A/N: Here it is. The culmination… or will it be consummation (?) of what has turned out to be my very first (and so far, only) long fic. This particular chapter? Probably as big as four of my other chapters put together. What can I say? *shrugs* Smut takes time. Consider yourself warned. Oh, and I might have thrown some character development in here too. Just for kicks.


+~+~+
One year later
+~+~+

Buffy watched in dry amusement as Xander and Anya scurried out the door, no doubt intent on acting out whatever little fantasy had made Xander’s fingers twitch and his face go red when Anya had whispered it to him earlier in the night. Buffy thought, not for the first time, how glad she was they’d postponed the wedding. It seemed Debbie and Pete’s snazzy little after-school special repeat held warnings for more than just her.

She turned slowly on her heel. Time to face the terrible threesome. Willow, Tara, and Dawn were standing in the living room doorway with mischievous smiles. “So,” Dawn began. “I know it’s your birthday and everything, and even though we’re not physically forced to by some whacked out vengeance demon who so misinterpreted what I said, I could technically stay over tonight, but can I please please please spend the night with Willow and Tara instead?”

Buffy looked each one over slowly. Ok, so maybe she hadn’t been of the subtle the last few days. She smiled gratefully. “Sure. You guys go have fun.”

Girlish squeals resounded, along with several “thank you’s” from Dawn, and…Buffy paused. Did Tara actually just wink at her? She shook her head as they passed through the door, giggling. Willow stopped in the entryway, looking pointedly at the kitchen, then back to Buffy. She made several wild shooing motions and mouthed the words, “Have fun,” with a wicked grin before popping out the door and down the walkway.

Buffy closed the door. Decision time—kitchen or living room? With a nervous twitch of her shoulders, she tilted toward the living room instead of her preferred destination. She sighed at herself, stooping to pick up some of the confetti and wrapping paper closest to her. She was the Slayer. She wasn’t scared. She was just… full of healthy nerves. That was it. She was just a hefty bundle of healthy, nervy goodness, and she so wished she could just get this over with.

The past year had been full of hard lessons and harder healing. Absences were felt every single day. Giles. Her mom. Even Angel. But it had also been filled with more true family than she’d ever really had. Healthy family. Where Anya and Xander, Willow and Tara, were the brother and sisters she could turn to for anything. Where she was a good, though absent-minded, mom, and Dawn was a typical teenaged daughter. The only problem being that the current man of the house still lived in the basement. And that was a little glitch she was planning on ending tonight. Just… not quite yet. She absently picked up various cups and paper plates. So maybe she was scared. Just a teeny little bit.

He was still Spike. She knew that, without question. He still snarked at her when she got bossy. He still drank too much when he was feeling moody, and he still called her out when she tried to hide from things. He still smoked. He still cared. He had to care. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have stayed. Wouldn’t have agreed to let them help him through the worst of it… back when his screams of penance cut holes in her heart, even as Tara cast spells of comfort and Buffy and Dawn stood awkwardly by, waiting and hoping for the day his nightmares stopped. Buffy knew they hadn’t. Just as hers never had. But she thought his, like hers, were maybe only echoes these days. She desperately hoped so.

He was also decidedly un-Spike, which was the crux of her dilemma. Like now. In the kitchen. Washing her dishes. Part and parcel of the healing process, six months ago Willow had taken it upon herself to assign him a list of chores each day. Handy-dandy helping tasks to take his mind off the centuries of unremitted evil. Or something like that. And surprisingly, it seemed to work. He watched Dawn. He helped out around the house. He took over patrols more than Buffy would like to admit. And apparently, laundry? Good for the soul. Who knew.

Buffy grabbed a small garbage bag from the corner and began stuffing assorted trash into the brown plastic. So Dawn had a father figure, and Buffy had a confidant, a helper, a friend. Sometimes late at night, they would still sit on the back porch, inches apart. He’d smoke cigarettes and she’d lean back to look at the stars or sip a cup of coffee while they talked about their day. Casual, little things… thoughts they knew no one else would care to hear, even if they understood. And it was sweet comfort. And all very mature, really. Caring. Polite, actually.

And infuriatingly platonic.

The last few weeks, Buffy had been desperately dropping hints. Simple, girlish things. Taking extra time with her hair before she walked downstairs for breakfast. Long, dragging moments where she asked him if he was sure there was nothing else he needed before she said goodnight. Making sure she was the one who heated his blood for him whenever they set the table for dinner. But to no avail.

Yesterday, she’d pulled out the big guns. Saturday morning, with Dawn asleep, and she could get away with coming downstairs casual. She’d used it to her fullest advantage. The lightest hint of makeup, tiny pink shorts that barely covered the tops of her thighs, and her tightest pink chemise… no bra. She wished him good morning with a bright smile and a flip of her hair. His eyes darkened. His jaw tensed, and his fists clenched. Then he turned and descended to the basement without a single word.

So Buffy was currently stalling.

But she was the Slayer, after all. And besides, there was nothing left in the living room to clean. She cut the light behind her and carried her little trash bag to the kitchen, taking a deep breath before she walked in. She wouldn’t hide anymore. Not ever again.

