Later that day …

Buffy came in from taking a swim, still drying her hair on one of the beach towels that came with the bungalow, to find Spike on the room’s computer. She walked up behind him and looked over his shoulder, still dripping water onto the tile floor.

“Whatcha doin’?” she wondered as she looked at the screen.

“Just some … research,” Spike divulged.

Buffy cocked a brow at him momentarily. ‘Spike’ and ‘research’ seemed un-mixy, but then she remembered the stuff he’d looked up and info he’d gotten on Croatia.

“On what?” she asked.

“Best places t’ raise kids in the US,” he reported.

“And?”

“Well, we got Buffalo, New York …” he began.

“Too cold,” Buffy stopped him.

“Figured,” Spike agreed. “Reckon that also eliminates Albany, Syracuse, Rochester…”

“Seriously?” Buffy asked, frowning.

Spike shrugged. “Don’t reckon you want to go to Des Moines, Iowa, either.”

“Definitely not – Riley’s from Iowa. Who put this list together?” Buffy wondered.

“Forbes Magazine,” Spike told her as he continued scanning the list.

“No wonder – you need to find a list by some hippies, not suits,” she advised.

Spike turned his head and looked up at her over his shoulder. “Woodstock was in New York, too, luv,” he reminded her.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I don’t do cold. Find someplace warm and fun and not all stuffed-shirty. Like Venice Beach, only without the beach and not in California.”

Spike went back to his search and clicked on another list of ‘best cities for families’ done by Parenting.com.

“Oh! Look! Austin, Texas. That sounds warm,” she observed pointing at the screen.

Spike clicked on it and began to read aloud, “‘Austin is a way-cool progressive city in a warm and sunny climate. City pools stay open year-round, and the bass are always biting at Town Lake.

“‘The self-proclaimed ‘Live Music Capital of the World’, Austin also hosts the annual South by Southwest music, film, and interactive festival. In recent years, some Austinites have adopted the unofficial slogan ‘Keep Austin Weird’. This interpretation of the classic, ‘Texas-style’ sense of independence refers to the traditional and proudly eclectic, liberal lifestyles of many Austin residents.

“‘With an abundance of pediatricians, 27,000 acres of parkland, and plenty of farmers’ markets and food co-ops, Austin is a well-rounded, healthy hometown.’”

“Perfect,” Buffy announced as she wrapped the towel around her hair to get it to stop dripping. “Sounds like we’d fit right in.”

Spike swiveled the chair all the way around to look at her. “Jumpin’ to decisions pretty fast aren’t ya, Slayer?”

“What? It sounds perfect. They like weird, we’re weird. What else is there to think about?” Buffy defended. “Just forgetting a moment that you’re a chipped-vampire, I’m an ex-Slayer, and the Bot is a … bot, how do you think a threesome of one guy living with identical twins and raising two small children would fit in in some conservative northern town?”

Spike frowned and scratched his head. “Reckon ya got me there, pet.”

“Don’t over-think it. I always find going with my first instinct is best. When I start thinking, that’s usually not of the good,” Buffy advised profoundly.

Spike laughed, although he was sure she wasn’t joking – at all. “Right then,” he agreed. “Austin it is. Reckon I have the afternoon free now. Whatever shall I do t’ fill the time?” he wondered with mock solemnity, looking up at her with an innocent, little-boy grin.

Buffy looked around the cabin. “Where’s the Bot … I mean Joan?”

“Out on errands.”

Buffy cocked a brow at him. “For how long?”

Spike smirked. “Long.”

Buffy grinned. “Really?”

“Mmmmhmmm,” Spike drawled as he stood up in front of her.

“I’m … all salty,” Buffy breathed as his bare chest brushed against her wet bikini top when he stood, sending shivers through her body.

“Enhances the flavor,” Spike purred. He clenched his fists against his thighs, physically restraining himself from pulling her against him and crushing his lips to hers.

“It’s bad for your blood pressure,” she teased. Buffy’s heart leapt at the brief contact and that familiar tingling fire sparked to life in her loins.

“Lucky I don’t ‘ave any,” he replied silkily.

“Mmm, lucky.” She licked her lips nervously waiting for him to kiss her, to pull her to him, to lead – but he didn’t move.

Spike mistook her delay, thinking she had changed her mind about finishing what they’d started earlier. After a few moments he cleared his throat and ducked his head as he stepped to the side, out of her personal space.

“Sorry,” he murmured as he moved away. “Didn’t mean t’ push.”

