffs and storm out of there, and we both knew it. Instead, I did the only thing I could to bring him back to me. I told the truth.

"Please," I whispered, but he caught it. Just stopped halfway to the door with a cigarette already between his lips. "Come back." I said it without malice.

"Why should I?" he answered without turning, and there was anger there below the smoothness of his voice. He wanted to give it back as good as I gave, but he just couldn't. He loved me too much, and he allowed me to come back to him no matter how much pain I doled out.

What he never realized was that I couldn't stay away. Every morning I woke up with the same resolution: stay away from Spike. And every night I ended up with his hands on my body and his words in my ear, calling me princess, lover, goddess.

It kept me alive.

"Because I need you," I choked out. "Please don't leave me." My eyes were welling up with tears and I willed them back.

He turned slowly, and backlit as he was from the light above I couldn't see his face. He sighed heavily. "I couldn't."

Without another word, he returned to the bed and his worship of my body. I came three times in the next hour, eventually breaking the metal bars of the bed. After that, he unlocked the cuffs and removed them from my wrists. I let him take some rose scented cream and massage my sore skin. He pressed a kiss into my open palm, and I knew we would both pay for that tenderness later.

We did, with some not-so-gentle public sex on the balcony at the Bronze. It was the only way to keep from breaking each other apart.


@}---}---- @}---}---- @}---}----


"Miss? Miss?" The voice of the flight attendant breaks into my reverie. I shake myself out of my reverie and open the bathroom door. Three very cranky passengers are waiting in line and I move past them sheepishly.

"Are you all right?" the girl asks, popping her hands on her hips.

"Fine, sorry," I apologize, heading back to my seat. I slump down in the chair and close my eyes. With Spike I've shared the most blissful and the darkest hours of my life. I won't let him go without a fight, not when we've both cheated death and somehow made it back to earth.

Now I just have to get through Angel.

End Part Four.

Sparkage

Spoilers: My take on the missing basement scene from "Chosen." I just couldn't resist. I'm not rating it, since I don't want to give anything away.

Thanks: To Irishrose, of course! And to everyone who has taken the time to write, I deeply appreciate it.


--------

Damn, that's tall.

I've definitely gotten too used to Italy. I stare up at the building that houses Wolfram and Hart. It seems strange to me, this mess of glass and chrome. Even the airport felt too big, as I maneuvered through LAX and managed to catch a cab outside. Fortunately I remembered to change my euros first.

I square my shoulders and march up the steps. Pushing through the front door, I find myself in a foyer across from an elevator. There's no visible security, so I cross the marble floor and step into the open door. It closes behind me with a light ding. Elevator music that sounds suspiciously like Barry Manilow pipes through the speakers.

This must be hell.

I reposition my duffle bag over my shoulder and touch the stake in my pocket for the twentieth time.

Good thing, too, seeing as how Harmony is the first person I notice when I step out of the elevator.

Her eyes grow as big as saucers and she runs out from behind a desk.

"Buffy! Oh my god, what are you doing here? Angel didn't tell us you were coming! I mean, there wasn't a memo or anything," she prattles, circling around me.

I take a deep breath and force a smile onto my face. Weird to think that the last time I saw her, she was with Spike.

"Where's Spike?" I demand. So much for being subtle. She immediately gets defensive, popping her hands on her hips and pursing her mouth.

"Oh, so you think you can just show up and he'll take you back? Like you didn't even care enough to call before but now that . . ."

My right cross is the only thing that shuts her up. She reels backward, holding her hand to her jaw in outrage. "I'm so gonna tell Angel on you," she whines.

"Okay, let's try this question. Where's Angel?" I ask. Harmony pouts for a second before responding.

"He's in a meeting, with a big fat 'do not disturb' sign on his door." She straightens up and tosses her long hair over her shoulder. Haughty as ever. Tottering back to her desk, Harmony takes a seat behind the high counter. "You can wait."

