"Guys, I'm telling you, it was the second one."

"Wha'? The queer one?"

"So not the gay theory, Dawnie," Xander defended.

"Course not," Spike was quick to agree, much as he disliked the Harris-git.

"They totally went the special effects route. The last one."

"Sorry? No!"

"No?"

"No! Was the one where he kissed the bird. That... Molly love."

"Are you kidding me? She's so not his type!"

"Even the not so pretty girls need the sexin' sometimes," Anya added her two cents, cheerfully.

"See? Your girl agrees with me, Harris."

"Actually, I find all scenarios equally unlikely, however romantic," she smiled toward Dawn and Spike, then glanced at her boyfriend who was shooting her a hurt look. "Or exciting and action packed," she added quickly. "I believe the whole point is that no one was meant to discover how he faked his death, and so they won't."

"Well, I think Sherlock and Moriarty are both hot and it would be so sexy if -"

"I'd rather not hear that my sixteen year old sister thinks two men kissing is sexy," Buffy piped up from behind the hands covering her face and head. "Not that there's anything wrong with two men kissing. Just that... I don't wanna hear it, Dawnie." Not that she wanted to hear much of anything right now. She was slumped against the passenger window of Spike's De Sotto. They were on their way to the airport to collect Willow for her break between the summer mini-mesters. The headache had started off early this morning and was still going strong at 4 in the afternoon.

"Maybe next time we marathon, it should be something like the Lethal Weapon's" Xander suggested. "Less tricky-storyline, more shoot-y guns and explosions."

"Maybe we should all stop talking for a little while before we get Will. I know she won't be able to keep quite for very long and I can guess from past experience, there'll be some screaming from Dawn." Buffy just wished the sun would go down and the pounding would stop.

The chatter died down to low conversation, mainly between Xander and Anya, in the back seat. After a few grateful moments of quiet, she felt a hand come to rest on her jeans just above her left knee. She peeked through her fingers to see Spike glancing back and forth between her and the road. He caught her looking at him and mouthed, "All right?"

"I will be."

Willow and Dawn had taken over the apartment pretty immediately upon arriving home from the airport. Buffy was putting on her best show - after all, hadn't seen her best mate in nearly six months now. But she wasn't foolin' anyone, and Willow took Spike aside first chance she got.

"Take her home."

"Is home, Red."

"To your place... h-her dad's house, I mean. She needs to rest in a dark room w-with -"

"Ice on the back of her neck, yeah."

"Not your first Buffy-migraine," Red nodded with a look at Spike that said she shoulda realized. Then she looked baffled for just a split second before asking, "Hey, what do you do when their dad does come back into town?"

"Spend a couple nights here, or with Anya and the git. Car. Only happened twice so far. Not much trouble."

"Still, that sounds awfully inconvenient. Maybe you should get your own place again...Or maybe..." The girl trailed off as she turned back to the living room to look at her friend.

"She won't hear of me payin' rent somewhere on my own, but she won't... Yeah. Not that either." He did his best to keep the frustration from his voice. The girl had innumerable, sometimes ridiculous rules, but what could he do? They'd row, then they'd fuck. Long as it was okay according to the rules, that was: Not in the house while Dawn was there. Not in the apartment while little sis was there. Forget shaggin' - not even spendin' the night together when the Niblet was around. Which was pretty much all the time. Less Anya could be persuaded to come up with some kind of outing, enlist Dawn for an afternoon workin' in the small books and novelties shop she ran. Thank gods and demons alike for that girl. Without her, he'd probably be celibate.

"What are you two plotting?" Buffy asked, suddenly intrigued by the awkward conversation taking place in the apartment's small kitchen.

"Spike's taking you back to the Big house, and Dawnie and I are gonna have a slumber party blowout - complete with burnt popcorn and stinky nail polish!"

"Oh," Buffy said, slightly taken off guard. "Okay. But we're all gonna hang tomorrow, right?" she asked with a frown.

"Sure, sure!" Will nodded enthusiastically. "We'll come by in the morning. Oh - but not too early," she added smiling at Spike.

"Okay. Let me just pack an overnight bag."

Buffy leaned heavily on his shoulder on their way up the driveway and steps that led to the front door of her father's house. She was suddenly very happy Spike had given her so much grief about needing a key - now she didn't have to sift through the cavern that was her shoulder bag for her keys.

