Evening had rolled into Washington by the time Willow arrived at the White House. Donna was there to greet her at the entrance to the West Wing, a dress sealed in a laundry bag slung over her shoulder. The redhead was given the now-familiar badge that identified her as a visitor, passed the security guard who knew her by name, and followed the blonde through the maze of the back halls toward the ladies room.

“I know this was last minute,” Donna said. “Thanks for getting here so quickly.”

“Is there any word on Galileo?”

Donna shook her head. “No, not yet, and there’s a whole new thing right now that I can’t talk about. And Josh is going out of his mind.”

“What else is new?”

She smiled wanly, swinging the door open and all but shoving the dress into Willow’s hands as she ushered the younger woman inside. “Well, he has to pick a stamp.”

“A stamp?”

“It’s a thing where Leo gave it to Toby who passed it off to Josh, because Josh was being Josh and, frankly, deserved it. But now Josh has all but passed it on to me, and we’re trying to find a way to get this guy on a stamp by means of stating we honor his contribution and not his politics.” Donna sighed. “I know some day I will look back and long for the times when I’d have to put up with Josh when he has assignments like this, but for now, just between us…”

Willow frowned. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it; you get to do the fun thing.”

She eyed the dress hesitantly. “Are we sure this is a good idea?”

“We’re not sure of anything, but once the President says you’re doing something, you’re pretty much committed.”

“I don’t think the President’s thought this through.”

Donna shrugged. “It could be that he doesn’t want to go and is making everyone on his list suffer alongside him.”

The redhead sighed at that, shutting herself inside the first stall to change. “So it’s just me, Sam, and CJ?”

“Looks like.”

“Yeah, the press is going to eat that up.”

“Well, seeing as you’re not going anywhere and the White House has remained adamant in the fact that you and Sam have a perfectly normal, healthy, adult relationship, I think showing up together at this thing is just what the doctor ordered.” The blonde smiled slightly. “You know, I know the past couple weeks have been difficult, but maybe this was for the best. Once the thing blows over, you and Sam won’t have to hide anymore.”

“You mean we might be an actual couple?” Willow retorted, draping her sweater over the stall door.

“Think you can handle it?”

“Guess we’ll find out.” She paused. “It’s not just that. I haven’t seen Buffy and Spike in months, and I don’t even get to meet them at the airport.”

Donna smiled sympathetically. “I know. But that’s just a consequence of being in the business, even by association. Trust me, they’re getting to stay in the Lincoln Bedroom; they’re not getting the fuzzy end of the lollipop.”

Willow shook her head. “No, but the President’s going to learn why Sam tried to talk him into putting them up in a hotel instead. You remember how loud they are, don’t you?”

The blonde flashed her a skeptical look. “Believe me, I’ve tried to block it out. I still don’t understand it…they were in the townhouse. There were numerous walls between us, and yet—”

“I guess it’s the superhuman thing. And, trust me; it’s gotten worse since Buffy became a god. The few times I was over at their apartment to steal their cable, they got so loud the neighbors called the cops.”

“Really?”

Willow grinned. “No, but that’d be a great story, wouldn’t it?”

“I’d believe it, too. I definitely remember the ‘all over each other all the time’ part…for some reason, even before they were a thing.”

“That’s because they invented excuses to sneak off together and flirt shamelessly before putting words to actions.” She paused. “Charlie’s meeting them?”

“I’m going to try to get there, too, but there’s no telling if Josh will let me leave. Either way, you’ll see them tonight. I know the President’s looking forward to meeting them.”

“I’m sure a time will come when I’m actually used to these conversations that involve the President in terms of ‘that guy I know.’”

Donna sighed wistfully. “It happens slowly. He was the governor of New Hampshire when I knew him. The transition from the candidate to the President was hard, too, but we made it. And not to completely change topics, but hey, I saw that they found your ex through that article that what’s-his-name submitted to the Times.”

“Jonathon Levinson,” the redhead replied dryly. “I never thought he’d ever sell me out like that.”

