Mortal Allies Series

Episode 5

War and Roses

By: Passion4Spike

Chapter 13: Arabian Nights

Chapter Notes:

Thank you all for reading! I'm still a bit behind on replying to comments, but my taxes are nearly done, so hopefully I can get caught up SOON. You know I love them all, truly, madly, deeply!

Thanks also to MissLuci and All4Spike for all their help with proofreading and suggestions for this chapter. Their contributions are treasured!

PREVIOUSLY ON MORTAL ALLIES:

Episode 3, Postcards From the Edge, Chapter 5, 'Santa Worship', (several weeks ago, Buffy interviewing Angel while Spike and Dru were in Mexico):

"What kind of man was Spike, you know, before?" she asked, the question past her lips before she could stop it. She could've kicked herself! Buffy braced for the jealous outrage from the brunette, but it oddly didn't come.

Angel arched a brow at her, but leaned back in his chair. "Why do you want to know?" he asked warily.

"Curiosity," Buffy replied.

"Curiosity killed the cat," Angel reminded her.

"But satisfaction brought it back," she countered.

"You think Spike can satisfy you?" he snarked scornfully.

"Don't be an ass," Buffy shot back, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

Angel took an unneeded breath and sighed it out, apparently the only apology Buffy was going to get. "What did he tell you?"

"Are you going to answer every question with a question?" Buffy wondered, her annoyance growing. "I thought we agreed that you would truthfully answer whatever I asked." She shouldn't have asked about Spike in the first place, she knew that, but, now that she had, damn it, he should just answer her.

Angel sighed. "I will. I just want to know what he told you."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "He said that he'd 'always been bad,'" she admitted.

The brunette snorted in amusement. "Honestly, I didn't know him before Dru brought him home, but bad?" Angel shook his head. "The only thing bad about William was his poetry. That's where he got his name, you know?"

Buffy's brow furrowed. "Spike?"

"No, William, the bloody awful poet," Angel revealed. "It's what his high society friends called him behind his back… or well, not quite that far behind his back, I guess. He'd just been dumped by one of those incredibly dull, simpering morons when Dru found him, all weepy and heartbroken. Of course, he made the name a bit more literal after that."

Buffy frowned, her heart twisting oddly in her chest in sympathy for the blond vampire… or for what he had once been. "So, he was a lovelorn choirboy?" she asked, the words she'd said in jest to Spike during their trip coming back to her.

Angel chuckled darkly. "Worse—a lovelorn poet."

-X-

Episode 4, My Turn, Chapter 33, 'A Deal is a Deal' (about three weeks ago just after Willow and Lydia healed Spike)

Though Spike had known when he'd jumped in front of that gun that it would hurt like a royal buggering, he hadn't quite been prepared for the level of agony that had come with the bullets. He was no stranger to pain, of course, but he hated feeling so… impotent, helpless. So, now, the absolute lack of pain was like a drug, carrying him forward, lifting him up onto the downtown rooftops, and sending him soaring across the streets and alleys between with unbridled glee.

Buffy had helped him when he'd needed it, and though that might be considered simply making them even for him saving the Watcher, Spike wanted to do something for her now, something to repay her kindnesses. Plus, her non-birthday bash was coming up and he intended to make sure it was the best sodding National Hot Chocolate Day the girl had ever had.

Spike came to a stop atop the Sun Cinema, the light from its bright neon sign casting a green haze over the rooftop. As he dropped down off the roof, out of that glow and into the murky side alley, he wished he had his duster on. He looked bloody cool doing that with his duster—like a proper supervillain… or superhero, he supposed. Hmm, William the Bloody Hero? What had the strumpet said? 'Saving Happy Meals from evil since 1998.' Certainly not his character— at least it hadn't been for over a century—but would it be so bad if it meant being around Buffy?

Spike sauntered around the corner and into the grubby lobby of the cinema. The aroma of years of popcorn, fake butter, Twizzlers, and mustard slathered on burned hotdogs assailed him as he came through the door. He had to stop breathing lest he be overwhelmed by the miasma that permeated the place. He looked around and found what he was looking for—what he'd looked up in the phone book while Joyce had gone back out to the car to retrieve the rest of the shopping. He headed over to the small office off to one side. The sign beside the door read, 'Admit One Ticket Gallery.' Then, below that, 'Ticket Broker. Tickets for all your entertainment needs'.

Spike pulled the door open and stepped in. It was the size of a broom closet, but it was large enough for the small man who sat behind a miniscule desk, barely large enough to hold a computer and a printer. There was just enough room left over for two chairs for customers—providing the customers weren't very tall, otherwise their knees would hit the desk. Luckily, Spike wasn't too tall, so he took one of the seats.

"How may I help you?" the balding man asked, looking up from his computer screen with watery, blue eyes.

"Need some tickets… you can get 'em for anywhere yeah? L.A. or San Fran?"

"Certainly," the man relied. "We can procure tickets for any event worldwide—providing they are on our network, which most major venues are. Just what are you looking for?"

Spike grinned, leaned forward eagerly, and told him.

-X-

Now, at the Bronze:

I'll be your dream
I'll be your wish
I'll be your fantasy
I'll be your hope
I'll be your love
Be everything that you need

"Is it Ground Hog Day?" Buffy asked Spike as they danced, swaying to the slow, steady beat of the music, their bodies pressed together intimately.

"Celebrating Hot Chocolate Day," he reminded her.

