Completed November 18, 2001

Spike listened carefully at the door to the stock room before he opened it and slipped through. You never could tell when those Scoobies might be having an after-hours planning session.

Or, when Xander and Anya might be using the research table for something other than research.

Spike shook his head to dispel the memory of seeing Xander in carpenter dilecto. They hadn't noticed Spike there before he scrambled and left, but remembering it brought up two sore subjects (as well as a blindingly horrific mental picture).

First, Xander was having more sex than he was. Mostly, because any sex at all would be more than Spike was having.

Second, thinking about sex made him remember his all-too-brief snogging sessions over the past week with Buffy. And those were a sore subject, indeed.

Literally sore, in fact. His body had sung, vibrated, almost felt alive while he was kissing her, but there was physical pain after each time she'd abruptly left him.

Yes, he'd wanted her, wanted to lure her back to his crypt and break in his new bed. And when she'd run out on him instead, he'd expected the kind of pain his frustrated body would feel in response.

What he hadn't expected was how tortured his broken, confused heart would be. And while he was used to thinking about her at all hours of the day and night, awake and in his dreams, he'd had no idea how tormented his mind would become, replaying each kiss again and again. Wondering where it went wrong. Wondering if he'd ever had a prayer of it not going wrong, and if he'd done something, or failed to do something, and that was why she'd left him.

He sighed, standing near the scented candles display in The Magic Box. He was all at once both relieved and disappointed to be alone.

No point in hanging about, he thought. Might as well do what I came here to do.

He headed for Buffy's training room, wondering if she'd be pleased, horrified, or even worse, ambivalent at the thought of him using it.

Spike found the roll of tape Buffy used to wrap her hands when she worked out with the punching bag, and used it himself. Not that he needed to, but he got some comfort from doing something he could easily imagine her doing. Made him feel closer to her, somehow.

Fat bloody chance of that, he thought. She'd made it quite clear each time he'd tried to talk to her about their stolen kisses that she never intended to get close to him again.

He placed a jab in the center of the punching bag, and was disgusted to see how little the bag shook in response.

My heart's not in it, he thought, as he began a second, slightly more serious attempt.

A flurry of punches punctuated with a head butt seemed to distress the bag a little more than his first effort. But fighting a motionless, brainless bag was boring.

Just one step below fighting a grave-fresh, newly-sired vampire, he thought.

He tried to bob and weave around the bag, but he felt pretty silly dancing around an inanimate object.

How could Buffy train this way? What could this possibly teach her?

She doesn't need to learn anything about how to throw a punch, he thought. He'd been on the receiving end of enough of them to know her technique was flawless.

Maybe her training was more mental. Focus, or some rot like that.

"Give me a good, wily opponent any day," he said to the bag, as he punched it again.

He unleashed another battery of punches and weaves, this time trying to focus his frustration and confusion into physical energy.

Now, this is better. Bit of focus, and—

"Whatcha doin', Spike?" Buffy stood in the doorway, interrupting Spike's internal monologue.

The sound of her voice stopped him immediately.

"I'll go," he said, looking down at the floor.

"You didn't answer my question."

"I was training. I don't have the equipment, so sometimes, I borrow yours."

"That explains how my tape's been getting used up so fast."

"Sorry 'bout that. But I'll be off now, so you can work without the likes of me to distract you."

"You aren't very good, you know."

He looked at her in surprise. He wasn't shocked that she'd go out of her way to say something to drive him away. That was an old trick of hers. But to call him a poor fighter...

"I've held my own with you often enough, Slayer."

"Oh, I'm not talking about actual fighting. I'm just talking about your training technique. You're not putting enough power into it."

He couldn't think of a good reason for her to engage him in conversation, as she'd been making an art out of the science of avoiding him in the past week. But he wouldn't be the one to remind her that she was, apparently, repulsed by him.

"Don't fancy this kind of training. I prefer fighting against something that can fight back. Surprise me. Keep me on my toes."

"But you should still be putting more power into your punches. You'll learn bad technique."

"More power, eh?"

Buffy just looked at him, silently. Spike wondered if she was weighing her next move, or merely waiting for him to leave. After a long silence, he was certain she was about to ask him to go so she could train in peace. But to his surprise, she continued the conversation.

"Why don't you just change?" she asked him.