Buffy reached out and grabbed his hand. “No, Spike – I’m sorry. I … I’m just a little nervous … I’m not sure I’m ready to lead this dance.”

Spike nodded and lifted her hand to his lips. He dropped a soft kiss on her small but deadly knuckles, intending to release her hand and move away – to wait until she was ready.

“Would you … lead?” she asked tentatively before he could let go of her hand.

He tilted his head and looked at her questioningly.

“I mean …” She swallowed hard. “I love you. I trust you. Would you … make love to me? Remind me that it’s … not … like…” Buffy felt her throat tighten and tears sting her eyes. She blinked them back rapidly and cleared her throat. “Make love to me, William Pratt.”

Spike felt his heart swell at her words. He gently pulled her to him with the hand he’d been holding, and touched his lips to hers.

Buffy melted against him. She didn’t tense up this time, but instead allowed the circle of his strong arms to be her refuge, her sanctuary. She was safe here, she was loved – she didn’t have to be anything she wasn’t, didn’t have to worry about any dangers. Her anchor wouldn’t let her drift onto the rocks and crash.

“I love you, Buffy,” Spike murmured against her salty lips before deepening the kiss by slow degrees. She lost herself in the feeling of sweet surrender, of letting her defenses down, and basking in his love. His tongue gently delved into her mouth and swept across her teeth, then found hers and caressed it softly, lovingly.

Spike pulled away from the kiss just as he’d deepened it: by slow degrees, leaving Buffy panting for air when their lips finally parted. He bent down slowly, and gently lifted her into his arms with one hand under her knees and the other behind her back. Buffy’s arms snaked around his neck and the towel fell off her wet hair as he began walking with her into the bedroom.

Buffy’s heart skittered in her chest as she nuzzled her damp head against his shoulder. She felt the thrill of goose-flesh wash over her in a flood of emotion, tingling her body from head to toe in anticipation. Her whole body shivered in an uncontrollable reaction to being in Spike’s arms and what she knew would follow.

“All ya have to do is say ‘stop’ and I will, pet,” Spike assured her in a whisper as he gently laid her down on their bed. “Doesn’t matter when – if ya change your mind, just tell me. Never want t' hurt you, pet ... never.”

Buffy gave him a grateful smile and nodded, but deep down she knew that wouldn’t be necessary. There was nothing about this that compared in any way to what Weatherby had done – it was as different as night and day, as love and hate, as giving and taking.

Spike stood back up and let his eyes glide slowly over her body. Her limbs were lean and golden tan, her breasts, still covered by her bikini top, heaved with her excitement. His eyes would’ve normally stopped there for a good while, drinking in every curve, noticing how her nipples were hard against the thin, wet fabric of the top, but today they shifted lower, to the cute little bump in her once-flat, golden-tan, stomach. If he hadn’t known what it was, it wouldn’t have even been enough to draw a second look – but he knew.

He couldn’t stop himself from leaning down and dropping a loving kiss atop it before resuming his mission. Standing beside where she lay on the bed, he gently hooked the fingers of each hand beneath the bottoms of her suit where it clung to her shapely hips, and began to slide the damp cloth down her legs.

Buffy lifted her hips to free the material, and more goose-bumps erupted on her skin and chased his hands down her strong, lithe, gymnast’s legs. Spike’s hands never left her body as he pressed the fabric down over her thighs, her knees, her calves, her ankles. He trailed all the way to her bare, sandy toes before his strong, gentle hands left her flesh, and the wet suit dropped unceremoniously to the tile floor.

Still standing beside her with his jeans still on, Spike began the trek back up her legs with his hands. Pausing momentarily to tease and tickle the soft flesh at the back of her knees, causing Buffy to squirm, and a giggle to grace her lips.

“So beautiful you are, Buffy,” he whispered to her as his fingers danced in a gentle glissade up her golden limbs to her apex.

Buffy moaned when his hands passed over her springy curls like a ghost, never touching her skin. He watched her face as he backtracked and slid over them again, and again. Each gentle pass drew a moan of pleasure from her which warmed Spike like a ray of sunshine. On the next trip back around, he touched down more firmly, grazing her skin with his fingertips and her moan turned into a gasp of blissful delight.

