Days Of Auld Lang Syne by spike_spetslayer

Chapter #1 - Days Of Auld Lang Syne

Days Of Auld Lang Syne 1. New Year’s Eve and she didn’t have a date. Alone in an empty house, depressed about the status of her life in general and her love life in specific, there was only one thing to do. She dressed carefully, pickier than ever about her clothes. Black leather pants encased her supple thighs. Black leather high-heeled boots on her feet. They were hell to slay in, but she wasn’t slaying tonight. Unless she actually saw someone being eaten, everyone got a pass tonight. There should be one night when that was her option. If she had a choice, tonight was the night. She stood half-clothed, in front of the closet door, looking for something to wear for a shirt. Sexy and inviting, that’s what she wanted, but in a don’t touch me kind of way. She was stuck between red and black—she knew they were…no, she wasn’t dressing for anyone, but…. Be honest with yourself, you idiot. You’re dressing for Spike. Even though he hates you, even though he wants to kill you, you want to dress for him, make him see you as something besides the Slayer. You want him to see you as a woman. She heard the door open, and her mom and sister come in the house, laughing and planning for their movie night at home. She grimaced, and her face nearly did freeze that way, just like her mom always said it would when she was little. She had to get out of here. She wasn’t like them. She wanted…. She couldn’t say what she wanted. Couldn’t put a finger on it. She felt this dissatisfaction building inside her for some time, and there was no reason for it. She had friends who loved her and cared deeply for her. She had a sister who was a big pain, but still worshipped her and everything she did. She had her mother, who accepted who and what she was, even after being lied to for so many years. She needed— There was a tap on her door, and she picked up a towel and spread it over her naked top. “Come in,” she said, then turned back to the closet. It was her mom. “Buffy, you’re going out? But I thought….” Her mom’s voice trailed off, and she hid her disappointment, although not well. “That’s nice, honey. Are you going with Willow and Xander?” “I don’t know. They have plans with their girlfriends, I guess.” There was an unmistakable sad note in her voice, and she grabbed one of the two shirts she was staring at, tossing it over her head and threading her arms through. “I thought that I’d try to catch up with them at the Bronze. Might be fun.” Her mother came up behind her, and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. “You can stay here with us,” she ventured, and Buffy turned to look at her coolly. “That’s just it. I don’t want to.” She dropped her eyes, unable to hold her mother’s look for more than a few seconds. “I just need to get out.” Her mother smiled thinly and nodded in understanding. “You need to find Spike.” Buffy's head flew up and her eyes flew open wide, amazed at the way her mother misinterpreted things. “What? I’m not looking for Spike.” Her mother, however, knew differently. Spike and Buffy had avoided each other since he showed her Riley's strange addiction and his subsequent departure, and she could see her daughter’s spirits flagging. She liked Spike, Joyce knew it—why didn’t her daughter see it too? He was a gentleman, and had always been a gentleman, as far as Joyce could see. Maybe seeing him in a different light other than the reflected light of the tombstones would help her daughter see what she really wanted. One of them should be happy, and since her daughter was younger with her life ahead of her, it should be her. She looked at how Buffy was dressed to kill, in Spike's favorite colors, no less, and wondered what Freudian subconscious glitch would bring that to her attention. Black and red. Blood and night. It was a fitting outfit for the Slayer to wear. She had always hated that her daughter was the Slayer. Always hated the Council’s interference in their lives, since she found out. Hated the late nights, the clothing covered in blood of various colors, patrols she may never return from. It had forced her little girl into a mold that she resented, and Joyce mentally thumbed her nose at the Council and their rules. Her little girl deserved a night of fun, and she was going to get it. Once again, she patted Buffy's bare shoulders as she stood in front of the mirror, putting on her makeup. “I have the perfect lipstick to go with that shirt, sweetie. It’s called ‘Harlot’—you want me to get it?” Buffy graced her with a smile, however weak. “Yeah, mom. That would be nice.” When she got back from her room, Buffy had darkened her eyes with kohl and put on mascara, making her large luminous eyes dark and mysterious. She handed her the lipstick, and watched her apply it to full lips with a shaking hand. “How do I look?” she asked nervously, turning to show her mother the effect of their combined effort. Joyce looked at her from head to toe. The shirt was backless, red spangles and bright beads adorning what it did cover, and a fringe of beads swaying gently off the hem with each breath. Combined with the leather bottoms, she looked like she was going out for…for what, Joyce didn’t want to think. “You look