Warning: this chapter rated M for mature readers only.

Something long, metal and extremely sharp whirred through the air, and the razor-like teeth suddenly disappeared from view, along with the Wookie's entire head. Xander's hand wiped at the goopy gore on his shirt. It glowed a faint orange and smelled bizarrely like cotton candy.

"Bloody amateur," said Spike with a smirk. Xander watched him tuck the sword back into its hiding place in his duster, then lean against a tree to light a cigarette.

"Well…? Get up, then," said Spike, when Xander hadn't moved.

"I can't," Xander admitted, turning his face away from the smug-faced vampire.

"C'mon, Slayer. It was only a little scratch," Spike goaded.

Xander didn't answer. He didn't want Spike to hear how afraid he was.

"Go on," said Spike insistently. "Get up."

Xander just lay there. He couldn't speak now even if he wanted to. His throat was too tight with fear. He couldn't feel anything from the waist downward, and the numbness was spreading fast.

Spike was torn. While the larger part of him was telling him to just leave (and good riddance to him), there was a smaller but more persistent part of him that really did care if Xander died. He fought to squelch the angel on his shoulder, but the annoying little git won out.

"Can you move at all?" Spike asked with reluctant compassion.

Xander nodded, proving that he could at least move his neck, and chanced a look in Spike's direction. "I can't feel anything below the waist," he answered, his voice shaky.

"'S'okay," said Spike, trying not to let his concern show too much. "Just hang on to me, an' I'll get you somewhere safe, okay?"

Spike picked him up effortlessly, and Xander clung to his neck as they raced through the cemetery at top speed.

"Need to go to a hospital," Xander choked out.

"Yeah, 'cause they'll have the anti-venom for Kakmik demon poisoning," Spike replied snidely.

"Then where are we going?" asked Xander.

"My place. I've got something there that should do the trick."

Xander was past arguing—his fingers and lips were starting to tingle and he was having a hard time just keeping his grip on Spike's neck. He doubted if they'd make it to a hospital anyway.

Spike banged the crypt door open and hurried to the stone sarcophagus at its centre. There he gently lay Xander down before rushing off again.

Xander stared up at the dark, cobwebby ceiling, completely immobile, and the frightening thought occurred to him that it could very well be the last thing he'd ever see.

Spike suddenly appeared above him, brandishing a clear glass full of thick, black liquid that looked and smelled like tar.

"Drink this," Spike ordered.

"What is it? It smells awful," Xander complained.

"It's the antidote, you daft git—it's supposed to smell awful. Now drink it before I change my mind and drag you back outside and leave you to rot."

Xander tried to raise himself as best he could, but Spike still had to cradle his head and pour the vile fluid down his gullet. Xander held his breath and swallowed as much of it as he could in one gulp. The liquid left his mouth feeling slick and oily, and Xander thought for sure he was going to throw it back up again. He managed to keep it down, though, and almost immediately the tingling in his lips and fingers began to abate.

Spike paced around the sarcophagus restlessly. He was confused—here was the slayer, lying helpless and completely numb in his crypt. He could take him now; drink his hot, sweet blood until there was nothing left but a dried shell where a slayer used to be. That would bring his tally up to three. His name would be legendary. And because of the numbing effect of the Kakmik venom his chip wouldn't even fire off.

He just couldn't bring himself to do it. He kept thinking about their frenzied romp in the cemetery the night before. Sure, he'd thought it was Buffy at the time, but he had to admit it was a helluva ride. Probably wouldn't have been as good if it actually had been Buffy. Xander was so eager, so…unrestrained. It was like the person laid out before him on the slab of stone incorporated the best parts of both of them—Buffy's strength and beauty combined with Xander's passion and curiosity.

Xander's foot twitched, and Spike stopped pacing and stood over him again. He chewed his lip anxiously, waiting for another sign of improvement. And Xander didn't disappoint. His entire body jerked violently, then he suddenly sat bolt upright, swinging his legs over the side of the sarcophagus.

"So it's working then?" asked Spike unnecessarily.

