Author: Zyrya; zyryafic@arcadiae.net
Rating: NC-17; adult themes, adult language, sex scenes, character death.
Summary: An escapist reworking of Crush (Season 5).
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon and assorted companies. Some dialogue and scenes in Part I are taken from Crush, written by David Fury and directed by Daniel Attias.
Notes:This is a first person, present tense, Buffy POV narrative, so the writing style is intentionally rambling. Expect tormented grammar, run-on sentences galore and a criminal abuse of punctuation. I've invented a lower level bedroom in Spike's crypt that wasn't there until Season 6, sent Harmony packing, and cast the most dreadful aspersions on Riley's sexual prowess.
Saturday night.
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Mom wanted to debrief me (out, Rileyspeak, out!), but she interpreted my shellshock as extreme fatigue so I was excused to my bedroom almost immediately. She was right, though, because I was out to it for the rest of the night and quite a lot of the next day, dreaming about Spike and cranking up the Slayer/Arch-rival bond several notches in my sleep.
When I woke Mom and Dawn were off doing Saturday afternoon things together. Their return was the occasion for much admiring of consumer goods, and it was well after dinner that Dawn went to her room and Mom sat me in the kitchen for the big talk. I danced around the topic for a while until I eventually said I didn't know exactly what was going on between me and Spike, which is mostly true but led to difficult questions about why there's suddenly a 'between me and Spike' at all and a lot of motherly advice about relationships. It says much about my life that Mom's relationship advice has a regularly featured vampire component.
Mom allowed me to escape upstairs after we had the 'I'm an adult now' argument that gets shorter every time because she knows the 'I'm still your mother' ground she stands on is shrinking daily. She didn't ask if I'm going to see Spike tonight, and it was good not having to lie to her and even better not having to tell her the truth.
I'm not getting dressed up for this. I hope there'll be kissing and more, but first there will be lots of serious talking and nothing says 'serious talk first' like jeans and a heavy jacket and sturdy shoes. Especially with no jewellery and minimal makeup. I can't resist sensuous silk underwear, though, because if he gets to see under the serious talking clothes we'll be done with the serious talking and on to the kissing and more.
My brain drivels on like that the whole time I'm showering and drying my hair and getting dressed while I wait for Mom to go to bed. She finally has, and I'm swinging down off the roof very quietly because Mom's only just turned off the light, and because Dawn's a light sleeper and a heavy blackmailer who spent her whole bank balance today at the mall.
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Spike's sitting at the entrance to his crypt, smoking a cigarette, with an expression that scuds from sad to surprised to pleased to nervous as he gets to his feet. I stand on the grass in the moonlight and we have to choose between talking and kissing.
"Do we talk or snog?" he asks, reading my mind again.
I raise one eyebrow, partly to prove he's not the only one with eyebrow skills, set my mouth into a firm, kiss-repelling line, and cut directly to the chase. "If I'd stuck with the Spike Revolts Me approach, would you have let Drusilla kill me?"
"No! God, no!" He's so horrified he takes a step towards me, hands extended, but I fold my arms across my chest. "Never! I had to show you how I feel, make you believe me. You wouldn't listen before, and I ran out of ideas."
"You ran out of ideas? After only one? Fake a stakeout date, and then it's straight to electrocution and death threats?"
"Flowers and chocolates and walks on the beach were going to work?" He does his own eyebrow thing, snorts, and flicks the cigarette butt into the night. "Didn't think so."
"You could have tried those."
"I've been trying things like that for months. You didn't even notice me when you weren't punching me in the nose or wanting me to do something for you. Besides ... some women like being chained up."
Another round of mutual eyebrow action. And it suddenly hits me ... Spike's sources for romantic relationships are Drusilla, and tv soap operas, and whatever he got up to as a human in the Victorian era. Unmixy things much?
The wind picks up and I rub my arms, so Spike opens the door and we go inside. The crypt looks different ... cleaner? ... but I'm preoccupied with recasting things he's said and done over the past few months into courtship rituals. And wondering if punching him in the nose and asking him to do things were my courtship rituals.
"I can sort of understand the chains," I admit. "Although it was very very wrong, and I can't believe you did it, and if I ever see that cattle-prod again it's going up your nose."
I check to see if he's laughing, but he heads for a sarcophagus and sits quietly.
"But, Spike .... " I don't know how to start this. I pace around for a while and he watches me.
"Yes, love?" he prompts.
"Downstairs. On the wall."
He sits very still.
"You had things there ... clothes, photos ... things you took from my house ... from my bedroom. Some of them have been missing for a long time. And drawings Angel did three years ago."
Spike nods. I'm waiting for him to defend himself with the usual babble of lies and justifications, but he's waiting for me to continue.
