Chapter 20    Zipper Morals

“That was brilliant!”

Spike walked ahead of Buffy, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he moved.  He was invigorated, aroused, and totally wired.

The Slayer, on the other hand, was looking very dour as she marched determinedly through the back alleys that led out of the industrial district where the Bronze was located.

“Oh, come on!” he responded to her expression.  “Tell me that wasn’t a fun little fight!”

She just glared at him.  “What are you talking about, Spike?  You didn’t do anything.  Just stood there while the rest of us defended you.”

“I know!” he beamed, bouncing in place.  “My bloody heroes!  Musta killed soldier boy to have to come to my rescue.”  He laughed.  “God!  I feel like Helen of bleedin’ Troy!  No wonder some birds get off on pittin’ blokes against each other.”

She stopped.  “Are you telling me you did this on purpose?”

“What?  No!”  Then he added truthfully, “I hadn’t thought of it.  But I woulda picked better than that ponce if I had.  Don’t know where he got delusions of adequacy.”

“Maybe from the fact that you let him put his hands all over you.”

“We were just talking.”

“For future reference, Spike?  If you don’t want to sleep with a guy, you don’t let him put his hand up your . . . leg.”

He studied her with a smirk.  So she’d noticed that.  “Well, you showed him the error of his ways right and proper, didn’t you?  The only thing missing was the possessive kiss over his fallen body.”

“You really are insane, aren’t you?”

“You feel it, Slayer.  I know you do.  That primitive male brain of yours is screaming at you to take what you fought for, and it’s pumping a lovely cocktail through you to do just that.  Adrenalin, testosterone, endorphins, all that blood.  God, I wish I could taste you right now.  Bet you’d taste incredible.” Just the thought of it made his whole body itch, as eager to be possessed as he knew she was to possess him.

He saw her tremble at his words, but all she said was, “It’s not going to happen, Spike.”

“Why not?  It’s not like its any secret I want you.  That fight turned me on as much as it did you.  Aren’t you curious to find out what it feels like to feel all that soft flesh wrapped around your hard cock?  Hell of a lot better than your hand, I promise you that.”

“Just shut up, Spike,” she growled fiercely.

He stopped, turning to face her with a smug grin, narrow challenging eyes and a cocked hip.  “Make me,” he said very succinctly.

It was the final line for him to cross.

With a snarl of rage, she grabbed his shoulders and slammed him up against the brick wall.  And he knew this was his moment.  If he could just keep her from thinking . . .

He gripped her head with both hands and crashed their mouths together.

Buffy froze, but Spike didn’t stop, devouring her firm, supple lips with his own, not letting her pull away.  He could almost feel the moment she gave into it, felt the tension in her body relax into something different.

When she opened her mouth, he almost wept.

He matched her, teasing her lips with his teeth and tongue before slipping inside to toy with hers, luring it out until she was thrusting back.  Her hands slipped under his jacket to skim up over the bare skin of his back, her warrior calluses rough and warm, making him shudder.

There was nothing gentle about this.  It was all passion and hunger and possession.  He didn’t mind, just so long as he got to have her just this once.  He ground against her, and she moaned, a warm rippling baritone that made him tight in all the right places.  He didn’t dare say a word, make any of the promises or endearments welling up in his throat, for fear of bringing her to her senses and sending her fleeing into the night.  He knew he didn’t have long as it was.

He reached one hand behind his back to release the knot holding the back of his halter closed, then caught her wrist to drag her hand up under the soft fabric to fondle his breast.  He gasped as her rough palm abraded his puckering nipple, her hand naturally cupping and pulling on his firm round flesh.  Instinctively her hips thrust against his, grinding him hard against the wall, her bulge stroking against his clit through layers of denim and leather.  He couldn’t stop himself as he ripped his head away from her mouth with a hoarse cry of “Oh, god!”

She hesitated, and he saw the flicker of Buffy come back into her eye.  He was out of time.

With a deft hand, he reached between them and popped the buttons on her jeans, reaching under the fabric to wrap his fingers around her blood-heated cock.

This time they both moaned.

She felt better than he’d imagined, thick and long, filling his small hand with the waxy satin of it.  With each stroke, he pushed at her jeans and briefs until her hips and thighs were bare.  Catching his arm around her neck, he lifted himself up to wrap around her hips as his other hand guided her to his center, pushing aside the sodden fabric of his panties as he rubbed her head against himself, positioning her perfectly to drop himself down her length.

She roared ferally at the feeling of penetration.  He could barely whimper.

He could feel her everywhere, as though every sensory nerve in his body was linked to the soft channel she now filled.  He had expected the stretch, but hadn’t realized how every small surface within him would be touched by her.  The friction of dry skin on wet tissue was electrifying, and he needed to feel it again.  Using the muscles of his legs, he rose up, sliding almost off her before pushing against her again, taking her a little deeper.  By the third time, her body’s instincts kicked in and she began moving as well until they were fucking each other feverishly against the wall.

“Christ, Buffy,” his mouth began running, disconnected from all thought.  “Feels so good.  Didn’t know it could feel like this.  Don’t stop, love.  Oh god please don’t stop.  Harder.  Oh god, yes, fuck me harder.”

“Shut up, Spike,” she growled against the side of his neck as her hands clenched into his flexing thigh muscles, lifting him through each stroke.

“I can’t,” he panted, his head thrown back.  “It’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever felt.  I can’t stop.  I have to . . .”

She silenced him herself, her mouth grinding over his as she slammed him hard against the wall with each stroke.

Her climax surprised them both, although it shouldn’t have, considering it was her first time.  She froze in mid-stroke and he briefly saw her eyes roll up in her head before her hips jerked sporadically against him.  The feel of her come shooting into him in warm, wet spurts was enough to trigger his own orgasm, wrenching a soft cry from him as he clutched her tightly, his body trembling and spasming against hers.

They stood like that for long moments, supporting each other with her soft cock still cradled inside him, arms and legs tangled around each other as their bellowing lungs slowed, her heartbeat settling slowly down to normal.

She backed up slowly, slipping out of him with a soft moan before lowering him to his feet.  She didn’t look at him as she carefully straightened his skirt for him  before drawing her pants and underwear back up.  He was too overwhelmed by what they had done, how amazing it had felt, to do anything but lean against the wall, awestruck.

Buffy backed away slowly.  “I . . . I have to . . . I can’t be here.  Will you . . . will you be okay getting home?”

Spike swallowed, trying to regain speech.  “Yeah,” he forced out, his soft voice husky, “I’ll be okay.”

