Here's the last chapter of Just Another Saturday Night in Sunnydale.

Thank you very much to everyone who took the time to send feedback on the story. I love and treasure each comment ::pets comments fondly::

About this chapter - I'll warn you now, it has a happy ending, and so and thusly canon had to be punted. So when you notice that you're no longer in the Jossverse...welcome to the Poshverse. :0)

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Buffy tore the tie off her wrists and flung it on the floor beside them. She began unclipping her wig, her fingers so clumsy with revenge-bent haste that Spike had to fight the urge to give her a hand. She finally pulled the wig off her head and threw it behind her, on top of her boots. "It's me, Spike. Buffy. I want you to know it's me when I make you cry."

He put his hands behind his head. "You don't scare me, Slayer. There's nothing you can do to me that hasn't been done before, and by those with a sight better hairdos."

She slammed him against the seat a couple more times, to give herself a chance to think. Because he was right of course, as always, the usual know-it-all smirk plastered on his face. She was going to wipe that smirk off if it was the last thing she did. What could she do to him? How could she get him where he lived? Think think think.

All he had to do was say nothing. She would have quickly grown impatient trying to come up with a suitable punishment for him, and simply fucked him silly before dumping him out of the car like a kidnap victim. But Spike never could keep silent. It wasn't in his nature. "Give over, Slayer. You can't hurt me any more than you already have. I'm untouchable."

"Untouchable!" Buffy pushed off of his lap and heaved him down beside her, right where she'd been lying just minutes ago – the spot was probably still damp. She backhanded him. "You seem pretty touchable to me."

He just laughed at that, then casually brought his hands above his head and slipped his fingers through the grab bar. He tilted his head. "Go ahead, Buffy," he said in his best bedroom voice, "teach me a lesson."

Buffy was so angry she couldn't even speak. He sat there, one knee up, legs spread, unshakably secure in how he looked to her. Was there ever a time when he didn't act like he was posing for the cover of GQ? She wanted him crying! She wanted him sobbing! There had to be something. Hit him, screw him, yell at him. All done to death. She needed something new to hurt him, something unexpected. Something that cut to the bone.

Buffy's eyes narrowed at that and she suddenly smiled, well, evilly. Spike's confidence-o-meter dipped down out of the red zone. He knew that look well, only he was usually the one making it. "Thank you, Spike," she said, her pleasant tone unnerving him ever further. "You're right. I want you to suffer, but pain won't do it. You're too used to it. That's not what it'll take."

"What'll it take, then?" He tried his best to keep his voice blasé. Unconcerned. Tra la la.

She leaned over and started undoing the buttons on his shirt. "Maybe you've been tortured before, but there's one big difference this time. I'm the one doing the torturing. And I can do to you what nobody else can."

"L-like what?" That's right, stutter it up, Spike.

Last button. "I can give you a taste of everything you ever wanted from me. Everything you ever dreamed of. Everything you'll never, ever have." Buffy pulled his shirt off his shoulders as lovingly as a mother undressing her son. She figured he'd appreciate that.

Spike let go of the grab bar. His eyes darted from her face to her hands and back again as she worked his sleeves over his arms. The smirk was long gone. "I don't know what you mean." That was a lie. What he meant was, he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Then it's time you found out." She tossed Spike's shirt on top of her wig. His shoes fell next, tassels bouncing. When she undid his belt and slipped off his pants, his erection gave her a jaunty salute. He was ready as always for her, torture or no torture. Her lips curled up. He had no idea.

She threw his pants on top of the shoes and turned back to him, ready to wreak havoc with his jittery undead psyche. He lay there, nude, waiting. She hadn't forgotten how beautiful he was, but she still had trouble getting a proper breath as she looked at him now. She guessed it wasn't so awful if she enjoyed herself as she exacted her revenge. Buffy ran her hands over his shoulders, his chest, his abs. His vampire skin felt wonderful against her feverish palms. She climbed aboard.

Buffy pressed herself against him, her dress the thin red line between them. She wanted to keep this at a steady simmer until she was ready to burn him. He looked at her with...was it? Yeah, he was getting anxious. It was as if Buffy was passing all of her turmoil on to him. She was feeling great!

"What are you going to do?" he quickly asked.

"I'm going to make you happy, Spike. Are you ready?"

He really wasn't. His body spasmed when she kissed him.

She could taste herself in his mouth, tart as green apples. Surely that wasn't a zing of desire shooting up her spine, not after what she'd just gone through? Even as she thought this, her mind was already whispering, take everything you can get, Buffy – it's going to be a long, cold winter. She let her mouth open against his.

