Fanfiction: His Voice is like a Mars Bar
Faith is lying on the chaise lounge in Buffy’s backyard, legs and belly in the sun, head in the shadows. She needs to burn off the prison pallor from her skin, because it reminds her too much of the countless Friday fish bellies she remembers staring up at her. Prison doesn’t buy fillets, it buys whole fish coz it’s cheaper. So Faith knows how to handle the filleting knife. Fins off first, scrape off the scales, head, tails, slice into the belly horizontally, turn, same slice on the back, peel off the flesh gently over the little white ribs, turn, slide other side off, done. She could do it with her eyes closed.
She opens them again. She’s not there anymore, she can look. Why is she thinking of prison when she’s here? The garden is probably not too well kept, not that she’d know, but she loves the smell and the colors of the cute flowers, whose names she doesn’t know either. She does know grass, there was some grass on their lot in Boston, and this here needs mowing. Maybe she’ll get up and do it for them, as a surprise. But then again, maybe they wouldn’t even notice. Everybody’s heads are somewhere else these days; they’re up in grey shadowy clouds where cold winds are gonna tear through pretty soon.
A small sound makes her crane her neck to check on it. It’s only Buffy’s pet vampire, copping a smoke on the relatively dark porch. She’s reserving judgment on him, but it’s really just giving up on categorizing, because he fits in none of the slots she’s tried so far. At first sight, her instincts said evil. Now he’s not evil she gathers, at least according to Buffy, has been, but is no more. Giles and Dawn have completely opposite views on this. Willow seems indifferent, or undecided, and the girls are scared. She doesn’t know about Xander yet. And for her there was that moment she was totally ready to jump his bones, which is still confusing her.
Is she ever grateful she didn’t, coz it’s only later a couple of the gals clue her in on the Spike and Buffy deal. The last thing on earth she wants is to poach on any guy of Buffy’s ever again. She’s got plenty of groveling ground to cover in that area already. But still, when she thinks of it, was that man giving off the hot vibes or what? He’s just the kind of guy she’d go for, a looker, not easily hurt coz he’s been around the block a coupla times, well, shit, around every block in every city on this here earth, she supposes, in a century or more of opportunity.
There being good reason for ignoring him and all, she gets up off the chaise lounge with some slow lazy stretching moves and saunters up to the porch. She leans on her elbows, the railing against her back, just like he does, only it shows off her assets a little more.
For a girl who used to be so good at this she’s kind of at a loss how to begin.
“What are you thinkin’ about so hard?” his voice asks, and for a moment, she feels all poetic. His voice is like Twix, she thinks, crunchy on the outside and melty sweetness on the inside.
“Keep out, property of Buffy Summers,” she blurts out. Fuck. Not what she meant to say at all. She sneaks a look at him sideways, and he looks amused, and is turning a little bit closer to her.
The sexy vibe between them, that’s been hanging limp and neglected since their talk in the basement, snaps taut and starts to thrum. Whoa. Faith swallows. She’s never done this before, this holding back because the guy belongs to someone else, even if that someone else seems to be abstaining. She didn’t use to give shit about stuff like that, she thinks with chagrin, but she can’t just shake it off right now.
She’s suddenly self-conscious about the way she’s standing, she’s practically shouting, grab these tits. Hastily she stands upright, but her arm brushes against his. Oh man, this train is going downhill fast and there’s no stopping now. She can practically feel his skin giving off sparks under her fingers, and she isn’t even touching him.
Spike looks at her, really looks at her, and she can hardly breathe. She moves. He moves. They’re standing there, close but not that kind of close yet, just gripping each other’s forearms.
Faith is about to die from sheer expectation, and the smell of creamed denim is overpowering. They’re not moving, though.
“Faith…” Spike says softly, and the vibration of his voice, now more Mars than Twix, make her bridge the tiny gap between them and it’s like leaning against a hotplate.
