Strong arms grabbed her and pulled her free just as the freshly turned, sandy soil began to tumble through the hole she had made in the coffin lid, like the grains in an hourglass, filling her mouth and counting out the minutes until she would die again. They held her and rocked her, pulling her close, and even though her battered body protested, her fear gradually ebbed as the familiar accent whispered softly at her ear.

"S'alright, baby. Spike's got you. He's got you. Shush, kitten, shhhhh. Deep breaths. Slow it down. Slow and easy. I'm here. It's over, an' your Spike won't let it happen again."

Like a fun-runner at the end of a marathon, her rapid, gasping breaths finally eased until her chest no longer burned in protest and the sobs she hadn't even been aware of faded away. Spike's hold loosened as she relaxed with her back against his chest.

"Y-you didn't..."

"Didn't share?" Spike paused until she nodded her head. "No, love. Been awake for a bit, but I figured when your breathin' got outta whack that it'd be better to wake you up."

"What's with the wakiness?" Buffy rolled to face him, piling every iota of concern she was feeling into their bond. "Is this because of the growly thing? 'Cause have to say, can't see that as being of the bad. You kicked gnarly grey Twarick Hun butt. It's not like I'm going to give you a hard time about it."

Spike shrugged. "Maybe, partly, I don't know. Even if I don't end up with you riding my arse about it, you can bet the Watcher Boys are going to want to investigate it to death."

"Are those like the Hardy Boys with tweed?"

"Tweed and broomsticks up their backsides. An' I can't say as I blame them. Rupert was practically twitching to get his notebook out an' start the interrogation. The slayer an' her pet vamp is one thing-."

"You're not my pet vamp. Don't talk like that."

"'S how Rupert sees me. Like as not, Wes'd say the same but manage to make it sound better. 'S the only reason they trust me around you and Niblet an' the rest without a bloody muzzle."

"They trust you because you've earned it."

"Bollocks, pet, an' you know it." Spike gave a discontented near-growl. "If it was ever about earning their trust, then, they'd have accepted me back when Glory was after The Bit, an' if not then, they would have done it when I stayed an' watched over her an' helped out, but you've heard the boy often enough. He'll never let himself forget what I am, an' every single one of them went right back to treatin' me like I'd gone skinny-dipping in The Bog of Eternal Stench as soon as you got back, 'cept Niblet and the good witch.

Fact of the matter is that I had a blackout an' that lot barely trust me when I am in charge of what I'm doin'. How the hell are they ever goin' to trust me when I'm not? How am I goin' to trust me?"

"Spike, who's the slayer here?" She slid her hand beneath his chin and pressed until he raised his head to look her in the eye once more. "The council may not like it, but when all's said and done I'm in charge and I trust you. This is so not an issue."

Spike shook his head gently. "Wishing it doesn't make it so, kitten. I'm not a nice man. Never claimed to be, an' if you knew just a fraction of the things I've done, then, you wouldn't take this so lightly."

"I don't take it lightly. I know it's a big deal, and, hey, I'd be freaking out, too, if I was walking around with holes in my memory, but I know what I felt. I know what you were feeling those times you don't remember and whatever subconscious part of you was in charge, I trust it and I love it, just the way I love you."

"I am not freakin' out. The Big Bad does not freak out. An' what if that wasn't me, at all? What if it's one big game that The First is playing to sucker you in an' get you to trust it while it's sticking its hand up my bum and using me like Nookie the bloody Bear?"

"You think The First wants to use your body to have sex with a bear?" Buffy asked. "Is this a prophecy thing? 'Cause I haven't heard that one and your body ain't having sex with no one and nothing but me."

"No, Nookie Bear, Nookie the Bear, whatever, some sort of teddy bear ventriloquist's dummy. Point bein' we don't know for sure who was pulling the strings when I was like that."

"Stop fussing. I know. You think The First could fool me?"

"Managed a fair convincing impersonation of you an' Dru before now. Don't reckon it'd find me any harder to do."

Buffy took a deep breath. She was beginning to appreciate how her mom had felt when she had run up against Buffy's own stubborn streak. "So far, it's happened once, and I'm in no hurry to get myself hurt like this to see if it happens again. We can worry about it if it becomes a habit. Okay?" she slowly carded her fingers through the short locks just above his ear. "But for the record, I don't think The First would understand what we have between us... and the way you use the claim to all but drown me in love? It wouldn't have a clue." Buffy concentrated on telling him without words, just exactly how much those feelings were returned and the vampire finally seemed to decide to let the subject go.

"An' you?" he asked. His fingers ghosted lightly up and down her side, marking a narrow, slightly curved trail to avoid bruises.

"Huh?"

"You, pet. What's the deal? You don't have that dream when everythin' in the garden's rosy. An' if it's not me doin' Hulk impressions that's got you off balance, it must be somethin' else."

"I guess... Maybe it's just because it's a while since anything got that close."

"Maybe," Spike answered, sounding non-commital. "That what you think it is?"

"I don't know. It... It all just seems so big. I guess I just don't know where we go from here. We hurt them, but we got our butts kicked in the process and I don't think The First is all that bothered about losing a body here or there, but every one that we lose is a person, a face, someone's daughter, friend, whatever, and we will lose some of them. I just don't know if I can cope with that."

"You cope by training them the best you know how. You take it one step at a time and you break it down into bits you can do."

"You make it sound easy, but how do I train these girls, get to know them and then just watch them get pulled apart by a flock of bringers? If The First doesn't make them pull themselves apart first."

"You don't, but if you want them to fight for you, then you have to get to know them. You have to make them feel like you think they're special. Let your belief in them keep them going until they can believe in themselves."

"Personnel management, vampire style?" Buffy teased.

"Hell no! Vamp style, you kill the ones that cock up an' the ones that get too close to bein' a threat, an' as long as you don't settle in one place for too long you can generally recruit enough bodies to keep a decent cadre. That's out of some book on one of them World War II guys."

"But doesn't that hurt, when you lose them? Doesn't it kill you bit by bit as you watch them die?"

"Pet, right back to the beginning of time, the reason any army fights is less to do with honour or pride or any of that balls than they'd have you believe. They fight because their friends, the guys on either side of them, are relyin' on them. They fight because if the enemy breaks through their lines, then their daughters an' their sisters an' their wives an' their mothers'll be robbed blind an' used however the winners see fit. An' they'll lose people along the way, but you don't stop in the middle of a fight to grieve, you just get angry an' make sure you get the bastard as did it.