“Well, all I know is, Toby was relieved. He was worried that the article might go into detail about other aspects of Sunnydale life.” Donna shrugged again, meeting her own eyes in the mirror’s reflection. “Really, it was generic stuff that got swept aside in Wednesday’s news cycle.”

“Except that they found Oz.”

“And he gave them nothing.”

Willow opened the door and stepped out awkwardly, dressed in a long, black evening gown that made her feel even paler than usual. It was sleek and elegant—evidently, the only dress that Donna had ever paid for that cost over two hundred and fifty dollars. Rather, in Josh’s words, the only dress she hadn’t stolen by wearing it one day and returning it the next with the tags in place. It was a little tight in the bust, which made her worry that she would look whorish, but one glance in the mirror dismissed that fear rather quickly.

“Wow. You look fantastic,” Donna praised.

“I feel weird.”

“You don’t look it.”

“Donna, the last time I wore something like this, I was a senior in high school and I was going to the prom.”

“Well, then I say you were long overdue.”

She nodded, pursing her lips, her thoughts still with her former boyfriend. It seemed lifetimes had passed since she had seen him. She was no longer the awkward girl she had been; she was a woman now, more so than she ever could have been with him. There were times when she was reminded so sharply of her werewolf and found herself overwhelmed with nostalgic sadness, but there was nothing to be done for that. She loved Sam. She planned on being with Sam for the rest of her life. Daniel Osborne was a part of her past. A part that couldn’t help from resurfacing every few months to remind her of a life that no longer existed. “Oz wouldn’t have said anything,” she remarked a minute later. “He…he was…he just wouldn’t have done anything to hurt me.”

The blonde nodded with a small smile. “It must be nice to have left on such good terms with your former boyfriend,” she observed. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a breakup that went that smoothly.”

“He broke my heart. I think he owes me one.”

“I remember…you were still upset with him when we first met you in Natchez.”

Willow nodded, fluffing her hair in the mirror. It had grown to her shoulders when she wasn’t looking, and thankfully, Donna had talked her into getting it curled at a salon the week prior. She liked it wavy; liked paying attention to cosmetics and things that she hadn’t touched in high school for her obsession with school. Now that she was the girlfriend of the White House Deputy Communications Director, she had been introduced to a whole new world of self-pampering.

“Oz came to see me after we got back to Sunnydale,” she said.

“He did?”

“Yeah.”

Donna frowned. “After you and Sam—”

“Yeah.”

The blonde was quiet a long moment. “Will…if anything happened, you can’t tell Sam. It would crush him. He loves you so much. You should’ve heard the way he went on and—”

Willow’s eyes went wide. “Oh God, no! I would never have…God, Donna—”

“Well, I’m sorry! Trust me; I know how strong the ties of a former love can be. And like I said, I remember what you were like when I first knew you in Natchez. You kicked Wesley out of your bedroom because he was a drapey-sleeper.”

She smirked, applying a small amount of rouge to her cheeks. “Something that you know from personal experience, right?”

Donna went quiet for a long minute. “Wesley and I didn’t exactly wake up together,” she said. “I…there was nothing about that night that I was proud of. Though he was very sweet…he called me three times after Josh was shot to make sure I was doing all right.”

“He did?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know this.”

The blonde shrugged. “I didn’t want Josh to get all…I was taking care of him.”

“Yeah, that would’ve been awkward.”

“Just a little.” Donna frowned, straightening out the wrinkles in the back of the dress. “There. Perfect. Sam is going to flip his lid.”

“Hopefully not in front of people with cameras.”

“Willow, you can’t spend the rest of your life worrying about the press.”

The redhead frowned. “You’re used to this.”

“Not hardly. Now go. Sam’s waiting.”

“I still think this is a bad idea.”

The blonde shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out, but I think CJ was right. Sam’s not abandoning you. He’s not doing what politicians usually do when they’re caught doing something the other side says is unethical. He’s staying with you. That’s surprised people, and I think it’ll earn us more points than we lost in the long run.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Well, we won’t know until you get out there.” Donna shooed her. “Off with you. I have to go pick out a stamp.”

