The sound of cars honking pulled Buffy from a deep sleep. Brushing stray locks from her face, she turned to look at the clock that sat on her bedside table. 2:47pm. Not bad, she thought. I’d call that a pretty good sleep. She turned back to the other side of the bed and was surprised to find it empty. Whoa--since when was she used to sharing a bed?!

Still sleepy, she pulled herself to a sitting position, leaning back on her arms, trying not to slip on the satin sheets. Hetty was really taking this honeymooners thing seriously--they kept finding more strawberries in the fridge, they always had satin sheets lining the bed, and there was always a fresh bouquet of roses on the entrance table. Not that Buffy minded in the least. It was nice to be pampered--she could easily get used to it.

The curtain at the foot of the bed was drawn closed, so she couldn’t see the living room but neither could she hear anything. Maybe Spike had gone out. In broad daylight? Not bloody likely, as he’d say. But then again, the car’s windows were tinted...

She let her legs drop off the side and hopped off the bed. She’d never stop wondering at the height of the bed--it made her feel like a little girl. Kind of like that lady in Sesame Street who sat on that really big rocking chair. When she turned towards the living room, she spotted Spike sitting very still on the couch, watching the TV with his hands clasped together between his legs. The fact that he sat there in only his flannel bottoms told her that he hadn’t been out anywhere.

The young woman quietly approached the vampire, expecting a witty greeting of sorts, but none came. When she sat next to him she noticed that his eyes were rimmed in red, as if he’d been crying. She followed his gaze and saw that he wasn’t staring at the TV--it wasn’t even on--but at a point just beyond it. Before she could ask him what was wrong, his voice broke the room’s silence.

“Had a dream, I did,” his eyes remained glued to whatever it was he was looking at, if anything.

Not knowing where this was leading, Buffy became cautious. “What kind of dream, Spike?”

“’Bout the people I killed.” His voice cracked as he elaborated. “All of them--all the women, the children, every single one of ’em. Hundreds, thousands, all judgin’ me. All walking in front of me, looking at me like something you’d scrape off your boot, spittin’ on me like I deserve...” Tears silently tracked down his cheeks. “And she was there, too. Tellin’ me that I’m just a monster. That it’s useless for me to think otherwise, to try to act differently.”

Buffy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Spike was feeling guilt. Genuine heart-wrenching, nightmare-inducing guilt. Tentatively she reached out and placed a hand over his, causing him to flinch but not to pull away. As softly as she could, she asked. “Who, Spike? Who was there?”

The vampire sniffled. “Hilary. She was so cross with me...”

“Spike--look at me.” When he didn’t comply, the young woman cupped a hand on his cheek and turned his face towards her own. Haunted blue eyes met caring hazel. “You saved Hilary’s life, Spike. She doesn’t hate you--she has the rest of her life to look forward to and she knows that that’s because of you, because of the risk you took to free her. And after this morning’s teary farewell, I would have thought that you knew just how much you mean to her.”

“But...” The vampire tried to break the hold her gaze had on his, but her hand held his face across from hers.

“No. No buts. William Sinclair, you’re going to listen to me and you will not interrupt.”

Spike flinched at the use of his human name but knew better than to try to go against the Slayer’s wishes. He blinked slowly, trying to rid himself of the tears that hung to his lashes.

Buffy’s free hand came up to his face and, using her sleeve, she gently wiped the tears from his eyes. “You did a lot of horrible things over the past century--there’s no denying that. Bloodshed, torture, I’m sure I can’t even come up with the half of it. But...”

A wry smile appeared on the vamp’s face. “You said no buts, pet.”

The Slayer’s eyes narrowed and she fought back a smirk. Stupid smart vampire. “Shush! I’m trying to be all speechy here and I’m not usually good at this kind of thing. I’d appreciate it if you let me muck it up on my own.” Her hand dropped from his cheek and she clasped his hands in between her own.

“But the person I have in front of me, the man who’s sitting on this couch with me--he’s no longer the monster he once was. He put his differences with his mortal enemy aside to help save the world--twice, he saved a young woman instead of letting her suffer, he soothed a nervous Slayer on her first airplane ride... The man I’m with is someone who’s changing for the better, someone who I’ve come to really enjoy being with.”

Spike looked at her with a curious expression on his face, brow furrowed and lips pursed, but he didn’t say a word. He truly wanted to know where Buffy was going with this speech.

The young woman took a deep breath and smiled. “You can be a good man, Spike--I... I believe in you.”

Her words undid his resolve. He looped his arm around her waist and pulled her into a straddle on his lap. Holding her tightly against himself, he buried his face in the crook of her neck. He took comfort in the proximity of her body, all warm and alive--blood rushing through her veins, heart pumping furiously. It was, to his senses, the sound of life--something that he chose to bask in, instead of trying to end it.

If she’d been anyone but the Slayer, Buffy was sure that his grip would have cracked a few ribs. Her heart sank at the desperation of this man. Where did all these feelings come from? Had they just surfaced while they’d been on their mission, or had they been with the vampire all along? He knew that he’d never fit in with his ’family’--he continued to eat regular food, continued to read poetry. Had his violent nature simply been an outlet for all these feelings, too confusing for the demon to handle?

She wiggled out of his hold, feeling a damp area on her neck where his face had been nestled. She put a finger under his chin to bring his eyes in line with hers. If she was to go through with this, she had to look him straight in the eyes.

“When I look at you, Spike, I don’t see a monster. What I see is someone who went out of his way to treat me like a queen at the airport, buying me food and stuffed animals, even though he was still supposed to hate me, then. I see the man who went to the trouble of making me some chocolate-covered strawberries even though I’d treated him like shit just a few minutes before. And most important, I see someone who trusted me enough to share his deepest secret--the secret of who William Sinclair really was--with me, even though I could always use it against him when we returned back to Sunnydale. I see a caring individual, a romantic and a poet. The man I see in front of me, Spike, is a man I want to help become a better person. If you want me to, I’ll help you–I’ll be there for you.”

***

At her words, the vampire’s undead heart swelled. He wanted to crush his lips to hers--take her there on the couch and have his wicked way with her. All their intimacy up to date had been hectic and frenzied. But he wanted to act like the man she saw in him. He was becoming a right ponce but if it got him the girl, what did it matter?

Cupping his hands over her shoulders, Spike pulled her in for a soft, chaste kiss. His lips danced across hers, cool velvet brushing against warm softness. His tongue darted out, tracing her lower lip, seeking permission for a taste of his Slayer. Her mouth opened, granting him the entrance he sought.

Buffy couldn’t help but moan when his tongue brushed against hers. After their track record with foreplay she’d expected their first time to be less slow, less gentle. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d taken her on the kitchen counter. Of course, they did have all day...

His hands slid to the buttons at the front of her pyjama top, deftly popping them open one by one until the article hung loose off her slight frame. Calloused fingers slid back up her taut stomach, up the valley between her breasts, and up to her shoulders, sliding the fabric down her arms.

Buffy’s mind never really registered that as Spike worked at removing her top, their lips were yet to part. She wiggled out of the sleeves, letting the top drop to the floor. In any other circumstance she would have been self-conscious at being in such a situation with a man, breasts exposed, in broad daylight. Sex was something to be had in the cover of night--or so it had been, for her. However, sitting on the couch with Spike--or rather, sitting on Spike, on the couch--she felt excited, like it was just the beginning of something that was to be amazing, that would be a revelation.