He wished she’d talk to him like she used to, but perhaps it was just too soon for that. Or, he realized, since he was leading this dance, perhaps it should be up to him to begin the conversation. “Love how you moan when I touch you, luv. So passionate you are. Can smell your desire, pet. You smell like heaven, look like a tropical angel with a halo of brilliant spun gold. Got no idea what you do to me, Buffy. No bloody idea how much I love you…”

“Oh, Spike,” she breathed when he continued teasing her dark triangle, never delving between her wet folds. “Feels sooo good. I missed your touch. Missed this … missed you.”

“Never left, luv. Never will,” Spike reminded and assured her.

Buffy looked up and met his eyes. “I know … I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice sad.

“Shhhh,” Spike admonished her gently, his hand moving up to touch her cheek lovingly. “Not your fault, luv. Past is past … let me love you now and forever.”

Buffy bit her bottom lip and nodded. “Now and forever,” she confirmed.

Buffy laid her palm over his and sat up slowly, dropping her legs over the edge of the bed and turning to face him. She showered the alabaster skin of his hard, flat stomach with gentle kisses as he stood before her, then moved her hands to the button on his jeans. She unbuttoned them easily, then slid his zipper down gingerly, freeing his urgent need from the confines of the denim. 

Spike moaned when she kissed the waving head of his cock while her hands slid his jeans down his slim hips. Spike took a reluctant step back so he could step on the hem of one leg of his jeans and lift his foot clear before repeating the process with the other, finally freeing himself of them completely.

Buffy smiled as she watched him shrug out of them deftly – he only swayed and almost fell once – employing decades of experience and vampire grace, no doubt. “You know, shorts would be lots easier to get out of,” she suggested.

Spike snorted. “Big Bad does not wear bloody short pants,” he retorted tersely. “That’s for poofters and Nancy boys … and UPS drivers.”

Buffy bit her lip to contain her grin. “I heard otherwise,” she teased.

Spike scowled at her. “That wanker Harris,” he snarled. “Told him I’d rip his bloody lungs out if he…”

“Xander didn’t tell,” Buffy cut him off. “It was Willow.”

Spike growled in anger and frustration.

“I think you’d look cute in shorts,” she continued.

“Big Bad is not cute,” he informed her angrily.

“Adorable even,” she continued, unfazed.

Spike’s growl deepened and Buffy let the laugh out that she’d been holding back.

Spike let his agitation fade as the sound of her laugher rang in the room like sweet, silver bells. If he had to wear shorts pants to make her laugh, then he’d wear them every bloody day.

“You’re just taking the piss outta me,” he accused after a moment.

“Moi?” Buffy asked, widening her eyes, lifting a hand to her chest, and feigning innocence.

“Careful, Slayer, gonna use up all your conversational French tossing it about like that.”

Buffy huffed out a sharp breath of disagreement. “I know lots of French,” she assured him. “In fact, I know all the French anyone needs to know.”

Spike cocked a skeptical brow at her. “Let’s hear it then,” he challenged.

Buffy shook her head. “Can’t tell you, have to show you,” she told him, crooking her index finger at him in a ‘come closer’ gesture.

She kept the curling motion of her finger going until Spike had knelt in front of her so that his face was nearly level with hers. Then she leaned forward and captured his lips with hers, sliding her tongue between them. Their tongues met and swirled in his mouth, then his arms were around her and he was pulling her against him. Buffy ravished his lips and tongue until she began to feel light-headed and had to pull away.

“What more … French does … anyone need … to know?” she panted.

Spike grinned and shook his head. “Reckon ya got me there, Slayer.”

“Of course I do,” she replied, finally getting her breath back. “You’ll probably be better off when you understand and accept my two life rules.”

“What are those, then?”

“Rule number one: I’m always right. Rule number two: If I’m wrong, refer to rule number one.”

Spike chuckled. “Cheeky wench, you are.”

Buffy lifted one shoulder in a shrug and tilted her head to that side, offering no argument to his contention. “Thought you liked cheeky.”

“Nope … love cheeky,” he admitted. “Wouldn’t say no to another French lesson,” he purred, leaning in to kiss her again.

“Mmmmm,” Buffy burbled against his lips as he resumed the lesson, parting his lips to let her sweet tongue slide into his mouth.

Spike’s hands wandered over Buffy’s back and up to the bow that held the straps of her bikini top around her neck. He found the ends of the bow and tugged lightly, unfastening the straps of the damp garment easily. His hands followed the strings down until his palms rested on the naked curve of her breasts.

Buffy’s back arched when Spike’s thumbs raked over her cool, bare nipples, hardening them into tight pebbles with barely a touch. Their kiss broke when Buffy’s body tensed into a bow. Buffy leaned back on her hands, reluctantly pulling her lips from his, as her breasts thrust forward into his touch.

