Four - Dreaming Of

"This is," Buffy said, "quite possibly the best meal I've ever eaten. Can I kidnap Gina when I go home?"

"Not a chance, luv," Spike chuckled. "Gina stays 'ere." He took a bite of pasta, savoring its taste and chewing slowly, then took a sip of his drink. "You'll just 'ave to set up a practice in Sunnydale, I guess."

"And lose all my pro sports clients?" she asked, incredulous. "Yeah, like that will happen. I'm staying put in NYC."

He sighed inwardly, but grinned. "Then Sunnydale'll 'ave to be your vacation spot," he suggested. "Sandy beaches, beautiful weather..." he said tantalizingly. "You'll 'ave the best tan in the practice."

"It does sound tempting..." she said, "... but what about Acapulco?"

"Acapulco?" he asked.

"Every year, Dawnie and I rent a beach house for a month in Acapulco. It's kind of tradition, you know? Four glorious weeks of tanning on a private beach, where we don't have to worry about tan lines..." she trailed off, sipping her water.

She's trying to kill me, Spike decided. By the end of her second month, I will be dead. "Sounds great," he mumbled, playing with the remainder of his meal. "Hmm," he muttered as the beginnings of an itch tingled on his left calf. He unconsciously lifted his leg and scratched at the tingling area, then lowered his leg again.

"Spike..." Buffy said, gaping at him.

"Yeah?" he asked, returning his attention to his meal.

"You just moved your leg."

~*~*~*~

"Are you coming or not?" Buffy asked impatiently.

Wish I were, his inner monologue supplied as Spike spoke up. "Yeah, yeah. Keep your shirt on, Summers, I'm comin'." He rolled out of his bedroom, shutting the door, then moved fairly quickly to the elevator. "I don't see why you're so wound up about this," he commented when they were riding down the elevator. "It's just a movie."

Buffy glared at him. "Look, buddy, you're the one who suggested it. We got the movie, and I want to see it."

"But do we have to watch it right now?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "It's not like you have something better to do," she responded as she flounced over to the entertainment system, popping the DVD into the player. "Now sit down, shut up, and let me watch my movie."

He maneuvered onto the couch relatively easily, sitting back and resting his left arm along the backrest. She plopped down on the other side, pressing 'play' on the remote. The opening credits began to roll, and throughout the duration of the film, her eyes were glued to the screen, capturing every detail of the film.

"Next time I choose the movie," Buffy said dully at the end, her mind hazy with depression.

"You liked it though," Spike insisted.

"Yeah, it was great. Television addiction, mental illness, nasty-ass track marks, and, hey! Even some gratuitous lesbian sex! What's not to love?" she said sarcastically, putting Requiem for a Dream back in its case. "It's a beautifully-made movie, but I think that it needs a warning label."

"Something like, 'don't watch this unless your therapist tells you that you can handle it'?" Spike suggested, hoisting himself back into the wheelchair.

"Perfect," Buffy replied. "Ready for a session?"

"Um, luv," he said, gesturing to his wheelchair and the room, "Not to state the obvious, but shouldn't we be in my room for a session?"

"Probably," she conceded. "Let's go."

They moved back into the elevator, taking it up to the second floor. "Think I can move my leg again?" he asked as they approached his closed bedroom door.

"Don't know," Buffy said. "But I'm aiming to find out, even if it kills us both."

"That's comforting."

[Three Years Ago ~ NYC ~ Spring]

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Buffy grumbled, straightening her dress. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and slipped into her shoes, turning toward Dawn, who was putting on her earrings.

"Fine," Buffy grumbled, eyeing Spike.

[End Flashback]

"Turned out to be a pretty good date, all things considered," Spike said, grunting as he pushed his foot against her hand.

"And the movie was good, unlike movies that some people rent..." Buffy teased.

Spike rolled his eyes. "You liked Requiem for a Dream, don't bother lyin'."

"Now that I'm mostly out of the depressed haze it left me in, yeah. It's a good movie." She picked up his other leg after placing the one she'd been working with back on the bedspread. "Push."

Beads of sweat popped up on Spike's forehead as he moved his leg against her palm. He relaxed a few seconds later.

"Great," Buffy commented. "We'll have you standing in no time."

"When do we get to use the bars?" Spike asked.

Buffy thought for a moment. "If you keep progressing at the rate you are now, I'd say next week sometime."

Spike smiled happily as she rotated his ankle. "So I'll be climbin' within months," he said wistfully, thinking of the mountains.

"One step at a time," Buffy said, rotating his other ankle. "First walking, then climbing."

"Yeah. But a bloke can 'ope, can't 'e?"

"Sometimes hope is all you have," Buffy said. "I remember this one patient I had. Professional racecar driver, got in a bad accident. I had to be the one to break it to him that he would never walk, let alone drive, again."

"Must be 'ard," he commented. "Tellin' folks that kind of thing."

"Luckily for you," she said, putting his foot down, "I didn't have to tell you any such thing."

~*~*~*~

The smell of lavender permeated the air around the pool room. Buffy sighed happily, sinking down into the hot tub a little further and allowing the jets of water to loosen her muscles. The voice of Josh Groban filtered through speakers hidden by large plants, washing over her. For Always was one of her favorite songs sung by him. The lyrics were very poetic. She hummed along slightly off-key, then dipped her head beneath the surface of the hot tub. She popped up, wiping water from her eyes and leaning back.

"For always, forever," she sung. "A thousand tomorrows may crest the sky..." She silenced, allowing his voice to take over the last few lines of the song.

"I'm not interrupting something, am I?" Spike asked from behind her. "I enjoyed your singing."

Startled, Buffy frantically reached for her bikini top, putting it on and fixing the clasp. "Nope, not interrupting," she said finally. "And thanks, but I like his voice better," she said, indicating the music that still played. "What can I do for you?"