"Incredible! I'm completely better," he said, a touch of awe in his voice. "You saved my life! You could have killed me—you could have done anything to me and I couldn't have done a damn thing to stop you, but you saved me!"

"Don't mention it," said Spike.

"But you could have…"

"I said, don't mention it," Spike bit back. "I mean it…if I find out you blabbed to all your goody-goody friends that the Big Bad's gone soft, I'll make you wish I'd killed you while you still couldn't feel it."

"Don't get all uptight—I just wanted you to know how grateful I am," said Xander, flicking a stray blonde hair out of his eyes so he could get a better look at his unlikely hero.

"If you really want to thank me, you'll let me pick up where we left off last night."

There was a moment of absolute silence in the dark, dank crypt. Xander cast his eyes to the floor, and without looking up, he answered: "Alright."

Buffy stood naked in the middle of Giles' living room, waiting for him. She stretched, enjoying the deep pull of her new muscles. The slight burn as she worked out some of the tension made her feel more human and alive than she'd felt in years.

On his way back from the bathroom, Giles stopped to watch her for a moment, leaning against the support wall between the kitchen and dining area. She'd lit candles, and their flickering orange glow reflected warmly off the contours of her body. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

Buffy nearly jumped out of Xander's skin.

"Geez, Giles! Make some noise when you creep up on people—you took two years off my life."

"Sorry, darling—couldn't resist." Giles squeezed her tightly and nuzzled her neck.

Buffy squirmed and squealed in a very un-Xander-like fashion, then slipped out of his arms and ran laughing through his apartment to the bathroom. She stopped dead in her tracks just inside the door and stared speechless at the scene before her. Giles, too, had lit candles—dozens of them—and steam rose from the hot, foamy water in the claw-foot tub. Soft, relaxing music emanated from a little boom box next to the sink.

"I thought you might like something a little more…"

"…romantic," Buffy finished, and pulled Giles into a thoroughly grateful kiss. "It's beautiful. Thank-you."

"My pleasure," he said. "Or, at least I hope it will be."

Buffy took Giles' hand and led him over to the steaming tub.

"You're wearing clothes again," Buffy complained. "You've got to stop doing that." With a wide grin, she grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and slowly pulled it over his head, leaving his hair rumpled in what she decided was a very sexy way.

His track pants were discarded in the blink of an eye revealing a hockey-strength jock strap. Buffy raised her eyebrows at him.

"Do you really think I'd train with a slayer without a little protection?" Giles defended. "Besides, it's proven to be handy in situations where I've needed to hide my…emotions." He flushed a dark pink, but thankfully the dim lights and the steam masked it."

"You shouldn't hide your…emotions, Giles. You should set them free," she said. "Now," she added demandingly.

Giles obeyed, letting the protective garment drop to the tiled floor, and he stepped into the bathtub. The porcelain gave a protesting squeak under his foot as he turned to offer Buffy a hand in. She took it and joined him. The bath foam tickled, fizzing and popping against their skin as they lowered themselves into the water. It was luxurious, and they sighed in unison, which made them both giggle.

Buffy lay back, her head pillowed on a towel draped over the rim of the tub.

"You're too far away," she whined. "I feel like cuddling." Buffy held out her arms to Giles and he looked at her oddly. "What is it?" she asked.

"Nothing," he replied. "Just revelling in your beauty—which, given that you look like Xander at the moment, came as a bit of a shock to me." Giles turned around and lay back against Buffy, his head cradled against her broad chest. She began to massage his temples and he closed his eyes, allowing himself to go limp against her body.

They stayed like that for a while, and Giles, lulled by the heat, the massage, and the soft rhythmic dripping of the tap, nearly dozed off.

"What's it like?" asked Buffy quietly, causing him to stir out of his light nap.

"What's what like?"

Being with a woman," she said. "I've been a man for a few days now, and I've done pretty much everything a guy does. But… I'll never know what it's like to feel myself inside another person's body. I'll never understand the one thing that really separates men from women."

