Ok, God. Here's the thing.

Buffy tapped restlessly on the bar top that bordered the small kitchenette, glancing again at the clock and hoping like hell it was wrong.

It wasn't supposed to go down like that, I promise. I mean, you know me. The worst thing I've ever done is slip eye drops into the wine at service that one time. It gave everyone diaria, but I was like 13! Granted, this is a little heavier than that, but can you really blame me?...Don't answer that.

She sipped at the bottled water she'd scrounged up from the fridge and tried not to think about the many ways her mother was going to kill her, just to bring her back and do it again. She was supposed to go to church, make with the praying and high-tail it home. Now it was not only the next day, but 3 PM, the next freaking day.

"Oh god oh god oh god…" she chanted, letting her eyes fall closed and dreaming of a world where Joyce Summers simply fell asleep, assuming her wonderful 18 year old Buffy would come home at the right time. However, knowing her mother, the woman was still pacing the front hallway, phone in hand to make yet another missing person's report on her "Precious angel".

She'd never planned on anything but dinner with the dangerously charming Spike Pratt. They'd sat in a cozy little diner by the window and talked. Well, he'd talked, and she'd answered his questions because she'd been too nervous to think of topics on her own. Then had come the ride home in his bench-seated old car where they'd been stuck behind one of those trains that was like 10 miles long and the silence had started to get a little awkward, and just when she'd been thinking about how bored and uninterested he must have been, Spike had leaned over and kissed her.

It wasn't her first kiss, of course, that had gone to a dumb high-school jock named Riley Finn. He, like all boys (as her Mother told her) wanted nothing more than to lay claim on one of the few attractive virgins at Sunnydale Prep. And while she had wondered if she was doing it right, Riley Finn and everything else logical had skipped right out of her mind when Spike had given her that single, startlingly passionate, kiss. He'd asked her if she wanted to come back to his place, and her reply had been a breathy, stupid "Ok."

That had led to badness. First there was the initial flirting and tour of his humble apartment, in which he hung up his fantastic leather trench coat and she got her first eyeful of the large, mouth-watering arms beneath it. After that she'd somehow found herself beneath him on the torn, brown couch, bra missing and unable to convince herself that stopping was the smart option.

So you see, it really isn't all my fault.

She could just imagine the stern look she was getting from the Heavenly Father at that moment and groaned, dropping her head down onto the bar.

"Morning, luv. How'er you feelin'?"

Buffy popped up at the sound of his accented voice, and turned on the spinning stool. At the sight of him, her brain sort of fizzled out for a moment. Sans shirt, Spike was wearing his faded and abused jeans, slung low on his hips. All the taught, pale flesh of his wonderful abdomen and arms on display. He yawned, scratching his head of wild platinum hair and strolled into the kitchen to dig through the fridge.

"Good…kinda sore-ish."

"'See you helped yourself to my things." He said casually, noticing the water she'd been sipping. Feeling instantly embarrassed, she pulled her hands away from it and shook her head.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know you-"

He leaned back up to look at her over the door of the fridge with a curious smile. "I'm teasing you, Buffy."

"Oh." She said, looking down at her hands on the bar, "Yeah…Sorry."

He came back from his plundering with a carton of OJ, taking a swig right from the thing and squinted at her. "You alright, luv? You seem a bit…I dunno, jumpy."

"No." she smiled tightly, shaking her head again, "No jumpy Buffys here, just this one. We call her cool and collected."

"That right?" he smirked, sipping at his orange juice and watching her over the top.

"Oh yeah." Shut up shut up shut up! "So…You're English." She propped her chin on her hand. "How does that work?"

He shrugged, "Mostly I just don't pronounce the G at the end of 'ing' words."

She laughed, "No. I meant-"

"I know what you meant." He said setting down the carton. For some reason the intensity of his icey-blue eyes was making her nervous. She felt like she was trying to impress the big-kids at school with her stuffed animal collection, and so far wasn't making the cut.

After a moment of silence, Spike moved out of the kitchen walking his fingers along the edge of the bar. Buffy watched his progress, but couldn't keep contact with his gaze anymore without hurling up more word-vomit.

"So, this is your first one. How's it going?"

"First what?" she asked with a frown as he turned her stool and stepped in between her legs, hands on either side of the bar behind her.

"Your first morning after." He replied, ducking his head to catch her eyes when she blushed and looked down.

"Well," she sighed, "that's a tough one."

"How so?"

"On the one hand, it's not nearly as awkward as I thought it would be,"

"And the other?" he smiled, eyes flashing in a way that sent flutters through Buffy's stomach.

"I'm pretty sure my mother thinks I ran away and I've completely missed school."

He shrugged, "That's not so bad. Schools are just factories spewing out mindless automatons." When she arched a brow, he cleared his throat. "Who go on to become valued members of society. So you should go."

"I'll keep that in mind." She said, looking over at the clock on the wall and wincing.

