Chapter 12

Buffy sat on her bed, gently waving her fingers in an effort to make her nails dry more quickly. She double checked that everything else was ready. She checked the view from her window, yet again, hoping to see Spike's big, black, hire car pulling up, but still there was no sign. She walked over to the mirror and scanned her reflection. Her black pants had survived her sitting down without becoming unattractively wrinkled. The ivory satin waistcoat she wore in lieu of a blouse looked crisp and smart, and the black jacket with ivory satin facings, which completed the suit, hung ready on its hanger for when Spike turned up. She glanced over to where the numerals on her alarm clock glowed a putrescent shade of lime green. He was already ten minutes late. Maybe his nail varnish was taking too long to dry. Or maybe he wasn't coming? Maybe she was going to sit here and wait for him all over again.

"Red, listen, don't hang up. Just listen. I haven't killed anyone, but this guy did try to kill me, so if I see him again I'm definitely going to kill him, but I'm not going to kill anyone else. Well, except for the guy that I'm here to kill, and well, there's these other two guys who're following me round, so if they get in the way I might have to kill them, but other than that...

Anyway, I saw my mom, and well, she's completely off her trolley... but she seems happy, so I suppose it's not so bad. And I saw Buffy. In fact, I'm on my way to the reunion with Buffy. I should have picked her up already, but the whole thing's got me a bit hyper, so I thought I'd give you a call, and you could maybe give me some advice or something..."

"Okay, Spike. All you need to do is calm down a little. Repeat after me, "I am at home with the "me". I am rooted in the "me" who is on this adventure." The petite redhead's voice had a happy sing-song quality to it.

"Out loud?"

"Yes, out loud. It works better if you can actually hear yourself say it."

"I'll sound like some sort of poof."

"Spike, if you're not going to do what I ask you to do, then why bother ringing?"

Spikes voice came down the phone in a deeply embarrassed monotone. "I am at home in the "me". I am rooted in the "me" who is on this adventure."

"O-okay. Now take a deep breath and then say, "This is "me" breathing."

Spike gulped in a lungful of air and then let it out almost in a sigh. "This is "me" breathing."

"Good. Now go do that. Keep it up as long as you can while you're getting ready, and while you drive over. It should help you focus and let you calm down a bit. Just keep repeating it... And, Spike, don't kill anybody."

"Right."

Spike put down the phone and pulled open the top drawer of the dressing table. Taking out the 9mm automatic he'd used at the supermarket, he ejected the clip, checking it was loaded before he slid it back into place. He stood in front of the mirror for a second, the gun in his hand seeming entirely natural to him. He manipulated the slider, so that the first round was chambered, loosing another sigh as he did so. "This is me breathing," he said to his gun-toting reflection.

Putting the gun back down in the drawer, he checked over his appearance one last time, making minute adjustments to his tie and collar. He looked in the mirror and wondered what had become of the youth he used to be, and more importantly, who was he now?

"Yeah... You're a handsome devil. What's your name?" he asked himself. Maybe it was because he wanted to change the answer to the question his inner voice was asking him that he pushed the drawer closed without taking the gun out. Or maybe it was just dumb luck.

Buffy, leaned out of the window slightly so she could check the street in both directions. She let her gaze drift back to the clock and finally let her exasperation get the better of her. "This is so not happening again." She grabbed the phone book from the bottom shelf of her bookcase and dialled the number for Spike's hotel.

The phone's ring sounded startlingly loud in the hotel bedroom because of the absence of the usual clutter that would help deaden the sound. A hand hovered over the receiver for a second before moving instead to pick up the printed reunion invitation that lay next to it. Tucking the invitation into his pocket, Luke Aurelius left the room.

The sound of a car's engine drew Buffy's gaze back to the street. She gave a sigh of relief, hanging up the phone as the Lincoln pulled to a stop in front of the house. She slid her jacket off the hanger, pulling it on as she made her way downstairs at a pace faster than a walk, but not really quick enough to justify being described as a run. Spike had just rung the doorbell when she pulled the door open. He drew a bunch of roses and baby's breath from behind his back with a flourish worthy of a stage magician.

Buffy smiled but couldn't refrain from commenting on his tardiness. "Flowers. Cute. But maybe you should have spent the money on a watch instead..."

Spike shrugged apologetically and pulled back the cuffs of his shirt to show the timepiece on his wrist.

"Well, I'll just go put these in the waste disposal or something. Mom's working late, but Giles is in the den. I kinda get the feeling he wanted a couple of words."

Buffy took the route through the dining room to reach the kitchen, pushing Spike in the direction of the front room. He knocked gently on the doorjamb before sauntering into the room.

"Mr Giles. It's Spike or well, Joyce always called me William, William Blank. Em, Buffy said you wanted to see me."

