“Spike's totally into you.”

Buffy stared at her sister.

“Oh, come on. You didn't notice? Buffy, Spike is completely in love with you.”

“He is?” she asked sceptically. “Are you sure?”

“Are you blind?” Dawn replied, rolling her eyes. “Buffy?” She asked poking her sister when she continued to stare into space. “Earth to...”

“Huh? Oh, sorry. I was...thinking.” She looked back over her shoulder towards Spike's crypt.

“Oh my god. You're totally into him too, aren't you?”

“No. No, I'm not,” Buffy denied. “He is kinda hot,” she conceded, smiling sheepishly.

“Totally hot,” Dawn agreed.

“But he's a vampire..”

“So what? It's not like he's out killing people. And he helps out and stuff. And...” Dawn hesitated, glancing around and lowering her voice, “he's nice. You know, when he's not pretending to be all Big Bad.”

Buffy smiled wistfully, remembering how sweet and helpful he'd been when Willow'd had them thinking they were engaged. “Yeah, he can be,” she said with a resigned sigh.

“But?” Dawn asked, exasperated.

“But I can't. We can't. It would be wrong.”

“Why? Because Xander says so?” she snapped. “Mom likes him.” She played her trump card.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He comes over sometimes. Helps out with stuff. Like that leaky pipe that you told Mom you'd tighten, like, weeks ago.” She added more quietly, “I think he gets lonely. It's not like he's got anyone he can talk to. The demons all hate him because he helps you. And you guys all hate him because he's a vampire.”

“I don't hate him.” Buffy said. “And what's with you playing match-maker?”

“Nothing, I just think you two would be great together, that's all.” When Buffy continued to look at her dubiously she added, “Spike's... he's my friend, he's the only one who ever bothers to listen to me or care about what I think, and I feel bad for him being all on his own. And he really likes you,” she added in a wheedling tone. “And hot, remember?”

Buffy laughed, memories of their brief engagement rushing once more to the fore. “Oh, believe me, I remember.”

~*~

“Spike?” Buffy opened the crypt's inner door and peered around the gloom.

“Look, Slayer,” Spike's head emerged from the floor of the crypt. “I told her she shouldn't be here. Knew you'd worry...”

“Huh?” Buffy frowned, watching as Spike stepped out of the hole and kicked a cover over the entrance. “Oh... No, Spike, it's okay. Or, it's not okay, because mom was worried. And hanging out in cemeteries? So not good. Unless you have to. You know, for slaying or...”

“You alright, pet? Seem a bit...”

“You have a basement,” Buffy replied distractedly.

“Ah... Yeah.”

“What's down there?” she asked, chewing her lip thoughtfully.

“Nothing." He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the entrance was properly covered. "I mean, nothing much. Just my bed. And clothes. My clothes, that is...”

“Who else's clothes would they be?” Buffy asked, rolling her eyes before realisation hit. “My missing sweater!” She made a dash for the hole, pushing the cover aside quickly with her foot and dropping down the ladder before Spike could stop her.

“Slayer. Buffy. I can explain.” Spike followed her down the ladder and stopped dead, watching carefully as Buffy fingered the soft, neatly folded sweater lying on his bed next to his sketch book.

She flipped open the book, flicking slowly through the pages, her mouth falling open into an 'oh' of surprise as each page revealed a new, and equally amazing, sketch of her. She reached out one finger to hover above the fine pencilled lines. Was this how he saw her? she wondered, her hand lifting from the page to trace the outline of her own face. She blinked away newly formed moisture, and continued to stare at the face—a face she saw every day in the mirror, but never had she seen it look as serenely beautiful as it did on the page before her.

“You... you did this?” she asked quietly.

Spike sighed, hanging his head sheepishly and nodding.

“It's beautiful.”

“So are you,” he said, his voice hopeful.

Buffy shook her head. She knew she was pretty enough, but not like this. Not the way he'd drawn her. Her voice echoed her thoughts. “Not like this.”

“I think you are. More so.” He looked at her eagerly before dropping his gaze to the ground once more. “Can't do you justice,” he mumbled.

“Look, Buffy.” He spoke quickly. “‘m sorry. Know I shouldn'ta taken your sweater. An' you have a right to be mad...”

“No, you shouldn't have. Spike you can't just...” She broke off with a sigh, waving her hand towards the purloined sweater. She knew she should be mad, horrified even, but when she looked at him and those beseeching blue eyes she just couldn't summon the righteous anger that she knew she should be feeling.

Her head tilted, unconsciously mirroring the vampire's characteristic pose as she studied him. “Dawn was right, wasn't she?” she asked hesitantly, almost scared of what his answer might be, and not entirely sure what she wanted it to be. “You...have feelings for me?”

“I love you,” Spike replied, looking at her with heart-filled eyes.

Oh God. She didn't know what to say—or feel. Part of her wanted to run. It was too much. Too soon. She'd only just started to consider that Spike might, maybe, possibly have some sort of non-murderous feelings towards her, and here he was declaring his love, with evidence of said love blindingly obvious in his oh-so-blue pleading eyes.

Part of her, however—obviously the part currently in control—wanted to do anything but run. “Spike, I—” She stepped forward, her hand reaching automatically to cup his cheek. She smiled when he nuzzled against her palm like a cat seeking attention; she'd forgotten how tactile Spike was. His eyes drifted closed and she watched, amazed, as a contented smile lit his face, transforming the sharp angles to almost boy-like softness. “I want to, but I don’t know if I can,” she whispered, tears threatening once more from the emotions whirling within her. “I’m scared.”