"I need to know ...."
What do I need to know? What do I need him to know? What will happen if I open up to him? What won't happen if I don't? There's no going backwards, but forwards is ... I have no idea what forwards is. I've spent the past five years trying to stay safely in one place. There's no safety here ... whatever Spike is or could be, safe is not on the list. Do I still want safety? Look where safe, reliable Riley got me. Samurai Slayer time ... courage and determination.
"How long has this been going on? Did the Buffy memorabilia collection start out as a Know Your Enemy thing? And is it still partly that? Is Harmony still around? When did you stop being in love with Drusilla? Why did you stop? Or are you still in love with her? Why are you in love with me? When did you know? Why did you have blood on your mouth last night? Does your chip still work? Are you killing again? Is this your latest evil plan?"
He just sits there, listening, until Samurai Slayer runs out of courage and determination. Suddenly I don't want to talk any more, and I sure as hell don't want to listen because I know I won't like some of his answers. So I run to him and we kiss each other senseless. I'm reacquainting one hand with the delicious layer of fat on his stomach and my other hand is circling up his thigh, and Spike groans and grabs my wrists and pushes me back a little.
"You need to know, right? You need answers first. Buffy?"
I like to think I am a disciplined person. Giles has invested years training me to be alert and focused, honing my concentration skills through meditation and visualisation exercises. But now I'm breathing erratically and trying to pull my hands free and visualising Spike naked, and things are pretty screwed up when the vampire with the attention span of a three year old has better impulse control than I do.
"Especially before that," he reprimands, letting go of my wrists and pulling his coat around his front. "This means too much to me, Buffy. I want to do it right."
"Okay. Answers, please."
"Can you repeat the questions? In order?" he twinkles at me. Spike reprimands and twinkles and pushes me away when I throw myself at him. It's disturbing enough to work.
"Umm ... tell me about the Buffy shrine."
"Shrine, eh? Healthy ego there, Summers."
I make a face at him.
"Yeah, all right. Here's the thing. I've been falling in love with you since we met, since I first saw you dancing in the Bronze. Since I ... uh ... threatened to kill you. The first time." I snort, and he ducks his head but persists. "Not all the way in love in the beginning, obviously, but it was there and it burned into me a bit more every time I saw you or thought about you. Which was constantly. It's why Dru left me."
I start to ask about Drusilla, but he waves the issue away. "Not ready to talk about that yet. Or Angel, either," he warns. "This is just about us now."
I nod.
"I didn't know I was in love with you, but I was always thinking about you and trying to be near you. I took up with Harm because she looks like you ... "
"Take that back!"
"She does! Long blonde hair, and perky little cheerleader ... moves."
"You bastard!" I lunge at him and he fends me off. "You're so gonna pay for that!"
"See? Exactly what Harm would say," he smirks, and I lunge again and kiss the smirk right off his face. I summon enough discipline to move away from him and enough concentration to realise that a day ago I'd have punched the smirk instead.
"I knew I could never have you," he says, tilting his head and holding my hands to his chest. "So I took little bits of you ... your clothes, some things from your room ... because I knew that's all I would ever get."
"But I'm here," I say, and ask the only question I really care about right now. "What are you going to do with me?"
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The doorway I was chained in leads to a bedroom. It's a bit too Harmonyised for my taste, especially given the recently acquired and highly alarming knowledge that Harmony was a substitute me, but there aren't any coffins or spooky gargoyles (or spookier unicorns), and the tree roots have been cleared from the ceiling. It's surprisingly warm and dry, and the candles give an intimate light that makes the stone walls recede into flickering shadows.
We did talk for a lot longer. It must be one or two in the morning now, but neither of us wears a watch. I asked most of my questions and Spike answered most of them, and things were uncomfortable for a while because we drifted into dangerous Angel and Drusilla waters. Then the talking became flirting, which led to kissing, and as we moved together and apart and together again we were both heading inexorably to the trapdoor.
I thought being back in the lower level of the crypt would be creepy, what with all the happy memories from last night, but the bones and manacles and Drusilla's dust were gone. My peripheral vision briefly registered that the Buffy Shrine had been packed into a box, but by then my legs were around Spike's waist and he was squeezing my ass, and now he's lowering me to the bedroom floor.
Spike lights more candles with his Zippo, and I kick off my shoes and wriggle out of my jeans. I never knew how fiddly motorcycle boots could be, though, and he only has one off by the time I'm down to my post-serious-talking camisole and panties, and I'm losing patience and tugging at his coat.