Willow grinned, gave herself a last look over, then exited the rest room.

Here we go.

*~*~*

Joyce and Dawn were flying in the next morning. Spike didn’t like it, particularly since the separation aggravated Buffy to the point where she fidgeted her worry throughout the entire flight. However, the youngest Summers had a presentation to give in her English class early the next morning. It was one that Dawn had been practicing for the better part of two weeks to overcome her paranoia of speaking in front of others, and in order to avoid suspicion, Joyce had remained adamant that they allow her to get the assignment out of the way.

That decision was two days in the past, and the Slayer was none happier now than she had been with it then. The day that she and her mate had sat down and explained everything to her mother—everything she needed to hear and everything she didn’t want to know. Everything.

They had told her of the Key. Of Dawn. The truth of Buffy’s godliness—the full truth. Not the half-truth she and Spike had concocted when they arrived home from Natchez. The truth of the god that was tearing Sunnydale apart in search of Joyce’s youngest; the girl that wasn’t her daughter, but was. Things were different now. They were moving to Washington. Indefinitely.

Dawn didn’t know that. She thought it was a vacation. A belated Thanksgiving thing, as the original plans had been to get there in time for the holiday. Plans that had gone drastically awry for the severe miscalculation of how quickly flights out of Los Angeles were booked over the holidays.

And still, Joyce was determined to not frighten Dawn. They were agreed that leaving Sunnydale was the best game plan, especially with the Slayer so emotionally fragile when it came to exercising her powers, but life demanded regularity and routine. No one wanted to tell Dawn she wasn’t real.

She was difficult enough to please, being a puberty-inflicted fourteen-year-old. Her emotions were constantly strained, and any given moment could be the worst of her life. Buffy and her mother were agreed; as long as the irrelevant things were the worst that happened to her, they were happy to let her believe whatever it was that distracted her from the truth.

The ease with which Joyce had accepted the truth about Dawn was a testament to why Spike had always liked his mate’s mother. She was a classy lady. And, as she revealed, had sensed something all along. Sensed that Dawn wasn’t hers. Wasn’t, but was all the same.

A mother always knows.

Buffy was worried, though. Spike hardly blamed her, but he was determined to keep her mind occupied. Chances were, Joyce and Dawn would arrive without a hitch. He wasn’t willing to gamble the odds by voicing his confidence aloud, but the god bint in Sunnyhell hadn’t the faintest idea that Dawn even existed.

Not that anyone was aware of.

Buffy was also worried for her mother on a completely different scope of things. The past couple weeks, through the distressing over gods and powers that gods passed to Slayers, there was the threat of something that she truly couldn’t handle. She had mentioned it once or twice to Willow; Joyce had mentioned recently a reoccurring series of headaches and dizzy spells that seemed to get worse with every day. It was acknowledged but not spoken of. There but not discussed. Just another thing on top of a thousand that Buffy didn’t want to think about.

There were a thousand things to get under wraps. Tonight, they were meeting the President. Tomorrow, they would pick up Joyce and the Bit from GW and get them set up in a hotel. Then, very quietly, he and Buffy had to start looking for a semi-permanent place of residence. Somewhere they could live until Dawn was in the clear.

“They lost our bags.”

Spike glanced up. “What?”

“The close connecting flight in Wichita,” Buffy replied dryly. “It was too fast. They lost our bags.”

“How do you know? They haven’t said anythin’.”

She shrugged, her expression haunted. “Just a hunch.”

Spike forced a smile to his face and wrapped an arm around her. There were small incidents like this where shades of her powers leaked through and scared her witless; times where her eyes filled with such fear, such anguish, that it sent a sharp pang to his gut.

One day at a bloody time.

“We’ll deal. It’s the soddin’ White House. I’m sure they’ll have bathrobes or what all.”

That earned a grin. “With the Presidential Seal on the back?”

“Don’ laugh. You’d be surprised.”

