Spike lay on his sarcophagus, arms folded behind his head.
He hadn't slept.
Or done anything but relive the previous night, over and over again.
It was so much easier to hate her.
A knock at his door roused him. He sat up, quickly running a hand through his mussed hair and sniffing his armpits. Just in case it was her.
Carefully dodging the afternoon light, he opened the door, and was overcome with a strange sensation: an odd blend of delight, ire and apprehension.
Buffy stood there, unable to look at him, gazing down at the leather jacket, shirt and boots she held. "I um, I thought you'd want these back."
Her hair caught the sun like a halo.
"Yeah. Right. Thanks... Slayer." He chided himself as he took the clothing from her. Almost said her name like a big prancing ponce.
She wasn't leaving, so he swept an arm back, gesturing for her to enter.
Tentatively, she walked past him into his crypt, and he put the articles down on his sarcophagus.
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pack of Marlboros. "I missed these most of all."
Buffy sat down, and he stood, watching her warily as he lit his cigarette.
"Spike..." she began, not really knowing what to say next.
Moments passed, the only sound the intake and exhalation of smoke.
Spike decided to sit next to her. She started a little, her first reaction to move away from him.
Her second reaction was a little different.
She acted on neither.
"Gathering the courage to stake me?" he said, only half-joking.
For the first time that day, she looked at him. A witty retort abandoned her, and all that was left were his eyes.
Shamed, she turned away and shook her head. "Last night..."
Spike nodded. "Yeah."
He flung his cigarette across the crypt, and they both watched it smolder on the dusty ground.
"This really is not going according to plan," Buffy finally said.
He tried to sound indifferent. "Yeah? What was your plan?"
"I was gonna... explain everything. Why it happened. A poltergeist, emotionally disturbed teenagers, sexually... charged... repressed... somethings. You know, the explanation."
"And then you... you've got those stupid eyes."
He tilted his head. "What's wrong with my eyes?"
She shrugged. "They see right through me."
"Well," he said, referring to the sight of her pointed nipples, "It's a thin shirt."
"Stop." She stood up, covering her breasts. "Okay. We're both adults here, right? I mean, you... a little more so."
He smiled. "I suppose."
"So this... thing happened between us, and I can't easily explain it away. Why it was you."
He nodded, and looked down.
"Remember," she said haltingly, "well, the engagement spell, yeah, who could forget that. But also -- the thrall? And the blood I let you... have? And the... the night we all fell asleep?"
He grinned, remembering very well. "I wasn't asleep."
"Yeah, I gathered that." She paced again. "I could ignore all of that. Explain it away. Just pretend it didn't happen, you know?"
"But this? This is different."
"Yeah, I'd classify hours of hot sweaty naked sex as different."
Buffy scoffed. "Do you always have to be so blunt?"
He stood and approached her. "So you can't ignore it but you can't say it? Say it, Buffy, it'll make you feel a lot better." He forced her to look at him. "You and I, Slayer and evil vampire, had truly fantastic, hot naked sex! For hours!"
"Okay! Okay! I know!" She pushed him away. Then she added in a small voice, "Truly fantastic?"
Spike looked slightly wounded. "You don't think so?"
"No -- No!" Buffy said, turning and pacing away. "I do... a lot... I just, I don't know. Well, for one thing, we hate each other."
"Always makes for great sex," he said with a cavalier shrug.
Buffy was hushed. "Oh."
"I had a plan too, you know." Spike stalked toward her. "For when you came here."
She reluctantly eyed him. "What was your plan?"
"I wouldn't say a word." He touched her hair, his voice low and hungry. "I'd sweep you in my arms... and make you mine again."
Trying to mute the effect he had on her, she asked, "What went wrong?"
"Well," he said brightly, "I was hoping you'd give me a few days to recover. Couldn't do anything right now if you paid me. Contrary to what you saw last night, I'm not a bleedin' stallion."
She snorted a laugh. "Yeah, I know the feeling."
"But..." He came a little closer. Too close. "Doesn't mean we can't--"
"No!" Buffy backed away resolutely, keeping him at arms length. "Stop it. This ends now, Spike. You're not going to sweep me in your arms and... take me, and we're not going to do anything of any... sexual kind ever again. And that means no bloodsucking, no funny little 'thralls', and no getting me off while I'm asleep."
He chuckled. So she really knew after all...
Buffy wasn't laughing. "Do you understand?"
Spike looked her over and nodded soberly.
"I need you to say it, Spike."
He sighed. "Alright. I understand. No more fun, ever again."
"Good." She twirled and stomped out, closing the door soundly behind her.
Spike stared at the door, trying to determine whether she really meant it or not. The way she'd--
Suddenly, the door crashed open, and Buffy was upon him, pressing her body against his, wrapping her limbs around him and sliding her tongue into his mouth.
Spike took full advantage, holding her everywhere he could.
At last, Buffy pulled away, wearing an unreadable expression. She cleared her throat, wiped the corners of her mouth and made her final exit.
Spike stood there, burning with rekindled lust.