Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer. This isn't for profit.

Author's Note: Spike in this fic is a poet, and he will be writing poetry. However, you're going to have to use your imagination where that's concerned because it will not be included in the story. Why? Because I know my strengths, and writing poetry is not one of them. In short, I suck, and I'm not going to subject any of you to my attempts at something other than prose. I'm sorry if the lack of actual verse in this fic is a problem for anyone, but trust me, it would be much, much worse were my attempts at poetry actually included.

Feedback and Archiving: Feedback is lovely and oh so inspiring. I'll be more than grateful if you send some my way. If I've already given you permission to archive my stories in the past, have at it, but otherwise, please ask permission: addie_logan@yahoo.com

Website Plug: For my other works, please check out my website: http://www.dark-desire.org/blood For email updates on all my WIP's, go here: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/addielogan/

*** *** ***

Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show,
That she (dear She) might take some pleasure of my pain:
Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know,
Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain;

I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe,
Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain:
Oft turning others' leaves, to see if thence would flow
Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sun-burn'd brain.

But words came halting forth, wanting Invention's stay,
Invention, Nature's child, fled step-dame Study's blows,
And others' feet still seem'd but strangers in my way.

Thus, great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes,
Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite—
"Fool," said my Muse to me, "look in thy heart and write."
—Sir Philip Sidney, Astrophil and Stella

*** *** ***

William Pratt, known to the few people in the world he'd actually call friends as "Spike," was not having an easy time of it.

After over a decade with the woman Spike could still only think of as the love of his life, it was over. He'd been blindsided when she'd sat him down one day and told him she'd decided to find her pleasures elsewhere. Just like that, he was alone.

At twenty-six, he'd been at the top of the world. He'd still had Drusilla, and Spike had believed firmly that they would prove high school sweethearts could stay together until they were old and gray. Furthermore, his first book of poetry had been published and met with rave reviews. Sales were better than his publisher had imagined, his charm and good looks serving to get him onto talk shows and find him a wider audience than poets usually enjoyed. It was everything he'd ever dreamed of, and yet he still couldn't imagine his life getting anything but better.

By twenty-eight, he'd seen the error in that particular way of thinking. Drusilla had kept the nice flat he'd been able to get for the profits from his book, and he'd been forced to move into a crummy little flat he couldn't stand. He was depressed and alone enough to want to do nothing more than wallow in his new-found misery.

Only, by contract, he had to produce another book of poems. By the end of the month. And there in lay the real kicker. He had thirty days to prove that his overnight success had not been beginner's luck, and yet, the well of his imagination had run completely dry. The past several months had been nothing but him staring at a blank piece of paper, the pen in his hand as useless as if he'd been trying to write with a butter knife. He'd written not a single word.

How could he? After all, Drusilla had been his muse…

She'd captivated him from the first moment he saw her, calling to him with her siren's song. She was dark and mysterious, striking a young boy of seventeen as something almost otherworldly. He'd gladly let her reel him in, let her shape and mold him into the man he'd eventually become. He'd felt as if he'd searched his whole life for someone like her—as if he'd lived long enough by that point for his "whole life" to be any real length of time.

Drusilla had lived in her own world, and Spike had been desperate to live there with her. She'd seemed so free, so willing to experience everything life had to offer, and he wanted it, too. He wanted her to show him what was beautiful.

In retrospect, Spike realized he should've been less surprised that Drusilla had left and more surprised that she'd stayed with him as long as she had. She was truly a free spirit, and he should've known she'd never stay forever. Drusilla was not the sort of woman to put down roots, and eventually, he'd had to have his romantic notions shattered by reality.

Of course, realizing that didn't make him any less bitter. She'd broken his heart and left him unable to write in the process. Bitch had ruined his bloody life.

God, he wished she'd come back to him…

Spike had spent enough of the day staring at blank paper. Today wasn't going to be any different than the day Dru had left him, and he'd known that when he woken up. He wasn't sure why he'd even bothered. He wouldn't have anything to hand his publisher in a month, and that would be the end of a once-promising literary career.

He crumpled up the worthless piece of blank paper and tossed it across the room with a roar. He was hopeless. Everything was ruined for him. Without his girl or his words, he only had one option left open to him. Become a hopeless and pathetic drunk. Maybe then at least fate would take some sort mercy on him for once, and he'd die in a gutter not too long from now. It was something to look forward to at least.

With a string of muttered curses under his breath, Spike snatched his long, leather duster from where he'd draped it over a chair and stormed out of his flat, headed towards the nearest pub.

*** *** ***

By the time Spike made it home, he was thoroughly pissed, just as he had planned. He still couldn't write—hell, he could barely form coherent sentences—but at least he was in decidedly better spirits about it, seeing as he was too drunk to actually care.

Now came his favorite part…the passing out. Granted, he'd have to pay for it in the morning, but at least for a few hours he could be blissfully unaware of the world around him.

Spike stumbled towards his bedroom, hoping he could at least make it to the bed this time. He seemed to stay unconscious longer when there was actually a mattress beneath him…

He had almost made it to the bed when Spike stopped short, blinking as he noticed that his bed was not as empty as he'd assumed it would be. Instead, there was an attractive blonde woman sitting on the edge. She smiled at him, and he shook his head. He had to be hallucinating…

Then, the very pretty hallucination spoke.

"Hi, there. My name is Buffy, and I've been sent to you by the Powers That Be to serve as your muse."

Spike stared for a moment, trying to comprehend what was going on, then collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

*** *** ***

Do I have people interested in this one? Let me know what you thought of the first chapter and if you'd like to read more. If it seems like it's going to have an audience, I'll try to keep up with a two chapter a week posting schedule.

Spike groaned as he came to with his whole body convulsing. He ached all over, and now was he having a seizure?

He blinked, forcing his eyes into focus, and realized that his body wasn't shaking on his own, but rather, someone was shaking him—the blonde girl he'd seen right before he'd passed out. What had she said her name was again? Bitsy? Bunny? Betty? And what had she said she was? Oh, right…his muse sent by the Powers That Be.

Spike sat up, clutching his head. "It's finally happened. I've lost my bleedin' mind," he muttered.

"Spike, you're awake! Oh, I was so afraid I'd broken you, and that wouldn't do at all for a muse. I'd get fired for sure then! Can I get you anything? Water? Tea? Maybe some warm milk?"

This couldn't be real… He'd had too much to drink, and now he was seeing hot little blonde numbers in his bedroom. Dressed in an outfit that looked like something from a really fancy toga party and claiming to be his muse, no less. "Bloody hell, I think I need more scotch."

"I can do that!" Buffy informed him with a cheery smile. She snapped her fingers and was suddenly holding a glass of brown liquid. "Here you go."

Spike stared at her for a moment before tentatively taking the glass from her small hands. He looked down into the drink, inspecting it, before taking a sip. It was scotch…and damn good scotch at that. His hallucinations had high-priced tastes.

"Oh, I'm not a hallucination. I'm your muse, just like I told you before you fell asleep."

Spike's brow wrinkled. Had he said that out loud? "Yeah, I heard that part, ducks, but muses like I think you're talking about don't exist."

"Oh, we exist," she replied in a tone a little too chipper for Spike in his current state. "But we only get sent to people who are in the most dire need of assistance. And my name's not Ducks. It's Buffy."

"Right, Buffy. Look, I'm sure you're very good at your, um, musing, but I'm very drunk, you're very shiny, and I think I need to sleep this off."

"Then I'll help you to your bed," Buffy told him as she pulled up by his arms. Spike's eyes bugged as the tiny woman threw him over her shoulder like he weighed next to nothing, then slung him down on the bed. He wondered for a moment both how his hallucinations managed to be so vivid and what had become of his scotch before he closed his eyes and let himself succumb to sleep.

*** *** ***

With the morning came a hangover. Spike had long since become used to those, and all he did was groan and pull his covers up above his head. The pain would pass eventually, and as long as he didn't throw up on himself, he'd be fine.

Suddenly, foggy memories of the night before came back to him, and Spike frowned hard. Had he really been drunk enough to hallucinate some blonde woman with a goofy name like Buffy in his bedroom, claiming to be his muse?

Maybe it had all been a dream. Only he couldn't remember actually making it to his bed on his own. And his boots were gone. He couldn't remember taking those off, either.

It had to have been a dream, or a hallucination, or something of the sort. Literal "muses" were not real. Therefore, it was impossible that one had been in his flat the night before. He'd had too much to drink, and coupled with his anxiety over his book it had made him see crazy things.

Carefully, Spike brought his blanket down from his over face and peeked around his bedroom. No one. He was completely alone, no "muse" in sight. He breathed a sigh of relief, grateful he was no longer seeing things now that he was sober. Drunken hallucinations he could handle. Sober ones would make him a regular Bedlamite.

"You know, you're never going to get those poems written if you sleep the day away."

Spike screamed as he saw Buffy seated at the end of his bed. She had not been there a moment ago—where the hell had she come from?

"Zeus, there's no reason to yell," Buffy told him, rolling her eyes. "Just get up so we can get to work."

"Who…who are you?" Spike asked.

"I told you last night," Buffy replied. "My name is Buffy, and I'm your muse."

"But muses aren't real."

Buffy rolled her eyes a second time. "And again, we went over this last night. Yes, we are. And you, buddy, are in dire need of one."

"I'm in dire need of a bleedin' shrink."

"Not yet, but you will be if you just throw away all your talent like you've been doing. Now up with you. Would you like some breakfast?"

Spike's stomach rebelled at the thought of food. "God, no." He pressed the palm of his hand against his forehead in a failed attempt to stop the throbbing.

"Does your head hurt?" Buffy asked. "I can fix that." She leaned forward and pushed Spike's hand out of the way before replacing it with her own.

The place where their skin touched began to tingle, and Spike felt a pleasing warmth spread over his body. When Buffy pulled away, his pain was gone. "Is that better?" she asked.

"Yes, it really is," Spike told her with more than a little astonishment. "Thanks, pet."

Buffy beamed at him. "I'm glad I could help. Now let's get you writing."

"Yeah, we'll, um…get to that later. Right now, I've got to use the loo."

"The what?" Buffy asked with a frown.

"The…" Spike shook his head. "Never mind. You wait here, and I'll be back."

She was smiling again. "Okay."

He gave her one more glance before leaving the room.

*** *** ***

Spike stood in the bathroom, griping the edge of the sink as he stared himself down in the mirror. "All right, mate, it's time to let sanity back in. When you go back in there, there will be no girl anywhere to be seen. Muses aren't real, she's not real, and you've got to snap out of it."

He sighed. "And I'm talking to me bleedin' self, too. Wonderful."

A deep breath, his hands run through his hair, and Spike stepped out of the bathroom and made the turn into his bedroom.

She was still there—sitting on the bed, all perky and alert and obviously waiting for him. "Why are you still here?" he blurted out.

"Because I have to inspire you. Duh. Now get you pen and your paper and start your writing. We're on a time limit here, so chop chop."

Were hallucinations supposed to last this long—or be this bossy? Maybe he should just check himself into the mental hospital. Would that be a valid excuse for falling behind on his deadline?

"You're not crazy, Spike. I'm as real as you are. So stop thinking I'm going to disappear, 'cause I'm not. Not until you write what you need to write anyway."

Spike blinked. "Can you read my mind?"

"Well, I have to have some connection to your thoughts if I'm going to inspire them, don't I?" Buffy asked. She closed her mouth, yet Spike still heard her voice clearly. "We can communicate like this all the time if it's easier for you."

Spike held up his hand. "No. No. The last thing I need on top of all of this to be hearing bleedin' voices. And while you're at it, just stop reading my thoughts. It's disturbing to say the least."

Buffy shrugged, but when she spoke again, it was aloud. "Suit yourself. I'm here to serve you after all. So, where do you want to write today? You've got that little balcony, that could be nice. You've written some simply beautiful poems outside."

Spike's eyebrow arched. "How do you know about that?"

"I know everything about you, Spike," Buffy informed him. "Well, everything that pertains to your artistic life. It's all in your file."

"File? Muses keep files?"

"Of course we do. How else would we know who to help and how to do it? As a matter of fact, I've worked in the file room for over a century now." An almost imperceptible shudder traveled through Buffy's body. She had to help this guy write his book of poetry in time and prove herself as a muse, because she was not going back to that horrid place.

"Right then. And what exactly did my file say?"

"Well, it said you were a very successful and prolific poet until your girlfriend up and left you and now you've got a case of writer's block that's going to be detrimental to your career unless you get some help. That about sum it up?"

Spike frowned. "Yeah, it does."

"Good. Now we've got all that settled." Buffy clapped her hands together. "Let's get you writing."

Spike was still far from convinced that he wasn't hallucinating, but he decided to go with it. It didn't seem like this so-called muse was going to fade away anytime soon anyway…

"How about we stay inside? I'll just sit up in the bed, yeah?"

"Sounds good to me," Buffy said as she got to her feet. She went over to Spike, took him by the arm, and dragged him over to the edge of the bed. There, she sat him down before fluffing his pillows and pushing him back on them with a hard shove. "Comfy?"

Spike rubbed his chest where she'd pushed him. "Yeah, I'm good."

"Great! Now your writing supplies…" Buffy turned and began digging around his room until she popped back over to him with paper, pens, and the small board he used to press down on. "There you go. Now write."

Spike stared down at the paper, trying to bring a stanza, line, word, anything into his mind. If he had a muse now, shouldn't the poems just be flowing? Well, they weren't, and the muse in question was reclining at the edge of his bed, watching him very intently. Frankly, it disturbed him.

After several minutes had passed, Spike looked up at her and asked, "What are you doing?"

"I'm inspiring you," Buffy replied.

"Uh, I hate to break it to you, pet, but at the moment—not so much."

Buffy frowned. "Oh. Nothing at all?"

Spike shook his head. "Nope. Sorry."

"Should I take my clothes off? Some of the poets I've helped in the past have told me they were much more inspired when I was naked."

Spike held up his hand. "No! Keep your little…girly toga thing on." Granted, she probably had a nice body under that thing, but it was disturbing enough having her stare at him clothed, and somehow, he didn't think it would get any better if she was nude. That would just be…very distracting.

"Then what should I do?" Buffy asked. "I could give you a neck rub. Or sing you a song while I play my lyre."

"Uh, that's okay. I've never been a huge fan of lyre music."

"I read in your file that you enjoy…punk rock." Buffy's mouth seem to struggle with the last two words, and if they were something very foreign to her.

"Yeah, I do," Spike replied. "Have you ever heard any?"

Buffy shook her head. "No, I haven't. I haven't been back down to Earth in quite some time, I'm afraid. Not since…" She paused, clearing her throat. "It's been a while."

"Here, I'll play some. Listening to music helps me write sometimes."

"All right then. Play this punk rock, and I will listen."

Spike laid his paper down on the bed and got up. His record player was set up in the corner, and he pulled out his well-worn copy of the Sex Pistols' Never Mind the Bollocks. He knew it was probably time for him to accept that technology had moved on and purchase a CD player, but he just couldn't get used to the idea of listening to this music on anything but vinyl.

However, no more than a few bars of "Holidays in the Sun" had sounded out in the small flat before Buffy had clamped her hands over her ears. "Ah! This is horrible! No wonder you can't write anything if you listen to this noise!" She waved her hand, and suddenly his record player began to fill the room with the soft sounds of a light, classical piece.

"Oi now!" Spike yelled. "What did you bleedin' do?"

"I'm helping you," Buffy insisted. "You can't possibly experience a true rush of creative energy while listening to that."

Spike had had enough. He was clearly insane, and now his cheery blonde hallucination was buggering up his records. He grabbed his boots from where they were neatly placed at the foot of the bed and began putting them on.

"Where are you going?" Buffy asked.

"The pub."

"You can't go there! You'll become very inebriated if you do!"

"And that would be the idea," Spike replied. He laced up his second boot then left the flat, ignoring Buffy as she called after him.

*** *** ***

I was very happy to see the enthusiastic response to the first chapter of this story. Personally, I've been having a lot of fun writing this one, and I hope all of my readers will enjoy it as much as I have!

Please take a moment to review.

Spike was in the back of the pub, already working on his third pint, when suddenly Buffy was sitting across from him in the booth. He fought to swallow his drink instead of spitting it on the table before exclaiming, "Bloody hell!"

"You shouldn't be here, Spike," Buffy said, wagging her finger. "You have writing to do, mister."

"I'd rather be drinking." Spike punctuated his sentence by swallowing the rest of what was in his glass.

Moments later, the hefty publican was making his way over to the booth. "Another ale, Spike?"

"Oh yeah."

"Anything for your bird?"

Spike's gaze whipped between Buffy and the publican before he asked in a harsh whisper, "You can see her?"

The publican's eyebrow arched. "'Course I can. She's sittin' right there. You sure you need another drink, mate?"

"No, as a matter of fact, he doesn't," Buffy said as she slid out of the booth, completely missing the look on the publican's face when he saw her very outdated clothes. She grabbed Spike's hand and pulled him, making him stumble to get to his feet. "Come on, we need to get you home so you can write."

"Put those on my tab!" Spike yelled over his shoulder as Buffy dragged him out of the pub. She was amazingly strong for someone so tiny, and Spike knew he'd have no chance of getting free. Instead, he was forced to let himself be pulled down the streets of London by a very small blonde woman in a chiton and an elaborately beaded hairstyle. 'Cause that wouldn't make more than a few heads turn…

When they got to the door of his flat, Buffy continued to pull him, and Spike screwed his eyes shut, preparing to smack face first into the door. Instead, he opened his eyes after a moment to find them now standing inside of his flat. "How did you do that?"

"Doors are a waste of time," Buffy replied with a shrug. She stretched out her arms, paper suddenly appearing in one hand and pen in the other. "Now write."

Spike sighed. From the look of things, he wasn't getting out of this anytime soon. And the publican had seen Buffy, too, which could only mean one of two things—his hallucinating was even worse than he thought, or he had a genuine muse following him around.

He wasn't sure which thought disturbed him more.

Spike took a seat on his couch, situating himself with paper in hand. He touched the tip of his pen to the plain white sheet, willing the words to come. Maybe he had to really believe in muses for it to work, like in a fairy tale or some such.

Or not. Because the block was still there. All he really wanted to do was take a nap.

"You know, pet, I think I might be able to write better if I took a bit of a rest, yeah? Cleared my head."

Buffy chewed on her bottom lip for a moment as she thought that over, and Spike couldn't help but notice how adorable she was when she did that. "Okay, you can rest," Buffy told him. "But when you wake up, I want you writing."

"Deal," Spike replied, though he didn't know if he'd be able to keep his end of the bargain.

"Would you like me to sing softly to you while you drift off to sleep?" Buffy asked.

"Uh, no, I'll pass on that. I'd rather you stay right out here, let me get a little peace." As an afterthought, he picked up the remote control and set it in her hand. "Here. Amuse yourself by seeing what's on the telly."

Buffy stared down at the strange box Spike had given her, a frown forming on her face. "What's a 'telly?'" she wondered aloud as she heard Spike's bedroom door shut.

*** *** ***

When Spike woke later, he could hear the hum of the television and immediately remembered Buffy. It appeared that he still had an unwanted, mythological houseguest. Just what he'd always wished for…

Reluctantly, he pulled himself out of the bed and put his jeans back on. He was tempted to try escaping out of his window, but he had an idea that Buffy would find him. She certainly hadn't had any problems tracking him down at the pub. He was right and truly buggered, no two ways about it.

He walked out into the living room, and stifled a chuckle at the sight of Buffy a mere inches away from the television screen, a look of rapt fascination on her face. "Enjoying the show, pet?" he asked.

Buffy looked over towards him quickly. She held up the remote control, then announced, "Spike! This tiny box, it makes people show up in this bigger box!" With a frown, she added, "I don't think they're real people, though. When I tapped on the bigger box, they didn't look at me."

"They're just images, luv. Pictures that move. You haven't been around here much lately, have you?"

"Not since the late 1800's," Buffy admitted with a sigh. "I was on file room duty."

Spike's eyebrow arched. That was a long time to be stuck in a bloody file room… "They let you out now, though?"

"Yes, to help you. Which is why you need to write." Buffy scrambled to her feet and got the paper and pen Spike had left on the couch earlier. "You've had your nap now, so write."

"I'll get on it soon, you tiny slave driver," Spike replied as he pushed away the paper she was thrusting at him. "Let me eat something first."

She lowered her arms, paper and pen still in hand as they hung at her sides, and pouted. It was the most adorable thing Spike had ever seen, and he had half a mind to forget about the food and do whatever she wanted to appease her. He'd never seen a bottom lip jut out quite that perfectly before.

But then his stomach rumbled, and he knew he'd have no chance of getting over his block without something to eat. Come to think of it, he wasn't sure he'd actually eaten anything the day before either. "After supper. I'll sit down and really try to write then, I promise. Is that all right, cutie?"

She immediately perked up at that, and as endearing as her pout was, Spike found that he was happy to put a smile back on her face again. He walked past her and into the kitchen, and Buffy soon followed, perching herself on his counter as Spike dug around his refrigerator for something edible.

He found a carton of Chinese take-away he could remember getting well enough that he didn't think eating it would kill him. One of these days he really had to stop wallowing in self pity long enough to actually buy some food… "Do you eat, pet?" Spike asked as he shut the fridge door and began to dig around his silverware drawer for a clean fork.

"I do require sustenance, although I can go longer periods without it than humans," Buffy replied, her legs lightly swinging.

Spike took a bite of the lo mein, then swallowed. "Yeah? What sort of things do you eat then?"

"Manna, bread and honey, sweet nectar," Buffy replied.

"Figures. I don't have any of that stuff, but I might have something close enough." Spike set his food on the counter Buffy wasn't currently occupying, and opened his freezer. "Here," he said to her as he handed her a container. "Oh, and you'll need this." He reached back into his silverware drawer and pulled out a spoon.

"It's cold," Buffy said as she took the container and the spoon from him.

"It's supposed to be. It's ice cream, pet. Chocolate with caramel and marshmallow swirls. Try it."

Buffy looked wary, but she opened the ice cream and took a spoonful anyway. Her eyes widened as she first put it in her mouth, but then they closed as she made a low moan of pleasure. "Wow, this is even better than manna. And to think I'd worried about being sent back to England after the horrible food I was forced to endure the last time!"

Spike smiled at her. "We do have some stuff around here that's edible."

"This ice cream is the most wonderful thing I've ever tasted!" Buffy said. "Was it made by pixies?"

He would've laughed at her question had she not looked so serious when she asked it. "Actually, pet, it's made by a couple of blokes named Ben and Jerry."

"Well, this Ben and Jerry are truly inspired. This is wonderful."

She turned her attention back to the ice cream, and Spike hoped that feeding a muse ice cream wasn't anything like giving water to a Gremlin. Although there was the sugar rush factor, and Buffy was already hyper enough on her own…

But she was so endearing right now, and she clearly enjoyed it as much as she claimed, so Spike couldn't take it away from her. He'd keep his freezer stocked with the bleedin' stuff if it made the chit happy.

Spike watched her as he leaned against the wall and ate. As annoying as she'd been since she'd shown up in his bedroom the night before, it seemed impossible not be charmed by her as well. She was beautiful, with her long, golden blonde hair and bright green eyes, but he supposed that much was to be expected from a muse. He didn't wager it would be easy to get inspired by some wart-covered hag with scraggly teeth and a hooknose. But there was something beyond her outward appearance that Spike found utterly captivating. She was bossy and stubborn—not to mention scarily strong—but at the same time there was something about her that made him want to smile.

Perhaps that was just a quality all muses possessed. He'd never met another muse, so he couldn't rightly call it as a purely Buffy characteristic.

Hell, for all he knew, they were all exact duplicates of each other.

"Pet?"

Buffy looked up from her ice cream, and Spike noticed she'd somehow managed not to get a bit of it on her. Impressive, really. "Yes? And why do you keep calling me this 'pet?' I've told you my name?"

"It's a nickname, is all," Spike replied. "Does it bother you?"

Buffy shook her head. "No. I like it, actually. I just wanted to know why."

"Well, that's why." Spike cleared his throat. "How many of you muses are there? Nine?"

"Oh no, there's many more than nine. Do you have any idea how overworked we'd be if there were only nine? There's billions of people in the world, Spike, and so many of them need a little inspiration now and then. Nine…" She laughed at the number as if it were the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard. "None of us would ever sleep!"

"So there's a whole flock of you lot then. They all like you?"

"No, I'm not like any of them." Suddenly, Buffy looked very sad.

"Why the frown?" Spike asked her.

"Well, it's just…" Buffy lowered her eyes. "The other muses are all better than me."

"Oh come now, pet, that can't be true. You're a regular delight, you are. Honestly, the best muse I've ever seen."

Buffy's bright smile was back again. "You really mean that, Spike? You like me?"

Spike's answering grin was teasing. "You aren't without your charms."

"So you won't be sending me back and asking for a replacement then?"

Her question made him frown. He could do that? And more importantly, had someone done that to Buffy before? He'd never been accused of being the nicest of men, but he didn't think he was an absolute monster either, and he couldn't imagine sending away sweet, guileless little Buffy in such a way. She was a bit of an annoying chit at times, sure, but she was also so eager to please that it made the other stuff easier to overlook.

He would, however, have to speak to her about fixing his Sex Pistols record…

"No, pet. I won't be sending you back."

"Oh, thank you, Spike! I'll work very hard to inspire you, I promise!"

