Disclaimer: This chapter contains explicit adult content. Please proceed with caution.

XV

The curse was no longer an option. Buffy had thrown it away the second her eyes landed on the fallen form of Kendra, lying in a pool of blood on the library floor. For this, for everything, there would be no forgiveness. No second chances. The attempt to restore Angel’s humanity had failed. Now there was only vengeance.

He’d murdered her friend. He’d kidnapped her Watcher. He’d made her a fugitive. He’d gotten her expelled from her school. He’d cost her everything.

There was nothing left. The curse was a no-go. She needed this to be over.

She needed it to be over now.

She hadn’t seen or heard from Spike since the night before. Angel hadn’t mentioned him during their fight in the cemetery—the one he’d lured her into with his flaming immolation-o-gram—and she didn’t know how to take his silence. Angel knew Spike wasn’t in his corner and had probably deduced that he hadn’t been from the very beginning. Not mentioning her boyfriend was a deliberate, intentional ploy. Either Angel had done something to Spike or he was planning on doing something, and though her nerves were screaming to locate her vampire, take him somewhere secluded and will the world away, Buffy forced herself not to panic.

She refused to consider the possibility that Angel had ripped Spike out of her life. That atop everything he’d already stolen, he’d taken the man she loved as well.

She refused to consider it. Spike was a fighter—a fighter who loved her. He’d be all right.

By God, he’d better be. If he wasn’t, she was going to rip the town apart with grief. If the Powers took Spike away from her, there was no telling where her fury would lead.

In the meantime she couldn’t think about it. She couldn’t.

Spike was all right. He had to be all right.

The heart-stopping wail of a police siren sliced through the heavy night air. Buffy froze inside but kept walking, her back to the approaching squad car. She began mapping the best route to the nearest sewer in mind of a fast escape. She knew she could outrun the cop; his bullets were a different story.

In all her life, she’d never imagined needing to outrun bullets. Demons, vampires, the race to the end of the world—sure. But never cops. Never human authorities. Never anything like this.

Angel was so completely dust.

“Hold it right there!” the cop commanded.

Buffy spun around, her heart thundering and her ears ringing. Her eyes immediately landed on the very real gun in his hands.

All rationalism died to fear. She was paralyzed with it.

“Put your hands on your head!” the cop barked. “Do it!”

Hours passed in a matter of seconds. There was nothing but her and the gun. Slowly, her hands remembered themselves and began the slow lift above her head; so fixated was she that she didn’t notice the angry growl which pierced the air until the weapon in question was airborne. It soared to the pavement with a reckless crash, but by the time the noisy clatter reached her ears, the gun was the last thing on her mind.

Spike’s territorial growl consumed her completely. He snarled something unintelligible as his foot smashed into the cop’s chubby chin, then again as he seized fistfuls of police-uniform and tossed the man onto his patrol car, rendering him unconscious.

In a blink, he’d whirled around to her, the malice in his eyes fading into warmth as two very welcome words rolled off his sinful tongue.

“Hello cutie.”

Buffy stood frozen for another long second, relief spearing through her tired, worn body as her eyes soaked in his every gorgeous inch. There was a cut above his left eye and the pale skin of his right cheek was swelling impossibly into a knot of purple and red. There was nothing but strength in his posture—strength and resolution. But he was hurt. Someone had hurt him.

Spike was with her but someone had hurt him.

“Catchin’ flies, love,” he murmured, his bruised lips pulling into a smile. “Don’ tell me you’re not happy to see me.”

“Spike,” she sobbed, jerking swiftly back to herself. And before she could blink, she found herself in his arms, her mouth pressing needy, desperate kisses across his face. She tended every heated patch of skin, every bloody cut. She tasted copper and grew angrier with knowledge. Someone had hurt him. Hurt her Spike.

If Angel wasn’t dust before, he so was now.

“What happened?” she demanded, not pausing long enough to hear an answer. She couldn’t stop kissing his beautiful, broken flesh. Not that he seemed to mind; rather, his arms had closed around her waist and his mouth was exploring every inch of her he could reach. “What—”

“Took bloody forever—”

“—what did he—”

“—to get away.”

Buffy kissed his lips desperately. “What did he do to you?”

“This? Nothin’ but a scratch.”

“Spike!”

He shrugged off-handedly, his mouth more interested in licking her throat, a purr rumbling through his chest. “Ran into a few old friends,” he replied. “Bit of a brawl. Nothin’ more.”

“You’re bleeding!”

