Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

I shall not be held responsible for any cavities the reading of this piece causes on readers. The amount of sugary sweetness and fluffiness in this piece is a health hazard. Consider yourselves warned.

It had started with the make-up mirror.

Buffy had asked Spike to get a mirror of some kind for his bedroom. However unreflective he was, she insisted she needed to look at herself before leaving the confines of his room. Spike could sort of understand it. He was no longer reliable as an honest man when the question was 'how do I look?', because he always said beautiful, even if her hair was a rat's nest. It wasn't that he was that blind, but just that he enjoyed getting her a little worked up sometimes (obviously, far too many). Also, there was one incident when he'd let her walk out with dried cum on her face and Xander had seen her, which was really probably why she'd been pissed off at him.

Never mind that he knew that she would see it once she reached the bathroom, or that she thought it was hilarious to let him go out to meet Dowling for a case with a face full of lipstick marks. No, never mind how much Dowling and the sergeant and the CSI people had laughed. No, she was pissed at him, and he'd had to fix it.

So he'd promised to get a mirror. Nothing fancy, she'd said. Maybe one of those foldable shaving mirrors that she could keep in her dresser drawer (Buffy had been adorably and bafflingly happy when he'd say she sure could have a drawer, and would she want some hanging space in the wardrobe too). And of course he'd gone above and beyond. He couldn't have gone for simple and cheap.

No, he'd had to get the prettiest antique he could find on eBay.

It was a make-up mirror from the late 19th century (almost as old as him), beautifully framed in a leaf and vine pattern wrought in silver. The mirror had been, of course, replaced, which had brought down the price a little.

Buffy had fallen in love with it the moment she'd seen it, and ever since then, she'd spent every morning that they were in his room fixing her hair and putting on her make-up in front of it instead of the much bigger and better lit bathroom mirror.

Not that Spike would ever complain. Watching her fix herself had become a ritual he religiously observed every time he could. And that was how that old kink- was it a kink? an obsession? the simple fixation of an utter fool for love?- had come back and slapped him across the face hard.

Her gorgeous hair.

It wasn't like it was a surprise. He'd always noticed and loved women's hair, treated it like a sexual attribute as important as cleavage. He'd spent a hundred years playing with Drusilla's, brushing it, washing it for her, even helping her with her hairdos whenever they couldn't find a competent minion to do it.

He hadn't forgotten that Buffy had chopped it all off when he'd told her how much he loved it for the first time. And of course things were different now, and he'd told her how much he loved her hair a thousand times already, and she'd been pleased. She'd allowed him -and enjoyed- to brush it with his fingers, to play with it, to kiss it.

Yet what he was about to ask her seemed to him stupidly intimate, even though he was sure she would see it as no big deal.

The antiquary that had sold him the mirror had also had a vanity set for sale; a lovely soft hairbrush, in sterling silver also, with beautifully carved blooming roses (floral repousse, the ad said), and a matching comb with ivory teeth.

He'd had to buy it. The comb he didn't see much use for, but it was a set. The brush was a thing of beauty, not only for the work of its back and handle, but because the brush was incredibly soft, with natural bristles. They'd arrived only yesterday.

Buffy was brushing her hair contentedly in front of the mirror, glowing like only a truly satisfied woman can, the brush on her hair the same plastic, harsh untangler that seemed to tear half of her hair out from the root. Spike allowed himself one more moment's hesitation before bringing it up.

"There's something for you on the second drawer" he said.

"Something for me?" she smiled excitedly. "A present?"

She opened the drawer and got the package out, tearing through brown paper and bubble wrap until she arrived at the fabric-covered box. It had a simple pastoral scene painted on it, it'd probably had a different original purpose (another reason the prize had been brought down), but Buffy stared at it with an appreciative smile all the same before opening it.

She gasped when she saw the articles inside.

"Oh my god, Spike" she walked to the bed and sat down at his side. "They are beautiful."

"Glad you like" he said, watching her lift the comb and run her hands through the silver top and the ivory teeth.

"What's the occasion?" she asked, putting the comb down and raising the brush.

"Got paid. Online shopping. You know how it is" he shrugged, but she seemed unconvinced. "They are from the same seller as the mirror. Thought they looked like a matching set, and you might like them."

"I love them" she felt the bristles with her face. "So soft."

"Let me" he asked, and took the brush from her hand. She turned around until she was facing away from him, and he started brushing her hair.

"Feels so nice" Buffy sighed. Spike brushed reverently; mesmerized by the way the natural bristles were bringing out a golden shine, softening up the strands.

It tickled her neck and shoulders as he brushed the tips of her hair, and she giggled and fussed, so Spike encouraged her to lie down with her head on his lap, hair fanned out behind her, falling from his knee to the mattress, and he continued with his task, letting the brush fall from roots to tips, his other hand caressing behind it.

"This is so relaxing" she commented after a while, looking up at his face with a smile. "Thank you for the present."

"This is thanks enough, gorgeous" he said.

There was a silence, as Buffy studied his face critically.

"Spike?" she asked after a while. "Did you buy these just so you could brush my hair with it?"

"No" he scoffed.

"Spike."

"Maybe" he admitted with a scowl. "But I did just think that you might like them."

"Of course" she said with a smile, settling on the bed contently, and closing her eyes to enjoy the massage. "You could've just asked, you know."

"I know" he admitted. There was another silence as he brushed the hair on her temples, bristles tickling her forehead and the tops of her ears.

"I'm growing it out, you know" she said, eyes still closed.

"I noticed."

"It's a pattern" she said. "I cut it short, I let it grow long. I get bored, I cut it short."

"Can't make up your mind, can you?" he teased.

Buffy opened her eyes and looked at him.

"I know you like it long" she said with a soft, girly tone. "I can't promise I won't cut it short again, but I think I'll let it grow long for a while. You'd like that, right?"

He smiled at her.

"'Course I'd like that. But I love your hair at all its lengths, you know."

It was still a little while until he couldn't justify spending any more time brushing her hair. Buffy kissed him, deeply and passionate, as she rose from the bed.

"Thank you for my present" she whispered.

She went back to the mirror. Spike watched her apply her make-up, soft brushes and sponges caressing her face, her hair shining brightly even in the sunless, low lit room, and fell in love all over again.

Go brush your teeth now, prevent cavities.

Thank you for reading.