Chapter 25    Transgendered

Buffy couldn’t patrol alone with Spike.  Not after all that had happened.  He’d want to talk about it, and she just wasn’t ready for that yet.

So the others were with them, or at least most of them.  Anya couldn’t be persuaded to leave the shop, but Tara, Willow and Xander had been just as happy to get away from the enforced confinement of research and the frustration of just waiting for something to happen.

The things that had been happening were too disconcerting for Buffy’s peace of mind.

She tried to make sense of it.  The hours she had spent with Spike had been . . . a comfort.  Not consolation for Riley.  To her shame she could honestly say she hadn’t thought about Riley at all when she had been with Spike last night.  But she had felt at ease with him in a way she never had with Riley.  Or with Angel, for that matter.  Like she didn’t have to pretend anything.  Good, bad, ugly, beautiful, he just accepted it all.  And wanted more.

And that scared the hell out of her.

She glanced back over her shoulder.  Willow was talking to Xander, but she was surprised to see Spike walking with Tara, talking quietly.  He looked so fragile next to Tara’s much larger bulk, but he had her smiling softly at something he’d said.  He seemed to feel Buffy’s eyes on him and turned to study her, eyes glittering knowingly.

She looked away quickly.

A few minutes later, Willow joined her up front.  “How’s it going?” she asked quietly.

Buffy shrugged.  It’s not much of a patrol if nothing comes out to play.”

“Not that,” Willow looked at her sympathetically.  “I meant Riley and, well, everything.  We haven’t really talked.”

Buffy couldn’t meet her eyes.  “It’s . . . really confusing, mostly.”

“Yeah, I can appreciate that.  I’m just sorry it ended like that for you.  Especially now.”

They walked on together in comfortable silence.  Buffy could almost feel Willow’s desire to help, to be a sounding board, and she felt herself weaken.  “Will, do you think . . . I mean, is it possible for the right guy to really be the wrong guy, and the wrong guy turn out to really be the right guy after all?”

“Is Riley the right guy in this equation?”

Buffy kicked an imaginary stone out of her way.  “Yeah.”

“And is there a wrong guy already?”  Buffy could feel Willow studying her intently.

“Maybe . . .”

That’s when she was flattened by a mountain of snarling muscle and scales.

Spike was on it in an instant with a growl of his own, his smaller stature not hindering his strength as he ripped the creature off Buffy, tossing it aside.

The wonders of the Hellmouth held true.  It was another n!Graaltoch.

“Shit!  Where are these things coming from?” Buffy cursed.  “Some stupid demon farmer forget to close the pasture gate?”

Xander backed up as the creature menaced them.  “I think how it got here is less important than how we stop it.  Unless we want a repeat of last time.”

“You’re right,” Buffy said decisively, never taking her eyes off the creature.  “Willow, get out of here.”

“What?  No, I can . . .”

“No arguments.  If we screw this up, you’re the only one not changed.  And we don’t know what the range on that effect is.  So go!”

She went.

“What about Anya?” Xander asked from behind the others.

“We’d better not screw this up then, eh?” Spike snapped, snatching up a brass urn to use for a cudgel as Tara began muttering.

“You’d better not screw up, you mean,” Buffy retorted, grabbing her own makeshift club.  “Stick to the head, maybe we can knock it . . .”

“Release!”

A blast of light burst from behind them at Tara’s exclamation, tearing through the dark to slam into the creature. 

With a startled roar, the creature flew backwards across the plots to smash into the side of a marble crypt with enough force to crack the stones.  It tried to stagger to its feet before collapsing in a pile.

Surprised, they all turned to look at Tara, who stood braced, arm still outstretched.  She lowered it, an uncertain smile curving her thin lips.  “Willow was right.  Male magic is based on the penis imperative.”

As Spike and Xander chuckled in relief at that, Buffy approached the creature carefully, prodding it with her foot.  It didn’t move.  “Well, guys, I guess our prayers have been answered.  Assuming any of us actually prayed.  We’d better get this back to Giles and see what he can do with it.”

She ignored the look Spike gave her as he bent to help her lift the beast to carry it back to the Magic Box.

After that, all they could do was wait.

Anya of course kept busy working, totaling up the till, preparing the week’s orders, tidying up after the day’s sales.

Xander distracted himself sharpening stakes.  He didn’t have the same muscle strength as before, so it was a more difficult proposition.  Buffy expected Anya to make a fuss about the chips that went flying everywhere, but she just looked at him sympathetically and went back to her accounts.

Tara seemed to be trying to study, but more often than not her eyes wandered to the shop’s landing and the door to the basement that lay there.

Spike just sat on the steps up to the restricted section, rolling a small crystal ball back and forth endlessly between his hands, never looking at anyone.  Today’s t-shirt read “Speak softly and wear a tight t-shirt.”

Buffy paced.  She felt like a caged animal, tracing the same path over and over, the movement pointless but unable to just sit still.  Finally she stopped in front of Spike, crossing her arms over her chest as she glared at him.  “How can you just sit there?”

“A century’s practice lyin’ in wait.  You should try it, Slayer, before you drive the rest of us round the bend.  You got so much energy, go out back and burn some of it off.”

“I can’t,” she sighed in frustration.  “I can’t concentrate enough.  I’d probably just hurt myself if I tried.”  She began pacing again.  “How long is this going to take, anyway?”

Tara was watching the landing again.  “It’s a complicated ritual, extracting the energy into the base liquid.  It could easily take several hours.”

Xander glanced at his watch.  “It’s already been two.”

Tara shrugged.  “So they could almost be done.”  But she didn’t sound very optimistic about it.

“Or they could be three more,” Anya completed the thought. “We could just go home and come back in the morning, see if it worked.  Change back after a good night’s sleep.”

Shaking her head, Tara turned to face the counter.  “The spell is too volatile.  The Teirganan are able to stabilize the mixture, hold the energy in for long periods.  Willow and Giles won’t be able to.  We’ll have twenty minutes, maybe half an hour after they complete it to ingest the infusion before it goes inert again.”

With a frustrated sigh, Xander turned and dropped the stake and knife on the table.  “Well, that’s it for me, then.  I don’t think I’ll be going back with the rest of you.”

Buffy stopped in surprise.  Surely of all of them, Xander would be the most eager to go back.  “Why not?”

He glanced at Anya uncertainly, but she only smiled kindly.  “There’s a chance, a small one, but a chance, that I might be pregnant.”