It occurred to Buffy out of nowhere that this was the first time she’d seen Spike, touched and kissed Spike, since Valentine’s Day. Since the night he touched her like a lover in the real world. It was the first time she’d felt his skin beneath her fingertips and tasted his lips with her own in months. They saw each other so frequently, but they hadn’t touched each other in what felt like lifetimes.

That would end tonight. This forced-distance. After the battle, they could go somewhere together. She wouldn’t need to wake up alone ever again.

Not that her mother would approve, but that was a horse of a different color.

“Yeah? You should see the other guy.” Spike paused thoughtfully, jarring her back to him and out of her ill-timed reflection. “That’d be guys, actually. Plural. Doesn’ right matter, kitten. They’re dust. Would’ve figured Angel’d know it’d take more than a handful of sodding cronies to stop me.”

Buffy blinked. “Cronies?”

There was a sharp, almost resentful nod. “Right,” he agreed shortly. “I’d wager Dru was too busy with the raid, yeah? Snaggin’ the Watcher?”

“How’d you know—”

“Cronies tend to yap. A bloody lot. One of the reasons they always end up dust.”

She swallowed hard, her mind racing. The world was in a no-end spin. Spike was the only constant—holding her, keeping the ground beneath her feet from stealing her balance. “Giles?” she echoed, her voice barely a whisper. “They do…they do have Giles?”

“Wanker couldn’t figure out how to wake up ole Stoney. Figures enough torture’ll get the old man talking.” Spike sighed and kissed her lips. “He won’ kill him so long as the librarian doesn’t talk.”

“He won’t,” Buffy said faithfully. “If Giles knows how to…he won’t talk.”

“Then he won’ die. He’ll get the stuffing tortured outta him, but he won’ die.”

An image, unwarranted, of her surrogate father bleeding and tied to a chair flashed across her mind. And her insides hardened again with rage. She was placated only for a second with the reassurance that he would still be breathing by the time they stormed the mansion. Those who harmed her Watcher would taste death.

All of them. The cronies. Angel. Dru. All of them.

Buffy held her tongue. Killing Dru would drive a wedge between her and Spike that she didn’t want to consider, but there was no alternative. No talking her out of it. Dru had killed Kendra. Dru had dragged her Watcher into a torture chamber. Dru wasn’t going to walk away from this. She and Angel would dust together, and their remains would choke their way into the bowels of Hell.

“After the world is saved, you’re in for a tongue lashing,” Spike told her, drawing her out of her murderous reverie. “You went after Angelus? Alone?”

“I—”

“Christ, Buffy…do you have any idea…” A long pause stretched between them. Spike shook his head and slowly eased her out of his arms. “When this is over,” he continued, his voice tight as though trying to rein in control, “you an’ I are gonna have a li’l chat.”

“You and I are gonna have a little something, all right.”

He grinned in spite of himself. “Cheeky.”

“He has Giles.”

Spike nodded and turned with her as she twisted in the direction of the mansion. Behind them, the cop was starting to moan and stir on the hood of the car. They had to get away—and now.

“The Watcher has fight in him, love. Beat the living hell outta the wanker, if memory serves.”

“He’s still—”

He nodded again, his hand finding the small of her back. “We’ll get him out, love.”

Yes, they would. They would get Giles to safety. She wasn’t going to lose anyone else. Not her vampire. Not her Watcher. Not anyone.

The ground would be scattered with the ashes of her enemies.

Tonight, she would be liberated of the past, and finally free to embrace the future at her side.

Tonight, she settled all debts.

---

Buffy had braved arrest once already to make sure her friends were all right, and Spike was quite adamant that she wouldn’t again. Thus she watched from a safe distance as he carted her barely-conscious Watcher through the emergency-room doors. It killed her not being there with him. More than the bruises on her body and the cut seeping blood down her left arm—the same Spike had attempted to seal with his mouth, therein proving the myth of vampires and the healing powers of their saliva was indeed just a myth. She wanted to be with Giles as he was carted away. She wanted to see his face and be assured by the proud warmth of his eyes that he was indeed all right. She wouldn’t be satisfied until she saw him.

He was alive, though. And on Spike’s assurance, she knew he would stay that way.

Buffy tended to the few other matters she had while Spike took care of her surrogate father. She called her mother, assured the hysterical woman that her daughter was not a murderer, and told her she’d be avoiding the house for a few days. At least until Xander, Cordelia, or someone not currently in the hospital could provide detectives with a statement which exonerated her as the number one suspect.

