Buffy sniffled, her eyes on the television. The protagonist female and antagonist male had just professed their doomed love, and were now fighting to the death.

"I can't believe you watch that," Spike commented, wheeling into the room and settling next to her on the couch. "I mean, who believes in vampires, anyway?"

Buffy raised her hand, turning and glaring at him. "You don't have to watch if you don't want to," she said, her attention once again focussed on the screen.

"I can't kill you," the male lead said finally, facing the female lead in a fighting stance. "It'd be like killing myself."

A single tear slipped down Buffy's cheek. She wiped it away quickly.

"Luv, it's only television," Spike reminded her.

"It's sad," she mumbled self-consciously as another tear threatened to escape from her eye. She glanced over at Spike, who was looking at her slightly incredulously. "What? Imagine how you'd feel if you were an evil, soulless vampire that was in love with the one person sworn to kill you."

"Good thing bloodsuckers don't exist, then, innit? Because I'm upset enough as it is that my physical therapist is livin' in my home an' eatin' my food." He laughed gleefully, ducking as Buffy grabbed a throw pillow with one hand and swung it at his head. "Oi!" he shouted, proffering his own cushion. "You wouldn't beat on a crippled man, would you?"

Buffy grinned evilly. "Wanna bet?" she giggled, getting off the couch and holding the fluffy weapon above her head. "I'll give you a ten-second head start."

~*~*~*~*~

"How much feeling do you have in your legs now?" Buffy asked as she massaged Spike's shoulders.

There was no response for a moment, and when Buffy was about to poke Spike awake, he asked "... wha...?" lethargically. "Mmm... little to the left... only place I can't feel anythin' is," he groaned, "My feet... so 'm wonderin' why I still can't move my... gnoooh right there... legs."

"You realize that if you drool on your pillow, poor Gina is gonna have to wash all your sheets," Buffy teased. "We'll work on getting you moving after your rubdown this morning."

"By all means, pet," Spike said, his body seeming to melt into the mattress below him, "Take as long as you want."

"Na-ah..." the blonde straddling his butt chided. "Therapy is more than bone-liquefying massages. There's a whole bunch of exercises we haven't tried yet." Her hands moved down his spine, finding a stiff place and pressing down, then smiling when it popped with a resounding crack.

"Been tryin' to get that kink out of my back for weeks..." Spike commented. "Thanks, luv."

"That's what I'm here for," she returned, pressing deeply into the muscles of his lower back. "Sheet's moving. Don't worry, though. I won't leave you lying here naked and helpless."

"When do I get another spongebath, speakin' of...?" the bleach-blonde hinted strongly. "I think I might be startin' to stink again."

"You got one last night," Buffy replied. "I think you just like my spongebaths because I'm less scary than the nurses you had in the hospital."

"Somethin' like that," Spike murmured, arching his hips into the bed as Buffy's hands massaged his backside.

"Hey," Buffy reprimanded. "No mattress-humping!"

"Nobody's humpin' anythin' around 'ere," Spike said. "Just tryin' to stretch a little bit, if you don't mind."

"That was definitely a hump that I just saw, Mr. Broad..." she argued.

He turned his head as far as it would go, tucking his tongue between his teeth. "Trust me, Summers, if I were humpin', you'd know." He smirked cockily at her.

Buffy's face reddened. She cleared her throat. "Um... okay. Feel this?" she asked, lightly pinching the flesh on the back of his thigh.

"Oi! No pinching!" he commanded.

"Guess you feel that," she said. "How about this?" She poked him in the right calf.

"Told you already," he said. "The only part I don't feel is m' feet."

"Weird," she murmured, her hands working further down his legs. "Guess I'll have to work on them more." She bent one of his legs at the knee. "This might pull a little," she warned, stretching his Achilles' tendon.

Spike grunted in reply, as the tendon stretched slightly painfully.

Buffy repeated the motion with his other leg, then sat down on the mattress behind him and went to work on his feet. She pressed her thumbs into the high arch of his right foot, dragging the digits upward toward his toes, then back down to his heel. "Feel anything?" she asked.

"Pressure," he responded. "Not much else."

She manipulated each of his toes separately, wiggling them back and forth. This little piggie went to market... she thought to herself. She sat back, removing her hands when she was finished, then stood up and walked over to the dresser.

"What's your favorite color?" she asked, opening the middle drawer.

"Dark red," he replied.

Buffy plucked a dark red pair of briefs from the door, then shut it. "Roll over," she ordered, and a few moments later, she walked over to the bed again to face her nude patient. She worked the underwear onto him fairly easily, once again turning around while he made himself comfortable within the snug cotton, then turned back to him. "How's your chest?" she asked.

Spike raised his injured eyebrow. "I think you can tell for yourself," he commented.