Kissing Spike had always been rather low on her priority list in their frenzied nights together. Her attitude had always seemed to be, "Your mouth? Good. Right. Whatever. Now get inside me." And Spike had happily obliged, because beggars can't be choosers.

But now she applied herself to the task of kissing him with a single-minded sense of purpose that would have left Giles dumbfounded. "Like this, Spike?" she asked again and again, letting his shuddering responses dictate what her lips and tongue did next. "Like this?"

Like that. Spike's muscles clenched until they cramped. He lay there, punch-drunk, when she finally pulled away.

"It's time for some payback," she said, panting. "And you know what I'm going to do to you now?" He shook his head. He actually looked a little frightened as she leaned in to kiss his chest. "I'm going to give you..." she kissed his stomach, "...the most mind-blowing ever..." she kissed the soft line of hair below his belly button, "...foot rub." His moan was just what she wanted to hear.

Buffy sat back against the opposite car door, spread her legs, and settled his heel in between them. She started to massage his foot, as skillfully as a concubine. It took her no time at all to think of hurtful things to say to him. It was sadly easy to come up with the words she knew Spike was aching to hear. "I love being with you, Spike. I think it's because you know me so much better than anyone else. You're the only one who really understands what I'm going through." Spike closed his eyes. "And you're the only one I can count on. Thank God you're here. I don't know how I would have gotten through this year without you.

"Oh! Let me tell you what happened to me the other day." She shared a handful of tiny intimacies about her week as her thumbs pressed into the arch of his foot and his heel slid against her. Her problems with the insurance company. Her accident with the toaster oven and a forgotten mini pizza. The shoes she almost bought. All things best friends tell each other. His hips started coming right up off the seat.

And it got worse. He opened his eyes when she said, "But enough about me. Let's talk about you." He stared at her, stung silent. He refused to say anything at first as she asked him questions. But her words were like a soft patter of rain on hard, dry ground. It didn't take long to soften him, and soon enough he was telling her how he bleached his hair, and who was doing what to whom on Passions. His hard-on was something to behold as she listened with careful attention to his answers.

Spike was explaining how he managed to steal cable TV in his crypt when Buffy really started to like him. And need him. And want him. A lot. It took her a second to place this surge of desire: it was because she was allowing Spike to rise above his station. She was treating him as a human, an equal, and the effect was pretty much instantaneous, and undeniable. His heel slipped right down and off of her. Buffy decided to let this dark horse ride.

Spike watched her as she took the elastic out of her ponytail. He tripped on his sentence as she slowly crawled back up him, the ends of her hair tickling over his skin. He trailed off completely when she ran her tongue over his chest. He did start making noises again when she kept going lower, but you couldn't really call them words. He closed his eyes again.

It often seemed to Spike that his time as a vampire had unspooled at a breakneck pace, that one moment he had been inciting mobs on the dark, teeming streets of London, the next moment, marveling at the taste of his first Cheeto. But here, in the back seat of a stolen Passat, with the Slayer's mouth on his body and his brand new tie in knots on the floor beside him, time had slowed to a sticky syrup.

Buffy finally came to a stop between his legs. He opened his eyes and looked at her. She looked back at him. "Do you want to tell Xander about us, or should I?" she asked him. "Can you just see his face? I wonder, do you think he'll picture me doing this to you?" Then she slid her mouth over him and started to suck.

"Oh my God..." Spike reached up and took hold of the grab bar.

The next time she stopped she said, "I think you should move in with me. We can sleep in my mom's bed, if you want. You can help me raise Dawn. Would you like that?" Then she was right back at it, just as he liked it. Now time was starting to lurch into fast forward.

"Buffy...don't," he said.

She stopped again. "I'm very sorry for how I've treated you, Spike. You always deserved so much better."

"Please don't..." But that just made her go faster. Her mouth was wet, and hot, and greedy. He'd never been so humiliated, so stricken, at how easily she took his love and perverted it. And of course, that just made this more exciting.

When his legs started to shake, Buffy pulled off of him. She yanked him up and against her by the back of his neck. She could feel the soft curls on the nape of his neck. Like a little boy.

She kissed him once, very hard. Then she lay back and spread her legs for him. She pushed her shoulders against the car door. Bracing herself. "Go ahead, Spike. Teach me a lesson."