It was better to keep busy. If she stopped and allowed the events of the past two hours to sink in, she was sure her body would dissolve into tremors and she would lose herself to the hysterical shrieking which threatened to deafen any rational thought she had left. If she stopped, she would relive Angel’s last minutes over and over again, and that was something she couldn’t do.

What was done was done. No going back. And while she appreciated the finality, there was a part of her which had immediately retreated into mourning. No matter what else, Angel as she’d known him hadn’t deserved his fate. He was gone, of course. He and his soulless counterpart were long gone.

It was hard to imagine a world wherein she could breathe freely. She’d dreaded facing Angel for so long, and without so much as a blink, it was over.

It was over.

Buffy sighed and crossed her arms, pacing herself away from the pay phone before she called her mother more again for reassurance she didn’t need. She wanted Spike.

“Sweetheart?”

She jumped and whirled around. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I was just thinking I wanted you and…” She smiled awkwardly and gestured. For whatever reason, it felt like they’d been parted for hours rather than minutes. And with as jumpy and unsure as she was, she needed him at her side without fault. “Here you are.”

Spike’s mouth tugged into a tender smile and he nodded, wrapping an arm around her middle and drawing her near so he could kiss her brow. “He’s fine,” he said softly. “Was talkin’ coherently an’ everything when I left. Told me to take you somewhere an’ disappear for a few days.”

“Did he really?”

“Well, I think that’s what he would’ve said if he’d worked out the fact that I’m not the sodding enemy anymore.” He grinned wryly, his eyes brightening when she giggled. “I think I had him close to convinced by the time your meaty chum came up an’ accused me of offin’ you an’ the other slayer.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Xander,” she muttered. “I’m sorry.”

“He was jus’ worried about you.”

A soft smile stretched her lips. “You must be even more tired than I am.”

“I was jus’ more eager to get back to you an’ lick your delectable body than bruise your flabby friend.” Spike kissed her brow again and tucked her into his side. “Let’s get home.”

Nothing in the world sounded better right now. “Where’s home?” she asked tiredly.

“Right now, the dingy li’l place I’ve been staying.” He shrugged. “’S not the Ritz-Carlton, love, but it has a telly an’ a loo. Not to mention a big cushy bed.”

Buffy sighed, exhaustion spreading through every cell of her worn body. She didn’t care where they went as long as he was at her side. The world was still spinning around her dizzy head and her thoughts raced against reality to reconcile everything that had happened in the past few hours. She hadn’t stopped shaking, and at this point she doubted she ever would.

It was over, though. It was over. And as soon as the dust settled, all would be all right.

---

In later days, Buffy would learn that Willow had planned to do the restoration spell from the comfort and safety of her hospital bed. The spell never took, of course, and Angel had dusted alongside Drusilla in a fit of rage beside a stone statue which refused to awaken. Giles had remained steadfastly silent in the secret of how to unleash Acathla’s wrath; he would have died rather than forfeit his knowledge, and had Spike not burst in when he did, there was a good chance she would have lost her Watcher in the crossfire.

As it was, the final battle had been rather anticlimactic. Angel’s best cronies had tasted dust when they’d attempted to take out Spike. The egomaniac hadn’t expected to see the blond vampire again, and he certainly hadn’t expected Buffy to storm in looking to cause some serious hurt. No, he’d thought he pretty much had all the time in the world. Time to extract the secret to awakening Acathla from Giles, and then time enough to do some research of his own should Giles’s resilient silence prove to be a truly permanent condition.

Angel had dusted with shock burning his eyes. He’d glanced to the stake protruding from his chest and back up to Buffy’s determined face, and dissolved into a thousand bronze particles. Just like any vampire. Nothing spectacular. Nothing thoroughly remarkable. At the end of the day, he was just another vampire. She’d killed him. He was gone. Angel was gone.

And so was Drusilla.

But not at her hand.

Spike hadn’t mentioned what transpired since leaving the mansion, and Buffy wasn’t about to brave the subject with him. He hadn’t reacted much as he watched the woman he’d devoted himself to crumble into nothingness. His jaw had clenched and he’d heaved a long sigh, but there was little more.

Then again, silence was often the loudest form of communication. Buffy didn’t know what to say so she wasn’t going to try. All she knew was Drusilla had been looking to kill her in the aftermath of slaying Angel. She’d tackled Buffy to the ground, clawing and screaming, yellow insanity stretching her demon eyes, and fangs bared in a fashion which truly belonged in horror movies. It was a face of the vampire Buffy had never expected to see; Drusilla had always seemed composed and elegant, even if she was out of her mind.

