STRAWBERRY HAVEN, THE AFTERMATH

A/N: Just wanted to thank everyone who reviewed the first story, "Strawberry Haven"! Your response to this fic have been so wonderful, and I am humbled by how many loved the story. I mentioned the possibility of doing the sequel, so here it is.

Timetable: the events in this and the other story are right after "Once More With Feeling", so Buffy and Spike have not had each other yet.

Disclaimer: still don't own everything, in spite of trying to wish upon my character Trillion's magic wand! It all belongs to Joss, 20th Century Fox, and any subsidiaries.

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The first sound the platinum drinker of blood heard was his telly announcing how weight loss could be maintained if one would just buy a diet pill for $39.99. Spike silenced that fib straight away as he switched off the idiot box via remote control.

The second sound the vampire heard was the even breathing of the soft body on top of him. He stole a glance at Willow as she slept soundly. Her flame colored hair spilled out all over him, framing her face as it curled. Her lips curled up in a partial smile while she murmured some unintelligible words.

He never thought he had seen anything more beautiful.

Gotta get those thoughts right out o' your mind, mate! He advised himself mentally.

Her breath caught in her throat as Willow woke up. He heard her blink, then raise her head. For a moment, witch and vampire looked at each other, not daring to say anything. All too soon, she moved so that she sat next to him.

"Spike…?" she asked softly. Looking at his chest just then, she saw that he was fully clothed in his usual black ensemble, and she was still in her brown jacket.

Spike didn't answer, but he rose and went over to his 'fridge. Willow frowned a little, wanting him to return to the empty space next to her. He got a box of granola from the shelf above it and opened the 'fridge to see if he had any milk. When he saw that he didn't, he turned around.

"Got breakfast for you, but you'll have to eat it dry," he said, holding up the cereal box so that she could see.

"I don't have milk," he reported.

In Latin, the witch said, "Milk, appear."

A white container materialized on the shelf. Spike took it, then proceeded to take a small bowl from a table next to the refrigerator. He filled the bowl with both contents, putting some of the granola in a yellow mug. Opening his refrigerator once more, the vampire got the pig's blood out and mixed it with the cereal in his cup.

"Eww…" Willow let loose the comment. Spike stiffened somewhat, but then recovered a moment later.

"Not apologizing for what I am, Red," he said, putting the mug with its blood-and-cereal mixture into the microwave. Putting it on "high" for a minute, he waited until the oven "dinged" and removed the mug. He walked back to the sofa, sat down and downed the contents in one, fell gulp, letting some of the hemoglobin dribble down his face.

Despite her being slightly grossed out, Willow watched him intently. "Does that taste any better than just straight blood?" she asked. Spike jerked his lips away from the cup, staring at her.

"I mean, it must taste strange," Willow prompted. Spike allowed himself a small chuckle.

"Kinda does," he admitted, adding, "but then, anything would taste unusual with pig's blood."

"You mean you didn't swipe some human blood from the hospital?" the Wicca wanted to know. When Spike's gaze grew stormy, Willow amended, "I mean, that is what you do sometimes, isn't it? Not that I blame you for doing it."

Spike's intense eyes never left hers as he said, "'Haven't gotten human blood in awhile. 've been visitin' Mr. Hennessey, of late."

Mike Hennessey was the butcher in Sunnydale. He always had many cuts of meat in his shop, and he was one of the few people who knew that some of his customers had "special" needs. He didn't blink an eye whenever vampires took some of his blood when he had it, which was pretty often. Spike and on occasion Angel were two of his main customers, though there were others.

"Do you miss it?" Willow wondered. Spike jerked up from the couch and went to a sink he had installed. He threw the mug into it and let the cold water trickle down on it.

"What do you think, Red?" He thundered. "Of course I miss it!"

Willow was contrite, not really knowing what she'd said to offend him.