When Spike finally broke the kiss, lips still parted to let out the short quick breaths his lungs were expelling, his eyes remained focused on her face, on the beauty of his flushed Slayer.

Buffy brought a hand up to his face, lightly tracing his full bottom lip with her index finger. “Do you have any idea how much that turns me on? Feeling your cool breath on my hot skin, watching your chest rise with every breath--it makes me want you so much...” The time for being timid had passed and Buffy knew it. Now they had to be open, honest-- with one another and with themselves.

Spike took her finger in his mouth, taking it in all the way. Her hazel eyes were clouded with lust, her mouth was slightly parted, and a sheen of perspiration glistened on her exposed skin. To his eyes, she was the most exquisite creature he’d ever seen.

And they hadn’t even done anything yet.

The Slayer’s voice, roughened with desire, broke through the fog that had settled in his mind. “Maybe we should take this somewhere more comfy, like the bed perhaps?”

With a husky voice to match hers, the vampire managed a “good idea, pet” before standing, still holding her to him. He walked them over to the bed, laying her across its width. Stretching his powerful body over hers, he placed a small kiss on her nose before sliding down to her breasts, which he’d neglected all too much for his taste. Resting his weight on his arms, he lowered his mouth to one breast, dragging the tip of his tongue up its underside, causing Buffy to shiver in excitement.

Using one knee, he nudged her legs apart, placing his thigh in between them. Keeping in synch with the movement of his tongue he pressed up against her centre, providing constant friction to keep her incoherent.

Spike was being pulled in two directions at once: half of him wanted this foreplay to last for days, the teasing and the taunting reaching torturous levels, but the other half wanted to rip her pj bottoms off and sink himself into her moist heat.

The combination of Spike’s lips on her breast and his thigh at her centre were driving Buffy insane. She was sure he was planning on teasing her to a premature death. Deciding that enough was enough she found the strength to flip him onto his back. His eyes went black with lust; guess he likes a bit of the rough and tumble, she thought to herself as she tried to regain control of her body.

Grinding her pelvis against his, she let herself down and lightly bit one of his nipples. He whispered “vixen” through clenched teeth, but didn’t move to push her away.

This was new for him. Spike had always been the one in charge. Dru had been the meeker one, preferring that her lover take charge of things. And with Harmony? Well, best not to even think of her. But he should have known that with the Slayer he’d have one hell of a tug-of-war on his hands.

All coherent thought escaped his mind when he felt her tongue dip into his navel, tracing its outline.

Buffy’d never been this brazen in bed before. But with Spike, she knew that there would be no holding back. Take what you want, don’t worry about the super strength, and just enjoy the ride. She slipped her index fingers in the waistband of his flannel pants, following their descent with her tongue. Spike tried to still her actions, grasping at her head with his hands, but she just swatted them away, lifting her head to give him a dirty look that said “don’t disturb me.” His response was a wide grin, his hands returning to play with her hair.

She brought her gaze back to his midsection, returning her fingers to his waistline. Wet kisses followed the pants’ downward path, causing the vampire‘s breath to hitch and his muscles to flex. When the Slayer’s mouth reached the base of his cock, she looked him straight in the eyes, leaned back, and slid off the edge of the bed.

Spike’s brow furrowed. What on earth was she doing? Surely, she wasn’t going to tease him like that and just leave him wanting, needing...

When her feet touched the ground, Buffy took hold of Spike’s pant-legs and pulled hard. The flannel bottoms came off easily and Spike lay there, in all his natural glory, for her eyes only. Her eyes drank in every inch of him, every twitching muscle, every pale scar. He was perfect. She dragged a finger up the sole of his foot--she had to maintain physical contact with him, just in case he’d fade away.

The Slayer’s unabashed admiration of his physique increased Spike’s arousal, if that was at all possible. Eyes black with desire, mouth twisted in that half-cocked smirk of his, he dragged a finger up his chest. “Like what you see, pet?” He was vain and he didn’t care. When she nodded, he knew that she was as affected by him as he was by her.

Buffy stood there, slack-jawed, and there was nothing she could do about it. She tried to move, tried to say something, but she found herself rooted on the spot. Finally forcing herself to snap out of it, she motioned for him to move so that he was lying lengthwise on the bed. “That’s better” she purred as she made her way to the foot of the bed, reclaiming her spot at his feet.

She moved up his body, placing open-mouthed kisses on the inside of his legs, feeling the taut muscles twitch under the pressure of her tongue. At his thighs, she licked and bit alternately, driving the vampire halfway to madness. When she reached his erection, she teased him, kissing around its base and letting her hair tickle his thighs before dragging her tongue up its marble length. She heard his gasp as his entire body went stiff, and he mumbled “bloody fuckin’ hell...”

Spike was afraid of losing control. Hell, he was right on the verge of shooting his load and she hadn’t even taken him in her mouth yet. He wanted to see how long he could last, how well he could please her, bring her to the brink of ecstasy and back over and over again. “Don’t” he pleaded, afraid that she wouldn’t stop, that he’d disappoint her. So much for vampire endurance, you git.

So much meaning in one word. It was, all at once, a request, a plea, and an order. But Buffy would have none of it. She sat back on her haunch, tracing lazy circles on his inner thigh with one hand while bringing her other to play with her breasts. “Why not, Spike? I really wanna.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck! He knew she was playing him. The coquettish pose, the innocence in her voice--she may not have had the experience he did, but she knew what she wanted and she knew how to get it. “Because I won’t be able to last, love. Matter of fact,” he stared up at the ceiling--looking anywhere but at the golden goddess lounging between his legs--and let out a frustrated chuckle, “it’s taking everything I have not to lose control right this instant. You’ve got me so worked up, you’re so unbelievably breathtaking...”

“Then why not let yourself fall over the edge, Spike? I want to give, you want to take... Or should I say I want you to give and you want me to take?” She dragged a fingernail up the underside of his erection, never breaking eye contact. “If I want to put my hot little mouth on your long, hard cock, and if I can take everything you have to give, every... single... drop..., then why fight it?”

Spike couldn’t think straight. Any remaining coherence fled his mind at hearing the Slayer describe giving him the blowjob of his unlife. His demon asked the same question that Buffy had: Yeah, mate, why fight it when she wants it as bad as you do?

So he did what any self-respecting male would have done in his position--he begged. “Oh fuck, Buffy, please...”

Without saying a word, Buffy lowered her mouth to his cock and gave it one long, slow lick, pausing to tease the little sensitive area just below the head. She looked up and saw that Spike’s head was thrown back and he was gripping fistfuls of sheet.

Female pride surged through her--she had hardly even begun yet and already she had worked him into a frenzy. Circling her lips around the head, she took him in almost all the way, flicking her tongue against his sensitive skin.

The bleached blonde was certain he would go insane at the sensations the Slayer’s tongue and mouth were causing. Moist heat against cool marble, she coaxed out of him a cacophony of broken sentences. “Yeah, pet, right there...”, “unh Buffy, so hot--so perfect...” and even the occasional “Christ! Where d’you learn to do that?!”

The young woman could hear her lover’s breathing grow more rapid, and even if she was the one on the doling end it still turned her on like he could never imagine. Her own breathing was erratic and desire pooled at the apex of her thighs. His nerves began to twitch and she knew that all control was about to be tossed aside. Pulling her mouth off him, she blew cool air on his exposed shaft, smiling when a weak “no” escaped his lips. Then, before he could register what was happening, she took him in completely in one long downward thrust, replacing the coolness of her breath with the scorching heat of her mouth. For added torture, she contracted the muscles at the back of her throat, massaging his erection.