"Nothin', thanks. I was just bored."

"You're not gonna make me watch another depressing movie, are you?" she asked.

"Nope. Just wonderin' if you'd like me to order a pizza for dinner." He paused. "Were you naked in there?" Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes...

"What makes you think that?" Buffy queried. "I was only topless."

That works too... "I was curious, is all," he said enigmatically. "So, pizza? Our other options are Thai or Indian."

"You seem set on pizza. Order away."

"What do you like?"

"Extra cheese and veggies," she said.

He made a face. "Vegetable pizza? Blech. Meat's the only way to go."

Buffy stood, climbing from the hot tub and wrapping a towel around herself. "So order half-and-half," she suggested, wringing out her hair.

"Yeah," he replied. "Good point."

Twenty minutes later, they were seated at the dining room table, munching on slices of pizza and drinking sodas. "So I was wonderin'..."

Buffy waited for him to finish his thought, but he didn't. "Wondering what?" she asked between bites.

"Nothin'," he hedged.

"No, you can tell me."

"It's not important," he insisted. "Never mind."

"You sure?" Buffy's expression changed from one of curiosity to one of concern.

He was silent for a moment. "Yeah," he finally said. "Yeah, it's nothin'."

Her brow furrowed, but she said nothing. "Dawnie said she might come out to visit sometime," she said after a few moments.

Spike smiled. "I'd like to see 'er. When's that Carlos bloke gonna do right by 'er, anyway?" he asked.

"They've set a date for September," Buffy replied. "Now Dawn wants me to go dress shopping with her. I think she wants to get both of our gowns out of the way at the same time."

"Both of your gowns?"

"Yeah. Maid of Honor." She frowned. "I guess that means I get the most work next to her and the wedding planner..."

An image of Buffy walking down the aisle of a magnificently-decorated church, dressed in a frothy white gown, flashed through his mind. He smiled dreamily.

"What are you so happy about all of a sudden?"

"Jus' thinkin' about the fact that I'll be able to dance with 'er at 'er weddin'," he lied. He raised his glass to his lips, taking a sip of soda.

"That'll be great," Buffy replied. "She'd love that."

~*~*~*~

Buffy stretched, yawning loudly. "I'm tired," she said blearily. "Think I'll head off to bed."

"G'nite then," Spike offered, remaining seated on the couch in front of the television.

She walked up the stairs slowly, shuffling down the hall and into her room, where she immediately pulled her tank top over her head. She dropped her shorts on her way over to the bed, then crawled beneath the covers. She tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position, and finally settled on her side with one arm beneath her pillow and the other grazing her stomach.

The latch of her door clicked and she sat upright, clutching the sheets to her naked breasts. Spike was silhouetted in the light from the hallway. He closed her door behind him, approaching the bed.

"Spike, what - " she began.

He cut her off by placing two gentle fingers against her lips. "Shh," he said, as he eased onto her bed and lowered his mouth to hers. One slightly calloused hand came up and cupped her cheek while he kissed her, his mouth exploring hers gently.

Buffy was too surprised to move for a moment, then she eagerly responded to his kiss, lips and tongue dancing with his. His tongue slipped between her parted lips, brushing against hers before swirling around it. Her hands came up, clutching at his shoulders and allowing the sheet to fall away. She let out a breathly little moan and fell back onto the pillows again as his other hand trailed across her shoulderblade and down, dancing over the flesh of her breast before enveloping it. His thumb brushed against her nipple and she gasped.

"Feel so good," he murmured, his lips leaving hers for a moment to trail down her throat, sucking on her pulse points. He moved atop her, and her thighs opened in response, allowing him to fall between.

"More," she whispered as his mouth trailed hotly downwards, teeth and tongue worrying sensitive flesh as he progressed. He dipped his tongue into her navel, sending spears of pleasure shooting through her as his mouth mimicked a deeper, more intimate penetration. She threaded her fingers through his hair as Spike's mouth traveled over her pelvic bone, his fingers dragging the sheet further down.

And then his lips and tongue were there and she gasped, her eyes open but unseeing as white-heat spiraled up and down her spine. Her entire body began to tremble as if electrocuted. "Spike... I can't... I..." she gasped, breaking off as she tensed up. A high-pitched, sobbing moan tore through her mere seconds later as she exploded in her climax.

Spike quickly crawled back up her body, situating himself between her legs. The head of his cock prodded her as his hips twitched, and he locked his eyes on hers, waiting for her permission. She nodded silently at her and he sank blissfully into her, his eyes rolling back and a heavy shudder vibrating his entire frame. He panted with exertion as he regained control of his senses. Resting on his elbows, he tilted his head and looked at her.

"What?" she half-moaned as he gave a shallow little thrust.

"Wake up," he whispered, his lips close to her ear. His hips began moving against hers, his thrusts deeper this time, but still unhurried. "Wake up," he said again, louder this time. "Wake up, Summers!"

"What are you talking..." she asked, trailing off as he vanished. She blinked, looking around. "... about?" she finished, noting her surroundings. She lay on the couch in the lounge, Spike sitting before her in his wheelchair.

"Finally," he said. "Little sis is on the phone."

Five - Waking Alone

"Wait, you've seen him naked how many times, now?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Dawnie... doesn't matter. Patient-therapist relationship, remember?"

"But he's a hottie!" Dawn insisted on the other end. "How many times?" she asked again.

"Like... twenty," Buffy admitted. "And yes, you incredibly nosy person, he is..."

"Big?" Dawn squealed. Buffy could practically see her bouncing with excitement in her seat in NYC. "Is he, is he?"

"How much caffeine has Carlos been letting you have?" the blonde asked suspiciously, stretching and standing from her place on the couch.

"I always wanted to see you two together," Dawn hinted.