"Mind the leather," he warns, and I bite him on the shoulder as I pull the damn coat down his arms. He takes it from me and places it far too worshipfully on a chair, so I drag him onto the bed and untuck his t-shirt because I'm determined to claim his stomach.
He sits up a bit, wrestling with his knotted laces, and I'm lying half off the bed kissing his belly and the line of soft hair that trails down into his pants. My head's in his lap because he's jack-knifed for footwear removal purposes, and he's breathing heavily as my cheek presses into his crotch. He throws the boot triumphantly against the wall and lies back with his hands behind his head, clearly expecting me to proceed to jeans duty. I give all my attention to sucking a hickey on his stomach, so he tries to unbuckle his belt but my head and hands are in the way.
"Pet? Little access?"
I laugh, and lick along the skin just above his waistband, holding his hips. "No, this is my favourite part of you."
"How do you know? You haven't seen the rest."
"This is what I came for."
He hauls me up the bed so I land on my back with my head on the pillows, and his voice is a low, smouldering growl. "I'll show you what you came for, hellcat, and you will come for it til you scream."
"I'd be coming right now if you weren't too badass for regular shoes," I bleat.
"Yeah, 'cause nothing says Lock Up Your Women like tasselled loafers."
I have a witty retort but it flies out of my head because he's standing at the foot of the bed taking off his t-shirt unbelievably slowly and flexing every muscle, and he's absolutely right ... I hadn't seen the rest, and now that I'm seeing some of the rest I'm reconsidering the swooning concept.
He kneels on the mattress, bends over, and crawls up to me on his hands and knees ... like a big, hungry cat. He's probably done this a thousand times, at least some of them in this very room, but now he's lying alongside me, and his face is above mine and he's grazing his lips along my cheek to snuffle in my ear, and I'm trembling with anticipation and not caring about his thousands of times. I turn to his mouth and kiss him wildly, incapable of carrying out my plan to play with his stomach til he begs for other things. I'm all with the plan-following lately. I'm on Spike's bed. I'm on Spike's bed with Spike. I'm molesting Spike on Spike's bed.
Spike, however, is not molesting me. He breaks the kiss.
"Buffy, slow down. It'll be better this way," he breathes into my ear, running his fingers through my hair.
I nod and try to calm down, but I'm panting and biting his shoulder and fumbling with his belt and he's rolling me onto my front and holding me down with a sharp elbow. My squawk is muffled by the pillows.
"Slayer," he says sternly.
Discipline Girl takes charge, and the elbow is removed. He lies on his right side and continues playing with my hair. His voice is gentle again. "I've been dreaming about this for years, and I want to enjoy every ... long ... minute," he explains, kissing the hand I have tucked under my chin and stroking my hair until I take a deep breath and relax.
The kisses move up my arm, Spike's mouth open and wet and getting warmer as he draws heat from my skin. His hand caresses my back and he leans forward to scissor the camisole strap with his teeth. He slides his arms around my waist and turns me onto my back, kissing my neck, stroking my arms, and he severs the other strap. Fingertips trail over and under my breasts, tracing ever decreasing circles until his thumb briefly brushes a nipple.
His mouth returns to mine for one long kiss while his hand teases the curve of my breast, and he's nibbling along my collarbone to bite neatly through the camisole neckline. I want to ask him how he's doing that so precisely, but now his hands rip the silk slowly down, barely disturbing it from my body, and his lips follow the tear to my navel and his tongue on my skin drives the question from my mind.
Spike nips through the hem and, grinning wickedly, gives me a hickey to match his. I curl one hand through his hair and tickle his neck as he licks down my stomach and bites the narrow band of my panties at the hip, kissing across the middle to sever the other side. He tugs the ruined camisole away with his hand and the panties with his teeth, the silk dragging across my nipples and my crotch in one slow, breathtakingly erotic movement.
He leans back, his left hand caressing lightly from my shoulders to my knees. He gazes at me so intently that I feel more than just physically naked, and I'm bringing one leg over to conceal my crotch between my thighs and my right arm to shield my breasts without conscious thought.
Spike lies alongside me, kissing my face, his arms hooked under my shoulders and his hands in my hair, his chest covering mine.
"Shy, love?"
"No!" I refuse to admit I'm embarrassed, and now I'm embarrassed about being embarrassed. "A little."
He smiles at me. "You're so beautiful," he says as he kisses my eyelids and nose and chin.
His lips touch mine and I relax again. My arms go around his back as he leans in to me, sucking gently at my lower lip and licking with just the tip of his tongue. The kisses deepen and I want to taste and touch and see more of him. I push him onto his back, rolling with him so we're still pressed together, and pull up his arms and tuck his hands behind his head.
"Stay."
"Woof," he laughs.
"Close your eyes."