That was what set him over the edge.

Spike had planned on giving her a last-minute choice of backing out. Really, he had. A tug on her hair, a quick warning, anything at all that he could come up with in that very short moment of coherence before his mind would go blank. But when she took him in completely, doing that thing with her throat, well--his last-minute moment of coherence disappeared entirely.

He came hard, roaring as his demon came to the forefront. His whole body arched off the bed, the muscles in his arms and legs straining. Buffy held his hips steady, palms pressing his pelvis in place. Her lips never left him; not until the last of his convulsions were over did she slide her mouth off his still-hard shaft.

Through hooded eyes, the vampire watched her sit back, licking her lips like a cat who’d been fed cream. Which she had, in a way, he thought to himself. She had an odd look on her face, like she was trying to figure something out. He thought hard, trying to recall what that look, not quite serious, not quite smiling, reminded him of. Ah! The Mona Lisa--that was it! When she finally settled on a smile, he asked her what was up.

You are, still, she thought to herself, bemusedly. “Not that I mind, but you’ve gone all fangy.” She traced an imaginary circle around her own face, trying to convey the message.

So he’d lost control more than he’d believed. After the blowjob she’d given him, he wasn’t surprised. He shook the demon away and pulled her to him, placing her beside him so they lay face to face, body to body. “Sorry I didn’t give you an out, there, love, but that thing you did at the end? Bloody spectacular, it was. Where’d you learn to do that? They offering classes on that in college, now?” He laughed as she swatted him.

“I don’t have much experience in... in that. None at all, actually.” Buffy blushed and hid her face in the crook of his neck. She couldn’t believe that she was talking to him about this. Even weirder was the fact that she’d been less coy performing the act than discussing it.

The vampire pushed her back gently so he could see her face when he spoke to her. “Look at me, love. There’s no need to be ashamed--that was the best blowjob I’ve ever had. And I’m not lying to you. Now I wonder, though,” he said, a wry smile forming on his lips, “if that’s a Slayer talent, or just 100% Buffy Summers?”

The young woman unsuccessfully fought back the smile that tried to appear on her lips. “Well, since I doubt oral sex is a standard Slayer feature, I’m gonna have to go on a limb and say that it’s all Buffy. Every. Single. Lick.”

Spike muttered a “good” before leaning in and placing a kiss on her lips. He pushed her onto her back and began a downward trail of kisses. “My turn, love. ’Cept I have to admit this won’t be my first time--been doin’ this for over a century.” He watched her eyes grow and added. “Hope that’s ok with you.” She simply nodded, never taking her eyes off the vampire perched between her legs.

***

She’d never been so vulnerable--naked, in an awkward and very intimate position with no weapon handy. Yet she’d never been so at ease, so sure of herself and of what she was doing. She was with the man she loved... to be with. Loved *to be with*--that’s it. Sighing contentedly, she lay her head back against the pillow as she felt his tongue trace invisible designs on her inner thighs.

All sorts of poncey poetry about ’sweet nectar’ and ’love’s ambrosia’ flitted through his mind as Spike’s tongue worked its way towards the Slayer’s very wet centre. He licked up and down her folds, deftly avoiding her swollen clit. It seemed that her initial foray into oral sex had turned her on nearly as much as it had him, as she was dripping wet.

She moaned, she groaned, she cooed--she even wove her fingers through his hair, pressing his head closer to that little bundle of nerves that remained, as of yet, ignored. But nothing she tried worked. Buffy so desperately needed him to relieve the pressure she felt between her legs or she was going to explode. He hadn’t been lying when he’d mentioned over a century of practice. She was sure no man alive would be able to do the things he was doing to her, or make her feel as hot as she did.

Only when he threatened to tie her up and drive her absolutely insane with desire did the Slayer pull her hands away from him, gripping the headboard instead. She hoped against all hopes that she didn’t break it. Ugh, try explaining *that* to Hetty...

Satisfied that Buffy was keeping her hands to herself--nerve of her, tryin’ to tell me how to do my job--Spike continued his teasing, bringing his mouth to her thighs as punishment, licking, kissing and nibbling the muscles that were drawn taut. He returned his tongue to her centre, licking up and down her folds, still avoiding her clit. The string of curses and pleas that came from the Slayer’s mouth told him that he was right in making her wait. Of course, when it came to the art of cunnilingus, when was he not right?

While the Slayer was mewling and writhing, lithe body twisting on top of the sheets, the vampire thrust a finger into her sopping entrance, feeling for that most sensitive spot inside of her. Inserting a second digit, he began pumping them in and out at the same rhythm as his tongue’s ministrations. When he knew that she could no longer take the torture, he finally flattened his tongue against her clit, dragging it slowly across the raw bundle of nerves. This elicited a throaty “oh!” from the young woman. Having ignored this part of her for so long, he began to concentrate in earnest on pleasuring it as thoroughly as possible–circling it with his tongue, sucking it into his cool mouth, biting down ever so lightly...

Even as her brain was muddled with the sensations of what Spike was doing to her, one particular thought seeped into Buffy’s mind: they should teach this in school--Orally Pleasing a Woman should be a mandatory course for all guys. Of course, not all guys would have over a century of practice... The cool of his tongue should have helped with the inferno she felt down there, it really should have--but it just made her burn even more. Even the feel of his fingers caressing the insides of her thighs was making her delirious. It seemed like every part of him that was touching her--fingers, tongue, even his nose--was being used to heighten the sensations that were pulsing through her.

He’d kept his actions deliberately slow, but Spike knew that the young woman was close. Her blood pumped furiously in her veins, her heart beat a staccato rhythm and her limbs were beginning to twitch. He pulled his fingers from her, replacing them with his tongue, darting it in and out of her. Pressing his thumb and index finger to her clit, he pinched and rubbed it, making the Slayer keen even louder.

Although the pressure had been building for what seemed like forever, Buffy was taken a bit by surprise when the wrenching heat of an intense orgasm hit her. Losing all vestiges of lucid thought, arms and legs having gone numb, she saw a flash of bright light behind her lids as her eyes automatically closed. As the sensation of being turned inside out ripped through her, she let out a wail.

Spike struggled to keep the Slayer’s thighs from crushing his head as her muscles seized from her orgasm. He greedily drank the juices that were now flowing freely from the young woman. When he felt the last aftershocks pass through her, he sat back on his haunch and observed the woman before him.

Golden hair splayed across her pillow, arms outstretched to her sides, legs spread seductively, chest rising rapidly--despite all attempts to resist, her beauty inspired the poet in him.

He searched the recesses of his brain to find words that could represent how this young woman made him feel. A poem he’d once read, shortly after having been turned, made its way to the forefront of his consciousness. He wouldn’t dare recite one of his own poems--if anything could break the spell they were both under, it would be one of his own pathetic attempts at writing.

He licked his lips and averted his eyes, choosing instead to concentrate on the bedsheets.

“I think of thee in watches of the night,
I feel thee near; Like mystic lamps consumed with too much light
Thine eyes burn clear.

The barriers that divide us in the day
And hide from view,
Like idle cobwebs now are brushed away
Between us two.

I probe the deep recesses of thy mind
Without control,
And in its inmost labyrinth I find
My own lost soul.

No longer like an exile on the earth
I wildly roam,
I was thy double from the hour of birth
And thou my home.”

