Author: Ginny
Email For Feedback: ginmar@earthlink.net
Summary: Buffy can't be all work and no play. And Spike loves to play. A S/B Ship.

Rated: NC17
Disclaimer: These aren't my characters; please don't sue. All I have are books anyway.
Spoilers: Part One may contain spoilers for "Doublemeat Palace." You've been warned. Part Three may contain spoilers for "Dead Things." Read at your own risk.

Ah. Adulthood.

Buffy wearily waved goodbye and adieu to the last of her coworkers and decided that she was going to be a little bit less conscientious next time. Sure, she got the nifty badge that said ‘Assistant Manager,’ but she also got stuck doing the closing, because she was so damned good at it.

 
After the hectic days, the silence of the restaurant was peaceful….for a few minutes. Then she noticed how loud the fridge was when she banged the door shut. Then she noticed the sounds and smells coming in through the drive through window. Then she noticed resentful thoughts she had been too busy and too tired to feel before hand. Such as, why am I stuck working my behind off? And then she would go out and slay….till she was so tired she would collapse into bed and not think.
Not thinking was definitely good. Not remembering was even better. She found tops to containers, labeled and dated them, carried them to the fridge and slammed the door shut. The sound seemed to reverberate in the little restaurant. She grabbed the green scrubbies and went to work on the baked-on gunk in the microwave, which looked so much like demon innards that she paused and sniffed at the sponge thoughtfully. Nope, not demon innards. American cheese. Big diff.

 
She was going to be so tired tonight. She knew she was going to tumble into bed, and then there would be no thoughts…..
She kept coming back to the notion of….it. Him. That. During it, of course, there’d been no thought, except for a conscious effort to breathe. But then….how could she not be embarrassed?

 
Uh. Bad thoughts. Bad thoughts brought back to mind the certainty she’d had all day the day after, that while he….he….had turned out to be way more than she expected, she herself had somehow turned out to be less. She wondered if she would ever be able to think about..it…without cringing. “Very mature, Buffy”.

She hauled another armload of containers to the fridge and then gave the door and satisfying bang. It was so humid in the kitchen area, where there were no windows at all, despite the fact that it was the area most likely to need them in the whole restaurant. She sighed, turned, around, and then went to the drive through. Just for a minute. She needed the air. She was distinctly aware of how flushed her face felt, but it wasn’t the exertion that did it. She pushed open the window, and leaned out, smelling the jasmine on the rain-heavy air. Breathing. Very good.

Oh, it would be so good if she never saw him again, because when she had, she saw it all again…..Who would have known what he was like? How could she have known? With Riley, well, it was very much like Riley during normal circumstances, except there was more sweat involved. Sometimes there was jaw clenching. Then there were the sheets. Always sheets in the way, getting entangled in them, keeping her from….

She gulped down the soda because her throat was abruptly dry.

With Spike…She wasn’t even aware she was holding her breath. With Spike….who knew how soft his face was capable of getting? How could she have possibly known how long his eyelashes were till she saw them suddenly as his eyes squeezed shut beneath her, gasping, as he shuddered under her, in her, his hands clenching on her hips? There had been no sheets in the way with Spike; not even clothes after the first time, not after they’d torn frantically at each other’s buttons and snaps, kissing, gasping, separating for necessary seconds, then desperately positioning and ……And she wouldn’t forget that.

He was beautiful, the look on his face as she slid down on him slowly, his hands tightening on her hips convulsively. But she was sure there was nothing alluring about the way she had looked….She remembered the sensation too well, now, staring off into the twilight, feeling again the twinges of arousal that made her body move without her permission in ways she hadn’t known it was capable of. It wasn’t supposed to be like that; she was certain of it. How could she believe it was like that, that people could do that, then get up, get dressed, and go out into the world and leave behind the memory of what they’d done in the darkness?

 
They’d slept intermittently through the night, and then she’d awakened with a gasp, from a dream she couldn’t remember…a dream of aching pleasure, to find his hands on her breasts, her body twisting and turning, and Spike, between her legs in the darkness, as invisible as if he’d been in a mirror, but, oh, she could hear what he was doing, as surely as she could feel it….Though at first, she didn’t believe what he was doing….And then she was too far gone. It was one thing for her to see him as he shuddered with pleasure so intense it almost hurt, to see his face more naked than his body, but for him to see her, to taste her, to touch her….that was not fair. And he hadn’t stopped, till she was so weak she almost cried, as certainly as if he’d drained her blood. What was it he had drained from her instead?

 
The noise behind her made her whirl around and she dropped the soda in a plume of foam on the floor. For a second, they stared at each other, she white-faced except for two hectic spots of red on each cheek, he, somewhat abashed, scratching nervously at his jaw with his thumb.

 
“Y—Y—Y—You’re not supposed to be in here.”

He shrugged, glancing around, carefully, his posture stiff and careful.

 
“I—I—have a job to do, you know, I can’t do it with you hanging over me…”

Oh. Bad. Oh, so very bad. She could just see him again, just at the moment he was about to….
She gawped at him, her flush turning deeper and deeper.

“I have stuff to do, you can’t lurk around like this….”

She brushed by him, too close, and smelled him so intensely that she shivered with it. He wasn’t happy about getting brushed off, either…He frowned at her, and she shuddered away from him, not in fear….of him, that is, but of herself…one little slip…
Then she was at the preparation table, and there were things to do, and she prattled away at him, in the desperate hope she might possibly scare him away with the power of inane chatter…..

”You know, I need this job, I can’t have people visiting me, and you were already here this afternoon, what, do you like making me feel bad?”

Oh, she flinched at that, knowing perfectly well that that was not the case at all…

”I can’t afford to lose this job, I have Dawn to think about, I have the house payment….” I have the smell of your cigarettes around me, the smell of the leather we laid on, rolled on, what are you thinking….”

She folded and packaged and arranged, babbling, while he lounged beside her against the edge of the table, his side to her, where if she just glanced out of the corner of her eye she’d see his lean figure, wonder if the scratches she’d left on his chest when she’d….

She stopped abruptly. It was absolutely silent in the restaurant. Even the clock ticked too quietly. She could almost hear her legs trembling.
If she turned, she would see him, see that concerned look on his face….
If she turned….

He saved her from the effort. He leaned in and kissed her, and the silence was broken by the sibilance of kisses, the creak of leather. She wasn’t even aware of turning, her arms sliding up his arms to his neck, just as long as his mouth was on hers, just as long as she could taste his tongue…

In a fraction of a second, she was pressed between him and the table, and he was harder than the table. She’d never known kisses like this, except perhaps with Angel, so eloquent and so urgent at the same time, accompanied by those little noises she’d never noticed before.

His arms went all the way around her, but they didn’t stay in one place, as if she were territory he had to experience before he could be satisfied.

He broke off for air, her chin in one hand, looking into her eyes. Oh, God, why did he have to do that, he looked at her as if he couldn’t fathom what his eyes were seeing, like she was some treasure. He caught her frown, too, and folded his palm against her cheek, as if she were some fractious child.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, “Don’t look at me like that.”

 
“Like what?” He whispered back. “Like I love you?”

Still, she thought. Still he did. It was her turn to look back, to search for ambiguity that wasn’t there. She couldn’t have said what she felt then, even if she knew what it was, and she didn’t even know that much.

Instead she kissed him again, and hoped it said what she couldn’t. They backed into the kitchen area, banging up against the wall, which was good because her legs were shaking, and which was bad as well, because walls were precisely how they’d gotten into this mess in the first place.

There were two layers of clothes too many between them, and their hands skidded over leather and cotton with clutching, greedy fingers. He found her breast with one hand and in one smooth echoing movement surged against her so urgently that she arched one leg around his legs without even being aware of it.

His hand dropped from her breast to the waistband of her skirt, and he pulled back from the kiss, watching her as his hand slid past her belly button, till they both gasped.

Her hands clenched around his neck, in his hair, and in her extremity, she couldn’t even look away from his eyes. He pressed his forehead to hers and thrust his mouth against hers, even as their pelvises ground together and his fingers plunged into her soaking depths.

He pulled back and she realized he was holding his breath as she was. She was alert to only two things; his face and what he was doing to her. And his face had that soft look that she had seen only before when he had been about to explode, so why now…why…It was if her pleasure gave him as much pleasure as his own.

She couldn’t stand it any longer. She first arched against him, then sagged against his shoulder as it hit her, her muscles shuddering to a stop, and then spasming with the release, aftershock hitting her again and again.