He leaned down to kiss the top of her head as he pushed into the entryway. Her eyes fluttered open to dim light as he led her further into the house.

"Jesus..."

"Nope, just me, but thanks for the compliment," he quipped, cheekily.

"And who are you, then? The god of dirty laundry? Spike, there's shit everywhere."

"Yeah," he moaned as he moved around the room grabbing articles of clothing and tossing them in a heap on top of his duffle bag. "Bit of an explosion happened. Just... sit," he instructed, motioning to the oversized leather sofa. As big as a bloody California King-sized.

Buffy plopped limply to the cushions, dropping her bag to the floor. "I'm turning down the light," she called into the kitchen, reaching for the remote that controlled the house systems.

"Lie down," Spike ordered, on his way back from the kitchen. He knelt in front of the sofa where she sat and pulled gently on her arm until she was lying half on her side and half on her belly. "Hold that there." He placed a zip top bag full of ice on the back of her neck and began to smooth the hair away from her face. "Close your eyes, Pet, and try to sleep."

"On the couch?"

"Well, I've got some cleaning up to do, haven't I?"

"Come get me when you're done?"

"Promise."

As soon as she opened her eyes it was evident that this was a migraine that just wouldn't quit. Bit like Spike in that way, she thought as she decided she desperately needed to pee. The ice he had given her had melted in the plastic bag, and Andrew was perched, curled on her shoulders, purring and flicking his tail contentedly. She pushed up on her elbows, gently dislodging the cat. It hadn't taken her long to understand what Spike meant about the little hairball. He could get on your absolute last nerve, then turn around and leave you mush with the way he'd curl up beside you and snuggle. You just couldn't get rid of him no matter how hard you tried.

Buffy made her way to the hall bathroom that Dawn shared with the guestroom. She heard Spike's voice through the connecting door. He was probably talking to someone at work, but... how late was it?

"I miss you too, kitten. I know, it's been too long. I'll come and see you next month. I promise, Love. I promise."

Drusilla, Buffy realized. She finished up quietly and returned to her spot on the couch, shedding her jeans and pulling a throw blanket from the back of the couch in an effort to get comfortable. She lay on her side, facing the back of the couch and Andrew came to curl into the hollow of her back. She was asleep again in just a few short minutes.

"Because, Ducks... I've been busy."

"Busy with her!" Dru shouted into the phone.

"Busy with work and with... well, with life, and... balls, Dru! Okay... with Buffy too. But that doesn't mean -"

"I see her all over you, my Spike. I can see her floating all around you, laughing. She is no good for you, my Sweet. Why wont you push her away?" his sister pleaded, desperation in her voice. "She'll just use you. Use you all up until you taste of ashes. You're all covered with her."

"I can't, Pet." His heart was breaking, listening to her pain and paranoia. But there was nothing he could do except try to help her understand. "I love her, Dru. Cant want to make her go away."

"You used to love me, my Sweet William."

He shut his eyes tightly, trying to keep the tears from spilling down his cheeks. Why couldn't she just understand? Like when they were young - he never had to explain anything to her, she just knew. He heard a muffled voice on the other end of the line, telling Drusilla to get back to bed. Ducks must've snuck out her room to call him so late.

"I'll be there next month, Pet. We'll watch the meteor shower like last year."

"And name the stars?"

"Every last one," he whispered as the line went dead.

He shoved the phone back in his pocket and swiped angrily at the tear-tracks beneath his eyes. Time to wake up Buffy, anyway.

She felt warm. Warmth spreading from a spot just between her shoulder blades, around, over her shoulders to her chest, to her throat, to her cheeks. She could hear herself moan softly in that split second before she was fully awake. Fully aware.

He had pulled her underwear off and had one hand slipped up the back of her shirt, rubbing small circles along each joint of her spine. His other hand…

Her eyes, only half opened at first flew wide as she felt him dip two long fingertips inside of her. She could feel herself against him now, sopping wet. When had that happened? She moaned again, louder this time, still beyond words in her haste to pull herself out of sleep.

"Want you," he growled into her ear, pushing his fingers in deeper and swiping his thumb roughly over her clit.

"Uhn… uhuh." Buffy nodded her head. It was all she could manage. He took both of his hands back, then, leaving her feeling bewildered, still caught in waking.