beautiful, sweetheart. Grab a coat, it’s going to get chilly in that outfit, I think.” Buffy grabbed a jacket out of the closet, and slipped it on. Black leather. Bomber jacket, so she didn’t look like…she refused to think of it. Refused to think of him. “Okay?” she asked, and her mom surveyed the effect. “Perfect.” They walked silently down the stairs, and Joyce stopped her at the door. “Open yourself for the possibilities of the night, Buffy. Remember that it’s the brink of a new year. A lot can happen.” Buffy smiled sadly. “A lot has happened, mom. I’ll be careful.” “But have fun too, baby. That’s what tonight is about. Having fun.” Joyce left a lot unspoken, and she could tell by the look in Buffy's eyes that she knew it too, but they had time…. She kissed her mom on the cheek, leaving a small red smear that she wiped off with her fingertips. “I love you, mom. Tell Dawn—“ “I’ll tell Dawn that you needed some friend time. It will be all right.” At Buffy's wry look, Joyce shoved her gently toward the door. “Go. Have fun. Everything’s under control here.” With a backward glance into the living room, still empty and waiting for the movie festival, she was gone. 2. The music was loud, the bass was pumping, bodies flying together and apart, and she never felt more alone in her life. She looked for, and finally found her friends, sitting in one of the cozy nooks around a low table, drinks already in front of them. Tara and Willow were holding hands, no longer shy about their feelings for each other. Anya had abandoned her chair and sat on Xander's lap, much to his delight. They were laughing and carefree, and it didn’t seem they missed her at all. She changed direction and went to the bar instead, ordering a tall, frothy drink with alcohol in it. She hadn’t drank very much or often since the CaveBuffy incident, but tonight she needed the numb oblivion that alcohol could give her, and sipped her drink slowly, waiting for that numbness to set in. She took a long circuitous route to avoid her friends, and went upstairs to the mezzanine that surrounded the dance floor. There were couches and chairs scattered here too, and she found a chair with a small table next to it, took off her coat, and sat down, hiding in the dim lighting of the upstairs. Anonymity. That’s what she wanted. To be just another girl tonight, instead of the Slayer. She saw a vampire heading for another girl who seemed even lonelier than she did. She stood and headed him off, and stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I’ll tell you this once, and you pass it around. Tonight, you get a pass—if you don’t feed. You can have fun and find someone to be with, but not to eat. Blood spilled, and you’ll be dust.” He looked down at her, surprised, and she shrugged. “I don’t want to slay tonight. One night of normal—is that too much to ask?” He surprised her in return. “I’ll pass the word. And I won’t eat her, okay? Just…spend some time with her. Okay?” He looked fearfully over her shoulder, and she turned to find the object of her whatever behind her. He leaned against one of the support columns, beer in hand and fang-faced, backing her words up with only a glare in the other vampire’s direction. She turned back to her quarry, and said, “Just remember—only for tonight.” “Okay. No feeding, tonight only. Got it.” He moved away, and she watched him conversing easily with the lonely girl, and felt lonely again herself. She went back to her chair in the dark, and picked up her drink, finding that it had twinned since her absence. Shrugging, she sipped the alcohol, cursing that it didn’t give her the instant gratification she needed right now. She felt his shadow before it actually fell over her. Sighing, she looked up into his blue eyes beneath the shocking bleach blond hair, and said, “What do you want, Spike?” “Why are you up here alone? The Slayerettes are downstairs having fun, why aren’t you with them?” She watched him light a cigarette with easy grace, smooth practiced movements perfected over a century, and sighed again. “I just didn’t feel like being a fifth wheel again, okay? I wanted to be alone.” He flopped down into the chair next to her, and sat his beer on the tiny table between them. “You don’t look like you want to be alone.” “Trust me, I do.” She turned her head away from him, and sipped her drink to keep herself from saying more. She waited for him to get the picture and leave, but he stubbornly stayed, sipping his beer and tapping his foot to the beat of the music playing. “Would you like to dance?” The question was so sudden, she snapped her head around to stare at him. “What?” He shrugged. “Just thought you might like to dance, Slayer. Don’t get your knickers in a twist over it.” She took a minute to think about it. Deep in her subconscious, she knew that she had waited for this. The two of them together. They were in a public place, so he couldn’t do anything, although that hadn’t stopped him the last time they were together here. Her heart skipped a beat or two, thinking of the night in the alley behind the Bronze, how he had moved toward her like he was going to kiss her…. She couldn’t finish the thought. Wouldn’t let herself finish the thought. “Well, I guess that’s a no, then. I’ll leave you to your solitary