Author’s Note: (Slightly spoilery, for this chapter, as a warning)

So, okay, I first want to comment on a plot point that may have been a little too subtle: A few chapters back Spike mentioned that the tower is Louhi’s prison. He meant that literally. In her dimension she cannot leave it. She can only go to Buffy’s world for short periods of time, because she’s not strong enough to maintain herself there while still trapped in the hell dimension’s time. So you needn’t worry about her physically coming after them At This Point.

Second, thank you to all of you who have patiently waited and waited and waited through this incredibly long, slow build up for some Spuffy action. Consider this chapter as my thank you present. I promise that I’m not the sort of author who writes these kind of things just to tantalize (there are plot points and character arcs in here, dammit), and I’m also not the kind that once the smutting starts it doesn’t stop. This will not devolve into nothing but non-stop sexcapades.

WARNING: That said… this chapter is rated M. If you’re not into reading that kind of thing, or are underage, that’s okay. Once you get to the discussion of Buffy’s erotic Slayer dream you can pretty much stop reading this chapter. I, personally, don’t consider the contents of this chapter to be *graphic* since Buffy is something of a mental prude and we are in her POV. But then again, I have a slightly higher tolerance for such things than most people. If you find that you’re uncomfortable reading it and would like a summary or something, just note me or message me.

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all recognizable characters, locations, and dialogue belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the various writers. Show writers and any other quoted authors have been credited in individual chapters. I'm making no money from this—it is purely in the name of fun.

Betaed by Phuriedae and Science

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Chapter 64

A Cold Day In Hell



I wake up to the sound of Spike swearing softly. "Oh, bollocks."

"Spike?" I ask, blinking and rubbing at my eyes. My fingers are cold, and I realize I must've fallen asleep without my gloves on, on top of the sleeping bag. Spike looks up from the other side of the fire, somehow managing 'sheepish' even with fangs and bumpies. "What's wrong?" I ask, yawning.

"Nothing," he says, a little too quickly. I blink to clear my eyes.

"Are you sucking on your finger?"

"No," he says, stopping and putting his hands where I can't see them.

"You burned yourself," I say.

"Didn't," he insists.

"Liar," I say, smiling at him. He looks weirdly adorable with his bleached curls dusted with snow, and a guilty, little boy look superimposed over his vamp face. "Why were you playing with the fire?"

"Don't have gloves, pet," he says. His voice is soft. "Just trying to warm up a little."

"I thought you didn't care if you were cold," I say, confused.

"Don't," he says. "But... wanted to cover you up. Didn't think you'd appreciate cold hands tucking you in."

"Oh," I say, sitting up on my elbows so I can see him better. "I didn't mean to fall asleep. You were just gone so long."

A smile tugs at his lips, then he comes around the fire and sits at the end of the sleeping bag. "About an hour," he says. "Not that long. You're just worn out. You need real food, not that soddin' cardboard with stimulants you've been eating."

"I'll be fine for another couple of days," I say. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You went way longer without blood," I remind him. "And that... your last meal probably wasn't nearly enough. You're healing, but you're still pretty thin. And you’re still fangy. Can you make it another few days?"

"Just... hard to shake it off. Hungry. Lasted this long, though," he says. "I might drain the Bronze when we get back."

"Just don't eat the band," I tell him.

If he had eyebrows right now, they'd be raised. "Did you just make a joke, Slayer?" he asks.

"I joke all the time!" I protest.

"Not usually about vampires killing people," he says.

"Yeah, well, I know you really wouldn't do it, so I can joke about it," I say.

"Know me that well, now, do you?" he asks.

I look him in the eyes. "Yeah," I say softly. "I do."

Then all of a sudden it's like the serious is back, as big as a bear and just as heavy, laying in between us. I sit up all the way, so I'm facing him. His hands are balled into fists in his lap, but I reach for them anyway. "Let me see," I say, turning them palm up in my hands. He's right, they are cold, but no colder than mine feel already. The frostbite has faded from his fingertips completely, and I realize I'm seeing his fingernails for the first time without chipped black polish on them. Weirdly, I miss it. His right hand has a singed spot on his first finger where he must have accidentally caught it on fire. Stupid vamp.

