Lovers Lost In Sweet Desire

A/N: And, welcome to four full pages of absolute fluffiness. No smut because I'm no good at writing it- implied. So if pre-marital sex and innuendo bug you- go be elsewhere. Much love to reviewers, as always.

Disclaimer: Joss owns it all. Joss is also, coincidentally, evil for not sending Spike back to Buffy and the Immortal? Hmph.

Spike lay Buffy down on the bed, and made to settle down beside her on his back.

"Liar," she accused. Spike turned and raised an eyebrow at her, "you let go of me," she accused. He laughed and rolled over, pulling his arms tightly around her and settling his chin on the crown of her head.

"Won't happen again, love," he promised, dropping a kiss on her forehead. She curled into his cool chest.

"How long?" she asked him after a few moments of silence.

"'Round seven months," Spike said finally, he felt Buffy tense before she rolled away from him, getting up off the bed.

"Seven months?" she whispered, "and you didn't... I was here the whole time... crying for you, loving you and you were..." She looked at him, "you left me. How on earth could I think you were any different? I was alone and you left me, just like every other man in my life. God, Spike- William, I thought you were different," she turned to the wall. Spike got off the bed and put his hands on her shoulders, she flinched, but didn't step away from him.

"And I am, love, I am," he said, "do you want to hear my story?"

"Will I want to forgive you when you're done? Because if I won't- I just want to physically lose you again. Not mentally," Buffy whispered.

"And I'm going to pretend that made sense, love," Spike said, "and, hopefully, if you believe me, you will forgive me. Because, yes, as always I fucked up. And, as always, sorry isn't enough. But, for once, please forgive me, is. Based on this, I'll tell you the story, ask you to forgive me, and probably atone for a bit," she let out a small sound that could have been laughter, "but I will not brood, and, despite what the Whelp may think, I will definitely not grovel."

"So, no groveling, no apologies, just a typical Spike screw up?" she asked him.

"This has gone beyond a Spike screw up, definitely a William," he said, "for Spike screw-ups I can just screw you 'till you forget what I did." She couldn't help but a laugh a little at that.

"I'm listening." And Spike moved her onto the bed, settling her in his lap, she rested her head against his solid, cool shoulder, and listened as he told her, tears from both of them bringing his story to an occasional halt.

Spike had simply woken up alive one evening. In the crater that was once Sunnydale, he had, at first, thought to stay there until morning- every part of his body was aching, blood pouring from every cut, and his head was screaming as if fifty chips had been put in and he had just committed mass murder. His first thought wasn't for her, which scared him, it was only a word 'why?'

His second thought of course, was "Buffy, where's Buffy?" He sprung up to his feet at that, and realized that it was a damned good question. Even if every part of him still hurt, the thought that she was still alive- and he hoped to God that she was- had brought him to his feet. He had found one of the roads that had once led into Sunnydale a few miles off, and hitched a ride in a truck, with a truly disgusting trucker, who told him fourteen times that he was English. Spike would have very much liked to have killed him.

In LA he had gone to Wolfram and Hart, hoping that his poof of a grandsire would give him a bit of ready money. He had been told that Angel was away on business. He'd left. Luckily, at a bar, he'd run into a vamp he'd known a long time back, who'd given him some questionable cash.

He'd gotten a plane to England, knowing that the Watcher's Council would have to restart, probably in England, and that Buffy would be a part of that no matter what. Whether she liked it or not, making sure no other Slayer went through as much as she had, would be a huge part of her life. He'd booked into a hotel that he knew from demon hearsay was accommodating to most vamps and a few of the less noticeable types of demons. The fact that one of the biggest cities in the world rested on a Hellmouth meant, at least, that demon activity wasn't concentrated. In Sunnydale, rumors had spread, here it was just a few places that were already eerie that got bad reps.

He had been at the inn for a week, slowly sussing out the latest news, trying to figure out where she lived, when Giles had appeared. He could still remember every word of the conversation.

"Buffy sent me," Giles had started out with. "She knows you're back and doesn't want you to come anywhere near her."

"Why?"

"Aside from the painfully obvious? She and Angel are doing well together, she thinks you could ruin that."

"She and Peaches?"

"She and Angel."

"How long?"

"It's none of your business. She doesn't want you. Stay out of her life."

Things had gone downhill from there, the conversation had been long, and Spike had hardly managed to get anything out of the former Watcher. Just that he had been right, Buffy was living in England, rebuilding the council. With Angel's help. Spike had never wanted death more.

Over the next six and a half months, he had constantly pondered staking himself, it had seemed a brilliant idea. But the idea of letting Buffy and his idiot of a grandsire win had disgusted him, for a few weeks he had even renewed his promise of dancing on the Slayer's grave. Then, of course, eventually, he'd stopped living solely out of spite. He'd lived for her before when she didn't give a damn, he'd do it again. He'd just have to get used to the real world in the microcosm of the hotel until he was ready to face everything again.