Spike dropped his mouth down to suck one hard nipple between his lips, swirling his tongue over the hard nub and drawing more moans of pleasure from Buffy. His hand continued to tease the other nipple, rolling it gently between his fingers, not wanting it to feel neglected in any way.

Her body reacted to his touch as if no time had passed since they’d last done this – as if nothing had happened to her since Vegas. But he knew differently, and he carefully kept his lust reined in. This was no time for wild Slayer/vampire fortification; this was the time for William to make love to Buffy.

Buffy reached one hand behind her back and tugged the bow that held the strap of the bikini top around her ribcage. It came free in an instant and slid to the bed. She didn’t want anything to hinder Spike’s wandering mouth or hands. She at once longed for his body to be atop her, for him to be sheathed inside her, and for him to continue doing exactly what he was doing.

His soft moans and murmurs against her salty skin made her feel beautiful, desired, wanted, and loved. His lips knew exactly where to touch her to make her body writhe and tremble. His hands moved over her body like a harpist’s ghosting over the strings; she could almost hear the lilting melody of heavenly angels ringing in her ears.

When his mouth moved away from her breast and he began to lick a line of tingling desire over her abdomen, Buffy’s breath caught in her throat. She watched him kissing and nipping and licking her golden skin as he moved down ever further, pausing only when he reached her navel to drop two soft kisses there, one for each little bit, before continuing his trek.

Kneeling in front of her, Spike pressed her knees apart with gentle pressure and lifted her legs up, draping them over his shoulders. He stopped a moment and inhaled as her pink, dew-soaked flower was opened to him. His eyes closed and he made the sort of sound in his throat she might make if she smelled brownies baking: a rapturous, orgasmic sound that came from somewhere deep down inside.

He opened his eyes and looked up at her. She was looking at him with a combination of giddy anticipation and amusement. “Got no idea how beautiful you are, do ya, Slayer? How heavenly you smell…” Spike asked as he slid his hands up her outer thighs from her knees, finally settling them on her hips.

Buffy’s smile widened, she couldn’t help it. She’d spent her life being grossed out by vampires and their overactive olfactory senses, but somehow Spike made it seem sexy. “From that sound you made, I’m thinking I smell like brownies baking … double chocolate with walnuts.” 

Spike tilted his head and gave her that sweet, indulgent smile he had – the one that meant he thought she was cute, if a little barmy … or cheeky … or maybe it was shirty. Buffy wasn’t exactly sure what most of those things meant, but he’d called her all of them at one time or another.

“Not exactly,” he replied. “But definitely good enough t’ eat,” he agreed, curling his tongue over his teeth hungrily.

Spike leaned into her and slid his tongue between her folds, catching the drops of moisture that clung there as that same moan emanated from his throat again.

The blissful moan that fell from Buffy's lips mirrored Spike's. She lifted her legs so that her feet, rather than the back of her thighs, were on his shoulders so he’d have more room. Her flower blossomed for him when she did that, revealing the source of her heavenly aroma and sweet nectar to him.

“Oh, Buffy…” Spike rumbled as he touched his tongue down on her clit, circling it gently before sucking the hard, throbbing nub between his lips.

Buffy’s body shuddered as he sucked and nipped at her bundle of nerves. She remained propped up on her elbows, watching him, mesmerized by his passion and the zeal with which he delved into her. Each touch of his tongue or lips sent bolts of quivering electricity down her legs and into her core. Her thighs quaked and trembled as he made love to her with his mouth and built her desire for him even higher.

When Spike slid a finger into her aching channel, Buffy gasped in pleasure. “God, yes, Spike … so good,” she breathed as his tongue flicked against her clit and his finger slid in and out of her in a slow, steady rhythm. After a moment, he increased the friction by adding another finger, and Buffy’s eyes feathered closed in ecstasy. When he stretched her wider with a third finger, it only took a few gentle thrusts for her body to give him what he’d been longing for: her cum.

“Yes, yes, yes …. Spike, yes,” she chanted, her voice low and breathless. When the wave of euphoria hit her, she let out a choked gasp, and her head rolled back, her body tensing and trembling in blissful climax.

“Don’t hold back, pet,” Spike cajoled gently. “Let it out … love to hear ya … let go,” he encouraged. He’d almost said he loved to hear her scream – which he did – but thought better of it at the last moment. His desire to hear her scream was the polar opposite of Weatherby’s, but there was no way to convey that in these few moments.