"That bad?" Spike asked, turning her chin back to face him so he could search her expression.

"Well, classes are from 8 to 1, so…yeah."

"Guess we should get you home then." He said, not moving. His eyes lowered to her mouth then returned, smoldering the way they had last night when he'd been inside her. Another shutter passed down her spine and she took a shaky breath.

"Yeah. My mom's already gunna kill me as it is."

But he was starring at her mouth again. When she began to say something else to the effect of "Let's go" he was already leaning forward, fingers slipping up into her hair and fisting it tightly. He kissed her with possession, claiming her mouth and leaving her breathless, his tongue pushing passed her lips to find her own. Buffy melted, hands out at her sides, unable to decide where she wanted to put them. And then his free hand was on her thigh, ghosting slowly up her skirt and raising it as he went.

She tried to pull back, to tell him that she really needed to get home, but his thumb was already on her panties, pressing against her clit through the fabric and moving in a slow circle. Her words melted into a soft whimper, and Spike titled his head to watch her, kissing the corner of her mouth and smirking.

Her hands finally decided to rest on his shoulders, sliding down to his pecs when he moved in closer and hooked his arms under both her knees to lift her up onto the bar top. With a soft growl that rumbled deep in his chest, he swept away the bottles and loose clothes that had been resting on the bar, then laid Buffy out on it, climbing up to settle over her.

She sucked in a breath as he pressed the swelling bulge in his jeans between her legs, teasing her with a slow grind. His mouth found her throat, his teeth closing over the sensitive flesh there. She winced, digging her nails down into his shoulders and was met with a devilish grin when he returned to kiss her again.

"Mm..Spike?"

He kissed a trail back down her throat, and over her collarbone. "Hmm?"

"As much as I'd l-love to-ahh…um, do this…"

He continued his trail farther down, across her stomach down below her navel. His hands were on her knees, rising up and spreading her legs as he went. She looked down at him, biting hard on her lower lip and cursed softly.

"Wait, Spike-"

But he wasn't listening. Bunching her skirt up around her waist, he kissed her hip and finally his eyes lifted to meet hers. Buffy was shaking now, excited and terrified all at once. This was all new to her, and he wasn't one to take it slow, that much was clear. He saw this, recognized her fear and continued despite it.

Spike drew her cotton panties down her thighs, tucking them into the back pocket of his jeans and opened her legs again. She blushed hotly when he paused to look down at her. She couldn't read his expression, didn't know the first thing about what he was thinking, and hated it. After a long moment she opened her mouth to speak but he raised a finger and touched it to her lips, shaking his head.

"No need to be nervous, luv. Just lie back. I'll take care of you."

Buffy did as he requested, still starring down into his eyes and he never looked away from hers. Not even when he bent down, and closed his mouth over the slick flesh between her thighs, drawing his tongue right up the center. Her back arched and she bit down on her finger to muffle a startled moan. Spike repeated the motion, watching her still, and then his tongue was dipping into her, spearing her, then pausing to draw on her clit.

Her eyes squeezed shut then, her back lifting right off the bar top, though Spike held her in place easily enough.

"Hnn..Spike, I….Maahh…" The words became nonsensical and she just stopped trying, moaning loudly instead. Her hand shot down of its own volition to tangle in his messy hair, her head falling back. Her little sounds of pleasure were growing in frequency when suddenly he pulled back.

"Wha…are you..?"

Spike grinned, slow and predatory, climbing back up her body to kiss her so hard it bruised. She could taste herself on his lips, and didn't quite know what to make of it. He took her wrist, pinning it above her head while his other hand fumbled with his belt buckle.

"Did you like that, pet?" he asked against her lips, "The way I make you feel?"

"Yes." She answered quickly. She'd been so close, and now nothing! She needed him to finish, he had to.

"You want me to keep going?" he asked, settling down over her. She could feel him, hard and ready against the inside of her thigh. She tried to reach down and position him in, but he caught her wrist and pinned it down with the other above her head. She squirmed, frowning up at him, and Spike chuckled.

"Tell me, Buffy," he murmured, gazing down at her. The intensity was back again making her heart race. "Tell me what you need."

"Finish," she said, lifting her hips, but he shifted just out of her reach with a smirk.

"Finish what?"

"This damnit." She snapped without meaning to. Spike kept her wrists pinned with one hand, while the other skimmed down her body to pass teasingly across her folds. She squirmed a bit more, gulping down a breath.

"You want me inside you." He said and despite being a little embarrassed by his words, she nodded. "You want me to make you come? All you have to do is ask, Buffy."

Brow furrowing she looked up at him, gasping when he drew his finger across the swollen flesh between them.

"Ask, Buffy," he said, gazing down almost coldly into her eyes.

"Spike…" his brows rose expectantly, while she searched for the right words. After another teasing stroke from his fingers, she couldn't stand it anymore and sucked in a breath for courage. "Please. Do it."

