On the way back to the flat, Buffy’s scent was a mix of excitement and impatience, and every time she turned her face toward Spike, her features filled with barely hidden incredulity and wonder. Spike knew where the incredulity came from; only a couple of hours earlier the breach between them seemed insurmountable, and now there they were, ready to seal their bargain in a most pleasurable fashion.

Something changed when they reached the apartment however, and her scent shifted abruptly when Spike locked the door. He tried to keep his face blank as he watched her take a few steps inside. It wasn’t just her scent that reflected the sudden change in mood. The proud fighter he had battled in the cemetery, the one who had stood tall and looked him straight in the eye had disappeared, replaced by a nervous girl Spike had met before. She wasn’t as scared as the first time he had taken her to his flat however, and he didn’t plan to let that stop him this time.

He shrugged out of the duster and threw it over a nearby chair. The boots came next, and she flinched at the dull thump they made when they hit the floor.

“Not changing your mind, are you?”

She half-turned toward him but didn’t meet his gaze. Her eyes widened just a bit as she watched him get rid of his button up shirt, then of the black t-shirt beneath it. He couldn’t help grinning at the stare she gave his bare torso. He might have flexed his muscles a bit as he approached her.

“I don’t…I mean, I’m not…it’s just…”

He was just a step in front of her now, and he could already feel the heat radiating from her. His whole body screamed for more of it, more of her, and he wouldn’t wait much longer. Even getting to the bedroom would take too much time now.

With a visible effort, she looked up until she met his eyes. Her smile seemed just as diffident. “We…we can take this slow, right?”

Everything Spike was, everything he felt wanted to scream that no, they couldn’t, that he had been too patient by waiting until now and how could she ask him to restrain himself any longer. He had stopped before when she hadn’t been ready, had tried not to push too hard, had even struck that bargain about not killing humans. As much as he had fought it, she had changed him, already, one small touch at a time, and he refused to change anymore to please her. He wanted her, he needed her, and he would have her, here, now, fast and hard.

And yet…the words came out easily, all of them sincere.

“Sure. As slow as you need.”

She accepted that statement with a small nod, and allowed Spike to undo the buttons of her shirt for the second time that night. She was trembling when the fabric fell off her shoulders to pool at her feet, and for a moment Spike thought that it was from nerves. He found out otherwise when she closed the small gap between them and looped her arms around his neck, drawing him in for a kiss that was pure fire and need. She wanted this, he realized, as much as he did. Maybe slow wouldn’t be too bad after all.


Buffy’s shirt was the first to fall at Spike’s hands, then her bra, leaving her bare-chested. She fought back the urge to cover herself, only to be rewarded by the hungry look in Spike’s eyes. She let out a small undignified yelp when he picked her up without warning, and clung to him as he carried her to his bedroom. She had been in there before, the very first night she had followed him to the apartment, and this time she intended to stay for the entire night – even if that thread of fear was still lurking, curling itself on the edge of her consciousness.

He deposited her onto the mattress more gently than she had expected, and made short work of her shoes and socks, taking only a moment longer to pull her jeans down her legs.

“What happened to slow?” she asked, her voice trembling despite the amused tone she had tried to adopt.

Spike grinned. “’M not inside you yet. That’s slow for me.”

She blinked at that, suddenly very aware that there wasn’t much at all between her and Spike – thin gray cotton panties, a few inches, and black jeans that Spike was unbuttoning now, his eyes and grin on her the entire time. She couldn’t help alternating glancing up at his face and down again at the strip of flesh he was exposing. She blushed and looked away when his cock was finally freed and strained up toward his belly, but before he had stepped out of his jeans, she was looking again.

“Like what you see?”

He was stroking himself now, loosely gripping his cock and running his hand up and down the shaft. Buffy wished she had dared reached forward to join her hand to his.

“You can touch, you know.”

Spike’s tantalizing words mirrored her thoughts so well that they startled Buffy and she looked up. He was still grinning, but his expression was growing more and more hungry as his eyes trailed over her. Taking a deep breath, she moved up the bed until she was beneath the sheet. She then tugged her panties off and dropped them over the edge of the bed before turning off the bedside lamp.

“You can touch too,” she said, and felt almost proud when her voice did not waver – at least not too much.

Immediately, he slid in the bed next to her, lying alongside her and leaning over his forearm, his cock pressing insistently against her hip. His left hand was cool when it skimmed up her leg, then traced across her belly, finally coming to rest over her breast. His palm cradled her hardening nipple. If Buffy shuddered, it wasn’t at the difference in temperatures.

Too soon, his hand moved back, retracing its way back to her thigh and staying there to massage softly. She didn’t have time to miss the soft touch; he leaned over her, his lips trailing along her skin until they were caressing her puckered nipple. At the same time, the sneaky hand on her thigh slid between her legs, barely brushing against her curls before pressing against her clit. Buffy gasped.

“Still not touching,” Spike commented, his words a cool caress against her flesh.

Hesitantly she reached toward him and ran the tips of her fingers over his skin, tracing the lines of his abs, the dip of his hip, learning the contours of his body. Emboldened by the quiet appreciative sounds he let out, she slid her hand to his cock and touched it just as lightly. It twitched as though acknowledging her and she laid her palm over the length to feel it better.

Spike chose that moment to pinch her clit between his thumb and forefinger; Buffy practically jumped at the sensation – it was only the beginning. His free hand and lips suddenly seemed to be all over her, caressing, pinching, stroking relentlessly and pushing her toward her pleasure even as his fingers pushed inside her.

