This isn't real.

But I just want to feel.

Those were the last words that Buffy blurted out in song right before making out with a soulless vampire, and those were the words ringing through her head like an annoying commercial jingle as she went to meet Spike the next day. She barged into his crypt during the daytime, knowing he would be there obsessing over the kiss they had shared until he could track her down and heckle her over it. Well Buffy wasn't about to wait around and let him catch her off guard. She was going to nip this thing in the bud before Spike got the wrong idea. Now she just had to find the stupid vampire.

He wasn't in the top level where she usually found him loafing around, so he had to be in the lower level. Where his bed was. Where he had at one time kept a Buffy shrine. Where he had chained her up and confessed his 'love'.

This isn't real.

But I just want to feel.

The lyrics repeated in Buffy's head again as she braced herself for climbing down into the lower level to find Spike. She could do this. She could. She was the one in charge of this situation, and she was going to keep it that way. She was going to face him head on, meet him on her terms, and set everything straight. No matter what he happened to be doing down there.

Buffy climbed down the ladder, unsure why she chose now to suddenly try to be as quiet as possible. It was almost totally dark down there, with only one candle lit by the bedside. She tiptoed toward it carefully, trying not to crash into anything in her way. It wasn't until she was almost right next to the bed that she realized Spike was lying there, sleeping soundly on his back with an arm casually tossed over his eyes.

Naked.

Or naked from the waist up at least, since the bed sheets were leaving his lower half to her imagination. And from the waist up he was gorgeous.

No, not gorgeous. Undead monster. Yucky. Just because he was covered in buttery candlelight that outlined every muscled plane of his body with shadows didn't mean he was suddenly attractive. Or that the little detail of his creamy pale skin lying against the red sheets like a gothic painting wasn't an especially beautiful image. And that arm stretched up over his face like an invitation to run her hands down his chiseled abs didn't tempt her in any way.

This isn't real.

But I just want to feel.

Buffy shook her head slowly. She was practically drooling over him. Pretending he was anything but dreamy was a fool's errand. Whatever that means.

It had been hard enough for her to ignore his perfect physique when he was fully clothed, especially since she had been spending so much time around him after she was brought back from the dead. She didn't think she was in any danger of suddenly becoming attracted to him. She mostly just hung out with him because it was almost as good as being alone. Talking to Spike was as like shouting into the night sky, just a way for Buffy to get stuff off her chest. It wasn't like she was talking to a real person.

But the more she got to know him, the easier it was to forget that he wasn't alive. And not dismissing him outright might have led to some vivid dreams involving her getting to know Spike in the biblical sense.

Buffy took a step closer to his bed, one hand mindlessly reaching out towards his sleeping body. This quiet moment, where she could just drink in the the beauty that she should be disgusted by, no sound or time or people to remind her how very wrong she was... This could be one of those vivid dreams. She wondered if she could convince herself it really was and climb into the bed with him.

Most of her dreams about him started out innocently enough like this. A lot of the time they began by reminding her of the good things Spike had done for Buffy and her family. One dream started with that first kiss she gave Spike for refusing to hand Dawn over to Glory, but instead of leaving, dream Buffy kissed her way down his body. Another dream involved the two of them commiserating over drinks in Spike's crypt, and then progressing to a game of strip poker. Her most recent dream had Spike stopping her in her tracks as she started to spin out of control from her climactic dance, then singing to her as he slowly slipped his hands beneath her clothes.

Buffy pulled her outstretched hand back, only just catching herself in time before she accidentally touched him. How could someone without a body temperature be so incredibly hot?

This isn't real.

But I just want to feel.

Spike let out a low rumble deep in his chest as he rolled over onto his side, a long stretch of bare leg creeping out from underneath the covers. His arm had slipped down off his face, uncovering agitated brow lines, long lashes pressed tightly together, and lips curled into a pout. He must have been dreaming about something. Buffy lifted her hand to her own lips, imagining that her fingers were Spike's lips. She had tried hard not to think about that kiss she had shared with Spike. But seeing him here like this, so vulnerable and beautiful, transported her right back to that alley behind the Bronze.

This isn't real.

But I just want to feel.

And oh boy, did Spike's lips on hers make her feel. Not the larger than life, movie screen emotions that the rising finale verse of music wanted to suggest. And not rainbows or fireworks or anything like when she had kissed Angel or Riley. With Spike, she just felt fire.