We'll all lose a few, an' when it's all over an' done with I'll hold you tight an' let you cry like a river, but we don' have a choice. If all you give those girls is the slayer, if you don't let them see who you are, as well as what you are, then you'll already have lost them before you begin."

"I'm not sure I can do that."

"Then, I guess I'll just have to believe in you until you can believe it for yourself... Though I think we'll all have to claim an excemption when it comes to that Kennedy bint. Doubt anyone as wasn't blood related could even pretend they gave a damn about that one. Well, 'cept maybe Glinda, an' there's days I wonder if those bits in the Bible about angels walkin' in disguise amongst us were written 'bout her."

Buffy fixed him with a questioning stare. "You really think even Tara could care about Superbrat?"

Spike smirked. "Well, no, but it sounded good..."

There was a discreet cough from just outside the door, and then Lily entered with a mug of blood in either hand, followed by Dawn carrying a steaming bowl of soup and a spoon and Tara carrying two glasses of fruit juice.

"Is that-."

"Bee's home-made cream of chicken soup. Nothing out of a can," Dawn interrupted, "and the juice is two-."

"Parts orange, one part grapefruit," both Spike and Buffy chimed in.

Lily fixed each of the invalids in turn with a firm stare. "You know what happen if everything not all eaten up when we come back?"

"You hold our noses and pour it in our mouths a bit at a time until we're forced to swallow?" Buffy replied.

Lily ushered the others from the room as she replied. "Close enough. And I no thinking you want to swap leftovers." She waited until the door was only six inches from being closed to add, "Kennedy, she brat because parents give her money instead of love. Maybe is our job to teach her."

Spike yelled after her as the door shut. "I signed on to help the slayer, not join The Salvation Army."

 

* * * * *

 

Anya's eyes narrowed as she sat down at the table opposite Giles. "You've had orgasms," she accused. "Lots of orgasms. Of the non-DIY variety."

Giles flushed beneath her stare and, no doubt, if he hadn't chosen to wear his contact lenses he would have been polishing already, but he failed to deny her accusations. Instead, he tried to divert her attention. "A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell. Now I asked you here-."

"I'm not talking about kissing. I know about your kissing. Firm, forceful without being overpowering, passionate with good technique, but even that wouldn't get you that smug, 'I banged a natural blonde twenty years younger than me' glow."

"Oh dear Lord!" Giles briefly lowered his forehead almost to the table, and, just for a second, considered seeing if a few repeated impacts would either shut Anya up or at least produce sufficient brain damage that he would no longer hear her. "If you must know, I asked you to call in because I wanted your help with some shopping type things."

"You want me to help you spend your money?" Anya asked, her eyes suddenly gleaming and a beautifully glossed smile on her lips.

"Yes, well, I believe you can order almost anything on the line these days. After this morning's events I thought it might be an idea to bring forward looking for Buffy's wedding present slightly. I have a couple of ideas but I'm not entirely sure which way to go so I thought maybe you could guide me through some net sites." He coughed slightly before he continued. "Then, I wondered if you might be able to direct me to the tailor where Spike was having the clothes made for the wedding, preferably without going through the sewers. Spike's new coat took something of a beating last night and I believe it will take someone highly skilled to restore it to any sort of semblance of its former glory. So many of the girls saw him win that. If it were to disappear so soon afterward, it might cause questions. I think for the sake of morale it would be best if we could get it patched up before Spike is back up and around."

Anya didn't believe the morale excuse for a minute, but if Giles wanted to be shy about doing a friend type thing for Spike because he'd stopped some older than dirt vamps from killing Buffy, then who was she to complain, especially if it meant she got to spend money on Giles' credit cards. Of course, it also provided her with an excellent opportunity to point out that while he was Buffy's ex-watcher he was her present-day business partner and surely that merited just as large a wedding present as an ex-anything.

"I still say if you're going with the bed idea, then it would be better to have some sort of metal frame," Anya argued.

Giles looked again at the dark pine bed he had chosen with its simply but exquisitely carved head and foot pieces. "I rather like this one. I know Spike might like the Gothic look, but this is for Buffy as well."

"Honestly, Giles!" Anya exclaimed in impatience. "It's just not practical, at all. There isn't even anywhere you could attach any handcuffs and, if you did somehow manage to get them to lock on somewhere, all the varnish would scrape off."

Giles reddened and pushed his chair away from the computer. "I think maybe it's time we took a little break. Why don't I make us some tea and see if I can find Dawn? She should have some idea what sort of furnishings they had in mind."

 

* * * * *

 

Giles might not have recognised Offspring, but he did realise that the music coming from behind the door of Faith and Dawn's room was grungier than the teenager's normal boy bands and he silently raised a prayer in hope that her taste in music was finally approaching something more appropriate to her intellectual age.

He gave the briefest of knocks and raised his voice in question. "Dawn?" He paused in deference for possible female nudity until he heard the teen confirm he could enter.

"Dawn," he began as he pushed the door open. "I was wondering if perhaps you could help me ou-." He stalled as he realised that the girl was not alone. He frowned briefly as he searched for the appropriate name amongst so many newcomers. "Brandon, it's not that I have any objection to you per se. You seem like a rather nice young boy, as teenage boys go, and it does appear that you might be doing something useful..." Giles waved a hand in the general direction of the large scale maps that Brandon and Dawn had spread out across both the bunks. "However, I can't help but think that Buffy and particularly Spike might imagine the library to be a better venue than any that places you both alone behind closed doors, and from a personal viewpoint I have to wonder why it is that, considering you at least nominally still live with your father, you never actually seem to go home."

"Sorry, sir," Brandon answered still somewhat subdued after Ireland's World Cup exit. He continued in time before Dawn could finish drawing in breath to indulge in a fit of teenaged pique. "Amanda just went down to get some sodas from the kitchen. She'll be back in a minute or two. If I'd thought about it, I'd have made sure she left the door open. We didn't mean to break the rules." The boy's head tilted down and he looked at his fingertips as he rubbed at the cuticles of his left hand. He couldn't keep his eyes from glancing across at Dawn before he continued, however. "Dad's out of town for a few days. There, em, was some... stuff that, he, ah, had to do."

Dawn's eyes narrowed and she rounded on him. "You didn't say your dad was out of town," she said, not even trying to conceal her suspicion or her burgeoning anger. As yet, she didn't know exactly what she had to be angry at, but she figured she'd find out soon enough.

