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Annie Sewell-Jennings
E-MAIL: Auralissa@aol.com
SUMMARY: After the world is destroyed by nuclear apocalypse, Buffy and Spike meet up in Australia for what may be the last summer on Earth. Buffy/Spike
RATING: NC-17
SPOILERS: Post-"Restless"
Author's site: http://geocities.com/anniesjennings/index.html
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story was inspired by the story of "On the Beach" by Nevil Shute, as well as the updated version of the story as soon on Showtime, starring Armand Assante, Rachel Ward and Bryan Brown. The film is poignant, exquisitely shot, and subtly moving, as it displays the end of humanity in a very calm and remarkable way. I can't stop thinking about the movie. I dream about it. I contemplate it. I fear its possibilities. And I am inspired by it.
Thanks to Phillip-Morris, the unwitting sponsors of this work. Without my Marlboros, I don't know where I'd be. <plug plug> Also thanks to Alanna, for making me read "Iolokus" (XF genre by MustangSally and RivkaT, and a truly inspired piece of work) and therefore helping me acquire the bitterness that inspired Buffy and Spike's dysfunctional relationship in this piece. The Mooselet will always kick ass. Most of all, thank you Heather, for keeping me on the right track and keeping me writing this story, no matter what reservations I may have had about writing two fics inspired by the same film. This one is the fleshed-out version of what I truly wanted to write, and I'm glad that I could take the time to write this story in the way I wanted to write it.
She sat on the balcony in a portrait of light, leaning against
the wooden rail and looking out at the beach that spanned out in
a landscape of flourishing violet and blue. Damp hair still wet
from her shower scattered along her back in a coiling mass of
multicolored highlights and bared shoulders, dotted lightly with
freckles. The cream-colored nightgown that she wore was simple
and almost pure, like flawed innocence, and that was appropriate
for her. It fell to the floor in a shower of simple elegance, and
smoke from her cigarette furled around her face in a blossom made
of gray. Tilting her head to the side, she looked at the ocean,
and he watched her, admiring the beauty that she had suppressed
and hid underneath skimpy clothing and dark eyeliner.
Images flashed through her mind as she watched the ocean, the
waves crashing with a consistency that was remarkable. The chorus
from an old Peggy Lee song came to mind, something that her
mother had always played. "Why does the sun go on shining; why
does the sun seem to shine? Don't they know it's the end of the
world? It ended when you said goodbye." Frail moonlight fell
through the skies, so frangible that she thought it might break
before hitting the surface of the earth. Yet the moon kept
shining, kept rotating around the earth in a slow circling, and
the sun would rise tomorrow in a dazzling display of gold.
Turquoise waters glistened like a still gemstone, and she heard
the constant percussion of waves hitting the sands in the short
distance. The thought of drowning came to mind, the possibility
of losing herself in the aquamarine waters and ceasing to breathe
underneath tons of liquid... She could become driftwood, hollow
and forgotten, and perhaps she'd eventually crash upon the shores
of California again. Maybe she'd one day return home...
Cool fingers slipped over her shoulders, tiptoeing across the
canvas drawn on her skin, and Buffy turned around, furrowing her
brow in confusion. It was Spike, obviously, his chipped
fingernails absently sketching shapes on her skin. "What are you
doing?" she asked, and Spike shrugged his shoulders, the black
tee shirt a sharp contrast with his white skin.
"Drawing constellations," he said. "Drusilla does that sometimes.
I'll wake up and she'll be drawing on me with a razorblade. Scars
me up for a few hours, but being a vampire is the best plastic
surgery out there, no matter what anyone else tells you."
Chuckling, Buffy trailed her finger across the scar that branched
across his dark eyebrow, the white skin soft and shining as scar
tissue often does. "Is that how you got this?" she asked softly,
and Spike shook his head, grinning at her a little.
"Before I was turned, I had a fondness for robbery," he said.
"Turns out that some people don't like robbery so much."
Wryly, Buffy smirked at him. "Wonder why," she said, and he
kissed her fingertip, resuming his absent doodling on her skin.
She took another hit off of her cigarette and exhaled into the
night, the smoke curling upwards to the heavens, dissipating
before it hit the star-painted atmosphere. "Willow had this dream
once about painting on Tara. She was writing a Sapphic poem on
her back. I always thought that would be beautiful to see - I
wonder if she ever did it in reality."