"Are you blind, woman? Can't you see I'm trying to change? I haven't thought about feeding in months, and yesterday I actually paid for something instead of just nicking it. What else do you want? Just want to have a pile of good excuses to torture me?"

Buffy cleared her throat, and she looked quite uncomfortable.

"Uh, Spike? That's not what I meant. By 'change'. I was asking why you don't just go into vamp face while you're training. Ang—someone told me once that a vampire has more power after they've gone all bumpy and fangy."

"Oh," was all he could manage in reply.

They stood, each holding up their end of the uncomfortable standoff.

"How about we train together?"

"I don't know if that's—"

"It's not an invitation to do anything else, you know. It's just...it's not a good idea for me right now."

"Well, that's entirely up to you, Love."

"That's not what you sang."

"I never wanted you to hear any of that. I begged you to leave."

"I didn't know your version of begging is opening your crypt door and practically pushing me through it."

"I seem to remember spending some time on my knees."

"But that was when you were asking for...something else," she replied, and blushed.

"Well, we both know that's never gonna happen. No use in sodding talking about it now."

"Why don't we just train, Spike?" Because it has to be easier than trying to talk to each other, her eyes told him.

"But the chip—"

"Won't let out a peep if you don't have any intention to hurt me, or so you've told me."

"Sure you don't want me to go?"

"Hitting that bag is boring. It's much more fun to hit you."

"I'm touched, Slayer, really," he answered, sarcastically.

She threw a punch at him, which he blocked just inches from his cheek.

"Less talk. More training," she said.

They circled, slowly, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

"One of us actually has to—ow!" Spike said, and realized he'd let his guard down to mutter his lame quip and Buffy had taken advantage of it.

He ducked her next punch, then caught her leg in mid-air when she tried to kick him in the stomach. He knew she'd never allow him to hold her off-balance like this, so he was prepared when she used her considerable strength to wrest her leg from his grip. He let go just as she reared against him, and she stumbled backward, losing her footing and falling to the ground.

He used the opportunity to jump on her, straddle her and try to hold her down. He held her hands together just over her head, and her face was a mask he couldn't read.

"That's the trouble with you, Slayer. You don't fight dirty enough."

He smiled at her, and found he'd allowed himself to become distracted again. She only needed a second of distraction to yank her right hand free, and she drove her fist upward into his chin.

She'd used enough of her strength that he was knocked backward, clear of her body, and she flipped herself back to her feet. Spike, too, recovered quickly. As soon as Buffy was upright again, she was blocking punch after punch as he advanced on her.

"Are you sure you're really trying?" she asked him, and then threw a punch of her own.

He responded by catching her fist in his hand, and he used his newfound leverage to turn her around. His arm settled around her neck, and he pulled her closer—not enough to choke her, just enough to show her that he could if he'd chosen to.

Buffy drove her elbow into his stomach, then pushed against his chest with her shoulder. When she'd put enough room in between them, she grabbed the arm he'd put around her neck and used it to throw him over her.

Turnabout is fair play, she thought, and she straddled him to hold him down as he'd just done to her, complete with pinning his hands above his head.

She'd known from the beginning of this really bad idea of hers that she'd be tempted to lose herself in kissing him again, and she felt the first urge roll over her as she held him down. She decided to start another conversation, just to keep her mouth away from his.

"Where'd you get the money?"

"What money?"

"The money you used to actually pay for something, instead of just stealing it, like you said."

"Pawned something."

"And was that something—stolen?"

"'Course it was. What did you think? That I was working the night shift at Burger Barn?"

"So the money you used, it was hardly clean, was it?"

"Well, no. I guess not. Listen, Slayer, you're not the only one who's had money trouble. Do you think I'd be any more successful in the forty-hour work week world than you were?"

"Spike, you're the only one I could imagine having more trouble than I did."

"And you have a social security number. If I was going to go honest, I'd have to nick one of those, and that's not really starting out on the right foot, is it?"

"You...you actually sound like you've thought about this."

