Author's Note: Thanks so much to All4Spike for her amazing beta skills!

Warning: For unabashed schmoop. Oh, and smut. This chapter is rated M. Buffy is over the age of consent by Ohio law, in case anyone was worried.

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.

Chapter 38

All of her urgency from the basement was fading, but Spike's words had left Buffy more than a little shaken.

Death wish.

That wasn't her.

It isn't, she thought more firmly. It would never be, Buffy was sure. She may have been through hell, but she had plenty to want to live for.

Buffy watched Spike flick on the kitchen lights and she couldn't seem to stop staring at him, the familiar flip-flop in her belly felt amplified, Spike-induced butterflies with a sugar-rush.

"Now, what's this Watcher of yours got in the way of tea?" Spike said and made a beeline for the cabinets.

Buffy rubbed her arms. Now that she wasn't in the middle of a fight, she was feeling chilly in her sweatpants and sports bra. "I don't know. Something strong and Englishy."

"Point for her there," Spike muttered. "Oi, what's this?"

He pulled down a box of hot chocolate mix from the far back of the cabinet.

"Mine," Buffy said with a small smile at how his face lit up. She made her way over and took the box. "From my early Cleveland rebel days when I was fresh off the plane from L.A. This was pre-team up. There were a thousand little things I'd do to drive her crazy, to feel even marginally normal. Now it just seems kinda…" Small, pointless. "Anyway, I'm surprised she didn't find it back there."

"Brilliant, perfect for when you're feeling low. Dru used to like it when she was in a snit," Spike said, then frowned and seemed to reconsider his words. "Course, what you're going through hardly counts as a snit …"

"It's okay, I know what you meant," Buffy said softly, eyes flickering to his mouth.

Spike nodded, taking back the box. Their fingers brushed. She breathed in swiftly at the contact.

He frowned and ran a hand down her arm. "You all right? You're shaking."

"Kinda worn out," Buffy said softly.

Spike nodded as she sat down. "Would be too if I were you."

But I'm not, though. Tired.

Honestly, she was feeling pretty awake. Ms. Davies was gone, and Spike was here. And nobody else. Away from the basement and whatever feeling had taken her over and set her into pure-battle-mode, she was growing very aware of how private things were.

"About Dru… Forget I mentioned her, all right?" Spike said, sounding a little concerned. He muttered to himself and she was sure she wasn't supposed to hear, "Bloody insensitive…" He found his voice, sticking to a Drusilla-less topic.

You could never hurt me. Months ago she would have laughed at even entertaining that idea, and somewhere deep inside, she knew that he could probably hurt her more than anyone else, tear her apart in unimaginable ways if some Buffy-pain-causing whimsy struck him. Still, it felt more than true as she thought it.

Buffy breathed in deeply, trying to calm her nerves, and just listening to the Spike-babble and the kettle starting to boil. For the first time since Malum, she felt almost normal. Alive.

"…and I'm still counting us lucky you have this. Wonder if you've got any li—?"

"I love you."

Spike banged something into the kettle, knocking it off the burner. He huffed out a small, barely audible breath of air in shock and shook his hand after touching the hot metal. His eyes met hers, hopeful and a little afraid. It was as if she'd stolen his voice, right down to basic vowel sounds.

Spike swallowed with a bob of his Adam's apple. "You—?"

"You heard me," Buffy whispered. She stood and dared to step closer, refusing to break her gaze away. "Didn't you?"

Spike's mouth was slightly open, eyes a little disbelieving, but he was able to give a small nod.

Buffy almost sighed in relief as she cupped his cheek. "Because I do. I-I have. I lov—"

Spike kissed her roughly, catching her mid-breath and swallowing her words as if he could feed from them.

They stumbled back and into Ms. Davies refrigerator, jostling the door open so that something in a glass jar fell and shattered before they ran into the nearest counter. Buffy panted as Spike caught her under her thighs and lifted her up onto the smooth surface, helping her to lock her legs around his hips.

"You love me." The words were warm and awed and harsh, spoken against the angry, tingling scar on her mouth.

"More than…" Buffy spoke between kisses, holding his face in her hands, "anything."

