*A/N - Thanks for all the lovely reviews!! You guys are wonderful.

Spike ambled along through the cemetery a few steps ahead of Buffy. They had made a quick stop off to her dorm so that she could change into slaying clothes. But why she thought leather pants and heeled boots were better slaying attire then the jeans and t-shirt she had on before, he'd never understand. *Wants to drive me out of my bloody mind, is why. Prancing around in those tight pants. Drive a bloke mad, it will.*

His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his duster and he couldn't help but stop so that she could catch up. He had to admit he'd never pictured himself walking *alongside* the Slayer while on patrol. Least not so that she was aware of it. *Wonder if I'm stuck inside some bizzaro world. Maybe Red did do a spell, and I just ain't aware of it.* He was jolted from his thoughts however, when the Slayer stopped, tugging on the well worn leather of his duster to get him to face her.

"So…" she started, and then looked down, kicking at a rock with her booted foot, her hair covering her face.

"So…" he mimicked, wondering if this was going to be the talk she'd promised. *Probably give you the ol' brush off.*

She looked up again, her hair falling back behind her shoulders as she ran a hand through the blonde locks. "It's just… I'm really sorry Spike. I've been all emotional girl the last 24 hours and I really didn't mean to – "

"So this is how it's gonna be then?" He cut in, *what'd you think it was gonna be mate?* a voice inside his head nagged.

"What? No."

But Spike didn't let her finish. "No, Slayer. It's okay, I understand. You were emotional, just wanted your very own vamp play toy to fuck around wit'. It's not like I have any emotions anyway, demon and what all. You don't have to say a word." He started to turn then, his motion, accompanied by a strong breeze, billowing his duster out behind him. He only took a step, however, before he was yanked backwards. Hard.

Stumbling backwards, he was steadied by strong hands and he turned to face the Slayer. She dropped her hands, and looked at him and he couldn't help but look back. Her blonde hair framed her face, and he had no idea what possessed him to lift a hand to gently finger the pieces that weren't tucked behind her ear. Maybe it was the expression on her face, the confusion that seemed to mirror his own. Or maybe it was the fact that when he looked in her eyes he didn't see fear, or revulsion, or – or loathing. He just saw Buffy.

"Sorry, Slayer," he said softly. "Guess you're not the only one all emotional." Spike didn't really know what to say yet, he knew he couldn't tear his eyes away from hers, and he wasn't sure if he liked that or not.

Her small hand came to rest on his forearm, his fingers still in her hair, and still she didn't look away. *I can't bloody take it anymore,* his mind shouted at him, and before he knew it he was kissing her. And she was kissing him back. And he never wanted to let go.

His hands dropped to her waist, as her arms circled his neck, tugging him closer. She moaned against his mouth, and in an instant he hoisted her up, setting her down on the closest gravestone, her leather clad legs wrapping around his waist, as she ran her hands down his chest. She slipped her arms under his duster, pulling him towards her, urging him closer and he just gave in. *Could dust right now and it wouldn't matter a bit.*

Except that if he died now he'd never feel this way again. She was fire. Warm, hard, soft, and everything in between and she was kissing him. In that moment, surrounded by Buffy, her scent, her passion, her acceptance, Spike knew. He was falling hard.

~*~

*Closer. Need to be closer.* Her mind had shut down, wanting nothing more then to be here, now with this vampire, this man. She tugged at him fiercely, wanting him closer. Her hands ran up and down his body, clutching, tugging, grabbing. She didn't know why or how or when, but she knew that something had changed. She was falling for Spike. And she didn't even care. Either he'd catch her, or she'd land hard. Whatever happened, she was going to enjoy this. Enjoy him.

She groaned as his hand slipped under her shirt and she sighed in contentment when he thrust his hips hard against hers. Buffy thrust against him, his hard length making her groan as he rocked against her, while his cool hands pushed away her halter top to cup her breasts.

His mouth began a slow descent, kissing her lips twice more before dropping to the hollow of her throat kissing and sucking, and oh good did it feel good.

She was tugging at his duster then, before pulling at the waistband of his jeans, her motions frantic and erratic. *Just need to be closer.*

Suddenly Spike’s mouth stopped, and his entire body went rigid. Lifting her head to look at him, wanting to know why he wasn’t moving, she caught a slight movement over his shoulder and stopped short.

“Son of a bitch.”

Spike whirled around at her words, his body in front of hers as the two blondes stopped to stare. Looking to the sky, Spike quickly noticed the absence of a full moon and cursed, loudly.

“You got a weapon?” he asked her, and she felt, rather then saw him shift into game face.

Pulling a stake from her boot, she hopped off the gravestone attempting to take stock of the situation. Ten, no, make that eleven, wolfy things were spread out in a half circle in front of the duo.

“Werewolves?” she asked, confused. The moon was only a tiny sliver in the sky, not time for werewolves.

“Worse. Hellhounds.”

Nodding, she gestured. “And special tricks to killing these things?”

“Nope, they die just like anything else.”

“Right, dead puppies coming up.” With that she launched herself at the nearest hellhound, Spike only half a step behind her.

The first dog went down quickly, Buffy’s stake lodged in it’s throat, and her boot knocked out another one as three more launched themselves at her. She could hear snarling coming from off to her right, but whether it was the hellhounds or Spike she couldn’t really tell. Trying to put the vampire out of her mind for the time being, she focused at the task at hand.

*These things are harder to kill then I thought.* Each punch was met with sharp teeth, and her kicks would glance off the hounds rounded skulls as often as they would land. Crying out in pain as a claw sliced down her ribcage, Buffy delivered a sharp roundhouse kick to the beasts head, snapping its neck instantly. Another one got a stake to the chest, and then she just had two left while Spike fought off the last.

The cut on her side was burning, her knuckles were bloody, and there was dog slobber all over her new leather pants. The Slayer was pissed.

Buffy put everything she could into the fight, letting her fear, her anger, her worry out in powerful kicks and jabs. *This is for Giles. And for making me worry. This is for all the times you’ve tried to control my life!*

The two hellhounds didn’t stand a chance.

When it was all over, Buffy glanced around anxiously looking for Spike. He was leaning against a crypt, fingering a tear in his t-shirt. “You’re bleeding,” he said.

“Way to state the obvious.” She attempted to move towards him, but with the fight over and the adrenaline leaving her body, she doubled over in pain, the long gash on her side throbbing in pain. In a second he was at her side, bunching her shirt up to look at the cut.

“Gotta get you cleaned up, Slayer.” His voice was soft, as he traced a finger around the edges of the cut. “It’s not deep, but theirs dirt and muck in it. You’ll be right as rain in a day, I’d wager.”

Letting him take some of her weight, she looked up at him. His eyes were creased with concern, even as he ignored the gash on his own cheek. “You’re bleeding too.”

“Well, then. Better get us both cleaned up.” He smiled and Buffy couldn’t help but notice just how much that smile lit up his face. *Why doesn’t he smile more?* But before she could voice the thought, he was sweeping her up in his arms and striding purposefully out of the cemetery.