"I'm sure you will." Spike set his now empty take-away carton beside the sink. "Come on now, luv. Let's see if we can get any blood from this turnip, yeah?"

Buffy's brow wrinkled. "What's a turnip? And why do we want to make it bleed?"

"I meant…" Spike stopped, wondering if it would be more trouble than it was worth to try to explain figurative language to Buffy. "Let's just go see if we can get me writing, all right?"

Buffy put down the ice cream container, and Spike raised his eyebrow to see that there was not a drop left in it. It looked as if she had washed it. And she was still completely clean…

"You'll write something today, I'm sure of it!" Buffy exclaimed. She grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the kitchen, and Spike was helpless to do anything but follow.

*** *** ***

I'm sorry I had to take a week off from posting. I had a death in my family.

To address any concerns, I know Buffy isn't following the characteristics of an actual Greek muse. She's not one of the nine muses—as she made clear in this chapter—nor is she meant to mirror them. The concept of a muse for the purposes of this story is of my own creation, with the characteristics ones I've decided on to best fit how I want my fic to go.

Please review!

Hours later, Spike still had nothing. Not a single, solitary word. Finally, overcome by frustration, he tossed his pen to the ground and leaned back against the couch. "The well's beyond tapped, luv. I can't write a bloody thing."

At his declaration, Buffy promptly burst into tears.

"Hey now, pet, why the crying?" Spike asked as she reached to the side and put his arm around her.

"I'm a terrible muse!" Buffy exclaimed. "The worst!"

"Oh, come now, luv, I'm sure that's not true."

"It is!" Buffy insisted, sniffling. "You can't write anything."

"That's not your fault," Spike told her. "I couldn't write before you got here either."

"And I was supposed to help with that," Buffy told him. "But I can't. I'm a failure!"

"You're not a failure. You've just got assigned to a bad poet, is all."

Buffy shook her head. "No. A good muse can inspire anyone to create something beautiful, but me? My biggest claim to fame is that I was the muse for a man who's now regarded as the worst poet in the English language."

"Now that has to be stretching it a bit," Spike replied.

"Nope. Listen to this." Buffy cleared her throat and began to recite.

"Little Fido's master had to go on a long journey,
So Fido followed her master, and ran cheerfully,
And often the master would speak kindly to the dog,
As along the road together they did jog.

"Her master rode on a very beautiful steed,
And Fido followed behind at slow speed,
And so they traveled on and on,
And the road was dusty, and they felt woe-begone.

"The sun shone hot, and the horse was covered with sweat,
And poor Fido was tired and began to fret,
And she felt so tired that no farther could she go,
So Fido lay down and whined with her heart full of woe."

Spike winced, holding up his hand to stop her from speaking anymore. "Okay, I get the idea, but pet, you can't hold yourself responsible for some bloke writing horrible poetry."

"My bosses sure can," Buffy told him. "That's how I got stuck in the file room. And now, you're my last chance. If I can't get you to finish your manuscript in time to get it to your publisher by your deadline, I'll be relegated to the file room for the rest of eternity. And I mean the rest of eternity."

Spike was quiet for a moment, trying to absorb the shock of what she'd just disclosed. He hadn't thought Buffy could have so much riding on him being able to write. If he couldn't come up with a manuscript for a viable book of poetry, it wasn't just his career at stake. He'd be condemning Buffy.

Talk about pressure…

"Look, maybe I haven't been able to write since you got here because I've been trying too hard. How about we take the night off, yeah? Relax a bit, maybe go somewhere and have a little fun."

"Would that help you write?"

"It could," Spike told her. "I've gotten ideas for some of my best poems when I wasn't thinking about it."

Spike was glad to see her smile return. "Then let's go out."

"All right then, pet. But we're going to have to do something about your clothes. Not that what you're wearing isn't lovely, but…"

"Oh, don't worry. I was briefed on the proper style of dress here before I came." Buffy stood up, a bright light shimmering around her for a moment before it went away and Spike saw that her clothes had indeed changed. Instead of the chiton she'd worn ever since she'd arrived, she was now wearing a short, black skirt, knee-high leather boots and a light blue halter-top. The intricately-beaded hairstyle she normally wore had been replaced as well, and now her long, blonde hair simply fell in waves around her shoulders.

"Is this good?" Buffy asked.

Spike swallowed, trying to ignore the sudden twitching in his jeans at the sight of her now. He hadn't been able to get a good look at her legs before, but now they were much clearer. "Yeah, pet, that's good," he told her when he'd found his voice again.

"So now we can go someplace where you can not think about writing in order to be able to write?" Buffy asked hopefully.

Spike chuckled at her question, forcing himself to push down the lust the sight of her dressed the way she was had stirred in him. For one thing, he knew she had the ability to read at least part of his thoughts, and he wasn't sure how she'd respond to knowing what he was thinking now. Did muses have policies about that sort of thing?

He shook his head, and decided to forget about it. She was here to help him write, not to relieve his sexual frustrations. "Just let me get myself a bit more presentable, and we'll go."

"I'll wait for you here," Buffy told him, her bright smile firmly in place again.

Spike couldn't help but smile back.

*** *** ***

Buffy looked around as they walked down the street together, her eyes wide as she took in the sights of London. It had been so long since she'd seen this city, and it amazed her how even with as much that had changed, so much had managed to stay the same. She liked that. It made her seem less out of place.

She ventured a look at the man beside her. She'd thought from the beginning that his hair was a very strange color, almost white despite the fact that he didn't look at all like an old man. Buffy wondered if perhaps he'd had an accident that wasn't mentioned in his file. Regardless, she'd found she'd come to like the color, deciding it suited him. It made the dark blue of his eyes stand out even more with their stark contrast to his hair.

She was also lamenting that he'd re-covered his chest before they'd left his flat. His chest had been a truly beautiful sight, reminding her of the statues in the Great Hall back home. Buffy had enjoyed watching him as he tried to write, the movement of his muscles beneath his skin making her tingle in the most unusual—yet strangely enjoyable—way. Perhaps it was better he was fully covered now. Maybe watching him had distracted her so much that she hadn't been able to be properly inspiring.

However, when she realized where Spike had taken her, Buffy's admiration quickly switched to annoyance. She stopped short, her hands firmly on her hips. "This is that pub again!" she exclaimed in outrage.

"Yeah, it is. What of it?" Spike asked.

"You just wanted to go drinking again! You tricked me!"

Spike laughed. "Pet, I'm not here just to drink tonight. I've got mates that come here too, for socializing and the like. I thought it might help to be around other people."

Buffy eyed him warily, but decided to go along. "Okay, but don't make me have to drag you home. A little drinking is fine, but I don't want you so drunk you can't hold your pen."

"I'll remember that," Spike said with another laugh. "Now come on, and you can meet my mates."

*** *** ***

All eyes had been on Buffy from the moment they'd walked into the pub, and she'd very quickly had everyone captivated. She'd almost immediately taken to darts, and Spike wondered if she either had practice from the last time she'd been out of her file room or if she was using some sort of magic. Either way, none of the men she was playing with seemed in the least bit bothered to be losing to her.

After the third game, Spike decided he wanted to rest a bit. "I'm going to sit for a while, pet. Right over there." He pointed to an empty booth.

"Do you want me to sit with you?" Buffy asked.

"No, you keep playing. You've been having a good time."

He could tell Buffy was torn. She didn't want to sit down, yet she felt like it was her job to accompany him. Spike decided to try to assure her that it was okay for her to stay. "I'll be fine just watching you, pet," he told her. "That's right inspiring in itself."

"It is?" Buffy asked.

"Yeah, it is."

"Okay. I'll stay here then," Buffy said with a smile.

"Have fun, luv." Spike picked up his pint and walked over to the booth. True to his word, he kept his eyes on Buffy, enjoying being able to observe her from afar. Even in the hazy light of the pub, she seemed to shine, a glow about her that Spike decided must be attributed to her otherworldliness.

"That's quite a little spitfire you've brought with you tonight, William. She seems to have cleaned out my pockets, and yet I can't find it in myself to care."

Spike looked up at the man who had slid in across from him in the booth. "That she is, Rupes. Can't say I've ever met a bird quite like that one."

Rupert Giles had been Spike's professor during the short time he'd attended university, and even following that he'd served as the younger man's mentor. Giles had even played a rather influential role in getting Spike published in the first place.

"Well, I do say I'm glad you met her. I was worried about you, alone in that flat all the time, pining away for Drusilla," Giles replied.

Spike shook his head. "She's not my girlfriend."

Giles frowned, Spike's statement surprising him a great deal. "Then who is she?"

For a moment, Spike contemplated the question and how to answer. He probably should've just gone with the girlfriend thing, though he'd never liked the idea of lying to Rupert. The truth, however, was something that would be hard to explain.

He decided to try anyway. He wanted to talk to someone about this sudden and bizarre turn in his life, and who better to do that with than his old mentor?

Spike leaned forward, speaking quietly so only Giles could hear him. "Buffy's my muse."

Giles sighed and removed his glasses, a gesture Spike had come to be familiar with whenever Rupert was upset or annoyed. "William, please don't tell me you've started this up again. It was the same thing with Drusilla. You focused so much on her being the one that inspired all of your poetry that as soon as she left, you couldn't write a thing."

Spike shook his head. "No. You're not getting it, mate. Buffy is literally my muse. As in sent from on High to get me over my writer's block."

For a moment, all Giles could do was gape. Then finally, he asked, "How much have you been drinking lately?"

"I haven't been drunk. Okay, so I was when she first showed up, and I thought she was probably a hallucination, but I'm sober now, and she's still here—plus other people can see her, so unless this is mass hysteria, she's real."

"William, of course the girl herself is real. That's not what I'm questioning. But there's no way she can be an actual muse. That's bloody ridiculous. Granted, she's a very charming, attractive young woman, but…"

"There's more to it than that, Rupert," Spike said. "She can do stuff…like magic. Like tonight, before we came here she was in this girly toga thing, and then poof—that outfit she's got on now. And she just appears out of nowhere sometimes. Plus there's the super strength thing, and she turned my Sex Pistols album into bleedin' classical music. With just a wave of her little hand!"

The look on Rupert's face made it clear that he didn't believe a word Spike had just said. "Will, you know as well as I do none of that can be real."

"And two days ago, I would've said yes, but I'm telling you, this girl is the genuine article."

Giles arched his eyebrow. "And so you're now magically over your writer's block as well?"

"No, that's the problem," Spike replied, shaking his head. "I'm just as blocked as I was before. And Buffy, well, apparently she's gotten into some trouble in the past, and is now on muse probation or some such. I'm her last chance."

"William, I'm saying this to you as a friend. I believe you need to talk to a psychiatrist. Obviously, your stress from not being able to write has made you reach your breaking point."

Spike sighed in frustration. "Giles, I'm not Dru, all right? I don't see little pixies talking to me all the bloody time." Spike frowned, his experience with Buffy making him wonder if his ex had truly been as insane as he'd believed, but dropped the thought when he realized it didn't really matter at the moment anyway. "Am I stressed? Sure. Am I crazy? No. I know what I've seen Buffy do, Rupert, and there's no way she could do those things and not be what she says she is."

"William, I don't…"

"Rupes, stop thinking like the old stick-in-the-mud you are, and actually look at the chit."

Giles sighed heavily, but decided to oblige Spike by turning around and watching Buffy for a moment. "I suppose she is rather…shiny, but a muse?"

"She's fleecing every one of those men of their hard-earned dosh, and none of them cares a whit. Hell, they're happily handing it over to her. Tell me that isn't strange. And she's not the only good-looking bird in a short skit to ever waltz into this place either."

Giles frowned as he watched what Spike was talking about. He did have a point… Giles knew he hadn't cared much himself when he'd lost to Buffy. She'd just been so charming, that… He frowned. Was it possible what his former student was telling him was true? It couldn't be…an actual muse right there in London was completely unfathomable.

Still, he'd known William a very long while, and while he'd been a bit unpredictable at times, the young man had never been completely barmy. Logic and trust in an old friend warred inside of him, until he finally lifted his glass and said, "If this girl really is your muse, William, then I hope she inspires you well."

Spike lifted his glass and touched it to Rupert's. That was something he could drink to.

*** *** ***

Sadly, the poem Buffy recites is a real one, and yes, the poet is regarded by many as the worst poet in the English language. His name is William McGonagall, and if you're interested in some of his other, uh, works, they can be found here: http://www.mcgonagall-online.org.uk/

Please review!

"I like your friends," Buffy told Spike as they walked together across a bridge on their way back to his flat.

"I think they liked you, too, pet," Spike told her.

Spike stopped, going to the edge of the bridge and looking over, down at the water below. Buffy moved to his side, and for a moment, the two of them enjoyed the night in silence.

"I've missed this," Buffy admitted softly. "I haven't gotten to see the world in so long. There's been no sunlight or moonlight, no fresh air to breath. I don't know if I could take being banished from it forever."

Spike didn't want that to happen to her either. A creature as beautiful as Buffy needed to be out in the world, not cooped up somewhere away from everything. He hated to think that her freedom rested on him, when he couldn't seem to be able to give her what she needed now. All he had to do was write—something that had once come as naturally to him as breathing—and he couldn't do it.

He placed his hand against Buffy's back. "We'll try again tomorrow, luv. I won't give up."

Buffy turned towards him. Her eyes held a light mist of tears, and the sight of it broke his heart. "I'll try harder tomorrow, I promise," Buffy told him. "I really don't want to let you down."

Spike brushed her tears away with his thumb, then gave into his urge to run his hand over her hair. It was just as soft to the touch as it looked… "Don't talk like that now. No matter what happens, it won't be you letting me down." It would be him letting her down.

"It wouldn't be that either," Buffy said softly, and Spike realized she was picking up on his thoughts again. He smiled gently at her.

She was beautiful, bathed in moonlight, and Spike had the sudden urge to kiss her, though he held back. He didn't think he should cross that line with her, no matter how tempting it was fast becoming. They came from two separate worlds—literally—and he had no idea what would become of either of them at the end of this month. The last time he'd fallen for someone, he'd had his heart brutally crushed, and he wasn't willing to throw himself overboard again into something he knew could only be doomed.

Reluctantly, he stepped away from her. "Come on now, luv, let's go on home. I'll get myself rested so I'll be ready to start again in the morning."

Buffy nodded, and they walked off together. Her hand slid so naturally into his, that Spike didn't realize it was there until they'd already reached his flat.

*** *** ***

As Spike slept, Buffy walked around his flat, examining what little things he had. She knew she should probably rest when he did, but she couldn't seem to make her mind stop.

She wanted to inspire him, and not just because of what it meant for her if she didn't. In all her many, many years as a muse, she'd never been assigned to anyone like him before. He was a very strange man, but somehow, that became part of his charm. And he was quite handsome—even more so than those annoying Vanities that were forever bothering her. He could look so serious, and then he'd smile, and it was like she was seeing a little piece of the boy he'd once been.

He was very kind to her as well, something that touched Buffy deeply. So many of the poets she'd been sent to help in the past had been rude and snobbish, and she hadn't cared one way or another if they succeeded. That had been, of course, before she'd discovered the detrimental effects to her own self of not producing a successful poet, but knowing that now wasn't coloring what she felt towards Spike.

Perhaps what she needed was a little advice. Her fellow muses were much more successful than her, and maybe they could give her tips on how to better help Spike. Then he could begin to write again, and she could be happy to have finally been of some help.

Buffy crept into Spike's bedroom to make sure he was still asleep, then disappeared in a shimmer of light.

The trip back to the Higher Realms was always a little disorienting, and Buffy closed her eyes and waited for the feelings of dizziness to pass so she could get her bearings. After a moment, she was fine, and she made her way down the long, white marble hallway to the lounge. There, she found three of her fellow muses: Tara, Willow, and Anya.

"Buffy! I thought you had been sent on assignment," Willow said as Buffy walked in. She smiled. "I'm happy to see you though." Suddenly, her smile went away. "Unless, you've been sent back, and…"

Tara and Anya both sat up straighter, waiting for Buffy to Willow's question. "No, it's not that at all," Buffy said quickly. "Spike has been very nice to me, and he said he doesn't want to send me back. The problem though, well…I thought maybe you could help me?"

"Of course we'll help," Tara said. "Take a seat and tell us what's wrong."

Buffy joined the three other muses. "I'm not inspiring him. I was there all day, and nothing. He didn't write one single word."

"Your problem is sticking with poets," Anya said, her tone the blunt one Buffy had gotten quite accustomed to her fellow muse using. "Human beings just aren't as creative these days as they used to be. They have all that mindless entertainment stuff to keep them occupied and they don't need real creativity anymore. Do what I did, and switch from the arts to business. I brought someone from selling oranges out of a cart on the side of the road to being the CEO of a multi-billion dollar corporation. Now that's inspiration."

"But I don't know anything about business," Buffy replied with a heavy sigh. "Besides, changing my focus won't do me any good now. This guy's my last chance. If I don't get this book of poems out of him, I'm finished."

"Buffy, you've only been with him for a day," Tara said gently. "Do you think I inspired Homer to write his Iliad overnight? It takes time, sweetie."

"I don't have time. I have a month—less now, because this day is gone.

"You need to relax a little, don't force it," Willow said. "Inspiration is a natural thing, and it needs to be allowed to flow. You don't have much time, sure, but you'll be in worse shape if you don't take it a little slowly at first. Spend some time letting him get comfortable around you."

"We did that tonight," Buffy said, smiling at the thought of possibly doing something right. "I went out with him and got to learn about part of his life."

"See, that's good," Tara encouraged her. "It sounds to me like you're on the right track all ready."

"Oh, and we ate together, too," Buffy added. "He ate something that looked like a box full of strange worms, but he gave me this stuff called pa-hish food. It's made by some men named Ben and Jerry, and Spike told me they weren't pixies, but I think they must at least be elves, because that was the most wonderful thing I'd ever tasted. It was frozen, but it was still soft in my mouth, and it had these swirls of sweet stuff in it, and these tiny bits of something that looked like baby fish, but were really good. The next time you're on assignment, you all really have to try to find some." Buffy lowered her voice. "It's even better than the manna and the honey."

The other three muses raised their eyebrows and looked at each other. If what Buffy said was true, they would have to try this pa-hish food.

"How is Spike reacting to you?" Tara asked. "Does he seem to be warming up to you?"

"I think so," Buffy replied. "He's been very nice at least, although he doesn't always like my help. He was listening to this horrible noise that sounded like it could only cause a splitting headache, but he wasn't happy at all when I try to change it for him. But he was very kind this evening, and even allowed me to meet his friends." Buffy blushed almost imperceptibly. "He's very handsome, too."

At that, the other three muses shared a look again before Anya spoke up. "Be careful, Buffy. No matter how charming and good-looking the person we're inspiring is, we can't…"

Buffy held up her hand. "I know, Anya. I do. I may not be a very good muse, but I do know the rules. It's just… Zeus, he's a pretty man."

"Pretty or not, he's still off limits," Anya stressed. "Besides, you've got a lot riding on this. You don't have time to be distracted."

"I know you can do this, Buffy," Tara said, glancing sideways at Anya for a second. "Just remember what Willow said and don't force it. Don't worry about the time or what will happen if you fail, just focus on Spike and helping him. Everything will work the way it's supposed to."

Buffy smiled warmly at Tara. She was glad she'd decided to come here and seek their advice. She felt better already. "Thanks," she told them. "You've been a big help."

"We're always here if you need us," Willow said.

"And if you get this guy writing, come see me about switching fields," Anya added. "You'd just love entrepreneurial inspiring, I know."

"I'll keep that in mind," Buffy replied. She stood. "I should be getting back. Spike was asleep when I left, and I want to be there when he wakes in case he does want to write."

"All right. Let us know if we can help more," Willow told her.

"I will." Buffy closed her eyes and disappeared from the room.

*** *** ***

When Spike woke the next morning, he immediately looked around his room for Buffy and was disappointed when he didn't see her. He did realize it was a little odd to feel that way now since yesterday he'd been less than thrilled to see her there when he'd woken up, but the day he'd spent with Buffy had him endeared to the bizarre little creature. In a very short period of time, he'd started to enjoy being in her company. She seemed to make everything brighter somehow. Yesterday had been the first day since Drusilla had left him that he hadn't spent hours lamenting that fact.

Besides, if Buffy wasn't there, it could mean she'd been deemed unsuccessful in helping him and banished from ever returning to this world. Spike wouldn't be able to take knowing he'd caused that to happen to her, and he hoped it wasn't the case.

Deciding he should search for her elsewhere in the flat, Spike got out of the bed, putting on a pair of jeans he grabbed from his floor before leaving the bedroom. It didn't take him long to find her, and a smile crossed over his face as he was both relieved to see her and warmed by the sight of her. She was fast asleep, curled up in a chair near his television. The television itself was on, though the volume had been turned down very low, and her slim fingers were curled around the remote control.

Spike approached her cautiously, careful not to wake her as he took the remote from her hand and set it on the coffee table. Then, he lifted Buffy up, cradling her still-sleeping form in his arms.

She was so small, weighed barely anything at all, and Spike found it amazing that a woman so tiny could be so strong and forceful. But she was, and he found he liked her all the more for it. Drusilla had been so willing to be weak, to exploit her actual conditions in order to manipulate him. But Buffy was the exact opposite, and Spike found it refreshing indeed.

Unbidden, he inhaled deeply, and the scent of her was enough to make him shiver. She smelled like flowers and spring rain, with just a bit of vanilla thrown in. It was as gorgeous as the rest of her, and his eyes trailed down to her soft, bow mouth, lightly parted in sleep, as he wondered if she would taste as good, too.

He tried not to continue with those sorts of thoughts, knowing they'd get him nowhere. He knew her presence in his life wasn't a permanent one, and he had to remember that.

Spike carried her into his bedroom and lay her down on his bed, a wistful smile on his face as he smoothed the chiton she was once again wearing. Gently, he pulled the blanket up and tucked it around her shoulders, watching as she shifted in her sleep, getting comfortable. Buffy looked so beautiful cozied up in his bed, and Spike was unable to keep himself from pressing a chaste kiss against her forehead. Her skin was warm and soft, her glorious scent washing over him again, and he closed his eyes to savor the moment he knew was a stolen one.

He pulled away from her, then took a moment to watch as she slept, sunlight streaming in from his window and bathing her in gold. Spike didn't think he'd ever had the chance to witness beauty as pure as hers before, and he wished he could hold on to this forever, find a way to grasp what he felt right then and not let go.

And inspiration struck…

*** *** ***

Please leave me a review? *puppy dog eyes*

Buffy stretched, making a small mewing noise as she did, then froze as she realized she'd somehow gotten in Spike's bed. She certainly didn't remember falling asleep in Spike's bed. The last thing she did remember was sitting in his chair, watching the pictures in that wonderful little box Spike had called a "telly."

Well, however she'd gotten there, Buffy certainly didn't mind that she had. Spike's bed was warm and comfortable, and when she turned her nose against the pillow, she could catch the lingering traces of his scent. It was a mixture of leather, tobacco, and soap wrapped up with a rich, masculine scent that Buffy could only associate with Spike. It was nice, comforting.

In part, Buffy wanted to stay right where she was. She couldn't remember a time when she felt this relaxed, and she hated to leave such a warm, safe haven. However, she had a job to do, and she already didn't know how long she'd slept and left Spike without a muse when he needed one the most.

She sat up, then slid off the edge of the bed, her slipper-covered feet touching the wood floors without a sound. Buffy went down the hall, and her heart leapt when she saw Spike on the floor by his couch, papers spread around him—papers with writing on them.

He looked up when he noticed she had come in, a wide grin across his face. "Buffy! I'm writing—look!"

Buffy clapped her hands and squealed with delight before she hurried over to his side and saw that he already had several drafts of a poem surrounding him. "I'm so proud of you, Spike," she told him. "You got over your block and you didn't even need me to do it."

Spike looked at her sharply then, his smile fading. "What do you mean, I didn't need you?"

"I was asleep when you started writing, so…"

Spike cut her off by pulling on her hands so she was kneeling, their eyes level now. "Buffy, this poem—it's inspired by you, pet. I found you in sleeping in here this morning, and I carried you into the bed so you'd be more comfortable. Then I looked at you, sleeping so peacefully with the sunlight streaming over you, and god, Buffy, I'd never seen anything so beautiful in my life. You took my breath away, and then you gave me back my words."

He snatched his most recent draft off the top of the pile and handed it to her. Buffy read it silently to herself, tears filling her eyes as she did. It was about her. He'd written of the moment he'd just described to her so beautifully that it made her heart ache. In all the time she's spent as a muse, no poet had ever spoken of her with so much passion. Every word, every emotion there on the page was completely raw.

"Do you like it?" Spike asked, his voice uncharacteristically timid.

"Oh, Spike, I love it," Buffy replied. "It's the most beautiful poem I've ever read."

To her surprise, he blushed. "I don't think I'd go that far."

"I would," Buffy said as she handed the poem back to him, hesitating for just a moment before she let it go. "I've watched you, and how you try to be hard on the outside, and I…" Buffy lowered her eyes. "I think it makes the true softness in your heart even more beautiful."

"Buffy…"

Her name on his lips was gentle, and Buffy looked up to meet his eyes again. She saw something there that sent a shock right through her, though she didn't understand it enough to put a name to it. "I've known a lot of poets before, and so many of them have been pretentious and arrogant, writing because they think it makes them better than others, part of a literary elite," she told him. "They choose styles for their difficulty or rarity, so they can go brag to all their friends about their 'brilliant' Petrarchan sonnet. But you don't seem like that at all. I think you write because you have to, because your heart becomes so full, that you have to let it out somehow."