"Don't get too excited, Slayer. I'm still the same old Spike you love to hate. Besides, it'd be hard for me to make a go of being on the right side of the law. I'd have to work some flunkie job for the rest of my life—It's hard to save for your golden years when your golden years can easily go on for-sodding-ever." He smiled at her again, more softly this time. "And if I got a regular-Joe night job, who'd be around to save your pretty—"

"Enough, Spike," she warned. She pressed harder into his wrists, holding him down. It brought her face closer to his, which she wasn't altogether displeased about. "That chip is really holding you back," she whispered, inches away from his mouth. "If you haven't been able to free yourself from this yet."

"Who says I want to?"

Buffy expected a lascivious smile, or at least a suggestive arch of his eyebrow. What she got was a million times more troubling. He simply looked at her, his desire for her plain in his serious features.

"This was a bad idea," she said, letting his hands go and standing up.

"I'm sorry," he said, quickly, and then changed his mind. "Know what, Buffy? I'm not sorry at all."

"Spike—"

"No. Just...don't. Do you think I like things the way they are?" He sat up and started ripping the tape from his hands as he spoke. "Do you think I don't know how much you need me to give you your sodding space, or how confused you are?"

"I didn't even think about—"

"And I didn't want you to. The last thing I wanted was to show you I'm just like all the rest of them, always wanting something from you, even if it tears you apart. I wanted to be different, I wanted to be whatever you needed me to be."

"Spike, I—"

"Let me—" he said, angrily, and then he composed himself. "Please, Buffy. Just let me finish."

Spike sat up, and Buffy joined him on the floor, unconsciously mirroring him.

"Go on," she said.

"Kept telling myself not to expect anything from you, just to enjoy anything you gave me on your own. I tried not to push you. I tried not to want anything from you, but I'll admit, that part was a bloody failure. I want you too much, I love you too much. I can't think anymore. After that first kiss, I swore I wouldn't bring it up, but I couldn't stop myself. I had to know. I had to know...why."

"But that's just it, Spike. I don't know why. I don't understand it. I don't fully understand why I keep coming back to you. If I knew...I'd tell you."

"If I thought I could do it, Buffy, I'd be exactly who you want me to be when you want me to be. And believe me, I tried."

"I know you did. And you're the only one who even thought about what I needed at all."

"This doesn't change our arrangement," he said.

"What arrangement?"

"To protect Dawn," he said, as if he was surprised she could have forgotten.

"To protect Dawn?"

"You told me to protect her. That night—when we fought Glory."

"Spike, that was months ago. Don't tell me you've been focused on keeping her safe all this time."

"You asked. I promised. End of story."

"So, all this hanging around, it's been to protect Dawn?"

"At first. Then, when you were back, I kept an eye on you too. Dawn needs her sister. Saw that this summer."

"Spike, I don't—"

"Why do you think I started training? I failed you that night. Not gonna let that happen again."

"I don't know what to say."

"Hey—Don't get the idea I'm obsessed with that promise. You know, I spent the summer doing things and wondering, 'is this is what Buffy would want me to do?' But I've managed to get into some trouble on my own. Man's got to have a life of his own."

"I agree, in principle. But I don't know about playing poker for domesticated animals."

"I knew that would get to you," he said, looking at her wickedly. "Wanted to get you riled up that night. Seemed like you were looking for trouble, so I thought I'd find you some. Even if it was just beating me to a pulp to defend the kitties."

"Don't give me that. You've played again, without having me there to annoy. That's why the loan shark—"

"Actually, Love, I haven't. The shark came after me because you let the kittens go. The bloke with the x-ray vision works for the shark. He told him I'd cheated, and then you'd stolen the pot."

"And they didn't come after me because I'm the Slayer?"

"No. I assumed the debt. I did cheat, you know."

"I hope you know I'm not giving them any kittens, Spike."

"'Course not. I'll take care of it. There are some other things I can offer him to cover the debt. Anyway, I kind of liked having him after me. Makes me feel alive."

Buffy looked at him, as if just staring at him would solve the puzzle of who he was.

"So, what are you living for, Spike?"

"Week ago, I would have said, 'you'. But I really am my own man, now. Maybe for the first time. I do things for my own reasons. I do some things wrong, but I'm doing more right than you might give me credit for."

"And you're still fulfilling your promise because...?"

"I choose to."

She laughed, and he looked at her, hurt.

"No, I don't mean it that way. I'm...I'm jealous of you, Spike. I wish I could do things without worrying about what everyone else expects all the time."

