Chapter 11  Two

He must have drifted off over the dusty Greek volumes. He woke to the soft sounds of a woman’s pleasure.

He opened his eyes slowly to see the two on the bed. Slayer was now doing as much holding as Buffy was, but her touches were meant to be anything but soothing, fingers coursing hungrily over any bare skin in her reach. He watched as she licked across Buffy’s collarbone, circling the hollow at the base of her neck with the delicate point of her tongue.

Buffy’s eyes were wild as she met his gaze, but she didn’t move away, gasping when Slayer bit lightly at the curve of her throat.

He put the book down quickly and moved to the side of the bed behind Slayer. “You okay, pet?”

“I . . . I don’t know,” she whispered hoarsely.

“You want her to stop, I’ll stop her.”

She looked torn. “But you said she’d know what she needed. What if she needs this?” Her arms tightened around Slayer, drawing a soft groan from her at the closer contact.

“She doesn’t need anything you’re not ready to give,” he said fiercely, ignoring the blood rushing straight to his crotch.

“No, I . . . I think its okay. If she wants . . . needs . . . It’s just me, right?”

He tried to smile reassuringly, but he knew it came off as a grimace. “If you’re sure . . .”

She nodded hesitantly and looked down at the woman in her arms. Slayer looked up, met her gaze, and leaned in to kiss her hungrily. After a moment, he saw Buffy relax her jaw, opening herself up to the kiss.

Christ.

“I’ll be right back.” He stroked each blonde head briefly, then fled the room.

He stopped in the hall, leaning against the door to try to calm himself. This would be his biggest wet dream ever, if it weren’t already his worst nightmare.

But he had to protect her.

He slipped into the dining room without the others seeing. Willow was in the kitchen.

“Something’s happening,” he said softly, eyes darting around to make sure they weren’t overheard.

“What is it? Is something wrong? Er? Wronger?”

He quieted her with his hand. “Buffy’s holding her. Contact seems to be helping. But the Slayer wants . . . more contact.”

She was confused. “More contact?”

He rolled his eyes. “More of your kind of contact,” he said meaningfully.

“My kind of contact? But what . . .” Her eyes suddenly flew wide. “She wants to have sex? With herself??” Her voice flew up the register even as her volume dropped to a bare whisper. “What do we do? We can’t let . . .”

“It’s what the Slayer needs, and Buffy seems . . . willing. But you’ve got to get the girls and Harris out of here. They can’t get a whiff of what’s gonna happen in this house tonight.”

“We’ll just keep them out of her room. There shouldn’t be any reason . . .”

He closed his eyes, hating to reveal such a privacy. “Willow, at least one of them is a screamer.”

“Oh!” Her face flushed dark at all the unasked questions that were answered with that piece of information. “Oh goddess! Oh! Xander!” she called in a panic.

“Deep breath, Red,” he calmed her. “Play it cool.”

“Right, right. Xander!” she yelped in surprise when he appeared in the doorway.

“Everything okay in here?” He eyed Spike suspiciously.

“Fine!” she squeaked. “I just thought maybe you could take the girls to your place tonight. Have a sleepover/movie-a-thon. Give them a change for a . . . change.”

Xander’s frown deepened. “We could just bring movies here. The girls are worried about Buffy.”

Spike jumped in as Willow grasped for an excuse. “Girls are too loud, aren’t they? Can’t help it, they’re kids. But up and down the stairs, in and outta the bathroom right next to her, all the talking and laughing, it’s botherin’ her. Take the flock off for the evenin’, give the Slayer a break, eh?”

“Willow?” Dawn spoke from behind Xander. “Is Buffy okay?”

Willow was relieved. Here was an ally. “Yeah, Dawnie, she’s okay. All the noise is getting to her. I was just asking Xander if he’d take you all to his place for the night.”

“Sure, we’ll go,” Dawn said, settling the question. “They’ll all be glad to get out for a while. I’ll get everyone packing.” She disappeared back into the living room.

Xander was still distrustful. “Will, you sure it’s okay?”

“Oh, yeah, fine.” Spike could still hear the edge of hysteria in her voice, but didn’t think Harris noticed. “Spike and I will stay here, keep an eye on things. You guys have fun!”

“Alright . . .” He went to start herding the girls out to the Summers’ SUV with a glance back at her.

When the coast was clear, she slumped back against the island, sighing.

“Very smooth, Red.”

She just rolled her eyes with a shudder.

Ten minutes later, the whole crew was pulling away. Willow and Spike watched them go, then Spike turned to head back upstairs. She stopped him with a hand. “Where are you going?”

“Have to keep an eye on them.”

“I think they can manage without supervision. Especially yours.”

“You think so?” His face was hard, but his tone was even. “One of them is a normal, fragile woman. The other is a super-powered, instinct driven killer. But okay, let’s leave them alone together in a highly charged situation. I’m sure nothing bad will happen. Really.” And he sat on the step to wait

She looked at him, then hesitantly up the stairs, chewing worriedly at her lip. “Well,” she surrendered a bit. “Maybe I should go . . .”

“Will, you’re her best friend. And, no offense, but you’re gay. How comfortable do you think she’s gonna be with you seein’ her like that?”

“And it’s better if you do?”

“She hates me. It won’t matter in the end.”

She was moved by the pain in his voice, and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “She doesn’t hate you. Not anymore.”

“Yeah, well, she should. Maybe this will help her remember that.” He looked up from his boots. “Can I go now?”

She sighed and stepped back. “Okay, go. But if you need me, call.”

“I’ll come get you, promise.” He started up the stairs, then hesitated. “And Red? Ignore anything you hear from up there. It’ll probably get noisy.” He bounded up the rest of the stairs.

She moved in shock back to her computer at the dining table, sinking into the chair, still stunned. After a moment she slowly began banging her head against the tabletop.
 

The sight that greeted him when he opened the door was almost more than he could take.

Buffy lay prone on the bed, her tousled hair tumbled across the pillows. The soft dress he had removed so gently this morning was ripped at the straps and pushed down around her waist, baring her breasts to his hungry gaze.

One hand played with a tight nipple, pinching and pulling, rolling it in time to her gasps. The other hand was wrapped tight in a long, blonde braid, guiding the head buried between her legs. Slayer’s arms were slid under Buffy’s ass, lifting her to open her up to Slayer’s hungry mouth, Slayer’s hands curled up and around to grip Buffy’s hip bones, controlling her target as much as she was controlled.

He closed the door, backing into it to slump to the floor, the guilt of his immediate hard-on overwhelming. He wanted to leave, to respect their privacy, but he didn’t dare. If Slayer got aggressive, she could hurt Buffy before he could get back to help her.

So he sat, helpless and fiercely aroused, out of line of sight thanks to the height of the bed, the only privacy he could afford them. But he could still hear them perfectly clearly.

And god, the sounds.

The wet, suctioning sound of mouth on dripping pussy. The desperate whimpers of pleasure. He could almost envision exactly what Slayer was doing based on the sounds they made. He had loved devouring her precious little quim, and had taken every advantage she afforded him to do just that. Every sound was a memory to him, and he sank himself into the melody of it being played by another musician.

A soft sigh as she slicks softly around the outer lips.

A gasp as she flicks over the tight bundle of nerves.

More sighs accompanied by her own sipping.

Moans as she slides the flat of her tongue up and down the length of the slit.

It took every ounce of his willpower not to reach down and take himself in hand in time to their chorus.

A high hiccupping cry as she latches onto the clit, punctuated by eager whimpers for each brush of teeth.

“Oh god, please!” One finger run teasingly along the slit, carefully trimmed nail barely scratching the delicate, swollen flesh.

“Yes!” as the finger slides home.

A deep, guttural groan as another joins it. And another.

It was worse not watching.

She must have begun exploring inside as well as out, because the bed started creaking and shuddering. “Oh . . . oh god. . . please . . . just. . . oh yes . . . please, yes . . . more! Just. . . keep . . . oh god . . . oh GOD . . .Ungh! Ah! God help . . . don’t yes . . .!” The keening cry shattered the air as the bed shook with the force of her orgasm.

Don’t stop, don’t stop, he thought hard. If you just keep going, she’ll come again.