Spike stared at her, mouth agape. No one had ever understood him that way before. He supposed Buffy should, being his muse and all, but it touched him deeply all the same.

Their eyes locked, several moments passing around them, though between them, time seemed to stand still. Buffy felt something she didn't ever remember feeling before, wanted something she didn't understand. Scared of what it could be, Buffy pulled away. "I should…let you write more."

Disappointed that the moment had ended, but still knowing it probably should have, Spike nodded. "Yeah. Don't want to waste any of this inspiration."

Buffy picked up his pen from where he'd dropped it on the ground and placed it back in his hand.

*** *** ***

Spike leaned back against the couch, looked out over all the drafts of his poem surrounding him, and let out a deep breath. He'd done it. He'd gotten over his block. Granted, it was only one poem, but one poem was better than what he'd had before.

Now, he needed a break.

"Fancy a bit of a walk, pet?" Spike asked, craning his neck so he could look at Buffy where she was seated on the couch.

"You need some fresh air?" Buffy asked.

Spike smiled at her. "That's it."

"Okay. I'll change my clothes again." Buffy closed her eyes, surrounding herself with a shimmering light the way she had night before, only this time instead of the skirt and halter, she was wearing jeans and a simple shirt.

Spike didn't think she looked any less stunning.

"You look good, luv," Spike told her, loving the way Buffy beamed at the praise. "Just let me get myself looking presentable, and take you to a place where I like to go to think, all right?"

Buffy's smile grew, making it clear that she liked that idea. "All right. I'll wait right here for you." She sat back down on the couch as Spike left to get ready.

*** *** ***

"This is where you come to think?"

Spike turned towards Buffy, taking in her frown and wrinkled nose. "Yeah. What of it?"

"It's…it's a cemetery."

"Well, yeah. Good place to find a bit of peace and quiet. Sides, place like this, it makes you think." Spike pushed open the creaky metal gate, reciting as he did. "So we go inside and we gravely read the stones. All those people, all those lives, where are they now? With loves, and hates, and passions just like mine. They were born, and then they lived, and then they died."

"You didn't write that," Buffy replied as she followed him into the graveyard.

"No, I didn't. That would be a bloke who goes by the name of Morrissey. But I suppose with you being locked up in that file room for so long you wouldn't know The Smiths from Maggie Smith."

Buffy shook her head. "I don't know any of those people."

"I'll play some of The Smiths for you later, yeah?"

"Are they anything like those horrible Sex Pistols?" Buffy asked, her nose crinkled in disgust. "Because that was a terrible noise."

Spike chuckled. "They're a bit softer, luv. I think you'll like them."

"Okay, I'll listen to them then," Buffy replied with a nod. Then, she was all business again. "So what do you do to get inspired in a cemetery?"

"I take advantage of the peace and quiet," Spike replied. He hesitated for a moment before reaching down and taking her hand, entwining his fingers with hers. "Walk with me for a bit."

Buffy felt a strange, unfamiliar tingling travel from her hand up her arm at his touch. None of her other poets had been quite as…tactile as Spike, and she wasn't used to the physical contact. Still, it wasn't something she felt prepared to stop. Her hand felt safe and warm in his, and she didn't want to pull away. It was just holding hands—that wasn't crossing the boundaries set between poet and muse.

They walked slowly through the graveyard, taking the time to stop at the tombs and read what had been etched into the stones. Buffy was surprised to find herself understanding why Spike would come here to think. It was quiet, and there was a definite feeling of peace.

"You know, all these graves, and when I'm here, I'm not thinking about death," Spike said, tracing with his free hand the name of a man who had died over a century before he'd even been born. "Makes me think about life. It's only a matter of time before all of us end up here, and thinking about that makes it seem all the more precious. Time's limited, so you gotta enjoy it while you can. We've only got one shot to make the most of it."

"Sometimes I envy humans for that," Buffy admitted softly. "I hear so many of them go on about wanting immortality, but really? Not so great. After a while you just…go numb."

Spike's hand dropped from the grave marker and to his side. "You feel numb?"

"There's no other way for me to feel," Buffy replied honestly. "I exist solely to help others. I'm not allowed a life of my own—ever. I…" She stopped. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be talking like this. It can't be inspiring."

"No, luv, it's all right. Talk to me if you need to. I'll listen."

Buffy's serious expression lasted for only a moment before her usual bubbly smile was back in place. "Nope, I don't need to talk at all. I'm just happy to be your muse." She gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

"Buffy…"

"Really, Spike. All I want right now is to help you. It's important to me, okay?"

"Because you want to get out of that file room."

"No, because I want to help you." Buffy sighed. "I…I like you, Spike. You're nice to me, and I think you're a good poet. If I'm relegated to spend the rest of eternity in the file room, well, I'll manage, but it would be worse being there and knowing I was there because I failed you. You need me, and I want to be what you need."

Tentatively, Spike reached up and grazed his fingers against the soft skin of her cheek. "You are, Buffy."

For a moment, the world seemed to still around them, and Buffy felt her breath and heartbeat quicken. What was this? It certainly wasn't something she'd ever felt before, and new experiences were not something she was accustomed to—not after an eternity of much of the same.

Suddenly, she turned away, a crimson blush staining her cheeks. The moment broken, Spike pulled both of his hands away and cleared his throat. "So you want to head on back to my flat, then? I think I might have an idea or two I can try to push into a poem."

Buffy nodded, still unable to meet his eyes. "All right. You do have a lot of work to do."

They walked from the cemetery side by side.

*** *** ***

Spike had written when he'd gotten home, starting drafts of two more poems. Buffy had been content to watch him write in silence, enjoying the experience of Spike's creative burst second-hand. The light in his eyes when he knew what he was writing was working, the way his tongue stuck slightly out of his mouth when he was really into something—Buffy found it all so endearing.

Eventually, a need to sleep had made the well run dry, and Spike had gathered his papers up and set them on the coffee table before heading off to bed. Alone, Buffy hadn't been able to resist reading what he had written, and soon tears were rolling down her cheeks.

Beautiful words, all about her…

Buffy set the papers back on the table and wiped her eyes, a need filling her to see Spike right then, despite knowing he was asleep. She padded down the hall and walked through his door, not wanting to wake him. The sight she found in his bedroom took her breath away.

A white sheet was draped casually over him as he lay sprawled on his back, moonlight streaming in to illuminate him. In an eternity of life, Buffy didn't think she'd ever seen anything more beautiful than this man. Every bit of him—his body, his mind, and his heart—struck her with awe. With a start, she realized exactly what he did to her.

He inspired her…

Unable to stay away from him, Buffy crawled into his bed, resting on her side so she could continue look at him. She told herself she'd leave soon, long before he woke up, but for now, she wanted to watch him sleep.

*** *** ***

The song Spike quotes is "Cemetry Gates" by The Smiths.

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The first thing Spike became aware of as he woke was a warm body pressed against him. The second was that the warm body smelled really good. He pulled her closer, his nose nuzzling against her hair as he breathed in, her scent triggering recognition in him even with his eyes closed and his mind still hazy from sleep.

Buffy…

Not awake enough to remember he probably shouldn't be doing this, Spike dipped his head down, capturing Buffy's lips in a kiss.

The second his mouth was on her, Buffy's eyes popped open, shock and something she didn't have a name for rushing through her. Spike's lips glided over hers as if he were tasting her, and Buffy's body trembled, her own lips moving now. A moan escaped from her unbidden, and Spike took it as a cue to deepen the kiss, coaxing her mouth open and slipping his tongue in to tangle with hers.

In all her long years of existing, Buffy had never felt anything like this. The first pass of Spike's tongue inside of her mouth startled her, but she soon realized exactly why anyone would want to do such a thing. She wound her fingers in Spike's hair, holding him in place so she could experience more.

Encouraged by her enthusiasm, Spike rolled them over, locking Buffy's body beneath his. The sheet he'd used to cover himself slipped away, and he rubbed his now-bare erection against the fabric of her chiton, groaning with need into her mouth.

Suddenly, reality came crashing down upon her, and Buffy pushed Spike away, scrambling to sit up. She struggled to slow her breathing, to calm her heart still pounding in her chest. She knew what was happening now, and she had to stop it before it went any further.

"Spike…we can't."

"Why not?" Spike asked, the sight of her flushed and tousled doing nothing to calm his raging erection. He wanted Buffy desperately, and it had been clear from her response to his kisses that she wanted him, too.

"Because it's against the rules," Buffy stated plainly. "I can't do that with you. Ever."

Ideally, Spike knew a declaration like that should've put a damper on his need to have Buffy right then and there. Sadly, it didn't. If anything, he couldn't seem to fully comprehend what she was saying to him. "What?"

"Muses have to remain virgins. If you and I were to ever…" She paused for a moment, making a quick waving gesture with her hands in the general direction of his cock. "You know, do that, I'd lose it all. I'd be stripped of my powers and be forced to live out my remaining days as a mortal."

Spike knew it was better for their working relationship if he didn't sleep with her, but that didn't make it any easier when faced with the new knowledge that he couldn't. Buffy was gorgeous, intelligent, and tender, and she inspired more desire in him than he'd been able to feel since Drusilla had up and left him.

"So you've never had sex," Spike said, still trying to wrap his head around the concept. He couldn't fathom having lived an eternity without being intimate with anyone.

"No, I haven't. Honestly, I've never even wanted to." Buffy's gaze flickered down to Spike's still-erect cock and a thought crept into her head before she could stop it. "Until now…"

"How can you inspire people to feel things you've never experienced?"

Buffy blinked, his question taking her completely by surprise. "You don't have to have sex to understand poetry, Spike," she replied, unable to keep herself from sounding as defensive as she was feeling.

"But poetry is emotion, luv. It's passion and desire poured out onto paper. It's the words you can't seem to say when you're writhing in the arms of your lover, lost in ecstasy." He leaned forward, his voice dropping several octaves and taking on a husky quality Buffy couldn't help but tremble from. "It's longing, need, and release all rolled together in an orgasm of words."

By Zeus, Buffy wanted some of that… She stared at Spike for a moment, her breathing coming in harsh pants before she remembered who and what she was and shook her head. "Poetry doesn't have to be that," she insisted, her chin now raised defiantly.

"It is if it's done right," Spike replied, his eyebrow arched. His eyes locked with Buffy's, and he didn't miss the glazed quality in her green depths. He wanted her—desperately even—but Spike had no idea what he wanted past her body, and he couldn't rightly ask her to give up everything she was just so he could get his rocks off.

He cleared his throat as he stood, not missing the way Buffy's eyes zeroed in on his bobbing penis or the way her pretty pink tongue darted out to moisten her lips. She'd still be a virgin if he asked her to suck him off, wouldn't she?

Spike pushed that thought away with a shake of his head, knowing it would be leading into dangerous territory on more than one level. "I'm going to take a shower," he informed her. A cold one…

"Will you be ready to write more when you get out?" Buffy asked, slipping back into all-business mode.

"Yeah, I think so. I at least have some ideas on how to polish up a bit of what I wrote yesterday," Spike replied, running his hand through his bleached curls.

"Good. I'll wait for you by your poems then."

Spike replied with only a nod before he left Buffy alone in his room.

*** *** ***

Buffy was sitting on the couch when Spike got out of the shower. Her knees were pulled up to her chin and she had a far-away look in her eyes as she stared at the wall.

"Pet? You all right, luv?"

She looked up sharply at the sound of Spike's voice and blinked rapidly a few times. "Oh. Yes, I'm fine. I was just waiting for you to get out of the shower."

Spike scratched the back of his head, his hair still damp. "Yeah, sorry it took me so long. Didn't mean to keep you waiting." "Just had to have a wank so I could control myself around you…" he added to himself.

"Are you ready to write now?" Buffy asked, looking up at him hopefully.

"Yeah, I'm ready to write," Spike replied with a soft smile.

Buffy smiled back as she held out his pen.

*** *** ***

Spike spent the day throwing himself into his work, trying to concentrate more on the page than the beautiful yet unattainable woman currently occupying his flat. Still, he couldn't keep his eyes from wandering towards her, couldn't keep himself from drinking in the sight of her. She watched him so intently as he wrote, her gaze following his hand as her steady breathing pushed up the swell of her breasts above the top of her chiton.

Bloody hell, what he wouldn't give just for a taste…

With a sigh, he tossed down his pen, knowing he'd done all he could for the day. Buffy was nothing if not inspiring, though the longer he stayed in her presence, the less he was inspired to write and the more he was inspired to introduce her to the world of carnal pleasures.

Yet he couldn't, and he knew that. He wasn't worth asking Buffy to give up everything for. Even if she did want to leave being a muse in order to have a human life with a man, she deserved someone better than him.

"I'm getting a bit hungry, pet. Want to go out and find something to eat?"

Buffy's eyes lit up at his question. "Can it be more ice cream?"

Spike chuckled. "Of course, luv. I'll get you all the ice cream you can eat if it makes you happy."

Buffy clapped her hands together and made a happy squealing noise, bring a smile to Spike's lips. God, she was bloody adorable…

It happened so fast he wasn't able to stop himself. She was just too beautiful, too endearing, and Spike reached out to cup her chin and pull her face towards him, kissing her before he could come to his senses and remember he wasn't supposed to.

For her part, Buffy didn't hesitate in her response. She sighed happily as she sunk into Spike's embrace, letting him wrap his arms around her and pull her close. He tasted like something new and wonderful, something she wanted to roll around her tongue and learn until it became a part of her. She allowed herself to get lost, to pretend for a brief moment in time that she could do this.

However, when Spike pulled away, she had to remember. She wasn't a normal human girl falling in love for the first time. She was a muse, and she had a duty, responsibilities. She was here to help Spike, to inspire him to write the poetry she knew was already inside of him. His love, his body—they weren't for her.

Spike looked into her eyes, seeing his own sadness mirrored there. "I know," he said softly as he tucked behind her ear a strand of golden blonde hair that had escaped its confinement. "I know."

"I'm sorry," Buffy told him, her voice barely above a whisper.

Spike tried his best to smile, though the expression still broke Buffy's heart. "Don't be, luv. You've got nothing to be sorry for." He pressed a tender kiss against her forehead, letting his mouth linger for only a moment before he pulled away and rose to his feet.

"So ice cream then?"

*** *** ***

Buffy was adorable when she ate.

Granted, Spike knew he found her adorable in just about everything she did, but she looked particularly cute at the moment, sitting in a chair in his living room digging into a container of Ben and Jerry's Phish Food as if it were the most wonderful thing in all the world. She'd kicked off her slippers and had her knees pulled up, her dainty, painted toes sticking out over the edge of the chair, begging him to go over there and kiss each one.

But he didn't. He'd already gone too far with her, especially since it was completely impossible for him to alleviate any of the tension between them. He needed to come to grips with Buffy being off limits and get over his desire for her. It was difficult enough to write without trying to do it with a massive hard-on.

However, watching her as she closed her eyes, wrapped her tongue around her spoon, and moaned was not making that an easy task. Still, he didn't regret stocking his fridge with 500 ml tubs of the bloody stuff. It made her happy after all.

Buffy opened her eyes, dropped her spoon back into the ice cream, and frowned. "Why are you watching me like that?"

"Like what?" Spike asked, sitting up straight and trying to pretend he hadn't just been caught.

"Like that," Buffy said. "All with the staring. Am I doing something wrong?"

"No, luv," Spike replied, shaking his head. "You're just…well, cute. I like watching you."

Buffy blushed. "I'm not really anything special, Spike."

"Yes, you are."

The rough sincerity in his voice made a tingle shoot through Buffy's body, her nerves singing just as much as they had when he'd actually been touching her. Why was this happening to her? She'd served as a muse to so many other men, and not a one of them had ever made her feel so strangely. She'd never allowed any of them to kiss her, never mind welcomed it. It simply wasn't done.

But then again, she didn't think any of the other men she'd been assigned to had ever exuded sexuality quite the way Spike did. There was only one thing a woman thought of when faced with a man like Spike, and it didn't matter if she actually had experience in the area of not. His eyes promised he'd teach her everything she needed to know.

"Thank you," Buffy said, her gaze going back down to her ice cream. "You've been very kind to me. I…I've appreciated it."

"It's got to be something about you, pet, because usually I'm a right git. Complete tosser. Ask anyone who knows me."

Buffy giggled, glad Spike had managed to break the tension. "I don't have to ask. I've read your file."

Spike's eyebrow arched. "That so?"

"Yup." She wagged her spoon at him. "I know all your dark secrets, William Pratt."

"And yet you still like me?"

Again, the mood in the room grew serious. "Yes, I do."

Spike watched her for a moment, his head cocked to the side, and it was just…too much. He coughed softly, then turned back to his own meal, knowing he needed to stop before he did or said something he couldn't take back.

Grateful for the out, Buffy ate her ice cream.

*** *** ***

Buffy had waited until Spike fell asleep to return to his room and climb into his bed as she had the night before. She'd slept curled against his side, relishing his warmth and the steady rise and fall of his chest. Yet as she'd felt him begin to stir, she'd forced herself away, creeping out of the room before there could be a repeat of the previous morning.

With one last, longing look, she slipped through the door to wait for him to wake fully so they could start their day.

*** *** ***

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Spike woke with Buffy's scent still surrounding him, the ghost of her touch still lingering on his skin. His cock was throbbing and needy, and he glanced around the room, making sure Buffy was gone before he reached down, slicking his palm with the precum already leaking from the tip before he began to slide his hand up and down in an attempt to relieve the aching pressure.

He closed his eyes, letting visions of Buffy play out in his mind. He imagined her spread out in his bed, her golden skin bared to him, pliant and willing. He'd take her slowly, gently, savor her body as he showed her the pleasure she'd been missing out on during her long, lonely life. He could hear her moan, hear her gasp…

Wait a minute… He did hear her gasp.

The moment they opened, Spike's eyes locked with Buffy's, and his hand stilled on his shaft. She must've walked right through the door again…

"What are you doing?" Buffy asked, her gaze darting down to his erection and staying there. She'd seen naked men before—she'd seen Spike naked before—but she'd never seen one doing whatever it was he was doing now. And damn, if it didn't make her sweat.

"I'm wanking off," Spike said bluntly, correctly guessing that Buffy had no knowledge whatsoever of the act she'd caught him in. "Trying to relieve a bit of the tension."

"Tension?"

"Sexual. When a man's aroused, his dick gets hard. Makes it a bit difficult to function. The best way to take care of it is sex, but when there's none of that to be had, we can make do with our hand."

"It's all red and swollen," Buffy said, still staring at his hard-on. "It looks…painful."

"It can be," Spike admitted.

Buffy sat down beside him, and before Spike could say anything, she reached out and touched her finger to the tip. Spike groaned, thrusting against her before he caught himself. "Don't…don't do that."

"Did that make it hurt more?" Buffy asked, looking up at his face with concern in her eyes.

"No, it's just… We can't, Buffy."

"I know." Buffy looked down again. "This is because of me, isn't it? Your…thing is all swollen and stuff because of me."

"Don't worry about it, pet. A man with an erection is hardly a rare thing."

"But I want to help you," Buffy said, determination creeping into her voice.

More than a few ways Buffy could "help" him came tumbling into Spike's mind, but he pushed them away. "I don't think that's a good idea, sweetheart."

Buffy, however, had made up her mind. She'd caused Spike discomfort, and she wanted to fix it. She could help him without breaking the rules—she just had to make sure she focused on him. She reached out and took hold of his face, kissing him hard, ignoring his muffled cry until he was kissing her back, his hand moving once again on his cock as Buffy's tongue stole into his mouth.

When he broke away from her for air, Spike arched back on the bed, his hand pumping frantically. Buffy was riveted to the sight, her own breath coming in sharp pants. She'd never seen anyone in the throes of pleasure up close before, and it amazed her how gorgeous Spike was like this. She reached out and placed her hand against his chest, the need to touch him overwhelming.

He gasped at the first feel of her hand against his skin, and Buffy felt emboldened by his reaction. She began to stroke his chest, lingering at his nipple when it seemed to as if that gave him particular pleasure.

"Buffy…oh, fuck…get back, luv," Spike groaned as he felt his balls tightening. "Don't want to hit you."

Buffy didn't understand what he was warning her about, but moved off the bed anyway, watching in rapt fascination as he came, the ropy streams of semen shooting from him commanding her attention. He whimpered and groaned, his face twisted in pleasure, until finally his orgasm came to an end and he slumped back to the bed, panting harshly as he let go of his cock and let his hand fall to his side.

"Wow," Buffy whispered, her eyes still glued to Spike's body. "That was…wow."

Spike turned to her, worried he'd see shame in her eyes. What he saw there instead made his cock twitch despite having had an orgasm only moments before. Maybe it was better he couldn't ever have sex with Buffy. The woman might kill him.

No, it wasn't better. Even if she did kill him, it would be a hell of a way to go.

"You all right, luv?" he asked her softly. "Are you okay with what we just did?"

Buffy replied with a shy smile. "I'm fine, Spike. I'm glad I could help you." Then, worry crept to her face. "I did help you, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did. Thank you."

Her smile was back, brighter this time. "Good. And any time you need me to help you, just let me know, okay?"

Spike forced himself not to moan at her offer. If Buffy "helped" him every time he wanted it, he would never get any writing done. Not to mention the chafing that was sure to become an issue…

"I'll keep that in mind, luv. But right now I need to shower and wash this stuff off of me, yeah?"

"Okay. I'll go wait for you in the living room."

Spike stood up, unable to keep from dropping a quick kiss on the top of her head before he left the bedroom and went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Buffy's eyes turned back towards the bed, zeroing in on the stain he'd left on the sheet. She reached out for it, but stopped, pulling her hand back. From the bathroom, she heard the water turn on, and she glanced over her shoulder, making sure Spike was indeed still behind a closed door before she reached out again, this time scooping a drop onto her fingertip. She examined it for a minute before bringing it to her mouth, her eyes closing in an expression of ecstasy as she rolled her tongue around her finger. This stuff, whatever it was, tasted like pure Spike.

With a contented sigh, Buffy realized she may have found something she liked even better than ice cream.

*** *** ***

Spike stopped outside of his living room, worried to go inside. Buffy had seemed fine with what had happened between them before he'd gotten in the shower, but what if now that it had had some time to sink in, she was freaked out? What if she was angry at him, or wanted to leave him now? Could she report him for inappropriate behavior him to some sort of Muse Council?

And what if she didn't really want to do it again?

Perhaps he should even hope for that. He couldn't actually have her, and in the long run, all this was going to do was make things worse. Spike was smart enough to know that, even if he was loathed to admit it. Still, he'd come harder with Buffy simply stroking his chest than he had with any of the women there had been since Drusilla—and in all honesty, than he had many times with Dru herself.

She was already in his blood, and all that little taste of her had done was make him need her more.

He may as well admit it. He was right and truly buggered.

With a deep breath and a quick run of his hands though his hair, Spike stepped into the living room. Buffy was lounging on his couch, looking every bit like a painting on a Grecian artifact. It gave him the absurd urge to feed her grapes.

Buffy smiled brightly when she saw him, and Spike felt relief flood through him. He genuinely liked Buffy, and he realized his biggest fear concerning any possible aftermath from that morning was that he could lose her friendship. Even more than wanting her to touch him again, Spike wanted things to remain comfortable between them. He knew how easily sex could bollix things up, and he didn't want that with Buffy.

"Do you feel like you can write today?" Buffy asked.

"Yeah, I do," Spike replied.

"Did what I did this morning help?"

"Yeah, but…" Spike sighed. "Buffy, don't feel like you have to do things like that, all right? It's not part of your job, and I'm not going to start expecting it from you from now on."

"I know." Buffy pulled herself up into a sitting position. "I've never done anything like that for anyone else, Spike. A few times, I've let men look at me unclothed, but I've never touched them or allowed them to touch me. And I've definitely never let them…wank off in front of me. I know I don't have to, and I know it's not part of my job. As a matter of fact, it's something I'm not really supposed to be doing at all. But I wanted to."

She stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "I'm not going to pretend I understand what this is between us, because I don't. I've never felt anything like this before. But I do know I want something from you, and whatever it is, what we did this morning eased a little of that ache."

Spike strode over to the couch and sat beside Buffy, taking her hands and turning her so she was facing him. She was gorgeous, practically glowing. So beautiful just looking at her could break his heart. With a half smile, he let go of one of her hands and ghosted his fingers against her hair. "What you did for me this morning, luv—it was bloody amazing. I've never had anyone do anything like that just for me before, show so much concern for me in that way. It meant everything to me, Buffy. I want you to know that, yeah? But I also don't want to get you in trouble, make you have to give up everything you are because of me."

"I won't have to," Buffy insisted. "As long as you're never…inside of me…it'll be okay." She ducked her head shyly, blushing. "I don't have a lot of time with you, William. I don't want to waste what we have."

Spike felt his heart constrict in his chest. She was right—they didn't have much time together. Extending the time it took him to finish his manuscript wasn't an option, not when they both had their own deadlines. In less than a month, she'd be taken from his life as abruptly as she'd been dropped in and given to some other man for inspiration.

The very thought made him want to hunt down whomever that poet would turn out to be and rip his head from his neck.

"So we do what we can with the time we have then?" Spike asked.

"Yes," Buffy replied. She tightened her grip on his hand. "I want the memories I have of you to last me through forever."