"How can you not hate me?" he asks quietly. "After everything they showed you... hell, after everything I've ever done to you... how can you not hate me?

"I could say the same thing, you know," I tell him, stroking the rough calluses on his left hand, feeling them scrape against the pad of my thumb. "I wasn't exactly Miss Congeniality where you were concerned."

"I'm the Big Bad, you're the plucky heroine," he says. "We weren't supposed to be best of chums."

"Except we were," I point out. "There's apparently a whole book about it. In badly garbled French."

"All French is badly garbled," Spike says with a smirk. "German's worse, though."

I laugh, which for some reason wipes the smirk off his face. Damn. If I'd known that's all it took, I'd have stopped punching him in the nose ages ago. He takes a deep breath and his fingers twitch in mine.

"Head sorted?" I ask.

"Mostly," he says. "Lot to take in. Better this way, I suppose. Can't have any nasty surprises from my past suddenly cocking things up, yeah?" I nod, but he sighs. "I just... I get what they were doin', you know? Not as dumb as I look. I do get it. Buyer beware, innit? They wanted you to know what you were getting into. Shovin' my past uglies in your face, trying to scare you out of it, making you feel responsible."

He looks so tired and defeated that I can't help but want to make it go away.

"It wasn't like that," I say.

"Yeah, it was, Slayer," he insists, glaring at me. "They wanted you to know what you'd be bringing back: a monster that used to be a pathetic git of a man. They wanted you to know what could happen if I ever broke my leash."

"I was there, Spike," I remind him, getting mad. "I think I know what was going on, and that wasn't it."

He gives me a look. "This is the Powers That Bend all to their soddin' whim, pet. They don't do things by halves and they don't just hand out gifts without a boatload of responsibility and obligation to go with it."

He's right. I hate that he's right, but he is.

I sigh. "Okay, so maybe that was what they were trying to do," I say. "But it's not what they accomplished. Everything they showed me, everything I saw... it didn't scare me, and it didn't make me rethink my choice even once. It just made it more solid. It proved to me that I was right about you. That I could believe in you. That you were the right guy. You're the one, Spike."

His hands tremble a little, in mine. "I'm the one, what?" he asks.

I can't quite meet his eyes, so I study his hands instead. Big hands with wide palms, long flat fingers. Strong hands, capable of wielding a weapon as easily as a pen. Hands that are capable of such violence, and yet can still be gentle when he strokes my hair. "I miss the nail polish," I mutter.

"You can paint them sparkly pink when we get back, if you'll just answer the bloody question, pet," he says. "I'm the one, what?"

"Vampires shouldn't sparkle. It's wrong," I say, then meet his eyes. The look in them makes me swallow, hard, and my heart is suddenly racing in my chest. "It took me a long time to figure out," I tell him. "I'm not... I've been kind of shut down, for a while. Riley tried to tell me but..."

"He was a pillock," Spike says. I ignore him, because this is hard enough to get out without turning it into an argument over Riley, who seems like a distant dream with a bad ending. This, weirdly enough, is real. This is normal. My kind of normal. Stuck in a cave, in a frozen pit of hell, guarded by a bear, holding hands with a vampire.

And happy about it.

"Riley tried to tell me, but I didn't get it. Then you were gone. And I read your journal and actually listened to you for the first time. And then they made me look at you... really look at you. You'd think that would be enough, but... the thing is..."

"Buffy?" he asks, confused.

Sometimes, I really suck at being word-girl. I'm much better at being action-girl.

So I reach up, cup him by the back of the neck and kiss him.

He freezes, for all of a single heartbeat, and since mine is the only one present that beats, and it's racing, that's pretty damn fast. Then he groans, low in his throat, and kisses me back. And all thought goes right out the window.

Oh. God. Spike lips.