"Gee, really? Because I didn't notice, what with you pushing us together at every opportunity," she snarked. "And besides, I've dated..."

"Who, Riley? Blech," Dawn spat. "He was about the most boring guy I've ever met in my life. All 'and on the farm we do this, and sometimes I like to milk my cows'... Plus, he always called me 'kid'."

"So?"

"Buffy, I was twenty-three."

"Good point," the blonde conceded. "Listen, I've got to go. The patient just came in."

Spike glanced at her, then returned to his perusal of the CD collection.

Buffy hung up just as the first strains of 'Just Got Wicked' by Cold began to play through hidden speakers in the room.

"What's with the scary rock?" she asked, an eyebrow quirked.

He shrugged, sitting back and listening to the music.

"Okay..." She stood up, hanging up the phone.

[Three Years Ago ~ NYC ~ Spring]

Buffy awoke and stretched, noticing immediately that the sheets rasped against her skin. It'd been a very long time since she'd slept naked, but she was willing to reason that with the amount of alcohol she'd ingested after the movie the night before, she'd stripped and been to lazy to find her pajamas.

Three weeks later, after having ignored his phone calls and flowers, Buffy heard from Dawn that Spike was planning to move to California.

[End Flashback]

Guilt thrummed through her as she remembered that morning, but she quickly shook it off, her eyes focussing once more on the tropical fish tank in front of her. She wrapped her arms about herself as she admired the fish.

The stereo abruptly turned off, starting Buffy out of her reverie. She turned toward the lounge, facing Spike as he exited. "You done getting angry?" she asked.

"Wasn't gettin' angry," he replied. "It calms me."

She shook her head amusedly, then turned back to the fish, sighing quietly.

"Somethin' wrong?" he asked.

"Just remembering..." she said, her eyes following an angelfish as it swam through the cool water.

He quirked an eyebrow. "Care to share, luv?" he asked. When she was silent, he continued. "C'mon, tell uncle Spike..."

"I never apologized, did I?" she queried, her gaze leaving the tank and falling on him.

"For..."

"That night. When Dawnie set us up, and we got drunk..." She trailed off. "I'm sorry."

"Why apologize now?" he wondered aloud.

She shrugged. "You know, the guilt thing... bad for your complexion."

His eyes widened with realization, and he smiled wickedly. "You still want me," he purred.

"Not likely," she retorted.

He chuckled. "You can tell me the truth, I promise I won't bite..."

Buffy turned to face him fully, placing her hands on her hips. "Oh yes, please Spike, impale me on your glistening love wand," she said in full monotone. She rolled her eyes and left him sitting in the hallway, his mouth agape.

~*~*~*~*~

"I want to go for a swim," Spike announced, entering the pool room, where Buffy sat in the hot tub. "Help me in?"

"Sure, but it might be interesting to get you back out."

"Pfft," he scoffed. "You'll just 'ave to manhandle me, luv."

Buffy stepped from the hot tub, and Spike took the opportunity to appreciate the way rivulets of water streamed off her body. He shook his head, his gaze returning to the pool.

"Let's get you in there," she said, her arms threading beneath his armpits and lifting him from the chair. She managed to drag him to the edge of the pool, his legs helping minimally, but when her heels hit the slightly raised stonework that ran along the swimming pool's perimeter, she lost her balance.

His arms tightened around her and he held on for dear life as time seemed to slow down. "Bloody 'ell!" he complained, taking a deep breath just before they toppled into the pool.

The two bottle-blondes fell into the water with a large splash, sending waves up over the sides. They sank quickly, and the water stung their eyes. Buffy looked wildly around, but with her grip on Spike, she couldn't move. She opened her mouth, and a flood of the chlorinated fluid entered her lungs, filling them. Spike panicked, wrapping one arm tightly around her. Using his other arm, he propelled them upward with powerful strokes, and they soon reached the surface. He gasped for air, and Buffy choked, coughing violently. Her back heaved and shuddered beneath his forearm as he pulled them toward the side of the pool.

He heaved her upwards, and she landed heavily on the stone floor, still coughing. She turned quite suddenly and vomited, most of the rank substance landing directly on Spike.

"Bloody 'ell!" he exclaimed, ducking beneath the water to rinse himself off.

"What happened?" Gina asked, running in. She noticed Spike as he returned to the surface a few feet away from the edge. The middle-aged housekeeper took one look at Buffy, who was curled in a fetal position on the floor, and ran to the towel cabinet. She returned to the trembling blonde woman, wrapping her in a large towel and helping her to her feet.

"Gina," Spike called as she led Buffy from the room.

"Yes?"

"Get someone to help me out," he requested, floating in a corner of the pool.

"Yes sir," she replied.

~*~*~*~*~

The wheels squeaked as Spike rolled into the lounge, a tray on his lap. His hair was wet from a shower. "Brought you some tea," he said softly, holding a mug out to Buffy. She was curled up on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her. Her hair, now slightly damp, hung about her still-pale face as she reached out with a shaking hand and took the tea from him.

"Thanks," she said raspily, sipping the hot drink.

They sat silently for awhile.

"So," he said suddenly. "I've decided to keep out of the pool until I can get in an' out m'self. You know, to keep from drownin' you."

"Yeah," she replied, staring at her tea. "Sorry I puked on you..."

He smiled tentatively at her. "Nothin' a shower couldn't get out," he replied. "Sorry I nearly killed you."

"But you saved me too..." she half-whispered.

"Not like I could let my therapist drown," he joked gruffly.

"Thank you," she said, sipping her tea again.

"Buffy - " he said suddenly. The undertones in his voice caused her to turn her gaze to him.

She studied him quietly.

"Nothin," he finally said.

She looked back at her tea.

"No, it's somethin," he decided aloud. "I really feel..." He cut off, then rolled closer to the couch, cradling her face with one hand and dropping a nearly chaste kiss on her lips.