"Does it make a difference?" Brandon asked in a soft reasonable voice. "It's not like I wouldn't choose to be here most of the time anyway. I might have slept in a proper bed a bit more often but I'd still head straight over and Mr Giles would probably still be trying to get rid of me." Brandon's gaze shifted back to the watcher. "But, sir, Buffy and Spike said it would be okay for me to stay until he got back."

"Yeah," Dawn answered far too calmly. "It makes a difference. I'm supposed to be your girlfriend, but everybody gets a say in whether you stay over except me."

"It wasn't meant to be like that." Brandon sounded both hurt and apologetic, but even when Dawn raised an eyebrow and gave him a questioning glare he made no attempt to elucidate further.

"Well, maybe when you explain what it was meant to be like, then we can talk. I'll tell Amanda you took the maps and stuff to your room." She stood up and grabbed all the paperwork, crushing it until it fitted into an awkward armful, which she thrust out toward the youth as he rose to his feet.

Brandon didn't bother to argue, but the scuff of his boots against the floor as he left told its own tale of misery.

Giles tilted his head ever so slightly to one side. "He might have a perfectly good reason for not mentioning it. He doesn't seem the type who would deliberately-."

Dawn gave the watcher a withering look. "Giles, if you want me to help you with something, then off topic now."

 

* * * * *

 

"Wesley, darling, why don't you bring Marie and your other friends over here?"

Marie smiled at the sound of Penelope's voice, but her smile faded when she realised that Wes's mother sat at the same table as Quentin and Roger, though the presence of Lydia Chalmers, who seemed to be having nothing more substantial than a glass of water, did a little to ease her nerves. "Is she serious?" she whispered in Wes's ear, her teeth clenched as she tried to keep watch on Rosa with her tray of food.

"Never let it be said that mother missed out on a chance to watch father and Quentin squirm."

Lily walked around the pair as the couple slowed. "Is not polite to keep your mother waiting." She took a seat next to Roger, who sat across the table from his wife, and Wes and the others followed suit, Wes beside his mother with Rosa on his other side and Marie next to her, automatically placing themselves so that they could both help the girl if she needed it. Clem and Ha Nath took places next to Lily.

Wes made the necessary introductions and Quentin made the barest of acknowledgements before he returned to the conversation he had apparently been having prior to the group's arrival. "It's important that you begin as soon as possible," Quentin announced, not so much to Roger as to everyone at the table and those nearest to it. "You'll need to go back to England. With everyone concentrating on the research materials, it seems unlikely that the older personnel records will have been moved yet. You will need to check through them and track down as many as possible of the retired members. They need to be warned of the threat and they should be alerted as to how they may get in touch with us here, should any of them find anything relevant to the situation in their own private libraries."

Penelope's lips twisted in a wry smile, magnanimously allowing Roger and Quentin their facade. She turned to Marie and the others. "You must forgive Quentin for his abruptness. Having had watchers kowtowing to him for a decade or so has made him forget that, as far as everyone else is concerned, the world fails to revolve around him." She winked at Rosa. "I bet your mommy would tell you off for being rude if you ignored people like that, but grumpy old men can get away with it..." She met Roger's gaze. "Speaking of which, it's such a pity that you have to leave just when I get here, but I'm sure we'll potter on without you, dear."

 

* * * * *

 

Lydia and Tara chose a spot nearer the basement stairs than the circle that remained set up with the manacles in its centre. They cleared a good sized area of the general dust and detritus that littered the floor, marked out a sacred circle that could easily accommodate both of them, using rock salt crystals. They marked out another smaller circle at the centre of that one. Intersecting that one they drew a pentacle. From her pockets Tara pulled out a selection of gemstones; amethyst as a general protection against negative psychic energy; jade to counter more directed psychic attacks and also for its association with the protection of children; quartz to represent protection for the home or other buildings; peridot for physical protection and also protection against demons and, finally, red jasper for protection from dangerous situations. Just outside the smaller circle, next to the stones, Lydia placed small clay incense holders with tall narrow incense sticks, leaving them unlit for the moment, but placing a box of matches ready to one side.

Tara fetched a large book from the caretaker's office, opened it and placed it next to the inner circle, so that there was enough space for someone to sit cross-legged and read from it without touching the outer circle. The two women surveyed the layout, straightening up an incense holder here and a line there until they were satisfied.

They adjourned upstairs to the shower room which had a sign on the door saying it was out of bounds between half past twelve and one o'clock. There, they took it in turn to use the communal showers. They washed from head to toe using unperfumed toiletries and redressed in freshly laundered clothing. Tara had chosen a flowing white skirt with broderie Anglais edging and a peasant style top that flattered her rounded curves. Lydia wore white canvas bootleg jeans and a clinging T-shirt so new its soft fabric practically glowed and made even her fair skin look dark.

They walked barefoot back to the basement and took their places facing each other. Stepping into the circle from opposite sides, they settled into cross-legged positions with the book directly before Tara. The two women clasped hands and the Wiccan began to read from the book. Lydia followed on, repeating Tara's exact words with just a few seconds delay, their phrasing and the rhythm of the chant seeming to fall into synch, even though their words didn't, like young children singing 'Row, Row, Row."

Lydia watched as, slowly, the inner circle began to glow with a dim light. She continued repeating the words that Tara spoke before her, until gradually the chant became a repetition by rote that required no conscious thought. The circle glowed brighter now, its essence formed from the merged power of the two women whose canon acted like a magical pulse, drawing power through their linked bodies like the human heart pumps blood through the body. Raising her eyes to to Tara's, the two came to a silent agreement and focused their will on the circle of light. The circle swirled gently outward gliding over the outer circle without disturbing it, and then deforming under their will until it matched the confines of the basement room.

The magical energy continued to pulse through the women seemingly unabated and, again, they pressed onward by unspoken accord, visualising the sweep of the protective barrier in their mind's eye as clearly as they had seen it when it was within the confines of the room. The light spread outward and upward until Lydia saw that it enveloped almost all of the building's lowest level. As Lydia channelled her will, her lips still moving in the same rote chant, she became aware of something akin to a magical form of friction. The protected area continued to expand, but much more slowly now.

The best way to describe what she felt was as is if the magic they used to power the warding spell was akin to water released from behind a dam. Water continued to flow down from the hills into the reservoir which seemed just as full as it had been when they started the working, but it was as if the engineer was closing off the sluice gates so that the power available to fuel the spell was becoming less plentiful.