A lump formed in Spike's throat, words he wasn't ready or willing to say to her getting stuck there. Losing her was nothing but a certainty, and he couldn't pledge his heart to someone he knew he'd lose. Drusilla had already crushed him.

This would break him.

To stop the words in his mind and his throat, Spike kissed her.

*** *** ***

Spike spent most of the morning and the afternoon writing before he wore out his creative streak. Needing fresh air in order to recharge his batteries, he'd taken Buffy out for a walk, again bringing her to the cemetery.

They walked hand and hand among the graves, neither of them speaking as they stopped to read what had been carved in the stone. Spike's grip on her hand was tight, though not painfully so, and Buffy knew what he was feeling. She didn't even need to use her ability to go into his mind to find out—she was feeling it, too.

One grave caught Buffy's eye in particular, and she stopped, running her free hand over the top of the worn stone. The engraved words were few, simple, but they struck her deep with her core.

Beloved wife.

Beloved mother.

Two things Buffy herself would never be…

According to the dates, the woman had lived but seventy-two years, a mere fraction of the life Buffy herself had lived. She had spent more time than that in her file room. To an immortal, seventy-two years was nothing, a blink of an eye.

Buffy pulled her hand away from the stone with a start as she came to a realization.

She envied the dead…

For unlike her, this woman had once known what it meant to live.

*** *** ***

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Buffy had fallen asleep in his arms the night before, and Spike was happy to note she was still there when he awoke in the morning. With one minor difference.

She was naked.

His eyes zeroed on her pert breasts as his cock leapt to attention. He'd known she had to be beautiful under her clothes, but he hadn't expected her to be quite so…

Effulgent.

She was luminous, so clearly a being from a world other than his own. He felt as if he should have to shield his eyes, that she should be too bright for him to look upon, and yet he was, staring at her in all her glory.

In his arms, Buffy stretched, her body rubbing tantalizingly against his. "Mmm… Good morning," she said, then yawned.

"Good morning. And, um, mind telling me why you aren't wearing any clothes?"

Buffy gave him a sleepy pout, and Spike managed to fight off a very unmanly whimper. "You always sleep naked. Why can't I?"

"I wasn't complaining, it's just, I…"

For a man who made his living on words, Spike was finding it very difficult to come up with any.

"You need to do the wanking thing again?"

Spike nodded dumbly in response to her question. Bloody hell, did he ever…

Buffy stretched again, shimmying a little as she did. "Go ahead then. I certainly won't stop you." She cupped his cheek and pulled him in for a kiss, remembering how that had seemed to set the mood the day before.

However, this time, with their position and their nudity, when she pulled him to her, his cock slid between her legs, rubbing against the folds of her pussy. Spike groaned, her heat seeming to scorch him, before he pulled away sharply, looking at her in a panic.

"What…what's wrong?" Buffy asked through pants. Whatever he had just done, it had felt damn good…

"I…I can't do that," Spike replied. "If I'm that close to…there… God, Buffy, I won't be able to stop from slipping in, luv. I'm not that strong of a man."

"Oh." Buffy worried her bottom lip between her teeth. "What do you want me to do then?"

Spike regarded her for a moment, his head cocked to the side as he thought of the best way to go about this. "Roll over on your stomach," he said after a moment.

Buffy did as he asked without question, and Spike grabbed a pillow and slid it under her hips. He shivered at the sight she made, her firm, tanned bottom pushed up and presented to him. He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gain some semblance of control. He had to keep in mind what was at stake here, what he would be taking from her if he entered her tempting body.

Slowly, he lowered himself over her, situating his penis against the crack of her rear. He began to thrust against her, experimentally at first, until he was able to establish a steady rhythm. He gripped the base of his cock with his left hand while he supported himself with his right, massaging the bottom half of erection while the top slid between the crack of her ass, careful never to slip and go too far.

Beneath him, Buffy felt a torrent of sensations she'd never known before. This was better than what he'd done with her the previous morning. Whatever it was he was doing to her now, it was building up a pressure in her that was driving her out of her mind, and yet she didn't want him to stop. It was frustrating, but it was the most wonderful frustration she'd ever known. She was trapped between his hard body and the soft pillow, and both were rubbing against her in the most delicious of ways.

Soon, she was thrusting up to meet him, her hips moving almost of their own accord. She reached out and grasped the bars of his headboard, gasping his name over and over again as she listened to him pant harshly above her.

Spike had to admit that this felt better than he ever would've imagined, but still, it wasn't enough. It was easier for him to keep some level of control when he wasn't looking at her face, but he needed to see her, needed to look into her eyes. Surrendering, he pulled up and flipped her over, pulling the pillow out from under her so she was flush with the mattress.

"Spike…what…" Buffy began before his lips came crashing down, kissing her hungrily. She moaned into his mouth as she felt his cock, hot and heavy against her stomach, dripping with the evidence of his desire for her.

"Had to see your face," Spike told her as he moved from her lips to her neck, kissing and nibbling against the tender column of flesh. "Fuck, luv, you're beautiful. So more than I deserve to touch."

"Spike…" Buffy half-moaned, half-whimpered, her hand coming up to tangle in his bleached curls.

His erection continued to slide against her belly, caught between their writhing bodies, and Spike knew he couldn't last much longer. Reluctantly, he pulled back from her, sitting up on his knees as he grasped his cock and began to pump it in earnest.

Buffy's eyes remained glued to the sight, eager to watch what had happened before. She wanted to be with him when he let go, wanted to feel it splash against her skin. The act was so human, and she wanted to know it as well as she could.

"Buffy, oh, pet, I'm… Fuck!" With his last shout, his cock began to jerk in his hand, and Buffy knew it was happening. She opened the connection between them right at the moment when his semen began to shoot towards her, wanting to know exactly what it was Spike was experiencing when he was with her.

The answer she got was more than she expected. His pleasure was white hot, more intense than anything she'd ever known, and the strength of it hit her full-force, making her scream. She shook beneath him, bucking sporadically as he emptied himself onto her stomach and breasts.

With a gasp, Spike slumped, then rolled over to the side, falling onto his back beside her. Buffy pulled away from his mind again, panting heavily as she lay beside him. Was that what humans experienced with each other?

She didn't notice the tear rolling down her cheek until Spike wiped it away. "Luv? Was…was that too much? I shouldn't have come all over you, baby. That was rude of me. I'm sorry. I'll get something to clean you up, yeah?"

He started to get out of the bed, but Buffy's hand shot out, grabbing his arm to keep him in place. "No, stay. I don't mind." She smiled softly. "Actually, I kinda like it." To demonstrate, she scooped a bit up with her finger and brought it to her mouth, sucking it off of her skin as she had the day before, after Spike had left.

That act alone was enough to make Spike's eyes glaze over. "Buffy, do that any more, and I'm just going to be hard all over again."

Buffy pouted. "But I like the way it tastes."

Spike shivered. "So not helping, Buffy." He reached out and cupped her cheek. "So why the tears then?"

"I've never experienced anything like that before," Buffy told him. "It…it was beautiful."

Her simple answer was enough to fill him with awe. He realized with a start that what they'd just shared was quite possibly the most intimate moment of his life—and he'd never even been inside of her.

It was over for him. He could never truly have her, yet he was surrounded by her, drowning in her. Whatever Powers had sent her to him must've had a bloody sick sense of humor.

He kissed her gently, his touch now surprisingly chaste, given what had just occurred between them. "Come on, luv, why don't you join me in the shower? Get this stuff cleaned up off of you, yeah?"

With only a simple nod, Buffy let Spike help her to her feet and lead her into the bathroom.

*** *** ***

"Let me wash your hair."

Buffy turned towards Spike at his request, her tongue coming out to dampen her lips at the sight of him fully naked, standing beneath the spray of the shower. Her legs trembled, and she wondered how she still had enough strength to stand upright.

In answer to his question, she nodded her assent, not trusting her own voice. After countless years with inhuman strength, Spike could make her feel weak.

Surprisingly, it didn't scare her. In a way, it became a different kind of strength—she was strong enough to trust herself to someone else.

Spike turned her around, then squeezed a healthy amount of shampoo into the palm of his hand. "God, how I love this hair," he said as he began to lather the golden strands. "How it bounces…how it shines. I could spend all day lost in this hair—in the scent, in the touch."

With a sigh, Buffy leaned into his hands, closing her eyes and relishing the sensuousness of what he was doing. This was something she was never allowed before. At that moment, she wasn't existing for someone else. She was existing for herself, and she was feeling.

With some reluctance, Spike pulled his hands away from her hair to lead Buffy over to the spray, guiding her to stand under the water. "Close your eyes, luv," he instructed her before tipping her head back and helping her rinse the suds from her hair.

Buffy loved the feel of the warm water rushing over her skin. In the past, she'd always bathed in standing water, yet there was definitely something to be said for a shower. Between the water and Spike's touch, it was positively sensual.

And Buffy was discovering, she really liked sensual. She felt cheated to have been denied it for so long, and ached with the knowledge she would lose it all once she left Spike.

She already couldn't imagine ever experiencing this with another man. Something about Spike called to her in a way no one ever had, made her feel things she didn't know she wanted until now.

Perhaps it was being cut off from the world for so long. After never truly experiencing anything, she now wanted to experience everything.

Or perhaps it was simply Spike himself. Was it possible for him to be able to call to parts of her no other man would ever be able to touch, even if she searched lifetimes?

It was an overly romantic notion, and yet, wasn't it exactly the sort of notion she, as a muse, was supposed to inspire?

She and her kind had inspired all the tales of the great lovers throughout history: Romeo and Juliet. Helen and Paris. Orpheus and Eurydice. All drawn to each other uncontrollably, willing to love without reason.

And all of them, separated in tragedy. Death, pain, and destruction were all their passion ultimately wrought.

Was that the fate she faced with Spike? Did they share the sort of undeniable passion that was doomed to consume and destroy?

"Hey. You got all sad looking there, pet. What's wrong?" Spike asked, pulling her out from under the water and into his arms.

"Nothing," Buffy lied, resting her head against his damp chest.

Spike knew she wasn't telling him all that was going on in her mind, but he didn't push. She wrapped her arms around him, and he returned the embrace, wishing the moment could last forever.

The longer he held her, the more he knew he'd never be able to recover from losing her.

*** *** ***

Buffy watched in awe at the speed with which Spike's pen moved across the paper. He had a look in his eyes she'd come to associate with when he was truly inspired, and Buffy watched him from the chair, anxious to see what he'd written once he was finished.

She genuinely looked forward to reading Spike's poetry—and not just because it tended to be in praise of her. She'd enjoyed some of her other poets' writing—while with ones like old McGonagall having to sit through a reading was a genuine chore—but with Spike it was different. His words stirred something deep inside of her.

A small smile crept to her lips as she continued to watch him.

*** *** ***

Please take a moment to review!

Also, if you're looking for something else to read, I highly recommend Satindoll. She's a fairly new writer, but both of her stories so far have been very enjoyable. You can find her works here: http://spikeluver.com/SpuffyRealm/viewuser.php?uid=2055

When Spike had done all the writing he could for the day, he convinced Buffy to go with him to the pub again. For one thing, when he stayed away too long, his mates started to worry he'd slipped back into the self-destructive depression from the early days of his break-up with Drusilla.

For another, the longer he was alone with Buffy, the more difficult it became for him to remember most of her body was off-limits to him.

Buffy had happily found her way back to the dartboard, and Spike had again taken a booth, contenting himself to watch her. She was amazing, more than beautiful—vibrant.

"I see you brought your muse with you again," Rupert Giles said with a half-smirk as he slipped in across from Spike in the booth.

"You know, Rupes, you can tease me and question my sanity all you bloody like, but that isn't going to change what the chit is. Besides, if I was going to make up a fantasy about someone being a muse, I wouldn't add stupid rules."

"Rules?" Giles asked with a frown.

Spike sighed. He'd never been one for discussing the personal details of his sex life, but this situation already had him all turned around. "Apparently muses have to remain virgins. Eternally."

For several moments, Rupert was completely silent. Then, he blinked several times and said, "Will, I really do believe it's time for you to seek some sort of professional help."

"I haven't gone all barmy—not where this is concerned, anyway. Buffy's a gorgeous, desirable, otherworldly being, and not being able to touch her is driving me around the sodding bend. It's an exercise in frustration is what it is."

"Do you want to know what I think?"

"You think I'm a loony," Spike replied, wagging his finger at Giles.

"Well, yes, but more specifically, I think you're still trying to process losing Drusilla. You saw her as your 'muse,' and now you've bestowed that title on this new girl—only at the same time, you feel guilty, as if is this is somehow a form of disloyalty to Drusilla, so you've imposed this no sex rule on yourself."

"I don't bloody care about Drusilla. The bint—and all her sodding lovers—can go take themselves a one-way trip to hell for all I care these days. Yeah, Dru broke my heart, and yeah, it took me a while to get over it, but I am now. I want to be with Buffy, only I can't be with Buffy because she's a muse for Christ's sake! In less than a month's time, she's going to be out of my life, and while she is here, I have to control everything I do around her, because if I don't, I'll have forced her into a mortal life."

"William, calm down," Giles said, Spike's adamant declarations making him worry more. "You know none of this can be real. Buffy is a very lovely and charming young woman, but she is just as human as you and I are."

"No, she isn't—and I'll bloody prove it to you." Spike turned away from Giles. "Oi, Buffy! Come here for a moment, pet, would you?"

Without hesitation, Buffy left her game and joined Spike and Giles. She stood at the edge of their booth, her hands gripping the table. "Yes?"

"Tell Rupes what you are, pet."

Buffy frowned, uncertainty in her eyes as she looked between the two seated men. "Spike, I'm not supposed to…"

"It's all right, luv. He can keep a secret."

Buffy decided she could trust Spike. After all, he'd never given her a reason not to. "I'm his muse," she admitted, softly enough so only Spike and Giles could hear her.

At Buffy's declaration, Giles whipped off his glasses. "William, have you honestly gone as far as to convince this poor girl of your delusions as well?"

"Spike's not crazy!" Buffy yelled, then blushed as she realized she'd gotten the attention of most of the pub.

Spike took her hand as he slid over, allowing her to move next to him into the booth. "Shh…no need to get upset, luv," Spike said softly, kissing her cheek. "Rupert's just worried about me, is all."

Buffy crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, you don't have to worry about him, because he's not crazy, and I am a muse. And I'm doing a good job, too. He's writing again." Buffy smiled brightly at the last part, clearly quite pleased with herself.

"You're doing a wonderful job, pet," Spike assured her, rubbing her shoulder. "You're right inspiring."

"This is…you can't honestly expect me to believe any of this," Giles said, waving his glasses at the two blonds across from him. "Either you're both feeding into some sort of shared delusion or you're having a lark by playing a trick on an old man."

"No delusions and no tricks," Spike replied.

"I'm sorry, but there's nothing you can possibly say to convince me of any of this," Giles said as he placed his glasses back on his nose. "Magical beings such as muses simply do not exist." He picked up his pint and took a drink before he began to cough and sputter. He slammed the glass back onto the table. "What the bloody hell? This isn't lager. It tastes like…"

"Vinegar," Buffy said, one eyebrow arched. "I changed it with my magical powers that don't exist."

Spike tried his best not to laugh, though he wasn't particularly successful. "Buffy, kitten, change Rupert's drink back now. You made your point."

Buffy sighed and waved her hand. Tentatively, Giles sniffed his drink, then brought it to his mouth for a taste. "It's…it's lager again."

"Well, yeah. You just sat here and watched me change it back," Buffy said, rolling her eyes.

"You…and it…and you're a…" Giles stammered, staring wide-eyed at Buffy.

"A muse," Buffy supplied for him.

"Right. A muse," Giles replied. Then promptly fainted.

Buffy gasped. "Spike! Vinegar doesn't hurt humans, does it? Did I break him?"

"No, luv, he's just a bit shocked is all. 'Sides, the old man always was a bit of a drama queen." He nudged Buffy out of the booth. "Come on, help me lift him up. I think he needs some fresh air."

When Spike and Buffy had Giles propped up between them, Spike craned his neck back towards the other patrons. "He's just had a bit too much to drink. I'll see that he gets home."

The publican nodded in response, and Buffy and Spike helped Giles outside of the pub and to a bench not far away. Slowly, he began to come to, blinking as he did.

"Where…what…?"

"You had a case of the vapors, mate," Spike said with a teasing grin. "Buffy and I brought you out for some fresh air."

"Buffy. Right, your…oh dear lord."

"Don't go passin' out on me again," Spike said. "Carrying you this far was hard enough."

"I can carry him farther," Buffy piped up. "I'm very strong."

"I just can't…" Giles took off his glasses again and blinked rapidly. "This is simply impossible."

"A few days ago, I would've said the same thing," Spike replied. "But Buffy's the genuine article."

"However did this happen?" Giles asked.

"I don't know," Spike answered with a shrug. "I guess whoever's up there thought I was important enough for a little divine intervention."

"You're very important, Spike," Buffy said, her hand coming up to stroke his arm. "And you're very talented. I've never worked with a poet like you before."

"Thank you, kitten," Spike said softly. "Means a lot, coming from you."

Giles observed the couple silently for a moment, his heart going out to them. If what Spike had said back in the pub was true, and Buffy really was going to have to leave soon, then they were both in for a lot of pain. It was clear from their faces that Spike's feelings were not unrequited. Having to say good-bye could very likely devastate them both.

Giles stood, clearing his throat as he did. "If you don't mind, I believe I'm going to retire for the evening. I'm still having a bit of a time processing all of this."

"All right. I'll talk to you soon, mate."

"Good night, Mr. Giles," Buffy added. "Sorry about the whole vinegar thing."

Giles gave her a soft smile. "It's quite all right, my dear. It takes a bit of a shock like that to drive anything into this thick head of mine. Have a good night, the both of you."

With a nod, Giles walked off to leave Spike and Buffy alone again.

"Ready to call it a night, pet?" Spike asked.

Buffy slipped her hand into Spike's. "I am. Let's go home."

Spike couldn't help the pang in his heart as he wished it could truly be their home.

*** *** ***

As soon as Buffy got back to his flat, they'd wasted no time falling into bed, though it was there that the desperate nature of their touches seemed to end. Spike wanted her—the hard, heavy pulse of his cock against her skin was proof enough of that—but for the moment, he was content to hold her.

Maybe it made him a bit of a ponce, but he couldn't find the need to care. In a few short weeks, Buffy wouldn't be there for him to hold anymore, and that bothered him more than the knowledge that he would never truly be able to make love to her.

"You're bloody gorgeous, you know," Spike said, his voice low and rumbling. He kissed the crown of her head, his hand ghosting along the curve of her bare hip. "Every time I look at you, I'm in awe."

"So are you," Buffy told him softly. "There are these statues in the Great Hall, back where I live. I know from now on, I will always think of you whenever I see them."

"There's no way I can see you again after this month is over, is there?"

"No. I'm here for one assignment and one assignment only. It's the rules."

Spike let out a long sigh. "I don't like those bloody rules."

Buffy was quiet for a moment before she whispered, "Neither do I."

Spike brought his hand up to stroke her hair, luxuriating in the feel of the silky strands. Her hair was like none other he'd ever touched before, softer than anything he'd ever known. "Is this common, what's going on between us? Has it ever happened before?"

"It's not common, no," Buffy replied with a shake of her head. "Those we're sent to inspire, well, they often develop an infatuation for their muses, but as far as feelings ever going both ways? No, it doesn't normally happen. Not that it's never happened, but it's…it's not common. We're not supposed to feel these sorts of things, and honestly, I can't even figure out why I am. What is it about you that makes me forget who I am?"

"I don't know, luv, but I wish I didn't."

Buffy pulled away from him sharply, hurt in her eyes. "How can you say that?"

"No! Buffy, I didn't mean it like that, sweetheart, I swear it. But…" Spike sighed again. "When you have to leave, it's going to hurt you. I'm going to cause you to hurt. I don't want to do that to you, Buffy."

Her expression softened again, and Buffy moved back into his arms, then cupped his cheek. "I would rather have a moment in your arms, my sweet poet, than an eternity of never knowing your touch."

Spike swallowed hard, tears forming in his eyes despite his mind screaming for them not to fall. He'd dreamt of this, of someone who would look at him the way Buffy did, and yet now that he had it, he knew it was still really no more than a dream. He could only taste her, never truly have her. "I…" He stopped, his jaw growing tight. "This isn't bloody fair."

"I know." Buffy's hand dropped from his face and reached down to grasp hold of his hand. "I want you to promise me something, okay?"

Spike looked at her skeptically. "Tell me what it is first."

"When I'm gone, I want you to find someone."

Immediately, Spike was shaking his head. "Buffy, I don't think I can do that. Not after… There's not another woman like you, luv."

"Spike, please. Humans aren't meant to be alone, and well, there's so much love in you. I could feel it even before I got to meet you. You need to be able to give that love to someone, someone who can accept it in a way I can't."

"She'd never be you, Buffy."

"But maybe she could make you happy."

Spike didn't want to talk about some fictitious woman. He didn't want to talk—or think—about any woman who wasn't the one in his arms. And how could he possibly settle for anyone less than Buffy now that he knew what it felt like to be with a woman like her?

He didn't give her the promise she'd asked for. He couldn't. So instead, he kissed her and made her forget for the time being that she'd even asked.

*** *** ***

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Buffy awoke before Spike, yet she didn’t get out of bed. Instead, she looked down at him, smiling at the way he’d moved during the night so he was resting snuggled against her chest. Even in sleep, he had a small, contented smile on his face, and Buffy reached her hand up to run her fingers through his unruly curls.

She still didn’t fully understand her feelings for him. Just the thought of Spike made something tug at her heart, and it puzzled her how she could just now be discovering feelings like this after all the years she’d existed.

And then there was the heat—the desire—that coursed through her every time he touched her. Those feelings, the raw need, defied anything she’d ever known. Muses were not meant to be sexual beings. They were meant to inspire any number of reactions in others of course, but they themselves were supposed to remain immune to desperate lust.

Perhaps it was a side-effect of the bond she’d formed with Spike. It was common practice, of course, for a muse to form a bond with the human she was meant to be inspiring; however, perhaps Spike’s intensely sensual nature had affected the bond in an unexpected way. Is that why she wanted Spike so desperately—because he wanted her?

Or perhaps it was not merely his feelings reflected in her, but instead his sensuality awakening something buried within her. Had the connection she’d opened between them served as the catalyst for what was happening to her now?

Still, it could just as easily be the conclusion she’d reached the day before, when she and Spike had been in the shower—they were some sort of soul mates, destined to fall for each other, only to have fate cruelly rip them apart.

Whatever the cause of her newfound passion, Buffy supposed it didn’t really matter. The outcome was the same. She was with Spike now, but she couldn’t stay. She wanted him desperately, yet she could never truly have him.

Reasons, explanations—they gave her nothing to mend her heart as it started breaking, even now before she’d lost him. The knowledge she would soon was heartache enough.

How would she keep going when their time together was over? How could she keep existing for the rest of eternity and never again see Spike?

If it were simply a side effect of their bond, then maybe these feelings would go once the connection was severed. Maybe she could stop feeling this way once Spike was no longer with her.

Yet somehow, that thought scared her even more. Even if she could never have him, she didn’t want to forget what it was to love him.

Spike stirred in her arms the looked up, his eyes blinking slowly as he came to. “Mornin’, luv,” he said as he stretched, his husky voice making her tremble with want.

“Good morning,” Buffy replied, deciding to push away her worries for the time being and enjoy the time she had with Spike. After all, these memories had to last forever.

Spike moved up, changing their positions so now she was resting against him. “You’re not in any rush to get out of bed this morning, are you, pet?” he asked as he stroked her hair.

“No.” Buffy ran her hand down his chest. “I was hoping maybe you could, um, wank again.”

“Mmm…I have no problems with that suggestion,” Spike told her as he thrust his already erect cock against her. He dipped his head to kiss and nip at her neck, making Buffy gasp in pleasure. It amazed her what he could do with so little effort.

“Buffy?”

It took a moment for Buffy to process that he’d spoken her name, her mind already lost in a haze of desire, and when she did, the best she could manage was a, “Hmm?”

“Exactly what constitutes ‘virgin’ according to your rules?”

Buffy’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Spike’s hand curved around one of her breasts, his thumb rubbing gently over the nipple. “Can I touch you between your legs, luv? With my hands…maybe with my mouth?”

The very thought of what Spike suggested made Buffy whimper, even if she didn’t quite understand why he’d want to. Still, she forced herself to answer with her brain and not her body. “I don’t know. I’ve never exactly asked.”

“Then we won’t push it,” Spike said, giving her neck one more kiss before rising up above her on his arms. “We know some things we can do and be safe, so we’ll stick with those.”

“I liked it when you rubbed, um, your thing against my bottom. That felt nice,” Buffy told him with lowered eyes.

“Did you now?” Spike replied as he leaned in and nipped at her earlobe. “I liked that, too. You’ve got such a nice, firm arse, Buffy. Makes me wish I could do all sorts of naughty things to it.”

Buffy couldn’t even begin to fathom what sort of “naughty things” Spike could be talking about if it was more than what he’d already done, but she sure wished he could do them anyway. If she could, she’d let Spike do whatever he wanted to do to her, as long as he could somehow ease the burning in her blood.