"You'll tell them to sod off when you're ready. Anyone can change," he looked at her pointedly. "You know, last night, I saved my tenth person this week."

"What are you talking about?"

"Since you've been avoiding me, I've spent my nights in the alley outside the Bronze. Waiting for some vamp to lure an unsuspecting human out there, then I save them."

"That's...I think that's great."

"Well, I think it's bloody awful," he saw her mild horror, and continued, "Not the saving part. But it made me feel like—Angel. And I hated that. If I act like that twit when I've got the chip, would I act like Angelus..."

"Without the chip," Buffy finished.

"Might as well stake myself now, right?"

"And ruin my fun?" she volleyed back at him. Bad habit, this banter addiction they seemed to bring out of each other.

"Who you'd be without the chip, I think it's up to you now, Spike. You know both lives now. But you have to know, if you ever went back to—"

"I know. Buffy. Stake. Spike. Dust." He leaned back on his elbows, trying to give her the impression he was able to relax around her. It wasn't true, and he doubted he was fooling her. His nerves were an inch away from breaking him whenever he was around her, especially since they'd kissed.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but don't make me do it, Spike."

"I don't want you to. And not just to save my own neck."

They looked at each other again, each of them trying to understand how they'd gotten here.

"I should go," Spike said, breaking the silence first. "It'll be daylight in only," he looked at the clock on the wall, "five hours from now."

She laughed again, in spite of herself. She stood, and put out her hand to help him up. She knew he didn't need her help, and also that she'd refused his help the last time he'd offered it similarly.

He looked at her hand, trying not to hope that it meant anything. He took it, and shuddered a little when their skin touched. He noticed Buffy flinch away from him, and he knew she'd noticed his reaction.

She pulled him to his feet, and he tried to find some way to explain it all away.

"I can try to put it behind me, Buffy. But I can't forget about my feelings for you overnight."

"I didn't mean to—I mean, I wasn't—"

"Don't worry about it, Buffy. As unhappy as I might be about it, you're right. You don't need this. Not now."

She hadn't let go of his hand, and he tried to pull it away. She still didn't release him.

"I don't know what I need. But I don't need to tell you that."

He wasn't sure how to answer, so he just took his free hand and used it to brush her hair back from her face.

"Whatever you need, Love, you'll find it. You just have to fake your way through until then." He knew it wasn't what she wanted to hear, but he also knew she didn't need a sugar-coated version of the truth.

"Maybe I'm overlooking what I need. Maybe it's right here, and I just can't see it."

"Buffy, I should g—"

Buffy silenced him mid-sentence, in one of the two ways it was possible to shut Spike up. In the past, a good punch seemed to get the job done. But now, she chose to cover his mouth with hers, ruining his attempt to leave graciously.

He pulled her gently toward him, cursing himself for not pushing her away. He wasn't sure he could endure her running from him a third time. It felt as if she was drinking from him instead of merely kissing him. No one—although there weren't many women before her for him to compare it to—had ever kissed him like this before.

Their kisses before had been desperate, filled with her blind need to feel something, anything. He'd felt like her life preserver, as if her life was drowning her and the only thing keeping her afloat was shocking herself into feeling something by kissing him.

Though it was pathetic, Spike hadn't cared. He'd grown to love and need her so much, he honestly hadn't cared how she kissed him, as long as she kept doing it.

But this...this was different. Several times, she pulled back from him to give him a deep, searching look, only to return to kissing him. He could feel her giving him more and more of herself.

His hands slid from her shoulders to her back, and he pulled her to him. His body tingled in every place they touched.

When she moaned, he thought he'd turn to dust right there.

A traitor within him began to insist they had to stop. She didn't know what she wanted, and he couldn't take another rejection. It would be better to stop now, for her to know he didn't want to take advantage of her. To know he could wait, he could be patient.

He pulled away from her, softly whispering her name.

She whispered his in response, and tried to pull him back.

"No, Buffy. We can't do this."

Hurt did not begin to describe the way she looked at him.

"Buffy, you said so, yourself. I—I don't want to stop. But I know you do. So I'll make it easier for you, and I'll be on my way."

"What if I've changed my mind?"

"I can't take this, Buffy," he said, hating himself for not just turning to leave. "The next time you kiss me, I want you to know you mean it. Nothing's changed here, tonight. You're still as confused as you've been, and I'm still the creature you thought of as beneath you. You'll hate me later, if I don't stop you now."

