Chapter 1: Only the Lonely

Spike walked slowly through his bedroom.

He was a handsome man, 19 years of age. The age when people are just starting out in their lives.

He wore a pair of faded, holey blue jeans with a black leather belt, a Sid Vicious t-shirt and black combat boots. His long-fingered hands were decorated with silver rings; he wore a padlock necklace on a chain around his neck; his nails were painted black, the polish was chipped. White-blonde, spiky hair shone in the light like a beacon. His soulful, dark blue eyes were kohl lined.

Sunlight streamed through the second-floor window. Millions of tiny dust motes danced in the golden shafts. He put his hand through one beam, disrupting the motes momentarily before they built back up again.

"Well, that's enough fun for one day," Spike drawled sarcastically.

Everything looked the same as always. Nothing different. Nothing changed. Nothing ever happened.

He crossed to the window and looked out at the jungle-like vegetation of the front yard and sighed. His eyes scanned the yard for the--how many times had he looked at it? It had to have been at least a thousand times. He absently flicked at the tatty white drapes framing the broken window.

"This is what I'm reduced to..." Spike said sadly. "Watchin' a bloody garden for entertainment..."

He was so tired of this place. Why couldn't he just leave again? He couldn't remember. It was frustrating. He'd be about to remember something, something important, then it would slip through his grasp. Maybe he would try to leave...later. Right now, he just wanted to look out the window.

Would his cousin Darla call him downstairs for lunch soon? No--he remembered then. Darla was dead.

"I'm dead," Spike said to the empty room. "Everyone's dead."

That's right. He forgot that sometimes. He forgot that a lot, actually.

He knew that there were others like him in the house, disembodied spirits. He saw them sometimes, going from room to room, sad and pained expressions on their faces. They usually didn't seem to notice him. He would call out, desperate for someone to talk to, for some companionship, but they would continue on their way, not even stopping to glance at him. Some were raving, having gone mad long ago, but most just glided through the halls projecting pain and despair.

Weren't they lonely too? Didn't they want to talk to another person? Occasionally, one of the others would stop and look at him. They didn't seem to know what to make of him. They would whisper their words, making it difficult to carry on a conversation with them.

How long had he been here? Probably a long time. It felt like a bloody eternity.

He sighed again. He was so alone, so utterly alone. But--something told him to keep it together. Something would happen, something would come for him or to him. Whether it was good or bad, he didn't know. But something would happen...eventually. He just had to be patient and wait.

His body became increasingly more transparent until he faded away completely.


 

A week later...

Buffy Summers pulled up in front of the dilapidated house in her red jeep.

Buffy was 21 years old and an aspiring artist. Art had always been a passion for her. Her mother Joyce had instilled a love of art in her from an early age. That was what she wanted to do with her life, and thanks to a good-sized inheritance from her late Aunt Prudence, she was free to follow her dream.

She quickly got out and looked at her new property. The house was run-down, the paint was peeling, the shutters were either gone all together or hanging on by a thread, and the grounds were overrun with vegetation.

But she smiled like she was looking at the Taj Mahal. When she Willow and Xander bought this place, they knew they'd have a major fixer-upper on their hands. That's what they wanted.

Buffy couldn't believe their luck. She remembered the day that they found this place. They were driving through the country on their way back to L.A. They had been looking for a place to buy together for a few months with no luck. All the places they'd seen didn't leap out at Buffy, didn't grab her. Willow and Xander were getting impatient, ready to take anything. But Buffy held firm.

Then she'd seen it from the road as they drove by. Buffy had scared the crap out of Xander by shouting for him to stop the car. They stopped and Buffy got out, walking quickly up to the open front gates. Willow and Xander joined her, staring at the old mansion.

Buffy had felt something click in her head when she set eyes on the place. This was their house. This was the house she had been waiting to see. Something about it called out to her. Buffy had seen this place before, in her dreams. Only in the dreams it was immaculate. She needed to make it look like that again. She felt driven.

The house was a Tudor-style mansion, built sometime in the early 1900's as a mission, according to the real estate agent, Warren Mears. He had been unenthusiastic and downright rude until Buffy told him they wanted the house. His face had lit up and he became very cordial and friendly. Willow had asked why such a big and formerly fancy place hadn't been sold in 25 years. Warren explained that the house needed so much work that less adventurous people were afraid to take it on, and he thought that they had the 'right stuff' to get the job done. He was clearly stroking their egos. The guy was a weasel, but Buffy was determined to buy that house.

Now, it was hers. Well, hers, Willow and Xander's. It was perfect. Buffy would have peace and quiet to paint and sculpt, Xander would be able to fix the place up with his carpentry skills and Willow could work on the computer software programs she was developing. And when it was all finished, they would have a beautiful mansion to call their own.

"This is gonna take awhile," Buffy said out loud. "But it's so going to be--"

She halted when she noticed some movement in an upstairs window. Buffy stepped into the overgrown front yard, squinting up at the window. Was someone in there? Whatever she had seen, or thought she'd seen wasn't there anymore.

Buffy laughed nervously. "Take it easy. It was just the breeze blowing curtains around. No one's in there. If I'm going to spend the whole night here alone, I'd better get a helluva lot tougher."

She went back to the jeep to get her gear and some supplies out of the back.


 

Spike stood by the window, as he usually did at this time of day. A jeep pulled up in front of the property. He cocked his head to the side. Not many people stopped here. It was pathetic that he was getting so excited about the new element in his day. His life (or afterlife) was so predictable and lonely that even a looky-loo who would probably just get right back in their car, made him happy.

A blonde woman got out of the jeep and approached the house. She looked pretty. That was nice. Spike rarely saw anything beautiful. He sighed, wishing he could say 'Hello' to her, and ask her not to leave.

The woman looked up at his window. Spike was startled at first. Could she see him? Some ghost-y instinct told him to hide, not to let her see him. He moved away from the window, his phantom heart beating wildly in his chest. After a minute, he chanced another peek out at her. She was returning to her car.

Spike felt like crying. She was leaving and would never come back. No one ever did. But then...she was coming back. She had a big sleeping bag rolled up under one arm and carried a box in the other. She was going to come in the house. He could at least have the company of a warm, live soul for the night.

Spike wanted to be near her, to feel her life-force, and just to look at her. The closer she came to the house, the more lovely she became. She was beautiful. The sunlight played in her hair, making it look like spun gold. A memory tickled the back of his mind. There was something familiar about this woman...but he couldn't remember what it was. Hopefully, it would come to him.

He wondered if the others would bother her tonight. He wouldn't want them to scare her off, he wanted this girl to stay as long as possible. Spike decided to run interference and keep the other ghosties away from her.


This was an unexpected treat for him and he intended to make the most of every second that the girl was here.



 

Chapter 2: Close Encounters

Buffy set to work immediately.

She opened all the windows on the first floor. The musty smell of decay was powerful and pungent in the house. The place had been closed up for 25 years so it was bound to be pretty bad. With that done, she went through the living room, looking under the sheets that covered the furniture. All of it was beautiful and it only needed to be cleaned and some of it re-upholstered. Buffy wondered why all of this had been left behind by the original owners. There seemed to have been an attempt at removing things from the house (there were some boxes piled with books and knick-knacks sitting on the floor), but most everything still seemed to be in place. Probably just as it had been when the house was abandoned. Thick layers of dust covered everything.