Her set shoulders and determined little nod deflated the instant she saw the duffel bags sitting on her kitchen floor. Spike was just ascending the stairs with what looked like a box of his clothes. When he noticed her, he tilted his head away with a slightly guilty glance.

“Right, then. You caught me,” he breathed. “Meant it as a surprise.”

Buffy had felt the wind knocked from her gut hundreds of times on patrol. She had never before felt it while she was standing still on her kitchen tile.

“For your birthday,” he added with an attempt at a smile. He looked toward her, but not at her. “No more of me leaching off you.”

Buffy dropped the trash bag, and her fists clenched. “This is your idea of a birthday present?”

Spike set the box down in front of him. “I know it’s not much,” he said. “But I’ve thought about it a while now. There’s nothing I have that you’d want. Got nothing of value left to give you, Buffy. Just this.”

The air separating them felt like thick syrup, but Buffy crossed the distance all the same. When she was close enough, she willed him to meet her gaze, willed him to see the gentle meaning behind it as she said, “We both know that’s not true.”

Spike backed away from her, awkwardly tripping over one of the bags behind him and raising fey hands to ward her off. “Don’t know exactly where you’re going with that, pet, but it’s best we don’t find out, yeah? I got a place all picked out. I’ll show you tomorrow night. You can come visit now and again, if you’d like.” With more distance between them, he began warming to the sound of his voice, as though it were an oft-practiced speech and he was just remembering his place. “And I won’t stop patrolling, so no worries. Told you when the witch suggested it, I’m good for whatever you need. Only have to ask.”

Spike watched with wary eyes as she closed the gap between them, using her preternatural grace to ease a perfect path through his luggage. She stopped, inches away. He could hear her breath, feel the pulse thrumming through her palm when she laid a soft hand on the side of his neck. “I’m asking,” she whispered, as she lifted her lips to his.

Before she could make contact, he pulled away, one hand on the doorknob, knowing only that he could feel the cage closing on his heart, and if he didn’t make it through that door, the lock would click into place. And this time, it’d be forever. This time, it’d be soul and all.

“Spike, what are you doing?” Buffy didn’t keep the hurt and frustration from her voice. Couldn’t if she had tried.

“The right thing,” he said, dropping his hands and standing defenseless before her.

“Running away? Sneaking out in the middle of the night like some thief?” Neither of them moved, but both felt her emotional advance, his painful retreat. “Not even bothering to tell me you’re leaving me?”

“Buffy, it’s not like…”

“Don’t tell me what it’s like,” she shouted. “Don’t you dare. How could you? Spike, how could you think this is ok?”

Slumped shoulders, a haggard voice. “You deserve more.”

Buffy’s eyes lit, pain-filled. “I get it. God, I get it.” Something wild and weary in her voice drew him in, made him lift a hand toward her even as she back away. She warded him off. “No. I’ve done this before. Only he had the guts to face me.”

Spike didn’t bother to ask who. The name in his head alone made his stomach boil. It was given voice a heartbeat later, when Buffy looked up at him, eyes almost black with anger and grief.

“The soul changed Angel,” Buffy spat, “but at least it never made him a coward.”

With a snarl, Spike hauled her back against the bar, body tight against hers and lethal teeth barely grazing her skin. “You stupid little girl. You just don’t get it,” he growled, as he thrust himself against her, her whimper brushing against his ear. “There is nothing stopping me,” he said. With a surgeon’s skill, his fangs cut a thread-thin line down Buffy’s throat while she trembled beneath him. His deadly whisper filled her ear. “You think I’m whipped because I watch your telly and clean the floors? You think I’m tamed? The soul didn’t fix me, sweetheart.” Her fingers flexed on his tight, black tee as he pressed infinitely closer to her. “I still crave the hunt... the kill.” His voice trailed off as he took the blood from her throat in one long, slow lick. He groaned low in his throat as she shuddered, desperately seeking the pressure of his cock where she needed it most.

“We can kid ourselves, but I’m no different,” he gasped as he pulled himself away. Containing himself with a crude leer, he sniffed the air, permeated with her arousal. “And let’s face it,” he said. “You’re no different either.”

Buffy’s eyes opened in time to feel the full insult of his words. Dragging a hand down his chest to his crotch, he grabbed himself. “You still don’t want me. Just this. You just like men who hurt you.”

Tears watered Buffy’s eyes, but her voice was agonizingly calm when she faced him. “You’re right,” she whispered. “Because you just hurt me worse than anyone. And I still love you.” With a tearful gasp, she ran from the room, climbing the stairs two at a time and slamming the door so hard it shook the floor beneath him.

An instant later, he was breaking through the cheap locked door and pulling a weeping Buffy off the bed and into his arms on the floor. “Shhh,” he murmured into her hair desperately. “Please don’t cry, kitten. I’m a bad, bad man. Didn’t mean it. Can’t stand it when you cry. Buffy.”

If anything her sobs increased, and he felt her tears dripping against his neck as she clutched him to her. “It’s too late. It’s too late, isn’t it? You don’t love me anymore. Oh god, I waited too long.”

He shook his head frantically. “Love you. Still. Always. Forever. Never stop loving you, Buffy.”

Her voice was a stricken child’s. “Then why don’t you want me?”

