Amazed, utterly dumbfounded, Spike stared up at her, wide-eyed, uncomprehending, as she pushed his shirt slowly back off his shoulders and leaned down to kiss him again, trailing sweet, hot kisses from his lips down to his throat, her fingers brushing lightly over his chest, his arms, down to the waistband of his jeans.

“Buffy,” he gasped, feeling his desire for her heightening with every feather-soft touch, as he put his arms instinctively around her and pulled her closer to him, without even realizing he was doing it, pushing her shirt up a little to brush his hands across her stomach, longing to feel no barrier of any kind between them. “I – I don’t understand…”

A part of him still felt that this glorious thing was above him, undeserved – simply too good to actually be happening to him.

Buffy sat up a little and pulled the offending garment off over her head, then turned a slow, sultry smile on him as she slowly leaned down over him again, looking him in the eye, earnestly, willing him to see what she wanted to do for him, what she wanted this night to be for them.

“I love you,” she told him again, slowly and clearly, wanting to leave no room for doubt in his still uncertain mind. “And tonight I’m going to show you.” She lowered herself gently down on top of him, tracing her fingertips down again toward his jeans, as she went on softly, a little sadly, still holding his gaze.

“I loved you before, too. And I was so wrong not to tell you. To let you think I didn’t. I was willing to do anything but that,” she admitted, tears shining in her sorrowful eyes as she gazed down at his solemn, wide-eyed gaze, focusing intently on her as he listened to her words. “We’ve done nearly everything there is to do just about, Spike – me and you. Except for one thing.”

She raised one hand to stroke down his uncertain face, gazing up at her in wonder and confusion, that same adoration he had always held for her still clear in the brilliant blue depths. She knew that it was her own fault that he found this so difficult to comprehend – that it seemed simply beyond his belief that she could actually love him.

But she was going to make up for that now.

Her fingertips brushed lightly across his lips, trembling with mingled desire and an uncertainty of anticipation, as she whispered, “I want to make love to you, Spike.”

He was struck speechless by her words. Never had he thought to actually hear her say those words to him. He had longed for just that for as long as he had loved her, but had never dreamed that it would actually happen. To have her touching him with such tender care, almost with reverence – as if he were some precious thing to be treasured and cherished – it was almost beyond his power to comprehend.

She looked deep into his eyes and asked him softly, earnestly, searching for a genuine answer there, “Is that what you want, Spike? Do you want to do this?”

She knew the answer already. The point was not the answer, but his power to make the choice. She wanted it to be perfectly clear to him that he *had* a choice in the matter, that tonight they would only do what he wanted to do – that if he *did* choose to say no, she would let the matter go without hesitation.

He just kept staring at her for a moment, deep blue eyes searching hers, trying to take in the magnitude of what she was saying and doing. “Yes!” he finally whispered in an intense whisper, pulling her closer to him. “Yes, I want you, Buffy!” There was an urgent need, a desperation in the whispered reply. “You know I do.”

“I’m yours,” she answered simply, leaning down to shower his neck, his chest, with soft, tender kisses as, with his full permission, her hands began to work the button on his jeans.

“You’ve always been so good to me,” she went on in a soft affectionate murmur as she pushed the thick fabric aside and took him in her hand, smiling a little at the soft cry of pleasure that rose in his throat at the contact. “You make me feel so good, Spike. I’ve always loved the way it feels when you touch me. No one makes me as happy as you do, Spike...”

Spike was not the only one who remembered the right moves. The adoring words in combination with her tender, expert touch on his body was enough to bring him to the edge in a matter of moments, as she softly told him with her words and her hands, in every way she knew how, just how much she loved and wanted him.

With spoken affirmation, she was beginning to deliberately rebuild the shattered confidence that had been torn down by cruel words, lies that told him he was useless, nothing to anyone, incapable of any good – and undeserving of pleasure or love in his own right.

She leaned in very close to whisper, so close that her lips brushed his ear, as she just slightly tightened her hand on him, “I want to make *you* happy, Spike. I’m gonna make you happy.”

He moaned in pleasure, more at the genuine devotion in her voice than at her touch, just as she slowly pulled back, removing her hand and standing up. He nearly whimpered at the loss of contact, looking up at her, wondering why she had moved away. Once again, he began to mentally review his own actions, searching for the reason for her retreat. Had he done something…?

But she was smiling at him, that softly seductive smile that promised that she was not going anywhere, there was much more to come, as she slid her skirt down over her hips and allowed it to slide to the floor, never breaking eye contact with him as she did.

She continued to slowly disrobe, taking her time about it, drawing out the process for his pleasure – or torment, by this point he wasn’t sure which it was – as she said softly, “I’m all yours, Spike. Completely and totally yours.” She started slowly back toward him, climbing onto the bed, hovering over him and giving him a very nice view of everything she had just declared to be his.

“And tonight,” she whispered, reaching for his pants again to pull them down, “we’re going to do anything…you…want…”

Automatically, he lifted his hips off the bed, in an attempt to help her slide the pants off, as he did brushing against her exposed and by this point very sensitive skin, quite accidentally, but in a way that made her gasp sharply, and her hands trembled as she hurriedly finished removing the last scrap of covering that separated them.

No more looking away. No more façades to hide behind. She wanted to know him completely, and make him see that she loved him for everything that he was – and she wanted to finally let him see *her* as well – in all her beauty and power and frailty and imperfections.

