HOW THE GODDESS GOT HER VAMPIRE

A/N: This is yet another "Spillyria" story set after my first one, "How the Goddess Was Won", which I recommend you start with. I apologize about the title. I am not too good with titles. Just to let readers know, this is set in the "After the Fall" universe, though you don't have to read that series to understand this story.

Synopsis: Spike deals with Illyria's changeable attitude while the former Hell Goddess tries to understand her newly emerging feelings.

Disclaimer: I wish I owned these characters, but I don't. They are Joss Whedon's, and 20th Century Fox's.

Timeline: about two weeks after the first story.

CHAPTER ONE

Illyria woke up to the sound of birds chirping outside of the mansion she lived in that morning. She could never get used to the noises of the seasons, most especially the one called "Spring". It was too happy, too cheerful for her to be believed. Although, her pet Spike had told her once, happiness was an extremely personal thing. She could appreciate that lesson. For her, once upon a time, happiness had consisted of drilling her armies to attack the Earth and gazing at the sights and delighting in the smells of the Hell dimension she once resided in.

The blue tinged Goddess believed that her alter ego, Winnifred Burkle, probably welcomed the spring with eager eyes and a big heart. She had ceased to think of Fred, as everyone had called her, as a mere human. She also thought of her body as a body, not just a shell. Illyria supposed that was progress. It was also progress that, during the two weeks she and Spike been together, she allowed him to be in her presence longer, especially when they were not engaged in some battle with the demon hordes or other evil miscreants.

Of course, she still thought of him as her pet and not necessarily the man in her life. But she was willing to make some adjustments to concede to his demands in their tenuous relationship, and she had to admit, she loved it when he touched her in places her Army Captain in the distant past would never have dared. Illyria also loved it when Spike kissed her in areas which on the whole made her entire body sing.

So it was on this disgusting spring morning that Illyria decided that she would get to know more about her vampire pet so that she might be more pleasing to him. She wandered about the mansion in search of Spike's valet and butler, Gerard.

Gerard Townsend was a vampire, like Spike. He was one of the few who also had a soul just as Spike did, and he showed absolute humility in her presence. He always gave his opinions in a submissive manner, and he also served as one of the brightest and best know-it-alls about certain demons whenever Spike couldn't identify them.

Gerard had come into their service with the mansion; in fact, he was attached to its' dimensional plane and to the grounds outside from a bet gone bad that he had made in the past with a major league demon. Rather than turn out the pint sized, soft spoken vampire, Spike had let him stay. The platinum blond revenant had said at the time that they could use a guide to the mansion, and besides, Gerry (as Spike referred to him) did have a soul. In addition, Gerard wasn't as irritating as "that eternally bloody poof, Peaches" as Spike called his grand sire, Angel.

Spike's servant was an older looking vampire who people might guess was sixty as his grey hair might attest to. He had an upbeat looking expression on his round face most of the time, with only a few laugh lines around his mouth. He had dark eyes, almost black, and they observed everything they could out of life.

Unlike most vampires, Gerard actually lived for cooking the foods Spike liked to mix his blood with and cleaning the interiors and exteriors of the grounds she and her pet shared. It was in the portrait room that Illyria found the butler. He was trying to reach one of the paintings up too high on the wall for his five-foot-four frame and he was cursing.

Upon Illyria's entry, Gerard greeted, "Good morning, Miss," in his usual British baritone. Unlike Spike, who spoke with a Cockney accent, Gerard's was more refined sounding.

Illyria regarded the butler and said, "Gerard."

She studied the butler intently while he finally managed to get the picture of an English countryside down. He started dusting it, but after a moment, he turned to regard her quizzically when he could feel Illyria's eyes boring into his back.

"Is there something you need, Miss Illyria?" he inquired.

Not one to make small talk, Illyria asked, "I wish to know more about my pet, Spike."

"It might help if you refer to him as a vampire or as a man, and not a pet, Miss," Gerard advised.

"Why?" Illyria wondered.

She knew that she and Spike had fought together for one year, three months, and an odd number of days and that he'd earned the right for her to address him by his proper name. But old habits died hard with the former Goddess. She considered herself royalty, and in her eyes, everyone else she dealt with on a daily basis was a peasant…no, she amended, not even a peasant, but an insignificant flea to be crushed.