“Surprised? Spike, the President of the United States called our house and invited us to stay in the Lincoln Bedroom. What part of this sounds normal to you?”

He shrugged. “I stayed with Stalin for a weekend. ‘S nothin’ big.”

She cast him a disapproving look.

“What? It was before you. Before you were to show me the error of my ways.” A naughty hand slid down her backside as they lost themselves in the tunnel of people that were working their way through the terminal. “Before you were there to punish me when I’m very, very bad.”

“You like being punished.”

“Well, yeh.” He grinned unrepentantly. “Besides, Red’s been livin’ here for months. At some point, you’re gonna have to get used to the idea that you’re friends with some very influential people.”

“At some point. My life is just strange.”

Spike chuckled, clasping her hand, fingers entwining with hers. “I’ll second that.”

It took only a few seconds to spot who had been selected to pick them up. He was a good-looking kid; maybe a year or so older than Buffy, when Buffy had been immortalized. He was familiar but not overly so. Likely one of the faces they had seen in the hospital waiting room. In all his years, there had never been a night so thoroughly chaotic by means the populace would consider normal. And for whatever reason, the sheer acceptability of what had happened in a world gone mad had caused a lot of the minute details to grow fuzzy over the months.

Plus, in the fallout of the shooting and the motive of the shooters, this particular young man’s face had become notorious. The shooting itself had been for him—all for the color of his skin, and the fact that he was dating the President’s daughter.

He was holding a sign with their names sprawled across the front, and looked terribly self-conscious.

“Guess our ride’s here after all,” Spike drawled. He was aching for a cigarette.

“I thought Willow was picking us up.”

He shrugged. “Somethin’ must’ve happened.”

Evidently, the kid had a better memory than they did at present. His eyes had been trained on them from the minute they stepped out of the terminal.

“Well, come on, luv,” Spike said, tugging her hand. “Time’s a wastin’.”

The kid was in front of them, his eyes warm and polite and blessed with intelligence beyond his years. He extended a hand and smiled, and Spike liked him immediately.

“Mr. Spike,” he said. “I’m Charlie Young. Personal aide to the President.”

“Charlie,” the vampire acknowledged, wincing under the lights. He wasn’t a fan of airports. The fluorescents always made him look even deader than he was. “Never call me Mr. Spike.”

“Okay.”

“Though I’m gonna call you Chuck.”

“Well then, I should tell you, don’t expect me to answer.”

He grinned. Yeah, he definitely liked this kid. He nodded, squeezed his mate’s hand again, and turned to make the introduction. He felt like a walking sitcom, but didn’t care. There were times when manners got one everywhere. “This is—”

“Ms. Summers,” Charlie acknowledged. “Nice to meet you.”

“We’ve met before.”

“Not formally, ma’am; no we haven’t.”

She made a face. “Let’s just stick with Buffy, okay?”

Charlie nodded. “Okay. The President has asked me to escort you back to the White House and give you a quick tour of the Residence—particularly, the Lincoln Bedroom, which he has encouraged me to stress will be your home for as long as you need it. If you’re hungry, the President’s personal chef would be happy to make you anything you like.”

“Doubt he has anythin’ on his menu that tickles my fancy,” Spike observed.

Buffy rolled her eyes at him. “You eat like a horse,” she retorted dryly.

“I meant the other thing I eat, luv.”

Charlie’s eyes went wide. “Okay.”

The Slayer flushed and her mate grinned unapologetically. “Well,” he purred, “not that either.”

“Spike!”

Their host smiled a curious little smile and shook his head. “Something tells me you two are going to fit right in,” he said.

“The President’s going to kick us out the first chance he gets,” Buffy complained. “The way this one goes on…” She nudged Spike hard in the shoulder, only prompting his self-satisfied smirk to widen.

Charlie shook his head. “The President regrets that he can’t meet you at the White House. He’s pretending not to like the music at the Reykjavik symphony.”

Buffy blinked. “The whatta symphony?”

“I’d tell you, but then I’d have to actually go into all of it again. And I wouldn’t want to deny the President the pleasure of telling you later tonight, so you get the real Presidential treatment…so to speak.” He paused. “Do you have bags?”