He pulled back just as suddenly as he'd kissed her. Her eyes were wide, and he opened his mouth to apologize. She brought her hand up, shushing him with two fingers across his lips. "What was that for?" she asked.

Spike shrugged. "Maybe because I regretted not huntin' you down after that night three years ago," he replied, "an' doin' that."

"Oh," she replied, her eyes once again on the contents of her mug.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike's torso shifted as he tried to make himself comfortable on his bed. He took a deep breath, snuggling into the pillow as he exhaled.

"Mmm..." Buffy mumbled from next to him. "Can't sleep?"

He turned to face her, wrapping his arms about her. "No..." he murmured, burying his face in the crook of her throat. His lips ghosted over the sweet-smelling flesh he encountered there.

"You know, I hear the best cure for insomnia is - " she cut off as his mouth connected with hers, plucking at her lips. As his tongue flicked across her slightly parted lips, the fingers of his left hand trailed down her side, tracing each rib, then darting down into her navel, before reaching their destination.

His palm pressed into the small of her back, bringing her hips closer to his own. His lips left hers, trailing across her cheek to her earlobe as he arched his hips into hers.

Buffy's right hand traced down his spine, her left arm curling around his head and her fingers lacing through his hair. "I want you," she whispered.

"Want you too," he replied. He gazed at her, his blue eyes locking on her hazel ones. Nimble fingers wrapped about his cock, stroking it, and he moaned, his eyes rolling back.

Buffy brought the tip of him in contact with her dewy folds, draping her right leg over his hips. He teased her for a moment before thrusting inside with one slow, smooth motion. His eyes were on hers as he entered her, watching the play of emotions that flitted through them. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, then opened them again.

"Perfect," Buffy breathed as he tentatively moved within her. "You fit me... perfectly..."

He groaned harshly in agreement, pressing his forehead to hers as his hips twitched.

He rolled to his back, taking her with him and getting a firm grip on her hips. He then began raising and lowering her slowly. She soon caught the rhythm, and one of his hands ceased its guiding motions, reaching up and fondling a pert breast that hung enticingly before him. His thumb brushed across its hard crest and she gasped, her mouth falling open and her eyelids fluttering shut.

"Spike," she gasped, clutching his shoulders as he surged within her.

His throat worked spasmodically as her inner muscles squeezed him. "Oh God, Buffy..." he groaned.

Her eyes opened, staring near-blindly into his as her hips undulated against hers. "Spike, I'm..." she broke off on a moan.

"I know," he replied. "Let go, luv..."

She tensed, falling forward into his arms as her entire body spasmed, his name on her lips. Two more pumps of his hips and he followed her into orgasm, groaning and fusing his mouth to hers.

"I love you," Buffy gasped softly, nuzzling into his sweat-slick chest. She kissed one of his pecs, then snuggled against him.

"Love you too..." he murmured, his fingers trailing up and down her back.

They both fell into a deep slumber.

The next morning, Spike awoke alone. His sheets were uncomfortable, and when sat up, glancing down, he noticed a discolored area over his groin. "Bloody 'ell," he groaned, falling back and squeezing his eyes shut. "This 'as got to end."

Six - Jealousy

Two Weeks into Therapy

"Okay, when I tell you to, I want you to push against my hand," Buffy instructed, holding Spike's right foot.

Spike attempted to flex the muscles in his thigh that would propel his leg forward. There was no movement. "Well this works well," he commented. "I did it yesterday." He glared at his leg when it refused to obey him.

"Try again," she prodded.

Again, nothing.

"Hmm. Maybe tomorrow," she said, lowering his leg and lifting the left one. "Push." This time the pressure was strong, propelling her backwards slightly. She looked at Spike's face and saw that beads of sweat had popped up on his forehead in his exertion. "Relax," she said again.

"Must be left-legged," Spike commented, his tightly contracted leg muscles releasing.

"Yeah..." Buffy said as she placed his leg back onto the sheets. "You up for some more, or do you want your rubdown now?"

"Few more times with the other leg wouldn't 'urt," he said.

"You sure?" she asked.

"Yeah. Go for it."

She shrugged. "Okay..." she said as she hefted his right leg once more, cradling his calf in one palm and cupping the arch of his foot in the other hand. "Push..."

~*~*~*~*~

"Grraaahh!" Spike roared as his right calf siezed up, waking him. He grasped the trapeze bar overhead and pulled himself up until he was sitting in bed, and then, gritting his teeth against the pain, shifted himself over into the wheelchair, which he quickly rolled towards his door. He yanked the door open and propelled the chair down the hall, stopping outside Buffy's closed door.

He fisted his left hand and began to pound on the door, continuing until she yanked it open. She stood before him in a white camisole and panties, and if he'd been in less pain, he could've fully appreciated the view. "What's wrong?" she asked blearily. Spike gritted his teeth and pointed at his calf, not speaking. "Oh, god..." she mumbled, immediately falling to her knees in front of him and beginning to massage the fist-sized lump in his calf.

The wheelchair-bound man clenched his jaw, waiting for the pain to dissipate as Buffy continued to rub the cramped muscle. It slowly began to relax, and he sighed heavily. "Sorry I woke you," he said quietly, staring down at her while she worked.

"It's no problem," she replied, her hands still moving up and down his calf. Two more deep strokes into the muscle and the cramp was gone, and she looked up... directly at his naked groin. "Jeez!" she exclaimed, falling backwards on her butt. "Again with the nudity!"

"Sorry, luv," he chuckled. "Habit. Can't sleep in clothes."

Buffy rolled her eyes, standing. "All better?" she asked, forcing her gaze not to travel lower than his chest. Nice chest... her inner monologue admitted. No... I'm not supposed to think that my patients are attractive...