“Pet, you saw what happened just now. I can’t go back to what we were. And there’s nothing stopping it happening all over again.”

At that, Buffy drew in a lungful of air and stifled her sobs, forcing herself to look into his eyes. “How did you feel downstairs?”

A lustful shiver swept his flesh before he could stop it. He met her eyes. “You don’t want to know.”

“Angry? Desperate? Hot?”

He looked away.

“Me too,” Buffy said. She laid a hand on his face, pulling him to her. “But we didn’t hurt each other.”

“Your neck,” Spike whispered, eyes drawn to the tiny trickle of remaining red.

“Definitely not a pain thing.” Buffy blushed furiously as Spike licked his lips. “I didn’t even want to hurt you.” More softly, she added, “I just wanted you to hold me again.”

Spike laid his head against her collarbone. “Me too, kitten.”

Buffy ran her fingers through his tightly slicked curls. “I know things were bad.” She sniffled. “But we can work. We do work.”

“I want to believe it, Buffy. So much. But…”

“You don’t trust me,” she said weakly.

“That’s not it. You’ve changed. I’ve seen it. You care now.” He shook his head against her. “I don’t trust myself. You don’t understand, Buffy. Back then, I wanted you so much, I’d have done anything to drag you into the dark with me. Just to hold you, to touch you. I made myself your slave. Lost everything I was.”

“But you didn’t,” she said softly, pulling herself from his arms and scuffling through her things. “Not completely,” she added as she opened the small wooden box she’d found. She held the battered paper out to him and watched his hands shake as he took it.

“You kept it.”

“You remember it,” she said.

He nodded. “You’ve written on it.” What Spike Wouldn’t Do For Buffy. Hurt Dawn.

“You wouldn’t let me hurt her that night. And I wanted to tell you how much it meant. That you expected me to be better than that. It made me expect to be better for myself. You did that, Spike, even then. And you’re so much more now. You’re not more because the soul was some magical fix-it-all. You’re more because you wanted to be. You made yourself into something different because your will is so strong. Your love is so strong.” Buffy cupped his face in both hands. “I believe in you, Spike. And I’ve waited so long for you to see…”

Suddenly, Spike’s lips were on hers, tender and fierce. His teeth nipped her lower lip gently, begging entrance. She took his tongue in her mouth and swallowed his soft growl as she wrapped her own around it. Buffy’s blood heated with the rightness of it. The feel of his left hand kneading her breast through the soft white tank top she wore while his right hand pulled her closer. She moved to straddle him, and when she ground the denim of her jeans into his hardness he gasped and pulled back.

“Did you mean it?” he breathed desperately.

Buffy stared, perplexed.

“What you said downstairs,” he added. The stress and hope in his face served as sufficient reminder. “Did you mean it?.”

“I did,” she answered.

With a broad smile, he playfully drug her closer, rubbing her sex against his. “Say it again,” he dared.

Buffy smiled back with a hot breath, leaning her forehead against his. “Spike, I love you.”

Thunder didn’t clap. Lightning didn’t strike, and the earth stayed firmly planted where it was. But something deep and substantial shifted in Spike’s still heart. He felt free. And so happy. With a whoop, he picked her up and tossed her to the bed. They both laughed as he leapt up after her. Once at her side, Spike gently brushed the remains of a tear from her face with his thumb, laying a solemn kiss against her forehead. Suddenly, Buffy grew serious. “And you… you still…”

Spike longed to tease her, but the uncertainty in her face cut his thoughts short. “Want you? Need you? Love you?” he murmured. “All of the above.” He leaned in to the unmarked side of her throat and placed deeply tongued kisses against her skin. “And so much more.”

At that, Buffy sat up, lifting her arms above her head prettily as she asked in a little girl’s voice. “Undress me?”

He eyed her. “You sure that’s what you want?”

“Gah,” Buffy muttered. “If our sexual tension gets any more unresolved, I’m sure the house will burn down. Dawn’s bought fire extinguishers just in case.”

With a chuckle, Spike lifted the shirt over her head, eyes caught up in the lacy white bra now exposed to him. “So Nibblet’s had an eye toward our final showdown, eh?” he asked as he gently pulled the clasp on the bra and watched as her breasts fell free.

“Oh yeah,” Buffy exhaled. “She,” Buffy gasped as Spike threw the bra to the floor and pulled a thick nipple into his mouth. “She left with Willow and Tara so we could have the house to ourselves.”

Spike left a heated bite on the tip of her breast before pulling back to laugh. “Cheeky little bint. Somebody owes her a good seeing to when she gets home.”

At that, Buffy flipped him beneath her, straddling his thighs and earning a long, hearty groan from low in Spike’s chest. “Now listen here, mister,” she poked a finger at what she knew to be a particularly ticklish spot on his chest. “The only girl who gets a good seeing to in this house is me.” Spike giggled, then nodded obediently. “And I don’t think I like the idea of you using your British euphe-whatsits…”

“Euphemisms?”

She slapped his chest, “Those. I don’t like you using those on anybody else either.”

Spike gave a chagrined mockery of a salute before saying, “Yes, ma’am.”

Buffy nearly purred. “Oooo… I think I like you all playful and… dutiful.” She set to pulling up his shirt and Spike stretched happily beneath her.