Spike let out a near-sob, angling her hips so he was centered between her thighs. He was hard, so hard. She didn't know if it was her words or what had happened in the basement or both, but Buffy couldn't help but grind her hips against his cock so that he thrust against her in just the right place.

"Can we—" The rest of her sentence was lost to some inarticulate noise when he thumbed her nipples through her sports bra. "Upstairs. I want—"

Spike growled in affirmation and lifted her, mouths fused once again. Their journey out of the kitchen seemed even more damaging than what had happened within it. Buffy clawed at his back and scalp and anytime they hit something vertical, she struggled for purchase, knocking down paintings and lamps and books from their shelves, barely able to care because she was wet and panting and could feel her heart beat practically pounding in her ears and between her legs.

"Stairs," Buffy moaned, trying to point over his shoulder. "That way."

Spike stumbled forward and Buffy's back slammed into the wall just in front of the stairway. It shook from the impact, but she barely even noticed, too lost in what she was feeling. Ms. Davies' antique candleholders lost their grip and fell and Buffy swore she felt the wall of the old house crack against her back as they moved together. Spike's hands slid up her thighs to squeeze her ass and his mouth fell to her neck, sucking at her skin.

Buffy felt herself already on the cusp of coming undone. She let out a ragged moan. "Up please, I want…"

"What is it you want, love?" Spike panted in her ear.

Her legs unlocked from around his back and her feet were back on the ground. Buffy cupped a hand around his erection.

"I want you," she said in a soft voice, squeezing him through his jeans, "inside."

Spike's eyes fell shut and he buried his face in her shoulder. "Drive me bloody crazy…"

"That's sort of the point," Buffy said, toying with the buckle of his belt. "Come on."

She grabbed his hand to pull him behind her, laughing for the first time in weeks as she went and feeling sort of light. Somehow they managed to knock down only one small picture on the way to her room as Spike kissed her again and again, jerking her back against his chest, caressing the bare skin of her stomach and kissing her neck as she pulled him into her room and shut the door.

It felt quieter, more intimate, all alone in her bedroom. So many of her things were still in the other house and everything looked more Watcher-esque than she would have liked, than he'd seen before. Spike was only looking at her.

"Hey there," Buffy whispered, stroking the hair at the nape of his neck.

"'lo," Spike murmured back and brushed his lips gently over hers. His hands slid up her bare sides to the hem of her sports bra. "Can I…?"

"Please." Buffy trembled as she raised her arms and he pushed it up and over her head. His eyes went dark as he kissed her again, his hands filled with her breasts, nipples pebbling as he rolled and pinched. Buffy gasped in approval and whispered in his ear, "You're still all…clothey…"

Spike laughed, but stopped long enough for her to shove his duster from his shoulders and untuck his shirt. She slid her hands against his chest as she pushed it up and over his head, leaning in to press a kiss to his sternum, feathering another on a nipple, still-shaky hands sliding up his back to feel corded muscle.

"Buffy—" His head fell back as she kissed along his neck and he groaned when she found a particularly sensitive spot. "You sure you've never done this before?"

She smiled, pleased with herself, and pushed at his boots gently with the tips of her toes until he kicked them away and reached down to pull his socks off. "I think I'd remember."

Spike's answering grin nearly floored her as he walked her backwards, the backs of her knees meeting her mattress. Buffy's heart pounded loudly in her ears as she hooked her thumbs into her sweatpants and let them pool at her feet.

He followed her as she sat back on her comforter, crawling towards her. Her head hit the pillows and he kissed her again, his weight settled over hers.

That didn't last long. He kissed a trail down her chest, pausing to lavish her breasts before he'd made it to her navel. And whoa who knew that would be so sensitive?

"What are you doing?" Buffy whispered, petting his hair as he peppered kisses along the soft expanse of skin between her hipbones. She had a pretty good idea and swallowed hard, nerves buzzy with anticipation.

Spike licked her clit through the thin material of her panties and Buffy bucked.

"Oh that," she gasped out. "That's what you're doing."

"God, you're delicious," he muttered with another lick and soft suck at her clit that left her soaking. He sat back, pulling her underwear down her legs before impatience seemed to take over and then rip went her undies.