She didn’t look at him again as she disappeared into the darkness.

He let himself sink to the ground, no longer able to support himself standing.

And Spike realized that no matter how he tried to convince himself, once was not going to be enough with her.

Chapter 21    The Great Rite

It had been a good night. 

If Tara were honest with herself, she had to admit that it was nice to be able to be demonstrative with Willow in public without worrying who might see.

But now they were back home, where it was just the two of them.  And she wasn’t ready for the evening to be over.

She closed the door behind them, mirroring Willow as she kicked her shoes off and dropped her coat over the back of the desk chair.  They met at the foot of the bed and Tara reached out to draw Willow close.

“I had a really good time tonight,” she said quietly, kissing Willow’s lips softly.

Willow smiled.  “Me, too.”

“I’d like . . .”  She paused.  “I really want to make love to you.”

Willow’s breath caught.  “You do?”

She nodded hesitantly.  “I just have missed touching you so much.”

“I know.”  Willow stepped close to kiss her tenderly, her fingers moving to undo the buttons on Tara’s shirt.  “I’ve missed it, too.”

Tara hesitated.  “Willow, wait.  I don’t think I’m ready . . .”

“Shh, shh, shh,” Willow whispered against her lips.  “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to, I promise.  But can I take off your shirt?  I just want to feel your skin.”

Tara drew a deep breath, her eyes wide and nervous, but she nodded slightly.  Willow smiled that soft grin that touched Tara’s heart every time, and she found herself relaxing.  Willow worked the buttons quickly, pulling the tails out of Tara’s jeans before coasting her warm, soft hands over Tara’s skin.  “You still have a nice chest,” she said, her voice rich with reaction.

Her hand trembling slightly, Tara reached out to pull Willow’s sequined t-shirt up and over her head, revealing the pretty floral demi-bra that cupped her breasts.  Tara let her fingers trail down over the curves of them.  “So do you.”

Willow’s breath hitched and she caught Tara’s wrist, holding her in place.  “More.”

Tara smiled.  This was familiar territory. She cupped her hand around one round globe, so much smaller in these bigger hands, and stroked her thumb over the covered nipple.  Willow closed her eyes, tipping her head back in pleasure, and Tara took advantage of that to kiss tenderly along the column of her throat, sucking and nibbling at random intervals, wringing pleasurable gasps from Willow as she gripped Tara’s shoulders.  Finally she heard Willow whisper, “Take it off.  Please, I want to feel you.”

Tara’s free hand coasted up to the hooks on the back of Willow’s bra, deftly unhooking them despite her larger fingers.  With a shrug and a shimmy, Willow shook it off and dropped it to the floor before wrapping her arms around Tara’s neck to rub their chests together, groaning into each other’s mouths as they met in hungry kisses.

Tara had always thought Willow was so soft, but never more so than now.  The contrast of their bodies now just emphasized her every curve, every softness.  “You feel so good, baby.”

“You make me feel better,” Willow murmured back, her hands eagerly exploring the expanses of bare skin on Tara’s back and chest.

Tara let her hand fall to the button at the back of Willow’s waist, releasing the peasant skirt to fall in a pool at her feet.  Willow broke away, stepping back so Tara could see her fully, clad in nothing but the delicate floral bikinis that matched the discarded bra.

“You are so beautiful,” Tara breathed, watching her in wonder.

Willow blushed, ducking her head at the compliment.  Her head down, hair falling over her face, she hooked her thumbs into the loops of her panties and pushed them down, revealing her neat auburn thatch of curls to Tara’s hungry eyes.

“Beautiful,” she repeated, awe struck.

Willow reached out and took her hand, drawing Tara with her as she mounted the bed.  “Touch me,” she begged softly, lying down against the pillows.

Tara’s cock throbbed at the request, but she ignored it, transfixed by her lover’s beauty, spread out before her like a banquet.  She dipped her head to run her tongue over one tightly crinkled nipple, her hand tugging and rolling at the other one.  Willow moaned, her hands resting on Tara’s bobbing head.

Tara moved her hand down to coast along Willow’s thighs, making her gasp and spread her legs in invitation.  She let her fingers tease and torment lightly as she suckled hard on one nipple, rolling her tongue over it and nipping lightly in the way she knew drove Willow crazy. 

Tara was so focused on pleasuring Willow that she was completely unprepared for the warm hand that brushed across the front of her jeans.

She cried out in surprise, in panic, in pure, instinctual encouragement, her fingers digging hard into Willow’s thigh.  Willow froze, panting.

“I’m sorry!  I didn’t mean . . .” her desire heavy eyes widened in horror.  “I’m sorry.  I really didn’t . . .”

“Shh."  Tara nuzzled against her hair, resuming stroking her thighs gently.  “I know you didn’t.  It just surprised me.”

Willow gripped Tara’s shoulder, her hips arching to guide Tara’s hand as her eyes closed again.

Tara tried to focus on Willow, but the brief contact made her cock pulse, wanting and hungry.  She tried unsuccessfully to ignore it.

Willow didn’t help.  She had tipped her head aside to watch Tara attend each breast when she asked, “Did it feel good?”

Tara let her hand fall between Willow’s open legs to trail over the soft curves of her ass that showed through her thighs.  Under cover of her gasp of pleasure, Tara confessed, “Yeah, it did.”

Willow gripped Tara’s wrist to guide her closer to her center.  Tara continued to tease, stroking her finger over the thick flesh of her mons without making contact with the juicy labia swelling in anticipation.  Shifting up onto one hip, she moved her head across Willow’s chest to lavish rough attention on her other breast, wringing whimpers from her writhing body.  It was half of a familiar dance of ecstasy they played so often together.  Tara was grateful to still have this much.

“Do you . . .” Willow started, panting the words roughly.  “Can I do it again?”

Tara’s hips bucked in reaction, her erection crushing against Willow’s soft thigh, drawing a moan from her own lips.

“Please!” Willow begged desperately.

Finally, hesitantly she nodded her head.

This time the caress came with slow deliberation, fingertips and palm sliding firmly over blood-swollen flesh, burning her even through the heavy denim of her jeans. Tara’s head snapped back as she thrust into the caress, groaning.

“Again,” it was her turn to beg.

Willow needed no further encouragement, sawing along the bulging length, experimenting with pressure and pace to see what pleased Tara more.  In reward, Tara finally slipped her lead fingers in along Willow’s narrow slit, swallowing her scream of delight behind a hungry kiss.