A big, ornate mirror hung above the marble fireplace. Buffy was polishing it. She knew that there were more immediate tasks that needed to be done, but the mirror was so pretty, she wanted to clean it up. After a lot of scrubbing and polishing, it was clean.

Buffy stood back and brushed some hair away from her damp forehead. She smiled at her reflection. She gasped when she saw a man standing a few feet behind her and spun around. No one was there. Buffy turned back to the mirror quickly but only saw herself. Her heart was beating thunderously. She put her hand over her chest and laughed at her own overactive imagination.

"Whoa, there I go again." She looked back into the mirror. "I could have sworn..." She shook her head and went back to cleaning.

The man had seemed familiar somehow. Buffy had only caught a glimpse of him, but something was definitely familiar. She dispelled the wacky thoughts and concentrated on dusting.


 

Spike watched her as she cleaned in the living room. She was adorable and so petite; he wanted to scoop her up in his arms, if only he could.

The longer he watched her, the more that feeling he should be remembering something associated with her nagged at him.

'What could it be? I couldn't have seen her before...could I?' Spike thought.

Then it came to him. He hadn't seen her in person, but in dreams. Dreams that he'd had since he was a boy. In them, the pretty blonde girl would smile at him and hold his hand. As he got older, the dreams became increasingly more erotic and adult in nature. Spike recalled one that he'd had quite a few times where the two of them were in bed making love. He'd awakened soaked with sweat and other fluids after those.

Spike was elated at the realization that she was the one he'd dreamed about. She truly and literally was the girl of his dreams...The problem was that he was dead now. Not much of a chance for any kind of future with her. He'd always had terrible timing, but this took the cake. He shook off the moroseness that threatened to overwhelm him, and attempted to just enjoy being around her.

Spike moved closer to her as she cleaned the mirror. He'd always liked that mirror too. It would be nice to see it shined up after so long.

Spike jumped when Buffy saw him in the mirror and spun around. He held his non-existent breath when she was facing him. Could she still see him? He felt disappointed when it was obvious that she didn't. He knew he shouldn't let her see him, but he wanted some interaction with another person so badly...especially his dream girl. But then again, he didn't want to frighten her either. And the living were notoriously scared when they saw apparitions. He'd seen enough 'Abbott and Costello' and '3 Stooges' films to know that much.

Spike glumly left the room and went back to his bedroom, leaving his golden goddess alone for awhile.


 

Before evening came, Buffy went upstairs to stake out her bedroom. Since she was the one who found the place and was the first one here, she intended to claim the master bedroom.

But as she was passing another room, she stopped. She pushed open the door and peeked inside.

It was a spacious bedroom with a large oak bed against one wall and a long dresser with a giant mirror on the wall opposite the bed. Something about this particular room called to her.

Buffy walked in with her cleaning supplies and looked around. Plush, but very dusty, Persian rugs lay on the hardwood floor.

Buffy got on her knees and began rolling up the rugs to get them ready for cleaning and to fix a place on the floor for her sleeping bag. Her eyes went to the broken window. Was that the window that she thought she saw someone in? She stood up and looked out. Yep. This would have been the same window.

Buffy fingered the old tattered draperies. It must have been the drapes that she saw moving from a breeze.

In the back of her mind a tiny voice spoke up, 'What if it was a ghost? Old places like these are always haunted...'

Out loud, she said, "Oh, there's no such thing as ghosts...no such thing. That's just--silly kid's stuff."


 

Spike had watched her for a while before wandering away again. He didn't want her to accidentally get another glimpse of him and get scared again. As much as he craved her company, he resigned himself to keeping watch from a distance, just to make sure none of the others disturbed or frightened her.

"I wonder what her name is...probably something to do with moonlight--soft and yielding..." Spike waxed poetic.

He sighed. She'd be gone in the morning. No one ever stayed. Then he'd be alone again. Maybe forever.


 

Buffy laid on top of her sleeping bag on the bedroom floor.

Her battery-powered lantern was glowing brightly next to her. The evening was hot and muggy, making her wish for air-conditioning or at least a fan. Hell, she'd settle for a cool breeze. And she really needed a shower after all the dusting she'd done that day.

Buffy was trying to go over the tasks she wanted to accomplish the next morning but her mind kept wandering. She couldn't help but wonder about the bedroom. Whose room had it once been? It was a man, judging by the more deep and masculine colors present. She was anxious to explore the room and find out more about the former occupant by the things he had left behind. She'd found a tattered and faded 'Sex Pistols' poster that had fallen behind the dresser. She couldn't imagine someone who lived in a luxurious mansion being into punk rock. It had made her giggle.

What had the guy been like? She had a strange compulsion to find out.

Buffy squirmed a bit. She had been feeling kind of horny the whole trip up to the mansion. Since she was alone in the house tonight, she decided to take care of herself and help relieve some of the anxiety she had about being alone.

Buffy reached into her duffel bag and brought out 'Old Faithful', her trusty vibrator. Unlike the men she'd had in her life, 'O.F.' had never let her down. She slipped off her pajama bottoms and her panties then spread her legs.


 

Spike drifted into the bedroom, curious about the strange buzzing sound he heard from the hallway. He stared, dumbstruck, at the petite blonde as she masturbated.

He reacted much as a flesh and blood male would. He was turned on, very turned on. He floated closer to get a better look. Spike knew it wasn't proper or polite to observe someone doing this, but he couldn't help himself. It had been a long time since he'd even thought about sex. He was fascinated. It also brought back choice snippets of those dreams he'd had and he longed to touch her like he did in them.

Buffy groaned in frustration. It wasn't working. For some reason, she just couldn't 'get there'. Suddenly, she felt a slight chill, which felt wonderful on her hot, sweaty skin. The lantern light began flickering.

"What the hell?" Buffy said in surprise.

Before the light could go out for good, Buffy sat up and dug into her duffel bag for a few fat pillar candles. She lit a few of them and sat them nearby on the floor just as the lantern went out.

Buffy still wanted--needed--to get off something fierce, so she laid back down and re-applied the vibrator to her pussy. A minute later, that quit working too.

"Goddammit!" Buffy cursed. "Stupid fucking batteries! I just changed the damn things! Radio Shack is on my shit list!"

She wanted to scream with sexual frustration. Tossing the vibrator back into her bag, she laid back down with her legs still spread wide. She spread her nether lips with her fingers--as if she were waiting for someone to help her out.

Spike had never wanted to be alive or solid again more than he did right now. He felt the sexual need, his cock was painfully hard (well, it felt that way to him anyway), but he couldn't do anything about it, or about helping the young beauty out...or could he? Would she want him to if he could? She was so lovely and she wanted release so bad... It didn't occur to Spike that it was his presence that disrupted the power to her lantern and vibrator. In his highly excited state, he was unknowingly affecting the power sources.

He watched as she tilted her head back and rubbed up and down her spread lips lightly.

"Please..." Buffy said plaintively, not knowing why she was saying it.

'Is she asking me to touch her? Does she know that I'm here on some level?' Spike wondered.

He moved to her, kneeling down between her legs, gazing at her wide open sex. He reached out a hand slowly, touching her labia with a fore-finger.