Spike's snide voice answered her. "If she did, I hope that there
are Polaroids."
Buffy considered elbowing him for being a pig, but she decided to
let it go. It was nice, this old banter assumed between them, and
it was relieving to be able to talk about the past without
wanting to scream. She could remember the good memories, such as
Willow's love with Tara, and he could remember Drusilla's
fondness for sadomasochism - if that was a fond memory in the
first place. Their memories were decidedly different, sharing
different sets and different personalities, but she was calming
down. She was able tonight to remember without feeling guilty.
It was a step.
Child's laughter wafted to her ear, and Buffy looked down off the
balcony to the beach below. A child was dancing on the sands, her
father standing nearby, holding a kite in the shape of a Chinese
dragon, exotic and vividly colored, the tail of the kite tied
with different colors that shone in the light like satin. The
child was blurred by shadow, but Buffy could see the joy in the
way that her shadow ran and skipped. Smiling softly, she bowed
her head, until the memory of the dead little girl clutching her
dolly and held tightly in her mother's arms came to mind.
Her skin stiffened underneath his touch, and Spike shook his
head, knowing what she was thinking of. "I don't know why you
keep blaming yourself for that," he said. "It's not like there's
anything you could've done. It was their choice." //Good for
them,// some little part of him whispered. //At least they had
the courage to go on and do it instead of being a big poof.//
Brokenly, her head shook from side to side, and she felt the
distance grow inside of her, as though her soul was being
stretched out by pain. "I know that they did," she said softly.
"But what a choice..."
Spike snorted a little, irony and bitterness heavy in his voice.
"Rather ironic, isn't it, that suicide is usually considered to
be an act of cowardice?" he asked, looking at the slope of her
neck, and wondering what it would look like if torn open. "And
yet I rather admire those blokes for having the wrinklies to do
it." Troubled, Spike snatched the cigarette from between her
fingers and took a long hit off of it, the menthol unfamiliar and
only mildly soothing, before attempting to pass it back at her.
Tilting her head at him, she acquiesced and gave him the
cigarette, pulling another one out of her pack and lighting it,
the alabaster silk rippling across her bronzed body.
"You're afraid to die," she said, and he glared at her
defensively.
"Well, there's no need to broadcast it, now is there?" he said,
taking an angry hit from the borrowed cigarette. "So what if I
am? I was promised immortality and now I'm fucked. So yeah, I'm a
little hacked off that I'm dying, and I..." He swallowed a
little, lowering his voice to dark, embarrassed tones. "I never
thought about it before. I've tried to kill myself, waking up and
trying to throw the curtains aside, or carve a stake for myself,
but I can't. I can't work up the bloody nerve to off myself."
Angrily, Spike tossed the cigarette off the balcony with a
flourish, watching the spark sail through the night and then
tumble down the cliffs, disintegrating into black.
She turned around, smiling at him a little sadly. Lowly, Buffy
rubbed his shoulders with her fingertips, and she leaned across
to rest her cheek against his chest. "Then don't be afraid," she
said lightly. "Don't think about it. So what if we're all going
to die? So what if we're scared? Our time hasn't come up yet.
We're still alive. I know that it might not feel like it or seem
like much, but maybe we should just make the most of what we've
got."
Live to the fullest... It was a nice idea. A welcoming idea. To
embrace the world that was left, to laugh and be filled with joy
before the end of the world came... She smiled, thinking of
running through the tide pools that collected on the beach in
front of her house while holding a kite, just like the little
girl on the beach right now, or lounging in a chaise with a glass
of wine while reminiscing over the good old days. To think of the
past without pain, to remember instead of torture...
Buffy arched her eyebrow at the peroxide blond vampire who was
intent on drawing a map on her skin, and she lightly caressed one
angular cheekbone. "It's a nice thought," he finally commented,
and when she smiled at him, he scowled at her. "Don't think I'm
going all soft on you," he said in warning. "I've never been one
of those fluffy kitten types. That was Angel's job, and he
handled it quite nicely."
The memory of her lover's face came to mind, with his beautifully
soft mahogany hair and his skin that was like brocaded porcelain,
cool to the touch. She thought of thinking of him with pain, but
instead she remembered him with a fondness. She remembered making
love to him in their single sweet coupling, of touching his mouth
and knowing that he was the one who would always understand and
embrace her, and it was a good thought. "Angel was a good man,"
she murmured. "He was a good person, no matter what demons
haunted him. I love him." She didn't say it for his benefit, but
rather for her own, and Spike bit his tongue and choked back a
nasty remark.