She never struck Buffy as the proverbial animal.

Angel’s dusting, however, reduced her to a howling beast. It’d taken Buffy by such surprise that she knew without doubt she’d be dead if Spike hadn’t been there.

If Spike hadn’t snarled and thrust her fallen stake through his ex-lover’s back.

It had happened quickly. Too quickly for second-guessing or anything else. And while Buffy had already resolved herself to end Drusilla’s unlife, she hadn’t known what to expect in the aftermath.

It wasn’t this. It wasn’t the awkward knowledge that Spike had slain the woman he’d spent a century beside. A woman he once worshipped. A woman who, for all intents and purposes, had solidified his fall into Buffy’s arms.

There would be time for reflection in later days, she suspected. Right now, she just wanted rest.

Rest and celebration.

There was something else; an unspoken fear lurking deep within her psyche; one Buffy didn’t want to breach but similarly something she felt they needed to discuss. And as Spike ushered her across the threshold of his motel room—a real motel room, one not confined to the recesses of their dreams—she found her nerves dancing toward the end of madness.

Dreams had brought them together. They hadn’t done this outside dreams. Not really.

A relationship consisted of more than stolen moments at the end of the day. She wanted Spike in her life if he was to be a part of it. She wanted him patrolling with her, dancing with her, laughing with her, arguing and sparring with her; she wanted everything. She wanted the added bonus of having him in the bedroom as well as at her side. Dreams had brought them together; could she trust reality to make sure nothing tore them apart?

“’S not much,” Spike said, flipping on the bedside lamp. The small amount of light didn’t stretch far into the room, but then she wasn’t interested in taking the tour. Buffy just wanted rest, and she wanted it in her lover’s arms. “Covers the basics, an’ what all. Never expected I’d be bringin’ you here.”

She licked her lips, her heart pounding. There was a strain in his voice she’d never heard before, and for half an instant, she thought he might be as nervous as she was. Buffy dismissed the notion just as easily, falling back on the knowledge that everything had changed. There were no barriers here. Nothing to guard them from each other. Nothing to banish knowledge and nothing to hide behind.

The knowledge was both exhilarating and terrifying. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, which was just as well, as she was afraid she’d melt into hysterics if she made a sound.

“Buffy?” Spike was suddenly right in front of her, his azure eyes consuming her whole. There was no condemnation there; no resentment for having cost him his sire. Instead, there was only tenderness and concern. “You with me, kitten?”

Her throat tightened and her pulse raced, but she managed to find her voice all the same. “What happens now?” she asked hoarsely, resting a hand upon his chest.

“Well…way I figure it…” He dipped his head and brushed her lips with his and the slightest taste of him had her insides melting into liquid warmth. “I have you to myself now, yeah? No wonky dreams. No hint of your mum lurkin’ outside the door. Jus’ you…an’ me. I think we should pop into the shower an’ wash the fight off.”

The fight. It almost sounded innocuous. As though nothing had changed. As though nothing was different.

Only everything was different.

“Do…” Buffy licked her lips and sighed. “Do you think…it’ll be different now?”

Spike tilted his head questioningly, his hands carefully sliding her jumper over her head. “Different?”

“You…me…no dreams.”

He considered her for a long, quiet second before realization seeped inward. Then almost as inexplicably, a pang of humor clashed with adoration in the recesses of his eyes. “It’ll be brilliant, love,” he promised her softly. “’m not…at my best right now, but I swear to you, we’ll be brilliant together.”

“You killed—”

The words came from nowhere and wouldn’t be silenced. Her subconscious, it seemed, was much more adamant about getting all the pieces on the checkerboard, regardless of what her conscious wanted. However, the light in Spike’s eyes didn’t fade at the short reminder of what had transpired. If anything, the resolution there hardened into something stronger than anything she’d ever before witnessed.

“She was tryin’ to hurt you, pet,” Spike replied softly, shrugging. “Not sayin’ it din’t smart to…to do what I did. It did. Bloody right, it did. But I love you. Bugger if I know anythin’ beyond that. I love you. I’m so in love with you it’s sodding hard to remember I don’t need to breathe at times. Dru…she tried to hurt you. If I’d jus’ stood there…Christ, I never would’ve forgiven myself.”