Buffy's eyes shot wide open and she gasped at the coldness touching her mound. She looked down her body but didn't see what could be making her feel it.

Spike smiled in delight and surprise. She had felt it. And he had felt her. He had to concentrate hard to make it happen but he had done it. It wasn't a completely solid touch, his hand still tended to pass through her, but he was able to create some resistance, enough for them both to feel the contact. He wanted to weep at the feel of another person's body after an eternity.

He looked at her face, to gauge her enjoyment or fear. There was some fear, but she wasn't jumping away or closing her legs, so he went back to touching her. He slid his fingers over and inside her labia and rubbed her clit while still watching her face for a sign that he should stop.

"Oh! OH! Yesss!" Buffy moaned as the phantom fingers explored her crevice.

She was afraid, but her excitement surpassed it. The sensations were incredible. It felt kind of like someone was sliding a piece of ice around her red-hot pussy.

Spike was breathing hard (he forgot that he didn't need to). She was really enjoying it. He wondered if he'd be able to taste her. Taking his hand off of her, he bent forward.

Buffy groaned when the sensations stopped.

Spike stuck his tongue out and concentrated on making it solid. He leaned in and licked the inside of her slit from bottom to top in a quick stroke.

"Ahhhh!" Buffy's body jerked. "Oh God!" she panted. "What was that?! And--please let it happen again!"

Spike's long-dead taste buds were bursting from her juices. He could taste her! Her flavor was sweet and rich, like the sweetest honey in the world. He couldn't remember the last thing he'd tasted, but he was sure it wouldn't have compared to this. Spike smirked then dived back into her honey pot for more. After dipping his tongue inside her a few times, he used a technique a friend of his had told him once, licking the alphabet.

Buffy gasped and panted as what felt like a tongue--a long, cold, amazing tongue--pleasured her. It stroked up, down, inside the lips and made circles around her clit. It would wriggle into her hole and thrust in and out rapidly before going back to stroking patterns over her clit that were making her dizzy with pleasure. It was crazy, it was weird, but it was also unbelievably, incredibly good. It was the most bizarre yet wonderful thing she'd ever experienced. Better than any ride at Disneyland, that's for sure.

Buffy could feel the tongue moving on her, but it was almost unsubstantial, like it could easily go right through her pussy instead of lapping at it. She looked down again, still nothing there. But, boy, did she feel it!

'It's a ghost...I'm getting eaten out by a ghost!' Buffy's thoughts screamed.

But still, she held herself open for the invasion. She couldn't stop if she wanted to, what he (it?) was doing felt far too good.

Spike tried sucking on her clit, but his lips couldn't become firm enough. He settled for using his tongue only. He wanted to make her cum; she really appeared to need it. He tongued her harder and faster, flicking her nubbin rapidly. He was up to the letter 'Q' in the alphabet.

Buffy's eyes rolled back as her orgasm crashed over her.

"Uhhnnnga! OH--OH GOD! YES!" She bucked her hips at the invisible tongue, looking down at herself.

She was spellbound by the way her clit was moving back and forth, seemingly on its own. Slowly, she began to come back down. The tongue was removed from her pussy. Buffy sat up and darted her eyes around.

"H-hello?" Buffy said in a small voice. "Um--Hi...my name's Buffy. Thanks for--Wow--for doing that...I guess that means you're a friendly ghost, right?" she asked hopefully with a nervous giggle. "Can--I see you? Will you let me? I won't be afraid..."

Spike licked her juices from his lips and tried to speak to her.

Buffy thought she heard something, like leaves gently rustling in a breeze. Was he trying to talk to her?

"I can't hear you..." Buffy said, trembling with excitement. "Can you try to talk louder?"

'Bugger.' Spike thought.

He'd used up too much energy giving her oral sex. He felt himself fading out. Promising himself he'd see her again before she left, he faded away.

As soon as Spike's presence was gone, the lantern came back on and the vibrator started buzzing loudly inside of the duffel bag. Buffy jumped then reached in the bag to turn O.F. off. She wouldn't be needing it tonight.

She pulled her pants back on and laid there, staring at the ceiling. Her mind was racing a mile a minute. Buffy had just received oral sex, great oral sex, from a spirit and had a helluva 'poltergasm' as a result. That fact alone was crazy enough by itself, but add to that the fact that she wanted it to happen again...and again...

Buffy knew she should be terrified, she should be running, screaming from this house...She didn't know why she felt a kind of--trust? bond?--with the very friendly ghost. She knew instinctually that he wouldn't harm her.



 

Chapter 3: Do That To Me One More Time

The next morning, Buffy explored the grounds a little.

There was a lot of work to be done out here, too. But it was going to be spectacular when they were finished. There were trees and wildflowers covering the ground: Lupines, Butterfly Plants, Palm, Oaks, Pines and Redwoods, as well as various fruit trees. They could pluck an apple off one of their own trees whenever they wanted. Maybe Buffy could even learn to make stuff like jam and apple sauce.

Buffy came across a large pond in the rear of the house. It was boggy and gross at the moment, but she could see how it would look once they worked on it. It would be so cool to sit out here and sketch it. Maybe they could get some ducks and frogs to live in it.

A white structure caught her eye. She moved through the thick grass towards it. She laughed happily when she saw it was a gazebo. She'd always wanted one of those. Now she had one. It only needed to be fixed up like the rest of the property and it would be good as new.

Buffy got the urge to look back at the house. Again, she thought she saw something or someone moving by one of the windows. A secret smile touched her lips. Was that her ghostly lover? She wanted to make 'contact' with him again, not just in a sexual way, but also to find out who he was. It was so exhilarating. After never really believing in the paranormal before, she was made a true believer last night. The afterlife was real. Ghosts were real. Buffy never thought that she'd have an experience like this. The best part was that this was her home too now. She and Casper (since he was obviously very friendly, and she didn't know his name, Casper would have to suffice) could have many more nights together in the future.

Buffy had broken up with her last boyfriend, Riley Finn, a year ago. She got tired of his philandering ways and his condescending attitude. She hadn't gone out on another date since. So last night Casper gave her the first orgasm she'd had in a long time that wasn't caused by her own actions. She wanted to seek him out, but she needed to go into town to call Willow and find a place to take a shower first.

"Tonight. I hope you'll talk to me tonight," Buffy said, walking back to the house.


 

That evening, Buffy was settling onto her sleeping bag again after another day of back-breaking work.

Willow and Xander were going to be arriving tomorrow morning. A day later than they were supposed to, as some last minute stuff came up that couldn't be avoided.

Buffy was pleased at the progress that she'd made today. She'd dragged the old mattresses out front and ordered three new ones while in town to be delivered in the morning. The living room was looking cleaner but she couldn't wait until the electricity was turned on--those carpets really needed hoovering. She'd begun to clear out the enormous kitchen, but Willow wanted to tackle that room when she arrived. She'd contracted a company to come and replace the broken windows which would cost a pretty penny, but she had the money for it thanks to Aunt Prudence. The electricians and plumbers would be coming out too within the week. Things were coming along nicely.

Buffy hadn't seen or heard a peep from Casper after she got back from town. She decided to call him out again. She sat Indian-style on her sleeping bag and looked around the room.

