On the upside, the silence made it easy to hear anything that stirred a bush or scraped on the gravel paths between the graves. On the downside, there was precious little stirring bushes or scraping on the gravel. The fragrance of newly cut grass hung heavy in the air, making it even more difficult to breathe.

Buffy had left her bed when she couldn't stand the hot, damp feeling of her head pressing against her pillow any longer. Riley was sleeping, snoring softly, tiny beads of sweat glistening on his bare back. The windows were open, but it wasn't doing any good. Buffy pulled on a T-shirt and jeans and headed out for an impromptu patrol. If she couldn't sleep, then Sunnydale's non-breathing denizens were going to suffer for it, whether they bore any responsibility for her discomfort or not.

Trouble was, there must have been a memo, because the vampire population was making itself scarce. She'd pretty much covered Peaceful Repose Cemetery . There had been not so much as a twitch from the four newly covered graves she'd identified.

She felt sweaty and uncomfortable. A trickle of perspiration was working its way down between her breasts. And her back itched in just that spot that even someone as lithe as a Slayer would find difficult to reach. She kept shrugging her shoulders, trying to get her T-shirt to rub the spot, but the material was too soft, and she couldn't get it to rub much anyway.

Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore. She was standing under an oak tree, and its rough bark just looked too inviting. She backed up to it and rubbed -- hard. That helped, but it wasn't enough; the itch was too deep. But the small measure of relief she was getting made her want more -- in the worst way. Looking furtively around to make sure there was nobody in the area who could see her, she hiked up her shirt in back and rubbed again. She was more careful this time -- the rough bark of the tree would take the skin right off her back if she rubbed too hard.

That wasn't entirely satisfactory. The bark was too hard and didn't conform well to the curves of her back. But just having her back bare and open to the air felt better. She stopped and took several deep breaths, wishing for even a hint of a breeze to cool her warm, sweat-slicked skin.

"I could help you with that," said a familiar, British voice from just behind her.

Buffy whirled around and glared at Spike, who was lounging against the other side of the tree. There were times when she could hear Spike coming from 50 yards. And there were other times -- like this -- when he seemed to materialize out of thin air, putting a lie to her fondly held contention that he was the world's most clumsy vampire.

Spike's bleached blond hair stood out against the dark foliage of the cemetery bushes. The rest of him all but melted into the dark -- particularly the inky blackness of his leather duster. Geez, 90 degrees at 2 a.m. and Spike was still wearing his coat. Of course, he was -- no body heat. It didn't matter to him whether it was 10 degrees or 100. The coat had nothing to do with keeping warm.

"If I were you, I'd move along," Buffy said between clenched teeth. "I'd hate to slip and accidentally dust you. Strike that, it would be my distinct pleasure." She pulled her shirt down with a jerk.

"No reason to get snippy, Slayer. I was just offering to help."

"Don't need any help, and you're the only vampire around to slay anyway," Buffy said, turning to walk away from him.

Spike snorted. "Wasn't actually offering to patrol, pet."

Buffy stopped and turned back.

"Oh? And just what were you offering then?"

Spike stood up and walked toward her slowly, rolling his narrow hips with each step. His eyes were locked onto her -- somewhere below the neck. There was an infuriating, lazy insolence to his smile as he advanced.

"Well, just looked to me like you had an itch that needed scratching."

Buffy frowned. "So what? Big deal."

Spike shrugged. "Wouldn't presume. That'd just get me staked. But I gotta say, I don't see why you're backing away, love. Afraid of the poor toothless vampire?"

"In your dreams, Spike," Buffy said.

The vampire raised an eyebrow.

"Not afraid? Then turn around."

"Why?"

"You'll see. Just turn around."

Buffy hesitated. There was something in Spike's smirk that said he was going to count it as a victory if she didn't trust him enough to turn her back on him. And at the same time, there was a little voice in her head that was raising an alarm.

Not letting him score a point against her won out. She turned around and stood her ground.

She heard him move up close. His footsteps were irritatingly slow. He was taking his time, making her wait. She tensed, readying herself to react if he made a sudden move. She knew he couldn't hurt her -- not without suffering intense pain. But at the same time, he was far from trustworthy and she was only too aware he was maneuvering her.

She calmed herself and reached out with her senses to keep track of where he was. His footfalls were light and slow, but she could tell that he was right behind her now. Then his hand was on the hem of her shirt. It slipped up underneath and Buffy almost turned to slap him.

"Trust me?" he whispered next to her ear.

Buffy almost jumped at the sound of his voice. But that was part of the game. She couldn't let him see that he was affecting her. She had to maintain the fiction that he was beneath her notice.