“Roll over on your stomach, pet,” Spike ordered, his eyes already dark with desire. Buffy immediately did as he requested, then grabbed a pillow from near her head and handed it back to him. Spike grinned at her eagerness, happy to see she seemed to genuinely enjoy this and wasn’t doing it strictly to please him. He wanted her, but at the same time, he didn’t want her to be helping him get off just because she felt like it was now part of her job.

Spike propped Buffy’s hips up with the pillow, then leaned forward, covering her body with his. He took both of her hands, curling his over them, and stretched her arms out, smiling at the way she gasped. Careful not to slip too far, he moved his hips until he felt his cock nestled between the curves of her rear.

“Can you feel me, luv?” he asked hotly, his lips against her ear. “Can you feel my cock pressed against you, hard and needy for your touch?”

“Yes…” Buffy gasped, arching her hips to increase contact. “Oh, Spike…”

“God, Buffy, what I’d do to you if I could,” Spike said as he began to move, carefully sliding between her cheeks without allowing his cock to slip too far down and push into her folds. “I’d fill you up, make it so all you knew was me and my touch. I’d bring you so much pleasure Buffy—make you weep from it.”

Even without feeling him inside of her, tears were already pricking her eyes. “Spike…I…ooh…” She didn’t know what to say, how to voice what Spike was making her feel. It was new, and it was overwhelming.

Spike didn’t make her try to find the words. “Shh…it’s okay, sweetheart. Just feel, yeah? Let me do for you what I can, make that ache inside not so harsh for you, baby.”

“Please…” Buffy begged, wanting him to do what he was promising. She wanted to feel.

“I’m drunk on you, Buffy. You’re surrounding me, filling me up. Every thought, every dream—it’s all you. You’ve inspired more than my poetry, luv. You’ve inspired everything about me.”

Buffy gasped at his words as she rubbed herself shamelessly against both Spike’s body above her and the pillow beneath her. She wanted that bright shattering of pleasure she’d felt with Spike before, wanted the peace that came with such a release.

Spike let go of one of her hands and took hold of her face, turning it so he could kiss her. He moaned hungrily into her mouth, immediately seeking out her tongue with his, and Buffy tightened her grip on his other hand as she met the passion in his kiss.

Finally, he broke away, breathing heavily as he did. Buffy recognized from his expression how desperately he was hanging onto control. He wanted to snap, to give in and take her, headless of the consequences.

It surprised her to discover that there, in the heat of the moment, part of her wished he would.

“Can I roll you over?” Spike asked, his breath coming in harsh, uneven pants. “I want to try something I think you’ll like.”

“Do it,” Buffy replied without question, trusting him in whatever he wanted to do to her.

Spike flipped Buffy onto her back and slid the pillow out from under her, discarding it to the side. He straddled her body and leaned down, resting his cock between her breasts before taking hold of the soft mounds and pressing them to surround him. Buffy gasped as he began to slide between the valley of her breasts, his thumbs stroking her nipples as he did.

“You like this, kitten?” Spike asked, looking down at Buffy’s flushed face.

“Yes…” Buffy replied, following her response with a moan. “It feels good.”

With her approval of this new position, Spike began to thrust harder, his eyes closing and his jaw tightening as he drew closer to the edge. Buffy watched his cock sliding between her breasts with rapt fascination, noting the way the tip of his cock leaked with precum as it slid towards her face. Spike’s thrusts were brining him closer and closer to her mouth, his thoughts now centered on his need.

Buffy licked her lips, wondering if she could give into the urge she was feeling. Would Spike be upset if she tried such a thing? It seemed like a very strange thing to do, and she wondered why an idea like that would even enter her head. But then again, Spike had mentioned earlier about kissing her between her legs, so perhaps it wasn’t so strange. Maybe he would even like it.

Spike’s eyes snapped open at the first pass of Buffy’s tongue across the head of his cock. He watched as she did it again, then moaned in pleasure. A voice in the back of his mind warned him that perhaps this was crossing whatever sort of line delineated “virgin” in magical muse land, but he was too far gone to stop now.

“Yeah, luv, that feels good. Take me into your pretty little mouth.”

Buffy opened for him, allowing him to slip past her lips, and Spike used every bit of willpower he had not to thrust wildly. He was certain Buffy had never done anything like this before, and he didn’t want to scare or hurt her.

“Wrap your lips around me now. Suck on me, like a piece of candy.” She followed his instructions, and Spike moaned again. She was sucking on him with just the right amount of pressure as her tongue made sweeps across his cock inside of her mouth.

Spike wanted this to last. She was looking at him so intently as she eagerly blew him, and he wanted the moment to stretch. His body, however, had other ideas, and he knew he couldn’t hold off his orgasm for long under this sort of stimulation.

He pulled back from her, meeting with a cry of protest from Buffy. “I’m about to come, pet. I didn’t want to do that inside of your pretty lil’ mouth."

Much to his shock—and pleasure—Buffy pouted. "But I wanted to taste you again, Spike."

"Buffy, I don't know if…" he tried, afraid of what might happen if he gave in to her request.

"Please, Spike. I want this. Let me…"

He shouldn't, he knew, but dammit, he was only human, and a gorgeous woman was begging him to let her taste his cum. He'd never been strong enough to say no to that.

"Open your mouth, pet," he told her, reluctant still to release inside of her, because of both Buffy's inexperience and the hazily defined "virgin" policy.

Buffy opened her mouth, eagerly awaiting what was to come. Spike rose up onto his knees, straddling her as he pumped his cock with his left hand. Buffy watched him intently, the sight making her shake with desire, and she reached out through the connection, wanting to again share his pleasure.

When the first burst of his semen hit her mouth, Buffy's body bucked, his orgasm bleeding over their link to become hers as well. Still, she eagerly swallowed what hit her tongue, relishing the taste of him. It was a part of Spike, and she wanted it all.

Finally, Spike collapsed beside Buffy on the bed, sighing in completion. She lapped up the rest of his spendings from her lips, the scooped up the rest with her fingers before licking those as well.

Buffy turned to look at Spike, noting that he'd watched her cleaning herself, his eyes darkened with renewed lust, even if his body wasn't quite ready to keep up with him. "You are the sexiest woman I have ever known," Spike told her, nothing but sincerity in his voice.

"So it's okay that I wanted to put it in my mouth?" Buffy asked. "I was worried it would upset you." She frowned as Spike burst into laughter. "What?"

"Pet, I don't think I've ever met a man who would have a problem with getting a blowjob. We tend to rank them quite highly on our list of favorite things. It's usually the woman who isn't too fond of it."

"I don't see why," Buffy said, turning so she could curl against Spike's side. "Maybe other men aren't as tasty as you are."

Spike smiled down at her. "Quite possibly, pet."

Buffy nuzzled against Spike's chest. "I'm glad I could please you, too. I worry about not being enough since you can't do what you really want to do with me."

"Sweetheart…" Spike took Buffy's chin in his hand and tilted her face up so he could look into her eyes. "Anything you do makes me happy. If all I could do was lay here and hold you, it would be better than anything I ever would've dreamed of before I met you. Having you in my life, even if it's only for a little while, is the greatest pleasure you could ever give me."

Buffy had no words for a response to his heartfelt confession. In all of her other pairings with poets in the past, she'd always felt like no more than a tool, as meaningful as his paper or his pen. She was there simply to perform a service, nothing more.

Yet with Spike, she felt none of that. She didn't feel used, didn't feel like something easily discarded.

She felt…treasured.

"Thank you," she whispered before leaning in and capturing his lips for a kiss.

*** *** ***

Please review!

Starting next week, this fic will be posted on Tuesdays and Thursdays instead of Mondays and Wednesdays. Sorry if this is a problem for anyone!

Buffy had allowed herself to stay in bed with Spike much longer than she should have that morning—long enough that he'd ended up "wanking" again before they'd ever gotten up to start work on his writing.

Yet when he did start writing, the words had been flowing almost without interruption. He'd cover once piece of paper before tossing it roughly to the side to continue on to the next, forming a scattered pile of drafts. His words—his passion—were raw, and Buffy was in awe as she watched him.

Never before had she known a poet who wrote like Spike. He didn't stop to count the meter or obsess over obtaining the perfect form. Instead, the poetry came from him as if he could not stop it, as if he had too much inside not to allow it to burst forth.

And every word was for her. His longing, his desire, his pain—all for her.

When he'd finally finished, he'd leaned back with a sigh, taking in the sight of the papers scattered around him before he'd turned to Buffy and moved across the room to her without a sound. Quickly, he'd gathered her in his arms, kissing her deeply before he'd carried her back off to his bed.

He'd spent hours there with her, touching her, kissing her, making her feel things she'd never known were possible until she'd been literally dropped into Spike's life.

Now, he was asleep again, curled at her side with his arm draped casually over her waist. A tear rolled down Buffy's cheek as she watched him sleep, a heartbroken smile tugging at her lips.

She had too many questions running through her mind, and not a single answer was to be found. Deciding she needed some advice, she kissed Spike softly atop his head before she slipped from his arms. A shimmering light surrounded her for a moment before her chiton and beaded hairstyle were back in place, then she disappeared from the room in a flash.

Buffy soon located Anya reclining by a fountain, reading. Anya had always seemed to Buffy to be one of the worldlier of her fellow muses, having a practical nature that was uncommon for such a being. Perhaps she could give Buffy the answers she needed.

Anya smiled when she saw Buffy approaching, and set her book aside. "Have you returned from your assignment, or is this another visit?"

"Another visit," Buffy told her friend. She took a seat beside Anya. "And actually, I need some advice."

"I can give advice," Anya replied. "Is your poet still not writing?"

"No, he's writing. He's writing quite a bit, actually. He's very inspired, and I have no doubt he'll be able to get enough poems ready to hand it to his publisher before his deadline."

"That's wonderful!" Suddenly, Anya's bright smile faded. "Only you've still got some sort of problem. What's that all about?"

"I just, um…" Buffy looked down, drawing patterns against the marble floors with the toe of her slipper. "I know we're to remain virgins, but I was wondering what exactly constitutions staying pure. If a man were to say…put his mouth or his hands, you know, there would that be a problem?"

Anya's jaw fell. "Buffy! Has he done these things to you?"

"No. Well, not those things…" Buffy glanced up.

"But he's done something?"

"We've been careful not to break the rules," Buffy insisted. "It's difficult for Spike, but he's been so good about it. But I've been wondering if he could maybe do more. Like the mouth thing. He certainly likes it when I put my mouth on…"

"Buffy! What in the name of all the gods have you been doing?" Anya asked. "You know this is dangerous, don't you? We aren't supposed to have these sorts of relationships with mortals—and for good reason. This is a business relationship, and when you start making it about other stuff, things go haywire."

Buffy looked up completely, meeting Anya's eyes. "But I can't help it. Spike makes me…feel things. He's so handsome and kind, and he makes my body react in the strangest ways."

Anya wrinkled her nose. "But Buffy, he's…human. Humans are inferior to us. All he's going to do is grow old and die, and then where will you be, huh?"

The thought of Spike dying—even many years in the future—made tears rise to Buffy's eyes. "I can't help what I feel for him, Anya!"

"Then get over it." Anya sighed, her tone softening. "Buffy, I'm your friend, so I'm going to give you some friendly advice. Remember who—and what—you are. You have a purpose, a reason for existing—way more than these little humans ever will. They don't even last long enough to have purposes. They're like—flies. They live, and they die, and everything they do in between then is pretty much pointless. But us—we're eternal. When this Spike guy is nothing but dust beneath the earth, we'll still be here, still have purpose." She cleared her throat. "So whatever this is you're feeling for him, get over it, get it out of your system, whatever. If you need him to put his mouth between your legs to figure out what's going on, have at it—you'll still be a virgin. But be careful, Buffy. Think about what you'd be giving up if you let him go any further than that—and what you'd really be getting in return. A pointless, mortal life. No man, no matter how handsome, is worth being subjected to one of those."

Buffy fought back the tears threatening to spill from Anya's words, as she knew her friend was right. She did have a purpose in life, and what right did she have to turn her back on it? She helped people, and being with Spike would mean she couldn't do that anymore. She couldn't let herself be so selfish.

"Thank you, Anya," Buffy said. "I really appreciate your help."

"I'm happy I could be here for you," Anya replied. "And really, do be careful with this one. Finish your job and come home before you get in too deep."

Buffy knew she already was in too deep, but she nodded her head anyway. "I will. Thank you again."

Anya patted Buffy's shoulder, the gesture almost awkward. "Anytime."

Buffy nodded and stood, giving Anya a quick goodbye before she shimmered out of sight, reappearing in the main room of Spike's flat. She started towards his bedroom, but stopped, Anya's advice still fresh in her mind. She needed to focus on what she was sent there to do, not these strange feelings developing between her and her poet. They were only going to lead to badness in the end.

She sat in the corner, her knees pulled to her chin, no longer able to fight back her tears.

*** *** ***

When he woke, Spike reached out for Buffy before he even opened his eyes, and frowned when his arm hit a cool mattress. He blinked, his sight now confirming what he felt—Buffy was gone.

He got out of bed and slipped on a pair of jeans before leaving the bedroom, yet stopped abruptly as soon as he saw her. She was curled up in a corner, asleep, yet with tearstains still on her cheeks. He knelt down beside her, shaking her gently until her eyes popped open.

"Spike?"

"Hey, luv. What are you doing out here? I woke up and didn't know where you were." He reached out to touch her face, yet stopped when she flinched away. "Buffy?"

The pain on his face when she pulled back from him stabbed Buffy in the heart, but she knew she had to do the right thing. She was only going to hurt him in the long run anyway. Who was she fooling, thinking they could have anything, even for a little while? She raised her head up, trying to be strong. "I don't think I should share your bed anymore, Spike."

His face fell a little more. "Why, pet?"

Buffy didn't know how to explain it to him. Her purpose called her to move from place to place, to never stay in the life of one poet for too long. How could she keep doing that if she allowed herself to be attached to one man and one man alone? She took a deep breath, then told him, "It's not part of my job."

Buffy's words hit Spike like a physical blow, one of his worst fears suddenly realized. The entire time he'd been intimate with Buffy, he'd worried that she was only letting him do those things to her because she felt obligated. He'd been able to mostly convince himself otherwise from her enthusiastic response to their times together, but now, the doubts were back in full force. She'd spent the night, huddled in the corner—crying­—because he'd used her like a whore.

"Pet, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean…"

"No, don't," Buffy told him, reaching out to put her finger against his lips. "It's okay."

She lowered her hand, and Spike hung his head. It wasn't okay at all, and he didn't know how to make it better now.

"Can you write?" Buffy asked, trying to bring the topic back to business. She needed to focus on that before she launched herself back into Spike's arms and begged him to make her feel those wonderful things again. "You still need to get some more poems out before you have enough for your publisher."

"Yeah, I'll write," Spike told her, rising to his feet. He knew if he wrote, it would make her happy, and he wanted to do that for her now.

Buffy smiled, standing as well. "Good." She reached out and took his hand, her knees nearly giving out on her from just the small contact. His skin was so warm, so perfect against hers. "You'll have your manuscript ready soon, Spike. I have faith in you."

Spike smiled back the best he could before he pulled away from her and went over to his pens and paper to start writing.

*** *** ***

Over two hours later, Spike still had nothing on paper. The room itself had been painfully silent the entire time, with Buffy simply curled up in a chair, watching him. All Spike could manage to do was chastise himself for hurting her, and because of it, the words wouldn't flow. Before, the time he'd spent in bed with Buffy had been a seemingly-endless source of inspiration, yet now he couldn't look back on it without feeling disgusted with himself.

Frustrated, he crumpled up a blank sheet of paper and threw it at the wall. Buffy jumped at his action and her mouth fell into a grim line. "Spike…"

"I can't bloody write," he said, getting to his feet and running his shaky hands through his hair. "I need to go out for a bit, get some air."

"Should I go with…"

"No," Spike said quickly before Buffy could finish her sentence. "I just need a little bit of time alone."

Buffy's hurt was obvious on her face, and Spike wondered why she even wanted to be around him after what he'd done. He supposed it was because she felt like that was part of her job. Maybe she even thought he was blaming her for his newest round of writers' block.

Spike went over to the chair where Buffy was seated and knelt in front of her, taking her hands gently in his. "Hey, luv, this isn't your fault, all right. I'm probably just tired, is all. A bit of fresh air, a little time alone with my thoughts, and I'll be writing again soon, yeah?"

"So you don't…want to be away from me?"

Spike released one of her hands so he could stroke the side of her hair. "Never, Buffy. I'll be back soon."

Buffy nodded her assent and Spike rose to his feet before going into his bedroom to dress.

*** *** ***

Spike walked down to the cemetery, hoping he could find the sort of peace he normally did there and clear up his thoughts a bit.

He couldn't. His mind was whirling with thoughts of Buffy, both self-loathing for treating her the way he had as well as desire for her to let him do it all over again—which of course, only lead to more of the self-loathing.

He leaned against a large statue over an old grave, wishing he knew an easy way to deal with all of this. He knew it was probably wrong to want Buffy the way he did. She was a muse, a direct agent for the Powers That Be. Obviously, physical relationships were off-limits or her status as a muse wouldn't be dependant on her virginity. For all he knew, he'd already messed things up for her. What if she was stuck back in that file room she hated so much as punishment for what she'd done with him? He'd never be able to forgive himself if he'd caused her any further suffering.

The longer he stayed out the more obvious it became to Spike that he wasn't going to get to clear his head. Furthermore, the longer he was gone, the more he wanted to be near Buffy again. He shouldn't—especially after the way he'd treated her—but he couldn't help it. She'd gotten in his blood, and he couldn't help but crave her.

With a resigned sigh, he started back towards his flat.

*** *** ***

It's just a little bit of angst, I promise. Please review?

As soon as he'd gotten back to his flat, Spike had sat down to write again, but he'd had no more luck than before he'd left. A tense silence filled the room, and Spike could tell Buffy was upset. She was barely looking at him, and didn't speak at all unless he asked her a question—and even then, she tended to stay in the realm of single word answers.

But of course, she was upset with him. Why wouldn't she be? If it wasn't bad enough that he'd used her to get his rocks off, now he was failing her by being blocked again. She could suffer for the rest of eternity because he was weak.

Frustrated, he dropped his pen to the ground. "I'm sorry, Buffy." He shook his head. "God, I'm such a bloody failure."

Buffy looked sharply towards him. "What? Spike, you're not a failure! Please, don't think that."

"I am, Buffy! How can you even say anything else?"

"Because you're not," Buffy insisted. She got out of her chair and knelt down beside Spike, facing him. With a tender smile, she brushed an errant curl away from his forehead. "You've written a lot over the past few days. Maybe you need to rest today."

Spike turned from her, hanging his head. "But I have to finish this, Buffy. If I don't, I'm…" He sighed. "If I don't, I'm letting you down."

His words pierced her heart, and Buffy took his chin and turned his face back towards her. "Spike, nothing you could do would ever let me down. Even if you don't finish your manuscript in time, I'll still be so proud of you."

Spike's eyes widened in surprise. How could she say that—and could she possibly mean it? Maybe it was just the sort of things muses were supposed to say in order to inspire people. After all, hadn't he given Buffy reason enough to hate him?

"You've said sometimes you write better when you take your mind off of it for a little while," Buffy continued. "We…we could watch the telly thingy."

Spike couldn't help the half-smile that came to his lips. "You like the telly, luv?"

Buffy nodded. "Yes. I like watching the stories. They're very entertaining."

Spike thought for a moment, an idea coming into his head for something he could do for Buffy. It wasn't much, but it was something he thought she would enjoy, and it would be an experience she could take back with her when she had to return to her world—quite possibly to spend an eternity in a file room.

"There's something even better than the telly for that, pet," Spike told her.

Buffy's eyes lit up. "Really? What is it?"

"Change into your street togs, luv, and I'll show you."

*** *** ***

Spike wasn't paying any attention at all to the movie. Instead, he was fixated on Buffy, taking in every bit of her first cinema experience. She leaned forward in her chair, her eyes riveted to the screen, her mouth slightly open. Every loud sound from the speakers made her jump, yet it didn't seem to frighten her. Instead, she was enthralled.

Spike listened to her every gasp, laugh, and sigh. He even noticed tears forming in her eyes at the film's sentimental ending. She'd enjoyed the experience, and Spike was happy he could give that to her. Perhaps she'd be able to look back on something from their time together that wasn't tainted by how he'd used her.

As they walked back out towards the parking lot, Spike was surprised when Buffy slipped her hand into his and smiled up at him brightly. "Thank you, Spike, for taking me here. You were right—the movie was even better than the telly."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it, pet."

They stopped beside his car, and Buffy kept her hand in his, reluctant to let go. It felt so nice to touch him, and she hated to think she shouldn't be doing it anymore—that she shouldn't have done it in the first place.

Spike could see the sadness coming back to her eyes, and he wished he could drive it away. He took a step towards her, his lungs filling with the sweet scent of her as he breathed in. What he wouldn't do to be able to keep this woman as his own… He was desperate to touch her now, even if it was only one last time. Spike leaned forward, drawn in by the desire to taste her lips, when he stopped short, remembering who she was and why he couldn't do this.

Buffy tried to mask her disappointment when it seemed as if Spike was going to kiss her, but then he didn't. She should take it as a good sign. Obviously, Spike had understood when she'd told him why they couldn't do those things anymore, and was going to give her the space she wanted.

Okay, not that she wanted, exactly. She wanted his hands—and his mouth, too, for that matter—on every inch of her body. But it was space she needed.

"Ready to go back now?" Spike asked, reluctantly taking his hand away from hers.

"Yes," Buffy replied, her hand suddenly feeling so painfully empty.

With a nod, Spike walked around to the passenger's side to open the door for Buffy.

*** *** ***

Spike hadn't tried to write again when they'd returned to the flat, and Buffy hadn't pushed him about it—much to his relief. He hoped when tomorrow came, this new block would prove to be short-lived, yet he'd decided not to push the issue anymore that day.

They'd settled down to eat and watch the television when they'd gotten back to his flat—Spike making a sandwich for himself while Buffy again opted for the Ben & Jerry's Phish Food.

The space between them on the sofa was tearing at him, but Spike didn't move towards her. She wanted distance; he'd give it to her. He wasn't going to take advantage of the situation anymore. He may not be a very good man, but he was good enough to restrain himself, no matter how much he wanted to touch Buffy again.

When she'd finished with her ice cream, Buffy had curled up on her end of the sofa. Her eyes were centered on the television, but Spike had a feeling her mind was really a million miles away, and he wondered what she was thinking. Did she hate having to be there with him now? Was she simply suffering through the rest of the month until she could get away from him?

They stayed there on the sofa until late in the evening, and eventually, Spike realized Buffy had fallen asleep. Quietly, he got up and draped a blanket over her. She moved a bit in her sleep, but didn't wake, and Spike knelt beside her, taking the opportunity to just watch her.

She was so beautiful it made his heart ache, and he wished more than anything that he'd never hurt her. Part of him wished she'd been sent to someone else—someone who could treat her with the respect she deserved—while the more possessive part of him roared at the idea. He wanted to keep her, wanted to never let her belong to another man in any way.

But she wasn't his. He didn't deserve her—his actions had more than proven that. Still, unable to keep himself from it, he leaned forward, pressing his lips to the top of her head and letting them linger there for a moment. He closed his eyes, committing the moment to memory, before he stood up, whispering a soft apology to her.

"I'm sorry, my love."

He stood, giving her one last look before he went to his bedroom to sleep alone.

*** *** ***

Spike was quiet the next morning, yet Buffy could feel the frustration rolling off of him in waves—and she didn't even need to open the connection between them to do it.

He wasn't writing. He had the pen in his hand, the paper in front of him, but the block was obviously still in place, despite his assurances the day before that all he needed was a little rest. Still, he was diligently sitting there, trying to force the words, and Buffy had a feeling it was more for her benefit than his own.

She knew his latest block wasn't because he was tired or because he was feeling tapped out after the creative burst of the previous few days. It was because of her. It didn't take a genius to notice his block had fallen back in place almost immediately after she'd informed him he couldn't wank with her anymore. So, Buffy reasoned, the block would end if she changed her mind and told him he could.

Only she couldn't do that—could she? Anya had been right. Buffy needed to remember who she was and what her responsibilities were. However, wasn't her primary responsibility now getting Spike to write? And if she had to bend the rules a little to do that, she wasn't really turning her back on her duty at all. Spending part of the day in bed with her helped Spike write; therefore, it was her duty as a muse to provide him with what gave the most inspiration.

Rationale firmly in place, Buffy all but launched herself into Spike's arms, kissing him fiercely.

Spike hadn't been anywhere near expecting Buffy's aggressive move, and his eyes grew wide in shock as a cry of surprise was muffled against her lips. Quickly, he pushed her back, holding her at arms' length. "What…what are you doing?"

Buffy frowned in confusion. "You don't want to kiss me anymore?"

"I want to kiss you, Buffy, I just don't understand why you're suddenly on me like this. You don't have to do this just to make me write."

"But it helps you," Buffy replied. "You're all blocked again now, so I thought it would help if you wanked again."

"Yeah, it might," Spike replied honestly. "But it doesn't have to be with you."

His response made Buffy pull away from him sharply, his rejection stinging. He didn't want her anymore? Had the time since they'd last been together made him realize it wasn't enough just to touch her? Did he want some other woman who could give him everything?

"Look, pet, I know you want to inspire me to write, but…" Spike stopped short when he saw tears rolling down Buffy's cheeks. "Kitten? Are you crying?"