Spike's skin hadn't been warm to the touch. His hands on her shoulders weren't tender. His mouth wasn't gentle against hers. But Buffy felt the fire burn hotter all the same. Or maybe that was why she felt it burning so brightly. It was purely physical, with no pesky heart to get in the way. Instead the fire just raced straight down to her core. She had doubled down on the kiss, pressing closer up against him, feeling the tight lines of his body on hers. Buffy had burned so hot that she almost forgot why she shouldn't have been kissing him in the first place. It was hard to be reasonable when hit with sensations like those.

But Buffy had known that if she kept kissing him much longer, she wouldn't be able to blame in on the spell.

She had jerked back away from the kiss, keeping her hands on his shoulders. Looking into Spike's eyes for a reaction had been a huge mistake. An intense cocktail of awe, uncertainty, and outright need had been mixing in there, daring her to kiss him again. The eyes were the window to the soul, but Spike's did a heck of good job of hiding the fact that he didn't have one.

Buffy had spun around and bolted off down the alleyway, not bothering to look back when she heard him call after her. She knew he wasn't going to chase her. If there was one thing Spike had been really good at since she came back to life, it was letting her wallow in her own misery. But now that she had opened the door for Spike just a little too far, she wasn't sure he wasn't about to come stomping in with his big ugly boots.

This isn't real.

But I just want to feel.

As soon as she had left the alleyway in her thoughts, she found herself back in the crypt by Spike's bedside, her fingers still on her lips as she relived that kiss. Buffy's hand trailed down her chest and over her stomach, before it came to rest on her thigh. Even just thinking about that moment made the fire under her skin flame up again. She shook her head hard and backed away quietly, suddenly flustered. She didn't know why she thought she could face him head on when that kiss had made her practically weak in the knees. She shouldn't be confronting him, she should be avoiding him. She got herself up the ladder and out of the crypt as quickly and quietly as she possibly could, then broke into a run once she was out in the daylight, the final line of the song playing in her head every step of the way.

Where do we go from here?

She should probably just keep running.

"What do you mean there's already a Trio?" Andrew asked.

"Exactly what I said," Warren answered, walking into their secret lair. He set three different decorative cups on the table where Jonathan kept his magic kit and dug around for the spell salts. When he found the pouch, he started pouring out large circles of salt in a triangular formation on the floor. "Except instead of three super-geniuses they're three demons who collect souls or something like that. I didn't get all the details on their methods. A guy at the demon bar down across the tracks got real spooked when I told him I was part of the Trio. Wouldn't stop talking about them." He picked up the cups off table again and started placing them in the middle of each of the circles.

"Those cups aren't for what I think they're for, are they?" Jonathan asked, eying them suspiciously. One was a little porcelain cup with pink flowers painted on the side, one was a wooden cup engraved with a swirly pattern, and one was a tin cup with a bunch of dotted imprints forming the shape of a heart. The cups looked normal enough, it was what Warren was doing with them that made him question.

"Yeah, they are. We're gonna summon them," Warren replied, pulling a bag out of his pocket and dropping what looked like frog's feet into each cup.

"Wait, what?" Jonathan asked. "There's a triumvirate of demons infamous enough to just be known as the Trio and you want us to summon them?"

"Yeah, I got the instructions right here," Warren said, holding up a sheet of notebook paper covered in chicken scratch. He snatched a piece of charcoal from Jonathan's kit and drew a pentagram in the middle of the three salt circles. "The guy at the bar knew all about it."

"I'm not sure this is such a good idea, guys," Andrew said, toeing the circle of salt carefully.

"No, it's ok, it's a binding spell," Warren quickly countered. "If we summon them so that they're stuck here, then we can just keep doing our thing and being the new Trio."

"Wouldn't it just be easier to pick a new name? I mean, the Triumvirate sounds pretty cool too," Jonathan said.

"If you want people to think we're a bunch of ancient Roman magistrates," Andrew replied with a sneer.

"No, guys. We're already the Trio. The Trio," Warren stressed. "We just gotta get these original guys out of the picture and then we're set. It'll be easy. Look, it's not even that hard of a spell." He handed Jonathan the instructions, and Andrew poked his head over his shoulder to read along.

"We have to spill our own blood?" Andrew squeaked.

"That's pretty common in summoning spells for high-level demons," Jonathan explained. "This one actually looks... pretty easy. Maybe they're not all that dangerous. Though what does it mean when it says don't let the water mix?"

"No idea. It'll probably make sense once we complete the spell. Come on, let's do this," Warren said, grabbing an x-acto knife off the table and moving to stand over the porcelain cup. "The instructions said I needed three chalices, so I figured my mom's nicknacks were more chalice-y than my coffee mugs."