When Tara released her mouth, Willow started babbling.  “Oh, my god, that feels so different, so good.  Your fingers are so much bigger, so warm, the skin’s just a little rough, oh god, baby, harder!  So different, but you still know how to make me feel so good.  You feel so good, baby, so good in my hand, so full and solid and hard.  I want to feel you, baby, please, just want to hold you Tara, please!”

The demands of Tara’s body had pushed aside all fear, all uncertainty, leaving only the pounding drive of need.  She pulled her supporting arm out from under herself, lying down on the pillows as she used her now-free hand to unfasten her fly, pushing the fabric down as much as she could.

Willow needed no further encouragement, her hand dipping in eagerly to slide along bare, straining flesh.

Tara’s world irised down to that contact, the feel of Willow’s hand wrapped around her cock all that mattered.  Her hips worked naturally, thrusting and retreating in her lover’s tight grip, keeping pace with her own fingers as they delved into Willow’s liquid heat.

Willow began to tremble, and then suddenly bucked against Tara’s hand, a stream of curses erupting from her as her orgasm took her. Tara was grateful Willow had released her grip on Tara’s cock, as she saw the strength Willow clutched at the sheets with.  But a part of her was resentful of losing the pleasurable stimulation along her shaft.  She leaned forward and kissed Willow’s temple and throat softly, easing her back down to earth with their usual care, wondering what would happen next.

She didn’t have to wonder long.  Willow rolled up on her side to wrap her arms around Tara, catching their mouths in slow, languid kisses as she rubbed her torso and hips voluptuously against Tara’s length.  Tara let go and reveled in it, stroking her large hands over Willow’s back and hair, reaching down to cup her ass.  She slipped her thigh between Willow’s in their familiar frottage position.  Willow quickly began riding it, her own thigh rubbing against Tara’s aching balls and shaft.  She growled and pressed harder.

“I want to make love to you,” Willow murmured into Tara’s ear, her teeth nipping hungrily at the lobe.  “I want you to feel me holding you as close as I possibly can.  I want you to feel as good as I do.”

Tara couldn’t help but roll her head back, grinding down harder in response.  “I . . . I don’t know . . .”

Willow caressed her face.  “If you don’t want to, it’s okay.  But if you do, that’s okay, too.  All acts of love and pleasure, remember?  And I love you so much.  I just want to make you feel good.”

Tara wanted to protest.  There had to be a reason this was wrong.  But she couldn’t think of any.  All she could think of was how hard she was and how good Willow’s hand had felt.  With a growl of surrender, she rolled them over, pinning Willow to the mattress as she ravaged her mouth.

Willow became a frenzy of activity, hands and feet working to finish undressing Tara as she let her tongue delve into her mouth.  She flexed her hips against Tara’s, and Tara felt coarse auburn curls rasp against the tender skin of her shaft.  Her hips moved eagerly, desperately seeking something she couldn’t name.

Willow seemed to understand, and with a sharp push rolled them so she was on top, straddling Tara’s hips and pinning her to the bed with one hand as she leaned forward to pull open her bedside drawer.  Tara heard her fishing around for something, but only had eyes for the soft swell of breasts dangling before her face. She caught one in her mouth, tonguing fiercely at the nipple as she strained upward.

Finally Willow found what she was looking for and settled back to sit on Tara’s thighs as she tore open the little foil packet.  Tara rested her hands on Willow’s hips as Willow’s left hand wrapped around the base of Tara’s cock, standing it up to stroke evenly up the length.  “God, baby,” she breathed, her hands sliding along it in exploration.  “You are so big.”

Tara wasn’t sure how to take that.  “Is . . . is that okay?  Can you still . . .”

Willow smiled at her eagerly.  “It’s fine, baby.  We’re going to take it nice and slow and you are going to fit me just perfectly.”  Her left hand still softly jerking, she set the condom over the tip with her right, rolling it down over the flared head until her other hand caught the ring of it to continue to pull it down in long slow strokes.  When the entire length was covered, Willow rose back up to position herself, catching the tip in her warm, wet center.  “Are you ready?”

Tara’s fingers dug in, trying to pull Willow down, her eyes locked on the point where the two of them met.  “Goddess, yes!”

The both cried out as she pushed down, Tara’s swollen head stretching the ring of muscles into Willow’s channel.  Willow rose up slightly, then lowered herself again, taking it a little further each time.  Tara could feel sweat beading up on her face, could see glistening drops of it trail between Willow’s breasts.  Willow was absolutely focused on taking her whole cock in, controlling Tara completely until she sat easily on Tara’s hips, only the barest hint of the root of Tara’s cock showing between her splayed thighs.  “Does that feel good?” she panted, not moving, although Tara could feel muscles contracting all along her shaft.

Tara couldn’t speak, so simply nodded fervently.

Willow slowly rose back up the full length, coming back down in one hard, even stroke.

Tara roared.

Willow just looked smug as she did it again eagerly, allowing Tara to guide their movements with her grip on Willow’s hips.  Her own head lolled back as she rode, mouth falling open at the sensations.  “Oh god, baby, you feel so good inside me.  Fuck me, Tara, fuck me please!”

It was pure instinct the way Tara moved with her lover.  Every sensation, every thought was focused on the feel of Willow wrapped tight around her cock, clutching at her with each eager thrust.  Tara had expected the lust, the pure animal drive of the act.  What surprised her was how much of a comfort it was as well, being safely nestled deep inside Willow, protected and loved.  She gripped Willow’s arms and pulled her down, wrapping her arms around her as they rocked frenetically against each other.

The change was subtle but unmistakable.  “Willow,” she gasped, holding her lover close, “something’s happening.  Feel . . . tight inside . . .”

Willow turned her head to rest her mouth on Tara’s ear.  “It’s okay, baby, that’s what’s supposed to happen.  Just let it go.”

Tara wouldn’t have known how to stop it if she’d wanted to.  Then tension built and built inside her with each stroke until it turned itself inside out and she came with a hoarse cry, clutching at Willow’s sweat slicked body.

Willow moved faster, harder, swearing and babbling as she brought herself off as well.

They lay there for long moments afterwards before Willow gently lifted herself off with a soft groan to collapse on the bed beside Tara.  She just looked at Tara with wonder in her eyes.  “My favorite thing in the world is to make love to you.”

Tara twisted her head to meet Willow’s gaze.  “Even like this?”

“Regardless.”  She reached out a hand to lay it on Tara’s chest.  “It feels like our souls connect whenever we’re together like that.  The bodies just don’t matter.”

