Buffy hummed to herself as she poured some cereal for herslef and warmed some blood up for Spike. She was worried about him. She wished he'd tell her why he was crying. She was fairly sure that she heard him crying again in the bathroom after she'd closed the door. But she left him alone. He'd tell her if he wanted her.

Besides, it was probably better that he was crying, not trying to hold it all in and be macho. His arms were cut off. That had to be traumatic and he couldn't like her taking care of him.

That wasn't what really worried Buffy however. Spike was strong, he'd get over all of that. No, it was his apartment that worried her. It was so empty. It didn't look like anyone lived here. Like it was waiting for it's very first tenant.

The bed for instance. She couldn't imagine Spike picking a place to live with a bed that small. He loved to sprawl out as he slept and that bed was barely the size of the cot in her old basement in Sunnydale.

She just couldn't see how Spike could end up living in a place like this. Nothing in the one room apartment suggested Spike at all. When she'd come here to drop off groceries for herself, before they'd brought Spike back from the hospital, she'd looked through his stuff. What stuff there was anyway.

A couple pairs of black jeans and t-shirts. He didn't even have any of those button down shirts that he sometimes wore. Although maybe he was just tired of sowing the buttons back on. Buffy was fairly certain that she had ripped the buttons off the same midnight blue shirt at least three times.

She knew something was wrong when in the top drawer of the bed-stand she'd found a copy of Playboy, and that was it, the only dirty magazine he had was a Playboy. She'd once stumbled across Spikes stash of porn back in his old crypt and there hadn't been a single Playboy, or Penthouse, or anything she had heard of. No Spike's old collection had made Playboy seem like good wholesome fun for the whole family.

He'd caught her back then. Looking through his stuff. He hadn't been mad, just amused. He asked her what she thought of the picture in the magazine she had opened she had said, "I can't understand what kind of woman let's her self be painted blue, and have fake breasts glued on to her. I mean what's the point of this stuff. It's not like it's real."

He'd turned his head away from her, and she thought maybe he was embarrassed, until she realized he was laughing at her. "Buffy. Pet. She's not painted, those aren't glued on. She's a Kro'kta demon."

"Ewww."

Then he'd convinced her to watch one of his porno movies with him. She hadn't wanted to, but he promised everyone in them was human and suggested that it might turn her on. It didn't turn her on at all. In fact she didn't even believe that people could really do the things in the movie, until Spike showed her that she bent in ways she didn't know anyone could bend. She flushed at the memory. Porno movies were not for her, but the effect they had on Spike had defiantly made up for her lack of interest.

But he didn't have any here in L.A. Other than the Playboy, the only things in the drawer had been a bottle of lubricant, a pair of handcuffs, and of all things, some condoms. That really worried her. What could Spike need condoms for? Was he trying to be more human? Too human perhaps. He might have a soul, but Buffy wasn't sure it was a good idea for him to suppress all the aspects of his vampire nature. If he tried to repress his other lusts, his blood lust might break free.

She realized that Spike had been in the shower for quiet some time now. His blood had gotten cold again, so she put it back in the microwave, and then knocked on the bathroom door.

"Spike are you okay. You haven't turned into a prune have you?"

She could hear some bumping then, "Yeah, I'm all done pet."

She went in, opened the shower curtain, turned off the water, and then got a towel while he got out of the tub.

She noticed right away that he wasn't hard anymore. Maybe he hadn't been crying after all, maybe she'd heard him jerking off. Which was good for him she told herself. After all a minute ago she'd been worried that he was too sexual repressed. But there was something about the look in his eyes, something sad, that told her he wasn't okay. He had been crying.

She started to dry him off. She was so very glad he didn't say anything. All too quickly she had the front of him dry above the waist. She didn't know what to do so she moved around to his back. It wasn't that she was embarrassed, she just didn't know how to dry off certain parts of him without groping. And she really wanted to grope him. She wanted to take his limp dick in her hands, and feel it grow hard.

When she came to his butt, she had some hope. She was able to dry it without 'grabbing' it. Though as she knelt down to dry off the his legs from the back, it was right there in front of her, clean, smooth, cool. She wanted nothing more than to bite it. To mark it as hers, and leave little red ovals all over it's pale surface.

She came back around to his front, and found that she wouldn't have to worry about making him hard, he already was. Again. He still hadn't said anything, but now he was smiling. The light flashed mischievously in his eyes as he waited to see what she would do.

She knelt down in front of him this time, and she saw him lick his lips in anticipation. She smirked at him, and without loosing eye contact she took the towel in her hand, and in one swift gesture she wrapped it around his cock, and gave it one good stroke with the towel, leaving it dry. He moaned softly, "Please?" she smiled are reached between his legs with the towel, and quickly dried off his balls. Then she got up, put the towel on the towel rack and said, "Time to get some clothes on you."

Pouting he followed her back into main room, and sat down on the bed. Getting him dressed was fairly easy, until she lifted up his jeans. He was still hard, and she wasn't sure how to go about zipping him up without hurting him.

"You know, it would be easier if you'd just suck on it."

She glared at him and pressed flat of her palm against the top of his penis, hoping to be able to push it down and into his pants, but he started rubbing against her hand.

She stopped touching him and stood up her hands on her hips.

"Spike." she said firmly, hands on her hips.

"Wha-"

She didn't let him finish, but swept his feet out from under him so that he fell backwards onto the bed. Before he knew it, she was sitting on him, straddling his stomach with her back to him, holding him down with her body so that he couldn't move. Once again she used her palm to push his erection down, and with her other hand, she managed to carefully zip him up.

"There" she said, feeling proud of herself, and getting off of Spike before he got too many ideas.

He sat up and put and arm around her.

"Pet why won't you? It doesn't have to be about me you know. You could use me anyway you like. I'm completely helpless you know. You could do anything to me, and I couldn't do a thing about it," he said suggestively.

"I know. But I can't. Maybe I want to. But I can't."

"Why not, luv. It's me, I don't mind."

She smiled sadly at him and put her hand on his chest, over his heart.

"That's exactly why. Because it's you. You love me Spike, and I couldn't stand to break you're heart, even if it doesn't beat." She got up and moved to the couch. "Do you want to watch some TV?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever."