Buffy, Wesley, and Gunn had relapsed into their comfortable but strained silence following her revelation that the discoveries Spike and the others were making were anything but good.  The two men made a show of attempting to work on paperwork, then gave up any semblance of productivity in exchange for an extremely unfocused game of poker; no matter their attempts at distraction, however, by the end of the first thirty minutes the burden of the delay was obviously weighing heavily, etching itself into the tense lines of their faces and the rigidity of their posture.

For a good portion of their wait, the stillness was generally punctuated only by the sounds of papers or cards shuffling or by Buffy’s gasps as Spike’s emotions rolled through her, dizzying in their intensity.  She wasn’t exactly comfortable with the way she became the center of attention every time some new wave of feeling came into play, but she couldn’t make herself remain silent.  She felt his frustration, his annoyance, his scorn, his grief, his jealousy? , his confusion, but above all else his rage, and her attempts at sending comfort through the bond seemed to be successful only in mildly soothing the fury that ballasted every other emotion.  She was beginning to feel exhausted from the attempts; she hadn’t exactly gotten a lot of rest the night before, and now she was faced with the full brunt of Spike’s emotions.  The man felt everything so intensely, and she was floundering under the weight of it all; she was still new to this ‘open to all emotions’ business, and he was wearing her out. 

She hadn’t expected that what they would find would be good; she had, in fact, been braced for Acathla-level badness, so she wasn’t terribly surprised when everything she got from Spike seemed to support her preconceived notion of what they were facing.  Out of everything he was feeling, nothing was out of the realm of what she’d expected except for the jealousy.  What the hell was he jealous of?  And so jealous that it had made his mark tingle to the extent that she nearly had to excuse herself from the room?  Those were answers he’d be ponying up as soon as he showed his face back in the training room… and she’d kissed him silly and forbidden him to ever leave her side again.  So she wasn’t doing so well with the separation thing; she could admit it.  She’d just gotten him back and he goes time-shifting; not exactly the way a girl wants to spend her sort-of honeymoon.  Tonight was theirs, though.  They’d have their briefing, they might even do dinner with the others… but then the rest of the night was just the two of them.  She knew that they had a lot longer than a few nights… she’d meant what she said when she told him that where he went she went… but she was overwhelmed with the need to be near him now, to remind herself of everything she had nearly lost forever so she’d never take it for granted again.

Buffy had been subconsciously running her fingers over the bite marks on her throat for nearly as long as Spike, Illyria, and Lorne had been gone, and Wesley found it fascinating.  He longed to ask her if it helped, if it provided comfort or allowed for a greater connection; he wanted to research a claim now that he had a chance, because it had always been a matter of interest to him and the available information had been scarce.  But he and Buffy had never had that sort of a relationship; he had been an object of scorn, even though he’d tried his best to cast off his priggish Watcher skin and become a real, flesh-and-blood person for her and her friends.  He realized now that it hadn’t been enough, that as much as he had believed he had set his childhood lessons upon their ear by attempting to help his Slayer heal her vampire paramour, he had really not done much; he had still bowed before the Council, still been cowed by their threats, and still attempted to insulate himself from their wrath, very nearly at the cost of Buffy’s life.  He had, of course, failed, and the resultant dismissal from the Council had sent him down the road that showed him what true change, true development of character and purpose, really meant.  It had been years since he had been a prig, but he was fairly certain that, to Buffy, he’d been somehow preserved in amber as a clueless twit.  He should’ve known that if he could grow, so could she.

Buffy had felt Wesley’s eyes on her, and she ran through the subconscious list of ‘reasons people stare’ quickly in her mind; she was sure her nose was clean, her mascara may have run but she was fairly certain that she had used the waterproof, her clothes were all in place, and her hair wasn’t sticking up.  *Then what?* she wondered, realizing after a moment that her hand was in constant contact with Spike’s mark.  *Once a Watcher…* she thought to herself, finally recognizing the gleam of potential discovery in his gaze and smiling affectionately, remembering all the other times she’d seen that fire in Giles’ eyes.  And at least Wesley looked engaged in something, like he was truly interested in part of the outside world; she knew enough from talking to Spike that Wesley and Fred had been an item and that she’d died right as everything was beginning.  Years of losses had made her wise; Buffy knew the pain of fractured dreams and loved ones taken too soon all too well—had lived it over and over.  It was a relief to see that he seemed to be moving slowly back into the world; she had committed mystical suicide after her mother’s death, and if not for Dawn may have done the same after Spike’s.  It had taken months after his death to make her begin to care again in the smallest of ways, and even then she couldn’t bring herself to be as involved as she once had been; she had wanted the world to move on without her, to leave her behind, but last night had shown her why it hadn’t.  Determined to stoke the flame of engagement as best she could, to keep him tethered at least a bit to the world in the hopes that he, too, could find a little peace, she caught Wesley’s eye and gave him a lopsided grin.  Raising one eyebrow in question, she teased, “Go ahead and ask me, Wes.  I’m pretty sure your brain explodes or turns all blue or something if you hold back like that.”

Wesley was stunned; he hadn’t imagined that she would willingly entertain any conversation pertaining to her claiming, much less instigate such a conversation herself.  She had played every detail of her relationship with Angel so close to her vest, revealing information on a strictly need-to-know basis; of course, now he knew why.  Everything about that relationship had been fraught with angst and melodrama, and it seemed unlikely that she’d ever been truly happy with him, though she had most certainly loved him.  Angel’s strained relations with the friends and family that were so crucial to her, coupled with his characteristic aloofness, had doomed them in many ways.  Her relationship with Spike, whatever its beginnings, was obviously now more open, more mature, especially given its now-eternal bond, and she obviously felt extraordinarily secure in their feelings for each other; though she was clearly worried, there was still an aura of calm around her, and he could hardly recall whether he’d ever seen her look so relaxed and at peace.  Giles had been correct; Buffy was undoubtedly very happy. 

He realized that he was simply staring at her now-bemused face, and shook his head slightly to free himself from his reverie.  “Terribly sorry.  I was simply thinking that you looked tremendously happy… if you’ll pardon the observation.”

“I am,” she answered, smiling brightly, and it was obvious that she was almost eager to discuss the matter with him. 

He wondered about that for a moment before he realized what a truly momentous occasion the claiming represented; of course she was eager to talk about it.  She was a 24 year old woman who had just bonded herself to the love of her life for eternity; eager was probably the least accurate word he could find to describe how she must be feeling.  “Would you like to… talk about it, Buffy?  I don’t mean to be intrusive, and you certainly don’t have to answer my questions.  I simply believe it to be a fascinating subject, but the literature is far from comprehensive…”

“Oh, I know!!  Do you know how hard it was to find a book that would even tell me what the ritual involved, like the amounts of blood and the words I needed to use?  It’s all spread out over a dozen different books—there should so be a database of this info, or something,” she finished huffily, and for a moment she looked exactly like the teenaged girl whom he had first met.

“I doubt it comes up all that often,” he answered, fighting a smile, and she looked up and grinned back at him.

“I think you might be right on that one,” she laughed.  “But still, it would’ve been nice.  So what do you want to know?  I’m a font of knowledge… for once.  And how weird is that?” she asked, winking at him playfully.  She may have just been getting to know him again, but she still hated seeing him so devastated, and the heaviness of the atmosphere in the room was getting to her.  She needed to have some lighthearted moments while she battled Spike’s emotions, and it looked like it couldn’t hurt Wesley to have a few, either.

“Yes… well… how does it feel?  You seem to want to maintain contact with the mark…”

“Oh… that’s a comfort thing.  It makes me feel better… but to be fair, I’m not sure if that’s because of the claim or because it’s a reminder that he’s here and with me.  The claim itself feels kinda tingly… in the good way,” she answered, stopping for a moment to blush herself when she noticed that Wesley seemed to be flushing a bit.  “Sorry…um, not that kind of good… well, not necessarily… although it is fun and tingly that way, too… I mean, it has its uses… but that’s so not what I’m feeling right now… I mean, I do, but it’s not the main thing… and oh, just gag me or something till they get back, please?” she asked, having reached full blush as her explanatory ramble turned vaguely pornographic.  Gunn’s snickers at least made her pull her hands off her face, and she decided that the sight of Gunn laughing and Wesley biting the insides of his cheeks to keep from doing the same was worth her own humiliation.  “Yeah, yeah… yuck it up, boys.  Babble Buffy’s in town.”

“You gotta admit, Blondie… it was pretty funny…” Gunn said between snickers, unable to stop himself from laughing now that the tension of the situation had been broken.

“It…really was,” Wesley added, allowing himself to laugh now that Gunn had given over and even Buffy was giggling.

“OK, so I suck at this font of info thing.  Long story short… claimy bite equals big fun for people involved in said claim.  It also means super-cool emotional communication.  It’s still new, so I’m not sure how far it’ll go… but I can feel what he’s feeling, and he should be able to feel me, too, but he’s a little occupied right now… I mean, we played around with it a bit last night and I am so not going down this road again… anyway, we know it works both ways.  I’ve been trying to calm him down and help as much as possible, but he’s really pissed, so how much I’m helping is anybody’s guess.” 

“This is fascinating,” Wesley murmured, obviously running through a list of possible questions in his head as he tilted his head in an effort to look more closely at the mark.  Buffy had just turned her head a bit to give him a clearer view when she felt a sudden surge of adoration jolt through the claim, timed perfectly with a deadpan British drawl.

“Leave you alone for a bit, Percy, and you’re already movin’ in on my girl?”

Buffy scrambled to her feet and flew across the room, landing with an audible thump against Spike as he wrapped his arms around her and picked her up off the ground.

“Miss me, Goldilocks?”

A kiss that would’ve knocked the wind from him was his only response, and he allowed himself a moment to just glory in her presence again, to forget everything he had seen and the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach and just surrender to the pure love pouring off of her.  She pulled away for breath and smiled at him, tightening her arms around him in a quick hug before shimmying back down to the floor. 

“It was bad, wasn’t it?” she asked quietly, and her eyes flickered from Illyria to Lorne before returning to rest on Spike.

“’Fraid so, luv.  Think we oughta hold off ‘til the big group sing later on, but don’t think it’d be oversteppin’ to say it’s one of the worst things I’ve seen.  If it’s all the same, though, let’s leave specifics ‘til later—they aren’t pretty, and I don’t think anybody’s gonna be up for recountin’ them more than once.  ”

“Lorne?” Wesley asked, noticing the pallor that seemed to have descended over the demon’s normally luminous skin.

“Wesley, this is a level of bad we didn’t see coming.  At least when it was Cordelia… it wasn’t really Cordelia.  But this is Angel… really Angel, all the way.  Soul and all.  Nobody’s riding shotgun with him.”

Lorne’s use of his actual name chilled Wesley to the bone; he could have counted on one hand the times he remembered being referred to without a nickname to soften the blow.  The grim look on Spike’s face; the stricken air that seemed to cling to Lorne; the quiet, if sad, acquiescence that colored Buffy’s features; and the fact that even Illyria seemed disquieted all spoke to the apocalyptic nature of the danger they were facing.  That the danger was taking the shape of trusted friend, colleague, ex-lover, grandsire… that just made it all the more poignant, but it never crossed his mind to doubt that they would deal with the threat.  These were not frightened schoolchildren or naïve colleagues—not any longer.  Loss had made them hard, made them wise to the fact that evil in a friendly guise was still evil; Angel would now be facing a far different group than those he had betrayed and turned on in the past.

“So what are our plans?” Wesley asked, and if the air of calm purpose that surrounded him surprised anyone, no one let on.

“Reckon we oughta work out specifics once the whole gang’s together and we’ve got it all out in the open.  But it might not hurt to start sharpenin’ some wood.  ‘M thinkin’ a forest worth of redwoods for me, ‘n then whatever the rest of you lot want.”

There were nods of assent and then just silence for a moment as they stood together, mentally preparing themselves to continue their days pretending as though the rugs hadn’t been pulled out from under them.

Buffy, however, needed more than ‘I’ll tell you later.’  She looked up at Lorne, knowing that he knew the answer to the question burning inside her, and said simply, “Does he lose his soul?”