Giles thought for a moment. "You want to know what it's like? I'm not sure I can really explain. It's not about power—although for some men I suppose it might be. For me, though, it's a feeling of absolute surrender…like striving to reach something perfect that remains forever beyond your grasp… But there's no reason why you can't find out for yourself," he said, twisting in her arms so he could look up at her.

"If you're suggesting Anya, then can I just say 'nuh-uh'? Besides, I might be curious, but that doesn't mean I want to be with anyone else. I'm strictly a one-man kind of guy."

"Glad to hear it," said Giles. "But I wasn't suggesting Anya. Or anyone else, for that matter."

"Then you mean…?" she said, catching on.

"I'd be willing to give it a try, if you'd like," he said.

"Isn't that sort of painful?" she asked with a hint of worry.

"Not if it's done right," he assured her. "I can walk you through it."

Buffy didn't want to appear overly eager, but the idea of being inside Giles was seriously turning her on, and the evidence to that fact was pressing hard against Giles' back.

"You would do that for me?" she asked.

"Not just for you," he said. "We've been handed an opportunity here. If you were to suddenly find yourself back in your own body tomorrow, wouldn't you spend the rest of your life wondering? And it's a chance for me to try something I've never done, with someone I trust and love."

Buffy blinked at him, her long, dark lashes batting away the welling tears. "Y-you love me?" she sputtered.

"Do you even need to ask?" he said, and gave her hand a squeeze under the sudsy water.

Spike kept circling Xander, a mystified expression on his face.

"'Alright'?" he said with disbelief. "No fuss, no bother, just 'alright'?"

"You want me to swoon from shock or slap you across the face?" asked Xander. "I said yes. Now are we gonna do this or was that all just a lot of talk?" Xander lay back on the stone slab, flung his arms open and waited.

"Don't think I won't," said Spike. He leapt onto the sarcophagus and crouched over Xander who lay passively blinking up at him.

"Well then?" said Xander. "Ravish me already."

"I will…just give me a second." Spike bent down and tried to kiss him, but Xander's apparent apathy stalled him mid-way. "You gonna help me out here?" he asked. "Or are you just gonna lie there all night?"

Xander smiled up at him coyly. "A girl needs a little romance. Woo me."

"What you?"

"Woo me," Xander said again. "Make me feel like a woman."

Spike stifled a large grin so that only a shadow of it flickered across his face. Xander was proving to be full of surprises.

"You want me to tell you you're beautiful? That when I look at you all I can think about is how incredible it felt to be inside you?" Spike said huskily.

"It'd be a start," said Xander, tilting his mouth up towards the vampire seductively.

"Heaven help me, Slayer—you're all I can think about these days," said Spike, warming up to the game and only marginally aware that he was telling the truth. "When I close my eyes and go to sleep I see your face…taste your lips on mine. And I swear, if I concentrate hard enough I can almost feel your soft skin under my fingers."

Xander squirmed restlessly under him, aching to have Spike's fingers on his soft skin. Spike dipped lower so their bodies nearly touched. His lips parted slightly as he breathed in Xander's scent, and Xander let out a tiny little whimper.

"May I kiss you now, Slayer?" asked Spike with a glint in his icy, blue eyes. Xander nodded helplessly.

Spike inched his mouth closer to Xander's, drawing out the moment until the suspense had them both trembling. Spike nudged Xander's lips with his own—nudged them again, then brought their lips together softly in a teasingly sweet kiss.

Xander responded with equal gentleness, bringing his small hands up to comb through Spike's blond hair. His fingers toyed with the silky locks, then trailed down to the nape of his neck where they traced diminutive patterns against the cool, tender skin.

Between timid kisses and pleading caresses, their clothes started disappearing piece by piece. Flush with anticipation, Xander was soon lying naked on the cold stone surface, breathing hard as Spike's cool tongue mapped the contours of his body.

"Ooh…that spot—go back to that spot," Xander instructed between heaving breaths.

"What, here?" asked Spike, retracing his tongue over the miniature peak of his pelvis. Xander moaned heartily in response.

