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Posted:
30 April 2000
Rating: PG
Spoilers: General Series Four
Spike wandered into the Watcher’s living room, yawning. He was dressed in his usual tight jeans and a black silk shirt, but his feet were bare and he had not bothered buttoning the shirt. The Watcher was out, the Slayer was either patrolling or making googly eyes with that limp-wristed poof from the Initiative, the others were, well, whatever.
Except Willow was there.
She was curled up in a chair at the Watcher’s table, absorbed in a large, heavy book, and double checking whatever she was reading with something on her laptop.
“Evenin’, pet,” he mumbled, more intent on heating a mug of blood to start the night.
“Spike,” she answered distractedly.
He smirked, and poured himself breakfast.
“Huh,” she said quietly, and he moved away from the microwave to watch her. She was tucking a lock of flame-colored hair back behind her ear as she read, completely enthralled. As she finished the page, she momentarily stared at the wall, lost in thought.
Willow shrugged to herself as her mind processed what she had just read. It seemed so logical ...
The microwave tolled, and it startled her. She swung her eyes to ... over ... Spike as he approached from the kitchen. Willow felt her cheeks redden as she noted his long, bare white feet, and the smooth, pale chest. *Oh Goddess he looks like he just got out of a bed he was sharing ...*
Under her gaze, he loosely buttoned his shirt halfway, amused and a little ... what? *Embarrassed? Hardly.*
“Wasn’t expecting the world to be ending here again yet,” he told her, sitting down at the table.
“Oh, no, it isn’t, or not yet. I mean ... I was just reading one of Giles’ books that caught my eye yesterday, nothing researchy or demony, just stuff ...” Willow babbled, then narrowed her eyes at him. “Ooooh. Spike, when’s your birthday?”
He gazed at her calmly, sipping the blood. “When I was human, or when did the poof stick his fangs in me?”
Willow’s eyes glazed momentarily, and he was intrigued. *At the thought of Angel and me? Well, well.*
“Um, human. I think. Do you remember?”
“Sure. July 24th, pet. D’you need the year?”
“Just the date,” she answered, already flicking through the pages of the book. He craned his neck, but couldn’t read what it said.
“This isn’t one of those bloody horoscope crocks, is it?” he asked warily.
“No, it’s a ... sort of personality guide, based on your birth date. It seems to be fairly accurate. I mean, I’ve tried Xander, Buffy, Giles, my mom and dad, Oz ... even Cordelia. They all match what’s written here.”
“So tell me who I am, then,” he said, his tone mocking.
“Okay ... you were born on the day of exciting instability,” Willow began.
“Exciting. Right straight off ... don’t you think?” His voice was husky with sleep, or was he flirting with the little mortal girl? *Not a girl. Exciting, intriguing witch-woman. Flame.*
“Um ... yeah. Well, exciting in a bad, sexy kind of way ... llp! I mean, I mean -” she broke off from her panicked babble.
“I know what you mean, love.” He gave her his very best sultry look. Well, hell, she deserved it. *Thinks I’m sexy.*
*Ooooh dear. His eyes burn. I can’t believe I said he was sexy. Back to the book! Bad Willow.*
“You’re magnetically attracted to exciting and unstable situations, people and places,” she restarted.
“The Hellmouth. Dru. Hmmm.” Suddenly he was interested at the accuracy.
“Oooh, and you’re easily bored by the humdrum of daily existence.”
“No bloody kidding. I’m cast adrift in Nowheresville. Not of the fun.”
“But you’re flexible and adaptable,” Willow encouraged.
“I try to get by. And I’m very flexible.” His voice got low again. “It makes things of the fun.”
She gave him a confused frown, then shook her head and went back to reading. *Why am I teasing her? She’s not exciting and unstable ... is she? Intriguing, yes. So many levels ...*
“You can be unstable. But if you overcome instability ... you’re magnetic.”
“That’s me. Aren’t you irresistibly drawn to me?”
She gave in and giggled. “Oh, yes.” She zipped her hand to touch his, and feigned being unable to pull it away again. “Completely stuck, you magnet you.” He guided her hand in a circle with his own, laughing.
“You are acutely aware of how you appear to others. You hate to look boring. If you are naturally flamboyant or,” she giggled again, “strange, you make no attempt to hide it, and so may be considered an exhibitionist by others.”