Then Xander had come, god, it didn't seem like it had only been a few hours ago... He had never felt more relieved in his un-life. And now he was here.

"Giles?" Was all Buffy managed to get out at the end of the story. Her heart was telling her not to believe Spike, to phone Giles and get the truth out of him to confirm it. But, her mind was very calmly spelling it out.

This is Spike.

He loves you.

He would not hurt you.

Not anymore.

Not if he didn't have to.

And the calm, secure, Slayer Buffy, decided that this would be a convenient time to go on vacation as she crumbled backwards in a faint, trusting subconsciously that Spike would be there to catch her.

Half an hour later, Spike was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking the blood and whiskey from his flask, and trying to explain to Dawn, Willow and Andrew how he had returned, while keeping an ear on Buffy's bedroom, preparing to be there the second she woke up.

"Where's Slayer's slayer?" he asked, once he had finally pounded the idea of 'not-the-First-in-disguise" into Andrew's head.

"Probably on patrol, or out macking with her love of the week- a vampire, by the way, Buffy wants her dead," Dawn supplied, "she's a bit of a wildcard. Not exactly Faith, but close enough to make Buffy's head almost explode on a weekly basis."

"She any good?" Spike asked.

"The best- well, not quite as good as Buffy, but she will be," Dawn smiled at Spike, "she's good with fledglings, God knows, but anything bigger than that and she likes a bit of help."

"Have I missed any apocalypses?" Spike asked, they seemed to be a yearly occurrence. Dawn laughed and shook her head. "That's good then. How've you been, Whelp says you've had a few boyfriends?"

"Yeah, Gerald, the horny one, Ramon, the idiotic one and Spencer, the nice, proper, English one. Needless to say none of those worked out," Dawn tossed a dismissive hand, "Spence thought a near death experience was almost ingesting a carbohydrate. I need someone who gets what I've been through, like you and Buffy," she nodded thoughtfully. She toyed with her spoon for a minute, "you two did good- for once." Spike laughed appreciatively.

"So, why didn't you just kill Angel, I mean, I thought that was sort of your thing?" Andrew interrupted the moment.

"He's my Grandsire," Spike supplied, "and I want Buffy happy- not in murderous rage."

"Murderous rage makes Buffy happy," Dawn said, she and Spike laughed, Andrew looked confused for a moment.

"That it does, Bit," Spike smiled, sparing a moment to listen intently to Buffy's heartbeat in the other room, still nice and slow, she was tired. "What about school?"

"Doing well, no demons and my principal is completely personal-anti-Spike- vendetta free, though he did flirt with Buffy on parent teacher night. Then his wife came over and introduced herself," she said quickly, noticing the tensing of Spikes hand on the handle of his mug.

"That's good," Spike said, quirking an eyebrow at her, she grinned. "What're you doing when you graduate?"

"Truthfully?" Dawn asked, Spike rolled his eyes and nodded, "I have no fucking clue."

"Dawn!"

"Spike, I'm eighteen."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"I give up," Dawn sighed.

"Any ideas?" Spike asked, and Dawn happily started babbling about art college or an English degree from Oxford.

When Buffy woke up, it was an upward dive into reality. She sat up suddenly and took a deep breath, trying to remember what had gotten her to sleep so early, it came back to her gradually, in reverse order. Fainting, Spike's story, being carried down the hall, kissing Spike, hugging him, seeing him in the front hall... This all culminated into her sitting up suddenly.

"Spike!" she whispered. It took about five seconds for the peroxide-haired vampire to appear at her side.

"Yeah, love?" He asked, settling on the edge of her bed, where he had tucked her in, and snaking an arm around her waist. She leant against his shoulder.

"You know I believe you, right?"

"I know," he sighed, "I was kind of hoping you wouldn't. I know how close you and Giles are."

"Were," she said, "since Sunnydale... well, I figured out what I wanted, and Giles didn't like it. Perfect Slayer Buffy was supposed to move on really quickly and all that. I didn't want to."

"Perfect Slayer Buffy isn't a hell of a lot of fun," Spike remarked, "I take it you and she have had a falling out of sorts?"

"Of sorts," She grinned, "I missed you so much."

"Missed you too," he said, kissing her shoulder.

"Are you sure you want to stay?" Buffy asked him. "Because, I mean... you've got this whole new life, and I treated you like shit for so long that I don't deserve this any more, so if you wanted to go and just start over- without all the Sunnydale stuff hanging over your head, you could. I mean wanting to be with me is noble- and I know you, lately you've liked doing the noble thing- but if you don't want-" She was cut off by Spike bringing his free hand to her mouth.