“I’m Buffy’s,” he goes on, still very softly, not physically rejecting her at all, not with his hard cock pressing against her belly. He is very still under her sizzling fingertips.
Faith can’t help it, she has to breathe, she has to move her breasts and her belly up and down, and as close as they are standing it’s clearly making things worse for him.
“You together?” she asks, unable not to wriggle a little against him. She really needs his hands on her badly, like right now, only he’s still holding her arms, and she is doing the same.
“No,” Spike says.
“Why can’t we…?”
“Because,” he answers, but his resolve is weakening, she can feel it, he’s following the pressure of his cock, leaning into her harder and harder, she’s gonna have bruises on her arms too, but that just makes it hotter.
“What do you need?” he asks. Yeah, right, he’s doing this just for her.
She opens her mouth to say something to him, anything to make him go on, but a loud, needy moan comes out instead, and it shocks her. His hands start to slide slowly up her arms, thumbs brushing her breasts, and she is gonna melt if he doesn’t put his leg between hers hard, and then he does, and she almost comes, and then she does. When she opens her eyes again, her head is a little clearer. She realizes they’re standing on the porch, visible to everyone who walks by or comes out of the house.
“Come on,” she says urgently. “Let’s go somewhere private.”
She grabs his hand, and he follows without a word, down the stairs into his basement. She looks a little doubtfully at the not so sturdy cot, but it’ll have to do. They crash together in mid-turn, mouths meeting urgently, hands tugging at clothes. He shoves off her top and bra in one movement; his big hands are on her breasts, big enough to span them, touching first the underside then her nipples, just hard enough, then harder. She’s flying. She lets herself fall on the bed, shimmies out of her jeans, sees him do the same. He’s big, she knew that, she can’t wait to have it inside her. He’s kneeling between her legs, opening her up, pushing back her knees.
Two, no three rough fingers in her pussy, she’s dripping, so needy, wants it now, grabs his big cock, pushes the fingers aside and shoves him in. This is what she needs; she pulls up her knees farther, hooks her legs around his and lets him fill her so deeply she cries out. Then, what the fuck, who’s on top here, he is, she can’t have that, tries to turn them over, but he’s not having any of it, just fingers her clit and swivels his hips so he hits her hot spot, and she’s jelly. Just lets him ride her, she’s never let anyone ride her since, well, she’s not going there, and it’s just so good, feeling him slide in and out in her wet wet cunt, thrusting harder, oh god, he could go harder, she tells him, and he does. She’s still in control here, he’s not doing anything she doesn’t want.
She feels the first buzz of impending orgasm, and she grabs his hips, telling him, I’m coming, don’t stop. He slides out, and stops, tantalizing her. She cries out incoherently, trying to ram him back in by his butt cheeks, so smooth, but he takes his time and when he does it’s so hard and hot her vision turns a little red and fuzzy at the edges. He does this a coupla times and she just hangs in there, knowing she’s gonna come harder than she ever has.
Then all at once she’s not in the basement anymore, she’s at home in the trailer and it’s Uncle Bob who’s pounding into her and it hurts so much, and she’s so scared, that she screams out in terror and pain, even though he made her promise not to. It’s just a flash, and then she’s back in the basement coming like a bat out of hell, but she keeps on screaming and Spike reacts immediately, he rolls off her, takes his hands off her with this freaked-out look and starts babbling.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you! Did I hurt you?”
She can only cry and hiccup and spray snot on his nice creamy skin and is just a sniveling mess. She holds on to him for dear life, and after a long hesitation he folds his arms around her, just holding her tightly like a little girl, and even while she’s crying her guts out like that she’s ashamed and wishes he hadn’t seen it.
It takes a little while for her to calm down. Her face is still wet when she starts to rub away some of the snot and tears on his pecs, and wipes it unthinkingly off on her legs, like they did at home. She almost apologizes for it, but thinks, what the hell. Who knows what table manners they had in Spike’s time, they probably, like, threw everything to the dogs.
