Spike flopped down on the bare mattress, propping his arms behind his head and tucking his chin so he could better see Buffy as she came up the stairs to their new loft bedroom. After dinner at the Summers' house, Buffy and Spike had used Giles' car to haul the last of their possessions from Spike's crypt over to Giles' recently vacated apartment, officially claiming it as their home.

Buffy set a box on the floor and straightened up with her hands on her hips, surveying the room's two blank walls and the railing that overlooked the living room, before allowing her gaze to meet his. "It's not as bad as I expected."

"And what exactly did you expect?"

"I dunno— more bookshelves? But it's actually pretty nice. Still not sure how I feel about this open space thing though," she said, striding over to the railing to look down at the living room. "I might see about adding curtains up here."

He tilted his head in consideration. "Suppose that'd be alright."

She turned back toward him, pulling out her hair tie and shaking her hair free from the messy bun she had it in. "I still can't get over the fact this is our home now. Like our real above-ground cohabitation place— our home."

"Bit odd without the Watcher skulking about, ain't it?"

"Exactly! Like who's gonna scold me for not using a coaster or drinking the last of the milk?" she exclaimed, sweeping her hand in a wide "there you have it" gesture.

"If it's scolding you want, I can always turn you over my knee, gorgeous," he smirked.

Buffy snorted a laugh, relaxing her posture. "I'll keep that in mind. It's a lot to get used to, ya know?"

"Rot. Just got to get things unpacked is all, it'll feel like home in no time, you'll see," he replied rolling onto his side, head resting on his fist propped on his elbow. "Not so sure about this bed though."

Moving closer, Buffy shoved one of the boxes littering their room into the corner by the dresser with the toe of her shoe and lowered herself onto the edge of the bed, kicking off her sneakers as she joined him. She stretched out, testing the mattress for herself. "Why's that? It seems pretty comfy to me, and I know it's kinda new-ish because he got it after— the whole thing with Angelus," she stopped herself from saying anymore, already regretting even that small reminder of Angel. She scooted a little closer to Spike, actively attempting to shove those thoughts aside before she managed to completely rip open old wounds. "Besides, it's free. Free is good."

Spike paused, wondering if he should point out that it hadn't been long since Giles and her mother had been sharing said mattress. Sometimes having a predatory sense of smell was less than ideal.

He brought his hand to rest on her hip, watching her face with concern. Buffy rolled to her side, the act serving to press her body against him fully as his hand glided over her. He patted her lower back, deciding it would be better not to say what was rolling around in his brain. Every once in a while he could manage to keep his tongue from doing something stupid; albeit not often, but sometimes. This was meant to be the beginning of their new life together after all. He leaned in, nudging the shell of her ear with the tip of his nose. "Come on, Luv, these boxes ain't gonna unpack themselves."

"Do we really need to unpack everything now?" she whined in response. "Honestly, I'm all for just getting the bed made and snuggling in for some serious sleepage."

"Could've sworn you were the one saying you didn't want kid-sis nosing about when she comes over tomorrow," Spike chortled.

Buffy groaned. "That's more about bedroom-y type stuff. Not so much with the living room and kitchen-y stuff."

He laughed again. "You do realize that between the two of us, about 70% of our stuff is 'bedroom stuff', right?"

She turned her face into his shoulder, muffling an exasperated moan.

Spike carded his fingers into her hair, chuckling. "Keep that up and I'll end up just screwing you into the mattress, sheets be damned."

She turned her head just enough to peek up at him with one eye. "Is that a threat or a promise?"

(*)

Her heart pounded, beads of sweat forming along her hairline, eyes closed as she let out a sigh that morphed into a lust-filled moan. The sound of which resonated within the room, ricocheting off the walls and jolting her awake.

Panting, Dawn sat upright drawing in ragged breaths, she flicked on her bedside lamp looking around expectantly.

Where— where is—

She twisted around patting the bed, her delicate brow creasing in confusion. She could have sworn he was there. He had just been there with her.

Vlad.

