When she woke, she found herself stretched out on Giles' bed, a cold washcloth on her forehead. Moving only her eyes, she looked around and saw Spike sitting on the edge of the bed, concern all over his face. “You all right, pet? Never seen you faint before.”

She sat up shakily, then flopped backward onto the pillows. “I’m fine. I think. Maybe I’ll just lay here for a while.”

“You do that. When was the last time you ate?” He busied himself tucking blankets around her and replacing the cloth on her forehead.

“Um…well, I had some coffee with Tara a while ago. Does that count?”

He looked into her face, and tsked under his breath. “Coffee is not a food group. I mean, when did you actually put food in your mouth and chew it up.”

Her brow wrinkled in concentration, and she finally shrugged. “I don’t know. Too much happens for me to pay attention to that.”

He turned, and started toward the stairs, and she leaned up on her elbow. “Where are you going?”

He stopped at the top of the stairs. “Getting you something besides coffee, love. Won’t be gone but a tick.” He disappeared, and she could hear him fumbling and muttering in the kitchen. He finally reappeared with delicious smells preceding him up the stairs, and helped her rearrange herself into a sitting position before placing the tray across her lap.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at her. “I expect you to eat all of that. There’s more if you want it.”

She stared down at the omelet and hash browns on the plate. “You can cook?”

He shrugged. “Wasn’t always a vampire, love. I like my comforts.”

“But you don’t need to eat. Angel doesn’t eat.”

He rolled his eyes at the mention of his grandsire. “’Course not. The bloody ponce never wanted to remind himself of his human days. And Angel is not the only vampire you’ve ever met, love. What about the Master?”

She wrinkled her nose, remembering the bat-faced elder. “I don’t know. I wasn’t around him much, remember? Just once, when he killed me.”

He cringed internally. Not exactly the memory he wanted to dredge up for her. “Sorry. Forgot about that part.” He looked at the food in front of her, and frowned when he saw she hadn’t eaten any. “Now, dig in. No reason for a bint to go without food, is there? I’m going down to clean up.”

He started toward the stairs, and her voice stopped him. “Spike? Please—don’t go.”

Surprised by her request, he turned to rejoin her, perching on the edge of the bed. Obediently, she started eating, her face changing from cynical to surprised when she noted how good the food actually was. “This is good!” she said around one mouthful, hiding her full mouth with her hand. “You really can cook.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “I told you I could. What, expected that to be a lie?”

She swallowed, and picked up the glass of milk on the tray. “Well, you’ve never been honesty-guy with me. Always giving me some kind of line about this or that. How did I know you really could cook?”

He looked around the room, everywhere but at her. “Riley came by here looking for you.”

“Yeah, I saw him. When I was out with Tara.”

He wanted to see her reaction, wanted to look into her green eyes so badly, but refused to let his impulses rule him. “And?” he prompted her.

“And what?” She stuffed her mouth full of food to keep from answering him, but that only worked until she swallowed, then she felt she had to answer. “And I figured out that he was lying to me about going to Iowa for Christmas, so I kicked him to the curb. Like I would let him go to Cancun on his own. Jerk.”

Spike breathed deeply, in, out. “He was bragging when he came here. About Cancun, and you…er…not sleeping with him.”

“He what!” After her initial outburst, Buffy shrugged. “Oh, well. Lesson learned. He said some nasty things about Parker too in the diner. Do you know, he is such a bigot—made some snarky comments about demons and vampires and such.”

“Well, pet, he is one of the Initiative blokes. You knew that, right?”

She choked on her milk. “He what! Part of the Initiative? Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

He turned to watch her as she mopped spilled milk off her shirt. “I recognized him when he came by. Told him I was Rupert’s nephew from England.”

“And he was that easy to fool? Oh, that’s rich.” She daubed at the milk on her shirt, and sighed. “Okay, milk stains on my shirt now. Should have known not to wear it out patrolling, although usually I get blood on everything.”

“Give it here, pet. I’ll take care of it.” He extended his hand, and she looked up at him in horror.

“Take my shirt off? Why?”

“I’ll go soak it and get the milk out of it.” He shook his hand, and repeated, “Come on. It’ll stain, and then you’ll be all whiny about it.”

“I don’t whine,” she said, then realized that she was close to it. With a huff, she pulled the shirt over her head and whinged it across the room, where he caught it neatly out of mid-air. He stood there, a smirk on his face, until she realized that she was clothed only in her bra. Shrieking, she yanked the blanket up over her chest, and almost toppled her food.

He grabbed a tee out of one of Giles' drawers and tossed it gently to her. “I’ll just be seeing to this, then, okay?” She waited until he’d disappeared on the stairs, then pulled the shirt on, her mouth a moue of disgust as she saw the logo on the front. Of all things for him to throw her to wear, a Sex Pistols tee shirt—and where did Giles get it, anyway?

