A pause stretched between them, almost uncomfortable with its heavy weight.

"It wouldn't be the same as before," Buffy said eventually, and Spike felt his dead heart sink a little. A lot. Fuck, it was all of a sudden a cold dead lump in his gut. "We're not betrothed," she added.

He sucked in a cheek in contemplation, spinning the rings on his right hand with his thumb in thought. Spinning the fat silver skull that until recently had graced the ring finger of her left hand.

Didn't say no, said that catastrophically suicidal voice at the back of his head. He was unsure why he kept listening to it. It seemed to be trying to persuade him right into a goddamn hive of problems.

Still, he was incapable of making good decisions, especially when his heart wanted something.

"You're not saying you don't want to," he observed. "Can you say that, Buffy?"

She was quiet. Studying him and not saying anything in response, her arms linked around the one leg she had up between them like a barrier.

What he'd give to be in her head right now and hear the thoughts whirring away. It seemed like she was wrestling with them. There was an elevated spike in her heart rate that indicated she was either angry or… or considering his proposal. Her eyes weren't sharp, no fierce glare burning him where he sat so chances were that it wasn't the former.

Which left, unbelievably, the latter. Maybe he'd gotten deeper under her skin than he thought. The engagement spell had certainly been potent and he'd laid it on thick when he was under it. He wasn't one to shy away from affection—never had been—and she'd lapped it up like she was starved for it.

Which was probably the case. He doubted the Big Brood had been so carefree with her (even weighing up Angel's years against his day, Spike could cover a lot of ground emotionally when he wanted to) and her college sweetheart of a day and a night had promptly kicked her to the curb after he'd had his fun.

If Buffy had anything in common with himself, Spike reckoned it was probably a deficiency in affection. That little taste of a happy ending they'd shared was hard to let go of. He could admit that to himself now. He was still clinging to it. He was still craving it. He wanted more of her…

Maybe she felt the same…

"You should stop," Buffy murmured and he realized he'd leaned in closer. A lot closer; his head was tilted just slightly, his arm over the back of the sofa that was oh so close to holding her, his eyes downcast staring at her mouth as she broke that gravitational pull that had him nearly sinking his mouth down over hers.

After taking stock of himself his gaze finally flicked up, registering the tremor of uncertainty in her voice.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked, looking her dead in the eyes and seeing just how wide her pupils had blown. Just how dark they were, with a shimmering line of green hemming in the bottomless black.

Silence greeted him. Verbal silence anyway; the sound of Buffy's heart thudding away—the pulse point at her neck drumming wetly—was loud enough all on its own.

"Is that what you want?" he repeated.

"It's what I'm telling you to do," she replied, neatly stepping around the denial she wouldn't be able to make.

It hurt, but he obeyed, and took himself back an inch or two, settling into Giles' sofa as he tried not to dwell on the painful tightness in his chest.

She stared at him, looking… surprised. That was the only way to describe that little crease between her eyebrows. Like she hadn't expected him to listen. Like she was waiting for him to give her another reason to call him a monster.

He stared back. Stayed nice and still. Doing nothing to incite another fist across his nose.

And then ruined it.

"You ever done roleplay, luv?" he asked, cocking his head.

Buffy's face darkened, her cheeks burned with embarrassment.

He caught her wrist before she could hit him (as he probably deserved to be). He mentally put tally to the men she'd been with; both one-nighters, hardly enough time to get acquainted with anything more advanced than an artless rutting into a lumpy mattress.

"I'm not suggesting—" he cut himself off with a slight breathless chuckle because he was suggesting, but there was a lot that had to come first, including the point he was about to make. "I meant… how would you feel about a bit of play-acting?"

Indignation faltered as confusion creased her brow.

"Explain," she instructed as she pulled her wrist out of his grip. He opened his mouth and she interrupted him. "If it's anything but rated E for Everyone I'll give you more than just a nosebleed this time."

Spike pumped an eyebrow, implying she could do what she liked and he'd welcome it, suppressing a chuckle when she hollowed her cheeks in a scowl.

"What if," he started, and wet his lip, wanting to feel the pressure of her kiss again. "What if we were… betrothed… again?"

