Sleep claimed her at three a.m. After several exhausting hours of alternating between staring at the clock and the window, Buffy had finally dozed off, still clutching the crucifix in her hands.

At four forty-nine, the window slid upward and Spike poked his head into her bedroom, frowning at the garlic that dangled from every conceivable spot. Rolling his eyes, he plucked the garlic from the window and dropped it on the floor.

Buffy sat upright in the bed, looking wildly about the room and flailing the crucifix. Her gaze flickered on Spike's shadowy form and she rose to her knees, steadying the cross in front of her. "Get out."

Spike cocked his head to one side, avoiding gazing at the shiny metallic cross. "Garlic, luv? You've been a Slayer how long?" He took a step closer, so he could see her face in the glow from the streetlight. "Or are you trying to entice hungry Italians to your room?"

"Stay back," Buffy hissed, angling the cross so that it was in his direct line of vision.

Spike took a step back, holding his hands up. "You're safe, Virgin Mary. I just wanted to bring Dawn's medicine. I forgot to take it out of my pocket when we left the hospital."

He pulled the prescription bottle from his pocket and tossed it to her. When she moved to catch it, he knocked the crucifix from her hands. It fell soundlessly into a laundry basket beside the bed. Buffy tried to scramble to her feet, but he caught her around the waist. "Just say it, Buffy."

"Say what?" Buffy pushed against him to no avail.

"Say that you haven't stopped thinking about what we did. Say that you want it again. Say that you know how good we are together."

"In other words you want me to lie to you."

"It's not a lie, pet." His right hand trailed down her back and he cupped her backside, jerking her against him. "Say it."

"I won't!"

Spike leaned closer to her and nipped her earlobe. He whispered, "Then tell me that you don't want it. And be convincing."

She opened her mouth to speak, but he moved to the column of her throat, where his tongue darted out to taste her skin, and the words died before she could even process them. She felt her hands moving up to his hair and knew that it was pointless to protest. Her rational mind begged her to stop, rattled off a million reasons why it was wrong, but as his mouth claimed hers, she knew it was a battle that sensibility would lose.

The craving that she had for him was animalistic, carnal. She felt more alive in his arms than she could ever remember feeling out of them. In a daze, she let him lift her nightshirt and watched with hooded eyes as he tossed it over his shoulder.

He grinned at her choice of plain cotton panties. "Nice touch, luv," he told her as he ran his fingers around the elastic legs. "Did you think these would be safer? Keep me out?"

She opened her mouth to speak, possibly to tell him off, and then yelped as he ripped her panties from her body in one swift motion. "There's no keeping me out, baby. Ever," he murmured, claiming her mouth again.

Naked, she was aware of every brush of his hand, every sweep of his tongue, and every move he made. Her head fell back, giving him access to her neck, which was more sensitive than it had ever been. Maybe it's in my mind, she thought. Maybe it's just because he's a vampire and could bite me that my heart flutters like mad when he kisses my neck.

He wasn't kissing her below the waist, *yet*, and already she felt her own moisture between her thighs, leaving them slick and ready. She was still on her knees and he stood before her fully clothed.

And she could find all kinds of wrong with that.

She grasped the lapels of his duster and pushed roughly, yanking it down over his arms. He growled and pushed her back. "Not so rough on the leather, Slayer. As a matter of fact, not so rough at all." He took a step away, slowly letting the coat fall to the floor. Then he started to unbutton his shirt. "We've done rough. Let's see how you handle slow and easy."

He moved painfully slow and Buffy licked her lips as his creamy white chest was exposed inch by inch. "Spike-"

"What?"

"Hurry up!"

"Say it," he taunted. "Tell me you want me."

Buffy shook her head. She would die before she admitted it. "I want you to finish what you started and leave."

His jaw clenched, Spike paused over the last button. "Maybe I am finished. For good."

A small grin passed over her solemn face. "Yeah, right. You can't because you're a willing slave. You sang it yourself."

Biting back the angry words he wanted to shout at her, Spike bent forward and grabbed his coat. "I guess I'll have to make a believer out of you."

She watched him shove his arms into the sleeves of the duster and turn toward the window. "Spike!"

Without turning to face her, he said, "What?"

Buffy unconsciously gripped the sheets in her hand, squeezing them firmly as she fought with herself. Internally a war was waging. If he walked out, he could leave her life for good. But if she gave him what he wanted, she might not have a shred of pride left when it was over. In the end, when he slid one leg over the windowsill, her pride lost out to desperation.

"Wait," she said, and slipped off the bed.

He turned, one leg still out the window, and waited, cursing himself all the while. All she had to do was give him one command, to wait, and like a truly magnificent poof, he did as she commanded. "What is it, Slayer?" he finally growled, emphasizing each word bitterly.