“Oh, goddess!” Tara breathed as Buffy sank down at the table as well.

Xander twiddled with the stake, unable to look at anyone.  “Anya and I weren’t as careful as we should have been.  The tests all came back negative, but it might be too early in my cycle to show.  It might just go away when I change back, but I . . . It’s just . . . it’s too much like . . .”

“You aren’t pregnant,” Spike interrupted him.

Xander looked up in surprise.  “What?  How can you tell?”

“Cuz you’re at the end of your cycle, not the beginning,” he said with certainty.

Buffy dismissed him.  “Spike, there’s no way you can know that.”

He looked indignant.  “Sure I can.  I know all your cycles.  It’s a bleedin’ calendar.  If you’ll pardon the pun.”

“You are so full . . .”

He rose to his feet indignantly.  “Sure, I do.”  He pointed to Tara.  “Glinda’s always first, with Red following in a day or two.  She started this mornin’, didn’t she?”  Tara nodded in surprise, and he went on.  “Slayer starts a day after that, and Anya within three days of her.  The little bit and Joyce have usually started by then as well.  Makes for a hell of a week.”

Buffy was as fascinated as she was disgusted by his recitation.  “How do you know this?”

He shrugged.  “Can smell it.  I’d say you get cranky, but with you no one would be able to tell.”

Before she could retort, Xander interrupted.  “But what does that have to do with me?”

“You never noticed how moody you get when the girls are on their monthlies?  You’ve got as much a cycle as they do, Harris.  Between the time Will starts and the Slayer, you start whinin’ and complainin’ about every damn thing.”

“He’s right, Xander,” Anya interjected.  “You do get very moody.”

“You’ve been hangin’ around this flock too long, mate.  You need to go out and get some male friends before you completely turn into a woman.”

Buffy couldn’t help it.  She snorted.

Tara hid her giggle behind her large hand, amusement evident in her eyes.

Spike realized what he’d said and just grinned wryly, shaking his head before he started chuckling as well.

Xander took a moment longer as Spike’s gaff sank in before he started laughing as well.

“What is it?” Anya asked, confused.  “I don’t understand.”

They all laughed harder.

That was when Willow burst in.  “We’ve got it!”  She paused, taking in their near hysteria.  “I missed something, didn’t I?”

Tara rose and wrapped her arms around her lover.  “Nothing important, sweetie.  We were just letting off some steam.”

“Oh.”  Willow still looked like she felt left out.

Giles came in then, carefully holding the flask of opalescent blue liquid in both hands and moving with a cautious slowness.  “Is everyone ready?”

They all looked at each other uncertainly, and Buffy understood why.  They’d been like this for over a week.  It had started to fit, despite all the confusion and fears.  They all wanted to go back to what they were before, but what they were now had gotten a hold on them as well.  She glanced surreptitiously at Spike.  She could understand that hold.

She stepped forward, hopefully sounding more confident than she felt.  “I’m ready.”

Giles smiled at her with a combination of pride and compassion.  He set the flask carefully down on the counter.  “Anya, hand me the chalices there behind you.  The glass ones.”

She turned and started pulling them down.  “All of them?”

“Just one for each of you.  You each need a consistent dose, so I don’t want to risk just handing the bottle around.”  He carefully divided the elixir between the five etched glass goblets, then turned to offer one to Buffy.  “To your very good health.”

She took it gingerly in both large hands, looking from him to the others who were all watching her expectantly.  “This is going to taste foul, isn’t it?”

“Doesn’t it always?” His tone was amused but sympathetic.  “Take it all at once.  You need to get it all into you system at one time.”

She stared into the swirling viscous liquid for a long moment before lifting the glass and swallowing it down quickly.

She tried to grimace, but her muscles wouldn’t work.  Something powerful had a hold of her.  She could feel it twisting through her, forcing the changes into every cell.  She barely registered the look of shock on the others’ faces as Giles caught her.  She wasn’t sure why.  She must have fallen.  But she hadn’t felt it, could only feel the contortions of her insides.

And then suddenly it stopped.

She hung, sagging with exhaustion, supported only by Giles’ arms.  Weakly she raised her head to look at him.  “Did it work?”

He brushed the long tendrils of hair off her face with a gentle palm, his eyes damp as he smiled at her.  “Yes, it worked.  Welcome back, Buffy.”

As he helped her over to the table, Xander and Tara took up their cups and, looking to each other for fortification, swallowed them down together.  Through weary eyes, Buffy watched the change take them, twisting their outsides the way it had her insides.  What had felt like forever took bare moments before their shapes bled away, their natural forms collapsing into the arms of their girlfriends.

As Anya and Willow helped them to sit down, Spike approached the counter, studying the goblet as he turned around.  Then he looked Buffy in the eye.  “You’re going to miss me when I’m gone.”

“No, I won’t,” she said more harshly than she’d intended.  She softened it by adding, “I prefer you the other way.”

He didn’t look as though he believed her, but he braced himself and swallowed down the potion.    The transformation took him just as quickly.  The ringlets retracted, the curvy chest flattened and suddenly he was Spike again.  Buffy was the one to catch him, her own recovery uncertain.  But she supported him until he had the strength to shrug her off, leaning back against the register weakly rather than rely on her questionable help.

That stung.

Giles picked up the final goblet and turned to offer it to Anya.

“No,” she refused flatly.

“Anya!”  Xander’s voice was loudest over the cries of surprise.

“I don’t want to go back!” she insisted.

Giles approached her carefully.  “Anya, don’t be ridiculous.  You can’t remain like this.  The natural order must be restored.”

“Why?  People change every day.  Into demons, into vampires, into Slayers.  Nobody tries to change them back.  And this is such a  little change.  It hardly makes any difference at all!”

“But why would you want to?” Willow asked.  “Stay like this, I mean?”

“People accept me like this.”  There was a pain Buffy had never seen in Anya’s eyes before.  “No one treats me like I’m delicate or fragile.  I spent a thousand years eviscerating men with my thoughts, I don’t need them to protect me now!  And no one thinks the things I say are out of place or inappropriate when I’m like this.  It’s just what guys do, right?  Talk inappropriately about sex and scratch themselves in public?”

“But what about me?”

She turned to face Xander, her anger fading into confusion at his words.  “Don’t you . . . couldn’t you love me still like this?”

“Of course I could.”  He dragged himself to his feet and crossed over to her slowly, his movements awkward in the too tight clothes.  “I’ll always love you, no matter what you look like, no matter what you do.  But Anya, if you stay like this, I won’t ever be able to make love to you again.”