“So, any specific duties you have in mind, pet?”

“I’m sure I can think of a few.” He sat up, and together they pulled his shirt off and tossed it away as she began to giggle. “Gah, I think I just took a brief detour into bad porn movie dialog.”

“Nah,” Spike said, tilting her back to lick the underside of her breast. “Not bad porn. Those are the best kind.” His leering grin brought a light slap to Spike’s shoulder that turned to a fierce grip when he began sucking and rubbing her nipples in earnest. “Oh, I love these,” he said into her breasts. “Nearly killed me yesterday… perky little tits all wanton and needy. Begging me to take a taste.”

Buffy moaned as she tilted her head back. “But you left. I thought you didn’t want me,” she said.

“Bollocks,” he whispered. He drug her legs around him and sat back on his knees so that she could straddle him, rubbing and throbbing against his jeans. “Nearly went off there in the kitchen. Went back downstairs and wanked for hours. Couldn’t get the smell of you out of my head.”

“Ohhhh,” Buffy sighed. Spike unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans before encouraging her to lie back so he could strip them off. Her silken white panties nearly undid him there and then. The ones with the bows. She knew he loved the ones with the bows. He buried his face in the fabric, breathing in deep and giving Buffy the barest tickle of the touch she wanted so desperately. He planted a chaste kiss on the tiny silk bows on each side of her hips, then a softer, longer kiss to her clit through the fabric, barely tonguing her before pulled away. Buffy whimpered and thrust up to recapture his mouth, but Spike was already standing beside the bed, shucking his own jeans.

“I love your cock,” she said when he was finally naked, then placed a shocked hand over her mouth and flushed at the boldness of her own words. Spike merely tilted his head back and held in a groan. Buffy had never been vocal in bed before. In fact, they’d barely talked at all. Being here tonight, in her bed, would’ve been pleasure enough. But knowing she wanted words instead of just the sex was almost enough to undo him. Spike sought control and promptly lost it when he realized she’d crawled across the bed to give his dick a closer inspection.

Buffy worked up more courage as she truly examined Spike’s… spike for the first time. She watched the goose-bumps form on his skin as she traced a deep vein with her finger, root to tip. The smooth skin flowed beneath her hand as she mapped the width and length of him, taking in the subtle curve and soft foreskin. She knew Spike was fighting to keep himself still, calm, and the feeling of his member swelling and throbbing in her hands made her so wet she could smell her own arousal, dripping past her panties along her thighs.

“Buffy,” he managed weakly.

She inched backward on the bed in silent invitation, and he lay down beside her, rubbing his hands across her stomach and down her hips. She spoke. “You know, I almost jumped you like a total ho the night you mowed the yard.”

Spike looked up with a startled gleam in his eyes.

“I came into the kitchen, and you were standing there all shirtless, and hot, and manly, and… hot.”

“Mentioned that, pet.”

“It bore repeating.”

“Ah.” He carefully unfastened the left bow. “That night when you and the kiddies went to the Bronze… You almost killed me.” At Buffy’s look, he added, “Again,” then smiled. “You came home in that little black mini with the red strappy top, all sweaty from dancing, and your hair in little ringlets round your shoulders.” Spike lost himself in the memory for a moment. Buffy pulled his hand down to the right bow, and Spike deftly unfastened it as well, dusting his fingers across her hipbone as he slid the fabric from her side. “That night,” he went on, “I came up to check on you and the Bit, and I could’ve sworn I heard… things.”

Buffy cut her eyes away for an instant before giving him a small grin. “Yeah. So?”

“So...” Spike pulled the panties from her slowly, watching as the fabric rubbed and pulled against her pussy before he tossed them away. He kissed his way up her torso and leaned over her to whisper silkily in her ear. “Were you touching yourself?”

“Yeah-huh,” she answered.

Spike brought a hand up to rub slow circles against her naked thigh. “And were you thinking of me?”

Buffy grabbed his shoulders to pull him closer. “Ohhh, yes.”

“I thought so.”

His smug smirk brought her back to the present as Buffy decided to turn the tables.

Suddenly, Spike was presented with a perfect little Slayer ass as Buffy flipped herself around and knelt over him. When she took the head of his stiff cock in her mouth, his thoughts blanked. He’d always loved the feel of her sucking him off, but to his mind, it was so much better when they could do it like this… when he could lick that little quim of hers and taste just how much she wanted him, how hot they were for each other.

He pulled her legs back, strong hands gripping her thighs and holding her open over his face. “Sweet little cunny,” he whispered into her. When he stuck his tongue inside of her, he felt Buffy’s groan shake her body and his own. He dipped his tongue into and out of her wet passage in time with her deep sucks on his cock. He struggled for control when he felt her sexy little hands go to work on him… one rubbing the base of his cock while the other dipped and cupped his balls.

Spike changed positions then, holding her over him with his right hand so he could place the fingers of his left hand inside of her. Her deep-throated grunt when he hit the right spot inside probably shouldn’t have been a sexy sound, but the force and passion of it made him growl as his lips sought out her clit and his tongue licked its way around her most sensitive nerves.