Giles put down his copy of "Archeology of the Indigenous Peoples of California," and looked up at Spike with a familiar exasperated expression, before removing his glasses and pulling a handkerchief from his pocket with which to clean them. "Spike, I may be ten years older, but I'm not entirely senile, yet."

"Ehm, no. Sorry. Good evening. How are you?"

"Hmm. Technically, you still beat the millennia. I guess that means Joyce wins our little bet."

"Yeah, she did say she expected me sooner. Just wanted to say hello, see how you were..."

Giles replaced his now sparkling glasses. "Spike, I don't know where you've been since you abandoned Buffy ten years ago, and I can't say that I particularly care, either.

It's good that you left. I'm glad that you did.You seem to have grown up a bit, gained some sort of direction to your life. Or perhaps I misjudged you?"

Spike shrugged. "I don't know. I mean I hope so..."

"I visualised you, when I gave it any thought, as some sort of roadie or something, following round behind some of those punk bands you used to play all the time." Giles serious facade slipped, and he let an ironic smile turn up his lips at one side. "Now, Pink Floyd I could have understood..."

Spike shook his head. "'Fraid not, though if The Clash had still been touring and were prepared to take on an eighteen year old with no experience as Tour Manager or something, then maybe things would have turned out a bit different. No, I went the other way. Six figures. Doing business with mercenary sensibilities, ruthless enterprise, cut-throat attitude, you know. Sports sex, no real relationships... What about you?"

"You know me. Still digging holes all over the West Coast wherever they'll pay me. There's this hugely important site that we found not too far from here. It was supposed to just be a token dig, before they levelled the area for..." Giles realised that his enthusiasm had caused him to run on. "But you don't really want to hear about that.

Bugger it. Let's have a drink and forget the whole damn thing." Giles had poured one generous measure of Scotch before Spike could respond.

"I'd love to, but I think Buffy would kill me if I make her any later than I already have, so... Just wanted to say hi, see how you were..."

"So what exactly have you been doing with your life then, Spike?"

"Uh, professional killer."

Giles raised his glass. "Good for you. I hear it's a growth industry." He picked up his book and was engrossed again before Spike had even left the room.

"Okay. Well, it's been good seeing you again."

Spike was rewarded by a non-committal grunt from behind the book.

The Lincoln pulled into the parking lot across the road from the school building, as Forrest and Graham watched, debating Spike's sincerity.

Graham watched the two as Spike rushed to open Buffy's door for her. "Okay, he's definitely fallen for her."

Forrest gave his head a decisive shake. "No way, man. He's just using her."

"Just look at them. Look at the pair of them together. She looks real pretty with her hair up like that," Graham argued.

"Yeah, she's a hottie, and she's got herself all prettied up just for him," Forrest countered. "But he's just usin' her. I'm goin' to enjoy killing that bastard."

"Me too," Graham finally agreed.

Buffy surveyed the other couples making their way to the auditorium. "I should have worn a skirt." She half-turned back toward the car before Spike caught her elbow.

He assessed her appearance in the light that spilled from the nearby building, taking in the way the vest and the pearl choker she wore set off her California tan, the way wisps of hair escaped the clips she'd used to pin up the glossy waves and how her eyes still had that same luminescence he remembered. "Buffy, you look absolutely gorgeous. Ten years on, and you are still going to be the prettiest girl in the room. You glow."

Buffy smiled and turned toward the school once more, her confidence boosted. Spike, however, became more anxious as he neared the building, realising how easy it would be for someone to infiltrate the gathering. "I should have brought the gun," he muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" Buffy asked in a startled tone.

"Nothing, nothing..." Spike demurred despite the obvious tension in his tone. "Just saying this should be fun." Spike ground his teeth together and forced himself to go on into the building.

Chapter 13

Buffy let Spike slip his hand into hers as they moved into the entrance hall. They hung back to one side to take in the scene before they made their way into the throng. Surprisingly little had changed since the days when Buffy used to wave her pom-poms. There had been token efforts made to make the hall less redolent of the boys' locker room and more like a dance. Crepe paper decorations were wound around the basketball hoops. Only every third row of fluorescents was lit, but whether the decoration committee were trying for intimate lighting, or whether they were trying to disguise some of the less pleasant aspects of the high school gym, was anyone's guess.

Eventually, they jostled each other into a position where they were confronted by the self-appointed "greeter" for the night.

"Welcome back, Dalesman. It's Nancy Doyle-Stevens."

Buffy and Spike responded to the insincere smiles of the girl Buffy vaguely remembered as teacher's pet in their English class.

"Hiii," answered Spike, if anything outdoing Nancy in the raging insincerity stakes. "How're you?" He had a funny feeling he'd now said more to the woman than he ever had in high school.

"I'm good."

"William," Spike responded automatically, knowing that the ID badges that were arrayed across the table wouldn't show his nickname. When the woman continued to look at him with a total lack of recognition, he added his surname to the introduction.

