Her hair fanned out across his chest, all golden and silky, as she lowered her head and sucked his nipple into her mouth, biting down almost hard enough to draw blood.
 
He arched into her, making a soft needy noise in the back of his throat.
 
She moved down his body, alternating biting and kissing, hurting and soothing, until she reached his cock. She gave it a slow, languorous lick along the vein, then sat back on his thighs, no longer touching, but still close enough that he could feel her radiating heat.
 
“Oh god.” His voice was desperate. “Don’t stop.”
 
She’d been teasing him for what felt like hours. His entire world had been reduced to a desperate need to come. He strained against the ropes securing him to the bed, not caring about the pain, just wanting to be in her.
 
He knew she was far too far away, but he couldn’t keep himself from trying.
 
“Did I give you permission to speak?” she asked, a dangerous edge to her voice
 
He shook his head no, anxious to please.
 
“Then I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet,” she singsonged. She pulled out the cock ring and dragged it into place so agonisingly slowly. The friction zinged through him like electricity, forcing gasps and moans from his throat no matter how hard he tried to stay quiet.
 
She smiled down at him as she cinched it closed – just a hairsbreadth tighter than was comfortable – earning a truly piteous whimper. “Now, let’s see how many orgasms you can give me.”
 
As Anya finally climbed on top of him and sank down with a yip of pleasure, Xander used the last of his dwindling higher brain function to consider that they should really have knock-down screaming fights more often.
 
The makeup sex was soooo good.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
Willow woke up feeling warm and secure. Her head was on Tara’s shoulder, her face buried in the crook of her neck, and her knee flung over her hip. Tara was stroking her hair with one hand, while the other rested possessively on her bottom.
 
Willow hummed into Tara’s skin. “Best way to wake up. Ever.”
 
“Definitely,” Tara said.
 
Willow took a deep breath in. I’m home. She nuzzled into Tara’s neck and slid her hand under her girlfriend’s pyjama top to start exploring her skin.
 
Then Tara’s belly let out an explosive gurgle, and they both collapsed into giggles.
 
“I think breakfast would be very much of the good,” Tara said.
 
“Breakfast in bed could be better,” Willow said, her fingers lazily stroking across Tara’s ribs, lightly brushing her knuckles against the bottom swell of her breasts. “I could whip up some … cream?” Willow grinned, “For fruit, of course.”
 
“That sounds delicious,” Tara said, licking her lips.
 
“Coffee too?” Willow asked, reluctantly sliding out of bed.
 
“Mmmm, perfect,” Tara said, stretching. She looked at Willow with such love she was almost glowing. “I’m so lucky to have found you.”
 
“Oh Tara,” Willow said, a dark shiver running through her. “I’d be lost without you.”
 
Willow padded downstairs and into the kitchen. She put water and coffee in the machine and switched it on, then started cutting up fruit. The early morning sun was streaming through the windows and birds were tweeting. Tara was upstairs, warm and loving and waiting. Perfect.
 
Willow put two bowls of fruit, a pot of yoghurt and a can of Reddi Whip on a tray. She was momentarily confused when she couldn’t find Tara’s favourite mug in the cupboard or the dishwasher, but then she remembered that she had been drinking tea just before the Scooby meeting last night. Probably still in the living room.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
Xander woke up feeling sore in all the very best places. He loved Sunday mornings. It was the only day of the week they could both sleep in.
 
He looked down at Anya nestled against his chest, making snuffling sounds in her sleep, a tiny bit of drool hanging out of the corner of her mouth. A swell of love swept through him.
 
He knew the waiting was killing her by inches. She’d certainly told him so enough times. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her, but he didn’t see what he could do about it. It wouldn’t be right to announce their engagement now.
 
But Anya only cared about him and the Magic Box – well, the money in the Magic Box, anyway. It frustrated him when she made it obvious how little she cared for everything and everyone else. I mean, who else but Anya would ever have thought it would be okay to announce their engagement right after finding out that Buffy and Spike were Dawn’s parents?
 
At the same time, he was in awe of the immensity of her love. He’d never mattered so much to anyone before. And here was this beautiful, intelligent, experienced woman – who could do things to him with her body he suspected might be illegal in some states – and all she wanted was to spend the rest of her life with him, Xander Harris. It was heady stuff.
 
But it also terrified him, because he had never been able to understand why. He knew he wasn’t special. He was average looking, not that smart, painfully young compared to her. The best part of him – the part he was most proud of – came from being part of the Scoobies. Take that away, and what was he?
 
And Anya never seemed to see that. She complained that he was fixated on Buffy. She still got jealous of Willow sometimes – Tara notwithstanding. She only barely tolerated Dawn. He thought she might actually like Giles, but that could just be part of the money thing.
 