"What about your Episode I collectors glass set?" Andrew asked, grabbing a razor blade from his model kit table and moving over to the wooden cup.

"Dude, I'm not about to bind those to a bunch of demons!" Warren balked. "Those are actually worth something. These are just a bunch of antique family heirlooms."

"Well, if something goes wrong," Jonathan sighed, grabbing a pair of scissors and taking his place by the tin cup. "We could always skip town and let Buffy clean up the mess."

"The Slayer is gonna wish a few demons were all she had to worry about by the time we're done with her," Warren replied. "Now cut."

All three cut into the palms of their hands at the same time, dripping a few drops of blood into each cup. Almost immediately, the ground inside each of the salt circles began to glisten with moisture, before shimmering and waving as a deep pools of water seemed to form right on the concrete floor. Warren, Jonathan, and Andrew stepped back and moved to one side of the room, watching as the three pools swirled and splashed. All at once, a hand shot of each of the pools, and grabbed for the surface on the edge of the salt circles.

"Eep!" Andrew yelped, as one of the hands groped around a little too close to his shoe. The trio moved farther back by the stairs to put some distance between themselves and the pools, just as three figures emerged from the waters and stood on top of the rippling surfaces.

"Are they really... demons?" Jonathon asked, wondering at the California-standard appearance of the men they had summoned. They looked just like three identical triplet humans, roughly in their fifties, dressed in normal human clothing.

One wore a swim shirt, trunks, and flip flops, with a bandana in his hair and aviator sunglasses nestled on top of his head. Another wore khaki pants, a blue plaid button down shirt, and a white lab coat. The last wore torn jeans, a tie-die shirt, a fringe leather vest, and purple-tinted teashade glasses. They had apparently called upon dark forces to bring forth a surfer, a doctor, and a hippie.

"I feel like we just summoned a 'walks into a bar' joke," Warren said, as the three 'demons' looked all around the room before looking at each other.

"Their hair is kinda green, I guess," Andrew suggested. Though the Hippie had shoulder length hair and a long goatee, the Doctor had ear length hair parted down the middle and a trim goatee, and the Surfer sported wavy jaw length hair under his bandana and a five o'clock shadow of a goatee, all three had a dark mossy color to their hair, with a salt and pepper texture to it. Weirdly enough, their hair was the only part of them that was wet.

"Where are we, man?" the Hippie asked, looking around.

The Surfer looked at his wrist as if he were checking the time, but he only seemed to be wearing a beaded bracelet. "Sunnydale, California," he answered, apparently finding the answer there.

"The Hellmouth," the Doctor added.

"The Slayer!" the Hippie realized, raising his eyebrows and grinning widely. "Heavy."

"Now there's a soul for our collection," the Surfer nodded back at him, matching his smile.

The Doctor poked a finger past the perimeter of his salt circle, only for a shimmery magic field to push back against him. "I seem to be bound to this circle," he said.

"Looks like we're gonna have to cut out one at a time," the Hippie said, poking at his own magic barrier.

"Hey, nobody's going anywhere," Warren called to them, while Jonathan and Andrew snapped their attention to him. The three demons went quiet and looked in their direction for the first time. It was then that the three boys realized the demons' eye color was an unsettling blood-red.

"You bros are the ones who summoned us?" the Surfer asked, lifting his chin in their direction.

"Yeah," Warren nodded confidently. No way was he about to let some freaky eye-color weird him out. "All three of us did."

"We can help you," the Doctor said, offering them a friendly smile.

"Everything happens for a reason, man," the Hippie nodded sagely.

"You bringing us here can make your lives totally righteous," the Surfer said.

"Or very unfortunate," the Doctor added, turning his head to the side.

"We're just doing our part to help the common man," said the Hippie.

"If you don't stand in our way, we can do you a major solid," the Surfer offered.

"Or... you can end up like the last fellows that summoned us," the Doctor said.

"What happened to the last guys?" Jonathan asked, blurting out the question before he could stop himself.

The three demons turned their crimson eyes towards him and smiled affably before replying in perfect unison, "They're gone."

The three boys went very still. Jonathan could have sworn he felt the temperature in the room drop by a degree.

"Listen man, is the Slayer harshing your vibes?" the Hippie asked, breaking the tension.

Warren hesitated a moment before answering. "She's in our way."

"A Slayer soul would be the most extreme treasure for our collection," the Surfer suggested.

"And our collecting of her soul would leave her... disinclined to impede you," the Doctor said.

"So you wanna be tight with us?" the Hippie asked, opening his hands out to them.