Too disturbed by the fact that she's there and that something that looks like a Zerpavro demon just strolled by with a briefcase and a latte, I flop into a chair without protest.

I could use a little extra time to think. The last time I saw Angel was in a cemetery, the night before Spike sent all of Sunnydale back to hell. Spike. Where the hell is he?


@}---}---- @}---}---- @}---}----


Spike and I just stared at each other. What else was there to do? He stood up from the dinky little cot as I descended the stairs. The closer to him I moved, the closer I came to our battle against the First, and the more sense it made to make love until the sun rose. I missed the feeling of his lips brushing against my ear as he whispered things that made me cross my legs and blush hours later while sitting in the Magic Box or watching TV with my sister.

He had held me in his arms two nights before and comforted me when the Slayer wannabes booted me out in favor of Faith. It had been the best night of his life, he'd said.
I wanted to make this one even better. There was a distinct possibility that I would die the next day, and if it came to that, then I wanted to go out remembering these hours.

"Are you ready?" he asked, breaking our silence. I shrugged, happy to be distracted from my incoherent mental ramblings, and made my way down the rest of the stairs.

"As much as humanly possible."

"What about inhumanly possible?" We both laughed, more than his lame pun warranted. Nervous much?

"That too," I replied, plopping down on the cot. Spike carefully sat back down on my right, our bodies painfully close but not touching. It reminded me of a first date, the way your hands brush together so slightly that only a few molecules can feel it.

He leaned back against the concrete wall, splaying his legs out carelessly. "Shouldn't you be reminiscing with your chums about now?"

"We know how we feel about each other." I put my right hand to my collarbone, lightly rubbing the exposed skin with my thumb. He noted my nervous gesture with raised eyebrows. "Why make it harder?"

"I can understand that," he agreed softly. Spike grabbed a pack of cigarettes off the floor by his foot. He shook one out of the pack with a practiced gesture and offered it to me.

"Fancy a smoke?"

**Fuck it.**

"I'd love one." I took the cylinder and placed it carefully between my lips. Not even remotely surprised, he pulled his lighter out of his pocket and held it up. I leaned forward and cupped my hands around his to steady the flame. Inhaling deeply, I felt a tiny rush. He extinguished the flame and pulled out another cigarette.

"Knew you would, Slayer," he smirked. He lit his cig off the end of mine, his entire body relaxing with his first breath.

Managing not to cough, I blew out a steady stream of smoke. "What can I say, I'll do anything once."

"Ain't that the truth."

I just smiled, enjoying his flirtatious tone. I hadn't heard it very often lately. It was reassuring.

My mouth tasted like I'd been kissing him.

**Don't go there.**

We smoked in companionable silence for a while, giggling like teenagers about to get caught whenever footsteps passed overhead. He made smoke rings, tried to teach me how and failed miserably. I'm a sucker for magic tricks, the really lame kind, and he pulled two cigs out of my ear to dazzle me. I couldn't help but laugh when his lighter showed up in the back pocket of my jeans. He always had a deft touch.

I eventually moved into an infinitely more comfortable position: lying on my back with my head in his lap. He gently stroked my hair with his right hand. His left rested on my stomach, and he played with the fraying end of my tank top absentmindedly. I don't think he realized every brush of his fingers against my bare skin made every muscle in my body tense.

**I love you. All of you- the demon and the man. I know now that you're the only one for both the Slayer and the woman that I am. I love you.**

Of course I said nothing, unsure as to how he'd react. I knew he still loved me, but did he trust me? We'd put each other through hell and back and that's not a ride you can take without picking up heavy baggage on the way. Especially after the Bathroom Scene. I always thought of it like that, like a scene from a movie that happened to someone else, by someone else.

In a way, it was.

"Tell me a story," I said. He chuckled, and tipped his head down to meet my eyes.

"You know all my stories, love. Isn't that what all those musty books are for?"