"I want you to stay. I want you to- to-"

"To what?"

"I don't know," Buffy replied honestly. "To make me feel. To make me forget. To make me remember." She met his eyes, and her voice took on a husky tone as she leaned in closer. "To make me come."

"Fuck," Spike swore under his breath as her words triggered an instant and nearly painful erection.

"That too." The promise in her voice and the heat in her gaze was his undoing, and he nearly castrated himself getting back into her room.

His clothing somehow survived being tugged forcefully from his body with minimal damage, though the same couldn't be said for his resolve. He had come to the Slayer intending to give her the cold shoulder and what he was going to wind up giving her, while cold, wasn't what he'd planned at all. Not that he had any thoughts of complaining at the moment.

Buffy stood on her tiptoes, kissing him roughly. Her teeth caught his bottom lip and she tugged, making him groan. He responded by lifting her, mimicking the way their initial sexual encounter had begun. Her legs went around his waist and she clung to his shoulders breathlessly.

Spike wanted nothing more than to bury himself inside her, bang her against the walls until *this* building came crashing down, too, but Dawn was right down the hall. He laid her on the bed and knelt beside it, kissing her knee, then her ankle. He heard her sigh in exasperation and smiled, pulling her legs apart.

Buffy moaned when he pressed the first kiss against her moist flesh. The moan became a whimper when he darted out his tongue and tasted her. One hand moved to his hair, holding him in place, and the other gripped the edge of the mattress, as if she had to hang on to keep from flying out of control.

Spike had tasted her the night before - had spent the better part of three hours making her howl with his mouth, but this time felt like the first all over again. She was sweet, ripe and the scent of her musk was hypnotizing. He lapped at her flesh, delighting in the way she undulated against his face. Sliding one finger into her, he growled, remembering the way she felt wrapped around other parts of him.

It was the growl that sent her over the edge. It vibrated against her clit and she came, gasping his name. He was hovering over her and had buried himself inside her before the fluttering in her womb could subside. The friction of his turgid, cold shaft renewed the sensations and she had to clamp down on his shoulder with her teeth to keep from screaming.

Spike moved quickly, frantically. The sounds of their flesh slapping together were punctuated by his deep grunts. He was taking her fast and hard, showing her what he was made of. Part of him wanted to take his time, but Buffy wasn't the kind of girl who tolerated delays. Time could come later. Time *would* come later. Now he just needed to shag her senseless and prove to her how much she craved him.

Buffy felt the buildup of yet another orgasm and surged upward, giving herself completely to the desire. To the want. To the need. "Come with me," she cried breathlessly.

He complied, just as she knew he would. His seed burst forth, and he thrust forward a few more times, clinging to the sensations for as long as he could. "Buffy-" he cried when he finally collapsed on top of her.

Her breathing ragged, Buffy closed her eyes and concentrated on the feel of his cold semen inside of her. He was still sheathed in her, softening, and her entire lower abdomen was icy hot.

A light flipped on in the hallway, signaling that someone was awake, and Spike swore under his breath. Buffy shoved him off of her and grabbed her nightshirt. "Stay here. Don't you dare say a word."

He watched as she padded to the door and opened it, pausing to cast a warning glance at him, then she disappeared into the hallway. He leaned back, putting an arm behind his head. He loved her. He loved her in ways that he couldn't begin to fathom and that love kept him coming back.

Rationally, he knew that he truly *was* just convenient for her and she'd probably kill him one day, but his heart, the same heart that had pined for a hundred and forty-seven days, kept him by her side.

The clock changed over, the neon red numbers informing him that six a.m. had arrived. The sun would rise soon. Spike pulled himself to his feet and began to dress, cursing his condition.

Buffy opened the door, and paused, shocked to see him dressing. "What are you doing?" she whispered.

"I've got to go. Sunrise."

Buffy frowned at the clock and bit her bottom lip. "You should come earlier next time."

Spike stopped what he was doing, one leg in his pants, and looked up at her. "Next time?"

"There will be a next time. And a next time. And a next time." She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair, holding it away from her face as she looked at him. "This is crazy. You know that, right?"

"I know." Spike finished putting his pants on and walked toward her. "It's crazy. And it's right. You know that, too, you just aren't ready to admit it. But one day you will."

Buffy stared up at him, struck by the angle of his cheekbone, the curve of his jaw. And the way he was looking at her. She saw so much in his eyes, and for the first time, she thought him almost beautiful. "You love me," she said suddenly, awed.

"Yes, I do." Spike kissed her, cupping her face in his hands, then leaned his forehead against hers. "Until next time, luv."

"Next time," Buffy replied, watching him walk away and climb out the window.


The End