Buffy’s eyes watered impossibly with tears. She thought herself too weak to cry; she was wrong. It seemed she was wrong about so many things. And if nothing else, she resolved then to never underestimate his love for her again. Their start might have been rocky, but there was nothing but honesty and love between them now. Now and for the rest of forever.

After all, Spike never lied to her. He hadn’t yet and she knew he never would.

Never.

“This isn’t the end of anything, sweetheart,” he murmured, casting her pullover to the ground before turning his hands to the hem of her tee. “I finally have you here. You’re really here…” In seconds she was naked waist-up save the sports bra she wore, and he quickly rendered her without that as well. Then her breasts were in his palms, his thumbs rolling her nipples as his ragged breaths crashed against her throat. “You’re really here. This isn’t the end of anything. No…God, no…”

Sensation was a funny thing. Sensation had a way of moving the boundaries of time and distance. It was for the sensation of Spike’s lips on her skin that Buffy didn’t notice his slow, methodical removal of her clothing. It was for the sensation of Spike’s hands caressing her body that Buffy didn’t register the fall onto the mattress. It was for the sensation of Spike’s cock sliding between her wet pussy lips that Buffy didn’t register the sight of his fangs until he murmured her name. Until he coaxed her back to him with a gentle whisper, his fingertips gently stroking her face.

“Tell me you love me,” he murmured.

Buffy gasped as he dipped a hand between them, her pelvis arching off the mattress and against his wandering fingers. He found her clit in easy seconds, his hungry eyes devouring her pleasure as though it were his own.

“I love you,” she gasped, bucking hard beneath him. “God, Spike, I love you so much.”

“Do you now?”

“Oh God, yes…”

A smile crossed his face as his mouth neared her throat. It should have terrified her; he was full demon at that moment. The vampiric ridges marking his brows and the yellow glow of his eyes—everything about him was monster. But he was her monster, and she loved him.

And to Buffy, that was all that mattered.

“You still want me, baby?” Spike asked softly, the head of his cock caressing her labia as his fingers massaged her clit. Sparks of euphoria spread through her burning skin, and without warning she was wide awake. The exhaustion which had commanded every muscle in her body was suddenly nonexistent. “Want me inside you?”

“Unh…Spike…”

A smile stretched across his gorgeous lips. Then he kissed her, and the tenderness behind the caress had her melting all over again.

He was right. God, he was so right. And she would never doubt again. There was no end to them. No end to this. The fight was over, but they were just at the beginning. And as long as they had each other, they always would be.

“I want you marked mine,” Spike purred, his eyes flashing when she mewled and arched beneath him. “Remember what I told you?”

She nodded hard, a strangled gasp tearing at her throat. “Forever,” she panted.

“You still want that?” he asked, his voice calm but strained, his amber eyes blazing with need. “You still want me forever?”

“Always.”

An impassioned growl ripped through the air as his head descended. He licked her lips and kissed her mouth as his cock slid against her slick flesh, drenching himself in her wetness and driving her about as far out of her mind as she’d ever been. “I love you,” he murmured. “God…”

“Please…”

He nodded hard as he sank inside her, groaning loudly against her skin and clutching her so tightly the world might well have blinked away. Pleasure split her insides, her pussy tightening and clenching around his cock, determined to keep him locked within her wet warmth forever.

There was no completion if there wasn’t this.

“Fuck, Buffy,” Spike moaned, his touch abandoning her clit to scale up her body, his fingers weaving through hers. “Feel so wonderful.”

“Ohhh…”

“So tight. So perfect.” He kissed her again, his mouth sliding southward until his fangs were grazing the column of her throat. “Now, Buffy? Can I make you mine now?”

Tears stung her eyes and she clenched her vaginal muscles around him, the wonder of his body’s invasion melting into desperation for the slippery feel of his cock sliding in and out of her. She needed to feel him. She needed him stabbing at that perfect bundle of nerves deep inside her. She needed his ivory incisors inside her as his cock worked her pussy. She needed everything he had to give her, and she needed it now. “Please!” The word rode out as a pleading gasp. “Please!”

For a second she thought he might tease her, deny her, work her into a mindless frenzy before giving her what she needed. She thought he might, but he did not. Instead there was a moan of surrender coupled with the pleasure-laced pain of his fangs slicing into her skin. It hurt only for a second—only a second—then her body exploded with bliss.

This. This was hers.

“Mine,” Spike purred against her throat. “You’re mine, Buffy.”

“Yes. Oh yes.”