“Would never hurt you,” he promised, his hand coming up to cup her cheek in turn. “Love you so much, Buffy.”

He kissed her tenderly.

His lips were as wonderful as she remembered, if not better, and she breathed a soft, contented sigh, leaning into the kiss as her eyes fluttered closed and her arms encircled his waist. There was nothing demanding about his kiss, and while he held her close, his hands eagerly stroking her back and weaving through her hair, his hold was gentle, almost tentative—with none of the aggression that she’d normally associate with his demonic nature, or even the self-assured possessiveness of their quasi-engagement.

Eventually he broke the kiss, his forehead resting against hers and his breath coming in ragged gasps as he watched her hesitantly.

Buffy knew he was waiting for the inevitable rejection and her heart clutched in response. “It’s alright,” she murmured against his lips, wanting to assure him that she had no intentions of hurting him either. Her hands slid up his back, stroking and kneading while she enjoyed the play of strong muscles beneath the soft cotton of his t-shirt. His low, rumbling moan as she pressed against him sent a jolt of passion tingling through her body and she gasped as his lips abandoned hers in favour of her throat. She was sure there was a not-so-distant time when the thought of Spike anywhere near her throat would have given her a severe case of the heebie jeebies, but with his lips and tongue working their incredible magic, she found it hard to recall when such a time could have been.

Some small, rational part of her brain screamed at her that this was wrong, and that everything was moving far too fast, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She gasped Spike’s name as he scooped her up and moved towards the bed. Tangling her fingers in the soft platinum curls, she pressed soft kisses to his temple and murmured her encouragement against his ear.

~*~

Buffy leant on one elbow, her fingers trailing slowly and rhythmically across his stomach, as she watched him sleep; she’d never thought anyone, let alone a soulless demon, could look so peaceful and content. She smiled, snuggling against him and resting her head on his bicep. Everything that was happening with Spike was so sudden, so unexpected, and yet it felt right in a way that nothing ever had before. It felt—natural.

She sighed, her hand tightening possessively on his waist. She couldn't explain what she was feeling to herself, and now she had to try to explain it to her friends and family—at least she knew Dawn would be on her side.

Spike stirred beneath the suddenly firmer touch and she soothed him, pressing a gentle kiss to his chest as her hand resumed its rhythmic stroking. "Shhh," she whispered. "I didn't mean to wake you up. Go back to sleep."

His arm curled, tightening around her and pulling her closer. She looked up to see him studying her, blue eyes twinkling and one corner of his mouth curved seductively.

"Don't want to," he told her in a low rumble. "Got much more interesting things in mind."

~*~

Telling everyone turned out to be far easier than she'd imagined.

Her mom, as Dawn had predicted, was delighted with the news, stating, "I've always liked Spike. He's a good boy." To which Buffy had smiled, trying not to laugh or point out to her mom that that was a bit like calling a fighting pit bull a sweet puppy. "And he loves you very much," her mom had added with that smug, knowing mom-smile.

Willow, Xander and Giles had more reluctantly agreed that Spike had come a long way from the vampire who'd tried to kill them all. In the end they'd conceded that as long as she was happy, and knew what she was doing—which she had assured them she did—it was her life and ultimately up to her who she dated.

After that, things settled into an easy routine: she went to school during the day; she trained at the Magic Box, often with Spike there leering from the sidelines; Spike patrolled with her at night—as he had for some time now—the difference being that they held hands as they walked the moonlit cemeteries, and took the time to steal kisses or cuddles between slayings; they hung out at the Bronze with the gang, where Buffy discovered that Spike was as competent on the dance floor as he was elsewhere; then they went back to Spike's crypt at the end of the night.

Technically Buffy was still living in the dorm, but she'd spent so little time there in the last weeks of school, that when they broke up for summer she started the search for somewhere vampire-friendly but a little less cliché—and dusty—than a crypt for her and Spike to live. They found a small but comfortable basement apartment, with a living room, one bedroom, a little kitchenette and a small bathroom with a shower and hot running water, which, Buffy figured, was a huge deal considering she'd practically been living in a crypt with no bathroom, or running water of any kind for weeks. No more having to go home to mom's for a shower or having to go out to use the restrooms in the nearby park in the middle of the night. The apartment was within easy walking distance of school for when her classes started back up, and had easy, shaded, access to the sewers should Spike need to get about during daylight hours. Her mom and Giles had helped them out with references, and the gang even helped them move their stuff.

~*~

"I had fun tonight. Did you have fun?" Buffy asked as they let themselves into their new home.

"Yeah, I did," Spike responded.

The gang had thrown them an impromptu house-warming at the Magic Box after they'd finished moving the last load of boxes, and Spike and Xander had returned the trailer that Xander had borrowed from his boss for the evening. It was just a simple affair: pizzas, hot wings and beer, and the entertainment was some cds played on Xander's old portable cd-player, but it had been fun. Her mom and Giles had been practically beaming as they stood on the sidelines watching the 'kids' laughing, joking and dancing. Buffy knew that despite his casual reply, it had meant a lot to Spike to know that he really was accepted as one of the gang now, and not just tolerated for her sake.

She reached for his hand, stopping him as he headed for one of the yet-to-be-unpacked boxes. "I love you, you know that, right?"

His head tilted as he regarded her, the corners of his mouth lifting into a soft smile and his eyes took on the soft, dreamy look that she was fairly sure only she had ever seen.

"Yeah, love. I do." He stepped closer, gently tilting her chin up so that his lips hovered a breath away from hers. "Love you too, Buffy. More than anything in this world or any other."