Then there was forever, till she was aware she was breathing again, and she was standing, and her inner muscles were quivering with weakness and eagerness.

Then she realized he was more or less holding her up like she was a child. He gave her a very tentative, almost sleepy smile, and she pulled him to her mouth to kiss him languorously, luxuriously, long slow wet kisses that ended abruptly as they pressed closer together.

She slid her hands over his chest, and with a boldness she’d never felt before, slid her hands to his crotch and caressed the straining bulge there almost abashedly. Her reward was the way he gasped back from her mouth, and opened and closed his mouth with a shudder. His eyes were huge, and his entire body shook against her.

“I did that to him”, she thought.

 
”Oh, I know what else I want to do”, she thought, and then they were stumbling against the back door into the alley.

They broke apart long enough to prop the door apart and then Spike was backing her against the old metal fire escape, till she sat on one of the steps suddenly.

Once her shaking legs no longer had to bear her weight, she suddenly found all kinds of strength in her hands, pulling his shirt out of his pants so she could caress his chest, finding his nipples with her mouth, while he fumbled with his belt and her breast alternatively. With shaking hands, he ripped open her blouse and seized one of her nipples between his teeth, and Buffy made a gasping choking sound she’d never made before.

She found his fly with her hands and ripped it open, shoving his jeans down just far enough to free his erection. At the touch of her hands, Spike jerked convulsively and his cock bobbed against her soaking folds. He grabbed her face between both hands and kissed her so savagely she moaned, while he thrust against her. He broke free for one second, breathing as if he’d just run a marathon, and then pushed her panties aside with one hand.

Then he pressed his erection against her and found her entrance with a long explosive sigh. She grabbed his hips to pull him closer, her eyes locked with his, biting her lip to keep from making any more noise, which resolve lasted precisely as long as it took him to begin thrusting, faster and faster.

Oh, she knew the things men and women did together, but she never knew it could be like this, that she could be doing this, anywhere, and not care, as long as he was buried inside her and his eyes were on her, as long as his face looked as if he was in pain, and she was the only thing who could bring him surcease….It had never been like this, a fever that fed itself, a hunger that perpetuated its existence.

He was the one inside her but she felt she was inside him, and it still wasn’t enough; she wanted to crawl inside him. She wrapped her legs around him to bring him closer and it still wasn’t close enough, not while there were clothes between them, not while he was separated from her by so much as his skin.

She could feel her muscles tightening, knew she was getting close, and looked up at him, gasping.

“Look at me, look at me….” She whispered.

She could hear only the creak of the step she was on, the noises they made, the noises their bodies made, and it was too much for her to hang on any longer. The crescendo broke over her and she arched beneath him as if shocked by an electric current, shuddering as each wave broke over her. Her climax sent him over the edge, and she held his face in her hands as his eyes squeezed shut almost in pain and he jerked against her.

Everything had been fast and furious before this; now everything was exquisitely slow. They kissed as if tasting each other for the first time, lazily, almost sleepily, feeling the twinges of soreness.

“Oh, this is crazy”, she thought. “This is crazy, crazy”.

He slipped out of her, and pulled his pants back up, managing this despite never once stopping the kissing. He helped her adjust her clothes, which she was amazed to discover included her panties.

It wasn’t until she put her feet on the ground that she realized she was till shaking, which wasn’t helped by the fact that Spike was still ‘helping’, kissing her with sighs mixed in, so that it was impossible to do more than tug at her shirt before the kissing took over, and clothes be damned.

Somehow they got all adjusted and covered despite never once separating at the mouth, which is probably what caused them to reach the wall and stay there.

 
At long last, it was possible, even necessary to pull apart and breathe. She buried her face in his chest and rubbed her nose against his shirt, which made him laugh, and which in turn made her giggle because she could feel it.

“What?” He demanded bemusedly.

 
“I just realized how much I’m going to like this job.”

Chapter 2

Buffy stirred her cornflakes slowly, and tried to get conscious thoughts sloshing through her brain.

“Huh?”

“Work? Last night?” Willow asked hopefully.

“Oh, work.”

Yeah, work, another place which now had Spike connotations, which she hoped was not another word for residue or something. Now she’d have to dump garbage in the alley and try not to look the fire escape in the eye.

“It was okay.” “It was more than okay. He kissed me in such a way my knees are still quivering now, and I’d really like to know what it would be like in a bed, hell, even on a floor that didn’t have construction debris all over it…
Oh, crap.
Carpeting. Carpeting would be good.
Crap again. Bad thoughts”.

 
“Well,” she sighed. “I worked. It was boring, and then it was over, and for this I will get paid the sort of wages they do exposes about on Sixty Minutes.”

She looked expectantly at Will, but noticed how deflated her friend suddenly looked.

“Maybe somebody else came back wrong besides me”, she thought. “From where? The living room? At least I have an excuse. God, what if there was a camera in the back room?
What would it be like if we just took our time?
Crap.”

She sighed, and then abruptly realized that her sigh was being misinterpreted by her best friend.

“ ‘s okay, Will, I just have to get used to…” “Getting kissed like that. Maybe if I got some more practice at it….Crap.”
”Well”, she thought, “at least now I know why Spike says bloody hell all the time. I feel exactly like that right about now. “

Willow looked very subdued.

“Do you have to work again tonight?”

“No. Have to patrol.” “In Spike’s crypt. No. Absolutely not. Bad. Very bad Buffy. It was only twice, there’s still time to call it a bad habit…”

Although, technically speaking, it hadn’t been just twice. Not if you counted everything….How did one quantify sexual acts? Did it just count if, at the conclusion, someone, not that names needed to be named, scratched a certain party’s back and wasn’t even aware of it till much, much later?

Not even then, it had to be at least six times, which was beyond the bad habit category, and how could it be a bad habit, a mere activity, when…She suddenly saw Spike’s face so vividly it was almost like he was in front of her.

“It wasn’t just the orgasm Olympics or something”, she thought suddenly. “Not for him.
Crap. “

“You need to rest,” Willow said. “You just look so tired.”

 
“Yeah. Maybe I am.” Buffy said quietly. “I slept clean through the alarm.”

“That’s okay.” Willow said cheerfully. “That’s what I’m here for.”

“To make sure I sleep through the alarm?”

“Yes, that’s my mission in life.” Willow eyed her with a trace of her old sarcasm. “No, getting Dawn off to school, making the breakfast….I mean, if you’re going to keep working the night shift, that works well with the Slayage, and then I have school during the day, so there’ll always be someone around for Dawn.”

”Yes, Dawn”. Buffy thought. “God, what would she think if she knew?” Then a new and more insistent thought reared its head. “What would Xander think?”

Xander. Buffy looked up at Will, but the other girl had taken her plate to the sink, and was running hot water---a lot of hot water, which was expensive…to wash their breakfast dishes. Will would try to understand. And try to talk her out of it. And Xander would be furious, but who with was the question.

 
Why did they have to know? Like any fever it would run its course….Buffy stopped that thought suddenly, knowing that it was unfair.

“Will? I’m going to go take a shower, okay?”

She brought her still half-full bowl of cornflakes to the sink, and Will gave her a cheery smile.

“Okay.”

Was it her imagination, or was Will doing lots more housework since Dawn’s broken arm? Admittedly, some of it was just because Dawn simply couldn’t do things. But some of it was undoubtedly guilt. Or at least she hoped it was guilt.

The worst thing, Buffy thought uncomfortably, was that Will didn’t seem too guilty. The subject had not been brought up, and Buffy had tried, and then, deciding that perhaps Will was too unnerved by it, had simply waited. But within days, Will had gone back to being perky, and Buffy had started to get nervous.

 
”Why is it that Will doesn’t feel bad about causing the accident that got Dawn’s arm broken, and I feel bad about making love with someone who makes me scream?”

Buffy froze, half way up the steps. Not making love. Just sex. With Riley, that had been making love….but this was just sex.
Not to Spike.

 
She flopped down on her bed, and sat there, and now her thoughts were as traitorous as her body. She was worried about what her friends thought if they found out she was having sex with Spike. What would they say if she said it was more? She knew he wouldn’t hesitate to come clean, if only she gave the okay. Actually, he already had. The gang all knew how he felt about her, except, oh, yes, he hadn’t had that opportunity. She was the one who’d told everybody, making it sound as if it were some sort of sick adolescent crush.

 
But it was!

Was. Not anymore. Certainly he had changed.

 
”People don’t change, her right brain countered. Do vampires?
It’s impossible.
So is bringing the dead back to life.
Crap .”

Was it her?