"Spike, I know I can't truly be all that pleasing to you since I can't… But…" Buffy sniffled. "Could you please not be with any other women while I'm here? I know it's a lot to ask, but I don't think I could take it."

"Be with other women? Buffy, what are you on about? There are no other women, sweetheart."

"But you just said it didn't have to be with me," Buffy told him, the pitiful look on her face making Spike's heart break.

"Oh, baby, that's not what I meant at all. Come here." Spike held his arms out, and Buffy immediately move into them, crying against his shoulder as Spike stroked her back soothingly. "I meant I could take care of the problem by myself, is all. And not because I don't want you or because being with you hasn't been bloody amazing. I just don't want you to feel like you have to do this for me if it's not something you really want."

Buffy looked up, meeting his eyes. "But I do want it, Spike. I've wanted it more than I've ever wanted anything. I'm just not supposed to want it. I'm supposed to focus on my job and remember my duty, and wanting you so badly it makes me ache isn't supposed to be a part of that."

Tenderly, Spike brushed her tears away with his thumb. "Is that what you meant when you told me this wasn't part of your job?"

Buffy nodded. "Yes."

"But you do want me?"

"Desperately."

Relief flooded through Spike as he realized what he'd thought had been Buffy's shame over his treatment of her had truly been no more than a misunderstanding. She didn't feel like a whore—she was torn between her duties and her feelings for him.

It wasn't the sex alone she'd been referring to as "not part of her job." It had been all of it—her feelings for him included.

Spike placed his hands on either side of her face and kept her eyes locked with his. "Buffy, I know this can't last forever. I know in a few weeks, you're going to have to leave me and go back to your world. I can't say it's something I'm exactly all right with, but it's something I can understand and accept. I do, however, want to make the time we do have together count, but I don't want you to do anything you'll regret later. So I need you to answer me truthfully on one thing—do you want our relationship to remain a physical one in the time while you're here?"

"Remain physical?" Buffy asked, her brow furrowed. "Do you mean do I want you to keep wanking with me there?"

"Yeah, luv, that's what I mean," Spike answered, unable to keep from smiling slightly at the way she phrased her question.

"Yes, I do. I enjoy it, Spike. I'm just worried, because of my duties as a muse. I…I can't stay."

Spike dropped one of his hands, though the other one remained on her face so he could caress her cheek. "I know, baby. I'm not expecting you to."

"I thought maybe it would be better if we stopped, but it wasn't," Buffy told him softly, her gaze dropping.

"I know. But it'll be all right. We'll make enough memories to last us when we're apart."

Buffy smiled softly, fighting back another wave of tears. She didn't think there could ever be enough, but she wanted what she could get. She could put duty first later, after she had to leave Spike.

"Will you take me to bed now?" she asked. "I've missed you touching me."

Without a word, Spike scooped her up and carried her away.

*** *** ***

In the interest of moving this story along, I'm going to change the posting schedule to Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. I have a good bit of it done, and it's looking like I'm closing in on the final chapters, so I'm hoping I can get that written and get it all up soon. I have a couple of other fics on the back burner, but I don't want to shift my focus to those until I've finished my WIP's—hence the multiple chapters a week.

Please take a moment to review!

"I want to touch you," Spike said as he laid Buffy out on the bed, his body coming down to rest over hers. "I want to feel your skin against my fingertips, kitten."

Buffy was more than willing to oblige, and with a shuddering breath, she made her clothes fade away. Spike pulled up, the scarred brow over his left eye arched. "That's a handy little trick you have there, pet."

"I wish I could do it for you, too," Buffy replied, her cheeks blushing slightly.

"Well, I can be almost as quick," Spike told her as he got off the bed and dropped his jeans, then rejoined her. "See? Barely apart for any time at all."

"It was still too long," Buffy said before tangling her fingers in his hair and pulling his lips to hers. Spike groaned into her mouth, his erection hot and heavy against her thigh.

Spike's hands trailed down her body, stroking her sides and legs. Buffy whimpered, her legs falling apart on their own accord. "Touch me there, Spike," she pleaded as she broke away from his mouth, panting. "Please…"

Spike didn't deny her. Instead, he brought his hand between her legs to stroke her folds. It amazed him how wet she was, especially considering how little they'd done. With only some kissing and a little light petting, she was already drenched.

What he wouldn't give to feel her surrounding his cock…

He shook his head, needing to rid himself of that thought and concentrate on what he could do.

The feel of his long fingers stroking her was unlike anything Buffy had ever known. In all her years of existing, she'd never known her body could feel like this. She gasped, fighting a losing battle to keep her breathing steady.

"Do you like this, sweetheart?" Spike asked, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing gentle circles against it. "Does it feel good?"

"Y…yes," Buffy replied, her body shaking. Even when she'd connected with Spike to share his pleasure, it hadn't been quite like this. "I…" She gasped, her body taut, and a memory flashed into her mind. "Spike?"

"Yes, baby? Do you need me to do something else?"

She met his eyes, blushing as she did. "You said you could…with your mouth. I…I want to try…"

"Will it be okay for me to do that, Buffy?" Spike asked.

"I think so," Buffy told him. "I'd still be a virgin, wouldn't I?"

"As far as I know."

"Then please…" Buffy had no idea how it would feel to have Spike put his mouth between her legs, but she was desperate to find out. If him kissing her lips could feel as good as if did, then she would wager him kissing her somewhere else would feel even better.

Spike moved slowly down Buffy's body, pausing first to lick and kiss her breasts, then the smooth plane of her abdomen. Buffy was already gasping and writing before he ever settled himself between her legs, and then, with the first touch of his tongue to her pussy, she cried out, her hips bucking wildly.

Spike placed his hand over her stomach to settle her, then went to work, licking and sucking Buffy's clit, paying close attention to her responses to know where to pay the most attention. He wanted more than anything at that moment to be able to shove his tongue into her hot quim, but he was too afraid of the consequences to make the breech. Instead, he contented himself with lapping up the juices that spilled to the outside. To busy his fingers, he reached beneath her and grabbed hold of her bottom, kneading the tight globes of flesh as he brought her closer to his mouth.

Buffy felt as if she were losing her mind. She couldn't control the jerky movements of her body, nor could she control her harsh breathing or her erratic heartbeat. Her thoughts were broken and disjointed, her vision blurred, and all she could do was grasp desperately at the comforter beneath her. Noises she'd never heard herself make sounded from her mouth as she ground herself against Spike's face, her body wanting more even as her mind argued it was too much.

Then, suddenly, the pressure inside of her broke, and she screamed, her eyes going wide. Spike continued to flick his tongue rapidly against her swollen clit as Buffy experienced her first true orgasm, the intensity of it so much more than even what she'd felt from him. She covered Spike's face with her juices as she spasmed wildly, her head thrashing.

Finally, she collapsed back down to the bed, gasping for breath as Spike let her go and sat up, his tongue darting out to lick his lips.

When she felt her world returning to normal again, Buffy turned to the side to find Spike lying down beside her, facing her. She smiled lazily at him, her eyelids heavy.

"Did you like that, lamb?" Spike asked as he stroked her cheek.

"Yes. I liked it very much," Buffy told him. "I didn't know my body could do that."

Spike couldn't help but smirk. "I'm glad I could be the one to show you."

"Me, too," Buffy replied. Suddenly, her bashfulness returned, and she turned her gaze away from his shyly. "I want to…with my mouth…on you."

"You don't have to, luv," Spike told her, reaching out to cup her face and stroke her cheek with his thumb.

"I know, but I want to." Buffy took a deep breath and met his eyes. "I like doing that for you. When you let me…a little before, I… I liked it. I like the way you taste."

How could he say no to a request like that? "Then by all means, don't let me stop you."

Buffy smiled, the expression taking on an impish quality before she slid down his body. She stopped where his erection jutted out from his body, her fingers reaching out to graze against the tip. Spike kept a tight reign on his control, not wanting to spook her by making things go faster than she was ready for. Even though he'd meant it when he told her she didn't have to, Spike wanted nothing more at the moment than for her to take him into her mouth.

Buffy wrapped her hand around his cock, examining it as she wondered how she should do this. Her mouth was close enough now, but the angle was strange, and already she was getting a crick in her neck. She looked up. "Spike, I…I'm not comfortable," she told him, trying to express her dilemma. She wanted to be able to focus on nothing other than the feel of him.

Her words were like a splash of cold water, and reluctantly, Spike moved her hand off of him. "Then don't do it, luv. It's okay." He certainly wasn't going to make her do something she wasn't really comfortable with…

"But I want to," Buffy said, her hand going back. "Is this the only way I can situate myself in order to do it, because I can't really get my neck right."

Spike's eyes widened as he realized he'd misunderstood her again. "Oh, you mean you're physically not comfortable. Right. Let's move you then. Sit up."

Buffy did as he asked while Spike turned around and propping up the pillows behind him. "What did you think I meant?" Buffy asked, confused.

"I thought you meant the idea of sucking me off was making you uncomfortable," Spike replied honestly.

Buffy giggled. "No, silly. I want to be 'sucking you off' very much."

Spike had to pause for a moment, her simple, mirth-filled statement doing more for him than any of the more sultry ones he'd heard in his life. He leaned against the pillows so he was reclining more at an angle, giving Buffy unrestricted access to his cock. "Try it now, kitten."

Buffy stretched out between his spread legs, taking the base of his shaft in her hand before she slid her mouth over the head. Spike groaned, the first contact of her hot mouth over his skin enough to make him tremble. "Is this better?" he asked, praying she didn't want to move again.

"Yes, much," she replied, though as her lips were still wrapped around him, Spike assumed she must be speaking to him telepathically again. This time, however, he didn't complain. When it came to blowjobs, that was actually sort of a handy talent.

Buffy slid her mouth down and her hand up, all the while moaning around him in sheer bliss. She reveled in the taste of him, in the feel of pleasuring him. She'd never felt more connected to him as she did in that moment, and the strength of her emotions were a heady rush.

"Am I doing this correctly?"

It took Spike a moment to process the question in his mind, and he groaned, managing a strangled "Yes!" as she took more into her mouth, letting his cock slide down her throat. Seeing how much he seemed to like that, Buffy removed her hand from the base and brought her head down further, until his entire length was inside of her mouth.

Spike groaned loudly, his eyes rolling back in his head. Due to his size, it wasn't often a woman could deep throat him so successfully, and it took everything he had not to burst. He wanted to savor this experience… "Oh fuck, baby, that's good…" he said, wanting to encourage her to keep doing what she was doing as much as possible. "Now can you swallow around it? Please?"

Without hesitating, Buffy began to swallow, her throat muscles working around Spike's cock with ease. His breath came in sharp pants his fingers clawing at the bed in a desperate attempt not to grab her head. "Play with my balls, luv," he requested, his hands fisted around the sheets.

Buffy looked up questioningly, though she didn't take him from her mouth. "Your what?"

"Under my cock…" Spike moaned when she found them. "Oh yeah, that's it, baby. Give 'em a squeeze, yeah?"

She followed his instructions perfectly, and Spike fought to hold back, wanting it to last. It was, by far, the best damn blow job he'd ever had.

Unable to stop himself, Spike reached up and cupped her head, though he forced himself not to do it roughly. Instead, he stroked her hair, reveling in the feel of the silky strands against his fingers. His touch made Buffy's eyes close in bliss as she let out a low, contented moan.

It was the moan that did him in. The moment he felt the vibrations from it around his erection, Spike's hips jerked up, a hoarse cry sounding from him. Before he could warn her, Spike was coming down Buffy's throat, his orgasm too powerful for him to hold off any longer. Buffy, however, seemed to welcome it, her throat continuing to work around him as she swallowed everything he had to offer.

Finally, he slumped back against the pillows, feeling entirely spent. He couldn't help the goofy smile on his face as he let out ragged breaths, his body feeling as limp as his cock as it slid from Buffy's mouth.

Buffy licked her lips, using her fingers to scoop up the small amount of cum that had dribbled onto her chin. "That was fun," Buffy said with a girlish giggle. "I'll have to do that again sometime."

Spike just panted, agreeing with the sentiment, though too far gone at the moment to voice his feelings on the matter. Buffy frowned. "Spike, did I break you?"

Spike turned his head towards her and smiled softly before holding his arms out to her, beckoning for Buffy to join him. She hurried into his arms, situating herself in his lap with her head against his shoulder. "Did I do that right?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Perfect, luv," Spike told her, his voice still a little weak. He pressed his lips against the top of her head as he ran his hand down her arm. "Perfect."

Buffy grinned brightly as she nestled against him. "I wanted so much to please you."

"You did, kitten. More than I could ever even tell you."

Buffy wrapped her own arms around him, content to simply let him hold her now.

*** *** ***

When they finally emerged from the bedroom, Spike immediately began to write, and Buffy had to resist the urge to jump up and down and clap. His words were coming in a rush now, flowing from the pen to the paper, and she knew she'd done the right thing in giving into the temptation to be with him again. Clearly, this was what Spike needed to be inspired.

Perhaps that was why she reacted differently to him than she had her other poets. Perhaps the Powers had allowed this attraction between them because it was the best way to inspire Spike. And if that were the case, then what they were doing wouldn't be wrong at all.

Pleased with her latest explanation for their relationship, Buffy moved down to the floor to sit next to Spike. Without question, he wrapped his right arm around her as his left hand continued to move quickly across the paper. Buffy leaned her head against his shoulder, watching him as he wrote.

*** *** ***

Please take a moment to review. Your words mean so much to me.

Spike wasn't sure he remembered a time when he'd had a better day. He hadn't particularly felt like getting out of bed, and had decided he'd simply bring his papers in there with him.

Now, as he reclined against the pillows with a very naked Buffy stretched out on the end of the bed, watching him from her position propped up on her elbow, he decided he'd made the right choice.

They'd fallen into an easy routine over the past week, spending their time locked away in his flat, ignoring anything other than each other. They touched and tasted until they were spent, then Spike would turn to his writing, churning out poems at a rate that shocked him. The longer he was with Buffy, the more the words seemed to flow, and he knew soon he'd have enough to send a manuscript to his publisher.

He tried not to dwell on what would happen once he did.

"You're cute when you write."

Spike looked up, the sound of Buffy's voice surprising him. She was usually silent when he was working, not wanting to disturb him from doing what she was sent there to help him with. "Huh?"

"When you write—you're cute." Buffy paused for a moment, then started again. "Well, you're always cute, but when you're writing you get this look of concentration on your face that I just love. I like it almost as much as the look you get right before you finish with your wanking."

He chuckled, though coming from her, the compliment touched him. "Thank you, luv. You're right adorable yourself, you know."

Buffy smiled at him brightly. "Thank you."

Spike turned back to his poem, adding the last couple of lines from his head before handing the paper to Buffy. "Tell me what you think."

She took the paper and started to read, though soon her face turned bright pink. "Spike! This one's…" She lowered her voice to a whisper. "It's about me naked."

Spike couldn't help but smile at her. "Yeah, it is. You're bloody gorgeous, you know. You're like poetry even before I put it into words."

She blushed more. "Can you actually put this in a book?"

"Well, yeah. Censorship isn't quite what it was the last time you were here. Would you rather I didn't send it in for publishing?"

"It's a very good poem, Spike," Buffy told him. "I just, um…"

Spike suddenly realized what was wrong with her. "Made you hot, didn't it, kitten?"

Buffy looked up shyly and nodded.

Spike put his pen and papers to the side. "Then come here, baby, and let me take care of that for you."

With a grin of her own, Buffy crawled up the bed to Spike.

*** *** ***

She was spread out in his bed, her long, golden hair fanned out around her, her tan skin glistening, flushed. She was gorgeous, more than he ever thought he'd be allowed to touch, and he relished the taste of her as he swiped his tongue back and forth over her moist folds.

He wanted to keep her. He wanted to hide her away with him, wanted to make it so she never had to leave. It would be easy, he knew, just to claim her body and make her have to stay, and he'd be lying if he said the idea had never entered into his mind.

It would be so easy when she was like this, when she was on the edge and desperate for his touch. He could take her now, slide inside of her before she even realized it.

But he couldn't. He could never take advantage of her like that, could never take her away from the world she wanted to be a part of in order to selfishly make her a part of his.

She wasn't meant to be his forever, and as difficult as it was, he made himself accept that. He had to savor the taste of her now, commit every sound, every sensation, to memory, since it would be all he'd ever have.

And once she was gone, it would be all he'd have to keep him warm.

*** *** ***

"I don't understand this. What is a spam?"

"Spam is, um, a sort of canned meat thing, luv," Spike explained.

Buffy's brow furrowed. "I still don't understand. Why is that very ugly woman trying to feed it to those people? And why did those men in the strange hats start singing?"

Spike chuckled, knowing he'd never be able to explain Monty Python to Buffy. "It's supposed to be funny."

"I think it's just strange," she said with a pout.

"C'mere," Spike said, pulling Buffy up from her place beside him on the couch and over so she was straddling his lap. "You gonna be all pouty on me now?"

Buffy looked up at him and tried to keep pouting, though Spike could see the corners of her lips twitch with a repressed smile.

"I bet I can take care of that pout," Spike said, a wolfish grin on his face, before he reached out and began to tickle her sides.

Buffy squealed, wriggling to get away from his fingers. "Spike!" she gasped out between laughs.

Mirth twinkled in his eyes as he continued to tickle her, and Buffy kept squirming until she broke free and ran off out of the living room, Spike close on her heels.

Had she wanted to, Buffy could've gotten away easily. Not only could she run faster than any human, she could also simply teleport away. Instead, she let Spike catch her, peals of laughter tumbling forth from her as he grabbed her around the waist and began to tickle her again.

"Trying to escape, were you?" Spike asked, lifting her up off of her feet.

"Yes! That…that tickles!"

"That would be the point, sweets," Spike told her. He spun her around so she was cradled in his arms. Her cheeks were flushed, her chest heaving from exertion, and Spike couldn't think of a time when she'd looked more beautiful.

The words came from him before he had any chance of stopping them.

"I love you."

Buffy stared, gaping, before she scrambled to get out of his arms. Once to her feet, she turned to run off, but Spike grabbed her arm. "Buffy…kitten, wait, please. I didn't mean to just blurt that out."

She turned, and Spike could see tears in her eyes. "You didn't mean it then?"

"No, I did. I did mean it, Buffy. I just…" He dropped her arm and ran his hand through his hair. "It upset you."

"You can't love me, Spike," Buffy said, shaking her head as she started crying harder. "You can't love me, because I can't stay, and if you love me, but then I'm gone, you'll be alone, and I don't want you to be alone."

"I know that. But I can't help but love you, Buffy. You're…god, you're amazing. Being with you has been like…seeing the sun for the first time. Like my life has always been dark, and then suddenly, here you are and it's light. I can't do anything but love you. It's not possible."

Buffy said nothing. She only stared at him, tears running down her cheeks. Spike took a step closer to her and cupped her face in his hands, brushing those tears away with his thumbs. "Hey, now. It's all right. I don't regret falling in love with you, Buffy. Even when I know I'm going to lose you, it's the best thing that's ever happened to me. I've gotten to spend time with a woman who makes me feel things some people never get a chance to know. How can that ever be anything but a gift?"

Buffy made a small sobbing noise before she threw her arms around Spike and held him tightly. "I love you, too. I love you so much, Spike. I never truly understood the words I inspired people to write until I met you."

Her declaration brought tears to his eyes as well, and he peppered the top of her head with kisses, keeping her wrapped in his arms.

After several moments, she looked up, her gaze meeting his. "Spike, I…" She paused, taking a deep breath to keep herself together. "I want you to know I'll never forget you. For the rest of eternity, I'll see your face every time I close my eyes. I'll always treasure what you've given me, William. Always."

He swept down to capture her lips, pouring everything he felt into the kiss.

For once, the poet had no words.

*** *** ***

Once Spike had fallen asleep that night, Buffy crept out of the bed and to Spike's stack of poems, now in the living room. She thumbed through them, counting the numbers of ones she knew he was planning to add to the manuscript.

With a lump in her throat, she realized just how much he'd written.

It wouldn't be long now…

She'd known what she felt for Spike had to be love for a while. What else could it possibly be? As strong as her feelings towards Spike were, she couldn't imagine anything could be stronger.

Buffy knew when she left, she'd be leaving her heart behind…

Yet hearing Spike say the words—and speaking them aloud herself—had made things different somehow. It had broken through the dreamy haze of the past several days and reminded her of what lay ahead. An eternity without Spike.

And for him, a lifetime of loneliness.

It was that thought that broke her heart even more than the knowledge she'd have to leave him. If she could just know he would be happy without her, then she could bear this. She could suffer thought the loss of him and not regret what had grown between them. However, thinking of Spike living out the rest of his days alone—even if it were but a mortal lifespan—tore her apart inside.

Buffy knew how Spike had suffered when he'd lost his former love, Drusilla. She'd felt the pain he'd known when he'd been so alone, deserted. Would she do the same thing to him by leaving? She couldn't bear the thought of him again being as he had been, broken, numbing himself through drink to make it from one day to the next.

And what of his writing? He'd been in need of a muse in the first place because he couldn't write with a broken heart. Would losing her now take his gift from him forever?

For the first time in her existence, Buffy was angry with the Powers That Be. Why would they allow something like this to happen? Why would they allow two people to fall so desperately in love when nothing could ever come of it? It was so horribly unfair, and Buffy railed against the injustice.

Was it a mistake, some sort of glitch? Was their love never supposed to happen, yet it hadn't been caught in time to stop it? Or had it been purposely allowed, even with the knowledge that they'd lose each other in time, and that loss would break them both?

Buffy set the poems back down, angry, heartbroken tears streaming down her face. This wasn't fair…

"Kitten? Buffy, what's wrong, luv?"

She looked up when Spike spoke, seeing him standing in the doorway, his pale skin illuminated in the moonlight streaming through the blinds. "I…" She stopped, her breathing shuddered. "It's not fair, Spike. Why did they let this happen? Why did they do this to us? Why?"

"Who?" Spike asked.

"The Powers. Why did they send me to you when it was only going to cause us so much pain in the long run? It isn't fair, Spike! It's not fair that I can be in love with you when I can't have you!"

Spike stepped into the living room and knelt beside her, his hand smoothing over her hair. "Hey, now. It's like I told you earlier today, this is a gift, yeah? We're the lucky ones, baby. We get to know what it is to love."

"But it's not going to last, and you're going to hurt, and I don't want you to hurt."

"You're worried about how I'll make it when you leave?"

Buffy nodded. "I don't want you to be like you were before, Spike. It makes me ache to think about you like that."

"I won't be, sweetheart. I promise you." He leaned in and kissed her forehead before pulling back again to look at her face. "I won't promise you I'm going to move right on, because I'm not going to. I can't. But I won't give up either, okay? I'll know that somewhere, there's a woman who loves me with all of her heart, and that'll be enough to keep me going."

"I'll always love you, Spike," Buffy said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I know, kitten."

"You won't stop writing, will you, Spike?" Buffy asked. "You'll keep going…keep writing for me?"

"Yes, I will. What you've given me here, it's inspiration to last me a lifetime."

She smiled, though Spike could still see the pain in her eyes. "Thank you."

Spike scooped her up and carried her back to the bed.

*** *** ***

Please review!

The night they confessed their love for each other, the carefree mood they'd cultivated had been shattered. The end of the month seemed to loom, and their touches were desperate now, the knowledge they were living on borrowed time at the forefront of both of their minds.

Spike often woke in the middle of the night to find Buffy clinging to him in her sleep.

When he dreamt, it was of a life they'd never get to live.

He wanted to do everything with her. He wanted to take her places, watch her as she experienced new things. For someone who had lived so long, so much was still new to her, and Spike delighted in watching her as she saw and felt things for the first time.

He couldn't stand to think he'd never get to see that look of wonder in her eyes again.

Spike knew his manuscript was close to finished. He'd written more in a few short weeks than he had in whole years in the past. Buffy had inspired him like nothing else ever could, and he knew it was because of more than the powers she held as a muse.

It was her laugh, her voice. It was her touch, her kiss.

The sheen of her hair. The shine of her eyes.

The way she fell apart under his fingers and mouth…

Perhaps it was better they hadn't been able to truly make love. He was already lost enough without the knowledge of how it felt to be inside of her.

She lay beside him now, still panting from her recent orgasm, a dreamy expression on her face. He committed the sight to memory, never wanting to forget the way she looked right then.

She turned, her smile warm. "I love you."

Spike smiled back as he tried desperately to hold on to this moment as well.

"I love you, too."

*** *** ***

"Are you up for a walk, pet?"

Buffy turned at Spike's question. "Does that mean you're going to have to put more clothes on?"

Spike laughed, then asked, his eyebrows wagging, "You like me in nothing but my jeans, kitten?"

"Well, I like you naked, though I can see why you wouldn't want to sit on the floor all day trying to write like that. But I do like looking at your chest. You're a very pretty man, Spike."

He knew she was quite possibly the only person he'd let get away with calling him "pretty." "That so?"

"Yup." She leaned forward and ran her hand down his bare chest, making him shiver. "But I could go for a walk. It looks like a nice day out."

"Then let's go. I think my legs could use a stretch."

They got ready and left the house, making the trek back down to the cemetery. It was a nice day out, the rare London sunshine making the graveyard seem oddly cheery.

"I like it here," Buffy said as they walked hand in hand among the stones.

"The first time we came here, you acted like I was crazy," Spike pointed out.