Who was this man before her? Was he really, truly the same Spike she’d always known? The violent, cocky, razor-tongued vampire seemed to have turned into the caring, giving, romantic man who was presently kneeling between her legs, face awash in her juices, reciting poetry to her. Buffy had hung on to every word he’d spoken--the words came as naturally to him as breathing did to her. Her heart skipped a bit as it dawned on her--she really was falling for him. She swallowed. “Did you write that?”

The vampire let out a laugh. “No, pet. Some bird called Mathilde Blind wrote it. I put it to memory because it just seemed to suit me. You don‘t want to hear what I wrote--we‘ll wait until we‘re both drunk and neither of us will remember any of it.”

She smiled at him. Finding her voice, she whispered “thank you--it was beautiful” before stretching her arms out in front of her, in silent beckoning.

***

When her immediate reaction had been silence, Spike was afraid that she was trying to hold back laughter--at him, and at the poetry. But the soft look in her hazel eyes, locked with his clear blue ones, told him otherwise. So did the genuine “thank you” that came from her perfect lips and the outstretched arms she held out to him. There was no ridicule, no malice--for once he’d been right in going with his natural instincts.

He leaned forward and lay his body over hers. Both were shaking with need, with anticipation, with lust, but never were they so sure about something. Gazing into the depths of her eyes, Spike was sure that he could actually see Buffy’s soul. Without a word, he pressed the head of his erection against her soft opening. Waiting for her nod of consent, he slowly slid into her, her searing heat engulfing him.

It was as if he was on fire, as if he were being turned inside out. He paused when completely sheathed, unconsciously holding a breath he didn’t need, feeling her inner muscles clamp around him like a hot, wet fist. He watched her lips part slightly, her eyes glaze over, and felt her shift in order to better accommodate him. Never breaking their gaze, not even to kiss--lots of time for that later--he began to move his hips, slowly pistoning in and out of her.

The look Spike had on his face affected her more than anything else at that moment: more than his hard body pressed against hers, more than the friction of his shaft as it slid in and out of her--even more than the short, shallow pants coming from his parted lips. His eyes shone of awe, of tenderness, of love. They pierced her right to her soul. And although he didn’t have one, she felt like she could see something akin to a soul. Perhaps it was William, or whatever was left of him.

Buffy wanted to spend the rest of her life in bed with this vampire, and the thought didn’t scare her in the least--heck, it didn‘t even phase the Slayer in her. What kind of woman would turn down the opportunity of being loved like this forever? It sounded corny even to her, but she’d never felt anything like it. He was big, but not to the point of it being painful for her--on the contrary, the way she stretched around him allowed her to feel every twitch, every pulse of his cock as he slowly pumped inside of her. Although his intense stare never wavered--it was as if he didn’t want to miss any of her emotions--his hands busied themselves, tracing the contour of her arms, her breasts, her neck. He paused at the bitemarks that were now clearly his, gently dragging the pads of his fingers over them. She didn’t understand how, but this created a sensation of its own, which shot straight to the apex of her thighs.

She drew her hands up to his face, feeling the need to mirror her lover’s actions. She traced the angular lines of his cheeks, the soft curve of his lips, the small scar in his left eyebrow. Her breath hitched as he pressed his pubic bone against her clit, eyes dancing with mischief.

As he lay with Buffy, two bodies as one, Spike realized that this was the first time he’d truly made love to a woman. He’d tried so often with Dru but she’d never had the patience--Angelus had created in her a penchant for the wild and painful. And with Harmony... Well, you had to at least like someone to share something this special with them. His eyes rolled back as Buffy wrapped her legs around his waist, driving him even deeper inside of her.

The sensations her body was feeling were too much for the Slayer. As Spike pressed up against her clit once more, her eyes opened wide and her body stiffened. Whispering his name--so quiet he almost missed it--she threw her head back, drew him in tighter against her, and cried her release in one long, drawn-out moan.

The sight of Buffy writhing in ecstasy beneath him and the sensation of her inner muscles clamping around his cock sent Spike over the precipice. Moaning her name, his body stiffened before allowing him to thrust into her three, four, five more times, emptying his cold seed into her womb. When he regained control he was surprised to find that he hadn’t had to fight the emergence of his demon.

Reading the thought that was plain on his face, Buffy smiled. “It’s because it was pure, Spike. Just two people sharing something beautiful, something not tainted by the dark.”

For one of the few times in his life, Spike was left speechless. He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers, rolling them so they lay intertwined, on their sides. The next long while was spent making up for all the kisses that hadn’t taken place as they’d made love.

Late afternoon found the two lovers lazing in bed, bodies pressed against each other under a silk sheet. They lay there, quiet, listening to the busy sounds of the street outside their window.

Actually, Spike wasn’t paying so much attention to the cars’ horns or the trucks’ diesel engines; eyes closed, he tried to memorize the sounds of Buffy’s body--heart beating, lungs drawing in breath, blood flowing--it was the symphony of life and the sound of it so near to his own silent body gave him peace. Drawing her even closer to him, he placed a soft kiss on the top of her head.

The Slayer’s voice interrupted his quiet musing. “Spike?”

“Yeah, love?”

Buffy pulled out of his embrace, immediately regretting the loss of contact. “That money that you won last night, against the Pelorak--did you... did you give it all to Hilary?” She playfully traced a finger along the lines of his chest, lightly outlining his pectoral muscles.

Spike squirmed at the tickling finger and took it in his hand. Smiling curiously, he shook his head. “No, I kept some of it. Why the sudden interest in the dosh, pet?”

Ok Buffy, here goes... “Well, I thought it might be nice, after the crummy evening we had last night, to go out. You know, maybe go to a restaurant--demon free--and see a movie?” She knew she shouldn’t feel any reticence at suggesting an evening out. They had spent a good amount of time getting to know each other quite intimately. But this? It sounded too much like a...

“A date?” Spike’s brow furrowed as he digested her question. He’d immediately sensed her discomfort, but needed to mull it over before saying anything. Dinner and a movie. Harmless enough...

Ah, hell. Who was he kidding? She could have asked him to bring her to the ice capades and he couldn’t have turned her down. “Where would you want to go? I mean, it’s not like I know too many non-demon eateries. Haven’t dined in a proper restaurant in London for over a century.”

Buffy propped her head on her left arm. “Well, I figure since you’ve been responsible for all of our eating out so far, I get to choose the restaurant. And, as much as this wigs me out, I’ll leave the choice of movie up to you.”

The vampire paused, then nodded. “’S fair enough. Just as long as you don’t lead us to the International House of Garlic, or even worse--a bleedin’ vegetarian restaurant.”

“Fine. That means you can’t drag me to some cheesy horror movie, or a foreign one.”

By now, the bickering ex-enemies were both sitting upright, facing each other. “But I thought you chits loved foreign flicks!”

“Well, not this one. I hate having to read my movie--you miss everything that’s going on because you have to concentrate on what’s written at the bottom of the screen.”

The vampire bit back an insult to the Slayer’s intelligence--after all, Buffy’d left herself wide open with that last comment. No good gettin’ in a huff over something we both agree on. “Ok, it’s agreed then. No garlic-saturated or vegetarian food and no horror or foreign film. Still leaves us with many options.” He looked at the bedside clock and stretched. “Doesn’t leave us with much time, though. What say we have another quick shag, freshen up, then head out?”