He kisses with his whole being, as if he could pour himself into his mouth and somehow fuse it with mine. Which makes no sense, but... wow. His hands tangle in my hair, pulling my hat off and tossing it into a corner, and then somehow he's hauling me into his lap so that I'm straddling him, my arms around his neck so tight I'd be strangling him if he were human.

He devours my mouth, kissing me breathless. It's incredible. God. No one has ever kissed me like this, like he would dust if I stopped kissing him back. He's actually the first one to pull away, pressing his ridged forehead against mine and gasping in great lungfuls of air. I match him, panting, but still hungry.

Want more kisses. Now, please.

"Wait," he groans. "Wait."

"No wait," I pout. "More."

"God... gonna dust me, luv," he chuckles. "Just... wanted this so long. Feel like I might combust. Love you, so much, Buffy. Know you don't love me, I know I'm a monster but..."

My heart clenches a little. How can he not know? He knows me so well, he always knows me better than I do... how can he not have figured this out? And then I realize... of course he hasn't. No one has ever really loved him, before. Not like this.

And it’s scary. Loving Spike... it’s not like loving Angel, which was easy because I loved him blindly. Or Riley, who... if I’m being honest, I only loved shallowly. I love Spike with my eyes wide open, for everything he is, the best and worst of him. I love him because he’s strong and weak and complicated and there are so many layers to him that I feel like I could keep peeling them back forever and never get to the bottom of him. I love him because he’s been so deep in the dark and he clawed his way out into ... well, not the light, but to the edges of it. What I feel for Spike, it’s so much deeper, stronger, harder and brighter than what I’ve felt before.

I have to tell him, and I’m scared. Scared because he could hurt me, and I could hurt him, and because there’s no guarantees, prophecy or not, that we’ll live happily ever after. Spike... Spike is real.

And ultimately, that’s why I need to tell him. Because he’s come so far, and he loves so deeply and he deserves to hear it. To know that someone loves him back.

"Spike," I say, rubbing his sharp cheekbones with my thumbs, tilting his head so he can look in my eyes. "I love you."

He blinks. "What."

"I love you, Spike. I've loved you for a long time, I think. I just... didn't figure it out until almost too late," I say softly. "Please, believe me. I love you. So much."

"Buffy," he gasps, his hands tightening on me almost painfully. "Say it again."

"I love you, Spike," I say.

And his demon face melts away, ridges fading into smooth skin, fangs retracting to wherever fangs go, the gold giving way to a blue so dark it's nearly black. It's not gone forever but just part of him again. He stares at me with such awe, it makes me feel like I'm glowing.

And then he's kissing me again, harder now that he doesn't have to be careful of his fangs, nipping at my lips hungrily. "God, Buffy," he says, dragging his mouth away to nibble a path across my jaw. "Never thought you'd..."

And then he's doing something to my ear that is probably illegal, but ohmygod is his mouth talented. Guess there's something to be said for vampires with oral fixations. Still, it's not enough, and I tunnel my fingers into his hair, dragging his mouth back to mine, tasting him as deeply as he's tasting me. Which, all things considered, ought to be pretty gross, but he tastes incredible and he makes these sexy little noises deep in his throat that vibrate through him and into me. Within seconds I've gone from cold to blazing hot, and I'm so glad he's room temperature because he's the only thing keeping me from going up in flames.

He kisses a path down my throat, nipping lightly at the vein there with blunt teeth, making all the Slayer tingles that are tuned into his frequency do staticky little pulses all over my neck. I push at the duster until it falls off his shoulders and catches on his elbows. Spike fights his way out of it as fast as he can in order to get his arms around me again, which is definitely of the good. We fit together so well. He's the perfect height for kissing like this, and our bodies seem to curl into one anothers’ perfectly.

I could kiss him forever.

The thought is a little scary, but true. I could kiss Spike forever and it would always be like this.

"Better not be a spell," he murmurs into my collarbone, which is separated from his mouth by way too many layers of fabric. "God, please don't let this be a spell. Or a dream."