Buffy desperately wanted to ride his mouth into oblivion, but she was possessed by a single minded concentration. Because this time, Spike was going to come first. Even if he didn’t know it yet. She focused on relaxing her throat, taking him in as far and deep as he could go, the warm heat of her mouth expanding, then collapsing in against him as she sucked him on the upstroke. She felt his stomach muscles tense against the tips of her breasts when she started stroking his balls more firmly.

Pausing for a moment, she licked two of her fingers to slickness before engulfing him again. Then she picked up speed and did the thing she knew he liked. The only thing he’d asked for that she’d actually refused on their first, wildest night together. When she placed her fingers inside him and stroked him within his tightest hole, his body seized, and he came with a deep, lasting roar.

“Buffy, Buffy, Buffy,” he chanted as she swallowed and licked the last of his orgasm away. “Oh, my pretty, sweet Buffy.”

She lifted herself from him and turned to face him, then, draping herself against his side. “Love you, Buffy,” he murmured, burying his face in her hair. She caught the tense caution in his muscles instants after. Seconds after that, she realized the reason.

“I love you too, Spike,” she whispered. She reveled in his satisfied sigh as she kissed the top of his head and stroked soothing hands against his firm chest.

After a few minutes, when Spike felt his brain could once more adopt a pretence of coherence, he looked into Buffy’s face. “Now, it’s my girl’s turn,” he said with a grin. He took in her deeply flushed face, disheveled hair, and bright eyes. “You’re so gorgeous,” he said earnestly. “Beautiful, nasty girl. Gonna fuck you so sweet.”

At that, he caught himself, looking at her with the edges of fear around his eyes. “I don’t mean…” He stopped; tried again. “It’s not like before,” he said. “Wanna make love to you. Not just fucking to me, Buffy. Was never just that.”

Buffy brushed a stray lock of hair back from his face. “Spike, I know. This year and last year? Light years apart. The badness is so totally over. And I really don’t want us walking on eggshells all the time and treating each other like we’ll break. Especially not in bed,” she added with an almost embarrassed glance. “Cause earlier? With the biting?” Spike held unneeded breath while she worked up her nerve. “That was so totally hot.” She went on quickly, before she lost the courage. “Not because of the hurting. But because it wasn’t about hurting. It was pretty much just about the hotness. And, maybe if you wanted to, we could try it again sometime, unless I’ve just totally freaked you out and you would so never do that, in which case I’ll probably just be shutting up now and we can pretend it was Bad Buffy’s brain, and she won’t come out to play ever again.”

The absolute stillness in the room was not a plus. “Spike… are you…”

“You mean it?” he asked quietly. “You’d do… I mean. You’d want that?”

“Not if you don’t,” she said in a rush.

“You never mentioned it before.” Thoughtful. Wary.

“I didn’t trust you then,” she admitted. She paused. “Why didn’t you ask?”

“Didn’t trust myself.”

“Oh.” Buffy absently toyed with Spike’s ribs as she spoke into his chest. “So, do you think maybe we trust each other now?”

Spike felt hope and love flood him with each word she spoke. Somehow, he managed a soft, simple, “Yeah, pet. I think we do.”

“So maybe later tonight we could…”

“You’re sure?” His blue eyes stirred with anticipation.

“Definitely.” She met his stare, felt his body stirring to lustful energy even as she said the word. With a growl, he pounced on her, kissing her breathless. Buffy smiled into his mouth, running her hands up a well-toned back to grasp the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Spike’s initial passion slipped into sweetness as he planted tiny whispers of kisses… dotting her cheeks, her forehead, the tip of her nose.

He caught her eyes then, one leg thrown over her hip, and his cock rubbing deliciously against the top of her thigh. He placed an easy bite on her bottom lip to make sure he had her full attention. “Buffy, if we’re gonna do this, I’ve just got one thing to ask of you.”

Buffy’s brows knit together as she considered him.

He spoke into her throat, her elegant collarbone. “You know I love you. Know I’d do anything for you.” At her raised eyebrow he amended, “Almost anything for you. I’d bloody well dust for you, if the time ever came.”

“But?”

He could feel her muscles frisson with sex and worry beneath his bare skin, hear her heart speed and feel the whisp of the baby-fine hairs on her tummy standing on end.

“But,” he said firmly. “You mention the ruddy watcher’s name in the throes of passion tonight, and I swear I’ll do a bloody runner.”

His eyebrow cocked, and his eyes sparkled in that way that said he was particularly pleased with himself, and Buffy snapped.

With a twisted giggle, she shoved him off the bed.

“Cagey minx,” he snarled after landing with an ‘oomph.’

She tossed her hair back and laughed long and deep. “You so deserved that.”

“Did not.” He pouted. With an air of offense, he stiffly brushed himself down. The gesture would have been a perfect display of dignified affront had he not been nude.

Buffy giggled again before crawling sensually across the sheets toward him. When she spoke, though, her voice was all business. “Here. Let me help with that.” When she reached the edge of the bed, she took his hard cock in her hands and looked deeply into his eyes before swiftly and clinically patting him down. Spike’s dick lurched at the abrupt attention, even as his eyes narrowed and his lips formed an evil grin.

“Tease,” he muttered.