Spike grinned, arching a brow, "Not quite what I was looking for, but it will do, this time."

Buffy's eyes fell closed again when mercifully Spike positioned himself and made the first push into her. He slid only an inch or so inside before pulling back out to start the process again, and for a moment, she wanted to kill him.

"Stop teasing me." She managed to say, frowning when Spike only laughed.

"But you get so flustered when I do. I can't help it." He rocked forward, sliding in another inch and pulling away.

Finally having had enough of it, Buffy wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him down, arching up to take him in all the way. She was still a bit sore from last night, so the pressure of his size was a bit shocking at first, but when he laughed and pulled back to slide deep into her again, all she felt was the swelling pleasure of it all. His rhythm was slow at first, as always, but built quickly, until Buffy was letting out short bursts of sound from each thrust. Raising her hips to meet his and arching up against him with abandon. It wasn't long at all before she threw back her head for a hollow cry, her body shuttering around him, pulsing with her heart beat.

And still Spike continued, rocking forward and driving into her. Riding out her orgasm. She couldn't even make noises anymore, though her mouth was open. Instead, she lay there, super-sensitive and unable to beg him to stop, to show her just a little mercy because surely all this feeling was going to kill her. And then, just when she knew she couldn't take a single second more, Spike let out a low growl that rumbled from his chest into hers and slumped, for just a moment over her, breathing nearly as hard as she was. He rolled onto his back, eyes closed and hand resting on her lower belly.

"That was…oh god, that was just…"

"Bloody wonderful." He supplied. Buffy nodded.

"Yeah, it was that."

After a moment where they both laid on the bar enjoying those last echoes of orgasm, Spike sat up and jumped down. He took her hand and pulled her toward the edge of the bar.

"Time to wash up." He said.

"I don't know if I can-" But he just swept her up into his arms and they were moving toward the back room passed the bedroom where she'd learned she could put her feet over her head and into the bathroom.

Spike set her on the counter and moved to his shower-bath combo thing, turning on the water and testing it with the back of his hand. After he'd gotten it the way he wanted, he turned to Buffy and crooked a finger.

"Come here." He said, the tone in his voice leaving no room for argument.

Buffy hopped off the counter and moved nervously to him, wringing her hands. He brushed the hair from her face and lifted her chin, gazing steadily down at her.

"Strip." Was all he said and Buffy couldn't help her little unsure frown, but did as he told her. Very soon she was naked in front of him, waiting as his eyes drank her in, taking his time to look at her. Then he pulled her close and kissed her, gentle and sweet, reminding her that he could be so, and led her under the spray of warm water.

What was meant to be a simple shower become, Spike directing her on how to wash, then helping, and then she was pressed up against the tile and washing was completely forgotten. They seemed to be caught in a loop. He couldn't stop touching her and she sure as hell wasn't going to make him.

An hour had passed when they finally stumbled from the shower and got dressed. Her in the rumbled clothed she'd had, him in black jeans and tight grey and black tee-shirt. Buffy was halfway through a giggle when he froze in the hall however, starring into the living room at…

"Oh." She said, clutching at his arm. She was so screwed.

"Bloody hell, James, I've been waiting here for nearly an…" but his words trailed off when he spotted the wide-eyed Buffy and couldn't look away.

"Father William?" she squeaked, freezing in place. Spike arched a brow, glancing between them while the priest's eyes flashed in anger and he turned to his twin.

"Can you not help yourself? Is it your calling to tarnish everything you come across?"

She ducked her head, suddenly all too interested in the loose strings on her shirt. Spike grabbed the priest's arm pulled him off into the kitchen to exchange harsh whispers between one another. After a moment or two William gave an incredulous laugh.

"Absolutely not!" He snapped, "I will not contribute to this…this-"

"Oh, Will, don't be such a prat." Spike rolled his eyes, "Put yourself in her position."

Oh, to know what they were talking about, seeing as it was about her. Buffy scowled and looked over at them, momentarily meeting the priest's eyes.

"I would never be in her position." He retorted, throwing his hand out toward the horrified girl. His twin's eyes narrowed then.

"Well, that's not true now is it?" The priest's mouth snapped shut, lips thinning in anger. "In fact, why don't I tell her all about that?"

"Do not threaten me James."

"Then don't be a git. Help us out. Help her out."

There was a long time when no one spoke and Buffy tried her best to melt into the couch she gone to sit on. Then, pinching the bridge of his nose, beneath his glasses, Father William sighed.

"Ms. Summers?"

She kept her eyes on the floor, hand folded in her lap. "Yes Father?" her voice was soft and miserable.

"Give me your mother's cell phone number."

She looked up at him then, startled, glancing at Spike. He nodded, his devilish smile from before back in place.

"At a boy." Spike said as his disgruntled twin snatched his own cell from his pocket and opened it.

"Shut your gob." He snarled back.