The young woman snickered. “Sorry, oh bleached one. No time for hanky-panky if we ever want to get out of here in time. I’ll wash up, then go see if I can find Hetty. I’m sure she’ll know where there’s a good restaurant.” She reached over, gave the blonde vamp a quick kiss and slipped out of bed.

Spike watched her pad around the room in nothing but what nature gave her. He refused to give in to those niggling doubts that told him that Slayer + vampire = bad, bad news. He and Buffy just felt right. She brought out the good in him (whatever was left, he figured) and as much as his demon hated her for it, it was just as much her slave as William was. Neither part of Spike could resist the diminutive blonde that had edged him out of the darkness. He wasn’t on the road to poncedom--he already lived there and had been crowned king...

But he wouldn’t change it for the world.

***

Freshened up and clad in a pair of plaid flannel pants and a t-shirt, Buffy set out in search for Hetty. Peeking into the laundry room, she found only stacks of clean towels and heard only the quiet hum of the dryer. She walked down the staircase, hoping that the older woman wasn’t out. Aside from that McDonald’s on the way to Divine Opulence, she had no idea where she and Spike could go eat. Great. If she didn’t find Hetty, their evening was pretty much over with.

Walking around the sign-in counter, she stuck her head in the back room, where the older woman had gone to get their keys when they’d arrived. “Hetty? Hey, are you here?”

“Mrs Sinclair! How are you, dear?” Hetty had dyed her hair a ridiculous shade of bright orange that reminded the Slayer of those little orange pansies her mom had planted out by the front porch earlier that Spring.

Stifling a giggle--it would have been impolite, not to mention oh-so contrary to getting help from the hotel clerk--Buffy smiled at her. “You can call me Buffy, please. And I’m fine. I just need your help with something.”

Hetty clucked and put her hand on Buffy’s arm. “Of course, love. What is it I can do for you?” She winked at the younger woman. “Is it something romantic?”

“Actually, yes it is.” Buffy closed the gap between her and the other woman, pretending to share a conspiratorial secret. “Spike... William and I want to go out for a nice dinner, but we don’t really know any places around here. He hasn’t been in London for decades, so he’s kind of lost touch. Do you have any ideas?”

Whispering loudly, the orange-haired woman leaned in even closer. “Well, it all depends on what you’re looking for. Do you want casual, or really classy?”

“Uh, mid-classy, I guess. Something nicer than a pub, but nothing that requires a tux or anything.”

“Alright, and any preferences? French, Italian, English?”

So many choices--the young woman didn’t even know what the vampire liked to eat. “You know, that’s a really good question. William and I don’t eat out often, so I’m not sure what he’d prefer. Just throw a couple of ideas my way and I can decide.”

“That sounds like a good idea. Such a smart girl...” The older woman dragged Buffy to the counter, where she brought out a pad and paper. “Now, there’s L’oiseau d’or--a good French restaurant, although it’s more suit and tie than cotton pants, if you get my meaning. There’s also Armando’s, a nice casual Italian restaurant--or, should I say, ristorante--it can be a bit busy sometimes, but the food’s really good and the portions are big.” She looked Buffy over, chewing on the tip of her pen. “Although I don’t see where either you or your husband would be puttin’ large portions, dear. Anyway, what else is there...”

Buffy watched her roll the pen around in her mouth, covering it in lipstick. Mental note *not* to use the desk pen... She jumped back when Hetty squealed a high-pitched “of course!!”

“There’s Moonlight Serenade. Now that’s the one I’d recommend most... You don’t need to dress up too fancy, just a nice pair of slacks or a dress will do. There’s pretty much everything on the menu, so you don’t have to worry about what Mr. Sinclair will want--I’m sure he’ll find something he’ll like on the menu. And they’ve got a live Jazz band there, too.”

Buffy felt like she was Goldilocks--the French restaurant was a bit too stuffy, the Italian restaurant was a bit too busy, but the Jazz place was just right. Chuckling, she spoke up. “Well, I think I’ll go with your most glowing recommendation, Hetty. Do you have the number for Moonlight Serenade?”

Shaking her head, the older woman tutted. “Don’t you worry about that, dear. You’re on your honeymoon--you just go back upstairs and get ready for a nice night out. Leave the dealings with me. What time do you want your reservation for?”

The Slayer looked at the clock on the wall. Assuming that it worked, it was presently just after five thirty. “Uh, seven o’clock?”

Hetty frowned as if in deep thought. “Better make it seven thirty--we’ve got to give both of you enough time to get ready and to be there on time.” She jotted down the restaurant’s address and handed it over to the young woman. “Now go on up! Shoo, now!”

As soon as Buffy started up the stairs, she heard Hetty pick up the phone.

“Everything’s in place. Yes, they’ll be away...”

Frowning, the Slayer made her way back to the room, Spidey senses tingling overtime.

“Spike, I told you, I don’t know. Now just take it at face value. Maybe she’s just a good judge of sizing.”

The blonde vamp fidgeted with his tie, one hand staying on the steering wheel. “That’s not what I’m worried about, pet. I just don’t want to see a bill for this thing when we check out. I doubt the Council of Wankers is going to agree to buying me a new suit.”

“Look, maybe it’s a wedding present. Maybe Hetty decided to shell out a few hundred dollars to buy some stranger a suit.” The Slayer’s face twisted at this. “Ok, so it doesn’t make any sense. Let’s just forget about it for now, and enjoy the evening.”

~

~

They pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot and found a spot not too far from the entrance. To Spike, this was good news on two different fronts. First, it wasn’t too busy--which was always good. Couldn’t hear a damn thing when there were two hundred other chattering nits surrounding you. Also, it meant the absence of a valet. Which meant, to the vampire, that he could rid himself of the tie. Twenty years with that psycho Angelus--you’d think I’d be used to torture enough to endure a tie... Without the Slayer’s knowledge, he removed the offending piece of fabric and undid the shirt’s top button.

Buffy felt cool fingers slide through hers. Smiling, she looked up at Spike, who’d caught up to her. It took a second, but she clued into what he’d been doing at the car. “Your tie! You took it off. It took us like, half an hour to get it done up just right!”

“Yeah, and it took me all of ten seconds to rip it off. Don’t worry, pet--it’s still intact. I just figured that I didn’t need it, since this place isn’t all that swanky.”

The young woman pouted. “But you look good in a tie.”

Growling, the vampire shook his head. “Don’t try that with me, Buffy. That bloody contraption was choking me. It was like a noose. Don’t know how I ever put up with them before I was turned...”

Buffy stopped in her tracks, forcing her companion to do the same. “Ok, first thing--you don’t breathe, so you can’t choke. Second--why is it you don’t call me by my name more often?”

Spike stood there, mouth opening but no sound coming out. Where the hell did this come from?! Finding his voice, he replied “I... I do call you by your name, pet.”

She didn’t know why this meant so much to her--she felt like she was being petty, but this was something that was bothering her. “See--you just called me pet! You call me ducks, pet, love, Slayer. But Buffy? Hardly ever...” She fought back the tears that threatened to spill. Stupid--you’ll ruin this nice evening just because you’re being over-emotional!

Spike turned Buffy so that she faced him. Wiping her tears away with his thumbs, he held her face in his hands. “Buffy, I use those terms of endearment out of habit. It doesn’t mean I like you any less. It’s just that I’ve known you what, four years? Something like that. We’ve gone from trying to kill each other to barely tolerating each other to this.” He leaned in and brushed a soft kiss over her cheek. “Give a bloke time to adjust, eh? Buffy Summers is the woman I’m with--not the Slayer, not someone called ‘pet’ or ‘love’ or ‘ducks’, even. I know that, but you need to let me change old habits.”