"Better than a spell," I pant in his ear, remembering what he's probably remembering: Willow's spell from a couple of years ago. Kissing him then had felt incredible, and yet.. nothing like this. Not even a little. "So much better. And not a dream."

Except...

Spike's fingers sneak under the hem of my sweater, then the two shirts I'm wearing underneath. Wherever he touches, cold fire dances across my overheated skin. Gasping, I tilt my head back a little, watching our shadows move over the walls, the way the firelight turns the white to gold.

Oh. God.

I dreamed this. My Slayer dream.

Spike jerks back. "You dreamed this?"

"I said that out loud?"

"You dreamed this?" he says again, his blue eyes narrowed. I nod, then blush.

"Okay, not.. this, exactly. It was... sort of... uh, more."

"More what?" he asks, and when exactly did Spike's voice get so husky? Shivers tap dance down my spine to settle somewhere much lower, and dangerously wet.

"Um, well, we were sort of without... clothes," I say. "And... uh, you were kissing more..." I gesture vaguely, to give him a general idea.

"You had an erotic Slayer dream?" he says, a smirk pulling at his mouth. "When was this?"

"The...," I try to think back, but Buffy brain is fried by Spike kisses and it's hard to remember. Then I do. Whoa, I so do. "Uh... shower. The morning I... uh, caught you in the shower. I'd just woken up and..."

"No wonder you were panickin'," he says, slowly. "Wondered."

"I wasn't panicking," I protest. "I just... was a little wigged."

"An' why would a dream about you an' me having sex," he purrs in my ear, his tongue flicking out to taste my earlobe, "get you so scared you'd run over to my crypt first thing in the morning?"

I try to remember, but now he's sucking lightly at that spot just behind my ear and brain is no worky. "Because..." Oh, yes, there. "Because..." Oh. "I liked it," I whisper, just as he bites me gently, again.

"Should confess," he whispers in my ear. "Had the same dream. Same night."

Suddenly I remember his journal, the familiar words flickering through the lusty haze that's clouding my brain. The last entry...

...Still, had a fucking delicious dream last night, after I finally nodded off. Can't remember how it started but... we were somewhere else, away from all this, fire burning off in the corner. Her hot little body under mine, writhing and panting, arching up under me, her thighs spread wide and ready... almost vamped just at the thought of all those hard Slayer muscles wrapped tight around my dick, the scent of her surrounding me, the taste of her on my tongue...

"That's why I was in the shower," he murmurs into my throat. He wriggles his hips and suddenly I'm aware that I'm not the only one who is majorly turned on here. "Think someone was trying to tell us something?"

"That the Powers are kinky and like to watch?" I complain.

"Shall we give them a show then, luv?" he laughs, reaching for the hem of my sweater. He strips it off me so fast I hear my hair crackle with static. My shirts follow and I'm bare except for a bra that I'm seriously thinking of burning when I get home, it's so uncomfortable.

Or, now would be okay, too.

I barely register the smell of burning satin as Spike dips his head to taste me, and then I barely register anything at all beside the cool feel of his mouth and tongue on my nipples. Oh. God. Every flick makes me squirm harder against him, and when he bites gently at one while teasing the other with his fingers I'm not even remotely surprised to feel the trembling beginnings of an orgasm. Talented doesn't even begin to cover it.

And he's not even naked yet.

Careful of the fire, because I so don't want a blazing boyfrie—and there's a thought to dissect later—I shove at his shoulders hard enough to dislodge him, which makes both of us whimper. "Off," I say, yanking at his shirt. He reaches back and fists his shirt collar, then pulls it over his head and tosses it in another corner. He's still thin, but mostly healed. A few of the more major wounds are scabbed and raw looking, and there's some bruising to his ribs, but the rest is smooth pale skin with a dozen or so pink scars. When I trace one with a finger he moans.

"Did I hurt you?" I ask, concerned.

