The glow of the late-afternoon Roman sun warmed Buffy's kitchen, and Giles' voice buzzed distantly in her ear. "The prophecy is quite clear," he said. "It must be tonight, and it must be-"
"A Slayer and a vampire, making with the horizontal hokey-pokey. Heard you the first time. You realize that this is total patriarchal objectifying crap, right?" Hey, look, Willow was rubbing off on her. "Saving the world with my vagina?"
Over the crackling line, she heard Giles clear his throat. "Of course, it need not necessarily be you..."
"But hey, pretty convenient, right?" She allowed herself a grin. "Who knows, you might not have needed to call."
Now she could practically hear him blush, and she smirked. Mortification of the Watcher? Still a Buffy Summers event in the Slayer Olympics. Besides, it served him right. She heaved a long-suffering sigh. "The sacrifices I make. Tell your Council money people I need a bonus for this." On Giles' sputter, she hung up.
She glanced at the window glass, smoothed a stray wisp of hair and straightened her shirt. Then she slipped into the darkened living room, to Spike, stretched out on her sofa: the vampire in repose. Requiescat in pace.
"Hello, lover," she said as she slid onto him. One instant he was whipcord-taut beneath her, and then he melted, his angles meeting her curves in ways that were still too new – again – to be taken for granted.
"Not that I'm complaining..." he began, but she leaned in to nibble at his lip, which shut him up. It usually did, she was rediscovering.
"Shhh," she breathed into his mouth. "We have to save the world now."