"You know what I miss?" Spike said. "I miss peaches." At
her
confused look, he rolled his eyes. "Not *your* Peaches, but
actual peaches, you ninny."
Arching her eyebrow, Buffy looked at him strangely. "You like
peaches?"
Spike grinned at her. "Yeah, I do," he said. "Vampires have a
fondness for fruit. Good substitute for blood. When this bloody
chip was still functioning, I ate fruit by the truckload.
Something to sink my teeth in, you know. It's like chewing gum on
a non-smoking flight. But I always fancied peaches above the rest
of them." At her look of curiosity and almost fondness, Spike
shrugged and turned away. "Too bad that it's not peach season
anymore."
Smiling a little at him, the first real smile she'd given him in
a while, she raked her fingers through his hair. "The real
victims are the fruit," she said, and he snorted a little laugh
for her, amused by her random thoughts. She had always been such
a strange woman - wearing platform sandals with daisies
embroidered in the leather while kicking his ass from Sunnydale
to Cleveland was just one of her many quirks.
Sighing, Buffy leaned back over the rail and looked down at the
beach below. It was unfamiliar terrain to her, Australia, a place
where spiders could kill in a second rather than the more unusual
(but more familiar for her) vampires and demons. A place where
cliffs and jagged rocks signified beach area rather than sand
dunes or boardwalks. She ached for California, missed its sweet
softness and its smooth sands. She yearned for the good old days,
and was suddenly struck with a sharp pang of homesickness.
"There was a road stand in Sunnydale that Riley used to stop at
to get fruit from," Buffy murmured, her voice low and cool, like
a sea breeze. "Fresh apricots and great apples, and figs. He had
a thing for figs. When he found out that Giles had a fig tree in
his courtyard, he was giddy for the rest of his day. Free fresh
fruit - he'd feed it to me sometimes when we were in bed. But the
orange peels got the sheets sticky, so I banned those." Sensible
and smart - Spike bet that she'd done it with the little pout
that she often utilized to get her way.
"Dru liked bananas," Spike said thoughtfully. "In Brazil, they
fry them for breakfast. Fresh off the vine, allowed to ripen
there, and they were bloody amazing. Nothing like them in the
whole world."
Bonding over fruit... She was actually about ready to laugh at
the absurdity of it, discussing their lovers' fruit preferences
with each other like they were old chums instead of mortal
enemies thrown together in the ruins of Earth. It was almost
nice, this civilized conversation between the Slayer and a
vampire, and she tilted her face up to kiss him softly on the
mouth, lingering slightly on the curl of his lower lip.
"Peaches are my favorite fruit too," she said serenely, and left
him in a state of surprise as she walked off the balcony and into
the house, her long white nightgown and crimped colored hair
trailing behind her like a punk bride.
When he walked inside, following her with an odd compulsion,
Spike saw her stripping off her white nightgown so that she was
only clothed in a pair of black silk panties, her breasts ripe
and rare in the nightgown. She opened up the closet doors and
revealed a massive wardrobe ranging from casual to slutty, and
she picked something out of the more comfortable genre. She
pulled on a turquoise spaghetti-strapped top and a pair of blue
jeans that were cut off below the knee. Clamdiggers - he'd stolen
her fashion magazines while she was sleeping earlier in the day,
before turning to the morning paper. Her slender feet slid into a
pair of simple platform sandals and she smiled at him
appealingly. "I need to take a walk on the beach," she said,
shoving a pack of cigarettes into the waistband of her denims.
"You're free to join me."
Spike considered it, weighing the option carefully. Stay here in
the Slayer's house or see how amazing her hair looked while being
caught on the wind... "All right," Spike decided, and he picked
up his own pack of Marlboro Reds, jingling his gold Zippo lighter
in between his hands, tossing it back and forth out of boredom.
"Let's go have a romp by the sea."
A boardwalk led from the house to the beach, long and sturdy,
enough to survive a storm and possibly the end of the world.
Stairs crawled down like spiders' legs to the rocks, stretching
down the sands and across vivid green sand dunes. Seashells
coated the railing in an artistic fashion; whoever had previously
owned her house had a flair for decorating. The tide was low,
revealing a long distance between the boardwalk and the sea, and
she stood there for a moment, watching the waters wax and wane,
washing on the shores like soft fingers made of foam and aqua.