Spike’s hatred for the man redoubled when he felt her holding back, when her joyful exclamation was thwarted and left to languish in her throat. He would track the bastard down before they went back to the states. Nothing, not even his chip, could stop Spike from exacting full and proper revenge on the monster.

Buffy collapsed back onto the bed, her breathing coming in fits and gasps, as she came down from the crest of the ride Spike had taken her on. Spike slowed his ministrations, but continued making love to her with his mouth and hands as she floated back down from heaven. As her breathing and heart-rate slowly returned to near-normal, Spike savored her sweet and salty nectar, and the way her legs shook and quivered with uncontrollable spasms of electricity.

“God, Spike … so good, baby. You make me feel so good,” Buffy breathed.

Spike caressed her trembling thighs, then showered the tender flesh nearest his mouth with kisses. He gently dropped one, then the other of her legs down from his shoulders as he worshiped them with his mouth and hands, then rose back up to his feet between her legs.

Buffy opened her eyes and looked up at him, her gaze locking onto her refreshingly blue anchor. The azure warmth of his love seemed to flood into her heart and pump through her veins, burning every part of her deliciously. She began to slide back further on the bed as Spike joined her, stalking forward on hands and knees, matching her slow pace, never breaking eye contact. When her head nearly touched the other side of the bed, she stopped and waited for him to catch her with his lithe, panther crawl.

Spike settled his hips between her legs and dropped down to his elbows. He held himself up off her slightly, not wanting to put any undue pressure on the little bits, but wanting to feel her softness heating his body as only she could. Buffy framed his handsome face with her hands, her fingertips settling admiringly on his high, sharp cheekbones as her palms cradled his cheeks.

She pulled his lips down to hers with gentle pressure and kissed him with downy-softness. If not for the emotions he could practically feel rolling off her, and their naked bodies pressed together, the kisses she smoothed over his mouth would’ve been chaste and innocent. When she’d thoroughly covered his lips with the sweet kisses, she spread out, touching her lips to his strong chin, the tip of his nose, then to each eyelid, to the scar above his eye, to his forehead.

“I hope he looks just like you, our little William,” Buffy murmured against his cool skin. “He’ll be so handsome.”

Spike’s eyes blurred with emotion and he blinked to clear them. “Not as beautiful as a bitty Buffy,” he replied as he turned his head within her hands’ embrace, and dropped a kiss on her palm.

“They better be really cute kids,” Buffy teased as he looked back down into her eyes. “Because they’re gonna be stubborn as mules and … cheeky, and shirty … and barmy … and possibly even bratty, if they’re anything like Dawn. Their cuteness may be the only thing that will save them from their parents’ considerable wrath.”

Spike smiled down on her. “Too right,” he agreed, still smiling. “Good thing their mum is the epitome of calmness and serenity.”

Buffy barked out a short, sarcastic laugh. “And their dad has the patience of Job and the tolerance of Gandhi.”

Spike bit his lip and shook his head in defeat. “We’re buggered.”

Buffy laughed and her eyes sparkled with joy. Spike thought he’d never seen or heard anything more beautiful. His own eyes shone, sparkling like sapphires, as he drank her in. His Buffy. His Buffy was here with him in this moment. He could do anything with her at his side – even be a patient and tolerant father.

Buffy slid her hands behind his neck and lifted her head up until her mouth was near his ear. Her warm breath tickled his skin as she whispered, “Make love to me, William.”

As Buffy settled back onto the soft mattress, Spike met and held her eyes with his. He slowly pushed up on strong arms to support his weight above her, never breaking eye contact with his beautiful, cheeky goddess. Buffy wrapped her legs around his hips as he shifted back slightly, then Buffy’s hand was between them guiding him into her welcoming warmth.

Spike moved slowly, perhaps more slowly than he had the very first time they’d made love, afraid of hurting her or frightening her. He knew she was healed physically from her ordeal, but her mind, he was sure, was still fragile, like a delicate, silvered glass Christmas ornament. He wanted this to be perfect for her, to show her that he’d never hurt her, he’d cherish her forever.

Buffy gasped as he pressed in, and her eyes fluttered closed, but she willed them open again, back to his loving gaze.

Spike stopped moving. “You alright, luv?” he asked gently.

“Perfect,” she replied, her voice thick with emotion. “I almost forgot how good that feels … that moment of connection. It’s like …” Buffy bit her bottom lip a moment, searching his eyes as if she’d find the perfect word floating in their cerulean depths.

