Buffy woke up, grasping at the edges of her dreams, but they dissolved, leaving an ache, a sadness...for something, someone, long gone. It was just before dawn; soft, granular light blunted the angles of the room, making objects indistinct, unreal. Spike had wrapped himself around her in the night, his knees tucked into the back of hers, a hand shielding her breast. Slow, even, huffs of air on the nape of her neck revealed that he was fast asleep.

Closing her eyes, Buffy enjoyed his embrace. It felt right. At some point in the night her night-dress had crept up and she became aware of his manhood brushing against her thighs. Unconsciously knowing, it tickled and stroked her skin with small, involuntary movements. The seconds ticked by and Buffy’s own desire grew, fed partly by her unremembered dreams, but mostly by the presence of the male at her back, the same one who had kept her in an almost permanent state of confusion. When she looked at him through a soldier’s eyes she could admire his strength, his decisiveness, his ‘fuck you’ attitude towards the enemy. As a woman, all she could see was a sinfully beautiful man whose motives were unclear, but who made her melt under his hot gaze. Buffy wanted Spike, not just physically but emotionally too…but what did he want?

His blindly intimate probing couldn’t be ignored, and a primitive part of her brain, one that didn’t care about safety and feelings or the future, took control. Tingles of lust swept across her labia and her womb twitched in anticipation. Buffy tried to suppress it but a flood of wild images made her breath hitch and her toes curl. Too much of a coward to wake him - and what kind of man could stay asleep when she felt like this anyway? - yet unwilling to move away, Buffy slowly edged her free arm downwards until she could touch herself. Remaining as still as possible, she began to stroke and rub till sweet need overcame caution. Raising her outer leg, she entwined it gently, carefully, with Spike’s, before dipping her fingertips and painting her own puffy flesh with bright juices. Better, but not enough. The sharp twinge of fear that he would catch her in such an intimate act prevented her release yet she couldn’t stop.

A few moments later, Spike’s whole body jolted. A harsh gasp revealed that he was fully awake. Awake and aware.

Buffy froze, mortified. There was a long pause before Spike slowly reached down to cover her hand with his own, encouraging her to continue. He threaded his fingers down between hers so that they could create the perfect touch and slide together, sending sparkles of pleasure along her pussy. He didn’t speak, didn’t ruin things, just adjusted his body so that he could lean over her shoulder and watch. Cool lips caressed her shoulder then inched up her throat, a tiny lick at her jugular then gentle teeth found her earlobe and began to nibble. Ragged breathing in her ear left Buffy in no doubt that Spike was enjoying this just as much as she was. Instinctively, Buffy pushed her bottom fully against his groin, feeling the round tip of his cock kissing her entrance as he increased the pressure on her clit.

“Do you want me here, inside you, love?” Spike whispered. It was agony, but this was her decision.

She knew they were moving too fast, knew she wanted reassurance that this meant something more to him than just sex, but right this minute she didn’t care.

“Please, Spike, yes, now.”

“Thank the Goddess!”

With a groan of pleasure, Spike pushed in a little way, her wetness aiding his journey to her centre. Little increments of push and retreat until Buffy, opened fully, fluttered in welcome around him.

***

Spike gazed fondly at his wife, this girl, woman, warrior, with eyes the colour of fireflies and forest ferns, eyes that now stared back at him with dreamy lust and just a hint of uncertainty. He knew that before long she’d wonder about the wisdom of what they’d just done, remember her grievances against him and pull away. But for now she was his. Not ready to reveal his true feelings in words he spoke through touch, brushing his thumbs against each of her erect nipples until her gaze grew unfocused. As she arched her back before him like the figurehead on a ship’s prow, he bowed down his head to drive the waves against her once more.

***

It was close to 11 o’clock when they emerged into the communal sitting room. The aroma of fresh baking finally speeding up their attempts to get ready for the day, attempts hampered by an almost insurmountable need for Spike to keep Buffy pinned to the bed, and for Buffy to let him. Neither wanted to discuss this latest stage in their relationship, but each touch, each steady grip of thigh and hip, left them breathless and disorientated. Spike was determined to smash the shell that Buffy was so fond of retreating into. And Buffy? Well, she could sense something in his manner, something powerful and a bit desperate and she wanted more.

Only a quick feint and twist at the last second kept Buffy from being ensnared again. They were now bathed and dressed but he was determined to have one last tumble before they faced the outside world. Shrieking with laughter she reached for the door knob and twisted it open, spilling out into the room beyond. A sea of avid faces greeted her. With a little meep she eyed each amused person in turn before settling on a table covered in foodstuffs.