Buffy snorted. "I'm not marrying you, Spike—"

"M'not asking you to, Slayer," he interrupted, matching her dismissal with a sharp tone he couldn't help. He took a deep breath to shake it off. "It's just the spell was nice. I… I dunno, I liked it," he shrugged defensively. It felt insane, being about to reveal to his supposed eternal nemesis—who had in no small words repeatedly proclaimed her loathing for him—just how happy the engagement had made him.

But neither could he stop himself; his naturally loose-tongued nature unifying with the truth spell to spill every secret he had left.

"I liked belonging to someone," he continued, self-consciously. "Liked planning the whole thing. Feeling all… complete. Happy." He paused again, wishing he could stop, but it was too late now. Might as well try and make it worth it. "So… what if we pretended we still were?"

Buffy's face was a picture of bewilderment. "You want to pretend we're getting married?"

Spike nodded. Mad as that sounds…

The idea that he might be able to persuade Buffy into going along with rekindling their strange and brief spark had become worth the risk of a brutal shutdown. Maybe it was lunacy—scratch that, it definitely was—but under the spell, in her arms, he'd finally found some respite from the caustic loneliness Dru had saddled him with after giving him his marching orders. He needed something to distract him from it. He was one minor setback away from purposely falling on a stake.

Besides, Buffy was as far from Dru as it was possible to get. If he was feeling something for her, if the spell had planted a seed he couldn't get rid of, at least there'd be no risk of cross-contamination. Of becoming a trained, house-broken toy the way he had for his sire.

"Doesn't have to be more'n pretend," he continued. "We could-," he swallowed, a strange sense of terror taking hold, similar to the apprehension he'd felt as he'd dropped onto one knee in front of her. Baring his soul (or whatever equivalent he possessed). "We could sort of… borrow each other. For a while. Fill a hole and such."

"Ew," Buffy said and he smirked.

"Not in that way, Slayer. Although, I could be persuaded to—"

"No thank you to the rest of that sentence," she said, cutting him off.

She sucked her lower lip in thought, scrutinizing him, and he thought sourly that she had to know what the sight of her teeth biting that pouty flesh did to him. Maddening thing knew just how to torture him, and fuck, yeah okay, maybe he wouldn't need much persuasion in all honesty.

"If you're not-" she wrinkled her nose like she knew what she was going to say wasn't the best way of saying it, "-not filling holes what is it you actually want?"

He took a moment to gather his thoughts, blindsided by the lack of rejection.

"I guess," he started and then swerved away from the more lurid answers that question prompted. "I'll take whatever I can get, sweetheart."

"When do you ever not?" she said, but her voice still didn't hold any animosity. Instead, it was a little weary, like she'd had one hairline fracture too many to her heart and it was starting to crack. She recovered quickly, eyes turning calculating. "What would I get out of it?" she asked.

Well, that was a surprise. Seemed she was ready to debate terms. Or at least hear them out.

"Bit of fun?" he offered, shifting so he was facing her better. "Bit of distraction? Maybe get some of those ghosts out of your head for a while?" He caught the twitch in her eye that proclaimed how haunted she was. How lonely she felt. It was insane her mates hadn't clued in to it. Not a single one of them seemed able to look beyond their own noses.

"I know you like the way I kiss you, Slayer," he said, letting his voice gravel a little. "Tell me it doesn't do something for you. Makes everything nice and quiet in that pretty head of yours."

"You're way too overconfident," she huffed, and he smirked; her inability to deny his statement crystal clear. "You're not exactly trustworthy, Spike, how do I know this isn't going to end in some… ooky emotional blackmail?"

Spike flinched, momentarily affronted that she would think he'd do something like that. Until he reevaluated their relationship up until this very Twilight-Zone-esque moment.

Yeah, fair enough.

"Considering I'm offering to be the Slayer's toy, playing make-believe, and planning seating charts, you'd be in the better position for blackmail. Not exactly in keeping with a Big Bad's reputation," he replied. "I'll be good though. I don't kiss and tell."

She bit her cheek, obviously not ecstatic with his reply but accepting it nonetheless.

"And when I want to stop?" she pushed. Spike's throat tightened at the 'when'. Not 'if'.