Lorne’s eyes widened a bit, and he looked at Spike as though seeking permission to answer.  Spike wasn’t sure on the answer himself—he had his suspicions that the Angel they’d seen was as soulful as ever, but he couldn’t help wanting to know as well.  He gave an almost unnoticeable nod, and Lorne answered, smiling a bit sadly.

“He’s Angel right now, and will be for a while; he wouldn’t lose the soul for a while.  Not until we’re too long gone to do anything about it, ladyfinger.  The rest of us, I mean.  You… well, you’re going to get to see Angelus, but not quite the same Angelus you’ve seen before.”

“What does that mean?” she asked quietly, brow furrowed as she tried to decipher his meaning.

“It means that for everything we saw, the soul’s not running the show anymore, so the demon doesn’t mind it.  Isn’t listening to it, but doesn’t care to get rid of it either.  At least for now.  But later, cream cake, after we’re gone…” he trailed off, nodding to indicate everyone but Buffy and causing her to grip Spike’s arm even more tightly.

“The soul goes walkies.”  Spike’s question came out flatter than he’d intended, more a statement than a query, but a look at Lorne’s face told him he was right.

“Looks like you’ve gotten it, my little lamington.  Now, I really think I need a seabreeze or ten before I continue on with this day.  I’ll be in my office if anyone needs me…  but trust me when I say you don’t need me until tonight.”

“Of course,” answered Wesley, deferring to the demon’s needs although he was nearly desperate to find out the details for himself.  Respecting that those who had witnessed Angel’s actions during the shift might need time to synthesize what they’d seen, he said simply, “So the rest of us should return to our offices, then… finish out the day before we reconvene with Rupert?”

“That might be the best thing,” Buffy answered, glancing curiously at Spike out of the corner of her eye.  It was so strange… as soon as they’d gotten the big ‘evil Angel’ reveal out of the way, all the jealousy she’d felt through the claim while he was gone came back full force, giving her this undeniable urge to prove herself to him and setting her insides on fire with need.  She knew he was doing it to her on purpose… she just couldn’t figure out why.

“So then, we’ll all meet up in the carpark, yeah?” Spike asked, tugging Buffy towards the door.  She looked back at the others as apologetically as she could manage given her excitement to get out of that room, too, and let Spike drag her down the hall.

“Where are we going?” she asked, a little startled by the sheer predatory gleam in his eyes as he glanced back at her.

“Peaches’ office,” he growled, never slowing his steps though she attempted to stop and succeeded only in having her arm wrenched forward for her troubles. 

Skipping a bit to regain her footing, she whimpered, “You don’t have to be all shirty about it.”

“One of these days I’ll teach you how to properly use that word,” he laughed, coming within view of the office.  “And don’t whine… ‘s not becoming.”

“Oh I’ll show you becoming!” she squeaked, offended, as he barreled past the obviously objecting Harmony and slammed the door to Angel’s office behind them.  In the matter of an instant she found herself pinned to the door by the entire length of his body, the hand he had been using to guide her now used to pin her to the hard surface behind her with both hands above her head.  He leaned forward and ducked his face into the curve of her neck, scenting her as he moved up along her face and down the other side until he reached his mark on her throat.  “Spike?” she asked, the question a breathy moan that she didn’t even attempt to make sound more commanding; frankly, she didn’t care why the hell he’d become cave Spike just as long as he’d keep acting like this.

“Mine,” he growled, sucking roughly at his mark before pulling back to meet her gaze and allowing his eyes to flash amber.  He looked so much like the predator he was by nature, the predator she sometimes almost forgot he was… and god it made her hot.

She nodded, eyes wide and glazed with lust, and assented, “Yours, Spike.”

He released his hold on her wrists, but only for an instant; lifting her up and over his shoulder, he stalked towards Angel’s desk and laid her out atop it, watching her hair fan out behind her head as she stared at him, confusion and desire warring on her face.

“What’s going on, Spike?” she asked as he hovered over her, and the look on his face took her back to their first few encounters, back when Dru had been the love of his life and her world had been all blood and peaches with Angel.  He’d admitted to her under the most pleasurable sort of torture that he had been attracted to her immediately—that he couldn’t get her out of his head, and that was why she’d pissed him off so much.  Once she looked back through eyes older than those of the teen she had been, she could recognize the look of feral lust, the equal desire to devour and ravish that had transformed his face as they fought.  He was looking at her that way now, eyes shifting from blue to gold and back so rapidly that it seemed one blur of color, and she couldn’t have said which she wanted more; she decided she’d happily settle for both. 