"Look at me, Spike. Do I look like I'm about to run away?"

He laughed. She gave him a 'what's so funny' look, which he felt deserved an answer.

"You're assuming I'm qualified to suss out what you actually mean and what you'll want to take back tomorrow. You obviously don't realize the effect you have on me."

He pulled her close again, moved his head in toward hers, and spoke against her lips.

"I can't think when I'm kissing you. I don't love you all neat and tidy. It's messy, and it's confusing, and it's the hardest thing I've ever had to do."

She closed the millimeter between their lips and drew him back into a kiss. Her hands slipped under his jacket, and she splayed her fingers at his waist. Her hands moved upward, enjoying the feel of his hard muscles through the thin cotton of his shirt.

He growled at her, a thin, human-sounding growl from deep in his throat. She relished the feeling of winning him over, overcoming his reservations. She realized, to her great surprise, that her own reservations seemed to have disappeared.

He held her head in his hands, her hair spilling through his fingers. She realized the old Spike would have used an opportunity like this, if he'd ever gotten one, to crush her skull between his hands.

The mental picture she got of that made her pull away from him.

"Spike, do you still want to kill me?"

His head retreated backward, surprise coloring his features until his obviously practiced, unaffected façade slipped into place.

"No."

She waited for him to explain further, but he didn't show any signs of continuing.

"That's it? Just, 'no'?"

"I considered, 'I know you won't believe me, but no'."

"You know, in every other second I've known you, I've never been able to get you to shut up. Now, just when I actually need you to explain something, you get closed mouth disease."

"The part of me that wanted to kill you died with you."

"You still wanted to kill me when—"

"I still wondered if I wanted to. If I would, without the bloody chip. When I saw you there, that night, not breathing..." He cleared his throat quickly and looked away. "I stopped wondering. I knew."

"Spike, I—"

"Listen, Buffy. I've been selfish. After we kissed the first time, I wanted to believe it all. That I'd changed, and that you'd noticed. But I know I haven't done enough changing, and you probably haven't done enough noticing. I'm not going to push you. I can wait a long, long time." He smiled wryly at her, "Long as you keep forgetting to stake me, that is."

"Can you do me a favor?"

"Anything," he said, and the look in his eyes told her he meant it.

"Shut up and kiss me again."

"I don't think you—"

"You said, 'anything'."

He shook his head, smiling at her and wondering if he'd ever really understand her.

"I never welsh out on a promise."

She stepped into the circle of his arms again, and they kissed as if they'd been doing it for a hundred years. Her hands slipped inside his jacket again, but this time she pulled against his jacket from the inside, trying to pull it down his arms. He tried to nudge her away, only to relent when he feared she'd tug hard enough to rip the leather.

He still wasn't convinced she wasn't about to come to her senses and kick him out. Until he decided she wouldn't, he'd really rather have more clothes on his body than on the floor.

Her hands guided his to her waist, where she started to pull her tank top out of her waistband. She didn't actually finish, and he realized it had been a suggestion to him. In one gesture, she'd managed to tell him, 'this is what I'd like you to do next'.

For Spike, it was like blinking and suddenly finding himself on a foreign continent. They were being so gentle with each other, a word he hadn't associated with this particular situation since his poetry and pining phase. He idly wondered if she was disappointed, if she expected something heated and violent from the monster she considered him to be.

He slid his hands under her shirt, and her warm skin flamed against the coolness of his.

"Bloody..." he whispered.

"...Hell," she finished for him.

"Buffy, do you—"

"Yes."

"You didn't let me finish," he protested, between kisses.

"Sorry."

"Do you trust me, I was going to ask."

She pulled back from him, which only made him more afraid of her answer.

"Yes," she answered, sounding surprised, herself.

"Why?" The question escaped before he could stop it.

She shrugged.

"There is no 'why' with trust. You either do, or you don't."

"What changed your mind, I mean."

"You did."

His mouth wandered and found the hollow just behind her earlobe. She gasped, and the thought that his touch could affect her at all destroyed the last of his reservations.

His hands, still under her shirt, started to pull the fabric slowly upward. She raised her arms to help, settling her hands at the waistband of his jeans when he was done. She yanked at his ever-present black t-shirt, and it soon followed hers to the floor.

