Spike settles back into the basement, lighting candles and trying not to think about the Slayer and her hot mouth all over his several hours ago. Fuck. This hot and cold thing might drive him around the bend sooner rather than later.

A half dozen candles later and Spike realizes that his bed has been neatly made.

He stares at the clean lines of linen, the artfully tucked pillowcase. Someone's made his bed. With care. Buffy?

Spike can't wrap his head around this girl.

He wants her. Spike wants to go up the two flights of stairs, throw open her bedroom door and take her until they're both completely wrung.

Or she could take him. That little shove up against the porch wall? Makes Spike think Buffy might like to be the dominant one. Spike swallows, mouth dry at the very thought.

Thing is, he doesn't know at all how to proceed. When's the last time he really pursued a woman? His human days? Dru snagged him, Spike had little to do with that. Other than her, and his human interests-better left unmentioned-there's been no one Spike's truly wanted.

Spike wants the Slayer, but he can't fuck it up. Must keep his distance, lest he ruin his chances forever. But for how long? Agonizing. He wants her, she wants him. Why aren't they in each other's arms right this moment? Makes no bleeding sense. Spike drifts closer to the bed, then away, not wanting to muss the covers. Careful creaking steps sound above his head. He listens. All goes quiet.

For once, Spike is not looking forward to more trouble. He's ready for a breather. That better not be an intruder up there-

The basement door cracks open and the Slayer's there, inching in and shutting it firmly behind her.

Buffy grips the doorknob behind her back, keeping to shadows. Spike finds himself at the bottom of the steps without any memory of movement. Buffy deliberately descends, the dim glow of candles painting her face with soft shades of golden light.

"Hi," Buffy says on a quiet exhale. There's a shy, playful look about her. Head ducked down, eyeing him coquettishly like she is just a girl and he, some fellow she fancies. But behind her curious expression, behind the little hair clip and flimsy hoodie and shiny lip gloss, something vast and hungry lurks.

Everything in Spike sits up and takes notice.

"Forget something?" Spike's voice sounds muted to his own ears. Maybe the space between them has grown too thick for proper communication. Buffy steps forward, off the stairs, and closer. Another step. Slayer shakes her head slowly, eyes fixed on him. His skin burns under her gaze.

Spike's feeling distinctly hunted. Slayer unzips her hoodie and lets it drop around her feet. She edges closer still.

Nerve endings jangling, Spike tries to memorize the way she looks right this second. How many hours has he studied slayers? Studied her? Strength cloaked in a delicate package. She stalks the night, same as he, looking soft and fragile. But she's power incarnate. Top of the supernatural food chain. Now she's after him. Spike's been her focus before, but this is different.

Heat flickers in the pit of his belly. A flash of pink tongue wetting her lips winds Spike up tighter. Buffy looks past him. "You're still awake." The bed hasn't been touched.

"Tryna figure this out." Spike doesn't know what he's saying. He doesn't dare take his eyes off her.

Buffy steps into his personal bubble. Touching would be better than this. This caressing of awareness. Her space engulfing his. "I made your bed."

"Thought you said you'd never be doin' that."

Blood rushes through the Slayer faster at his words. Cheeks pink, her fragrant desire reaches him, making his mouth water. The remaining inches between them are a yawning pit. They balance on the edge of its abyss, contemplating the free fall. Spike loves the thought of leaping into this dark, weightless space.

Anticipation makes it sweeter.

"I didn't want you to leave," Buffy whispers. "The other night. Took me by surprise."

"Didn't feel right, being gone." Spike pointedly looks at the sweater on the floor, then back to Buffy. "You planning on staying?"

Buffy's lips part. Eyes dark on his, breath coming quick, she asks, quiet and fierce, "Are you?"

Spike can't imagine any place he'd rather be. "Hell yeah."

Shyness melting away, the primal hunger surfaces in Buffy's face, dominating her features the way it does on the hunt. "Hell yeah."

Buffy closes the distance, surging up into him. He wraps her up in his arms, but she's the one pushing them back towards the bed. In a way, it's just like fighting her. Grabbing hold of the girl is like trying to hold onto a live wire. She burns and writhes in his embrace. Spike's just holding on at first. Buffy kisses him and breathes life into his every cell. Newly animated, Spike's focus zeroes in on her warm mouth on his, her hands sliding over his body.

Buffy's obviously all for getting down to business but Spike keeps getting distracted. Her hair is so soft. He cards his fingers through the golden tresses, releasing the clip and following her hair as it bounces around her shoulders. Then he wants to press his hand against her hair and feel her body heat through all that lovely softness. Against her back, her shoulders, her throat.