She seemed clad in sea, in the turquoise top that she wore, as
she bent over to fight the impossible battle of lighting a
cigarette on the beach. The ocean winds were always moving, and
Buffy cupped her hand around the white Bic while frowning, a
cigarette hanging between her lips. Sighing, Spike pulled out his
own Zippo and lit her cigarette for her, bending his own head
down to light his Marlboro Red. Menthol was for sissies, no
matter how good it tasted.
Manicured fingers slid the Zippo out of his hands, and she looked
at the inscription, smirking when she read it from the shadows.
"Roller Racer?" she asked, and Spike snatched the Zippo out of
her fingers, pocketing it in his jeans.
"Present from the giant poof when I was still wheelchair-bound,"
he said, his mouth twisted in an irritated sneer. "Pillock
thought that he'd make a ninny out of me because I couldn't walk
around. Stole Dru and made fun of me whenever he could." The
bitterness in his mouth was sour and irritating. "Guess he did
make a fool out of me in the end."
One slender gold eyebrow arched at his statement, and Buffy shook
her head, taking her cigarette out of her mouth and holding it
between two fingers. "You're not a fool," she said, sparks flying
off of her Marlboro as the wind blew in from the water's edge. "I
used to think that you were, but you're not." She flashed her
eyes at him mischievously. "You're rash and impulsive, and
probably in need of a little Ritalin, but you're definitely
smart." Before he could give her his patented arrogant smirk,
Buffy spoke again. "But you've got an ego the size of the Empire
State Building already, so don't think I'm going to stroke it for
you."
He gave her the smirk anyway, eyes flashing in a primal manner
that had always managed to shake her to the core. "Something else
you'll stroke?" he asked, and she rolled her eyes, stepping away
from him, hiding a smile. She wouldn't let him know that his
brand of smug sensuality charmed her, or else he'd never stop
using it on her.
Groaning, Buffy kicked off her sandals and let her feet sink into
the plush and moist sands near the water's edge. Tidal pools had
collected in the wake of the receding tide, revealing miniature
kingdoms of sea life. Hermit crabs crawled in and out of the
waters, carrying swirling shells on their backs, and schools of
minute fish swam eagerly through their newly carved surroundings.
They scattered quickly when the former Slayer stepped into the
tidal pool, the waters lapping serenely at her slender ankles. He
watched in amusement as she was careful not to flick ash from her
cigarette into the pool, not wanting to disturb the serene
landscape that had settled over the hours.
"Tidal pools are the neatest things," she said, her voice and
words sounding almost giddy. Maybe the drunkenness hadn't worn
off from their stint at the warehouse from earlier on in the
night. "They're like little outdoor aquariums."
"Except that you don't have any of those little skeletons to put
in the bottom of the tank," Spike reminded, and she ignored him,
bending down to pick up a conch shell that was pearly pink and
lustrous in the light. A few scattered barnacles clung
desperately to the shell's polished surface, but she thought that
they only added to the peculiar beauty of the seashell, and
considered stealing it away from its resting place in the tidal
pool. Considered taking it and putting it on her mantle like a
prize.
Instead, she replaced it in the waters, and turned her head out
to the sea.
The tumultuous motion of the water was something that had always
fascinated her. Tides never ceased or slowed, no matter what
happened to the rest of the world. Nature did not depend on
mankind for operation. Towns and civilizations would die, were
dying now, in fact, but the waters would still bestow beautiful
gifts of the sea on the land, even if no one ever saw them.
Narrowing her eyes, Buffy gazed out at the distance, looking down
a stretch of beach. It was abandoned on that side, the houses
darkened and lights extinguished. For a brief moment, she felt
the suddenness of their impending death. This was how the world
would feel when humanity died. This was the desolation and
destruction that would soon descend upon them in the most
impenetrable of nights. They were in the twilight of the world
now, that heavy and rich period of time when the sky glimmered
with a cerulean glow and the stars just barely twinkled, sun
descending and moon stealing its place. They were suspended in a
state of extended dusk, before the night rose and they all fell
into an everlasting slumber.