He spread his right hand over her bare abdomen, and the other settled back at the nape of her neck. She was starting to get used to the feel of his hands under her hair—it was starting to feel familiar to her.

His hand snaked upward, hesitating for a few seconds just below her bra. She arched toward him, and the feel of her mostly-bare skin against his washed over him again.

He reached behind her, fumbled with the clasp of her bra a little, and then felt it come loose between his fingers. He gave her a little embarrassed look and wondered if she could tell his hands were shaking.

He ran one strap, then the other down her arms, and dipped his head to her nipple when he was done. Her skin tasted sweet under his tongue. He felt her shiver against him.

"Are you cold, Love?"

"Nnnnn-mmmmm," was all she could say.

Spike remembered he'd seen a short stack of training mats behind them, and he started to nudge her backward.

Buffy misinterpreted it as him pushing her away, and she clutched at him. He took a few steps with her, and she realized she was wrong. She glanced quickly over her shoulder to see where he was taking them, and understood. She walked backward with him until she felt the mats brush against the backs of her calves.

Buffy found the button and zipper that ran along her hip and undid them. She pushed downward, cursing herself for her taste in tight pants. She stumbled a little, and his sure hands on her shoulders steadied her.

She stood upright again, and found herself naked, in his arms. She felt young and stupid for feeling so self-conscious, and as he kissed her neck and murmured her name, she wondered why she was so embarrassed.

She had no teenage illusions about being fat when she wasn't. One of the few good side effects of being the Slayer meant she was always in top physical condition. And if the look in Spike's eyes had been any indication, he shared that opinion.

Yet, she still felt like hiding herself against him. And then it hit her. It wasn't her body she was self-conscious about. It was herself. Every other time she'd let a man this close to her, it had been a disaster. And deep down, she felt as if it was her fault.

This feels right, though, she thought. After all this running away and worrying, one stupid training session and some actual honesty, for once, just made it all feel right.

She let herself pull away from him to settle onto the pile of mats, lying on her side and propping herself up with her left arm.

She watched his eyes run the length of her body, then travel upward again to find her gaze in return. She half-expected (and half-wanted) him to say something to break the tension, but she realized the time for words had come and gone. They communicated now in a language of glances and gestures, touches and caresses.

His hands went to the fly of his jeans, but his eyes never left hers. She watched as he finished undressing himself, wondering how he could seem confident and vulnerable, all at the same time.

She slid over, and he joined her on the mat. She ran her hands over his bare shoulders as he leaned in to kiss her neck. He rolled her gently to her back, and his fingers traced slow, agonizing circles on her stomach. His hand slipped lower and lower, and her breath caught in her throat when his mouth moved from her neck to her lips.

She opened her mouth against his, and his tongue teased lightly against her teeth. His hand moved to her thigh, his fingers caressing the soft skin there. Their kiss deepened as his hand moved closer to where she wanted him to touch her, her breaths growing more and more hurried as he teased her.

She'd just begun to wonder how long he would wait when his hand moved upward, much further than he'd let it before, until it rested, feather-light, exactly where she needed him. She gasped against his mouth as his fingers started to brush slowly against her.

He leaned back from her, watching every shiver and reaction, learning her in a way that was so intimate, she had to shut her eyes.

"Look at me," he whispered, and she reluctantly opened her eyes again.

His eyes were on hers, and she struggled to maintain the contact. With her eyes closed, she could savor the feelings he awakened in her safely, with one last shred of privacy. But with them open, there was nothing left between them. He broke through every wall and every barrier she'd ever constructed around herself.

It was too much, and he seemed to sense that.

He leaned over her, his upper body covering hers. He kissed the hollow of her throat, then placed a trail of kisses along her collarbone. He continued downward, kissing her between her breasts, then her abdomen, then her stomach, and Buffy finally realized what he intended to do.

Her body tensed beneath him, and he froze. He wanted to do this for her, and if he was being honest, he wanted it too. He wanted to taste her, to know every part of her. He didn't want to pressure her into something she didn't want, but he also wanted her to know she didn't need to nurse any silly inhibitions with him.