misery, Slayer. Have a good New Year.” His thighs bunched under his dress pants (dress pants, even!), and he moved to stand, and she stood up with him, slipping her hand into his empty one. “I think that I would like to dance. If you still want to,” she added hastily. “I’m just…not fit company for anyone tonight, Spike.” He set his beer down again, and slipped his duster off to reveal a red silk shirt unbuttoned to mid-chest. They almost looked like a matched pair, red and black, and it made her suddenly want to cry with the perfection of it all. He reached for her and took her hand, leading her down the stairs and onto the dance floor in the midst of grinding bodies and gyrating teens. He was fluid on his feet, dancing well despite his age. He had a lot of years to practice, she rationalized as she watched him move. He continually surprised her, she thought, as they danced close enough to be together, but far enough apart to keep from touching accidentally. The DJ changed the beat to a much slower song, and he started to move off the dance floor. She surprised him in turn, grabbing his hand. “Please. Dance with me.” She moved easily into his arms, pressing her head against his shoulder. She felt his hands at the waistband of her pants, trying to avoid her skin and missing the mark. His hands were cool at first, warming with her heat, and she snuggled closer and turned her face toward him, closing her eyes and losing herself in the music. She could feel the press of his thighs against hers, his strong arms around her, pressing her close, his cheek against hers. She could almost pretend that they were a normal couple, out for a night on the town, dancing in the dark. The thought brought tears to her eyes, and he bent his head and whispered in her ear, “Here, none of that, Slayer. You’ll spoil your makeup.” She didn’t move, only whispered back, “How did you know?”, knowing his vampire hearing would pick up her voice. “Could smell ‘em, silly.” He ran his hand up her back, and she felt the goosebumps rise at his touch. “Tonight, you’re happy. Just a normal girl, just like you told our friend in the balcony.” “I’ve never been normal,” she whispered with a giggle. The alcohol must be hitting me now, she thought, feeling suddenly giddy and a little wild. “Maybe not, but tonight you are.” He twirled her around, still pressed close to him, their legs meshing perfectly, bodies moving in unison, dancing. Always with the dancing, she thought. If not one dance, then another, and she giggled again. Her fingers played with tiny curls that rested at the nape of his neck, and she suddenly raised her head and tousled his hair, ignoring his protesting yelp, letting them free from their gelled prison for the evening. She rested her head back on his shoulder and sighed, her breath hot against his throat. “I like it like that.” He growled deep in his chest, then put his mouth directly above her ear. “Then you better make up for that later. It’s hard work, getting them all tamed down, you know.” She smiled, and her heart leaped at the thought of making it up to him. Later, he said later. She relaxed against him, and let him move her around the floor to the time of the music, thinking of later. 3. Xander looked over at the dance floor to the couples barely moving to the slow music. “Anya, ya wanna?” “Not right now, Xander. I’m hot and sweaty, and I need something to drink before I dehydrate.” Anya sipped at her drink, and Xander picked up his beer, eyes still wandering over the crowded dance floor. He caught a glimpse of red and black, and turned back to the others gathered around their table. “I think that Spike's here. With a date.” He turned halfway around in his chair, craning his neck. “I can’t see her face though. Wonder who it is?” They all looked, wanting to know whom Spike would be out with on New Year’s Eve. Anya looked once, then turned back around. “It almost looks like Buffy,” she said matter-of-factly, and they all stared at her. “Buffy wouldn’t go out with Spike,” Willow said. “Yeah, she would never go out on a date with Deadboy. She hates him,” Xander added unnecessarily. “Doesn’t she?” “I-I don’t know. That does look an awful lot like Buffy,” Tara added, “But then again, she might.” The woman raised her head, and Willow gasped aloud. “It is Buffy!” Xander started to move, and Anya still on his lap stopped him. “What are you doing, Xander?” “I’m gonna go drag Living Dead Thing off her, that’s what I’m gonna do. Then I’m taking him out the back door and shoving a stake where it’ll do the most good.” He started to get up again, and Anya sat down on him harder. “So you’re going to ruin my night and Buffy's too?” Xander gave Anya a blank stare, and she figured he would need an explanation. “If you stake Spike, then Buffy will be all pissed and possibly weepy. She won’t have a date, and then you will all do your best to make her feel better. At least while she’s with Spike, she isn’t moping around feeling sorry for herself since Riley left and took all her orgasms away, so I don’t see a problem with her being with Spike right now.” Satisfied with her rationale, she sipped her drink again, and watched the wheels visibly turning in Xander's head. It was New Year’s Eve, and he did want to get…snuggly tonight. Maybe