Buffy and Spike strolled through the cemetery, hands clasped and swinging languidly as they took turns gazing at one another.

"You sure you okay, love?"

"I have never been better."

"I mean, with this. Staying with me." He readjusted her overnight bag on his shoulder.

"Spike," she came to a halt. "I don't want to be anywhere that's not with you."

He squinted at her. "You sure you're not still under a spell?"

She shook her head gently. "Just yours."

"Well. Hope it doesn't wear off."

"It won't," Buffy promised, returning his hand-squeeze. Looking down, she chuckled.

"What's so funny?"

"I just realized something." She lifted their interlocked hands and teased, "You're a hand-holder."

"Wh--?" He withdrew his grasp. "Am not."

She reclaimed his fingers with, "I like it."

He coiled her close, said flirtatiously, "Tell anyone, and I'll bite you."

"Your secret's safe with me." She kissed his knuckle. "Although you might wanna work on your threats."

His mouth spread into a wolfish grin. "C'mon," he led her toward his crypt. "I've got a surprise for you."

"Ooh... is it fang-tastic?"

"You'll see."

* * *

"Oh! Oh god! Please... please don't ever stop!"

"Don't fret, kitten, I can go all night."

"Mmmn..." Her eyes rolled back in ecstasy. "You're the best."

"Aren't I though?"

"Ohhh..." she exhaled, "fuck, yeah..."

He paused, and bent over to rumble in her ear, "You know you're gettin' me hard, right?"

She smiled. "Did I tell you you could stop?"

"Bossy," he drawled, and fanned his hands across Buffy's shoulderblade, spreading the massage oil over her skin while digging his thumbs into her knotted muscles. "I'll keep going, love, long as you can take it."

"You are so on, mister," she slurred, face smushed into a silky pillow, hands grasping the sides of the sarcophagus. He was straddling her naked thighs, easing the pain out of each sore spot as if he could feel it too. How did he know exactly where she hurt?

"I got you," he murmured soothingly. "Gonna take good care of you and Little Bit."

She sighed happily, "We're so lucky..."

"Speaking of the Bit," he said, grabbing another pillow from the floor, "belly up." He tucked it under her stomach. "Don't want 'im -- or, y'know... her -- to be squished."

"Is there like a daily quota on 'I love you's? Because I wanna say it again."

As if he would ever tire of hearing those words uttered from her mouth. "Think you've got a couple to go."

She arched her back in response to his touch. "Love you love you..."

"And while we're on the subject of quotas," he put forward, entranced by her upturned buttocks, "something tells me you and I've got a little catching up to do." He spent some quality time pouring and spreading the oil there.

Realizing what he had on his mind, Buffy gasped. "Hey! Big hornmonster. You said you'd go all night! With the massaging?"

"Who said I'd stop?" Tending to her lower back with one hand, he worked on rolling his jeans down with the other.

"Well... as long as you promise to keep... mmm..."

As she oohed and ahhed at his single-handed kneading, he stroked his erection, coating it with oil, then nudged it into the cleft between her cheeks.

She clenched. "Don't you dare put it in there."

"Why not?"

"I've never... it's weird."

He chuckled, touched by her naiveté. "Alright then. Not tonight. But you don't know what you're missing."

"Ickiness?"

"Don't knock it till you try it, pet."

"I'm not gonna try it--"

He shushed her, fingers of one hand serpentining the outline of her spine. "I told you, baby, not tonight. Just relax." Aiming lower, he found her slick, warm folds and pressed forward.

Rearing back to take him in, her eyes widened at the simultaneous jolt of his cock filling her, his hands healing her.

Her death-grip on his shaft made it tough to concentrate, but he soldiered on, relentlessly circling his fingertips over the planes of her back.

Buffy began to bounce rhythmically and he swept up and down her slippery body, her ass, her thighs, up her back again; all the while pumping inside her perpetually-tight channel, massage oil mingling with her natural lubricant as she gasped and writhed against him, wordlessly begging for more.

He gave it to her by worming his thumb deep into her rectum.

"Oh!"

