There's a sharp prickling feeling starting in his fingers and toes, moving up to legs, arms. Torso. Pins and needles, like dead limbs waking up. Blood pumping under his skin.

Jesus was it always so loud?

He's clinging to her, still holding her by the arms. She moves to pull back to say something and he slams an arm round her back forcing back in. Her breasts are flush against his chest and he can feel her nipples harden through the fabric of his shirt. He's breathing. Panting. Not from habit, but from need, pulling deep lungfuls of air, the sudden oxygen in his brain making him dizzy.

Don't pass out. For fuck's sake don't pass out.

"Spike- you're burning up." Buffy gasps around his kiss.

"I know."

He pulls off his shirt, dragging the bed covers out of the way of her. He expects the feel of her against his skin to burn like it's burned the last two weeks, hot flesh on cold, but she feels only luke-warm compared to the scorching heat blistering him from the inside.

There's a sudden sharp twisting pain in his chest, a surge of blood pumping through him, flowing up and down and outwards, waking up every nerve with pricking searing heat.

Oh fuck... Oh God what's it going to feel like when I get hard- Oh shit-

He swells, feeling the heat flowing down from the pit of his stomach. The blood pushing up, making him rigid, scolding, near agonising tightness. His erection rubs against the fabric of his jeans and he gasps as the hard denim drags across excruciatingly sensitive skin, nerve endings fizzing like fireworks as they wake up, knitting together.

Jeans- off now. Oh fuck me-

He scrambles at the buckle of the his belt. His fingers slip off the metal of the buckle and he realises his hands are damp from sweat. He wipes his hand on the leg of his jeans and tries again, pulling his belt open, kicking his jeans down and off his ankles.

Buffy pulls out of the kiss, panting herself. As his cock pushes up against her, her mind submerges under the heat of it, of him, his burning hands on the skin of her back.

"Spike- Are you-Oh GOD-" He slides in, and she sees his eyes bulge, his breath draws in and she manages to clamp a hand over his mouth just in time as he howls, screaming against her.

"Shh! Oh shit, Spike! Am I- did I hurt you?"

He's shaking his head, pulling her hand back from his mouth so he can drag in great gulping shivering lungfuls of air. He pushes his fingers through hers lacing them together. The tightness with which he's holding her hand grinds the bones in her fingers but she gives it back just as hard.

As he moves inside her, hips crushing against her, she can feel sweat start to dampen his back, in his hair line. A line of it trickles down his neck and she catches it with her tongue, licking his burning skin. His head is buried in her hair and he groans loudly. The heat from his body is making her own slick with sweat.

She writhes under him, her arm draped over his back. She's careful not to scratch him, sensing that whatever's burning him up is taking up every last piece of him and anything extra could send him screaming in agony.

The thumping in his veins is loud enough that she can hear it without having her head against his skin, like a steady wet bass line pounding around her.

Is he... is he going to have a heart attack? What would I even do if he does? I'm completely unprep- OOH God, Oh my God.

He's pushing down on the spot deep inside her, making her clench around him. Every time he pulls back she feels him gasp from the pressure. The arm that's still wrapped underneath her back is digging, clawed fingers scouring her skin.

His throat is burning from the air flowing in and out of him, feeling like it's shredding his insides with each gasp.

As she tightens around him he strangles back another scream, choking against her shoulder.

"Buffy... Uh Buffy-"

She's starting to moan from every thrust, raising in volume each time. He pulls his arm from under her and clamps his hand over her mouth.

"It's ok, baby. Scream if you need to."

Her arm clamps down on his back and she howls into his hand as she comes. The sudden flood of her and the squeezing pressure of the walls of her makes him swoon. He pulls back from unconsciousness at the last second, blinking hard to get rid of the starburst in his vision. The force of her doesn't let up and as he comes against her he feels a hard hot burn radiating up from their connection. His mind is too full from the feel of it to even cry out. His eyes roll nearly back into his skull as he shivers against her, collapsing on top of her.

He passes out only for a moment, blinking hard to try and straighten his mind back into coherent thoughts. Her breathing starts to even out underneath him.

Buffy pulls his hand down from her mouth. The muscles in his body are convulsing in thick shuddery quivers.