He looks at me like I'm crazy. "Can't hurt me," he says. "Not like that. Don't have to be careful with me, you know. I'm not Soldier Boy. I won't break." I blush, remembering that he heard a lot of what went on with me and Riley. He smirks, cocky and arrogant. "Never have to fake it with me, either," he says.

"I don't fake it!" I say, indignant.

"Did with Private Pencil Dick," he says, smirking. "Can't fool a vamp, luv." He traces a finger over my breast. "Can hear your heart beat picking up, hear your breathing change..." He leans in close, rubbing his nose along my shoulder. "Can smell your arousal," he whispers. "Don't even have to touch you to know how wet you are for me, and the heat comin' off of you? Gonna torch me, Buffy."

Oh. God.

Wait.

"Wait," I say, as he leans in to lap at my collarbone. "We can't... Spike, we can't..."

"Why not?" he demands, jerking back to pout at me.

"Well," I say, blushing. "I'm... kinda stinky."

"No, you're not," Spike says. "You smell like Buffy."

"Yeah, and Buffy minus shower times four days equals smelly," I say. "You at least can take snow baths, and you don't get all sweaty."

He growls, clearly exasperated. "Buffy," he says. "It's my nose, yeah? And it says you smell like Buffy. Warm, and golden, and delicious. It's all I can do not to lick you head to toe right now and taste every single inch of all that gorgeous skin—something I plan on getting around to, eventually. Now, I've waited a bloody long time for this, Slayer, and you keep stalling. Startin' to think you're just messing with me—"

"No!" I say. "I'm not messing. I promise. I just..."

"You're gorgeous," he murmurs. "Most beautiful, bright thing these old eyes have ever seen. Nothing wrong with you, pet. Want to make love to you, so much. Let me. God, please let me."

Oh.

"Oh," I say, a little breathless at the intensity in his eyes, in his voice. "Okay."

"Thank god," he says, and pulls my mouth to his.

Oh, yes.

Then we're falling back onto the sleeping bag, his hands cradling my head to keep me from cracking it against the hard ground. His mouth and hands slip over me, touching me everywhere, tasting me. No one has ever done this. I can't remember... there were others, I know there were. Angel is a hazy memory, glimpses of passion that's nearly overwhelmed by the darkness that came after. Riley, even vaguer. Were there any others before this?

All I know is that everything is sharp and bright and real. Every touch sings through my skin, igniting nerve endings and Slayer senses alike. My entire body feels in tune with his, and I realize that we're still dancing. We just stopped doing it vertically.

His hands skate over my hips, then reach down to yank off my boots. He swears a little when he has to pause to undo the laces. Then my socks, and before I know it, everything else is gone, too, and I'm splayed out before him like a Buffy buffet. Or at least, he's eyeing me like I'm one.

Only, I want him naked, too. I lean up and grab his belt, and he helps me get rid of the rest of his clothes, leaving him kneeling in front of me, between my legs. I know I'm blushing as I stare, finally letting myself look at ... Spike. And the only thing I can think is... Mine. All that salty goodness is mine. All those rippling muscles under pale, scarred skin. He's gorgeous, and he's entirely mine.

His smirk is arrogant, proud, and entirely male. He reaches down and wraps one hand around his... and then he strokes it, watching me. "See something you like, pet?" he asks.

Everything, I want to say, but it gets stuck in my throat.

His smirk widens into a grin. Spike getting the better of me? So not right.

Before he realizes what I'm about to do, I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him toward me, hard enough that he yelps and manages to put his hands out on either side of my head to catch his weight. "Bossy bint," he growls.

"Shut up, Spike," I tell him, then grab his head and kiss him, using my legs to roll us over so that I'm on top and he's between me and the cold ground. Immediately I can feel him, pressing between my thighs, right where I'm all achy and swollen. Right where I need him. I can't help but whimper a little, as I slide over him, and he gasps and arches up into me, grinding against me.

"Oh, god," he murmurs. "So hot. Fuck, Buffy."

I ought to be offended at the word, but the only response I can dredge up is, "please!"