 
With Riley, after they made love, she’d be happy for a while, a couple of days. If they made love, fine, if not, fine. She had to admit that. And he had been so stoic about it. An occasional groan, some grimacing, but he was always in charge. Always in control. Always so logical, even in bed, the last place in the world she wanted…logic. Bad. Very bad.

 
Even before the next thought had sprung from her subconscious, she could feel her face flushing. With Spike, she could still be breathing as fast and as hard as if she’d run an obstacle course, and he could have only just pulled out of her, and she would want him again. Only exhaustion had stopped them, and she didn’t even know vampires could be exhausted.

Spike certainly wasn’t stoic, either. She had loved watching him in extremis, watching the sensations course over his face, even his body, like reflections skating over the surface of a lake at twilight. He held nothing back, not from her, and she knew if she asked for more, he wouldn’t hesitate. Was it his feelings for her that made the difference? Was it just him?

 
Because I’m just the same with him.

 
Because I have no control with him.

 
Because if I act like he does, does that mean I feel the same way?

“Buffy?!”

”Hm. Crap. Grrrrr. Argh”.

 
Buffy yawned explosively and wondered when precisely her bedroom ceiling had developed that water stain. Someone was tapping on her door, and she didn’t think it was a raven.
Dawn poked her head in.

“Lazybones.”

“Is there a minimum daily requirement of harassment you have to dish out?”

“Yeah, well, somone’s got to.” Dawn came over and flopped on the bed. “Will said your work went okay.”

“Yeah.” Buffy said cautiously. Hm, normal conversation with a teenager? Could this be happening? “It wasn’t bad.”

“I could get a job, too.” Dawn said softly, and Buffy’s heart twisted.

Before she could do more than that, Dawn rushed ahead.

“I could deliver papers, you know.”

“In Sunnydale? With a broken arm?”

“After the broken arm is fixed.” Dawn said loftily. Buffy bit back any number of replies. “Besides, I could get Spike to help me.”

 
Spike. Helping Dawn. Saving her life, she could believe. But….Buffy was literally rendered speechless by the mental image Dawn so casually provoked.
Spike. With an excuse to be in the house before the sun rose every morning.
Bad. Very bad.

 
“Why do you want to get a job, Dawn? You’re only fifteen.”

“Cause.” Dawn said softly, bowing her head. “Cause you’re working, and you’re so tired all the time, and---and----I want to help. Cause we might lose the house.”

“Who said that?”

 
“I heard someone talking.”

“Who?”

“Now you’re mad.”

“Sweetie, I’m not mad at you. But I really don’t think it’s that bad, and I’d know. And nobody should be saying stuff like that about you.”

“But you were so tired you slept all day. You shouldn’t have to work like that, at that place, you should have some fun….You sang….”

“Oh, Dawnie….” Buffy sat up. “I’m a grownup. That’s part of the job. My job is to make sure that you ---you don’t have to get a job.”

“What if I just want to make some money for stuff?”

“Like how much money do you need? And what for? Hard drugs?”

Dawn giggled, a sure sign she was trying. Buffy was startled; she was almost sure Dawn would have exploded in a fit of fifteen-year-old hormones.

“No, soft drugs only.” She said pertly.

 
“Give me some time, Dawnie, okay? This is the Hellmouth. Do we even have paperboys?”

“I’ve seen the want ads for them.”

“Were the ads placed by the Sunnydale Register, or by the Vampire Times?”

“Funn—eeee. Not.” Dawn flopped back on the bed. “Are you going to patrol tonight?”

“Yeah. “Buffy got up and stretched.

“Could you ask Spike what he thinks?”

“Oh. Uh.” Buffy wondered just how flushed her face got. “Sure. If I see him.” “Crap. Now I have a reason to see him, instead of an excuse.
Crap”.

Patrol actually went rather well. Staking vamps enabled her to get her suddenly all-too-imaginative mind off one of them; then suddenly she looked around, and there weren’t any there.
Except one.
Crap.

 
“Nice skirt, love. Didn’t realize you were that big a fan of Britney.”

He lit a cigarette while she thought, “Bloody hell. Why did I wear a skirt? Haven’t done that in ages”.

 
Not since last night, at any rate. She flushed abruptly. How could it be so difficult talking to him when it was positively effortless to kiss him…?

”Laundry day. Nothing else clean.”

“And here I thought I was the inspiration.” His eyes flicked up and down. “You’re all tense, luv. Didn’t sleep well?”

 
She stared at him for a minute, thinking, why is this conversation happening in a graveyard? Why can’t I have The Talk in a restaurant? Other people do. She braced herself preparing to hear things about herself that would make her cringe because they were true, and then looked at him, suddenly, wondering what was going on. She could just about hear something snapping. What was she doing standing away from him when she just wanted to climb up him like he was a tree?

“No. I didn’t sleep good. I have a lot on my mind.”

“Such as?”

 
She cocked her head at his tone, the tone that came out when she needed it most. It seemed to spring from the corner of his personality that the others never saw, only she and Dawn. Which was, of course, a problem in itself.

 
“Such as….” She sighed deeply, thinking of words that would keep him at bay till she was overwhelmed again. “Such as….”

Oh, hesitation. That was very bad, because it allowed her to remember things she shouldn’t be remembering. Because then she wanted to try them all over again.

 
“Look, Buff,” Spike tossed his cigarette on the ground. “I’d love to sit and wait for you to make up your mind, but I figured it’d take less time to wait for the seasons to change, okay? So why don’t you let me know when you come to a decision?”

“What?”

“I can’t keep doing this. “

He looked at her, the sort of look he usually had when they were about to rip each others’ clothes apart. Actually, now that she thought about it, it wasn’t that different from the Secret Spike look he had when he was being nice.

“You know how I feel about you; all I want to know is how you feel about me. That’s it. Real simple. Just….that. But I can’t keep doing this.” HE shook his head, a bit of anger in the movement. “Or you.”

 
“What am I supposed to say, Spike?” She burst out.

He literally brushed her off, waving off the rest of whatever she had been about to say, turning and walking away from her.

“Okay. How about this?” She grabbed his sleeve.

“How am I supposed to explain something to you that I don’t understand myself? I don’t understand this, and I understand dying, and killing, and vampires, and demons, and all sorts of things. But I don’t understand what I feel about you. And you know why, Spike!”

She held her ground as he flinched away from her look. “’What did it take to pry apart the Slayer’s dimpled knees?’”

 
He sighed at that, too, and she wondered if she’d gone too far, but it had to be said, and she knew that if it didn’t come bursting out now, she didn’t think she could be able to do it again.

“I don’t understand this, and it scares me. I’d be scared any time, but now? I really want to ask my Mom, but she’s not here. And my best friend?”

She took a breath that sounded perilously close to weeping, and Spike grimaced.

“Those guys you wanted to know about? They did everything they were supposed to, but I never felt like this with them. They had my heart in their hands, and they just squeezed…but you…..”

She took a deep breath that did nothing to settle her feelings, and then forged on ahead.

“You know how I really slept? I slept about as good as I ever have, at least since the night in that old house.”

She snapped the words out and Spike goggled at her.

“I slept really well then. I think it was you. I think it was being next to you. I don’t know what it is I feel about you, but I want you to know that. I just don’t know. It confuses me. I never felt this way before about anybody, and I don’t understand it. I don’t know if understanding it would be a good thing, but I just want you to know. I just…”

He stepped forward quickly, putting his mouth on hers before she realized it, and by the time she realized it, she was against the tree and his hands were cupping her buttocks, molding her against his front.

She broke off the kiss and shoved at his chest with both hands, which landed him on his butt in the grass. In an instant she was in his lap.

“Oh, God”, Buffy thought, “this is so bad, but how can it be bad, when he feels like this, when he tastes like this….”

She fumbled with the fly of his jeans, then ripped it impatiently, provoking a sharp intake of breath from Spike. She wasn’t sure if she’d hurt him or not, because he made exactly the same sound when her hand closed around him. Oh, he felt like silk in her hand, and then she was closing down on him, around him, which made Spike suck his breath in through his teeth.

He found her clitoris with his thumb and she rocked on it, her mouth waxing and waning against his, which was oddly exciting, enough of a distraction that it took him several seconds to realize that something was missing. Her panties. He traced up to her belly button with his free fingers and Buffy broke off the kiss as she realized what he was doing.

She had thrown him to the ground, his penis was inside her, she was just about to orgasm with his thumb buried against her, and she blushed a deep, deep red when she realized he’d discovered her secret.