"Yeah, that, but is it also Ground Hog Day?"

"Dunno, why?"

I'll love you more with every breath
Truly, madly, deeply do
I will be strong
I will be faithful
'Cause I'm counting on
A new beginning
A reason for living
A deeper meaning, yeah

"I feel all loopy."

"You have had a few o' those frou-frou drinks," he pointed out.

Buffy frowned. That was true. She'd had a few over the last couple of hours. They were much with the yummy. Then she shook her slightly inebriated head. "No, I mean time-loopy. I've heard this song before."

"Reckon you have. It's one o' your boyband songs, innit?"

"Clearly your boyband appreciation and recognition needs work. But that's not what I mean; I mean tonight. I feel like we've danced to this song before."

I wanna stand with you on a mountain
I wanna bathe with you in the sea
I wanna lay like this forever
Until the sky falls down on me

'About three bloody times,' Spike thought, but didn't say. "Dunno, luv. All I can hear is your soft sighs and thrumming heart," he murmured, pulling her just the slightest bit tighter as they moved together beneath the shifting lights of the dancefloor.

Didn't the wolf and his mates know any other slow songs? There was a good half-century of mostly decent love songs out there just begging to be played, but, no, they clearly couldn't be bothered. He'd asked them to learn that Bruce Springsteen song last week, but other than 'slow dances' Spike hadn't been specific about what songs they should play. Spike couldn't really blame them, slow music wasn't normally his style either, but there were times when it was brilliant, like when Buffy's hot, supple body was pressed up against his, which, of course, had been his plan.

And when the stars are shining brightly in the velvet sky,
I'll make a wish, send it to heaven then make you want to cry
The tears of joy for all the pleasure and the certainty
That we're surrounded by the comfort and protection of the highest powers
In lonely hours
The tears devour you

In fact, the Dingoes had played every slow song they knew, some of them twice, some of them more. As long as Spike and Buffy were on the dance floor, the music was subdued, not their normal fare. It might've had something to do with the handful of bills Spike had dropped in the tip jar on the edge of the stage with the request for, "Something romantic, yeah? Maybe a bit of that boyband bollocks." The Dingoes didn't really do a lot of romantic songs, but for that tip, Devon was damn sure gonna do his best.

Buffy looked around, trying to see if anything else looked all repeat-y, but Spike tugged her back against him with one hand splayed against her upper back, the other resting on her hip. She sighed, giving in to his silent request, and decided it didn't matter if they were on a time-loop. She was in heaven. Or pretty close, she was sure.

First of all, not only could Spike Macarena like a fiend, but he could also slow dance. Who knew that the punk rock vamp even knew what a slow dance was? When she'd seen him drop those bills in the tip jar, she'd expected every song to be about Rocking the White Wedding at the Casbah, but, no... they were sweet and romantic... at least the first couple of times through. Now, this one was getting a little stale. Still, happiness abounded. Spike's strong arms were around her, his hard body was against her—emphasis on the 'hard' part poking into her stomach—and he hadn't stepped on her feet even once. The Piña Coladas she'd had—was it four or five? Ten?— made her feel all floaty and a bit giddy. Or maybe that was Spike. Who could really tell? She was drunk-ish.

Drunk on love.

She blinked.

No, that couldn't be right.

Drunk on rum. Rum was absolutely the thing she was drunk on.

Not love.

Love was in the far distant future. A mythical someday that might never come. Because, you know, love and Buffy were unmixy. Saying that word was like a death knell for her relationships, sometimes literally. She'd just be happily drunk on rum for now. That was better.

Oh, can you see it, baby?
You don't have to close your eyes
'Cause it's standing right before you
All that you need will surely come

Spike sighed when Buffy pressed her cheek back into his shoulder. The Slayer felt like heaven, her lips not quite, but almost, touching the skin of his throat. Her soft, breathy exhale tickling the fine hairs on his neck, the way the coconut from her girly drink lingered on her tongue when he kissed her, those deadly hands splayed trustingly across his back, her perfect tits rubbing against his chest. Fuck, but he wanted her. Her heat seeped into his skin, warming him to his core. He couldn't stop his thoughts from wandering down winding paths that revealed a gloriously naked Buffy pressed up against him, atop him, beneath him, around him. He knew her heat would burn him deliciously, her passion would devour him, her strength would overwhelm him, and he longed for all that. Christ, he knew he told her he could wait, that he'd let her lead, but even with all his wanking, his balls were as blue as arctic ice. And all the dancing tonight, being this close to her, having her sweet, hot body pressed against his, was not helping the situation one little bit. And yet, he danced on, song after monotonous song, because she was here, sighing contentedly in his arms. If that was all he ever got, it would be enough. Well, maybe not, but it would be more than he'd ever dreamed he'd have.

Between school, patrol, dealing with Leana's (that was her name, right?) inane questions, and helping clean up at Hawley Manor, Buffy had been too exhausted this past week to try and learn about 'The Joy of Sex'. Now she wished she'd done more studying. This would've been the perfect night to move things along on the scientific research schedule, and parts of her—okay, most of her—was very ready for the moving along part of the program. Maybe they could at least find fourth base? Her body thrummed at the thought of Spike's lips on her sex, and her mouth watered as she imagined hers on his cock. She'd done okay on the other bases... though she'd never done 'fourth base' before, she dearly wanted to try it.