He took a chance, and started moving downward again. Her body seemed to relax, and he continued kissing every inch of skin he passed. He reached her inner thigh, brushed his lips against it sweetly and gently, and he heard her breathing slow from the quick, panicked breaths she'd been taking. He reached up with his left hand and found her hand, lacing their fingers together.

He grazed his mouth along her skin as he moved between her legs. Her hand gripped his tightly, and he squeezed back. He gently nudged her legs a little further apart, and bowed his head to kiss her. He opened his mouth slowly, letting his tongue trace over her flaming skin.

Her hand nearly broke his as she tensed again, and he drew in a breath to cover his pain. He waited for her fingers to loosen, and then he covered her with his mouth. His tongue entered her, tracing her, and then he withdrew. He took the sensitive skin just above into his mouth, and let his teeth just barely rake over her. He felt her arch upward, wanting more, and he did too. His other hand danced just below his mouth, and his finger slipped inside her.

Her body tensed around him again, but this time with anticipation, and not with anxiety. His hand moved slowly, filling her, and then abandoning her, only to start the cycle again.

His tongue circled over her, matching the pace of his hand as he started to speed his movements. She moved to meet him, tentatively at first, and then with more confidence as her release grew nearer. He could feel she was close, so he followed the rhythm she set as her body moved against his.

He felt her tense and shudder gracefully underneath him, crying out in short, jabbing gasps.

When she relaxed languidly, he returned to her side, propped up on his elbow, and admired the beauty of her flushed cheeks and soft smile.

She stole a glance at him, and then looked to the side. He smiled a little at the idea that, even after what they'd just shared, she was still a little self-conscious.

She looked back at him, and looked mildly annoyed at the smirk he wore.

"Come here, Spike," she said, moving to lie on her side. She took him into her arms and kissed him where his shoulder met his neck. He growled his approval, and she hooked her leg over his.

Her teeth closed down over his skin, although she couldn't have known this, precisely where Dru's fangs had a hundred and twenty years ago—the kiss that had transformed him into a vampire. He closed his eyes tightly, and could almost imagine that Buffy had the power to change him back.

He was lost in that thought when Buffy used the leg she'd placed over his to push him onto his back. His eyes opened in surprise, and he found her over him, her legs on either side of his hips.

She shifted, and he could feel how close he was to entering her again. He tried to lift his hips, but her legs held him tightly down to the mat. He threw his head back in frustration, noticing for the first time that her hands were pinning his arms down at his sides.

She gave him an unmistakable look. 'That will teach you to smirk at me.'

She bent her arms to bring her closer to him, and she took his nipple into her mouth, sucking on it. She nipped at it before she let him go, and she felt a rush of power as she watched the pleasure play over Spike's face.

She leaned back, inhaling deeply as she felt him enter her. She felt Spike's ever-present stare and she returned it, losing her self-consciousness in his eyes. She moved slowly, taking him completely inside her. She released his arms, bracing her hands on his chest as she moved over him. She moved slowly at first, just as Spike had earlier, fighting against her urge to quicken the pace.

Spike reached up with one of his newly-freed hands and held her hair away from her face, so he could look at her. She leaned toward him, rocking against him from a slightly different angle.

Spike quickly inhaled, gaining control of himself just in time. It was a terrible cliché, but he honestly wanted to make this last as long as he could. It seemed less and less likely with every move she made.

Buffy sensed the struggle within him, and was torn between wanting to draw things out and wanting to give him what he'd given her earlier. She compromised by moving faster, and moving against him with more force.

Their hands found each other again. They held onto each other desperately as she moved even faster, pressing against him so tightly that he was hardly moving within her at all.

Spike finally lost the fight against himself, pushing his hips against hers as he whispered her name. His release was long and dizzying. She could feel him pulsing inside her, until finally, he relaxed. She slumped onto his chest and released his hands so he could put his arms around her.

When the tired muscles in her legs protested, she shifted her hips to the side until she was lying next to him again.

They stayed that way for awhile, but, truth be told, Spike had never met a silence he liked.

"Buffy, I should go. I don't want us to fall asleep here and end up getting caught by Anya or one of your other pals."

"Okay. You're right."

He was a little disappointed she could let him go so easily, but he sat up, slid off the stack of mats, and started looking for his clothes.

"Mind if I come with you?" she asked.

He just smiled at her in response.

end

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