"Not quite as far as I can throw you," Buffy hissed. "But that doesn't mean I'm afraid of you."

"Of course not," Spike said with a little chuckle. "What could I possibly do to you? I'm just the vampire who can't bite."

His hand rose to the spot between her shoulder blades that she couldn't reach. He pressed his thumb into exactly the right spot and rotated it. His skin was cool, and the motion produced an almost electric wave of sensation.

Buffy arched her back involuntarily. It felt so good. He had found precisely the spot that was driving her crazy. And the satisfaction was almost like ... no, she told herself. Don't even think it.

Spike didn't stop. He circled his thumb several more times, then spread out his fingers over her shoulder blades, brushing her hot skin with feather-light strokes. Buffy's breath caught. She could hardly believe how good it felt. He was standing so close, she could feel the leather of his sleeve brushing her lower back and his breath ruffling the hair on the back of her head.

His breath? Why was he breathing? It was then that she realized with a slight shock that he was smelling her hair. He was inhaling it in long slow draws. In a moment, he was going to bury his nose in it -- she could just feel it.

Buffy pulled away, turning to face him, incredulous.

"What do you think you're doing?" she tried to say, but found she was all but out of breath.

Spike tried to look innocent.

"Just scratching your back, love. Nothing but that."

"Well, just... just keep your hands to yourself," Buffy said, wondering why it was so hard to warn him off. Her face was burning. Her embarrassment was making the heat of the night even worse.

"If you blush any harder, you're going to glow like a lighthouse," Spike said with a laugh. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, Slayer."

"My knickers aren't the slightest bit twisty," Buffy replied. "I just don't need you drooling down my neck. It's gross." She put her hands on her hips and tried to look stern.

"You think I want you?" Spike said with eyebrows raised high. "Please... "

Buffy shook her head. "For two cents I'd wipe that smirk off your face," she said. "But it's too hot to even think about it. I'm just going to go home now."

"No cooler there -- what with your air conditioning on the fritz," Spike called after her.

Buffy stopped and turned again to face him. The itch was coming back and she had to will her hands to stay and her side and not bend back to try to reach the spot he had so expertly touched.

"How do you know about the air conditioner?" Buffy demanded.

"Not a big secret, Slayer. Every window in your house has been open for two nights now."

"Just stay away from my windows," Buffy replied. "Or I'll..."

"Oh, come off it. Am I anywhere near your bloody windows? If you're nursing a secret crush, just come out and say it, love. Might be able to work you in for a quick tumble."

"What? Of all the egotistical, idiotic, stupid things... Me and you? Don't make me laugh."

"Whatever you say, Slayer. But if you want to cool off, I can help you."

"Didn't sound to me like you were offering to cool me off," Buffy replied.

"Oh, come on. You flirt, I flirt. Doesn't mean anything," Spike said, his lips curling up in a brand new smirk. "Unless you really want..."

"Don't even say it," Buffy snapped.

"As much time as you spend in cemeteries, I'd think you'd know how to cool off," Spike said, changing the subject.

"I don't flirt!" Buffy said vehemently. "Not with you, anyway."

Spike laughed and shook his head.

"Follow me -- unless you're afraid you'll succumb to my deadly charm."

Spike turned and started to walk away, his coat swirling around his legs. Buffy hesitated a moment, then stomped after him. The itch between her shoulders had intensified. It burned now, as if something was back there boring into her flesh.

Spike led her to a small, family mausoleum in one of the less tended corners of the cemetery. The plantings around the marble building were overgrown and shaggy. The door was ajar. Spike gave it a rough push and it grated on the cement floor as it swung in.

"Lock's been broken on this place for years," he explained as he gestured her inside.

The interior of the mausoleum was littered with trash. There had been homeless people sheltering here sometime in the recent past. There were empty chip bags, and broken bottles of cheap wine strewn around the floor and piling up in the corners. There was graffiti scrawled on the walls. In the center of the room, rising out of the waves of detritus, was a marble sarcophagus with a smooth, polished lid.

"Is this what you wanted to show me?" Buffy asked. "I've seen abandoned mausoleums before."

"Yes, but you've obviously missed the point," Spike said with a slight sigh. "Touch it," he said.

"What?" Buffy said, backing a step away from him.

Spike rolled his eyes. "The sarcophagus," he said.

Buffy shuffled through the drifts of trash to put a hand on the marble. It was cool to the touch. She ran her hand over it. The smooth surface felt so good under her fingers.

"Lie down on it," Spike said. "It'll pull the heat right out of you."

