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.

Author's Notes: While I bang my head against the keyboard trying to write the next chapter of The Eleventh Hour, have this self-indulgent fluff that I wrote instead.

I must be dreaming.

That's the only way to explain why I'm standing in front of a half-naked Spike in his crypt.

I mean, the fact that the Bronze is on the other side of the door behind me, with Giles and Xander wearing cowboy hats and dancing the Macarena, should have already indicated that I'm dreaming. But this… this confirms it.

There's also the fact that I want to kiss him. Badly.

Well, that has less to do with this being a dream and more to do with me being sexually frustrated since I had to dump stupid Riley for being the stupid asshole who stupidly accused me of cheating on him with my stupid ex. OK, so he didn't outright say, "Hey, I think you cheated on me with your ex!" but it was definitely implied with the whole 'thinking Angelus was on the loose again after I'd been to see him'.

Accusing me of being a cheater is one thing, but accusing me of being dumb enough to unleash a monster and endanger my loved ones? Yeah, that's grounds for dumping.

And then, when Adam and his army were defeated and we were wrapping things up, Riley had the gall to try and kiss me. But the worst part was what he said: "It's OK, Buffy. I forgive you. We can forget it ever happened." Yeah, he thought I was the one who had to apologize. For overreacting. Because getting crazy jealous and thinking I'm just a silly little girl who runs off to sleep with her ex (and doesn't care if sleeping with said ex would get her loved ones killed) is totally OK behaviour in his eyes.

I'm pretty sure I made myself loud and clear on the matter when I broke his nose.

So yeah, I'm probably dreaming about Spike in a sexy light because Willow and Xander have awesome relationships and I don't have anyone. Probably helps that Spike actually got mad on my behalf when he heard what Riley said and did and got himself zapped trying to attack him.

Also helps that he's hot. And I'm not using my imagination or anything. I know all about Spike's muscles from… experience, during Willow's spell gone wrong.

Stupid spell.

Spike gives me a 'come hither' look and Oh God, if he ever does that in real life, I'm gonna be so dead. "You know you want me, Slayer."

I give his six pack a once over and hope I'm not drooling. I don't care that I'm dreaming, I won't drool over Spike. "Dust? Yeah, I totally want you dust. How'd you guess?"

He chuckles. "They say that denial is only a river in Egypt, and yet…"

"They would be right." There's a stake in my hand. I don't know where it came from, but I'm not complaining.

"Really? I heard you Yanks don't get taught geography in school," Spike says. "Seriously, Slayer, the American education system is a bloody joke."

Having experienced the pains of high school, and spending most of it wishing Snyder would turn out to be a demon so I could stake him, I can't help but agree. Not that I'll ever admit that to him. "Where are you going with this, Spike?"

"Where are you going with that stake?" he asks instead.

I throw myself across the room and crash into him, punching him in the nose as I do. We fall to the floor, him beneath me. But even when I hold my stake above his heart, he doesn't look scared. If anything, his smirk widens. I guess that makes sense since this is a dream, but I'd appreciate it if he looked even a little bit scared.

"That answer your question?" I ask.

"Go on then," he taunts. "Do it."

I want to. So badly. But… I can't. Something stops me.

And that something is me. Looking into his ocean blue eyes, I realize that I can't bring myself to do it. All I want to do is kiss him, and thank God this is a dream and not real life, because the real Spike would never let me hear the end of this-

RING!

I jump. The sound is loud and echoes throughout Spike's crypt.

A phone. How did Spike manage to hook up a phone in his crypt?

Spike doesn't look surprised by the ringing. "That'll be me. You'd better answer that, Slayer."

I frown. "What?"

Dream Spike doesn't reply. He doesn't get the chance to, because suddenly I'm waking up in my bed and the phone is ringing.

It takes me a moment to get my bearings. OK, who's ringing me at… three in the morning?! I double check my clock in case it's broken but yep, that's actually the time. For a moment I'm worried it'll wake Mom until I remember she's on a buying trip in LA.

Whoever's calling me at this insane hour is so dead. Unless it's Giles with an emergency.