He knew, he knew he shouldn't do this. Oh, but he could feel her heat, and tried to remember if the sun on his skin had ever felt so good. And you know, he really did want to teach her a lesson. Spike let himself fall forward and slide into her. Buffy gasped. He moved in her slowly, tenderly, as he trailed sweet, soft kisses over her eyes and cheeks and mouth. "You just tell me, Buffy," he said, "if this is hard enough for you." Then he slammed into her so forcefully that she bit her tongue.

"I hope this doesn't hurt," he said as he drove his point home. "How about this, Buffy? Does it hurt?" He put a hand on the top of the car so he could go harder still. He didn't expect, and didn't get, a reply. Buffy simply closed her eyes and took what he gave her, because this? This was the anti-hurt.

He eventually stopped trying to punish her. She was impossibly wet – their thighs were slick with it – and he didn't think anything else could have be as pleasurable as this moment. But as it turned out, Buffy wasn't done with him yet.

She lifted her chin and turned her head to the side, showing him her pretty, slender neck. "Here's your chance, Spike. Take what's yours." It was the filthiest thing he'd ever heard her say.

Would she really let him do it? Or was this just the tease that would lead to the torment when she laughed at him and kicked him away? He licked his lips. He could clearly imagine what it would feel like to have both his cock and his fangs buried into her to the hilt. How her blood would spurt hot against the roof of his mouth. The noises she'd make. He knew that she'd like it a lot – but not nearly as much as he would.

He fucked her desperately into the leather. Oh, God, he could feel his face changing. But even as it did, he was already asking himself...if he bit her, what hold would she have on him then? What price would she exact from him tomorrow? And every night after that? He was going to lose this game no matter what he did, he knew. "You love this, don't you?" he snarled.

So this was revenge. "I love you," she whispered back. Merciless, just as he'd been with her. "I love you more than..."

His face changed back instantly. He was only William now, vulnerable and shaken to the core. "Stop it! That's enough!" He tried to pull out of her, but she sensed his intention before he even started to act on it, and wrapped her legs around him, forcing him against her. Letting him loose just enough to keep him sliding inside of her.

She couldn't stop now. The line had blurred beyond recognition between what she thought he wanted to hear, and what she wanted to say to him. "I love you more than Angel," she said into his ear.

Spike thrust into her like he was trying to crack her open. Then he slowed to a trembling stop. She stared at him, wide-eyed. By the look on her face, she seemed to agree that as turn-ons went, talking about Angel while fucking each other was the new kink to beat. He pressed his cheek against hers and felt wetness there. Was it her tears or his? Both. He kissed her softly, tasting the salt.

Spike finally moved off of her. Without a word, he started to get dressed.

He glanced over at her as he put his shirt back on. Her knees were closed. Her face was a sodden mess. He'd never seen a girl more in need of a box of Kleenex. She sniffled.

Spike reached down and dug through the sedimentary layers of their night together. His pants, his shoes, the wig, his tie, the stake, her boots, the book. Ah, there it was. He pulled his jacket free and petted it kindly. It was a very nice jacket. Then he took a corner of it and held it over Buffy's face.

"Blow," he told her, deadpan.

She blew.

He found a fresh corner and worked his way down. Nothing like making the ultimate sacrifice for the right woman. He dumped the jacket on the floor when he was done and helped her sit up.

He pulled on his pants and buckled his belt while she searched for her panties. "We can't keep doing this," he said.

She stopped and hugged herself. "I know."

He kept his eyes on the back of the passenger seat. "I'm leaving, Buffy."

"I know."

"No, I mean I'm leaving Sunnydale."

Buffy's body did a cannonball into icy water. "What did you say?"

"I should have left long ago. This town is poisoning me."

This town. Way not to name names, Spike. "But...where will you go?"

"I don't know." He really didn't.

She put her hands in her lap, and started rubbing her thumbs together. "Well, then by all means, you'd better get with the going. My dad, Angel, Giles, why not you, right?"

Spike still didn't look at her. "If the men in your life keep walking away, Buffy, maybe you need to love them more when they're still around."

"Don't you lecture me, you...you..." So many insults, so little time.

He was already making a mental list of the things he'd have to pick up back at the crypt. His duster. Cigarettes. The blood from the fridge. His dog-eared copy of Sonnets from the Portuguese he had hidden under his mattress. And, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death. Fuck off, Elizabeth. Really.

"Is 'vampire' the word you're searching for? Yeah, I get it. You don't have to keep reminding me. But I still have hope that's not all I am." He finally met her eyes. "What about you? Is the Slayer all you are? Is it all you want?"