Her throat! Spike detours again, barely registering Buffy's anxious hands on his pants, fumbling with his fly. Spike noses her neck, inhaling the concentration of scents there. All he can hear is the whoosh, whoosh of her blood, rushing to get somewhere, and baby, baby slow down, don't you know it's a cycle? Get to the end, you start at the beginning. No hurry.

Buttons ping off the floor when Buffy gets impatient and rips the front of his pants apart. The savage move startles a growl from him and Buffy's hands hold him back the way they always do. Straining in every sense of the word, Spike pulls back to see her face. Buffy's panting shamelessly, eyes half-mast. "Come on!" she gasps. "God, shouldn't this just…" Her hands tremble as they tug on his shirt. He helps her. "I want, I want, I want," Buffy chants. Yeah, yeah he gets it. Shirt finally off, Spike yanks at Buffy's clothes. Her urgency spurs him on.

"Let me-" Spike says. She's barely taking the time to undress, so desperate is she to come together.

They fall sideways together on the bed in a tangle. Buffy climbs on top of him, legs flying out at sharp angles, hands hooking under his arms trying to pull him-yeah ok scooting back up the bed. Spike's back hits the wall, that's good, sitting up and kissing is good. Then her knees trap his hips, straddling him, and they gasp against each other's mouth when the move slots her perfectly against his cock.

The small part of Spike that has been frozen in a healthy disbelief quits caring about the possible dangers of fondling the Slayer the way he wants to. Spike adjusts her the way he desires in his lap. Little scrap of cloth still in the way, Spike tears off her panties and positions himself, then Buffy gasps harshly, hands like steel on his shoulders as they sink into each other.

All at once, things slow down to nearly a stop. Buffy's green eyes catch his and she bears down with muscle control that nearly brings Spike off embarrassingly prematurely.

Inside her. Spike is inside the Slayer. Part of his brain melts at the impossible turn of events and his body awakens in a way it never has before. To be this close and not trying to kill each other. No, instead this is devouring. Buffy presses her forehead to his and lifts herself up and down, setting the pace. Spike's hands roam over her, memorizing the feel of her. Painting her image in his memory forever by way of touch.

"Oh!" Buffy says. "Oh, oh, oh…" Does she know she's making those sounds? Spike's hand finds her hair again and pulls her head back until there's distance enough to comfortably study her face as she crests and drops in his lap. Push and pull. Her pulse flutters madly in her throat. Spike puts his lips to the vein and tastes her without breaking the skin. He grips her with blunt teeth. Buffy jerks and groans, writhing frantically, and with a deep sweeping shudder it's over. They collapse down on the bed.

Slick at every point they touch, Spike shifts her around, just because he likes the way that feels. Buffy whimpers, "Spike," and they both shiver. Yes, he Spike. She Buffy. And they just, they just...Spike rolls them, elbows propping him up, forearms framing her flushed face. He stares down intently. Buffy's chest rises and falls, not calming, still worked up.

"Ah, Slayer," Spike murmurs, fingertips stroking the damp hair at her temples. "Sweet thing, gorgeous girl." Delight curls in him at the changes his words create in her eyes.

"Stop," she whispers, blushing. "You don't have to-This just, oh god…"

Spike kisses her, deep and slow and thorough. Buffy's legs wrap around his waist drawing him down closer again. Easy as anything, he nudges into her once more. Rolling his hips, Spike watches the pleasure flutter over her face. To be with her. Her! Buffy, Buffy. Her hands slide along his arms, corded with working muscle, working on her.

If the first time was an explosion, a careening wreckage of colliding bodies, this time is all about collaboration. They feel each other out, the yes's and no's, the to and fro. Bodies working together, climbing together, shattering together.

"Am I dreaming?" Spike asks, at one point.

"No," Buffy says, astride him again. Her hands lock his down to the bed. She nips his collarbone. Spike's hips jerk up in reaction. "I snuck down here. I wanted you." Her eyes hold his, the hypnotic lull of the night dazing both of them. "Do you dream about me, Spike?"

"Since the moment I laid eyes on you," Spike admits freely. Good dreams, bad dreams, bloody dreams, tentative dreams. Waking dreams. Never when sleeping. Just his imagination starring the Slayer, in all the many forms she's taken in his existence. Spike wants to tell her all about it. He wants to tell her everything he's ever thought. He wants to hear what she thinks about every subject under the sun. He wants, wants, wants.

Spike holds her through another cresting orgasm. The last lit candle gutters and dies. Then it's all by touch and that's not bad either. The night draws long and lean and warm and wet. Spike spins and falls, free with Buffy.