He ran a hand over his bleached hair, and remembered his half-unbuttoned shirt. “Flamboyant, pet, I wouldn’t go with strange.”
She nodded sagely. “Of course.”
Willow continued reading, and when she spoke again her voice was quieter. “You are most afraid of falling into a habitual rut, or essentially feeling stuck.”
He looked around at the apartment, his eyes momentarily reflecting that very thought. “Sure don’t like it, trapped in here. Another point for the book.”
“The dramatic flair of July 24 people invariably surfaces ...”
She gave him a small glare, and he knew she was remembering the “bottle in face” incident of the year before. *Damn. What I wouldn’t give to have kissed her instead ... Yow! What are you thinking?! The Slayer’ll have your guts for garters ... and your dust for bloody pancake mix.*
Her voice became concerned, sympathetic, as she read on. “Emotional eruptions will periodically make things difficult for others, leading to possible alienation. See, Spike? You try and kill us, and we don’t like you.”
“Tell you what pet, I don’t mind bein’ alienated from the Slayer or Chubs. They deserve everything they bloody get.”
*He didn’t say me. I don’t deserve ... what? Interesting.*
“You have to learn to be more self-reliant, and less dependent on the approval of others. Knowing what you want out of life makes you far less likely to hurt yourself or others in relationships.”
“Hmmm. That it, love?” He tried to keep the shock of the soul ... well, not soul any more, but unlife reading, out of his voice. You’d think after this long, the past tense and dead pronouns, or whatever the hell they were, would come easily. She’d read his personality. He had such a good one, lucky it hadn’t changed much. Got a bit rougher, perhaps. Leaner and meaner, yeah.
“Well, from there it tells you about your numbers and planets, and a few more things. Let me see ... oh.”
“Oh?” She was blushing. The slutty slayer never blushed, but this one ... she wasn’t that innocent, but she was innocent nonetheless. It drew him like an addiction, like a moth to a light ... to a flame. Recklessly, helplessly drawn in, ever faced with the possibility of burning fire.
“Um ... ah ... you can give yourself over completely to romantic and ... uh ... sexual experiences. Love is often the dominant theme in your life.”
“No kidding, there,” he returned calmly.
Willow was blushing to her very toes. *He’s thinking of Dru, you hopeless fool. He must think you’re a child. So keep reading.*
“Tarot. Um, the Lovers ... on the good side indicating affections and desires ... on the bad side, unfulfilled desires, sentimentality and indecisiveness. Health ... your recklessness means you must be wary of accidents. Experimentation with drugs, weird situations, and strange people may be inevitable -”
“Woodstock. That just screams Woodstock and flower person blood ...” he mused, and she smiled, a little.
“Exercise is not a central concern, as you are often in motion and exercising the body in daily activities.”
“Yeah, when I can hunt, pet. Damned chip. I’ll get fat.” He ran his hands over his stomach, and she watched, her face curiously blank. Then she snorted.
“You haven’t gained a pound, Vanity.”
He grinned at her, and stuck out his tongue. She looked startled at the childish move. *Oh, you have so much to be vain about. Hey! Willow! Book!*
“And, a-ha, you have to regulate your energies. Your desires may not carry you as far as you think. Learn to be alone, and like it. Try to be more considerate of others. Hmmm, I bet that’s meaningful.”
“Aughhh, it’s opposition of my lifestyle, that’s what you want to say. Be a big poof like Peaches. Don’t shag your way through your unlife. Don’t drink, you tell me.” He grimaced.
“Well, not me. And ... I know you have to. But don’t kill, is what it says, be ... be aware of your dinners as, as people. Oooh, here’s your meditation, and it elaborates. ‘We must learn when to indulge and when to deny hunger’. See?”
“Yeah, yeah, I see. Kill only every second person, if you can.”
“Well ... something like that. I think they’re against advocating any killing, but you are a little different. Do you want to know your strengths and weaknesses?” She looked up at him curiously.
“Are they my sexual irresistibility, my ravishing good looks, and my incredible taste in clothes, drink, and women?” He asked, leering at her. Couldn’t help it, didn’t want to.
“Um ... close. You are daring, exciting, and magnetic.”
“Well, we knew that, pet. You knew ... didn’t you?” His voice was warm, and low, and sent a shiver right down into the little pool of intrigue and desire in her stomach that he owned.
“Your weaknesses are that you are unstable, flighty, and se - uh, and -”
He watched her, eyebrow raised, as she blushed again and struggled with the sentence.
