Story Title: Spirit Indestructible


Season 5. Begins with ‘Spiral’ in the abandoned gas station, and goes far off-canon almost immediately.

When Dawn makes the ultimate sacrifice to save her sister, friends, and the world, Buffy’s mind snaps. When Buffy's friends give up hope of her ever recovering, and become afraid that she’ll turn violent and uncontrollable, they call in the Council to help. Fearing what the Council will do, Spike, forgotten and ignored by her friends, steps in. Will he be able to reach the Slayer when no one else could? Will he be able to keep her out of the hands of the Council and away from her ‘helpful’ friends? How much heartbreak, guilt, and failure can one girl stand before her indestructible spirit finally resigns the fight and gives up hope?




7. Make the World Go Away


Music Referenced:

Make The World Go Away, Martina McBride (originally by Eddie Arnold)


Nelly Furtado - Spirit Indestructible


ScreenCaps courtesy of ScreenCap Paradise:



Thanks to YOU for reading and to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions and commentary that always makes me smile! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.

Rating / Warnings:

NC17. Spike/Other. Threesome B/G/G action involving Spike, Buffy, and BuffyBot. Main Character Death. Plenty of angst.

Content is only suitable for mature adults. Contains explicit language, sex, adult themes, and other adult situations that some people may find objectionable. If you are under the age of 17 or find any of these themes objectionable – GO AWAY.


“Spike?” Buffy called, her voice rough from sleep. She tried to look around and figure out where she was, but the room around her was dark and someone warm – definitely not Spike – was holding her in place on the bed.


“Spike?” she tried again louder as she tried to pry the arm off from around her torso that was holding her prisoner.


“Spike went down to get more of those pretty plastic discs,” the Bot told Buffy cheerfully.


Buffy started at the loud voice so near her ear. “And you’re all wrapped around me like a boa constrictor around a … whatever boa constrictors eat … why exactly?” Buffy protested, pulling harder on the Bot’s arm to no avail.


Buffy and the Bot were both lying on the bed on their sides with the Bot behind Buffy. BuffyBot had her arms wrapped around Buffy’s upper arms and torso, and her legs twined around Buffy’s legs, holding the Slayer’s back securely against the Bot’s front.


“He said I should keep you immobile until he got back. Boa constrictors eat a wide variety of food. Young snakes eat rats, small birds, lizards, and frogs. Adults will eat monkeys, capybaras, caimans, and wild pigs,” the Bot offered helpfully.


“Great … I’m a rat … again,” Buffy groaned. “And just why would I need to be kept immobile?”


“You were trying to rip off Spike’s dangly bits. He was quite upset. Based on his reaction, I’ve surmised that he’s rather fond of them,” the Bot told her.


Buffy couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped her throat. “His 'dangly bits'?” she repeated incredulously. “Why would I do that?”


“You attempted to copulate with him. He was unwilling,” the Bot answered.


The humor of the situation died on Buffy's lips. “I … did I hurt him?” she asked the Bot as she stopped pulling against the robot’s limbs.


“He sustained no serious injuries, although his chip fired several times as he tried to restrain you and defend his delicate, and quite impressive, reproductive organs.”


“Oh my God,” Buffy moaned, not certain whether to be mortified, horrified, or terrified by what she’d apparently done when she wasn’t in control.


“You … got me off him?” Buffy asked the Bot.


“Yes. I’m the Slayer. I’m quite strong and have many combat skills. Spike said that your mind was in disarray, otherwise I would not have so easily subdued you. But, I’m not certain if that is true. I’m very capable. And I have excellent quips.”


Buffy closed her eyes and sighed heavily. “Bot, promise me something. Promise to always protect Spike … from me, from anyone, okay? He’s got that chip and it makes him … vulnerable.”


“You have already directed me to do that. Is your memory faulty?  The night you stabbed the knife into your arms and everyone started screaming. That directive has not been countermanded.”


“Right. I forgot,” Buffy agreed.


“Spike is probably right. Perhaps you are ‘off your gourd’.”


Buffy snorted and closed her eyes, relaxing in the Bot’s protective, and fairly immovable, embrace. “I am undoubtedly ‘off my gourd’.”




Buffy awoke later when something tickled her nostrils and some indistinct aroma made her stomach rumble in reply. She tried to reach up and rub at her nose to get the tickling sensation to stop, but her arms were still pinned to her sides. She blinked her eyes open to find Spike crouched down on his heels in front of her, waving a French fry under her nose like smelling-salts.


“There you are, Slayer,” Spike commented affably, giving her a little smile as if she hadn’t tried to rape him, presuming what the Bot had told her was true. “Got your favorite,” he continued, still waving the French fry around like a sword in front of her face. “Chips and a chocolate milkshake.”


“Sounds really healthy,” Buffy commented, her voice raspy from sleep. “And I told you before, I’m not the Slayer.”


“I’m the Slayer. I fight with weapons,” the Bot offered from behind Buffy.


Buffy quirked a brow at Spike. “See? She’s the Slayer, not me. I officially relinquish my title to her.”


Her? Not it?” Spike questioned, his brow furrowed, surprised by the use of the pronoun.


Buffy shrugged one shoulder – all she could move. “She’s alright, I guess ...” Buffy admitted. “A bit literal, but … at least she’s brutally honest.”


“Buffy?” Spike questioned, tilting his head to consider her more carefully. “You back, luv?”


Buffy closed her eyes and nodded. “Yeah … I guess.”

“Don’t feel any uncontrollable urge t’ … rip my clothes off, do ya?” he asked, a slight teasing tone to his words.


Him making light of what she’d done stabbed an icicle of guilt into Buffy’s stomach and tears welled behind her lids. “I’m sorry…” she murmured, the sound barely audible even to Spike’s ears.


“No worries, pet. Been wishing you’d rip m’ clothes off for a good while now. Bloody pathetic that when ya finally did, I wouldn’t let ya,” he replied as he stood up and touched the Bot’s arm. “Let ‘er go,” he said to the newly-appointed Slayer.


Buffy rubbed at her numb arms when the Bot released the hold she’d had on her, and sat up slowly on the edge of the bed. “From what the Bot tells me, you needed help fending me off,” Buffy countered.


“Bot’s got a big bloody mouth,” Spike spat, looking at the robot who moved to sit next to Buffy.


“My mouth was created to precise specifications,” the BuffyBot protested, then opened her mouth as wide as it would go to demonstrate. “Uh iau ooo ook eeg?” she asked with her mouth still fully open.


“No – it’s not too big,” Buffy answered her. “It’s just right. You can close it now.”


Spike looked at Buffy with disbelief. “You understood that gibberish?”


Buffy shrugged. “It’s what I would’ve asked.”


“Bloody scary, that is Sl...ummers,” Spike stuttered.


Buffy stopped rubbing her arms and looked up at him gravely. “I’m so sorry … I don’t know why I … I just … I’m sorry.”


“Least ya didn’t break m’ nose this time, pet,” he excused with a casual wave of the French fry still in his hand.