He didn’t want to hurt her. But he was terrified that, some day, he would. Badly. He just hoped “some day” was really far away.
 
But in the meantime….
 
He nuzzled her hair and she made That Throaty Noise and all the blood rushed from Xander’s big brain to his little one in a near-Pavlovian response.
 
So long as their bodies were talking, nothing else seemed that important anymore.
 
Couple more hours of this, she’ll be fine that I’m gonna spend the rest of the day building Buffy a new coffee table. Totally –“Oh god yes, right there!” – totally fine.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
Two steps into the living room, Willow saw them on the sofa. Together. And all of the air rushed out of her body in a great big whoosh.
 
Spike was half-sitting, half-lying, propped up on a mound of cushions, and Buffy was curled up on top of him. Only her head and the top of his (bare!) shoulders were visible above the blanket covering them, and they were both fast asleep.
 
Spike’s shirt was on the floor and it looked disturbingly post-coital, if your mind was inclined to lurk in that particular gutter.
 
Willow’s was.
 
“Buffy!” Willow cried, almost shouting.
 
Buffy wrinkled up her face in an effort to convince her eyes to open. “Hey, Will,” she said, her voice thick with sleep. She raised her head, shifting her weight, eliciting a hiss of pain from Spike. She murmured a quick “Sorry,” into his chest, then shifted around a bit more, trying harder to keep off his abdomen. “Where’s the fire?”
 
Spike grunted and readjusted his hold on her, but didn’t wake up.
 
Willow still couldn’t tell whether they were wearing any clothes under the blanket.
 
“Oh my god, you’re having sex with Spike?!” she blurted out before she could stop herself.
 
Buffy sat up abruptly.
 
Simultaneously, Spike jerked awake with a yowl of pain, and the blanket dropped to the floor, revealing Buffy’s full-sleeve pyjamas plus robe and Spike’s jeans.
 
“Is it morning already?” Buffy said brightly. “Gosh.”
 
Here we go, Spike thought. Reaction time.
 
Buffy scrambled off the sofa.
 
And she’s off.
 
Buffy fled the room, grabbing Willow’s arm and dragging her along to the kitchen.
 
Spike hooked the blanket up from the floor with his foot and draped it back over himself. It had already lost her warmth, but at least it still carried her scent. He shoved most of the cushions out from under him so he could lay flat again, and tried to go back to sleep.
 
He was fairly certain he didn’t want to overhear whatever Buffy was about to say.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
“Buffy, I just don’t get it,” Willow said, rubbing at her arm where Buffy’s fingers had gripped her. “I mean, ever since you’ve been … back … you’ve barely touched anyone. Not me, not Dawnie. But now you’re all snuggly with Spike?”
 
Buffy was a little thrown by the question.
 
This is the part Willow picks to wig at? That I’m not touchy-feely enough with her and Dawn?
 
And really, why does everyone keep assuming I’m having sex with Spike?
 
Okay, maybe that’s a dumb question.
 
“I thought you hated Spike,” Willow continued – completely unfazed by Buffy’s non-response. “He’s a serial killer in prison! He made an ooky stalker shrine to you. And he threatened to feed you to Drusilla! You disinvited him from the house when he told you he loved you!”
 
Buffy couldn’t really argue with any of that. She had hated Spike. And he might as well be the poster boy for immorality and carnage-fun.
 
“I mean, he kept trying to kill you!” Willow said. “For years! And he only stopped because of the chip. How can you cuddle someone who tried to kill you?”
 
But the killing? That had always been mutual, as far as it went. And … natural.
 
Unlike what we’re currently feeling, which is unnatural and wrong at every level. Really, taking comfort from your sworn enemy is one of those things that should only happen on made-for-TV movies.
 
“And besides, what could you ever find to talk to him about?” Willow asked – clearly not expecting Buffy to answer.
 
So far? Mostly how to survive the kind of memories you really wish you hadn’t survived.
 
Plus he’s pretty good on weapons maintenance.
 
“He bought a robot that—”
 
Willow faltered, watching Buffy carefully for a reaction.
 
“Looks absolutely nothing like you and only helped convince the demon world that you were still alive through pure good luck.”
 
Buffy felt the beginnings of anger stirring. Skirt-girl. Her eyes narrowed. I’d forgotten about that.
 
Willow nodded several times for good measure.
 
“Anyway, he’s sex-bot boy! Er, vampire. Ick!”
 
A frown of confusion suddenly appeared on Willow’s face. “Hey! You went to bed before us. What were you even doing downstairs?”
 