"Hello? Are--you there? I want to talk to you," Buffy said. "Hello?"

Buffy was disappointed. She had hoped to have another visit tonight.

Spike heard her calling and glided into the room.

She wanted to talk to him and she wasn't afraid. He was chuffed to bits that she wanted him to come to her. He was feeling stronger today. He mused that drinking in her essence had given him more energy.

Goosebumps broke out on her skin at the sudden draft that accompanied his presence. Buffy rubbed her arms.

"Are--you here? Um--knock on something if you're here." Buffy tried to remember all the ghost movies she'd seen and how the people talked to the spirits.

Spike went to the large dresser and concentrated on making his hand more solid, then rapped on the top.

Buffy jumped slightly then laughed nervously, "Wow. Okay. Wow."

She swallowed a lump in her throat. She was talking to him, sort of.

"You're a--nice ghost, right?"

Spike smirked and knocked once on the dresser again.

Buffy smiled. "This is so cool! Um--you were the one that--was with me last night?" She blushed.

Knock.

"Why did you do--that to me? Oh, sorry--you can't answer if it's not 'yes' or 'no'...Did you--like doing it?"

Spike gave the dresser an extra loud rap.

"Are you by the mirror?" Buffy asked, looking at the mirror on top of the dresser.

Knock.

Buffy stood up and walked slowly over. She could feel his presence strongly there.

"I can feel you. You're--right around here, aren't you?" Buffy waved her hands in the air in the general area where he stood.

Knock.

This was a lot more than Spike was used to, but he wanted more. He wanted her to be able to see him; he wanted to be able to talk to her.

Buffy's eyes widened as a man-sized shape began to form in front of her. Spike slowly materialized. He was transparent; Buffy could see the room through his body, but she could see him.

"Oh--Oh God...I can see you!" Buffy smiled and gasped.

Spike looked down at himself and smiled, then looked back into her eyes. Her green eyes were wide and her smile was one of wonderment.

"You're the 'Sex Pistols' fan, obviously," Buffy said, making out the words 'Sex Pistols' on his t-shirt.

Her heart was thudding. Not only was she seeing her first ghost, but this particular ghost had gone down on her. He was not the usual type of guy she went out with in appearance at all. Somehow she always ended up with big, hulking, college-going, Sasquatch types (from what she could tell from his slightly blurry and translucent form he was about 5'10" and much slimmer). He kind of resembled the man in her dreams...She wished his features were more defined so that she could really see what he looked like.

"I wish I knew your name..." Buffy gazed into his transparent eyes.

Spike smiled and held up an index finger then put it to the dusty mirror. He wrote his name carefully.

"Spike?" Buffy giggled. "That's your name?"

He nodded.

"That's a nickname, right?"

He nodded and smiled. Then, wrote the name 'William' under 'Spike'.

"William. I always liked that name," Buffy said, still not totally believing that this was happening--it was extraordinary. "It's a cute guy's name."

Spike pointed to the name 'Spike' then pointed to himself, indicating that's the one he preferred.

Buffy nodded. "How did--how did you--you know--die?" Buffy asked gently.

Spike frowned. He sometimes forgot, but it came to him. The muscles of his face rippled with emotion at the remembrance. He made a few downward stabbing motions with his arm.

"Stabbed? You were stabbed?" Buffy asked sadly.

Spike nodded.

"Did they catch the guy?"

He shook his head 'no'.

"I'm--I'm sorry...that must make it worse." She didn't know what to say.

He nodded.

"You live here?"

He smiled again and nodded.

"I do too--you don't mind, do you? I've heard that ghosts don't like it when living people move into their houses..."

Spike shook his head, letting her know that he didn't mind her being her in the least. His eyes drifted down her body. He wanted to touch her again.

Buffy noticed the way he was looking at her. She felt herself heating up.

"Do--you...ummm--want to do what you did last night--again?" She bit her lip.

A big smile stretched across his face as he nodded vigorously.

Buffy pulled her top over her head and shimmied out of her pants, then moved to the sleeping bag and lay on her back. She was breathing rapidly and looking intently at her supernatural lover.

Spike walked to her, his eyes raking over her nubile body. What he wouldn't give to be alive again, to give her a good seeing to. He kneeled down again, looking into her eyes.

Buffy spread her legs for him. This wasn't smart, it was crazy. She knew that. She just couldn't help herself.

Tentatively, Spike tried touching her knee. He smiled when he was able to apply a light touch to her skin. It felt so smooth and warm.

Buffy shivered. His touch was cold, but not freezing. It felt so good in contrast to her hot flesh.

He put his other hand on the opposite knee and ran both his hands up to her waist.

"Ohhh--Yes--touch me!" Buffy breathed.

Spike's form started fading until he was barely there.

"No! Don't go!" Buffy said in alarm.

Spike stroked her thighs as strongly as he could, to let her know he wasn't vanishing. He was using up a lot of energy by touching her and he had to let his image fade if he wanted to continue. And he did want to continue.

"You're still here--but I can't see you anymore...".

Buffy moaned when she felt his hands drag up her torso to her breasts. She watched as he kneaded the soft mounds with invisible hands. She could feel his rings on her skin. Buffy gasped when his wet tongue licked one of her nipples.

Spike decided to try again to make his lips work. He put his mouth on her breast and sucked lightly. It worked. He moaned as he suckled at her, flicking the nipple with his tongue.

"Mmmmm--Oh! Ahhhh!" Buffy writhed.

Spike went to the other nipple, kissing and licking at it before sucking it up zealously. His hand slid between her thighs and rubbed her mound.

"Oh--Spike--God!" Buffy gasped in delight.

Her heat was scalding him in a good way, a very good way. He licked a lazy trail down her stomach to her groin. This time, he opened her lips himself. Spike enthusiastically began devouring her.

"Spike--Ahhhh--Ohhhh--Oh yeah!!" Buffy tried to put her hands in his hair, but her hands met only air.

Instead, she put her hands on her breasts to touch herself while he brought her off. Buffy wondered if she'd be able to do anything to him. She wanted to. She wanted to make him happy, to give him pleasure. Especially since he'd had such a tragic ending to his life. If anyone deserved a happy, it was someone who'd been murdered.

Spike was able to fuck her with his tongue while playing with her clit. It would be great if they could actually have sex, but that wasn't possible. It would take too much of his energy. But he could give her this and he was enjoying it almost as much as she did.

He switched to fucking her with his fingers while sucking on her clit. He explored her hole with two fingers, searching for that elusive spot. Spike grinned when his fingers came into contact with a little bump inside her walls. He pushed on it slowly in a gentle rhythm while he tongued her clit.

Buffy's back arched suddenly as she came hard, shouting his name. For the first time ever, she didn't just cum, she actually ejaculated. Her fluids shot out of her forcefully. It felt so weird but oh-so-amazing. None of her flesh and blood boyfriends had ever given her head this good.

"SPIKE! YESYESYES! AHHH! OH--OH GOOD GOD!" Buffy thrashed her head from side to side, shaking and jerking her hips in the best orgasm that she'd ever had.

It continued for several minutes, during which she grinned like a maniac and panted as she spasmed around his ghostly fingers.