"Slayer, I wanted to come back, I want to be with you, I promised that I'd always have your back, and I intend to keep that promise," he grinned, "good for the ego to hear you calling me noble though." She bit him. He laughed loudly, and quickly smothered her lips with his. Somewhere through the faint haze that surrounded that night, they heard Xander offering to take everyone out for a very late movie. Willow, Dawn, Xander and Andrew got back at noon the next day.

Buffy sent Spike into the kitchen the next morning to make her breakfast, he actually obeyed her command, but she did have to bribe him with sex. He was wearing the pair of black jeans he'd been in the night before, but he hadn't bothered with a shirt (mostly because he hadn't brought clothes with him and Buffy had torn his to shreds the previous night), and mixing pancake batter.

"Um, is this some new vamp plot? Stake out my kitchen?" A petite brunette with purple and blue streaks in her hair, wearing head to toe black and a hell of a lot more mascara than even Spike thought was strictly necessary asked him, appearing at the door. Spike would have laughed if she hadn't been holding a stake and looking like she was going to use it.

"Right, you'd be the new Slayer then," Spike sighed, debating on waking Buffy (grumpy morning-after Slayer, definitely not of the good) or on trying to convince her that he wasn't evil. "Let's start with a few basic pointers- I'm in your house, therefore, I got an invite. Now, you may be under the regime of that twit- love her as I do, it's true," Spike threw in, just in case by some horrid coincidence, Buffy was awake and listening, with a gesture towards her bedroom, "but it's vamp one-oh-one, no one you don't trust in the house. Therefore, someone who lives here, trusts me."

"Andrew lives here," she pointed out.

"Good point," Spike conceded heavily.

"You love Buffy?"

"Mm."

"Angel?"

"BLOODY FUCKING HELL NO!"

"Buffy have some sort of demon fetish she never told anyone about, then?"

"Spike, stop yelling," Buffy said faintly from the bedroom, "and no loud British obscenity in the kitchen. House rule."

"You have a house rule about British obscenity in the kitchen?" Spike said to no one in particular, then to Buffy, with a trademark smirk, "Well, you definitely don't have one about the bedroom." It took about a second for Buffy to be at the bedroom door with a pillow, which she then whipped at Spike, which he then easily caught and put on the counter next to his bowl of batter.

"Perversion of youth, you don't want another Dawn on your hands, now do you?" She teased, coming over from the door and slipping her arms around his waist, resting a cheek on his bare chest. "Morning."

"Hi? Very confused Slayer here, desperately trying to renew belief in Buffy being a totally nonsexual being. And, again, who the bloody hell are you and why are you cooking in my kitchen this early in the morning?" Dina interrupted. "'Cause, you know, last I checked Spike was dead and you were just hitting the thinking about getting over him stage..." She trailed off helpfully.

"You were going to get over me... there's a topic we definitely didn't hit last night," Spike said, teasingly.

"Eventually, you're not all that special," Buffy grinned, "did she just crush poor little Spikey's ego?" Buffy gave him a simpering expression.

"I will never kiss you again if that bloody awful nickname every finds it's way out of your mouth again," Spike hissed.

"But Spikey..." She pouted, she made puppy eyes. Spike gave in. He kissed her quickly.

"Whipped," she murmured against his lips.

"You sleep with a stake under your pillow, it's out of fear for my un- life."

"Ahem. Cough. Cough," Dina vocalized.

"Err, right, sorry Dee," Buffy sighed, "and here we go with the uncomfortable explanations. I never found Giles naked with a shirtless vampire in his kitchen... Not," she spat after a look from Spike, "that he was exactly the perfect model for a Watcher. So, Dee, this would be vampire lover number two- the one with no fashion sense. His credentials include having died a grand total of two times, searching for souls, a very filthy tongue," Spike stuck it out at her, "killer abs and a hell of a lot more testosterone than is truly good for a person," Spike and Dee both looked at her puzzled, "observe: Angel." Spike's fist clenched around the bottom of the sheet Buffy was wrapped in of it's own free will. "Spike, this is Dina Taylor. Bane of my existence. She's an idiot and is trying to date the undead."

"Which you would never even imagine doing," Dina snapped.

"Soul-less, evil, undead, chip-less, bad hair," Buffy complained. Then she pushed Spike forward, gesturing as she spoke the next sentence, "Ensouled, mildly annoying- what, you're not evil and you know it-, undead, was all chipped-up when he was soulless, and since it's not all greased back, good hair. Bad vampire- less bad vampire."

"Good to know I'm so highly thought of," Spike grumbled.

"I love you, you know I do," Buffy giggled. Dina looked disgusted. Spike pushed her away and into the bedroom.

"Get dressed," he growled after her.