"Oh, William Blank." She began to sift through the badges in a particular area of the table. "Yes, there you are... Why you haven't changed a bit." As she passed the card over to Spike, he recognised his yearbook picture plastered over half the badge.

"Nice of you to say so, pet," Spike responded with a rakish grin.

"Hi, Buffy." The woman snatched a card from the table and thrust it into Buffy's hand. She must have had some sort of psychic positioning ability because Buffy could have sworn her eyes never left the table. "Just love your show," she continued in a tone that said she did anything but.

The corners of Buffy's mouth turned up while her eyes narrowed into a hard glare. "Oh thanks. Well, you're our demographic."

"I gather you got married, Nancy?" Spike tried to intervene before someone got cut on all the brittle.

"Why, yes, I did. And three children. It's really neat." Her tone brightened again as she spoke to Spike and Buffy began to wonder if Nancy particularly hated her, particularly liked Spike or if she just wasn't good with other women. Nancy continued on regardless, gesturing at one of the badges from the table. "I had the yearbook pictures put on so that everybody knows who everybody was."

"For special torture..." drawled Spike.

Nancy managed a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a dutiful laugh before she smiled at the couple behind Spike and Buffy and started all over again, intimating their audience was at an end. "Hi, It's Nancy Doyle-Stevens."

As Spike and Buffy moved away from the table she managed a ,"bye-bye, now, kids," before she took to persecuting the next arrivals.

"Who needs hard liquor?" Spike asked steering them toward the bar.

"Meeee," responded Buffy before enquiring after Spike. "How are you holding up?"

"A bit shaky," Spike admitted.

"Okay, straight to the bar for us."

"Y'know, I'm starting to remember some of these faces."

"What can I get ya?" the barman asked.

"Ehm, bourbon, rocks, double," said Spike, adding, "two," when he looked over at Buffy and she nodded.

"No problem," responded the barman turning away to fetch the drinks.

"So," asked Spike, "how long d'you think before we have to actually start relating to people?"

"Umm, soon, like nowish," supplied Buffy, since she had the advantage of being able to watch Scott Hope's approach by looking over Spike's shoulder.

"Hey, Buffy ...and Spike. I didn't recognise you from behind."

"Scott. How are you doing?"

"I'm in law. I've got my own practice down the bottom end of Main Street. It's a bit of a challenge covering everything, but in a one Starbucks town there isn't really room to specialise. Here, why don't you take this?" Scott held out a business card and then reassessed Spike's suit and drew his hand back. "Actually, I've got one here, for those special clients." He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a Mont Blanc pen, which he passed to Spike. "Don't forget to check the cap."

"I won't," said Spike as the bartender returned with his and Buffy's drinks. "Look, we're going to go circulate a bit, see who's here. We'll catch up with you later?" Spike suggested.

The blonde pair wandered off in search of more entertaining company. For the most part, the party reeked of desperation. You had the ex-high school princesses, desperate to prove that they were still as superior as ever. You had the former honour roll students who had big stars on their ID badges as if it were the things they had achieved by the age of eighteen that defined them. You had the former geeks with a point to prove because they couldn't just let their teenage humiliations go. There was the former chubby teenage girl, wearing a dress so short and tight it was almost obscene, just to prove that, now, she had the figure for it. All around the room people were desperately trying to pass themselves off as something better than they were, afraid that whatever their achievements they would be measured by their failures. If they had the money, they wanted the family. If they had the family, they wanted the career. People tried to impress people they'd barely even noticed in their high school years.

Finally, after a stream of passing encounters, where Spike avoided having to talk about himself by the simple expedient of pretending interest in everyone else, Buffy spotted Anya. "Hey, look, someone I actually used to know. I'm going to go catch up with Anya. Okay?"

Spike decided this was a good time to pay the bar a return visit, and got halfway there before Xander intercepted him. "Hey, Spike, man. How're you holding up there?"

"So-so, I think. How 'bout you?"

"Hey, I'd be in heaven... if I were a masochist. It's like taking all the rejections I got in three years worth of high school and squashing them into one fun-filled night of hell. So far I haven't even managed a dance."

"You sound like someone else in need of a drink." Spike resumed his progress with Xander in tow.

"Hey, Spike." Spike turned to be confronted by an attractive blonde he only vaguely remembered as a younger brunette.

"Hi, ...Aura," he managed. "How're you? You look good."

"Hey, Aura," Xander vied for the blonde's attention.

"You too. Nice suit," Aura admired Spike's sartorial elegance, ignoring Xander completely. "You learn to spot these things when you're in the trade."

"That's right. You're a model aren't you?" Spike tried to make polite conversation, rather than bring up her Depends commercials.

"It's Xander. Xander Harris. Remember we had about ten classes together...You were at my eighth birthday party..."

This last appeared to spark some recognition. "Eugh..." Aura made a face and backed off. "Well, maybe I'll catch up with you later, Spike," she threw in as a parting shot.