Tara reached out to trail gentle fingers along Willow’s face, her eyes brimming with happy tears.  Willow turned her head to kiss Tara’s fingers softly, then rolled over to reach under the bed, coming up with a hand towel.  She wiped herself up quickly, then attended to Tara, tossing the condom in the trash and dropping the towel on the floor before collapsing across Tara’s chest with a giggle.  “That was fun!”

Tara smiled and stroked her head, enjoying the feel of their bare flesh against each other.  She felt at peace for the first time in a week.  Willow loved her, and she loved Willow.  Nothing could change that.  They were together, just the way they were supposed to be.  She could deal with the rest.

A stray thought drifted through her brain.  “Sweetie?”

“Mm hmm?”

“Why do you have condoms?”

Willow raised her head, looking sheepish.  “They’re leftover from Oz.  I just never got rid of them.  I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.  Right now I’m actually kind of grateful.”  Willow laid her hand down again and Tara when back to toying thoughtfully with her hair.  “Do you have any more?” she asked hesitantly a few moments later.

When Willow looked up again, she had a wicked glint in her eye.  “Do you think we might need them?”

Tara blushed and dropped her eyes.  “Mmmmaybe.  If you wanted to . . .”

Willow caught Tara’s chin and lifted it.  “If you want to, we’ll get as many more as you need.”

Tara leaned forward and caught Willow’s mouth with her own, putting as much love and gratitude into it as possible. 

It was a very good night.

Chapter 22    Men Don't Leave

 Riley didn’t let his feet slow as he approached the house on Revello Drive.  He had thought this through carefully, had lain awake most of the night because of it.  He knew he had made the right decision.  But telling Buffy was going to be the hardest thing he had ever done.

“Hey!”  Buffy smiled warmly when she opened the door.  “I didn’t expect to see you until tonight.”

“I know.  But I needed to talk to you.  Can I come in?”

“Sure.”  She stepped back to let him pass, looking quizzical.  “Is everything okay?”

He couldn’t quite look at her.  “Everything’s fine.  I just.  . . Look, why don’t we sit down?”

She sank down on the couch, watching him intently.  “Okay, now you’re starting to scare me.”

“I’m sorry.”  Riley sank down next to her.  “I don’t mean to.  I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking the last few days.  And I wanted you to know about it.”

“Well, thinking is good, I guess.”  He could see she was trying to be supportive but was mostly just puzzled.  And he realized the best way to do this was just to say it.

“I’m leaving, Buffy.”

She looked confused.  “But you just got here.”

“No.”  He looked down at his hands, his fingers twisting together.  “I mean I’m leaving Sunnydale.”

She stared at him in shock.

He continued on before she could speak.  “My friend Graham.  . . You remember Graham?”  She nodded imperceptibly.  “Well, he’s gotten in with a team of paranormal special ops and wants me to join them.  It’s the same kind of work I was doing with the Initiative, although hopefully with less . . .”

“You’re leaving me,” she finally croaked out.

“It’s not like that.”

“You’re leaving me!”  Her voice rose in anger.  “God, Riley!  I’ve been changed a week.  You can’t wait longer than that?  It’s not like I’m going to be like this forever!”

“It’s not about that, Buffy!”  His voice rose to be heard over hers.  “I don’t care about the change.  I really don’t.  But it’s given me a chance to understand some things better.”

“Oh?”  She crossed her arms over her chest defensively.  “And what insights have you gathered in the last week that you couldn’t before?”

He sighed, surprised that he had expected this to go any better. “We don’t have anything in common,” he plowed ahead manfully.  “And if you were honest with yourself, you’d know it, too.”

“We have a lot in common!” she protested.

“Like what?  Besides the fighting and the . . . physical part of our relationship, what do we have?”

She tried to answer, but seemed to struggle.

“It’s okay, Buffy, really.  I’m kind of grateful this happened, although I know it hasn’t been any fun for you.  But for me, looking at you and not seeing your beautiful face, your soft smile and your incredible eyes, I’ve had to talk to you like a person for a change.”  Riley dropped his eyes.  “I’m not sure I like what that says about me very much.”  She didn’t interrupt him, so he soldiered on.  “We don’t talk because we don’t have anything to talk about.  I hate foreign movies, even to make fun of.  And you have no interest in sports.  We like different things, different people.  And that’s okay, but it doesn’t make for a very solid relationship.”

Finally, Buffy nodded faintly in agreement.

Her acknowledgement allowed him to relax a bit.  “And it’s not just that,” he continued with a little more confidence, but a bit more resignation.  “We come from different worlds.  Mine’s very black and white, with clear definitions and responsibilities.  It’s the way I was brought up, the way I was trained.  But your world is all gray areas and compromise.  Your best friend is dating a vengeance demon, and you keep a handicapped vampire around out of pity.”

“She’s not a demon.”

He hesitated.  “What?”

She looked up at him, and he could see the resignation in her eyes.  “Anya’s not a demon.  Not any more.”

He sighed.  “See?  That’s what I mean.  This is your world.  Sunnydale, the Hellmouth.  I try to live in it, but I just get confused about who I’m supposed to kill and who I should protect, who’s good and evil, what’s right, what’s wrong.  And a part of me is scared that I’m going to get so confused I do something stupid and get you killed.  Or worse, make you hate me.  The world makes more sense out there.  I just.  . . I think its time.”

She looked back down at her hands.  “So what will you do?”

“I’m going to go home, see my family for a couple of days.  The team is going to pick me up from there.”

“In Iowa?”  She looked back at him incredulously.

He smiled at her.  “I’m good at not asking questions, remember?”

She smiled wryly.  “Yeah, now that I think about it, I do kind of remember that.”  She drew a deep breath.  “When do you leave?”

“I’ve got a three o’clock flight to LA and then on to Des Moines.”

“So soon.”  Her voice was flat.  “Do you need any help?  Packing or anything?”

He shook his head.  “I’m not taking much.  I arranged with the landlord to have Goodwill come and take the rest.  Unless there’s anything you wanted.”

After a moment, she shook her head.

They sat together in silence for a long time.  He wanted to say more, but he just couldn’t find the words to express himself.  Finally he got to his feet.  “I should go.”

“Yeah.”  She followed his lead.  “You probably have a lot to do before your flight.”

“Yeah.”

They walked silently together to the foyer before Buffy stopped him, laying a hand on his arm.  He looked down, and was disturbed to see tears forming in her male face.  “I still love you,” she said with quiet uncertainty.

“I know you do.”  He gathered her close, holding her unfamiliar body tightly, offering the comfort he didn’t feel.  “I still love you, too.  But that just isn’t always enough.”  He squeezed her gently and then backed away.  “At least if we do it this way, neither one of us has to be the bad guy.  Although I understand if you talk trash about me to your friends.”