I'm sure there was a skeleton or two in his closet I hadn't seen yet, but I was feeling generous and decided to let him off the hook. Before I could say anything, he jumped right in.

"Why don't you tell me one?"

"Well, there once was a girl named Buffy who had a destiny. She alone had to fight the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness," I recited. He rolled his eyes, unimpressed.

"Tell me something about you no one else knows," he intoned. I immediately balked and he tickled my ribs. "Hiding something, are we?" His voice dropped to the seductive whisper I knew only too well. "Spill it."

Only one thing came to mind. I chewed my lip, debating. He quirked an eyebrow, obviously surprised by my hesitation.

"And here I thought I was your dirtiest little secret. You wound me, pet, right here." He put his hand to his chest and shook his head sorrowfully.

"Things change," I murmured. I looked up into his eyes, dancing with undisguised amusement. "I don't want to hurt you."

"That is a change." A slight twitch of his jaw belied his joking tone.

"I mean it," I emphasized, abruptly pulling myself off his lap and moving away. He started and reached out to me, quickly pulling back and crossing his arms.

"Must be Angel-related." He pursed his mouth and stared, daring me to continue.

He could always read me like a book. I sighed and settled back against the wall. He must have sensed my distress, because he backed off the confrontational glare and sighed.

"It's not good to have secrets. They eat you alive from the inside out. Besides, I'm pretty good at keeping yours," he reminded me.

**I think I was in heaven.**

"I slept with Angel more than once."

"When he was Angelus?" he guessed quietly.

"No, it wasn't then," I answered, surprised by his calm response, but he wasn't looking at me anymore.

"It was after the spell, after I came back. I met him in Salis Beach." I named a town halfway between Sunnydale and L.A.

"I wondered why you'd skipped town," he said noncommittally. He lit a match and stared at it.

I clasped my hands in my lap and searched his face. I didn't want to go on if it meant upsetting him, no matter how good it may have felt to get the dirty details off my chest. The faint light danced across his sharp features for a moment until he blew out the flame and turned back to face me. He didn't look hurt, or judgmental. Just concerned, and I couldn't help but wonder how hard that must have been for him.

"Go on, love."

I wanted to pretty it up, to dust the memory off and wrap it with a bow on top, but I couldn't. Squeezing his fingers tightly, I spoke in halting sentences.

"It was awful. I thought that seeing him again would give me the spark I needed." He jerked his head up and I realized I'd used the word he spoke to me in the chapel, the night he told me he had his soul back.

"The spark," he echoed, peering at me more closely. "You thought you'd left your soul behind in that grave."

I slowly nodded. "I think I wanted a piece of his. Instead it gave me nothing. He wasn't the only dead person in the room that night.

"He was so overwhelmed to have me back, he didn’t care about anything else. He didn't care if he lost his soul and became Angelus again. Once I realized he wanted me anyway, neither did I."

My eyes started to well up, but I didn't move to wipe away the tears. "He could've turned and killed me, or have failed and forced me to stake him. And it didn't matter, whether I died in that bed or left a pile of dust behind."

"It was the same either way," he finished for me.

"Yes, it was." I sniffled, holding back a sob. "But obviously he didn't lose his soul; no perfect happiness came from that. When he made love to me it felt like I was made of glass and he was breaking me apart."

"I'm sorry you had to go through that, pet. So very sorry," he whispered. He lifted my upturned hands to his lips and grazed my pulse points with butterfly kisses. I tensed as a rush much better than nicotine flooded my body.

"Do you know why I hated you so much when we were together?" I suddenly asked.

He exhaled sharply and recoiled from me. My tryst with Angel wasn't really the only secret I had left. I reached up with my left hand and caressed his cheek. "Because when you made love to me, it felt like you were putting me back together."

His jaw dropped a little, but I kept going. "It took me a long time to realize, but you kept me going when nothing else in the world even came close."