Spike's finger brushed beneath her chin and lifted Buffy's lips to his. Brilliant sparkles of desire quivered through her, making her head swim and her core throb with need as he kissed her truly, madly, deeply. No, wait, that was the song. Maybe she was drunk. Drunk on kisses and rum. Buffy was okay with that.

-X-

"Let's get outta here," Spike suggested as the band went on a break. The applause was loud and raucous as the Dingoes exited the stage and the house music came on. Spike assumed it was more in relief that they'd stopped playing that interminable song than in appreciation of their mediocre musical skills.

"I can't just leave," Buffy objected, though she was tempted. The night had been wonderful, but some real alone-time with her sweetie would be nice too—time when they could talk without shouting over the music.

"Sure ya can," Spike disagreed, turning her to face the direction of her friends. "Your mates are fine. The wolf can give 'em a ride home—be safe as houses."

It was true, she had to admit, as she watched her friends. Willow greeted Oz with a wide smile and a kiss, grabbing his hand and walking with him over to the bar. Xander seemed to be talking to the strange woman, Anya, engrossed in whatever it was he was explaining. Probably how he was a demon slug slayer or something. They weren't paying any attention to Buffy at all. And she had already spent a good amount of time with them between dances.

"Let me just tell Willow so she won't worry," Buffy agreed, lifting up on tiptoes to touch a kiss to Spike's cheek. "Meet you out front."

"Don't be long, got another surprise for the birth... for the Hot Chocolate Day festivities," he said temptingly, wagging his brows at her.

Buffy's eyes immediately dropped to the bulge in Spike's trousers and her whole body burned in embarrassment mixed with longing.

Spike chuckled. "Not what I meant, but if you want a little taste o' that, won't get any objections from me."

Oh crap! Did he hear me? Isn't that a talent some vampires have—kinda like thrall? Didn't I read that somewhere in one of Giles' snore-inducing books? I was thinking about sex bases and fourths and how yummy Spike's dick probably is…is he? Did he?... Stop it, Buffy! He can't read your mind, you're just drunk on Spike flavored kisses and rum flavored pineapples.

The Slayer's face was on fire when her eyes darted back up to meet his. She cleared her throat. "I'll just... yeah..." she stuttered, waving a hand in Willow's direction before scarpering off through the crowd.

Spike laughed again, unabashedly adjusted his aching cock in his slacks, and headed for the door to await his lady.

-X-

Buffy hadn't taken long to emerge from the hot air of the club into the cool night. Spike was leaning up against the wall across the street having a smoke. He pushed off and met her halfway, and they both turned toward home, Spike automatically falling in step on her left.

"So, what's this surprise?" Buffy wondered, pressing closer to her vampire.

He wrapped his right arm around her shoulders, tucking her in against his side as her arm snaked around his waist and hooked in one of his belt loops. "If I told ya, it wouldn't be a surprise now, would it?" he countered easily, taking another drag from his cigarette.

"Does it have anything to do with getting me all 'wet'?" she prompted, unable to hide the smile, remembering his limerick.

Spike snorted. "Everything I do has to do with making you wet, luv. Can't rightly help myself, can I? Just so sodding good at it."

Buffy laughed. "And so modest, too," she teased, rolling her eyes.

"Not easy being this bloody sexy. Reckon it's a cross I'll have to bear, though." Spike flicked ash off the end of the fag before inhaling another lungful of nicotine.

"Is it a poem?" Buffy continued, undeterred.

"Already gave ya a poem, didn't I?" Spike reminded her with a wolfish grin as they turned a corner onto a more residential street.

She poked him in the ribs. "No, I mean a real poem," she pouted.

Spike jerked from her good-natured assault, chuckling. "A real poem, eh? Something like...

"There once was a girl named Buffy,

"When I first came t' town she was stuffy,

"Always wearing a frown,

"But I'll turn it around,

"By sliding my cock up her muff—eee!"

The last syllable came out as a grunted squeak as Buffy jabbed him in the side again, harder.

"I'm serious!" she proclaimed, though her heart skittered between nervous worry and excited anticipation brought on by this new crude limerick.

Her vampire laughed, rubbing at his side. "Don't like m' limericks, then?"

"No... I mean, well, yes, they're... very limerick-y in a piggy sort of way, but I thought maybe I could get a real poem for National Hot Chocolate Day. Have you ever... written real poems?" she asked coyly.

Spike snorted and looked up at the dark sky. There were a few stars visible past the light pollution of the city. Stars that had no doubt witnessed his feeble attempts at poetry so many decades ago. Not that he'd ever stopped scribbling lines here and there, but he'd certainly stopped sharing it. After that time Angelus had found his journal full of flowery declarations of his undying love for Drusilla, he'd been very careful about leaving anything out that could be discovered.

He cleared his throat, lowering his gaze back to their path toward Revello, and began to recite,

"I love your lips when they're wet with wine,

"And red with a wild desire;

"I love your eyes when the lovelight lies,

"Lit with a passionate fire.

"I love your arms when the warm white flesh,

"Touches mine in a fond embrace;

"I love your hair when the strands enmesh,

"Your kisses against my face."

Buffy pulled him to a stop and turned him around to face her. "Is that...?"

"Not mine," Spike admitted, ducking his head, and rubbing his free hand across the back of his neck. "Just one I always liked... and it suits, yeah? Do love your lips, your eyes, your bloody fire. And your hair," he added reverently, reaching out to run his fingers through her silken tresses.