Spike couldn't help but grin at the Slayer's adorably demure reaction.

Especially because it was followed by an exploratory, "Whoa," and a second, anything-but-demure "Ohhh."

Then: "Oh yeah."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah," she said, thinking, This introduction to an all-new height of sexual pleasure brought to you by Spike, International Sex God.

Overloaded with sensation, she convulsed and moaned in rapture.

Spike marveled at her, savoring the moment. Voice, breathy and throaty; body tremoring, bucking, accepting everything he offered. This was the Slayer in her purest form: uninhibited, wild, like a hot-blooded vampire fresh from the kill, only a hell of a lot more deadly.

Spent and panting, she arched backward, forcing him to sit up.

In his lap, with her back sliding against his front, she wrapped an arm around his neck and angled him in for a kiss.

Riding his cock, she reveled in the way he grunted and moaned into her mouth, the way his labored breath streamed in and out of his nose, and the way he held her -- as if this was the very first time he'd gotten his hands on her, or the last time he'd ever have the chance...

He squeezed her oil-sheened breasts, pinched her nipples, and slid one hand down her torso to rest on the ultimate testament to their love.

When she cupped her hand over his, he came.

* * *

"I just don't understand why she couldn't tell me," Willow grumped. "I'm supposed to be her best friend. Or, I thought I was..."

"It's not you, Will," Xander assured her. "Miss 'I Heart Vampires' has all of two things on her mind right now: herself, and... He of Little Chest Hair."

"Lack of chest hair," Oz shrugged. "Some girls dig it."

"So maybe she's not under a bonding spell anymore," Xander continued, "but she's under something else. Something far more sinister."

"Possibly Spike," Anya stated the obvious, "unless she's on top."

Giles cleared his throat. "Nevertheless, we've a lot of work to do, a lot of ground to cover. I'm convinced that this bond is the key to ascertaining who, or what, might want this child."

"Does it even matter?" Xander scoffed. "I mean, Buffy doesn't seem to care. Why should we?"

Anya said, "I know I don't care. Frankly, I'm sick of talking about it."

"I want you to remember, Xander, that you played a hand in this," Giles reprimanded. "Need I remind you of the rabbit boxes?"

"Oh, great! Again with the rabbits!" Anya yelped, shuddering.

Xander let out a sigh. "No one is more sorry about that than I am, Giles. I'm a big, fiery sphere of sorry. But do you see Buffy here, sorry about it too, hittin' the books and gettin' her research on with the rest of us? No. And why not? Because she's off somewhere, kinking it up with another animated corpse." He stood up and made for the door. "Call me when she snaps out of it."

All too happily, Anya followed him out.

"Well," Giles stammered, "I see."

"You know what?" Willow said suddenly, closing her book. "I'm also gonna leave. Maybe not as dramatically, but enough to show that I too, am against this. Because, I am. For now. Okay with you, Oz?"

"I can respect that."

When they were gone, Giles took a seat, alone in his living room. "Right then."

* * *

"I thought you weren't supposed to be evil anymore," she smiled, her nose brushing against his.

"I'm not!" He held up his left hand. "It's the thumb. Got a mind of its own."

"Well, teach it some manners. And would you go wash it already?"

"So uptight," he chuckled. "As if you didn't love it."

"'Love' is a very strong word." Pouting, she slipped into the crook of his arm and turned to stare at the shadows dancing on the crypt ceiling. "As is 'uptight'."

"'Adored', then?"

"More like, 'didn't hate'."

"Liar."

"Nuh-uh!" she lied.

"Yeah, well, soon you're gonna thank me for easing you into the very best shag of your life."

Eyes narrowing, she wagged a finger at him. "There will be no easing down that road."

"You're just sayin' that. Admit it, you're completely curious now."

After a pause, she snipped, "Shut up. Know-it-all freak."

He laughed. "As I thought."

Buffy whined softly, resting her head on his chest. "Can we stay like this forever? I don't want to slay things or go to school or have a life. I just want to lie here with you. And really, who needs food? Food is totally overrated."

"You need food, love," he said, lightly tapping her navel. "Remember?"