He licked up her juices and stimulated her G-spot until he felt himself starting to fade again. His happiness at touching her and making her feel good, as well as reveling in the taste of her deliciousness, turned to sadness when he realized that he had to leave her now. He placed a worshipful kiss to her mons and was gone.

Buffy sat up, propped up on her elbows, still panting. "Spike?"

She couldn't feel him anymore, his hands, tongue or his presence. She dropped back down and sighed heavily. That made two encounters of the sexual kind she'd had with him. And the second time he vanished afterwards. Already, she was looking forward to the next night.

Buffy was in love. She was in love with a ghost who could make her cum like a rocketship.

"My life just got a whole lot weirder..."



 

Chapter 4: Settling In

The next morning, Buffy woke up with a satisfied smile on her face.

She had been dreaming about her lover and the wonderfully wicked things he could do with his tongue and hands. She hoped that he would visit her again tonight.

There was a lot to be done this morning. With a sigh she got up and stretched to begin her day.

After a few hours, Buffy took a break and went back up to the bedroom--half-hoping that Spike would be there waiting for her. Regardless, she wanted to explore his room more to get an idea of who he had been.

Buffy dragged a big, black steamer trunk out of the closet. There was a lock on it that she didn't have the key for, so she abandoned it for the moment, going back into the closet. Most of the clothes were ruined, but there was a long, leather duster coat that still looked good; it was surprisingly unsullied by time.

She took it out and fingered the soft leather. Although the temperature was in the 80's today, she just had to slip it on for a minute. Buffy pulled the coat closed and looked down at herself with a smile. He had worn this and it still smelled like him. She closed her eyes and inhaled: Tobacco, leather and an amazingly stubborn clean and fresh smell. How had the scents lingered after what must have been a very, very long time?

Without taking off the coat, Buffy rummaged around some more. She found a guitar case and an amp. Inside the case was an ice-blue metallic electric guitar with 'Fender' written on it. She strummed it lightly.

A big box in the closet contained audio tapes and record albums. His musical tastes were all over the place: Beatles, The Sex Pistols, Cheap Trick, Queen, Jimi Hendrix, Atlanta Rhythm Section, Bob Seger, Miles Davis, John Lee Hooker, Led Zeppelin, Blue Oyster Cult (wasn't that a funny name for a band?), etc. A lot of the bands Buffy hadn't even heard of. She'd make it a point to listen to some of them--to experience the same things that her ghostly lover had.

There was also an old portable record player in the closet. Once the power to the house was turned on she wanted to see if it still worked.

In the nightstand Buffy found some of his other belongings: Nail clippers, a pack of ancient-looking cigarettes and lighter, scissors, a bottle of black nail polish and tube of black eyeliner, rings, bracelets and necklaces, a key that probably went to the trunk, and ironically, a paperback copy of Stephen King's 'The Shining'. In the back of the drawer, Buffy found a leather-bound journal. She laid it on her lap and was about to open it when she stopped.

It would be invading his privacy to read it. She desperately wanted to know him, but she didn't want to read his personal thoughts unless he said it was okay. Carefully, Buffy replaced the book in the drawer and closed it. She decided to leave the trunk closed for now, too.

"I hope he's not mad that I was looking through his stuff..." Buffy worried her bottom lip between her teeth.


 

Willow and Xander pulled up around 10 a.m. in Xander's truck.

Buffy bounded out of the house to greet them.

"Hey guys!" Buffy waved.

Willow climbed out of the car, rubbing her butt.

"Owww! My butt fell asleep, help!" Willow clenched her teeth and hissed.

"I'll take care of that problem for ya, little lady," Xander said, moving up behind her. "Bend over, I'll wake it up."

"Ewww!" Willow giggled and smacked him on the arm. "Get away, you big perv!"

Buffy gave each of her friends a big hug.

"Sorry about being a day late, Buff. Were you okay here in the house by yourself?" Xander asked, looking at the house with trepidation.

The place creeped him out, but he didn't want to seem like a big girly-man in front of his friends. There was no way in hell that he would spend the night alone in there.

"Yeah, it's okay. I was--so busy with the cleaning and everything." Buffy blushed a little, thinking about the other ways she had found to pass the time.

She couldn't tell them about Spike. They'd think she was nuts and call the guys with the straitjackets and big butterfly nets.

"Oh, I'm so excited to get started!" Willow clapped her hands together. "This place is gonna rock when we get it all fixed up!"

"Yeah, sometime in the year 2525," Xander said. "This place looks like the Munsters' house...only not as neat and tidy."

"Thanks, Killjoy." Buffy punched him lightly in the arm.

"Hey!" Xander rubbed his arm. "What is this? Whack-A-Xander day?"

"How about a little enthusiasm?" Buffy asked. "Would it kill you?"

"It might," Xander joked. "You can never be too careful."

"Come on guys, I'll show you what I've done so far! And they delivered our mattresses this morning! Yay!" Buffy skipped up to the house.

"Wow, she's a lot happier than I thought she'd be after we left her alone for two days," Willow commented as she got some bags out of the truck.

"Yeah, I thought she'd be pissed."

"She was pretty excited about the house. She really seems to love this place." Willow started up the walkway.

"Don't know how that's possible...." Xander said. "This place...is just weird."


 

Buffy, Xander and Willow sat at one end of the long dining room table finishing up their sandwiches. It was fully dark outside. Their lanterns and some candles provided the only light. Xander had brought along a battery powered boom box for something to listen to. Currently, his 'Hits of the 80's' CD was playing.

Xander hummed and sang along in a bad British accent:

"We can dance if you wannu we can leave your friends behind cause your friends don't dance and if they don't dance well they're no friends of mine--"

Buffy and Willow laughed. Willow put her hand to her face, trying not to spray Yoo-Hoo out her nose.

"Is that a slam against my singing?" Xander asked in mock-offense. "Didn't know I could get jiggy with it, did ya? I could perform for the crowned-heads of Europe with this golden throat of mine."

"Do they still behead people? 'Cause I'm thinking that's the reaction you'd get," Buffy giggled.

Willow finally swallowed her drink with an effort. "I think they discontinued use of the guillotine, but they might bring the old girl back into service for Xander."

"I don't have to sit here and take this kind of abuse," Xander said, not making a move to get up. "Wait, yes I do. It's dark and scary everywhere else."

"Oh, it's not so bad," Willow said, taking a bite of her sandwich.

There was a creaking noise.

Xander jumped. "What the fuck was that?"

"Chill, Xan." Willow munched. "Old houses make settling sounds like that all the time."

Buffy was about to take a drink when she saw Spike enter the room. His form was still a bit dark and hazy, but she could see his smile. He smirked at her and waved. She smiled and was about to wave back when she caught herself. They probably couldn't see him.

"Hey, what are you all blushy about?" Xander asked, looking at Buffy.

"Hmm? Blushy? I'm not--blushy." Buffy ducked her head.

"You are too. See it, Wills?"

"Oh, leave her alone. Maybe she had a naughty thought..." Willow grinned.

"Cut it out!" Buffy said, rolling her eyes.

She did have a naughty thought. A very naughty thought. She imagined Spike, her phantom lover, under the table, touching her and putting his mouth on her while she sat talking with her friends.

Spike looked at Buffy, nodded, then turned to leave.

"No!" Buffy said without thinking--she wanted him to stay.