Spike looked over at Xander. "Remind me not to ask what happened at your eighth birthday party."

"You don't want to know, man. You don't want to know. Suffice to say Uncle Rory decided to pay a visit as the peppermint scented party clown."

"So, like, this is just a suggestion, but maybe the women who've been party to some of the most humiliating moments of your formative years aren't exactly going to be the ones you have the best chance of impressing."

"It's okay, Spike. I'm not looking to date my sister." Xander, typically, used humour as an emotional shield.

"Seriously, man. You don't need Aura Buckingham's approval. You've got that whole property development thing going. You're making a go of things. Stop trying so hard, and maybe you'll meet the right girl and things'll fall into place."

"And you're speaking from experience, here?"

"No, but then... there's only ever been one girl that I wanted." Spike's gaze travelled to the corner of the room before he made determined headway toward the bar.

Xander had, of course, gone off in search of further humiliations, and Spike decided to make his way to the bleachers at one side of the room for some quiet contemplation when he realised he had been called.

"Will?"

Spike turned, making his way to the table where the young tawny-blonde in the floral dress was sitting.

"Tara, pet. Where you been hiding?" Spike asked with a genuine smile.

"Right here, in full view. How are you?"

"I'm good. How you been?" Spike found his attention transfixed by the toddler on her knee.

"I'm good." She flashed her left hand toward Spike, showing a plain gold band. "I'm married to a wonderful woman."

"And?" Spike pointed a finger toward the baby.

"Robbie. He's adopted. There were other options, but it seemed right to give him the chance of a loving home."

"And how is it all. It's not all as easy as they tell you it's going to be, is it?"

Tara gave him a contented smile. "It's not easy, but it's great."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's so great. People think that when you get married you lose your freedom."

"You don't?"

"No. It gets better and better. So how are you? How's your life?"

"In progress..." Spike answered with a wry grin, which in turn provoked a knowing smirk from the blonde opposite.

"Yeah?" She held the toddler out toward Spike. "Why don't you hold him for a minute while I get his bottle?"

"Wha'?"

"It's okay. He won't break. Go ahead." Spike held the baby with a nervousness born of unfamiliarity, but when the kid gave him a gummy grin, he seemed to settle right in to it.

"Y' know the first year you seem to spend all your time just making sure they're warm and fed and everything else they need to stay alive."

"Yeah, I'd imagine they'd be kinda vulnerable."

"Yeah." Tara pulled the bottle from one of her bags and watched, amused, as Spike mirrored the various expressions that crossed the toddler's face on being confronted with this new person-sized plaything.

Buffy paused at the edge of the dancefloor, watching the threesome as Tara passed the bottle to Spike, instructing him on how to hold it so that the baby wouldn't gulp down air along with the juice.

She strolled slowly toward the group. "Hey, Tara, last time I saw you, you were still waiting for this little guy. How're you coping? Must be pretty desperate if you're letting Spike watch him."

"Heyyy!" responded Spike, while Tara gave an enigmatic smile.

"Seems to me he's doing a pretty good job, for an amateur."

Buffy looked back and forward between the other two blondes. "D'you think it would be okay if I held him for a while?"

Half an hour later, Buffy and Spike found themselves on a balcony, looking down on the auditorium but isolated in the semi-darkness. From there, they could watch Riley, who had had a couple too many at the free bar, trying to pick up the ex-cheerleaders who had flocked round him in his high school days. They knelt side by side, on the floor in front of the first row of seats, with their arms on the ledge that ran around the edge of the gallery.

The music from below changed to a ballad, and Spike took the opportunity to speak, without shouting. "You know, I have recurring dreams about you. Five nights a week, for about six years, did I tell you?"

"No," answered Buffy. "No, I don't think you did. You know yesterday, on the radio..."

Spike smirked. "When you publicly humiliated me... I think I remember."

"Yeah, well, no more than you deserved. But, I think... maybe... I was kinda harsh, when I said you were broken."

"Yeah?" Buffy found herself staring into Spike's bottomless blue eyes. "So what's the current verdict?"

She let the corners of her mouth curl up just slightly. "I think... maybe broken goes a bit too far. I think that you're, say, mildly sprained or maybe really badly contused? Is that a word? But nothing that can't be fixed."

"For you, that's pretty much a compliment."

"Uh-huh." Stray curls swayed against the hollow of her cheeks as she slowly nodded her head.

"So, say, I didn't want to blow it, what should I say, now?"

"That you're glad you came back. That you're real happy to see me."

"Yeah. I am. I definitely am." Spike let his gaze scan Buffy's face for signs of doubt before he made his quiet apology. "I'm really sorry, if I buggered up your life."

Buffy smiled ruefully. "It's not over, yet." The two gazed into each other's eyes, the solemnity of where they were heading overcoming them both for a few seconds.

Finally, it was Buffy who broke the silence. "So, d'you have a wife down in Kentucky or somewhere?"