She hurried and finished the rest of the food, then leaned back against the headboard of the bed. It was kind of nice, being pampered and waited on, she thought, then she heard his footsteps on the stairs again, and panic set in.

They were alone in Giles' apartment together, with no Watcher in sight. He had put her in bed, fixed her food, decorated the apartment, and was wrapping presents. This was not the Spike she was used to. Hell, it wasn’t even close. She thought of the things he’d said when they were kissing, and wondered if he was still feeling residual effects from the spell as well.

When she saw the soft look in his eyes, she decided that he must have been feeling it still, just like she was. The look quickly disappeared when he noticed her eyes trained on him, and he pasted on a familiar smirk instead. “All done, Slayer?”

“Yes. It was really good. Thank you.” He shot her a look from under his brows, but refrained from making his usual snarky comment. Without a word, he picked up the tray and headed back down the stairs.

She climbed out of the bed and followed him into the kitchen. He stumbled backward against the wall when he turned and found her standing behind him. “Give me a heart attack, Slayer. You could have made some kind of noise.”

“You can’t have a heart attack, Spike,” she said, looking coyly at him from under her lashes. She took a step in his direction, and he pressed himself against the wall, avoiding her.

“What’s this all about, Slayer? Still feeling peckish?” He moved to open the refrigerator and she held the door closed with one hand.

“I think that you have some explainy to do.”

He looked closely at her, frowning. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, Slayer. What do I need to explain?”

She moved closer to him, so close that he could feel the heat of her breath on his cheek. “You said some things earlier when I came by. Something about…thinking about me? Wanting to kiss me? Got some confessions to make there, Spiky?”

“No. No…confessions. No kissing.” He made a motion of wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Don’t remember saying anything of the sort, Slayer.”

She moved imperceptibly closer, crowding him against the wall. Placing her hands on either side of his head, she leaned in closer, and he could smell her heady scent. “I think that you’re lying, Spike. I think that you did say some things, and didn’t think that I was listening to you. Now, we gonna do this nice, or does it have to be the hard way.”

“Keep standing that close to me, it’ll be hard no matter what,” he muttered, then his eyes widened as he realized that he’d spoken aloud. “All right, all right, no need to go all Rambo on me. I said some things in the heat of the moment, no reason to get all upset.”

“I thought so. Did you mean them?” she said quietly, her voice a mere whisper in the stillness of the apartment.

He dropped his head, unable to meet her eyes. “I meant them. I…bollix, Buffy, I can’t get that night out of my head, and you know it.”

He met her gaze head on, emerald clashing with sapphire, and she grinned, to his surprise. “I know. This shouldn’t come as a surprise, then.”

She pressed her body close to his, and twisted the curls at the nape of his neck in her fingers as she sought his mouth. His hands curled into fists as he fought the sensations that she was rousing, then he capitulated and gripped her hips, dragging her into the circle of his arms.

Their tongues warred for dominance as she kissed him frantically, pinning him against the wall. His mouth burned a trail of kisses across the smooth skin of her throat, and she threw her head back, moaning aloud. “I shouldn’t want this. We’re enemies.”

“Sure we are, love.” He bent his head to nibble on the enticing pulse throbbing on the side of her neck. “I hate you, Slayer.”

She yanked his head up, eyes blazing. “Say my name.”

“Buffy. Oh, God, Buffy.” He gave himself over to the riotous emotions coursing through his body. “Buffy, my beautiful angel, my love.” He captured her mouth with his, plundering its sweet secrets as she ran her hands over his back.

She tore her mouth from his, gasping for air. “Remember what you said—when we were engaged? Show me now.”

Like a feather, he picked her up in his arms and carried her up the stairs to the spare room that opened off the landing. She pushed the door open, and he gently laid her on the bed. “Spike,” she whispered, and he shushed her with a finger to his lips. He stripped off his shirt, leaving him in his customary black tee shirt, and toed his boots off as he crawled across the bed to seize her mouth again.

She raked her hands through his hair; his curls springing wildly under her fingertips as he kissed her with wild abandon. She tossed her head, negating the sensations even as she gave herself over to them. “I can’t stop thinking about this—about you…Spike, did you feel it too? Was it just me?”

He growled against her skin, “You’re in my blood, Buffy. Haven’t stopped thinking about you since that night. Can’t stop thinking about you. Oh, pet, let me make you feel good.”

“Yes…God, yes. I want you, Spike.” She ripped his tee shirt off him and traced quivering fingers over the planes of his chest and stomach. She grabbed his waistband, still stiff with borrowed blood that he’d spilled earlier, and groaned against his mouth. Her fingers found the partially healed indentation on his chest over his heart, and her lips followed. “Why?” she asked, her mouth moving against his skin. “Why did you do that?”

“Tired of fighting it, pet. Thought you didn’t care….”