“You’re sexually obsessive,” she finally whispered, feeling the heat suffuse her face yet again.
He merely grinned at her. “And you say it like it’s a bad thing.”
His eyes were raking over her. She couldn’t breathe. Did she want to? *Aggh, yes, I do!*
“So ... pet ... what about you?”
“I’m ... I’m not sexually obsessive,” she replied woodenly, her eyes huge.
“Have you checked?” he asked wickedly.
“Llp. Yes. I’m not.”
“What are you? Tell me,” he encouraged.
“Wouldn’t you rather know about ... Buffy? Xander? Dru!” Her voice was desperate.
“Those two? Bloody hell, no. And Dru? I’ve learnt to be alone ... without her.”
Willow gulped. “Oh. Me, then?”
“You, then.”
“Um.”
As she hesitated, he grabbed the book. Willow stared at him, aghast. “No, Spike, really - you don’t want to know -”
“Pet. Are you interesting like me?”
“No, I’m boring. Dull. I mean ... why bother?” she asked hopefully.
“What can I say? I’m intrigued. Hoping for a skeleton or two. Like to see you writhe in ...”
He paused, staring at her. She looked back, her lips parted, eyes round. *In what?*
“... trepidation.”
*You are so deluding yourself, Willow. He’s toying. You’re a toy!*
“So. Birthday first, luv.”
She shook her head, mouth open, then gave in. “October. October thirty first.”
“Halloween? How ... appropriate. Well, to us. Hellmouth, witch, etc. Dunno about the book ... Hang on. How did I not know this?”
“Well, I don’t go in for the ... party things. Especially here. I mean, you know what Buffy’s birthdays are like. Big on suckage. And, it’s All Hallow’s. The nasties keep quiet. The living party. So, I lived vicariously ... with no centre of attention. That’s a good thing. Me, centre ... is bad. So, no party.”
He frowned at her, then nodded. And grinned. “We’ll keep the party this All Hallow’s quiet, then.”
She watched him warily, biting her lip. “There are going to be other guests at this party, right, Spike?”
He shrugged. “An orgy? If you want, luv.”
“Read the book, Spike.”
“Right-o. October thirty first. The day of attentiveness. How apt, I can see you’re all ears. Um, metaphorically speaking of course. Your ears are rather lovely, actually ...” His gaze slipped to her ears, delicate morsels of shell pink, fading into the pale column of her neck ...
She couldn’t quite read his look. “Spike, my ears are by my neck. Don’t look at my ears, okay?”
“No ears. Right. You pride yourself on being meticulous observers and executors of detail. Yawn. Your ability to concentrate all of your energy allows you to cut through obstructions thrown in your way. Now, if you were a demon, I can see that being a good thing. Single minded destruction of the little mortals. Dinner.” He licked his lips dramatically.
“That’s what you think. Actually, I make a demon with a total lack of attention span,” Willow answered haughtily.
He looked at her sharply. “How do we know this?”
“There was a ... bad thing. Alternate universe, evil me, grrr ... of the bad. Easily bored, not a concentrator.”
“I missed this?” Spike asked in disbelief.
“Yup.”
“Damn. Were you gorgeous?”
“I did not notice. She was the one who would notice. Eeugh!” Willow threw her hands into the air. “She wasn’t ... fluffy. She was Leathergirl. It was a bad thing.”
“Leathergirl? Pet, how could that be bad? This was tight leather?” His mind boggled at the image.
“Spike! Get on with the book!”
“No need to yell, luv.” He pouted at her, momentarily, and she couldn't help but smile.
“Your laser-like intensity makes you a formidable adversary. I can imagine. But you aren’t overly aggressive - presumably as long as you have your pretty soul intact. Oh, you can, in fact, display a sweet and gentle exterior which belies your harder side. Never would have guessed ... Fluffy.”
He leered at her, and she threatened him with a finger. “You want to play formidable adversary?”
“Course not. I’d much rather see that ... in personal relationships you are caring and protective. You’d protect me, wouldn’t you, Red?”
He was pouting again. *Does he not know how irresistible that is? He must ...*
“Sure, Spike. Come play in the sun and I’ll protect you from that. Really.”
He laughed. “Not feeling like a tan today, pet. Did you know you have a kind of warrior mentality working? Yeah, you’re a rival to the Slayer. And it can occasionally land you in plenty of trouble.”
