Disclaimers: None of this is mine. None of it!

Feedback: Please.

Author's Note: Here's the next chap. Hope you enjoy!

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The crypt stood stoically in the graveyard, its cracked, weather-beaten cement exterior forboding despite its age. A single red rose grew to one side of it, as if daring the night with its flaming petals that spoke of life. A sharp wind blew, tossing tree limbs to and fro and pressing weeds that poked haphazardly from between the tombstones even lower to the ground. Yet in all this, the crypt stood, a gray, hard block, impervious to nature's violent urges. Inside, however, was a different matter.

Grunting with effort, Spike heaved the demon against the wall. The massive, four hundred pound body rattled the crypt, and the cement wall cracked under the pressure. The demon slumped to the ground limply. Watching with a wary eye, Spike approached the fallen form, taking note of the demon's shallow breathing and the small trickle of blood seeping from its ear. After deciding that it was, in fact, unconscious, Spike smiled with self-satisfaction. He grabbed a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and placed one between his lips. Delving back into his pants, his fingers fumbled around until they met the cool metal of the lighter. Spike lifted it, flicked it once, and put the small orange flame to the cigarette.

Inhaling deeply, he sighed, happy that he had discovered the unexpected visitor. He couldn't go out patrolling with Buffy, and he had been cautious of patrolling alone. What if he accidently bumped into her and her little Slayer fan club? Running into her, being so close yet having to leave with ne'er a word; he wasn't sure he could handle it. The sharp, clean soapy fragrance of her skin, combined with the musky perspiration of battle and (more often than not) the intermingling scent of desire - desire for him - would be too much to bear. So Spike had decided to settle for a night in his crypt alone, and promised himself that he would make up for the excrutiating boredom later. He hadn't, however, been expecting this.

His thoughts turning back to the demon, he smirked once more, before drawing his foot back and landing a sharp blow to the creature's head. It grunted in its unconscious state, placing one massive paw in front of its face to shield itself. Spike just settled for kicking its stomach, raising and lower his foot swiftly, grinning at the sharp crack of the demon's ribs as they shattered.

"Break into my crypt, will you?" he taunted the demon, kicking it, "Come here and try to kill me? Do you know who you're dealing with?"

The creature moaned in response; if he had heard a word Spike had said, he didn't give any indication of such. Spike, choosing to take this silence as insubordination, continued to mash its midsection with his foot.

"I'm. William. The. Fucking. Bloody!" He accentuated each word with a blow to the chest. The demon rolled over from the force of Spike's hits, his eyes wide open, bloody drool dribbling from one corner of his mouth and his tongue lolling out humorously. Nudging the corpse with his boot, Spike took another drag from the cigarette and leaned closely to the demon, as if he were speaking to him in confidence. He exhaled thick smoke into the creature's face, and smiled.

"And don't you sodding forget it."

Spike's ears perked up and he swung around as he heard a soft rumbling sound from the entranceway to his crypt; someone was opening the door. He grinned despite his underlying fear that maybe the demon he had just killed - no, destroyed - had brethren that had traced him back to the crypt, that had followed the scent of its blood. He moved quickly, making use of the shadows and crouching to one side of the entrance. When the door swung open, the intruder wouldn't notice him, and he could get a surprise attack in. He found that the one that got the first blood was most often the winner of a battle, and he wasn't used to losing.

His hands moving with a fluid grace, he retrieved a sword that had been lying near the door, which he had been meaning to put away for some time. But for the first time, it seemed his lousy housekeeping was working in his favor. After a moment's hesitation, the door opened widely, and Spike stepped from the shadows to meet his opponent. Swinging the sword adeptly, he didn't have time to stop the blade before it came rushing at the petite blonde that had just entered.

Buffy smiled at Spike, then noticed the sword, its gilded edge whizzing towards her with a deadly hum. Yelping in surprise, she ducked from the weapon, moving just in time to avoid the pain of a steel blade being embedded in her neck. In his shock, Spike's hands lost their grip, and the sword landed against the wall dully, dropping to the floor with a clang. Spike stared at her with wide, shocked eyes.

"Oh, God, Slayer! I - are you okay?" His voice was tinged with worry and upset. Buffy smiled at him weakly and bent down to retrieve the fallen weapon. Running a finger over the razor-sharp edge, she flinched and withdrew her hand as the tip sliced into her.

"Fine," she said, "A little surprised at your greeting. I mean, I thought: okay, maybe a hug or something. But a sword flying at me? Not really your usual how do you do."

"I didn't know it was you, I swear. I thought it was a demon, or -"

"Spike. It's okay, calm yourself. You didn't kill me, I'm still here. Hell, if I can scold you about attacking me, I must be up to form, right?" She grinned and handed him the sword. "The only harm that's come to me is self-inflicted."

Buffy studied the deep cut the sword had created, wincing at the copious amounts of blood bubbling from it. "Geez," she said, looking disdainfully at the crimson drops beginning to puddle on the floor, "I'm like a human geyser. I should have my own national park or something. I could be called Old . . . Buffy," she mused, "Or maybe Old Young Buffy. That has a ring to it, don't you think?"

She glanced up at Spike to see him staring at her finger intensely, scrutinizing the cut. Buffy squirmed under his gaze. "Okay, I'm starting to feel like the blue plate special, here."

Spike tore his eyes from her wound and gazed up at her, concern creasing his face. "You're bleeding."