Her eyes welled up with tears.  “Why not?”

He reached out and gently wiped her cheek.  “Because, sweetie, I like breasts too much.”

There must have been a deeper meaning to his words than Buffy was aware of, because Anya barked a laugh through her tears and threw herself into his arms.  Unselfconsciously he held her, stroking her hair as he went on.  “I love that I get to be the one to protect you, even when you don’t need it, even when I know you’re humoring me.  And I love that you talk to my friends inappropriately about sex, even when I’m embarrassed.  It means I don’t have to brag myself.  After all the lies I told in high school, they probably wouldn’t believe the stuff you say anyway if it was coming from me.  And I love how you fit me just right in all sorts of ways.  When we make love and just when I hold you.  I love you the way nature made you, warts and all.  And I want my Anya back.”

After a moment, she stepped back, wiping her face with the sides of her hands in a surprisingly feminine manner before taking the goblet from Giles and drinking it down in one swallow, her eyes never leaving Xander, who just smiled supportingly.  He was the one to catch her, guiding her to a seat on the bench and holding her, caressing her head comfortingly as her newly female body sagged against him.

Buffy glanced at Spike, who was watching her intently.  She looked away again quickly.

Giles left them to their recovery, cleaning up quickly and restoring the goblets to their shelf.

Buffy was the first one to speak.  “Should we expect any side effects from this?”

He stopped working to study her thoughtfully.  “Physically, no.  You’ve basically reset back to your original specifications.  The girls may find that your . . . cycles,” he said the word uncomfortably, removing his glasses as per usual, “are not quite regular, as the progress has been interrupted, but that should re-establish itself within a month or two.”

Tara, Willow and Buffy all couldn’t help smiling faintly.  A quick glance at Spike showed Buffy he was smirking.  He waggled his eyebrows at her.

“Mentally,” Giles continued, “well, you have all had an intense experience.  Only time will show the impact that has had on you, emotionally as well as intellectually.”  He returned his glasses to the bridge of his nose.  “I’m finished here for the evening.  Can I offer anyone a lift home?”

Spike finally pushed himself up off the counter, wincing as the too small jeans cut into his hips.  “Since I know you weren’t includin’ me in that invite, Rupert, I’ll just take myself off.  I’d say it’s been fun, but . . . well, it’s had its moments.”  He didn’t look at her as he turned to leave.

“Spike!”  She stopped him.

He turned back, a small flicker of something in his eyes.

She didn’t want to know what.  “My coat?”

His eyes darkened as he shrugged off the leather.  Buffy noticed that the shirt clung as tightly to his male muscles as it had to his female curves.  The message was still appropriate.

“You want the rest, Slayer, you’ll have to come fetch it yourself,” he growled, tossing the coat her way.

She caught it, nearly losing her pants in the process.  When she looked back, he was gone.

“A ride would be great, Mr. Giles,” Tara spoke up.

“Yeah,” Xander confirmed.  “I wouldn’t like to try walking home like this.”

“Home,” Buffy said abstractly, still watching the back door.  “Definitely need to go home.”

Chapter 26    Gender Relations

They had barely gotten into the dorm room before Willow had Tara pressed up against the door, devouring her mouth enthusiastically.  Tara couldn’t help but smile as she brought her hands up into Willow’s hair, humming in pleasure.

Willow pulled back just enough to murmur, “I missed you,” before plunging back in, mouth mobile and eager as her hands began tugging at Tara’s shirt.  Moments later she was moving down, away from Tara’s mouth down over her throat and shoulders.

“What are you doing?” Tara gasped, cradling Willow’s head as she moved.

“Just saying hello to the girls,” she purred against the swell of Tara’s breast before sliding over to the tightening nipples.  “Hello,” she said, placing a lingering kiss on the peak of the left one, rubbing her face over it gently before turning to the right.  “Hello you, too,” she repeated on that one, the kiss turning into a more intense caress.  Her tongue flicked over the crinkled flesh eagerly, sending electricity sheeting through Tara’s body at the sensation as Willow drew it into her mouth, sucking softly, then fiercely, then soft again, her hands fondling both in tandem before her mouth shifted back to the left to repeat the same treatment there.

Tara panted and moaned, her fingers locked in Willow’s hair to guide her actions.  There was no insecurity in her response now, no guilt at all as she reveled in Willow’s attentions.  Her head fell back against the door as Willow pushed the loose trousers down off her hips and began to drop to her knees.  “Where do you think you’re going?” she growled softly.

Willow grinned up at her impishly.  “Just making sure everything’s all gone back to normal.”  The briefs followed immediately after.  “Everything looks okay here.”

Tara glanced down.  The button down oxford hung open, revealing her womanly curves for the first time in almost two weeks.  Her full round breasts, the nipples dark and erect from Willow’s attentions, the soft swell of her belly and curve of her hips, the rolling hollow of her navel.  The ash blonde triangle of curls framed by her heavy, lush thighs where Willow brushed her cheeks, looking up in joy and wonder.  Tara was herself again, but not unaffected by the change.

“Are you sure?”  She said thickly, her hand guiding Willow’s head in.  “I think maybe you’d better check more closely.”

Willow chuckled joyously as she let herself be guided in.  The first touch of her warm, mobile mouth to Tara’s labia told Tara all she needed to know.  The fire that erased all thought was so familiar, yet all new from its absence, reminding Tara that she was a woman through and through, and she had a lover who appreciated that.  “Goddess, I love you!”

Willow pulled her face away, her lips glistening in the dim room light.  “I love you, too, baby.  And I’m going to show you how much all night.”

Tara’s throat tightened at the intensity of her words.  She stroked Willow’s hair tenderly.  “Do I get to show you, too?”

“You’d better.  Or I might get really cranky.”

Tara shook her head.  “No cranky.  Only happy.  Very, very oh god Willow yes!”

Xander lay in bed, enjoying his last minutes of sleep as the sunlight crept across the bedclothes.  Last night had been wild.  Every waking moment had been spent reacquainting themselves with each other’s bodies, fresh eyes bringing new insight to every touch, every caress, every position, until finally they had collapsed from sheer exhaustion.

From Anya’s enthusiasm, he had thought they might pick up again this morning, but when he woke, Anya was already up and in the shower.  He could hear her blow dryer running now.  With a groan, he dragged himself out of the bed to join her.