Digging deep within herself, Lydia began to not just accept and shape the power that flowed between them but to actively suck it from the reservoir within them, working to overcome the resistance she felt to the spell's continued expansion. Tara's eyes widened in shock and she tried with nothing more than her own eyes to soothe her. She pushed the protected area outward until it extended beyond the walls of the school building, then upward until all the floors were covered. The look of shock died away from Tara's eyes, replaced by a look of trust and with a rush all the friction washed away. The wards flooded out to the boundary of the property forming a glistening bubble over the school and its grounds, visible to any who cared to look at it with magical senses. With one last effort of will the women hardened the walls of that bubble until it formed a metaphysical shell. Tara slapped three times on the floor to end that phase of the working and ground the power between them.

The Wiccan's eyes held fear and hope as she met the watcher's. "I-."

"Shhh!" Lydia calmed her. "We can work out what it all means later. For now, let's bury these stones and finish this..." She pushed to her feet, broke both the inner and outer circle with her toe and then reached down to offer the witch a hand. "We never thought we'd be able to do more than a couple of rooms without having to find more people. Let's not look a gift horse in the mouth."

Giles knocked softly at Lydia's office door before he slipped inside and pressed it closed behind him. Noting the blonde's pristine white attire, which contrasted sharply against the dark leather of the couch, where she lay with a heavy book propped on her rib cage, he knew that he must have missed the performance of the ward spell.

"How did it go?" he inquired as Lydia set aside the book and stretched out her arms to pull Giles down to her side.

"Good," she whispered, letting her eyes drink in the handsome face next to her, as if she still found it difficult to believe his place there. "It went well. I think perhaps you should have a talk with Tara later, but it went well."

Giles stiffened slightly. "Why? Is she alright?"

Slim fingers came up to brush his lips and a canvas draped leg hooked over his to fix him tight against a surprisingly athletic body. "She's fine. She's with Bee. She just has something she wants to discuss with you..." Lydia's smile became almost predatory as her mouth moved closer to Giles' so that her lips brushed his as she spoke her insistent last word. "Later."

His concern vanished behind a teasing grin. "If I didn't know better I would think you were trying to make me have a heart attack," he joked before acquiescing to a searching kiss.

Finally, pulling back for air as her hands slipped Giles' leather jacket from his shoulders, she responded. "You look in better shape to me than your friend Xander, far better shape, and Anya was saying only last night at the meeting that he has no problem keeping up with her."

"I was under the impression that Wesley cut her off in order to protect young ears before she got that far."

"Well, yes, but we all knew what she was going to say. Besides, exercise is good for you. We can't let you get out of shape doing research all the time. You never know when you might have to be up there in the front line."

"I-." Giles paused, as if a sudden idea had broken his train of thought. His eyes had a calculating gleam and Lydia's smile widened even further as she nimbly unfastened the buttons on Giles' shirt.

"Has anyone ever told you how sexy intelligent men are?" she asked.

Giles' expression softened briefly. "Not recently," he admitted as his hands reached for the hem of Lydia's clinging T-shirt. After that neither of them spoke for a very long time.

 

* * * * *

 

Buffy stifled a grin. It was clear that Giles wanted to pace, but since Lily's insistence on bed rest for the two blondes meant that he, Wes and Faith were all crammed into their tiny attic room, it wasn't as if he could manage more than a single step without hitting his head or bumping into someone.

"I know that you," he began with a nod to the couple in their cots, "and Faith had some ideas about how you wanted to proceed with the training, but I think, perhaps, we weren't making the best possible use of the resources we have available. Even the most research based of watchers receives some martial training-."

"Do they even have marshals in England?" Buffy interrupted. "I thought that was a sort of Hicksville thing."

"They have some sort of combat training," Giles continued as if Buffy had never spoken. "In point of fact, since we are talking about adults, some of whom have trained extensively in martial arts, fencing and other hand-to-hand skills, unless either of you two ladies is in a hurry to pass on your mantle, they provide a far more formidable potential army than a gaggle of partially trained teenagers."

"Soooo been there and done that with the mantle passing, but we've still got to train these girls to fight."

"No one is arguing with that. All I'm suggesting is that we pull the younger, fitter watchers - and people like Oz, Brandon, Dawn and Bee if she can be spared - off the research side of things. We let the older, more experienced watchers take care of that. To be honest, it's unlikely that we have enough relevant material to keep everyone busy anyway-."

This time it was Faith who interrupted. "Okay, I get with the not so wrinkly watchers like Wes and the fighting bit, but it's not so much like he needs the training, and Oz is his own mutt, but bringing in the junior pep squad seems a bit over the top."

"With more experienced people in the groups to work with, the girls will improve more quickly, and, although the watchers may have training on an individual level, they aren't necessarily practiced at fighting in groups as you were planning to teach the girls, and daily workouts can only improve over all fitness levels. As for bringing in the others, do you really think that when this all comes to a head, Dawn or Xander or even Anya will be content to stay at home and let others fight their battles?"

"Dawn isn't-" Buffy began.

Spike shook his head. "Dawn isn't going to stand back and watch you lead an army with kids younger than her an' let you just tell her to stay home. Mean, you're welcome to try to convince her, but even if you left her home, short of lockin' her up, she'd be there with bells on five minutes after you got there. Won't do no harm for her to learn what end of a sword to use same time as the rest of them. S'not like we didn't promise the kid. We've just been kinda busy to follow through. An' watcher's right 'bout the boy an' the demon bint, even the little senorita. Not that I'd expect her to go along for any fight, but what if they bring it to us?"

"I can take care of Marie," Wes responded calmly. "She won't be available for the daytime sessions, anyway, but I can work with her one on one in the evenings."

"I was going to suggest that we have an evening group for Xander, Anya, possibly Bee and any of the others who can't make the normal sessions. They may not get the benefit of your training," he said, looking at the two slayers and the vampire. "I expect you'll be busy with patrol or enjoying a well earned evening off, but I think even Xander can remain focused on something that isn't a doughnut for long enough to learn a few moves that might help prevent him getting killed."

"How's cutie gonna take us nickin' half his watchers?" Spike asked. "It's not like he's gone out of his way to lay out the welcome mat."

"That would be why Lydia is the one discussing it with Q.T., as you call him, right about now. As far as he's concerned, over and above the obvious, it's a way for the watchers to stay in the loop regarding the training and what's going on."

