“Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

Spike didn’t know if it was the beautiful words themselves, or the tone of hushed awe with which they were spoken, or the wide-eyed look of absolute devotion in her shining green eyes, that left him needlessly breathless. Maybe it was the combination of the three. All he knew was that during his years of slavery, he had never imagined being this happy, ever again.

Scratch that “again” – he had never been this happy.

They had spent the last thirty minutes in each other’s arms on top of the bed, simply drowning in each other’s kiss, as Buffy desperately drank in the love and comfort that he offered her, and gratefully returned it, wanting him to know just how very much he meant to her – what a profound and powerful difference he had made in her life.

She lowered her mouth to his again, her hands gently moving to his hips as her tongue tenderly explored his mouth again, and his arms slipped around her, pulling her closer to him. Suddenly, the sparse clothing they still wore seemed infinitely too much, as Buffy’s hands left his body to find the hem of her thin cotton camisole, lifting herself up off of him just enough to slide the garment off over her head, before lowering her body back down onto his.

He gasped at the pleasure of her smooth, hot skin against his cool, bare chest, as her warm hands slid to the waistband of the loose fitting sweat pants he had changed into for bed. Her words earlier had promised that they would eventually be removed, but he was still not quite confident enough to make that assumption on his own.

As if reading his mind, she whispered teasingly near his ear, “Did you forget?”

He moaned slightly as one of her small hands slid between them, closing gently but firmly around his bare, throbbing member – aching now with his desire for her, rather than with the abuse it had taken earlier. “How could I?” he gasped, his hands instinctively coming to rest just above her bottom and pulling her closer to him.

She suddenly let out a gasp of her own as she felt his hardness through the coarse fabric of her jeans. “God!” she whispered. “Jeans…off…now!”

He was only too glad to oblige as his hands slipped back around her to unzip the jeans, as her hands pushed them down over her hips, removing her damp panties with the same motion, too eager this time to take her time with this.

The fragrance of her powerful desire for him filled the air, intoxicating him and taking his control, as he leaned his head back with a little moan of pleasure. Suddenly, she froze completely, and he looked up at her in concern, to see her eyes opened wide and the Slayer staring at him, a look resembling panic in her eyes.

“Are you okay?” she whispered, furious with herself that she had not even considered the possibility that he might still be in pain from Riley’s assault. “Is it – healed?”

As understanding dawned in his eyes, and he realized what her concern had been, a warmth filled him as once again the truth of her love for him was revealed to him. None of his previous masters or mistresses had cared whether or not he was in pain. If they had wanted him, he was expected to submit to their desires, regardless of how he felt about it.

But, he reminded himself, Buffy was not his mistress anymore. She had granted him the precious gift of his freedom, even if they could not be free to declare it just yet. She wanted him to be his own, to be free to make his own decisions and choose whether or not he wanted her.

He nodded his head as he was unable to speak, breathless again with the power of the moment, as he gazed into sparkling green eyes that were full of relief and affection so powerful that it was completely overwhelming to him. She leaned down to kiss him again, slowly, on the lips, pulling back to smile at him with a softness and vulnerability in her eyes that was stunning to him.

“Good,” she whispered tenderly, one hand rising to stroke down his cheek in a feather-light touch. “I never want to hurt you. I love you so much.”

Oh, who was he kidding? She bloody owned him, body and soul.

As he stared into her desire-darkened eyes, straight into the desperate need she had for him, he wanted nothing more in all the world than to please her. Without warning, he reached to take her hands in his, and quickly flipped them over so that he was on top of her, almost laughing with affection at the startled but pleased look in her eyes.

Hoping that the look in his eyes expressed to her what his words could not, he whispered, “I’m yours, Buffy…only yours…” before his lips descended to her throat, the cool, moist sensation of his mouth on her fevered skin sending delicious shivers all through her body. Slowly, he moved down her body, his mouth closing over one hard nipple for just a moment, before moving on down to caress her stomach tenderly, his hands rising above him to soften the loss for her hyper-sensitive breasts.

Buffy could feel herself losing control with her need for him, his words echoing in her mind – and suddenly, her eyes flew open in realization, even as she released a moan of pleasure as his teeth nipped gently at the soft skin of her inner thigh.

Still, he saw himself as her possession, his only goal and purpose to give her pleasure.

And that, she decided firmly, would never do.

Her hands came to rest on his shoulders, pushing him gently back, and he immediately stopped, looking up at her uncertainly. She gave him a reassuring smile as she beckoned him back up to rest beside her.

“What is it, love?” he whispered, searching her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she replied softly. “Everything’s perfect. *You’re* perfect.” She leaned in to kiss him again, slowly but emphatically, before pulling back to add, “Let me show you how much I love you, Spike.” And with those stunning words, she gently pressed on his shoulders, reversing their positions again as she set about proving her words.

“Buffy!” he gasped as her mouth descended again, to his throat, kissing a trail of kisses down to his chest, as she slowly lowered her body down his in repetition of his movements moments before, kissing and licking a tantalizingly slow path downward toward her eventual goal.

She settled on her knees between his legs, her mouth hovering over his swollen, needy erection, her hot breath teasing him to higher levels of desire. When she stopped moving, he looked down at her with desperation in his eyes, his lips parting to beg her for what he needed.

The words died on his lips, his eyes widening at the look of smoldering intensity in her hooded eyes, as her mouth dipped down suddenly, encircling him in the steaming warmth of her mouth. He threw his head back, overwhelmed by the sensation, moaning out her name as she went to work bringing him the release he needed.

Still so accustomed to being the submissive party in anything of this nature, and certainly *not* accustomed to being focused on in this way, having *his* needs put first, Spike resisted his impulse to bury his hands in her soft, silken blonde hair, instead fisting his hands in the sheets as he thrust slowly up toward her, controlling even those motions for fear of “crossing the line”.