She barked an abrupt laugh through her tears.  “Count on it.”

“Take care of yourself, Buffy.”

“You, too.  Stay in touch.  If you can.”

“If I can,” he agreed.  He paused on the porch, looking back at her.  “Bye.”

She just raised a hand and waved weakly.

He heard the door shut behind him, heard a second thump as he walked down the path that could only be the sound of her back hitting the door and sliding down.  And in his head he saw the beautiful, perfect girl that he loved curled up on the floor crying.

Chapter 23    Lover Boy

Buffy told everyone else that night.

They all looked as shocked as she felt.  There were a lot of questions that she answered as best she could, but her heart wasn’t in it.

Spike didn’t show up.

Willow put her arms around Buffy.  “Do you want some girl time?  Lots of ice cream and Lifetime movies to remind you how much worse things could be?”

She gave Willow a watery smile and hugged her back.  “I don’t think so.  I think I need to go out tonight.”

Thankfully, no one pushed her.  She’d had all day to come to grips with Riley’s departure, find some measure of peace with it.  It still hurt.  She’d made herself vulnerable to another man who’d left her.  She should have learned better by now.

An image flashed in her mind of Spike, small and fragile, a stunned look on his delicate features as he leaned against the wall in that dark, dirty alley where she’d left him all alone and defenseless.

She really wasn’t any better than the rest of them.

But she was going to be.

Buffy made her way through the graves to his crypt, praying silently that no surprises popped up at her.  If she had to stop and fight, she might change her mind about doing this.  But she had to.  It was the right thing to do.

She didn’t knock.  She never knocked.  But she opened the door quietly, almost respectfully. She must have caught him going from the TV to the fridge, because he stood in the middle of the floor, looking at her in surprise.  He was dressed simply in jeans and one of his own black t-shirts, Dawn’s red sneakers untied on his feet.  His hair was tousled loosely, pale against the black of his shirt.  Unable to meet his gaze, she turned and closed the door just as carefully as she’d opened it.  Finally she couldn’t avoid him anymore.

“Hey.”

He glanced around uncertainly.  “Um.  Hello.”

“You didn’t come to the shop tonight.”

“Didn’t realize I was expected.”  He recovered himself and continued on to the refrigerator, pulling out his breakfast.  “I miss anything interesting?  You put soldier boy through a wall again?”

“No, Riley’s gone.”  She sagged down onto the sofa.

“Oh well.  I’ll get a shot at him next time.”

“No, I mean he’s left.  For good.  We won’t be seeing him anymore.”

“Oh.”  She heard the sound of ceramic on stone behind her before he moved into her line of sight.  “Are you okay?”

Buffy just shrugged.

“Is it because of what happened last night?”

“I don’t think so.  If it was, he didn’t mention it.  He just said he was finally able to realize how little we had in common.  That we’d both be better off if he left.”

Spike sank down on the couch next to her.  “Lousy time for him to leave, with your mum sick and that beast thing out there and you changed and all.”

“Is there ever a good time to break up with someone?”

“Probably not.  Still seems wrong, though.”

She took a deep breath.  “Speaking of wrong. . .”

Spike flinched.

“I just . . .” she forged on.  “I wanted to apologize for last night.”

Now he stared at her.  “You want to apologize?”

She blushed and looked away.  “It was your first time.  It should have been something special for you, not a quick bang in an alley somewhere.”

He continued to stare at her.  “You really care about this, don’t you?” he asked finally.

“Of course I do!  I’m not the kind of person to just use someone and leave them in the street.  You deserved better than that.  I deserved better than that.”

“Well.”  He rubbed the back of his neck uncertainly.  “I appreciate your concern, Slayer.  I’m truly touched.  But you didn’t need to worry.  I didn’t expect anything from it.  Just wanted it to be you.  And it was still gentler than my very first time.  For vampires, sex is rarely a hearts and flowers proposition.”  His smile was wry.

“Your first time wasn’t until . . . after?”

He shrugged, looking embarrassed.  “Well brought up Victorian gentleman, wasn’t I?  I was lucky to know what all the parts were.  Dru gave me quite the education.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Some.  There was a lot of blood, not all of it mine.”

“Oh.  So I guess last night was better.”

He smiled at her curiously.  “Are you fishin’ for compliments, Slayer?”

“No!” she blustered, uncertain of her own motivations.  “Of course not!  I was just worried . . .”

Spike caught her chin in one slender hand.  “Last night was wonderful,” he said, staring into her eyes intently.  “The only thing I regretted was that you couldn’t stay.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated breathlessly, unable to tear her eyes away from his.  “I should have taken better care of you . . .”

Something had changed between them.  Buffy could feel it sparking like a live thing, tangling around them.  Slowly, as though not to spook her, he moved his face closer and closer to hers, until their mouths were bare inches apart.  He stopped there, so close, his lips lightly parted, focused completely on hers.  She felt the intensity of it through her whole body, and realized that he was right.  Every time she came near him she did get hard.  And this time was no exception.  She wanted him, wanted to experience in slow motion what she had taken so fast last night.  And somehow his gender was unimportant.  He was still Spike, who knew her better than any other person on the planet, who didn’t want to kill her anymore than she wanted to kill him, even though they both still talked a good game.  Who somehow always seemed to be there to help, even when she didn’t want him to be.  He was Spike, and he wanted her, any way she would have him.

She touched her mouth to his, and moaned in relief.

With a soft mewl he shifted, adjusting himself to press close against her, tangling his arms around her neck as he opened his mouth to her kiss.  She held him gently, her fingers playing with his long, soft waves as she slanted her mouth slowly over his, enjoying the feel of his kiss as she hadn’t been able to last night.  Spike was an amazing kisser, given the chance, slow and lingering, soft sucks and tender nips counterpointing the supple caress of his lips over hers.  It wasn’t demanding or aggressive, just a simple act for its own pleasure.  And it showed Buffy something she’d never seen before, the subtle difference between passion and eroticism.  He was an artist, and she found that she wanted to explore that more, regardless of the consequences.

She had no way of judging how long they held each other, indulging in each other’s mouths like that, before he finally, reluctantly pulled away.  His blue eyes were hooded and dark with desire, his mouth scarlet against his pale skin as he reached out a hand to her.  “Come downstairs with me,” he pleaded.  “If we only have tonight, let’s do this right.”

She trembled, as much in fear as in need.  “This isn’t real,” she murmured softly.

Pain flashed behind his eyes, but his hand didn’t move.  “It is for tonight.  It’s as real as we want it to be.”