"Come here," he coaxed with his voice and hands, turning her on her back so she could look at him. He knelt in front of the couch in boxers and nothing else. There was a glass of juice on the coffee table in case she needed it later, and, she noticed, he was already busy disconnecting the pump. It was old hat by now.

He pulled her round by her hips so she was facing him now. The looks of lust and confusion mingled in her eyes, turning him hard at the sight. "Need you. Need to taste you." He was so aroused he was almost as speechless as she was, struggling for coherent thought. But that was all that he could hold onto – his need for her. His need to feel safe inside her. He always knew where he stood when he was buried deep inside her.

Making good on his words – his promise, really, because every word he spoke to her was a promise – he lowered his mouth to her beautiful quim to taste her, the way she tasted just for him. And he was rewarded by her gasps, an almost choral noise, overflowing from her lips. He wanted to make her come for him, but he wouldn't last like this.

Pushing his boxers off of his hips, he came away from her center, guiding his hands up and under her tee shirt. It was one of his and he liked to think of her wearing it while she thought of him, touching herself as he knew she must when they were forced to spend nights alone. But not this night.

He pulled the fraying Ramones shirt almost all of the way off, over her head, but stopping at her wrists, where he bunched the fabric up in his left hand.

"Spike?" she asked, realized the situation he'd put her in – naked but for her black lace bra, and restrained. Exposed. Captured. Controlled.

"Tonight, Pet, you are mine. All mine."

He grazed his right hand over her ribs, across her infusion set connection, circling it with a gentleness that contradicted his hold on her. He dropped his mouth to tease a nipple through the delicate fabric of her bra, and he felt her body go taught and then relax beneath him, finally realizing this for what it was. He was claiming her. Soothing his wounded psyche with her sex. Taking reassurance from what he could still do to her, how he could make her feel.

Still holding her by the shirt around her wrists and his other hand firmly affixed to her hip, he let himself find her entrance by feel, and only precious seconds later, he was inside of her. Filling her and being filled up with her.

She cried out as his length grazed her in all the perfectly right places. They should remember to have surprise sex more often, she thought, absently. He was barely making any noise at all and she opened her eyes to look up and make sure he was alright. He looked back down at her with a pained expression, torn between love and frustration. And it scared her. Not for herself, but for him. She could see tears brimming in his lower lids and she wanted to wipe them away, but her hands were trapped. By him.

"God, ya so wet for me," he breathed out on an outstroke. He shut his eyes and thrust inside again, feeling the tears spill over his lids, and feeling himself… spending himself inside of her. He collapsed into a heap on top of her and she finally extricated her hands from the crumpled tee shirt.

She fumbled around blindly until her hands found the throw blanket and pulled it over top of them both. Then she petted his damp hair away from his forehead as he rested his head on her chest, quietly nudging her collarbone with his nose. It was a sweet gesture and it, coupled with the whole encounter, left her reeling. "What was that?" she whispered, almost afraid to ask, but needing to know.

"I need to be with you."

"You are. With me. We're together, we're here." She was confused. What did he mean?

"No. I need to know. Not always wonderin' to myself, where will you be wakin' up tomorrow mornin'?" He raised his head to look her in the eyes. He needed her to really hear him. "I need to be with you here, or be with you there – wherever you need me. But no more a this, this sneakin' about. Not foolin' anyone, Love, cause there's no one left to fool."

"But, Dawn –" she began before he cut her off.

"Is a big girl. Hardly a kid anymore. You gonna hafta accept it," he said as gently as he could. "And she knows what this is. Least, I bloody well hope so."

"But…" She was at a loss. Somehow she knew this conversation had been coming. She just hoped she'd been wrong.

"Stop pushing me away, Pet. Harder you push, further I'll be next time you come lookin'."

She opened her mouth, not knowing really what she was about to say next, when the sound of the house alarm being disarmed rang through the house like a gavel being struck. They both turned to look at the front door. It was midnight, and Buffy secretly hoped this was just Dawnie and Willow moving the slumber party back home, but she knew she couldn't really be that lucky.

The door opened and a tall, dusky-haired man in his mid fifties walked in on the awestruck and very naked couple. "What the hell is this? Buffy!"

"Hi, Dad."