Buffy looked up, feigned surprise in hand. “I’m sorry. Did you want something?”

She knew she’d stretched his limits. Pushed him a little too far. Still, the tickling came as a surprise. Suddenly, she felt as if she were twelve years old again, all knobby knees and gangly elbows, as his deft fingers found all her sensitive places and she laughed so hard her chest was sore. Of course, she was never one to play victim for long. When he bent down to lay a kiss on her bobbing breasts, she toppled him down beside her on the bed and began her own frantic exploration of his little tender spots. Spike was ticklish. Gah, she loved that Spike was ticklish. He made the cutest little giggles.

Ten minutes or so and they were both panting and heaving, becoming increasingly aware of their sweat-slicked skin and the tangle of their limbs. Spike slid up the bed so his head rested on the pillows once more before grabbing her arm and pulling her body atop his. They lay, toe to toe, with his thick length pressed between them, as Buffy rested her head against his shoulder a moment to catch her breath. Spike’s gentle fingers petted her hair. With a deep breath, she looked at him and said, “This is so weird.”

His arm stopped, stray locks in hand. “What, kitten?”

She tilted her head up to look at him. “It’s fun,” she said with a slightly confused smile. “I just…I never knew it could be fun.”

His hand resumed its comforting stroking, drifting lower, down the soft skin of her back, tracing the slope of her spine, to cup her ass. He gave one cheek a pert squeeze before murmuring, “Fun’s not over yet, pet.”


Her smile could’ve blinded him. Brilliant, and radiant, shimmering, and a million other beautiful gleaming things, but good lord, not effulgent. He smiled softly at his own mental joke. The word, in his estimation, had long outlived its usefulness. And it was never particularly useful to begin with. Good enough for Cecily to glare down on, perhaps. And Dru had certainly gotten her own wicked mileage from it. But it wasn’t pretty enough for his bright, shiny Buffy. Not pretty enough by half.

He brought his other hand down her back, following a slow and simmering path, much like his first. When he reached the other globe of her ass, he swept both hands out and down the backs of her thighs, spreading her legs down on either side of him, gently coaxing her into a straddle. She shifted in his hands, made the change of positions languidly, sure to rub as much of herself against him as she could in the process. Spike didn’t mind.

She knew, as she stretched her legs to poise herself over his tight body, that somehow this was Important. It was the big important sex-having with Spike after they’d both admitted their love, after they’d both reclaimed their lives. But instead, it felt normal. Sweet and sexy. She’d broken her heart against the rocks of past loves over and over, looking for some elusive thing, the thing that would make her a regular girl who could be loved and made love to by a regular boy. Was this what she’d been looking for all this time? Vampire or not, wasn’t this normal? It seemed so simple, yet it had taken so much work to grasp.

She balanced on her knees for a moment, tracing the lines of his abs with gentle fingers, tweaking his nipples to hear him gasp, and running her hands up his shoulders and down his arms to where he held her. His hands rested on her hips, firm and waiting. Their eyes met. A taut nod. He reached down and grasped his cock. Buffy looked down her body. She never got tired of watching him touch himself, even if, as now, it was just a pre-cursor to deeper things. He rubbed the weeping head over her slit, his eyes locked on her face.

Buffy reached down, used deft fingers to slide the lips of her pussy apart. Now, both of their eyes were locked on her sex. The foreskin of Spike’s cock dipped and slid against Buffy’s clit in the best and most tingly ways as he rolled himself against her. The pre-cum from the tip painted her clit and slicked the friction between them. Buffy thrust and shuddered.

“Ready, kitten?” His voice was a sex-rough whisper. Buffy nodded, looking up at him as he pulled his dick slowly down her pussy, heating her own blood, if not his. When he was in place, his right handed grip on her hip tightened, and he began edging her down. Buffy followed his lead, sinking onto his cock.

Spike fought to keep her eyes, fought not to throw his head back and howl in triumph at the feel of the thick cream of her. Warm, snug pussy gloving him inch by luscious inch. Like cutting into molten butter, and he knew she was so wet for him. So wet he felt her dripping down the length of him before she’d even reached the base. He loved this girl. Everything was her. Right now, the world was honed to a fine point, the very thin thread of her body on his, of his body in hers. She was taking him in. For the first time, someone was taking him in whole. His soul had never burned so much.

The fierceness of Spike seemed wholly visible in his eyes as Buffy pulled him inside herself. She felt her muscles on the slow descent. Tense. Release. Tense. Release. Big and stretching. How could she have forgotten how big? When she made the last tight slide home against his hips, he let out a choked groan and surged up into her. His lower abdomen brushed her clit just right and Buffy gasped. “Oh, Spike.”

“I’m right here, pet. Right here with you.” He raised a hand to brush her cheek, her lips.

“You’re trembling.” Her voice shook.

Spike took one of her hands in his and kissed the tips of her fingers before looking back to her. He tipped his head. “Same to you.”

“You love me?”

So much anguish and hope wrapped up in that one sweet whisper. “Always,” Spike answered. “You?” he couldn’t help but ask.