He half sits, thrusting his hips up so that the length of him slides agonizingly over extremely sensitive skin. His mouth finds my breast again, licking and kissing and... oh. god.

Vampires? Totally suck. In the best possible way.

How did I not figure out months ago what Spike was capable of doing with his tongue? And hands? And...

Oh. God.

Okay, now I know why Spike's so good at petty theft and pickpocketing; "nimble" does not begin to describe what he can do with those fingers. He slips them between us, playing his cool fingers over hot, swollen flesh. Every touch makes me shiver, until it's too much and I have to...

have to...

He flips us again, back the other way so I'm resting on the sleeping bag. His mouth keeps returning to mine as if he can't get enough, and I'm more than happy to provide it. Only there's so much more of him I want to touch, want to taste, and for a moment we wrestle for the dominant position again. Difficult since as much as we both want it, neither of us seems to mind losing.

Then I'm kissing his throat, and he's groaning and collapsing back under me, one hand fisted in my hair while I return his teasing. "Yeah," he gasps. "Oh, fuck. There, Buffy. Bite me, luv." And I do. Not hard enough to break skin or draw blood, cause... uh, I'm not the one with the blood fetish, but it feels good, biting the corded muscle in his throat, hearing him growl his pleasure. He's panting in my ear, whispering all kinds of things. Encouragement, praise, words so dirty that they make me blush.

And make me even hotter.

And in between all that, he keeps saying it. "Love you, Buffy. God I love you..." He lets me kiss his shoulders, his chest, then he rolls me over again. "So hot," he murmurs, kissing and nibbling his way down my torso, making me squirm.

I arch into his cool touch. Chill fingers skate down my spine, pulling me near. My skin is blazing. There should be steam where he touches me, instead there's just cool fire. His mouth moves over my skin, tasting me, teasing me, insatiable.

"God, I want you," he murmurs, his tongue dipping into the hollow of my bellybutton. I arch under him, my eyes staring blindly at the shadows dancing over the white walls. His and mine. Black and gold.

His throaty growl makes me tremble, makes me reach for him, pulling him up so I can punish his mouth for talking instead of kissing me. Somewhere, anywhere. I've never needed anything like I need his mouth on me. He hisses a little, and I feel the healing ridges of the scars on his lip. We both ignore them, too intent on devouring one another. Cool fingers play at my breasts, pinching, tweaking my nipples until I'm writhing under him. I wrap my legs around his lean hips, slide my hands over the smooth muscles of his back, careful not to aggravate the healing wounds, pull him tight against me.

"Oh, fuck, Buffy," he says again, his mouth seemingly on some infinite play loop. He's so hard. I can feel how badly he wants me and it's terrifying and amazing and makes the fire burning in me even hotter. I bury one hand in his loose, white curls, holding his head still so I can taste his mouth again. Our hips grind together and I feel him slide between my thighs, cool as steel. He pauses, just at the threshold, waiting, his entire body trembling as hard as mine as he struggles to control himself. The low growl that emanates from his chest isn't even remotely human, but the eyes that gaze down into mine are blue and dark and fathomless as the night sky.

"Invite me in, luv, please," he begs, and I can't deny him any part of me. Not now. Maybe not ever again.

"Come in, Spike, please," I say, equally desperate. "Come in."

He slides into me slowly, and for once it doesn't feel like I'm being invaded. It's more like a missing piece is finally in place. We gasp together as he stretches me. God, he feels perfect inside of me. Just absolutely right. It seems like it takes forever for him to slide all the way in, and when he finally does, he pauses, panting, pressing his forehead to mine. "Oh, god," he whispers. "So, so, so hot. God, I'm going to dust."

By contrast, he's the perfect level of cool inside me, soothing my seriously swollen, achy flesh. When he tries to pull back, out of me, I whimper, clamping down with muscles I didn't even really know I had. "Oh, fuck!" he says, his eyes going wide and staring into mine. "Do that again," he begs. "Harder." I do and his answering inhuman growl makes every Slayer muscle in my body respond, but not in the way I'm used to. I tighten and arch and bear down on him. My nails dig into his back, my legs wrap even tighter around his hips, and something deep inside of me growls possessively in return.

