Summary: S/B
Spoilers: Through Smashed.
Disclaimer: Joss made them and allowed Drew Greenberg to make them sleep
together, for which I will always be grateful because now I'm inspired again.
hee.
Rating: NC17 for sexual content and language.
She wanted something more from him, something that she couldn't describe, not
even to herself. For those nights that she would see him, and would leave
him, she was left with longing, hungering for something else, something
different and painful and right and wild.
She only need ask it of him and he would fulfill her wishes, but she didn't
know that. He wanted to please her, to give her everything he had until he
was left empty of himself and filled with only her. He took her heartaches
upon himself willingly, eagerly, filling up space with her thoughts and
gestures and complaints and confessions slowly, wrenchingly slowly.
He escaped from himself when he was with her and when he was without her, she
filled his mind. He felt simple when she was near, uncomplicated from a past
life with past lovers and too many transgressions to count. He felt redeemed
and had never realized how much he ached for redemption until she gave it to
him.
Sometimes she asked him about Angel, and his former life and he would talk
languidly about the old days, when they were together with Dru and Darla. He
saw the test in her eyes, the question in them not knowing what he would
reveal if he revealed anything at all. He didn't know if answering her
questions would make him pass or fail, but if she wouldn't accept anything
else from him, he could at least give her honesty.
Buffy would grow silent as he would talk and it would hurt thinking of him.
It hurt, but not like it used to. The compassion, coupled with frankness in
his voice eased the frustrations that came whenever she thought about her
relationship with Angel. She never expected compassion from Spike but was
relieved to find that he had it in him.
He seemed to have a lot of things in him that she would never have expected.
And then there were those kisses, kisses brought on by more need than caring.
The hungry kind of need for touch and taste, for contact. There was
something comforting about holding him close, as if being with Riley had been
wrong all along, not for the initial reasons she'd suspected, but because of
the simple fact of his humanity. Nothing drove everything else away like the
feel of her skin heating up someone else's. His lips were cool against hers
but they grew warm, grew hot, as did his hands as they slid along her skin
and through her hair.
She didn't want to admit those kisses into her memory. They belonged
outside, like everything else was outside, except for the distant, aching
memory of where she had been when she was dead.
But Spike wouldn't stay outside. He clung to her, followed her, demanded
things from her. So she pushed him away, as best she could, telling herself
that it was true, she didn't have any feelings for him because how could she,
really? He was evil. He had no soul.
She had no illusions about that, at least.
But there he was, always, seeing through her. Understanding her lies about
the way she felt and even understanding her need for them, but refusing to
accept them nonetheless. He pulled her to him, time after time, inside,
showing her that he was more perspective than she ever gave him credit for
being, more decent, even though he was a soulless demon, and more tender even
though she didn't know how to allow herself to take his tenderness.
Then came the night where it all rushed together; the walls crumbling, the
house shaking, the insults and punches flying. And suddenly she was in his
arms, pushing herself at him, grasping herself to him, sliding down on his
body out of anger and frustration and desire and something resembling love
and also the wish to just make him shut up.
It was feral and violent, cleansing and shaming her all at once as she found
ecstasy in his embrace. Wrapped around him, slamming into him with a
ferocity she never knew she had, she finally found herself for the first time
since coming back from her grave.
And she killed him also, with that flinty smile as she rode him. Their
coupling was too angry, too vicious to be what he wanted and yet it was.
Being with her, thrusting inside of her, touching every part of her... It was
what he wanted.
He felt himself die a thousand times with her kisses, once for each time he
was reborn. She was wrapped around him like a warm, wet sheath, like all of
the thousands of dreams he had had about her. She slid down and filled
herself with him and then pulled up, away, until he almost wasn't in her
anymore < no... no.... > before covering him fully again. < Yes... >
Spike felt unneeded breath escape him as she babbled senselessly in his ear
as she came. "So good... Hate you... Don't stop..."
"I hate you too," he panted, lying easily, knowing instinctively it was what
she wanted. Knowing that the truth would cause her to slam back into the
reality where she could see what a wrong thing this was. Knowing that if he
spoke of his love for her in that moment when they were joined that she would
pull away and leave him frustrated and wanting yet again, leave him to be
alone, without anyone, but most especially without her.