So where, exactly, did that leave Spike, she wondered?

Illyria found that she didn't see him as a speck anymore. She respected his courage when he stood up to the demons, for one thing. She also commended his ability to stand up to her, no matter what it might have cost him. He also had a sharp mind, she observed, particularly for remembering poets. And, most important, he was becoming attractive in her big blue eyes.

She thought about how she had seen him that particular morning as he slept peacefully in one of the mansion's many beds. His leg was curled enticingly over a sheet he had flung off slightly. Illyria found to her annoyance but also to her excitement that as he took his pillow with him when he turned away from her, she imagined it was her he took in his muscular arms.

Even worse, she discovered that when they fought demons, Illyria fantasized that when he slew one of them in a particular way he tried some of those moves on her. In fact, Spike's style of combat gave her a funny feeling between her legs that she'd had trouble identifying at first but that Wesley's ghost had talked to her about during her last visit to Angel's mansion in Los Angeles.

"These sensations are foreign to me!" She had said to the former Watcher one day. "This body must be ill, that is it."

"Ill?" Wesley had queried. "What exactly is wrong with it?"

"I feel hot, though I do not sense a fever," she answered. "I also feel like my heart races for no apparent reason."

Wesley floated closer to her. She felt him "sensing" her as her eyes darted to him. "I agree there are no ailments affecting you that I can detect," he reported.

"This is intolerable!" She cried with frustration, hitting Angel's huge oak desk. The vampire walked inside the room just then.

"Hey!" He yelled in protest. "If you're gonna destroy furniture, do it in someone else's home!"

"Angel," phantom Wesley said, ignoring his outburst, "Illyria's unwell, but it doesn't seem to have a physiological connection."

Angel thought a moment, then said, "If it isn't a physical thing, maybe it's psychological. Did you fight a huge demon God recently?"

"I did not," Illyria replied. Her next words were disdainful. "Spike and I destroyed a Krak'nya demon. He was not worth the effort!" She shouted.

Angel caught the words "Spike and I". In all the months he had known Illyria, she always had referred to his grandchilde as "my pet" and she had also boasted several times about her fighting, but never his.

"Maybe you're feeling sexual desire for him," the older vampire guessed. Wesley looked at Angel, then brightened, his light glowing more intensely.

"Yes!" He exclaimed. "That could be it!" He studied Illyria, then pronounced, "You probably do have strong bodily feelings for him." Her hands ran down her slender frame.

"I do not have those," she declared flatly. "They are a mortal failing." Angel smirked, but didn't say a word.

"I think you do," Wesley told her. "Do you feel flushed, excited, and also…dare it say it…a tight wetness in a certain region between your legs whenever he is about?"

Illyria glared at the former Watcher, but finally revealed that she had been feeling all of those things.

Angel had tried to deny it, but he had listened to the blue hued former deity's heartbeat when she'd agreed about her feelings for Spike. It had been beating more intensely just then.

He thought, yep, she's got it bad for him. Before he could think of a suitable response, Wesley picked up the slack.

"Maybe you need to share those…" Wesley paused, searching for the right word, then said …"cravings with him, and let nature take its course…."

"Miss?" Gerard pressed. Illyria snapped back to where she was.

"Why does he stir up such desires in me?" She wondered. "What can be done about them?"

"Maybe you should ask him, Miss," Gerard responded. "I find that in areas such as attraction, it's best to stop it at the source." If in fact that's what you really want, the servant mentally finished.

"Very well," Illyria said, walking out of the room. She found Spike's resting place moments later and without hesitation, got on the bed beside him. The vampire's hand strayed to a round portion of her metal costume a second later. He felt the nipple beneath and his eyes flew open.

"Blue…?" Spike asked groggily. "What's going on?"

"I wish you to tell me why I feel these sensations for you," Illyria told him, "they are new to me, and I am not sure I like them."

Spike sat straight up in his bed. He felt a hardening beneath the portion of her that he was now stroking with his large, cold hand. The vampire gave her a knowing grin.

"You really sure?" he challenged. "You may be sayin' 'no', but a part of your body's sayin' otherwise."

Illyria swatted his hand away suddenly. When Spike frowned in protest, she told him, "I know the cause of these sensations I am feeling. I wish to have them stopped."

Spike's hand ceased its perusal of her.