She reached out hesitantly and took his hand.

He held it as he guided her down the ladder and through the passage to his bedroom.  The bed was still rumpled from his day’s sleep, although Buffy wondered if he ever actually made it.  Candles were still lit here and there, casting a ruddy aura about the room.

Spike stopped at the foot of the bed, her hand still tightly held in his, but when he turned to face her, she was surprised to see that the king of cocky arrogance actually looked nervous.  For some reason, that made her feel better.  She squeezed his hand.  “You don’t have to go through with this.  Maybe it would be better if we didn’t.”

He chuckled softly.  “You sound like a guy talking a virgin into bed, Slayer.  Wanting you is not the problem.  Just . . . didn’t quite think about it so much last night.  ‘S different when you think about it.”

“No,” she said softly, stepping closer to him, her heart hammering erratically in her chest.  “I think it’s mostly the same.  You just get to enjoy it more this way.”

“I can hear your heart pounding,” he breathed.  “You’re scared too, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Will you . . . Buffy, will you kiss me again?”

She bent her head to catch his mouth with hers, and they both stopped thinking.

It was so different this time.  Their mouths caressed instead of tearing at each other.  Hands that had been rough were now slow and gentle.  She kicked off her boots, dropping an inch closer to his height as he pulled the hem of her shirt out of her jeans.  His hands were cool, but warmed quickly against her skin, and she reveled in his touch.  Was his neck as sensitive as hers?  She dropped her head to the side of his throat to find out.  He gasped and arched his head away, offering more of it to her, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“Want to see you,” he demanded hoarsely, pushing the cotton up her torso.  She let him undress her, drawing the shirt off over her head to cast it aside, his eyes following his hands back down over her bare skin.  She drew a shaking breath and did the same to him, the backs of her fingers brushing along his rib cage making him jump.  His hair fell loosely about his shoulders as the collar of the shirt went over his head, and she was moved to touch that first above all else, her fingertips trailing along the soft tendrils.

He caught her wrist and drew her hand down to his bare breast, hissing at the contact of her palm with his tight nipple.  The sound of his response went right through her and she turned her hand to see if he would do it again.

“Show me.”  His soft soprano was rough and deep.  “Show me what you like a man to do to you.  I want to know.”

She cupped his breast, allowing her thumb to tease back and forth over the nipple.  What did she like?  What made her excited, aroused, desperate?  There were so many things, she couldn’t show him all of them.  But some . . .

She bent down and ran the flat of her tongue over his nipple.

He cried out and arched against her, his fingers locking in her hair to hold her in place.  With a quick grin of pride, she latched on and gently began suckling, alternating with hard draws and love bites until he was writhing against her.  She turned and sat on the edge of the bed, bringing her face even with his breasts so she could lavish the same attention on the other.  He stroked her hair and rubbed eagerly against her, whimpering in soft pleasure.  She slipped her leg between his thighs and pressed up, drawing another hoarse cry from him as he rubbed himself impatiently against her.  The front of his thigh rasped hard against her erection, making her growl against the warming velvet of his breast.  He only moved harder, pressing deeper into her pelvis.

She was struck with the memory of him lying on this same bed, pleasuring himself, and in that instant knew what she had to show him.  Still nuzzling at his breasts, she reached down and unfastened his jeans.  Pushing aside the fabric, she was surprised to find him bare underneath, but it suited her purposes just as well.  She laid her palm against his flat stomach and slid her fingers straight down over his mound and into his soft, wet slit.

He tried to breath.  She saw him, eyes enormous, head back, forcibly try to inhale.  She spread her fingers, allowing them to explore all his folds, opening him up to her touch.  He was absolutely rigid, his only motion riding up and down on her hand.  She released his breast to move her mouth to his ear.  “No matter how good it feels to touch yourself,” she instructed in a soft rumble, “it always feels better when someone else does it for you.”

“Fuck yeah,” he whispered reverently.  “Please, don’t stop.  Please.”

“I won’t,” she promised.  “Take your pants off.  It’ll be easier.”

He got his feet back under himself to rise off her thigh, never moving out of range of her hand, and pushed the jeans down over his ripe hips.  He had to lift his knees high to step out of them, which opened him up to her exploring hand.  She slipped two fingers into him, felt him tighten around her as he cursed.  The curses changed to whimpers as she let her thumb trail over his lips and clit, his reactions flowing down through her arm and straight to her cock.  She caught his head with her free hand and drew him down to her eager mouth.

She was so lost in his mouth and his response that she didn’t notice his hand copying hers to open her trousers and push its way in to wrap around her cock.  She groaned into his mouth as he firmly stroked her while working her pants down.  Growling in need, she wrapped her free arm around his waist, holding him tight to her as she stood up, her hand never slowing its pulsing drive inside him.  Understanding, he pushed khakis and underwear off her hips and down her legs to fall in a heap on the floor.  With a twist she turned and lowered him onto the bed, lying down next to him to continue her fervent exploration of his sex.

His own hand slipped lower on her to gently roll her testicles between his fingers before moving on to massage . . . something.  A muscle or magic spot she hadn’t known existed but made her cry out in pleasure at it.  In retaliation she let her thumb grind down on his clit.

“God, Buffy!” he swore against the curve of her throat.  “I can’t wait anymore, love.  Please, I need to feel it again.”

She needed it, too.  Needed to feel like a part of someone.  There would be more time for play, for exploration later.  But now she needed to be inside him.  She moved to push him onto his back, only to be surprised when he pushed back, pinning her shoulders to the mattress as he leaned over her.  “You led last night, Slayer.  It’s my turn now.”

She hesitated, then slowly nodded.

With a look of serious concentration, he straddled her hips, his hands moving to brace himself on the mattress beside her head.  He flexed his hips, making her cry out as his wet slit slid along her aching shaft, teasing her with the promise of comfort.  “Are you ready?” he asked intently, his hand already reaching between them to position her at his opening.

She clutched at his hips, found them perfect handles to guide his descent.  “Yes, oh god yes, I’m ready.  Want to feel you.  Need to feel you so bad.”

“Want to feel you, too, Slayer.  Gonna feel so good inside me.”

It was like sliding into ice cream, cool and rich and dense, pushing out of her way but clinging to every inch of her as he slowly moved down her length. She wanted to cry out in frustration at his pace, but the expression of tortured ecstasy on his face kept her silent save for the soft grunts of her own pleasure.