“In Wichita,” Spike replied.

“Ah,” Charlie said. “I’m sure we’ll take care of that real quick.”

“Do you know why Willow couldn’t meet us?” Buffy asked a minute later.

“Couple of reasons,” came the reply. “The President thought it was a better idea if you three didn’t appear in public together for a while. He arranged for Willow to go with Sam to the symphony.”

Spike arched a brow. “In public?”

“Yeah, well, since Willow’s not going anywhere, the President thought it would be better if she and Sam started making public appearances. All of you at once is something he thinks we’ll have to work up to, but he’s confident that people will stop snooping once they realize there’s not an actual story.” A beat. “A story that they have access to, anyway.”

“Jus’ might work. Be a bloody political firs’.” He paused. “From the Left, that is.”

Charlie grinned. “Yeah. You two are definitely going to fit right in.”

*~*~*

A situation involving Russia, liquid hydrogen, and a missile silo kept the President from meeting them that night. Charlie came by the room around eleven o’clock with their recovered bags, expressed the President’s regrets, and told them they were invited for breakfast the next morning.

Which left them alone in the Lincoln Bedroom.

“There is just no part of tonight that feels real,” Buffy said. She was gazing at her reflection in the mirror above the dresser, removing all the extra accessories she had adorned with the mindset of meeting the President.

She felt her mate approaching even if the mirror betrayed nothing. The sense was strong; it got stronger by the hour. She was almost convinced it would manifest one day. That the claim itself would defy the laws of nature, and give him back everything that Drusilla had robbed of him when she damned him to this existence.

Granted, Buffy felt a soft spot for Drusilla that was even more surreal than the strange turn their lives had taken. Were it not for the insane vampiress, she would not have Spike with her now…and that fate was worse than anything she could imagine. He was her mate, and she loved him more with each day’s passing.

She didn’t know what she would have done had she been handed this life and cursed to survive it alone.

“It’ll be all right. We’ll find a nice cemetery that’s crawlin’ with vamps an’ get some patrollin’ in.” Spike smiled, wrapping his arms around her middle, inhaling her scent. “’S for the best, sweetling.”

“Yeah.” She frowned. “Sunnydale didn’t feel like home anymore, anyway.”

“Things’ve changed.” His mouth found her throat, peppering her skin with soft kisses. “Things always change.”

“Mmm,” she hummed in agreement, a familiar tingling sensation pooling between her thighs. It never ceased to amaze her how effortlessly he could turn her on. The slightest touch had her all but drowning in need. “What are you doing?”

“Helpin’ you get comfortable,” Spike murmured, hands skimming up her front to cup her breasts. “Rumor has it, everyone who stays in this room gets lucky.”

Buffy grinned in spite of herself. “You know, you could just be saying that, and I wouldn’t know the difference.”

He chuckled, whisking her top over her head. “So gorgeous,” he whispered reverently, watching her laced breasts move in the mirror under his invisible caresses. “You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous.”

Her bra was gone the next second, and his magic fingers puckering her nipples as his mouth worshipped her throat. He was hard, and his arousal was contagious. Every stroke overwhelmed her with desire. He knew it, too. Knew what touches drove her out of her mind. Knew how much his own arousal could fill her blood with need. He thrust his erection against her ass, purring sensually against her. Setting her skin aflame.

“You drive me wild,” he growled.

“Spike…we shouldn’t…”

“Sure we should.”

“We’re in the White House.”

“Like that’s ever stopped anyone.”

Buffy giggled as his hand slid under the waistband of her trousers. “You’re a bad boy.”

“The baddest,” he agreed amorously, index finger aligned with her dripping pussy lips. She nearly buckled against his touch, grasping his wrist, her other arm flinging back around his throat as her eyes fell shut. “No, no,” he scolded, brushing a kiss against her mouth. “Keep lookin’ at the mirror. See how fuckin’ beautiful you look.”

Her eyes fluttered open.