How was he able to do that, she wondered? How was Spike able to know exactly what to say to make her feel better? The Slayer had an inkling that it was William, but old Will hadn’t been much of a ladies’ man. Maybe it was 100% Spike after all. “Alright. I’ll give you all the time you need.” She ran her hands down her pale yellow sundress, straightening it. “Now, let’s see if this place is all that Hetty chalked it up to be.”

***

“So, have you decided yet?” Spike had watched his companion read through the entire menu at least half a dozen times, yet she still seemed undecided.

Buffy tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth and answered without looking up. “I don’t know, Spike. Most of this stuff is pretty expensive...” Pouring through the appetizers, she wondered who would dare pay ten dollars for a bowl of soup. Moonlight Serenade might not have been a black tie kind of establishment, but its prices sure seemed to be.

The bleached blonde groaned. “Look, Buffy. If we couldn’t afford it, we wouldn’t be here, would we? We’d have gone to that bleedin’ McDonald’s we saw a few days ago. Now pick whatever it is you want or I’ll just order you whatever meal’s most expensive, no matter what it is.” He wondered at the young woman sitting across from him. Most women would take advantage of being brought to an expensive restaurant. Not the Slayer, however. She worried about their pocket book instead.

Come to think of it, that wasn’t such a bad trait after all.

Buffy ‘hmph’ed. “Fine then, if you say so. I think I’ll get the cream of potato and leek soup (guess I now know who’s stupid enough to pay $10 for soup...), the coq au vin with garlic mashed potatoes and a side of grilled veggies. What are you getting, mister ‘don’t fret about money’?”

Ignoring her jibe, the vampire sat up straight and picked up his long-discarded menu. “Well, since you’re askin’ so politely... I’m starting off with a clam chowder--haven’t had a decent chowder in decades. Then I’m going to have the steak neptune. I’m afraid I’m going to have to forego the garlic potatoes, though--I’ll just get the veggies instead.”

Buffy snickered. “Wow--you’re going all fishy tonight, aren’t you?”

Spike leaned in and whispered, so that only Buffy could hear him. “Always been a fan of seafood. Nothing like the salty tang of something fishy to whet my appetite...”

The young woman’s eyes widened when she noticed that the vampire was no longer talking about food. Blushing, she stammered, trying to find something to say. She was glad to see their server approach--she might have been too tongue-tied to come up with a quippy comeback. That or she might have been tempted to drag Spike over to the nearest closet and get him to show her just what he meant.

After the waiter left with their order, Buffy glanced over to the musician’s area, noting that there was no one there. “Isn’t there supposed to be a band playing, or something? Doesn’t look like anyone’s there.”

“That’s cause it’s just ten to eight. They probably don’t start playing until nine.” He took her hand in his, drawing circles on it with his thumb. “I’ve got to admit that I was more than a bit surprised that you decided on a jazz joint.”

A part of her still reeled from the oddity that was now her life. Every normal thing she and Spike did, from sharing a meal to making small talk, made her head spin. “Well, my appreciation for jazz is more of a by-product than an original Buffy trait. Mom’s got this big jazz album collection that’s been collecting dust ever since we moved to Sunnydale. She used to listen to them all the time, but now she just listens to the Billie Holliday ones. I know all the songs off those records by heart...”

The vampire chuckled. “Always knew Joyce was a woman of good taste. The phonographs weren’t out yet before I was turned--if they had been, I can imagine that I would have been sitting at my own mum’s feet, listening to some horrible music like the ponce I was.” His hand left Buffy’s and went to cup his chin. He got a far away look in his eyes, looking somewhere beyond the room, not really focussed on anything in particular. “Christ, that was a long time ago. No cars, no radio, no telly, no internet...” He laughed quietly, more to himself than anything. “Never would have imagined that I’d still be around a hundred and twenty years later.”

Buffy reached back over the table, taking his hand in hers. She didn’t know if he was being bitter or if he was just reminiscing. Either way, she felt compelled to comfort him.

Spike looked at the hand holding his own. So small, yet so strong. Just like the woman to whom it belonged. He could tell she didn’t know what to say, so he smiled at her in what he hoped was a reassuring way. “Don’t fret, love. ‘M not brooding--just remembering, is all.”

***

Their dinner came, and they made small talk as they ate their meals, never touching on any topic too sensitive or too important. They both knew that this was the last night for them to take it easy. They’d spent too much time concentrating on each other and their burgeoning relationship instead of on their mission. They didn’t have much time left to find the baby and they had no clue as to where to begin looking. So for tonight, they’d decided to pretend that they were two normal people out for dinner and a movie.

They shared a grossly decadent dessert, listening to the band as it began to play. Buffy was overjoyed to hear that it was a Billie Holliday tribute. In between bites of ‘chocolate eruption’, she sang along with the singer, albeit slightly off key. So mesmerized was she with the music, she never noticed that Spike had risen from his seat until he stood beside her, holding his hand out to her.

“Fancy a dance, pet?”

Buffy almost chastised him on his unconscious use of the moniker, but she bit her tongue. Now was certainly not the time to begin a spat. She took the proffered hand. “I’d love to.”

Many eyes were on the handsome blonde couple, who were obviously in a world of their own as their feet travelled the dance floor. Bodies cupped one in the other, they seemed to be swaying to their own music.

When the next song began, Buffy pulled her head away from Spike’s chest. Grinning ear to ear, she exclaimed “Oh! This is my favourite song!” She began to sing along, never breaking eye contact with the man in whose arms she danced.

You go to my head and you linger like a haunting refrain
And I find you spinning 'round in my brain
Like the bubbles in a glass of champagne
You go to my head like a sip of sparkling Burgundy brew
And I find the very mention of you
Like the kicker in a julep or two...

Spike stopped listening to the words after the first refrain. Buffy was staring straight at him as she sang, her purpose obvious: this song was a song about how he affected her, how he was inside her head, in her heart. Just as she was in his.

They’d been infatuated with each other ever since their first meeting, in the alley behind the Bronze. It may not have been love at first sight--far from it--but they’d constantly been in each other’s thoughts. All the times they’d tried to kill each other, all the times they’d taunted and teased one another. It had always been about them, good or bad.

Spike leaned down and placed a soft kiss on Buffy’s lips. “We’d better be on our way, love, or we’ll miss the movie.” He took her hand in his and led her off the dance floor. When they’d sat back down at their table, the vampire caught their server’s attention, indicating that they were ready for their bill.

Still dreamy-eyed over the last dance, Buffy toyed with her napkin. “So, what movie did you decide on?”

The bleach blonde’s eyes lit up as he took a deep breath. “Well, the local movie house is showing a number of foreign indie horror vignettes...” He ducked to avoid the napkin that had been aimed at him, before it hit him in the face. Still chuckling, he quelled her fears. “Seriously, though, I asked the server what was playing, when you were in the loo. He said LA Confidential is playing about two blocks from here. We could leave the car in the restaurant’s lot and just walk over. That fine with you?”

Buffy bit her lip, trying to remember something. “LA Confidential. That came out a couple of years ago, didn’t it? Was it the movie with the cops?”