But of course her lover was the only person in the world who knew her responses better than him. Buffy started to calm, then gasped again. “What . . . oh! Oh!” He heard the hard sucking sound of Slayer’s lips on slippery wet clit. The bed jerked and shook as she thrust deep and Buffy keened her ecstasy yet again.

The bed thumped once, twice and then was still.

He listened as they both gasped shallow breaths, and the bed shifted as Slayer moved back up to the pillows. Then all was quiet.

Chapter 12  Guidance

He sat still, willing his arousal away. She didn’t need this from him, not right now. He just wanted to stay small and inconspicuous until they were safe.

“Spike?” Buffy’s soft voice came from the bed.

“Right here, pet.” He fought to keep the tension out of his voice.

“Can . . . would you come here?” she asked hesitantly.

He did not groan aloud as he slowly got to his feet. The two were spooned on the bed, Slayer in front, Buffy’s arm wrapped around her waist, the dress now in a pile at the foot of the bed.

He sat softly next to Buffy. “What you need?”

“I . . . can you . . .” she blushed, closing her eyes. “I want . . . to do for her, but I don’t know how. Can you . . .”

His heart seized at what she was asking. “You can manage, luv. ‘S just like getting yourself off. Just do what feels good for you.” Don’t make me do this, please.

“But she’s so . . . primal. I don’t. . . Please, help me.”

Damned if he could deny her anything. He quietly kicked off his boots and slid into bed to spoon up against her bare backside. “I’ll guide you, love, but you have to do the work yourself, yeah?” he breathed quietly in her ear.

She nodded quickly, her eyes huge, her body trembling slightly, but whether from fear or arousal he wasn’t sure.

He continued softly. “How do you like to start, then?” She thought for a moment, then gently pressed a kiss to the nape of Slayer’s neck just below her braid. “That’s it. Just feel that out.” He watched as she tentatively began to place delicate kisses along the neck and shoulder bared by Slayer’s tank top. As she gained confidence, he suggested, “Do you think she wants it that gentle?”

She hesitated, then almost tenderly bit down into Slayer’s tight shoulder muscle.

Slayer gasped and arched back into them.

“Surprise her with those,” Spike instructed. “Keep her guessing. What is your hand doing?”

“Nothing,” she answered against warm skin.

“Best change that.” He reached around and lay his hand over hers, guiding her in making small light circles over Slayer’s hard belly. Slayer sighed softly at the touch until Buffy nipped her again, making her jump.

Spike chuckled against her bare shoulder. “Good girl.” Slowly he led her hand downward, dipping below the waistband of Slayer’s sweats. “What are we going to do about these?”

Both Buffy’s and Slayer’s free hand pushed eagerly at the fabric, amusing him no end. “Lift your hips, luv,” he said a bit louder so Slayer could hear him. She obeyed, and three hands pushed the fabric down onto her legs.

“What do you want to do now?” he murmured in Buffy’s ear.

Her hand under his wavered, unsure of where to go.

“Try this.” He guided her lightly over the tops of Slayer’s thigh, lifting her wrist so only her fingertips dragged faintly over the sensitive skin. At Slayer’s soft intake of breath, he led softly down to scribe delicate circles along the inside of her leg. Slayer whimpered at the light contact and jerked away, only to return instantly for more. “You always loved this, remember?” Buffy’s eyes fluttered shut as she nodded almost imperceptibly. He moved closer to her ear, his pitch dropping. “Only you liked it better when it was my mouth . . .”

She cried out faintly at the memory, her hips arching in a wave against the bodies penning her in.

He was losing his distance quickly. He wanted her, wanted them. He had known he couldn’t be this close to them like this and not want what he could never deserve. This was too much, too intimate, more even than what he had shared alone with either of them. He needed to go, to get out of this bed and away from them . . .

“What do I do now?” Buffy asked innocently.

He was lost.

“Here, pet, let me show you.” He closed her hand with his own, leaving only her two dominant fingers outstretched, his index finger making a third, guiding the movement of the other two. Together they caressed over Slayer’s mound and down, knuckles gathering up drops of moisture as their fingers delicately opened up her labia. She moaned eagerly, curling her top leg up and over Buffy’s hip to be trapped against the curve of Buffy’s ass by Spike’s pelvis, her foot running parallel to his hard on. He couldn’t resist grinding against foot and ass, and all three groaned at the sensation.

He led their fingers in eager circles over her spread cunt, smearing her juices over every inch of exposed flesh.

They quickly stroked up and down along the slit as though scratching an itch, making her cry out desperately. “She’s ready,” he purred in Buffy’s ear. “Are you?”

“God, yes!” she moaned, and he knew there were layers of meaning in it that he would explore later.

“This way.” And he led their fingers up to her swollen clit. She whimpered like a lost child, but Buffy rained soft kisses on her neck and shoulders as Spike led them through their dance. “Small circles, pet,” he instructed in a whisper, “on and off until she’s closer. Drop down to keep your fingers wet and come back.” He demonstrated, making Slayer writhe against them with a barely audible “Yes!”

As Buffy gained confidence, he let his hand drift away to slide up Slayer’s taut belly, under the hem of her shirt to cup one compact breast. As he rolled and kneaded it, he flexed his arm to inch the fabric up over her ribs. Finally realizing what he was doing through the haze of her arousal, Slayer reached down and grabbed the fabric, pulling it up over her head to drop it on the floor, kicking her loose leg free of her pants at the same time. He murmured approval at the nude form draped ecstatically over them, decadent sexuality written on every inch of her. He pinched her nipple hard, wishing he could replace his fingers with his mouth. Her hips began trembling against them, her mouth open but only desperate gasps coming out.

“Almost there, luv,” he hummed in Buffy’s ear, dropping kisses along her neck. “Why don’t you slide in and see how she feels?”

Buffy bucked at the suggestion, but leaned down to slide into her twin’s sopping channel. Slayer’s hips began stroking eagerly, sliding up and down along the single finger buried deep within her.

“She’s so tight!” Buffy said in wonder, moving to increase her penetration.

“God, I remember,” he groaned, grinding harder against her. “Fucking heaven. Give her another.” She moved slightly as he continued fondling Slayer’s breasts. Slayer’s reaction was instantaneous, the strokes of her hips becoming hard thrusts.

“I can’t hold her!” Buffy sounded panicked.

“Don’t try,” he instructed, moving his hand down to Slayer’s pelvis to slow her movements. “Just lock your arm and let her do the work. Curve your fingers up into the fleshy part. Feel around for a place that feels a little different.”

They both knew the instant she found it. Slayer’s head snapped back, eyes and mouth wide and her back bowed for an instant before her hips jack hammered against the bed.

Buffy laughed joyously at the response she had been able to create, kissing Slayer’s neck and turning back over her own shoulder to kiss Spike generously. She let her fingers be squeezed out, dipping back in to gather fingerfuls of come to paint over the Slayer’s cunt soothingly as she came down.

Finally Slayer slipped her foot from between them, bringing her legs together with a groan of pained pleasure. She turned to face them, kissing Buffy tiredly before leaning up to do the same to Spike. Then she collapsed on the pillow with an uncharacteristic giggle.

Spike smiled. He was hard and horny, but somehow felt very content.

Chapter 13  Three

He rolled onto his back, closing his eyes to focus on his body’s responses. The blood was no longer rushing to his cock, but that was less from the end of the twins’ lovemaking and more because he was already harder than he had ever been.

He drew a long, unneeded breath and slowly blew it out, trying to relax as much of his body as he could. He should get out of this bed. Maybe go into the bathroom and have a good, long wank.

Two or three times. Or four. Or five . . .

The girls started whispering. Actually, it was Slayer doing the whispering, the quiet susurrations too faint even for his ears. Buffy replied softly, but still loud enough that he could hear.

“Mmm, I’m sure.”

Surprise. “But you just . . !”

More insistent whispers.

“Well, I suppose if we have to be fair . . .”

Slayer rolled across Buffy with a growl to descend on him, catching his mouth in a fierce, hungry kiss as her naked body straddled him, eager hands scrambling under the hem of his shirt to bare his taut muscles to her touch and gaze. He groaned in her mouth, trapping her head with his hands as he lost control of his need and devoured her mouth as he ground his cock up into her pelvis. But when she pulled away to jerk his shirt over his head, he regained a touch of sanity

“No. No!” He gripped her shoulders to stop her as she leaned in to kiss him again. “I’ve got to get out of here. This isn’t right.”