“Ooh, breakfast, um, good morning.”

Diving on the food, she grabbed a large flaky pastry oozing with nuts and honey, and stuffed it in her mouth so that she wouldn’t have to answer any questions. Spike strolled in next, looking entirely too full of himself and sat beside her. With a lazy smile he stared at her flushed cheeks, the little pink tongue that darted out to lick honey smeared lips, the way her faintly damp hair turned to ringlets at her throat. Following her curves downwards his eyes widened.

Puzzled by this new expression Buffy cast her eyes down too. A scattering of pastry crumbs clung to her latest low-cut bodice, but what caught her full attention was a ragged line of strawberry love bites decorating her breasts. Exasperated, she shot up off the sofa, hands fisted on hips.

“Great, why don’t you sign my rump with a cattle-brand while you’re at it?”

Annoyed that she was reacting so badly towards his marks of affection, Spike retorted, “Well, since you’re being a complete cudder, you only have to ask!”

And, just like that, they were back to square one.

***

In the end the others decided not to tease…too much. They could see that the flustered young couple were hell-bent on misunderstanding one another instead of being honest about their feelings, and it was a potentially explosive mix. Faythe was chewing her lip in her efforts not to laugh at the pair; a much restored but still injured Brack leaned against the wall, arms folded so that he couldn’t push them back into their bedroom and lock the door, and Scarr just looked peeved that he’d missed the previous night’s fighting. Ennico, emboldened by the heady traces of arousal still clinging to ‘Buffee’, unwisely tried to encourage her to go for a walk in the gardens, but a ferocious glare from Spike, when Buffy wasn’t looking, made him quickly change the subject.

Having been brought up to date earlier by Brack, the team decided to kill time until dinner at Ahnja’s by exploring the town. Before heading out Spike disappeared into the bedroom. Returning, he stepped in front of Buffy and snaked a delicately woven red shawl around her shoulders to cover the fading marks. It was the same one he’d wrapped around her head after he’d dunked her in the stream not that long ago. Remembering his actions he was overwhelmed with guilt.

Not able to look at her, he mumbled “I’m sorry, Buffy,” turning away before she could respond.

Faythe broke the silence. “Come on, you two, I’ve got some serious shopping to do and you boneheads are holding us up.” With a strong grip she grabbed them and headed for the door.

***

Undeterred by the weak sun, a chill mist swirled around every corner, but even in the pearly half light Buffy could see that Lossangel was an impressive place. Rising steeply from its outermost walls, the city led them ever upwards through shiny cobbled streets and dozens of shallow stone steps. Buildings at either side stood tall and impenetrable, high shuttered windows protecting its inhabitants from inquisitive eyes. Only the frequent courtyards, half hidden behind frozen iron gates, revealed signs of life. Like The Sleepy Dragon, these sheltered places seemed immune to winter’s bite, and ornamental shrubs and plants flourished. A simple warming spell, explained Brack. Not difficult, but expensive to maintain. Only the wealthy could afford it. In contrast, some abandoned properties lay unprotected, frozen and still, their gardens shrivelled, blackened, their statues and fountains crouching under a weight of sparkling ice.

Just as her thighs were beginning to burn from the latest flight of steps, Buffy rounded a corner and found herself at the entrance of a large market square. Here was a proper welcome, shop fronts festooned with gaily coloured flags and eager shopkeepers declaring the fineness of their wares to a throng of passers-by. Row upon row of covered stalls crowded together at the centre. Faythe grabbed Buffy’s hand and tugged her towards them without a backward glance.

The Aurelians left behind just chuckled, watching them disappear into the crowd. Looking around, they too spotted something of interest and, as one, headed for the Spit and Sawdust Tavern for some much needed refreshment.