Her mouth is so close to his skin that she can’t resist giving a dusky pink nipple a lick. Spike shivers, and she feels his cock twitch against her leg. She doesn’t remember if he’s come or not, what with her screaming and all, so she pushes him down on the pillow and climbs on. The head of his cock is pretty dark, he must have been really close to coming when she threw her fit. He deserves a good one. She’s still really wet and sinks down on him easily. She starts riding him in earnest, as fast as she can, slamming down on him with all her weight, rising up slowly, angling her body so he hits her spot and bang, she goes down again. Spike lies rigid on the cot, hands digging in the sheets, head thrown back and eyes closed. He’s not gonna last long, he’s giving it everything not to come right there and then. She manages to come before he does, cuz she’s so good at getting what she needs, and he lets go with a throaty scream when she starts to come and bucks on his hips like one of them mechanic Bronco things.
They are lying pretzeled together on the narrow cot, basking in the afterglow. Or that’s what Faith would like to tell herself, but really, she is fucking uncomfortable. Her right arm has lost all feeling, and her dearest wish is to get out and slay something. Right now. Her vampire sense is tingling like crazy, and without the arousal to mask it, it’s making her jittery. And she so doesn’t want to look him in the eye and chat, even if that would at least distract. He knows something about her now, and that is just icky in combination with sex. Too scary.
Once a guy has a handle on you, he’ll keep bothering you. Take Xander. One go, and he thought he owned her. No way is she going to go there with the vampire. She shifts against him, and immediately the tingling translates into arousal again. That’s it. She’s getting up right now. For the first time she completely gets what Buffy sees in this guy, in vampires, as she didn’t when it was just Angel, and she’s not going to follow Buffy’s footsteps for once. These guys are too hot for comfort, and insightful, too, and they might just make you come back again and again for their hot loving and their sweet understanding eyes… No way. She’s outta here.
She hops around in her string, trying to get in her tangled jeans, and inadvertently catches his eyes. He’s lying on his side, one hand under his cheek, checking her out while she dresses, but the look he gives her chills her to the bone. Like he even understands why she’s bailing. That creeps her out so much she almost forgets to put on her bra in her hurry to be out of there.
“Thanks, Spike,” she says in a weird pinched voice. “That was great.”
“You’re not so bad yourself, Faith,” he says, and all the meanings he puts in this make her wig even more. She stumbles over her own feet in her haste to get up the stairs. Give her a bastard anytime, these sweet guys just spook her. She tosses her hair back, says Hi! to Rona and makes a beeline for the fridge. She needs something to make the emptiness inside go away, and some food will do just fine filling her up. Cereal, Hot-Pockets, milk. Anything. Faith keeps glancing at him during patrol. She knows she’s doing it, and it’s irritating the hell out of her. It’s like she’s channeling a shy fourteen year old with a crush on a teacher, which so wasn’t her at fourteen. She’s itching to get the pots out of her hair, so she can ignore Spike in peace.
Finally, each of them has been taught some kind of lesson, and they start making their way home, grumbling and tired. Faith gives them hell about the grumbling, meanwhile subtly reinforcing the group bond. It’s so fucking easy she doesn’t get why Buffy couldn’t do it. She’s had Xander and Willow eating out of her hand for years, how hard could it be to do the same for these girls? Beats her.
When the last of them trudges across the front yard to number 1630, she gives Spike a look.
“Join me for patrol? Get the kinks out, work up a sweat?”
She turns away quickly and starts walking, not waiting for him. She’s feeling a little hot around the collar, the bit about the sweat was way too obvious for a guy like that. He’s gotta come to her, so she can say no this time. Fucking embarrassing stuff has gone down, and there’s no way she’s gonna let him know she’s kinda interested, but laid-back about it. B. deserves him, he’s that cool, she deserves the best.