"How many of them know more than the basics?" Buffy questioned Giles with an interrogating tone, still obviously unhappy at the idea of Dawn getting involved in any sort of battle.

"James was already a brown belt in karate when I knew him at fifteen and I wouldn't say he was completely atypical. Perhaps the female watchers tend toward the research side of things slightly more, but even there, I think you might be surprised." He refrained from adding that he certainly was, but Spike met his gaze with a knowing smirk just the same.

"It makes sense, B," Faith cajoled.

"I guess," Buffy conceded with obvious reluctance, "but if Quentin's suck ups start causing trouble, then they're out."

"No one would expect anything else. Quentin can make an announcement at dinner. He seems to be good at that."

 

* * * * *

 

It took several impacts of her entire weight against the door before it shook enough in the frame to open slightly the next time her shoulder struck it. After she had that first bit of movement, she simply kept pushing, her feet scrabbling slightly against the floor until the opening was wide enough for her body. The door bounced against something, but in her excitement she didn't care. All day, 'the shrill one' had kept her at her side, screeching into her sensitive ears about the perfidy of 'the boy', who had occasionally been in the same room at the time. Rogue had wanted to go to 'the boy' who was sad and upset, but that, it seemed, was not allowed.

Instead, when 'the shrill one' went for food she decided to spend some time with her master. He hadn't come out of his room, and though this wasn't unusual for him, Rogue didn't feel that it was right for her to be shut out. The room smelled funny, too. Dried blood and harsh chemicals that made her nose twitch. She looked around for a suitable tribute to offer her master, finding the perfect thing just beneath the edge of the bed.

She gripped the heavy black boot firmly between her teeth and clambered over his mate, ignoring the way the mattress tilted and wobbled under her feet. After all, having conquered a closed door, a tilting bed was nothing to fear. She dropped the boot squarely on her master's stomach, sure that he would get the hint that it was time for walkies.

 

* * * * *

 

Riven from sleep by the impact of several pounds of Doc Marten on top of an only slightly healed stab wound, Spike prepared to let loose a blue streak such as hadn't been heard for at least a week.

"What the f-."

"William!" Lily's raised voice held a distinct tone of warning and Spike belatedly processed the chatter of several young voices, coming from a few doors down.

Spike grimaced and grabbed the dog by her purple glittery collar, which Dawn must have found at some point during their recent visit to Revello Drive. Rogue panted happily and strained against him, enjoying their game of tug of war. She did think it was cheating when he lifted her up though, just because she braced her front legs against his lap when she pushed back. Finally, he tucked her in under one arm, her head resting on his shoulder and pressed down on her rump until she lay down.

"You alright, love?" he asked in a concerned whisper, once the canine behemoth was vaguely under control, his hand absently brushing along her wiry flank.

"Sure," answered Buffy in a sarcastic whine. "She just bounced the door off my head, tilted the bed all over so that my fingers got trapped between the two cots when it fell back into place, stomped all over my seeping wounds and practically pushed me out the bed to get to you. I'm peachy!"

Spike couldn't help but smirk at her exposed lower lip. "Look at Princess Pouty. Gonna give me a taste?" he coaxed. With Rogue pinning one shoulder in place, he couldn't really manage any more forceful options. Fortunately for him, his partner wasn't immune to the appeal of a wicked grin and a tight, if rather bruised and battered, chest.

She leaned over him and managed several teasing kisses before the pain in her side reminded her that she was supposed to be resting.

As she eased herself back down onto her own cot her hand came to rest on the cream envelope that they had forgotten about earlier. She looked around until she spotted the note that came with it and picked it up. She read through the tailor's message as if she hadn't seen it before.

She looked over to Spike. "It wouldn't seem right to just replace her," she whispered. "I mean, it's not like I want everyone to wear black armbands or anything, but if we asked Bee or Marie, it'd be like we were saying that they could take her place, like she was expendable..."

Spike nodded. "An' it sort of smacks of sayin' to whoever you ask that they didn't make the first round draft pick."

"You watch NFL? No, wait, daytime... Nothing better to do," she answered for him before he could say anything. "Only if we don't replace her then that sort of screws with the numbers and everything sort of falls apart at the first dance."

"Don't worry, pet. For one thing, you've got Rosa on your side of things an' for another, if we're not doing the whole high table thing, I don't see why we should lumber everybody with designated partners, anyway, or make them as might not want to, dance."

"So I have Dawn and Xander and Rosa... And you have Clem and Tara and Anya? And you think that'll be okay?"

"I think you should do whatever you think is best. She was your friend, but it's not like you have to make your mind up straight away. You've got a whole month to decide."

"A month?" Buffy screeched and started mentally counting off on her fingers.

"Well, nearer five weeks," Spike tried to reassure her.

"We don't have five weeks. It was five weeks yesterday and we still haven't booked a photographer and we've got all these bringers and Two Rock Huey, Louie and Dewey and the creepy preacher guy and everything to sort out before then, 'cause they are sooo not invited... And we haven't got the invitations back from the printers yet and we really need to get them sent out by the end of the week."

"Everybody we're inviting is right here in this building, pet."

"My aunt and my cousins aren't, and they need to travel all the way from Illinois or somewhere."

"Alright, so phone them up and say the invitations have been delayed and warn them when it's going to be and ask if they think they'll be able to make it."

"But that's not right. They should get a nice crisp invitation like everyone else."

"An' they will. They'll just get a bit of advance warning before it arrives."

Xander's head appeared briefly around the open door. "I would give in now, Spike. If you hadn't missed out on most of the preparations for that Thanksgiving dinner she cooked, you'd know all you can do is rush to obey her every command. And since, at the moment, everyone including the bitty kiddies in the end room can hear, I'm going to close the door now."

"That is so not true. Spike, tell him it's not true. And then you can call the tailor and tell him we'll all be there at lunch time tomorrow... and Xander, we're going to the mall tomorrow night to get your suit!" she shouted after the carpenter, who had already closed the door and gone.

Spike grinned broadly. "Aren't you the cutest little 'Wedding Nazi'?"

The knock at Buffy and Spike's bedroom door was quiet enough that had either of them been asleep, it wouldn't have been enough to wake them. However, at that precise moment, Buffy had been making the most of having Spike and Rogue prisoner in one place to dictate to them just exactly what should be entailed in a rehearsal dinner.

"Come in, watcher," Spike called out. "S'open."

Wes pushed open the door, a slight frown on his face. "You know it's really quite disconcerting when you do that. You could at least let us pretend that you can't smell us all through the walls."