"Yeah. Thanks, luv." He turned the wheelchair, preparing to leave.

"Spike?"

"Hmm?" he asked, halting the chair.

"Goodnight."

"Night, Summers."

~*~*~*~*~

"Alright, Spike," Buffy encouraged, "You can do this."

"I bloody well can't," he argued, eyeing the parallel bars skeptically.

"You can rest all your weight on your arms if you want. That's what the bars are for. But," she huffed, "hurry up and make up your mind. You're getting heavy." She shifted her arms around his back slightly, redistributing his weight.

"I can't," he said again.

"Spike, if you grab hold of those bars right now, I swear I won't bug you for the rest of the day," Buffy promised.

Spike's arms slowly extended, his hands wrapping around the bars tightly. He locked his elbows and Buffy eased her arms away from his body. "I'm standin'."

"Yeah, you are." His knees buckled, and Buffy's arms immediately wrapped tightly around him. "Whoa there..." she soothed. "I've got you. The wheelchair is right behind you, if you need to sit down."

"Yeah, probably not a bad idea, luv," Spike responded, looking down at the top of her head. She lowered him to the chair, then rotated her shoulders and stretched the muscles of her arms out, wincing slightly. Spike noticed the small grimace and offered, "Want me to massage that shoulder for you, Summers?"

"You don't have to - " she protested.

"I want to." His expression was firm as he rolled backwards to give her room to get out of the bars. "C'mere," he coaxed.

Buffy sighed in resignation. "How do we do this?"

"Have a seat," he said, indicating his lap.

"Um..."

"I promise I won't bite," he chuckled. "Sit."

Buffy sat on his shorts-clad knees, and he immediately began to prod the flesh of her shoulder, pressing deeply into the muscle tissue. She hissed in pain as his hands reached the tender spot on her arm.

"Relax," he said, his breath fanning across the back of her neck, causing the fine hairs there to stand on end. "Spike's got you."

A tingle shot down her spine, and she stood suddenly. "Yeah, thanks. It's a lot better now," she said, stepping back. "I guess I'll leave you alone now." She turned toward the door.

Spike's hands dropped down to his lap. He cleared his throat. "Erm... luv... Buffy, I don't mind so much."

At the sound of her name, she halted and turned around. "Don't mind what?" she asked.

"You know... you hangin' about. I don't mind. Truth be told, it gets sort of... lonely 'ere." He looked up at her, his blue eyes mesmerizing.

Buffy tore her gaze from his, looking at a spot on the wall just above his head. "I was just gonna go downstairs and see if I could beat your Playstation, but if you want..." she trailed off, her hands gesturing in the air.

"I could kick your ass at Playstation, Summers," Spike declared, an evil glint in his eyes.

"Oh, really?" she asked, a perfectly-shaped eyebrow rising. "I'll have you know that I've beaten almost every guy I know."

He rolled over to his dresser, opening a drawer and pulling out a shirt, which he placed in his lap, then closed the drawer again. The threadbare tee with the Manchester United insignia printed across the front tousled his hair as he yanked it over his head. "Race you," he laughed, wheeling quickly out the door and down the hall. He stopped at the elevator, jabbing the button with his thumb, then rolled into the car, riding it down to the first floor. He got out of the elevator and made a sharp left into the lounge.

Buffy arrived just seconds later, slightly out of breath from sprinting. "You could've at least held the elevator," she complained. "Meanie." She walked over to where he was sitting, by the cabinet that held all his video games. "Let's play this one," she said, plucking an auto-racing game from the shelf.

Ten minutes later, Buffy exclaimed, "Hey! No fair!" as Spike's car cut her off, sending hers careening into a barricade.

He chuckled, steering the car through a few more obstacles. Buffy's car sped up behind his, and he now began swerving in an attempt to keep her from passing him. The track branched off ahead, a dirt road going off to the right, and Buffy veered onto it, speeding up to the highest that the car could go without flying sideways off the gravel. She squinted in concentration, speeding up just a little more as a jump appeared. The car flew over the jump, landing on the track just ahead of Spike's.

"Oi!" he shouted, braking slightly as she sped onward.

"Told you I was good at this," she said smugly as her red racecar crossed the finish line just before Spike's black one did. She jumped up and did a little victory dance, pumping her arm in the air. "That's seven guys who can't beat me." She sat back down in the easy chair. "Wanna play again?" she asked, grinning widely at him.

He was silent, gazing openly at her.

"What?" she asked, suddenly self-conscious.

"You're beautiful when you're happy," he murmured, his eyes on her mouth.

Buffy stood up and began to pace. "Not good," she said. "This goes against the doctor-patient ethics. Just because you're gorgeous and you think I'm..."

"Beautiful," he finished for her.

"Yeah, that, but it doesn't mean we can act on it. You're my patient, and it's just... wrong, and..."

Spike's hand shot out and grabbed her forearm, yanking her to him. He cupped the back of her head in his other hand, pulling her mouth toward his. "Shut up, Buffy," he murmured huskily, right before his lips claimed hers.

Their first kiss was gentle, lips tasting and caressing tentatively. They pulled apart, gazing into each other's eyes, before their heads dipped inward again for a second taste. Spike sucked Buffy's lower lip into his mouth, his tongue running back and forth over it, and she responded by opening her own mouth and allowing his tongue access. She climbed into his lap, straddling his thighs in the wheelchair, then wrapped her arms about his neck. The moment that their tongues touched, they began a passionate battle for dominance, thrusting and parrying in the warm caverns of their mouths. Buffy's hands travelled down to his chest, bunching the soft fabric of his shirt as one of Spike's hands snaked underneath her tank top and caressed the skin just beneath her right breast, then his fingers enclosed the soft mound of flesh.

They both moaned low in their throats at the contact, deepening the kiss. Lack of oxygen soon made them light-headed and they pulled apart for a moment, resting their foreheads against one another as they gasped for breath.