"Won't! Think I'm going to miss any of this?"
"Close your eyes or there won't be any this," I insist, and he reluctantly complies.
I wriggle my way across his chest, kissing and licking, watching his muscles shudder under my touch. He tastes so good! It must be all the non-blood food he eats, because the other vampire who shall remain nameless didn't taste of anything. I suck his nipple and glance up to see him looking at me, so I bite him and he closes his eyes with a groan.
"This is so unfair. This is the most unfair thing ever."
"You sound exactly like Dawn."
"Oh yeah, let's bring her into it. You really know how to get a guy hot."
"A little payback for the Harmony comments." I pinch his other nipple. "And you owe me a new set of underwear. While we're on the subject, how did you do that?"
He opens his eyes. "Trade secret," he says evasively.
I rest my chin on his superb chest. "Show me."
"You won't like it."
He's probably right, because the underwear biting was very impressive and if he didn't have something to hide he'd be showing off like a peacock with two tails.
"How bad could it be? I know you didn't go bumpy. Were you hiding a razor in your mouth? Did you do some tacky thrall thing to hypnotise me while you used a knife? It's something with your teeth, isn't it? Please show me."
Spike is wary, but he lifts his head and obediently opens his mouth. His sharp fangs descend briefly and his eyes turn yellow, but he's human again before the rest of the transformation begins. I make him do it again to show it doesn't bother me. And I tell him it doesn't bother me, just in case. And I tell myself it doesn't bother me, which sounds a lot like the old 'he's chipped, he can't hurt me' but wrapped in torn silk.
"No underwear is safe from you," I laugh, kissing his chin.
"You're never wearing clothes again. Gonna keep you here, naked, forever."
"Then you have to be naked too." I kiss down his chest, and he hums in approval.
I unbuckle his belt and pull it slowly out of the loops. I undo the top button of his jeans and he breathes heavily as my mouth joins my hands. How long would it take human teeth to chew through boxers or briefs? I open another button and discover he isn't wearing either. Does he ever? All that time we were fighting and arguing and flirting, was he naked under his jeans? This is so distracting! My fingers twirl aimlessly at his waistband as I stare into his crotch and imagine him being hard while we fought ... hard and tormented by the friction against his jeans. Was he turned on by me then?
"Yesss," he hisses.
"Yes what?" I freeze. I try to keep my voice level, but am fully prepared to panic if he really can read my mind.
"Yes more? Yes please? Yes now!" His hips jerk up, bumping my nose, and I mouth him through the faded black denim.
"Are we taking turns being impatient? When do we swap? How do I know when it's my turn? Is there a bell?"
Spike's hands fly down and I swat them away and he groans with frustration. I'm so merciful. I open the last buttons and tug his jeans down to his knees. He kicks them the rest of the way off. Mercy has its limits, though, and I curve my body over his stomach and around so all he can see is my back.
"You are an evil, wicked, nasty vixen," he tells me calmly.
"I'm a bad, bad girl," I agree as I take his penis in my hand and explore it with my fingers, watching his thigh muscles twitch.
He sits up and rolls me over so I'm facing him, still curled at his groin.
"I want to watch!" he says fervently.
My shyness has fled because we're both naked now and his body is entrancing, and the verbal sparring is familiar territory. Seductive, sophisticated Spike is intimidating and reminds me of his thousands of times again, but this is the snarky, demanding, fidgety Spike I've known for years.
He lies back against the pillows, one arm stretched tautly across the bed clutching the sheet. I poise my mouth over him, and his other hand twists into my hair. I turn my face to address him.
"Please don't tangle my hair," I ask politely, stalling because that bit there must be his foreskin and I have no idea what to do with it.
He stares at me. "Do it, or I'll shave your sodding head."
"Do what?" I gaze innocently at him.
Spike thumps his heel on the bed. "Put my dick in your mouth!" he howls. "Right now! I fucking dare you!"
We're laughing so much that he's bobbing around in the air and I can't make my lips the right shape, but I look at the intended target and my mouth automatically descends and he lies back with a hoarse grunt. I lick in circles down to his balls but the foreskin is making me nervous so I'm still stalling with tentative licks and kisses that I know aren't satisfying despite his encouraging moans.
He holds his left hand to my mouth. "Lick my hand."
I suck on his fingertips and lick down his fingers to wetly kiss his palm. I'm about to ask if this is some kinky vampire fetish that's better than a blowjob, but he's being psychic again and he strokes himself a few times to draw the foreskin down.
"Buffy, please," he says tenderly. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to, but if you keep teasing me I'm gonna have a wank and come on your face."