“I care. You don’t know how much I care.” She jerked his waistband open, popping the button to ricochet across the room. She jerked the zipper down and reached inside to grasp the object of her dreams and fantasies. His cool length caressed her palm, sending a frisson of excitement straight to her core. “I—want—this,” she said, closing her hand around him and watching the blissful expression that overtook his features.

She twisted her hips and rolled them over, straddling and imprisoning his legs with her knees. His hands roamed over her skin under Giles' shirt, and she yanked it over her head, tossing it aside. Still holding his cock in her impossibly tiny hand, she decided to use both, and encircled as much of it with her hands as she could. “So hard and smooth—cool—much better cool….” She cupped his balls and his hips bucked as his hands grabbed for purchase—which just happened to be on her breasts. “God, yes—grab me—just like that….”

He reached behind her, undoing her bra and spilling her breasts to his heated gaze. Her rosy nipples were already erect and puckered, and he raked over them with his palms lightly, then harder with his thumbs. She threw her head back, then doubled over to take his cock into her mouth.

He raised his hips slightly and she yanked his jeans down to expose all of him to her appreciative gaze. What was only hinted at in the tight Levi’s bobbed before her pouting lips, and she grabbed its base with one hand, steadying it for her mouth. She licked up the prominent vein that ran along the bottom, then flicked her tongue over a scar behind the velvety head. She looked up at him along his body, sprawled beneath her, and said, “You’re circumcised.”

“You noticed,” he drawled. “Long story. Don’t care to discuss it right now.”

“Well, I just meant—“

“Buffy. Not. Now.” He let his head flop down onto the pillow beneath it, and she flicked her tongue over the tip of his cock, bringing it right up off the pillow again. “Slayer,” he groaned, and she tightened her fist at the base, almost to the point of pain. He growled, then said, “Buffy,” and she loosened her grip slightly, a wide smile bedazzling him from the picture she made. His cock in her fist, a wide smile on her face, her mouth inches from him—he groaned again, and threw his arm across his eyes. “Buffy, I swear, pet—‘s been a while, and if you keep teasing, you may not like the outcome.”

“Then again, I may like what comes out,” she teased, then licked down his length again. She encircled the head with full red lips stretched wide, and he scrabbled for control as he mentally went over his equivalent of baseball stats; Angel in a dress—Dru shagging the chaos demon in Brazil—Rupert dressed as Frankenfurter. His mind abandoned him and went southerly as she swallowed him down to the base, nestling her nose in his curls, then swirling her tongue around him as she withdrew to breathe deeply through her nose.

His cock slickened by her saliva and his pre-cum, she stroked him slowly from base to tip, taking out time to taunt him some more. “So, just since the spell, or before?” she said grinning, and he looked up at her, surprised. “I’ll go first, just so you don’t think that it’s a setup. Before. Since the first time I saw you, I thought you were the sexiest thing, alive or undead.”

If his heart beat, it would have stopped. “Same here. Actually, when I saw you dancing in the Bronze. Gah—knew you would shag like a wild woman.”

She climbed up his body, tugging at her pants and she moved. “And why didn’t you?”

“Slayer, pet. Vampire. Not supposed to want the thing that kills you.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Why do vampires make me hot, then? Sure they want to kill me. Don’t you want to kill me, Spike?” She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he could feel the heat of her quim burning his cock through the delicate lacy panties she still wore. She nibbled on his earlobe, and her breath sent a shiver of rippling heat down his spine and to the root of him, and his cock jumped against her.

“Only if you’re teasing me,” he said, and rolled them over again, landing on top of her. She gasped at the measure of him pressing against her, and wiggled her hips to increase the pressure, seating him more firmly against her.

“Tell me again why we waited?” she asked against his mouth.

“Because it’s wrong,” he answered, and her panties became history as he shredded them to bury himself deep within her heated channel.

Her eyes opened wide, and she knew she was playing with fire and sure to get burned, but the fullness and completion she was feeling erased all doubt from her mind. This was where she belonged, she realized. Her eyes filled with tears, and he stopped cold, thinking she regretted their actions.

Spike started to pull away from her, disappointment etched across his features, and she locked her arms and legs around him to keep him from moving. “No,” she whispered. “You don’t understand.”

“Never shagged a woman and made her cry—well, not without it being on purpose. Let me go, pet.”

“No. Spike, I—” Buffy found her voice suddenly gone, and she buried her face in his shoulder. She couldn’t talk, so she moved her hips against him, and he relaxed slightly, still holding himself away from her on his hands.

She knocked his locked elbows outward with hers, then clutched him closer to her. She locked her ankles around his and moved against him, arching her body against him. His hips unwillingly took up the rhythm, and she squeezed him with her muscles as he pulled out of her, then plunged back in. “Don’t stop, Spike. Love me. I need you to love me, if it’s only tonight.”