"Bloody 'ell," Spike whispered reverently, dragging a stray lock of hair away from Buffy's face with a shaking hand.

"Yeah," Buffy replied, burying her face in the crook of his neck as she attempted to regain organized thought. He kissed her earlobe and a delicious little shiver ran through her. "Stop that," she said weakly.

"Stop what, luv?" Spike asked as he sucked her lobe into his mouth, flicking it with the tip of his tongue.

The tips of Buffy's fingers trailed up across his neck. "Stop making me want to drag you upstairs and jump into bed with you."

"Why?" he half-moaned as his hard cock twitched from the imagery.

"Because it's wrong...?" she feebly argued, attempting to extricate herself from his embrace. She stood up. "I'm hungry, do you want something?" she asked, attempting to change the subject.

"I'm fine," he said, shaking his head.

"Yeah," Buffy agreed as she walked out of the room and toward the kitchen. She padded on bare feet into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and pulling out a pint of red raspberries that she'd asked Gina to make. She opened the plastic container and popped a few of the fruits into her mouth.

The telephone rang as she chewed. "Casa de Spike, what can I do ya for?" she answered.

There was a small pause, and then a polite female voice addressed her. "May I speak with William, please?"

"Sure. Hold on a sec." Buffy held her palm against the mouthpiece and shouted, "Spike! Phone!"

She was greeted with silence for a moment, and then Spike's voice echoed back to her. "I got it in 'ere! You can hang up now!"

Buffy pressed the 'talk' button on the cordless phone, setting it down on the counter. She ate a few more of the raspberries, then put the container back into the refrigerator and got herself a bottle of water, hopping up onto a barstool and unscrewing the cap. After taking a few absent sips, she closed the bottle and left the kitchen, going back upstairs to her room. She set the water down on her dresser, then shed her clothing and pulled on her bikini. She went back downstairs, preparing to do a few laps in the swimming pool. She walked into the pool room and was poised to dive in when Spike's voice stopped her.

"That was Dru," he said. "She's comin' out to visit."

"Oh," Buffy responded, diving under the water. She came up and began to tread water. "When?"

"Tomorrow."

"Neat," she said, taking a deep breath and allowing herself to sink to the bottom of the pool. She stared up, the water causing the glass room to appear as if it were the set of a surrealist film. Her lungs began to ache and she popped up to the surface again, ihaling the fresh air. "Guess you two will want some alone time then," she commented, shifting her weight so she floated on her back.

"Probably."

"I'll just... give you your morning session and then go to LA I guess."

Spike made a consenting hand-gesture. "You need a car?" he asked. "Go ahead an' take one of mine."

"Thanks." She dove beneath the surface of the water again, kicking furiously until she reached the wall at the shallow end. "Spike? What say we forget about what just happened in there?" she suggested, cocking her head toward the lounge.

"Yeah... if that's what you want."

"I just think it would be better... you know?"

"Yeah."

~*~*~*~*~

Drusilla Chapin strolled up the walkway at 8:30 AM, expensive sunglasses firmly planted on her nose. She rang the doorbell and then stepped back, folding her slender arms across her chest.

"Ah, Miss Chapin. So nice to see you again," Gina greeted kindly.

The brunette handed her coat to Gina. "Likewise, I'm sure," she said drily. "Where is William?"

"He should be in his room, I think," the older woman responded.

"Thank you, Gina. That will be all."

Gina nodded and watched as Drusilla walked purposefully toward the staircase, then sighed and carried away her coat.

The figure skater made her way down the hall, planning on waking her lover. She opened the door and quickly slunk inside the room.

"Buffy?" Spike asked blearily, hearing the door close.

"It's me, my pet," Drusilla purred, climbing onto the bed and straddling Spike's waist. "Did you miss your princess?"

"Dru?"

"Who else?" the brunette asked, nipping lightly at his jawline. "Do you have some time to play before the nasty therapist comes?"

"Yeah, pet. I do."

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy walked down the hall, carrying a tray laden with breakfast foods. She stopped at the door at the end of the hallway, turning the doorknob and swinging the door open. "Spike, wake up. I brought you some break - " she stopped speaking abruptly as she noticed the scene before her. Spike was very much awake, passionately kissing a petite brunette whose hands were roving all over his chest.

Spike broke away from Drusilla, inhaling shakily. He noticed Buffy standing frozen in the doorway, staring at them, and he spoke. "Buffy?"

"I'll just... come back later..." she mumbled, turning to leave.

"No, no it's fine," he insisted. "Dru, playtime's over..."

The brunette got off Spike and straightened her clothing, then turned to the blonde woman that still stood in the doorway. "Ah, you must be the therapist," she said. "Look, William, she brought us breakfast." She motioned for Buffy to come forward. "Well, don't just stand there," she snapped. "Bring it here."

"Yeah. Sorry," Buffy said, carrying the tray into the room. She set it down on the nightstand, clearing her throat. "Tell you what. Why don't we skip your therapy for the day?"

"An excellent idea," Drusilla commented, looking at Spike hungrily. "Run along now."

"Alright. I'll just go... go." Spike didn't get a chance to protest as the blonde woman left the room, then hurried to her own room and changed from her exercise clothes into a pair of dark blue flares and a white halter top. On her feet she wore black leather boots, and she slipped a pair of sunglasses onto the top of her head before grabbing a short leather coat and her handbag. She then walked stiffly down the stairs, straight into the kitchen. "No therapy session today," she said to Gina. "I need the keys to Spike's fastest car."

Minutes later the red Mustang convertible roared out of the garage and down the drive, the tires squealing as it turned onto the main road. Buffy unzipped her purse with one hand and pulled out a cell phone. She dialed and then held it up to her ear.