She had started applying her makeup by then.  Careful not to bump her arms, he wrapped his own around her, enjoying the slightness of her against his wider, larger body again.  “Good morning.”

She met his gaze in the mirror, her eyes dark with disappointment.  “My period started this morning.”

“It did?”  Well, Giles had warned them.

She nodded.

He studied her in the mirror, then smiled warmly into her reflected eyes.  “Congratulations.”

With a laugh, she turned to hold him tight.  “I thought you’d be disappointed.  It means we can’t have sex for a few days.  Just when we got back to normal.”

He leaned down to kiss her softly.  “I don’t mind.  Besides, there are other things we can do, right?”

She looked up at him sideways.  “Yes, yes there are.  But that’s the first time you’ve ever offered.  It’s very thoughtful of you.”

Smiling, he kissed her again.  “Being a woman has made a new man of me.  And speaking of which,” he moved closer to her ear to rumble seductively, “I think I made you a promise.  Every morning when you get up . . .”

He enjoyed the way she trembled at his words, her eyes full of wonder.  “Oh!  But I didn’t expect . . . especially today . . .”

He caught her under the arms and lifted her up onto the counter, pushing her legs apart to stand between them.  “I promised you, Anya, and I’m going to do everything in my power never to break a promise to you ever, ever again.  I know how much you’ve given up for me.  You mean everything to me, and I always want you to know that.  Always.”

The tears in her happy eyes were all the reward he would ever need.

Chapter 27    Sexual Dimorphism

Morning came early.

Buffy found it strange, moving around in such a small body after being the Hulk for ten days.  Well, maybe not that bad.  Tara probably earned that title.  But nonetheless.

It was a relief to get reacquainted with her own shape in the shower.  Curves in all the right places, no dangly bits, and no hairy chest.  It was a relief, at least, until the image flashed into her head of caressing Spike’s breasts like this, cupping and squeezing them as he writhed against her . . .

Turning off the hot water dispelled the images quickly.

She dried her hair and fluffed it, primping it around her face before catching it back in simple clips.

Remembering her silver clips holding Spike’s curls back off his face as she kissed him in the alley . . .

Her hairbrush shattered when she slammed it down on her vanity.

Her mother smiled at her when she came into the kitchen.  As usual, Dawn ignored her. “Good morning!  I didn’t expect you up for hours yet.”

“I couldn’t sleep any longer,” Buffy said, sliding onto one of the bar stools and pulling a bowl over for cereal.

“So, what should I pick up from the store for the party tonight?” Joyce asked as she passed the milk over.

“Hmm?”

“I know you guys will probably just want pizza, but I could do something on the grill if you’d rather.”

“Oh, whatever.  She pushed her cereal around the bowl aimlessly.  “You know my friends.  They aren’t fussy.”

Dawn didn’t look up from her bowl.  “Is Spike going to be there?”

Buffy looked up in surprise.  “What?”

“Oh, that’s a good point.”  Joyce leaned against the counter, thinking.  “I should stop by the butcher’s if Spike’s going to be here.  So grill it is.”

“Mom, you really don’t have to . . .”

“Don’t be silly, it’s no trouble.”

“Well, see, he doesn’t really know about it.”

Joyce stared at Buffy with the look that told her Mother was not pleased.

“Sooo,” Buffy went on as though she’d intended to, pushing her bowl away, “I’ll go over there this morning and issue the invitation myself.”

“That’s the daughter I’m proud to call mine.”

Buffy cut through the Promenade to stop in at Starbucks for a frappaccino to wash down the cheerios.  She walked along slowly, sipping from the waxed cardboard cup and watching the shops open, trying to avoid thinking about what waited for her at the other end.

When she noticed the t-shirt shop setting out its wares.

She couldn’t help but stop to read the various slogans hanging in the window.  One in particular made her laugh into her coffee.  She thought for a moment about what Spike had said, about his chest getting all the attention, and an idea formed.  Before she could think better of it, she went into the store. 

Spike’s crypt was quiet and dim when she let herself in.  She didn’t bother looking around for him, instead heading straight to the ladder downstairs, moving quietly so as not to disturb him.

She’d expected him to be asleep this late in the morning, but instead he was sitting up in his bed, reading of all things. He didn’t have a shirt on, just his old jeans, and for the first time she was able to admire the sculpture of his torso.  The candlelight gave him a tanned quality that belied the pale cast of his skin, and he hadn’t taken time since the change to reapply the gel he used to slick his hair back.  What previously had been long, curling tendrils was now short, soft waves tumbling about his head, giving him an almost angelic look.

“What are you reading?” she asked uncertainly.

“Oh, this?”  He tossed the book aside carelessly.  “Nothin’ important.  Just couldn’t sleep.  What’re you doin’ here, Slayer?  Come for the rest of your things?”

“Um, no, actually,” she fidgeted with the package in her hands before offering it to him.  “I brought you this.”

He took it from her hesitantly, his face a mixture of uncertainty and amusement.  “Buyin’ me presents, Slayer?”

She shrugged.  “Just wanted to make sure you didn’t get the wrong impression.”

His expression darkened, his hand clenching momentarily on the package before he forced himself to unwrap it.

And laughed.

She relaxed, relieved as he held up the black t-shirt to better read the inscription.  “Your chest gets noticed either way.  I just thought you should know.”

“I appreciate that, pet,” he said, still chuckling as he folded the shirt back up.

“Everybody’s decided to have a welcome back to our bodies party at my mom’s house tonight, if you’re interested,” she added nonchalantly.  “It probably won’t be anything more exciting than movies and munchies, but Mom wanted me to invite you.”

He sat down on the foot of the bed.  “And what about you?  You want me there?”

She averted her eyes.  “I wouldn’t mind if you showed.”

Rising quickly, he advanced on her.  “Not good enough.  You didn’t come down here this early, knowing I’d be asleep, with your presents and your invitation, and not want something more.”

Mortification turned to anger in an instant.  “Fine, don’t come, see if I care.”  And she grabbed for the shirt.

He caught her wrist.  “Just say it, Buffy.  There’s no shame in it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said breathlessly.

“Liar.”  He let his free hand coast lightly over her cheek.  “So soft.  I knew you’d be soft.  Tell me you don’t want to know what it feels like, from the other side.  We were so good together before.  I’d let myself be staked to find out if we still are.”

His eyes were so dark, so ardent, she forgot herself in them, her whole body trembling at his intensity. “I don’t,” she whispered.

He started to pull away.