"Are you ok?"

"I don't know." He rolls off her, lying down on his back, hand on his chest.

"You've got a heartbeat."

"Yes."

"It hurts."

"Yes."

"Did you get that horrible pins and needles feeling too?"

He turns to her, brow furrowing.

"You know?"

"Went through it... in the coffin. Thought I wasn't going to be able to claw my way out from the pain."

He looks at her horrified. The last piece of energy breaks inside of him and he's weeping, outright sobbing into his hands at the cavernous disparity of their separate new beginnings.

After the tears stop and the shivering muscle spasms die back he lies with his head on her chest. Her hand strokes the back of his head, the other locked in between his fingers.

They're silent for hours, just breathing together, listening to one another's heartbeats. The warmth of him has ebbed back to below melting point. A couple of times his heart cramps painfully and he winces, sucking air in through his teeth, but it passes quickly and it gets longer and longer between each painful twisting spasm.

"What do you think it means?" Buffy whispers, careful not to completely dispel the sense of calm that's taken a while to gradually settle.

"I don't know. I'm going to go talk to Tara tomorrow. Today, I guess." His voice is ragged and sounds sore, like he's trying to talk around a thousand microscopic lascerations. "I need a shower but I don't think I'll ever be able to stand again. Haven't... been covered in sweat in decades. It's disgusting."

"Vampires don't sweat, huh?"

"Not much need to cool down when you're already cold, pet."

She trails her fingers down to his neck, over his shoulders, feeling him relax into her a bit more.

"What about a bath? Think you could manage it?"

He sighs weakly.

"Yeah, that'll work."

She squeezes his hand, and shifts out from under his head.

"You need me to help you up?"

"No, luv. I can manage. Just feel a bit sore is all."

She finds him a dark pair of joggers to slip on and she pulls her bathrobe around her. She slips out into the hallway and into the bathroom to start the water running, making sure it's not too hot, just a deep warmth. She lights a couple of candles rather than subject him to the stark electric bathroom lights.

Back in her bedroom he's managed to make it to his feet. Buffy doesn't think she's seen him look so drained before. She slips in under his arm and leads him down to the bathroom.

He strips down, and slips into the water slowly, wincing as his muscles stretch back out under the warmth of the water.

"Better?"

He nods, sighing as the heat pulls the tension out of his body.

"Dyu want some blood? There's a couple of packs left?"

"No, luv. Just stay here with me." Buffy pulls a stool up to the side of the bath so she can sit holding his hand, her thumb stroking the back of his. He keeps holding her hand as he slips under the water, soaking his hair, rinsing the sweat from his hairline. When he resurfaces he claws his hair back from his eyes, pushing it back into his trademark helmet shape.

"Buffy?"

"Mm?"

"Can you get in here with me?"

"I thought you were all achey and worn out?"

"Not for that. It's a bit loud in my head, and I can't bear it at the moment. Can you just lie on top of me? That's all?"

She nods, and reaches into the tub to let some of the water out. She shrugs out of her bathrobe and into the water, kneeling carefully between his legs before lowering herself down into his arms. He hugs her tightly, muscles relaxing further. He lets out a long deep sigh.

"...love you." He whispers. His eyes close, and they float together in the warm water.

"I love you."

Spike sleeps in the water, and when it turns cold Buffy wakes him, pulling him up and out. She hands him a towel. On the way back to her room she grabs another set of sheets.

Spike leans against her vanity table, blinking against sleep, as she changes the bed quickly. When she's finished she helps him back into bed, and he crashes into unconsciousness as soon as his head hits the pillow.

The morning light dazzles his eyes. A sharp, raking thirst pulls him fully awake. Spike swallows and his throat feels like it's set on fire.

He pulls himself out of bed, his muscles not as sore as they were, and finds the black joggers on the floor, slipping them on.

Thank God they're black. Think even Dawn would be hard pushed to look passed me wearing Barbie pink.

He makes his way down the stairs, the early morning sun is starting to beam through the slats in the kitchen blinds. Still indirect enough not to cause blisters, but not quite comfortable. He finds a bag of blood in the fridge, but the sight of it turns his stomach. Instead there's a carton of orange juice. He pulls it out of the fridge door and stands in the kitchen downing the whole thing. When it's empty he fills it again with water from the tap and drinks it down greedily.