Spike was doing them all a favor, taking mopey Buffy off their hands tonight. He looked at Willow, who had gotten her own talk, however whispered or mental, from Tara, and she shrugged, sipping her water. “Maybe you’re right for once, Ahn. Maybe she does need to get out and forget about Riley leaving, and Blonde Menace is doing us all a favor.” At her hard stare, he said, “All right, already. I’ll let it go, but just because tonight, nobody should be alone. Tomorrow, though….” He left his thought hanging, and the others nodded agreeably. Tomorrow, the story changed back. He turned around, and wrapped his arms around Anya. “Let’s let sleeping dogs lie tonight. Satisfied?” She smiled happily at him, and he imagined some of the things that she would do for him later, and smiled happily back. On the dance floor, Buffy was blissfully oblivious to the arguments going on at the table between her friends. The DJ switched songs again, and Buffy moved away from Spike, just far enough to rock out, but close enough to turn her back to him and brush her leather-clad ass against his groin. She felt the immediate reaction to her touch, and smiled secretively, brushing against him again. He gripped her hips with strong hands, moving close to her back. The silk slid against her back, teasing her, and she leaned back into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “You’re playing with fire, missy,” he gritted through clenched teeth, and she brushed his erection again with her hip. “Good. Fire pretty.” She smiled up at him, and he caught the infectious enthusiasm in her voice. It shocked her when he spun her around, clasping her hips again, and ground his pelvis against hers. His thigh jutted between her legs, and she pressed her heat to his thigh and threw her upper body back into a low dip, confident that he could support her. They dirty danced through that song and into the next, until they were both panting and she was sweaty, then he grabbed her hand and led her up the stairs to their drinks and chairs. She sat down, slurping down what was left of one drink, then moved on to the next one. “That was fun,” she said between breaths, and he nodded, drinking himself. “Yeah, it was, Slayer. We should stop with the fighting and go out dancing more often.” His comment made her freeze for a moment, panic overriding her good sense until she pushed it aside. Not tonight, she was not going to do that tonight. No second-guessing herself or him, no reading things into comments, no. No more, not tonight. Tonight, she was here to have fun, and that was the end of that, and she was not going to think about tomorrow, or should haves or could haves. Tonight was for her, and she was a normal girl. “I didn’t know that you even knew how to dance like that,” she said, straw barely touching her full red lips. She noticed his eyes trained on the straw, and she ran it around the edge of her mouth, watching his face turn slack and his nostrils flare. She felt a gush of moisture flood her barely there panties, and knew that he could smell it by the look in his eyes. He finally chanced a glance at her eyes, and saw her hidden amusement at his heightened senses and reaction to her flirtation. “Sneaky little bint, aren’t you?” he said good-humoredly, and she grinned. “You’re just so easy to tease, Spike,” she said, smiling. “And you like to tease, don’t you? Do you ever deliver?” She smiled again, wicked and ripe, and her boot stroked up his leg, over his pants. “Wouldn’t you like to know, huh?” They were interrupted by a Bronze employee with hats and noisemakers in a box. She handed Buffy a cardboard crown and Spike a cardboard top hat, then handed them both noisemakers. “Compliments of the establishment. It’s about a half-hour until midnight, in case you wanted to know.” “Thanks.” Buffy looked down at the red cardboard crown with the silver glitter stars all over it, then at Spike's red cardboard top hat. “Are we really going to wear these cheesy things?” she asked nobody in particular. “Part and parcel, Slayer.” He put the top hat on his head, and she giggled out loud. She leaned over to adjust it, and he had a glimpse of creamy breasts, unrestrained, nipples puckered and inviting him to taste. “It’s crooked,” she said, and straightened it. He took the crown out of her hand and placed it reverently on her head, smoothing her hair beneath it. She caught her breath at his action as his hands rested for a moment on her bare shoulders, and then he snatched them back as if she burned him. Her shoulders were cold where he had touched briefly and left borrowed warmth, and she thought crazily how she was falling, spiraling down without a net when his voice interrupted her. “Shall we go down to the dance floor for the big event?” he said, and she nodded, not trusting her voice. He grabbed his beer with one hand, and her hand with the other, leading her back down the steps to the crowded dance floor. They moved to an open space, and found themselves face-to-face with Xander and Anya. Buffy waited for the fireworks to start, the recriminations to flow, and…. Nothing. Xander grinned at her, looked at Spike, and said, “Glad you joined the living, Buffster. Good to see you out and about.” “Um, thanks. You guys having a good time?” she asked, and