***

Buffy hadn’t had so much fun in ages. Used to the austere rationing aboard her Watcher station, with only the occasional little luxury procured by her indulgent boss, Ethan, she was unprepared for the limitless quantities of clothing, food and trinkets available to anyone with money in their pockets. Faythe had thrust a handful of currency at her, declaring it to be part of Anjell’s funds for the expedition and their duty to spend on whatever they liked. She didn’t bother acting in character anymore and neither did Buffy as, arms linked, they flitted eagerly from stall to stall. Buffy suspected that in another life she’d been a natural born shopper and was soon examining everything like a seasoned pro. Faythe had to tug her away from a stand selling delicate handmade shoes and fur lined boots, all twirling around her on strings, aiming them both to the next wonder and the next until she was giddy. Trays of warm biscuits and fluffy muffins, sugar dusted sweets, silver dragon pendants, bolts of shimmering fabrics and heavy woollen cloaks, cages packed with mournful songbirds wearing bright plumage and slender pets with soft tails and bright eyes, a man grinding knives for tuppence and farmer’s wives plying them with slivers of strong hard cheese and salted nuts. After an hour they settled on a bench next to a food stand, enjoying the warmth of its fire pit and indulged in the local specialty; skewers of red glazed meat and caramelised apple slices, washed down with hot spiced punch. Both had an assortment of bags by their aching feet and satisfied smiles on their faces.

“So,” Faythe drawled, wearing her best innocent expression. “When are you going to forgive Spike and tell him how you really feel?”

“I, er, that’s so none of your business, Faythe.”

“Look,” said the dark haired girl reasonably. “I know Spike. As a soldier, what you see is what you get. As a male, he’s remarkably complicated and a lot more sensitive than you’d think. I’ve never seen him so out of his depth before, and you, girl, are the cause.”

“Well, I didn’t ask to be, I didn’t ask for any of this. Besides, he just keeps pressing all my buttons. He makes me crazy,” she whispered.

“Honey, a few crumbs from you and he’ll be worshipping at your feet.”

“I don’t want him at my feet! Anyway, he’s running rings around me already. If I give in he’ll be insufferable.”

“He’s just tugging your hair to get your attention. Not the best plan, I admit, but I know there’s something strong between you.” Faythe sighed. “Perhaps you have it too easy, maybe you’ll have to be tested before you realise just what you could lose.”

Not liking the sound of that, Buffy shivered. The idea that Spike might suddenly disappear from her life filled her with something she didn’t want to analyse.

“We’ll see,” she muttered. “But if he drowns me, spanks me or bites me, then we’ll be having words.”

Buffy unconsciously left out the word ‘seduces’ from her list of grievances; somehow that wasn’t quite true any longer.

***

As if drawn by an unspoken signal, the two women emerged from the crowd at the same time as Spike and his companions took their leave of The Spit and Sawdust. They fell into step together. All were in good spirits, from bargains bought and from a pint or two of good ale and a hot pie, respectively. Pleased that Buffy was no longer intent on giving him the cold shoulder, Spike offered to carry some of her purchases. Smiling inwardly at his old fashioned good manners, Buffy handed them over. They walked together, a little behind the others, until the familiar gates of the inn came into view. Everyone separated for some leisure time, Spike taking on Brack at a complicated board game and Buffy retiring for a nap. She’d wondered if Spike would make an appearance in ‘their’ room as she rested but he left her alone.

As the time of their appointment drew near their anticipation grew. The travellers prepared for the evening with a change of clothes, weapons cunningly concealed, and a little light banter. There was a sense of mission, of purpose, about the evening, as if they knew things were going to change rapidly over the next few hours and that they had to be ready for it.

Their journey through the still night didn’t take long; if evil was afoot then it was treading on the other side of town. Ahnja’s Curiosity Shop was impossible to miss; a large emporium, the wide mullioned picture window at the front displayed a thousand items, all jostling for attention. Rows of glass jars containing roots, pickled eggs, tiny amphibians suspended in amber liquid, mummified claws, candles, daggers, stone globes swirling with moving colours, nets glinting with jewels, and row upon row of bangles, beads and necklaces. The centrepiece was a dummy dressed from head to toe in grey armour, the breastplate and shoulders bristling with metal spikes, legs braced apart as if the beast it had ridden on had faded away to nothing along with its owner. They’d barely reached for the shop’s bell when the door opened. A slim yellow-haired youth appeared in the doorway. Eyes darting past them to the street beyond, he seemed satisfied and ushered them in with a bow.

“Come in, come in, fearless warriors, welcome to the house of my mistress, the loveliest, most perspicacious and thrifty person in our fair city.” Seeing Buffy, he almost whimpered. “Welcome, divine flower from another universe.” He turned to Spike. “And to you, her chosen consort, who would protect her with every inch of his muscular yet perfectly compact body.”

“Oi!”

“Andii, what did I tell you about bothering my guests? Bring them to me at once!” The disembodied voice of a woman filtered through from another room.