Somewhere in Buffy’s love and lust addled mind, it registered that this question called for a different answer. An answer that was a lot closer to “forever” than she’d ever come before. But she was the Slayer, after all. She was no shirker. She flipped her hair back and twisted her hips in the way that made her pussy tingle and Spike’s eyes roll back. “Always,” she said.

“Yes,” he hissed. With that, he grabbed her by the neck and pulled her down for a fast and dirty kiss. Buffy ground herself deep onto him, reveling in his gasp and lolling when he sucked her tongue farther into his mouth and bit it lightly.

She pulled back with a whimper before giving him a mischievous grin. “Bitey now?”

She felt his erection throb and jump inside her, tapping the special spot that rolled her head back with a deep, open-throated groan. Spike shivered with want, shoving his demon down into a stiff steel box. “Not yet,” he said.

“Why not?”

Fuck. She pouted, and he thrust. They both quivered. “Because,” he growled. “I’m saving it.”

Buffy shifted backward on her hips so that he hit her just… there. “Ok… saving it for wh…ohhhhh.” Realization that he was waiting for their climax hit her just before Spike sat up, dragging her body closer against his while he suckled her breast. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, hands splayed across her back, while Buffy draped hers over his shoulders, pumping and writhing against him to her own seductive rhythm.

His pulls on her breast were slow and strong, timed to the deep pressure she applied as she sat on his cock over and over again. When he pulled his mouth away, a tiny whine escaped her throat. He licked her chest up to the juncture where her neck and shoulder met, gave it a soft, human-teethed bite, before ascending to the pulse point just below her jaw. He sucked her there, tonguing and teasing in indolent strokes. She knew he was marking her.

For the briefest moment, Buffy’s mind traveled to a panicked, “Mom will totally freak if she sees I have a hickey.” The realization that it didn’t matter anymore, that it would never matter again, almost broke the steep climb she’d been making since she and Spike started their dance tonight. But then Spike began to speak.

She should’ve expected it, really. Before, when things were bad, his voice was like clockwork. She counted on it in a world where little could be counted on. When the thrusts went from tentative to steady, when she was so far into fucking him that nothing could’ve drug her from the target before she found her mark, he would start to speak. Dirty, nasty words that melted her secret places. Grotesque praises, carefully measured. Not too sweet. Not too tender. Nothing smacking of real emotion. Now, however, his slow baritone was full of both. Crudeness battled with gentility, and she wondered if it was hard for him, treading this new ground. If he was feeling the steps out for the first time, as she was.

“My naughty little princess. She likes daddy’s big cock, that it?” He licked the shell of her ear. “Sweetest girl in the whole world. Ride me, baby. Ride it as hard as you want.”

Buffy complied, gripped his shoulders in firm fingers. When her nails scraped the bare skin, they both smelled the blood. Spike’s hips lifted to meet her each time she landed deep onto him, and the feel of his balls slapping her ass with the force of their tempo spurred Buffy on almost as much as the sound of his voice.

“Love you. Love you so much. Pretty little Buffy. All mine. My titties.” He ran a possessive hand over her breasts. “My luscious little pearl.” Spike’s hand slipped to her clit, rubbing slow circles at first before progressing to heavy taps. “Love your cunt,” he moaned into her ear. “Love to fuck it. Love to lick it. You like it when I lick it, Buffy?”

“Oh, yes,” she panted. “Don’t stop.” She felt her lower body tightening. That warm slick feeling growing thick and taut as he plunged in deeper and her clit began to flutter.

It took her only a moment to process that Spike was no longer touching her.

“No, princess. Not yet.” She scrabbled for purchase as he pushed her backwards. Now he was over her, in her, thrusting steady with a little tilt to his slim hips at the end of each downward stroke. She clasped her ankles around his backside, digging them in, spurring him on. The pressure before felt like a butterfly’s kiss compared to this new bee sting. And oh, he was hitting that place so rich. “Yeah,” Spike grunted as the full pleasure of the new position opened itself to him. “Know what you need. Fill that sweet pussy. Such a sweet fuck. My love. My Buffy.”

“Yours,” she choked out, as his body ground new rhythms into her private places. She was fairly impressed she managed an actual word.

Spike’s senses soared. His elbows were locked tight beneath her so he could hold his hands in her golden hair. Her pert little breasts bobbed against him with each slide, and the feeling of her nipples grazing his own left him breathless and hazed. Her thighs gripped him tight, not wanting to relinquish even when he needed to pull back, to pull out, so he could plunge himself into her again. Each thrust was liquid fire. He watched the light in her eyes as she clenched herself around him, drug each drop of pleasure from his dick before he could slip far enough away to push it all back in.

His senses seemed finely tuned. He heard her harsh little pants, too rough to be pretty, but sexy as hell. He felt the button of her clit as she rubbed it desperately against him. Felt her fierce hands gripping his shoulder blades, kneading and pulling with frantic strength. And inside… oh… inside she was molten silk. Felt her soft honey all over his cock. Felt it dripping down his balls as they slapped, tighter and heavier against her, and oh, nothing in unlife had ever felt like making love to Buffy.

Her breath. “Fuck me, Spike. Oh, fuck me.”

“I will, sweetness,” he promised. “I am.” He brought one hand down from her hair, rubbed a firm path from her waist to her thigh and pulled her body even tighter against him. “Give it to me. Give me that sweet pussy.”