Spike opened his mouth to speak but I placed a finger over his lips. I moved closer, took his hands in mine and held them close to my heart. "What I'm trying to say is, you did save me."

He smiled then, leaned forward, and brushed his lips against mine. "And you saved me," he whispered, eyes shining with tears.

I put my hand on his chest and guided him into a reclining position. As I curled up against his chest, my hand knocked something off the ledge behind us.

Spike picked up the amulet Angel brought earlier and dangled it from his fingers.

"What do you think it does?" I asked curiously. He watched it swing back and forth for a moment before answering.

"Maybe it's the spark we've been looking for."



@}---}---- @}---}---- @}---}----


And it was. It really was.

I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and pray that Harmony is too engrossed in filing her nails to notice my waterworks. I can't keep sitting here like an idiot. Time to be proactive Slayer.

Scanning the room, I notice again the double doors to the left of Harmony's desk, set beside smoky panes of glass. It has to be Angel's office. I get to my feet and with purposeful strides storm to the entrance.

As I lift my foot to kick the door down, it swings open, revealing one very, very broody vampire.

"Buffy."
 

End Part Five.

Rating: NC-17ish

Notes: "Fool For Love" was my favorite Season 5 episode. Had to work it in somewhere. Thanks to everyone who wrote and waited so patiently for me to finally finish this, especially Irishrose, who made this the best it possibly could be.



-------


This is productive. Glowers alternated with shouts. Damn it. I kick the front of Angel's desk and stalk over to the windows. I'd forgotten how beautiful LA is at night.

"I don't know where he is, Buffy."

"I don't believe that, Angel," I say exasperatedly. "He works for you!"

"He keeps his own counsel," Angel replies, drumming his fingers on top of the desk. I just know he's trying to keep himself from getting up and checking for scuffmarks.

I snort. "Since when has Spike ever done that?"

He doesn't answer, but the tapping stops. I pace back and forth for a moment and then take a seat in his red leather chair.

"Do you understand why this is so important to me?" I ask calmly.

"No, Buffy, I don't. Given the last meaningful conversation we had, how can you expect me to?" He slams a book down, papers flying with the blow. "My whole life now is waiting. Waiting to die, waiting to live. Waiting for you. And now, out of nowhere, I find I don't even have that."

I look up from my hands, knotted together in my lap, to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry. That night in the cemetery, I wasn't trying to mislead you. It felt . . . it felt like the right thing to say."

He exhales a sharp breath, not buying it. How could I expect him to when I don't either?

I try, stupidly, to lighten the tension with a joke. "If it helps at all, Carlo's probably really, really mad."

Angel looks up at me, puzzled. "Who?"

"Never mind. Look, Angel, I can't sit around here all night waiting. I need some help, whatever you can give me."

"Why, Buffy? Just tell me that."

I've been trying to, I think, biting my tongue. I take a deep breath.

"When I told him I loved him, he had the nerve to argue with me," I start, ignoring Angel's blanch. "'No you don’t, but thanks for saying it.' What is that?" I ask, forgetting my audience for a second. "And what the hell was I thinking? The words were in my throat, Angel. 'I mean it, I love you.' But I just let him order me out of the Hellmouth."

"He wouldn't have wanted you to stay," Angel interrupts, more gently then I would have expected. Still trying to be the protector.

"There are questions I need answered, Angel. Did he remember the first real conversation we ever had? Were his last thoughts of me? Where did he go when he died?" I wipe my eyes. "Does he still love me?"

He sighs and leans back in his chair. Angel may be jealous, he may be totally spun, but he loves me. That has to mean something, even now.

"Angel, please," I implore.

"When he left today, he said he was going for a drive. That's all I can tell you."

It's not much, but it's enough. "Thanks," I say softly, and I don't bother clarifying. Angel nods, doesn't look at me. "There's just one another thing . . .

"I kind of need a ride."