"S'not so much that, though that aftershave is a bit overpowerin'. S'more the footfalls. An' I'm not even goin' to ask what's up with Bit's lad seein' as how he's scuffin' his way 'round like shoe leather's goin' out of style..."

"That's rather a longwinded way of saying you're not interested in something," Wes responded dryly, before getting straight to the reason for his visit. "I was thinking I might see if Faith wants some help on patrol tonight. Nothing fancy, just a quick check on the usual hotspots." Wes rubbed at the five o'clock shadow that adorned his chin. "Then, back in time to see our American friends get a lesson in football."

"It's soccer," Buffy protested. "And who says America's going to learn anything?"

"They're playin' the Mexicans. Watcher'd be lookin' for trouble if he didn't side with his womenfolk."

"Does that mean that you'd be willing to wager against them?" Wes asked.

Buffy's eyes narrowed until, after a brief coughing fit, Spike concurred. "Loser pays for all the beer an' pizzas, but the bet only stands if you can talk Lily into lettin' us up out of bed to watch it.

And?"

"And what?

"And how come you're discussin' your plans for takin' a walk on the wild side with me an' the slayer?"

"Well, I wasn't actually planning on walking any more than was absolutely necessary... and, I was wondering, since it has certain accessories that my own is lacking, if I could possibly borrow your bike for the night."

"Help yourself. Keys should be in my coat."

"Already picked them up," Wes answered, dangling the keychain that he had, in fact, found on top of the TV rather than anywhere else. His smile was all the thanks that were needed between the two men and Wes was just about to back out the door when Spike called after him.

"Don't forget to fill 'er up before you bring her home!"

"Yes, da-a-ad!" Wes replied through the thickness of the door, in perfect mimicry of a petulant teenager.

Buffy grinned and poked Spike in one of the few bruise free spots on his side. "Like you couldn't spare half a gallon of gas?"

"Hey, evil vampire here, not some watcher charity. Percy can probably claim it back on expenses. More than I can."

"And what did he mean that yours has accessories that his doesn't? His is the swanky armchair on wheels with all the chrome you could use to put your make-up on... well, you couldn't what with the whole no reflection thing, but you know..."

Spike gave a broad grin and feigned innocence none too convincingly. "Can't think of a single thing... 'Cept maybe the gun rack."

 

* * * * *

 

"Up for some company tonight?"

Faith paused in her assault on the heavy punching bag and turned to look at Wes. "Might be," she answered cagily. Since Wes had given her his blood, they had maintained their uneasy truce. Within a larger group, each had become accustomed to taking their part so that, to the others, even when Dawn had called on them both that morning, the tension between them seemed to have dissipated. They knew better, but there was a slight possibility that it might not be quite so intense as it once had been. It was even possible that they might have the beginning of a tentative mutual trust. "You got anything in mind?"

"Well, the way I see it, the idea of questioning a bringer is just as valid today as it was yesterday, though I do tend to think there might be easier ways to bring one back than the method that Buffy and Spike chose. Having said that, there's no harm in plotting a route that might take us through a cemetery or two, and as Spike has vouchsafed us the use of his motorbike, we shouldn't have a problem covering sufficient ground. Tara and Giles are going to do a spell to show the location of different types of demons around town. If they happen to find a sufficiently small group, away from their main stronghold, then, I'm sure that with a little help you should be able to capture one alive."

"And if there's a goddamned town meeting?"

"That would be where Plan B comes into effect." The amusement in the watcher's eye and the challenge in his tone suggested that he not only knew exactly what Plan B consisted of, but was almost hoping it would come to that.

Faith looked him up and down before her gaze settled on his face, and her glossy scarlet smile widened some more. "So where do I fit into Plan B?"

 

* * * * *

 

"Wesley?" His father's voice held an imperious tone of command, as if it were his right to question Wes's every movement. He looked at his son as if the leather gear he wore and a day's growth of stubble had transformed him into some sort of undesirable. Or maybe it was the way Faith walked the corridor at his side, Dawn's leather jacket framing the ample cleavage that it was unable to close over, the dramatic colours of her make-up proclaiming her readiness for the hunt.

Wes forced his steps to remain even as he walked on past Roger, wishing he could do the same for his heart rate. "Not now, father. We have things to do. If we get back early enough, I might fit you in before the football starts. Otherwise, I suppose it depends what flight mother has booked you in on."

"Wesley, you are still my son and I will not be spoken to like that."

Faith pivoted on her heel and looked the overweight watcher up and down. "Sounds to me like you just were," she informed him, in a 'what're you gonna do about it?' tone.

At Faith's intervention, Wes was also forced to turn. He stepped up next to the slayer and held out the keys for Spike's motorcycle. "Why don't you go and see if she'll kick over okay?" he suggested softly.

"Sweet," the slayer answered, swiping the keys from where they dangled in mid-air before she gave Roger a last disdainful look and swept off toward the school's main doors.

Wes met his father's gaze squarely, raising his chin defiantly. "From a very early age you made it excessively clear that a man's duty as a watcher was more important than family. I learned that lesson well. Now, if you would excuse me... or even if you won't, one of my slayers is waiting."

 

* * * * *

 

Wes swung a long leg free of the motorcycle's pillion seat, making a mental note that if he ever wanted to be anything other than a passenger that he shouldn't give vehicle keys to Faith again. It was a fate he might have accepted more readily if they hadn't decided that the need to be able to fight at a moment's notice made the use of helmets, which would badly impair their field of vision, undesirable. Having his face flayed by the windswept strands of Faith's coiffure had made the ride less pleasant than it might otherwise have been. The situation didn't look set to change any time soon, though, largely because they didn't have time to argue. He jogged up the path to his front door, the keys already in his hand, and the combination of his recently installed gun safe at the forefront of his mind.

Faith left a perfect doughnut of rubber across the centre line of Revello Drive before another half turn left the motorcycle facing the direction they had come in. She waited impatiently until Wes made his way back out and stowed the shotgun on the rack at the side of the bike. When he braced himself by gripping around her waist, she felt the protuberances that betrayed the presence of a pair of pistols in a shoulder holster and several spare clips. She let out the clutch and the powerful machine carried them in the direction of the hellmouth.