Buffy rolled her eyes and shook her head. If he’d done that to her, could she have been so cavalier and forgiving about it? Even if she was out of her mind with grief and guilt, she couldn’t let that happen again. She’d have to talk to the Bot later, set up some kind of signal when Buffy felt the … madness coming on, so the Bot could restrain her. Madness. The word sent shivers down Buffy’s spine, but it was the only word that fit. She was going – or had gone – mad.


“Peckish?” Spike asked, breaking into Buffy’s train of thought.


Buffy looked up at him. “No, this is America – I’m hungry,” she retorted, choosing to go along with his casual dismissal of her behavior, at least for now.


“Bloody Yanks. Got perfectly good words from the mother country, but you gotta go mucking about with the language. Can’t ever leave well enough alone, can ya?” Spike taunted.


“I’m pretty sure hungry isn’t a new word we just invented over here,” Buffy argued as she stood up and grabbed the French fry from his hand.


“I grew up being ‘peckish’ – it’s bloody well not new either,” Spike shot back.


“I bet ‘hungry’ is older than ‘peckish’,” Buffy retorted as she shoved the fry into her mouth.


“Right – what’s the wager? I got fifty bucks says I’m right,” Spike challenged, pulling a chip out of his pocket. “What ‘ave you got, Summers?”


Buffy frowned – she didn’t have any money. “Can I … borrow…”


“Pffft!” Spike snorted, cutting her off before she could even get the words out. “If ya can’t run with the big dogs, stay on the porch, luv.”


“I can run with the biggest dogs … wolves … werewolves even!” Buffy objected with a pout. “I just don’t have any money,” she added petulantly.


“I bet you don’t let anyone borrow money in Monopoly, either,” she griped.


“Not a bloody chance,” Spike confirmed. “Pay up or go broke – that’s the way ya win, luv.”


Buffy frowned at him, thinking. “We could bet something else!” she offered, brightening. “I bet you … a massage.”


Spike’s brows quirked up, as did his libido, but he repressed the ‘I got ya now’ smirk that reached for his lips. “Full body… head t’ toe.”


Buffy nodded.


“With oil,” he added.


Buffy twisted her mouth suspiciously, but then nodded.


Spike stuck his right hand out to shake on it. Buffy spit on her palm, then reached for his outstretched hand. Spike drew his hand back out of her reach with vampire speed, making a disgusted face.


"Oi! Don't want your crazy-cooties, Summers," he objected.


"My crazy isn't catching! Geez, Spike – never knew you were so ... prissy! I'll bet you wouldn't complain if it was blood."


"'Course not – that's different, innit?" Spike agreed with a derisive sniff.


"You are so ... " Despite several descriptive words jumping to mind, Buffy shook her head and sighed, not voicing any of them.


She wiped her hand off on her jeans and offered it to him again. They shook once, both trying to break the other’s fingers, but neither succeeding in even making the other wince.


“Sooo … how do we find out now? Normally, I’d ask Giles or Willow…” Buffy let her voice trail off, a hint of sadness sneaking into her mood. She’d almost forgotten; bickering with Spike felt so natural and normal, she’d almost forgotten that things were not normal anymore.


"Bot – reckon you got a dictionary or two crammed in that lovely noggin o’ yours, yeah?” Spike asked, looking at the BuffyBot.


She nodded. “As well as the entire Wikipedia database, the National Archives, the Library of Congress, the…”


“Right – reckon a plain, ole dictionary will do. Need the origins of the words ‘hungry’ and ‘peckish’.”


The Bot ‘went away’ for a moment, then smiled widely, re-focusing on her companions. “Peckish: Adjective. Chiefly British. Feeling slightly hungry; having an appetite. Origin circa 1785. From ‘peck’: a measure of quantity, eight quarts.”


“Oh! Like ‘pick a peck of pickled peppers!’” Buffy interjected brightly. “I never knew what that meant before.”


Spike rolled his eyes. “Bloody genius you are, pet.”


Buffy stuck her tongue out at him as she scrunched up her face like a fifth-grader who couldn’t think of suitable a retort to a jibe.


“Do mine,” Buffy encouraged the Bot. “'Hungry'.”


The Bot nodded. “Hungry: Adjective. Having a desire, craving, or need for food. Origin before 950; Middle English, Old English.”


Buffy squealed in delight, clapped her hands, and began sing-songing, “Na-na-na-na-na-naaa,” in a very mature and dignified manner. “ You owe me a massa-aage ,” she continued in the same sing-song tune as her ‘na-na-na’ chant.


Spike bit back a grin of victory, dropping his head in a bow to concede to her and hide his delight. “Bloody beginner’s luck,” he ground out, sounding dejected as a feeling of elation at the thought of running his hands over her body danced in his mind.


“If you can’t run with the big dogs, stay on the porch,” Buffy mocked him as she headed off for the bathroom. “And … could you order me a burger to go with those fries? I’m totally peckified…”


Spike snorted and rolled his eyes as he headed for the phone. “Bloody Yanks, got no respect,” he muttered, loud enough for her to hear.




After Buffy ate less than a quarter of what turned out to be the largest hamburger she’d ever seen – easily eighteen or twenty ounces worth – she settled onto a comfortable sofa on the balcony of their suite while Spike got a shower. He’d been in the casino all day while she’d been sleeping, and he practically reeked of cigarettes and whiskey, as well as a cacophony of perfumes and other odors which had settled on him from other patrons. Not that the aroma of smoke and whiskey was all that unusual on Spike, but the sheer volume of it, combined with the mishmash of every designer fragrance known to man, was a bit overwhelming, even for Buffy’s un-bloodhound-y sense of smell. Spike could just stop breathing; she didn't have that luxury. 


As she sat in the cool night air listening to the sounds of the always-thrumming metropolis below, her mind darted from one thought to another like a hummingbird would flit from flower to flower, rarely settling on one very long. She thought that perhaps it was trying to make up for lost time, trying to think all the thoughts she needed to think while it had the chance – before she lost the ability again.


While her mind jumped from thought to thought, her emotions were jerked along for the ride. Guilt and shame over attacking Spike morphed into worry that her mind would never be stable enough to allow her to properly raise a child. Then guilt came back once again as she thought about Dawn needing her to do just that. Then anger bloomed in her chest – anger at the monks for putting her in this untenable situation in the first place. They couldn’t have turned the Key into a grain of sand or a rock on the bottom of the ocean? I mean … seriously? Glory could’ve never found it, and Buffy wouldn’t be sitting here feeling … feeling … overwhelmed. What the hell were they thinking?!


And just how did Spike get to smelling so strongly of perfume? Smoke and whiskey – yeah, ok … he smoked and he drank. Just how many women had been rubbing all over him today to get him smelling like a two-bit hooker at Mardi Gras? Jealous fury burst forth out of the tumult of emotions inside Buffy and she began to seethe as she imagined all the skanks that must’ve been hanging all over him – or worse. She could see him turning on that boyish charm – she’d seen him do it before – smiling at them, pouring that stupid, cheesy Cockney accent all over them, calling them ‘pet’ and ‘luv’ and …


“That better then, pet?” Spike asked as he stepped onto the balcony, fresh from the shower. He had on a pair of jeans, but was barefoot and shirtless. His platinum hair was still damp and clung in soft curls to his head.