Buffy had only a moment to feel a little embarrassed at him studying her like she was gorgeous in a place she'd never realized someone could think that about, before he was pushing her legs apart and settling between them. She arched with a soft cry as his hands slid under her thighs and he licked her from bottom to top, tongue dipping inside for a taste before stroking her again, wicked and hungry against her needy skin. Buffy's hands scrambled for something to hold onto, settling for Spike's hair and leaving it a mess of bleached curls as he devoured her, his tongue relentless and cool and torturous. His lips settled around her clit once more and she was lost.

"Spike." She came with his name on her lips, and it seemed to burst through her body, leaving her unable to stay still, legs stretching out and feet pushing into the comforter, back arching, while he lapped at her as she came down.

Spike pressed a slow kiss to her hipbone, staring up at her with a self-satisfied twinkle in his eye.

Buffy hauled him up her body, hands at his belt, undoing it and tossing it away. "Off."

"Your wish is my command, Slayer," he said undoing his button, but Buffy was faster. She caught his zipper and slid it down and his cock was in her hand, thick and hard, skin impossibly soft.

"Buffy, pet, god," Spike hissed as she gave him an experimental pump.

"Okay, Buffy is me, pet is sweet, but I think that third one was bordering on excessive," she said, kissing his nose as her thumb rubbed the tip of him. He seemed to like that, mouth gasping in a way that begged her to fill it with her tongue.

"Not by much," Spike said, taking hold of her hand and tightening it a bit around him.

Buffy shoved his jeans down his legs with her feet to help him kick them off, and pulled him closer, guiding his cock to where she wanted him most.

Spike stopped her with a small shake of his head that seemed almost painful and his hand delved between her legs. She felt empty, throbbing, swollen, and welcomed the feeling of his finger sliding into her. When he moved to add a second, she tensed a moment, but her legs fell apart and she relaxed, her hand sliding down the smooth expanse of his back, lips mapping his cheek.

"That's it, love," Spike muttered, kissing her brow, he felt almost painfully hard against her thigh. He eased a second finger in, pumping them gently and easily. "God you're wet. All wet and hot…"

"Spike," she gasped as his thumb massaged her clit, hips tilted, seeking more friction. "Please."

He nodded and took hold of his cock, positioned himself, and thrust in.

Full. Stretched. Filled. Buffy tensed at the sudden invasion and grasped his arms with a sharp breath, new sensations overwhelming her as she adjusted.

Spike made a sound in the back of his throat so vulnerable she could have cried.

"All right?" he asked, face just above hers. His eyelids fluttered and he looked almost surprised at their connection.

Buffy panted, her fingers digging into his biceps. Good, good, so good. "Yeah…let me just…"

She shifted her hips, feeling for any discomfort, and flexed around him. He was trembling with the effort to stay still.

Spike gave a near-whimper as his mouth dropped to hers. "You're killing me here, Slayer."

"You're already dead," she said, nibbling his lower lip, her comfort levels rising. "Move."

Spike froze, suddenly concerned. "You want to stop?"

Buffy almost laughed. "No, I mean..." She thrust her hips so that he slid further into her and bit her lip from the brand-newness and pleasure of it all, arching against him. "Move."

"We'll start slow then."

Spike filled her completely before withdrawing, helping her to get used to him. Her hands loosened their death-grip on his arms—Yummy Spike arms—and smoothed along his back, his face. Her breath was hitching as he stretched her to her limit again and again. Their connection was so good, so full, like he was meant for her. The stroke of him, in and out, had her body curling tight again, ready to explode.

Too slow.

Buffy's breathing grew labored. "More."

Spike grinned and surged forward and Buffy's mouth fell open in a silent cry. Her legs wrapped around him, taking him deeper as he drove into her. An orgasm was cresting, spreading from where they joined and building in her belly, urgent, liquid heat. Her fingers were desperate against his skin, sure to leave marks, and she pushed back against him.

"That's right, pet," Spike said, thrusting more slowly so she could catch the rhythm of it. "With me. Jesus you're good. You have any idea how good you are?"

Buffy met him on every thrust, clenching tight and releasing around his cock and drinking in that look on his face as he sped up. It was like dancing, like sparring, like fighting to the death, like a thousand things they'd already done together but closer and more complete. She never wanted to stop.