Be a big boy, he coached himself. You don't want it to be permanent either.

Just until Dru comes to her senses…

"Then we'll stop," he said matter-of-factly. "Won't even need to give the ring back."

She blinked. "The ring?"

"Well, yeah." He grinned, getting a foothold back on that overconfidence she seemed to like. "What good's a play without the props?"

She studied him and Spike wondered how many times the girl could give him a visual audit before his skin started to erode. Her tongue darted out to lick across the divots her teeth had left on her lip, and as her gaze met his he saw it; a curiosity that was making her green eyes even greener, and a shade or two darker.

"Alright."

The word was said so quietly he almost missed it.

"Alright?" he asked, just as quiet, just as cautious, worried if he wasn't careful he'd sour the whole deal.

She took a steadying breath, her lips parting slightly like she still might change her mind and fill the air with insults and rebuffs.

Hesitation palpable, she shifted on the sofa, lowering the leg she'd had propped up between them to allow her to lean in. Lean in…

He let her close the distance, sure that if he did anything more than make his posture a bit more open for her she'd come to her senses and bolt.

Her face was an inch away from his and still he didn't move. Only just followed her with his eyes when she tilted her head, her nose grazing along his curiously.

She brushed her mouth against his and pressed an extremely gentle, extremely cautious kiss against his lips. Over before he could do more than let his eyes dip half closed.

When she didn't immediately retreat he offered the same; a light kiss against her lips to test the water, eyes heavy-lidded but not closed and not touching in any other way. It was so delicate and careful and still, it had his head swimming, dizzy on the adrenaline of kissing his Slayer and on the restraint it was taking not to simply press her down into the sofa and kiss her the way he really wanted to; with teeth and tongue and his hands in her hair, on her waist, spinning her so she was on top, gripping her arse as she straddled his lap… nothing better than having a girl spread out on top of him, every delicious curve pressed against his body, gravity lending a hand so his own could be free to wander.

He took a chance and kissed a bit deeper, enough for her eyes to close fully and he followed suit.

He teased the seam of her lips with his tongue and without hesitation she parted, inviting him in the way she had under Willow's spell, practically breathing her thirst for more into his mouth.

Except this time was different. He couldn't quite surrender to it, knowing it was all so tenuous and fragile, but knowing it was real too was making him float on air. Making his heart skip over beats that weren't there, his chest tightening as if he was holding onto breath he didn't need.

He slid his tongue over hers, and Buffy took it as a cue to lay her hand against his face, keeping his mouth over hers as she moved closer.

With a hand on her leg, he curled his fingers under her knee and pulled it across his. She angled her hips to accommodate, snaking her arm around his shoulders to anchor herself against him.

They were practically there anyway—slowly sinking into each other with languid kisses full of slow breathing and gentle touches—so he took the opportunity to drag her down with him as he slid prostrate on the sofa.

She didn't protest; seemed the Slayer was all for being on top. Her heart rate tripped up to a slightly higher tempo as she braced herself on her forearms above him.

She was more pliant this time. Even under the spell she probably had her hackles up about too much affection in front of Giles, blind though he had been. Now though…

Her thigh rested against the bulge in his jeans, one of his pressed against the crux of her legs and they both moaned in unison.

This was good.

This was working.

She was so warm, and so soft, and tasted so sweet, and it was making all the misery and despair take a back seat at least for a little bit. However long he'd get with her might just be enough to cauterize that seeping wound in his heart—

It turned out those paltry handful of minutes was all he was going to get. For now at least.

From out in the courtyard, voices drifted in through the open window.

"No, Willow, I don't think if you practiced harder you'd be able to use the Will-Be-Done spell for vanquishing evil. That spell is incredibly potent and liable to corrupt the user," Giles said in his at-my-wits-end tone that usually manifested when he was over-caffeinated. "Not least because it opens up a whole can of worms regarding the morality of the being harnessing such power."

"Hey, I'm super moral!" Willow argued. "Just last week I found ten dollars on the sidewalk and I put it in the charity box on campus!"

"Here, here," said Xander. "If we were going to be ruled by a being of ultimate power, Will would have my vote—"

"Oh, sure, you say that now," griped Anya.