“Yeah, that’s me. The trouble girl,” Willow returned sarcastically.
“Hush. After the fact, it may seem as if trouble was just what you were after. Naughty, naughty - although not from your point of view. As far as you’re concerned, you only attack when provoked. And a-ha!”
“A-ha? There’s an a-ha?” Willow's voice turned a little shrill in panic.
He merely grinned again. “Panic not, luv. You merely may have problems with assertiveness.”
“That’s a yes.”
His grin increased. “Noticed. Short of an all-out reaction you can behave in an overly accommodating manner. You’re often too nice and come to regret it later when you’ve been let down or unappreciated, especially by the twitty Slayer.”
“Spike, it never said that. And, hey!”
“Fine, don’t be too nice to me. I’m so abandoned. This could be me! Let down. Unappreciated ...”
She shook her head disbelievingly. “Totally self absorbed? Vain? These are the terms, Spike.”
He shrugged. “Can’t help it, being so magnetic and intriguin’ and sexy and all. Right?”
“Riiiight,” Willow returned, with a nod of mock agreement.
“Right. Damn, pet, you know that it can lead to real depression? ’Cause it’s only anger driven inside. I don’t like the sound of that.”
She frowned. “I cope. I have to cope. Acting in anger leads to ... skanky evil me. Bad. Grrr. Bad.”
“Well ... anytime you need a punching bag. I selflessly offer myself unto you. Or! ... you know what’s good anger and stress relief? Absolutely first-rate?”
Willow blushed and looked away. “I have a feeling that’s a yes.”
“You’re in. Pet!”
He leapt up, and his hands went to his shirt to slowly start unbuttoning it again. Sensually. Eyes locked on hers. *Hands. Buttons. Shirt.*
“Spike! No! Not that kind of yes! Thank you, but big no there. Remember Buffy? My best friend? Inplant or not, you don’t want to be dust, do you?”
His hands fell to his sides, and he cast her a dejected look, pouting.
She wanted so badly to melt, to give in. *That mouth ...*
“I won’t tell if you don’t?” His face was hopeful, and fell as she started to shake her head.
“Spike.”
Her voice was a whisper. And her eyes were huge again, sympathetic. *I don’t need her bloody sympathy. Much as I want it.*
Willow watched in silence as his eyes flashed hard - and yellow - and then softened back to blue. “With you. Dust. Well, Willow, I am here for you.”
“Spike. Thank you. And, you know, mutual.”
“Thank you.”
Their eyes met once more, soft and open, until he ducked his head back to the book.
She froze at the look in those blue eyes. *Oh my Goddess ... he cares. He cares, he cares. Oh my.*
“Mmm, now this is intriguing. Combat, whether physical or mental, is a recurrent theme for you. The warrior mentality - I like the thought of you as a warrior, luv - is one that enjoys the challenge of great odds, is capable of exercising restraint -”
“Except in non-breathing mode.”
He nodded as he continued. “Important note. You can also, it seems, suffer privations. Of food, drink, sleep. Handy in impending death and world destruction situations, I’m sure. And bearing -”
He halted on the last word. Willow waited, her face concerned.
“Bearing pain,” he said quickly, forcing air into his lungs to fulfill some primal, if not physical, need. *Why does that thought hurt so much? Oh, because you’re a soft pathetic poof, that’s why.*
“And. You often take pride in your eschewing of comforts and luxuries, and your ability to handle any surprising or dangerous situations that arise, instantly. Mental training is thus key to the development of your personality. I’d say you’re doing well, there.”
“I’m a worker,” she shrugged.
“That you are. You do not give ground easily?” Finally, he lifted his eyes back to her.
“Not in my resolve face,” she elaborated, demonstrating.
“Point. You have a keen, critical mind adept at ferreting out falsehoods and, and insecurities.”
*That break. Spike, insecure? I guess everyone is insecure about something. But Spike?*
“You love ‘detective work’ and often take an active interest in both criminality and daring exploits. Calculated risks may attract you, but you are by no means a reckless daredevil.”
“We knew this,” she sighed.
“Oh, darlin’. You’re nonetheless accident-prone.” He chortled to himself.
“I am not. Well, no more than anyone else on the Hellmouth. I don’t have accidents, I have nasty experiences. Honest,” she said defensively.
