Buffy groaned at the loud banging on their door. Rolling over to her back, she grudgingly climbed off of the bed.

“What in the world could Angel want now?”

Spike shrugged.

“Don’t rightly know, pet. Shouldn’t open the door though.”

“And why not?”

“Well, aside from the fact that we’re not quite finished here, I don’t fancy on letting the Poofter ogle your little bits.”

Buffy blushed as she glanced down at her almost-nude frame.

“I forgot…what with you sexing me up all the time, I’m getting used to being in the buff.”

Buffy chuckled.

“Heh…buff…Buff in the buff.”

“Pet, I think all of the orgasms are drowning your brain.”

Sticking her tongue out at him, Buffy grabbed Spike’s duster off of the floor and draped it around her frame.

“There. All better,” she said, opening the door.


--


Spike, wearing a bed sheet in a toga-like fashion, hoisted Dawn into his arms and carried her into the room. Clucking his tongue, he turned to glance at Buffy, who was busy straightening the comforter so Dawn had something not covered in “love stench” to lay on.

“Told you you should’ve put on some bloody clothes.”

“Oh, yeah, like that would make her calm…blood-stained…er…you know, we’re in America, Spike.”

“And what? You want me to ‘speak ‘merican?’ Please, pet,” Spike said, with a slight drawl.

Buffy rolled her eyes and pulled her clothes on, as Spike set Dawn gently down on the bed.

“You know, you’d make a good father.”

Spike raised an eyebrow in response, grabbing his own clothes and wriggling himself back into them.

“No, really…you’re kind and gentle and….”

“And if you value your pretty little neck, Slayer, you’ll stop right there,” he growled, tearing his duster off of Buffy’s frame and draping it on himself.

A grin ghosted over Buffy’s lips, but she held back, attempting to stare at Spike in wide-eyed horror.

“Oh, yes, I forgot! You are William the Bloody! Destruction bringer! Slayer of Slayers, Pillager of…Pillagers….”

“Not funny.”

“Oh, I’m not laughing! Please don’t harm me, oh Big Bad Monster Man,” Buffy said, throwing her hand to her head and feigning a swoon.

Spike growled and shifted into his vampire visage. Since she was still bubbling over with laughter, Buffy was caught completely off-guard when Spike lunged at her, pushing her back into the adjoining bathroom. He locked the door behind him and turned to stare at Buffy, his yellow eyes almost glowing.

“You are going to pay for that, Slayer.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow and took a fighting stance.

“I am? I’d love to see you try, vampire.”

Taking the first offensive attack, Buffy punched Spike directly in the nose. She held back slightly, so as not to break anything, but put enough force behind her blow to smart. Spike backhanded her a split second later, sending her leaning against the sink. She smiled at her singular reflection, then kicked directly behind her, which was, conversely, right in Spike’s stomach. He responded by kicking her legs out from underneath her, but was soon brought down to the floor by a swift snap of Buffy’s legs. Taking the brief upper-hand that she had at the moment, Buffy climbed on top of Spike and ripped his shirt open.

“Mmm,” she cooed, “The Big Bad is very sexy.”

“I just got that back on you stupid bint!”

“Mmm…sexyyyyyyy!”

Looking up at Buffy, Spike smiled and began to say something, but a horrific memory flooded through his mind. Reading his expression, Buffy gently stroked his face and drew him back to his senses.

“Stop. I know that wasn’t your fault…it was a situation that we were constantly in and we both took it too far. I forgive you…I forgave you then, I just…I didn’t want to admit to myself why I stopped you…it was because I loved you.”

Spike buried his face in her soft neck, her hair cascading over his features.

“God I love you, pet.”

A blast of white, burning light engulfed the pair and, after a brief moment, they realized that they were no longer in the guest bathroom, but back in the replica of Buffy’s Sunnydale home. Buffy untangled her limbs from Spike’s and stood up, shouting at the ceiling.

“What the hell?! We just got corporeal form you…you assholes!!”

Spike grabbed her shoulders and suppressed a chuckle.

“Simmer down now, pet…let them explain themselves.”

The handbook came floating into the room and into Buffy’s hands, a bright yellow bookmark noting a page. Buffy raised her eyebrows, but opened to the annotated page, and read aloud to Spike.

We, the Powers That Be, advise you to always keep your Handbook to the Afterlife with you at all times, to avoid the daily purges of being drawn back into purgatory after you achieve corporeal form. If you arrive on earth, or in any other dimension therein, in non-corporeal form, to achieve corporeal form is an exchange of bodily fluids, the swiftest method of this is for Spike to drink from Buffy, although sexual congress will also work, though at a slightly diminished rate. If, at any time, you are on another plane of existence without your handbook, you will be drawn back into purgatory to pick up said handbook. The Powers That Be feel that it is imperative for beings as powerful as yourselves to always be prepared, and the handbook provides this in a succinct form. If necessary, We are willing to provide you with a pocket, or “Cliff Notes” version of the handbook, after you each have read the handbook in its entirety. There will be a test.

Buffy sighed as she gripped the book to her chest. Spike wrapped his arms around her shoulders and nuzzled her neck.

“Don’t worry, love. I’ll read it to you, yeah?”

Nodding, Buffy frowned at the ceiling.

“Can we go back now, please?”

Another flash of light consumed Buffy and Spike, who were instantly transported back into the bathroom. Frantic pounding on the door announced that Dawn had woken and alerted the entire Scooby Gang to her interaction with the now-corporeal duo. Straightening her tank top and breathing a soft sigh, she turned to Spike.

“Well, time to address the troops, eh?”

--