The woman staring back at her was flushed with need, eyes drowned in lust and sensationalism. Her chest was heaving breaths that looked to hurt, her nipples hard and moving seemingly of their own volition. She felt everything. Spike’s fingers in her quim, his heated kisses against her skin, his cock thrusting against her backside. He was everywhere. Her skin burned for him.

“God,” she gasped as his thumb finally settled over her clit, caressing her so tenderly she thought she would weep. “God, that feels so good.”

“You smell divine,” her vampire agreed, fondling her sensitive button. “Gonna devour you. Head to bloody toe.”

“Oh GOD!”

“You still think we should be careful?” Spike demanded, abandoning her breast for a minute and fumbling with his belt.

“No!” She thrust her hips needily against his touch. “Please! Spike, please!”

“Good.”

“Need you.”

The vampire released her completely at that and tore her slacks down her legs. She whirled the moment she was naked and all but leapt into his arms in a frenzy of need. He released a surprised oomph as his arms came around her, and tumbled back on the bed with an impassioned growl. He smiled appraisingly. “Feisty li’l minx.” He was attacked the next minute by her hungry mouth; her superior strength pinning him effectively beneath her as she ground her aching pussy against his hardness. Spike’s eyes went wide. “Fuck. I love it when you take control,” he groaned, palming her breasts.

Buffy threw her head back. “No control,” she gasped. “Out of it.”

He licked his lips and tugged at her nipples. “Love that, too.”

She flashed him a smile that warmed his unbeating heart; a whispered breath catching in his throat. Her hips gyrated against his with sensuality that had his eyes rolling up in his head; her arms stretched above her, then lower to caress his chest. Lower still, catching the zipper of his jeans as her other hand cupped his erection through the denim. “You feel so good.”

“Not inside you yet,” Spike whimpered.

The next second, his cock was in her hand, and she was shimmying down his body to tug his jeans away completely. “I feel you,” she replied, fingers wrapping around him. “Like this.” She caught his eyes and smiled, mouth enveloping his leaking head. An impassioned groan tumbled through his lips. “Like this.”

“Fuck, Buffy…”

Her tongue trailed the underside of his erection, suckling tentatively at his sac, then back again. “I owe you so much,” she whispered. “I don’t tell you often enough.”

“Buffy—”

Her mouth engulfed him completely, and his protest drowned with a whimper of need. She was still terribly insecure about her abilities to please him this way; he was the first man she had ever dreamt of exploring so thoroughly. The first man she had loved completely, without fear of boundaries. Without jealousy or outrage, or anything that had previously defined her.

He gave her so much of himself because that was who he was. She wanted to be someone who could express as much as he did; wanted to so badly. Wanted him to know how much she loved him. The wealth of what she felt and couldn’t trust with words.

His cock touched the back of her throat, and she swallowed gently around him.

“Buffy!” A desperate mewl tumbled through his lips, his hips thrusting forward. “Fuck, so good. Feels so fucking good.”

“Mmmm…” She drew back again, her tongue swirling. “Good?”

“Buffy…Jesus, Buffy, you gotta stop.” He fisted her hair. “I need to be inside you.”

She released him with a soft plop and smiled kittenishly, brushing a kiss against his sensitive head. “Gorgeous.”

His eyes turned molten, even as he grinned his tease. “My manly bits are gorgeous, eh? Not very masculine.”

Buffy lowered her head again, nibbling playfully. “You love it and you know it.”

“Well, yeah. Every guy likes havin’ his cock praised by the woman he loves.”

“By women, period.”

“Once. Then you came along.”

She smirked up at him. “You’re either a hopeless romantic or a terrific liar.”

“’m both,” he retorted. “Bein’ the firs’ right now. I love you.”

Her eyes softened. “I love you, too.”

Spike groaned again as her tongue found a sensitive vein. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.” His hands found her wrists, and he pulled her up the length of him until she was straddling his face, and his tongue was exploring her moist folds. He lapped at her, tasted and teased her; sank his fingers inside her as his lips found her clit and suckled her into his mouth. His hands grasped her hips and held her over him, and growled his pleasure at her taste. Buffy’s hands found the headboard as she writhed over him, shaking in hard sobs of pleasure until the fire toasting her insides exploded into a raging inferno.