As her hands began their slow roving over his body again, and her lips once again found his face, his throat, moving slowly downward, he closed his eyes, leaning his head back in surrender to her touch as he whispered, “Buffy…oh, God, Buffy…I need you…I…Buffy…”

Coherent thought was abandoning them both as his urgent, seeking hands became bolder, began to draw her nearer, down on top of him, running down her arms, her sides, in light, cautious touches that were grower stronger with every moment, though he still seemed to be trying to maintain a measure of control.

She was determined to make him throw the caution to the wind.

“I love you, Spike,” she told him again, between kisses. “I want you so bad…you have no idea what you do to me…feels so good…”

She went on and on, lavishing her affection and desire on him, leaving no room for doubt in his mind of the intensity of feeling she held for him, as she continued her still-gentle but intensifying ministrations, taking care to notice every movement, every sound, every involuntary gasp or breath, feeling out as she went along and anticipating his desires and needs.

It was not what she was accustomed to doing, but she found that it was not at all difficult to focus on him and his desires, to see his needs and respond to them before he could even express them in words. Dawn had been right, she realized. Spike was incredibly easy to read. Everything he felt did indeed show, whether he wanted it to or not.

And she was taking full advantage of that fact – but for once, for his benefit, not her own.

Though she found that in the end it was good for both of them. In her selfishness and desperation last fall, she had never thought that bringing him so much pleasure could be so gratifying for her as well. All she had thought about was her own needs of the moment.

Now, she found that the soft sounds of pleasure he made when she touched him, the movement of his body under hers in response, made her long for him with rising pleasure of her own. It was not long before she was desperate, aching to have him inside her.

“Buffy!” he gasped suddenly, as if reading her mind. His voice was low and raspy with his need for her. “God, I want you, Buffy! Now!”

The sound of the powerful desire in his voice, the beginnings of a forcefulness he had lost long ago, returning with it, only heightened her desire even more, and suddenly she was terribly relieved by his whispered words, because she could not wait any longer herself. Without hesitation she complied with his half-demand, half-plea, lowering herself slowly down onto him, taking him inside her.

Within mere moments they had once again found their own perfect unity of rhythm, moving together as one as they always had, if only in this way. But their connection was more powerful than she had remembered, because this time it was more than just physical. This was her, finally allowing him to *really* know her, take her, claim her as his own.

And she was claiming him as well, allowing him in with all her heart and not just her body this time, surrounding and encircling him in the safety and warmth of her loving embrace. They belonged to each other, and in those precious moments, each complete in the embrace of the other, nothing could come between them, ever again.

This time, instead of the cold stony silence that had marked their former trysts, Buffy filled the air around them with her soft, affectionate words, telling him over and over that she loved him, wanted him, how much he meant to her, how good it felt to be in his arms like this again.

Always before, she had averted her eyes, simply gone through the motions necessary to achieve the physical satisfaction she had craved, then left as quickly as possible, ironically wanting to avoid allowing things to become truly personal.

Not this time. Now, she kept her eyes focused on his through it all, wanting to drink in every look, every slight shift in expression, every nuance of every sound of his voice. With every moment she felt more tuned in to his emotions and desires, until she truly felt that they were each a part of the other – like a missing piece.

She found herself wanting to really and truly *know* this beautiful creature that she had never appreciated -- until she had found out the hard way that she couldn’t live without him. It was really true, she realized, that it had taken losing him for her to realize the treasure that she had held in her hands.

But she had found him, and through some miracle, they had managed to turn past hurts into a stronger, deeper relationship, and now that he was back here in her arms, she was never going to let him go again. She was going to love him and cherish him and make him see every moment how much his love meant to her.

She could feel herself riding on the edge of her release, and knew by the deep, shuddering breaths he drew and the trembling of his body all around and inside her, that he was as well. She pulled him closer to her, her movements in perfect harmony with his, as she gasped out in a breathless whisper, “I love you, Spike…oh…God…I love you so much!”

The simple words, spoken in such a heartfelt way, that he had yearned for for so long, were all it took to push him over the edge at the exact same moment as she cried out in an intensity of pleasure, and they collapsed, breathless, trembling and exhausted in each other’s arms.

They just lay there, side by side and facing each other, clinging to each other, gasping for breath as they slowly drifted back to earth. Finally she opened her eyes to look at him, hoping desperately that she had managed somehow in all of that to get across to him the message she had been trying to convey.

He was staring at her, his eyes wide and fixed on her face in an expression of stunned awe, his lips slightly parted and trembling as he held her, his hands at her shoulders, as if he was afraid she would suddenly fly away, disappear -- scarcely able to believe that she was really his.

But she was. Finally, he knew it beyond all doubt. She was really and truly his. In a mixture of profound joy and adoration and simple relief, overwhelmed by the power of the moment, he rested his head against her chest, breathing hard, clutching at her arms and holding her close to him.

Slowly she raised one hand to stroke gently through his loose blonde curls, wrapping her other arm around him and holding him close. And as soon as she could find the breath to speak, she resumed the sweet words she had maintained during the consummation of their love.

She told him how much she loved him, that she would never leave him, how strong and beautiful and brave and incredible he was…just holding him and loving him the best way she knew how.

And when he finally recovered enough to look up into her eyes, his own still shocked and disbelieving, but tearless and for once full of an utter joy at the love he had finally accepted as real and his, she knew that it had been what he had needed. He believed her. He understood the truth of her love.

And no matter how long it took, she would make him see that he deserved it, too.

God, she had so much lost time to make up for!

But as their lips met in another kiss, sweet, tender, and intimate – she knew that she had already made a very good start.