For an endless moment, as her muscles convulsed hotly around him and pulled all of his senses with them, he thought that it had finally happened; they’d come so hard that they’d fused, and they’d be joined like this forever. It was so lengthy, so hard, that the roots of his hair hurt.

”Love doth make fools of men”, he thought foolishly, and wished he could remember the poet’s name.

He was so exhausted that he just wanted to die, but he suspected that would get him staked, even though it was a compliment in an odd sort of way. He could still feel throbs and pulses of pleasure in her muscles and his and he figured if he so much as moved there might be an unexpected encore.

Then he remembered the abashed way she’d looked, just before she came, when she’d realized her secret was out, and he had to give her such an involuntary, genuine smile that she grabbed his shoulders and kissed him ferociously.

Finally he had to break it off. Reluctantly, he lifted her off him, which was rather difficult to accomplish while joined at the lips, but he managed.

“What?” She said.

He saw the look of worry on her face, and wondered briefly how such a woman could possibly doubt her allure. He steadied her as she stood, and brushed leaves from the ridiculously demure skirt.

 
“I just remembered something.” He said softly.

 
“What?”

 
“I have a bed.”

Chapter 3

Spike led the way into the crypt, lighting candles as he headed toward the ladder that led to the lower level. Buffy hung back a bit, and he turned and looked into her eyes. She reached out a hand, and he took it and led her with him.

He lit more candles, then stopped, turning, looking at her. When he had finished, he returned to where she was only halfway down the ladder, and leaned forward, dropping to one knee on the step in front of her, his eyes never leaving hers.

She sat down abruptly, her knees having lost all their strength. He leaned into her mouth, his hands sliding up her thighs, his body separating her knees, his mouth opening against hers, his tongue….

Buffy broke away, her heands clutching his hair, to look at him, wondering if she would ever see the same facial expression on him twice. He was like a kaleidoscope sometimes, always different….

Then he was pulling her against him, lifting her against him, and then they were falling on the bed, and they were ripping frantically at each others’ clothes. He was entirely too good at kissing, soft and wet, hard and urgent, all at once, too much, till she bit his lip and he grinned down at her. He nipped at her chin, just a little, and she traced the scar in his eyebrow with a thumb.

The thought suddenly occurred to her: “No one can find us. We have all night. All night. Hours upon hours”.

Spike traced her cheekbones with his thumbs, and kissed the tip of her nose. He decided that perhaps he’d missed a spot by her earlobe; then, oh no, there was another spot down by her breast. Oh, she had all kinds of little noises, he thought, but none was as naked as the gasp she made as he slid further down, kissing, till he hit her navel, and lifted her knee over his shoulder.

 
“Spike!”

“Present.”

“What---what---“

Spike, poised between her legs, rested his head on her thigh, and gave her the Look of Death. Ah, that was familiar, she thought.

“I’m making a collect call, Buff.”

“But there’s lights…”

Aha. He kissed the soft stomach between her navel and her brown curls.

“Yes, luv, there are, which is a good thing, isn’t it.”

“Well…”

He had wondered to himself before, and now he figured he knew the answer. Never. Not the sort of thing Angel would have tried with a virgin, hell nor anyone, and that silly git who’d tossed her away, well, no doubt there. As far as Captain Cardboard, he really couldn’t imagine the guy being so generous.

 
He looked at her and lowered his chin till he was giving her the most wicked look in his extensive repertoire.

“Yes, there’s lights, because you know what? I want to see you. Every bit of you. I want to remember you, every taste, every smell, every bit, so the next time I have to listen to Xander or Anya yapping about wedding dresses, I can remember you and how you felt, and how you moved, and everything you did. Even I can’t see that well in the dark, though.”

He slowly stuck his tongue out at her, locking with her eyes, and took an exploratory taste.
She was bright red, and it was actually sort of adorable.

“But…you know…the…”

If she turned any brighter, she’d explode, he thought.

“But?”

He held her eyes, dipping his head very slowly, while she tried half-heartedly to close her thighs. If she wanted to, she could have snapped his head off with one twist, but she didn’t.

She was still wet from their earlier encounter, but she was also swollen and trembling again. He parted the damp curls with his tongue, never taking his eyes from hers, till he reached her swollen clit and sucked it into his mouth. A fresh surge coated his fingers and he marveled with his last bits of coherent thought how responsive she was.

Then he began to suck and lick in earnest, and she moaned as if she were in pain, and arched off the blankets. She thrust her pelvis so hard against his face he had to lay his hands flat against her stomach to keep her from breaking his nose.

Then she froze, her eyes huge, and he felt them at the same time she did, the irresistible pulses of orgasm. Her breathing was harsh and unsteady in the silence of the tomb. He noticed she didn’t take any trouble to keep her legs modestly closed now, but her leg muscles were trembling so badly he didn’t know if she could.

He was as hard as iron now, and looking at her all flushed wasn’t helping any. He crawled up her body and settled on top of her, her legs wrapping around him almost automatically. She cupped his shoulders with her hands and looked up at him with bewilderment.

“I just…”

“Hm?”

She flushed all over again and he mentally reviewed the things that didn’t make her blush: climbing him like a tree, riding him like a pony (but that had been in the dark) shagging him frantically in the graveyard, or up against a wall where she worked. But passionate as she was in the dark, she was shy about the light. “Hm.”

“Is it always like this?”

“You mean…? No.” He said finally. “For you…”

“Even….?”

He paused for so long she was afraid she’d said something she shouldn’t.

“No. Not even then.” He looked not at her, but elsewhere, and then at her again, rather mischievously. “You?”

Buffy blushed all over again.

“No.”
He kissed her again, savoring the taste of her mouth, the way she pulled away periodically to sigh, which was wonderful because then her breasts crushed even harder against him. She was trembling, too, so much that it worried him enough to stop and look down at her. She looked up at him with wide eyes, almost curiously. Then she shook her head and asked,

“Who are you?”

“I hope this isn’t the point at which you usually ask that question, luv.”

She actually smiled at that.

“No, who are you?”

She traced his cheek with the backs of her fingers. “You’re so…” Her voice had dropped to a whisper. She touched his mouth with just one fingertip, her eyes fixed on his, intense, still with that same expression of curiosity. “I don’t know you.” She whispered.

 
“Yes, you do.” He couldn’t figure out why, but it was very necessary to duplicate her whisper. “You’ve known me all along. Since….”

 
“No, just since..I don’t know.”

He realized why she was whispering, then; she couldn’t raise her voice because it would be too unsteady.

“But now….”

She was blushing furiously, her usual response to any intense emotion, but she kept looking into his eyes, unabashedly, making him drown, making him shiver, too, with something that felt almost like heat, even him, a cold creature who’d been so long without he could barely remember it. Then she pulled him down and kissed him hard, saying things she couldn’t put into words, shoving him over on his back, and then she was gone.

 
“Huh?”

Spike lifted his head and looked at Buffy, kissing her way down his body, her warm hand cupping his erection and she sucked on his nipples, then his navel.

“Did Adam and Eve have navels?” He thought suddenly, which made almost as much sense as Buffy, working her way down his suddenly tense body, because there was no way she was going to…

But she did. Oh, God, this just wasn’t happening, her mouth was so hot, and she was tasting him like he was a lollipop, getting used to the flavor…

”Buff…What are you doing? Buffy, stop….”

She looked at him with an expression of bewilderment that he realized, could turn into offense in a heartbeat.

“Don’t you want me to?”

“Do you want to?”

Ah, wrong question. Oh, this was not happening, he wasn’t going to be able to stop, to last, she was acting as if he was delicious, the way she was, and oh, God, she was kissing his balls now, oh no, stop that, that was too much, it was just too much for him, good thing his heart didn’t beat, right about now it would be exploding…

Buffy watched his reactions, watched him twist, heaving himself up on his elbows, even while his head arched back. She took his penis back into her mouth, licking the slit, which made his whole body stiffen as if he’d been electrocuted.

“Oh, God, Buffy, I’m going to ---stop, I’m going to---OH---“

Buffy sucked so hard her cheeks hollowed, and Spike exploded, his hips helplessly jerking slightly, and his eyes squeezing shut as if he were in pain. He was utterly abandoned in his ecstasy, and Buffy thought mildly, that maybe he’d had a point. Now, if she was bored, she could just picture him, and well, that would certainly take her mind off her boredom. He was so beautiful, so lost in the pleasure she’d given him……

She crawled up him, just slightly, nestling his limp penis comfortably between her breasts. Spike, still breathing hard, looked down at her with almost alarm, shaking his head weakly.