Willow and Xander looked at her. "Huh?"

"Umm--I was saying no--because...I thought it was regular instead of diet," Buffy said holding up her can of Coke.

Her friends wrinkled their foreheads but didn't pursue the matter.

Spike turned back around and smiled, hooking his thumbs in his belt.

"Umm--can I ask you guys a question?" Buffy said timidly.

They nodded.

"What do you think--about ghosts? Do you think they're real?"

Willow waved her hand dismissively. "Nope. There's not one shred of scientific evidence to support the existence of ghosts."

"That doesn't mean they're not real," Buffy protested. "It just means that we don't have--the right instruments and scientific dealies to detect them."

"Buffster," Xander said, "are you trying to make me piss my pants? Why the hell would you bring up ghosts in this house? At night, too!" He paused, a look of dread passing over his face. "Did--did you see or hear something?"

"I--uh--thought I saw something, yeah..."

"It's just your imagination," Willow said coolly. "A place like this is bound to make you jumpy."

"What did you see?" Xander asked nervously.

"Umm--a few times I thought I saw someone in one of the windows upstairs..."

"Oh shit..." Xander turned white and darted his eyes around the room. "Do you think this place is haunted?"

A scratching sound came from around the fireplace.

Xander gulped, turning his head slowly to look at the fireplace.

"That's probably just some rats," Willow said.

"Rats!? You ain't helpin', Wills!" Xander shivered. "Now we have ghosts AND rats! Perfect! They can work as a tag-team, the ghosts can scare us to death while the rats munch on our tender flesh!"

"We'll get an exterminator, don't worry." Willow patted his hand.

"Shit...what if this place really is packed with spooks?" Xander said.

Spike sighed and shook his head. The poor kid wouldn't last a week here.

"So, this thing you saw," Willow asked Buffy, "what did it look like?"

"Well...I didn't get a very good look. It was just kind of--a shape."

Another spirit (this one was a small, blonde woman in a flowing, diaphanous white dress) floated into the room. Spike looked despondently at his fellow ghost and his eyes became wet with unshed tears. The lady ghost went to the fireplace then walked around the table past Xander.

Xander rubbed his arms vigorously. "It's cold. You guys feel that?"

Willow shrugged. "So it's a little drafty."

"No, this is like--you know how people say it's colder when ghosts are around? The temperature drops an' shit..."

"Buffy, you scared the crap out of Xander with all that ghost-talk," Willow said disapprovingly.

"Yeah, thanks, Buff. Why don't you take one of the flashlights and hold it under your chin so you can tell us some more spooky tales." Xander looked around anxiously.

The female spirit continued her circuit of the room and disappeared into the wall leading into the kitchen. Spike followed after her, passing through the wall.

"Sorry," Buffy said looking at the point where the woman and Spike had vanished.

Buffy wondered who the woman was.



 

Chapter 5: Perchance to Dream

Buffy laid awake most of the night waiting for Spike to come. But he never did. She wanted to go into town and research the house, but there was just too much to do around here to spare a minute right now.

In the morning, Willow had to wake her up after only after a few hours of sleep. The three friends worked most of the afternoon in the kitchen: Scrubbing and cleaning the floors, cabinets and surfaces to get it ready for the new appliances being delivered in a few days.

"Don't you wish we could have one of those neat montages like they have on TV and the movies?" Xander asked, scrubbing the floor by the sink.

"Montages?" Buffy asked.

"Yeah, like when someone has a lot of studying or a lot work to do, they play a peppy, zippy song, something like oh let's say, 'Safety Dance'." Buffy and Willow giggled. "The people are shown at different stages of progress, until they're all done!"

"You're nutty, Xander," Willow said with a smile. "I don't get you."

"Nobody gets me, baby. I'm like the wind," Xander said, doing an old-Elvis type kung fu move.

They giggled and continued to clean.

"Buff, when are the electricians coming?" Willow asked.

"A team of them are coming soon in a few days, a week tops. They're going to be checking all the wiring and putting in a new fuse box... Which reminds me, we're going to have to go downstairs to make sure the electricians have a clear path to the fuse box." Buffy said.

"Downstairs? As in the basement?" Xander gulped and said in a Shaggy from 'Scooby Doo'-like voice.

"Yep."

Xander shuddered. The basement was where the monsters lurked in all those movies. He really regretted watching so many creature features growing up right now.

"So, uh, who's going to be the lucky one that goes down--there?" Xander asked.

"Well, you, obviously," Buffy said scrubbing the floor.

"Me!" Xander squeaked. "Why is it obviously me?"

"Cause you're a guy. Fuse boxes and stuff like that are your territory," Willow explained.

"I know nothing about that stuff! Why do I have to do it?"

"Xander, relax," Buffy said. "You don't have to do it right now or anything, just within the next couple days."

"Oh, that makes me feel SO much better..." Xander mumbled miserably.

Something horrible was creeping around down there, be it ghosts or rats or maybe even ghosts of rats, he was sure of it.


 

A few days passed.

The plumbers had come out and inspected some of the pipes. Unsurprisingly, they needed to replace the sinks, bathtubs, showerheads and much of the piping. The plumbers were waiting for the electricity to be turned on before going into basement so they could see what they were doing down there.

Willow had been especially giddy when they were cleaning the ballroom. Yes, they actually had a ballroom. They didn't know what they'd possibly use it for, but they had one.

Xander worked outside a lot with the landscapers. They cleared out sections of overgrown foliage and grass and cut down a few trees. The lawns were looking more clean and less crowded everyday. The large pond was being un-mucked and restored too. Willow and Xander had both expressed their approval of stocking it with their own ducks and frogs.

In the evening, the friends went into town for some supplies and to take turns using the shower at a cheap motel. It would be absolute Heaven when they got to use their own showers and tubs (not to mention the toilets!) at the house.

At 11 o'clock, they said their goodnights and went to their rooms. They were all exhausted from the last few days of work.

Buffy knew that she'd have a hard time falling asleep, despite how tired she was... She'd hold her usual vigil waiting for Spike to come.


 

Buffy laid on her new mattress, tossing and turning. It had been two hours since she'd given up on him coming. It was useless, she couldn't sleep.

With a sigh, she turned on the lantern next to her bed. The electricity was supposed to be turned on next week, but until then they still had to make do with lanterns and candles.

Spike hadn't come for three days. Why? Didn't he like her anymore? Was something preventing him from visiting her? Did something happen to him? She was worried.

Buffy groaned, picked up her crossword puzzle from on top of her nightstand and tried to take her mind off of him.

A short time later, Spike entered the bedroom.

He smiled when he saw her. It seemed like an eternity since he'd last seen her. He approached the bed.

Buffy froze when she felt the tingles and draftiness that went along with Spike's presence. She sat up and looked around.

"Spike? Is that you?" Buffy asked eagerly.

Spike materialized by the foot of the bed. He smirked, looking more opaque than he did last time. The details of his face and body were plainly visible although she could still see through him.

"Spike, I--I thought you weren't coming back..." Buffy stared at him.

He was gorgeous: Sculpted cheekbones, pouty lips, blue eyes the color of the sky, a scar cut through his left eyebrow. Buffy felt the strange urge to lick the eyebrow scar, as it was quite lickable-looking. He was wearing a long, leather coat over his other clothes this time. The same coat that she'd found hanging in the closet.

