A/N: There's another Spankya fic out there right now called "Cold Comfort" by an awesome writer named dora; I'm kind of borrowing the style of her fic for some of this chapter because I love it so much and I think it's extremely effective. I hope you don't mind, dora, I just really love the way you write :O)

Also, for any of you Spankya shippers out there, I started a site dedicated to the 'ship. Check it out at http://spankya.homestead.com :O)



Spike and Anya made love as the sun rose that morning.

She woke still curled against him in the fading dark, one arm draped over his shoulder and the other tucked snugly beneath the pillow. His face was turned toward hers and angled down slightly, as if he were leaning in to brush another soft murmur of comfort onto her lips. Her bare legs were tangled with his denim-covered ones, like strands of rope, a double helix of touch.

Their faces were inches apart and she watched him as he slept, so still and silent she almost remembered that he was just like any other corpse when he wasn't awake. Her mind snapped back to a few hours before, and she thought of how odd it was that something-- no, *someone*-- dead could feel emotions so jarring and profound. His intensity frightened her a bit and left her worrying that she shouldn't be ready to feel for someone so soon after Xander. And she did feel for Spike, on levels that ran deep and slow and electric, but exactly what she was looking for in him she had yet to understand.

Solace. Escape. Danger.

The black-jeaned Romeo to her red-dressed Juliet.

She reminded herself that this was real life, and her real choices had real consequences. Yes, she was afraid. She was afraid that she'd gotten in too deep to swim. But as his eyes opened up and focused first on her, she was pulled back to the safety of dry land, to her own secret oasis on the sun.

"Morning," she whispered.
"Morning," he whispered back.
"Sleep well?" she inquired.
"Yes," he replied. "Did you?"
"The second part of the night," she said, smiling.
"I'm glad," he told her. "Do you feel better now?"
"Much," she said. "Thank you. How do you *you* feel?"
"Refreshed." He smiled back at her. "Thank *you*."

A beat, then:

"Can I kiss you now?" she asked softly.
"You don't have to ask," he replied just as softly.
"Good," she said. "Because I was going to kiss you anyway."


With that short and sweet exchange, they silenced themselves with a gentle shower of lips and tongues and hands.

There was no hesitation in their kisses this time, there was only feeling and enjoyment and the delicious anticipation of what would happen once their clothes came off. Skin mingled with skin as they fumbled with cloth and metal in their slow rush to *make* it happen; they each thirsted for a taste of what the other was offering-- something sweet and spicy and all their own.

The first bits of light began to peek timidly out of their hiding places in the recesses of the crypt to marvel at the beauty of the two demons' bodies against the cold gray of the pre-dawn; Anya's softly sensual curves and slight muscles, her feminine face framed by long blonde hair, Spike's chisled physique, the sexy understatement of his definition topped by a shock of white-yellow curls that, for once, were not plastered back on his head. By themselves they certainly were magnificent creatures, but together they were a picture of supernatural artistry at its best.

Anya sat up, pulling Spike with her, and slipped her hands beneath his T-shirt, running her palms over his cool muscles. He loosened his hold on her enough so she could slide it off over his head, then wrapped his arms around her again, trailing kisses down her jaw and onto her neck and shoulder. She exhaled sharply as he brushed the tip of his tongue across her throat to her earlobe and nibbled gently, letting his useless breath caress sweet nothings into the depths of her senses. His fingertips ran up and down her back, then snuck under the cotton hem of her tanktop and pulled it up and off, exposing her small, firm breasts. His hands moved to cup them as he kissed her mouth again; she arched into him, reveling in his touch, and reached down to his groin to tease the swell of black denim straining against her thigh. He groaned as she unzipped his pants and slid them down his legs, leaving his taut, sculpted form naked in front of her. He in turn lowered his hands and pulled her pajama shorts and panties off in one motion, then lifted her onto his lap.

Anya let herself be lowered slowly onto Spike's hardened flesh as he thrust up slightly, raising his hips to fill her. She bit her lip at the subtle burning of the penetration and took a moment to adjust to his size before pushing him gently back into the pillows. She smiled down at him as she placed her hands over his pecs and began to rock back and forth, watching his face as she moved. He pushed up a bit, lips parted, and circled his arms around her waist. A low moan escaped her as he pulled her down to kiss her lips, her breath coming in short, hot gasps on his face. Her tongue dipped into his mouth and swirled over his humanly blunt teeth; he tasted better than she remembered, not obscenely strong like alcohol this time, but tangy like smoke and blood and power.

Spike's hands raked through Anya's hair and down her back as she picked up speed, feeling the first twinges of orgasm beginning to build within her. She nipped his neck, eliciting a guttural groan of approval from deep inside his throat, and pressed her lips lightly against his temple. He brought her face down so her eyes were level with his and whispered, "God, Anya, you're so good..." She kissed him in reply and began moving even faster, grinding her hips into him. He was thrusting, too, now, as he drew closer to the edge, pushed even further by the soft cries of pleasure leaking from her mouth. She leaned down and buried her face in his neck, moaning his name over and over again as the burning grew inside her. "Spike... oh, yes... God, Spike... ohhh... yes... Spike..." "Mmmm, Anya... so hot... so good... ohhh, just like that... yeah... Anya..."

They began to choke on their words as the final strokes were made, voices growing shrill and incoherent as orgasm took them. His hips bucked up as his cool seed spilled into her, contrasting sharply with the heat of her heaving body. With one final yell of effort, she collapsed down on top of him, panting hard and sweating like she'd just run a mile. She shut her eyes and let herself go completely limp in his arms, concentrating on filling her lungs with air as she began to come down. His breathing was almost as frantic and explosive as hers, although she knew it was more to express his pleasure then to fill the need for oxygen. Still, she was pleased that she'd satisfied him like that; she'd felt strangely inclined to even the playing field after that night in the Magic Box, when she'd had a more-than-adequate orgasm but his had seemed kind of weak. She was surprised when she realized she felt bad that he hadn't gotten as much out of it as she had, but now she understood why- because of the way she cared about him. It suddenly struck her how odd it was that she and Spike had gotten to this place after everything that had happened. Being able to bond over more than the whole we-used-to-be-evil thing wasn't something she'd ever expected to have with him. Then again, up until a few weeks ago she'd never expected their relationship to go past the acquaintance level. She supposed it was just one of those unexpected things life throws at you.

And maybe life was trying to make up for ruining her wedding.

"You know what?" she said, lifting her head off his chest to look at him.
"What's that, pet?" he asked, stroking her hair.
She smiled. "Irony is an ironic thing."

TBC... (I think)