Her scream of release sounded foreign even to her ears. The sounds he elicited from her were unlike anything she had ever thought herself capable. Her body was sated but raging at the same time, and the dualism about drove her out of her mind. Spike’s arms came around her, easing her down his body until his cock was nestled against her sodden curls.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he breathed against her lips, flipping her beneath him. “I can never get enough of your taste.”

“Ooohhh…”

His fingers slithered between them, positioning himself at her opening. “I love you so much,” he whispered, sinking slowly within her depths. “Fuck, it gets better every time.”

Buffy released a long sigh and persuaded his head to her shoulder. She felt so close to him. His arms were around her, hips thrusting gently against her, stroking her to perfection from the inside out. A hand curled around her breast as his lips found her throat, whispering kisses into her skin. Tasting her. The slide of his flesh from hers…the affirmation of their union with actions as well as words; sharing this with him was the most wondrous thing she had ever experienced. Her legs entwined around his waist, her body surging with desperation to recapture him every time he withdrew. It was a soft but hard loving at the same time. Something that grew in quiet desperation. Something she reached for through blind euphoria without realizing that what she needed was right beside her. Inside her. Holding her through her outrage, whispering quietly that everything would be all right.

That her trials now would pass. And he would be there with her through it all.

“Fuck,” he murmured, dipping his head to draw her nipple into his mouth, nimble fingers caressing her neglected breast. His thrusts intensified as their mutual need grew to a frenzy. “You’re so lovely. My fiery kitten.”

“Uhhh…”

“My goddess.”

“Yes, yes,” she panted in agreement, tugging his mouth to hers once more. “Always yours. Oh God, Spike. Oh God…”

“Mmm…”

“You feel so good.”

He smiled against her, his thrusts deepening. “You too, baby,” he whispered against her lips. “Feel like satin. Heaven. Fuck, you burn me up so bloody good. You’re so hot. My tight li’l Slayer.” He slid a hand between them, the demands of his body becoming too relentless to ignore. He kissed desperately, worshipping her tongue with his. The headboard was banging against the wall in time with the slap of melding flesh, sending an echo through the walls that drowned out in the heat of shared moans and whimpers of adoration.

Spike massaged her clit in speedy, tortuous circuits, his eyes blazing yellow. “I love you,” he gasped. “I love you so much.”

“Love you. Yes, yes! God, I love you.”

“You’re so close, baby. Let go.”

“Bite me.”

“Buffy—”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and jerked his mouth to the pulse point of her jugular. The one that beat still with the thrum of god’s blood. His poison. His best drug.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he decided, nibbling softly on her flesh.

“Spike, do it!”

“You first.”

Her eyes widened, but she needed no further prompting. The next instant, she lurched forward and sank her blunt teeth into his throat. Something feral roared at her in turn, and the next thing she knew, she was impaled by his fangs.

And riding the waves of the most intense orgasm she had ever known. Screaming his name as her body exploded with color. He whispered something against her, and she replied, but words were meaningless. Her body rejoiced. There was blood on her lips, and damn, if she cared at all. Blood was life. Blood was the claim. Blood was what had linked them together, and she no longer feared the implications. He had made blood safe for her; something no one had ever accomplished.

Spike was purring against her, nuzzling her sweat-laced hair with delicate reverence. “You’re amazin’.”

Buffy smiled and kissed him. “I love you,” she said simply. He had rendered her effectively speechless, such to the point where the only words she understood were along the lines of: Spike is good. Spike is sex god. Spike is love. Love Spike.

He grinned. “Love you.” He rolled away the next minute, a shared moan of complaint tumbling from their lips as his cock slipped out of her. “We gave this place a good christening, din’t we?”

She frowned, then blinked as the room around them reappeared. “Oh God!”