I rub my eyes, grab the phone and press it against my ear. "What?"

"Slayer! You picked up! I knew you cared!"

Wait… Spike?

"Spike? Why the hell are you calling me at three in the morning?!" I all but yell down the phone. Is he trying to get himself staked? Because this is a good way of guaranteeing it.

The dream comes back to me. Dream Spike said the ringing was him… Was it a Slayer dream? Or was it just a regular dream, with a bit of Slayer-y foresight leaking in at the end? It has to be the latter. I don't wanna think about what it could be trying to tell me.

"I had to know," he replies. "I had to know that you cared. I love you, Buffy! I love you so bloody much!"

…And I've officially entered Crazy-dale, on a bus heading for City Centre.

"…What?" How else can I respond to that? It's insane!

"I love you," Spike continues. "I love your hair! It's so sunny and bouncy! Oh, and I love your tits! They're bouncy, too! I love your sweet little arse and how it looks in skirts and leather, I love… What else do I love about you…?"

I listen, dumbstruck. Either he's messing with me, or…

"Spike, are you drunk?"

He hiccups. Honest to God hiccups. "Yep! Jack Daniels and I got reacquainted. It's been a sodding blast!"

How am I both relieved and full of dread at the same time?

OK, so I'm relieved that he's drunk, because drunk people do and say crazy stuff all the time. He doesn't mean what he says; he's just so drunk that it's messing with his head. And I guess the dread is because I'm reminded of the last time he got drunk in Sunnydale and ended up kidnapping Willow and Xander.

He can't hurt anyone because of the chip, so I shouldn't be too worried. But then there's plenty of other stuff he can do without hurting anyone, like property damage and who knows what else.

Actually, you know what? I don't care. Spike isn't my responsibility, and if he causes trouble, he'll have to deal with the consequences himself. I'm too tired to get involved.

"Spike, I'm trying to sleep," I hiss down the phone before remembering once again that, oh yeah, Mom's not home. "I'm gonna hang up. Don't call me again."

"But I miss you! I miss you so bloody much!"

My God, it sounds like he's actually crying. "How much did you drink?"

"Lots and lots and lots!" he slurs. I can practically hear the grin over the phone. "I thought it'd make the pain go away."

Pain? Well, I guess his life's pretty shitty right now, with the chip and Drusilla leaving him again. And dating Harmony. Talk about hitting rock bottom. "Did it work?"

"Don't know!" he shouts down the phone. "I'm happy 'cause I bloody love you! But sad, 'cause you're not here. Why aren't you here?"

"Because I'm trying to sleep," I tell him. "Please, Spike, go away. Stop wasting quarters calling me."

"No quarters!" he announces. "I got a phone! It's called a Nooky!"

Errrr… "You mean a Nokia?"

"Yes! It has a snake on it! But it keeps eating itself."

OK, how is that fair? How can Spike afford a cell phone but I can't? Actually, he probably stole it. Guess I'll have to beat him up for that later. But right now, I need sleep. "Spike, go home. You're drunk. And I'm trying to sleep. Goodbye."

"Sleep? Snuggle! We can snuggle!"

Now that image is in my brain. And thanks to my dream, that image includes a shirtless Spike with his annoyingly-hot six pack. Ugh, why do the bad boys always have to be insanely hot?

I should just hang up on him. But then he might take that as an invitation. "Spike, no. I don't need a snuggle buddy. Go home."

"Home… Yes! Home!"

"Great! Bye." I hang up before he can say more.

Getting back to sleep should be easy. But now my head is filled with Spike and his voice saying 'I love you', and do I really want another sexy Spike dream? No, I don't.

But I also want sleep. Stupid Spike getting stupid drunk.

I stare at the ceiling, counting the seconds. To sleep, or not to sleep. If I stay awake, I'll avoid the dream but I'll be tired and cranky in the morning. But if I sleep, I'll get another sexy dream about Spike and his well-toned abbs and squeezable muscles and why don't I want this dream again?

No! Spike bad! Spike is evil and disgusting and… has a body that's not disgusting…

I groan, grab my pillow and pull it over my face.