He smiled at her, an easy, natural smile. “It’s a tough world. It even says it here. You can be rather unlucky at certain crucial points in your life. And you take these very hard.”
“That so works. I mean, boyfriend - demon. My birthday - I turn into a ghost. Boyfriend - werewolf. Finals - Angel tries to destroy the world, I wake up in hospital. Graduation - Ascension. I get kidnapped and my boyfriend discovers me having smoochies with Xander. Not of the good. And is it so strange that I take these this hard? ‘Bottle in face’?”
Spike watched her grow more and more animated with every word, enthralled by her passion. Until she started with the guilt trip.
“And let’s move on from that incident instigated by some very drunk and very bad man. Because you, however, in the face of such adversity, are determined in your efforts to turn your luck around. And you often succeed,” he added, surprised.
“I do? I mean, of course I do. Yay me.”
“You must not let small things irritate you or push your buttons. The key to your power is concentration, because if it is broken, you may become confused and therefore vulnerable in extreme situations. You will always strive to give your all when you believe in an ideal ... or a person.”
It was strange to catch his voice softening as he spoke. The way he would halt over the words ... as if he took them personally. As if he ... wanted her to believe in him? *This is so confusing. Mister No Feelings, Evil Demon, remember?*
“You must learn to deal with rejection and emotional disappointments.”
“No kidding,” she mumbled back, staring at the table in front of her. Dealing would mean that she wouldn’t let thinking of Oz hurt her still.
“You may at times give an impression of passivity accompanied by a lack of drive and ambition. This is primarily due to your sense of restraint and disinterest in attracting undue attention. Hell.”
He put the book down as he finished the main body of the page, and lifted a curious eyebrow at her.
“Another pretty much hit the nail on the head reading?” she asked with a smile.
“Lot of similarities, pet. Determination, fire, let people walk all over you ...”
“What else does it say?”
He looked at the book again. “Numbers and planets. You are often difficult to fathom. You can be stubborn, yes, and argumentative? Hmm. You often see things differently from everyone else. You can be quick and explosive in your change of mood ... even suddenly and darkly combative.”
“Maybe a slight exaggeration there. Resolved is a better desctription,” Willow clarified.
“But -” he began.
“Resolved, Spike.”
He liked her resolve face. It still had that innocence, combined with determination. Her eyes, wide and warning. It could be fun to break that resolve ... bend it a little with kisses and - *Hell. Back to the book.*
“Tarot. The Emperor, rules from wisdom, blah blah blah, stable and wise, the force of his authority cannot be questioned. The positive associations of this card are strong willpower and steadfast energy; negative indications include stubbornness, tyranny, even ...” he hissed in delight, “brutality.”
“Oh, we so know this. And don’t want to know it again. Bad, bad, bad.”
*So I could never turn you? I could never lose you ... if I had you, I mean. Which I don’t. Won’t ... You wouldn’t stay with me forever?*
“Um. Health. Which is contradictory to before, it now says you should eat well and sleep well. Exercise vigorously to reduce stress. Well, I told you that. Ooooh, recommends you take part in combative sports such as boxing, karate, that sort of kicky-fighty stuff. I can see you doin’ that, pet. And you should borrow the poof for some tai-chi, to develop grace, patience, and control.” He gave her a sideways grin. “That’s what they say, leastways, I think you’re perfect graceful.”
“Thank you,” she smiled sweetly.
“Anything for you, luv. And a-ha!”
“Another a-ha? Didn’t we already do a-ha? Hey!”
“Sexually -” he drawled, his eyes skimming over what he could see of her figure, slow and appreciative.
She jumped under his gaze. “Llp. Um, I think we’ve read enough?”
“If you meant that, you’d have your resolve face on, pet. Sexually, you need lots of activity. But you’re selective, and may limit yourself to only a few partners.”
“Ooh, surprise me,” she muttered.
“How few, Willow-my-Willow?” he asked seductively, his low voice beguiling. “One, the wolf. Two, the moron?”
*Willow-my-Willow?*
“Uh-uh, Spike.”
“Uh-uh you aren’t going to play, or uh-uh not the moron?” he wheedled.
“Xander isn’t a -”
*Ah-ha.*
“Uh-uh not the moron. And I don’t think you’re into your little witch friend?”
“Tara?!”
He flicked aside the tantalising image. “Didn’t think so. One night stands, pet? Not the Watcher, I bloody hope.”