"Nope, not a one."

"Okay... In that case d'you want to dance?"

Note: Flashbacks are shown in italics

Chapter 14

"I don't know. I've never gone out with a guy that didn't want to sleep with me." Anya said, way too cheerfully for Buffy's taste.

"I didn't say he doesn't want to sleep with me. I said he hasn't put the moves on me. There's a difference."

"And you're sure he isn't gay? I mean there is the thing with the eyeliner and the earring, and he's not into sports..."

"Anya, I'm not an expert on this, but I would say the amount of time he spends with a cushion in his lap, and well, when we dance... I don't think he's gay." Buffy pulled open the freezer door, finding the the ice-cream in about two seconds flat. She put the tub down on the counter in front of Anya and pulled open a drawer to take out two spoons. "It's just like, he's never tried to go beyond the whole kissing, hand-holding thing. I mean with Riley, it was like I was sort of, not fighting him exactly, but he was always trying to see how far he could go..."

"Mmm." Anya sucked at her spoon before continuing. "Well, in my experience, that's normal. So, if you're sure he's not gay... then maybe you should just take the initiative. Just strip off the next time you're in his room. He'll get the picture."

"Anya!" Buffy fish-mouthed several times before she continued. "You are a total tramp. I can't do that. I mean, maybe I'm ready, but I'm ready to be persuaded, or guided or something. I'm not ready to be the one in charge of the ship."

"So just tell him that then."

A clatter from the direction of the front room had Buffy off like a shot. "Dawn, were you listening?"

"No," answered Dawn with a pout as she picked up the stack of magazines she'd knocked off the end table. "I just wanted a snack. I'm allowed to have a snack when I want, and you'd have to be terminally stupid not to know why Spike hasn't put the moves on you."

"Well, just colour me Cleatus, the slack-jawed local. Why don't you enlighten me, Obi-Wan?"

"How long have you been going out with Spike?" Dawn asked.

"Long enough, not that it's any of your business." Buffy retorted.

Dawn gave an exasperated sigh. "Let me put this another way. How long did you go out with Riley?"

"Two and a half years."

"And you split up with him because..."

"None of your business."

"What age do you think I am? You went out with Riley for more than two years and then split up with him because he was trying to pressure you into sleeping with him, and you didn't want to. Spike knows this. You've been seeing Spike about two minutes. Now, can you do the math?"

"You know," answered Anya, pointing toward Dawn with her spoon. "The short, annoying one does have a point. He probably thinks you'll ditch him if he so much as has a wet dream about you."

"Anya, maybe we should continue this conversation in my room."

"What? You said not to mention orgasms in front of her. Okay, well, technically I suppose you can't have a wet dream... well a woman could, I suppose, but we were talking about Spike, so, okay, technically, I suppose it would have to involve orgasms. ...But I didn't say the actual word." Anya's protests faded only slightly as the two older girls retreated upstairs.

"Sure... like I wanted to sort out your lack of sex life, anyway," Dawn shouted at their retreating backs. "And I'm telling mom that you took all the ice-cream, and I didn't get any."

"Whatever," came Buffy's all purpose reply. "And I'll tell her what really happened to her favourite vase."

Buffy pushed closed the door to her room, and then turned the radio on to help deter eavesdroppers. "So, thanks to the troll I share a house with, we've worked out why he hasn't made a move. Now we have to work out what to do about it."

"I told you," answered Anya. "Strip... or I suppose you could talk to him, but I'd go with stripping. I've got this sundress, where if you just nudge the straps off your shoulders, the whole thing falls right off. You can borrow it if you want."

"Anya, I can't just throw myself at him."

"Then, just tell him, but don't keep asking me what you should do, 'cause if you didn't appreciate my advice the first couple of times, you're not suddenly going to think it's wonderful third time round."

"Spike, I think we need to talk..." Buffy fixed her gaze straight ahead as the DeSoto pulled away, after dropping off Xander and Faith.

"Okay, love... Is this a back porch talk, a my room with the door locked talk, or a Kingman's Bluff talk?"

"I don't know... Maybe your room, with an option to change venue later?"

"My place it is." Spike looked over to where Buffy was sitting rigidly in her seat. "Look, pet. Whatever it is, it isn't going to change the way I feel about you. You can tell me anything you want. I'm not going to judge you, or anything..."

"I know that. It's just... You'll see."

The old car pulled up at the rear of the house, and Spike took Buffy's hand as they headed toward the back door. He paused at the fridge to pull out a couple of bottles of beer, before continuing through the lounge toward the front of the house. He knocked and pushed open the door to his father's study, unsurprised, since he hadn't seen her in the lounge, to find his mother sitting behind the desk. "Hey. Just to let you know we're here."

At his side, Buffy blushed slightly, giving Dru an embarrassed wave. "Hi, Mrs Blank."

"Hello, dears."

