"Here we are.  Home sweet home."  He kicked open the door and sprang down the steps into his crypt.  He came to an abrupt stop.  Sniffing the air, "Okay, who's here?  I'm really getting tried of this."  He sniffed the air again, "Harm."

"Hi Spikey," Harmony's blonde head popped up from the catacombs.

"Harm, what are you doing here?"  He started collecting his things and throwing them haphazardly into the old barrel-lidded steamer trunk under the window.

"Didn't you miss me?" She watched him, petulantly, as he moved about his crypt.  Her pink shaggy vest sparkled in the torchlight.  "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"  He moved aside the stone lid of the sepulchre that had served as his bed for nearly a year, and pulled out a couple of shirts and a pair of pants.  He moved around the head of the skeleton and retrieved a couple of socks.  He tossed his pile into the trunk. He went back and pulled a couple of books from between the occupant's feet, then closed the lid.

"You're leaving.  You were going to leave without saying good-bye?"  She folded her arms and stood in his way.

"You left me, remember?   After putting a crossbow bolt through my chest," he gestured at his chest, "I might add."  He scanned the room to see if there was anything he might have forgotten.

"Didn't you miss anything?"  She purred, running her nails across his t-shirted chest.  She sniffed him.  Her brows drew together, "What's this?  Who . . ."  A deep snarl came from nowhere as Harmony was ripped away from him.

"Hello, minx."  His hand shot out and grabbed Titia's arm before she could bring a stake down on the vampire prone before her.  Helping her up, he had to chuckle.  He really loved this.  "Titia, this is Harm, as in Harmony, not harmless.  Although that would apply.  Harm.  I'm leaving town."

He put an arm around his tall lover as she fought down her demon.  She was winning the struggle, but her eyes still glowed amber.

Harmony picked herself up off the floor, her eyes never leaving Titia.  "Spike, how could you?"  She sniffed at the red-haired woman, "Claimed by that!  I'm a vampire and you wouldn't have me!"

Spike allowed his sneer to expose his teeth, "You are a spoiled teenager.  Titia's more of a vampire than you could ever hope to be."

"But Spike." Harmony whimpered.

"Get out, little girl."  Titia growled, her gold eyes darkening to their natural mahogany brown.

Harmony backed toward the door, her head shaking in disbelief.  She sobbed and ran out the door.

"What is it with you and women in this town?"  Titia turned to look at Spike.

He pulled his lips into a cocky smile, "Can't help it, pet.  I'm irresistible."

"You won't be so irresistible if I beat you to a pulp."

"Eww, so fierce, kitten," He turned and surveyed the room, "I think that's everything, just let me check downstairs."

He returned with a large one-handed battle-axe.  He placed it on top of the stuff in the trunk and closed the lid.  Picking it up, he said "Ready."

She was studying the vaulted arches of the ceiling.  "I can see why you chose it."  Gesturing to the crypt, "Are there any happy memories from here?"

He shrugged, she knew there wasn't.  She walked around as if memorizing the placement of things, careful not to disturb the dust.  He could feel her come up behind him.   The displaced air brushed his skin.

"I wish we'd spent some time here.  This is part of you I don't know."  She planted a kiss on the back of his neck.  Running her hands along his thighs, she moulded her body to his back.  "Want to make a couple of happy memories to take away?"

Spike watched her as she took the trunk from his arms and set it aside.  She stepped back, kissing him as she relieved him of his duster.

She piled their clothes on the dust free surface of the sepulchre.  He let her seat him in the large armchair in front of the telly, where he'd spent so many useless nights.  She crawled onto him, pushing his head back against the chair, exposing the tracework of faded bite marks.  She kissed each one.   By the time she reached his face all but one part of him was limp and relaxed.   Her lips traced the peaks and hollows of his face, stopping to nip at his lips as she lowered herself onto him.  She took advantage of his moan to slip her tongue inside to tease his.

The smooth surface of her ass felt right in his hands, as her muscles flexed with her thrusts.  He slid a hand between them, to trace her slick opening where it stretched tightly around him, before sliding a finger up to rub languid circles around her swollen clit.