That only prompted his smirk to broaden. “Ah, ah, ah,” he berated, hands finding her shoulders as she started to her feet in horror. “Calm down, sweetness.”

A long moan tumbled through her lips. “How loud was I?”

He quirked a brow of amusement. “Well, depends.”

“Depends?”

“How would you define loud? Stereo loud, or raise the dead, loud?”

Her skin turned a charming shade of red. “Spike!”

“Nope, it was louder than that.”

“Gah.” The next thing he knew, she had jumped to her feet and wrestled into his t-shirt that they had discarded somewhere in the throes of passion.

Spike reclined lazily, watching her with barely-concealed bemusement. “Where are you goin’ dressed up in so little? Fancy a reporter sees you like that. They’d have a whole new story to fill up column inches.”

“I’m just peeking into the hallway to see if anyone…” She paused and frowned at him. “What, you think I’m gonna go parade down Pennsylvania Avenue and announce that I just got laid in the White House?”

“It’d take some pressure off Red,” he retorted, reaching over the edge of the bed for his jeans.

Buffy tossed him a dirty look, which he missed as he dug out his cigarettes, and edged the door open.

Then screamed in astonishment.

“You know, when Abraham Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation in that room in the year 1863, I rather doubt he thought the walls would become subject to sex studies of vampires and the gods that love them.”

“Oh my God!”

“The strangest thing just happened,” the President of the United States said by way of greeting, lowering his hand from where he had been prepared to knock. “I was reading on Iceland’s annual precipitation in my study, and out of nowhere, I could have sworn someone had set a banshee loose in the White House.” His eyes were twinkling. “I wouldn’t mind except that the First Lady is trying to sleep, and I’ll certainly get a scolding if she thinks I’m watching pornography in the other room.”

Buffy had leapt partially behind the door to conceal her state of undress, her face burning with painful humiliation. “Mr. President, I can assure you—”

“That’d never pass,” Spike drawled, coming up behind her, completely nude and evidently caring nothing for it. He wrapped his arms around her middle as if to complete her mortification. “Porn stars fake everythin’.”

The President looked for a minute as though he didn’t know whether it was appropriate to blush for the outed Slayer or simply laugh. “Regardless,” he said, “I thought you might want to know that while the White House offers many luxuries, sound proof rooms are not a part of the package. I would have told you so myself, but I was regrettably detained by Russia and their insistence on withholding evidence that could lead to an entirely different definition of apocalypse.”

“Mr. President, I am so, so, so sorry. I’d never—”

Spike shook his head. “She’s not an’ she would have.”

The President smiled, this time in amusement. “Well, I suppose since you saved the world that one time, I’ll let it go just this once.”

“Thank you, Mr. President. I’ll—”

He waved a dismissive hand. “You two look like you’re rather indisposed. Why don’t we agree to a breakfast and call it even?”

“I-I-I—”

“What time?” Spike asked easily.

“I’ll have Charlie get you up at seven. That’s a little late for me, but I wouldn’t want to deny you the opportunity to sleep in.” He grinned. “Until tomorrow, then.”

The vampire nodded. “Goodnight, Mr. President.”

“Goodnight.” Bartlet turned his eyes to Buffy. “Goodnight, Ms. Summers. Just be thankful I’m not your father.”

He turned and strolled leisurely down the hallway, and Spike closed the door before Buffy could say another word.

“Oh God,” she gasped. “Oh god oh god oh god oh god!”

“Watch it there, sweetling; he’ll think we’re at it again.”

“Spike—”

“Oh, calm down. He’s an adult, we’re adults, we saved the world, he runs it. An’ if you think I’m keepin’ my hands off you while we’re the President’s guests, you’ve got another thing comin’.” He started for her, eyes storming with a look that she knew carnally. “In more ways than one.”

Buffy drew a sharp breath. “Spike, I don’t…” She tossed a glance to the door, then back. “Quietly?”

He grinned and jerked her into his arms. “We can try,” he murmured, whispering a kiss against her lips. “I’ve always wondered if there really is a firs’ time for everythin’.”

TBC