“’The movie with the cops’--that narrows it down. But yeah, it’s a cop movie. More’n that, if I recall. It’s supposed to be really good. I think it won some Oscars, or something. Not that that’s any indication as to whether or not I’ll usually like a movie. Anyway, Clem saw it in the theatre and he wouldn’t shut up about it for two weeks. Can’t be all that bad.”

“Ok, then. LA Confidential it is. Let’s just hope that we can get there before the trailers start. I hate having to find a seat in the dark.” Buffy smiled politely at the server as he brought the bill to the table. Her eyes grew wide as she watched Spike take some money out of his wallet. She knew he’d won a lot of money against the Pelorak, and she’d seen Spike give a large wad of it to Hilary. What she’d never expected, though, was the amount of money that was left over.

Unable to bite back a comment, she nodded towards his wallet. “So, you gonna buy a small island with that?”

Spike had the decency to look a little abashed as he stuffed his wallet back in his pants pocket. “Not my fault the wanker was a poor card player. And you never know when you’ll need a heavy spot of dosh.”

When they walked out of the restaurant, hand in hand, Buffy noticed that heavy grey clouds now covered most of the night’s sky. “Uh, Spike? Do you think we should maybe bring the car closer to the theatre? It looks like the skies are going to open up any minute.”

Spike’s gaze followed hers, settling on the darkening firmament. “Piffle. Won’t start to rain until we’re back in the comfort of our bed.” He draped his arm around the Slayer’s shoulders. “Come on, luv. We get there early enough, I’ll buy you a popcorn.”

***

By now, they were the only ones left in the theatre. Buffy slouched in her seat, watching the credits go by. “You know, I just can’t say it enough. That movie was abso-freaking-lutely amazing. I would’ve never guessed in a million years that that guy was crooked. And Bud White? Man, was he ever a badass--especially when he’s throwing that geeky cop around. Oh, and I just love the soundtrack! Now I know what I want for my birthday...”

Spike didn’t say a word. He just watched Buffy, her face glowing, her hands gesticulating wildly as she rambled on about the movie. Something inside of him burned, a something that had been present but had never quite made it to the forefront of his consciousness. He turned it around in his brain, gauging his reaction to its presence.

When the young woman turned to look at him--no doubt because of his unusual silence--her eyes still large with excitement and a smile lighting up her face, he realized he liked that little something. Damn it, he straight out embraced it.

“Spike?” Buffy turned to her companion and found him staring at her. He had an odd look on his face, as if he were in on a secret that only he was privy to. Cocking an eyebrow--she’d never liked to be left out on jokes--she tried again. “Spike? Hello?”

He cupped his hand over her cheek and pulled her in for a chaste kiss. “I love you.” His clear blue gaze never faltered, locked on hers as he watched her digest his declaration.

She hadn’t heard him right. That had to be it. One ear still on the music playing through those old speakers, one ear only on what the vamp had said. Buffy was convinced that her hearing was playing tricks on her. He couldn’t have said... Because she swore he’d admitted that...

“Buffy Summers, I love you so bloody much... Your ears aren’t playing tricks on you; I want you to believe me. I’ll say it again and again, until you’re tired of hearing it.”

Buffy’s heart swelled. He loved her. Spike loved her, Buffy Summers. It was so... weird. But so right. Nothing had ever felt so proper than hearing those words come out of his mouth. She didn’t want to say it back immediately, almost as if she’d be saying it in return with misplaced intentions. Oh, she loved him--she knew it now, more than ever. So she did the next best thing. She grabbed him--the one who loved her--and kissed him passionately, making sure that he knew full well that his declaration wasn’t unappreciated.

Breathless, the vampire pulled back and looked the Slayer in the eye. Her hazel orbs were darkened with lust, and he certainly wasn’t going to let that go to waste. “Come on--let’s go home. Maybe we can see if we both fit in that big bathtub...” Growling, he picked her up out of her seat and pressed his lips to hers one last time before they left the theatre.

Hand in hand, they hurried outdoors only to be met with a torrential rainstorm.

Buffy turned to Spike. “Won’t rain until we get back to the hotel, in the comfort of our bed, huh?”

“Ah, bugger.” Pulling his blazer over his head, he motioned towards where their car was parked. “My bad, as you’d so properly say. I’ll go fetch the car and bring it up front. You just stay here.” He took a step out from the shelter of the overhang and was immediately drenched. Before he had the time to take a second step forward, the Slayer dashed out ahead of him, yelling back “not if I get there first!”

Shrugging, Spike ran out after her. Even with a head start, a Slayer couldn’t beat a vampire on foot.

Ok, well maybe this one can, he mused as he caught up to her at the car.

She was soaked to the bone, her lungs were burning from the run and she knew her makeup must be running, but Buffy couldn’t quench the giddiness the childish play had made her feel. It had been so long since she’d just let it out and had fun. She laughed out loud at the sight of Spike’s drenched form as it approached her with a stalking gait. “You’re getting slow in your old age, Spike” she huffed in between breaths, hands resting on her knees.

The vampire’s eyes were flecked with amber. His voice was low, his words deliberate as he responded to her teasing. “I’m not so old that I can’t pin you against this car and make you scream my name, little girl.”

The young woman’s eyes narrowed and her features hardened. An odd feeling came about her, one that felt somehow familiar and foreign all at once. “Is that a promise, or simply a taunt, vampire?” As the words came out of her mouth, the playfulness she’d felt earlier dissipated; she knew that the Buffy part of her was no longer in charge--Spike was about to have his first carnal encounter with the Slayer. And she had no idea what the outcome of that would be...

When he was pulled in for a rather violent kiss, Spike knew he was no longer in Buffy’s presence. He’d fought Slayers, he’d killed Slayers--but he’d never fucked one. The thought of plunging himself into the hot depths of someone who could take as much as she could dish made him harder than hell. Adding his own passion to the kiss, he felt her bite his lower lip, drawing blood. When the young woman pulled away and saw blood pool onto his lower lip, she leaned in to lick it away.

Now they were into blood play. The vampire’s ultimate undoing. Spike couldn’t help but vamp out at the sight of the Slayer turning the taste of his blood over in her mouth. He let out a deep growl, meant as a warning: he had to let Buffy, or the Slayer--whoever was in the driver’s seat--know that he was serious. Screwing vamped-out Spike was going to be nothing like making love to lovestruck-puppy Spike.

When Spike vamped out, lust-filled amber eyes glowing, fangy grin set in a leer, Buffy would have been scared. She would have meekly backed down and apologized for egging him on. The Slayer, on the other hand, was only turned on by the demon’s show of testosterone. However, she was a woman and she was sick and tired of being rained on. A cold, wet Slayer meant a miserable Slayer. Pushing him away, she growled back at him. “Make the doors open. Now.”

Mind addled with lust, the vampire took a second to register what the other blonde was saying. Make the doors open? What the hell does that mean? Oh fuck--the car doors! Reaching into the blazer’s pockets he fished around for the keys, pressing the ’unlock’ button.

When she heard the doors unlock, the Slayer tore the rear passenger door open and pointed to Spike. “You. Get in there, now.”

Spike did as he was told. Although his demon preferred to have the upper hand in any sexual encounter, it was also curious. Never having been with a Slayer, it wanted to sit back and see what she was capable of. When he was comfortably seated, he watched her crawl in and sit on his lap, straddling him. When her lips crashed into his, reopening his cut from her bite, he couldn’t help but snake his strong arms around her, crushing her lithe form to his own body.