She moaned into his mouth, running her tongue along his teeth.  His body reacted to her signal, elongating his canines.  Spicy drops of her blood dropped on his tongue, releasing his feral side.  He snarled as he sucked on her tongue, increasing their pace with forceful upward strokes.

She pulled away, and growled, "All Mine!" to the ceiling as she came.  He was caught for a split moment where his body reacted to the enforcement to her Claiming.   His eyes feasted on her bouncing breasts, and the lips of her sex tortured his cock with their strength, before his climax washed away all thought.  He slumped back against the chair, spent and panting.  His cool skin was slick from her hot moisture condensing on him.

Her kisses once again honoured his neck and face with their hot tribute.  They were converting the wild passion of sex into the less ephemeral pleasure of contentment, when the door of the crypt banged open.

"We will be a few more minutes," came Titia's answer, before the invader could question.

"Oh!  Sorry!  Ah.  I'll be outside so practicing my knocking," was Buffy's retreating reply.

Titia smiled lovingly down at him, and then continued her lazy kisses.  He pulled her close so he could press his face into her soft breasts.  He looked past the soft mounds to the stone walls beyond.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."  She held him close for a few minutes, before disengaging with a sigh.  She tossed him his pants before dressing herself.  Pants on, he collected the rest of his clothes and dressed.  He pulled on his duster and ran his hands through his hair before lifting the trunk once again.

"Ready?"  She said.

He nodded as he turned toward the door, but paused after passing the old TV set.  Without a backward glance, he erupted into a spiralling roundhouse kick that sent the set smashing against the far wall.  Yes, I feel great.  He walked out the door smiling.
 
 
 

Outside, they found Buffy perched on a headstone, a large packed knapsack at her feet.  She didn't look up at them as they approached.  "Sorry," she offered again.

"How's that knocking thing coming along?"  Titia smiled easily, no sign of strain in her voice.  "Buffy will travel with me."  Spike relaxed, seeing that this little surprise was going to work out.

Titia turned and kissed him. "We'll wait for you at the Mission Street on-ramp, so we can travel together."  He nodded as he turned and walked deeper into the cemetery to the maintenance shed.

He stepped over the piles of empties that still littered the ground around the DeSoto to open the boot.  He placed the old trunk inside.  Without pausing, he slid into the driver's seat and started the car.

He couldn't stop the lyrics of 'My Way' from rolling off his tongue, as he peeled out of the driveway and headed out of town after the old Jag.
 
 

He looked up, through the passenger side window, at the floodlit Hyperion Hotel.  The Ponce always did like grand.  He watched as Titia and Buffy talked outside the hotel's courtyard gate.

Buffy nodded to Titia before turning and leaping over the gate.  Bye, Slayer.  Good bloody luck Peaches.  He hoped Titia and he would be off to Montreal before he had to endure a social call.

On Titia's return to her car, she stopped at his window.  "How was the drive?"  Translated that's 'how are you dealing with Buffy going back to the old pouf?'

"Fine, pet."  He was fine.   Not that there wasn't a sense of loss and some-should-have-beens, but he'd accepted the new course of his life.  No regrets.

She nodded and ran her fingers through his hair, before returning to her car.

He tailed the jag through the dark early morning streets, until they pulled into the underground parking of an impressive building of art deco flats.  He parked the Desoto in the space next to hers.  Underground parking.  I can live with that.

A little shiver of anxiety passed through him, at the sense of permanence the removal of his trunk from the boot implied.  He took a deep, unnecessary breath before hoisting the trunk onto his shoulder and turning to help Titia with their bags.

"Let me take that."  He took the suitcase from her as she shouldered the other bags.

"Thank you.  This way."  He followed her through a door and up a set of stairs.

A cornucopia of scents, both demon and human, came to him as he climbed the stairs to the sixth and top floor.

Titia unlocked the door and stepped through, "Welcome, Spike."

He suppressed a shudder as he stepped through the fading barrier into her one-armed embrace.  She released him and locked the door.  He followed as she turned right off the vestibule and down a dark hall.