Buffy scowled at him. “Don’t call me ‘pet’,” she snarled. She pulled her legs up against her chest, wrapped her arms around them, and made herself very small.


Spike gawped at her a moment, gobsmacked, then sat down next to her.


Buffy scooted away from him, pressing herself against the arm of the couch, and continued to shoot daggers from her eyes in his direction.


“Buffy?” he asked with concern. “You with me, luv?”


“Don’t call me ‘luv’ either,” she shot back. “Save all those cute little names for your … stinky, perfume-counter, body-rubbing, skank-hos.”


Clearly Buffy was still with him – she was talking in full sentences, even if she wasn’t making a lot of sense. “Ummm … not quite following. Care t’ share with the class, Summers?”


“I’m not an idiot, Spike,” Buffy continued angrily. “You come in smelling like a perfume factory exploded all over you; it’s really not hard to figure out.”


Spike pursed his lips and watched her a moment, then his lips quirked into a smirk. “You’re jealous,” he accused.


“I am not! There’s nothing to be jealous of. It’s not like we’re … or you’re … or … I’m …” she stuttered. Buffy waved a diffident hand in the air and looked away from his blue eyes, which glittered with amusement. “I’m not jealous,” she repeated firmly, looking out at the city lights.


Spike barked out a self-satisfied laugh, sat back on the couch, and hooked his thumbs over his belt buckle. His legs fell wide in a casual sprawl as he leaned his head back and looked up at the star-less sky. He couldn’t keep the goofy grin from quirking his lips. The bloody Slayer is jealous.


“You don’t have to rub it in my face,” Buffy ground out, trying to still sound angry, but she cringed at the needy whine that snuck into her tone.


Spike pursed his lips and sat forward, leaning his elbows on his thighs so he could look her in the face. “You’re bloody daft at times, Sl...” He stopped. “Running outta things t’ call you, kitten.”


Buffy snorted, still not looking at him. “What’s the matter? Don’t have any cute names for stupid, crazy women?” she shot back tersely.


“Buffy, you’re forgettin’ one thing,” Spike said softly.


“Yeah, what’s that?” Buffy wondered, finally turning her angry eyes back to his.


“I love you.” Spike held his breath. The words were out of his mouth before he thought about what they might do to her. The last time he’d said them it had sent her scurrying back into her shell of madness.


Buffy was silent a moment, her eyes locked onto his. Then her lids fell closed, trying to contain her raging emotions. “Maybe you shouldn’t,” she said at last, her voice low and sad.


Spike sighed in relief – she hadn’t retreated. “No ‘maybe’ about it … but I do anyway,” he replied gently. He reached out and laid a hand over her arm where she had it wrapped around her legs. “Buffy, there’s no one else I want, luv. You’re the only one I see – the only woman in the world.”


Buffy opened her eyes and looked into the depths of his bluer-than-blue eyes and once again she felt guilt surge in her for her plan to use him to save Dawn. Perhaps she should just tell him. He loved Dawn, he may be perfectly fine with it. But what if he wasn’t? Could she chance Dawn’s soul?


“I’m sorry,” she murmured – apologizing for more than Spike could possibly realize. “For everything. I’m just …” Buffy waved a hand vaguely in front of her face. “… I just get overwhelmed with stuff when I can finally think and … let my mind start long-jumping to world-record-setting conclusions.”


“‘S alright, luv,” Spike assured her as he moved his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him.


Buffy relaxed her posture and tucked her legs to the side as she leaned against his bare chest, resting her head on his strong shoulder. One hand casually came to rest on his jean-clad thigh.


Sparks danced up Spike’s leg and settled into a tingling need in his core. He stifled a groan and pushed the desire down, at least momentarily. There was one thing he really needed to talk to her about while she was lucid … or as lucid as Buffy got these days.


“Need t’ ask you something, Sla… Buffy,” he began. He’d never be able to stop calling her ‘Slayer’ – never.


“Sure,” Buffy replied as her fingers began drawing idle circles on the denim covering his thigh. Spike fought to ignore it – she wasn't gonna make this easy.


“Do you … What I mean is …” Spike stammered a bit, suddenly a bit unsure of how to ask his question. Finally, he settled on, “You do know that vampires can’t make … babies, yeah?”


Buffy tensed a moment, her hand stilling, as her mind raced to figure out what he was talking about. Did he know? Surely not. How could he know? She forced herself to relax again and replied casually, “I know. And you don’t carry diseases either – there’s nothing for them to live on. So, if this is about ‘safe sex’ … I get it: You aren’t spending money on condoms.”


Spike snorted. “Who talks t’ Slayers about ‘safe sex’ with vampires? Your Watcher or your mum?”


Buffy flushed. “You really don’t want me to answer that question.”


It was Spike’s turn to tense up. “Angelus,” he practically snarled. Buffy shrugged against him. Spike blew out a breath and recomposed himself before pressing on. “Not really what I was getting at, anyway,” he admitted.


“Is havin’ babies something you … want?” he continued cautiously. If she wanted a family, it would tear his heart out. That was one thing he could never give her. He could give her his love, give her his heart, his mind, his body, but he could never give her a family.


“Why are you asking?” Buffy wondered, still trying to sound casual although she was suddenly worried again.


“Well … ‘cos when you were … errr … That is – the other day, you said something ‘bout making a baby. Didn’t know if that was … a metaphor or…” Spike let his voice trail off, shrugging.


Buffy cringed inside but tried not to let it show. Crazy-Buffy had a big mouth.


“I … uhhh … never really thought about it much,” Buffy replied fairly truthfully. She’d never allowed herself to think about it. Slayers didn’t live long enough to have families – there was no sense thinking about it. She honestly had dismissed the idea of babies long, long ago. 


“Having a baby’s never been really high on my priority list,” Buffy concluded. “Never figured it was in the cards for me.” Until recently, she added silently. “You know, being all Chosen and doomed.


“What about you? If you could, I mean … make a baby. Would you … want to?” she asked cautiously. She held her breath, awaiting his reply. Please say 'yes'.


“Me? A father?” Spike scoffed, snorting derisively. “Changing nappies and get spit-up on, right sexy that’d be. Not good for Big Bad’s image, that.”


“There’s more to babies than yucky stuff,” Buffy pointed out, hopefully. “And they do grow out of it.”


Please, Spike ... please say you wish you could have a family...


“Yeah – PTA meetings would be a slap and a tickle, I reckon. Little League could be a bit dodgy … what with the sun and all. No, don’t reckon ole Spike’s cut out t’ be a da. Probably a right good reason vampires can’t make bits – not in our nature – ya, know, evil and all,” Spike finished, sounding resolutely disgusted by the idea.