Buffy was determined to smash “the line” into itty bitty pieces before she was through. Without ceasing her tender ministrations to his body, she reached her hands up and took his, pulling them down and placing them on her head, giving him the silent permission he still felt he needed. At the exact same moment, she gently scraped her blunt lower teeth along the underside of his erection, and he bucked up against her mouth without meaning too, releasing a low moan of pleasure.

“Buffy! God, *Buffy*!” Hesitantly at first, then urgently, he pushed lightly on her head, urging her to take him deeper into her mouth, whispering her name in a soft, worshipful chant.

She gradually intensified her efforts, with expert precision, drawing him slowly toward his climax, until finally, he could not hold back any more, releasing his pleasure into her mouth with a cry that was almost a roar of pleasure. Buffy kept him in her mouth, swallowing it down, and then slowly pulled her mouth away, applying several soft, light kisses before she moved back up the bed to look into his hazy, distant eyes.

She slid her arms around him, running a hand tenderly through his damp, disheveled hair as she stared into his eyes until they came into focus again, regarding her with an unspeakable awe.

When she thought that he could actually hear her again, she kissed him on the lips and whispered as she pulled back, “I’m yours, too, Spike.”

His eyes widened in stunned disbelief at the beautiful words.

She smiled, seeing in his gaze that he was having difficulty with the concept. “I’m yours,” she repeated firmly.

She watched in amazement as it gradually sunk in for him, as the disbelief subsided, giving way to joy – and desire. Her eyes widened, hardly able to believe that he was already ready ag…

She let out a little squeal as her vampire lover gripped her arms and flipped her over on her back with a possessive little growl, only too ready to accept the gift she had offered.


Downstairs, the rest of the group got ready for bed, bustling about here and there, getting last minute drinks and making up beds. Or at least, they would have been making up the pull out bed in the living room, if Xander had not been sound asleep on it. Apparently his wife’s big news had tired him out.

“Xan,” Willow gently nudged his shoulder, trying to wake him, though he just muttered something in his sleep and turned away from her. “Xander, come on…we need to get the bed made out.”

Finally he looked up, blinking sleepily at her, automatically patting the couch beside him, looking for Anya. He looked at it blankly when he realized it was empty, mumbling, “Where’s Ahn?”

“I don’t know, she’s somewhere around here,” Willow said, a bit dismissively. “We need to get this bed pulled out. You two can sleep in here tonight. Giles was saying that he thinks everybody ought to stay around here until this whole thing is settled. Your house isn’t safe.”

Xander still seemed a bit out of it, but after a moment he nodded sleepily, finally registering her words as he stumbled up off the couch. “Ahn?” he called wearily, walking into the kitchen. “Honey?”

Willow and Tara made out the bed while he was wandering aimlessly about looking for his wife – and child – but no one responded to his call.


Anya was standing out on the porch, staring up into the sky, clearer and with more visible stars then usual. It seemed so perfect – just like her life at this moment. Mara’s unexpected revelation about her near future had caught her off guard – but as soon as her mind had had time to process it, she was thrilled beyond the telling of it.

She was going to be a *mother*. She was having a baby – Xander’s baby. When she had been turned human, she had never thought that she would every experience anything but misery from that moment on. But now, she could not think of anything in her life as a demon that in any way compared to the beauty, the unspeakable happiness, of this moment.

The noise and rushed feeling that filled the house tonight had been fun for a little while, but left her with no time to think about the turn of events, and exactly what it would mean for her and her husband. She had stepped out onto the porch, needing a few moments alone, just to make it all seem real to her at last, and not like the happy dream that a part of her still thought it was.

Suddenly, the dream was turned to a nightmare as a hard arm wrapped around her waist, yanking her down the porch steps before she could react, and a second hand clamped tightly over her mouth, silencing her scream before it left her throat. Automatically, instinctively, she struggled and kicked, feeling a sense of triumph even through her terror when her foot connected with the knee of the man behind her, and she heard a muffled moan of pain.

“Tranq her!” a voice hissed behind her, very close to her ear, and her eyes widened in terror.

Her vision came into focus again when the man holding her stopped moving, and her eyes widened in horror at the leering grin on the face of the soldier before her. He smirked at her as he moved slowly toward her, trailing a hand suggestively down her side. “I can think of another way to shut her up,” he sneered, his other hand resting lewdly over his swollen manhood.

Anya flinched at the insinuation, helplessly terrified as she fought, uselessly, against the much stronger man who held her, suffused with a sudden protective rage for the developing life inside her. These men would not take her – she would not allow it – not while she had her child to think of.

“Unh-uh,” the man holding her objected, pulling her backward away from the lust-filled soldier before her. “You heard what Finn said. This one’s not supposed to be damaged. Not until he says so.”

The soldier sighed regretfully. “Okay,” he relented, taking a step back, a smirk playing over his lips. “I can wait.”

Although by now she realized with a sense of hopelessness that she would not being able to break free, Anya continued to struggle, kicking back at the man behind her, managing in a lucky blow to connect with his crotch.

The man released her suddenly with a silent scream of agony, dropping to his knees. And in the next few moments, everything happened very quickly. Anya lurched forward, stumbling onto her knees but immediately rising again, staggering toward the house, her mouth open for the cry that had been resounding in her head.

But before her mouth could form the single word – her husband’s name – she felt the sharp, piercing sting of a needle in the side of her neck, and her throat constricted, paralyzed by whatever solution the soldiers had injected with. Her muscles gave out on her, and she collapsed to the ground on her knees again.

One final thought filled her mind as she fell forward onto her face, unable to move or cry out as darkness quickly overtook her.

*Oh, God, don’t let them hurt my baby!*