Joyce's words from their talk came back to Spike, 'Someone has to be brave enough to drop their defenses first or you're both going to end up crashing on the rocks and drowning in those waters.'

He steeled himself, the truth of his love tickling at the back of his throat, threatening to burst forth. He opened his mouth to let it out, then snapped it closed again. Christ, they'd only be 'dating' for a sodding week, and most of that had been spent cleaning up his future abode. Seemed too soon to be declaring his eternal love to this amazing woman. What if she laughed in his face? Or got scared off? What if she didn't love him back? What if she realized he was beneath her?

Buffy waited, noting that Spike had not answered her question about writing poems. It seemed like Spike was going to say more, but then he turned, and they both began walking again, sliding back into step, his arm over her shoulders, hers around his waist. "That was pretty, even if it wasn't original. So, you read a lot of poetry?" she ventured.

"A bit," Spike admitted.

"And you just happened to have that one memorized?" Buffy wondered.

Spike shrugged. "Some stick better than others."

"So... a poetry book? Is that my surprise?"

"P-lease! Who do you reckon you're dealing with here, Slayer? Sodding Angel?"

Buffy laughed. "No, I think we've firmly established that you are not Angel... or even Angel-adjacent."

"Too bloody right," Spike grumbled as they turned onto Revello. He hoped to hell she liked his surprise. Part of it he'd had for a while—before he'd even known he'd be in any position to give it to her. The other bit had been what his trip to the ticket agency had been for. Spike's nerves seemed to crackle with equal parts fear and excitement as they turned up the walk to 1630.

"'Round back," he informed her, tugging her through the side gate and into the back yard.

Buffy couldn't imagine what he could have hidden in the backyard for her. It was a little scary, honestly, because Spike was known to be a teensy bit impulsive. Heaven only knew what he might've gotten that didn't fit in the house! An elephant? A Sherman tank? A hot air balloon? A truckload of cheeseburgers?

But, as they rounded the corner of the house, nothing jumped out or loomed over them. Spike steered them toward the garage. At the door he stopped and slipped his arm from her shoulders, and Buffy released the hold she had on his belt loop.

"Give me a tick," Spike requested.

The Slayer stopped, bemused, as Spike slipped into the dark workout room, closing the door behind him. After a moment she could see soft light slipping from around the doorframe, which only confounded her more, because the lights in there were definitely not anywhere on the 'softness spectrum'.

She'd just about reached the end of her limited patience tether when the door swung open wide, and Spike invited her in with a courtly bow and sweep of one arm. "Happy Hot Chocolate Day, luv."

Buffy's breath caught in her throat when she stepped into the workout room. It had been transformed into something from a dream. Countless white, pillar candles were scattered about on the cement floor, (safely away from anything flammable), casting a warm, flickering glow over the large room. From the rafters above the mats, Spike had draped yards and yards of diaphanous fabric in a rainbow of muted colors. The ceiling had been transformed into a sky of flowing, soothing pastels. Blue, coral, lilac, mauve, mint, light yellow, and peach festooned the rafters and hung down in a wide circle of silken curtains. Woven within the gauzy clouds were strings of soft white fairy lights, which twinkled lazily, casting a rainbow of light and shadows over the entire room. Within the circle of glittering fabric there was a plethora of richly colored, cozy-looking pillows, and beneath the scattered pillows, covering a wide section of the old blue mats, was a large Persian carpet. As the centerpiece to it all were two wrapped gifts—a smaller, jewelry-box sized one perched atop a larger, much wider but rather flat one. Both were covered in teal blue paper, which blended nicely with all the other colors of the tableau.

"Spike," Buffy breathed, barely able to get the word out past the lump in her throat. "It's beautiful."

Spike smiled. "Just like you," he replied gallantly, but the tone of his voice was sincere. "Thought my girl might like a bit of frippery and finery for her special day."

"When... how?" Buffy wondered, still in awe, her eyes turning to meet his.

He shrugged, but was grinning, clearly pleased with her reaction. "Told ya before, never reveal my secrets."

She chuckled and walked over to the circle of fabric and the colorful rug. "It's like something out of Aladdin," she declared delightedly, running a hand down one of the sheer silken curtains.

"Was thinking 'Arabian Nights', so reckon that'll do," Spike admitted.

"And what are those?" she wondered, waving a hand at the gifts in the center of the rug.

Spike batted his lashes at her coquettishly. "Whatever could they be?" he asked teasingly. "Maybe the Hot Chocolate girl should have a gander."

"They're geese?" Buffy wondered, her brows furrowing. "I'm fairly sure waterfowl do not make excellent pets."

He snorted a laugh. "Gander, while also a male goose, means t' have a look, pet." As he had at the door, he waved his hand out in a grand gesture, inviting her into the fortress of fabric.

"Oh, well, why didn't you just say so?" Buffy chided, slipping out of her heels before stepping up onto the soft rug. "I swear I'm gonna get Willow to do a spell to make subtitles in English to pop up above your head like talky-bubbles in the comics."

Spike chuckled. "What fun would that be, luv?" he wondered, taking his cue from her, and slipping out of his dress shoes before following. "And, for the record, of the two of us, I'm the one who speaks proper Queen's English."

"Hmph," Buffy disagreed, settling herself down next to the wrapped gifts, tucking her lacy, black skirt around her legs modestly. "That'd be fine if you were talking to the Queen, but since you're talking to me, maybe you should try talking proper Buffy's English."