“Oh, here we go again,” Slayer grumbled, dropping an elbow into his chest painfully to lean on it in frustration.

Buffy slapped her lightly on the shoulder. “Be nice,” she commanded. She leaned in to gently stroke his hair from his forehead, the soft roundness of her breasts right in front of him. He closed his eyes to the temptation. “What is it, Spike?”

“It’s too much, pet,” he practically begged. “It’s not right. You two ‘s fine, but not me, too. We’ve already gone too far . . .”

“Shh,” she soothed him, Slayer motionless above them as she watched the scene play out. “Have you done anything we didn’t ask you to, Spike?” She answered for him when he wouldn’t. “No, you’ve done nothing but think about our needs and what the other, the whole Buffy, would want since this whole thing started. You’ve made us both feel beautiful and safe and completely satisfied.” She smiled at the soft growl that issued from the Slayer. “You’ve done everything we’ve asked of you, despite knowing the consequences. We don’t want it all to be consequences, Spike. Let there be some reward in it, too. Just this one night.” And she kissed his swollen mouth gently.

He looked up into her eyes. “You shoulda gone to hell,” he said huskily, moving one hand to stroke her cheek, soothing away the hurt that bloomed in her eyes. “Satan coulda used a beautiful succubus like you who can talk men into running to their damnation.”

The hurt softened and she kissed him again. “It will be all right,” she promised. “Oh, and Spike?” She stopped mid-retreat, looking meaningfully to the Slayer and then back knowingly. “Don’t hold back.”

Slayer roared at Buffy’s tacit permission and resumed her attack, crushing her breasts into his bare chest as she captured his mouth. He growled and returned the kiss with equal force.

He let her dominate him, sliding into their familiar dance of aggression and desire as he wove his fingers into the base of her loosening braid. He jerked her head around, trapping her with her ear against his lips. “You heard what the lady said, pet. No holding back. You know what that means?” He slid out form under her, never releasing his hold on her as he dropped her on her face on the mattress, leaning into her back to pin her. “That means that this time, I’m in control.” And he bit down hard into her shoulder with flat, white teeth.

She cried out in rage and arousal, fighting against him. But he didn’t release her as his nails slid roughly over the flesh on her back and thighs and ass and his blunt teeth nipped and gnawed their way over her shoulders and arms.

He pulled at her head occasionally, emphasizing his control over her as he posed her like a mannequin. As her curses and threats transitioned to needy cries, he eased off her, still holding her trapped by her braid. As soon as his weight was off her, though, she moved to turn on him. “Ah ah, not this time.” He pressed her harder into the mattress. “Behave, or I’ll tie you down.”

She gasped in disbelief.

Buffy silently positioned herself at the head of the bed, eyes hooded with desire, and reached out to grip Slayer’s wrists in living manacles. Slayer could break Buffy’s grip easily, but the symbolism of the gesture wasn’t lost on any of them. Slayer stopped struggling.

Spike still didn’t let go of her hair as he rose to his knees to unbutton his fly, easing the denim over his hips and releasing his eager cock, hard and purple and desperate for contact. He kicked the pants off the rest of the way and crouched next to her, sliding his length against the velvet curve of her ass, the warmth and friction making him groan in pleasure.

He slid an arm under her strong belly and lifted up, raising her to her knees as he moved behind her. He was grateful that she had just come. She’d be sensitive, swollen and easier to please, which was good because his need was so hot and fierce that no amount of control on his part could make this anything but quick.

His arm still under her, he caressed roughly up the insides of her thighs, barely brushing her center with each pass, his thumb coming away damp each time. He couldn’t resist taunting her with it. “All that strength and anger and drive, and you can’t resist it, can you? Giving up control willingly, surrendering instead of following your instincts, that’s what turns you on. That’s what makes you want me. I’m the enemy. Surrendering to me is the ultimate act of submission for you, isn’t it?” He stroked his cock between her legs, slipping easily along her sopping slit. He leaned closer to her ear. “Love it when you give in to me, Slayer. Best damn feeling in the world.” And he drove into her.

She was slick and eager and engulfed him like liquid ecstasy. He paused, breathing heavily to try to hold onto a shred of restraint. He looked up and into Buffy’s eyes. She was flushed and panting, eyes enormous as she watched them. He could smell her arousal, slightly sweeter than Slayer’s more coppery scent.

He drew his hips back and slammed forward again, making both women gasp. He moved shallowly, deeply, slow and fast, building Slayer up as he held his own release off. Using his grip in her hair, he pulled her slowly up until her back rested against his chest, Buffy having released her hold on Slayer’s arms. He curled one arm over her shoulder to reach her breast, the other finally releasing her hair to curve around her waist, stroking over her stomach to slide down into her pussy, fingers slicking over her clit as he began fucking her in earnest, his eyes never leaving Buffy’s face.

Slayer cried out, gripping his arms for support as she rode him earnestly. He growled in her ear, the vibrations driving her faster as he felt his release quickly approaching.

Buffy watched transfixed, her fingers caressing delicately over her own spread thighs and swollen breasts.

He roared, thrusting hard as he twisted Slayer’s engorged clit, her scream of delight rupturing the last barrier as he exploded in release.

They both dropped onto the mattress bonelessly. She rolled away, then moved up to rest her head on Buffy’s thigh. Spike rolled his head back to look up at Buffy. “You okay, luv?”

She closed her eyes, reliving the moment. “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He smiled. “I always knew I should have tried mirrors with you.”

“Wouldn’t have been the same.” She stroked his fine hair gently. “I wouldn’t have been able to see you.”

Chapter 14  Yin

Somehow Buffy had gotten pulled down to nestle between her two lovers. Spike curled up against her back, the borrowed warmth of his skin comforting and stimulating at once. Slayer pressed up to her front, arm curled possessively around her hip, the heavy weight of their matched breasts nestling into each other.

They both seemed replete, but Buffy was almost trembling with desire. She had never realized that she could be so stimulated visually. But watching them had been like watching herself. She thought of all the times she and Spike had been together, how they must have looked like this, beauty and power and need striving against and toward each other. The aggression wasn’t angry or abusive. She could see that it was just the natural expression of their bodies’ abilities and drives. It was beautiful, and she wanted to be a part of it.

And she was. She felt totally decadent jumbled together in this pile of limbs and skin and scent. No one’s hands were still, each of them gently exploring the other bodies in the bed, tracing patterns on skin and curves with light touches and smooth strokes. Spike smoothed back Buffy’s tumbled curls, reached across to tuck back strands of Slayer’s hair that had escaped her braid. She shivered as Slayer’s fingers trailed over the outside curve of her breast. Spike’s open-mouthed kisses along her shoulder made her cry out softly.

She leaned forward and kissed Slayer, slowly exploring the soft flesh of her mouth. Slayer responded eagerly, each caress tender, curious, decadent. Buffy gave herself over to the demands of her body. Their kisses became hungrier as their hands began exploring each other.

She tangled her fingers into Slayer’s hair, finishing the job of taking out her braid to comb her fingers through the loose mass. She gasped as Slayer’s hand coursed roughly down her back to clutch at her ass, then using her grip to push it back against Spike’s cock, following with her hips as she ground their pelvises together.

Buffy wanted to pay equal attention to Spike. She could feel his arousal on every inch of her skin. But her focus had narrowed to what she could see and touch, and that was Slayer.

He seemed to understand that. He moved away, and she thought he was going to give them space until she felt his mouth at her ankle, tongue teasing along her Achilles tendon. Slayer gasped against her throat, and she glanced down to see he was repeating the actions of his mouth on Slayer’s leg with his hand. He winked encouragingly at her and focused on his play.

It was like electricity surging through her from top and bottom. The delicious contact of hot and cool against her skin fired across her nerves, making it hard to remember to act, or think, or do anything but feel.

Feel.