 

* * * * *

 

Thanks to the fact that the chain on the compound gate had been cut once more, they had been able to park the bike near to the new generator, in case they needed it for a quick getaway. Wes pulled a handful of shotgun shells from an inside pocket and passed them to Faith. He picked up the shotgun from the rack and held it out so that the slayer could see. "Safety's here," he pointed out, deftly fingering it so that the gun was ready for use. "Make sure you've got it braced tight as you can against your shoulder, like so." He demonstrated, using a broad based stance, one foot further back than the other. "Take aim a few degrees below where you want to hit to allow for the kick... and squeeze the trigger." The shot rang out, shredding the head of the nearest of the approaching group of bringers. "Grasp the slider on the underside of the barrel, pull it back to chamber the next round, and then forward again." With a short underarm throw the shotgun, which was ready to fire again, was in Faith's hands, but Wes continued talking as he drew the pair of matching 9mm pistols from their holster. "Don't reload unless you have to and try not to leave the gun behind. It's unlikely the police will bring in any forensics people, but in the event that they do, it would be better if they don't find any fingerprints."

Within seconds, the bringer lookouts, who were either too foolhardy to realise they were hopelessly outclassed or had no fear of death, lay motionless on the ground. Blood trickled from the mouth of the one that Faith had hit in the chest, and two more had precision holes in the centre of their forehead. As they strode past the bodies, Faith stooped to lift a curved knife from a dead hand and slide it into her belt before grasping the shotgun in a two-handed grip once more.

"Four down, ten to go," Faith yelled as another group came running from the building, no doubt sent to investigate the sound of gunfire.

"Nine preferably," Wes reminded her that if possible they needed one alive. "And do bear in mind that there may be a hostage involved, if we're looking at the same scenario as when Sarah was killed."

"Five by five," Faith confirmed, grinning as they strode side by side down the gravelled track toward the new school building, secure in the knowledge that even if their targets looked to be trying to find some cover this time, so long as they kept bringing knives to a gun fight, there was really only going to be one possible outcome. "And if we get the chance to kick some preacher ass?" she asked.

"Kicking his ass, fine, but if it comes to shooting his ass, leave him to me. We should be out of here before any police arrive, but, just in case, we can't afford to have you mixed up in what might be another murder when you've only just been pardoned." A couple of heads peeked out, one from behind a cement mixer, the other from one of the building's glassless windows. Deciding he was now within easy range, Wes raised both arms before the bringers could duck back into cover and with only the barest fraction of a second between the shots he took out two more of the opposition. The shotgun sounded as another dark-robed figure rabbited for the building and the bringer fell to the ground as if he had tripped.

"Seven down, six to go and one for the road," Faith observed as she chambered the next round.

"You know there's absolutely no good reason for me not to do that?" Faith grinned as she backed Spike's bike into its normal parking spot and dismounted.

Wes shifted the bringer slightly on his shoulder. "It's probably easier if it's someone slightly taller carrying him. Besides, I don't think you're exactly getting off easy carrying those saddlebags."

Faith shrugged at that. There were two cases worth of beer split between the oversized panniers. She set a pair of bags over each shoulder, ignoring the dull clanking of the cans inside. Lifting one of the flaps, she pulled out one of the cans and, holding it well away from her body, she flipped the tab, letting it spray freely for a couple of seconds. She then covered the opening with her mouth to catch the froth before it spilled over the edge. "Suits me," she answered, when she could sip the rest of the beer normally.

Faith stayed with the watcher as he carried the bringer downstairs and helped chain their captive down, using the manacles that had been set into the floor the previous night. Once she was happy that the harbinger had been securely fastened, she tilted his head to examine the violet bruise that was blooming along one side of his jaw, having been inflicted by the butt end of the shotgun that was once more locked away in Wes's gun safe. "That is one handy weapon to have around..." she told her companion,"...but, sometimes, you just gotta go with the classics." Almost as if she planned to use the knife she had purloined as a cutthroat razor, she slid its sharpened edge over the bruise until it caught under the edge of the duct tape that covered the prisoner's mouth.

The blade pried up the first few millimetres and Faith grabbed it, yanking the strip free in one swift exfoliating jerk. The bringer's mouth opened in a croaky scream as he came back to consciousness. The slayer got an up-close view of where The First had had its servant's tongue ripped from his mouth. She reached behind her and took a deep draught from her half-finished beer before she caught the watcher's eye. "Looks like The First goes for the strong silent type," she drawled.

 

 

Faith pushed open the door to the gym, expecting to find it empty. Instead, there were slow, rhythmic, barely audible clinks, coming from the corner of the moonlit room where several weight machines had been set up. She knew that neither Spike nor Buffy would be working out, and the potentials were only allowed to use the gym under supervision, which limited them to the earlier part of the evening. Intrigued, she kept to the shadows, prowling forward until she had a good view of the figure seated on one of the weight benches.

Silvery light limned the man's bare torso, outlining every muscular line from broad shoulders to where his tautly ridged abdomen disappeared into a pair of dark sweat pants. His forearms pressed against vertical pads, pushing with a smooth motion until the pads met in front of the centre of his body and then returned to their original position almost in line with his shoulders. The motion was so controlled that she couldn't resist the temptation to check whether he was merely working with a minimal weight, but, no, the weights he was pulling, while nowhere near her own limits and to judge by the outline of his pale biceps well within his own capabilities, were no picnic.

Leaning against the wall, she ran her tongue over full strawberry lips and watched the show until he finished his set on the machine and reached for a towel to wipe it down. His eyes found hers in the darkness and his voice had that slight lilt she couldn't place as he spoke. "I thought watcher was my job description, not yours."

Faith smiled her best come-on smile and walked forward into the moonlight. "You can't blame a girl for looking, when there's goods like that on show." Her gaze roved over his upper body as she stepped close enough to trace a nail over a blue vein under the milk pale skin of his upper arm.

"Are you always this forward with men you don't know?" he asked, his accent warming the fire in her stomach even further.

"I know you."

"Well enough to know my second name?"

"Ur-Q-Heart," she drawled, her grin widening at the surprise that flitted through his eyes. "Just like the guy in the film with the rabbit."

"Close enough," James agreed. His eyes narrowed slightly as Faith shifted infinitesimally closer, Dawn's leather jacket almost brushing the sweat-slick planes of his upper abdomen. His hand reached up to smooth a stray strand of hair from Faith's forehead. "I've had my share of one night stands," he told her in a gentle half-whisper.

The smile faded from Faith's glossy lips and the teasing glint died from her eyes. She tossed her hair defiantly and took a step backwards before a large hand gripped her upper arm. He knew better than to use force on a slayer but the touch was enough to make her pause.

