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Her pale skin was a stark contrast to his even paler color. He curled around her for warmth despite the three blankets on the bed. She didn’t miss the feel of a heartbeat against her back. Strangely they were friends as well as lovers. He’d always been kind to her, especially when he’d proven she wasn’t a demon. She listened to all his worries about his love life, or lack there of.
Tara had turned to him when she’d left Willow. Spike had been spurned by Buffy, again. It was need at first, substitutes for others they couldn’t have. It had slowly turned to something more. She’d moved on, but she wasn’t sure he had. Glancing at the clock she nudged him gently.
“Spike, it will be dawn soon, half an hour at most.”
“Wanna stay,” he mumbled, pulling her closer to him.
“You can’t, the curtains…,” she protested.
“Changed them, bought heavier ones with some dosh I earned at poker.”
Tara turned and looked. Her flimsy curtains had been replaced with heavier, darker ones. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said.
“Wanted to, luv,” he said, awake now and pressing kisses down her spine. “Your place is nicer than my crypt.”
“It won’t be my place for long. I got a job offer, Spike.”
“Good for you,” he said. “Where?”
“In London, with Giles.” Spike didn’t reply. “Come with me,” she said. “I can pay for a coffin. I’d have my own apartment there, close to a butcher’s shop for your blood.”
“Don’t think the Watcher’d want me there.”
“I don’t care. Please?”
He turned her over, looking deep into her eyes. She waited her heart pounding.
“I have been feeling a bit homesick of late,” he ventured slowly.
She kissed him with a smile. She hadn’t expected him to say yes, hadn’t expected anything from him really, but she would take this.