"Don't reckon anyone speaks fluent 'Buffy', pet. You're one of a kind."

She grinned. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"That's your prerogative," he teased, settling down onto the floor across from her, the gifts between them.

Buffy's heart was fluttering with nervous butterflies, skittering and skipping in her chest as she reached for the first small package. This was so much more than she'd ever imagined. She'd actually loved the gifts Spike had given her earlier; they had deeper meaning that only the two of them could understand. But this—this was overwhelming. The candles, the Aladdin-esque décor, and more presents. He hadn't needed to do any of this. She would've been perfectly happy with the M&Ms and postcard, and his naughty limerick. This was above and beyond anything she could've imagined the inexplicable vampire would have done. He clearly had depths Buffy had only begun to glimpse. It made her heart soar thinking of discovering every hidden talent her vampire possessed.

Spike bit his lip as he watched her slowly unwrap the first gift. He'd had these trinkets in the trunk of the DeSoto since before he'd left Dru. They were from that shop in Puerto Vallarta where he'd bought Dru's birthday present, the shimmering blood-red necklace. He'd been several blocks away from the shop, heading back to their hotel with Dru's baubles, before the niggling need to go back for these got the better of him.

At that time, he'd had no idea when he'd see Buffy again—or, frankly, if he ever would. At that point, his plan had been to head south to Brazil the next night with his dark princess, and he would've done just that if things hadn't gone so spectacularly tits up between them. He'd stashed these trinkets that reminded him so strongly of Buffy in the trunk of the DeSoto, well away from Dru's prying eyes (though possibly not from her pixies). Then he'd taken Dru her gift, not knowing if he'd ever have any reason or opportunity to give the hidden treasures to the Slayer, and trying his best to forget they were even there.

But now, here Buffy was, opening them, and it felt perfect. It was like the universe knew he'd be at her side as the new moon waxed to crescent slivers, as Dru had put it that night. The idea of going to Brazil with Dru seemed ludicrous now. Spike couldn't imagine being anywhere else but at Buffy's side. Not just today or tomorrow. But for all eternity, if he could somehow manage it.

Buffy slipped the white box from the paper and pulled the lid off. Her eyes danced with delight as she lifted the necklace from the box, dangling the golden-caged gemstone up to spark in the light of the candles. "Spike, it's beautiful," she breathed, watching it spin in a lazy circle, glinting like an orange sun even in the low light.

"Sunstone," Spike explained, his gaze soft and amazed as he watched the joy spread over her features. "From Sinaloa, on the northwest coast o' Mexico."

Her gaze darted up to meet his. "You bought this in Mexico?"

"Yeah," he admitted, shrugging, letting his eyes fall to the carpet between them. "Reminded me o' you, didn't it?" He looked back up at her, his expression open. "Lots of things reminded me of you, if I'm honest. But that... it shone, like you. Warm and bright and just... effulgent."

Buffy's brow furrowed. "Is that something naughty? Do I need to call you piggy again?"

Spike grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth. "Not as such. Though most thoughts I have of you are downright wicked, that particular word means 'radiant'."

She blew out an amused breath. "That's good, I guess," she said doubtfully. She held the necklace out to him. "Put it on me?"

"Usually dream o' taking things off your sweet little body, but I reckon I can make an exception," Spike agreed, taking the chain from her.

The thought of him undressing her made her tingle all over, but Buffy rolled her eyes dismissively at his suggestion as she shifted closer to him, turning her back and holding her hair up and out of the way. He spread his legs and Buffy settled down between them, not quite against him, but close enough for him to easily slip the chain around her neck. His fingers brushed her warm skin as he brought the clasp together, making a shiver dance down Buffy's spine and settle like a warm glow between her thighs. She felt the chain come to rest against her chest, but before she could drop her hair, Spike's lips had replaced his fingers, touching soft kisses to her overheated skin.

Buffy sighed, her eyes falling closed as he peppered her neck with gentle, reverent kisses. She'd never wished she'd had more time to study than in this moment. She'd only gotten a little way into the 'Joy of Sex', not nearly far enough to learn everything she needed to know. What she had read had been encouraging. The book had espoused that taking it slow was of the good. 'It's a mistake to run, so long as walking was a new and enchanting experience'. She was all about the walking, and so far, Spike had seemed happy to walk with her. Hopefully with the walking she could build up more confidence and actually figure out how to be good at running before they got to anything sprint-y.

His lips moved deliciously against her skin as he rasped, "Let's see, luv," before he pulled back from her.

Her whole body was quivering with undeniable yearning as she dropped her hair and turned around to show him the necklace. Spike lips. Lips of Spike. How amazing would they feel raining those kisses over her, drowning her in them? She cleared her throat and shook the thought off. Her body may want to go straight to the 100-yard dash, but her mind knew she needed to take it slower, be sure she was as prepared as she could be, so she didn't fall on her face coming out of the blocks.

Spike's eyes were like pools of pure adoration and awe when she faced him, his gaze sliding over her face, down to the stone that lay against her skin, just above the lace of her dress, then back up to meet her eyes. "Glorious, pet. Suits you. Like sunbeams and sandcastles."

Her hand fluttered up to touch the gem, which already felt warm as it lay against her chest. "I love it. Thank you. It feels... right. I can't explain it."

He nodded, reaching a hand out to lightly touch her cheek, his blue eyes locked on her green. "My Slayer... sunshine and moonbeams all wrapped up in one helluva woman."