"Well, I thought you were. Then," Buffy replied. "But since, well, I don't know… Being here, it's like, it's our place now, you know?"

Yes, Spike did know. Coming here was going to take on a whole new meaning once Buffy was gone. The air would hang heavy with her memory.

Buffy stilled in front of the grave of a woman Spike had noticed her stop in front of several times before, and she traced her fingers over the inscription. He thought he saw sadness in her eyes as she touched the words "Beloved Wife," but knew he had to be putting intentions on her thoughts that weren't there. Despite her love for him, Spike knew what Buffy wanted was to continue being a muse.

She'd told him it was her purpose, what gave her meaning. A domestic life couldn't possibly satisfy her after all the time she'd spent as a mystical being.

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her loosely. She dropped her hand and leaned back against him, her eyes closing for several moments.

A stray thought flittered through Buffy's mind.

She could die like this and not regret the loss of immortality.

"Buffy?"

She opened her eyes and tilted her head back to look at Spike. "Yes?"

"How long does it usually take for a muse to get assigned to someone else after she's finished her last assignment?"

"Sometimes only a few days, usually not more than a month. Why?"

"I was just wondering how long it would be until…" Spike trailed off, but Buffy didn't have to read his mind to know what else he would've said, had he finished the sentence.

"How long until I'm with someone else."

"Yeah."

She turned in his embrace, his arms still encircling her waist. "I won't do what we've done with anyone else, Spike. This was special—something I only want to share with you."

"I know, but still, thinking about you inspiring some other bloke..." Spike sighed. "I can't help but be jealous, pet."

"I know." Buffy looked down, away from the intense gaze of his blue eyes. "To be honest, I'm not sure how I'm going to inspire anyone else. Everything seems different now."

Spike knew exactly what he shouldn't say now. Asking her to give up who she was was asking too much, but he couldn't help it. The knowledge he'd be losing her soon was heavy on his heart, and he had to try.

"Stay with me, Buffy. We…we can have a life together. I know it's a lot to ask, but we'll be happy, I know it. Please, kitten."

Her eyes filled with tears, the desperate, pleading look he was giving her breaking her heart. It was so tempting, just to throw it all away and live a life with Spike, loving him with even her dying breath.

But she couldn't. She had a duty. She had a purpose, and it was a calling greater than loving one man. She turned, her eyes focused on the grave which to her had come to represent the one thing she could never have.

"I can't, Spike."

He slumped, though he'd expected nothing else. "I know."

"I'm sorry," she told him, her words barely above a whisper.

Spike pulled her back him, and she laid her head against his chest, her arms wrapping tightly around his body. "It's all right, luv. I had no right to even ask, and it's selfish of me to want it. You'd have to give up everything, and I'd be losing nothing in the process. Not quite a fair bargain."

Buffy looked up, knowing that technically, his words should be true. However, strangely enough, she still felt as if she were losing everything, just by losing him. "I do wish I could stay," she admitted. "I love you desperately, and I do think we would be happy. I also think I could accept a mortal life, were it with you. But I can't, Spike. My place in this world isn't with you."

As much as it cut his heart to hear her say those words, he knew they were true. "I know," he told her again.

They were silent for a moment, the cheery atmosphere that had started with them on their walk gone now. Spike broke away form her. "Let's go back to the flat, luv. I want to write some more."

Buffy nodded and followed out, though she allowed herself one last glance at the grave of a stranger as her heart broke for what she'd always be denied.

*** *** ***

Spike had stopped writing hours ago, though he'd been loathed to move. After they'd returned from the cemetery, he'd written well into the evening, pouring all of his passions and frustrations out onto paper. His love for Buffy mixed with his pain at the knowledge he couldn't keep her was all there.

Buffy had watched him silently for hours, her wide green eyes taking in every stroke of his pen until finally, she curled up on the end of the couch and fallen asleep. When he'd written all he could, he'd come up on the couch to sit beside her, watching her as she slept.

There, he'd stayed.

He knew he shouldn't have asked her not to leave, knew he'd crossed a line in doing so, but he hadn't been able to help it. He couldn't tell if she was angry with him for daring to request so much of her, but he still wouldn't take it back.

He loved her, far more than he'd ever loved Drusilla—far more than he'd ever loved anyone else. Their time together had been short, yet in that time she'd spoken to his heart in ways he'd never before thought possible. She'd touched him deeper than even he could ever express.

He'd never let her go if he didn't think he'd hurt her so much if he made her stay.

But he couldn't do that to her, not when she held his heart. He was hers completely, nothing more than her willing slave it seemed, and he would never take what she did not freely offer.

Even if it meant he had to let her go forever.

Like her, he wanted to rail against the Powers who had brought them together only to cruelly rip them apart so soon afterwards, but at the same time, he meant it when he told her he was grateful for getting to love her for even a brief moment in time.

That, however, did not mean it didn't tear him to pieces to know he couldn't keep her—he just didn't want her to know how much it hurt. He didn't want her to leave and then have to spend an eternity thinking she'd caused him that sort of pain.

Because the pain was worth it. Anything was worth it to get to know her.

She made a soft sigh in her sleep, and Spike smiled gently, reaching out to brush a tendril of hair away from her cheek. She always seemed to glow from the inside, her skin illuminated with an otherworldly light.

She was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen, and he'd never be able to forget her face, no matter how much time passed after she stepped out of his life.

He wondered how much time he had left with her. Would she stay until the month was up, or did she have to leave once he'd written all the poems he needed for his manuscript? Spike wanted to get every moment he could with her, wanted to have as much time to look back on as possible once she was gone.

However, he knew whenever she left, it was going to be nearly impossible to say goodbye.

Spike could've sat there on the couch watching her sleep all night, but it was late, and he needed to get some sleep himself. He stood, then bent over to pick Buffy up, smiling at the way she instinctively nuzzled against his chest as soon as she was in his arms.

It was the little things like that he was going to miss the most.

He pressed his nose against her hair, breathing in deeply of her scent. He caught traces of it almost everywhere now, and his heart clenched at the thought that someday, it may fade from his home completely.

How could he sleep on sheets that no longer smelled of her?

But they were worries for later when he had her in his arms now, and he tried to push them away as he carried her to bed.

He left the living room, his finished manuscript still on the floor.

*** *** ***

Thoughts? Please leave a review and let me know 'em.

Buffy woke when Spike climbed into bed, her large, jade eyes blinking as they adjusted to the dim light. "Spike?" she asked sleepily.

"Yeah. You fell asleep in the living room, baby," Spike told her as he pulled her into his arms.

"I'm sorry," she said as she nuzzled into his embrace. "I didn't mean to."

"It's all right," he assure her with a kiss to the top of her head. "You're still inspiring when you're asleep."

Buffy tilted her face up, his lips still close enough for her to catch them, and she moaned into his mouth, her eyes sliding shut as she savored the taste of him. When they broke apart, she breathed, "Touch me, Spike. I need you…"

All thoughts of sleep gone, Spike kissed her again, his hands running along her bare skin as her clothes faded away. She sighed in pleasure, trembling beneath his fingertips.

Spike soon replaced his fingers with his mouth, trailing kisses down her body to the apex of her thighs. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep, delighting in the scent of her. She filled his senses until he was drowning in her, and he never wanted to come back up for air.

Buffy gasped then whimpered as Spike placed his tongue flat against her. Then, he moved his head, sending shocks of pleasure through her body. The things he could do to her, the way he could make her feel…

How could she keep existing without this?

In her mind, she could no longer call it "living." What she'd be doing once she wasn't with Spike wasn't living.

She'd never lived until she'd met him.

Spike moved his tongue up, forming the tip into a hard point as he flicked it over her clit, his fingers grazing over her opening as he did. Buffy shivered and moaned, her thoughts narrowing down to only what Spike was doing to her. The sheer intensity of it was something she knew she'd never be able to find without him, and she relished it, reveled in the sensation.

He grunted in satisfaction as he pleasured her, the taste and scent of her more than he ever could've dreamed of. He'd always loved doing this to a woman, to experience her so intimately, yet none of the women he'd known before had been as sweet as Buffy.

She tasted so pure…

Buffy wanted to hold on, to make it last, but her body couldn't seem to keep up with her mind's wishes. What Spike was doing to her just felt too good for her to hold back, and she came with a scream, his tongue continuing to lap at her until she collapsed, boneless.

Spike moved up then, covering her body with his as he kissed her, letting her taste her own sweetness. Buffy moaned into the kiss, her hand sliding between them to grasp his cock, her fingers encircling the silky hardness. Spike groaned, moving above her as he thrust into her tight fist.

"I love you," he murmured against her lips before he kissed her again, never able to get enough of the taste of her.

She moved her hand faster, stroking him just the way he liked, and Spike had to tear his lips away from hers, a curse ripped from him. Buffy smirked, loving that she could do this to him.

"I love you, too."

Spike met her smirk with one of his own. She was such an inciting blend of virgin and vixen, and it drove him out of his mind.

Buffy knew he was close. She'd learned his body, learned his responses. She knew them better than her own…

"I want you to come in my mouth," she told him, moving so her breath was hot against his ear as she spoke. "I need to taste you."

Spike nodded, past the point of speaking. Buffy ran her hand down his back, his skin glistening with beads of sweat as she urged him to roll over and prop himself against the pillows.

At the first swipe of her tongue over the tip of his cock, Spike cried out, his hips bucking. Buffy looked up, waiting for a moment until his eyes met hers before she took him in, sliding down until she had him all.

In their time together, Buffy had paid close attention to Spike's every reaction until she'd learned exactly how to best please him. In moments, she had him gasping, his hips unable to stay still. He moaned and whimpered, groaning out disjointed words of encouragement as Buffy brought him closer and closer to the edge.

When he was trembling, searching for that last bit to push him over, Buffy reached under him and cupped his balls, her nails trailing over them before she squeezed with just enough pressure to set him off, making him come hard in her mouth.

She swallowed everything, wanting it all.

Buffy crawled back up Spike's body, situating him again so he was now nestled against her breast. She stroked her back and hair, listening to the harsh rhythm of his breathing as he fought to regulate it.

"I love you," she told him, trying to hide the tears that were choking her voice.

"I love you, too," Spike murmured, pressing a kiss against her breast.

There, Buffy held him until he drifted off to sleep.

*** *** ***

Buffy knew Spike had finished his manuscript. She'd known as soon as she'd woken while he was bringing her to bed, as the familiar "pull" had let her know it was time to go home.

Still, she'd fought it, wanting one last time in Spike's arms. She knew she couldn't resist the pull for long, but she'd refused to give in at the first tug.

Now, as she watched him sleeping peacefully against her breast, she knew she couldn't wake him to say good bye. It was hard enough to leave, and if she had to look into his eyes when she did it…

She wouldn't be able to.

Buffy had never ached before the way she did as she slipped from his embrace. Having to walk away from the man she loved more than anything in the world was even more horrible than she'd imagined, her chest growing tight as she struggled to keep breathing.

Were it her choice to make, she wouldn't be leaving now. She'd wrap herself up in Spike's embrace and stay there forever, never letting him go. But it wasn't her choice. Her fate had been set for her millennia ago when the die of her destiny had been cast. She had a purpose, a calling higher than mortal love.

The air around her shimmered, her chiton returning to its place on her body. It was time for her to return to the Higher Realms, to take her intended place once again.

However, she had one more thing she had to do before she did…

With tears in her eyes, she leaned down, laying a kiss against Spike's brow. "I'll always love you, William," she whispered before she turned around, trembling as she stole from his room.

*** *** ***

Rupert Giles couldn't fathom who it could possibly be pounding on his front door at this hour. He grumbled as he got out of bed and put on his robe, tying it shut as he shuffled to the door.

He stopped short, beyond surprised, when he opened it to see Buffy, her face red and tearstained.

"Whatever is the matter?" he asked her softly. "Is…something didn't happen to William, did it?"

Buffy shook her head. "No. He's…he's fine. I just… I have to go now. He's written what he needed to write, and it's time for me to go back. I…" She trailed off, her tears quickly turning into sobs as she crumbled.

Giles was compelled to put his arms around her, trying to comfort her as best he could, his hand patting her back. His rational mind still had a hard time wrapping itself around the idea of Buffy literally being something that should be relegated only to mythology, even in light of the events at the pub, yet he could not deny that the girl in his arms now was very truly in emotional pain.

"Does he know you're gone?" Giles questioned.

Buffy pulled away slightly and looked up at him. "No. He knew I had to leave eventually, but he doesn't know I'm gone now. He was asleep when I left." Buffy stopped, fighting to keep herself from breaking back into hysterics. "I didn't want to go, but it's time. I couldn't say good bye. If I tried to say good bye, I'd just stay, and I can't. I can't."

Giles knew he was missing the whole picture, but somehow, he didn't think Buffy was going to make things any clearer for him. Instead, he decided to focus on the reason for her visit, knowing it must be important if she'd come here after what sounded like her leaving his old student for good.

"What is it you need me to do for you?" he asked her gently.

Buffy sniffled, pulling herself up as straight as she could. "I need you to promise me you'll look after him, make sure he takes care of himself. I know he's going to be hurting when I'm gone, and I can't stand the thought of him being like he was when I found him. You're his friend, and you obviously care for him a great deal, so I know you'll do this for me—won't you, Mr. Giles? You'll make sure Spike's okay for me when I can't be here anymore?"

She was breaking his heart. The pain in her eyes, in her voice, was almost unbearable from where he was standing, and he could only imagine how she must be suffering to experience it first hand. He touched her shoulder tenderly. "I will, Buffy. I promise you, I'll look after him."

"Thank you," Buffy said, trying her best to smile. "It's…it's a little easier, knowing you're here for him."

Giles nodded. "I'll see to it that he's all right."

With his promise given, Buffy stepped back, her eyes closing for only a second before they popped back open. "When you see him again, make sure he knows how much I love him. How much I'll always love him."

The conviction in her voice told Giles her words were nothing less than the truth. "I will."

Buffy's eyes closed again and slowly, she faded away right before Giles's eyes.

He blinked, shook his head, and then stepped back into the flat, suddenly having a lot to think about.

*** *** ***

When Spike woke, his bed was cold. It was already past noon, and he knew Buffy never let him sleep this late.

Panic gripped him, something in his mind telling him he was now alone in his flat, but he didn't let the feeling take hold. If Buffy was gone, it couldn't be for good. He knew his manuscript was finished, but the month was not yet up, and Buffy had said nothing to him about having to leave already.

Could she have left him without giving him a proper good bye?

Unless last night had been good bye, and he simply hadn't realized it.

The panic inside of him growing, Spike jumped from the bed and rushed out of the room, calling out Buffy's name even though he knew in his heart he'd receive no answer. He went into the living room, stopping short when he saw the draft of his manuscript now on the coffee table, a small slip of paper on top.

He picked up the paper, a sob rising from him unbidden as he saw the simple message scrawled on it.

Good bye, my poet.

The paper still clutched in his hand, Spike fell to his knees, not bothering to fight his tears. He'd known this was going to happen, had tried to steel himself for it, and yet, somehow, the moment seemed to come as a shock.

It was no longer a case of a "later" to dread. The moment was here, and it shattered his heart.

*** *** ***

I know that's an angsty one, but I won't draw this out, I promise.

Please review!

Willow was waiting for Buffy when she returned, the redheaded muse bouncing excitedly. "Buffy! You did it! You got your poet to write everything he needed to—and before his deadline, too!"

Buffy tried her best to smile, though the expression didn't reach her bleary eyes. "Yeah, I did."

Noticing the less-than-excited mood of her friend, Willow frowned. "What's wrong, Buffy?" she asked.

"Oh, I'm just tired," Buffy said, hoping the lie was convincing enough. "It's been a busy few weeks."

"I bet it was!" Willow replied, seeming to accept Buffy's explanation. "Inspiring to someone to write so much in such a short period of time would wear any of us out! But it's an amazing accomplishment, Buffy." Willow lowered her voice. "I've heard the bosses are quite impressed that you were able to pull this off. You're definitely getting out of the file room, and rumor has it, you'll be back on assignment within the next couple of days."

Buffy fought to keep smiling over the sickening feeling in her stomach. Never before had she thought the prospect of leaving the file room would seem so bleak. But now… How could she work with another poet who wasn't Spike? Any words she inspired in someone else would feel cheap to her now.

"That's great," she said, though her words held little conviction. "I'm going to go sleep for a while. I really need to rest."

"Okay," Willow replied. She leaned forward and gave her fellow muse a hug. "Congratulations, Buffy. I'm so proud of you!"

Buffy responded with only a nod as Willow pulled away, then walked down the hallway, to her rooms.

Her plush suite was just as it had always been, luxurious and inviting. It had been her home for, well, ever, yet suddenly, it didn't seem like home at all. She longed for Spike's small, dark flat.

It hadn't been anywhere near as posh, yet it had been…cozy.

Buffy had been telling the truth when she'd told Willow she needed rest, so with shoulders slumped, she walked into her bedroom. As she lay down on her bed, it was just as plush as it had always been, with its plethora of blankets and pillows, yet try as she might, she couldn't get comfortable.

Her body longed for the feel of Spike against her, his hard, lean form more comfortable to rest on than the thickest down pillow. Even as she tried to spoon herself against one of her larger pillows, she couldn't seem to recreate the feeling, the lack of both warmth from his body and the sound of his heartbeat painfully noticeable.

The loneliness and loss were even more than she imagined, and Buffy curled up on her bed and cried.

*** *** ***

Waking up the next morning was like losing her all over again. For those first few blissful moments before he reached full wakefulness, Spike didn't remember Buffy was gone.

Then, he opened his eyes, realized he was alone, and the full brunt of the pain hit him all over again.

He hadn't known loss this devastating since the death of his mother, his break-up with Drusilla seeming pale in comparison. He felt almost foolish in light of his time with Buffy for ever thinking what he and Dru had shared was anything truly spectacular.

Spike didn't want to face the day. He wanted to stay in the bed, wallowing in his misery. He wanted to find the closest bottle of liquor and drown himself in it until he couldn't feel anymore.

He didn't.

After all, he'd made a promise to his girl.

His poems were written, yet he still needed to get them polished and typed so he could present them to his publisher. With only a week remaining until his deadline, he needed to do that as soon as possible, not put it off. It was important to Buffy that he keep going even after he'd finished what she was sent there to help him with, and he wouldn't let her down.

Spike pulled himself up out of bed and put on his jeans, then made his way to the kitchen to dig around for something to eat before he got to work on putting the finishing touches on his manuscript. He opened the refrigerator, pulling out a take-away carton, then wrinkling his nose as he opened it and deduced it was well passed its prime. He turned and lifted the lid of the waste bin and froze as he saw it was completely full of empty Ben and Jerry's Phish Food containers.

At the sight of it, Spike broke down.

*** *** ***

It was already well into the evening before Spike finally got to his manuscript. A lump formed in his throat as he read over what he'd written, every word bringing back a vivid memory of Buffy.

He didn't know how he would keep going.

A knock at his door pulled Spike away from the poems, and he grabbed a t-shirt that was draped over the side of the couch, putting it on as he went to see who was there.

"Hey, Rupes," Spike said as he opened the door to his friend. "I didn't expect to see you paying a visit. Come on in."

Giles nodded as he walked into the flat. "I'll be blunt, Will," he said as he turned his gaze on the younger man. "I came here to check up on you, make sure you were doing okay."

Spike didn't bother to try to fake his mood. "I'll be honest, Rupert, I've been better. Buffy left last night."

"I know."

Spike blinked. "What?"

"Do you mind if we sit down?" Giles asked, gesturing to the couch.

"It's probably a good idea. Have a seat."

Giles nodded and sat down, Spike joining him soon after. "Buffy came to visit me last night. Or possibly very early this morning…"

"What? Why? What did she say?" Spike asked, surprised by this bit of news.

"She told me she was leaving and that she wanted me to look after you, make sure you take care of yourself." Giles took off his glasses as he met Spike's eyes. "She also wanted me to tell you that she loves you very much, and she always will."

Spike swallowed, using everything he had not to cry in front of the other man. "I love her, too. God, I love her so bloody much."

"She really was what you said she was, wasn't she, William?"

"Yeah," Spike replied, nodding. "And she awakened parts of me I didn't even know were there before I met her. Simply holding her could be the most wonderful thing in the world."

Giles felt his heart go out to his former student. He knew the sort of pain Will must be feeling now, had experienced it himself a few years prior when he'd lost his beloved Jenny. While Buffy had not died as Jenny had, she was still gone to William forever, some place far beyond his reach.

The emptiness one felt from such a thing was not easy to bear.

His gaze moved to the coffee table, noting the stack of papers on top of it. "Is that your manuscript?"

Spike nodded his head in an affirmative as he reached over and picked up the papers, handing them over to Giles. "Here. Take a look. They still need some revision, I'm sure, but they're a start."

For several minutes, the two men sat in silence, Giles reading over the first few poems in the stack. When he finally looked up, his expression was one akin to awe. "Will, these are… Well, they're nothing short of amazing. The emotions are so beautifully raw, I've never…" Giles stopped short as full realization dawned on him. "They're about her."

Pain flashed across Spike's face again as he answered softly, "Every syllable."

Giles had always known his young friend put little if no armor around his heart. Despite the intensity with which he experienced everything, Spike made no attempt to shield himself from potential pain. His anger was explosive, but the passion of his love knew no bounds.

If Buffy had gotten as deeply into his heart and soul as these poems suggested…

Quite frankly, Giles was surprised Spike was holding himself together at all.

"Are you going to be all right?" Giles asked, his tone and expression both full of worry.

"I have to be." Spike swallowed, fighting a fresh wave of tears. "I promised Buffy I'd keep going. I can't…I can't let her down."

The determination mixing with the pain in his voice now seemed to make Spike's situation all the more heartbreaking to Giles. "Is there anything I can do, Will? Anything at all that would be of help to you?"

"Would you be willing to read over my poems, give them an edit? I just don't think I have it in me right now to be properly discerning right now. It's all too…"

"Fresh?" Giles supplied when Spike seemed to be searching for a word.

"Yeah, fresh," Spike replied with a nod. "I need to get the manuscript typed up and sent out within the next couple of days, and I could really use the look-over."

"I'd be more than happy to do it for you," Giles told him. "If you'd like, I can read over them tonight and have them back to you tomorrow. I know you're under a crunch with your deadline."

Spike nodded. "Thank you, Rupes. I really do appreciate it."

"It's no trouble, Will. I'm always happy to help you out."

"Still, thank you."

Giles started to tell Spike good bye so he could go home and get started on reading over the manuscript for him when he took another look at the blond man's eyes. He looked so lost, so alone, and Giles could not in good conscience leave him.

"William?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you like me to stay here while I read over them? So I could discuss any comments I have with you, of course."

Spike knew what Giles was doing. He was giving him an excuse to have company without having to admit out loud that he was too upset to be alone. He gave a small, grateful smile. "Sure. Probably be easier for both of us that way."

"Yes, quite," Giles replied, returning the smile.

"Do you need anything, old man?" Spike asked, trying his best to seem less broken than he felt—even if he knew Giles would see right through the façade.

"No, I'm quite all right," Giles replied, getting situated against the cushions of the couch.

Spike leaned back then, though his hands tapped nervously against his thigh as he waited anxiously for Giles to begin commenting on the first poem.

*** *** ***

By the time he reached the last word Spike had, Giles realized he'd had very few comments to make that were anything but positive. He knew it was technically a rough draft, written in but a few short weeks, and yet it was already better polished than many volumes he'd picked up in bookstores.

Giles had been able to make a few suggestions here and there on how to make a line or passage tighter, but his more frequent reaction had been one of admiration for the beauty of Spike's work. His first book had been wonderful, but this…

It was truly inspired.

He'd wanted to read it all again, to start from the beginning and get lost in the raw emotion that sang from every word. Longing, desire, passion, need, lust, and love had all been poured into the work, the poems enthralling Giles with the pictures they painted.

One thing, however, kept persisting in his mind.

If this was what Spike had experienced with Buffy, then how would the young man ever move on without her?

*** *** ***

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The next couple of weeks passed in a blur for Spike, and he was grateful for it. His editor had called him within hours of the receiving his manuscript, raving about it, and from there, he'd pushed forward through the publication process, as well as talk of starting promotion as soon as was feasible.

Spike spent his days focused on work, on doing what needed to be done to get his words into print. There, he could find sources for distraction.

The nights, however, were a different story. Sleep proved to be elusive without Buffy there beside him. He'd stubbornly refused to change the sheets, desperate to hold on to her scent, but with time, it faded until he didn't have even that anymore.

She was gone, as were any traces she'd ever been there at all—save for the deep impression she'd left on his heart.

But even through the pain, Spike kept going, even when it was all he could do to keep from letting the loss break him.

He'd made a promise to Buffy, and he would keep it.

So when it became too much, he wrote, pouring his anguish onto the page.

Even without his muse, he still wrote for her.

*** *** ***

Buffy couldn't remember a time when she'd felt more humiliated, even when she had to admit she'd been William McGonagall's muse when he'd written his most infamous works.

She'd been assigned to two poets since she'd had to leave Spike, and both had been pathetic examples of inspiration. They'd requested a new muse within a week, one going as far as to say the only thing Buffy could inspire in him was the need for a drink.

Apparently, she had become downright depressing.

It wasn't as if she didn't try to be cheery and helpful, but it seemed as if every aspect of her existence had now become tainted with Spike's memory. She thought about him every second, every little thing seeming to remind her of him.