She dropped her hand to gather up one of Slayer’s breasts, cupping her palm to explore the heavy curves of it. She stroked her thumb across the nipple and was rewarded with a grunt of pleasure and the feel of flesh crinkling under the pad of her thumb. She tried it again, rolling it hard, and the grunt became a groan as Slayer broke their kiss to roll her head back. Buffy’s mouth free, she dropped her head and allowed her tongue to copy the path of her hand. Slayer’s breathing became rougher with each caress, and stopped altogether when Buffy sucked the nipple between her teeth. She opened her eyes to find Spike watching her, his eyes hooded and dark. She smirked and made a show of sucking and licking the tight aureole, never taking her eyes off his.

“Minx,” he mouthed silently, grinding his velvet erection against the small of her back.

She hummed eagerly, rubbing her foot against his chest.

She cried out as Slayer’s fingers slipped between her legs.

She lost all ability for rational thought as Slayer slowly explored her, separating lips from mound, sliding up her slit to smear her juices around her clit. Buffy arched into it eagerly, and Slayer responded just as enthusiastically, pinching and flicking as she probed.

Buffy felt a cool touch at her wrist and lifted her heavy lids to see Spike moving her hand to Slayer’s thigh. She smiled at his encouragement and began exploring on her own, starting with what he had taught her before and experimenting from there.

She began mirroring Slayer’s touch stroke for stroke. Each gasp from her own mouth was accompanied by a cry from Slayer. It began to feel as though they had re-merged, and she was actually touching herself. But she had never touched herself so deeply or with so much experience.

She marveled at how familiar Slayer was with their body. She seemed to know how to coax and tease and drive them on. But it was all new to Buffy. The part of the whole Buffy that she was hadn’t paid attention to her physicalness. But obviously the Slayer part had. Which made sense. Her whole existence was physical. Every movement, every action she encountered was analyzed for threat, learned instantly, evaluated for value in slaying and then internalized or rejected as valueless. Why would she respond any differently to sex? And with all the experimentation and education whole Buffy and Spike had indulged in the previous year, Slayer had had plenty of material to absorb.

As she continued to tease and caress and pleasure Slayer, as she responded in kind, writhing and gasping and begging for more, a detached part of her brain wondered what she had to offer. Spike had told the others that it was her, not Slayer, that made whole Buffy such a good slayer. But she wasn’t very smart, not quick nor strong, not funny nor brave at all.

And then she realized. She was the part that made Buffy more than just a killer. She was the part that loved, wholly and unconditionally. She loved her family; she loved her friends. She loved Spike, and Angel and Riley. And even Parker. She loved her school and her town, her country and her world. She could love, something Slayer could never do, and that gave the fight meaning. It made it about saving, not just killing.

And now she was finally able to love herself. And it was more than just a metaphor. She could see the parts of herself, almost feel the silvery threads that connected hard and soft parts in different ways. She could learn from Slayer and teach her in return, in a way Freud would have a field day with. But it was real, and it felt right.

She gave herself up to it, pouring all the love she had, all the different kinds and ways and meanings, into making love to the Slayer.

She shivered as Spike moved away from her back, shifting across the bed to settle behind Slayer. She watched transfixed as he lifted his hand, offering her his fingers. She dragged her tongue up and around one cool digit and then another, sucking on them in time to the thrusts of her other hand. He slipped them out of her mouth with a wet pop, then dropped his hand down along Slayer’s hip and below the curve of her ass.

“Oh fuck!” Slayer screeched, her whole body tightening. Buffy was confused by this reaction until she felt his fingers pressing against hers through the membrane dividing Slayer’s front and rear passages. She met his wicked smirk with an evil grin of her own, and they began caressing each other through the thin layer of skin to the rhythm of Slayer’s curses. They dug deep and hard, and she twisted against them, unable to move toward or away from the source of her torment. Buffy noticed that the silent response of earlier was long gone as Slayer cursed and screamed and cried out her pleasure as they made love to each other through her. Each cry was a reward to Buffy, a signal of her growing skill. The sounds made her arch and twist and rub harder, seeking her own pleasure while creating it for her twin.

Finally Slayer gave up her attentions to Buffy altogether, clutching at Buffy’s shoulders as her body started spasming. She required only one more thing to push her over the edge.

Buffy laid the weight of her thumb against Slayer’s clit and ground down hard.

“Guh . . aaaaagh!” Slayer exploded, her whole body convulsing with the force of the orgasm rippling through her. Her hips slammed back and forth between Buffy and Spike, driving one deeper and then the other. Spike held her, kissing and nipping on her throat as she came, keeping her from hurting Buffy.

Buffy throbbed watching her twin come. Her own pleasuring had been forgotten, and now she was desperate and hungry. She pressed tight against Slayer, indulging in the friction generated by the last of Slayer’s orgasm, and lifted her head to lip and suck at the flesh on Slayer’s shoulder. She met Spike’s tongue with her own, and within moments they were kissing desperately, grinding a limp and sated Slayer between them.
 

Chapter 15  Yang

Slayer lay boneless between the two of them, enjoying the sounds of wet, hungry kisses next to her ear and the rough friction of two bodies humping against her, hard and soft, male and female, cool and warm. Well. Warm and hot, to be more accurate. He had absorbed enough body heat through friction and contact to raise his temperature more than a few degrees. But against her overheated flesh he was soothing.

These two were frantic for each other. She could feel it tingling over every inch of her skin. And she felt a rush at the power that gave her. Neither one of them would move through her to take what they wanted. They were both too “civilized”. So she was in charge. As she should be. She could keep them twisting and writhing for hours if she chose to.

It hadn’t always been that way. Spike used to have a great big pair of brass balls on him. He would fight like a demon and fuck who he wanted. She had loved fighting with him then. For him, fighting was an art he had perfected with every part of his body. They had spent hours pounding away on each other and never really found out who was the better fighter. Even when he’d gotten castrated by that stupid chip he had still been hell on legs as a fighter. Except then he had been her fighter. She’d point him at a problem and he’d go kill it. It got to the point where she didn’t even have to ask. But then he’d gone and gotten all shmoopy and lovesick and done something so stupid out of guilt for basically being who he was and made himself useless to her as a fighter. Idiot.

He may be a candyass, but at least he was still a demon in the sack.

But the other one! Christ, what a waste of space. Weak, fragile, useless in a fight. Everything with her was about emotion. I feel this, I feel that, feel feel feel. And where had that gotten her? A string of gut-wrenching broken hearts. Almost dead, and really, really dead. They had been better off last year when she had shut her whiney ass mouth and let Slayer be in charge for a change. The slaying and the sex had been exactly what it should have been. But even then, the little wuss couldn’t just let things be. I’m not right, this is wrong, I don’t love him. Boo fucking hoo. At least they were getting laid for a change, by someone who actually knew what he was doing.

Hell, Slayer wouldn’t bother to fuck her herself if it didn’t make her feel so good. Hardly worth the goddamn angst.

Their desperation for each other was starting to get annoying. Especially since they were both too pathetic to do anything about it. But, she realized, she could afford to be generous. She wasn’t going to be able to do anything for at least five minutes.

“So, are you gonna fuck her or what?”

She felt him tense behind her, saw the other one look startled. The other one at least took the hint. She reached over and took him by the back of his neck, kissing him furiously as she used the grip on the back of his head to drag him across Slayer and onto her side of the bed. Never breaking her hold, she rolled onto her back, her legs spread wide and inviting as she drew him into place between her thighs.

These two didn’t need foreplay. The whole fucking night had been foreplay, and the other one was so desperate to have something inside her that Slayer could have fucked her with a plunger handle and the little wimp would have been happy.

Slayer would have given anything for a big fat strap-on right about then.

Spike knelt between the other one’s knees, centering himself as he rested his forehead against hers, keeping his eyes locked on hers as he slid into her. She must still have been dripping, because there was no resistance to his invasion. She bucked against him, her enormous eyes never leaving his face as she sobbed in relief. He began murmuring encouragement as he pulled out to thrust back in, soft, dirty, loving words that made Slayer roll her eyes. Why couldn’t they just enjoy the sex? Why did it always have to be about emotions with these two?

But, god they were hot.

Spike slid an arm under the other one’s hips, lifting her pelvis to change his angle of attack. The high whimpering moan the other one gave up sent electricity and juice straight to the Slayer’s cunt. He slowly began thrusting deeper, holding her close as he fucked her like she was perfect.

