Spike leaned back in the hot tub, watching a few flakes drift down around him. The hot water was warming his body, but he could barely contain the urge to invade her space. He could hear her erratic heartbeat faintly over the bubbling water. He knew she wanted him. The sweet scent of her desire was nothing new, but tonight was different. Tonight, she was flitting about inside their shelter with the curtains drawn, doing heaven only knows. He shook his head and sank completely below the water.

The noise in the water, of the water really, broke his auditory connection to the world around him. It was unsettling. Reminded him of being in that damned wheelchair. He couldn't stand limitations. He pushed his head above the surface of the water and took a deep breath.

She had put on music, jazz, slow and seductive. He'd never had this, had someone do for him. He wasn't a fool. Being Buffy's chosen lover didn't guarantee her eternal devotion. The pressure her assorted connections would rain upon them might rip her from him. She was only eighteen, she could change her mind. He gripped the sides of the hot tub. None of it mattered. He was hers for as long as she would have him.

"Spike, are you trying to boil yourself?" Buffy called.

He surged out of the water and dried off quickly. It wouldn't do to lose too much of his body heat to the predawn air. He wrapped the towel around his hips, slid the door aside, and stepped into a fantasy of candles.

He knew this room. He'd whispered descriptions of it into the delicate shell of her ear while her watcher carried on about his blindness. White candles of different shapes and sizes covered most of the flat surfaces in the room. Their flickering light was so much kinder than the harsh glare of electric lights. The bed was turned down, ready for them.

"Do you like it?"

His eyes flicked toward her voice. She stepped out of the bathroom. The room, the music, the inviting bed disappeared. There was only Buffy in her white lace baby doll nightie. She worried her lower lip with her teeth while he stood there, stupefied. His wedding night fantasy surrounded them. She had made it real.

"I love it." He swallowed. "It's perfect, and you are a goddess."

"So, I don't look silly?" Her cheeks flushed a rosy pink. "It isn't too much?"

"You're perfect, my love." He moved toward her and ghosted his fingers along the lace. She had planned this, had brought these things with her. She had known what she wanted all along, and it was him.

"I didn't like the longer ones. I'm so short, and, well, this one had real lace." She was babbling like a brook. He smiled, pulled her tight to his body and kissed her.

Buffy melted against him, supple and yielding. Every great poet alive or dead had written about her. They had eloquence and imagination, and he had envied them each in their turn. None of that mattered. He had the girl, the woman. She was in his arms. She pulled back and pressed her forehead against his as she gasped for air.

He stoked her shoulders, running his fingers along the lace edges of her gown. She smelled divine. He took another deep breath, reveling in the scent of his slayer.

"I wanted to do all of this for you. It was supposed to be..."

"Our wedding night." She finished his sentence and smiled. "I tried to get it right. I know we can't get married. You would need papers and stuff for that, but I wanted it to be special. I'm not kidding. I can't lose you."

"You won't. I'm yours." He stroked her hair back from her face. She touched his chest with one hand.

"I'm not good with words like you are. I get flustered and I babble, so just listen." She waited until he nodded before she continued. "When I give myself to you, I am giving all of me. I'm not offering you a piece. You wanted me to be all in. I am. I don't want to try this. I want to do it. I thought we should try dating, but that's putting us through their hoops. I know it's fast. I know it's reckless."

"I'm yours." He put a finger against her lips. "If you want to return to Sunnydale and announce to one and all that we're together, I will stand beside you while we take all comers."

Buffy bit his finger. He stared at her in shock as she kissed the teeth marks she had left behind.

"I told you I needed to talk, so listen." She looked so adorable with her hands fisted on her hips, spitting mad and dressed for pleasure.

He grinned and nodded.

"First." She grabbed his hand and shoved his skull ring into it. "You didn't give me this because you wanted me to have it. Willow's spell made you do it. I should have returned it."

He slid the ring onto his right ring finger. It seemed heavier now.

"Second, I want to belong to you. I hope you feel the same way, but if you don't, it doesn't matter."

"What are you getting at, Pet?"

"I want you to claim me. I'd like to make it mutual, but if you aren't sure I'll wait."

He was gobsmacked, pure and simple. He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her, resting his head on top of hers. She couldn't know what she was saying.

"I know what I'm doing. I did the research after our engagement. I sat there with that book in my lap and wished we had done that because I would've still had you with me. I know what I want. The only thing I don't know is what you want."

The poet was fast and furious in his head. He couldn't ruin this with the wrong words. He plucked her up, cradled her in his arms, and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

Carrying her to their bed, he placed her gently in the middle and pulled away to look at her. She was all golds and roses, flush with life and fire. The white gown draped across her skin, revealing and concealing in turn. He stroked her thigh with the backs of his finger.

"I wish I had more to give you than a white nightie." She touched the fabric skimming her abdomen.

The hint of regret in her tone pulled at him. He wanted her to come to him in joy.

"We have pasts." He slid his body next to hers, holding the towel in place. "Mine's a bit darker than yours. Wouldn't change it though. It brought me to this place at this time with you. Even the damned chip, I accept it. I wouldn't have gotten to touch you like this without it."

He placed his hand on her abdomen, remembered human fantasies of hearth and family, and closed his eyes. She was offering him a place in the world. She would be his home.

She shifted her body, sliding closer to him, and caressed his face with one hand. Their gazes locked. Her hands slid down and pulled the towel away from him and tossed it to the floor.