And then the dance begins, and it's hotter and harder and more frantic than any we've ever had before. Bodies moving in sync, battling for each move, doing our best to make the other groan or cry out... only not in pain. Not that there isn't—pain, I mean. I've always had to be careful, with ... human guys. There were human guys before, I remember that, vaguely. Had to be careful. Not to hurt. Not to break. Not to squeeze too hard or use my strength or give in too deeply to the instincts buried inside of me that demand harder, faster, deeper in ways humans just... can't. But Spike can. And he can take it, my strength, my need, all of it, and give it right back. All the while talking, murmuring in my ear that he loves the way I move, the feel of me, the scent of me, my body... me.

He loves me.

It's incredible. I want to laugh with the sheer awesomeness of it.

And then he touches me, there, just once. One cool, knowing little pinch... and the world ends in fire.

Hot, white incredible fire that seems to burst from behind my eyes and race through my entire body until I'm clenching tight around him, holding on to him because he's the only solid, cool thing in the universe and I need him to remind me that I even exist beyond pleasure. He roars, distantly, inhuman and triumphant and possessive, shuddering hard in my arms.

And then we drift, wrapped so tightly together that I’m not sure where I end and Spike begins.

***

When I remember I have eyes, I open them and find myself staring into his. In the shadows they seem black, with the reflection of me floating in them like some golden, glowing thing. He's panting harshly and I realize that we're breathing in time, our bodies totally fused. I raise a limp hand to touch his face, reassure myself that this is real.

He laughs, softly, at my touch. "God," he says. "Incredible. Never... never felt like that before..."

"Never?" I ask, feeling a little weak at the thought. "You're kinda old, Spike," I remind him.

"Oi!"

"And I know Drusilla wasn't exactly a nun."

He snorts. "Actually, funny story, that... or, well... maybe not so funny..." he trails off, staring down at me. "Never been like this, though. Never," he swears, and something in his eyes tells me he means it. He laughs again, and I can feel it rumble through him, into me, like we're sharing the same body. Well, we sort of are, because he's still in me. My eyes widen a little, when he twitches, still hard, deep inside. "Knew you'd be incredible, Slayer. Knew the only thing better than fighting you would be..."

I clamp a hand over his mouth.

"Shut up, Spike," I tell him. "I feel really good right now and I so don't want to have to kick your pale ass all over this cave." His eyes twinkle with laughter, then he licks my palm. "Ewww!" I pull my hand away.

"Weren't complaining a few minutes ago," he reminds me with a smirk. "And if you really wanted a go-round pet, you know I wouldn't object."

"Masochist," I say.

"Yeah, so? You're a sadist," he replies.

"I'm not!" I protest. He just raises an eyebrow and pushes his torso up a little so I can see his throat and chest. Oh. God. I did that? I hadn't realized that I'd...

"Back feels like I went a few rounds with a mountain lion," he says, leering a little. "Wanna go again, kitten?" Deliberately, he rotates his hips against mine, sending more sparks arcing through me.

"Already?" I gasp, feeling my body respond.

"Gonna dance all night with you," he promises, curling his tongue behind his teeth. "Unlike Soldier Boy, I can keep up." He thrusts inside of me, to prove his point.

"Oh, god! What are you? The Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man?"

"Oi!" he says, rearing back and glaring down at me. "Take that back!"

"Well, you're all... white and... and big and with the, you-know, stay-puffiness... And he was a-a Big Bad, too. A really BIG Bad."

"Nothing soft or poofy about me, Slayer," he growls, thrusting hard, making my whole body quiver in response.

"No," I agree, arching up to meet him. I grab his hair and bring his head down to mine.

"Think I need to prove it," he says. "Show you just what a Big Bad is supposed to be like, Slayer."

"You can try, Vampire," I murmur against his lips. He growls and dives for my mouth.

And the dance begins all over again.