Just when I think I can stay like this for the rest of the night, there's a noise outside my bedroom window.

It could just be a cat or a raccoon, but knowing my suck-y luck, it'll be something that wants to kill me. I remove the pillow from my face and look over at the window in time to see a large shadow moving behind the curtains. "Hey!"

A yelp with a familiar accent is all the response I get, followed by slipping tiles and a thud on the ground below. Then I hear a groan.

That better not be who I think it is.

I launch out of bed and hurry over to the window. I open it wider and lean out, and when I see the familiar pile of black leather and bleach blonde on the front lawn, I don't know whether to groan or throw a stake at him.

"Spike! What the hell are you doing here?!" I yell, while also trying to keep my voice down. My neighbours tend to ignore a lot of strange happenings, but it'll be just typical of them to hear my yelling and report a disturbance.

The vampire doesn't even try to pick himself up. He just starts laughing and rolling around on the grass like a dog. "So soft…"

"If you came here to make out with my front lawn, can you not?" I say. "Go… make out with the grass outside of your crypt. I told you to go home. Why are you here?"

He looks up at me, and even from here I can see all the emotion in his eyes. "I am home."

Guess he's drunker than I thought. How much alcohol does a vampire need to drink in order to get this drunk? "No, you're not. This is my house. You live in the cemetery, remember? In a spooky little crypt?"

"No." He shakes his head like a determined little kid. "Home here. Home is you."

That's… probably the nicest thing anyone's ever called me: their home. Why does it have to come from Spike of all people? Riley and Angel never said stuff like that to me. Great, now I'm getting those nice little butterflies in my stomach. Am I blushing? I can't blush over Spike, no matter how pretty his words are. He won't be saying them once he sobers up, that's for sure.

"That's nice of you to think, Spike," I say. "But you should really be getting back to your crypt." He's gonna have the mother of all hangovers tomorrow. I almost feel bad for him. I felt like crap after my little stint as Buffy the Cave Girl.

Spike determinedly pushes himself to his feet. "No. Need you. Need to snuggle. We're snuggle buddies!"

Oh God, that image is back. "Spike-"

"Snuggle buddies!" And he goes to climb the tree again, filled with so many tiny stakes that could kill him.

I shouldn't care. But he's likable and kinda adorable like this (God, I must be entering Crazy-dale City Centre to be thinking like that) and after those nice and pretty words he said, I don't think I can watch him stake himself. Or even hurt himself.

"Wait." I sigh. "Spike, wait there. I'll let you in the front door."

He's hanging off a lower branch as I say this, and gets this big grin on his face before letting go and falling on the grass again. "I knew you wanted to snuggle! You care!"

I roll my eyes and leave the window.

As I head downstairs, I tell myself I'm doing this to save Sunnydale from the mayhem a drunk Spike could cause. What if he starts smashing shop windows? And spraying graffiti? He could draw rude… stuff on walls where innocent children can see it. If he's in my house, he can't do any damage.

Oh God, Spike under the same roof as me. What if he sleeps half naked? Or… naked? Does he even own underwear or does he go commando?

I push these questions aside as I open the front door.

Spike falls over the threshold and goes splat on the floor, face first. He must have been leaning on the door. I can't help but giggle.

He turns over to look up at me and grins. "You're the prettiest Slayer I've ever seen," he slurs. "And I've seen some pretty ones."

Ugh, there go the butterflies again. Will I look silly if I try and cover my face?

"You're just saying that because I let you in," I say. I mean, my hair is a mess, I'm not wearing any make-up, and I'm wearing my undignified yummy sushi pyjamas. I'm the opposite of pretty right now. "And because you're drunk."

"Not just saying." He struggles to pick himself up, then sways when he's finally on his feet again. "Pretty Slayer. Love you."

He suddenly throws his arms around me and pulls me against him, moving faster than I thought he would, being drunk and all. I don't know why I let him do it. Maybe because Drunk Spike reminds me of an excitable puppy and you can never be mad at a puppy. Ugh, why does he have to be so cute when he's drunk? Spike should never be cute. It needs to be the eleventh commandment, or something.