"Found a good bit, have I Slayer?" Spike teased.

"Less talk—your tongue should be doing other things right now." Xander frowned playfully at him. And as Spike smiled in return, their eyes locked, and a spark of something more than sexual passed between them. Without a word the mood was changed. A storm of emotion churned behind Spike's eyes, turning them a steel grey. Xander's eyes widened and his heart sent wave after wave of blood rushing through his body—pounding in his ears; throbbing between his legs.

Spike pulled himself up, covering Xander's body with his own, and lay claim to his mouth. This time there were no power struggles or childish games between them. This time the connection was real and went far deeper than either of them expected.

Xander curled his legs around Spike's and Spike slid up inside him with an ease that made them moan into each other's mouths. Their flesh melded, their bodies becoming one as they rocked together in a silent embrace in the dark crypt.

Spike pulled back enough to watch Xander's face, sweet and vulnerable in the heat of the moment. When Xander began moaning rhythmically with every thrust, Spike knew he was holding nothing back and it shocked him to think Xander trusted him so completely.

"Oh…oh God, Spike!" Xander yelled, feeling the hot flood of his orgasm sweep through him.

Spike groaned as slayer-strength muscles spasmed around his shaft, Xander's juices making the tight passage slick. He knew he couldn't hold out much longer—he could feel the slow building of his own orgasm and he thrust more urgently to bring it on.

It was Xander's turn to watch in fascination at the pleasure-contorted expression on his undead lover's face. He knew exactly what Spike was feeling, and just knowing that he was the cause of it started the deep tingling all over again.

"Uhh…uhn—Slayer," Spike grunted.

"Say my name," said Xander.

"I did."

"No—you called me 'Slayer'. Say my name," he pleaded.

"Xander," Spike breathed, and as the name rolled off his tongue, it sent a shock of excitement straight to his groin. "Xander!" he gasped again. "Oh…sweet Xander!" Then he lost all ability to speak. Mindless grunts and moans emanated from his mouth in a long, mindless stream as his orgasm struck full force.

"That was…that was just…" said Xander, lost for words.

"Couldn't agree more," Spike said, easing himself off Xander so they could lie side by side. Xander threw his arm over Spike's pale chest and drew himself up close.

"It's weird," said Xander.

"This is something you've only just realized?" Spike teased.

Xander smacked his arm in mock annoyance. "No. What I mean is, I normally just wanna roll over and fall asleep after sex. But right now I have this weird urge to cuddle and talk."

Spike chuckled deep in his throat and said; "If that's what you want, then we'll cuddle for a while. But tell anyone…"

"I know—slow, painful death—yadda, yadda, yadda."

Buffy groaned, fighting the powerful need to push hard into Giles. The sensation of his tight ring of muscle sheathing hermade her want to weep in ecstasy. She kept her thrusts shallow and slow, yearning for more, but afraid to take it.

Giles could see the strain showing on her face and knew exactly what was going on in her mind.

"It's alright, Buffy," he said soothingly, "Let it go—you're not the slayer anymore—you won't hurt me."

With a whimper of relief, Buffy allowed herself to give in to her urges and she pumped harder and faster. The delicious friction brought her to the point of orgasm quickly and with a joy bordering on delirium. Sweaty once more, and with a smile as big as the Cheshire Cat's, Buffy lowered herself onto Giles' chest.

Despite the discomfort, Giles didn't make her move—he knew she'd want to stay inside him for as long as she could.

"You do realize that I shall have to move out of this apartment now," said Giles, lazily dragging the backs of his fingers up and down her chest.

"Why's that?" she asked, once her breathing had slowed to something verging on normal.

"After the ruckus you just made, I'll never be able to look my neighbours in the eye again." He grinned at her, and she grinned back, batting her big, brown eyes up at him innocently.

"Then you're either gonna have to move a lot, or your neighbours are just gonna have to learn to deal," she said.

"Never liked the neighbours much anyways," said Giles, and he planted a soft kiss on her forehead.