The therapist's eyes flitted over firm pecs and chiseled abs, before settling back on her patient's face. "I meant, do I need to massage it?"

He sighed overdramatically. "If you insist..." he said, his lower lip quivering as he attempted to hold back a chuckle.

"You're gonna have the best skin of any guy I know when I'm done with you," Buffy said. She uncapped the bottle of unscented lotion and squirted a bit into her hand. She rubbed her palms together vigorously. "Normally I don't massage the chest," she commented as her hands squeezed and relaxed against his pecs rhytmically.

"You're good at it," Spike complimented. "Don't suppose you could do it every mornin'?"

Wouldn't mind that at all. "I'll think about it," she said, rubbing the pads of her thumbs just beneath the ridge of his pectoral muscles. "You ever wonder why we never used to get along?"

"All the time," he returned.

[Five Years Ago ~ NYC ~ Summer]

The party was in full-swing, formally-dressed guests milling about and socializing politely. A large banner proclaiming "Happy Birthday, Dawn" hung in the living room of the large penthouse.

In the kitchen, a blonde woman in a curve-hugging black cocktail dress sat at the island, elbows on the marble countertop as she massaged her temples slowly. The noise of the fifty partygoers nearby had given her a migraine, and she was waiting for the Advil she'd just taken to kick in.

"Ahem."

She straightened, removing her elbows from the counter, and turned toward the doorway. "Can I help you?" she asked, her slightly bloodshot eyes taking in the stranger that stood before her. *Tasty*, she decided, was the adjective that fit the brown-haired man.

"Absolutely," he replied, walking toward her and taking a seat at an empty stool. "What're you doin' sittin' in 'ere all by your lonesome, luv?"

"Why do you care?" Buffy spat with far more venom than she intended as her head continued to throb.

"Whoa... white flag 'ere." He held his hands up. "No need to bite my 'ead off for bein' curious."

"I'm sorry... I just have a migraine." She placed her elbows onto the cool marble once again, resuming her temple massage.

"So, you come 'ere often?" he asked suddenly, pouring on the charm.

"I live here," she replied. "I'm the sister."

"You're the big sis?" He chuckled. "You're nothin' like 'er."

The blonde shrugged. "That's not what most people say..."

He cocked his head, gazing at her. "Dawn's sweet, an' graceful, an' happy. *You're not*."

She bristled. "Thank you for your evaluation of me, after knowing me for two minutes." She stood, straightening the folds of her dress, then looked heavenwards. "Why does Dawnie make friends with such pricks?" she mumbled, then lowered her head. She walked past him, turning
and glaring at his brown curls before storming out the door and into the living room.

"Buffy!"

"What?" the blonde snapped, her head turning toward the person who called her name. "Oh, Dawnie, happy birthday..." she said, her tone softening.

The willowy brunette leaned toward her sister, whispering conspiritorially, "I found the perfect guy for you... he's in the kitchen."

"Dawnie, I'm really not in the best mood to meet 'the perfect guy'..." the blonde said, her headache returning with a vengeance.

Dawn latched onto her sister's arm with a strong hand, dragging her back toward the kitchen. "Come *on*... trust me, you don't want to pass
this opportunity up. You haven't dated anyone since you broke up with Riley, and that was two years ago!" She determinedly marched into the kitchen, Buffy stumbling along behind her. "Here she is, Spike," Dawn announced loudly.

Buffy's eyes widened when she saw the brown-haired man she'd chewed out just moments ago.

"Buffy, this is William Broad. William, this is my sister Buffy," Dawn said, pushing her toward him with a stern, "Stop staring and go talk to him!"

"Dawn, I - " Buffy turned toward her sister, but she'd left the room again, closing the door behind her. "Oh, great," she complained. "I'm cursed."

[End Flashback]

"It was your fault," Buffy said, massaging his thigh.

Spike's eyes widened. "How the bloody 'ell was it my fault?" he asked incredulously.

"You're the one who insulted me," she reasoned.

"And you're the one who called me an arrogant prick!" he argued.

"You are an arrogant prick, Spike."

"That's beside the point." He paused. "We're doin' it again."

"Doing what?" she asked as she prodded the muscular tissue above his knee.

"Bickerin'."

"What are you talking about?" Buffy asked. "I never bicker. You're the one who bickers."

He scoffed, but then his expression became serious. "I'm not gettin' in an argument with you," he declared. "Leastwise, not when you're givin' me the best massage of my life." He sighed contentedly when her capable fingers kneaded his other thigh, and just barely kept his eyes from rolling back in his head from the sheer pleasure of the sensation.

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy toed into one of her sneakers, then bent down to tie it.

"Goin' for a run?"

She looked up to see Spike sitting in her doorway. "Yeah," she said, tying the laces of the shoe securely. "Thought I might want to burn off some of those calories that Gina's meals are chock full of before dinner."

