Thank you for taking a chance on this fluffy and silly little Spuffy fic. I wanted to thank anyone who leaves a guest review or who doesn't have pm's enabled but still reviews, for their time in both reading and reviewing my craziness. I hope you all enjoy! Originally written for the October 2016 Artistic Anniversary Challenge at Elysian Fields, for banner #71 by puddinhead.

Let's go into twilight

-Perry Farrell, "Go All the Way"

The couch's springs complained as Spike shifted on them. At least it wasn't the hard porcelain of the Watcher's sodding tub again. He didn't know why Buffy had let him sleep untied on the couch, he was just glad she had. Circulation or not, a little padding was appreciated.

His nose twitched. The most amazing scent was tickling it. Sugar, spice, and everything nice.

Sitting upright, Spike stretched. His stomach was empty and he hoped Giles had a cup or two of blood left. Headed for the kitchen, the sight of Buffy asleep in the arm chair made him stop dead in his tracks. Her face was soft in sleep and without her perpetual look of seething hatred she was really bloody beautiful. Lovely. Gorgeous. Glowing. Effulgent.

Oh, wait, no.

Spike scratched the back of his head and looked around uneasily. But there was no one else in the room. Concentrating for a second he determined there wasn't another person in the apartment. Where had the Watcher and the rest of the Slayer's fan club gotten off to? Had they just run off and left him loose with the girl napping? That was a little odd.

He really should eat something, but then his eyes got caught again by the way the curve of her calf turned into the crease of her knee, which became the strong line of her thigh. His gaze traveled up until it reached her face.

Her exquisite green eyes were looking back at him.

Spike stood rooted to the spot. Oh, Christ. He was going to die. The Slayer was going to pull a stake out of wherever she pulled them out of and end his now-pitiful existence. Which was really too bad because he still hadn't figured out what that delicious smell was.

No stake appeared. "Do you like watching me sleep?" she asked, smiling.

Uh. There was no good answer to that one.

"I like when you watch me sleep," Buffy purred.

"Am I dead?" he whispered. That must be why the Slayer hadn't chained him back up. He'd fallen asleep and she'd dusted him rather than bothering to make him move. Now he was stuck in hell. A really good smelling hell.

"Of course you're dead, silly, you're a vampire." She giggled and tossed her hair over her shoulder.

Her swinging tresses brought a fresh wave of that amazing scent to his nose. It was her. It was Buffy that smelled like the most miraculous thing in existence.

Balls.

"I need blood," he said and somehow took his eyes off her and the perfect soft pink pout of her lips.

He made it to the kitchen and opened the fridge, bending down to look for the Styrofoam container from the butcher's. It was in the back and as he reached for it the glow from the lightbulb in the fridge played over his arm. To his horror, the light broke apart and shimmered on his skin.

Oh, fuck. He was sparking like a bloody disco ball.

Spike shut the door to the fridge very quickly. "Slayer," he called weakly. "I, uh, something isn't right. Can you come and, uh, help?" He slumped to his knees on the worn out linoleum of the kitchen floor.

"Sure!" She walked towards the kitchen. As she reached the doorway her toe caught on something and she went sprawling onto the floor. "Oops!" she tittered. "You know me, total klutz."

"Since when?"

"Since always!" She got to her knees and scooted next to him. Her face was pinched with worry. "What's wrong, baby? You seem upset."

Baby? The Slayer had gone completely off her rocker. "Well…" He opened the fridge and stuck his arm into the glare of the bright white light, twisting his limb this way and that to show off what had happened to him.

"That's remarkable," Buffy breathed. She ran her warm fingers over his inner arm, making the skin twitch. "It's beautiful."

"Uh," he managed. She leaned forward, bracing one hand on his knee. Her hair was right under his nose and it smelt so bloody good that he couldn't help it. Spike leaned forward and buried his face against her head, inhaling deeply. Buffy was continuing to run her distracting fingers all over his arm and cooing at him.

The front door of the apartment banged open.

"It's gone crazy out there. Everything outside is with the uber-weirdness," Xander yelled into the apartment. "It's pitch dark at nine in the morning and you're going to have to see the rest to believe it."

Spike meant to stop and pull away from her, but it was difficult when she was leaning against him and being distracting with her divine scent and soft, warm hands.

"Guys?" Xander wandered over to the kitchen. His eyes widened as he took in the tableaux in front of him. "Okay, um, what?"

Buffy didn't look up from Spike's arm. "Spike sparkles and he likes watching me sleep," she said.

Spike looked helplessly at Xander. "She smells like heaven."

"Oh no." Xander's face had gone pale. "Inside is even weirder than outside."