She was panting by the time he was seated on her hips.  When he rose up and slid back down, faster this time, she groaned.  He balanced himself with his fingertips on her chest as he did it again and again.  She clutched at his hips to increase his pace, but he reached down and caught one hand, bringing it back up to his breast.  She instinctively palmed it, feeling the heavy roundness pull in her hand as he rode her.  Giving herself up to it, she let go of any last attempts at thought and plunged up into him.

His hoarse cry of surprise drove her to do it again.  And again.  With a low growl, she wrapped her arms around him and rolled them over, pinning him to the mattress with her hips.

“Pushy bitch,” he gasped, clutching at her shoulders as he arched into her strokes.  “You always gotta be on top, don’t ya?”

She buried her face in the junction of his shoulder, her hips moving eagerly between his thighs.  “With you?” she breathed.  “Probably.”

His cool, slender legs tangled up around her back, opening him up to her more.  “Just don’t stop.”

In response, she moved faster, harder, drawing sweet curses from his lips.  The friction was unbearable, twisting up inside her, tightening everything in unbreakable knots.  She bucked against him, the muscles of her stomach and thighs burning with the effort.  He thrust back just as hard, and their pelvises slapped together with the erotic sound of skin on skin.

A slow, gasping wail started to rise from his throat, catching on something inside her and dragging her along with him.  He arched and shuddered, and then suddenly burst out.  “Oh, Christ, Buffy!  Oh god oh fuck don’t stop it’s coming for the love of god oh god Buffy!”  He clutched at her, his whole body flexing, the muscles wrapped around her cock trembling spastically.  The memory of that sense of relief was all she needed to put her over the edge.

“God, Spike!”  And all the knots released, the energy spending deep into him in burning electric streaks that left her weak as he stroked her hair and back, whispering breathless nonsense against her throat as she lost herself in him.

Chapter 24    What a Girl Wants

“So what’s the deal with the t-shirts?”

Spike lay curled up in Buffy’s arms with his head resting comfortably on her chest, enjoying the slow, steady beat of her heart and the feel of her gently fingering his hair.  He suspected this position would have held true regardless of their genders.  He couldn’t picture himself giving up the opportunity to be this close to her breasts without getting pummeled.

“Hmmm?”

“Your t-shirts,” she repeated, her voice thick with contentment.  “You’ve never worn ones that said anything before.  Why now?”

He chuckled.  “Cuz it seemed like the only place anyone ever looked at me.  Figured if my chest was going to get all the attention, it ought to have something to say.”

“Ah.”  Her tone was knowing.  Another shared experience for them.

He thought about that, what it must be like for her every day.  Thought about their first fight, how sexual he had made it.  How she hadn’t shown any of the fear that he now knew she must have felt from that, fear that had nothing to do with living or dying.  Thought about how he had felt that first night in the alley, threatened by men he couldn’t defend himself against.

“You ever have a guy not take no for an answer?” Spike found himself asking.

Her heart sped up a little.  “Once.”

“What did you do?”

“Stopped him.  Tried not to kill him.”

“Why did you care?  A bloke that would try something like that. . .”

“It was Xander.”

He pushed himself up on one arm to look at her, shock obvious on his face.  “Harris tried to do that to you?”

“He wasn’t himself.  He’d been possessed.  And he doesn’t even remember it now, so don’t say anything to him about it.” Buffy pulled him back down to her chest.  “Why?  Did something happen to you?”

He shrugged, letting his fingers drift over her pectorals.  “First night.  Couple of guys at Willy’s were insistent.  I got away, but . . .”

She nodded.  “The kind of fear only a woman can know.”

“Even a Slayer?”

She nodded, and he was surprised to feel her squeeze him for comfort.  Spike turned his head to plant gentle kisses along her muscles.

She sighed softly at the contact.

He rolled over to support himself on his arms over her chest, their faces intimately close.  “Like that, do you?”  He smirked when she nodded.  “Me, too.  Know what else I like?”  When she shook her head, he lowered his mouth to stroke lightly along the junction of her neck and shoulder before gently sinking his teeth into the corded muscle there.  She gasped, jerking as though electrified.  He looked even more smug when he lifted his head again.  “That.”

“Oh yeah?”  She seemed to take it as a challenge.  “Are you ticklish?”

He shrugged.  “A bit.  In the right places.”

When her fingers stroked feather-lightly along the outermost curve of his breast, right where it flattened into his ribs, he knew he emulated her electric spasm. 

“Oh yeah?  Well . . .” He lowered his head to lick roughly over her flat nipple, sucking it hard between his teeth, earning him a groan.

“What about this?” she replied throatily before mimicking his action, blowing lightly over the damp flesh.

“Oh,” he moaned, “that is good.”

They continued that way, exchanging light caresses and painless taunts until finally he ran out of inspiration.  “I can think of one thing,” he murmured against her ear.  “Do you trust me?”

She hesitated, then faintly nodded.

He straddled her legs, a little nervous himself.  “This is going to feel so good,” he encouraged her and himself, “you are never gonna want to go back to being a girl.”

He rubbed his breasts lightly over her shaft as he moved down, and she sighed.  “Oh, that does feel good.”

“It does,” he agreed.  “But that’s not what I’m talkin’ about.”

Her eyes went wide.  “You aren’t . . . Spike, no!”  She started trying to grab at his shoulders, but he was just out of reach.

He looked up at her from his position hovering over her swelling phallus.  “You said you trusted me.”

“I . . .”  She couldn’t complete her thought and simply stared at him with wide, nervous, uncertain eyes.

Never breaking their gaze, he ran the flat of his tongue up the underside of her shaft.

Buffy’s response was instantaneous.  Her head snapped back with a deep, guttural moan that shook her whole body, her hips arching up for more.  And he gave it, wrapping his hand around her to stroke along the shaft as his mouth paid fervent attention to the head.  She went wild as he licked and sucked all over the tip and around the rim, drawing the whole thing into his mouth before releasing the suction with a wet pop.  He dropped his mouth over it, sliding her against his tongue as he moved down to meet his fist.  She surprised him by thrusting up, nearly choking him in the process.  “Uh-uh, pet,” he chided.  “I’ll take you as deep as I can, but you’ve got to hold still for it, yeah?  It’s not polite to strangle your lover, even if I don’t need to breathe.”

She was wide-eyed with horror and desire.  “I’m sorry.  I . . . I won’t . . .”

Spike didn’t let her finish, just bent back to his very pleasurable task.