Angel gets up and approaches a small door in the back of the room, gesturing for me to follow. The chrome panels slide open, revealing a private elevator.

"Nice perk," I comment, getting in beside him.

"Doesn't suck," he says neutrally. Definitely Manilow, I decide, as we descend a few flights. With a slight ping, the doors ease back to reveal a motor pool even Giles couldn't complain about.

"Wow."

"You do know how to drive now, right?" Angel asks, unlocking a compartment on the wall. Over a dozen keys hang inside.

"Sure, yeah," I say, glad he's not looking at my face.

"Which one do you want?"

I scan the garage for a minute. "I'll take the Harley," I say, pointing.

"My Ultra Classic Electra Glide?" He stares at me like I'm his mother taking away his best toy.

I nod and he places the keys into my outstretched hand without another word. "Be careful," he says, and he doesn't just mean the bike.

"Don't worry, I'll bring her back in one piece," I comfort him. And suddenly, I don’t know what to do. I'm finally closing the door on my first love, and I don't know whether to ease it shut gently or slam it as hard as I can.

"Do you know where you're going?" he asks, shaking me out of my daze.

"For the first time in a long time," I answer, rising on my tiptoes to brush a kiss against his cheek. "Thank you, Angel."

"You're welcome," he says. "Now go."

I nod and take off running toward the Harley. My knee-length skirt isn't exactly prime for this ride, but I don't care. Two helmets rest on the seat; I take the smaller one and yank it over my head, placing the other on the ground beside me. Sliding on, I jam the key in the ignition, hit reverse, and peel out of the space.

I don't have to turn around to know the look on his face, but I do anyway.

**There is. Tell me that you don't love me.**

He's gone.

Ten minutes later I'm back on the Pacific Coast Highway for the first time since I left the United States. It's a three-hour drive to Sunnydale, and I intend to make it in half that time.

There's no other place Spike would go.

He may not remember our first conversation, but I do . . .


@}---}---- @}---}---- @}---}----


I stepped out onto the back porch, grateful for the solitude. I could finally cry in peace; I'd pulled the shower trick way too many times, and if I stayed in my room my mom would definitely hear me.

I choked on a sob and settled down onto the stairs. A slight rustle of the bushes caught my ears, but I assumed it was just a squirrel. Demon squirrel, maybe, but nothing more.

The tears rolled down my cheeks and I didn't bother to stop them. My mother, sick. I knew it had to be worse than she was saying; the look on her face told me all I needed to know. And the way she'd been acting the last couple of weeks . . .

The sound of a gun being cocked made me jerk my head up and pull my face out of its safe hiding place in my hands.

Spike. Shotgun.

I didn't move.

"What do you want now?" I choked out, smoothing my hair back. The venom in his face melted as he examined me more carefully.

"What's wrong?" he asked sharply, like he wasn't used to forming those particular words.

I recoiled slightly, too shocked to say anything. Especially since he had a gun in his hands.

"Is there something I can do?" Low voice, gentle like Willow or Xander would have been.

"I don't want to talk about it," I said as steadily as possible.

He inhaled like he was about to say something, but didn't. Instead, he lowered the gun and came to sit beside me on the stairs. He patted my back awkwardly in a comforting gesture, again like something he wasn't quite accustomed to.

I didn't pull away.

As we sat there like statues the less I thought about my mother and the more I thought about the strangeness of our night together. He had tried to kiss me! Or bite me. I wasn't sure which, but I was definitely leaning toward the kissage. I stole a sideways glance at him, but he was staring at his boots, not me.

**Does he really want to kiss me?**

I banished the thought and went back to examining my nails. He hated me. He had all but told me he was lying in wait for me to give up and let go of my life. As I continued to dart little glances at him, I started picturing him beneath me in another, much more interesting way.

**He'll slip in, all right.**

A brief shiver ran through my body at the thought, and I wasn't sure if it was revulsion or desire. It was the stress of finding out about my mother, I reassured myself, that I would even entertain the thought of doing anything with Spike other than attempting to stake him. Emphasis on attempt.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" he questioned, breaking the silence.