He hoped he sounded as confident and resolute as Buffy had about not wanting a family. He was relieved that it had just been some kind of metaphor the subconscious, fugue-state Buffy had used for sex. But, at the same time, it hurt a little deep down knowing that he’d never see her glowing with the joy of pregnancy; never see her body grow with a life that they’d created together, never feel the love of his own child – that unconditional, rock-solid love that only a child can give a parent.


Buffy nodded her agreement, despite her heart collapsing in upon itself. She was glad now that she hadn’t told him about Dawn’s soul. He didn’t want kids – not in his nature. “Yeah – we’re just not … cut out for parenthood,” she agreed after a moment, hoping she sounded as confident as he had about it. She sighed inwardly, this mission was gonna all be on her shoulders.




Buffy moaned in pleasure as Spike worked the warming oil into the muscles of her back later that night. The whole bedroom smelled of rich vanilla beans – as did her skin. Her mind and body rejoiced in the sensation of his hands gliding over her as the oil heated her right to the bone. Was it actually the oil doing that or Spike’s hands on her body? She let her mind drift away, trying to not over-think it. Whether it was his hands, or the oil, or a combination of the two making her flesh heat right down to the core, it didn’t matter. It was heaven.


“You’re hired…” Buffy groaned into her pillow as she lay on her stomach, boneless beneath him.


Spike grinned from where he straddled her legs as he massaged her back. “What’s it pay, luv?” he teased as he kneaded her muscles into jelly.


“Mmmm … All the gold in my kingdom,” Buffy replied.


Spike stopped a moment and snorted. “You don’t ‘ave any gold … or a kingdom, for that matter,” he pointed out.


“Oh,” she deadpanned. “Double it then.”


Spike laughed and went back to work, moving his hands lower down her back, savoring the curves of her body under his palms. Spike had been surprised when she’d emerged from the shower in just a towel and announced that she was ready to collect the massage he owed her. He was still in his jeans and he’d kept them on, not sure where Buffy’s mind was at … or where she’d be five minutes from now.


He’d heard a song once that said that, to women, sometimes a backrub was only a backrub. He’d learned some good lessons from songs in the past, so he heeded that advice. Therefore, he wasn’t sure if she just wanted a massage or if she had more on her mind. She’d been ready for more the other day until Angel stuck his bloody nose in and mucked it up, but then she’d ‘gone away’ and … and basically tried to rape him. Looking back, maybe he should've let her  – it might've been his only shot. He sighed. No, he'd had a taste of actual affection from her and it had given him hope that she could actually love him one day. It was a long shot, he knew ... but long shots did win once in a while.


He used to feel like he could read her fairly well, but with her mind so scattered now, he was lost. He didn’t want to push her into anything she wasn’t ready for. On the other hand, he wanted her so badly it was a physical pain in his heart … and lower. It was driving him mad being this close to her and not taking it further. He allowed his hands to roam to her hips, then her bare bum, and waited to see if she objected. Buffy didn’t. He leaned down and began dropping soft kisses on the slick, vanilla-flavored skin of her back, tracing a line down her spine with his lips.


Buffy moaned in approval when Spike’s lips set the oil on her back on (metaphorical) fire. Flames tingled across her skin everywhere his lips touched her, building the heat up inside her until a bonfire raged. The heat burned away the mist of guilt and loneliness that had been her constant companion for too many weeks, like the noon-day sun would burn the morning fog from a mountain lake. Even when she’d managed to shed the crimson shroud of failure from her mind, the feeling of being utterly alone and of having failed Dawn never quite left her heart. Until now.


The feel of him, of his desire and his adoration, pushed everything else from her mind and heart. It was, she realized, why she’d retreated back to her ‘crazy-place’ that night after he’d taken her to heaven in the shower at the Paradise Lost. She’d allowed herself to forget for those few minutes – allowed herself happiness and pleasure when all she should be feeling was guilt and shame. It had slammed back into her like a freight train, putting her back in her proper place. She had no right to be happy, to be feeling the things he could make her feel, not after what she’d done, how she’d failed.


But right now it felt so good, so freeing. It felt like an oasis after trudging across sun-baked, desert sands for a month. It felt like that first gulp of air after your head broke the surface of the water after being held under for far too long. It felt like a warm, crackling fire in the middle of winter; a half-frozen glass of lemonade in the summer. It felt like an ocean breeze, a snowflake, a raindrop, a sunbeam after being too long in the dark, and she longed to feel those things again. She longed to feel hope, to feel not-alone, to feel wanted and loved and forgiven.


Buffy gasped and stiffened when Spike’s fingers slid between her butt cheeks and feathered over the sensitive skin there. Spike pulled them away and began massaging the round globes of her ass as he slid to one side of her legs and urged them apart with one knee. Buffy complied, relaxing again as he moved between her legs. He slid his hands back up her body, leaning forward as he did until his mouth was near her ear.


“Trust me, luv,” he whispered against her ear, his breath a cool breeze against her heated skin. “Just relax, won’t hurt ya.”


“I’ve never … ummm … done anything … there,” Buffy stammered, flushing with embarrassment.


“I have,” he assured her, his voice a deep, rich caress. “Trust me, Buffy, not gonna hurt you. Just relax and let me make you feel good, pet.”


Buffy shivered with a mixture of excitement, anticipation, and a hint of fear, but she nodded and forced her body to relax. It occurred to her, with no small amount of irony to the revelation, that she could trust this soulless vampire perhaps more than anyone else in the entire world. Back in Sunnydale, she had put more and more trust in him as the skirmishes with Glory had escalated, and he’d rightfully earned higher levels of trust with each passing week. She once again began to wonder if she should trust him with the mission her mother had given her. Maybe she could counter his objections, make him see that it could be of the good... Then Spike’s fingers once again parted her firm cheeks and all coherent thought evaporated in the heat of the moment.


Something cool and wet trailed down from her tailbone and delved between the mounds of flesh of her ass. Buffy realized with a start that it was his tongue and he was … Oh God! Buffy’s body jerked when the tip of his tongue circled her puckered hole, teasing the sensitive skin there with gentle flicks and licks. Those tingling flames burst back into life in her core and her whole body seemed to throb in time to his teasing touches.


“Like that, pet?” Spike murmured against her skin.


“God, Spike … yes,” Buffy moaned into the pillow beneath her head. She'd never had anyone do anything there, let alone what Spike was doing. Was that a vampire thing, or a Spike thing? Her heart-rate skittered excitedly and her breathing became shallow and erratic in anticipation of just what Spike would do next.


Spike lifted her hips up off the bed just a couple of inches until she was supported on her widely-spread knees and chest. He slid a finger down from her crack, over her taint to her glistening pussy. He moaned in pleasure when his finger was coated with her slick juices.


"So wet, you are," he murmured reverently.


Buffy let out a whimper as he teased her opening, sliding just the tip of one finger inside her, then pulling back out.


“Killing me…” Buffy groaned, as she arched her back, lifting her ass higher in the air to give him better access.


“It’s what I do, luv,” Spike replied in a rumbling basso as he settled onto his stomach and elbows between her legs and covered her throbbing hole with his mouth.