saw Anya nodding vigorously. “Oh, yes, and afterward, we’re going home to have some hot New Year’s playtime.” Xander rolled his eyes in embarrassment, Buffy giggled, and Spike chuckled, and the tension melted away in a second. Willow and Tara moved beside them, and she felt like she was home again. Spike's fingers tightened on hers, and she looked down at their linked hands. Yes, she felt like she was home. 4. The crowd got more restless and agitated as the minutes ticked by, moving closer and closer to the witching hour. Buffy felt vamps in the crowd, but the word had gone out, and there were no signs of disappearing people, just a group having fun. She finished her drink and negated Spike's offer of another with a shake of her head, but did take a glass of cheap champagne off the full trays that busy waitresses were carrying, mingling in the crowd. She saw Spike grab one too, then all of her friends, and she relaxed, even if just for a moment. Just a normal girl on New Year’s Eve. Minutes ticked by as they stood together chatting about nothing at all, and she leaned against Spike's front, keeping him close behind her. She rationalized that she needed someone at her back for protection, but why him? The answer was too great to comprehend, so she ignored it, and listened to the murmur of the words surrounding her instead. His hand crept to her waist, missing nobody’s notice, least of all hers. What surprised her was nobody said anything. She waited in vain for a comment to be made, but everyone ignored it like it wasn’t happening, so she ignored it as much as she could. His thumb caressed her bare skin, sending shivers down her spine, and she looked over her shoulder at his smiling face, wondering what he was thinking. They started that song, Auld Lang Syne that everyone always played and sang on New Year’s Eve, and she sang along, wondering what the words actually meant. Should old acquaintance be forgot and never come to mind…. She thought about old acquaintances, never forgotten, always on her mind, and pushed them away. Not tonight. They were counting down now, the seconds until the New Year ticking by, and every second seemed like hours as his thumb traced patterns on her bare skin above her waistband. Time moved in slow motion, and she heard the crowd roaring with appreciation at the approaching last second, and she felt herself falling again…. Time telescoped into eternity as they all shouted down to one, and she watched her friends sipping champagne from cheap plastic glasses, and she downed her own portion in one swallow, tossing the glass to the ground. It crunched under her boot as she moved, and there was kissing all around her as the clock ticked midnight finally, and she turned. He was there, waiting, and she moved to him, into arms always open wide and welcoming, and she never knew—never saw—until that moment that drew on forever. She moved into those open arms, and lifted her face to look into incredible blue eyes that seemed depthless. He kissed her cheek, and she turned her head to catch his mouth with her own, and time stood still. Her first thought was their soft touch. His lips were so soft, so smooth, so warm against hers…she thought they would be cold, but they were so warm…then his tongue slipped into her mouth as his hands slipped up her back, gliding over her bare skin, and she tasted champagne and cigarettes and beer commingled in an intoxicating blend that was totally him. She melted against him, their bodies so close she couldn’t remember where she left off and he began, and it felt right, so right. Why did she fight this so hard? Why was something that felt this good supposed to be so bad? Angel had kissed her plenty of times, and it never felt like this. Like she was worshipped and wanted and needed, like a puzzle piece that never fit anywhere finally found its place. Her arms crept up around his neck, and she wanted this moment to continue forever, to be frozen in time as the music played, the noisemakers made noise, and the crowd roared with the possibilities of a new year. He pulled away from her slightly, and she knotted her fingers in his curls and pulled him back down to kiss him hungrily. She wanted to climb inside him and live there and feel this forever, but he pulled away again, and she turned in the circle of his arms to find her friends staring open-mouthed at her wanton licentiousness. She smiled weakly, and shrugged. “Sorry, got caught up in the moment.” They nodded, and headed back to their table and she and Spike headed up to their seats in the balcony. Her head spun with the memory of her actions and the effects of the alcohol, and she sat down heavily on the chair. He dragged her back up to stand, and grabbed her coat, throwing it around her shoulders. “Come on, Slayer. I’m taking you home.” She played up her intoxication, pretending that’s all it was. Giggling again, she laced trembling fingers through his, and let him lead her to her friends’ table. “I’m taking her home—she’s had one too many,” he said, and she heard them agreeing with him for some reason as she stumbled and fell against him. He caught her easily, and they all shrugged and looked at her like she was drunk, and she let them think what they would to make it easy for them. 