"Hey, Faith?" she said above the noise of the wind that whipped through the car. "You're still in LA, right? Wanna do something today?" There was a pause as she listened to the voice on the other end. "I'm on my way to the city... yes, right now... great. I'll be there in two hours."

Seven - First Steps

"Man, that Priscilla chick sounds like a total bitch," Faith called from the bathroom, where she was putting the finishing touches on her makeup for that evening.

"Drusilla," Buffy corrected. "And yeah, she's all holier-than-thou. It's really weird seeing Spike with someone that dominating.

"Bet you'd like to dominate him, B..." The brunette said slyly, emerging from the bathroom.

"What? I... no, of course not!"

Faith raised an eyebrow skeptically. "I've seen the guy on ESPN, hon. He's a hottie. If I didn't have Wesley... Let's just say I'd show up at his doorstep and beg him to let me ride him at a gallop until he popped like warm champagne."

"Hello to the imagery," Buffy said. "Very nice."

"You're picturing yourself doing it, aintcha?" Faith teased.

"Yeah," she admitted. "The look on his face when he..."

"You've done him?!" Faith was taken aback. "How was he?"

"It was three years ago," Buffy replied. "And we were both pretty drunk that night. I left before he woke up."

"Yeah, but how was he?"

"I don't remember much, but..." she hedged.

Faith folded her arms across her chest. "Stop avoiding the question. You screwed the hottest guy in professional sports. Let me live vicariously."

"He was the best I've had," Buffy finally said. "Ever."

"That's quite the admission. So why are you in Los Angeles instead of kicking the Ice Queen's ass?"

"Because he loves her and not me," she replied. "I screwed things up the first time, I know, and now I might not get another chance with him."

"B, you're depressing me," Faith said. "Let's go clubbing."

~*~*~*~*~

"My Spike..." Drusilla called quietly, poking his naked shoulder. "Wake up, Mummy needs to speak with you..."

He grumbled and rolled over onto his side, his eyelids fluttering. "Go 'way," he slurred tiredly.

"Wake up," the brunette said again, more sharply this time.

"What is it?" he asked, reaching up with his left hand and blearily rubbing his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"I don't think this is working for me anymore," she said. "When you could move your legs, you were so much more fun."

His eyes popped open. "What are you sayin', pet?"

"I've met someone," she replied. "I can't be with you anymore."

His mouth dropped open in shock, his eyes becoming steely and ice-cold. "Get out," he said quietly.

"I was hoping that we could have a little fun... you know, one last time?"

"Get. Out."

She uncurled her naked form and slipped from beneath the sheets, plucking her clothing off the floor and stepping into it. "So sad," she purred wickedly. "You could've had me one last time. But I guess now you can run off to your little Buffy and have her lick your - "

"You don't talk about Buffy," he said harshly. "Get the bloody 'ell out of my house."

She slipped into her shoes. "Goodbye, my Spike," she said.

"I'm not your anything, you bint. Get out." He pointed toward the door. "Now."

She slipped through the door and closed it softly.

"Graaaah!" he screamed, picking up an empty water glass and pitching it at the door. It shattered upon impact.

He rolled back onto his back and stared blankly at the ceiling.

~*~*~*~*~

The throbbing beat of a dance remixed pop song surrounded Buffy and Faith as they entered the club. Hundreds of gyrating bodies were packed onto the dance floor.

"Let's dance!" Faith called over the cacophony of the club.

"I need a drink first," Buffy replied, heading for the bar.

Three shots later, she was ready to bust a move. She and Faith pushed their way toward the center of the dance floor, immediately attracting attention. Buffy's miniskirt threatened to ride up every time she moved her hips, and Faith's halter top wasn't providing much coverage. Strong male hands trailed down the blonde's sides, and she attempted to turn to face him. He halted her movements and she shrugged, then continued rotating her hips suggestively. Her arms raised above her head, moving behind her and wrapping about his neck.

"Damn, B!" Faith shouted. "Way to reel in the hot-tay!"

Buffy flashed a brilliant smile, continuing to dance with the stranger. His hips ground into her ass as he pressed his chest tightly against her back. One of his hands pressed against her stomach, firmly travelling downward, and the other cupped her hip.

She leaned back into him, but he stepped away and she stumbled. "Whoa," she said, finding her balance. "That was..."

"Riley Finn," Faith finished.

"No way," Buffy said, her eyes widening at the thought of dancing with the television star.

"He's right over there," the brunette replied, pointing in the direction of the bar.

Buffy looked over and saw him dancing with another female patron, much in the manner that he'd danced with her. "I think I need another drink," she said. "Want something? I'm buying."

"Yeah," Faith replied.

~*~*~*~*~

"Where is she?" Spike asked testily, rolling back and forth in the hallway in the wheelchair. "I'm not payin' 'er to take m'cars out an' not come back."

The front door opened and closed. "Where were you?" Spike demanded, entering the foyer.

Buffy winced at the volume of his voice. "Not so loud," she pleaded. "Hangover."

"You drove my vintage Mustang with a hangover?! Sorry," he said, noticing her cringe once more. He softened his tone slightly. "But that was bloody stupid, Buffy. You could've at least called, or stayed somewhere until you felt better."

"I'm sorry," she half-whined. "But Faith and I went to a club, and then she brought a guy home, and the sound of them going at it kept me awake half the night. And then she didn't have any painkillers for the next morning. I just wanted to get your car home and crawl into bed, and not come out until next year."

He rolled his eyes. "If you damaged my car..." he threatened.

"It's fine," she said, wincing again when she emphasized 'fine'. "It's back in the garage, all gassed up."

"I'm sorry I shouted," he said. "I was just wor - "

"Where's Drusilla?" Buffy asked suddenly.

Spike gritted his teeth. "Dru an' I are no longer together," he ground out.