"I can't believe you just asked for permission," I commented, pulling back a bit to look in his eyes.

"Just trying to be polite is all," he muttered, starting to put his lighter back in his pocket. I reached out to stop him and my fingers grazed his.

Trying not to react, I said, "Go ahead. I don't mind."

With obvious relief, he took out a pack of cigarettes, shook one out, and lit up.

"Try not to leave the butts all over the yard or you'll end up like that," I ordered, pointing at the ash on the end of the thin cylinder.

He rolled his eyes. "Then why don't you get me an ashtray, love. That's what civilized people do."

"I don't think you qualify," I quipped, but I hauled myself to my feet and went back inside, happy to distance myself from the bipolar vampire on my porch. I dug through a couple of drawers in our china cabinet, vaguely remembering my mom stashing some ashtrays there for when her smoking friends came over.

I managed to unearth a tacky crystal one under an old tablecloth. Taking it back outside, I sat back down next to Spike and plunked it down between us.

He saluted me with the cherry and tapped his ash off.

"Don't you have evil things to be doing?" I asked, my curiosity finally getting the better of me.

"Don't you have slaying to do?" he countered. The irony of it wasn't lost on either one of us. We might well have been saying to each other, "Shouldn't you be trying to kill me right now?"

"I'm not really in the mood."

"So you're the fourth monkey? 'Slay-no-evil'?"

I laughed; I couldn't help it. "Lame joke," I protested.

"You liked it," he remarked pointedly, taking a long drag on his cig and stubbing it out in the ashtray.

"Yeah, well, I like a lot of things I shouldn't," I shot back, and then realized what that sounded like and blushed. He raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

"Seeing as how I've felt more like the slayee than the slayer lately, it's kinda accurate."

His eyes darted to my midsection as I traced the outline of my bandage with a fingertip.

"Gwynmire demon?" he guessed.

"My own stake," I said ruefully.

He chuckled. "Now that's the very definition of poetic justice, love."

I couldn't argue with that, but I glared at him anyway.

"That the only reason you're off your game?"

"I've been worried about my mom," I said unthinkingly. He gestured for me to continue.

"She sick then?"

"A couple of weeks ago she fainted, in the kitchen," I explained. "She hasn't been feeling much better. She's had lots of headaches, been really tired, you know?"

He nodded. I couldn't believe he was actually listening to me like he cared.

"She went back to the doctor today without even telling me," I said, voice rising, "and there's . . . there's something wrong with her," I finished haltingly. I brought my hand to my throat and rubbed my thumb against my collarbone. "How could she not tell me?"

"She didn't want to worry you. Besides, her docs are just being cautious, you know what they're like," he reassured me, resting a hand on my knee.

I didn't pull away then, either.

"But she's getting tests, and staying overnight at the hospital. And I'm not supposed to think about that?" I heard my voice growing shriller but I couldn't stop it. "Maybe if she'd told me what was going on I could have done something, kept it from going this far."

Spike squeezed my knee and brought my attention back to him.

"Buffy- Slayer," he corrected himself, pulling his hand back. "If your mum is sick, she's sick. You couldn't do anything to help that. You can cook her dinner, do the chores, but you can't fight her illness. It's not a demon, not magic."

My chin trembled, and my voice came out so soft he wouldn't have picked up on it save the vampire hearing.

"I don't know how to deal with anything else."

"That's not true," he said immediately. "College, the bit, your friends- you're the first Slayer who's ever had a real life. This is just another part of that, is all. You can handle it."

"I'm probably also the first slayer in history to get a pep talk from the evil undead," I said, but I was smiling, however reluctantly.

"Why don't you go inside, get your things together, and go with your mum to the hospital. All right?"

"Okay," I replied. I got to my feet and he followed. I took a deep breath and looked at him squarely. "Thank you."