5. Instead of walking, he led her to the DeSoto, seeing her comfortable in the passenger seat and closing the door gently behind her. She leaned against it, facing him, her arm draped across the back of his seat when he got around the car and slipped inside. She gave him a wide smile when he looked at her in surprise, and she saw his mouth smeared with red lipstick. It almost looked like blood in the dark, and she leaned forward and ran her thumb over his mouth in a cleansing caress. She leaned back against the door and popped the thumb into her mouth, sucking the lipstick off of it, and watched his eyes as they wished her thumb belonged to him instead. “I don’t wanna go home,” she said, and he shook his head. “Time for all good slayers to be in bed, especially in your condition,” he said, and she slipped across the car seat to rest next to him. “What condition is that? Happy? Horny? Tell me, Spike, what condition do you think I’m in right now?” She laid her hand on his leg, and she felt his muscles tighten as he inadvertently gunned the engine, letting off the gas almost immediately. “I think that you’re drunk, and anything you do tonight, or have done tonight you’ll up and regret in the morning. Now, back over on your side of the car, Slayer.” “Call me Buffy and I might,” she said playfully. “Okay. Slide over, Buffy, and let me drive you home.” She stubbornly stayed put. “I told you, I don’t wanna go home.” He looked at her, and sighed. “Where do you want to go then?” “The beach. Let’s go to the beach.” She bounced in her seat, and noticed his eyes trained on the jiggle beneath her shirt. “Come on, Spike, don’t make me go home yet. Let’s go to the beach for a while.” He obligingly turned the car in the direction of the beach, and she clapped her hands together. Acting drunk wasn’t so hard, she thought. Just act a little off what you normally would. He pulled the car up into the parking area just off the beach, and she jumped out before he could speak, running toward the sand. He chased her down, closing on her, and she allowed him to catch her before she ran fully clothed into the water. “Wait a minute, Slayer. That water is ice-cold.” She turned, and was in his arms again, her breasts smashed against his chest. “I said, call me Buffy,” she said, before pulling him down to kiss her breathless again. He let the kiss go on for a few minutes, then pulled away from her, turning his back on her. “Don’t do that, Buffy.” She walked up behind him, and rested her forehead between his shoulders, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Why not? You don’t like it?” “Don’t do something that you’ll regret tomorrow in daylight, love.” Her voice challenged him out of the dark. “How do you know that I’ll regret it, Spike? Can you see inside my head?” He turned, and saw her there in the light of the full moon overhead. She looked dejected and disappointed, at what he wasn’t certain, and he took a tentative step closer to her. “No, pet, can’t see what’s in your head. Can see what’s in your eyes. I’m a thing to you. That’s all I’ll ever be.” She took one step, then another, and it brought her close enough so he could see her eyes. “You aren’t just a thing, Spike. You’re the thing. The thing that keeps me on my toes. The thing that covers my back when I’m fighting. The thing that drives me to distraction.” She took another step, and she was close enough for him to touch. “If you were just a thing, then I could ignore you and I wouldn’t depend on you for anything. I do depend on you, you know.” She moved a little closer, until they were touching, and she ran her finger down his exposed skin on his chest. “Come on, Spike. We were having fun. Don’t make me go all philosophy-girl on you, okay?” He didn’t make her move her finger, so she let her other hand join in with the stroking of his smooth chest. She chanced a look at his face, and saw the raw need in his eyes, echoing the need in her own, and caution went to the winds as she raised her mouth to his once again. He was nervous and reluctant; she could tell just by the way his mouth felt against hers, tentative, like he was holding back. She grabbed the back of his head and pulled him down hard, forcing his lax lips apart to thrust her tongue deep in his mouth. “Kiss me, damn you!” she said into his open mouth, and he finally responded and gave in to the driving force behind it, his own desire. She slipped her hands behind his back under his duster, feeling the silk of his shirt against her fingertips and the steel of well-toned muscles beneath it. She let out a breathy moan as he kissed down her neck to her shoulder and over the scar marring the perfection of her skin on the side of her neck. He nibbled gently on the raised band of flesh under his teeth, tasting the faded marks of the Master, his sire, and that ponce, Dracula, and she felt him stiffen in rage at the invasion they had made on her body without her consent or knowledge of their meaning. She ran her hand over the ridges that formed on his forehead. She didn’t say anything, just ran her hand over them and they disappeared, his face smoothing under her touch. He turned his face from her neck to see her looking at him, and she deliberately reached behind her and untied the knot holding her shirt