“But . . .”

He froze, turning slowly back to meet her gaze.  “But?”

She dropped her eyes, shame and mortification suffusing her face.  “But I can’t seem to stay away.  I can’t stop thinking about . . . I shouldn’t want this so much.”

His hand still wrapped around her wrist, he pulled her close enough to feel the cut of his stomach muscles through the silk of her shirt.  “I want you, Buffy.  I want you so bad I can taste you already.  But if we do this, this time there’s no deniability.  It’ll be you, and it’ll be me.  No masks, no excuses.  Not this time.  This time it will be real.”

He was right.  She knew it.  And a part of her didn’t care.  She had tasted him once already, with her body, with her mind, and she wanted that intimacy again.  Didn’t she deserve that?

She shifted her hips just a little, but it was enough to softly grind her pelvis against his erection, and that was all the signal he needed.

His lips weren’t full anymore she realized as his mouth moved hungrily over hers, but she was surprised to realize how soft they still were.  She wrapped her free arm around his neck, holding him close as she returned the kiss with equal fervor.  The bodies may be different, but the passion was still the same, fiery and demanding and completely overwhelming.  He released her wrist to coast his hand down over her back, pausing at the small of it to press her closer into him.  She gave in to curiosity and moved her hand over the cool marble of his chest, outlining the solid muscles exposed to her touch.  He responded by pushing his hand up under her shirt, the chill of his skin on the heated flesh of her back making her shiver.  He broke away from her mouth to caress his mouth along the side of her neck, making her gasp.  “Sometimes it doesn’t matter the sex, eh?” he murmured against her ear.

In revenge, she pinched his bare nipple.

He groaned, his hands becoming a flurry as he pulled her top off over her head, capturing her mouth again as he tossed it aside.  The first feel of the bare skin of their bellies caressing each other made her moan into his mouth.

“Want to ravage you, Buffy,” he admitted, his voice low and heady against her neck as his deft hands quickly divested her of her bra, leaving her breasts bare to his busy hands.  “Like that first time behind the Bronze.  Want to show you the animal you bring out in me.”

She clutched his shoulders, torn between fear and a burning need to let him do exactly as he suggested.

“But I want you to know how good it can feel,” he continued, “how good we can be together.”  His fingers toyed with the button on her jeans, popping it open.  “We can be better together than anything either of us has ever experienced.  Ever.”

Her eyes widened at the certainty in his words.  He didn’t know anything about the kind of lover she was.  How could he be so sure?

“I know you, love,” he went on as though reading her thoughts, pushing her jeans down off her hips.  “You like it slow and gentle, but you aren’t afraid to play rough.  I’ve seen it in you, the wild joy in your eyes when you don’t have to hold back.  You don’t have to hold back with me, Buffy.  I can take whatever you’ve got to give.  Give it to me, Buffy, Give it to me good.”

She tore herself away from him, chest heaving, eyes wild as she looked at him.  His soft, heady words were breaching her defenses, and she knew she was close to losing herself to him.  But when she looked in his eyes, all she saw was desire and awed vulnerability.  He didn’t want to hurt her, he just wanted her.

Kicking away her jeans and shoes, she caught the elastic of her panties in her thumbs and, never breaking eye contact with him, slowly pushed them to the floor.  He caught the tip of his tongue between his teeth, his eyes narrowing appreciatively.  She caught the waistband of his jeans and pulled him closer, unhooking the buttons to push them down as well.  When he was naked, she pressed up against him, closing her eyes to indulge in the feel of his rigid cock pressing into the soft curve of her belly.  “Show me,” she said clearly, voluptuously.

With a snarl, he swept her into his arms to carry her to the bed, devouring her mouth in promise of things to come.

She bounced once when he tossed her onto the mattress, quickly crabbing her way up to the pillows as he stalked her.  His hands were already warm from touching her, and he ran them lingeringly over every inch of her.  She lifted one leg to stroke it along his hip encouragingly.  “Hmm, where to start?” he purred, with a look on his face that told her he knew exactly what he planned to do.  Sure enough, a moment later he dropped his head to slide his tongue over and around one tightened nipple, his fingers drifting lightly along the sensitive curve at her ribs.  The electricity of the combination made her cry out softly.  She felt him smile against her breast as he continued, tongue and lips exploring every gentle curve of first one and then the other, his thigh nudging her legs apart to rest in between, putting the gentlest pressure on her center.  She tangled her fingers into his curls, using them as a convenient handle to guide his head.  He didn’t resist her, let her direct him until she was a writhing, quivering wreck.  When he finally lifted his head, he looked so smug she wanted to slap the expression off his face.  But something primal inside her encouraged her to fight fire with fire.  She gave into that urge.

He wasn’t expecting her sudden shove, rolling him so their positions were reversed.  She pinned him there, letting her hair fall around his head as she explored his mouth from this angle, rubbing her sensitive breasts against his chest as she rocked back and forth.  He gripped her hips, and she let him shift her to straddle him, having no intention of giving him what he wanted.  Not right away.  But she couldn’t keep from moaning into his mouth at the feel of his cock prodding between her legs.

Later, she reminded herself firmly, forcing herself to keep from mounting him then and there.  Plenty of time for that after she had made him beg for it.

She broke free of the enticement of his talented mouth and slowly began kissing her way down his body, lingering over the places he had shown her when she was the male.  His hands stroked her head while his thigh moved up to press into her center as she continued down over his stomach.

When she reached his groin, he gathered her hair up to hold it to one side.  She looked up to see him looking intense, focused, his mouth open slightly in anticipation.  “I want to be able to see it,” his husky words came out roughly, making her weak all over.

She hadn’t done this often, and so was unsure of herself as she began, lifting the length to gently kiss the tip.  His sharp intake of breath was encouraging, so she flicked out her tongue to stroke over the head.  She dared a glance back up at him and saw wonder competing with lust in his eyes as he stared transfixed.  This time she didn’t drop her eyes as she ran her tongue up and down the length of him, and so she saw his head snap back with a grunt as he fought to keep his hips from moving.  She giggled at the sense of power that gave her.

“Think that’s funny, do you?” he growled, clutching at her hair.

She backed of, letting her hand continue to work as she smiled teasingly at him.  “Just remember, it’s not polite to choke your lover.”

“Oh, Christ, pet,” he whimpered.  “Just do it.  I want to feel it.”

She smiled again, more tenderly this time, before lowering her head again to coax him into her mouth.