"Yeah, I wasn't serious about the food. I'm actually about to chow down on my own limbs." She mused, "Does Pizzeria Uno deliver to crypts?"

"Delivery boys tend to get eaten around here," he said, craving blood and a smoke. "I'll fetch you anything you need. What you got a hankering for?"

Sheepishly, she admitted, "My mom's three-cheese fajitas." A melancholy smile. "I know... Not gonna happen."

"You want to go see her? Try to mend the fence?"

She shook her head. "Not tonight. Not yet. I don't think I could handle rejection tonight."

"She won't reject you, love." He touched the back of his hand to her face. "She's your mum. I know she misses you just as much. If not a hell of a lot more."

She gave him a soft kiss.

"What was that for?"

"Being more than just a sexgod."

As he moved to kiss her, he heard a twig break outside. He straightened. "Suit up, quick."

"What? Why?"

Ear cocked, he whispered, "Something's out there."

* * *

After searching quietly for several minutes, Buffy called out to the elusive twig-breaking demon, "You know, you keep on hiding like this and I'm only gonna die from severe El Torito cravings. Ponder what that could do for your reputation..."

"Buffy, over here."

She stepped toward Spike, looking down at the ground beside a row of tombstones. When she passed them, she saw it.

"What the--?"

"A Gansao demon." He kicked it, turning it toward her so she could see its long, needle-shaped teeth. "Nasty little bugger. Lucky for us, it's dead." Their eyes met. "Question is..."

She finished, "Who killed it?"

* * *

"Faith's in Comaville. Angel's in L.A.," Buffy shrugged, chewing and swallowing a mouthful of chicken fajita. "If that Ginsu guy's as tough as you say he is, that rules out anyone else I know. Maybe some other demon had a bone to crunch with him."

"All I can figure," Spike agreed, shaking salt on the table. "Welched on a bet, maybe."

She leaned in. "Will you stop doing that?"

His hand froze in mid-air, salt streaming down. "Doing what?"

She raised her browline, indicating.

"Sorry." He put it away and grabbed the pepper. "Won't let me bring you off under the table; gotta do something with my hands."

"Why don't you order something and play with that?"

He shook his head, absently scanning the restaurant. "Mexicans give me heartburn."

"You mean Mexican. Mexican gives you heartburn."

He sniffed. "Sure. Right, that's what I meant."

"Spike."

"Yeah?"

"Promise me you won't eat anyone again."

"I promise." Off her less-than-convinced look, he added, "I've gone this long, haven't I?"

"Because you were under a spell."

"Oh, you mean I can eat people now? Brilliant! I'm off." He made a move to leave the booth and sat down again, taking her hand. "Buffy, I told you. I can control it. And I swear to you, the thought still makes me ill. 'Cept for the little nibbles off you, of course. You give me a taste of your blood every now and then, and I'm perfectly--"

Buffy's eyes widened. The waiter was hovering.

"Uh... can I get you two anything else?"

"Oh, no. No thanks. Just the check," Buffy replied quickly, "and we'll go back to rehearsing our play... About Dracula."

The waiter forced a noncommittal smile. "Great!"

"Nice save, love," he chuckled once the man was out of earshot.

"Spike! The staff of El Torito doesn't need to hear about how much you like to suck my blood," she whispered harshly. "And will you stop doing that!" She swiped the pepper shaker from his grasp.

"Maybe... they'd prefer to hear about the supple planes of your thighs," he proposed, drawing a diagram with his index finger in the salt/pepper mix. "Or the delectable curve... of your bum. Or the remarkable elasticity of your sweet... hot... wet..."

She gasped, and erased his artwork. "What are you, four?"

"Doubt a four year old would know what this is."

She sighed and said flippantly, "Exaggeration, Spike. Spike, Exaggeration. I'm sure you know each other. And stop--" she grabbed his hand as it dotted a nipple.

The check dropped between them, accompanied by the hesitant voice of the waiter. "Thanks... come again."

Buffy kept a wide grin in place until the man walked away. "I can't take you anywhere!" She dug into her pocket for money and banged it on the table.

