Buffy kicked off her covers, jumbled thoughts keeping her awake and forcing her out of bed.

"I must be losing it," she muttered as she threw on some sweats, climbed out the window and headed for the nearest cemetery.

It was time to go kill something.

* * *

Spike sat dejectedly in his armchair, gazing at the silk sheets on his sarcophagus. She was right there. Right there, and he had to screw it up.

"Idiot!" he berated himself once more, and rose to grab his coat.

It was time to go kill something.

* * *

"I guess she was acting kinda different tonight," Xander conceded as he dodged a low-hanging branch.

Anya was trying to appear neutral. "Different? Like, what kind of different?"

"Well, from what I can tell, she isn't moodswinging over Riley anymore -- and thank god for that..." He considered his words as they clipped down the park's path, the last stretch of the long walk home. "But instead of being her usual 'let's get to the bottom of this Glory thing' self, all of a sudden she won't hear diddly about any of the research we've done--"

"Uh-huh?" she prodded.

"All of a sudden she's 'No time for you! I've got places to be, demons to--'"

"Massage!" Anya finally blurted out excitedly, clapping her gloved hands.

"What?"

"She had a massage date!"

"And I repeat: Huh?"

"She bought massage oil and told me not to tell."

"And that's why you're telling me now?" Xander teased.

"Keeping a secret is difficult and distracting," the former demon explained petulantly. "And besides, you're my significant other. It's only natural that I tell you everything. You tell me everything, don't you?"

"Of course! Of course I do," Xander assured her and quickly segued into, "Massage oil, huh?"

"Yup," she said with a smile. "Sandalwood."

"But that could be for anything," he dismissed. "What makes you think it was a date?"

"She was so secretive about it, I figured she must be having sex with someone."

"Not Buffy," he insisted. "She's not big on one-night stands."

"Well, either that or she's masturbating."

"Okay! I didn't hear that. Look, I'm sure it was totally innocent." They heard a commotion a few yards away. "Unlike anything involving him." He pointed through the trees at Spike, who at the moment was fighting a large Cyclops demon.

"Do you think he needs help?" asked Anya.

"Nah. He'll be fine."

"Oi! You two! A little help here!"

They rolled their eyes and traipsed to his aid.

"You're doing it all wrong!" Anya yelled. "You have to hit his eye!"

Spike pulled a large knife out of his boot and flung it into the demon's unblinking eye. The thing wobbled for a moment and fell with a loud crash.

Straightening his jacket, the vampire said, "Thanks, love."

"Sure thing." Anya frowned, and sniffed the air. Then she stepped toward him.

He took an impulsive step back. "What?"

"Is that... sandalwood?"

"Oh. Yeah." Suspiciously, he added, "Why?"

Anya raised a brow at Xander, who immediately shook his head. "No way."

"No way what?"

"Are you having sex with Buffy?" Anya asked him.

Spike laughed, "What?"

"Buffy!" Xander said, signaling that the Slayer herself was approaching.

"Hey, guys. What's...?" Buffy scrutinized the dead demon. "A Cyclops? Why couldn't I find a Cyclops?"

"Put up a hell of a fight, that one," Spike said, lighting a cigarette.

"No fair," she pouted. "All I got was a lousy one-armed vamp."

"You killed Estrus?" Spike laughed, exhaling smoke. "Bet he was cryin' like a baby."

Buffy scowled. "I let him go."

"Never could kill a man on his knees, could you?" he noted with a smirk.

"I... can!" she said defiantly. "I just... didn't want to."

After surreptitiously sniffing Buffy, Anya was vexed. "Huh. She doesn't smell like it."

"Like what?" Buffy asked, shifting away from Anya's olfactory range.

"Sandalwood."

The Slayer screeched, "Anya!"

"What?"

"What part of 'secret' don't you understand?"

"Just the part where I can't tell anyone," she whined, and pointed at Xander. "Especially not my best friend!"

Buffy whimpered. "I'm leaving."

"Okay, but first," Xander said, "help me sleep at night and tell me there's nothing going on between you two."

Buffy's eyes widened. "What?" She gaped at Spike. "What did you tell them?"

"Nothing! I swear it!"

"He smelled like sandalwood," Anya explained, "So I put two and two together--"

Buffy yelled at Spike, "Don't you shower?"

"I bloody well do! Just didn't have a chance tonight!"

"A-ha!" Anya exclaimed, victorious. "She showered!"

"Please tell me this is a nightmare," Xander groaned, hand over his eyes.

"Xander!" Buffy squawked. "There is nothing going on between us!"

"I am so willing to believe that, you have no idea."

"Good!" Buffy said indignantly. "Because it's true!"

Xander wagged his finger from her to Spike and back again. "So why the oil connection?"

"Because he gave me a MASSAGE!" Buffy spanned her arms outward. "Okay? That's ALL! And this doesn't get out, ever, to anyone else, got that?"

Xander started to laugh. "He... gave you..." He stopped laughing and turned to Spike. "You touched her?" He turned to Buffy. "You let him touch you?"

"Xander, please don't make this a bigger deal than it is."

He shut up. Of course, there was no way she'd ever, ever, with HIM, in a million years... "Of course not. Sorry, Buff."

"Thank you!" Buffy ambled away, talking to herself. "God!"

Spike glanced at the couple. "Well, night, all."

"Hold on there, Sven." Xander hooked Spike by the arm. "Don't get any ideas, okay?"

"Ideas," he repeated and looked down, unamused, at the hand on his person.

"She's lonely. She's vulnerable. Don't start thinkin' you can take advantage of that."

"The Slayer can hold her own," Spike replied with a glare. "And somehow, I don't think she'd like you talkin' about her that way."