I can live with this, he thought as he surveyed the richly coloured bedroom.  He set the trunk against the burgundy-coloured wall.  The deep, warm tones were offset by the cream of the curtains on the north facing windows, and the organza that hung over the canopy of the large walnut bed.  The bed was the centrepiece of the room.  Its heavy pillars holding a cascade of airy fabric that flowed into pools on either side of the headboard.

The faintest hint of musk clung to the room, he sniffed, Not Angel.  Dillon? The thought of Titia's ex made him bare his teeth.  He was going to enjoy that kill.

He tossed his duster over an upholstered chair of the little sitting area at the farside of the room next to the windows.   Looking to westward, he saw where Titia went with their bags through an archway to a dressingroom.  He dug out a fag and sat to look out into the courtyard below.  His interest wasn't there.   It was focused on the possible ways he could kill Dillon, painfully and without wasting too much time.

"Could I get you something to eat?  I'm going to make some tea."

"Sure," he said.  He watched her retreating ass.

Lighting up another smoke, he stood and walked out of the room.  The next door down the hall still held the faint smell of Angel.  He must have been here for a few days,  Spike thought as he looked around the guest room.  He proceeded further down the hall, past the main bathroom and a powder room, and through the archway into the parlour.  To his left was the dining room and kitchen.   He turned to the right and entered Titia's study.  He smiled as her dark colour scheme graced this room as well.

He heard the jingle of the tea tray as Titia carried it toward the bedroom.   He retraced his steps.  Taking his seat, he watched as Titia placed a warm mug of blood and a cup for tea before him.   She sat and observed him through her eyelashes as she took her cup and poured the tea.  She sat back with a cookie from the plate.

"I'm okay."  He said under her scrutiny.

After a few seconds she nodded, "I don't want to wake in the morning and find you gone."

"I'm not leaving, Titia.  Wouldn't even if I had somewhere to go."  He drank down the blood.  The faint trace of Dillon was working its way back into his perception.  He sipped some tea  and allowed the needling need to extinguish that scent to grow.  He would drown it out with his own.  There would be no reminders of any other, in any room.  The side of his mouth tugged up; there was one tried and true way.

Titia caught his look with a knowing wicked smile of her own.  She placed her teacup back on the tray, and they stood in unison.  Her eyes were gold as he backed toward the bed. His was gaze on hers as she stripped, leaving a trail of clothes as she went.  He managed to get his Docs off before she landed him in the middle of the bed.  She pulled his shirt half off, using it bind his hands loosely over his head, as she kissed down his neck possessively.  You're completely lost, old mate.  He sighed happily, surrendering to Titia's mouth and hands.
 
 
 

"I've been thinking on it.  Don't worry."  Peaches' scent was still evident above the smell of leather where he sat in the study's couch and drank his breakfast.  It still put him off a bit even though he knew his grand-sire had no claim on her.

"We don't have much time, William.  My leads will be here in two days.  We need a working plan before then.  You need to be secure in your position before we hit Montreal.  It must be smooth.   We still have Montreal to deal with and I can't afford to postpone Bonn again."

He watched her as she paced the study leaving her breakfast untouched.  He wished he could put her at ease.  But it didn't work that way.  "You should eat.  I don't want that housekeeper of yours to stake me for upsetting your routine."  He patted the couch beside him.  "You know, I've done this sort of thing before.  It will work out."  Actually he hadn't.   This was quite unique.  But there's an age-old solution.

"I know can trust you.  It's just that-"

"-you like to plan.  I know.  Trust me, kitten."  He patted the couch again and she sat.

They both looked at the door before Kat's knock hailed her entrance.  "Titia, dear, I'm going shopping.  Was there anything you wanted?"

"No.  Thanks, Kat"

The housekeeper's eyes turned to Spike, unable to hold his gaze.   She nodded to his cup, "Would you like another, sir?"

"No.  I'm fine."  He tried not to smile, knowing it would further unnerve the woman.  He wasn't put out at the woman's reaction, fear was the way she should react to his presence.

Titia turned her raised eyebrows from her maids retreating back to him.  He grinned happily at her and nodded toward her meal.