Her question received no answer other than the sensation of his hands sliding up her skirt, and she caught her breath as she felt his fingers tease her clit through her panties for just a moment before he ripped the tiny scrap of fabric off of her body.  She arched her hips upward, forgetting completely where they were and that she should probably be arguing for a change of location, and whimpered as his hands left her skirt as quickly as they had slipped inside it, taking her panties with them.  She heard the distinctive sound of metal rolling smoothly against metal and dimly realized that Spike had opened one of Angel’s desk drawers; she propped herself up just far enough to see him tuck the ripped lace panties under some paperwork before shoving the drawer closed again.

“Spike… what?” she asked, only to have her question cut off by the bruising pressure of his lips against hers as his tongue explored her mouth voraciously, taking her in a brutal kiss that left her on the verge of collapse.

“Smell of you should drive the bastard barmy, love,” he murmured, tugging her skirt up into a bunch around her hips before seating himself in Angel’s chair and pulling her roughly to the edge of the desk.  She started to lean up again, the desire to see him overwhelming, but his guttural “Stay down, Buffy” held her rooted in place, trembling with anticipation.  She didn’t have long to wait; she choked back a scream as he thrust two fingers inside her as his mouth descended on her clit. 

Buffy scrabbled for purchase on the desk, her fingers crumpling paperwork and ripping files as she sought something solid to help her anchor herself.  She finally settled for putting her arms over her head and holding onto the side of the desk, knuckles white as she thrashed against Spike’s talented mouth and fingers.

God, just the taste of her… he wanted to tear Angel into tiny pieces just for trying to keep him from the sweetness that was Buffy.   He knew that he was being rougher with her than he had been in a long while, but he simply could not control himself.  He needed to mark her, to reassert that he owned her, body and soul, that it was his claim that bound her.  Holding her down with his free hand on her chest, he lashed his tongue against her clit as he continued to torment her with his fingers, curling them upwards to press against the sweet spot inside her.  She tried again to raise her hips, and he merely growled and pressed harder against her chest in response.  The message was clear; she was going nowhere until he was through with her.

Buffy had no idea what the hell was happening, but she knew that she never wanted it to stop.  She was sure that being pinned by a master vampire was supposed to set off some sort of alarm bells, but she figured those had been silenced by the claim; the only thing she was in danger of at this point was death by orgasm, and she’d willingly chase that dragon if only he would… just… She shrieked as his teeth teased her clit before he closed his lips around it, nipping, licking, and sucking until she was sure she’d die if she couldn’t come soon.  Just as she sobbed helplessly, drowning in lust and begging wordlessly for release, he slid another finger inside her and gave her clit one last hard suck, then followed it up with a nip that registered just on the pleasure side of pain and sent her shaking and gasping over the edge into release.

He heard the sound of wood splintering and raised his head, using his fingers to extend her orgasm while he watched her face.  She was incredible, radiant and wild and flushed… and she had cracked Angel’s desk as she came.  He was already harder than he had ever been, but that discovery caused a new wave of satisfaction to course through him, hardening him further; maybe it meant he was a shallow bastard, but he gloried in the fact that she had cracked the Poof’s heavy, solid desk because of the pleasure he had given her.

Buffy cried out at the loss of his touch when he abruptly pulled his fingers from her, but quieted down as she found herself suddenly facedown on the desk, balancing on only the balls of her feet on the floor and with Spike’s very erect cock pressing against her folds.  She didn’t even remember being moved.  She groaned his name as he thrust his hips forward, sliding his shaft between her wet lips in a tantalizing promise; grabbing the damaged end of the desk again, Buffy pushed back against him beseechingly and moaned happily when she felt his hand fist in her hair.

“Whose are you, Buffy?” he asked, his voice hoarse and quiet, choked by emotion and lust.  “Tell me who you belong to.”      