“Fuck, love, your mouth is incredible.  So soft and hot and wet god!  Oh yeah, just like that, sinful what you can do, it is.”  His stream of words was endless, every motion of hers encouraged and commented on, rewarding her for every bit of attention.

Suddenly he jerked away, moaning as he grabbed her arms and pulled her up to his mouth. “Not the first time.  I’ll come wherever you want from now on, but this time it’s gonna be inside you.”  He rolled her onto her back, and she found she had no interest in fighting him for position.  Instead, she caught his length in her hand and guided him in.

It took a lifetime for him to bury himself in her.  She whimpered and arched through every inch as he stretched her to fit him, until both of them were mewling at the sensation.  He fit her in a way no other man had, tight and deep and iron hard.  She moved against him and he responded by thrusting deep, making her cry out.  “That’s right, Buffy,” he murmured, his head next to her ear as he supported himself.  “No holding back.  I want to see it, I want to feel it, I want to know how much you’re enjoying this.”  He began moving then, slow, steady strokes that drove him impossibly deeper.  She cried softly at each thrust, clutching at his shoulders as she arched in time to his rhythm, building the speed and force.  “You feel like nothing I’ve ever known,” he chanted roughly as he moved.  “Only thing better than your mouth is your precious little quim, so tight and hot, just making me never want to leave it.  Just perfect, you are.  Everything I’ve always wanted.”

His words drove her as hard as his body was.  She could feel the sounds ripping from her throat, guttural, animalistic sounds of ecstasy that deepened as her climax twisted through her guts.  “Spike,” she growled hoarsely.  “Oh god, Spike, I’m gonna . . .”

His response was to slam into her harder.  “Come for me, Buffy.  I want to feel you coming all around me.  Will you do that for me?”

The scream escaped her before she even realized it was building, her whole body spasming under the weight of his.  With a muffled curse, he jerked his head back, his mouth falling open as he bucked against her in violent thrusts as his own release overtook him.

They collapsed on the bed, a loose pile of slack, sweat-sheened limbs panting in blissful exhaustion.  He shifted off her, pulling her into his arms as they slowly recovered.  “That was . . . you were amazing,” he said, his voice rich with admiration.

“Yeah?”  She looked up at him uncertainly.

“Yeah,” he smiled softly back, leaning in to kiss away her uncertainties.

She nestled in closer to his body, holding him tighter.  “Well, I had a good teacher.”

“I’ll have to do something nice for that teacher.  Oh, wait, I already did.”  She shivered as he ran his hands over her possessively.

When his hands continued exploring, she looked up at him critically.  “What do you think you’re doing?”

He didn’t take his eyes off the pattern his hands were drawing on her body.  “You know what a refractory time is, love?”

She shook her head, closing her eyes to indulge in the feel of his rough palms on her tender skin.

“It’s the time it takes a man to recover after sex.  Vampires have an almost nonexistent one.  And I found out Slayers do, too.  Wanna see if that holds true from male to female?”

“Spike,” she breathed a protest.

“Because I learned something from my teacher that I’m just dyin’ to try out.”  And he slipped a hand between her legs.

She didn’t even think about protesting after that.

They went on like that for hours, experimenting with everything they had shown each other, until they were slick with each other’s fluids and incapable of movement.  Buffy didn’t know when they fell asleep, only that she woke up, languid and relaxed, her body still entangled with his, his head resting on her breast as he held her close. She let her hand reach up to play with the tangle of his curls, soft and sensuous under her fingers.  She waited for the guilt to come, but it didn’t.  Just resignation.

With a quiet sigh, she slipped out of the comfort of his arms and dressed silently.  He still had a hairbrush sitting on his dresser, which she worked through the snarls in her hair.  She reclaimed her silver barrettes, slipping them into her hair as best she could without benefit of a mirror.

She paused beside the bed, studying his peaceful features.  He looked almost innocent like this, all the hard edges softened, the snark quiet.  Instead of reaching out to caress his face, she bent down to pick up the book he had tossed aside.  It was a well-worn copy of Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman.  Looking at the flyleaf, she was surprised to see it was a first edition signed by the author.  She looked at him in surprise, then back to the book.  She had known him this long and didn’t know he liked poetry?  What else didn’t she know?

Everything, probably.  Buffy could spend a lifetime with him and never know everything about him.

But they didn’t have a lifetime, did they?  She had a couple of years at most, while he would live indefinitely.  Or until his chip died and she had to be the one to kill him. All she saw was all kinds of bad.

She set the book gently down on the bedside table, blowing out the candle so she couldn’t see him as she walked out of the crypt, leaving his sleeping form behind.

Chapter 28    Our Bodies, Ourselves

The party was like Christmas and a birthday all rolled into one.  Mostly Dawn’s birthday.  Everyone came bearing bags of freshly laundered clothes, which Dawn promptly snatched and dumped on the dining room table, picking through to choose her favorites from both the male and female collection.  Her enthusiasm was infectious, and soon they all were looking through between trips to the kitchen and living room, selecting items they were interested in with Dawn acting as fashion advisor.

Willow gave Xander a raised eyebrow as she looked through the movies he’d picked up.  “Some Like it Hot, Tootsie, and Yentl?”

He grinned unashamedly, tossing a handful of popcorn in his mouth with unerring precision.  “Who am I to argue with a perfectly good theme night?”

Buffy was getting silverware out of the credenza when the front door opened to let Spike in, unusually subdued.  He turned and shut the door behind him before meeting her eyes, calm, resigned, unthreatening.  Very un-Spike-like.

“Spike’s here!”  Dawn’s voice squealed from the living room.  A herd of elephants pounded through the house and suddenly she was in the foyer with him, bouncing excitedly on her toes.  “Did you bring me something?   Mom said you were bringing something for me.”

Buffy couldn’t help noticing what a nice smile he had when he wasn’t smirking.  “That I did, Kitten.  I want to thank you for the use of your sneakers.”  He pulled the red canvas shoes out from the collection under his arm.  “I promise they came in contact with nothin’ foul or unmentionable.”

She looked disappointed as she accepted them, trying to be gracious.  “Oh.  Thank you.”

He grinned.  “These were the ones that saw the worst of it.”  And he handed her the boot box.

“Oh, wow!”  She dropped the sneakers to snatch it out of his hands, collapsing onto the stairs to throw open the box in excitement.  “My own Docs!  And you fought in these?”

He shrugged.  “A couple of times.”

