“I hate it more,” Spike retorted. “Do you have any idea what shit it is to get Eqora slime out of leather?”

Willow rolled her eyes and scratched irritably at the thick layers of slime that coated her skin. “Tell me again why the car’s stopped?” she demanded.

“Ran out of gas,” Spike scowled.

Willow groaned and began to squirm. “This stuff really *fucking* itches,” she whimpered. “Screw going home. Can we just crash at a motel and have Xander pick us up in the morning?”

“I’ve got slime under my bloody *fingernails*!” Spike hissed. “What do you think I think?”

“First one to the motel gets the shower,” Willow said, and they both began to run.

Vampiric speed is one thing, and witchy speed is another, but in the end they got there at the same time, and stood bickering in front of the receptionist’s desk. The thirty-something woman who sat there could only watch them in silence for a few moments before gathering her courage and yelling, “That’ll be forty-three dollars and sixty cents!”

Spike threw his credit card at her irritably and turned back to Willow. “There is no *bleeding* way I’m going to wait for you to scrub all of that shit of your perfect porcelain skin before I get my turn!” he growled.

Willow growled right back, “Well there is no ‘bleeding way’ I’m going to sit around and get a skin rash from this stuff while you take your sweet time washing your hair!”

“Here’s your credit card, sir,” the receptionist said meekly. Spike snatched it from her hand and he and Willow stomped side-by-side to the door to their room. Together they shoved it open and stood panting in the middle of the drab space.

Finally, Willow sighed, shrugged and said, “Wanna share?”

“Fine with me.”

They both began tearing off their clothes, which proved easier said than done as the slime from the aforementioned Eqora demon stuck their clothes to their skin like superglue.

From a balanced perspective, however, this wasn’t all bad.

“Here, pet, let me help you with that,” Spike offered, vamping out and leaning forward to delicately tear Willow’s T-shirt down the center with his fangs.

“Thank you, kind sir,” Willow said sweetly. “You seem to be having trouble with your pants. Would you like some assistance?” She moved to put her hand over Spike’s, as he had been trying desperately to work the slime-stuck zipper of his jeans, and a warm glow pulsed over his crotch. Spike moaned as the zip came loose.

“All right, Red, that’s it,” Spike said a few minutes later, getting sick of Willow struggling with her panties, which were inconveniently stuck to her bottom. He slid a finger carefully between the cotton and her skin and worked the fabric loose until she was able to pull her underwear off and stand naked in front of him.

And then they were tightly in each other’s arms, trying to find various anatomical parts amidst the sludge as well as trying to maneuver towards the bathroom. “Wait! Wait,” Willow muttered, disentangling herself from Spike’s muscled figure. “We have to call Giles and Dawn and Xander and let them know we’re okay.”

“Call the Watcher and let him call the rest of them,” Spike growled.

“Sounds good,” Willow said breathlessly. She dialed Giles’ number and sat on the bed, bouncing a little as the phone on the other end of the line rang. “Giles? Hey, it’s Willow.”

Spike turned and stalked into the bathroom.

“Yeah, we’re at a motel—What? No, I don’t mind. Yes, there’s only one bed, but I’m sure we’ll survive somehow… His car ran out of gas. Can you believe it? I’m gonna stake him, I swear.”

Spike poked his head from the bathroom, where the shower could be heard running, and scowled.

“I’ve gotta go. Shower. This slime is *so* disgusting… No, I did *not* let Spike go first—We’re showering at the same—That is, uh, the motel is letting us use two different showers because we’re such a mess.”

Willow turned bright red and smiled at Spike.

“Yes, yes, I know. I need to go wash my hair—I’m afraid it might start falling out soon. *Joking*, Giles, I’m *joking*… Okay. Uh, okay… Call Xander and Dawn for me? Thanks. Yes. Okay. Goodnight, Giles! Bye. *Bye*.”

She slammed the phone down, not noticing as it fell off the charger, and rushed to the bathroom door to join Spike. He grabbed her hand and dragged her in with him, and pulled her up into his arms just as he maneuvered them both under the hot water.

Willow sighed into Spike’s mouth as he shifted to wrap her legs around his waist and press her back up against the shower wall. He kissed her mouth, hard, and she returned the action with fervor. His tongue swept along her teeth, and one of her hands let go its grip on his tense shoulder to snake its way up into… Spike’s eewy, gooey, demon-slimey hair.

No matter how hot Spike was—no matter what a good lover, or how his voice made her tingle—Willow simply could not find the strength within herself to have sex with a man covered in Eqora demon slime. “Spike,” she mumbled. He paused mid-smooch and arched a dark eyebrow at her. “Spike, believe me, you are an incredible man—vampire—demon—whatever, but you’re *covered* in demon slime, and that is as far from a turn-on as you can get.”