Something within her locked and she knew nothing but completion. It was something she’d known so long. Something Spike had told her over a thousand times. Something she’d confessed long before she knew how desperately she loved him; before she ever dreamt she could be here. Beneath Spike as he moved against her. As his body pushed her into realms of pleasure she never thought to touch—she’d never imagined existing.

And then he was guiding her upward, his hand cupping the back of her neck and pressing her mouth against the flesh of his jugular. “Bite me, baby,” he begged, his hips rotating, his cock seating deeper within her. “Please. Make me yours.”

She bit down until his blood bathed her tongue, and drank. And when she heard him whisper, “Yours,” in answer to her claim, she knew she’d come home.

She could spend hours making love with him. Memorizing every corner of his gorgeous body. Exploring the scars time had refused to forget with her tongue, finding his ticklish places, stroking his cock with her hands and taking him as far into her throat as physics would allow. She could love him for hours, and in the aftermath of their union, she didn’t want to sleep.

“’m gonna want this every day,” Spike murmured from where he rested between her thighs, his tongue stealing a sensual lick of her clit. “You taste…”

Her body protested impossibly when his mouth left her pussy. She was exhausted beyond exhausted, but she wanted more. She wanted him inside her again. She wanted his cock between her lips and his moans ringing around her head. She wanted everything. Over and over again. “Don’ stop—”

“Not stopping. Never stopping. Can’t…not with you around.” He grinned and raised himself on all fours anyway, prowling up her body, very much a canary-stuffed-cat. “Was that a yawn?”

“No.”

“Buffy…” Spike dipped his head and nuzzled the mark on her throat. The one proclaiming her for all the world to see as his. “’m gonna get this mated stuff right, you hear? Starting with…we jus’ saved the world an’ shagged each other blind. My girl needs her beauty rest.”

Buffy pouted but she hadn’t the strength to argue with him. Instead, she stifled another yawn and curled into him as he rolled them onto their sides, his chest pressed against her back, his arm over her waist. She molded into him as though they had been fashioned that way.

There would be no fearing whatever lay ahead. Not when she’d already won the day. Spike was with her, and he was hers.

He was really hers.

“Sweet dreams, kitten,” he murmured, not without a dose of irony.

Not to be beaten, she grinned and countered with a sleepy, “A dream is a wish your heart makes.”

He chuckled. “No need to tell me.”

“Mmmm,” Buffy murmured, drifting off into unconsciousness. “See you soon…”

Spike kissed her throat with a contented purr, his arm tightening around her middle. “Lookin’ forward to it.”

fin

I’m also aware that the cause of the dreams was never explained. The cause truly didn’t concern me, so you are free to dream (hah! Pun!) your favorite explanation and apply it.

My thanks again to my betas, my readers, and vampgirly for helping me through this fic. It was a blast to write.

Here were the guidelines:

Pairing: Spuffy please
Rating range: any
Timeline: season 2 is good for me :D
Two or three things you would like to see in the fic: Buffy standing up to the scoobies and Spike in a tux grins oh and some Angel bashing
Things you do NOT want in the fic: No Angel kissage
Other Comments:

As I said, I interpreted the guidelines rather liberally to ensure said guidelines fit in with a Season 2 mindset.

Buffy standing up to the Scoobies: Buffy literally stood up to the Scoobies. She stood up, and walked out of the library. Sadly, my creativity didn’t extend to making this requirement anything beyond a cursory nod. I’m sure another author could have done it much more justice. I’m just glad vampgirly didn’t yell at me. Heh.
Spike in a tux: Well, I fulfilled that one all right.
Some Angel bashing: There was a scene around the beginning wherein I made a reference to Xander literally hitting Angel over the head with a newspaper. I also think the “blowjob equals happiness in Angel’s world” equates Angel bashing…but that’s just me.
No Angel kissage: There wasn’t any. There was a blowjob, but no kissage. At least none that I added…I had to adhere to canon. cackles

So yes…liberal and literal interpretation, but I took everything into consideration. Perhaps if I hadn’t been juggling WIPs, I could’ve extended my creativity into something truly remarkable for the guidelines I hazed over. As it was, this was the closest I could come without feeling as though I was betraying the characters or Season 2. I know there are authors out there who could do the above guidelines far better justice. I’m just honored to have had the chance.

Again, my thanks to everyone who made this fic such a joy to write. Stick around—I’ll give you guys more fic soon enough. And while I don’t intend to extend this particular ‘verse, it was a ride I won’t soon forget.

Hugs,
Holly

FIN