Buffy screamed out when he sucked down and slid his tongue into her at the same time. Her hips bucked back against him, then began grinding against his mouth as his fingers began circling her clit. His hand, tongue, and lips seemed to know exactly how to touch her – how hard and how fast to move against her heated flesh to send her over the edge. The world suddenly fell away as he made love to her in a way she’d never experienced before. She fell through space and time, letting every thought, every worry, every emotion except exultant joy slip away as meaningless. Her body bucked against him of its own accord, demanding more. Spike was more than happy to give it to her.


He slid his tongue back up over her taint and began to tease her ass again. Spike’s thumb dipped into her pussy, allowing his forefinger to continue its teasing-torture of her clit. At the new sensation, Buffy felt herself floating higher as her body shuddered and tensed beneath Spike’s ministrations. The orgasm reformed, the second building upon the foundation of the first, and propelled her so far away from the crushing weight of guilt that she couldn’t even remember the meaning of the word.


Her mind blanked, filled with nothing but brilliant fireworks of rapture. She floated, weightless in the inky-blackness, surrounded only by the colorful, glowing sparks which tingled over her skin in a cascade of bliss. Suddenly there was another explosion, and she was hurtled even higher as Spike increased the tempo and ferocity of the thrusts into her sweet quim. White hot sparks engulfed her as the next wave of rapture washed over her body.


She heard someone screaming out and realized it was her. The feelings building up inside her were more than she could contain without exploding – she had to let them out.


As Buffy’s scream of orgasmic bliss slowly died and she began gasping for oxygen, Spike slowed his thrusts into her and changed back to teasing touches around her clit. He lifted up and began dropping kisses on her lower back and the firm globes of her ass as he gently lowered her back from heaven to earth.


Buffy’s thighs trembled and she collapsed onto her stomach when gravity finally kicked in again, pulling away from Spike. Her whole body buzzed in the afterglow of traveling through the heavens. She’d never felt anything like that before; not with Angel, or Riley, and certainly not with poop-head Parker. It was the second time Spike had been the giver – and wow did he know how to give.


Buffy turned over onto her side so she could look down and see Spike. He was sitting back on his heels now, still between her legs, so she had to pull one leg up to get it past him. He seemed to be as dazed as she was, his eyes unfocused with a small smile on his face.


Buffy reached an arm out toward him and his eyes finally tracked up to hers. She beckoned him to her and he slowly crawled up the bed and settled next to her, lying on his side facing her. Buffy laid a hand on his shoulder and gently pulled him closer as she touched her lips to his. He still tasted of cigarettes and whiskey, but the perfume that was on him now was all hers. Her sex. Her essence. Buffy pressed her tongue against his lips, gently requesting entry, and Spike welcomed her into his mouth with a small moan. Within a moment, his arms were around her, pressing her bare chest against his, and the kiss had become a desperate struggle, each giving as much as they took.


When Buffy pulled back to breathe, she rested her forehead against his, not wanting to break the contact any more than necessary.


“So beautiful you are, pet. Dreamt o’ this … can’t tell you how often,” he murmured to her as his hands roamed over her back and sides, taking in every curve, every heaving rise of her body as she panted for air.


“Did your dreams usually involve you still dressed?” Buffy wondered as her hands skimmed down his body only to be thwarted by his jeans.


Spike smirked. “Not as a general rule … no,” he admitted.


“So … why are you now?” Buffy asked as she fumbled for the button at the front of his jeans.


Spike reached between them and stilled her hand a moment. She pulled back a bit so she could look into his eyes. “Want to make sure you want this, Buffy. You. Not … Barmy-Buffy – but you.”


Buffy bit her bottom lip and nodded. Tears swam in her eyes, but she blinked them back quickly. “I’m here, Spike, and I want this,” she assured him. Buffy leaned in and kissed him softly. “What you’ve done for me is real,” she said when the kiss broke. “I believe you when you say you love me … you’ve shown me that it’s possible, soul or not.”


Buffy dropped her gaze from his eyes. Spike waited, unbreathing, unmoving, hope blooming in his chest. He longed for the words she didn’t say; longed for her to give him what he knew she’d given others. Why was he undeserving of her love when she could give it to Peaches and Captain Cardboard?


‘Cos ya got no soul, came the silent, painful answer. She could believe his emotions were real, but not reciprocate. His stomach coiled into knots – he may finally have her body, perhaps even her trust, but would he ever have her heart? Would she ever give him the one thing he’d searched for all his life: undying love? He’d thought he’d found it with Dru, but he’d been wrong. Dru wasn’t capable of giving back the same love that he’d showered on her – ever faithful, ever adoring.  Perhaps Buffy wasn’t either. His heart ached at the notion.


Buffy was his equal in every way. She was the point to his counterpoint, the wit to his charm, the good to his evil, the soft to his hard, the warm to his cool, the light to his dark, the sun to his moon. She met his every strike with a perfect parry, anticipated every feint, and gave back as good as she got. Surely her heart was just as capable of love as his was. Surely.


Finally, when she didn’t say any more, he curled a finger under her chin and lifted her eyes back up to his. He didn’t want to beg her for the words – for the feeling – but his eyes, as always, betrayed his emotions.


She gave him a sad smile, reading his expression like the open book that it was. He was asking too much. He didn’t know. He didn’t know that she’d have to leave him soon. He didn’t know that she didn’t have enough pieces of her broken and battered heart left to leave a part of it with him. She couldn’t bear it; couldn’t bear her heart being ripped apart again. Even now, with Slayer-hood renounced, the mission always came first. It was, she realized, her destiny, her curse. She wasn’t meant for love – it had never been part of the Slayer package anyway. She knew that now. Her life was not her own, perhaps it never had been.


“I … I need you. I trust you. You’re … in my heart – I care for you. That’s all I have to give. I … don’t know if it’s enough.”


Spike closed his eyes against the pain in his chest where a dagger had been stabbed in and twisted.


“I’m sorry,” Buffy blurted out quickly. “I … maybe one day things will be different,” she continued, the words sailing past her lips without thought. Why? Why had she said that? Why give him false hope? Bad Buffy!  


“Spike, I’m barely hanging on here,” she continued truthfully. “Insano-Buffy could come back any minute. I never know when … I can’t seem to stop it. But you … you make me feel safe. I know I can count on you and, really, that’s so much more than I can say about anyone else in the world right now. I care about you … I care for you.”


That was better, she decided. That was all true. No false hope in those words. No promise of a tomorrow that will never come for them.


Spike opened his eyes and met hers. Unshed tears made the blue seem brighter as they shimmered in the low light of the room. Buffy felt the mist of guilt rise in her again. Good job, Buffy. Why don’t you just stake him instead of dragging his heart through the mud? Great way to repay all he’s done for you.


“I reckon that ‘maybe one day’ is better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick, yeah?” Spike offered, trying to sound cocky and indifferent. It didn’t really work. He gently pressed a lock of her hair back from her face, letting it fall over her shoulder, his eyes giving away the longing his words denied.