Popping a cigarette into his mouth, he followed her out the door and toward the parking lot. Flicking his lighter, he asked on the exhale, "Alright. What's the problem?"

She spun around, arms dropping in exasperation, "I just remembered you're a moron!"

"An hour ago I was a sexgod," he returned smoothly. "No -- more than a sexgod, as I recall. Which is it, love?"

"W--Both!" She scoffed. "And don't change the subject!"

"Buffy," he laughed, "What'd I do?"

Just then, a vampire sprung from the shadows, teeth and claws bared.

Eyes never leaving Spike's, Buffy twisted its arm and kneed it in the face. "What didn't you do?"

When it stumbled backward onto Spike, he whapped it on the head to get it out of the way. "Got issue with my restaurant etiquette, do we?"

"Let's review." She stomped the vampire down as it jumped up, "You kept lighting cigarettes when it's clearly a non-smoking establishment," when it tried to bite her leg, she grabbed it by the hair, "you used up all their salt to draw dirty, not to mention grossly inaccurate representations of my anatomy on the table," she lifted it up, "you detailed the finer points of sucking my blood... Oh! And how could I forget," --she blocked and jabbed with her elbow-- "you went vamp-face twice--"

Puzzled, the vampire twisted at the waist to regard Spike, who threw a quick right cross.

With a corresponding jump-kick, she pushed the vampire into Spike's grasp and withdrew her stake, "--you made offensive remarks about the waiters," she drove it home, "and you hate! Mexican food!"

The vampire that buffered them disappeared. "And I deserve to die for which part, exactly?"

Buffy blinked at Spike, and down at the stake poised at his chest. With a gasp, she dropped it and backed away from him.

"Buffy?"

She shook her head, spooked.

"Hey," he approached her slowly, head ducked. "Love... What's this really about? Got a hunch it's not about the bloody food we have in common..." As he picked up her stake, it hit him. "Or maybe that's exactly what it is."

A quick guilty glance was her affirmative answer.

With a warm eye-smile, he stepped forward. "I don't know how to prove it to you, Buffy -- that I'll be staying on the wagon?" He closed the gap between them, voice drenched with conviction as he promised, "But I do know I will love you and protect you, and our child, to the end of the world. And I will do everything in my power to keep you loving me."

"Spike..." she whispered. "I'm never gonna stop loving you."

He studied her worried features.

"...No matter what you do." She sighed, and looked down. "And that's what I'm afraid of." Deep breath. "If I ever had to--"

Spike lifted her chin. "Stop being afraid, Buffy. I'm not gonna let you down." He caressed her face, never so sure of anything in his life. "I'm staying just as I am, just for you. I want to be your long haul guy."

Her lips pursed and parted, quivering. "You really mean that?"

He handed her the stake, pointy side down. "Cross my heart."

* * *

"Spike?" Giles looked tired: eyes red, clothes rumpled -- he'd obviously been poring over obscure passages all night. "What are you doing here?" He peered beyond Spike into the dark courtyard. "Where's Buffy?"

"Asleep. Look, I need to talk to you."

"You're not invited in." He crossed his arms and held his head high. "Go ahead, try it -- we've revoked your invitation."

"Whatever. Don't need to come in." Spike got to the point. "Found a Gansao demon not ten feet from the crypt tonight."

"A Gansao?" Giles whipped off his glasses, concerned. "Are you sure?"

"Trust me on this, mate. I knew a few, back in my less ambiguous days."

"You're aware that they--"

"Feed on anything pregnant? Yeah. Not telling Buffy that, though." He glowered. "And neither are you."

"No. No, I suppose we wouldn't want to alarm her. ...Did you manage to slay it?"

"Didn't have to. Why I'm here. It was already slayed."

"Already--?" He tried to process this.

"Someone got to it before we did. Someone strong."

"Yes, I -- I see."

"Anyway," he tapped his fingers on the doorframe, "thought it might... you know, help."

"I-it very well might. Uh, thank you." Giles walked to his table of books. "Would you like to--" When he looked back at the door, Spike was gone.