It seemed her latest poet had gotten sick of dealing with a muse who regularly burst into tears.

Her superiors now believed they'd acted too hastily in taking her off probation and were currently in chambers discussing what would be done with her. She was certain she was going to be relegated back to the file room for the rest of eternity, but she didn't care. It didn't matter where she was anymore.

Anywhere without Spike felt like nothing more than Hell.

She locked herself in her room, sobbing against the pillows on her bed. Her heart was broken beyond repair, and she didn't know what she could do about it. Leaving had hurt her even more than she'd imagined it would, the gaping hole inside of her only seeming to grow larger with each passing day. She found no joy in anything, no reason for laughter.

"Buffy? Buffy, are you in here?"

Buffy sat up and wiped at her eyes when she heard Tara enter her rooms and call for her. "I'm in the bedroom!" she called back.

Tara came into the room then, frowning when she saw Buffy's tear streaked face. "Oh, sweetie, I'm so sorry this is happening to you again," Tara said as she sat down near Buffy on the bed. "You don't deserve to be stuck in that horrible file room."

"It's not the file room," Buffy replied, shaking her head. "I don't care about that anymore. They can banish me to a rock pit for all I care!"

Tara's brow creased. "Buffy? What are you talking about? What's happened to get you so upset?"

Buffy's face crumbled. "Oh, Tara, I've fallen in love!"

"You've fallen in love? Who have you fallen in love with?" Tara asked before she realized the question was foolish. "Oh. Your poet—Spike."

"Yes, Spike," Buffy said. "I don't even know how it happened, but it did, and now…" She trailed off as she slumped forward against Tara.

Tara gently stroked Buffy's back, murmuring soothing sounds of comfort as she tried to calm her friend. After several moments, she asked softly, "Tell me about it?"

With a shuddering breath, Buffy pulled back up. "It happened so fast. He was very kind to me, and he made me feel…special. Like I was truly something to be treasured. You know how sometimes the people we're sent to help can make you feel all used?"

Tara nodded. "I do."

"Well, Spike didn't make me feel that way at all. I didn't feel used, just useful. And he always made sure I was taken care of, did things to make me happy, like buying me ice cream and letting me chose what to watch on the telly."

Buffy paused for a moment in her story, sighing. The memories she held of Spike were bittersweet now, the happy times they'd spent together now tinged with the pain of loss. "I wanted to be around him all the time," Buffy said as she began to speak again. "I felt drawn to him. I even…" She stopped again, then admitted in a whisper, "I even wanted to sleep beside him."

Tara couldn't help the arch of her eyebrow that accompanied Buffy's statement, but she didn't say anything but, "And did something happen from that?"

Buffy nodded, even as she blushed deeply. "He… He kissed me one morning. And Tara, it was the most wonderful thing I had ever felt." Her blush deepened. "Well, up to that point anyway."

Now, both Tara's eyebrows rose. "Did he do things besides kiss you?"

Buffy nodded again. "Yes. He did… Well, he did some really, really naughty things to me. Way against the rules sorts of things. Just not, you know, that. He would do this thing he called 'wanking,' and I'd stay in there with him while he did it and let him touch me. And…and I'd touch him, too."

"A…and you liked this?" Tara asked, unable to hide the surprise from her voice. She'd never known of a muse who had actually crossed such a line with a human she was supposed to help.

Her blush growing deeper again, Buffy said, "I did. Very much. The pleasure, was…well, it was indescribable. He could make me feel things I didn't even know existed until he touched me." Buffy looked down, her hands playing with the fabric of her chiton. "But it was more than just the physical. He could bring me so much joy simply by being near me. I still don't know how it could've happened, but it did, and now that we're apart, I feel like I've been ripped in two."

She looked back up, tears glistening in her eyes. "This feeling inside me, what it's like to be away from him… It's horrible, Tara."

"And this is why you haven't been able to perform your muse duties since your return?" Tara asked as she did her best to process all Buffy had confessed.

"Yes," Buffy told her, glancing down again. "Spike's all I can think about, and when I think about him, I'm sad—too sad to inspire anyone."

"Buffy, have you considered, well, maybe you're not meant to inspire anyone anymore?"

Buffy looked up sharply, hurt in her eyes. "Tara? How…how can you say such a thing?"

"I'm not trying to be hurtful," Tara said quickly, trying to clarify herself before she upset her friend further. "I just meant, well, perhaps your path is a different one now."

"I'm a muse, Tara. It's my purpose."

"Is it?"

"Of course it is," Buffy replied. "As a muse, I have a sacred calling. It's our inspiration that allows the world to be full of beautiful things."

"In my experience as a muse, I've seen there's no thing more beautiful in all of existence than love."

Tara's words made Buffy grow still for a moment before she cocked her head slightly and asked, "What do you mean?"

"You said you don't know how things came to be the way they are between you and Spike, and I can't say I have the answers, either, but perhaps the Powers That Be allowed love to blossom between the two of you because that is your true purpose. Perhaps the love you share with Spike was what you were truly sent down to Earth to inspire."

Buffy was silent for several long moments, contemplating Tara's words. She'd assumed her love for Spike had been some sort of glitch, a product of the Powers either being too distracted to catch the problem or a deliberate game meant to wound. She'd never thought that perhaps she had been meant to fall in love with Spike as Tara was now suggesting.

"Do you really believe this could be possible?" Buffy asked, hope creeping into her voice for the first time in days.

Tara looked into Buffy's eyes. "What does your heart tell you?"

Buffy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "My heart tells me that I love Spike." She swallowed. "It…it tells me I belong with Spike."

"Then perhaps you do." Tara reached out, taking her friend's hands lightly in hers. "You spoke of purpose, and I can tell you without any hesitation that there is no greater purpose than love."

Again, Buffy's eyes filled with tears as she felt herself being pulled in two different directions. "Should I go to him?" he asked, her voice sounding small.

Tara's answer echoed her earlier sentiments. "Listen to your heart, Buffy. It will tell you what to do."

Buffy listened, and received all the answer she needed.

She loved Spike.

She leaned forward, hugging Tara tightly. "I'll miss you," she whispered in the other muse's ear.

"I'll miss you, too," Tara said, tears forming in her own eyes now.

Buffy stood, though she faltered, standing beside the bed as she was unsure of how to leave. "I…"

"Go, Buffy," Tara said with a soft smile. "Their deciding what to do about you right now, and if they declare you grounded to this plane, then you'll never be able to get back to him. This is no time for long good byes."

Buffy gave a quick nod, knowing Tara was right. "Thank you," she said before she closed her eyes and disappeared in a shimmer of light.

Tara wiped her eyes. She would miss her friend dearly, yet she could take comfort in the knowledge that she would be happy.

"Live well, Buffy," she whispered before she left the room as well.

*** *** ***

Spike hated coming home.

His flat seemed too empty, too quiet, a space in it now nothing could fill.

Nothing but Buffy…

He'd gone out that evening, trying to find distraction with his mates, but had ended up leaving the pub early, his old haunt suddenly no longer holding the joy for him that it used to.

Nothing held any joy for him anymore.

Since she'd left, he'd felt as if he was doing no more than going through the motions, waking up each day and doing what needed to be done simply because he'd made the promise to her that he'd do so.

It had him exhausted, and he didn't know how much longer he could continue. Every day without her was a little bit worse than the one before, and he feared that as time wore on, he'd have to break his promise.

Facing the morning was just too hard when he wasn't able to wake with her in his arms.

Tired and worn, he trekked to the bedroom, his eyes cast down as he opened the door, ready to simply fall into the bed and try to seek the sliver of peace he could find in unconsciousness. Perhaps tonight he would dream of her again.

Then he heard it, a small mewing sound that pierced his heart. Fearing he'd see nothing when he looked, yet unable to convince himself until he faced the inevitable disappointment, Spike lifted his head.

And there, sitting on his bed in much the same way she had been the first time he'd seen her, was Buffy.

*** *** ***

Wasn't that a completely evil place to leave it? Please don't hurt me—I promise to make it all better on Tuesday!

Please review.

Before Spike could say anything, Buffy leapt from the bed and ran to him, throwing her arms around him to hug him tightly. For a moment, he stood still, his mind trying to process that this was really happening before he was hugging her back, sighing in heartfelt relief at the feel of her in his embrace again.

"I couldn't stay away," Buffy said, the sound of tears in her voice. "I'm…" She made a soft sound, almost like a sob. "I'm not whole without you anymore."

A tremble went though Spike's body, her words echoing the sentiments he'd felt since the morning he'd awoken to find her gone. Cautiously, he pulled back to look into her eyes, though he kept his hands on her arms, needing to be touching her in the fear that if he didn't, she'd disappear again. "What is this, luv? Is it one last time, or…"

Buffy's gaze didn't waver from his as she answered. "I'm here to stay, Spike. If you still want me, that is."

"Oh, baby, I'll always want you," Spike said with relief, pulling her back against him again. "I could never not want you."

"I couldn't do it anymore," Buffy said, her cheek against his chest. "I…I tried to inspire two other poets, and I couldn't. All I could think of was you. You're the only man I want to inspire ever again. I'm done being anyone's muse but yours."

Spike couldn't help but feel relieved at her words. As much as he'd known it was what she was supposed to do and he shouldn't begrudge her who she was, he'd hated to think of her helping any other poet find his words. Though he knew she had served others in her centuries of existence, he'd felt as if she was truly meant just for him.

It made his heart sing to realize he'd been right.

She pulled back from him, her eyes now shy, though Spike could still see the desire in them. "Take me to bed, William. Please..."

A shiver passed through him, and Spike wanted nothing else but to toss her onto the bed and take what had been denied to him for too long. However, he knew what she was offering him now meant she was taking a big—and irreversible—step. He couldn't let her take that step unless he was absolutely certain she was entering this with her eyes fully open to the consequences.

"Buffy, I want this more than I've ever wanted anything, but I have to know—are you sure this is what you want? You're giving up immortality, luv. If we do this now, you'll be human. You're going to grow old, and someday, you'll die. Are you sure you're willing to accept that?"

The shyness from her eyes was gone as she replied, "I don't think I've ever been more sure of anything, Spike. I don't want immortality if it means I have to spend an eternity without you. I want the opportunity to grow old—with you." She reached out and stroked his face. "Even if I knew I'd die tomorrow, I'd rather that than never getting to be with you."

Spike started to smile, though it suddenly became a frown. "You're not going to die tomorrow if we do this, are you?"

Buffy chuckled, though his concern touched her. "No. I'll just be human." Her hand came up to brush away from his forehead a curl that had escaped the gel. "Make love to me now. Make me real."

He could no longer question whether or not this was the right thing to do. Buffy was offering herself to him, and he would never be a strong enough man to refuse. He scooped her up and carried her to the bed, laying her out on his silk sheets.

She was such a contrast against the black, with her pure white chiton and golden hair. She reminded him of a new bride, waiting to be introduced to a world of sensual pleasures.

Spike was more than happy to give her that introduction…

He paused only long enough to take off his boots and pull his shirt over his head before he joined her, taking Buffy into his arms and kissing her, using his tongue and lips to stroke the flames inside of her.

She returned the kiss with fervor of her own, no hesitancy in her touch. It did much to ease Spike's worries, to ease his fears that come morning, she may regret what they'd done and in turn, regret ever loving him.

Part of him—the part that had been hurt so much in the past—expected it still. Yet, he ignored that nagging, worried voice inside and concentrated instead on Buffy and the warmth of her touch.

She pulled back, her eyes meeting his. "I won't regret this in the morning, Spike," she told him, reminding him that, at least for the time being, she was still a muse and could still connect to his thoughts. "I'll never regret this."

"I know, but…" He trailed off, his gaze breaking from hers.

Her hand cupped his cheek, and instinctively, Spike nuzzled against it. "You don't have to fear a broken heart any longer," she promised him. "I will treasure yours—as you have treasured mine."

He swallowed, cursing the tears pricking his eyes at a time when he wanted to be nothing but manly. "Buffy…"

"Shh… I know." Buffy kissed his brow. He lifted his head, looking at her directly again, and she pulled him back to her lips, kissing him until he was groaning into her mouth.

Buffy could feel his erection through his jeans, and her body trembled at the thought of finally having him inside of her. She'd spent so much time craving this, and knowing her wait was almost over made her giddy. The air around her began to shimmer as she moved to rid herself of her clothes, but when Spike's hand went around her wrist, she stopped.

"Let me do it this time," he requested. Buffy's response came as a wordless nod.

Spike started at her hair, carefully removing the beaded pins until it cascaded around her shoulders in golden waves. He combed his fingers through, relishing the sensual feel of the strands sliding over his skin.

"So soft, pet," he murmured, leaning in to catch the sweet scent of her hair as well.

Buffy moaned, her eyes closing as she savored the luxurious feel of his touch. It never ceased to amaze her that something so simple could make her feel so much when it came from him.

He took a moment then to inspect her chiton, discovering how she had it fastened before he removed it from her slowly, pressing tender kisses against patches of tanned skin as he revealed them.

Buffy sighed and trembled, kicking off her slippers as Spike dropped the fabric of her chiton down to the ground, leaving her bare under his gaze. His eyes darkened, a look of undiluted lust on his face. His breaths were harsh and uneven as he fought to hold onto his control, making the muscles under the pale skin of his chest ripple.

She licked her lips and he grinned.

"I want you," Buffy said, reaching for him to pull him back down to her. Yet Spike avoided her hands and shook his head.

"Not yet, lamb. I have to get you ready first."

"But I am ready, Spike."

The pout that accompanied her words was almost his undoing, but Spike made himself remained focused on the task at hand. He reached down to smooth her hair back from her face. "The first time isn't easy for the woman, sweetheart; there's usually some pain. I don't know if it'll be different for you since you're currently something other than human, but I'm not taking any chances. I want to make this as good for you as possible."

Buffy's brow furrowed. "This is going to hurt? I always heard it felt good…"

"Only the first time, baby. For human women at least, there's a membrane inside that gets torn when she loses her virginity. It could be different for you, but I'm still not going to do it until I've seen to you properly. Besides, even if you don't have a cherry to pop, I know you're bloody tight. I've had a hard time in the past just slippin' a bit of my fingers inside. I need to make sure you're wet enough that I can cause you as little discomfort as possible when I enter you, yeah?"

Buffy swallowed as she mulled over what he'd said. She'd had no idea this was supposed to hurt… Still, now that she thought about it, what he'd said made sense. She didn't quite know about that membrane thing, but he was awfully big. She'd had to stretch her lips to get it around him, and that wasn't nearly as wide as her mouth.

"Will it hurt the whole time?" she asked him softly.

Spike's hand stroked her cheek. "I don't think so, kitten. And I'll be as gentle as I can."

She nodded, deciding being with Spike was worth any amount of pain. Whatever she had to go through to make that possible, she trusted him to take care of her. She waved her hand. "Carry on then."

Spike chuckled before slipping down her body and settling himself between her thighs. Immediately, her scent assailed him, and he breathed in deeply, feeling nearly drunk on her already.

As he as prepared to taste her, he came to a realization: No more borrowed time. They no longer had to rely on stolen moments, desperately attempting to make memories that could last forever. She was his, and she would be for the rest of their lives.

Peace washed over him, the pain in his heart easing.

Buffy's hands were gripping the sheets, her body taut as she waited. Knowing he'd held off long enough, Spike leaned down, finding her clit and licking around it until she was mewling.

His blue irises were nearly covered with the black of his pupils as he carefully slid a finger inside of her, deeper than he'd allowed himself to before. He stopped when he reached a bit of resistance, realizing that her muse status wasn't going to spare her the pain of having her hymen ruptured.

He'd have to be extra careful with her this first time…

Spike pulled his finger back enough that he wouldn't break through just yet, then added another one, scissoring them inside of her body to stretch her as he lapped at her clit.

Her cries rose in pitch as she thrashed against his mouth, and Spike knew she was close. He pushed the fingers he had inside of her together, curved them up, and slid them across the top of her walls until…

She screamed, her body convulsing violently with the strength of her orgasm. Spike smiled against her as his tongue continued to lap at her, drawing out her pleasuring until she was limp and whimpering.

It was then that he finally climbed back up her body, wiping his fingers on her thigh as he caught her lips with his and kissed her until she was breathless.

"Am…am I ready enough now?" she asked, panting.

Spike chuckled low in his throat, and the sound of it alone was almost enough to make Buffy come again. "Just about, sweetheart." He grinned wickedly. "You're definitely good an' wet."

He came back up on his knees to pop the buttons of his fly, sighing with relief when his erection sprang free. He was painfully hard and throbbing, and he hoped he didn't embarrass himself by shooting his load before he'd had a chance to show Buffy how good it could feel to have him inside.

Spike leaned down again and braced himself on his arms as Buffy's feet came up to push his jeans off the rest of the way, a smile forming on his lips at her eagerness to get him naked. However, when her hand wrapped around him tightly, he called out, his eyes rolling back in his head for a moment before he got control of himself and took her hand away.

Buffy pouted. "Spike…" she whined. "Why can't I touch?"

He shivered, her question and that bloody irresistible pout almost breaking his tenuous control. "Because if you don't stop, then this is going to end before I'm ever inside you, kitten."

"Oh," Buffy said. "Can I touch later then?"

"All you want," Spike promised, dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose. "But let's get through this time first, yeah?"

She nodded in agreement and dropped her hands. Spike then dipped his own hand between their bodies again, slipping three fingers slowly into her. Buffy hissed at the invasion, feeling her body stretching. For the first time since they'd started, she felt genuine nervousness. Spike had warned her of pain, and she wondered now how much. His cock was a little thicker than his fingers and much longer.

Seeing the look of worry in her eyes, Spike kissed her brow soothingly. "It'll be okay, pet. I promise I'll make you feel good. Do you want me to bring you off again to ease your nerves a bit?"

Buffy nodded. "Please?"

"Of course, lamb." His fingers still inside of her, he moved his thumb up to her clit, pushing down as he rubbed in a circular motion. Buffy panted, her worries rolling back in favor of the pleasure Spike was giving her.

Her breasts bounced in front of him, glistening with sweat, and the sight was too tantalizing for Spike to resist. He dipped his head and sucked a nipple into his mouth, delighting at the way it made Buffy gasp. Her hand shot up to tangle in his hair and hold him in place, and Spike smiled around the pert globe.

Her body still sensitized from her first orgasm, it didn't take long for Buffy to come again. When Spike felt the ripples around his fingers slowing, he pulled back, taking hold of his cock and positioning it at her entrance.

Spike waited with the head of his cock nudging against her until Buffy's eyes opened lazily, still hazy from her recent orgasm. His throat tightened, the weight of the moment hanging on him, making him struggle with the force of his emotions.

"I love you, Buffy."

She smiled softly, no doubt or worry in her eyes. "I love you, too, William."

He kissed her then, swallowing her cry as he pushed inside, breeching her barrier. With more strength than he knew he possessed, he stilled his hips then, peppering her face with kisses.

"I'm sorry, baby," he murmured when he tasted the salt of her tears. "I didn't want to hurt you."

Buffy shook her head, her hands coming up to stroke his back. "No, I…" She swallowed, finding the words she needed. "I don't mind the pain. It…it tells me you're really there. You're inside me."

Spike pulled his head up to look into her eyes, awestruck by what he saw there. "Buffy, oh god, Buffy…"

"Make love to me, please. I need…I need it all."

With no more words, Spike began to move, his thrusts slow to keep from causing her any unnecessary pain. Beneath him, Buffy panted and moaned, her hands never leaving his skin, caressing him as he trembled against her.

Their eyes stayed locked, saying things they never could with mere words. Everything was laid bare between them, their hearts and souls open. The air seemed to hum around them, and Spike knew this was truly something beautiful.

He felt the pulsing of her muscles around him a moment before she screamed his name, her eyes growing wide. The feel of her coming around him was exquisite, more than he ever could've imagined, and Spike lost his control, making a few hard, uneven thrusts into her body before he spilled inside of her, her name torn from his lips as he did.

Spike collapsed against her breast, breathing harshly.

Together, they were complete.

*** *** ***

Buffy woke the next morning as the sun rose over the horizon, and stretched her body languidly despite her sore, aching muscles. After the first time, Spike had taken her several more, introducing her to things that made her blush now to think of them.

Still, her blush was accompanied by a very satisfied smile.

She knew she was different now, though she reached out to the power that had been accessible to her for as long as she'd known to check.

She felt nothing; she was cut off completely.

Spike moved behind her, his arm tightening around her waist as he kissed her hair before asking, "Any regrets now, luv?"

Buffy turned in his arms, her dazzling smile warming him throughout. "None."

A smile growing on his own lips, Spike leaned in and kissed her.

*** *** ***

This story's almost over, though there's going to be an epilogue on Thursday.

Please review and let me know what you thought of their reunion!

"We didn't ever know each other, and you probably can't hear me, since you're dead and everything, but…"

Buffy stopped, letting out a deep breath. She didn't think she was doing this right, yet she still wanted to try, in the event that somewhere, by some chance, the spirit of the woman buried beneath her feet could hear her, could know what she'd come to mean to her.

Buffy's hand came out to stroke the stone, tracing the words that had embedded themselves in her consciousness, made her long for things she'd once thought she could never have.

Beloved wife.

Beloved mother.

"I hope your life was a happy one," Buffy said softy, caressing the stone now. "Mine is, and I think… Well, I think you had something to do with that."

Buffy dropped her hand, though her eyes remained fixated on the words. "The first time I visited your grave, I was filled with so much longing when I saw it, wanting things I didn't think I could ever have. You're dead now, so maybe you would've thought I was the lucky one, but all the years I lived seemed so empty in the face of someone who had known love. You'd had a husband and a family, and me? What did I really have to show for all my time in the world?"

A wave of emotion washed over her, and Buffy's eyes shone with tears. "You made me realize just how much I wanted something else. Even with everyone I inspired, I never felt like I really left a mark. What did I matter to anyone? But you… You were already gone, your time here only a mere fraction of my centuries, and yet you had done what I thought I could never do. You were someone's wife, someone's mother. You were loved, and you had loved in return."

"But things are different for me now." Buffy held up her left hand, the diamonds now adorning it glinting in the late-afternoon sun. "I'm a wife, too. Spike and I got married as soon as we could, and I couldn't be happier with him. And well…" She brought her hand down, letting it trail over her distended belly. "I'm going to be a mother soon as well. The doctors tell me it's a girl, and I want to name her after you. Spike says that's okay, so I think that's what we're going to do."

She reached into her jeans' pocket and pulled out the rose she had tucked into it. "I just wanted to tell you thank you, even if you probably don't know you did anything at all. But you were, in part at least, my inspiration. You gave me the courage to trade everything for love, to take a chance and follow my heart, and it was the best decision I ever made."

Buffy knelt down and placed the rose in front of the grave. "May you rest in peace, Joyce Summers."

After a moment, she got to her feet again, giving the grave one last look before she turned and walked back to the cemetery gates where Spike was waiting for her.

"Did you do what you needed to, luv?" Spike asked as he wrapped his arms around her waist as best he could with her pregnancy and leaned forward to kiss her forehead.

"Yes, I did," Buffy replied, smiling at the feel of his touch. She always felt so much comfort in his embrace.

"Are you ready to go home, then?" he questioned, pulling back from her, though his hands continued to rest on her hips, as if her were reluctant to break the physical contact.

"Yeah." Buffy paused for a moment, then looked up at him, her head tilted slightly. "But would it be okay if we made a quick stop on the way?"

"Of course, kitten. What ever you want," Spike replied. "Where do you want to go?"

"I want to get some ice cream," Buffy replied, smiling shyly and ducking her head. "I'm having another craving."

Spike chuckled as he slid his hands down to take hold of hers and then gave them and gentle squeeze. "Ice cream it is then, baby. Come on."

Their fingers intertwined, Spike and Buffy walked away from the cemetery together.

*** *** ***

"Two well-assorted travellers use
The highway, Eros and the muse.
From the twins is nothing hidden,
To the pair is naught forbidden;
Hand in hand the comrades go
Every nook of nature through:
Each for the other they were born,
Each can other best adorn."
—Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Love and Thought,” May-Day and Other Pieces

*** *** ***

That, folks, is the end. There will be no sequel, even if you beg me. This was always just going to be a rather short fic to satisfy an idea that popped in my head and wouldn't go away one night when I was trying to sleep. But, as the epilogue suggests, they did live happily ever after.

Thank you so much to everyone who has read and supported this story, and especially those of you who have taken the time to review. Your kind words and encouragement were like Ben and Jerry's Phish Food for my muse. *wink* I was amazed to see how many people not only enjoyed this story, but were genuinely touched by it. Nothing is more satisfying for a writer than to see her words strike a chord in someone else. So thanks to all of you who shared your thoughts and emotions with me.

Some people have asked if I will be starting a new fic now, and the answer is yes. I have one already set up to start posting next Tuesday (entitled Darkening of the Light, if you look for it), and I'll start another one once I finish up my other WIP, Been Here Too Few Years. I've had a tendency in the past to have more stories going than I can actually keep up with, but my plan for the future is to have two stories at a time (I like to switch between stories when I get blocked, so I always have something to work on) and to try to post the chapters regularly, as I did with this one and have been doing as of late with Been Here Too Few Years. I hope you enjoy the stories I have planned for the future!

Okay, so I've been sort of rambling in an attempt to make this chapter 1,000 words, but I think I've got it now, so I'll just say one more time, thanks to all of you for reading!