He nodded, and I slipped back inside the house, my heart beating so hard I'm sure he heard it.

What part of the dance was that? I hated him for being so damn insightful. Why had I never killed him? I'd had plenty of chances, and to be honest so had he. Somehow, neither one of us ever went through with it.

Maybe I didn't want the dance to end.


@}---}---- @}---}---- @}---}----



There's not even a fence.

I expected something. A sign, maybe. A government outpost. But there's just a red sports car and a hole in the ground, and a vampire with a soul and a wicked English accent standing next to it.

I park the bike next to what is most certainly Angel's car and dismount in one fluid move. He doesn't turn around. I set the helmet on the seat and pull my thin cardigan tighter around me.

A cigarette drops to the ground, the cherry catching my eye, before he stomps it into oblivion.

"Hello, cutie," he says, and as mixed-up happy-sad as I am, I can't help but smile.

"Should I throw a punch now?" I ask.

"Only if you want to." He glances back to me. "Which, on second thought, you probably do." On glimpsing my face his voice catches.

"I took out my violent impulses on Angel's desk."

He snorts. "Good for you."

"I'm not angry," I say suddenly, apropos of nothing. I carefully walk through the loose gravel to stand by his side. He doesn't look at me. I mimic his nonchalance and stare at the huge cavern at our feet. It's so big, I can barely see the other side. I think of Anya suddenly, her body never laid to rest, and have to resist the urge to go after her and make things right.

"You never were a good liar, pet." He risks a sideways glance and I catch it; it's all I can do not to swoon. I remembered him so well and not at all and he's so beautiful in the moonlight that I can barely take it.

"I'm just sorry," I clarify, fighting the urge to touch him. "I wish you had told me you were back right away, instead of waiting until I was with the Immortal."

He cringes at the name and rolls his eyes in an exaggerated gesture, but I let it go.

My voice lowers. "You don't think I deserved to know?" Slight shake, nothing too noticeable.

"What I think," he says sharply, "is that you deserved better then a vampire ghost with a get out of hell free pass."

"What?" I don't understand, and I don't mean the ghost part; Andrew filled me in on that particular back-story. "What do you mean?"

"What would I have said? Hey love, the whole sacrifice to save the world thing didn't take. Care for tea?" he says sarcastically, rummaging around in his pocket for another smoke.

"You think your coming back makes what you did meaningless? It doesn't," I say, shaking my head. "You saved the world. Some evil evil law firm brings you back, and you think what you did is worth nothing? It's everything," I stress my voice cracking. "They can't take that from you."

"They already did," he mutters.

"Is what I did meaningless? When I jumped through that portal?" I ask, and the shock of my words finally makes him look me in the eye.

"God, no," he answers unhesitatingly.

I extend my right hand and rest it lightly on his arm. "I came back."

"That wasn't your choice," he protests.

"It wasn't yours either," I shoot back, standing my ground. "You were just scared." I know it's the real reason he didn't come for me when he doesn't protest. I take a step closer, sliding my hand down his arm to fit neatly into his own. He starts at the intrusion, but after a minute he clasps his fingers around mine. "You don't have to be."

He lifts his wrist to look at our entwined fingers, and I think we're both half-expecting them to burst into flames again.

"I don't know where I was," he muses, rubbing his thumb lightly against my hand. "I don't know. Was it heaven, or hell, or someplace in between? Was I stuck in this hole?" He kicks the ground, sending a smattering of rocks over the edge of the cliff. "Maybe I should still be down there."

"No," I say strongly. "There's too many people down there already." I peer down into the abyss. I hate that I'll never pray at my mother's grave again, or a place a stone by Tara's and tell her what's going on in my life. A tear rolls down my cheek and I don't bother to brush it away. "People I love."

"But I was ready, Buffy. I'd heard the three words- I'd heard what I needed to. I was finished."