Buffy gave him a suspicious look, but found herself in "dare" mode again. If she refused, she'd be all but admitting she was afraid of him. She slipped up on top of the stone platform and lay back.

"See?" Spike said.

The cool stone under her felt heavenly. But her back still itched. She wiggled her shoulders to rub the offending spot.

"Still itches, doesn't it?" Spike said. "Turn over."

Buffy did as he said. As she stretched out, her arms folded under her face, her shirt slipped up a bit, allowing a narrow strip of her abdomen to make full contact with the cool marble.

Spike slipped his hand under the back of her shirt again and started stroking the spot -- just the right spot high between her shoulder blades. Buffy shivered with pleasure. She let out a deep sigh.

"Feel even better if you raise your shirt up in front," Spike said casually.

Buffy lifted her head to look at him over her shoulder. She wasn't sure why she was playing along with him. He was clearly seeing how far he could get her to go. But the thought of her breasts against the cool stone was just too delicious to pass up. She turned over and sat up to pull of her T-shirt over her head. She paused a moment before turning and lying back down on her stomach. It was a challenge. He was pushing her, and with this single gesture -- giving him a full, unfettered view of her bare breasts -- she was pushing back. All part of the game, she told herself.

"When did you get to be such an expert on keeping cool," Buffy asked. "After all, vampires don't get hot."

Spike laughed. "I wouldn't exactly say that," he replied. He put his hand flat on the small of her back and slowly brought it up to the nape of her neck. He paused there to gently massage her neck. His hands were so dry and cool. Not like her own damp, hot skin.

"That feels so good," Buffy whispered.

"Oh, willing to admit I might be good for something?" Spike said, his hands working their way back down her back.

"Maybe..."

To Buffy's surprise, Spike bent over and ran his tongue over her shoulder blade. It was cool, wet and just slightly rough, and it sent shivers through her body.

"What are you doing?" she gasped.

"Mmmm.... you taste good... salty," he whispered next to her ear.

"Don't..." Buffy whispered.

"Afraid I'll forget this chip in my head and bite you?"

"If you did, I'd kill you so fast," Buffy hissed.

"Maybe..."

Buffy sat up abruptly. "If you think you're so devastating that I'd hesitate..."

Spike just shook his head. He was looking straight at her, but not at her face.

Buffy felt a shock of pleasure as she realized what he was looking at. His gaze was frankly admiring. She didn't often get to see that on a man's face. Once a guy knew what she was, they were all so careful around her. Even Riley seldom allowed himself to look at her with such unmasked lust. She hadn't meant to give him a show. She'd sat up without thinking. But there was something so very enjoyable about being admired so openly.

Buffy let him look. What could he do? He certainly couldn't do anything she didn't let him do. Challenging him this way made her feel powerful. It was better than fighting him, even though she had to admit to herself that their battles had been some of the more enjoyable contests she could remember.

"You're playing with fire, Slayer," Spike said in a low voice.

"Afraid?" Buffy asked with a challenge in her voice.

Spike shook his head slowly. "You could burn me to ash, if I let you."

Buffy laughed. "You're all talk."

"Think so?"

Spike raised a hand slowly and brought it to her breast, lightly tracing the round contour. Buffy gasped. Once again, his cool touch sent waves of pleasure through her body. He brought his thumb to the hardened nub of her nipple, and flicked it ever so lightly. Buffy squirmed, her hips flexing involuntarily. She felt a new wetness between her legs that she was certain was not sweat.

His other hand was at her waist unbuttoning her jeans. She could have stopped him easily, but her hands didn't want to. Instead, they slipped inside his coat and under his shirt to find the smooth contours of his chest.

"Take off your coat," Buffy demanded. "It's too hot for all that leather."

"Maybe for you," Spike replied. But he complied anyway, shrugging out of the garment and letting it fall to the floor in a heap.

Buffy found herself considering how seldom she saw him out of that coat. He stood before her now in his short-sleeved, black T-shirt. She couldn't help but admire his well-muscled arms and chest. It surprised her to find herself thinking that he was really quite attractive, in his slender, nicely proportioned way. Riley had muscles, but he wasn't as nicely balanced and sculpted as Spike.

The little voice that had been raising alarms earlier was silent now. Or maybe it was the one that was whispering "go for it" now.

She felt the zipper of her jeans sliding down. Last call to back out, she told herself. She slipped off the edge of the sarcophagus to stand up and kick off her trousers. All that was left was the filmy, pink lace of her panties. She looked up at Spike defiantly. She would have sworn there was a flicker of fear behind his eyes. That was almost as exciting as standing in front of him nearly nude.