Spike held up the hand in which he held the beers. "I've raided Dad's stash, but there's still four left. He won't mind, will he?"

"As long as you're not driving later..."

"No, mum... Look, we've got some stuff we need to talk about, so don't wait dinner. We'll get pizza or something later, if we need to, okay?"

"Okay, pet. See you later."

Buffy couldn't resist rising to the bait, as they walked upstairs. "I can't believe your mom and dad just let you drink when you like."

"They don't. They just don't get all uptight about it like you Yanks do. They let me drink beer or an odd glass of wine, in the house. If we were still in England, I could be drinking perfectly legally. So what's the point making it into some big issue."

"Even in England, you have to be eighteen. I'm not stupid."

"Eighteen to drink in a bar or buy alcohol at an off-licence. Sixteen to order alcohol with a meal in a licensed restaurant."

"You're joking."

"Why? It makes more sense than having to wait till you're twenty-one. I mean in some states you could be married and have four kids before your old enough to have a drink. And one beer isn't going to do anything except take the edge off that big bundle of anxiety that you seem to be carrying around."

"I don't drink. I'm way too young."

"You're two months younger than me, and you've got at least one parental unit that isn't going to go nuts about a seventeen year old having one beer. Not that they'll even know." Spike pushed open the door to his room and stepped back to let Buffy through. Buffy hovered uncertainly in the open area to one side of the bed.

"If it helps, once I've put on some music, I plan on lounging around on the bed. That leaves you either the chair by the desk, the beanbags, which I don't recommend or the other half of the bed."

Buffy kicked off her shoes, before scrambling onto the high, metal-framed bed, which, though it had a new mattress, she knew had once belonged to Dru's mother, and was one of the few things the family had shipped out from England. Spike closed the door and turned the key to lock them in before crossing over to the music centre. Sensing a compromise was called for, he put on a compilation tape he'd made up for Buffy, rather than any of his punk albums. Chrissie Hind's hoarse tones banished the stillness from the room. Spike pulled a Swiss Army knife from a desk drawer and made quick work of opening the beers. He passed one to Buffy before he walked round to the far side of the bed and kicked his boots off, his socks rapidly following them to the floor. He lay down on his side with one hand propping up his head, so that he faced Buffy.

"Time for show and tell, pet."

"What?" Buffy half-jumped to a seated position.

"Christ, pet, I just meant time for you to tell me what's wrong with you. The door's locked to keep people out, not you in, but if you'd rather, I can open it. You know I wouldn't lay a finger on you that you didn't want." Spike's fingers gripped gently on Buffy's upper arm as his eyes searched her face. "You do know that, don't you? You know I'd-"

"Shh." Buffy stilled Spike's protestations by the simple expedient of a kiss. "I know, believe me, I know," she answered. "You just hit a little close to home. Well, it's kinda embarrassing to actually say this out loud. Okay." Buffy took a long swig from her beer bottle. "I've thought about this a lot, and I think, maybe when two people feel about each other...well...it's sort of..." Buffy took another long drink.

"Buffy, are you...?"

"Am I saying what you think I'm saying? I think so."

"I was actually going to go with are you sure." Spike managed a wry smile.

"Well, I'm kinda nervous, but like I didn't quite say, I think there comes a point where it becomes inevitable, and I'm thinking we kinda passed that point a couple of months back. I really love you, you know."

"I know that, sweetness. You don't have to do anything to prove that to me." He pressed a finger to her lips to still her protest. "But, if you've thought this through and you're sure you're doing this because you want to, then I'm more than willing. And in case you're wondering, I love you, too."

"So, where do we go from here?" Buffy asked.

"Trust me?"

Buffy threw him an exasperated look. "Well, duh."

"Okay, Alright, I suppose I asked for that one," Spike responded with a wry grin. "Look, there's one ground rule, whatever happens, wherever we go with this, and that's what you say goes. If you want to stop, then you say, and we stop. If you want to slow down, then you say, and we slow down. You have the power. You're in charge. Okay?" Spike placed a gentle kiss on her lips before he pulled back to let her answer.

"I kind of hoped you'd be in charge."

"We'll see..." Spike put down his beer on the bedside cabinet and rolled off the bed. He pulled the curtains across the window at his side of the room and walked round the bed to get the ones at the other side. Buffy watched, her mouth suddenly dry with anticipation. She strained to watch him in the sudden semi-darkness, her nerves taut now that they were committed to each other. He snapped the switch on the desk lamp and the one on the lamp at his side of the bed, giving them enough light to see each other clearly, without the glare of the room's main light.

He sat back down on one side of the bed and pulled his t-shirt off, before he swung his legs up and lay back against the pillows. His heart was pounding in his chest at the prospect of what was to come, but he willed himself to appear calm as he held an arm out toward Buffy.

"Should I?" Buffy looked down at her top, even as she moved into his arms.