Taking her deeper now, he slowly pulled off in long sucking strokes, feeling her fingers clutch in his hair as she fought not to move.  He could feel that she was close, felt her balls clench against the side of his hand and he moved faster, sawing up and down her length, lips tight, tongue wet and firm.  He felt her jerk with a cry and suddenly her warm come was filling his mouth in short, fierce spurts.  He swallowed as quickly as she filled his mouth, stroking her hard to milk every last bit of it until she collapsed limply back against the pillows.

He released her with a gentle pat and moved up to enjoy her expression of shocked wonder.  “Pretty good, huh?”

She barked a short, breathless laugh.

Smiling, he reached up to brush loose strands of her hair off her face and was surprised to see her expression darken.  “What is it, pet?”

“I can’t . . .” she turned her face aside in embarrassment.  “I can’t do that for you.  I wouldn’t know . . .”

“Shh, sh.”  He caught her chin and turned her face back to his, bending down to kiss her comfortingly.  “Didn’t expect you to.  I just wanted to show you.  What you can show me,” he turned over to spoon against her chest, drawing her arms around him, “is that incredible thing you were doing with your hands.” And he moved her right hand down between his legs.

She moved it lower, stroking lightly along his thighs as she nestled closer against his body.  He could feel her cock swelling against his ass already.  Apparently Slayers had short refractory periods.  Good to know.  “You liked that, did you?” she asked softly, kissing the sensitive skin along his throat.  He gasped as she slipped up to brush imperceptibly lightly along the junction of his thigh and hip.

“Oh, yeah,” he purred, rubbing backwards encouragingly.  She moved her hand over to comb lightly through the tangled thatch of curls, the tug teasing and electric.  She kissed along his bare shoulder as she caressed his inner thigh again, encouraging him to open his legs.

“The trick,” she whispered, working her gentle way up, “is to take your time.  It all wants attention, not just the highlights.”

“Show me,” he murmured, but already she was trailing over the rounded mounds of his mons, lightly massaging the muscles there before moving over the exposed edges of his labia.  He bucked and moaned softly, feeling her smile against his shoulder.  The pads of her fingers were thick and coarse as they slid through his folds, separating and moistening the tender flesh as she went.  She took her time, moving back to his thighs to whip him up before slipping back in.  He reached up to wrap an arm around her neck, using the leverage to ride against her hand, completely given over to the sensation of warm friction.

When she brushed over his clit, he cried out.

“Oh, god what was that?” he whimpered.

“A taste of things to come,” she rumbled in his ear before doing it again, this time with slow deliberation.  He pushed back eagerly and she gave him what he wanted, circling the nub in unhurried strokes.  “Isn’t this better than doing yourself?” she asked softly.

“Feels so different,” he breathed.  “All warm and rough and oh god don’t stop.”

She chuckled richly.  “What makes you think I’m going to stop?  I want to see you as out of control as you made me.”

“I don’t think I’ve been in control since the day I met you, love.”

She seemed to hesitate at that, but a moment later he felt one meaty finger slide into him, stretching and filling him as she massaged firmly along his inside walls.  He couldn’t keep his hips still as she pushed a second finger in with the first, and he gradually began fucking himself on her hand.  “That’s right,” she murmured encouragingly in his ear as she thrust up into him.  “Just like that.  It feels good, doesn’t it?  All hot and tight.”

He clutched at her wrist as they moved together.  “I can feel it everywhere.”

She nodded.  “I always feel it in the bottoms of my feet.  They get hot when someone does this for me.”

He liked the way she said for, like it was a gift she had received.  It certainly felt like one to him.

She pressed up with her fingers inside him and down with her thumb on his clit and that was the end of it for him.

He roared in surprise as the violence of the orgasm took him, his body seizing around and against her as he totally lost all sense of himself in the ecstasy of the moment.  Finally he collapsed, limp, wrung out, panting unnecessarily, unable to even open his eyes for long moments.

When he did, Buffy was propped up on her elbow, watching him smugly.  “So?”

Spike just smiled tiredly and pulled her down to kiss him.  He opened his mouth and turned it into a slow, sensual experience that she quickly gave herself up to, slanting languidly back and forth over his lips, nibbling and licking in the way that had become so familiar to them both.  He took her hips in his hands and moved her between his legs, lifting them to wrap around her waist as he drew her in.  She didn’t hesitate, didn’t question, just positioned herself and slowly, deliberately pushed her way in.

He moaned softly at the connection, the sense of wholeness he felt wrapped around her.  She began moving steadily, so tight inside him that he could feel every nuance of her.  He just held her close, and she wrapped her own arms around him so that only their hips and mouths moved, both slow and deep, comforting and overwhelming.  His last orgasm still so close, it wasn’t long before he felt another one building in a warm honey-thick wave within him.  Buffy whimpered and jerked, pulling her mouth away to bury her face in his shoulder as she erupted inside him, sending him over as well with his own weak cry.

They lay wrapped around each other like that for long moments, just holding each other, stroking each other’s head, exchanging soft, soothing kisses.  When she finally pulled out of him, she didn’t release him, pulling him close to hold him as sleep claimed her.

He joined her moments later, lulled by the gentle rhythm of her heart.

As soon as Spike woke up, he knew something had changed.

He pulled the sheet up over him like any modest woman and watched Buffy moving about the room, gathering up her clothes.  “I have to go.  Mom’s going to be worried about me.”

It shouldn’t have hurt so much, but it did.  “Yeah.”

She looked at him guiltily. “I’m sorry.  I don’t want . . .”

“Don’t.  No expectations, right?  Just . . . a bit of cold comfort.  I get that.”

She stopped, her eyes sad and compassionate as she reached out to stroke his cheek.  “Not comfort.  It wasn’t about that.  I swear.  But it wasn’t real.  It can’t be.  You knew that.”

“I know you think that.”

“Spike . . .”

He pulled away from her to climb out of the bed.  “Go on, Slayer.  Don’t want your mum to worry.  Just . . . do me a favor, will you?”

“If I can,” she replied uncertainly.

He moved over to the dresser, unconcerned with his nudity, and opened the top drawer, pulling out the disposable camera he had hidden there.  “I can’t see myself, and I want to know what I look like like this.  Will you take my picture?  Like this?  I just. . .  I want to see.”

She smiled understandingly, reaching out for the camera.  “Where do you want it?”

“Um.”  He looked around, uncertain, then shrugged.  “Here, I guess.  ‘S as good a place as any.”

She lifted the camera, lining up the viewfinder as he drew a deep breath to relax himself.  But she lowered it again without taking the picture.  “Spike?”

“Yeah, pet?”

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

The simple declaration of her words took his breath away.  “Really?”

She smiled.  “Yeah, really.”

When she snapped the picture, his smile was innocently genuine.

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