 “I do love you. I’ll always love you, Buffy. I can live with being in your heart … for now,” he admitted softly, his adulating eyes locked onto hers.


Buffy took a deep breath and let it out slowly, her guilt building. She shouldn’t have said that to him; should not have given him that empty promise. “I’m sorry that I don’t have more to give you.”


Spike nodded – afraid if he spoke, his voice would give away his hurt and disappointment. He endeavored to look assuring, as if that was fine, as if he didn’t need anything more, but he had to wonder if she’d be giving this same speech to the Magnificent Poof … or even Soldier Boy if one of them were in his place right now. He tried not to dwell on it too long, tried not to let the disappointment and hurt and jealously show in his eyes. He tried to assure himself that being ‘in her heart’ was at least in the same zip code as being ‘in love’.  It was closer than he’d ever been before; closer than he’d ever hoped to get; possibly closer than he deserved – but he wanted more. The small taste of trust and affection she’d given him had only been enough to whet his appetite. He wanted all of her: mind, body, spirit, heart, and soul – and he wanted it forever.  Long shot. Spike had played long shots before and won. This race wasn't over yet. He could still win Buffy's love, he assured himself.


Buffy couldn’t take the silence that had fallen over them another second. She was afraid she’d start talking to fill it, and more empty, unwise promises would rattle from her mouth unbidden. Action now was better than words, she concluded. Words were not her friend; she’d always been better at action.


Buffy pressed a palm against his top shoulder and rolled Spike onto his back, following him over. She straddled his stomach and leaned down over him, her hair falling in a golden veil around their faces as she kissed him. Buffy’s hands roamed over his strong chest, shoulders, and upper arms as their lips nibbled on the other, tasting and teasing.


His hands came up to glide over her body, finding her swaying breasts and cupping them gently in his hands as a tremulous breath escaped his lips. Spike’s thumbs ghosted over her nipples, and they responded immediately, puckering into hard pebbles. Chill-bumps flowed out from his touch, covering the curve of her breasts in the process. Buffy moaned against his lips, her hips grinding slow circles against his hardness as he fanned the fires within her again.


“God, Spike … need you, baby,” Buffy mumbled against his mouth as her desire blossomed back into a burning need, empty promises temporarily forgotten.


Spike’s eyes flashed wide and he hesitated with the endearment, momentarily frozen in place. He took a mental snapshot of this moment, locking the memory into his mind forever. Baby. A shiver ran down his spine. Baby. In the next instant, he crushed his mouth up to hers again, holding her down against him, devouring the flavor and scent and feel of her to add to his mental cache of this moment: the moment she called him her baby.


When Buffy had to breathe, she reluctantly pulled away from the kiss and from his magical fingers, which seemed to know just how to touch her body, and she slid down his legs. She unfastened his jeans and slid the zipper down, releasing his urgent need from the denim that had been holding it prisoner.


Her eyes widened in fascinated surprise when his hardness emerged from his pants. Spike pressed his tongue against his teeth as he watched her expression.


“Oh…” Buffy managed at last, clearing her throat a little uncomfortably and sliding the rest of the way off the bed. She began tugging on the legs of his jeans and Spike lifted his hips up so she could slide them off.


“Something wrong, pet?” Spike wondered, his voice tinged with a … errrr … cocky arrogance.


Buffy looked back up to his face and felt her own face flush. “No … no, not at all. I just … ummm … am gonna need a new name for your … privates.”


Spike cocked an amused brow at her. “Pardon?”


Buffy waved a hand vaguely at his package and flushed even brighter red. “I … in my mind, sort of called it ‘Little Bad’ … you know, ‘Big Bad’ and ‘Little Bad’,” she admitted. “But … that won’t work – at all.”


Spike barked out a short laugh. “Given this a bit o’ thought, then, have you?”


Buffy coughed again and fanned herself with both hands as she looked around the room – concentrating on anything but Spike. “It’s really … hot in here, isn’t it?”


Spike sat up, grabbed one of her arms, and pulled her back onto the bed. “Not as hot as it’s gonna be,” he promised.


Buffy 'eeped' in surprised when he grabbed her, and flopped onto her back next to him. Spike supported himself on one elbow and leaned over her, half-covering her body with his. “Now … where were we?” he murmured as he dropped his mouth to hers again.


Buffy melted against him. His cool body felt like heaven against her suddenly tingling, over-hot skin. His lips were soft against hers, and her body thrummed in anticipation as ‘Little Bad’ pressed urgently against her hip.


Spike’s free hand roamed over her skin, now damp with a thin layer of perspiration, as well as slick from the massage oil. Her soft, feminine curves belied the power beneath and Spike cherished them both. Her strength was as much an aphrodisiac to him as the swell of her breasts or the sway of her hips.


“Buffy … so beautiful, you are, luv. You got no idea what you do to me, pet. Want you so much. Love you so much …” he murmured against her neck as he kissed a line of fire down from her mouth to her throat.


“Spike … please … want to feel you inside me,” Buffy replied breathily as she shifted on the bed and encouraged him to settle between her spread legs.


Spike slid over her and Buffy immediately wrapped her legs around his hips and tilted her opening up to him, beckoning his hardness into her supple heat. Spike rose up to support himself on his hands and slid his cock up and down her slick folds, over her clit, coating himself in her juices.


Buffy’s eyes fluttered closed as she moaned and clutched at his shoulders, then slid her hands down his sides. The corded muscles of his back and buttocks strained and shifted beneath her palms as he moved, like cool, smooth granite come to life. She lifted her hips up against him in frustration and need, wanting more from him even as she longed for the sensation of his hard shaft raking against her clit to continue forever.


When he stopped moving, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. He’d pulled his hips back away from her a bit and just remained motionless above her. The muscles of his arms bulged with the strain of holding himself over her, but he didn’t tremble or waver.


She felt like she was falling into the deep pools of cool blue water that were his eyes. Little flecks of gold shone in their cerulean depths, the demon wanting to be set free, but he didn’t change. In fact, he’d never changed into the demon except when they were fighting – and even then only if she’d really pissed him off royally. How did he manage to control it so thoroughly without a soul, she wondered briefly, but put her pondering aside for another time.


Buffy didn’t break eye contact with him as she slid her hand between them and guided his hardness to her opening. Spike pressed forward slowly, his whole body quivering in anticipation. Buffy gasped and he thought he saw a flicker of pain pass behind her lustful, green eyes. He stopped.


“It’s ok … just … been a while and you’re a little … ummm … more than…” Buffy cleared her throat self-consciously. “Just go slow at first …” she said finally as she explored the ever-changing hills and valleys of muscle on his back with her hands.


Spike dipped his head down and kissed her. It was so gentle that it felt like nothing so much as a cool breeze fluttering against her lips. Spike lifted up so he could see her eyes again. Their viridian depths were so full of fire, full of life, of strength, of passion, and if he looked closely, he thought he could see the affection she had for him reflected there too. His heart took comfort in the thought, ill-conceived and self-delusional as it may be.