How can he be crude and charismatic and funny and sweet about my insecurities all at the same time? Spike looks at me so lovingly that I get all merciful again. I stroke his thighs with one hand, hold his penis firmly in the other and, making sure he can see me, push my lips over and down. I'm not particularly experienced at this, but I know enough to swirl my tongue around liberally and vary the sucking and licking and the pressure. He lets go of the sheet to clasp his hand over mine at the base, showing me how to compensate for not being able to take the whole thing in my mouth, telling me to scrape my teeth gently against the head and guiding my fingertips around his balls.
It doesn't last long, compared to the preliminaries. I'm so aroused by the murmured instructions and his fingers twined with mine and seeing him touching himself that I play with different techniques. I've only just found a rhythm he really likes when he gently disengages me, lifts me up the bed and lies half on top of me with one leg between mine. He supports his weight on his forearms and kisses me slowly.
"I can't take any more of that."
"Oh." I wince. "I haven't had much practice," I explain, although I'm not about to go into Riley-related details.
"You drive me wild. Another minute and I'm going to explode so hard it'll come out your nose. But I don't want to come yet."
"What!" I shriek. "All that and you didn't want to come? Were you planning on stopping right from the beginning?"
"Of course. Evil, remember?"
"I actually believe that now."
"More fun to wait sometimes. Besides, I figured you were going for a medal in the longest delayed headjob finals," he laughs. "In the gifted amateur division."
"You're a pig, Spike." But I've found a new, affectionate tone for the old insult.
He dots my face and neck with tiny kisses. "It's our first time and I want it to be special."
"It was getting special," I retort defensively. "I was gonna swallow and everything!"
Spike grunts and holds me tightly, hard against my leg. "It was heaven. You have no idea how much I want to fuck your luscious mouth. But I want it to be special for both of us."
I graze my nails across his ass. He moans my name and thrusts into my hip, but clenches his jaw and pulls back. His hands are snug under my shoulders and I know he's cooling us both down.
"What do you want? We can do everything eventually but only one thing first, and I want it to be really good for you. What do you like best?"
I'm dizzy with lust despite the relatively chaste kisses, and it's not difficult to know or even say what I want even though he's looking directly into my eyes. "I want you inside me," I purr seductively.
"How?" he asks, not at all seductively.
Crap, it's multiple choice. "The usual way?"
"Where?"
"What?"
"Where do you want me inside you?"
Ah ha, I know this one. "On the bed."
Spike laughs, even less seductively. "Inside which part of you?"
"Down there," I say nervously, waving in the general direction of 'down there'.
"Which down there?"
"Spike!" My eyes bug out and he leers, pinching my ass ominously.
"Tell me, or I might get the wrong one by mistake."
"Spike!" I thump him on the shoulder.
He kisses the tip of my nose. "You're adorable. Which position?"
I only know three. And he's going to make me say it, so I might as well get it over with. He no doubt knows a hundred.
"I only know three."
"Which three?"
"You on top, or me on top, or ... you know."
"Pretend I don't."
"Doggie," I mumble, knowing he's mentally translating my meagre descriptions into technical porno jargon.
"Do you want one of those, or something new?"
"Not something new!"
That's all I need ... some difficult feat of acrobatics where he'll have to spend half an hour explaining it to me, possibly drawing a diagram, and I'll do something out of sequence and lose my balance and my dignity. If I have any dignity left after this abominable sex quiz that I'm failing badly. Then again, the laughing and the talking have definitely controlled the passion, so he's a pig but a smart pig. And a persistent pig, because he keeps going. That being the definition of both persistence and piggyness.
"Do you want to use any accessories?"
"Accessories? What, like jewellery? I'm not getting anything pierced!" I lurch sideways in alarm.
"Toys, my sweet," he grins, pulling me back to him.
I think of Lego blocks even though I know he doesn't mean Lego blocks and I certainly hope he doesn't mean Lego blocks because ... ow! But he's elaborating, and I'm looking for the emergency exit.
"Sex toys. You know ... well, maybe you don't. Candle wax, strap-on, inflatables, riding crop, handcuffs, edible knickers, nipple clamps, ball-gag, flavoured lube, buttplug, copper wire ... oh, but no batteries. Blindfold, shaving gear, studded collar and leash ... there's a box around here somewhere .... "
He's fishing under the bed with one arm and I'm smacking him and he's laughing so much he can barely get the words out, but I kick him in the shin anyway and it's going to bruise.
"You're depraved."
"Tell me," he demands, poking me repeatedly in the ribs. "Tell me what you want, or I'll make it up as I go along."
Oh god, anything but that. I close my eyes. "I want you inside me, in the basic missionary position, with nothing weird, and if you make fun of me for not being more exotic I'll never forgive you."
