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Comfort and Joy

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Willow was alone. Horribly, wonderfully alone. And she was doing homework. Again. Although this term she had been smart enough not to repeat the Psych debacle, which had turned out rather nicely, she thought, glancing around her bedroom at the things that had changed since she’d jumped Spike’s bones in the basement two weeks ago.

One, he wasn’t living in the basement anymore.

Two, you could now tell that Willow was banging a hot vampire on a daily (sometimes more than once a day) basis. The glow she walked around with was more than enough to make the others wrinkle their noses and make vomiting noises behind her and Spike’s back when they were caught making out in the kitchen (or by the stairs, on the porch, in the living room, and once in the downstairs closet by Xander, who was about to introduce Anya to his secret closet fetish).

And three, Spike rubbed it in the Slayer’s face every chance he got.

Willow grinned at that, but sighed as she contemplated the math before her. Calculus was literally kicking her ass. In high school, it had not been a problem, but now, as a senior, her brain had been too busy learning magick, averting apocalypses, and just generally not retaining anything she’d learned in high school that now she had to learn it all over again, and it was much harder this time around.

So yes, she was ambivalent about being alone. It sucked, because Spike wasn’t here, playing with her hair or reading her body in Braille, which generally led to awesome sex, but on the other hand if he’d been here she wouldn’t have been working anyway.

It was great, because when you live in a house with one of your best friends, her sister, a Seer, and your vampire boyfriend, privacy was a rare commodity. But a distraction was something she would have really welcomed right about now, despite the fact that she had several more hours of homework ahead of her, and gee, was that Willow Rosenberg, student extraordinaire, wanting to slack off? Gasp!

Willow reached up and yanked the tie out of her shoulder length red hair and wondered if there was any way she could sneak out without the nasty guilt ‘you didn’t finish’ cloud tracking her down. The thought had barely passed across her mind before she felt cool hands on her cheeks and she closed her eyes and sighed in pleasure.

“Really, luv, I told you after last term I didn’t want you getting this stressed over your classes anymore,” Spike chastised as he removed a length of black silk from his jean pocket and blindfolded Willow.

“I know…and look, I didn’t listen.” Willow said, automatically closing her eyes against the cloth.

Spike chuckled. “When do you ever listen to me?”

Willow couldn’t see, but knew his eyebrow was lifted and she spun around in her chair to face him. “There’s been at least one time…hasn’t there?”

“Not so far,” he replied, grabbing her hand and tugging her upwards for a kiss. “Come on, then, a little stress relief is just what you need.”

Willow smiled and followed, trusting he wouldn’t lead her into anything painful.

And sure enough, a few seconds later she could smell jasmine and lavender. A click behind her alerted her senses to the door being shut, and she sighed happily.

A few moments later, she was undressed and sinking with pure bliss into hot water scented with lavender bath salts.

“I love you, Spike,” she murmured, and he chuckled low and long.

“Just remember that the next time you want to throw something at me, alright?”

Willow nodded and began to drift as the aromatherapy and the soothing tones of her lover’s voice reading one of her favorite sonnets reached her ears.

“From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel:
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament,
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
And, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding:
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.”

Spike glanced over from his seat on the closed toilet and smiled at the sight he saw. Willow’s red hair was spread out over the bath pillow, and she was snoring gently, her stress whisked away by the bath and the poetry.

The blond dragged a finger through the water and noticed it was cooling, so he laid the book of sonnets aside and stripped, too bad the view was wasted, he thought wryly as he lifted Willow out of the bathtub and set her gently, still mostly asleep, on her feet.

“Don’t warn the tadpoles,” she whispered as her head lolled against his shoulder and he wrapped her wet body in a towel.

“Don’t worry, luv, you’re definitely save from the frogs,” Spike replied, lifting her into his arms and maneuvering carefully down the empty hallway to their bedroom.

He laid Willow on their bed, then, as she snuggled entirely too cutely into the covers, he walked over to the stereo and cued the CD he’d put in earlier.

The soft sounds of Mozart filled the room as he got Willow under the covers without waking her more, then wrapped his arms around her, so that her head was pillowed on his chest.

“I love you, darling, you know that, right?” he asked, and grinned at her sleeping mind’s answer.

“I love you too; just don’t piss off Buffy anymore.”