“Oh wow!” she repeated.  “Thank you thank you thank you so much!”  And she threw her arms around him, shoes and all.

He closed his eyes and held her briefly, then gently pushed her away.  “Not my doin’.  Go thank your mum.”

“I will.  Thank you!”  And she disappeared down the hall to the kitchen.

“That was nice of you,” Buffy said quietly, not wanting to start anything.

He brushed her compliment aside.  “Just what I promised Joyce, innit?  Didn’t cost me anything.  Brought you somethin’, too.”  He stepped into the dining room, shifting the black duffel bag into his hands.  “Your things.  Thought you might like ‘em back.  You left them behind this morning.  Or this afternoon.  Whenever it was . . .”

She set the silverware down on top of the credenza and moved towards him to take the bag.  “Thank you.”

He shrugged.  “Didn’t cost me anything,” he repeated.  Then he turned and followed Dawn into the kitchen.

She took the bag upstairs and opened it.  All her clothes were neatly folded, everything freshly washed and still warm from the dryer.  The only exception was the leather skirt.  She blushed at the sight of it, ignoring the scuffmarks on the back of it. When she returned the other things to their drawers, she was surprised to find he had included his slogan t-shirts with the other shirts he’d borrowed.  After a moment, she put those in the drawer, too.

In the bottom of the bag were various and sundry other things.  A bottle of leave-in hair conditioner, which he must have used to control his curls.  Her hairbrush, the one she had used that afternoon in his crypt.  There were also several hair bobs, including the ones she had been wearing this morning and hadn’t been able to find afterwards.

It was the lipstick that stopped her.  She sat down on the bed, just looking at it.  Taking the top off, she twisted it all the way up.  He’d used about half of it in the ten days he’d had it.  The image of the first time she’d seen him apply it burst into her memory.  Slow, sensual, decadent.  Just like his kisses.  All those kisses confused themselves in her brain, hard and gentle, soft and full or firm and lean, always intense but never quite the same.  Closing her eyes only focused the images, refined them, sucking her in so she was lost.

“How are you doing?” Willow’s concerned voice came from the doorway, breaking Buffy’s trance.

Buffy closed the lipstick with a sharp twist as she rose abruptly to toss it back on her vanity.  “Fine.  I was just putting a few things away.”

Willow looked from her to the vanity and back again.  “It must be hard.  Nothing’s the same for you now as it was before the change.”

Her friend’s sympathy made her vulnerable.  “I’m just . . . I’m really confused, Will,” Buffy confessed.  “I don’t understand anything right now.”

“It’ll get easier, Buffy,” Willow comforted.  “You just have to give it time.  Right now you need a distraction.  I think the brownies and ice cream your mom has for dessert ought to do the trick.”

Buffy laughed, moving to hug her friend.  “Thanks, Will.  I needed that.”

Willow patted her shoulder.  “You know, you never hugged me as a guy.”

Buffy shrugged with a smile.  “Guys aren’t into all that touchy feely stuff, remember?”

Willow snorted.  “Yeah, right.”

When they came downstairs, her counter-example was sitting on the couch.  Xander sat to one end, reclined against the arm, holding Anya uncharacteristically close.  She looked bemused but happy, and Buffy couldn’t help but smile.  Spike sat on the hearth, a beer in one hand as he leaned forward to talk to Tara who was sitting in the armchair.  He had taken his duster off, and for the first time Buffy could see he was wearing the shirt she had gotten for him, the words “I was an atheist until I realized I was God” standing out in bold white letters from the black cotton clinging tightly to the sculpture of his chest.  He didn’t interrupt his conversation, but she could feel him watching her.

Dinner was rowdy and relaxed.  They all sat at the table, crowded close together to make everyone fit.  They all ate heartily with minimal throwing of food, and even Joyce and Giles got caught up in the spiritedness.  But Buffy could feel the weight of Spike’s regard on her the whole time, even though she avoided looking at him.

Somewhere between the entrée and dessert, he disappeared.

She held out until the dishes were all cleared away and people had moved into the living room for the movies before she went looking for him.

She found him out on the back porch, ignoring the cigarette slowly burning down between his fingers as he stared out into the night.  She sat down at the top of the stairs above him, her knees close to his shoulder.

“Scoobs’ll miss you,” he said, not looking up as he cast the stub out into the yard.

She shrugged.  “They’ll find me.”

There was a gentle tension to the quiet between them, not uncomfortable but not entirely at ease, either.  She looked down and studied his white hair, once again slicked severely back, so stiff that the marks of his comb were still obvious through the tresses.  Almost of its own accord, her hand drifted up to touch it, sliding gently beneath to the softer hairs at his scalp.  “You should wear your hair the other way.”

He grimaced, but leaned almost imperceptibly into her touch.  “All those curls?  Too nancy.”

“You’d be surprised.  I bet you’d have the girls falling at your feet.”

“You think?”

She tipped her head to the side, studying him critically.  “Oh, definitely.”

“Cuz, you know,” he said hesitantly, scuffing his boot against the ground, “there is this one girl I wouldn’t mind having give me a tumble.  Beautiful, funny, sharp as a whip.  Mean right hook.”

“Spike,” she pulled her hand away, “you know we can’t . . .”

He turned and caught her wrist, looking up at her finally.  The intensity of his storm blue eyes took her breath away.  “We can.  We have.  Buffy, the world didn’t come to an end because you let yourself feel something for me.  And I know you did.  No man makes love to a woman the way you made love to me without it meaning something.”

“Well, what about you?” she replied defensively.

“I’m not ashamed of how I feel about you.” He let his fingers come up to dance lightly over her cheek.  “’M scared to death of it, but I’m not ashamed.”

She couldn’t breathe.  “How?  How do you feel?”

His eyes widened, in fear and innocent vulnerability.  “I love you, Buffy.  You’re in my heart, you’re in my gut.  I’m drownin’ in you, Summers.”

“Why?”  She clutched at comprehension with both hands.

He shrugged.  “Couldn’t help myself.  Why does a man do what he mustn’t?  I just woke up one morning and realized, ‘God, I love this woman’.”

“But Spike, you can’t love . . .”

A dark shutter crashed over his eyes.  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.  Angel loved you, didn’t he?”

“But he had a soul . . .”

“And I loved Dru for over a hundred years without one.  It’s no different.  Love and hate are two sides of the same coin, Buffy.  Vampires are as vulnerable to it as anyone else.  You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed it.  How I’ve been changing to fit into your life.”