Now that his facial features were fully formed, it hit Buffy like a ton of bricks. Spike didn't just resemble him, he was the man she'd seen in her dreams. The man that she'd silently longed for all these years.

"Why did you stay away so long?" Buffy asked dazedly.

Spike lips moved as he spoke to her. She could almost hear him.

"Can--you talk louder?" she asked.

He took a breath and concentrated on projecting his voice.

"I'll try." She heard him say in a low, soft voice.

"I heard you!" Buffy bounced on the bed. "I heard you that time!"

"How long have I been away?" Spike asked, excited to actually be talking to her.

"Three days." Buffy pouted. "I--I thought that something happened to you..."

"Forgive me, luv. Time doesn't have much meaning...for me."

"You have an English accent? You're from England?"

"Yes. I moved to the states a few years before...before I died." He moved and sat on the end of the bed.

Buffy scooted closer to him; her eyes never stopped roaming over his face and body. She wanted to absorb everything about him, just in case he disappeared again.

"When did you--did it happen?"

Spike thought for a moment. "July 5th, 1978. That was the date."

"1978? You've been here all that time? Alone for 25 years?"

"25 years..." Spike looked off into the distance. "Is that how long it's been? It seems a lot longer than that...but then again, it doesn't seem possible...like it only happened yesterday. Does that make any sense?"

Buffy nodded, then said, "I'm sorry, Spike...it must be terrible. I wish I could make things better for you."

He turned back to her and smiled. "You have, Buffy. I can't tell you how lonely I was before you arrived. Seeing you, touching you...it's more than I could have hoped for. You were the one that I was waiting for."

"Waiting for?"

"Every time I felt complete despair, like I'd go mad with the loneliness and isolation, there was this feeling I had. Someone or something would come along to change my dreary existence. It was important that I hold onto my sanity until it came. But I had to wait for it. For you."

"I--dreamed about you..." Buffy said, looking into his sparkling eyes.

Spike smirked. "Did you, now?"

He assumed she meant last night.

"Yes. Before I came here. Since I was a kid, I've had these dreams on and off...I'd see your face."

Buffy didn't want to mention how sexual the dreams became when she matured. It was still a little embarrassing to admit to anyone, even him, in spite of what he had done to her on her sleeping bag.

"You'd smile and laugh...I remember how your eyes would crinkle up when you laughed, I loved that. I drew you over and over again, until my mom wigged out and demanded to know who this older man was that I was obsessed with." They chuckled. "If you want--I can show you some of the sketches...And when I was driving by this house, I had to stop. I'd seen it in my dreams too. Just the outside, though."

"Hmmm. How odd," Spike said, considering what she'd said.

Buffy giggled.

Spike looked back at her and smirked. He loved the tinkling sound of her laughter.

"What is it, luv?"

"It's just funny. A ghost saying something is odd. I mean, Hello?"

They chuckled again.

"You know what's even odder?" Spike asked.

Buffy shook her head.

"I--dreamed about you, too. For a long time. You looked like you do now, you never aged even as I got older..."

"You--you did?" Buffy was stunned.

Spike grinned. "Yes. I never knew your name, but you would smile at me and hold my hand...The dreams were always pleasant. You've been special to me for so many years and I've only just met you..."

"We dreamed about each other..." Buffy said slowly. "What does it mean? Were we--meant--to meet? Like--fate?"

"I like to think so." Spike smiled. "It's a bit too much of a coincidence, don't you think?"

Buffy nodded. Her mind was awhirl. This was all just too bizarre! Spike had dreamt of her, too?! If they were meant to be together why did he have to be dead? God must have a really sick sense of humor.

"I see you've been cleaning," Spike said, changing the subject. He indicated the trunk and guitar case that Buffy had removed from the closet.

"Umm--yeah...I hope you're not mad."

"No. Not mad. Far from it. You can do whatever you like with all of it...it's not like I'm ever going to use it again," Spike said with a sad smile. "It's your home now."

"I found a book marked 'Journal' in the drawer over there." Buffy pointed to the nightstand. "I didn't read it, though. I didn't want to invade your privacy like that."

Spike smiled. "It's okay, pet. It would be nice for someone to know who I was. I didn't have time to make any kind of mark on the world while I was alive. You can read it. I have to warn you though, most of it will put you to sleep. Better than warm milk."

Spike knew she'd read about her dream-self in the Journal. He'd been very detailed in his descriptions of his dreams, most especially his sexual dreams. He wondered what she'd think about it.

Buffy giggled and breathed a sigh of relief. She really wanted to read his journal and get a better sense of him.

"Spike, who was that woman? The one that came into the dining room the other night?" Buffy asked.

He looked down, sorrow and pain written on his face.

"She was my cousin. Darla. This was her house."

"Oh," Buffy said, wishing she could put her arms around him.

"She'd want you to take good care of it for her. She loved it..." Spike trailed off.

"I--I will," Buffy promised. "I want to make it beautiful again."

She wanted to ask him more about Darla and the circumstances of their deaths, but he was so sad already that she didn't want to make it worse. Her heart ached for him.

Spike met her eyes again. "Have you seen others like me here? Besides Darla."

"No...but I've heard some stuff, I assumed it was you. Xander heard some things too. How many of them are there?"

"I don't know...more than a few. Some of them aren't very nice or pleasant looking."

"You mean--they're all gross and bloody?" Buffy shuddered, she couldn't stand the sight of blood.

"Yeah, some of them are. I'll try to keep them from bothering you and your friends," Spike said comfortingly. "This house has been around since the early 1900's, it's collected its fair share of spirits in that time--like fireflies in a bottle. But I'll do my best to look after you."

"Thanks," Buffy said, feeling warmer and wetter the longer he looked at her.

"Can I--touch you?" Spike asked timidly.

Buffy had many more questions about his life and death to ask, but she wanted him too much right now. The days that she hadn't seen him or felt his ghostly hands on her body were torturous.

Buffy nodded and then pulled off her nightgown.

"Can--I see you too?" Buffy asked, breathing hard and lying down on her back.

Spike stood up and smirked. "I think so."

He concentrated for a moment. His clothes dissolved from his body, leaving him standing there naked.

"That's a time saver..." Buffy gawked.

Spike chuckled.

Buffy's eyes looked him over from head to toe. He was a work of art, and she knew from art. She knew what her next sculpture would be. His body could have been chiseled from marble. It was muscular and defined, everything perfectly proportioned. She gulped when she looked at his semi-erect cock. It was beautiful too--so big and thick. Her fingers twitched to take him in her hand and stroke him to full hardness.

Spike crawled up the bed towards her. Buffy was struck dumb by the sheer eroticism of his look and movements. He moved so fluidly and gracefully. He hovered above her, his eyes burning with lust.

"Can you--kiss me?" she asked breathlessly.

Without a word, he lowered his head and pressed his lips lightly on hers. They felt jolts of electricity when their lips touched. It was a sensation neither of them had ever felt before. They moaned and melted into the embrace. Spike wanted to deepen it even more, but he could tell that he was at his limits already. If he tried to become more solid, he might fade away from the strain. He noticed that he was getting stronger and becoming more solid every time he was with her. He also was becoming more cognizant, remembering his life and death with clarity. Maybe soon they could do even more than this together...