“I’m yours, Spike.  Your mate.  Your girl.  Always your girl… please baby… show me again… make me yours again,” she cried as he continued to tease her, now with the head of his cock just inside her entrance.  The pressure, the torment that came from him being so slightly inside her and denying her more was positively maddening, and she resigned herself to outright begging if that’s what it took.  “Spike… please… love you… you have to… please.”

“Please what, Buffy?” he asked, sliding his free hand over her hip to tease faint circles around her clit as he eased just a fraction of an inch further inside her. 

“Fuck me… please fuck me, Spike!” she groaned in response to the exquisite torment, trying in vain to push back against him.  His grip on her hair helped him keep her in place, and she decided that she’d be as obedient as possible if it would ensure that these feelings kept shooting through her.  God, this was primal… this was something they had never had… rough sex, yes, but never this… this completely primitive lust only just tempered by mutual adoration… and it left her breathless and wanting.  Her scream echoed through the office as he sank fully inside her without warning, burying himself in one powerful stroke. 

Spike was absolutely reveling both in the feeling of having her tight heat surrounding him and the utter bliss of hearing the sounds she was making as she rushed headlong into climax.  He slammed into her roughly, each stroke more forceful than the last, and her rapidly escalating whimpers and cries were doing nothing to tame the demon that wanted to reclaim every inch of her all over again.  His senses were on overdrive, and every possible element of their coupling seemed magnified: the sound of flesh hitting flesh, the soft pounding noise as he drove Buffy into the desk again and again, the squeak of her hands against the smooth surface as she tried to hang on, the silk of her hair in his hand, the luminous glow of her skin, the smell of her arousal and the feeling of her juices as he rubbed her clit, the absolutely sinful vision of his cock disappearing inside her body. 

Dimly, Spike registered that her breathing had changed into a familiar pattern and he sped the motions of his fingers on her clit, smiling as her walls began to clench around him.  Her hands slapped desperately against the desk, powered by the force of her pleasure, and every muscle in her body tensed as she strained against him in an effort to push back as she gasped and cried out her orgasm.  He used his grip on her hair to leverage her upwards until she stood pressed against him and quickly removed his hand from her clit, banding her against him with his arm placed firmly her under her breasts.  He tugged her head to the side until his mark was accessible, and he began to tease his tongue and blunt teeth over it, still slamming into her with bruising force.

“Say you’re mine, Buffy,” he rumbled against her ear, and the command was accompanied by the sound of his bones shifting as his demon came forth.  Buffy’s knees trembled from the mere promise of his bite.  She could hardly think through the haze of lust and want that was clouding her mind—and the combination of his fast deep thrusts and the pressure of the edge of the desk against her clit weren’t helping her to formulate any sort of coherent thought—but she remembered how much pleasure the penetration of his fangs could bring. 

“I’m yours, Spike.  Fuck, baby… please take me…”

Even had all the other noises gone unnoticed, the scream that ripped from her lungs as his fangs tore into her throat would surely have notified the entire building of what was happening, but neither one of them seemed to care.  Each pull of her blood into his mouth made Spike harder, made his balls tighten further until he knew the end was imminent.  He quickly retracted his fangs and ran his tongue over the wound before pushing her back down over the desk and slamming into her with a few more jerky thrusts, spending himself into her wildly contracting channel.

Buffy didn’t think the pleasure would ever end; she was certain that she’d spend the rest of her life convulsing in orgasm around Spike’s cock, pleading for his fangs in her throat.  She felt him pulse inside her, felt his fluids coat her walls, and gave over to one last dizzying rush of pleasure as she heard him growl, “Mine!”  “Yours!” she moaned hoarsely as the contractions of her orgasm finally began to slow, and her legs started to tremble from the strain of trying to keep herself upright.

Spike felt the quaking of her muscles as he laved his tongue over his marks; he was preparing to collapse into the chair, bringing her with him, when the door burst open and Wesley and Gunn rushed through, crossbows in hand.  His first instinct was to protect Buffy’s dignity, and he tugged her skirt down as best he could, trying to conceal both Buffy and himself with the fabric.

“Oh…. Oh dear lord.” 