Also, he stinks of alcohol. Like, reeks of it.

I try to push him away, but next thing I know my feet are no longer touching the floor and he's spinning me around.

"Spike!" I yell past my giggles.

"You're brilliant and beautiful and I love you!"

Part of me wants to tell him to never get this drunk again, while another part of me wishes he can stay drunk forever. "Spike, put me down!"

He stops spinning and sets me back down, but doesn't let go. Instead, he presses his face against my neck, and 1) I'm not worried for even a second that he's going to bite me, and it sorta makes sense because of the chip but I should have at least an instinctual reaction to a vampire near my neck, and 2) Oh My God, is he actually purring? Like a cat?

"Spike!" I push him away.

He whines like a child and actually pouts. Lip out and everything. "Slayer…"

"You stink," I tell him. "Go take a shower. Mom will flip if she comes back to a house that smells like a bar."

Spike pulls his shirt up to his nose and shrugs. "Clothes too?"

"Sure. Put them in the wash." His duster will probably need dry-cleaning, or he can fill the pockets with air-fresheners.

I start to walk up the stairs, expecting him to follow. When he doesn't, I turn… and find him standing naked at the bottom of the stairs.

"Oh my God!" I snap my eyes shut. "Spike, put your clothes back on!"

"But… you're gonna wash them?"

I really should've thought this through. Why didn't it occur to me that asking Spike to shower and put his clothes in the wash would lead to one naked (and very hot) vampire in my house? I'm such an idiot.

I hear him put a foot on the first step and I panic. I turn, open my eyes and hurry back into my room before slamming the door shut behind me. "Just… leave your clothes next to the basement and get in the shower!" I call through the door.

He doesn't reply, but I hear him climb the stairs. Then I hear the bathroom door close and the shower switch on. Maybe I should be worried about what a drunk Spike could do in my bathroom, but he at least seems to still remember how to work a shower.

With the coast clear, I open my door again and walk back down the stairs. I gather his stinky clothes, hang his duster on the banister and head down into the basement. After putting his clothes in the washer and changing the settings to a quick wash, I make my way back up again. Spike's in the shower, his clothes are in the washer…

But this doesn't solve the naked vampire problem. What's he gonna wear until his clothes are done?

I dig around in the spare room until I find my dad's old sweatpants and t-shirt that I couldn't bring myself to get rid of, even after he cancelled on me for the hundredth time. They should fit Spike fine, plus they're both black.

The shower stops. I hurry over to the bathroom door and knock. "Spike, I've got some clothes for you out here."

Instead of waiting for him to open up (because I know he won't have a towel round him, seeing as a drunk Spike doesn't seem to care about decency – and regular Spike didn't care that much about it, either), I dump the clothes on the floor and hurry back into my room.

Why am I even doing all this again? I should've just made him crash in the basement instead of letting him shower. Right now, I don't have to worry about Mom giving me her disappointing stare if I don't treat guests correctly. But then if Mom were here, she'd be levelling her disappointing stare at Spike for getting this drunk. I'd pay to see that. Spike has always been nice and polite around Mom, probably because he doesn't want another axe to the head.

Just as I'm settling back into bed, my door opens and Spike stumbles in. He's managed to pull on my dad's old clothes and he's grinning like a madman. "Buffy!"

I sigh. Right, should've known he'd come into my room if I didn't tell him where to crash. "Spike, there's a cot in the basement downstairs. You can sleep there."

He doesn't reply. He doesn't take his eyes off me. Instead, he stumbles over to my bed and collapses on it. "Oof."

"Spike!" I scramble away from him, but he manages to crawl across the mattress towards me. Then he snakes an arm around my waist and pulls me against his chest. He buries his nose into my hair and purrs again.

"Want you… Need you… Don't make me leave, Buffy. Please."

His voice is so quiet. He sounds like a scared kid.