The other one wrapped her arms around him, driving him on with her cries and whimpers. “God Spike! Feels . . . so god! You always give me . . . give me . . . oh god harder! Please harder!”

He growled and wrapped both arms around her waist as he slammed into her.

“Harder!” she demanded again.

The girl may be a wimp, but she liked it rough, too. Slayer had to give her points for that.

He rode her hard and fast. His short jerky strokes drove him deeper each time, and her responses quickly became unintelligible.

Slayer decided her five minutes were up.

She smacked him where the flexing of his muscles dimpled the side of his ass. “Turn over,” she demanded.

He didn’t hesitate. Never breaking motion, he moved one arm up around the other one’s shoulders and in midstroke he rolled them both, switching their positions so she was on top. She instantly supported herself on her arms and re-seated herself around him, taking him even deeper with a cry.

Slayer slipped in and kissed her, loving the feel of the other one’s swollen, ravaged lips against her own. Slayer broke the kiss to drop her head and kiss Spike with equal enthusiasm as the other one began rising and falling on his cock.

When Slayer broke the kiss, she looked him in the eye. “Me, too.”

He closed his eyes with a low moan. “Be the death of me.” But he nodded.

She pushed the other one up so she was sitting on his balls. As she took the other one’s mouth with her own, she flung a leg over Spike’s head, straddling him as she lowered herself onto his face.

He slid the flat of his tongue from her clit to her ass, sucking in the liquid he collected there. Her moans echoed in the other one’s mouth, making her ride him harder, which made him lick and suck Slayer faster. The other one’s hand reached out to Slayer’s breast, cupping and caressing it as they kissed. Slayer returned the gesture less gently, pinching and rolling her nipple until she cried out. It only served to challenge the other one. Within moments they were ravaging each other’s tender flesh with their hands, charging them up and making them thrust harder against Spike’s mouth and cock.

They quickly became one highly responsive entity, the actions of one causing a chain of response that circled through all three. They were whole, one, transcendent.

The other one slid her hand down over Slayer’s tight belly to disappear into her folds. Her fingers dueled with Spike’s tongue for pride of place in Slayer’s pulsing cunt. When the fingers finally made contact with her clit, Slayer thought the top of her head had blown off. She snapped her head back with a glass-rattling scream. Nothing else mattered to her now but the orgasm waiting only inches away.

The other one supported her, resting her forehead on Slayer’s shoulder so she could watch what she was doing with her hand. Slayer barely noticed Spike’s arm move over her leg and across his belly until the other one cried out, a gasping, desperate keen of pleasure as he began doing service to her clit as well.

Slayer couldn’t breathe. The feel of tongue and fingers and lips and breasts finally spilled over and she erupted, her thighs spasming around his head, her hands clutching at the other one’s hair as she cursed and swore her way to orgasm. He growled into her pussy as he joined her, his hips bucking hard against the other one. Slayer felt his arm tense as he gave the other one’s clit a hard twist and brought her off, too. Her gasping cries vibrated against the roundness of Slayer’s breast.

Slayer finally slid off him and collapsed on the bed. The other one slid off him as well, falling onto the pillows, Spike rolling over to spoon against her.

The other one’s dripping cunt was inches from her face. She wondered what he tasted like on her. She moved her head forward and sunk her tongue into the warm slack folds.

Delicious.
 

Interlude  Willow

Willow did her best to ignore them.
 

But there were too many things to distract her.
 

The energy the two of them generated gathered around her like thick cobwebs.
 

There was a reason sex magic was so powerful. It generated an intoxicating combination of kinetic and emotional energy that affected even the most magically head blind person. Willow was not head blind.
 

She felt it everywhere, swirling, writhing, crackling over her skin. It moved like a lover, shaped by the circumstances that generated it, caressing her, arousing her, desperate to be inside her, wanting to use her and be used by her in return.
 

She wanted to tangle it in her grip, spin it onto her hands like cotton candy and rebuild the world with it. She was grateful she hadn’t known last year what Spike and Buffy were doing, what they created, what she could do with it. She never would have stayed away, as weak and power hungry as she had been. She was safe now. She could ground it, channel it back into the earth. But that didn’t stop her from feeling the rush of it course through her veins. A detached part of her suggested that she might want to take some of it and dump it into the house protections. A homeowner’s energy powering the wards and shields around their own property was an impressive deterrent. And she had Buffy’s tacit permission, from when she had charged Willow to make the house as safe as she possibly could, no matter what. But she wouldn’t do it now, not when the energy was so heady.
 

Even without the energetic maelstrom slashing around her, there was enough on the material plane to make any research impossible.
 

Through the closed door and the carpeted hardwood floors, the softer sounds were muffled. But the cries of approach and climax rang through the house, and Willow was familiar enough with the sounds of a woman’s pleasure to be able to fill in the gaps. She tried not to imagine them, the two copies of her best friend, doing beautiful, pleasurable, amazing things to each other in the room, in the very bed Willow and Tara had shared. She wondered if they had been as loud when they thought they had the house to themselves. She remembered Tara’s face when they made love, how her jaw would go slack, her eyes close, her eyebrows arching as though surprised. She lost all speech as she got closer, devolving into a wordless, almost musical keen that drove Willow insane.
 

Willow swore like a sailor when she came.
 

The sounds from upstairs had started slowly, one piercing cry letting her know that something was happening. And that Spike was right. One of them was a screamer. It wasn’t long before another voice joined in, still female, a little deeper, a bit more guttural and a whole hell of a lot cruder. Unbidden, the image popped into Willow’s head of the Slayer naked on her back, clutching at the sheets and moaning in euphoria as Buffy licked and sucked her beautiful toned body.
 

“Stop it!” she reprimanded herself. “This is your best friend here! You shouldn’t be thinking about her like that.”
 

The first growl of male ecstasy nearly drove her from the house.
 

She slammed her book closed, face flushed with mortification. And not because she was imagining the addition of Spike into her tableau, but because it had her totally aroused.
 

“Goddess help me!” she prayed silently. And, as though in response, the words of the Goddess came to her. “For behold, all acts of love and pleasure are my rituals.” The blessing, the invocation she had learned from the witches in Devon gave her a moment’s reflection, a bit of distance, a reminder of what was truly important in this life.
 

And suddenly she was filled with an overwhelming sadness. She knew Spike’s heart, even if he hadn’t spoken of it since he got back. And she knew at least part of Buffy’s heart, although she would never admit it. Willow didn’t know if what was going on upstairs was about love or pleasure (although judging from the steady thumping now vibrating the house, she figured there was at least some pleasure involved) or if it was something altogether different. But whatever it was, she knew there couldn’t be a happy ending to it. No matter how much the Scoobies did, how many times they saved the world, they never seemed to earn a happily ever after. Stupid Powers That Be.
 

The male energy began twining its way through the mass that now filled the house, deepening it, adding texture, dimension. It had the feel of Spike, but its essence was simply male, and was familiar to her as well. She closed her eyes and remembered the last time she had felt it so intimately. Had Oz really been gone three years now? She could still remember the feel of him so clearly, compact solid muscle, coarse fingers callused by guitar strings, soft, mobile lips . . .
 

The lure of energy, memory and hearing finally proved too much for her restraint. Her face was flushed, and she could barely open her eyes for the weight of desire that flooded her. She had to find release if she was going to be useful for anything the rest of the night.
 

But she’d need something from her room.
 

She crept silently up the stairs, skipping the creaking fifth step, and slipped down the hall to what she would always think of as Buffy’s old room. From the bedside table, she drew out the small velvet bag Tara had given her and started back down the hall.
 

An ear-splitting scream shattered the peace of the house, followed by a string of vile, ecstatic curses that made her legs go weak. All restraint, all caution abandoned her, and she crept past the stairwell to the closed bedroom door.

She listened quietly, trying to hear over the pounding of her heart and her near-gasping breath. She heard the bed moving, heavy breathing punctuated by post-orgasmic curses and the wet, hungry sounds of mouths tearing eagerly at one another, all soft moans and eager whimpers. And then Buffy’s voice. “So, are you gonna fuck her or what?”
 

Goddess bright.
 