“Who are you?”

 
She lowered her head to his stomach, and just looked at him.

“That’s when you usually ask that question?”

There wasn’t any progress on the monster, even though they went through pretty much every book in the Magic Box. Buffy wondered if their lack of progress might be partly due to the fact that she had spent the afternoon in bed with Spike, although, technically, it wasn’t in the bed after the first couple of times.

Progress was also not helped by the way he sat across from her at the table, his thumb circling a spot on the table in the exact same way he circled that spot on her cheekbone when he kissed her, the exact same way he circled her nipple.

He slouched bonelessly in his chair, which seemed to irritate Xander in some pissy little way that made Xander sigh repeatedly till Spike eyed him and said,

“Spring a leak, Floppy Boy?”

 
“Let’s go somewhere else.” Anya burst out suddenly.

 
“Where? The bridal shop?” Xander asked.

 
“We could stop there.” She said brightly. “But this is stupid; we’ve looked at everything, we’ve called Giles…”

“You, ah, called Giles?” Buffy asked carefully. “What did you say?”

“We told him about the frost monster.”

“Yeah, you could have told him yourself if you’d been around.” Xander said.

 
“Gee, the jobs cut into my chatting time,” Buffy said drily. She eyed him carefully, not certain of whether she should be cautious or not.

 
“She’s working every night,” Willow said. “Plus the patrolling, so Xander what’s your problem?”

 
“Nothing.” He muttered. “Nothing.”

 
“How about the Bronze?” Anya said eagerly.

 
“What?” Everyone said.

 
“How about the Bronze?”

 
“For what?”

“I’m sick of this.” She exclaimed. “We’ve done everything, and we still don’t know anything! This is pointless.!”

“Maybe she does have a point.” Spike said. “We could use a break.”

 
“Can we all fit in your car?” Buffy asked.

 
Xander drew himself up and glared at Spike, but before it went any further, Buffy glanced from one to the other, and inadvertently made things worse.

“I’ll ride with Spike. You guys go together.”

Xander kept silent except for a tight lipped, “Buffy, wear a helmet. Spike….Don’t wear one.”

Spike chuckled a bit at Xander’s glare, then zipped off, leaving Xander staring after them.

Chapter 4

“Xander, what is wrong with you?” Anya demanded

“Something’s going on with them.” He said tightly.

 
“What do you mean?” Willow asked.

Xander thought of actually telling what he suspected, but decided on a partial truth.

“I don’t know, I just think they’re spending too much time together. And Spike never stopped, you know, well, he just hangs around her all the time, and he’s got that accent, and he’s not bad looking, and she’s well, what kind of mood has she been in? She might do something stupid.”

 
“Spike’s not stupid.” Anya said thoughtfully.

 
“No, she wouldn’t…” Willow said worriedly. “It would be very unhealthy…he’s a bad person.”

“Well,” Anya said thoughtfully. “He did help a lot with us this summer.”

“That was just to make himself feel better after she died.” Xander said scornfully.

 
“How?” Willow asked softly. She looked as if she’d suddenly been zapped by something.

 
“What?”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Yes, it does, he knew he screwed up, he, ah…” Xander was starting to get nervous as it dawned on him that he’d said something entirely different from what he’d wanted to.

 
“It wouldn’t make him feel better.” Willow said softly. “It would make him feel worse, being reminded of her all the time. He couldn’t stand the Buffybot after Buffy died. You didn’t see him, Xander, but I did.”

“Well, he should have, that was disgusting.”

“And he did.” Willow pointed out with just a bit of impatience. “But if you look at what he’s done, you can’t say he’s still the same.” Almost cringingly, she glanced around. “He did help us a lot, and we never really thanked him.”

“Well, why should we? Thank you for not killing us this year? Thanks for not eating us? It’s just that chip.”

 
“The chip only stops him, Xander. It doesn’t make him do some of the stuff he’s done.”

“He just wants Buffy to be his—“

“Well, if he’s evil, there’s nothing to stop him from getting all kinds of minions to seize Buffy or something for him. If that’s all he wanted, he wouldn’t have been so broken up when she died… And then, with Glory…”

“Just trying to curry favor with Buffy so he could…”

“Xander, you’re not listening to me. She was going to kill him. If all he wanted was, well, well…just, you know….”

“That’s just what Spike said.”

“He never said that, Xander. And you saw him. You saw how badly he was beaten up. And you know Buffy was going to his crypt just to stake him.”

“So he saved his skin.” Xander said impatiently. “That’s what he’s always done.”

“You’re not listening to me, Xander.”

“Why do you care so much?”

“Because it’s not fair.” Willow said softly. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I did see what he was like after Buffy died.”

“Yeah, so…?”

“People change.” Willow said.

“He’s not a people, Will, he’s a vampire. He’s always been bad. And he’ll always be that way.”

Willow gave him a look. “Sure. And I’ll always be straight.” She gave him a look. “And maybe you will be, too.”

Spike sipped at his beer. “Don’t see them yet.”

“Not good.” Buffy said. “I bet they’re fighting. I just wonder who’s saying what.”

“Don’t worry. What would they do?”

“Well, you don’t care if they glare at you all the time…”

“They do that anyway.”

“And besides, they’ll probably give me the worst bridesmaid dress.”

“You look good in anything.” He leaned in very, very close. “Or nothing.”

She blushed furiously, and he wanted to kiss her badly it hurt.

“Ah. Judge Judy at three o’clock.” He nodded at an angry-looking little group approaching. “Just do what I do. Think of something else.” He smirked at her. “Me, for example. Naked.”

“That was helpful.”

“I aim to please.”

“Bastard.”

“I’ll have you know, my parents were married.”

“Shut up now.”

Bearing down on them, Willow studied the pair curiously, and she realized that Xander might be right. Buffy looked tense, but Spike looked entirely too relaxed, and he was leaning in Buffy’s direction, almost touching. Despite Buffy’s tension, there was something there, the way they were side by side, in almost identical positions. Buffy might be tense with the Scoobies, but she seemed entirely comfortable with Spike.  Willow studied Spike, wondering if her judgement could be trusted. How could she judge Buffy for finding someone when all she herself had done was lose someone?

Xander gave Spike a withering look, which wasn’t as effective as he hoped, because Spike just smirked at him and made a kissy face.

“You know what they say, Harris? There’s a very fine line between love and hatred.”

Xander leaped off his chair as if it had been electrified, mouth opening to shout, but he never got the chance. Anya kissed him, and rather than shove her away, he gave in. Everyone raised their eyebrows, including Spike, whose eyes were so big they almost fell out.

Anya let Xander go, and there was a moment of silence as they all looked around. Spike was too smart to say something else, and everyone else was rather stunned.

“That’s called incentive.” Anya said by way of explanation. “Come on, Xander, let’s dance. That way they can talk about us.”

 
There were looks exchanged around the table, and all of them were wide-eyed.

“Well.” Spike drawled. “I really don’t know who to feel sorry for there.”

“Spike…” Willow said.

“Hey, not my fault.” Spike countered. “Can’t help it. He doesn’t need to be talking to the Slayer like that.”

Buffy and Willow looked at him simultaneously, Willow with dawning comprehension on her face, Buffy with an exasperated fondness. Then Buffy realized that Willow was looking at her, so she turned, and saw what was written on her friend’s face. She blushed, and if Willow hadn’t been sure before, she was certain then.

“I, uh, need some air.” She mumbled, and got up and left.

Willow sipped at Xander’s beer, then turned and looked at Spike.
She looked at him for so long that he dropped his eyes, uncomfortable.

“Spike.”

“Willow.”

“If you hurt her, I will hurt you. I’ll come out of retirement for it, if you know what I mean.”

“You should ask whether or not she’ll hurt me. “ He said soberly. Then he got up and looked around for Buffy.

He found her on the catwalk, which was still covered with New Year’s decorations. If it hadn’t been for his vampire’s eyes, he would have missed her.

“What are you doing stuck up here?”

“She knows.”

“Yes, that she does. “ He lit a cigarette, hands shaking. She looked so forlorn he couldn’t stand it. “Buff…”

“I wanted them to find out differently. I didn’t want it to be this way.”

“Buffy, it’s just Willow. “

“I think Xander knows too.”

“How? It’s not as if he were Sensitivity Boy or something.” He shrugged. “You were going to tell them eventually, weren’t you?”

“As soon as I figured it out myself. I haven’t figured it out myself.”

“Have you really tried?” He blurted out before he could stop himself.