In that brief hesitation, his mouth covered hers, their lips brushing together with glorious delicacy before he lifted his head. "I'm not saying no, ye understand, I'm just telling ye I'm not about tae walk away in the mornin'." The accent was stronger in that whisper than Faith had heard it before, and she smothered it with her lips on his own before it could disarm her completely. When it was over, there would be the recriminations and the blame, same as ever. He might not walk away. That wouldn't stop her from doing it, but for now she had three years of lost time to make up for. As the kiss deepened, technique giving way to mutual need, tomorrow seemed a far distant shore.

 

 

Tara looked up expectantly when Wes walked into the attic room. The watcher gave her a grim but reassuring smile before he made his way to Marie's side, letting the saddlebags slide to the floor. "We interrupted them before they could get to the main part of the entertainment. The girl had enough sense to make a run for it while we finished them off and got hold of our friend downstairs."

"You brought back a bringer?" Marie asked in a surprised tone.

"That was sort of the plan," Wes affirmed with a self-deprecating smile. "What wasn't part of the plan is that we're going to need some heavy duty telepathy to go with that truth spell."

"Huh?" Bee asked.

"He hasn't got a tongue... Or to be more precise, he had one but it's been removed."

"What are you going to do?" Tara asked concernedly. "I mean, the longer we hold him here the more chance that they'll come try to get him back."

Wes grinned, squeezing into the armchair alongside Marie and then drawing her onto his lap. "Personally? I plan to have a few well-earned beers and watch our Latin American cousins kick some Yankee butt.

Giles and Lydia, on the other hand, have roped a few of the watchers into looking for some sort of spell that might do the trick."

"Are they in the library?" Bee asked.

Wes and Tara's eyes flicked to the demi-angel in an appraising manner. "Are you planning on helping out?" Tara asked. "I mean, there's a spell Willow used to use where she could talk to someone inside their head and then they just had to think the answer back. If you want..."

"That spell's a little darker than you're likely to be comfortable with. I wouldn't recommend it. Anything where you actually go into another person's mind is always suspect.

Actually, I was just going to find out if any of the watchers speak Turkish, in which case I can loan them the book in my room. Otherwise we need to get a hold of a copy of Grossman's Compilation of Mediterranean Folk Magic. It has an English version but the translations in it aren't always entirely trustworthy."

 

 

Lily bustled down the narrow attic corridor, clutching an armful of bedding, Spike's muttered complaints following on behind her. "We could have just lain down on the floor," he griped. "We're not made of bloody porcelain, you know."

Lily tutted. "I know, your mother, she teach you no to speak backward like stubborn mule."

"Bottom and Mr Ed excepted, our four-legged friends aren't much for conversation," the blond retorted.

Lily began to lay out her load of pillows and quilts in front of the sofa as he spoke. When she finished, she turned and fixed the vampire with a steely glare. "You lie on the floor, then, Mr Tough Vampire, but Buffy she not too stupid to be comfortable, so Mr Tough Guy can lie alone and see who care."

"Well, maybe I should just keep her company, like," the vampire back-pedalled, knowing he had pushed his luck just a little too far.

"Where's Wes?" Buffy interrupted as she lowered herself to the makeshift bed, leaving room for Spike to lie behind her. "Spike said he heard him get back before."

"He brought back the beer and he said to order the pizza when you got up. He says he'll be back in time for kick off."

"Yeah, but where is he?" Buffy asked.

"He had a sudden urge to introduce Bee to his mother," Marie answered cryptically.

"And Faith? She came back with him?" Buffy sounded slightly concerned that the pair might have split up before the patrol finished.

"She's back," the Latina confirmed. "Wes said she was going to work off her excess energy in the gym."

 

 

Faith's back was slick with sweat, making the plastic covering of the exercise mat stick to her back as she slowly came back to her senses. She let her knees fall open, but used the fingers fisted in James' hair to pull him back up her body, his lips brushing kisses on her abdomen and between her breasts as she did so. He crawled over her body, supporting himself on his left elbow, so that his other large callused hand was free to cradle a swollen breast, his thumb brushing the sensitised flesh of her nipple and setting off aftershocks in the pit of her stomach. Her grip brought his mouth back to hers, her slow caresses being matched and passion sparked anew by the fervour of James' response.

His kisses tasted of the salt of both their spendings, evidence of their earlier activities and Faith was surprised to find that the dick that pressed against her thigh was stiff again. Its tip brushed against her as James rocked his pelvis, pressing on her clit and then sliding on her slick lips until he teased the muscles at the entrance to her core, muscles that alternately tensed and then eased open to allow him entrance. Up and down he moved, and Faith arched under him, the plastic peeling from her waist and then her lower back and then her shoulderblades as she tried to meet his movements. His left forearm slipped under Faith's shoulder and his fingers tangled in her hair, so that he could look at her face in the moonlight as he pulled his mouth away and thrust forward with his hips, their relative heights making it difficult to maintain the kiss as he plunged deep inside her.

Faith's eyes widened with pain and surprise, still tight after three years of celibacy. Even as his cock penetrated her for the second time that night, relaxed as she was, she could feel every millimetre of his girth and length pressing against her internal walls. The invasion was an exquisite blend of pleasure and pain as they ground together, his heavily muscled thighs pushing her legs wide as he wiggled his hips, getting even deeper if that were possible. Then, just as she was getting used to the feel of him inside her again, he rolled them both over.

Faith's knees still trembled in the aftermath of her last climax and as he slowly began to move under her, his hands grasped her hips, guiding her gently up and down until she could maintain the rhythm on her own, pain receding as endorphins kicked in again. As she moved over him, his hands were free to skim her flesh, his feather-touch raising goosebumps on her arms, her breasts and her buttocks, until he sensed her tightening around him. He took her hands in his own, guiding them to her breasts, silently urging her to fondle them. His gaze seemed transfixed for a few seconds as she held the well-proportioned mounds in her delicate hands, massaging them with a cyclic motion that alternately pushed them together and let them slide apart. His hands glided along her inner thighs, his thumbs sliding deep between her legs to where she enveloped him in her warmth. A firm touch on either side spread her lips flat until his digits reached the telltale knot of flesh and pressed even more firmly, massaging her with each in turn.

The slayer caught her lip between her teeth, willing herself not to come first this time. It was understandable after waiting so long that she'd been a little over eager the first time, but not again. She was the one in control. She was... Damn, she was coming again.