around her neck, letting it fall to her waist. He stared for a moment at the perfection of her breasts in the moonlight. Her nipples puckered in the cool air, and he covered them with his hands to warm them. They puckered and hardened against his palms, and she leaned into them, pressing herself into his willing hands, her fingers working his buttons. She yanked his shirt out of his pants and ran her hands over his cool skin, tracing the contours of his belly with shaking fingertips as he thumbed her nipples, making the ache in her groin throb to life. She raised her head, her eyes shining with lust and moonlight. Her shaking hands went to her own waistband, and she moved far enough away from him to yank her leather pants over her hips and off her legs. She tore her jacket off and tossed it onto the sand, her shirt close behind, and stood before him naked and gorgeous. Her skin was luminous and he could smell the juices already staining the inside of her thighs as she stood patiently in front of him, waiting for him to do something. He shrugged off his duster and spread it between them, stripping off his shirt as she moved to lie down on the satin lining of his coat. He watched her as she removed each boot, setting it aside as he did the same, anchoring the corners of the coat with their footwear. He jerked his pants down, and his cock sprang free. She stared up at him, and compared him to the others she’d known. He had them beat for sure, she thought, and wondered if he knew how beautiful he looked in the moonlight. It reminded her of statues and sculptures she’d seen in LA, and she reached out to run her hand from his knee to the top of his thigh, the back of her hand inadvertently skimming his balls and eliciting a deep groan that seemed to start in his gut. He fell to his knees in front of her. Doubt filled his eyes, and he said, “It still isn’t too late to stop this, Buffy.” She shook her head and smiled. “Oh, it was too late the minute we started, Spike.” She reached for him, and took his cock in her hand, and he was lost to sensations he’d only dreamed of. She stroked him, slowly and firmly, until he was gasping for breaths he didn’t really need. She smiled at her effect on him, and leaned forward to lick the head of his cock, and he thrust forward. She slid her lips down his shaft, gliding along silken skin and velvet head, until he was engulfed in her mouth as far as she could get him in and still breathe. He held as still as he could, waiting to wake up, until both her hands gripped the cheeks of his ass and pulled him further inside the heated wet of her throat, then he gave up a guttural shout as he threaded his fingers into the hair tumbling wildly around her face, brushing them away so he could look down and see the sight of himself buried in her mouth. She looked up and smiled at him with her eyes as she fluttered her tongue along the bottom of his shaft, then swallowed slowly around him. She withdrew slowly, her mouth tight around him as his balls drew up against the bottom of his cock, already to the point of explosion. She sensed he was ready to pop, and with a final kiss to the head of his cock, she sat back up, and pushed him off his knees and into a sitting position on the duster, climbing into his lap. She knew he could smell her arousal; she could smell it herself. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, openmouthed and uninhibited. She was liking this, maybe she should adopt the vampire way—want, take, have. She wanted this, wanted to feel desired and lovable after the heartache of the past week. She was taking it, despite his protests she would regret it. She might, that was true, but she didn’t care at this point. Maybe he was right; maybe the alcohol had gone to her head, but that was the only thing he was right about at this moment. And she would have this moment, no matter who liked it or not. She reached between them and took him in her hand, brushing the head of his cock over the sopping wetness of her folds and gasping aloud at the sensation. He looked at her with awe and wonder as she slipped him easily inside her, then she locked her legs around his waist and flexed her legs, seating him deep inside her. She drew a sharp breath at the sheer size of him filling her—he was bigger than she’d ever had, but the feelings of stretching and filling were exciting, not painful. Her heels pressed into the crests of his hipbones, verging on pain, but there was no way in hell that he would stop her from what she was doing. Her tight heat surrounded him, and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think of anything but what they were doing, what she was doing to him. Rolling her hips, she moved slowly against him, teasing his cock with slight movements. His hands cupped her ass now, and pulled her closer yet, and he brushed against something deep inside her and took her breath away. She was panting as she fell forward, her arms around his neck, and she nibbled his earlobe as he moved them both with the rhythm of the waves lapping at the shore. They moved together, building slowly with each touch and each taste. Her nipples fit into his mouth as perfectly as they fit in his hands and she threw her head back as he explored each one with infinite