***

The other room, unlike the shop, was almost bare in comparison; a wide, carpeted space with cream walls and display cases containing real treasures rather than gaudy knickknacks. Half a dozen low couches, upholstered in red with gold braid, were dotted along the walls, and at the centre stood a long, cloth-covered table surrounded by high backed chairs. It was prepared in readiness for a meal, each setting perfectly arranged with crystal glasses, gleaming cutlery, napkins and thin place mats woven from silver wire. Lit candles ran down its centre in shallow glass holders and pink flower buds were scattered with precision over the cream cloth. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble. That someone was a slim, attractive female who was approaching them with a slightly forced smile and an outstretched hand. Ahnja stumbled slightly; she was wearing a form hugging, sharply tailored grey suit jacket and pencil skirt, two rows of pearls around her neck and impossibly high heels. Her shrewd eyes landed on Buffy.

“I was expecting you to be taller, also I have dressed like a human and you are dressed like an Aurelian tramp. Have I got this all wrong?”

Spike slid forward smoothly before Buffy could react. “We are delighted to meet you, mistress, and Buffy is in disguise while we are staying here, I’m sure you understand.”

“Oh yes, I can see how this would be necessary. I will overlook her clothing and ignore her glowering expression and continue to be a gracious hostess to you all. Please sit down.”

Bewildered that Ahnja could possibly think that she would wear such an ancient outfit anyway, Buffy sat down without a word.

“Right,” Ahnja beamed at her guests. “While my faithful servant Andii prepares our first course I shall engage you in ‘small talk’ until it is time to discuss the real reason for our meeting.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather we skipped to the important stuff now,” snipped Buffy, still stung by the woman’s earlier comments.

“Well, that won’t do. I have gone to a lot of trouble and Andii will sulk and stop fawning over me if we miss any of his food ritual.”

Unexpectedly, it was Brack who smoothed things over. “Mistress Ahnja, we appreciate your efforts and your attention to detail and custom. We will enjoy your fine meal and admire your treasures. As uncultured soldiers we are unused to polite society. No offence is intended.”

Ahnja was pleased and beamed at the sincere sounding older man.

“You’re welcome. I shall overlook your lack of manners and we shall begin again. You know you are remarkably wise for a common person. Would you consider working for me?”

Brack smothered a smile. “The offer is tempting but my duty wouldn’t allow it, I’m sure you understand.”

Their host thought that over then shrugged a little. “Very well, your duty to stop the apocalypse must take precedence over my desire to be appreciated by an experienced male. I will withdraw my offer until you have saved the planet.”

“Apocalypse?”

“Of course. Did you think I would go to such trouble if my livelihood and personal safety wasn’t under serious threat?”

Andii chose this moment to wheel in a trolley covered in steaming dishes, leaving the guests to ponder the almost casual announcement of the apocalypse. Careful to always serve Ahnja first, he made his way around the table placing random foodstuffs on their plates. As the items piled up, Buffy could only gaze in horror.

Ahnja explained. “Andii is – what’s the word? - a ‘fan’ of Earth culture, and he’s spent the last few years accessing your ship’s transmissions using magic.” The group looked up, startled. “I told him there was profit to be made from reporting your communications to our military but he was very stubborn. Instead, he would spend hours in his room watching your entertainment broadcasts, and while the rest of us suffered under the aggression of the human invaders, he insisted that there was something worthy and noble buried in your culture. I hadn’t the heart to destroy his dreams and now it seems that his obsession has proved useful. Although this outfit looks strangely out of place under the circumstances.” She looked down at herself in dismay.

“You’re just perfect,” breathed Andii. “I chose it to represent the feminine, sexual, yet businesslike women of the late 20th century whose credo was ‘greed is good.’ I thought it suited you.”

“You’re right, it does suit me...although I am glad that I ignored your suggestion of not wearing any undergarments, and crossing and uncrossing my legs in front of our guests.”

***

After the strangest meal any of them had ever eaten - consisting of Earth dishes translated Aurelian style into random blobs of foodstuffs on their plates - Andii reluctantly cleared away the mountain of uneaten food and wheeled it away, grumbling.

They sipped their – thankfully, pleasant - wine and settled down to business.

As politely as possible, Spike addressed their host. “Mistress, thank you for such a splendid meal. I’m sure that the memories of pot roast with marshmallows will live on in all of us. Now that we have feasted, can you tell us what you know about Saya’s axe, and why you insisted that Buffy came here to meet you?”

“Didn’t I mention why? Oh dear, that was silly of me.” Ahnja looked annoyed with herself. “Andii!” she bellowed. “Tell them about the prophesy, and bring the book!”

***