Buffy gathers her thoughts in the bluish pre-morning light of the basement. Her cheek rests against Spike's cool chest.

She tries not to panic.

Buffy's been living in a constant state of worry over the future for so long that the sudden nowness of this morning and last night shocks her into a different kind of awareness.

A delicious, terrifying awareness. Whatever had been building between her and Spike these last weeks just changed forever.

Buffy has no idea what could possibly happen next. She's still blissed out enough that regrets and recriminations haven't come over her yet. Maybe they never will . Hell, that was all her last night.

Want, take, have.

Well, she's had him. Now what? Buffy used to be so much more on top of this stuff. Stuff like seeing the obvious flaws in Faith's motto-the missing next step.

Also, the not sleeping with her kind of ex-enemy. Yep. Younger Buffy...would have been...on top of that-

Buffy's brain makes a nonsensical detour as she sits up and her eyes are drawn to Spike's very yummy chest and abs and down to where the blankets bunch at his waist…

He shifts and Buffy's eyes snap up to his face-awake now, one hand behind his head, smirking.

Buffy snatches up the sheet to her chest as heat blooms in her cheeks.

Well. She'd slept with the bad boy. What did she expect? This is only the second morning after she's had with someone in bed. And compared to Riley? Night and day. Buffy is flummoxed by Spike's lack of shyness, the pleased knowing look in his eye.

Stupid, indecent vampire. Oh god. There's the panic.

Spike shoots up. He goes from horizontal to in-her-face in an instant. An undeniably supernatural-quick movement that automatically gets Buffy's heart pounding

"Mmm," Spike vocalizes deep in his throat. He noses her hot cheek, inhaling. His proximity sparks not unpleasantly against Buffy's skin. "You smell fantastic."

Buffy clears her throat. "Fantastic like, I like your perfume? Or like, boy do I want breakfast?"

Spike huffs a laugh. He pulls back just enough to look her in the eye. Their noses brush. "Like you. Smell. Fantastic."

She narrows her eyes at him. He smiles in a way that reveals the gleaming blunt edges of his teeth. "You and your lovely rushing blood can smell good without it making me hungry, in an eating sense-"

"Oh, god. Stop everything you're saying."

"Come on, you asked."

"Spike!"

His eyes widen and instead of naughty, Spike's expression turns artless, excited. "Oh, I like how you said my name just now. All breathless and girly and put out-"

"This is crazy," Buffy mutters.

Spike glances sideways at her. "Fine line between crazy and genius." He touches her hair. "Sort of thought this was more of a thank you. For bringing her home."

Buffy holds his gaze. Side by side they stare at each other, silently feeling one another out. She reaches up to hold the hand fingering the ends of her hair.

"It wasn't just a thank you." The words hang in the air between them. "What?" Buffy keeps her voice a whisper, mindful of the quiet house.

"So…" Spike's voice trails off questioningly.

"Now what?" Buffy guesses.

Spike holds out one hand. "Get out you evil demon before I annihilate you?" He presents the other hand. "Get back here, you sexy beast. We have all day before we're needed elsewhere?" Both hands, he raises up and down like a measuring scale.

Buffy's face scrunches with the effort of not laughing.

"See that face you're making? While memorable," Spike grins. "Still confusing. You're difficult to read right now. Been difficult to read lately."

Buffy pouts. "I'm not a book."

Spike lowers his lashes. He props his chin on her shoulder, to whisper directly in her ear. "If you were, I'd run my fingers down your spine, spread you open and analyze you, nice and deep-"

Buffy shoves him away with squeak. "What are you-what is that? Book porn? Cut it out!"

Spike laughs.

Wow, does he look pretty with his face all lit up like that-Buffy shakes her head at herself sternly. She smacks a hand over Spike's too-loud mouth and raises her eyes nervously to the ceiling.

No other sounds than that of the settling house.

Buffy jumps when Spike's hand squeezes her bare thigh under the blanket.

Glaring at him, Buffy lets her hand drop.

"Still sleeping," Spike says earnestly. He nudges her, face boyish.

"No. I need to get ready," Buffy protests, unsure that doing as she wants to is at all a good idea. "Scooby meeting. Extreme emergency stuff happening."

"Yet, you seem so relaxed," Spike observes mock-thoughtfully.

"Don't fish for compliments."

Spike's face breaks open into another genuinely pleased expression. Buffy's becoming partial to that expression, paired with his wild sex hair.

"Sweetheart, the fact that you're relaxed at all right now is compliment enough."

Buffy goes a little gooey in the middle at the endearment.

Mustn't show it, her inner Giles advises.