"That will be perfect," he says solemnly, trying to not so much as smile, and another piece of my heart locks into his like a jigsaw puzzle. But the interrogation isn't over yet, even though he's much less hard against my hip.
"Do you want to come first?"
I blink at him. A lot.
"Is that supposed to be Morse code?"
"Huh?"
"Do you want me to go down on you? You can have a sharp, intense orgasm now, and a deeper one later. Even in the basic missionary position," he adds, and he's smirking himself silly but I don't care because surely this will be the end of this godawful conversation and we can go back to at least kissing.
"Ummm." I stall, wondering how to tell him.
"Do you want oral sex first?" he asks, enunciating each word very slowly and carefully like I'm foreign or retarded or both.
I squirm, and not in a good way, but it's a fair question and he's being far more patient than I would ever have dreamed possible.
"Um. That's ... nice and all, but ... you don't have to. I know everyone else raves on about it, but .... It doesn't do anything for me, and I know it's not ... not nice for you."
Spike's eyebrow nearly dislocates itself, it shoots so far up his face, and it's a few moments until he speaks again.
"I know we agreed not to mention past experiences, but honestly, Buffy, didn't Captain Ca... Finn do the full tour of duty?"
"Of course he did!"
Poophead Parker gave it a go too, and I think I faked it very convincingly, but one ex in this discussion is already one too many and I'm certain Spike will know I'm faking if he goes ahead with this.
"Riley was very attentive," I tell Spike with great indignation. "That doesn't work on me is all. I'm good with, you know, just fingers. In fact, only with fingers. And usually ... my own ... fingers."
Spike is even more indignant than I am, which is intriguing. "We'll see about that," he mutters, and pulls me up so I'm lying higher against the pillows. He tugs the sheet partly over me and I know it's so I can cover myself up if I get shy again. Is this really the same man ('vampire' mumbles a tiny part of my brain) who I've been so relentlessly bitchy to all this time?
But he's kissing me, long and deep and wet, and my concentration wanders off. His hands stroke from my ears to my stomach, caressing my shoulders, tickling down my sides, trailing his nails across my ribs. He slides gracefully down my body, his hand cupping one breast and tweaking the nipple while he sucks the other. I squirm again, in the good way, as he nibbles down my belly and gives me another hickey. He kisses across my hip and down one thigh, gently pushing my legs apart and lifting himself over so he lies between them. He bends my knees up a little and pushes them back against the mattress, my legs spread even wider. I tense, feeling like I'm about to get a Pap smear, but he's stroking and kissing my inner thighs and running his palms hard along my hips and ass, and already this is way more interesting than Captain Ca... Finn ever made it.
Spike feathers the backs of his fingers across my pubic hair and strokes lightly downwards, and I whimper with unexpected need. His palms flat at the top of my inner thighs, he spreads me open with his thumbs and his tongue licks slow and hard in wide circles that circumnavigate everything before stroking up and around my clit, and why am I putting circumnavigation in this context?
I'm very glad I didn't have to tell Spike what I wanted in detail because the technical words make it sound like a medical procedure, and the romance novel words are even vaguer than I am, and he'd tease me for not knowing or not being able to say the dirty words. Also because I would have said something lame like 'um, licking, I guess' or 'circumnavigate me' and he'd be too busy laughing to do anything 'down there' and I'd never know what I've been missing. Luckily I can just lie here and enjoy it, and I do and I am.
But soon his fingers and tongue and lips and teeth are working together in a complex pattern, dipping from place to place so perfectly that the rhythm has me moaning and panting, pulling his hair into curly tufts, rubbing my feet along his sides and writhing in spastic pleasure. Now I know why he wanted to watch when I was doing him, but all I can see is the top of his head between my legs. He's nibbling my clit, and then sucking, and then licking quick and light, and when he does all three things together I suddenly cry his name and spasm hard into his mouth. He's pushing one hand firmly against my quivering crotch and sucking kisses on my stomach and legs. My thigh muscles are jerking and I think I've torn the sheet between my fists because otherwise Spike would be bald and he's saying things but I'm deaf with rapture. Every few seconds he flicks his tongue against my clit and sets off another convulsion, and then he presses his palm hard which sends the shockwave right through every molecule. I arch and twist until his hands are merely caressing my skin and his kisses are more soothing than sensuous, and yet when he blows slowly across my crotch I twitch with aftershocks.
I'm lying dazedly on the bed. I have new insight into Drusilla's mental state because I'm crazy now, too. Suffused with pleasure, with bewitched nerves and enchanted muscles, and I'm going to start naming the stars on the ceiling as soon as I can open my eyes. I'd love to tell this to Spike, seeing as how he couldn't resist dragging Riley in here with us, but Drusilla is recently extra deceased and Spike is so pleased for me that I can't bring myself to tease him. I lie back and glow at him in stunned disbelief.