She didn’t even notice her hand was on the knob until she began turning it, pulling it slightly forward as she had dozens of times before when this was her room to prevent the telltale snick of the latch on the strike plate. She pushed the door open slowly, just enough to be able to see the bed.
 

Moonlight cascaded into the room, casting Buffy’s face and breasts into shadowy relief. She sat propped up on the pillows, watching the pair in the bed beside her, her eyes hooded, her hand sensuously sliding up and down her belly.
 

Willow’s gaze shifted. She had a clear view of Spike’s backside, tight ass and lean muscular thighs flexing with each stroke, Buffy’s tanned legs wrapped high around the alabaster of his back. Willow could hear his worshipful incantations and her ecstatic replies.
 

“Beautiful, beautiful, perfect girl.”
 

“God, Spike! Feels so . . . missed this, missed you . . . so much.”
 

“Shh, love, I’m here now. Gonna do right by you now.”
 

The words of devotion and longing made Willow want to cry, made her want to scream, made her want to crawl into the room and beg them to take her into their circle. But she did none of these, instead backing up silently and closing the door again without a sound. She’d seen enough.
 

She kicked her shoes off at the foot of the sofa, unfastening the waistband of her jeans as she settled at the far end of the couch, facing the French doors so she couldn’t be surprised by anyone coming in. She lifted her hips to push her jeans and floral cotton panties down below her knees and pulled an afghan discreetly over herself. The velvet bag she set on the arm of the sofa, close at hand.
 

She nearly sobbed when her fingers finally slid into her wet, swollen folds. She arched into it, knees spread wide, as she slid around, dipping into her slit to spread her thick juices over lips and mound and nub, whimpering at the contact. She knew this wouldn’t take long, but she could already tell it would be incredible.
 

She leaned back against the cushions, arching herself back over the arm to expose her neck and thrust her breasts out for her other hand to play with while she fingered herself. She fought down the images of what she had witnessed upstairs. That would be too much. Instead, she opened herself up to the energies they had generated, letting it slide under her skin and charge her as her hand worked labia and clit. She was whimpering now, so close she could taste it.

With the hand that was fondling her breasts, she reached up and grabbed the velvet bag, sliding one finger into the neck to loosen the cinch. She pried it open and a small, delicate silver vibrator slipped into the palm of her hand.
 

She didn’t even look at it, just slid the cool metal down to stroke it over herself with a moan. Her mind drifted to amorphous sexual images, all body parts and heat and thrust but no faces, no identities. But as she rested the metal against her clit and turned it on, the images began to change. Moonlight, a large bed. Hard body against her chest, thrusting hungrily into her. Soft, round curves behind her, stroking her, fondling her, licking and sucking. She slid a finger, then quickly a second and third, deep into her channel, thumbing up the power on the vibrator. Then, to the imagined sounds of Oz’s feral growls and Tara’s musical groans, she fucked herself, fingers and toy switching places indiscriminately, faster and harder, arching and driving deeper into the sofa cushions until she exploded with a glorious and barely restrained string of curses. She collapsed back against the cushions finally, the toy rolling from her fingers.
 

She lay there, limp and spent, her breath coming in heaving gasps. She drew a great shuddering breath, and then another, bringing herself slowly back to center. She could sense the energy she had generated and released hovering over and around the couch. She reached out with her mind and carefully gathered it all up, sinking it back into the earth beneath the house. The land was starved for it, all the life energy sucked away from it by the Hellmouth. The energy was a gift from her in repayment for the damage she had done to it last spring.
 

She lay there quietly for a little while longer, just enjoying the buzz. All seemed to have gone quiet upstairs as well. Maybe they were done. A few more minutes and she’d get up, channel the energy into the house wards and get back to her research.
 

She thought she could focus on it now.
 

Chapter 16  Balance

They were breathtaking to watch.

One spread eagle, face down on the other, soft breasts to hard bellies, clutching at each other as they devoured each other’s core. Heads bobbing, hands clutching, mews and sighs smothered in warm, wet flesh.
 

Spike couldn’t really tell them apart anymore. At least not just by looking at them. Slayer’s hair now fell as loose and soft as Buffy’s, her tight braid undone from passion and exertion. Buffy’s carefully applied make-up was long since worn and sweated away from their activities. (He wouldn’t call it lovemaking. He wouldn’t allow himself to.) But it was more than just the cosmetic changes. The hard, flat planes of the one had softened slightly, breasts filling out, stomach rounding slightly. The other was a little firmer, a bit more toned, stronger muscles bunching over her shoulder blades, along her thighs and ass. If he stood the two of them side by side, he didn’t think he could identify one from the other physically.
 

If they spoke, he could still tell. Their essence hadn’t changed that much. They were still the dichotomy of aggression versus compassion. But Slayer seemed a bit more generous, less defensive. The steady increase in her vocalization over the course of the night was a sure indicator of that. The chit screamed louder than Buffy now. And Buffy, so timid and unsure at the beginning of the evening, now showed no hesitation in taking what she wanted, how she wanted it. When Slayer had dipped in for a taste of Buffy’s quim, Buffy had eagerly returned the caress, rolling them across the bed in a struggle for dominance so that he could no longer tell who was who. The uncertainty added to the eroticism.
 

Spike couldn’t help but be moved by it. He adjusted the pillows and settled himself back against the headboard, careful not to disturb them. He took his cock loosely in hand, sliding casually along its rigid length, letting the pleasure come as much from his eyes as from his hand.
 

But she noticed. Lifting her face slightly from the mound beneath her, she met his eyes, her look smoldering, promising. She gasped at a hard stroke to her clit, grinding back, never taking her eyes from his. She pulled her hand out from under her partner’s ass to stroke two fingers along the dripping slit gently, then sliding them in with a twist, causing the body beneath her to buck and groan.
 

He responded as well, his grip tightening, his hips arching into the quickening slide of his hand. She reached out, balancing precariously on her knees over her double’s eager mouth, and cupped his sac, rolling and pulling at his balls in time to the strokes of her other hand. He groaned aloud, head thrown back, and felt himself begin to cross the line into release, when suddenly she squeezed him hard, painfully. He looked at her and she squeezed again, shaking her head. Not yet.
 

He growled in frustration but backed off, easing his grip, slowing his pace back to a gentle stroke. She smiled against the lips at her mouth, tonguing her clit with a long stroke before latching on to suck like an infant, jamming a third finger into her channel. She thrust hard once, twice, three times, then stopped. But he could tell by the muscles flexing in her wrist that her fingers were still busy, probably drawing along the inner surface, looking for just the right . . . The body beneath her tensed, arched with a scream, thrust up eagerly against hand and mouth, swearing and praying as she exploded with the pleasure of it. His Buffy eased off the suction on her partner’s clit, stroking gently with tongue and fingers as the other came down.
 

She met Spike’s eyes again as she eased herself up off the now limp woman beneath her and crawled astride his lap, sliding her sodden cunt along his length as she devoured his mouth, spreading the flavor of her center across his taste buds with her lips and tongue. He growled and clutched her tightly, sliding her up his length to slam into her, both of them crying out in satisfaction at the joining of hot and cold. Her fingers tangled deep in his curls, holding their mouths hard against each other as he drove deep into her, fingers locked around her hips to control the frenzy of their movements. Her mouth moved against his, offering spoken kisses for his ears and lips. “Oh god . . . please . . . don’t . . . oh god. . . . Spike! Please!”
 

“Buffy!” he gasped her name with a thrust as he exploded, slamming into her with all his strength, pushing her over the edge. “God . . . love you . . . Buffy!”
 

“You . . .” she gasped, every muscle in her body shuddering at the release. “God . . . love you . . .” She sagged against him, completely spent.
 

He gathered her close, tenderly kissing her temple. She sighed and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder. Finally, regretfully, he eased her off him, moaning slightly at the loss of her warmth around his now-soft cock. He settled her down next to the other Buffy, who had moved herself back up the bed to the comfort of the pillows. That one met his gaze calmly, daring him to say anything. He just leaned across quietly and gave her a deep, giving kiss. When they parted, she was still watching him, her eyes softer, compassionate. She laid her head on the other woman’s shoulder and wrapped an arm around her waist, closing her eyes to sleep.
 