The three guys looked at each other, Andrew nodding quickly and almost imperceptibly. Warren looked at Jonathan, who gave him an unsure look. He didn't want to find out what happened to the last guys that got in the Trio's way. "That's probably a good idea," Warren said, looking back at the demons.

"You didn't really have any other choice," the Surfer replied with a smirk.

"I think introductions are in order," said the Scientist, holding out his hand.

"I'm the Joiner," said the Hippie.

"I'm the Seeker," said the Surfer.

"I'm the Refiner," said the Doctor.

"We're the Trio," they finished, all at once.

"Yeah..." Warren said, looking at the three of them carefully. "You definitely are."

Though patrolling wasn't exactly blowing her hair back lately, Buffy was glad to use it as an excuse to be alone with her thoughts. At least, that's what she wanted at first when she began her route through the cemetery. Since her thoughts kept drifting back to that kiss she shared with Spike, she was starting to figure her thoughts maybe weren't the best company right about now.

Buffy had so much else she needed to be worrying about instead. She needed to find a permanent solution for her finances, she had to figure out a way to keep Dawn out of trouble, and she needed to learn how to be comfortable around her friends again now that the cat was out of the bag about them tearing her out of heaven. Only... it was hard to feel anything about those issues other than a dull indifference.

It wasn't like she didn't care about all these very important and totally adult matters. She just... hadn't really been chomping at the bit for more responsibility. She had enough on her plate before she died. It felt a little like she had been brought back from the dead just because everyone wanted her to save them all over again. Like her friends couldn't just let her rest, or her sister couldn't figure out how to grow up without her, or the whole rest of the world couldn't just give her a freebie for saving it half a dozen times or so.

The only person who hadn't felt like he was always expecting something from her was Spike. Now that she had gotten all smoochy with him though, she had probably messed that up too. The question was just how much damage was done. He was pretty much the only person she could stand to be around these days. If Buffy had her way, she would just pretend the whole thing didn't happen and go back to being two people comfortable being miserable together.

That would be easiest, but there was a giant wall in the way of that happening because of that darn kiss. A kiss that she pretty much initiated herself, because being with Spike was one of the only things that made her not feel like an alien in her own skin. A kiss that she wanted, because she knew that if she couldn't feel anything emotionally, she could at least do it physically. A kiss that she indulged in, because it didn't matter as much that it was Spike's crush on her that she was taking advantage of.

Because Spike's crush wasn't real.

It couldn't be. He was a demon without a soul. He couldn't actually fall in love, so his interest in her was just a twisted obsession. Buffy didn't have to worry about hurting his feelings when she took advantage of his physicality because he didn't have any real feelings to hurt.

Now if only she could explain away her attraction to him so easily. Sexy dreams were one thing, but the dream she had the night before after creeping up on him sleeping in the nude was... different.

In her latest dream, she was back in the coffin, confused and weak from being brought back to life... and totally terrified to find herself buried alive. But this time, Spike was in the coffin with her. She was lying on her back with him beneath her, like a Spike shaped mattress. And instead of instantly panicking and clawing her way out of her coffin like she had in real life, dream Spike had wrapped his arms around her middle and pulled her tight up against him. The feel of his incredibly hard, male body pressed so tightly up against every inch of her back had felt somehow both calming and electric.

Buffy couldn't get it out of her head. This dream bothered her more than any of the others, because it was somehow much more intimate. All the sexual interludes in the world were almost quaint when compared to a dream where Spike was with her when she was her most vulnerable. It was like her brain had invited him in to where she should be the most guarded.

But then again, that's what she had been doing all along. She had been going to see Spike and opening up to him all the while she had been shutting her friends out. She was only just now realizing that even though he was a pale imitation of a person, there was a part of her brain that actually got just how intimate that was. That she had been letting Spike in, and that now with the kiss, she had taken that emotional invitation and turned it into a physical one. She had to shut it down right away. The part of her brain that kept getting tricked into thinking Spike was a person was wrong. She needed to remind herself of that. And him if he tried anything.

Still, out of all her dreams, the one in the coffin remained the most vivid. Something about the fact that it didn't suddenly start turning sexual made it harder to ignore. Instead she was left with the feeling of just laying still with his arms wrapped around her like a lover, feeling his nose and lips nuzzling her neck, the hard planes of his chest pressed firmly against her back... It almost seemed more real and comforting than any of her past boyfriend relationships. She wanted to feel like that for real, calm and comforted in a lovers embrace, knowing that even when buried alive she was safe in his arms.

Just not with Spike.

Buffy stopped in her tracks when she came up to a corner group of graves. She had been so caught up in her thoughts that she wasn't really paying attention to where she was going, and now she wasn't alone.