“Yes, I have!” She was angry for a moment, then she was sad all over again. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I don’t know where I belong any more.”

She looked at him with such a wounded look on her face that he couldn’t think of anything to do but fling his arms open, partly in exasperation, partly in offer. What he didn’t expect her to do, however, she actually did: She gave him another one of those sad looks, then stepped into his arms and wrapped her arms around him.

“I’m so scared.” She whispered.

“Why?”

“Them.”

“What they’ll do?”

“Yes.”
“ I need them.”

“What about me?”

Buffy looked at him, gulping, and abruptly pulled away.

“I don’t want to, but I do.”

She stared down at the dance floor, braced against the railing. Spike tried to find something good in that statement, and decided to settle. He stepped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in her neck, but she flinched.

“I’ll make you want me.” He whispered.

“Don’t.”

He pressed tighter against her, sliding his arms up her stomach, cupping her breasts, feeling her nipples harden. She gulped.

“Stop that.”

“Why? How many times have we done this?” He whispered. “You always come after me, or actually, most of the time, it’s before and after, isn’t it? You come to me in the darkness, and you keep me there. Here’s the darkness, then, luv. What if your friends really find out?”

He slipped one hand down, down, downward, under her dress---odd how she’d started wearing dresses again, all of a sudden---and slipped under her panties, to find her already wet.

“Guess this’ll be another time, won’t it.”

“Stop,”

She sounded seriously annoyed now and he really didn’t know where he was going, except right to the edge. He stroked her cleft repeatedly, till she was shuddering, and then she reached up with one hand and pulled him roughly till she could kiss him.
Between kisses, he took her other hand and put it on his crotch. She kissed him harder, and grabbed him so tightly he almost exploded right there.

“What if they see us, Buffy? We’re right here, what if they see us, what if they notice we’re both gone, what if they find us? Would you stop? Could you stop? What if you’re coming, could you stop, could you---“

He unzipped his pants, and shoved them down just enough to free his cock, which bounced eagerly against her bottom. She shoved back against him, breaking the kiss with a loud smacking noise.

“What? You sure? What’ll happen, Buffy, they’ll find us? What if we have to stop? They’ll see, they’ll see….”

He pulled his hand from her wetness and she gasped, then gasped even louder, as he pulled her hips back against him. His erection slipped between her legs, and slipped back and forth against her slippery cleft. She gasped again, and he muttered,

“Arch your back a bit, luv, let me inside, let me…”

She did exactly that, and he shoved inside her to the hilt. She let out a groan that she wasn’t able to contain, and he matched it with one of his own.

“They’re going to find us, Buffy, what are you going to say? I’m good enough for the darkness, aren’t I?”

 He rocked against her, barely moving, while Buffy clutched the rail, and tried not to make any noise. Ridiculous. They had never done it like this before, and it felt different, deeper, harder. She felt his coat falling about her, and thought dimly that nobody could tell anyway, because he was barely moving, and his hands were locked on the railing outside of hers. And it didn’t last long; a few more hard thrusts, and he was sagging against her, sliding out of her, and she realized he had deliberately taken her for his own pleasure and left her hanging.

 
”That’s what you’ve been doing to him.“
No.
That’s exactly it. He makes you forget. He makes you feel, and he loves you, how could he turn away from you? He thinks this is as close as he’ll ever get to you. “

She turned around, almost tripping over her panties, which had wound up around one of her ankles. He was shamefacedly pulling his pants up, tucking himself in, looking embarrassed, almost ashamed of himself, and she found that she just could not stand for him to look like that.

She pulled her panties up, then off, because one side had been ripped entirely away, and it made no sense to try and salvage them. She couldn’t figure out how they got that way. He took a step toward her, then hesitated, obviously expecting her to be angry, and instead was totally surprised to find her pulling him to her by the lapels and kissing him sweetly.

”She’s just making up to you,” Spike’s inner voice pointed out.
”I don’t care. She’s kissing me. This is all I’ve got”.

”Um, Buffy?”

They tore apart, shocked, to look at Willow, standing tentatively on the landing for the catwalk. Her face was almost as red as her hair.

“Uh…Uh…Guys?” She cleared her throat. “Um, we’re leaving. It’s boring here, so we’re taking off.”
”So were we”, thought Spike. “What did she see?”

Buffy swayed next to him, and he grabbed her arm.

“’s okay, Slayer.” I hope.

Chapter 5

Spike slid one leg over the windowsill and then looked speculatively at the ground two stories below. If he jumped, there was grass, he wouldn’t make any noise, he’d get away clean, and all he’d have to do was deal with it tomorrow. But…

He sighed, something he had gotten very used to doing, and ducked under the windowsill. Shoving it up higher would just make more noise. He dropped his coat on the floor, and pulled off his shoes, thinking the same thing. Then, still thinking, hm, window’s only ten feet away, he went to the bathroom door and peered inside.

 
For a moment, Buffy didn’t notice him. It wasn’t like she could see him in the mirror or anything. Besides, singing into the shampoo bottle like Britney Spears seemed to be taking up so much of her concentration that she wasn’t even aware that her nipples kept bobbing up and down out of the suds, which seriously eroded his concentration. Then she tossed her head a little too enthusiastically, and noticed him. It didn’t appear that it was her nudity that she was concerned with; it was the fact that she’d been caught performing the ouvre of Ms. Spears that paralyzed her. Then she recovered, tossed her head----sending suds everywhere-----and glared at him.

 
“Well, well,” he drawled. “Don’t you look all…minty fresh.”

He pulled his shirt off, then shucked his jeans off. She eyed him warily, but he slid in behind her without a problem, and began scrubbing her sudsy hair, while she glanced back at him suspiciously. Bit by bit, she relaxed, and she leaned back against him, hands dropping to his thighs and sighing. He could even see the tension seep out of her bit by bit as he scrunched her hair and then rinsed it off with the sprayer.

He rather wondered what other uses the sprayer could be put to, but it seemed like a really good idea to let that one go till later. Then he got to work on her back, squeezing and rubbing, paying special attention to the tension knotted up in her tight shoulders. She leaned forward to add more hot water to the mix and let out some of the cooling shallows they lounged in. Then she leaned back against him.

He settled back against the porcelain slope, and tried to ignore the coldness of the surface beneath his back. After all, she was relaxing against him, and bit by bit his own tension seeped away. The heat of the water soaked into his bones, and so too, he feared, was the scent of frangipani that pervaded the bathroom.

“Bet that’ll scare demons”, he thought idly. “If for no other reason than sheer surprise”.

But she was all slippery and soft between his legs, and he felt no urge to talk whatsoever. Her whole body was slippery and warm and wet and she was utterly boneless against him. She subsided against him peacefully, almost asleep, and although his instincts told him it was a bad idea, his common sense argued relentlessly for it.

“Slayer.” He whispered. “You don’t want to fall asleep in a tub.”

 
“No.” She muttered. “I want to….”

Then she turned, nudging against him, her lips finding his, and she sighed against him. What startled him was that she felt so bonelessly relaxed against him, her lips gentle and soft on him. He wanted only to cup as much of her skin against him as he could, and do that for several centuries. They kissed for years, turning, twisting, mmmmm-ing against each other, he stroking her back without even being even aware of it, and she….was holding his face in her hands, as if sheltering it.

He recognized this as something she wasn’t even aware of, and one day, he wanted to experience all of her secret little signals at once. There was the blush, the tremble, the sigh, the mmmm, the suddenly held breath, and best of all, the kitten gasp. She was utterly unaware of most of them, and he wanted to keep it that way.

 
He clutched her hair in both hands, and tried to concentrate on her mouth. Maybe it was the water; he felt so calm, so soothed…Maybe it was her. The thought made his lips quirk up a bit and Buffy felt it and looked at him. She didn’t say anything-verbally, that is, but she raised her eyebrows.

“Enjoying the novelty,” he explained. “You, me, and no fighting.”

Or anything else, he could have added, but it was rather nice. Buffy gave him one her patented Buffy shrugs, and snuggled against him once more, her breasts soft against him, her hands caressing his shoulders. Finally she just laid her head on his shoulder, and almost but not quite yawned.

“Long day at the office?”

Buffy actually thought about it. First, the nightmares, then working late---and him. Then tiptoeing home, and well, not sleeping really well. Then more patrolling---and him. Then the Magic Box, and the Bronze---and him. And now. And Willow.

 
“I have to talk to Willow.”

He hesitated for a long time. “What, exactly, did she see?”

“Us kissing.”

 
He figured pointing out the use of the word ‘us’ was not a good idea just yet.