Buffy really didn’t want to remind Willow about her nightmares, or point out the traces of crying she was pretty sure were still visible on her face. Nor did she know how to defend the nebulous whatever between her and Spike. So she went on the offensive.
 
“Are you seriously asking me to justify my movements in my own home?” she asked coldly.
 
“No!” Willow said, thinking Yes! She turned pleading eyes to Buffy, her naked desperation painfully obvious.
 
Buffy was surprised to find how … ambivalent … she felt about Willow and her puppy dog eyes. She remembered caring very deeply about her – even thinking of her as family. But those memories were so far away it was almost like they belonged to a different person. Willow’s choice to rip her out of heaven was so much more … immediate.
 
“Good,” Buffy said, plastering on her now well-practiced fake grin. “Then I’m just gonna head back to bed for a bit. Kinda tired.” She forced herself to walk calmly out of the kitchen.
 
Willow stared after her, a little in shock. She wasn’t sure exactly what had just happened, but it felt suspiciously like Buffy was choosing Spike over her real, human, friends and family.
 
I brought Buffy back. I rescued her from hell. I helped her patrol last night.
 
A moment of blind rage at the unfairness of it all swept through her, leaving her almost giddy in its wake.
 
But swift on the heels of rage came an almost crushing guilt, as Willow finally registered the bruised look to Buffy’s eyes and the slight hoarseness still lingering in her voice.
 
Oh goddess, the nightmares! I never even asked…. We just let her go straight to bed last night. I should’ve offered to make sleepy tea! Or a sweet dreams spell. Or to just sit with her.
 
Why didn’t Buffy say anything?
 
A small, quiet, voice inside her whispered that it was no wonder Buffy hadn’t said anything – that Willow had been so oblivious to Buffy’s needs since she’d brought her back that she no longer deserved her trust, let alone her friendship.
 
I’m just gonna do whatever I can to make Buffy better. Whatever she needs. It has to be about Buffy now, not about me.
 
Feeling sick, Willow grabbed two nondescript mugs for coffee, and picked up the breakfast tray to take up to Tara.
 
Willow put on her resolve face. Things were going to change from here on in. She would change. And she’d do anything and everything she could to make Buffy better again.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
As Buffy crawled into bed, she found herself reaching for Spike.
 
She wasn’t sure what to make of that.
 
Especially now she was remembering more about the day she’d discovered the existence of skirt-girl. God, how she’d wanted to dust him.
 
But then she’d seen that look in Spike’s eyes when he was lying, broken, in the crypt, and she’d had a terrible, awful idea.
 
If he loved her that much when he had no hope … what would he be willing to do with a little encouragement?
 
So she’d kissed him.
 
She gave him his crumb.
 
And then she’d made him promise the woman he loved that he’d protect Dawn.
 
Because she hadn’t just been willing to die to keep Dawn safe – she’d been willing to sacrifice him.
 
It was wrong what she was doing right now. Spike might love her, but she could never love him back. For one thing, she was becoming surer each day that she was no longer capable of feeling love. But even if she were capable, the Slayer could never be allowed to love a vampire. It just wasn't normal.
 
So why had she gone to him last night? She’d heard him from her bedroom, and she’d just gone to him. She hadn’t been able to do that for Dawn, who was hers, and who needed her more. Why could she do it for Spike?
 
Buffy honestly didn’t know.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
Giles was relieved to find the house silent again by the time he emerged from the basement. He hadn’t slept well, and he wanted a shower and some tea before speaking to anyone.
 
It was still quiet after he’d completed his ablutions and was back in the kitchen with his second cuppa.
 
The breakfast options had not improved any. With all the drama yesterday, no one had made it out to do the shopping.
 
He picked up the list from the fridge. It included a mixture of Willow’s, Tara’s, and Spike’s handwriting. It brought home to him, again, how much of a fixture the vampire was in the house. How they had all trusted him for months, had slept while he was awake with free roam in the house.
 
And Dawn truly loved him – that much was abundantly clear.
 
So what was it, exactly, that he was afraid Spike would do?
 
There was no enemy of the moment for him to betray them to – although that could, of course, change.
 
He might well do something awful and violent if Drusilla returned, but until she did, that posed no imminent threat.
 
Giles found himself begrudgingly admitting that he could not come up with any specific dangers posed by Spike being in the house. There was just a general uneasiness, a sense of wrongness that a vampire could live in the home of his Slayer.
 
But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like the worst-case scenario was actually the emotional damage to Dawn were Spike to leave.
 
And wasn’t that a bugger.
 
Giles tucked the shopping list into his pocket, and rang for a taxi to take him to the grocery store.
 