He pulled his hips back fractionally and then pressed in again, going just a little further than he’d been before. A tingling chill rushed over Buffy’s skin as he pressed in, then pulled back, then pressed in again. He stretched her gently until she could accommodate his girth without pain. Each time he pressed in a new wave of pleasure tingled over her body, caressing her with a gentleness she’d never before felt. Not even Angel had been this careful, this caring or adoring with her. She was suddenly wreathed in a warm blanket of pure emotion. It swelled up from the deepest, most guarded and hidden corners of her heart, and surprised her with its girlish softness.


She was momentarily taken back to that first time with Angel. At the time she’d thought he had been loving, giving, and gentle with her, but now she knew better. This. This is how it should’ve been. The soft murmurs of affection, of love and desire that Spike was raining down on her had never passed her first love’s lips. Angel had been silent – as was his nature. Not exactly cold, but not … not this. Angel’s hands had not touched her so reverently; his mouth had not kissed her so fervently. He had tried, she was sure – he’d tried to be this, but even with a soul he didn’t have what Spike had. She didn’t know what it was. Something indefinable, unfathomable to her in this moment – something that made him so very different than any vampire she’d ever met. Heart, her mother's word came to her mind. Spike has heart.


By the time his hips settled against hers, Buffy’s chest was heaving and her heart was racing from the endorphins flooding her body. His slow progression into her had triggered a series of seismic events – like foreshocks preceding an earthquake. With that as the precursor, she couldn’t wait to feel the main event.


Spike dropped down onto his elbows and rested his body against hers, savoring the feeling of her quim, hot, wet, and tight around him. Her pussy walls fluttered and undulated over his hardness, holding him in their velvet smooth embrace as if she never planned on letting him go. And that was perfectly fine with him.


Buffy wrapped her arms around his neck and began twining her fingers gently into the hair on the back of his head. It was softer than she’d imagined without the gel, and the curls were just adorable. He’d kill her if he knew she thought that … Big Bad was not adorable.


The adoration that was pouring from his eyes covered her with a feeling of security, of confidence, of belonging. It made her feel warm somewhere deep inside, as if he’d dropped a burning torch into the bottomless pit of her blood-soaked soul and frightened the icy guilt away.


The words that she knew he longed to hear fluttered to the fore of her mind and nearly made it to her throat when the crimson shroud of guilt began to descend over her again. Buffy closed her eyes, fighting it back – fighting to stay in this moment with him, fighting to remember her mother’s words of encouragement: Dawn’s death was no one’s fault but Glory’s.


She felt the veil waver as she struggled to hold it back with nothing but her willpower, then she realized that Spike was talking to her – asking her if she was alright. She opened her eyes and drew her hands down to frame his beautiful face. His eyes were full of concern and love, and it only made her feel less deserving. But she didn’t want to do this to him, didn’t want to go away – not now. She’d already withheld the words he longed to hear, made empty promises she knew she couldn't keep, she couldn’t take this away from him too. She wanted this to be perfect – as perfect as she could make it – for him. He’d done so much for her, she owed it to him to fight the oblivion her guilt wanted to drag her into. She wanted more than anything to make this first time perfect.


She lifted her face up until her mouth was near his ear, then whispered, “Make love to me, William.” It was as close as she could come to saying what she knew he wanted to hear. It was all she had to give.


“You sure, pet?” Spike asked, his voice full of gentle concern.


Buffy nodded. “Keep me here, baby. Make me feel … need to just feel … not think.”


Spike kissed her with that same gentleness that she’d been pondering only a few moments before as he began rocking his body against hers. It was a slow, sensuous movement that nonetheless made Buffy’s heart skip and stutter in her chest.


“I’ve got ya, luv. Never lettin’ you go,” Spike assured her, his mouth close enough for her to feel his cool breath on her cheek. Their bodies slid against each other, building a slow friction that kindled hundreds of sparks in the waiting tinder of Buffy’s body.


Before everything with Glory began, Giles had started teaching Buffy about compartmentalizing her thoughts, of concentrating on what was important in the moment and letting everything else wait. He’d used crystals for her to focus on, and it had taken hours of boring repetition before she’d started to get it – but she had started to get it.


The memory of those lessons popped into Buffy's mind now. She drew on that wisdom, using what she’d learned to help keep the shroud of guilt from crashing down on her. She had no crystals to focus on, but she had Spike. She had his bluer-than-blue eyes with the flashes of gold sparkling down on her, and she had the tingling sparks that he was showering over her body – inside and out.


Buffy kept her eyes focused on Spike’s as he moved above her, and she felt herself falling into those blue depths, away from the crimson gore. For the first time she was able to draw away from the demon inside who wanted to drag her back into the bloody river and drown her. She could, instead, immerse herself in the pool of cool blue adoration and be safe – Spike would keep her safe.


When Spike ground his pubic bone against her clit on the next down-stroke, Buffy’s mind dove headfirst to a sparkling sea of cool, azure blue, and her body flared white-hot in pleasure, washing away the bloody river in her mind that held the guilt of her failures.


“Yes … Spike … God, so good. So … oh! Yes!” Buffy panted breathlessly as he came down and ground against her again and again.  Her body writhed beneath him as she clung to his shoulders, digging her nails into his deltoids in her fervor. Her body arched into his, demanding even more,  as the small tremors announcing the upcoming earth-moving quake of bliss vibrated through her core.


When Spike rose up to his hands, pulled nearly out of her, and then slammed down against her in a wave of primal desire, Buffy shrieked in renewed pleasure. It was at once surprising and exhilarating – such a contrast to the easy movements of a moment before. It was exactly what she needed – what she wanted and desired. How did he know? How could he tell that she needed more when she didn’t even know until he’d given it to her, like a gift from heaven?


Buffy’s hips bucked up against him, matching his rhythm as he began thrusting into her with more and more power and fervor. Spike’s demon raged behind the burning eyes of the man, demanding release as untold days, weeks, months, and years of longing for his Slayer finally came to fruition. The demon’s desire for her blood was no less strong than the man’s desire for her heart and her body. Spike pressed the bloodlust back, and instead used the demon’s needs to fuel the man’s – driving him wild with feral lust. And the Slayer, the strong, passionate woman beneath him, responded in kind.


Her hisses, gasps, shrieks, and demanding cries of pleasure told him all he needed to know about her need. There was no more worry of hurting her. Her channel had stretched to take him and she engulfed his girth like a silken glove – hot and wet and supple, molding around his shaft like she had been made for Spike and Spike alone. Buffy’s body moved with him as if they’d danced this dance a hundred times – and in a way they had, the vampire and the Slayer – her strength and passion the perfect match for his, and his for hers.


Buffy’s legs wrapped around his hips in a crushing grip, pulling him to her ferociously, her heels digging into the backs of his thighs. Her hands slid down his body and her fingers dug into the undulating muscles of his ass as he drove into her at a feverish pace. She added her strength to his, pulling him against her, as their hips slammed together and he impaled his shaft deeper into her sheath of bliss.