“When are you going to talk to her?”

“Not now.” She said emphatically.

 
“Okay.”

 
She snuggled again, and he wondered if he’d been forgiven.

“Buff?”

“No talking.”

“No?”

“Well…”

She picked her head up, gave a little yawn, and looked at his face. She gave him a sleepy little smile and then kissed him again. He could feel her smiling while she did it. He traced stupid things on her back, wondering how tired she was. She sighed mid-kiss, and he figured that was it; she was a rag doll now.

“C’mon, Buff, up you go.”

“Hm?”

“Water’s cold.”

With her grumbling and muttering in a not very effective way, he pulled her to her feet, and grabbed a towel. Suds went everywhere, but his hands didn’t, carefully avoiding all erogenous zones. She tried to return the favor, but she was so tired, her coordination wasn’t the best. They tripped and stumbled over each other, till he managed to wrap a big towel around her and hold her up that way. He dumped her on the bed, and yanked the covers back, and she nuzzled into them and closed her eyes. He went back to the bath to get his clothes, and returned to the bed uncertainly with them in his hands. Buffy opened one eye.

“What are you doing?”

He cocked his head at her. She rubbed the bed next to her.

“C’mere.”

He didn’t need a second invitation, climbing in beside her. She didn’t open her eyes, draping her self over his chest and shoulder, and stroking his chest once, twice, three times…and then snoring. He glanced down. She was comatose.

“Poor Slayer”, he thought. “But lucky me.”

 
He dozed off himself.

Chapter 6

“But, Buffy, did you do anything to lead him on?”

Oh, this was the bad dream. Not good. Even in the dream, she wondered how come her mother didn’t notice she was sleeping in her bed with Spike. Couldn’t she just be happy to see her again?

 
“I hit him a lot. For Spike that’s like third base.”

“Are you sure that’s all?”

In the dream, it was apparent that her mother, while not being aware that Buffy was dreaming this beside Spike, was nevertheless aware of recent events, at least the ones that had brought the house down. Buffy cringed, watching her mother mentally the review all the things she and Spike had done to each other.

“That’s sort of disgusting, isn’t it, Buffy? He’s a vampire. But then who else would want you?”

Buffy sighed deeply and opened her eyes. Spike was curled up against her back, almost as warm as she herself was, the aftereffects of the bath and the warmth of the bed. She looked down and saw one of his hands curled loosely around her waist, its nails painted black as usual.

“Oh, God, I am so not ready for this.”

It seemed to slam into her with all its messy implications. I am sleeping with Spike, literally. Sleeping with him. What if I fart or something in the night? An entirely gradeschool-like terror of the male species descended on her for a moment. Having sex? One thing. Sleeping together, arms wrapped around each other, naked, no barriers, that, that was entirely something else, and how had this happened?

She wondered if Maggie Walsh had actually conducted a good class; what about that dream interpretation stuff? She was afraid of being found out, she could figure that one out. But why was it anyone else’s business? Why? If it was okay for Xander and Anya…

Buffy sat up abruptly. Spike sighed in his sleep next to her, then snapped his eyes wide open, the actions of someone all too used to uneasy sleep. He blinked at her back a few times. She clutched the sheet to her chest, knowing he was awake, and determined to avoid him.

Spike eyed her vertebrae skeptically. Maybe, he thought, phrenology wasn’t such an inexact science after all. Buffy’s spine seemed to be composed of two complete opposites: resignation and just plain aversion. He’d never known a woman whose body could well, embody such complicated emotions. He figured if he tried to touch her, she’d snap and shatter like some long-dead relic.

“Buff?”

If anything, her spine slumped even more. So that’s what osteoporosis looks like, he thought.

“Nightmare?”

“Nightmare.”

 Then she shrugged. Ah, Spike realized. Bad nightmare.

“Just a dream. Go back to sleep.”

“Not now.”

“Was I in it?”

She turned and glared at him, oddly perking him up. At least if she was pissed, that was better than the moping-around stuff. He sat and propped himself against the headboard, without covering himself up. Let the sheets fall where they may.

Buffy glanced over her shoulder at him, then flushed and hiked the sheet tighter around herself, which, while indicating a great deal about her mind set, was otherwise next to useless. He could see all of her back from where he was. He stretched out leg and prodded her back with his foot. She gave him another profoundly pissed look over her shoulder, and then, after shifting around, wiggled to the opposite corner of the bed, and glared sullenly at him while clutching the sheet to her breasts. He didn’t quite smile at her, but something about her modesty touched him enough to keep his mouth shut. He leaned forward, slowly, and she just looked at him, he took the edge of the sheet and slowly pulled it toward him.

 
“Stop.”

 
“I’ve no intention of acting all Amish now, luv.” He whispered.

She clutched the sheet to her breasts, and then he pulled it toward him, exposing first her breasts, which she crossed her arms over, then the rest of her.

“I could look at you forever, if you’d let me.”

He dragged the sheet down her legs, which she crossed to go with her arms, but it was a start. He leaned back against the headboard and waited. Her face was flushed, and she looked down, but she made no effort to retrieve the sheet.

 
“It’s customary to return a compliment with a compliment.” He pointed out helpfully.

Which wasn’t helpful, because all of a sudden she had to look up at him. If anything, she got even redder. He didn’t have an erection or anything, and the two of them were eyeing each other from their respective corners of the bed like wary boxers, but at least she was looking at him, instead of scurrying to get dressed or something.

 
”Wonderful, just wonderful”, Buffy thought. “This is so clinical”.

Except it wasn’t, not with Spike giving her the Spike look, and the knowledge that she could just look at him forever. Every time she’d looked at him before, it had been out of the corner of her eye, or while kissing, or in the middle of frenzied sex, so she hadn’t had the time. He was completely unconcerned about it, although he did spare a thought for certain shrinkage issues, he being more sensitive to cold than a human male.

 
It would be so much easier staying away from him, if he had been ugly, Buffy thought:

“God, I’m so shallow.” He was so lithe, all cat’s muscles and long lines, and he felt as good as he looked. “Oh God. Why did I think that?”

 
Buffy wondered if she thought about baseball scores or something, she could ignore the naked vampire in her bed, looking at with sloe eyes, his hair all rumpled from sleeping. She especially liked it when it was like that, and usually she was the one who’d done it. Think of something else. Something else.

 
“What….?”

“Hm?” Spike cocked his head curiously at her. “You said something?” They were both whispering.

 
“What were you…?”

“I’m sorry?”

“What were you like….?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What were you like when you were human?”

Spike, who had been contemplating what was visible of her breasts, and wondering why women didn’t just spend all day naked in front of the mirror doing jumping jacks, was caught badly off guard.

“Wha….Huh?”

“What were you like when you were human?”

The full meaning of that sentence sank in slowly, along with a feeling of dread. He blinked several times, as the complete horror of his situation hit him. He froze as he considered the truth:

“Well, luv, I was the most pathetic twat you’d ever seen. Horrifying hair, prissy, never got laid till Dru, and the poetry…! Oh, God, I’d forgotten the poetry! Although, now that I think about it, I doubt very much that anybody who had to listen to it, ever forgot it. You see, that’s why I offed everybody; I didn’t want anybody telling exactly how ghastly was my verse. Sad but true. Doesn’t that make you feel all amorous all of a sudden? Care for a shag?”

Then he considered lying, but that was even worse. He was an awful liar; the unvarnished truth was usually far more effective, but it was quite different to find one’s self on the spot all of a sudden. He’d always done his best work there not by actually telling lies, but by not telling any bloody thing at all. Planting an idea and letting others run with it. Hinting, implying, speculating in careful not-quite finished sentences, that was the ticket.
But now…?!

Oh, this was priceless, he thought. Priceless. If he told her the truth, that would certainly douse the inferno they had going. End of story. She might feel sorry for him, but he’d bet it was a very platonic kind of sorry. And if he lied, he’d do it so badly she was bound to find out, and then whatever little headway they’d made would be blown to hell anyway. And what on earth could he make up anyway?

‘Yeah, babe, I was a..a…’

Crap, he’d already implied as much.

“Bugger”. He thought. “‘Yeah, baby, I’ve always been bad.’ Oh, bloody hell. “

Buffy looked at curiously, wondering why Spike of all people, who loved nothing so much as to hear himself talk, was suddenly silent. It did give her extra time to study him further, time she spent gainfully by eyeing his arms with wide eyes. For some odd reason, she was acutely conscious of how different their bodies were, and it wasn’t a sexual realization. She eyed his Adam’s apple, and wondered why on others, she’d never noticed. He was just so…different. He was also silent, still. She was the one to come over all puzzled. Then she realized the significance of it. He wasn’t answering a simple question; it was worse than she’d feared. Was he worse than Angel? After all, the chronicles had said his nickname was “William the Bloody.”