"Complete." We say it together, and when our eyes meet I see there are tears on both our faces.

"You weren't in hell, Spike." I wipe my eyes with the back of my free hand and offer a shaky smile. "But I can take you heaven if you let me."

He cocks his head. "That a promise or a come on?"

A slow smile spreads across his face and I can't resist. "Maybe both."

I glance once more at the remnants of Sunnydale. Seven years, just gone. The scars haven't healed yet for either of us, but I believe they will.

I tug lightly at his arm. "Let's go."

Hand in hand, we walk back to the car. "What should we do about the bike?" I ask.

"Leave it. Some peon can come fetch it tomorrow," he says, smirking. I slide into the passenger seat of the Viper and click my seatbelt. Spike starts the engine with a little too much glee and we take off down the PCH back toward LA. I rest my hand on top of his on the gearshift.

The moon is nearly full and I can see the high waves of the Pacific as Spike takes the curves at breakneck speed. The top is down and I inhale deeply, the salty air invigorating.

I miss being a California girl.

My hair whips around and whacks Spike in the face, making us both laugh.

"Deadly weapon you have there," he says, playfully tugging a strand.

"Pull over," I order, gesturing to a widening in the roadway.

He looks at me quizzically but obliges, slowing our speed and easing the car onto the shoulder next to a small outcropping of rock. The view is absolutely spectacular and I take a second to just enjoy it.

"What is it?" he asks. I shrug out of my seatbelt and lean in close.

"This," I say softly, and I kiss him.

He immediately cups my face in his hands and deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping between my lips. I push off the seat and swing one leg over to straddle him. He's already hard and I'm already wet and we've both been waiting for this for too damn long. I roll my hips slightly, making us both moan. Pushing my skirt up, he rips my underwear with one hand and pulls it off. I lick and suck at his right ear as he fingers my clit with just enough pressure to set my entire body on fire.

His left hand runs down my back and up under my shirt, tracing my shoulder blades. I kiss down the strong line of his jaw and back to his mouth, nibbling on his lower lip. I reach down between us to undo his belt buckle. He places his hands on my thighs to steady me. There isn't enough space for him to take off his pants so I rely on my signature move instead and yank down his zipper.

I pull my hand away for a second to slowly lick my palm and he watches me through heavy-lidded eyes. As I close my fingers around his cock he moans my name and thrusts his hips to meet my strokes, the slow, steady movement my hands have memorized. I know everything he likes and what'll make him scream, and I intend to do just that.

He closes his fingers around my wrist. "Not like that," he says conversationally, pulling my hand away. I wrap my arms around his neck, both of us breathing hard. He grabs my hips and lifts me slightly so I'm angled above him. I lick my lips in anticipation.

"Like this," he purrs, and thrusts all the way in. I cry out as he hits my g-spot, instantly tightening around him.

"My beautiful, beautiful Buffy," he murmurs in my ear and I melt instantly. I've missed the sound of his voice more than I ever thought possible. It can move me to tears or bring me to my knees, calls out my darkest secrets and desires with perfect cadence and rolling syllables.

I match the rhythm he sets, the contrast of marble skin and rough denim tantalizing against my flesh. He shifts slightly beneath me, allowing enough room for his knowing fingers to caress my clit with each upward move. Ten seconds and I'm gone, over the edge of the kind of orgasm I used to think only happened in porn until I invited Spike into my bed. I scream his name and feel him come at the sound of my voice, triggering a second orgasm that leaves me absolutely helpless.

I let myself fall forward against his chest and he wraps his arms around me. "That was . . . I don't even think they make a word for that," I finally say.

"Bloody amazing," he agrees, voice ragged, and I smile against his shirt.

After my breathing eases back to normal, I raise my head to meet his eyes. "By the way, you kind of threw me out of the Hellmouth before I could tell you."

He raises his eyebrows. "Tell me what?"

"I did mean it."

FINIS.