Sweet humidity coursed through her blood as she stood there, bare
toes murmuring through the waters, and Buffy realized in that
moment that they were experiencing what would be the world's last
summer. There would never be an autumn, with its resplendent and
showy foliage, or a winter that shimmered like endless vampiric
skin on the landscape, and spring would never blossom and unfurl
in radiant colors and perfumes. This was their last season on the
planet, the last months that they would ever be able to grasp.
Perhaps this was their final opportunity to taste the saltwater
on their tongues, their last chance to wade in water, and their
terminal try for happiness.
It was a better way than living like the dead.
A wavelet rippled out and touched her calves, and Buffy grinned,
looking down at the lacy waters with mischief and joy brewing low
inside of her chest. Wicked ideas were stewing inside of her
head, culminating and combining with the feeling of absolute
freedom on the strip of sand. Quickly, Buffy shot Spike a
mischievous glance, and flicked the cherry off of her cigarette,
watching the ash burn and sizzle into darkness in the wet sands.
After she tucked the butt away in her pocket, careful not to
litter, Buffy winked at the peroxide vampire and tore her tank
top off of her head, peeling the fabricated ocean away from her
skin in favor of the actual sea. She wriggled out of her
clamdiggers and panties, and took off for the waters, streaking
the short distance into the cool waters, laughing like a madwoman
and leaving the vampire shocked.
Peals of laughter fell from her mouth like wind chimes as she
dove gracefully in between the waves, letting the seas swallow
her. She disappeared underneath the darkened waters, and Spike
ran out to the water's edge, gaping at the girl who had decided
so unusually to act like a child and not an emptied whore. She
emerged from the waters in a pool of multicolored hair, sleek and
sweetened by seawater, and Buffy laughed as she took in the
expression on his face. "Get your ass in here!" she yelled, and
Spike groaned, bending over and putting his cigarette out in the
wet sands, not caring enough to think of the litter.
"Angel was right," he muttered confidentially to the hermit crab.
"I *am* a big ninny."
And with that, he peeled off his clothing, shedding black to
reveal alabaster, and dove in after her, graceful as a dolphin,
cutting through the waters like a blade. For a moment, being
surrounded by the waters was like being encased in the womb,
nurturing and kind, and Spike remained there, floating calmly,
briefly contented to be immersed in something as familiar and
liquefied as the ocean. Breath was not an issue for him; he could
remain in the water for as long as he liked, and yet he surfaced
with a flourish, droplets of water flinging away from him as he
shook them off. A high-pitched cry of absolute joy sprung up from
Buffy's throat as she yelled with bliss, and she laughed with a
happiness that was almost insane.
"What in the bloody hell are you *doing*?" Spike yelled, and
Buffy grinned impishly at him, her wildly colored hair floating
on the surface of the water like mad seaweed.
"I'm having fun!" she yelled back, splashing water at him with
her slender hands. "Instead of moaning or weeping, I'm having
fun!" And with another banshee-like scream, she dove underwater
and surfaced next to him, her fingers climbing up his bare torso
and wrapping around his neck, a wild grin on her face that seemed
barbaric and utterly charming, like an eight-year-old about to
put a whoopie cushion on the teacher's seat. It was enough to
make him almost smile.
"You're a loon, Summers," Spike remarked, and Buffy just
continued to flash him that winning and adorable grin, mouth wide
and eyes dancing like the waters that she was surrounded in. "An
absolute loon. You've lost the plot."
"Well, then why don't you help me find it?" she drawled, and she
ducked her head under the water, manicured nails tickling his
feet in a fashion that was irritating and endearing. Yelping,
Spike dove underneath the waters and felt warm limbs, liquid and
smooth, and small and young breasts underneath the embrace of the
waters. She was laughing outright when he pulled her out of the
waters, saltwater entering her mouth and forcing her to spit in
an utterly unladylike fashion.
Spike smirked at her, and she slapped him, not cruelly, but
playfully, grinning as she did it. In response, he shoved her,
and she cackled with laughter, leaping on him to try and dunk the
offending vampire. As she wrestled with him, her smooth copper
skin beaded with water and sweat moved gracefully over his body,
her slender shoulders and smooth, aquiline figure caressing his
body in an inviting caress. The cool water did nothing to deter
his arousal; it stimulated him instead of crippling him. She was
exquisite and easy with the waters, avoiding the waves that
threatened to knock her over, gracefully flowing in the tides,
and her Slayer training taught her how to bring him underneath
the waves with ease, until he was submerged in seawater and salt.