Wrenching his arm free, he stalked off towards his graveyard.

* * *

"Buffy." Spike ran a hand through his sleep-mussed head.

"Spike," she greeted with a nod, closing out the stream of late afternoon sunlight as she pulled the crypt door shut.

He sat up. "Come to attack my personal hygiene again, or--"

"I've been thinking."

He studied her curiously. "About?"

"About a lot of stuff. Like, why do my professors constantly pick on me?" She crossed her arms and looked up with a shrug. "Why can't I get demon snot out of my best pair of pants? Why are misplaced gods so impossible to find, and why can't I get the rest of that massage?"

He wondered whether he was still dreaming. "Sorry?"

"It's not like we're hurting anybody." She began to pace his crypt. "In fact, it's just the opposite -- we're making a totally worthy contribution to the side of not evil. I mean I've been so tense I barely sleep anymore, and last night, when you... That was the first time I've relaxed in months. And despite Anya's stance that massage is synonymous with hot oily monkey love, we both know it's not. Right?"

He squinted. "What are you asking me?"

She dropped her hands, and made a pleading little mewl. "It's just -- you fixed me, and now I have this new knotty thing, and I'm not saying I'll be making you do this all the time, just this once, and then I'll leave you alone, I sw--"

"Get undressed."

She blinked at him. For the first time since she'd barged in, she noticed that his chest was exposed, and it was surprisingly... chiseled. "What?"

Spike looked her square in the eye. "Do you want this or not?"

"Yeah." She put her bag down. "I just wasn't expecting it right this minute."

"Can you think of a better time?"

"Um. Not really. I guess..." She kept her fingers poised on her sweater buttons.

"You want the full effect, do you? Candles, nightfall?"

"No, no. Really. This is fine."

"Let me light some candles for you." He reached down to grab his jeans.

"Not necessary... Okay, one or two." It dawned on Buffy that he was nude, and she swiftly turned on her heel. "Do you always sleep naked?"

He smiled at her back as he fastened his pants. "Not always. You?"

"Okay, off subject. You get dressed first."

"This makin' you nervous, Slayer?"

"No," she lied, biting her lower lip. She'd gotten a fleeting view of his... parts, and she was trying to will away the blush that was now burning her face.

"I'm decent. You can turn 'round."

"Uh-huh," she said, not turning.

She heard the flick of his lighter, and spun slowly to see him igniting the candles. The crypt was dark even in day, of course, so the effect was similar enough.

When he was done, he faced her. "Well?"

"Oh. Guess it's my turn to get indecent."

"That it is," he agreed, then stepped forward. "Are you blushing?"

"No," she scoffed. "Why would I... no."

"Remember," he said. "Perfectly innocent."

"Oh. Yeah," she snorted. "Totally innocent."

He smirked and turned away from her while she hurriedly disrobed. She dove for the sheets, choosing not to ponder his own nakedness against those very bedlinens.

"Ready."

He found the oil and approached her waiting form.

God, she was lovely. He forced himself to be quiet as he spilled it onto her back.

"It's um," she pointed to the right side of her middle back. "It's here."

"Got it, lo -- ffy."

"Luffy? That's a new one."

"Sorry. Didn't have a lot of time to amend."

"It's okay, Spike. You can do the pet name thing if you can't help it."

"Thank god."

"Anything's better than Luffy, anyway."

* * *

"Oh... Yes, yes, right there, right there..."

Spike's eyes rolled back as he was lulled by her pleas into his imagination, where he was pumping away inside her soft, hot folds.

He was at her legs now, kneading into her calves. With each upward sweep, the sheet rode a little further, exposing more of her thighs.

He'd been working on her for over an hour. The sun had set, and she hadn't made one move to leave. Hell, he'd work on her all night if she'd let him.

"Can you--" she said bashfully. "A little higher?"

"Whatever you want, love." He congratulated himself as he pressed on, up her gorgeous thighs.

"Oh, god," she said hoarsely, close to losing her voice now. She'd never felt so good. So relaxed. So... tended to.

To hell with it, he thought, and bunched the sheet so it covered only her ass. She didn't protest. He dripped more oil into his hands and ran them from her heels to the curve of her behind, and back down again.

"Mm," she encouraged.

He repeated the motion, this time covering her outer thighs, then the top, then the inner...

Buffy stopped moaning.

He swept up her inner thighs again, noticing not only the scent, but the sight of her arousal.

Suddenly, irrevocably entranced by the circle of dew at the center of her panties, he continued his repetitive motion, up and down her inner thighs, each time venturing a little higher, each time staring at that little circle.

The one that grew in circumference every time his thumbs almost hit her pantyline.

Buffy shut her eyes tightly. Innocent, she told herself. Innocent. Besides, he'd never...

And this time there was contact. Enough to make her shudder.

Spike went on autopilot. There was nothing stopping his course. Back down he went, and back up, the tips of his fingers grazing that mesmerizing spot. Down, and up, closer, and closer, and closer...

Buffy was shaking. She couldn't stop shaking. This was bad, and wrong, and... so incredibly sensual...

His thumb slid past the barrier of silk.

Buffy cried out into the pillow as her entire body tremored against him.

A breath caught in Spike's throat, and he froze, thumb poised at her opening, eyes fixed on her pooling wetness.

He'd made Buffy come.

In a flash, she whipped around with a one-two combination: a sidelong knee to the jaw and a snap-kick to the chest that sent him staggering backwards.

Shivering, breathless, Buffy stared at him.

He stared back.

Furrowing her brow, she yanked the sheet over her breasts and jumped off of the sarcophagus in a mad dash for her clothing.

He couldn't do anything but watch as she ran past him and out into the night.