There, sitting on top of a tombstone with his back to her was the very menace that had been rampaging through her thoughts all night.

Spike.

He didn't look very menacing right now though. He just sat quietly with a stake in his hand, staring at the freshly filled in soil, waiting for whoever was buried that day to rise up as a creature of the night. It didn't seem like he knew Buffy was there. Maybe if she turned around right now and just tried to sneak away-

"Guess since you're busy playing evade the vamp we're not talking about it," he said, not looking up from the grave he was watching over. Sneaking away, definitely not an option.

"There's nothing to talk about," Buffy replied, turning to walk away anyway. It was the opposite of safe to be having this conversation.

"Just something to run away from, then," Spike said, almost too quietly. Buffy stepped closer to hear, forgetting for the moment that she was supposed to be avoiding him.

"I don't need to run away from you, Spike," she replied, crossing her arms.

"Is that right?" he asked, hopping down from off the tombstone. He strolled up to Buffy, daring her to stand her ground. "Sure seemed like you fled from our kiss like I had planted bats in your hair."

"Only because I knew you were gonna pester me about it just like you are now," Buffy countered.

"I'm not pestering," Spike replied, putting a hand up in defense with a look of feigned innocence. "Do I pester?"

"I'm feeling pretty pestered," she replied.

"Not gonna spill my guts to you or anything," Spike said quietly. He seemed to have trouble meeting her eyes. "Learned better last time, didn't I? Just..." he sighed, looking back up at her face. "Tryin' to figure out where we stand."

"You're standing over there and I'm standing over here," Buffy said, determined to remove any doubt that the kiss did not complicate things. "Simple."

"An epic smooch like that is anything but simple," Spike countered, his voice gaining a sensual rumble.

"It was not epic," Buffy argued. "It was the opposite of epic. It was... trivial."

"Oh come on, Slayer," he groaned, gripping her by her arms. "We had a seventy piece orchestra and full chorus backing to sweep us up in the moment. That's an epic beginning if I ever heard one. Bet if we got you on your back I could get you singing even without the help of a spell."

Buffy pulled herself out of his grasp. "You're such a pig, Spike."

"Oh that old standby," he replied, tilting his head. "Why are you so keen on denying what's happening between us, love?"

"There is no 'us' when only one person is a... person and the other is a thing," she replied in disgust. Spike's jaw clenched as his face darkened. Buffy might have touched a nerve with that one.

"Ya know what I think?" he asked, taking a step closer and invading her space.

"Is there any response to that question that doesn't end up with you telling me anyway?" Buffy asked, refusing to let him intimidate her.

"I think that kiss was just your way of dropping the miss prim and proper act for a bit, and finally letting your dark side come out to play," he said.

Buffy stared coldly at him. "You think that just because we've been hanging out lately that you've seen my dark side?"

"I see it all the time," he said. "Every time you make some quip 'bout the unlife you've just ended, you're trying to tamp it down, trying to keep that black river runnin' just beneath the surface from overflowing. But now you're findin' you can't hold it back anymore, so the dam breaks and you get swept up in the current, washing you into my arms. You kissed me like I was the air you breath because you're tryin' to keep your head above water."

Buffy wasn't even sure she wanted to follow all that. "Sunnydale is surrounded by desert, so I'm not sure where you're getting the water metaphors from. All there is here is dust, like what you're going to be if you don't leave me alone."

"You want to brush me off? Fine. I know I've always been dirt to you anyway." Spike took a few steps back. "But when you want to revel in your dark side, take a nice long swim in those dark waters, I'm not gonna be here for you to do it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Buffy asked. Spike shook his head, like Buffy just wasn't getting it.

"I'll be whatever you want me to be, Buffy. I'll be your lap dog. I'll be your friend. I'll be your bloody knight in tarnished armor. But I won't be your toy," he replied, backing away from her even farther. "My heart can't take it."

Buffy couldn't help rolling her eyes at such a cheesy proclamation. "Your heart doesn't beat, Spike," she told him dismissively.

'Maybe not," he replied, coming to a stop back at the tombstone. "But it can still break." He spun around and threw the stake at the fresh grave, pinning the vampire that had just started to dig its way out right in the heart. He walked off without another word, leaving Buffy alone with the settling dust on the grave.

Buffy kicked the ground and tried not to let his words sink in too deep. For a monster, Spike did a really convincing impression of a man.

Thanks for reading! This story will follow parts of season six, one chapter per episode, if the themes of every episode were centered around Spuffy. Hope you like!