Spike saw her puzzled look turn to worry, and he did what all men do, even vampires, when confronted with the relationship equivalent of ‘Does this make my butt look big?” He bailed.

“It’s getting close to daylight, pet. I better go.”

“Huh?”

He rolled off the bed, too fast to notice Buffy’s consternation, the surprise of someone who hadn’t actually considered not spending the rest of the night alone. He yanked on his jeans, boots, found his tee shirt, then picked up the coat.

“Buff, I gotta go.”

“Wait.” Buffy whispered.

Too late.

Chapter 7

Spike’s feet hit the ground and he immediately wondered if it was too soon to climb back up to her window.

“Crap,” he muttered. He turned around under her window, and looked up, planning the assault.

“Hm. I’m a git, here’s the deal. I was…Argh. Bloody hell”’

 A vivid mental image of his former self, curls and all, appeared in his fevered brain, and he winced, wondering if there was some way that could possibly be tweaked to be, well, something less git-like. He took a breath, assessing the tree he’d climbed so much earlier in the evening and had just descended, wondering how he was going to handle this.

“Spike?”

“Gah!”

He jerked around at the sight of a disembodied head floating at the corner of the house, but it was just Dawn, eyeing him curiously. At four AM. What the hell? He glared at her severely, but she was unimpressed.

“What are you doing here?” He snapped at her.

“What are you doing here?” She repeated pointedly. “Looking at Buffy’s window?”

Perfect excuse, even though he didn’t like to lie to the kid. Just some things she wasn’t ready for.

“And your point would be?”

He lit a cigarette, and tiptoed toward the back porch, trying not to look like he was tiptoeing.

“Well, I thought maybe you were here to talk about my route, you know….”

She shrugged in a very self-effacing way that was so Buffy and Joyce-like that he stared, simultaneously touched and freaked at the same time. He regrouped and plunged in.

“What route would that be?”

He sat next to her on the deck, patting the wood next to him, and exhaling a smoke ring. Dawn cocked her head and grimaced at him, or perhaps the smoke, but she sat. They stared into the Summers back yard for several minutes, Dawn sleepily, and Spike with a certain degree of panic. There was a five second rule for retrieving fallen cookies from the floor, and there was a totally arbitrary time limit for retrieving one’s ass from one’s girlfriend after it had been pitched into the fire. He was afraid he was getting close to his expiration date. He also had the distinct impression that Dawn had something on the tip of her tongue, and was reluctant to spit it out. Family trait, that.

“All right, kid, what is it?”

“Buffy didn’t ask you?”

“She might have mentioned it, but you know how fast she talks. Why don’t you fill me in?”

“Well.”

Dawn took a deep breath and clasped her hands between her knees. He saw for the first time she was wearing her jammies, which had little white sheep and moon and stars printed all over the tops and bottoms. She was also wearing little cow slippers; it was these that caught his eye, because they so perfectly embodied all her contradictions.

Catching his glance, she grinned in a nose-wrinkling way he could’ve sworn he hadn’t seen since the spring, and stomped one foot down, hard, on the deck. The slipper mooed. He blinked. Dawn did it again, and he shook his head, rather disturbed. The second demonstration sounded as if the cow was in pain..or heat. Either way, definitely a fine end to a very odd day.

 
“Well, I like them.” Dawn said rather sullenly.

Aha. Now he knew what he was dealing with: 100% sulking American teenager, a creature much easier to deal with the half sulky/ half sweet Dawn who kept changing her moods as fast as….well, her sister.

He exhaled more smoke, and Dawn winced. She waved her hand in front of her face, and he was amused to see it; his smoking had never before bothered her, so he wondered exactly where she’d gotten that habit. Someone new she was hanging about with, maybe? He made a mental note to explore that area later.

“So?” He prodded.

“Well, I want to get a paper route.” She blurted out.

He sighed, knowing where this was going. Good lord, Buffy was working in that awful place, now Dawn wanted a paper route. He knew perfectly well why she wanted one, but it had to be asked.

“Why?”

“Because…”

Dawn sighed an exact copy of his sigh, and he bit back a smile at that. It was obviously a delaying sigh, exactly as his had been, and he could see her weighing her options in her head. Explanation, or just spit it out?
She spit it out.

“We need the money.”

“Buffy told you this?”

“Oh, no,” she said disgustedly, irritated at not being kept informed. It had clearly never occurred to her that Buffy wanted to spare her any adult worries. “But I hear stuff, so I know.”

“What about your Dad?”

Dawn waved a hand dismissively.

“He’s off boinking his secretary and pretending he doesn’t have us.”

Spike flinched at her careless dismissal of her father, then wondered at the practiced way she’d said it. Then he wondered at the man who could ignore his girls in favor of some….
Dawn interrupted his thoughts.

“So I know I eat a lot, and there’s bills and stuff…”

And that way, if I pay some of the bills, people will have to pay attention to me. If I help pay, then I get to decide stuff, too.
I want cable.

“You don’t eat a lot.”

“Well, we don’t have a lot of stuff anyway.”

Spike looked at her, puzzled, and she tossed her head, then jumped to her feet, and led him into the kitchen.
She wasn’t exaggerating; there were lots of things like crackers and pasta in the cupboards, but there was nevertheless lots of bare space there. The fridge was even worse; only one shelf was half full, and there were only a few things scattered on the rest. Dawn caught his eye and shrugged.

“Mostly, that’s Willow’s.”

“Meaning, hers alone?”

“No. Another shrug. “She says we can eat it, but she never has anything we like.”

Hm. Hm indeed. He sat down at the table, and ran his hands through his hair.

“Does Willow pay rent?”

“I don’t think so.” Dawn said doubtfully. She hopped up on the counter, and poured herself a glass of water. “So what do you think?”

“How, exactly, do you have a paper route with a broken wrist?”

“That’s where you come in.”

Spike closed his eyes, suddenly picturing himself sullenly hawking papers on street corners while wearing a newsboy cap or something. So much for the Big Bad.

“So…” he said dryly. “I do the actual paper delivering, and you get the money?”

“No!” Dawn giggled, as if affronting his vampire dignity was amusing. “No, no, you just drive me there and drive me down the street while I toss the papers.”

“Can you even throw papers like that?”

“They said I’d have to wait till my arm was better. But I got up early today so I could see what it’s like.’

“Well. Did you?”

“Did I what? See….how it was getting up early?” She shrugged. “I pretty much already know what that’s like. I really haven’t slept later since Mom died.”

He paused for a moment, thinking of Joyce.

“Did you think of any reasons why this might not be such a good idea?”

“Vampires?”

“Well, yeah…”

“And what else?”

“Demons?”

“And uh, other things…Is that why there aren’t any paper boys in Sunnydale?”

“Could be. What made you want this particular job?”

“I don’t want Buffy’s kind of job. You just do this and it’s over for the day.”

“It’s a daily?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.”

Dawn looked in his eyes, and saw him wavering, why, she didn’t know. She knew he’d help her, he always helped her….

“There’s got to be a better way, Niblet.” He said slowly. “There just has to be. Is it really that bad?”

“It’s not good,” Dawn countered. “Buffy has a whole drawer full of those bills. And she’s tired all the time.”

“She didn’t seem too bad…” Spike stopped himself abruptly. Oh, no, she hadn’t seemed too bad, but had he actually seen her working?

“She’s working a lot.” Dawn’s tone seemed an equal mix of resentment and worry.

“Too much?”

He hadn’t been paying any attention to much else outside of her that night, and to be honest, there hadn’t been a lot there; just her, and the store. What had he missed?

“Much too much.” Dawn clarified. “She’s never home.” She looked at him suddenly. “What, did you see her?”

“Huh?” Spike blinked at her, caught. “Yes. Ah, yes, I did.”

“So? Wasn’t she tired?”

Spike considered his options very carefully.

“You know, I wasn’t paying attention to that.”

“You were probably just, you know, paying attention to her…”

“Hey!”

“Oh, come on, Spike, I totally know how you feel about her…”

“Subject is closed, Niblet.”

“So, are you going to do it?”

“I have to think about it.”Spike said. “And there’s something I have to do first.”

If you like 'Affinity' so far check out Ginny's site for the rest Once Is Not Enough.

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