India

It was during a project on India that Spike and Buffy first met.

They were juniors, but had managed to never meet. Spike had a wilful aura to him that warded people away. Buffy was the head cheerleader. He was feared; she was adored.

They were perfectly reluctant to work together. But over a month of library meetings, classes, and eventually going over to each others' houses, things changed - as they were likely to.

On the last day of the project, they kissed (finally, they both thought) over a map of India. And it was good - a start.

Muse

Buffy stumbled upon some poems in Spike's crypt, each describing a lovely woman, perfect in the poet's eyes.

She loved them. They were beautiful, passionate - and, she realized, about her.

When she asked him about it, he blushed. Actually blushed.

"You weren't meant t'see those," he mumbled. "I was a poet as a human. A bloody awful one. Was called William the Bloody."

Buffy touched his arm and smiled. "I love them."

Spike snorted. "Yeah, well, a poet's only as good as 'is muse. I was like a puppy. Got myself a right good one now. A real one."

Wrong

Buffy lay back, Spike asleep next to her after another of their trysts.

I have to stop, she thought. I can't keep doing this. I'm just giving him hope. Nothing will ever happen - She stopped. Something had happened. Was happening. I don't feel anything for him. This is just catharsis.

He stirred in his sleep, but Buffy didn't react. What am I doing? I hate this. I hate him. But she couldn't bring herself to believe it. She cared about him.

He's not a monster. She recalled everything he'd done for Dawn.

I feel wrong otherwise. This feels right.

Key

Buffy was the key to his sanity. He lost it for her, going through torture to get a soul so she could love him.

To be hers.

Then she had finally found him, and he became whole again. But he acted the same, because she would run from him if he showed any real love. She always ran from real love.

To be loved by her.

Finally, she said it. But it was a goodbye. She didn't mean it.

I love you.

No, you don't. But thanks for saying it.

She was the key to his destruction, and his salvation.

Trap

He held her, trapped under the weight of his body. Ferociously kissing her, her heart beating fast enough for the both of them. Buffy usually hated being trapped, hated being useless. But this - this was so different.

She loved this. She dug her fingers into his hips, just to make sure he knew that she never relinquished control, even while trapped.

Spike nipped at her lip, not quite hard enough to draw blood - and she scratched his back, leaving eight parallel scratches that faded fast. He grinned against her mouth; he loved their back-and-forth. They both did.

I have enough prompts for six weeks, so I don't need anything else for now. I'm also doing this for a variety of ships, so check around. Updates Sundays, starting 2/9.
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