care, both with his mouth and his fingers. As one, they moved together, and Buffy was on her back with Spike hovering above her. She looked up at him there, his face hidden by the shadows of the night, and he moved inside her in response. She felt like one giant heartbeat, pulsating around him as she accepted his thrusts into her wholeheartedly, and the muscles in his arms bunched up with the effort of holding himself away, so she reached up to pull him down against her, holding him close to her. She could feel him panting against her shoulder as she drew closer and closer to coming, then he reached down and touched her clit with gentle fingertips, twirling his fingers around the sensitive nub until she arched against him, craving more. He moved faster and harder, and she still pulled him and moaned against his shoulder, raking at him with her nails and urging him to a faster, harder pace. She was talking, she could hear her own voice in her ears over the roar of the ocean waves telling him harder, faster, deeper, then she heard herself asking for more. He tried to draw back to look at her and she clasped him to her tightly, unwilling for him to see her face right now, so open and vulnerable. She whispered into his ear, so close to her mouth, repeating her unusual request once again and giving him her reasoning, and she felt the ridges spring from their hiding place once again. He raked her hair aside and she turned her head to give him more room, and then the shocking pleasure of his fangs piercing her sent her spiraling into the ether, and she was falling again, but he was there to catch her…. She heard him shout as she felt his completion jerking him uncontrollably inside her, and felt wetness on her cheek where it brushed against his face, and she knew that he cried. She ran her fingers through his hair, shushing him until he gentled beneath her hands, lying still upon her. He raised himself up on his elbows to look down on her, tears staining his face, and answered her unasked question. “Don’t rightly know what brought that on, love. Never had that happen before.” She brushed the tears from his face, and smiled gently. “It’s all right, Spike. Me either.” She let him wonder about that comment as she surreptitiously wiped the tears from her own face. He reached into his pants pocket and produced a handkerchief like Giles, and she nearly broke out in hysterical giggles before she controlled herself enough to accept it from his outstretched hand. She mopped his spendings off her thighs as he gathered their clothes, and she held onto it with her fist as he turned back to her, handing her things back to her. They dressed in silence, consumed by their own thoughts, and he reached for her, helping her to her feet. She zipped her pants as he tied the ties holding her shirt on, then slipped her jacket on while he shook the duster free of sand. Not touching, they headed to his car, and she let him hold the door for her like he had outside the Bronze. She still slid across the bench seat to sit close to him when he got in the car, resting her hand on his thigh as he drove, and he covered it with his own, gripping her fingers tightly. He pulled up in front of her house, and came around the car to open her door for her. She took the proffered hand and got out of the car, and he walked her to the door like the gentleman that he was. They paused at the door, looking at each other. Things had changed for both of them, and she knew that she couldn’t leave it as it was. “Good night, Spike. Thank you—I had a good time.” He reached for her hand, grasping it between both of his. “Buffy—“ he started, and she covered his mouth with her free hand. “Don’t. Please, don’t. No regrets remember? We have now, and tonight, and no promises for tomorrow that either one of us could break. Let’s leave it at that, okay?” Her eyes pleaded with him for understanding, and he freely gave it in return for the gift she had given him that night. His fingers touched his marks on her neck, and sent a shiver down her spine to her groin, still pleasantly sore from their lovemaking. “Thank you, Buffy. I had a wonderful time too. I’m glad I ran into you.” “Me too, Spike.” She touched his cheek, and kissed his perfect lips again. “Me too.” She turned to open the door, and had second thoughts, and they reached for each other at the same moment, grappling wildly to kiss each other one more time before the reality of morning set in. She ran her fingers through his hair, mussing the curls into further disarray, and pulled away breathlessly and inexplicably aching for his touch again. “You know, I really like your hair like this,” she said out of nowhere, then turned and opened the door. He stood there, the sadness of the moment making his whole body sag, and she almost invited him in, but resisted the impulse. “Good night, Spike.” “Good night, Buffy. Sweet dreams.” She watched him walk back to his car, get in, and drive away before she closed the door. Sweet dreams. Oh, yes, she would have some sweet dreams; better dreams than she’d had since Willow's failed spell a year ago. She finally felt like things might actually turn out okay, and there was a new spring in her step as she climbed the stairs to her room, ready for a new year and fresh start.