"Oh," Buffy replied. "I'm sorry. I know you loved her."

"Yeah..." he trailed off. "Well, off you go. 'M expectin' a session later this afternoon."

"Only if you have Tylenol," she said. "I'm gonna need it."

~*~*~*~*~

The parallel bars creaked slightly as Spike rested his weight on them. "I feel like a soddin' gymnast," he grumbled. His pecs and biceps rippled beneath his sweat-soaked skin as he shifted slightly.

"You're doing great," Buffy said encouragingly. "You've been up for almost a minute now. Need to rest yet?"

"What I need," he replied, "is to walk again." The muscles of his thigh contracted and he lifted his foot slightly, then shifted it forward and rested it back onto the floor. His eyes widened. "Cor..."

"You walked," Buffy gasped. "That's great!"

He attempted the same movement with his other leg, and soon he was standing close to a foot away from where he'd been standing previously. "I can walk," he said, grinning hugely at her.

Buffy smiled back, shuffling backward and glancing up at him. His eyes were focussed on her face. His left hand gripped the bar tighter, and he slowly shifted his weight to his left arm, then reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. "Thank you," he whispered.

The sexual tension in the room was nearly palpable, and Buffy attempted to alleviate it. "Told you I could get you to walk again," she said. "How about we get you back onto your bed so I can give you a rubdown."

He nodded. She hurried over to the nightstand, plucking a dry towel from it and then returning to Spike. She patted his skin dry, then wrapped her arms around his back. Their combined efforts soon had him on his stomach in the middle of his bed, waiting for his massage. Buffy grabbed the bottom hem of his nylon shorts and tugged them off him, and he flipped onto his stomach while she tossed the sweaty garment in his clothes hamper.

The lotion bottle protested loudly as Buffy squirted the last few drops into her palm. "Dammit," she groaned. "I'm all out of the unscented kind."

"What else do you have?" Spike asked.

"The only other lotion I have is peach-scented," she replied.

"There is no way that I'm gonna traipse around smellin' like an orchard in Georgia," he protested.

"Guess I'll have to make a little go a long way then," she said, wiping most of the lotion onto the back of his neck.

He cringed. "Oi! That's cold!" he complained.

"Baby," she teased. "It'll warm up." She took a tiny bit of lotion and rubbed it into his shoulders, then began to massage. "You're getting all muscley," she commented.

"Mmm," he grunted. "Dru didn't like that, 's I recall."

What is she, stupid? Buffy thought. "That's too bad," she said.

"So you 'ad fun last night, I'm guessin'?"

"Yeah..." she replied. "Went clubbing. Danced with Riley Finn. Got drunk."

"Riley Finn? As in the poofter in that daytime soap, what's it called...?"

"Blue Horizons, yeah," Buffy said.

Spike scoffed. "You don't fancy the bloke, do you? 'E couldn't act 'is way out of a wet paper bag."

"But he's a great dancer," she said slightly dreamily. She shook out of her reverie. "No, I don't 'fancy him'," she said in a horrible rendition of his accent. "We just danced."

He rolled his eyes. "Sure..."

A knowing smile spread on her face. "You're jealous," she realized aloud.

"What? No," he denied quickly. "Why would I be jealous?"

"I don't know... why would you?" Buffy slid her moist hands down his spine.

"Luv, 'snot polite to answer a question with a question..." he trailed off and groaned as her capable fingers worked at a small knot that had formed on his lower back the previous day, due to lack of massage.

One of her fingertips dipped into the lotion that still coated his neck, and she worked it into the tender spot carefully. "Maybe you're not," she replied. "Maybe this thing with Drusilla is still too fresh, and you're still..."

"She didn't love me," he interjected. "I was the hot new athlete, so she used me and discarded me like all the others. I knew what I was gettin' into when I started seein' 'er."

"Oh," Buffy said softly. "I'm sorry..."

"Don't be," he murmured. "Never loved 'er either. She was just convenient, y'know?"

Sarcasm laced her tone. "Well gee, Mister Broad, that sure makes you look like a great person." Her fingers slid lower, manipulating his buttocks and upper thighs slowly.

He turned his head, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. "She was a replacement... for someone I couldn't 'ave."

~*~*~*~*~

A low-pitched, dull thump awakened Buffy. She blinked a few times, and when a creaking sound filtered through her closed door, she rolled out of bed, pulling on a pair of soft, loose-fitting cotton drawstring pants and padded barefoot out into the hallway. The creaking came to her again, obviously emanating from Spike's room. She tugged on the hem of her light green camisole, then opened the door a crack. "Spike?" she asked, peering in. Her eyes widened when she saw him standing, nude, between the parallel bars, nearly three and a half feet from his wheelchair.

"What are you doing?" she asked quietly.

"Playin' soccer," he replid sarcastically, lifting his right foot and shifting it forward.

She quirked an eyebrow. "Naked?"

"Yeah, well... I was considerin' becomin' a nudist. Not much sense wearin' pants if I never go anywhere." He grinned at her, then stepped forward with his left foot.

Buffy ducked beneath one of the bars, coming up between them and facing him. "Think you can stand without the bars?"

"I'll try anythin' once," he said, shifting his weight on his feet and then slowly releasing the bars. His knees locked and, though he swayed a bit at first, he stood fairly steadily.

Buffy's gaze locked on his pecs, and Spike noticed. He reached out with his left hand, tucking a finger beneath her chin, then lifting it. His eyes were on hers as his mouth inched toward hers. He moved slowly enough to allow her to pull away if she wished, but there seemed to be a magnetic pull between their lips, because Buffy found her own mouth gravitating toward his as well. Wrapping one arm about her hips, he pulled her close, and his lips descended onto hers. Their eyelids fluttered closed as they kissed softly, both of them tasting a hint of the fire that lay just beneath the gentle contact of mouth to mouth.

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