"Shh, love," Spike soothed as his arms closed around her back. "It's up to you. There's no right time or wrong time. Just stick with what you feel comfortable with. To be cliched, it's not about how far we go, it's about the journey." He bent his neck to bring his lips to hers, gently at first. Soon her lips parted, and his tongue brushed against hers. He found himself making a conscious effort to hold back so that they wouldn't be swept away too quickly for Buffy to come to terms with. He could feel the hardened nubs of her nipples through the soft cotton that brushed his bare chest as they moved. His hands moved to caress the firm mounds, his thumbs brushing against the tender buds through the thin fabric. His touch made Buffy arch against him, gasping for air as if she were drowning. One hand slid beneath the bottom edge of her camisole, the light touch of skin against skin making her crave more. Before his hand could travel back up to her breast, she pulled back, just long enough to grasp the lower edges of her top pulling it over her head and throwing it into a corner of the room.

Somehow, they were kneeling on the bed, bare torso to bare torso, and the only things in Spike's world were the feel of her lips on his, and the way her breasts felt pressed tight against his chest. One of his hands moved down to the curve of her ass, cupping the flesh there until they were pelvis to pelvis.

Somewhere in a distant corner of her mind, Buffy marvelled at how brazenly she was responding to Spike's touch. Yet, this part of her was quickly stilled because she knew that what she'd said earlier was true. It was inevitable that she and Spike would be together. Trying to stop it now would be like trying to stop the wind from blowing or the sun from shining. All she could do was let herself be borne along by the flow.

Spike pulled a couple of pillows from the top of the bed and placed them so that they would cushion her butt. He laid her gently back as his lips started to trail lower, first to her jawbone and then exploring the hollows of her neck. Buffy made a mewling sound, frustrated at his lips leaving hers, but also enjoying the sensations his lips aroused elsewhere on her body. The fingers of her right hand laced through the short curls at the back of his neck, and when his lips teased her taut nipple, causing her to moan and arch against him, her hand pressed him more firmly against her breast. Spike revelled in her responsiveness, alternating between using his mouth and his hands, first suckling at her breasts or nipping playfully at them, then rolling the hard tip between his fingers.

Just as he was preparing to move lower, Buffy decided to retake the initiative. Spike was still kneeling between her legs, so Buffy found it easy to straddle his lap, reclaiming his lips with her own, while her hands imitated the movements his had made on her own chest, first gently brushing against him with the pads of her thumb until his nipples stood erect, and then teasing the hard buds between thumb and forefinger. It was almost more than Spike could bear. As she moved, Buffy ground her heat against his crotch, and Spike was all too conscious that all that separated them, was his jeans and her panties. His fingers searched at her waist for the fastening to her skirt, and finding only elastic, he pulled it off over her head. Buffy couldn't resist watching his face as his eyes scanned the bare flesh in front of him. The emotions that were apparent there, were almost indefinable; they were so many and so tangled together, but the one thing that shone through all the others was love.

He tipped her back again so she lay against the cushions, and this time he edged away from her so that he could guide her panties down as he backed away. To make it easier, Buffy brought up her knees and then her feet, so that the slip of white lace dropped gracefully from one ankle. When Spike moved to part her knees, however, her awkwardness made a return.

"Spike, please."

Spike moved up the bed until they were again at eye-level. "Too fast?" he asked.

"No, not really. It's just embarrassing."

Spike took her hands in his. "Please, love, just trust me a little more," he asked.

Buffy's eyes met his, and then she gave a gentle nod. Spike kissed her gently before he slid down the bed until he again knelt between her knees. This time when he pushed them apart Buffy let him, but he could feel the tension in her body at allowing him to be this intimate. First, he let his tongue trace around the outside of her sex, and then he opened her outer lips with one slow tantalising stroke. When he neared the front he found the tiny nub of nerves and circled round it with his tongue before suckling on it. Buffy bucked and writhed beneath him, and he had to hold her hips with his hands so that he didn't lose control of his actions. Slowly he began to build a rhythm into his actions, using long, sure strokes, each one ending with his tongue rasping over or swirling round her clit. Occasionally, he would suckle gently on it, this last, eliciting the loudest response from Buffy.

"Oh God, Oh Spike. There. Right there. Oh God." Buffy couldn't believe that the hoarse, monosyllabic voice was her own; the breath for each exhortation drawn in as a ragged gasp. She felt the sensations build in the pit of her stomach and knew she was close to a climax the like of which she'd never come near on her own. Spike began to use the fingers of one hand, thrusting into her in time to the lapping of his tongue, with first one gently curved finger, and then two, taking care never to push too far. Finally, he sucked fiercely at her clit while his fingers pistonned in and out of her until they were soaked with a warm gush, and Buffy fell back limp against the mattress, calling his name one last time. Spike moved to lap up the precious spendings that began to trickle from her, but Buffy twined her fingers in his hair, pulling him back up the bed where she could wrap her arms around him. He wiped his lips against the back of his hand before he kissed her, letting her taste herself on his tongue. Unexpectedly, she found the sensation quite erotic, and she began to wonder what Spike would taste like in her mouth, the salt sweat on his skin and the new flavour of his cum.