His stomach suddenly contracts painfully in a cramp and he doubles over the sink and vomits hard, orange watery bile gushing back up. He stays leaning over the sink, coughing, catching his breath.

When the shaking stops he turns the tap on and washes his face, swirling water round his mouth and spitting it out.

There's a sour smell of soap that wrinkles his nose, but by the time he pinpoints the scent it's too late.

A hand on his shoulder spins him round, pinning him hard against the kitchen wall.

Xander's face is a blotchy red of fury.

Spike blinks, dazed.

Fucking hell, where did he come from?

"What are you doing here, Spike?"

"I could ask you the same question. Isn't it a tad early for the Bit's chauffeur?"

"Answer me."

"I was invited in, precious." His lips curl into a snarl, "saw that with your own eyes, didn't you?"

Xander pushes him harder into the wall. Spike's hand balls into a fist but a little warning bell from his chip sends a jolt out into his brain. He tenses his jaw, squaring Xander off.

Could I hit him through the pain? Even the thought of that bolt of lightning straight down the middle of his mind turns his stomach.

"You stay the hell away from her, Spike. I'm sick to death of seeing you in this house."

"Sick to death, huh," he bites his lip, showing the sharpness of his teeth, "hnn, wonder why that could be. S'funny, you know. Watching you. Watching her. Following her about year after year. Filling your time with other girls. That's the rub, innit mate? You don't hate me nearly as much as you hate her sometimes. When she chooses men like me, over boys like you."

Xander's fist slams into his mouth, breaking Spike's momentum for only a heartbeat.

"That's it, isn't it? You thought when she started up with the Almighty Crewcut maybe she was coming to her senses," he spits some blood out of his mouth, "getting the taste of monsters our of her system. And once she was done with him, maybe it would finally be your turn. Thought you'd earnt it, didn't you?"

"Shut up." Xander's fist cuts across his nose, blood spurts from it. Spike can't stop himself from laughing, coughing blood up with it.

God, love hitting a nerve.

"Bet it really stings doesn't it, toyboy? Bet it burns you up, looking on from a distance. That's not how it's supposed to go for the nice guys like you, is it? Is that why you tried to push her back into his arms? So you could pick up the pieces later? No good if she gets up on her own first, huh. Fucking tragic."

Xander's arm pins Spike to the wall by his throat, crushing his neck.

From his back pocket he pulls out a stake.

"I said," he moves the stake over Spike's heart, "shut. The fuck. Up."

Spike sneers.

"Why don't you got for it?" He licks his teeth, "think it'll make a difference?"

Spike feels the point of the stake push in just a little.

Fuck...

Then the pressure is gone, the stake and Xander's arm pull off him in a sudden release.

Dawn's hand, her good hand, is holding Xander by the hair. She yanks Xander back away from him hard.

Xander stumbles against the kitchen table. Dawn moves herself between him and Spike. She's wearing the pyjamas with the happy breakfast food pattern but he's still rarely seen someone look quite so frightening.

Bloody hell, if looks could kill...

"Get. Out."

Xander blinks, "Dawn, I-"

"GET OUT!'

Xander throws the stake on the floor and leaves. The front door slams so hard it topples a vase on the hallway table that smashes to the floor. Spike wipes the back of his hand across his lip, smearing the blood further down his chin.

"Thanks, killer."

She passes him a towel, and he cleans the blood off his face.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine," he winces at the freshly marked bruise on his jaw, "does the Big Bad want breakfast?"

"Fine with cereal."

Spike sits down at the kitchen counter, rubbing the mark the stake left over his heart. It's sore but not bleeding.

Dawn pours herself a bowl of cereal and sits next to him, arm to arm.

"Started to realise something." She mumbles, chewing in between words.

Spike doesn't say anything. Just waits for her to continue.

"Realising that to some people it doesn't matter what you do, you'll always be the person they've decided you are in their head. Doesn't matter if you grow up or... try to change. That's it for life." She shakes her head, looking weary. Angry.

Spike smiles, feeling weary himself.

"Not the people that count, Bit."