Spike roared in defiance as his demon felt her trying to control him and he sat back slightly on his heels, pulling out of reach of her hands. He wrenched her legs from around his waist and then pressed them up and out – opening her to him fully, taking her control away. Then he drove into her again, thrusting into her with a power and passion she’d never felt before.


Buffy screamed out as the force of his renewed storm of lust hit her with a blinding explosion of bliss. She could do nothing but feel. Feel his body, hard and powerful above her; feel his hips driving against her, his cock hammering into her all the way to her core; feel his unneeded breath, cool and wild against her skin; feel his passion; feel his strength; feel her own vulnerability to the vampire that was controlling her; feel the utter madness of rapture washing over her, drowning her in the bliss of the sparkling blue ocean.


She’d never felt anything like it before – it was freedom. There was no thought; there was only feeling, and every cell in her body was screaming with blissful explosions of joy. There was no room for anything else; no thought or worry or inhibition could step between her and heaven now.


Her body reacted to his instinctively. Her arms reached above her head and pressed against the headboard for more leverage. Her hips jerked against his, somehow following his staccato rhythm – short, shallow strokes followed by long, slow ones then back again. Words fell from her lips, but they weren’t anything she thought with her conscious mind so much as something deeper, a brain-stem reflex to the power and pleasure coursing through her. And she could hear Spike’s voice, pouring over her like hot, sweet honey, hear his rumbling growls and grunts of effort. Every one of her senses was being bombarded with something, blocking everything else in the entire world out except this. There was nothing but this feeling.


When Buffy shrieked Spike’s name and her body convulsed into a final, ground-shaking, magnitude ten-million earthquake, Spike had no choice but to stay buried inside her. Her sugar walls clasped around him like a vise wielded by a goddess, undulating and fluttering wildly over his shaft. His own roar of release joined hers as her body milked every drop of lust from his groin in a painfully sweet explosion of bliss. Her name tumbled off his lips –  half-curse, half-prayer –  as he spilled into her, utterly undone.


Both of their bodies trembled violently with the power of their orgasms. The sound of their inharmonious chorus of ultimate release filled the room and reverberated off the walls. The air vibrated around them palpably, as if a giant loudspeaker had magnified Buffy’s ear-splitting scream and Spike’s growling, basso roar into a discord worthy of a Kiss concert.


And then they both collapsed bonelessly; every drop of tension and power drained from their bodies. Spike fell atop her, releasing the hold he had on her legs as he collapsed. Buffy’s legs sprawled uselessly to the mattress on each side of him; her arms, a moment ago pressing against the headboard above her with all her strength, simply slumped to the pillow near her head. The only sound left in the room was the gasping gulps for air that came from each of their throats.


Spike, not actually needing air, recovered use of his limbs first and began to roll off her, but she stopped him with a word, “Stay.”


He stopped and pulled back to look at her, worried that she’d lost the battle with the madness after all. But, when his eyes met hers, he realized it wasn’t that, she simply didn’t have the breath to say anything more.


He smiled down at her. Her face was flushed and sparkled with diamonds of perspiration; her hair was mussed, a golden tangle of silken tresses; her lips were swollen from their kisses and beautifully pink. But it was her eyes that captured him most. They were Buffy: her essence, her soul. And she was looking at him with something he was afraid to name, so he simply allowed himself to believe that she was looking at him with her heart.


“Wow,” was the next word from her lips. It came out raspy and a little choked through her strained vocal cords.


“Wow,” Spike mimicked in a throaty rumble, agreeing wholeheartedly. There was awe not only in his voice but in those amazing blue eyes that she’d let herself fall into. Even the demon’s eyes, hidden behind the man’s, sparkled like golden stars within the field of azure as he looked down at her.


“You’re bloody amazing, Slayer,” Spike whispered, touching his mouth to her sweet lips in a gentle, chaste kiss.


Buffy smiled and her flush actually turned a deeper shade of red. She bit her bottom lip and suddenly looked like a schoolgirl – that girl he’d first seen dancing with her friends so long ago, so many battles ago, so many heartbreaks ago.


“Not Slayer, just Buffy,” she corrected after a moment, but there was no scorn in her tone. “And you’re pretty amazing yourself,” she admitted as she snaked her arms around his neck and lifted her quivering legs up to capture his hips in a gentle embrace, hooking her feet behind his back and preventing him from moving.


Suddenly the door to the bedroom swung open and the Bot strode in. “Buffy, I did as you instructed and stayed on the balcony with my fingers in my ears humming ‘Yankee Doodle Dandy’, but I got bored. Can we play a different game now?” she asked, her fingers still sticking into her ears.


Two pairs of surprised eyes turned to look at the door; the lovers too surprised to actually respond for a moment.


The Bot tilted her head and considered the pair on the bed. “Perhaps I could join in your game. What do you call it?” Then, after a beat, she asked, “It doesn’t involve show tunes, does it?”


Spike began to rebuke the Bot, ask her if she'd ever heard of bloody knocking, when a burst of laughter tore from Buffy’s lips. He looked down at her, more surprised by the sound of her laughter than the Bot's intrusion. Buffy was laughing! It was a joyous sound, like a celestial choir of angels singing.


Buffy knew she should be indignant, angry, or embarrassed, but she could do nothing but laugh at the Bot's earnestness. Buffy tightened her hold on Spike, making sure he didn't rise, using him as a cover, as she began to giggle uncontrollably. Then Spike’s laughter joined hers, his body shaking with the effort. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever heard him actually laugh before, and the rich, rolling sound only made her laugh harder. His laughter was contagious – a virus of mirth. Every time Buffy’s laughter began to wane, she found herself buoyed by the sound of his exuberance. Then she began to wonder if she’d ever heard any vampire laugh before – not the ‘I’ve got you now’ evil laugh of Angelus, or the ‘I’m crazy as a loon’ laugh of Dru, but a gleeful exaltation of emotion.


The Bot studied her naked roommates in earnest, trying to determine what was so humorous. Buffy watched her watching them and thought that the Bot was most likely the sanest of the three of them. That thought sent another wave of giggles over Buffy, and the entire scene simply devolved into one of those blooper reels where no one could stop laughing long enough to actually say anything.


Buffy couldn’t remember the last time she laughed so hard or so long. She laid her hands on the sides of Spike’s face and pulled him down to her, smothering his bubbling laughter with her child-like giggles. It was, perhaps, the most wonderful gift anyone had ever given her – he made the world go away. She could pretend that she was just a girl – a giggling, happy, normal girl – if just for a little while.




Make The World Go Away, Martina McBride

                   (originally by Eddie Arnold)


Make the world go away
Get it off my shoulders
Say the things we used to say
And make the world, make it go away

Do you remember when you loved me
Before the world took you away
Well if you do, then forgive me
And make the world, make it go away

Make the world go away
Get it off my shoulders
Say the things we used to say
And make the world, make it go away

Now I'm sorry if I hurt you
Let me make it up to you day by day
And if you will please forgive me
And make the world, make it go away

Make the world go away
Get it off my shoulders
Say the things we used to say
And make the world, make it go away.




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