It was around this time that she realised that while she lay naked, Spike hadn't even taken off his jeans. She tugged impatiently at his belt loops in a silent protest. Spike dropped a butterfly kiss onto the tip of her nose before rolling to one side to lie next to her and remove the offending article of clothing. Buffy made a silent wager with herself in favour of boxers rather than briefs, and was slightly shocked to find that the real answer was neither. She allowed her eyes to be drawn to his dick, mentally comparing its length and girth to the two fingers that Spike had used earlier, and discovering that she wasn't sure she wanted to do the math. Her hand moved to follow the path her eyes had taken, and Spike leant back on his elbows to allow her free rein to explore. The pads of her fingers traced a feather-light trail along the sensitive skin of the underside of his dick, and she started when it twitched beneath her touch.

"Soft. The skin, I mean."

Spike confirmed her observation with a single nod. Still intrigued by this new toy, she shifted to straddled Spike's thighs, allowing her better access. Her eyes flicked to Spike's face to see his reaction to her curiosity, but he only gave her an encouraging smile.

"No right or wrong, pet. Just what you want."

Buffy circled his girth near the top, with the fingers of one hand, pulling back just tight enough and hard enough to expose the livid purple glans, making the overall shape look more like she'd expected. The shape she'd seen in graffitti and health classes. A pearl of pre-cum formed at the slit in the top, and she grasped him firmly, as if she were holding a computer joystick and used her thumb to spiral out spreading the lubricant all over the tip.

Spike drew in a ragged breath, counting backwards from a hundred in his head, to try to keep from spurting all over Buffy's hand. Still maintaining her grip, her thumb almost absently spreading more and more lubricant over the sensitive head, Buffy leant forward to claim Spike's lips with her own. Spike almost failed to contain himself when he realised her new position meant that he could feel her lips brushing against him, making him wet.

"Buffy, in the top drawer of the bedside cabinet-"

"It's okay, Spike. I'm on the pill. I want to feel you inside me, not some piece of rubber."

Spike slipped his hand between their bodies again. He gently parted her lips once more, this time using the heel of his hand to press up in small circles against her pelvic bone, while the tip of his index finger circled round and round the entrance to her warm wet channel. Knowing, without words, that this was his way of asking her permission, Buffy released her hold on him. She leant forward to kiss him again, but this time, she gripped his shoulders so that when she rolled back onto her back, she drew him with her. The kiss only ended when they were both gasping for breath. Spike's eyes roved Buffy's face, looking for any hint of doubt or uncertainty. He watched her reactions as he slid first one finger, followed by two then finally three fingers inside her, this time keeping the pace slow and steady. Her eyes widened at each additional digit and she gave an almost inaudible gasp. Then, he pulled his hand away, positioning his dick against her warm wet flesh.

His eyes locked with hers. "Sure?"

Buffy nodded, waiting for him to ease his way in. Instead, Spike thrust into her as hard and fast as he could, coming to a halt only when he was buried deep within her. Tears leaked from the corners of Buffy's eyes at the sudden pain, but even as Spike wiped them away, the ache began to fade leaving only the slight discomfort of muscles suddenly stretched to accomodate his girth.

"I'm sorry, love. That should be the worst bit." As he continued to make whispered reassurances, his hands stroked her face and her hair, and he began to slowly rock his hips, letting the gentle friction ease away the pain. Buffy didn't hear half the words Spike said to her, just the loving, apologetic tone that he used. The rest of her attention was consumed by the sensations caused by Spike's movement within her. At first it was just like a soft ripple, as though his dick was moving inside her, but the skin encasing it wasn't. Then, she could feel him sliding in and out of her, both of them slick with her cum, and it felt good. Without conscious thought, she began to lift her hips to meet his every thrust.

Spike let the momentum build between them, giving a little grind as he pushed deep within her, pressing her clit between their pelvic bones to give her the friction she needed. He shifted so that they each had one leg between their partner's, changing the angle of penetration just enough to make Buffy gasp as each thrust seemed to drive the air from her lungs. The old bedframe began to squeak in protest at their movements, but by this point neither of them cared. Buffy could feel the tension in her stomach spiralling toward orgasm, and Spike was just doing everything he could to hold off his own. Just when he thought he wasn't going to be able to hold out any longer, he felt her muscles cinch tight around him. Two more thrusts, and he let his seed spill deep inside her, the last flutterings of her inner muscles sending tremors through them both.

Spike stayed propped up on his elbows, above her and inside her still, waiting for her to open her eyes. When she did, he held her gaze, using his eyes as well as his lips to tell her, "I love you."

Buffy smiled back up at him, not a grin, but a soft contented smile. "I love you, too."

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