Buffy grinned self-consciously, blushing, and ducked her head. "My vampire... I never thought... I mean, I dreamed of someone who..." She sighed and looked around at the candles and the Aladdin-esque transformation of the room. She swallowed and looked back at Spike. "Buffy and words are sometimes unmixy, but I'm hoping no one pinches me and wakes me up."

"Sayin' I'm your dream lover?" Spike asked, curling his tongue over his teeth.

The Slayer did the eye roll-y thing again just to stay in practice. "Well, that remains to be seen, but you're my dream Hot Chocolate Day date, yeah."

He grinned. "I'll take that. And anytime you wanna test the other, one dream date at your service, ready and willing to take the exam. Reckon that will be a practical; no number two pencils required."

"Not unless there's something kinky you like involving writing utensils," she teased.

Spike arched a brow. "Now that you mention it, I reckon, with a bit of practice, we could—"

"Don't even go there – wherever your dirty mind is going, just stop and back away slowly."

He chortled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "In that case, best open the other gifts, luv, keep my mind from wandering too far into the muck."

A shadow of confusion passed over Buffy's face because she only saw one other gift, but maybe he'd just misspoken. Still sitting close enough to touch Spike, she reached out and picked up what appeared to be the last gift. When she picked it up, she noticed a third item beneath it—a thin, smallish gift that had been covered by the larger box. Ooo... there were more gifts of the plural variety! She assumed Spike wanted them opened in order, so she focused on the large one in her hand.

With the paper ripped off, Buffy opened the box and pulled out a beautifully crafted wall hanging of a crescent moon eclipsing the sun in bright, vibrant colors. This also had to be from Mexico, she decided instantly. It was heavy ceramic, intricately painted, bold and full of life. The sun and moon both had faces, their lips nearly touching as the beacon of the night encroached on the symbol of light. Inlaid within the curve of the moon were small white stones which twinkled like stars, and around the circle of the sun were small dots of golden gems, which shimmered warmly. Buffy recognized the golden gems immediately—sunstone, just like her necklace. She tilted it to and fro, watching them glimmer in the candlelight. The white stones nearly matched the opal on her finger with their radiance. Each small gem seemed to have a sheen of moonlight moving beneath the surface, almost like a midnight reflection glowing in a clear, cool mountain lake.

"Spike, it's beautiful. I love it! I know just where to hang it in my room," Buffy exclaimed, looking up at him. "These are sunstones, aren't they? Like my necklace? But what are these others?"

"Moonstones," Spike explained. "Says on the back it's a stone for new beginnings, inner-growth and strength," he related, making Buffy turn the sculpture over to read the multi-lingual description on the back.

"'Sunstone is linked to luck and good fortune, heightens intuition, and allows the real self to shine through,'" she recited from the English portion of the sticker. "'Talavera Poblana. Handmade in Puebla, Mexico.'"

Buffy looked back up at him. "Something else that reminded you of me?" she teased.

"Told ya there were lots of things that reminded me of you," he confirmed with a shrug.

She looked back down at the moon and sun and nodded. "Because I live in both worlds... night and day. O-or is it supposed to be you and me... sun and moon?"

His heart swelled at that last suggestion, but the first had been his thought when he'd bought it. He was pleased that she'd gotten the deeper meaning of it—but he knew she would. "Could be either, I reckon," he admitted. "Darkness always seems to be trying to swallow your light, but you shine too brightly for that to happen. You simply glow with goodness, Buffy. It's infuriating and blinding sometimes... not sure how I don't dust just touching you, but can't stop myself. Like a moth to your flame, pet. You make me want to be better, to be worthy of your light, of your... affection."

Emotions welled in her eyes. Buffy blinked them back and swallowed hard before she could speak. "You are, Spike—worthy, I mean. I know... I know you aren't perfect, but I'm way down the perfection scale myself. And I know you've done things I probably don't want to know about, but I've seen how strong you are, how you can choose to... to walk in the sunlight. Not literally, of course, cos, dustiness isn't a good look on you, but, you know, in the metaphorical glow of the deadly ball of fire in the sky."

"Do my best to never let ya down, Buffy." Spike's gaze dropped to the wall hanging in her hands, unable to hold her eyes, afraid she'd see his all his insecurities.

She reached over and put a finger beneath his chin, gently lifting, bringing his eyes back to hers. "I trust you... I believe in you, Spike."

Spike felt like it was his birthday and Christmas and National Hot Chocolate Day all wrapped up into one. Buffy's heartfelt words warmed his heart, swelling his love for her to epic proportions. The declaration was just about to roll off his tongue when the door, which Spike apparently hadn't fully closed, swung open. The two blondes jerked around at the sound of the squeaking hinges to see a mound of copper and black fur sauntering in.

"Spike!" Buffy exclaimed. "What are you doing out here all by yourself?"

The big dog shook his head, ears flopping, tags rattling, before winding his way through the candles and over to the two humans.

"Mom sent you, huh?" Buffy interpreted, rolling her eyes. "Chaperone duty?" she guessed.

The vampire snorted. "Reckon her PG-13 rating applies to the entire property, then, eh?"

Buffy laughed as the big dog flopped down next to the two blondes and rolled onto his back for a belly rub. She wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or elated with his timely arrival. Maybe a little of both.