She had been with him in every sense of the word. In ways that were completely foreign to her in her innocence. Wrapped around each other, skin against skin. She shivered, a thrill surging through her belly, thoughts and emotions running rampant as visions of the two of them together swam through her mind like fish in a pond. She could see herself pressed against him, his lips on hers, gliding over her jaw, whispering words of adoration she didn't fully understand into her ear as his mouth skated down her throat. Her fingertips skimmed over his bare torso and lower—

Oh, God—

The blood drained from her face. It was all so real. Too real. She could practically feel his hands on her skin, yet she was clearly alone in her room, and by the looks of things she had been alone all night considering the fact she was still dressed in her flannel pajamas and her floral sheets were still tucked in at the corners under the duvet.

Something just wasn't right, he had just been there with her—

Hadn't he? No. Not here— She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to grasp at anything that might make even a little bit of sense. We were together, but not here—

A vision of opulent oxblood bed curtains and black silk sheets surrounding the two of them, her legs wrapped around Vlad's hips as he lavished her neck with kisses, flashed vividly in her mind.

She shook her head and took a deep breath trying to get her thoughts in order but everything was a jumbled blurry mess within her brain. She remembered leaving her bedroom and going onto the back porch, meeting Vlad. His gorgeous, mesmerizing eyes. The feel of his fingers brushing over her collarbone. The way he had talked to her as though she were the only girl in the world.

Woman. The only woman in the world. She corrected in her mind.

Her heart skipped a beat. Could it have really happened or was it just a dream? Or maybe some kind of prophecy? The last really solid memory she could confidently say was real was talking to him in the backyard. Just talking.

After that, everything was a blur.

She didn't think he had come into the house with her, not with her mom and Giles sleeping in the next room, and definitely not when she had just met the guy, right? She didn't think she was that kind of girl but then— she couldn't remember going back to bed either.

And what's with the bed curtains? Do people even still have those? It must've been a dream, right? I've never been in a room like that— and definitely not all with the sex-apades.

Another image forced itself into the forefront of her mind. This one an image of herself in a flowing white nightgown, her hair windswept and wild around her shoulders like the heroine in one of her mother's romance novels. A pale gray mist swirled around her. Without warning Vlad suddenly appeared in front of her, moving closer until he was pressed against the thin silk of her gown. Strong hands gripped around her waist pulling her into the hard plains of his chest. He inclined his head toward her. "A most beautiful bride, indeed…" his voice was soft and yet it cut through her like a scalpel.

God, was it really just a dream? Or was it something more?

Her heart ached at the thought, torn between what was real and what wasn't and the question of what she wanted. There was an odd longing to feel him pressed against her, his arms wrapped around her body as they moved as one, a longing that clawed at her chest from the inside out like a rabid animal.

A soft knock on her door jolted her out of her obsessive fantasy, making her yelp.

"Dawn?" her mother called through the door.

"Y-yeah?" she stammered, her voice cracking slightly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sweetie, did I wake you?"

Dawn cleared her throat with a cough. "About half— half awake," she admitted, scrambling off the bed to open the door. "Ah- hey mom, what's what's up?"

Joyce raised an eyebrow at her youngest daughter. "Are you feeling alright, dear? You look a little pale."

She cleared her throat, smoothing her hair over her shoulder. "I didn't sleep super great."

Joyce frowned at that. "I hope you're not coming down with something." She extended a hand to press the back of her fingers to her daughter's forehead making Dawn flinch back.

"I'm fine, Mom, I probably just slept funny, that's all."

Joyce pinched her lips together and nodded. "Well all right, if you say so. I told your sister you'd be over after breakfast."

"Yeah, all right," she sighed, "I'm not sure why she's having me come over anyway, I figured she would have Willow or Tara or somebody do this stuff."

"Because I thought it might be a nice bonding experience if you helped your sister set up her first home."

Dawn gave her a dubious look. "That totally sounds like a mom thing to me."

"Yes, well, unfortunately, this mom has a new shipment coming in at the gallery today."