"You think it's a bloody cakewalk not bein' able to drain folks like I want?" he asked. "You think I like being the butt of jokes from the demon set, not only 'cause of my chip, but because I hang around with you lot?"

Willow's eyes started tearing, despite her realization that she could clean Spike's clock magically if she wanted at any time. She swallowed, not knowing what to do, or what to say. The master vampire was abashed. He hadn't meant to go brassy on her, and he forced himself to be calm.

"Look, Red," he explained patiently, also handing Willow a napkin that he took from his shelf, "it's like eating snails or somethin' when you're used to eating chocolate. I c'n do it; I c'n get nourishment from it, since it's blood an' all, but it's hard goin' from Baluga Caviar to sardines, you know?"

The Witch got the analogy. When he returned to the sofa and threw himself down on it in a huff, Willow reached out and stroked his hair, allowing some of his curls to tumble free. She liked the feel of it, she decided, running it through her fingers a little bit longer. Spike pressed his head into the warmth of her fingers, reveling in her massaging motion. Buffy had touched his hair at least once, but Spike had never felt as alive as he felt with Willow's strokes. His lower member stood at attention as, unknowing, Willow continued her exquisite torture.

"Willow?" Spike asked. The use of her real name grabbed her attention.

"What?" she responded with a question.

Her hand stopped its circular motion. Spike didn't know whether to be elated, or depressed. He settled for neither as he got the bowl of milk and cereal and gave them to her. As she wrapped her lips around the spoon, the vampire imagined her lips sucking on him. He suddenly bounded from the couch, making her jump.

"Okay, uh, here's the thing, pet," he said in a voice he hoped wasn't too high. At her frown, he ran his fingers through his locks of hair.

"Vamp's gotta sleep, you know?" he suggested. Willow dropped the spoon in the bowl.

"Oh! Right!" She exclaimed getting off his couch. Willow grabbed whatever paraphernalia she had and with a hasty "sorry", she left.

His eyes not leaving her retreating back, Spike headed for his shower downstairs, hoping the ice cold water his pipe trickled on him would quell his desire for her. The demon inside roared its displeasure, but a part of Spike wasn't ready to move on from his relationship with Buffy. Of course, they didn't really have a "relationship". It was more like a knock-down, drag out fight and then chain the one you love orgy.

The only time there had been the suggestion that there could be something more was when Buffy and he had kissed after they'd been singing. But since that time, the Slayer had, in typical fashion, kept her distance. Spike had been chasing her both before and after she had returned from the grave, but Buffy had given him nothing but un-beating heart ache and misery. Oh, the spark of passion was there, no doubt about that, and the Chosen One would be a good…no, make that a great shag, but the poet in him wanted more.

He got undressed and reached for the bar of soap as the women he'd been with paraded through his mind. Drusilla had been both mother and lover, nurturer and torturer, when he had become a vampire. She had shown him what it felt like to have an all-consuming love and obsession for a woman. Spike had stayed with her; he'd been loyal to her, even when she'd been unfaithful to him by shacking up with Angelus. But that night, when he'd chained her, he realized that his love he carried for her had changed.

When I look a' you, all I see is the Slayer, Drusilla had told him. Spike had vehemently denied her words at the time; he'd been so brokenhearted, but deep down, he knew he'd left his raven haired goddess a long time ago.

The blond vampire stepped into the makeshift shower and considered Harmony. He'd shagged her only because she reminded him of the Slayer.

Nothing there on that highway, Spike thought as he turned on the water and let it fall on him, 'cept a speed bump.

He lathered up his skin, picturing Harm for a brief moment, but somehow, the image of her didn't stick. When his hand snaked downward to his member, Spike thought about an angel with hair the color of a flame, dancing with him in a coffee shop. Her fingers stroked his back as they twirled to a romantic melody. He pictured her hands running over him as they stood naked under a waterfall and her mouth on his chest as she continued her assault until she reached his manhood.

And, he knew without a doubt, he was doomed to lose his un-beating heart a third time.