She couldn't answer. Or wouldn't. It amounted to the same thing in the end. He ran his hand through his hair. "Just because I can live forever, it doesn't mean I'm going to, Buffy. In fact, I pretty much wake up every night expecting it to be my last. I don't want to die here. I've got to get out."

He meant it, she could hear so easily in the tone of his voice, the weariness. Not a threat. He was breaking it to her gently. Her head felt like an electrical storm was forming behind her eyes, all negative ions and lightning strikes. She wasn't going to live forever, either. In fact, the odds seemed to suggest that she would die before Spike. In Sunnydale. Alone. Xander and Willow, irrevocably left behind by their ordinariness.

And suddenly, her duty didn't seem quite so sure, her morality quite so satisfying, her soul quite so shiny. She felt old, older than Spike, even, and tired. She knew exactly where her rigid principals were going to take her – all she had to do was look to Giles, that shining beacon of right and wrong. He was alone, too.

She started to cry again as his fingers inched toward the door handle. She'd cried more tonight than he'd seen in the last six months. He hoped she'd be able to pull herself together. He only had so much jacket liner to go around. "So I guess..." he muttered.

That was as far as he got before she put her hand on his arm. "Come with me to Xander's wedding."

"What? As your...?" He waited, but she couldn't spit it out. Her expression told all, though. "...date?" he finally felt compelled to add. Let there be no mistake.

His jaw went slack when she nodded mutely. Did he just feel the mountain shift? He dug his heels in and pushed. "Come home with me. Right now. Spend the day with me. We could...did I tell you I was thinking about quitting smoking?" He could leave town in a huff another day.

So this was it. Lines had been crossed, and there was no going back. Spike didn't think he'd ever seen Buffy more terrified as she made up her mind. More alive. He put his hand on top of hers on the seat between them. "I know I can't find salvation in your arms, Buffy. But what I do find is more than any vampire has the right to hope for."

She shook her head, overcome. He reached over and ran his thumb over her mouth. "I could make you cry every night."

She leapt on him, and kissed him with a joyful passion he couldn't have allowed himself to wish for even ten minutes ago. "Yes. All right. Yes, I'll come home with you." She laughed, shrill and exuberant as a fire alarm. Then another kiss. And another.

He was feeling pretty damn giddy himself. His stomach started to flutter. Maybe he shouldn't be laying it on quite so thick. He pushed her away, her tongue lingering forlornly in the air for a moment before retreating back into her mouth. "Your little friends will scream bloody murder if we do this, you know that, don't you?"

She held up her hand. "Don't bother. Whatever you're going to say, I am already yelling it in my head. Let's just get through today. Okay?"

Spike couldn't stop smiling. He wondered if it was going to cut the top of his head off, it was that wide. His mouth started running faster than his brain. "Okay. And tomorrow, who knows? Sometimes I wonder...I've heard tell of this fellow in Africa. He's..." He cut himself off. Sweet what the fuck was he doing?

Buffy couldn't begin to guess the end of that sentence. He's...a big game hunter? A friend of Paul Simon? "He's what?"

Spike shrugged. Let's leave that for another night. He kissed her, slow and wet, to distract her. She kissed him back, hard and wet, and even he couldn't remember what he was going to say. And then, just like in a Hollywood movie, the sun burst over the horizon in a blaze of pink and orange.

"Ahhh!" screamed Spike. They'd cut it a bit too close.

Buffy tried to cover him with her body, but he was already smoking. She took a desperate look around the car. Her eyes fell on his jacket, wadded at their feet. She snatched it up and shoved it at him.

"Oh, not that!" he moaned.

"You are not going to die now, do you hear me?"

No good deed goes unpunished, Spike thought as he attempted to spread the defiled jacket over his head without letting it touch him. "Get us out of here!" He started to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. It was never boring when Buffy was around, was it?

She tucked the jacket around him. "I can't drive!"

"I don't care! Pretend it's a video game."

She retrieved the car keys from the jacket pocket and crawled into the front seat. "Oh. It's a standard." Now she started to laugh, too.

"I'm approaching well-done, love."

Buffy stalled the car three times before she got it backed out of the parking spot. By the time she lurched onto the street in front of the Marriot, Spike was laughing so hard under the jacket that he couldn't even make fun of her.

"Don't make me come back there!" she warned him as she ground it into fourth gear doing eighteen miles an hour. "Because it looks like it's going to be a bright, bright, sunshiny day!"

It was Sunday morning.

THE END