He would ask Tara to look at Spike’s aura when he got back. If she saw anything dangerous, he would reconsider, but for the moment, he thought he might just be able to bring himself to start trusting Spike.
 
By all rights, this ought to be the first sign of an impending apocalypse.
 
Giles wrote a note explaining he’d gone to buy groceries on the fridge, and went outside to wait for the taxi.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
Dawn hovered next to the sofa, watching Spike sleep. His face looked better. It was still all red and blistery … but it wasn’t scary like it had been yesterday morning. You could see his face through the burns again.
 
“Tryin’ to get some kip here, Bit,” Spike rumbled, eyes still closed.
 
“I can see that, Spike. But I was thinking maybe we could have breakfast together? To celebrate you being home again?”
 
Spike opened his eyes and gingerly sat up, using the back of the sofa as leverage. It still hurt to bend. A lot. But it was no longer please-let-me-die-now pain.
 
“How’re you feeling?” Dawn asked, worried.
 
Spike shifted around, feeling himself out. “Better.” His stomach let out an audible growl. “Hungry.”
 
“Breakfast it is then,” Dawn said, relieved.
 
Spike levered himself into a standing position, wavering slightly. Dawn put her arm around his waist to keep him balanced.
 
Still dizzy. Fuckin’ chip.
 
Knee hadn’t quite healed, but it should be fine after another good feed.
 
“Giles is gone. You can go to bed after, if you want. I’m gonna go hang out with Janice today.” Unspoken but understood was Dawn’s need to stay away from the staring for a little longer.
 
“You let her stop grovelling yet?”
 
“Pretty much.” Dawn grinned wickedly. “But I can still totally guilt her into doing anything I want.”
 
“Good girl,” Spike said, ruffling her hair.
 
The walked companionably, albeit quite slowly, through to the hallway.
 
As they approached the kitchen doorway, Spike stopped. The floor was streaked with sunlight from the kitchen windows.
 
“Blinds’re open,” he said.
 
The kitchen was the only room in the house that he needed to be sunlight-free, because the door to the basement always caught at least a little bit of direct light.
 
Spike sighed. He didn’t actually think anyone had done it purposefully to hurt him – wasn’t this lot’s style to set traps – but it was depressing to find that he only had to be gone a day before they forgot about him.
 
“Who would’ve done that?” Dawn asked, on the edge of panic.
 
“’Spect someone jus’ forgot to pull’em down in all the drama last night.”
 
Dawn relaxed.
 
Once Dawn had made the kitchen safe again for vampire kind, they started their usual catalogue of reasons why “that sugary shite” and blood, respectively, were the most disgusting possible breakfast foods known to man or demon.
 
As Spike finished the last of the blood in the house, Dawn giggled. “You realise Giles is probably out buying you more right now?”
 
Spike grinned. “Bet he’s hating every second of it.”
 
Dawn let out a huge sigh. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
 
“Me too, pet,” Spike said. “Me too.”
 
As soon as Dawn left, Spike went downstairs, where he was pleasantly surprised to find that Giles had remembered to swap the bedding around for him.
 
Once he’d manoeuvred himself into bed, he couldn’t stop shifting and fidgeting, trying and failing to get comfortable.
 
He finally realised it was because he was cold.
 
Full to bursting with blood, and he was cold.
 
He shivered, not sure if it was the last few nights of basking in Buffy’s warmth or his dreams that were affecting him this way.
 
More’n twenty years since he’d even thought about Dru’s babies and it still gave him the screaming abdabs.
 
And Buffy had come to comfort him: a gift he’d never even hoped to receive.
 
Then she’d done the truly unthinkable, and actually started talking to him. Revealing her secrets. Trusting him with her fears.
 
When she told him about the voices that haunted her dreams – the ones that told her she didn’t belong here; this wasn’t her home; she’d only been brought back because she was convenient – he’d thought his heart would break. For her and for him.
 
He thought they’d both been crying by the time they finally fell asleep.
 
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
 
 
Jenoff stood on his balcony, watching the reconstruction of his casino.
 
He’d already lost a day’s takings from the closure. He was going to lose at least two more.
 
He’d lost his contracts.
 
He barely had a security force anymore. They’d all died or run away.
 
He wasn’t sure his reputation could survive this.
 
He’d lost his contracts.
 
Mini-Sunglasses started tentatively up the stairs towards him. Jenoff had not spoken a word since the chipped vampire had escaped.
 
“You’ve been up here for hours, Boss. Can I … can I get you anything?”
 
There was a long silence. Jenoff’s hands tightened around the railing. Without turning, he finally spoke:
 
“Get me the Order of Taraka.”