“Love,” Spike provided.

Buffy tilted her head slightly in agreement, but added breathlessly, “It’s the summer sunshine on a clear, blue sea. It’s bright and dazzling … tingling hot on my body.”

Spike looked at her with a mixture of awe and disbelief. Had she actually remembered William’s poetic drivel that he’d prattled on about all those weeks ago?

Buffy smiled up at him. “Next comes the thunder rolling over a beach at sunrise,” she continued in the same quiet voice.

Spike waited, looking for the mocking glint in her eyes, but it never came. She wasn’t making fun of him and his bloody pathetic, poetic notions. “Didn’t know you were … really listening to that prattle. Kinda hoped you’d’ve forgotten,” he admitted after a moment, ducking his head a bit with embarrassment.

Buffy brought her hands down from around his neck to his face, and forced his discomfited eyes back to hers. “Didn’t I tell you that it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to me? Did you think I was lying? Did really you think I wouldn’t remember?”

Spike shook his head in awe, then took a deep, unneeded breath, and pressed into her a little more. “Paris in spring…” he murmured to her.

Buffy moaned her agreement. “Rio during Carnival,” she added as he continued his slow plunge into her warm, wet, soft depths.

“Like bein’ born,” Spike managed as his hips came to rest against hers, his hardness buried in her to the hilt, their eyes never wavering from the depths of the other.

“Like dying,” Buffy added with a moan, as shivers of fire raced through her body, raising a sheen of perspiration across her salty skin even as chilly, goose-bumps peppered her flesh. “Take me to heaven on earth, Spike …”

Spike began sliding out almost as slowly as he’d pressed in. The sensation sent morsels of pure pleasure ricocheting through Buffy’s body as she felt his shaft pulling against her body’s need to keep him inside. And then he was pressing back in, and her body rejoiced, clutching at his hardness, pulling him deep into her core with the ferocity of her need.

“Oh, yes, Spike. Nearly forgot how good … how you fill me, how you feel inside me – against me. So perfect.”

“You’re bloody glorious, pet,” Spike breathed back as the tempo of his hips moving against hers increased. “Never known a woman like you. Never want to lose you, Buffy. You make me feel … like a man.”

“You are a man, Spike. My man … our babies’ father. You aren’t gonna lose me. You’re my anchor. I need you … I love you,” Buffy assured him as she matched his new rhythm, lifting her hips up to meet his with each thrust.

“Love you, Buffy. Love you more than you can know,” he gasped back before both of them lost the ability to do more than murmur random words of praise and love, and moan the other’s name.

The hurricane, tornado, earthquake, and tidal wave that Spike had included in his list of how it felt to be with her, to be inside her, came upon them as gentle nudges at first. Like the pre-tremors before the quake, the breeze before the tornado, the gentle rain before the hurricane, the calm before the storm; the sensations built slowly but surely. 

The two lovers were forces of nature all their own. When the full vehemence and power of their volcano erupted and added its power to the quakes and storms already brewing, it sent them both spiraling to the heaven that she’d asked of him. Together they flew up into the rapturous abyss to tumble between the stars, to glide along the Milky Way, to touch the sun, and blaze across the moon. Their bodies remained behind, helplessly intertwined in the primal dance of life and love and bliss that they brought to each other, while their spirits soared.

After reveling in the playground of the gods, they floated gently back to earth, like ashes from the explosion they’d conjured, back to their spent and gasping bodies.

As they came back to themselves, they were still helplessly, hopelessly, tangled, connected, clinging to each other. Buffy steadfastly held Spike to her, secure in the knowledge that his weight atop her would not harm the little bits inside her belly. Her arms clung to his back, her legs encircled his slim hips, and her womanhood held his spent cock inside her in a tight embrace.

Spike had been careful to not flop down on Buffy, but willingly accepted her gentle insistence on pulling his body against hers. His arms snaked beneath her shoulders, and his fingers curled in her golden tresses as he rested against her, his face buried against the thrumming artery in her neck.

“Warm, gooey caramel and soft, fluffy clouds,” Buffy rasped out, turning her head slightly so her breath tickled Spike’s neck.

She could feel him smile against her over-heated skin.

“Rain on a tin roof,” he countered, his voice a rumble against her neck.

“Snow on Christmas morning,” she offered.

“Undying love,” he finished, lifting up to touch his lips to hers.

“Undying love,” she whispered back against his luscious mouth.