Spike moved his lips down her throat, kissing the side of her neck before moving onto her breasts.

Buffy wanted to hold him but her hands kept passing through his shoulders so she clutched at the sheets instead.

"I wish I could touch you too..." Buffy whispered. "I want to make you happy."

"You do, Buffy. God--you've made me so happy..." Spike sighed as he lightly suckled and fondled her tits.

"Ahhh--I meant I want to put my mouth--Uhhh--on you! I want to run my tongue all over your body!" Buffy breathed.

"This is what we have...just enjoy this. Don't think about anything else. Don't want for more. Let's not be greedy."

"Ohhh--Yes--Ohhh!" Buffy watched him as he sucked and licked her hot skin.

"Mmmm--You taste so good, pet," Spike moaned, licking down her stomach to her pussy.

"Ohhh--Spike!" Buffy said with a melty sigh.


 

Unable to sleep, Willow had snuck back down to do a little more work on the kitchen. After she was too tired to do anymore, she made her way back up to her room with her lantern.

As she was passing Buffy's room, she stopped. There were strange sounds coming from inside. It sounded like Buffy was talking to someone and--moaning.

Willow put her ear to the door and listened.

"Mmmm--Ohhh! How do you do that? Ahhh!" Buffy exclaimed.

Willow furrowed her brows. It sounded like someone was in there with Buffy. Was it Xander? Willow knocked lightly on the door. The sounds stopped.

"Buffy? Everything okay?" Willow asked.

"Don't come in! I'm f-fine!" Buffy stuttered.

"You sure?"

"Yes! Yeah, fine! Go back to bed, Willow."

Willow shrugged and went to her bedroom.


 

"I'm fading, sorry, luv," Spike apologized. "Wish I could stay longer."

Buffy was panting from the glorious orgasm he'd just given her.

"Don't--stay away so long...okay? I--missed you."

Spike smiled. "I'll try."

He reached out and touched her face lightly then disappeared.

Buffy felt so sad when he left her. Why couldn't he stay with her? She wanted to find out more about him. When she had the time, she wanted to go into town and do some research on him and the house. That weasel real estate agent Warren hadn't told them that anyone had been murdered here. Buffy would have wanted the house regardless, but Willow and Xander might have minded.

Buffy sighed in post-orgasmic bliss and slid under the sheet.


 

Buffy drifted off to sleep thinking of Spike. A vivid dream played out in her head:


June 2, 1978

Buffy found herself in the foyer of the mansion. It was beautiful and fixed up just the way she envisioned it looking in its heyday, and how she wanted it to look when she was done with it. There were hand-painted murals on the cream-colored walls; the draperies were lace, velvet and silk; bas-relief moldings decorated the ceiling. It was breathtaking.

She was admiring the way the hardwood floors practically glowed when there was a knock on the front door.

Buffy was wondering if she should answer it when a blonde woman hurried past her and opened it. The woman was the living version of the one that came into the dining room that first night Willow and Xander were here. Spike's cousin, Darla.

"William!" the blonde woman exclaimed when she opened the door.

"Hey, Darla. How's tricks?" Spike said with a smirk.

He looked just as Buffy had seen him last, except with clothes on: Ripped jeans, t-shirt with safety pins stuck randomly through it, heavy black combat boots.

Darla threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. It had been a year since she'd seen her baby cousin, who also happened to be her favorite relative. They were 12 years apart in age, but they always had a special bond.

"It's good to see you. I'm so glad you decided to come out and stay with me."

Spike picked up a few of his suitcases and entered the foyer. He whistled in appreciation.

"This is quite a place you have here, cousin. I can't believe I'm going to be living in a posh place like this."

"Well, get used to the good life, William." Darla smiled.

"Spike. I like to be called Spike now."

"Hmm, yes, I keep forgetting that. Uncle Rupert must be having fits," Darla chuckled.

Some members of Darla's staff went outside and began moving Spike's big, black trunk, guitar case and other bags into the house.

"Spike?" Buffy said. "Can either of you hear me?"

They ignored her. Buffy tried touching Spike's arm, but her hand passed through like water. She pulled her hand back. It was as if she were the ghost this time.

It was disorienting. Buffy was getting impressions from them, their emotions and thoughts. She wasn't getting everything--just pieces here and there.

"Yeah, Dad wasn't crazy about the name thing or my appearance. Especially my appearance," Spike laughed.

"When did these changes happen?" Darla asked. "I saw you last year at Christmas and you still had your glasses, tweed suit and curly brown hair." She tousled his now spiky blond hair playfully. "I think you look great, by the way. Very dangerous and sexy. The girls must eat you up with a spoon."

"Hey, watch the hair." Spike smirked and ran a hand through his blond locks. "I decided on a change shortly after Christmas. And the girls pay me my fair share of attention now that I don't look like a total wanker. William is dead, viva la Spike!"

"I happen to love William. He better still be in there somewhere, you rogue." Darla poked him in the stomach.

"Yeah, that git's still in here. Don't you worry. Can't get rid of 'im."

Darla was the only person who Spike really felt comfortable with. She never judged him or put pressure on him to be better or different than he was--she accepted him. When he was little, Darla looked after him a lot; putting band-aids on scraped knees, reading to him, etc. And she had taken him to his first concert in 1972. They saw Led Zeppelin in L.A. while he was there on a visit and it was the highlight of his young life. Darla would always have a special place in his heart, for those reasons and many more.

"Come on, let's get you settled into your bedroom." Darla took his hand and led him to the staircase.

Buffy followed behind them. The cousins had very warm feelings for each other. They obviously had a close relationship. Nothing icky, just a strong familial love and bond.

"This is really weird...Why am I dreaming this? Did this really happen or is my mind making up the details?" Buffy wondered aloud.

Spike and Darla entered the bedroom.

"Wow, Dar!" Spike said. "This is bloody brilliant!"

Buffy stood in the doorway watching them with a smile.

Darla laughed as Spike ran around the room, checking everything out. Spike jumped on the bed and bounced up and down on his knees like a kid.

"Don't break the bed Will- I mean, Spike."

"This is really all mine? I can put up my own posters and stuff? You don't mind?"

"Yep, it's all yours," Darla said. "Just don't break all the furniture, Mr. Punk Rocker."

"For you, I'll give the breaking of the furniture a pass." Spike bowed in deference.

They chuckled.

"Listen, I have to talk to the kitchen staff, so I'll leave you to get acquainted with your room. You can take a nap or go exploring if you'd like. If you need something, you can ask Ethan, he's the head of the staff." Darla turned to walk out.

"Darla?" Spike said.

"Hmmm?" She turned back to him.

"Thanks for having me. I'm really going to enjoy livin' here. I have a good feeling about it." Spike smiled.

"Me too. We're going to have a lot of fun." Darla grinned.


 

Buffy woke up the next morning a bit disoriented. The dream had seemed so real. The colors were so vivid, the smells were so strong, the sounds were so crisp...

Why did she dream it? Why was she seeing it? Did Spike somehow send it to her? Or was the house itself doing this to her? She'd have to ask Spike the next time she saw him, which would be that night, she hoped.

 

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