“The chip . . .”

“Doesn’t force me to help you.  Doesn’t make me protect your friends.  Doesn’t demand I tutor your sister.  I want to do those things.  Well, most of the time, anyway.”

“But still . . . Wait, you’re tutoring Dawn?”

He shrugged sheepishly.  “Once in a while.  Bit’s got no comprehension of literature.”

Buffy smiled at the image of the two bent over a book.  But quickly the humor faded.  “Spike, you and me, it just couldn’t work out.  You know that.”

“Seen some damn funny relationships turn out pretty well in my day.  And some solid ones crumble away to nothing.  You never know until you try.  If you want it bad enough, you find a way.” He touched her hair gently, twisting one curl around his finger.  “What do you want, Buffy?”

Her emotions roiled inside her, desires, fears, insecurities, wishes, all tangling around each other to squeeze her heart, her throat, allowing no words to escape despite all attempts.  Finally she leaned back against the porch rail post in frustration.

“You know what I miss most already about being a guy?” she asked.

He leaned back as well, obviously disappointed.  “What’s that?”

“No one expected me to be in touch with my feelings.  I suck at feelings, Spike.  I just . . . feel them.  I’m no good at understanding them.  I never have been.”

Shaking his head, he denied her words as he took her hand and drew her towards him gently.  “Well,” he said, his voice honey-rich and tender, “what say I have a go, shall I?”

She allowed him to settle her on his lap, his arms loose around her, holding her but not confining her.

“I know you’re scared,” he said softly against her hair, his hand stroking her arm soothingly.  “I know you feel something for me.  It’s not love, but maybe it could be.  And you feel guilty about it, afraid of what your mates are gonna think.  And the Watcher.”

She pressed into him gently, and he nuzzled her hair.  “That all?”

He shook his head.  “You aren’t bad at feelings.  You’re scared of them.  When you let yourself feel, you get hurt.  And you have enough pain in your life.  Angel, Riley, even your old man, they all left you.  You don’t want to be left again.  But let me tell you a secret.”  He moved closer, resting his lips on her ear as he whispered, “I don’t leave.”

She trembled at his words, fisting the fabric of his shirt for support.  “I know,” she said hoarsely.  “I keep trying to make you go and you won’t.”

“Not going to, either.”  He shook his head.  “Watcher’s threats, Harris’ insults, dirty looks from Red, as long as I know you want me, I’ll be here.  It’d be worth it for just the chance of winnin’ your heart.”

“It might not be worth having.”

“Course it is.  ‘S a little worse for rough treatment, but it’s still just as beautiful as the rest of you.”

His words tore at her, punching through the walls of her defenses.  Hope began bleeding into the rear, which made the fear flare all the brighter.  So she silenced him the only way she could, the only way that ever worked.

He tangled his fingers in her hair as they gently devoured each other’s mouths.  Her own small hands cupped either side of his face, directing the kiss.  He adjusted her so she straddled his lap, freeing his hands to coast over the planes of her back.

They both leapt to their feet in surprise when the back door opened to reveal Joyce, who quickly averted her eyes.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”  She thought about that, then looked at them critically.  “Or maybe I did.”

“Mom, it’s not . . .”

“Don’t.”  Joyce held up her hand to stop Buffy’s exclamation.  “You’re a grown woman now, Buffy.  You don’t have to justify your life to me.  I think you know better than I do what you’re in for.  Just make sure it’s what you want.”  She turned to go back inside.  “Your friends are looking for you.  Don’t be long.”

Spike watched Buffy for long moments after the door closed.  “Is it?” he asked simply.

“I shouldn’t.”

“Not what I asked, Slayer.”

“So many things could go wrong, are wrong with even thinking about doing this.  You know that, don’t you?”

“Don’t care.  I’ll take the bad with the good.  It’ll be worth it, if it means a repeat of what we’ve done the last couple days.”

She blushed.  “All of it?”

“You mean the before and after?  Course I do.  You were bloody marvelous as a bloke.  Gave me somethin’ to aspire to.”

She blushed.  “No, I wasn’t.  Not really.”

He lifted her chin to look down into her eyes.  “Yes,” he said with an intensity that took her breath away.  “Yes, you were.”

“We weren’t meant to be together, Spike.  Vampire and Slayer, good and bad, it just . . .”  She couldn’t finish it.

“So you don’t want me.”

“I didn’t say that!” she replied instinctively, then, realizing what she’d confessed, dropped her eyes as she blushed in painful confusion.

He chuckled and pulled her close again, wrapping his arms around her.  “I learned a couple of things in the last ten days,” he said, studying her face lazily.  “Chivalry isn’t condescending, it’s respectful.  If more guys were chivalrous, more girls would go out with them.  I learned that a pretty girl is just as lonely in a crowd as anyone else.  That even the strongest girl likes to know that someone is willing to defend her, even if she doesn’t want them to.  And that thongs are much more pleasant for the admirer than for the wearer.”

“You didn’t.”  She couldn’t help smiling.

He shrugged, smiling back sheepishly.  “I also learned a lot about you.  About what it’s like to live in your head, the kinds of choices you have to make that nobody else understands.  The things you give up to be you.  Now, I know I’m not a perfect man.  I can be a right bitch at times.”

She grinned against his chest.  “So can I.”

He kissed the top of her head.  “You can also be a total bastard, pet, don’t think I don’t see that clearly now.  But so can I.  It’s why we fit so well.  The two of us, within ourselves we’re both halves of the whole battle of the sexes.  We don’t have to suppress part of who we are to fit with the other.  We’ve shown how well our boy and girl parts get along, but our boy selves love scrapping and fightin’ with each other, and our girl parts like doin’ the whole I Feel Pretty routine together.  There’s no part of us that’s closed to the other.  Think about how good we could be if we stop fightin’ that?”

She did.  She thought about the last two weeks, the sense of purpose she’d felt taking care of him, the comfort she’d found in his presence that had nothing to do with convenience.  The challenge she always felt around him, the challenge to best him that made her better at everything she did.

She relaxed in his arms.  “Will you wear your hair loose?”

“No,” he denied adamantly.

She smiled.  “Will you tell me why you like poetry?”

This time he chuckled.  “Oh pet, you have no idea.  I was a bloody nancy mama’s boy poet when I was alive . . .”

As he opened up to her, she realized finally that he was the only man woman enough to take her, and she was the only woman man enough for him.

And she was surprisingly okay with that . . .

~FIN~