Spike slid a hand between their bodies and rubbed her clit as his blunt teeth nipped the tender skin of her neck and she shattered with a cry, moving more frantically, her inner muscles strangling him.

"That's it, sweetheart," Spike said, seeming to struggle to speak, fingers still in motion. "That's it."

Her body was growing limp, but he didn't stop and thrust harder, faster. The dual sensation of his cock and fingers set her off again. This orgasm was harder and sharper than the first, nearly violent, taking her by surprise. Buffy's hands clasped around his back and she bit the muscle of his arm to stifle a scream.

Spike came with a hoarse noise and Buffy found herself stroking his arms, kissing his jaw, and letting him collapse over her.

Buffy didn't know how long she lay there, still happily entwined, her hands making lazy paths on his back and through his hair. Spike pulled himself off of her with a low sound, leaving her feeling empty, but way beyond satisfied, and Buffy took the opportunity to drape herself over his chest, chin resting on his breastbone.

Buffy smiled. "That was…"

"Speechless, are you?" Spike raised an eyebrow, entirely too cocky, so she bit his jugular lightly to shut him up and felt him hardening again.

"Perfect," she said. "Completely and entirely perfect."

Spike smiled softly and curled around her, lips pressed to her spine, and it was so good that she sighed.

"Mmm, I'm boneless Buffy."

"Tired?" Spike whispered, pulling her back into his embrace. "Had one hell of a day."

"I don't want to sleep," Buffy said quietly and rolled back to face him. She played with his fingers where they rested over the scar on her stomach. "Because if I do then it won't be tonight anymore when I wake up."

Spike frowned and pushed her hair back. "Your Watcher's gone all week, yeah?"

Buffy's face lit up. The full impact of his words settled in and she straddled his hips, pushing him back down into her pillows.

"Suddenly very awake," she whispered, and whatever sure-to-be-mouthy thing he was about to say was lost to a moan.

Buffy woke slowly. It was dark, but sunlight was peeking out from under her heavy curtains, so it was definitely morning. Or later. She shifted and pressed her lips against Spike's chest, her leg slung over his. This is nice. Beyond the very definition of nice.

She wiggled out of his hold and stared down at him, reaching out to trace his cheek with her fingers all the way up to his eyebrow which she kissed, scar to scar.

"What are you doing, pet?" Spike whispered drowsily. He cracked an eye open to see her grinning—all idiot-like—at him.

"I love you," Buffy said gently and ran her fingers through his curly hair. He pulled her down and she spoke against his mouth. "I'm also digging the bed head."

Spike touched his hair with a groan. "Morning, is it?"

"Yep," Buffy said, moving to curl back against him. She glanced up at him with a teasing glint in her eye. "I think I wore you out."

Spike laughed and stretched. "Maybe a little, yeah."

"I always knew I was good," Buffy said with a kiss to his ribs.

He laughed a little breathlessly. "God yes."

Buffy was slightly taken aback. She whispered, "Really?"

Spike's fingers made a path up her arm, the tiny contact leaving her all achy again. "You're bloody incredible."

She let that sink in for a moment, smiling to herself, a bubble of pure happiness swelling in her chest. "Spike?"

"Hmm?"

"That was the very best night of my entire life," Buffy said quietly.

She felt him hold on a little tighter at that.

It was, even if it had come not long after her very worst. Buffy pressed her face into Spike's chest, seeking solace. He kissed the crown of her head.

"Well it's your day, love. Your whole bloody week. We're gonna do what you want, go where you want," Spike said and Buffy felt her heart skip a happy beat. "So what now? Time to get up then? Greet Mister Sunshine?"

"Nuh-uh." Buffy squeezed his middle. "Because that would involve the whole 'getting up' part and you're my Spike-shaped pillow and you're comfy so don't even ask me to move." She frowned, growing aware of how sticky she felt. "Although I think I need a shower. No, wait, a bath."

"A bath?"

"Yes, a very girly bath with fluffy bubbles and chocolate and bad rom-com music playing in the background while we montage."

Spike hauled her up his body so that they were face to face and tucked her snarled hair behind her ears. "What an idea."

"I am on vacation. Figure I should dream big," Buffy said and sat up, sheet falling around her waist. "Are you coming?"

He scooped her up before she even made it to the door.