"Oh," he said, watching her as she did a few lunges.

She straightened, flipping over the strap of her black sports bra, which had gotten twisted when she'd put it on, then walked over to her dresser and picked up a hair tie, pulling her blonde tresses tightly away from her face. "Have any plans for tonight?" she asked.

"Can't say as I do, luv," he replied, motioning to his wheelchair. "Not much fun to go out when you can't do anythin'." He cleared his throat. "Want to take a stroll around the grounds when you get back?" he asked.

"You'll have to give me fifteen minutes to shower and change," she said as she walked toward the door, flipping off the light. He wheeled backwards to allow her passage. "But I haven't really explored the grounds completely yet. I'd love to," she said as she breezed down the hallway and out of sight.

Spike sighed, turning around and rolling slowly back toward his bedroom. He entered the room, closing the door and positioning his chair in a darkened corner. His nostrils flared as he breathed deeply and closed his eyes, attempting to relax. "Not bad...", Buffy's voice filled his head unbidden. The image of her teeth sinking into a juicy strawberry flashed across his closed eyelids. She moved to wipe the tiny rivulet of juice away from her lips.

"Let me," he said, grasping her wrist lightly and pulling her hand away from her face. He tugged her toward him, leaning in and flicking his tongue against the sweet liquid. He licked and nibbled, taking in all the juice until all he could taste was the salt of her skin, exploding against his taste buds. Buffy's face turned slightly, so he was licking at her lips, and she opened her mouth a bit to allow the tip of his tongue access.

The kiss deepened, and Buffy crawled closer to him, raking her nails lightly down his chest and across his nipples. Spike tore his mouth away from hers, hissing in pleasure. His lips traveled across her cheek to her ear, and he took her lobe into his mouth, worrying it with his teeth before nipping and licking his way down to the curve of her throat.

"Oh, God..." Buffy moaned, straddling one of his thighs and undulating her hips against it. His hands caught the bottom hem of her shirt and dragged it upwards, and she pulled away from him long enough to raise her arms and take the garment off the rest of the way. He pulled her to him tightly, fingers caressing her smooth, bare back, and she gasped, her entire body giving a delicious little shudder as her nipples came in contact with his hard chest.

She slid up his leg toward him, and cried out when his mouth latched onto one of her nipples, sucking furiously. A hand came up, laving attention on the neglected breast, and his other hand dipped beneath the fabric of her exercise pants, caressing her.

"Want you," Spike ground out, groaning in pleasure when Buffy tugged away the sheets and her small hand encircled his aching cock. She pumped her hand lightly, her thumb brushing across the throbbing tip. "Unhh... love you..." He thrust into her fist and his exploring fingers sifted through the wiry curls at the apex of her thighs before dipping downward, encountering hot, soaked flesh.

Buffy hummed approvingly, her mouth once again searching for his as he thrust a long finger into her tight heat. "Please..." she whispered, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along his jawline.

"Spike's got you," he said reassuringly, his other hand pulling down the grey cotton pants she still wore. She lifted up, disengaging her legs from his long enough to kick the offending garment off, then straddled him again. She rubbed against him provocatively, and he clamped his hands onto her hips, stilling her before she caused him to climax.

She dragged her tongue from his Adam's apple to his ear. "Spike," she whispered. "Spike... Spike! God, are you dead in there?"

His eyes flew open, and he groaned, staring down at his protesting erection. "I'm fine, Summers," he rasped.

"You don't sound fine," she replied through the door. "Do you still want to go out? You've been in there for over an hour."

He cleared his throat. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, just give me a minute." He heard her footsteps recede. "... love you..." his words echoed. "Bugger."

~*~*~*~*~

"It's beautiful here," Buffy commented, flipping a stray strand of hair over her shoulder. She sat on a wooden bench that was seated on the cliff that overlooked the town. From above, Sunnydale was a very peaceful town. The pre-dusk sunlight framed her from behind, casting a long shadow.

"My favorite spot on the property," Spike agreed. "Used to come up 'ere all the time, before the accident."

Buffy glanced at him. "It's good that you're here now."

He pursed his lips. "Yeah. Let the healin' continue..."

They sat silently for a moment. "So what is there to do in a small town like this one?"

"Nothin'," he said. "But that's the point, innit? Gettin' away?"

"Yeah..." She watched a flock of birds as they flew by, all of them nesting in the same tree. "Dawnie's gonna call tomorrow. She said she'd call after a few days to see if you'd scared me off yet."

"What's the verdict, then?"

"I think... she said, tucking a leg beneath her, "that I'll stay. I'd feel bad passing up the opportunity to get the best tan I've ever had, just because I didn't like my patient."

"Right," Spike said, a hint of hurt threaded through his tone. "If it makes you feel any better," I love you. "... I don't like you either."

to be continued

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