It took her by surprise, quick as a lightning strike and as blinding. It was suddenly hard to breathe, hard to think, and she clutched at Spike’s shoulders like an anchor.

“Pretty, pretty Slayer,” he murmured against her temple.

She wondered how much he could see in the near darkness. He started touching her again, though his fingers were even lighter than before on her still trembling body.

“Beautiful Buffy.”

She had never thought she’d get a chance at this, and someone who cared enough about her to cherish her, to make her believe that what she felt mattered. She had long ago accepted that she would die alone in a back alley or a cemetery, probably with a Watcher nearby documenting how she had failed in her last fight. And as far as she had figured, on these long days when watching silly TV shows had not been enough to distract her from gloomy thoughts, the only way for her not to die a virgin would have been to pick up a somewhat decent guy somewhere for a night – a prospect that had never been particularly appealing.

Now though, even if fate or the Hellmouth decided that she had to die in a day or in a week – unlikely as it may be if Spike patrolled by her side as he had hinted he would – she would have felt this at least once. She would have felt – she was feeling – the fire of his touch, even where his skin merely ghosted over hers. And in the same instant, she felt cold, so cold still because as close as Spike was, it wasn’t close enough.

“I’m…I mean, I want…”

She faltered and licked her lips, unsure what words to use, too embarrassed to say exactly what it was she wanted.

“I want you.”

For barely a second, she saw his features ripple into those of the demon in the near darkness, so fast that she wondered if she had imagined it. One of her hands let go of his shoulder and fluttered up his neck and to his face, her fingers running lightly over sharp cheekbones and smooth brow.

“I don’t mind,” she murmured, surprised to realize she truly meant the words. “If you want—”

He didn’t let her finish. His mouth covered hers, the kiss almost brutal in its intensity, his tongue unyielding as it hunted down and tangled with hers. Lost in the moment and in him, she paid little mind to his hand on her thigh again, pushing it gently to the side, making room for Spike to settle between her legs.

The first touch of his cock against her folds was like a jolt of electricity, bringing everything back into focus. Spike merely brushed against her, smearing her wetness against the head of his cock, teasing her and, she was sure, himself. She tried to break off the kiss to urge him on, but he recaptured her lips immediately, pressing his mouth even harder to hers now.

At the same time, he pressed inside her in one long, smooth glide.

A flash of pain enveloped Buffy and her body became rigid beneath his, instinctively trying to push him and the pain away. He remained where he was however, heavy but not smothering, his lips still covering hers. When she opened her eyes an instant later, she could see the glint of gold in his. The pain receded to a dull throb, and Buffy relaxed a little. Ever so slowly, his tongue pushed past her lips, reentering her mouth to brush against her tongue. Before she could think of returning the caress, he pulled back, his hips moving to the same slow rhythm, then forward again, still slow and gentle. Buffy began responding to his movements, timidly at first, then more boldly when arching into his touch to intensify his thrusts sent sparks of pleasure flying through her body.

As she clung to him with legs and arms, Buffy could guess the restrained force lying beneath each of his movements, hiding in the soft kisses he now showered over her face and neck. He wanted to go faster, he wanted more than what she was comfortable with at that moment, but he kept this easy tempo – for her. A wave of gratitude submerged her. Tilting her head, she sought his lips again, wanting to thank him but unable to say a word at that moment.

She forgot herself and everything in the rhythm of his hips, lips and hands, content to let the pleasure build in her piece by piece. Unlike before, her orgasm emerged slowly, a flower opening to the caress of the sun, and it spread through her until all she felt was warmth and bliss. She held tight to Spike, hoping that he felt as good as she did, and when he shuddered against her, her name dying on his lips in a whisper, his body suddenly heavier on hers, she smiled and closed her eyes.

Before his weight could become stifling, he rolled to lie down by her side. Buffy shifted to pillow her head against his shoulder.

“That was…” she started, but once more was unsure what to say.

“Yes?” he prompted her.

“Wow.”

“Wow?”

“Very wow.”

His body trembled along hers; she realized he was laughing silently.

“Does that mean you’re ready for a repeat?”

Something sparked between her legs at the idea, and Buffy started saying that a repeat sounded like a good idea indeed; all that came out, however, was a yawn.

Spike snorted. “Tired already? Where’s that Slayer stamina now?”

She lightly batted at Spike’s chest.

“Give me a minute,” she mumbled through a second yawn. “Be ready for round two before you are.”

A low chuckle dislodged her head from the crook of his shoulder. She started protesting, but gentle hands pulled her and arranged her until she was lying half on, half off Spike, her head tucked beneath his chin, the sheet readjusted to cover them both. She wiggled a little, finding the new position unexpectedly comfortable.

“Comfy.”

Another happy laugh. Soft fingers threaded through her hair, the caress regular and soothing.

“I’ve been called many things in the past hundred years, luv, but that’s a new one.”

She hummed quietly. This was nice. Nice and warm and comfy. And no one had ever called her ‘love’.

“Then I’ll be the first for that too,” he murmured, and she dimly realized she had spoken that thought aloud. “Sleep, then, luv.”

Again, she wanted to protest. She was just closing her eyes for a minute, that was all, and they could keep talking or doing other lovely things after that. But the minute passed, then another one, and she drifted into sleep without realizing she was, soft-spoken words piercing the darkness, now and then, to settle on her soul like as many caresses.

“…because I love you…waiting for you…fire…it's you the one I love…consume my heart…the one who dies…because I love you…”