"Do you think you can walk, pet?"
"That was magnificent, I admit, but I'm sure I can walk," I reply, and I'm aiming for crisp but really it sounds more like drunk.
Spike is buttoning his jeans while I roll to the side of the bed and stand up and stagger randomly for a few steps before finding my legs. He smirks at my Spike-inflicted feebleness, but god knows he's earned a smirk or two million. He tucks the sheet into a sarong above my breasts and guides me to a tunnel leading from a side room.
"Why are we walking? I'd really rather be lying down some more."
"You're going over there." He indicates the dimly lit middle distance. "To piss."
"Are you out of your mind?"
"I'm going upstairs for a smoke." He pats me on the ass and pushes me into the tunnel. "Urinate. It'll be fun," he calls after me.
I frown at the smoking, but having been the recipient of such mind-blowing pleasure I can scarcely object when he pursues a little bit of his own. Also because it occurs to me that his oral fixation works strongly in my favour.
I totter forwards and find a narrow, slow-running stream of mostly clean water. There's a rivulet of fresher water trickling from a pipe, and the sound makes me aware that peeing is a high priority, if not the fun one Spike seems to think it is. I look back and he's nowhere in sight, so I hitch the sheet up around my waist and squat over the stream, and as soon as the pee comes I'm almost knocked off my feet by another orgasm. That bastard. He could have warned me. I lean weakly against the wall and clean myself with the fresh water and dry myself on the sheet.
"You know what you deserve?" I ask as I crawl back onto the bed and curl up under the quilt he has retrieved from the floor.
"What's that, then?"
"I'm very sleepy," I tell him smugly.
He snorts at me, undressing and getting into bed, and pulls me into his arms. I nestle against him with my head on his shoulder and my arm curved over his delectable tummy, and in a minute I really will be asleep.
Spike brings me a glass of water and talks to me and massages my shoulders, stopping me from dozing off completely until I'm alert again.
"You're incredible," I tell him, snuggling happily into his side. "I've never felt like this before. Next time you ask me what I want, I'll know exactly what to say."
"You haven't established an adequate statistical basis for analysis."
He rolls me onto my back and kisses me, which wakes me up even more and reminds me we've been building up to this for I don't know how long and he's been badly neglected.
The playful kisses get more intense and our hands and mouths more adventurous, tumbling and twisting each other across the bed. I graze his chest with my teeth and kiss down to his stomach, nibbling down his hip and inner thigh, exploring his reactions to my touch, finding out what provokes a sound, what makes him throw out his arm or squeeze his eyes shut.
He holds me under my arms and slowly pulls me up his body, dragging my nipples along his smooth skin, warm from mine, and arching between my breasts and against my belly. His palms stroke hard and slow down my back, the friction nearly burning. Gripping my ass, he grinds us together and we both moan. I turn onto my back, our arms tangling as we fumble for each other again, and his mouth slides across my cheek. He bites my neck in a way that makes my ears ring and I cry out his name and he tenses.
"Don't worry. Not gonna do that," he mumbles into my neck.
Not going to what? Something about that box of horrors lurking under the bed? But I finally get it because his tongue is trailing sinuously down my carotid artery. Buffy the what now? Slayer of ... something?
"Do you want to?"
"Yes," he grunts, and his hips surge against my thigh.
"Would the chip let you?" What's the matter with me? Why am I asking this?
Spike leans back and tilts his head. I'm not sure what he's expecting, but I know what he sees ... my eyes heavy with desire, flushed skin quivering for his touch, my mouth wet and half open for shallow breaths.
He fans my hair across the pillow and kisses my temple and down my cheek. "I think so. If you wanted me to. If I'm gentle."
I stroke his hair. His voice is so low and deep. Lulling. My hand moves to the back of his neck. Holding him close when I should be pushing him away. Why am I not pushing him away?
"I'd be so gentle," he breathes into my ear and he's nuzzling my neck and this has already gone too far but I whisper a stupid, stupid question.
"What would it do for you?"
"Means so much ... to taste you, a tiny taste ... be inside you ... you inside me, a part of me ... your blood in mine, together ... have you, mark you, make you mine. I'll make it so good for you, Buffy. Invite me in ... Buffy, please .... "
His hand is holding my chin and he's slowly turning my face to the side and his teeth are human but now they're digging hard into my neck and he's waiting and my body mirrors his hunger but I'm nowhere near ready to even think about it but oh god this is so erotic but leading him on is insane and cruel but I want it almost as much as he does but not yet but oh, Spike ....