Spike stroked both golden heads gently, content in the moment. Finally exhaustion claimed him as well, and he drifted off to sleep, his arm flung across the both of them.
 

Chapter 17  Reunification

Spike woke up to find her watching him.
 

He still couldn’t tell which her it was. They had shifted around in their sleep, so that now the one in the middle was the one being held, having her hair gently stroked by the one on the outside. It was the outside one who met his gaze over the blonde head between them. Her eyes were soft, thoughtful.
 

“Everything alright?” he asked quietly, his voice still heavy with sleep.
 

She nodded a little. “Just thinking too much,” she answered softly.
 

He gently stroked a knuckle along her cheek. “Shouldn’t do that. Not good for the soul.”
 

“As you know.”
 

He shrugged in agreement.
 

“What’s going to happen to you now?”
 

He shrugged again. “’S up to her. Crossed a lot of lines last couple days.”
 

“That’s not what I meant.” She laid a hand on his chest where his heart should beat. “We made you so vulnerable these last few days. You’ve had some peace and comfort. And maybe a little bit of hope. It will be so hard for you when we’re gone and it’s just her again.”
 

“Christ, pet! You think that’s not the least of what I deserve? After everything I’ve done in my life, everything I’ve done to her? This time with you? With both of you? That’s what I don’t deserve.”
 

She met his eyes calmly, but with an intensity that shook him. “You do if I love you.”
 

He kissed her, fiercely but gently, forcing down the tears that her words evoked. She responded equally, putting all her love and compassion in each caress.
 

Finally he pulled back, resting his forehead against hers. “I am really going to miss you,” he said, his voice still heavy with emotion.
 

A grumpy, sleep-filled voice rose from between their chests. “God, do you two ever stop yammering?”
 

Buffy laughed softly, and Spike smiled but growled, “You I don’t think I’ll miss so much.” He immediately proved his words a lie by dropping a kiss on top of her head.
 

“Yeah, yeah, tell me again when you’re pounding me into the mattress.” And she reached for him.
 

There was a gentle tap on the door.
 

They all froze. A moment later the tap repeated, and Willow’s voice came hesitantly through the panels. “Buffy? Spike?”
 

He slid out of bed and into his jeans, pulling on his button-down as he crossed barefoot to the door and opened it a crack.
 

“Mornin’, Red.”
 

“Good morning.” She dropped her eyes with a blush when she saw it was him. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but that was Xander on the phone. They’re about ready to come back.”
 

He nodded his acknowledgement. “We’ll be down in a bit.”
 

“K.” And she disappeared back down the hall.
 

He turned and leaned against the door.
 

“Time’s up.”
 

Willow wanted to be sure she was busy when they started coming downstairs. So she fell back on her childhood heritage. Why talk when you could eat?
 

A double batch of pancake batter was ready and she was heating up the pan on the stove when Spike came down. She didn’t look up, but heard his heavy boots cross the linoleum and heard the refrigerator door open, jars rattle, and the door close again. A moment later the microwave beeped.
 

Finally she couldn’t stand the quiet anymore. “I figured I’d better make breakfast before the locusts descend. I thought they might be hungry after . . .” She stopped before she could embarrass herself. She blushed anyway.
 

He didn’t seem to notice. “Yeah, probably.” His voice sounded . . . odd. She dared a glance over her shoulder to try to read his expression. But just then the timer on the microwave pinged, and he turned away to take his mug out. She turned back to the stove, staring hard at the batter, willing the little bubbles to the surface. But it ignored her, cooking along at its own happy pancake pace
 

She was surprised to hear him chuckle. When she looked at him, he wore a faint smile. “Slayer sure can pack it away, can’t she?” She saw the amusement in his eyes. And something a little more.
 

“Yeah,” she offered her reply carefully. “It’s weird seeing Buffy eat like a . . . well, eat at all, really.” She finally slid the spatula under the circle of batter and flopped it over. Perfect. A good sign.
 

“Need any help?”
 

“Um, sure. You could cut up those strawberries.” She gestured with the spatula to the bowl on the table.
 

He put his mug down and pulled a paring knife out of the block. They worked together in silence for a while, the only sounds the click of his knife and the thrum of the shower through the house’s pipes.
 

“Did you have any more luck last night?” he finally asked.
 

She sighed in frustration. “Not really. As usual, our circumstances are so weird that no one really thought to cover it.” She covered the stack of golden pancakes in tinfoil before turning to him. “How are they? This morning, I mean!” She flushed again.
 

If he was aware of her innuendo, he didn’t comment, instead playing thoughtfully with the knife in his hand. “I don’t know. I think they may have . . . changed a bit . . .”
 

“Lucy, we’re home!” Xander’s voice called from the front hall, interrupting them.
 

Xander held the front door open as a dozen teenage girls, Dawn included, and Andrew piled into the house, dragging their bedrolls, overnight bags and various and sundries into the living room, each of them finding a bare stretch of floor to deposit their belongings.
 

“So, how did it go?” she asked, watching the parade.
 

Xander glared at her meaningfully. “I am so in need of testosterone injections after last night’s chick-flick-athon.”
 

“So, situation normal then,” Spike sniped from the dining room door.
 

“No one asked you, ungrateful undead.”
 

“Guys.” Willow forestalled them.
 

Xander scowled but turned back to her. “How are the Buffies?”
 

“I don’t know, I haven’t seen them yet . . .” she stopped as she noticed that his attention was now focused about halfway up the stairs.
 

“We’re fine, Xander,” Buffy answered his question. “Really.”
 

“But thanks for asking,” the other Buffy continued.
 

By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, everyone was staring.
 

They were practically indistinguishable from each other.
 

Both wore their freshly washed and blow-dried hair clubbed loosely at the back of their necks. Very light make-up highlighted both features. They even wore the same style clothing, soft silk tank shell over loose cotton trousers, one in peach and tan, the other in seashell pink and cream. Both wore practical jazz flats.
 

Willow looked back at Spike, who was leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed, watching everyone’s reactions. “A little bit?” she mouthed at him.
 

He shrugged.
 

She moved forward and took each of them arm in arm, leading them to the kitchen. “Well, I hope you’re hungry, because I made pancakes.”
 

“Oh! Pancakes!” several of the girls squealed.
 

“Hey!” Xander protested. “You guys already cleaned me out of three dozen donuts and two gallons of orange juice! What happened to the birdlike appetite of the modern American teenage girl?”
 

Willow halted all protests. “The pancakes are for Buffy. And me,” she amended, “’cuz I haven’t had anything but caffeine for the last ten hours. You guys can have the leftovers.”
 

There was a general groan of complaint, but it was fairly good natured.
 

Willow was getting the syrup out of the cupboard by the stove when she noticed Spike stop one of the Buffies, laying a hand on her arm. “You make sure you eat all that, yeah?” he insisted quietly.
 

She rolled her eyes, but smiled. “Yes, mother.”
 

He wagged a finger at her. “You mind me!”
 

She stuck her tongue out at him.
 

Willow saw his hand come up, to cup her face or caress her hair, she didn’t know. But he stopped short of actually touching her.
 

Willow’s heart ached for them.
 

The three of them settled in at the dining room table with their plates, joined by Dawn and Kennedy and Molly and several of the other girls. Willow ate quickly, watching the copies of her friend. She glanced at their plates. The one Spike had spoken to had two pancakes on her plate and a small dollop of strawberries. The other had at least five, and a separate bowl for her fruit. Willow remembered Spike’s comment from earlier. So he had felt that Buffy Buffy had needed encouragement to eat. At least Willow could tell them apart now.
 

She was surprised that the Slayer was the one in pink, though.
 

The girls jabbered away about the movies they had watched the night before and which girls thought which actors were cute. Buffy joined in the discussion eagerly, her eyes shining, smiling like Willow hadn’t seen from her in years. Slayer didn’t speak much, preferring to focus on her meal, but she listened attentively and occasionally chimed in with her own opinions. Granted it was often lascivious comments about a performer’s “package”, but it amused the girls, and she seemed to enjoy it as well. She was certainly more engaged with them than she had been for the previous two days.
 

Willow cleared her dishes, then stood in the passageway, watching and listening. Pondering the possibilities. Could it really have been so simple?
 