He chuckled and stepped back slightly, letting her unlock her slippery legs from around his waist and slide to the floor. “Well, *you*”, he replied, “Are just about the cutest thing on two legs, but you’re absolutely disgusting right now.”

“Was that a compliment or an insult?” Willow wanted to know. She tilted her head back to catch the hot shower spray on her face.

“Sort of both,” Spike muttered. “What say we wash off a little before we—ahem—get intimate?”

“Sounds lovely,” Willow replied, beaming. She handed Spike the shampoo and took the bar of soap for herself.

Spike squirted a ridiculous amount of the shampoo into a cupped hand and began massaging it into his hair. He kept his eyes tightly shut as he tried to finger-comb the worst of the goo away.

Willow snickered slightly. “Afraid of getting soap in your eyes?”

Spike scowled but refused to open his eyes. “Hey, this stuff *hurts*.”

“And you call yourself the Big Bad,” the redhead scoffed. “Give me the shampoo.”

***

Due to Spike’s silly insistence that no man spent more than ten minutes in the shower (and Willow’s assertion than no woman spent *less*), Spike was out first, relieved to be squeaky clean.

Though his mind *would* insist on drifting back to Willow’s slender water-slicked body, there were more important issues at hand, one of the most prominent being that they had no clothing.

The vampire scowled, wrapped one of the ridiculously tiny towels around his waist, and stalked to the reception desk at the front of the motel.

The hapless woman behind the desk who had been staring with glazed eyes at the screen of her archaic computer snapped to attention when Spike appeared. “Sir?”

Spike gestured at her uniform. “Don’t suppose you have any more of those?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Spike snorted. “D’you have any extra scrubs lying about, you twit? Me and my girl don’t have wearable clothes.”

The woman gave Spike an appreciative up-and-down look. “So I see.”

Spike decided he simply could not take any more of this and decided to go for suave and persuasive. Vamping out, he grinned and said, “Extra uniforms. One for me, and one for my girl in there. She probably wears a size medium. Hop to it.”

The receptionist hopped.

Ten minutes later, laden with extra towels, complementary toothbrushes, the uniforms, some stain remover, and some hand cream, Spike bid the woman a polite “Good night,” and turned to go back to the room.

He turned back quickly and, shifting the necessaries in his arms so he could clutch at the towel around his waist to keep it closed, Spike said, “Hey—one more thing.”

The cowering receptionist gave her best sincere smile, which wasn’t much good at all. “Yes?”

“Got a hairbrush?”

Willow was still in the shower when Spike got back to the room, so he pulled on what could loosely be called ‘pants’ (if the critic were in a good mood) and made a face. These uniforms were by no means attractive, menacing, dignified, or sexy. Spike usually tried for all four but would on occasion settle for a mere one or two.

Damn it.

He flopped onto the bed and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Never known for his patience, Spike was starting to get downright antsy. What on earth was *taking* the woman so long? “*Willow*!” he bellowed, unable to contain himself any longer.

Willow emerged from the bathroom, looking as dignified as someone barely covered by a vaguely white-ish towel could. “I was *trying* to comb my hair.”

“Here.” He tossed her the brush.

The gratitude in Willow’s eyes was almost preposterous. “*Thank* you, Spike,” she said. “I hate tangles.”

“Got clothes, too,” Spike informed her, smug. He indicated the uniform he’d obtained for her.

Willow skipped over to him and planted a light kiss on his nose. “You’re my savior.” She put down the brush and pulled the shirt on over her head. It was huge, and came down past her thighs, but was far better than nothing.

“Sit, luv,” Spike said, and brandished the brush at her. Willow grinned and let him run his fingers through her hair as she nestled between his legs.

He then proceeded to give her the most gently grooming she’d ever experienced. He was light-fingered with the brush and saw tangles almost before he encountered them. He never pulled at her scalp, though he did give her temples a very short, and very welcome, massage. By the time Spike was done, Willow’s hair was nearly dry, brushed in smooth waves to her shoulders, and Willow was reduced to a puddle of goo (not literally, of course) under his hands.

“Willow?”

“*Mmmmmmmmm*,” was all she could manage. Spike chuckled. He stood and bent to lift her into his arms.

“Hey, you,” he said softly. She indulged him with a slow smile. “Wake up.”

“I’m awake, sort of,” Willow said. “Do I ever tell you how much I appreciate you?”

“Does that mean I’m not going to be getting any?” Spike asked, putting his best ‘sad-puppy’ face into action.

“I’m too tired,” Willow confessed, and giggled at the disappointment in his blue eyes. “I’ll still kiss you, though.”

“Sounds lovely.” Spike let her plop into bed and then he joined her, pulling the sheets over the both of them and kicking the blankets to the floor.

“C’mere,” Willow said, and laced her fingers in his still-damp locks before pulling his face down to hers. She could feel him smile against her lips before he gently swept his tongue across them. She opened her mouth for him, and they spent the next few hours in quiet, comfy bliss.