"Oh, crap," Buffy hissed as she sprung up, suddenly taking stock of their position. Spike did too, sliding an appraising gaze over her. Her thighs; straddling his leg, her lips; kiss-bruised, her eyes; deep black pools of arousal.

Gorgeous, he thought, his hands gripping her hips and grinding her core against his leg. Her eyes fluttered shut for a half-second before she remembered their impending discovery.

"Crap!" she gasped out a second time. She leapt off him and vaulted over the back of the coach running for the kitchen.

"Where's the fire, honey?" he purred as he pulled himself back up into a sitting position. He watched her as she yanked open the fridge door and retrieved a carton of milk, twisting the top off with scrabbling fingers and downing several mouthfuls. "What are you—?"

She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and rushed across to him. "Here."

He eyed the carton. "S'not really my drink of choice, luv, cheers all the same."

"It's the antidote," she growled, visibly vibrating with nervous energy as the voices crossing the court neared. "Drink it!"

"You're kidding," he huffed back as he took the carton. "Milk? Really?"

"Willow blessed it," she replied, relaxing slightly as he took a draught and swallowed it. He winced in disgust. "Xander's idea," she added. "We…we thought it'd be funny."

"My sides are splitting," he lied, and Buffy let out a breath just as the troop came in through the door.

"Aw, Evil Dead's still here," Xander griped as he shrugged out of his coat. "We were sort of hoping to come back to a neat pile of ash."

"I live to disappoint," Spike replied as he leaned against the back of the sofa. "Granted, not technically."

"And I see we've administered the antidote," Giles noted, gesturing to the milk carton dangling from Spike's fingers.

"Revolting," Spike groused as he handed the carton back to Buffy. "Couldn't have magicked the single malt?" he asked as Willow ducked into the kitchen and found a tupperware box for the cookies. The truth batch she tipped into the trash.

"Well… I mean we could've but, you know; cookies, milk, couldn't pass up the chance," she said grinning. The grin faltered at Spike's tempestuous scowl and she cleared her throat. "Besides, we'll have to throw that milk out."

"Ergo less wasteful than blessing the Jim Beam," said Giles. "Was the spell a success?" he pressed.

"Yes," squeaked Buffy, as she joined Willow in the kitchen and poured the rest of the milk down the sink. "Big success, lots of… truths."

"And the commandos?" Willow asked.

"Definitely monster chipping… uh… lab entrance somewhere in the woods…" she answered, scrabbling to remember that far back in the day. Her whole memory cavity of their truth spell seemed to be taken up entirely by the last ten minutes.

"And their plans for these chipped demons?" Giles asked her.

Buffy's eyes darted to Spike's, her mouth moving wordlessly. She'd forgotten to push him on that question.

"Didn't get a look in, I'm afraid," he replied from his seat on the sofa. When no eyes but Buffy's were on him he crossed his heart with his index finger. Cross my heart, luv.

"Well, God forbid you're more than microscopically helpful," said Xander.

"Were you able to get anything else out of him?" Giles asked, causing Buffy to crush the milk carton in her hands.

"What? No!" she said, a little too forcefully, and continued to crush the carton so the action seemed natural. "No, uh… nothing useful."

She unclenched the milk carton and dropped it in the trash. Her eyes flicked to Spike's, and he couldn't stop himself from tormenting her with a wink, unnoticed by everyone else. Her cheeks re-flamed into that delicious rosy hue and he didn't bother to keep back a grin.

God, the way she blushes, he thought to himself. Bloody marvel, all that blood blooming beneath the skin…

"Right," Buffy blurted out as if hearing his thoughts, inadvertently cutting Willow off mid-rambling about the will-be-done debate. Buffy skirted around the kitchen divider and reached for her coat. "I-I think I'm gonna… make a start on seeing if I can find the commando entrance while there's still light, and hey! Oh! Sun's nearly setting, better do a patrol, bye guys," she burbled, and with a last glance back at him, dashed out the door.

"That was weird," said Anya as the door closed behind Buffy. "I'm right, yeah? That was weird."

Spike snorted as the gang nodded in bewilderment and reached for the remote on the coffee table to flick on the TV.

Girl can't lie to save her life, with or without cursed baked goods.