He stared at the sheet below her head, her hair close enough that he could see the colorations of individual strands. He heard the words she whispered to him even as he watched the sheet dampen with her tears, and his heart broke for the lost Slayer who believed herself unloved.

He drew back, and looked deep into the green eyes that haunted him for as long as he could remember. “Won’t be an act, pet. I promise you that.” He smoothed her hair back from her face, and watched the smile bloom across her full lips, right before she reached up to kiss him again.

He roused himself from his torpor and began moving within her, twisting his hips to touch deep inside her. She gasped aloud, and spread her legs further to allow him deeper inside her, her eyes never leaving his. They stared into each other’s eyes, seeing feelings that neither could express as they moved together, driving toward a mutual goal in tandem.

His hand found her breast, and he tweaked her nipple experimentally. She showed her appreciation by digging her nails into his biceps, and he replaced his fingers with his teeth as he continued to plunge into her. She moaned, and raked her nails across his back as her heels dug into his asscheeks, her constant keening moan punctuated by sobs for release.

She tossed her head, talking out loud and not realizing what she was saying—her subconscious was blushing and hiding her eyes, and she was glad the little angel was off her shoulder for once. “God, yes, fuck me, Spike, fuck me good!” It was only when they both heard her asking him to bite her that they both paused, staring at each other.

“Do you really—?”

“Would you--?” they both started at once, and she giggled. “Come on, vampire wet dream. I know that much. Biting’s part of sex for you.”

His blue eyes were wary. “Didn’t think that you’d want me to, pet.”

“Spike, I’m the Slayer. I know what it means, and I’m a big girl. I can take it.” She looked up at him, and repeated, “I can take it.”

“Oh, I know you can.” He bent his head, and when he looked up, his game face was in place. “But are you sure…?”

“Positive.” She stretched her neck, moving her hair out of the way. “Just do it.”

He moved slowly at first, then built speed until he was slamming into her with his full strength and she was writhing beneath him again. She turned her head, offering him the virgin side of her neck, and he turned it back, staring at the previous marks from his sire and great-grandsire. She looked up at him, chewing on her lip, and nodded, and he took it for assent.

His fangs slipped delicately into her skin like butter, but it was enough to send her careening over the edge of her orgasm. She shrieked with her completion, his name on her lips, and her quim clenched like a fist around him, stopping his movements. He cupped his hands under her shoulders, afraid of tearing her flesh with his teeth as he held her against him, sipping lightly at the trickles of blood that oozed from the twin punctures that obliterated all previous marks there.

He waited until she was limp and panting for much-needed air beneath him before he moved again. He memorized it all, from the flush of her skin to the glazed look in her eyes, implanting every sight deep in his brain for later perusal some cold, lonesome night.

He saw the awareness filling her eyes again, and she parted her lips, about to speak. He covered her mouth with his hand and shook his head. She tore his hand off her mouth, and said, “You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. Spike, I—“

He covered her mouth again. “Buffy, don’t.”

“I love you, damn it! Would you just let me say it?”

The fire snapped in her eyes, and he drew back from the passion in her voice. “You do?”

“Yes, if you would let me get the words out. Spike, I love you.”

“Oh, Buffy.” He buried his face in her shoulder. “I love you too.” He pulled back, his eyes narrowed. “Do you think that it’s the spell?”

“No, it can’t be. Willow said that the spell was for us to get married. People get married without love all the time.” At his questioning look, she said, “I asked. Specifically.”

“Oh.” He remembered that they were still intimately joined together, and made a move to roll away, and she caught him with her arms around his neck and her legs locked around his waist again.

“Hey, don’t we have something to finish here?” she asked.

“Um, yeah, that….” He said, trailing off. She frowned up at him, and he colored slightly. “Buffy—“ he started, and she stopped him with a hand over his mouth.

“Don’t. Even. Think. It. Spike, it’s of the good, trust me. Now, move your ass, buster.” She punctuated her command with a heel to his posterior. “There’s still half the night to waste doing evil stuff to each other, and I plan on putting it to good use.”

He looked down at her beneath him, her eyes shining, and her mouth curved into a fetching smile. He caught his unneeded breath, then let his own mouth spread in a smile.

“You’re absolutely right, pet. Let’s get busy.”

He leaned down to kiss her, and she pressed her forehead to his. “This is gonna be a good Christmas, isn’t it?”

“The best, pet. Promise.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Giles arrived home late the next afternoon. He found unwrapped presents in front of the couch, and his kitchen wrecked, with potato peelings drawing tiny flies and eggshells littering the counter.

He shook his head, and carried his bag up the stairs to his loft. He heard a small sound in the small second room, and opened the door to look inside.

Two faces looked back at him, surprise evident in their features. They were nude, he noted, and seemingly enjoying that nudity, he thought clinically.

“Oh dear Lord,” he said, and closed the door quietly.