Faith doesn’t really believe Buffy and him did the dirty. And no way was B. getting naughty, no way. That girl’s as straight as they come. In Spike’s fantasies maybe she wasn’t, but in real life, never. Buffy’s tight face and compressed lips tell their own tale. Hard to imagine her getting sweaty and grunty.
All this thinking about B. and Spike has gotten her a little hot. She needs to slay real bad. They have arrived at the closest cemetery, Restfield. Spike’s been half a step behind her all the way. Annoying, but then, he’s a guy. For some reason, there’s lots of fresh vamps that keep hurling themselves at her stake of their own accord. She practically just has to hold it at shoulder height and there they go, poof. She needs more, she needs to put in a little oomph before she can feel happy about a slay. Then she spots what must be Daddy vamp, nice and big and all upset about his kiddies. That’s what she needs.
Before she can even open her mouth to claim her prey, Spike flashes past and engages Daddy. She gets so fucking pissed she literally howls in anger. When Spike turns around with a triumphant smile, his white curls framed in a cloud of dust, she throws herself at him, pummeling and kicking like he’s the one she’s gonna slay. Actually, some part of her knows damn well she’s not and loses the stake.
She wrestles him to the ground, and though he puts up some defense after the initial surprise, she holds him easily with one hand, her hips pinning him to the ground. She’s cottoned on to what’s she’s really doing and smiles at him in triumph.
“Time to get sweaty, Spike. How about this?” She grinds her hips on his, and the thick ridges of denim between them don’t keep her from knowing he’s hard.
Spike tries to buck her off and growls at her, but that’s just foreplay, she guesses.
“You know what?” she says. “I kinda like it when you struggle. Don’t want ‘em to go all sugar and spice on me.â€?
Rang, his belt goes, and she starts fumbling with his zipper one-handed.
“Stop fucking about, Faith. …â€? He’s struggling, but Faith can manage him easily.
“Hey, what! “ She tries to sound puzzled and aggravated. “Your flesh is clearly willing…� She wishes he talked more. His voice sends shivers down her spine, smoky and salty like sex itself.
“Why bother? Must be plenty of blokes who’d go for you without the coercion.â€? He’s gasping now.
She’s finally wrested open his zipper with her one hand and gets a grip on his cock, which is way too hard for a girl he says he doesn’t want.
“Faith, stop this, I don’t wanna…”
Faith shuts him up by putting one hand on his mouth. Risky, cuz it means leaving his hands free, but she’s feeling sure he’ll use ‘em for other things than knocking her out.
Next thing, she’s lying flat out on her back on the cool hard ground. Okay. Little misjudgment there. She want to say something cool and harsh, to show she’s fine and doesn’t care, but all that comes out is, “Ng.”
Spike’s face swims into orbit, pale and shining like the moon. It spins around Faith, a lot faster than it’s supposed to.
“Faith?” Spike’s voice says worriedly. “You alright?”
“Blue moon…” Faith sings to him cuz he’s so damn pretty, but it comes out all garbly and she meant his eyes, only she can’t see their color in the moonlight so she must have known they were blue.
There’s a cool hand on her forehead, and Faith closes her eyes in bliss. A touch as light as whipped cream brushes away the hair from her sticky face and she’s lifted onto something hard yet springy. Besides grass, she now smells leather and denim and tobacco.
For some reason she feels really safe and comfortable. She’s at her Gran. She thought she’d died, but it must have been a mistake. She turns on her side with a deep sigh and reaches out a hand to snuggle around the pillow and meets a belt-buckle instead.
Instantly her head clears. She decides to moan.
“My head…” She says piteously. The cool hand returns, lies for too short a moment on her forehead, then cups her cheek, which is really nice too.
Faith lifts a hand as if to touch it, and then groans again. “Ouch! My ribs. I think….”
Spike’s all concern. He shoves her shirt up and tires to find her injury. “Here?”
“Higher.”
“Higher,” Faith repeats.