*Giles!?!*
“NO. And Spike, I refuse to talk about this any more.” She struggled to find her resolved face.
“I’m only tryin’ to help, pet. Obviously, you aren’t getting the lots of sexual activity that you need.”
“We’ve had this conversation, Spike. And I’m looking for a guy with a heartbeat.” She cringed inside as she said it, knowing its effect.
He swallowed, and the look on his face hurt to see.
*Low blow, Willow. Nice one. You are sooo lucky he has that implant. Or ... there could be the long and painful anticipation of him getting you for that remark once the implant’s gone. Oh boy.*
His face grew stony. “Didn’t say it was anything but helpful exercise, pet. So, advice. Push yourself a little more; achievements are important. That includes the notches on your metaphorical belt, remember. You -”
*Why did these simple words yank at his no-longer-human heart so much? It didn’t take much to just shut of emotion and just read, for Pete’s sake!*
“Youhavetodropyourguardtoletsomeonein. Doubt less, trust more, and try to be less critical and argumentative.” He flashed her a wink. “Wench.”
Her mouth dropped, and she sat up to snap back at him. But the smile on his face merely gave her the giggles. “Popsicle.”
“Cultivate diplomacy, pet. Although, self-assurance is key. You are the contrary one.”
“It’s part of my intrigue,” she replied calmly.
“And nice meditation. The greatest battles are fought within oneself.”
Lost, he traced the lines of his brow. Watching, Willow realised he was thinking of his demon, the one that fought inside him to make him a killer.
He snapped out of it, and re-focused on the book. “Strengths. You are caring, observant, indomitable. Your weaknesses are that you are self-effacing, easily irritated, and resentful. There you go, pet. All done.”
Willow gave him a tight smile. He looked back, his eyes traveling over her slowly.
“So what have we learned?” he queried, his voice husky again.
“Dog spit is cleaner than human,” she replied, a half-smile twisting her lips at one of Xander’s lines. She couldn’t resist.
“Riiiight then. No personal lessons achieved today, luv?”
“Well, I found out a few things that I can bribe you with next time I need a favor.”
“I’m quiverin’, Red.” He cocked his head at her, a wistful smile on his lips.
“Spike?” she asked, worried.
“What?” He snapped out of his funk, offering up his very best grin.
“You look so worried.”
“Unusual. And here you were thinkin’ the scary demons had no fears.”
She took a breath, and decided that this was the moment. That she couldn’t stand this ... hesitation ... any longer.
“Spike ... what ... Normally I think about these things a bit more and get myself worked up and write test versions and stuff, but I don’t think I have time for that here and so I’m just going to say it and if I’m wrong, well, just eat me at some point later on, okay?”
“With pleasure, pet.”
She gave him her resolve face, a beautiful picture of intensity, desperation and hope.
“I’m serious,” she told him quietly.
He slumped in his seat, nervous, concerned. Something. “O...kay.”
“What’s going on between us?”
He sat up again and leaned forward to touch her cheek. The scent of her filled the air around them, sweet. “What do you mean, luv?”
She leaned into his hand, smiling. “Are ... are we ... wanting to ... be something?”
He sucked in a breath. Dead or not, sometimes you had those moments.
“Do you want to, knowing all my darkest secrets of the soul?” he asked, dithering.
Her answering smile was warm. “If you can live with mine, I can live with yours, Spike.”
He gazed at her moments more, then steeled himself. Like the book said, for both of them really, sometimes you had to dive in and get those “other fish in the sea”. Or like the TV show said, “your lobster”. Or like the heart said, to just give it a damn chance.
“Truth is, pet, I’m sweet for you, head over heels, tearing my fangs out adoring. Have been a while now. Um, what d’you think?”
He had dropped his head, and his gaze, once he started speaking, but now he looked her in the eyes once more. “Willow?”
Willow was breathless. *Spike and Willow. Willow and Spike. Spike loves me. I love Spike.*
“Spike,” she finally breathed aloud, and instantly he knew it was reciprocated.
“Willow,” he answered, his tone rich with warm delight.
Willow stood, and eyed him. Then, impulsively throwing caution aside, she crawled across the table and knelt in front of him, smiling as she viewed his face with new eyes, new meaning. He watched her curiously, and then let out a startled yelp of surprise as she took his mouth.
“Happy birthday for July, beautiful vampire,” she whispered.
He laughed softly against her warm mouth. “Happy birthday for October, mine.”