“But sex never solves anything,” she grumbled under her breath.
 

“If that were true, there wouldn’t be so many songs about it, pet,” Spike’s voice spoke close to her ear. She jumped away, ignoring the little frizzle of something she refused to call arousal.
 

She turned her head to look at him, then back to the table. “How long have they been like this?”
 

“Sort of came on slowly over the course of the night. By the end, if they didn’t open their mouths, I couldn’t tell the difference.”
 

She nodded thoughtfully. “They seem a lot more in sync with each other.”
 

He leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed, looking at her. “What’re you thinkin’, Red?”
 

She shrugged. “Second try?”
 

He shrugged back. “Can’t hurt.”
 

So after breakfast they moved the table aside and rolled back the rug to reveal the pentagram they hadn’t bothered to clean up from the previous attempt. This time everyone gathered around the edges of the circle as Willow set the two up in the middle.
 

“Aw, that trick never works,” Xander muttered under his breath.
 

“Shut up, Rocky,” Willow retorted. She moved the two closer together. “Okay, this time why don’t you hold hands, stand kind of close. Let’s try to put that aura balancing energy to work in our favor. And you guys,” she turned to the people gathered at the periphery. “You need to hold hands, too, and think about Buffy the way you know she’s supposed to be. Focus really hard on that image and send the energy into the circle, okay?” They nodded, joining hands. Willow was heartened to see Dawn hesitantly take Spike’s hand.
 

She closed her eyes and centered herself, sinking her magickal roots deep into the earth like she had been taught. As she began drawing up the clean, white energy of nature, she intoned silently, “Gaea bless us, love us, protect us, charge us, strengthen us to work your will. Gaea bless us, love us, protect us . . .” over and over until she felt her skin alight with the power she drew on. “Focus,” she said aloud, and felt the energy field of the circle snap into alignment as eighteen people focused their will and vision on this act.
 

She watched this time, needing to see if it worked. “Let the spell be ended!” and with her words she drove all the will and focus and energy into the two before her.
 

They glowed white hot for an instant, barely long enough for her to register. Then with a flash and crack that only she could see and hear, the energy was gone.
 

Just Buffy stood before her.
 

Dawn squealed and threw her arms around her sister. Xander hugged the both of them enthusiastically. The girls gathered around to pat her on the back.
 

Only Willow saw the pain on Buffy’s face as she watched Spike slip back into the basement.

Chapter 18  Buffy

It was long past dark before she finally found him, sitting in one of the deck chairs on the back porch.
 

She had changed clothes, back into the Buffy thou-shalt-not armor. Hair clipped close to her head, neutral colored turtleneck sweater (albeit short sleeved), dark slacks and black, square toed boots with a couple of inches on the block heel, giving her the little lift she needed to look more people in the eye. Or kick them squarely in the ass. She was one hundred percent Buffy again.
 

Form and function in one convenient package.
 

He watched her quietly from his vantage in the shadows as she stood at the end of the porch, looking quietly out into the night with her arms crossed over her chest, sometimes looking up at the stars, sometimes just out into the dark of the yard. She closed her eyes and lifted her chin to enjoy the soft breeze that drifted across her face, stirring the few loose tendrils of hair around her temples.
 

Finally she turned, leaning back to rest her hands on the porch rail. “Hey.”
 

He rose to his feet. “Hey yourself.”
 

When she didn’t say anything else, he slowly crossed over to her. “How are . . .”
 

“Don’t.” She put up a hand to stop his words. “If I never hear that question again, it will still be too soon.”
 

“Right.”
 

He watched the top of her head as she stared down at the toes of his boots. He didn’t know what the silence meant. But he knew what he had to do.
 

Silently he offered her the stake.
 

She took it, stared at it as it lay across the palm of her hand. Finally she looked into his eyes. “What’s this for?”
 

He shrugged. “Thought you might need it. Figured I’d save you the trip.” He kept his face neutral, numb, as he squared his shoulders and waited for the blow.
 

She looked at him, and at the stake, and then back to his face. “You know, you keep offering to let me stake you and I might start to think you don’t want to be around me anymore.” Never taking her eyes off of his, she flung the stake out into the yard where it sunk six inches deep into one of the oak trees with a resounding thunk. “There will be no staking. If you need killing, it won’t be by me.” Her tone and expression were deeply serious. “So stay out of trouble for a change.”
 

“Do my best, pet.” He was surprised (and understandably relieved) at her response. “This is Sunnydale, after all.”
 

“Yeah.” She sighed, sitting down in her usual spot at the top of the stairs. “We’re like the living embodiment of Murphy’s Law.”
 

He joined her. “Hate this town.”
 

“So why didn’t you leave?”
 

“Tried. Couldn’t stay gone. Guess when the Hellmouth gets its claws into you . . .”
 

“Yeah.” They stared silently out into the darkness.
 

“It was easier when I was apart,” she said finally.
 

He turned to look at her.
 

“They both knew who they were,” she continued. “What they wanted, what was right and wrong for them. It all made sense for a change. I can remember both of them now, and I can feel their thoughts and feelings and memories tangling up together inside me so everything that was so clear for them doesn’t make sense anymore. It’s like what one of them thinks totally contradicts the other one, even if they both came to the same conclusion. I can’t do that. I can’t get the same answers they did.”
 

“Maybe you just need to find your own answers.”
 

“It was just so much easier to know already.”
 

“You’re young, pet. Everyone forgets that, but you still have a lot of growing to do, learning about yourself. It’ll all make sense in time.”
 

“If I have time.”
 

He wanted to protest, but knew he couldn’t.
 

“And in the meantime, I shut off and shut down. I can’t connect. I can’t love . . .” She looked at him.
 

“I didn’t get the soul so we could get back together.”
 

Buffy stopped.
 

“I got it because I never wanted to hurt you again. And because I needed to make up for what I’d done. I swore I was going to come back here and be whatever you needed me to be, for as long as you needed me.”
 

“I doubt that included getting turned back into a boy toy.”
 

“Is that what you think last night was? A repeat of last year?”
 

She looked away, the flush of shame staining her cheeks crimson.
 

“No.” He lifted her chin until she was meeting his gaze. “Last night was nothing like last year. When we were together before, no matter how much I was giving, there was always a part of me that was thinking what I could get, what was in it for me. Last night I never thought about that. It was a revelation to me, that I could give so much and not expect anything back. And there was always a piece of yourself you kept separate then, locked away and untouched. Last night you were more present, you let me see more of your heart, than I could ever . . .” He stopped. Finally he said, “I’m not worthy of the gift you gave me last night.”
 

Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, the pain of guilt still clear on her face. “You aren’t the only one who had things to make up for from last year. When I think that you almost destroyed yourself for me, and I just . . . I never . . .”
 

“Shh, pet, you didn’t need to. I understood.”
 

“But that’s just it!” She leapt to her feet, pacing the yard in front of him. “I do need to! Do you think I can move on, or back, or anywhere knowing what I’m capable of doing without remorse to someone who loves me? Do you think we aren’t tied to each other as tightly by guilt and shame as we are by love and passion?”
 

He didn’t know what to say.
 

“Dammit,” she threw up her hands, “I can’t do this. There’s just too much. We need to talk and fight and scream and cry this all out for weeks until we can make any sense of it at all. And I just can’t do it right now. I have to be focused and detached or all these girls are going to end up dead. I have to . . . I just . . .I can’t do this now.”
 

He stood up and put his hands soothingly on her shoulders. “Buffy, you don’t have to.”
 

She met his eyes, calming. “But I want to. For both of us. After.”
 

“After,” he agreed.
 

“Just . . . don’t go anywhere, okay?”
 

He stepped back, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Since you aren’t gonna stake me, looks like I’m not going anywhere.”
 

She nodded, crossing her arms in front of her.
 

“So. . . “
 

“So . . .”
 

“Patrol?”
 

He smiled. Back to neutral territory. “Sure. You want I should get the girls?”
 

She smiled back, acknowledging the humor with a small shrug. “Nah. Let’s have a quiet grownup night of killing. I’ve got some kinks I need to work out.”
 

He could have sworn he saw her eyes twinkle.
 

Fin