Uh oh. Giles is going to have a cow. A giant, Hellmouth-y, demon cow.

While Buffy struggles with the possibility, Spike leans in and places his open mouth against the crook of her neck and laves his tongue over her skin.

Buffy squirms as his hands slide up her sides then cup her breasts. She can feel his smile around the hot, wet...whatever he was doing to her neck.

"Did you hear...the no...that I just said?" Buffy asks more throatily than intended.

"Mmhmm."

Pleasant, non-thinky moments pass.

"Wait," Buffy says from under him, the twisted sheets their only barrier. Her legs unwind from his waist. Spike raises his head. The unwavering intensity in his eyes almost knocks the rest of Buffy's protest out of her head.

Water rushes through the pipes upstairs. Dawn. Shower. Last chance to escape with her dignity intact. Buffy puts her hands against Spike's chest.

"Could lock the door," Spike whispers, devil in her ear.

It's hard not to be flattered by...everything about him right now. Buffy swallows. "No lock, need to go."

Spike looks pained. He presses his face to her collarbone, then lower.

Buffy loses track of a bit more time. The shower shutting off overhead snaps her out of it again.

"Spike."

He pulls away from her breast, mouth wet from his ministrations. Buffy whimpers and bucks up.

Almost better, going slower in the brighter room. That much more to feel and see.

Spike groans and rocks his hips into her. Buffy's legs clamp his sides like a vice.

"She's awake, we have to stop. This is so...so not the time…"

"Shit. We could do it quick-like. Bloody torture, this is." He pants against her cheek.

Buffy grips his hair to pull him away but it becomes part of their embrace. They move together, sheet still in the way, slow and good.

Pitter patter of steps on the stairs. Then in the living room.

"Buffy?" Dawn's voice calls overhead.

Buffy gasps and throws Spike off. She casts around for her clothes in a panic.

"Crap! Bad Buffy, how irresponsible…? Ohmigod she cannot see this!" Clothes mostly in place, Buffy grabs up Spike's jeans and thrusts them in his face.

Spike gives her a glassy-eyed stare. "You think I'm tucking into those, think again."

Buffy's eyes drop to his lap then zoom back to his face. "I'll uh, distract her. Get decent."

Spike scrubs both hands over his face. "Impossible."

"You can say that again," Buffy mutters. She starts for the stairs. Buffy can hear Dawn in the kitchen opening the fridge.

Hands grab her hips and yank her back to the cot. Buffy sprawls awkwardly, fully clothed, to straddle Spike. Glorious, naked Spike.

Buffy scowls and braces her hands against his shoulders, on her way to actually pissed off. "Okay, what part of this are you not understanding-"

Spike mirrors her pose but straight-armed, with his wrists locked behind her head. "You invited me in. To stay." His eyes are intense.

Buffy pauses, hyper aware of Dawn only a set of stairs and one closed door away from the scene. "I did."

"No forgetting."

"God, how could I?"

Spike grins, lazy and heated. He kisses her and then she's kissing him back.

When Buffy notices her and Spike's heavy breathing, she realizes it's because things are quiet upstairs. She pulls away, memorizing the way he looks in this moment.

No telling how things will go from here.

Buffy feels Spike's eyes on her all the way up the stairs.

Buffy carefully shuts the door behind her. She pads barefoot through the empty kitchen and jumps when she sees Dawn staring at her from the living room couch.

Dawn's face is blank. "I didn't know you were home," she says.

Guilt swells in Buffy's throat. "I just got in."

The sisters go quiet. Dawn wrinkles her brow. "Were you wrestling demons all night? Your clothes are all messed up."

"No! I-I mean, yes. Slayer here. Just got done doing my sacred duty."

Is that her mouth saying those words? Buffy gulps, wide-eyed. "I'm gonna shower and change and then we can go to the Magic Box."

Dawn perks up. "We?"

Buffy had meant Spike and herself, but now that Dawn mentions it…

"Yes. We." Buffy nods firmly. "I think it's about time you started pulling your research weight, don't you?"

The sparking excitement in Dawn's face makes Buffy feel small and big all at once. "Really? Ohmigod! Thank you!" She grabs Buffy up in a huge hug.

Buffy tries not to get misty over it. "Yeah, well. You've earned it. If you're gonna be putting down demons, I want you to know how to do it right."

"Slaying?"

"Oh no. Research purposes only. Maybe with self-defense applications."

"Sweet!" Dawn spins and clambers up the stairs.

Alone in the living room, Buffy looks over her shoulder towards the basement door. She bites her lip.

The door stays closed. Buffy hurries up after her sister.