Wesley was bright red and obviously mortified, and Gunn was suddenly finding the LA skyline outside of Angel’s office window to be of immense interest; both were trying desperately to look anywhere but at the obviously interrupted couple on Angel’s desk.

“Can I ask what the bloody hell you’re doin’ here—with soddin’ crossbows, yet?” Spike growled, torn between annoyance and amusement but supremely thankful that Buffy didn’t seem to be processing what was happening. 

As Spike’s question hung unanswered, Buffy looked up lazily for a moment, flushed a bit and dropped her head back to the desk.  Spike saw her back begin to shake and he thought at first that she was crying; soon, however, he heard the telltale snort of her uncontrollable laughter.

“Oh god,” she gasped between guffaws and gulps of air, pushing herself off of the desk until she was standing.  Thankfully, she was mostly concealed—her shirt had somehow remained on, and her skirt draped enough to cover her to mid-thigh.  “Guys, can you just, um, turn around?” she asked, bursting into fresh giggles as they complied like meek schoolboys.  Spike pulled out of her and tugged his pants up, joining her in laughter as he fastened them before helping her to straighten her skirt.

“Ok, guys.  We’re… well, decent…I think… now,” Buffy gasped, coming around to the front of the desk and sitting gingerly on the corner.  She was more than a little bit sore, but she was damned if she’d acknowledge it right at this particular moment.  Spike noticed, however, and smirked knowingly, arching his eyebrow and curling his tongue behind his teeth in a wicked look that disappeared in moments.  Her eyes narrowed for an instant, and he knew he’d pay for that little gloat very soon. 

“I’m so terribly sorry,” Wesley murmured, falling back on old habits of extreme propriety in the face of his mortal embarrassment. 

“We heard the scream… thought maybe Angel…” Gunn added lamely, realizing now that he should’ve recognized the difference between screams of horror and screams of pleasure… he really needed to get out more.

“It’s ok… well, no it’s not… it’s horrifying,” Buffy answered, embarrassment finally catching up with her.  “But at least you were trying to protect me… us…”

“’s not a problem, mate,” Spike added, cocky smirk firmly in place.

The obvious male pride shining in Spike’s eyes and the hubris of his statement seemed to break the ice, as Wesley rolled his eyes before chuckling quietly and Gunn started laughing.

“Dude, at least I just pissed in Angel’s chair.  But you… man, that’s fifteen different kinds of evil,” he told Spike.

“You peed in Angel’s chair?” asked Buffy, nose wrinkled up in disgust.  Spike had been sitting in that chair… she made a mental note that she and Spike would be buying him new jeans on the trip home.

“Lorne made me!” Gunn yelped defensively, and Buffy turned mystified eyes on Wesley and Spike.

“What?”

“’s a long story, luv.  Shorten it up:  Lorne got a little too tired and started a little inadvertent game of wish fulfillment; had Charlie boy staking his territory, me as a rah-rah girl for the fiesta set, Percy there drunk as a skunk, an’ Peaches shaggin’ the Senior Partners’ rep into the ground behind the couch.  Was funny.”

“Oooookay,” Buffy breathed out, obviously still confused but willing to let it go.  “Does anything normal ever happen here?  Wait a minute—I thought the link to the badness was a man?  You said it was a guy… Angel was shagging a man in his office?!  Well, that’s… new,” she squeaked as she collapsed into hysterical giggles again for a moment.  Getting herself under control, she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, “Nevermind, don’t care.  Let him shag Harmony for all I care, if he hasn’t already.  Apparently there’s WAY more backstory here than I already know.”  The four of them continued to look towards and away from each other, eyes darting awkwardly, and finally Buffy cracked under the pressure.  “Well, thanks again for the save attempt, guys, but we’re all right… do you, um, need anything, or….”

“We’ll just be going,” answered Wesley, standing and moving towards the door.  He wanted scotch.

“Yeah… we’ll be in our offices… you know, if you need us,” Gunn added, joining Wesley in his hasty exit.

“’s right nice of you, but I think we were gettin’ on fine,” Spike replied with a wicked grin and a wink, trying to let them know that there were no hard feelings.  Buffy’s hissed, “Spike!” and slap to his chest were followed by an apologetic and embarrassed smile directed by her to the two men.