Buffy worried the sleeve of her sweater, tugging it over her hand. "No big. Just another trophy on the Buffy Wall of Stupidity. Note to self: swords are pointy."

He moved towards her, taking her hand in his gently and yanking back the soft material of her sleeve to examine the cut. Rolling her eyes, Buffy stood while he looked at it. Finally she pulled back, exasperated yet somewhat touched at his overly worried expression. "Geez, it's not that bad. Just need a Band-Aid and a little TLC. And I already have a Band-Aid . . ." She finished, leering suggestively. Spike took one last glance at her hand and then looked up, his eyes sparkling with mischief and a lewd grin plastered on his face.

"I don't know, pet. I can give you the L and the C, but I don't know if I can be tender," he growled, taking her wounded finger and lifting it to his mouth, swirling his cool tongue around the cut.

Buffy sighed with pleasure, surprised at her reaction to his ministrations. She would have thought she'd have been majorally icked by the idea of a vamp feasting on her blood in such a fashion, but this was different. He was her vampire. And the cold wetness against her stifling heat felt wonderful.

Finally he pulled away with a sweet, almost innocent smile. "God, love, you taste magnificent," he purred, pressing his lips to hers. Buffy could taste the coppery tang of her blood on him, and it aroused her more than it should have. After a few minutes she withdrew, panting heavily with excitement as much as from lack of oxygen.

"Well, that was definitely -" she stopped when something in the back of the room caught her eye. Buffy glanced at it and recoiled when she recognized the figure to be a demon's corpse, brutally smashed and lying in a pool of its own coagulating blood.

"Eww!" she said, wrinkling her nose in disgust, "Has that been here the whole time?"

Spike flicked his eyes over to the demon and back to her. "No, it just walked in here and died while we were talking," his voice was heavily sarcastic, "Of course it's been here! Wanker snuck in while I was sleeping. Attacked me."

"Is it just me, or is it every time I see you, some demon is trying to kill you?" Buffy wondered aloud.

"It's not just you, pet. Most demons hate me - must be something about 'killing your own kind' and all that rubbish," he sighed and picked his duster up from the chair it had been resting on, slipping it over his broad shoulders, "But you don't see them going after Peaches, though, do you? And he's worse than me - responsible for almost wiping out the Klintock race! Not that I hold a grudge 'cause of it; they're some real nasty buggers, y'know? But they should at least know who their true enemy is." He gazed over at her. "Speaking of enemies, why are you here? Thought you were out making friendlies with the children."

"If you meant did I go patrolling, the answer is yes," she said, "But Xander got injured and Willow saw him home."

"Injured? Injured how?"

Buffy suppressed a smile as she saw the worry on his face. She knew he didn't care a lick for Xander; he only cared because she did. It was sweet. "He - he fell," she finally admitted, embarrassed for Xander's sake, "He went to stake a vamp and tripped over a tombstone."

Spike's eyebrows rose in surprise, and he attempted to keep in his mocking laughter. Finally he could not take it, and burst out laughing. "The - he tripped? Over a headstone?"

Buffy's stern expression wavered, and she finally snorted in laughter as well. "Yeah, he was trying to kill - you should have seen the look on his face! It was - I -" She let out a stream of giggles, doubling over and clutching her aching stomach. Wiping tears from her eyes, Buffy cleared her throat and attempted to get serious. "And you wonder why I want to go patrolling with you so often."

"Never said I wondered, love. Always figured that I was better company," he said, his voice filled with pride.

"More obnoxious doesn't always mean better," she stated, smiling, "Although you do come in handy from time to time. That is, when you're not trying to chop my head off." He winced at her remark and she instantly felt bad. "Look," she said, changing the subject, "I just came here to see how you're doing. And to tell you that I'm free for patrolling tomorrow, if you'd like to join me. Seeing as Xander's . . . out of commission and all."

He chose to ignore that last remark, and grinned. "Patrolling it is, then. You want me to bring my sword?"

"No, that's okay. I want you to be killing the baddies, not me. Eight o' clock sound good to you? It's the prime slaying hour."

"Eight it is," Spike confirmed, then raised one eyebrow suggestively, "And then maybe you can stop over for some RLC afterwards."

Buffy scrunched her brow, confused at the last statement, but smiled at him before heading towards the door. "All right, then, I'll see you tomorrow. Be good; well, as good as you can be. Semi-evil, maybe."

He chuckled before wrapping his arms around her and drawing her into a sweet embrace. Buffy leaned her head against his chest for a moment, lost in the overwhelming scent of him. He pulled away and planted a gentle, chaste kiss on her lips.

"'Till tomorrow, then," he whispered huskily, opening the door for her as she slipped from the musty crypt and out into the night.

Gazing up at the stars, Buffy pulled her arms around herself and sighed contentedly. Things were perfect . . . well, nearly perfect. Nobody knew about her and Spike yet, but that made it almost better, in a way. Naughtier, if you will, because he was her secret, and she supposed that she was his as well. 'My torrid love affair with a vampire,' she thought, 'that sounds like a dime store romance novel. But I'm living it. And who would have known that Spike could be so - wow. And that thing, with his tongue? Heaven.'

She sighed again, coming to a fork in the road and turning left, towards her house. 'But what did he mean by RLC? What the hell does the R -' In a flash Buffy remembered Spike's words, realized what he had been getting at, and giggled.

'Rough loving care, huh?' she thought, 'I just might have to take him up on that.'

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To be continued . . .