I should kick him out of my bed and force him downstairs. I should punch him in the nose and throw him out the window. But… I'm tired. I don't have the energy to do any of those things (repeatedly, because I know Spike will keep coming back, it's what he's good at). And this is… nice. Snuggling with Spike isn't the worst thing, I guess. It feels good to sleep next to someone again. I've been burying the feeling, but it's been lonely since Riley left.

"You can stay," I tell him. "Just… be nice tomorrow. When you're sober."

"Treat you like a bloody queen," Spike mumbles into my hair. "Love you."

It sounds so… easy, coming from his lips. Those two words.

Maybe it's because I'm tired, and lonely, and horny. But if he's still like this tomorrow when he's sober, and says those words to me again, I might actually give him a chance. Give this a chance.

I hear the more sensible part of my brain tell me I won't have to hold myself to that, because it'll never happen. Then it says no more, because sleep drags me down.

I wake up to gentle fingers running through my hair and a familiar voice whispering in my ear from behind me.

"…I'll never leave. I'll never stop loving you. Know I'll never be worthy of you, but I'll keep trying…"

My sleepy mind wonders why Spike is in my bed and saying nice things to me – until the events of the early hours of the morning come rushing back all at once. A drunk Spike, claiming to love me…

But now he's sober. And he's… still saying nice stuff about me? He's still saying he loves me? Did I enter an alternate realty in my sleep? If I did, I'm not complaining.

My eyes open. "Spike?"

The hair-stroking stops. "Slayer… I can explain…"

"Hey, did I tell you to stop?"

He doesn't move for a solid five seconds before his hand resumes stroking. "Like this?"

"Yeah. Are you sober?" There's a chance he could still be drunk…

"Yeah. Think I've got a hangover. Can't seem to tell with you here."

Just being with me makes hangovers bearable? No, focus, Buffy. I've gotta know. "Spike, did you mean what you said last night? It wasn't just crazy drunk talk, right?"

He chuckles. "Funny thing about getting drunk, pet. It removes inhibitions. So yeah, I meant every sodding word."

I need to see it in his eyes. I turn over to face him, and there it is. That honesty in his eyes. He means it. He really means it.

I should reject him. Kick him out of the bed, out of my life. I can't go down this road again, with a soulless vampire this time. Giles and Angel said that demons can't love because they don't have souls, but… Spike can. He loved Drusilla. He let a club full of kids go in order to save her. The first time I saw him drunk was after Drusilla dumped him. So yeah, he can totally love.

But should I accept him? He's tried to kill me as many times as I've tried to kill him. Will this even work?

"It was Red's spell," he goes on. He probably thinks I want an explanation. "That's when I realized. Fell for you before then, just didn't know it. Dru saw it. Was why she left. But the spell… I pretended to be disgusted. I wanted to be disgusted. I've been trying to deny it, ignore it, but… You're always here, dancing around me. I can't ignore it anymore."

"Is that why you teamed up with Adam?" I ask. "You thought it would make your feelings go away?"

He shrugs. "Yeah. Thought if you were dead, I'd stop caring. But seeing you in danger just made me care more. Fuck, it made me bloody terrified. And when that sod tried to pin the blame of your little break-up on you…"

"You decided to give yourself a migraine?"

"Was worth it." He looks so… shy. Spike has never been shy before. "Got blackout drunk 'cause while I finally accepted it, I knew you could never love me back. But you let me in last night and haven't kicked me out yet, so…?" There's an adorable look of hope on his face. Huh, Spike can be adorable even when he's sober. Who knew?

I know what he's asking. Buffy the Slayer wants to kick him in the head and uninvite him from my house. Buffy the Girl just wants to jump his bones.

On the one hand, he's a soulless vampire. His chip is stopping him from killing people right now, but what will happen if it breaks? Also, my friends will think I've taken up permanent residence in Crazy-dale City Centre if I start dating Spike.

But on the other hand, I'm lonely and horny. And Spike is not only hot, but a really good kisser. Like, insanely good. And he's being sweet and saying pretty things about me. Wait, what are the cons again?

"Take me out to dinner, and we'll see."

He practically tackles me in excitement, and I laugh.