“Unh.”

With his right hand, Spike gripped her neck, turned her wanton face to him. “Tell me who’s fucking you, Buffy. Tell daddy whose cock you want.”

“Yours,” she obeyed without thought. “Spike.”

He answered with a gleeful smile. The tinder between them had blazed too hot to stand much longer. Spike settled back against her to rock with fast, deep thrusts. “My girl. Wanted you. So long. Always be my girl.”

“Love,” Buffy managed, straining harder and harder toward that one perfect place. Her toes began to tingle, and her body began to stretch.

“Wanna come, love,” Spike gasped. “Oh, wanna come inside you so bad. Let me in you. Let me put it all in you.” She nodded, and their eyes met, foreheads almost touching. Spike’s passioned pleas turned to desperate grunting as they pitched and rolled together. Spike’s eyes began to haze. “Buffy,” he begged.

She understood. Tilting her head, she pulled his face to her neck. “Oh, Spike,” she moaned. “Do it.” Her clit burned as his aching cock touched the best places inside over and over again. Buffy felt need and hunger in ways she never had. Vague memories of Angel’s bite tried to insinuate themselves, but it wasn’t hard to push them away. Spike’s touches now were far more sensual than the most intense of experiences before, and she knew she had to get him to do it now, or she’d black out, and she absolutely could not miss this. “Fuck. Spike. Bite,” she pleaded.

His senses narrowed. His elder face formed. He looked once into Buffy’s open hazel eyes before sinking his teeth into the giving, tender skin at her shoulder. The pulsing ache of his cock released as he felt himself spilling over and over into Buffy’s welcoming body. She rocked up to take each escape, brutally locked in her own orgasm. He could taste it in her blood. Her sweet pleasure. The twitching of her thighs and the long, succulent waves of delicious sex flowing out of her. Her pure Slayer’s blood went straight to his cock, and he knew he’d never come this way before, not this hard, not this long. She was giving it to him. She was giving everything to him.

Buffy’s cry of release at the first feel of his blissed out penetration was caught between a pant and a squeal as her legs vised against Spike’s hips. She could feel the pull, feel him licking her up, sucking her in, and she knew somehow he was now in his human guise, eating her like a man. Like a lover. Her pussy throbbed against him over and over, tugging each plunge of release from him. She bit back a sob when he suckled her, hard, pulling one last long flow of pleasure from her body.

They both lay gasping, though only one had need for it. Spike struggled to push himself up, to hold his weight off of his lover, but his shoulders shook, and he fell back to her.

“Sorry,” he murmured into her skin with a weak smile. He licked the last of the blood away, placing a chaste kiss on each puncture wound, wracking another slight shudder from Buffy’s twitching form.

There was no need to expound on his performance, to discuss his greatness in bed. Marking it down to a simple, “You’re the best, babe” seemed too cheap and easy for what they’d just shared, true or not. So even if Buffy could have found the strength to speak it, she couldn’t have found the words. Instead, she stared at his head with heavy-lidded eyes and a glazed smile. She ran a happy hand over his tousled curls before nipping gently at his ear. “Love you,” she said.

“Ohhh, love you too. So bloody much.” He reached a tired hand up to brush a sweaty stray lock of hair from her face; kissed her chin, her nose, then her lips with gentle pecks. Finally, he rolled off of her. Buffy lay in the crook of Spike’s shoulder. Together, they waited out the roll of aftershocks, worn and weak.

A minute. A heartbeat. Then Buffy’s perky voice cut through the silence. “So. Can we go again?”

Spike raised a sardonic brow. “Well,” he drawled, as he languorously scratched his chest, “seeing as we’ve made it to the bed this time, what say we try one under the sheets?”

Buffy giggled, and moments later they were cutting the lights and snuggling beneath the covers, children on a first campout. Buffy didn’t need a flashlight. Spike would protect her. It was a girlish and beautiful feeling.

Hours later, just before the sun rose behind the heavy curtains of her room, Buffy settled into Spike’s arms, thoroughly sated. She closed her eyes as “Happy Birthday, Buffy,” was nuzzled gently into her cheek.

“I love you, Spike.”

They drifted into peaceful, well-earned sleep, and a battered slip of notebook paper settled softly on the floor beside them.


Breath renewed
Every day with you
Our arms, our hold
We are not alone.
Together.

+~+~+~+~



A/N: I cannot stress how important everyone’s feedback has been to me in writing this. This is by far the longest thing I’ve written and actually completed. Ever. Thanks for showing me that I’m capable of this. Yes, it bugs me that I’ve broken several very significant and useful literary rules in making this last chapter so long, but I had some specific things I wanted and just couldn’t make myself cut. The most important of which was my vision of hot Spuffy sex that’s actually sweet and happy. Hopefully that worked. Truly told, the entire point of this story was probably just to get us to redemptive, sweet and happy Spuffy sex. So if that bugs you, I’m sorry. And you soooo should have read the NC-17 rating before you reached this point in the fic. Just so you know. ;-) A special thanks to BrunettePet, whose reviews are always so specific and well thought-out, and to Evilawyer, who encouraged me to write and keep writing. Y'all make me smile.