"Mom probably wishes she could apply it to the whole town... maybe the world," the Slayer joked, giving the Guardian his due, scratching and rubbing up and down his chest and tummy until his back leg began to kick involuntarily. Buffy patted him a couple of times. "That's it—I still have another gift to open," she informed him, shifting onto her hands and knees, and reaching over to retrieve the last package.

It was a book. There was no way it was anything but a book. Buffy wondered what it was about her that screamed, 'I would like a book for my birth—for National Hot Chocolate Day?' Nothing, that's what! And yet, she'd gotten three so far, including the one from Angel. Though, to be honest, the one Oz had given her was sweet beyond the telling, so maybe books weren't too bad.

The Slayer sighed, resigned to her fate as she sat back down. Deciding to get something more than a boring old book out of the deal, she turned her back to Spike, the vampire, sliding back between his still-outstretched legs until she felt his hardness against her back. The small moan that slipped from Spike's lips was a little boost to Buffy's confidence, making her smile as she wriggled slightly and settled against him. His arms slipped around her waist, and he rested his chin on her shoulder to watch as she opened the final gift.

Next to them, the dog realized he wasn't getting any more belly rubs, so he turned over. It took a moment to get his bulk comfortable as he settled into his favorite, 'lion's pose' position, so he could watch too. His brown eyes were bright and alert, taking everything in, even with his chin resting on his giant paws.

"Whatever could it be?" Buffy mused, her voice light and teasing.

Spike chuckled behind her, his chest vibrating against her back, almost like when he'd purred, comforting her after her nightmare. Buffy longed to feel that again, to fall asleep in his arms as that sound, that sensation, surrounded her. But she felt like it would be ridiculous now to ask him for that without... well, without the normal thing that would come before falling asleep in your boyfriend's arms.

Buffy slid the paper off and revealed—surprise, surprise—a book!

"'Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats'," Buffy read from the cover.

The dog lifted his head and peered at the book, his eyes darkening beneath furrowed brows. He made an inquiring, and unquestionably derogatory, huff as he leaned in to get a closer look.

Buffy flipped the book open to the first pages, her brows furrowing in confusion as she began to read,

"The naming of cats is a difficult matter,

"It isn't just one of your holiday games;
"You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter,
"When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES."

She stopped and turned her face toward Spike, leaning to the side so she could look at him. "It's a book of poetry," she stated flatly.

"Seems so," Spike agreed.

"About cats," she continued, drawing a disapproving snort from the dog.

"Two for two, Slayer."

"You said you didn't get me a poetry book," Buffy reminded the vampire.

"Never said that."

"You did so!" she insisted. "When I suggested you would get me a book of poetry, you said, 'Who do you think I am, Angel?'" Buffy repeated, lowering her voice and adding in a horrible accent.

"'Xactly," he agreed, smirking. "Never said I didn't get ya a book of poems, though, now did I?"

Buffy stared at him, dumbfounded, for several long moments. "Do you split hairs professionally, or is it just a hobby?"

Spike's laugh was a melody of joy as it burbled from his throat, his eyes dancing with glee. "Have ya never heard o' that book before?" he wondered.

The Slayer looked back down at it. It was old; the copyright said 1939—make that 'ancient'. It was by T.S. Eliot. She'd certainly heard of T.S. Eliot, but couldn't name one of his poems off the top of her head. She thumbed through the book. It had pictures of cats on the cover and inside, cats in top hats and cats in tails, dancing cats, and flying cats, and magical cats. Cats doing things that cats didn't normally do. And, it had poems about cats. All about different cats, like Rum Tum Tugger, Mr. Mistoffelees, and Mungojerrie... and why did those names sound vaguely familiar?

Buffy shook her head, unable to place where she'd heard them. She looked back up at her boyfriend, her expression helpless and expectant. Was this supposed to mean something to her? Had there been a cat incident that she'd forgotten about? Was this an inside joke she was supposed to get? Was she already a horrible girlfriend, forgetting something meaningful and important about cats that had occurred between them?

"More to it than the poems, pet. Got a couple o' other bits and bobs in there, as well," he informed her, tilting his chin back toward the book in her hands. "Check out the back flyleaf."

Her face was a study in concentration and curiosity as she opened the back cover and found, "Tickets to 'Cats'?! As in... 'Cats'?! As in the musical on Broadway?" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with wonder as she pulled the tickets from the back of the book. And then it all fell into place. THAT was where she'd heard those names before... the cat names. Not that she'd ever seen 'Cats', but it had been playing on Broadway forever, and some of the songs and names had just become part of Americana.

Spike, the dog, sniffed at the tickets she was holding and sneezed violently to show his displeasure with the whole idea. Cats. Hmph!

Spike, the vampire, grinned, the small worry that she wouldn't like it burning away with her growing excitement. "The very one... though it's a bit closer. It's touring."

Buffy looked back at the tickets. They were for the coming Saturday night at the Orpheum Theatre in San Francisco. There was another paper in with them which she pulled from the back of the book: reservations at the Four Seasons Embarcadero for Friday and Saturday night. A two-bedroom suite, no less! A road trip... with a Broadway show! That was a giant leap up from the tatty motels they'd stayed in on their last road trip, and the entertainment of watching 'The Price is Right' on a fifteen-inch TV.

"Holy shit! Spike!" Buffy exclaimed, turning in his arms and launching herself at him. They tumbled back onto the luxurious rug, scattering pillows as they bounced, rebounding on the soft mats beneath. Straddling him, Buffy began peppering his face with exuberant kisses. "I... can't... believe... you... got... these!" She breathed each word between warm pecks to his cool skin, before pulling back to look into his eyes. "I love it. I can't even tell you how much!"