"Wait— do you seriously still think I need a babysitter?" Dawn accused. "I'm not a little kid, and I'm not being hunted anymore so what's the big deal? You were never this paranoid about Buffy when she was my age."

Joyce took an exasperated breath and massaged her temple with her fingertips. "Honestly, Dawn, if you don't want to go, I'll just call Buffy and let her know you changed your mind. I'm sure Spike will do his part too, it'll be fine."

"No, don't do that," Dawn said, deflating. "I'll go. I think I'm just morning-cranky— sorry."

"Well that's better," Joyce checked her watch. "Oh, good grief, I wanted to get in early for prep. There's a plate on the counter for you, you'll probably have to warm up the pancakes now— I really have to go, sweetie. Have fun with your sister today alright?"

"I'll do my best," she answered, watching her mother turn down the hall, moving a little stiffly. Her leg seemed to be bothering her today and a small pang of guilt zipped through Dawn at the way she had behaved.

Closing the door, Dawn slid down to sit, burying her face in her knees. "Could this morning be any freakier?" she mumbled.

(*)

Buffy trotted down the steps and stopped at the bottom landing, examining the wall in front of her. After a moment she huffed a sigh, turning her attention to the boxes littering the living room floor. Giles had left the majority of his furniture for them, and Buffy was eager to add her own touches to make it feel more like her own home and less like her Watcher's but apparently not as eager as Spike. She pinched her lips together and turned back to the wall now showcasing not one, not two, but three framed posters. And not one of them was the New Kids on the Block one from her old bedroom. The Sex Pistols, The Ramones, and Nirvana, now stared back at her.

Damn it, Spike— I love you but your taste in music is—

She cut off that particular line of thought. She knew him, knew his taste in music long before she fell in love with him. She took another long breath.

Yeah, okay fine— this is a WE home not just a ME home…

With that in mind, she abandoned the wall, turning her attention to the living room thinking about what she'd like to do in there and what she could have her sister help with.

Buffy glanced at the clock noting that said sister should be arriving soon. She just wouldn't let her sister upstairs, where a very naked Spike was still fast asleep on his stomach. He'd spent the bulk of the night tinkering around the apartment, unpacking a few things. She had been surprised to wake up and find half her clothes hanging in the closet next to a handful of his somewhat rumpled button-down shirts and judging by the number of clothes that had yet to be put away, she figured he had just said "Screw it" and went to bed. Which was annoying but not totally unexpected. Now she knew he'd just gotten bored and decided to start redecorating.

Marking his territory.

Buffy bounded over to the phone table and picked up the pen and paper sitting there, biting her bottom lip as she looked around the living room. She didn't much care for the curtains, not that they were awful (they certainly matched the rest of the decor), and sure it was nice they were Vamp-friendly, extra thick, black-out curtains, but tope? Tope was just so— Blah.

Definitely gonna have to do something about that. If Spike can leave his mark then so can I. She grinned to herself.

Buffy had just come to a decision about the type of curtains she thought she might like to put up when there was a knock at the door and it opened without waiting for a reply.

"I hope everybody has pants on," Dawn's voice preceded her entrance.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "If it's pants you want, don't go upstairs."

"Totally staying down here. Thanks for that mental image," Dawn grumbled as she plonked her bag down unceremoniously on the couch. "So what are your plans for forced child labor?"

Buffy eyed her critically, taking in Dawn's tired appearance. "You look like crap. You're not sick are you?"

"Shut up, I'm fine, I just had some seriously wiggy dreams last night, that's all," Dawn replied with a dismissive hand. "So where do you want me?"

Buffy surveyed her for another beat before replying, "I was originally gonna have you help me unpack some stuff but I'm just not feeling it right now. What do you say to doing a little shopping, I wanna get new curtains."

Dawn's mood suddenly shifted. "Are we talking Mall?"

"That's the plan," she waved the notebook she'd been scribbling on. "I already have curtain dimensions and a list of some other stuff I wanna get."

"Can the plan also include cappuccinos?" Dawn grinned hopefully.

"I think that's doable."