In a strange way, the Slayer was still a virgin. She’d never come out to ‘play’ in any of Buffy’s encounters. Not with Spike, and certainly not with Angel. But it didn’t mean that she didn’t know how to get what she wanted. The vampire was crushing her to him in a vice-like grip that would have broken any normal girl’s weak ribs. She fought for a little room and when he relented--just a little--she used that extra space to grind herself against his erection.

All these sensations were going to drive him mad. He’d become as barmy as his sire, the Slayer was making sure of it: the mixture of her hot body pressed against his--ok, held tightly against his, her heat rubbing against his erection and the blood in her mouth where his fangs had nicked her tongue and lips. It was all enough to drive a vampire to bloody insanity.

He felt the Slayer pry herself out of his grip--although he really could have held on if he’d really wanted to. Through hooded lids, he watched as she bit her lip, trying to decide her next move. A devilish grin appeared on her lips, one that could have scared the master vampire had he not been so damned horny.

Where to start, where to start? She sat back on Spike’s lap, pondering her next move. She had so many options, but the Slayer wanted to draw this out and make it as long and as heated as possible. Who knew when she’d next be allowed to come out and play? Biting her lip, it registered in her muddled mind that something was wrong. Now what... Oh--of course! He was overdressed! Grabbing each side of his collar, she pulled the garment apart with a fierce tug.

Spike’s eyes followed the buttons as they flew all over the back seat of the BMW. When he felt the Slayer’s nails dig into his skin, dragging down the pale, alabaster expanse of his chest and drawing blood, he lay his head back and roared. His head flew back to the Slayer, though, when he felt her tongue on his skin. He began to shake with need--fuck, did he ever need to pound his cock into her hot body--as he watched her lick the blood that trickled from her scratch marks. He tried to get her off his lap, to put her in a more submissive position, but it proved almost impossible. She matched him push for push and shove for shove until they were both panting from exertion, still sitting in the same position.

Trying a different angle, the Slayer brought Spike’s hands up to her breasts. She needed him to touch her, to make her even hotter than she was already. When he began to knead her two soft mounds, she moaned and threw her head back. Her skin was flushed with need, and the cool touch of his skin only added to the burning sensation. He pulled her forward and began to suck her nipples through the thin fabric of her dress. She was glad Buffy had decided against wearing a bra that evening. It made things so much easier, and oh so much better. When the sensation stopped she furrowed her brow and looked down at the vampire. The demon gave her a shit-eating grin just before he grabbed her dress and pulled it down her chest, ripping it in the act.

Her head started spinning when she felt the flat of his cold tongue drag over her hardened nipple. His mouth on one breast, his hand on the other, Spike was making sure that he was making her as crazy as she’d made him--this the Slayer knew. Every sucking motion, every pinched nipple--it was all heading in one straight line, down to her centre. In a very un-Slayer reaction, she squealed when she felt his fangs pierce the soft skin of her breast. Looking down, she decided that the sight of a vampire latched on to her breast was very, very arousing.

Teeth embedded in the Slayer’s breast--what was Buffy going to think about that when she came back to the forefront?--Spike decided that he could no longer wait. Wedging his hand in between their bodies, he slid it down until it reached her underpants. Using a sharp nail to tear into them, he pulled the offending material away, tossing it to the side. He pulled his teeth out of her and concentrated on lavishing her neck with wet, open-mouth kisses. No telling how the Slayer will react if he tries to bite her there--better be safe (and nestled safely in her heat) than a sorry pile of ashes.

She felt his fingers slip inside of her gauging her readiness. Stupid vamp, the Slayer thought to herself, isn’t the fact that I’m writhing on your lap like a bitch in heat a good enough indicator? She edged her hand down to his own pants, her concentration marred by the sensation of his thumb rubbing against her clit. Twice, in her effort to divest him of his pants--stupid belt, she had to stop and take a breather. Her body was quaking, her nerves were all tingling--and all because of the vampire and his magical fingers. When she finally had his belt undone, she popped the pants’ button and slid the zipper down. Reaching down into his pants, she took his hard length in her hand and pulled it out.

For a short moment, the frenzy of the vampire and Slayer’s coupling fizzed down. They rested their foreheads one against the other and remained still. That was until the Slayer began to slide her hand up and down Spike’s shaft, coating it in the precum that had dribbled out of its tip. She felt his chest rumble in a low growl. Pulling his hand away from her clit, she brought it up to her lips and licked her juices off of his fingers, making a good show of twirling her tongue around the long digits, taking them into her mouth and sucking on them.

Almost as soon as it had lulled, the passion flared up again. Buffy grabbed Spike’s hands and pinned them to his sides, just above his head before she impaled herself on his shaft. She slowed for a short moment before sliding up and down, increasing her speed to match their combined groans.

Ok, Spike’s demon had had enough of being the Slayer’s bitch. With a feral growl, he twisted them so that she lay beneath him, never breaking the intimate contact they shared. His eyes almost crossed as she flexed her inner muscles, gripping his cock in a steel-like grasp. He pistoned in and out of her nonetheless, pounding her body without mercy. Her fingers were on his shoulders, nails biting into his skin, but that didn’t deter him. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he realized that the Slayer’s actions weren’t meant to stop him, but rather to egg him on, to make him fuck her that much harder.

When the Slayer felt her muscles begin to twitch, she gave one final effort and managed to turn them back over, with her on top once again. Spike’s breathing was erratic and his gaze was unfocussed--she knew that he was as close as she was to falling over the edge. Just as her climax hit, she leaned in and bit down harshly on the vampire’s neck, drawing blood.

When he felt her blunt teeth breaking the skin on his neck, Spike howled. Body arching up towards hers, he grasped her ass, pressing her down onto him as he came. He came for what felt like was hours, even if it was only about 30 seconds. When his body relaxed again, he opened his eyes and looked up at the Slayer. She smiled at him and whispered “mine.”

Fuck. She’d claimed him. Not that he didn’t want it--actually, he wanted to run out into the streets and yell at the top of his voice that he was Buffy’s. Well, that was William for you--the wanker. She looked at him expectantly, neck stretched out over him. He knew what that meant, the claim, but he wondered if she did. “Buffy? You know what this means, right, love?”

The young woman looked into his amber eyes--eyes which held no less love for her than his blue eyes--and nodded. “Yes, Spike. It means I love you as much as you love me. And it means that we belong together. I don’t know how much time I have, but I want to spend it with you.”

Spike took a deep breath to calm himself. She loved him. Buffy Summers loved him, William the Bloody/Spike/Childe of the line of Aurelius. He smiled back at her to reassure her, and gently placed his hand over the back of her neck. Pulling her towards his mouth, he sank his fangs into her neck, in the same spot as he’d bitten her just a few days prior. “Mine,” he whispered into her ear, as she finally rested against him.

***

They drove back to the hotel after having cleaned themselves up a little--what would a cop think if he pulled them over and saw the claw marks on Spike’s chest, or the bite marks on either blonde’s neck? Stopping to kiss every few steps, they finally made it up to their room. Both were relieved not to have Hetty in the lobby waiting for them, to see if they’d had a romantic evening. It was best that they be able to wait until tomorrow to meet up with anyone...

As he slipped the key into their lock and pushed the door open, Spike pulled Buffy to him and growled playfully. He pulled her into their room and they shared a passionate kiss. “Now, let’s go get cleaned up, love. Betcha that tub is big enough for both of us.”

Both blondes jumped as a voice from inside the room interrupted them. “I’m afraid your little... session... will have to wait a while longer, Mr. Sinclair.”

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