"No," I whisper, and I hold my breath.
Spike pants raggedly and raises his head, the tendons in his neck corded with exertion and his jaw rigid. He turns my face to his, eyes flaring yellow-blue, my chin still clamped in his hand, and kisses me savagely.
"I need you. Now."
This isn't going to be special. This is going to be brutal and he'll hurt me and the chip will trigger and I've ruined everything. I force his hand from my chin and put it between my legs, and moan as he pushes a finger inside me, and a second finger. He puts his leg between mine and jams his thigh against his hand, driving his fingers deeper.
We're moving much faster and rougher, gnawing and shoving and grabbing. He's harder than ever and the kissing gets messier and I'm sweating. I'm still worried about the chip, so I hold his wrists ... slow down ... can't ... Spike, please ... and he nods, and I kiss him until the lingering glints of yellow fade from his eyes.
Spike scratches exquisitely along my inner thighs, sucks hard and fast from my breasts to my lips and kisses me breathless, and now when he puts his hand between my legs ... so wet for me ... want you ... he gets three fingers inside with ease. He curls them inside me ... oh! ... stroking and very nearly scratching while I bite his nipples ... harder ... are you sure? ... yesss ... and drag my teeth to his shoulder. He lies on top of me and spreads my legs with his knees ... bit more, pet ... supporting his weight with one hand. The other hand rubbing his penis up and down between my legs ... ready? ... yes! ... and he pushes inside me a little way and slowly pulls almost all the way out. The next thrust is much deeper ... too much ... I warn him with my hands on his chest, and he whimpers but pulls back and I clutch his arms. He thrusts and withdraws, a little deeper each time, my ankles around his waist guiding the tempo ... if you're on top you can ... no, I want this ... until he's all the way in.
We kiss frantically, and I bite his lower lip. I flex around him and he throws his head back ... more ... and slowly moves in and out as I run my feet along his ass and thighs. When he's sure I'm ready he moves faster ... faster ... snaking his hips, grinding into me ... fuck, you're so hot ... yes, oh yes. He pauses to lick my breasts, but I rake my nails across his back ... do it again ... and contract around him ... don't stop, Spike ... and he's alternating long thrusts with short jabs, tethered by my legs.
He sweeps an arm under my ass and pulls me up with him deep inside me ... what are you doing? ... this'll be good for you ... it's already good ... this'll be better ... putting a pillow under my lower back, dropping me down onto it ... this isn't the basic missionary position ... huh ... you're cheating ... you want to fight or fuck? ... both ... that's my girl. He pushes my legs higher with his hands on the backs of my thighs ... like this ... haven't done this ... try it for a bit ... until my legs are against his chest and my knees are over his shoulders ... good? ... god, yes ... wanna argue some more? ... and I can see him, wet and straining ... I'm looking at your tummy ... yeah, right ... as he pumps ... harder ... in and out of me.
He's even deeper now, and my legs are helping to take his weight so he has a free hand to touch ... yes, there ... so beautiful ... sucking his fingers into my mouth ... taste us together. Now when he twists in a rough grind something is nudging my clit ... oh! what's doing that? ... pubic bone, love ... and he's ramming new places inside. Slow pulses vibrate through me, converging ... I think I'm ... in a long, rushing fall and Spike comes ... Buffy ... with hard, heavy throbs that counter mine, panting each other's names with clenched jaws and jerking hips and Spike holding my hand against his chest.
The pillow is pulled out from under me and I lower my trembling legs to his waist with relief. He rests on his forearms, his hands under my shoulders, and we gently rock together and kiss as the last shudders drift into satiated languor.
I squeeze my thighs around his narrow hips and rest my calves on his legs and wrap my arms across his back, moulding myself to him. Tomorrow I'm going to research what 'spike' is in Japanese.
"You've redefined 'special'." I smile into his shoulder.
His answering smile fades. "Except for the fangy part."
"That was my fault."
"Yes, it was." His eyes are inches from mine. "I wanted to bite you. I will always want to bite you. It's what I am. Don't do that again unless you mean it."
Tender kisses take the sting out of his words, but he's serious and he wants to discuss it. Now? We can have a long, difficult conversation about our essential natures and exactly how evil he is and if he still wants to get the chip out and where all this is going, or we can lie here and enjoy our new Slayer/Arch-rival bond in blissful silence. Jeeze, how to choose?
"Can we talk about this later? I'm all afterglowy here." I kiss him very slowly, very softly.
Spike's head nestles contentedly by my neck and I'm stroking his beautiful face and he smells so good and we fit together perfectly. Everything feels so right ...
"I love you, Buffy."
... and I can barely breathe.