"Afraid?" she asked him again.

He gave her an odd look.

She slid back up onto the sarcophagus and looked up at the ceiling. The cool stone still felt good. She forced herself not to look, even though she wanted desperately to know what he was doing. Then she heard it -- he was unbuckling his belt. That knowledge sent a thrill of anticipation through her. She took a deep breath, her chest rising as her lungs filled.

"You'll be the death of me," Spike whispered. Then, he was above her, jumping up to join her on the sarcophagus effortlessly. His T-shirt and jeans were gone. He was pale flesh head to toe, shining softly in the dim light from the broken window. He crouched above her looking down for an achingly long moment. Then he lowered himself against her. She felt the length of his body against hers, and the hard shaft of his cock pressed against her belly.

"How do you want it, Slayer?" he whispered. "Hard and fast? Soft and slow? Lady's choice."

The question made her stomach flutter. Some part of her was pretending this wasn't real. She was just fantasizing. She wasn't lying naked beneath a vampire. If she answered, it would be real. She would have to admit to her self that she was really doing this.

She drew a deep breath and let it out.

"Surprise me," she murmured.

He made an inarticulate little sound and took the lob of her ear between his flat, human teeth, not biting down, but sucking gently. His hips pressed against her, pushing her against the stone surface.

Then he raised himself up, letting her raise her hips so he could pull her panties down. She finished the job, kicking them off and letting them fall to the floor. She raised her knees and wrapped her legs around his hips.

He lowered himself slowly, pressing down into her with a smooth, steady stroke. She was slick and he entered without resistance. Reaching the bottom, he paused, allowing her to feel the full length of him inside her. Buffy sighed her pleasure and squeezed him with her pelvic muscles.

"God, you're tight as a virgin," Spike gasped. "Doesn't the soldier boy take care of you?"

"Shut up, Spike!" Buffy snapped in his ear. "Mention Riley again, and you're going home without certain parts of your anatomy."

"Sorry," Spike said, slightly alarmed. "Didn't mean to offend."

"Don't talk, fuck," Buffy said between clenched teeth.

Contrary to evidence, Spike knew when to shut his mouth. He pulled back until he was almost out of her, then plunged down again, making her squirm against him and gasp for breath. He worked slowly at first, making each thrust last a slow count of five and pressing harder at the bottom each time.

Had she been able to form a coherent thought, Buffy might have wondered how long he could keep this up, but her brain had stopped processing words. There was only feeling. She clasped him harder with her legs and dug her fingers into his back as he pressed her harder and gradually picked up the pace.

She panting, her hips thrusting up against him when he came down, her body tensing as she climbed toward the release she craved worse than anything she had ever reached for.

Then, abruptly, Spike stopped. He froze at the top of a stroke and looked down at her.

"Do you want me to keep on?" he asked playfully.

Buffy, eyes squeezed shut, nodded.

"Not good enough, pet. Say it."

"Fuck you, Spike," Buffy gasped.

Spike laughed. "Wrong pronoun, love."

"All right," Buffy panted. "Yes, I want you. Please. Fuck me."

"That's better," Spike replied. With that, he began again, harder and faster, until Buffy cried out.

"Ahhhghhh!" she screamed, clamping her arms and legs around him and bucking as her climax exploded through her. He joined her, pumping hard and moaning until he went limp.

They lay together, completely spent, for uncounted minutes. Until, at last, Buffy pushed at Spike's shoulder.

"Get off me," she said flatly.

Spike got up and slid off the sarcophagus. He picked up her clothing and handed it back to her, then picked up his own, stepping into the jeans and zipping them up.

"That was..."

"Don't say anything," Buffy snapped as she pulled up her jeans.

"But I just ..."

"Nothing. Not a word," Buffy said, fixing Spike with a steely eye.

Spike opened his mouth, but closed it again.

She pulled her T-shirt over her head and headed for the door -- pausing just before she got there.

"I want to make one thing clear," she said, without turning to face Spike. "This did not happen."

"Right," Spike said sarcastically. He patted his pockets to find a pack of cigarettes, pulling one out to light it. "Whatever you say, Slayer. You're the one with a stake in your back pocket."

"I mean it, Spike. We're never going to talk about this. You're not going to throw it up to me. If you so much as look at me funny, you're dust."

"Whatever," Spike replied, more than a little disgust creeping into his voice.

"This is never going to happen again," Buffy said with finality. "Never." She walked out the door and disappeared into the night.

Spike looked after her, shaking his head.

"Until you get another itch," he said under his breath.