“Thanks, guys,” she added as they closed the door.  She immediately collapsed against Spike’s chest in hysterical giggles.  “That was just mortifying,” she gasped, and gave him another gentle slap to the back of the head when she noticed the complete lack of shame in his demeanor.

“What?” he asked defensively.  “’s not like I’m goin’ to apologize for makin’ my woman scream, is it?  Got nothin’ to be ashamed of… but you, you bloody banshee, gave us away to everyone in the buildin’.  Little trollop,” he teased, bending down and kissing her breathless.

“Nuh-uh.  No way.  This is not fault o’ Buffy.  This is ALL you… If you weren’t so damn hot…”

“So you admit it, then.  You have it bad for my tight lil body,” he needled, and she grinned and nodded in response.

“I really do.  Have you seen you naked?  But, uh… you wanna tell me what all that was about, Spike?  Not that I’m complaining, because… well, just not gonna happen.  But it would be nice to know…”

“C’mere, kitten,” he sighed, leading her to the couch and sitting down.  He was a bit surprised when she settled on his lap, but decided that he had no complaints with that arrangement.  He fumbled for the words to explain the tidal wave of emotion coursing through him, trying to figure out how to tell her what he’d seen and why it had made him go mad with jealousy.

“Have you ever met a bloke named the Immortal, pet?” he asked, voice deceptively calm.

“Ewww.  Creepy sleazy guy… made Willy look like Don Johnson?” she asked, face scrunched up into a fair approximation of her whiskey face. 

Spike couldn’t help but laugh.  “Think you mean Don Juan, luv… but yeah, that’d be him.  So I take it you’ve seen him around once or twice?”

“He kept trying to hit on me… and I was worlds of not interested, let me tell you.  He was sleazy… and a pig… but in the bad way… not like you.  He just… wasn’t you,” she answered, watching him carefully and trying to figure out what the Immortal had to do with anything.

“So you would never have…”

“A universe of no.  He never had a chance… no bleedin’ way,” she answered, the last bit in a horrible rendition of his accent.  Her tone may have been teasing, but her honesty more than apparent in her eyes.

“In what we saw, pet… Angel an’ I were goin’ to Rome for somethin’ or other business-wise, an’ I saw him on the phone with the Immortal payin’ him off for keepin’ you busy while we were there… so you wouldn’t see me.  Peaches an’ I have history with him; he’s shackled us up, put us in jail, shagged our women… he’s not to be trusted.  But he can be dangerous, too, ‘sides just bein’ annoying… he’s got a helluva thrall, an’ it sounded like Peaches was givin’ him the go-ahead to use it on you an’ the Bit an’ Andrew if he had to in order to keep you away from me.  Git said you’d mooned over me more’n enough an’ it wouldn’t do for you an’ I to see each other… he said you were his.” 

The last word was barely a whisper, but Buffy heard him loud and clear.  She smiled and gazed at him steadily, wanting him to see the truth in her eyes when she told him how she felt.  “I’m not his, Spike.  I haven’t been for years.  Maybe… maybe if he’d been braver, stuck it out… loved me enough to find a way to anchor his soul.  But that’s too many maybes, too many might have beens, to try to build a life on.  I know better now, Spike… I know the difference between courtly love and real, life in the trenches kind of love.”  At his raised eyebrow, she snarked playfully, “I did occasionally pay attention in English class, Spike.  I know fancy phrases like courtly love and wilt and henceforth.”

“Now, listen to me.  I have the man I want.  The one who stuck with me even when I ordered him to go, the one who faced down a hellgod for my sister and was prepared to do it for my mother too, the one who sought a soul for me.  The one who doesn’t know the meaning of the words ‘cut and run.’  The one who’s seen the best and the worst of me and decided that I’m the one.  I don’t know how I did it… but I guess somewhere along the way I must’ve earned you.  I’m just glad I got the chance to collect my prize,” she finished, looking at him almost shyly through her eyelashes.

He leaned forward and kissed her tenderly.  “You lost heaven, love.  That’s enough to earn you a world of happiness and joy.”

She grinned at him, a mischievous glint in her eyes.  “Then take me back over to that desk, and we’ll call it an even exchange.”