"Know there isn't any frozen water t' be had, but thought we could start a new tradition for your... day," Spike explained, his blue eyes gleaming with elation and ardor in the twinkling lights as he looked up at her. "One that'll never be broken. Got my word on that."

Buffy's eyes suddenly shimmered with moisture, and she bit her lip, trying her best to keep the tears back. Her chin quivered as she nodded. "Thank you," she rasped, blinking rapidly, but failing to keep the emotions from slipping down her cheeks. She dropped down and wrapped her arms around him in a bone-crushing hug, burying her face against his chest. She let the tears wash away the pain of her father's abandonment, allowing it to be replaced by undiluted happiness and an unfamiliar giddy hope for the future. "This is amazing. So perfect. Thank you so much. I can't believe you did this... that you thought of... that you fixed it."

His arms wrapped around her, holding his beautiful girl in a fierce embrace. "Fix the world for you, if I could, pet. Do ya really like it?"

"A giant 'no' to the liking—I love it! I couldn't have asked for anything better," Buffy assured him sincerely, pulling back again so she could see his bluer-than-blue eyes. They were so expressive, so full of... god, they were so full of hope, of love. It looked like love anyway. Could it be love? Her own heart exploded with giddy streamers and joyful balloons. Love-shaped confetti rained down in her soul, making the words tickle the back of her throat, flow over her teeth, take shape on her tongue.

Buffy opened her mouth to let them tumble out when a hot, slobbery tongue smacked against her cheek. "Argh! Spike!" she exclaimed in horror as she recoiled from the assault.

"Oi! Bugger off!" the vampire demanded, pushing at the big dog's chest, moving him back across the carpet a foot or so. "Still in the PG-13 range, you tosser!"

This was just the fun that was missing from the dog's life! He lunged back toward the couple, pressing his huge muzzle and cold nose between their necks. Let's see a stupid cat do that! Dogs were so much better than cats!

Buffy and Spike tried to repel him, but each attempt only made the happy dog redouble his attack, wriggling and waggling and licking until he breached their defenses and got his whole head between them, lifting Buffy's upper body off the supine vampire.

"Spike! Stop!" Buffy demanded, though she was laughing too much to make it a credible command.

The vampire cursed in words Buffy was sure were not 'proper Queen's English' as he grabbed the big dog's ruff and shook him.

This just made the Guardian more excited to play! Within moments the scene devolved into shrieks of laughter from Buffy and good-natured growls from the two Spikes as they wrestled on the soft Persian carpet. Pillows flew from their path as doggie-Spike attacked, then retreated, ran around them, tail flailing madly, tongue lolling dangerously, then darted back in to nuzzle and lick at exposed flesh, drawing more laughter from Buffy and death threats from the vampire.

Buffy covered her face, ducking her head, calling for bleach and Lysol to get rid of the germs of Spike as she tried to protect the book and the tickets from the same fate as her skin. The vampire gave back as good as he got, rolling the dog away from them, tumbling him several feet across the soft mats. The dog took it all in stride. As soon as he came to a stop, he'd leap up and charge again, a huge slobbery, doggie-grin plastered to his lips, seeming to love being manhandled by his namesake.

The shrieks and laughter and growls finally surrendered to joyful, but exhausted gasps for breath, even from the vampire. The three combatants flopped bonelessly onto the carpet, panting for air. Buffy was still laughing softly and even the vampire let a low, rumbling chuckle fall from his throat. The dog's pink tongue dangled wetly from his dark lips, his mouth seemingly turned up into an irrepressible smile.

The Slayer grabbed one of the pillows that wasn't too gooey. She turned on her side, facing her dog, and slid the pillow beneath her head. She sank her fingers into his thick fur and shook him affectionately, still chuckling, her heart light. How did she manage to end up with two goof-ball Spikes in her life? Two strong warriors? Two growling demons? Two loyal friends. Two Spikes that she loved with her entire heart?

The vampire rolled over and curled behind her, sharing the pillow, pulling her back to his front, wrapping an arm across her waist, holding her in a loving embrace.

There was that word again. Love.

Buffy snuggled back against him with a contented sigh as she petted her dog. "I love you, Spike."

-X-

Chapter End Notes:

OH MY! WHAT DID BUFFY SAY? And which Spike was she talking to? We'll find out on Sunday!

References:

Song by Savage Garden, Truly, Madly, Deeply.

Poem Spike recites to Buffy: 'I Love You' BY ELLA WHEELER WILCOX

True, certified Talavera pottery is produced in the city of Puebla, in the state of Puebla, Mexico however, high-quality, modern Talavera pottery is also available from factories in other Mexican districts such as Dolores Hidalgo and Guanajuato.

From the time of the Olmecs, between 1200 BC and 600 AD, pottery has been a central part of Mexican life. Their use of clay, knowledge of primitive firing and coloring techniques, as well as designs was passed down to other cultures that followed. The Olmecs are considered by many as the mother culture of Mesoamerican civilizations.

Quotes from 'Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats' which can be found on Amazon

'Cats' did go on tour, but it did not actually go to the Orpheum Theatre in San Francisco)

'Cats' printable ticket stubs can be found on ETSY

The wall hanging can be found on Unicefusa dot org marketplace (note that I embellished it here with the moon and sun stones)