Grinning wolfishly, the bleached blond emerged with water
clinging to his slightly wavy locks and trailing down the forked
scar in his dark eyebrow. "You know, Slayer, I haven't been
skinny dipping in aeons," he said, and Buffy arched her eyebrow
at him devilishly, scouring his bare chest with her eyes,
drinking in the beads of water that clung to and poured down his
abdomen in a trail of moisture.
"Well, this is my first time, so I guess we're pretty much prudes
together," she said wickedly, and then pressed her body up to his
in a crush of coppery skin, binding his mouth to hers in an
enchantment of saltwater and sensuality. A battle of cool and
warm took place as their tongues fought for dominance, a minor
parody of their own constant war that neither of them would ever
win. She slid her hands down to the small of his back, swapping
positions with him, and he bunched his hands in the soaking silk
of her hair, kissing her slowly and contentedly. She tasted like
saltwater and tobacco, and he tasted the same way.
Grinning, she flashed her eyes at him, like pale seawater ringed
with darker circlets of jade, hidden underneath flared dark honey
eyelashes. She gravitated the ripe plum of his earlobe, flicking
her tongue against the lush droplet of flesh, tasting the salt of
the sea on his skin. His voice was like honey fermented in
London, so beautiful that Buffy wanted to taste his consonants
and vowels, to gorge herself on his vocabulary of mysterious
slang and curses so exotic that they were almost quaint instead
of coarse. "Remember tonight for me," Buffy murmured. "You're
going to be around a little longer than I will at least, and I
want someone to remember how wonderful this feels after I'm
dead."
Tangling her fingers through the fine hairs that hit the nape of
his neck, Buffy fastened her mouth to his again, arching her back
so that the tops of her breasts, tipped by fine nipples the color
of coral were exposed from the depths of the ocean. She was
exquisite, so magnificent that he wanted nothing more than to dip
his head to her and take her pert young breasts into his mouth.
When he saw the look on his face, the former Slayer smiled in a
coquettish fashion and acquiesced to his unspoken demand. The
feel of her heated skin covered in the cool waters was ravishing,
like fire that could never be extinguished, no matter how much
water was poured onto its flickering flame. Smiling beatifically,
Buffy bent backwards and let herself float in the waters, as
Spike lowered himself to her body and dunked his head beneath the
waters. She could not see him, not even a flicker of lightning
hair exposed by the waters, but she felt the track of his mouth
as he descended low on her body. A kiss landed in her navel, and
another one made its way on the inside of her thigh, until she
felt him part her legs, like he was diving for pearls.
Ecstasy clouded her vision and thoughts as she felt his lower lip
brush over the intimate and heated folds in between her legs,
that generous mouth pleasuring her in a fashion that was less
brutal and more loving. A teasing tongue slid inside of her
briefly, and she jerked backwards, a low moan erupting from her
throat that was instantly stolen away by the wind. A sweet
symphony of sexuality building inside of her, reaching for its
crescendo, and he played her body magnificently. She should have
known that he could be so good at this, with his infatuation with
constant motion and the way that his body radiated sex with every
singular movement.
Throbbing, pulsing, her body floating buoyantly on the surface of
the water, Buffy cried out when his tongue whispered over the
aching bundle of nerves covered in her secret folds. A sharp gasp
was ripped from her mouth, and she opened her eyes, looking at
the stars that flickered in the midnight sky. Everything was
still for that moment, as though time had stilled for her, giving
her this moment of bliss in water. She was living in the funnel
of the hourglass, sands shifting all around her, but she refused
to move from this capsulated portion of time.
Frenetically, Spike's tongue moved over her, and Buffy arched her
back, her body on fire with the joy of being consumed, and she
came with a furious joy, laughing instead of crying, and the
rapture of being so filled with happiness. It didn't matter in
that moment that the world was coming to an indefinite and
horrible end; she was happy then. She was content. When he
surfaced from the waters, liquid sluicing down his high and
haughty cheekbones and pooling on his lower lip, Buffy kissed him
with a smile and tasted herself on him. It was the first glimpse
of who she was in months.
"Come back to the house," the former Slayer said to the vampire.
"I've got a new perspective on life."
Spike grinned at her. "And what's that, luv?"
She winked. "I'm alive right now, and I'm going to make these
final days into one hell of a party."
With that, she kissed him heartily, and then dove underneath the
waters, leaving him no choice but to follow her.
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