So he lied. "Stupid bint, not normal, scared, inhuman as I am..." he rambled
as her soft center quivered around him. Her movement, and skin, and touch
and kiss didn't bring him slowly towards orgasm but rather thrust him into
the center of it and his release seemed to go on and on.
At that moment after he climaxed, he didn't
stupid, was as normal as a Slayer who'd died twice could be, or more human
that most of the humans he came in contact with. All he cared about was her
hair, smelling like shampoo and the dust that had been kicked up all around
them, brushing his neck. All he cared about were the soft purring sounds
coming from deep inside her throat. All he cared about was how soft she was,
still lying on top of him.
It was a dream. ...But it wasn't, because it was really happening.
His cock twitched to life again, still embedded in her swollen center, and
Buffy looked up at him, surprise reflecting in her eyes.
"No, really?" she finally muttered incredulously and Spike found that he was
grinning.
"Thought you'd done this before," he said, starting to thrust his hips up
again. He paused, considering, and then added, "With a vampire."
Her breath was ragged with renewed excitement. "I was a... virgin... with
Angel and it... hurt. You must've known how big..."
"You don't need to finish that sentence," Spike said darkly and to his
surprise, she didn't, instead jumping to the end of her explanation.
"He was... gentleman. It took a long time... anyway. I... fell asleep
after." The words, half-sentences and jerky pauses brought another smile to
his lips.
Expertly, without pushing her away from him, he removed her jacket and top,
pleased that she wasn't wearing a bra so he could cover her breasts with his
hands. Her nipples tightened under his calloused palms. He leaned up to
lick one lightly, bite gently at the sensitive underside of her breast as he
did so, she ripped his shirt down the middle, still rocking back and forth on
top of him.
"Hey," he said with what he hoped sounded like outrage although it was really
pleasure that she wanted him naked too, "I didn't ruin your clothes!"
"Yeah," she muttered, raking her fingernails harshly down his chest, "Sorry
about that. You don't have many clothes, anyway, so I'll try to be careful."
He scowled. "Fuck you."
She smirked, her combative spirit rising at the insult, "Gee, I'm so
surprised to what we've been doing."
Angrily, wishing she could say one nice word to him while they were having
sex, knowing it wouldn't happen no matter how hard he wished it, he spun her
over until she was underneath, pinning her arms down against the cold,
concrete floor. "You have no idea what real fucking is," he taunted stabbing
into her furiously. "Little Buffy, always gets the man to 'make love' to
her, as if she really knows what love means. Even when he's faking that
part. Didn't know it about Parker at the time that he was just fucking, did
you? You thought he cared, you thought you would be together forever...
Well, I'm gonna tell you now. If fucking's all you want, then that's all you
get."
He tightened his hands and felt something crack in one of her wrists but
didn't loosen his hold. But she didn't pull away, like he expected, instead
gasping and lifting her hips in rhythm with his, wrapping her ankles around
his waist.
As she shuddered around him for the second time that evening, her mouth
opening in a cry of delight, something inside him fell painfully. She didn't
deny wanting something less than everything he wanted to give her, embracing
the harshness of what he was offering her now instead.
But then her eyes opened again, and they were blurred and wet. Tears slid
down from the corners, falling in her hair, on the ground, and he was amazed.
"I've never had that," she whimpered underneath him, still shaking from her
climax, "Give that to me."
"I *am* giving that to you," he ground out, thrusting forward once more,
twice more, emptying himself, feeling as if his heart had been rattled from
his chest.
He was heavy on top of her, limp, but she didn't complain of the weight. She
touched the side of his face, with a strange gentleness
lifted it from where it was lying on her shoulder to look into her eyes.
"You were making love to me," she said softly and it was somehow both an
accusation and a statement of fact. "I'm not sure you *can* just fuck me.
You've been making love to me the whole time, this whole dance, just in
different ways." A smile touched her lips. "With Parker, I thought it was
making love but it wasn't. With you, you wanted to let me believe that it
wasn't, but I knew it was. It probably always will be, for you. I can't
give you that."
He sighed, pulling away from her to get a little distance, even if it was
only a few inches. "I don't care."
She felt a weird moment of loss as he left her body. < Stay... > "Yes, you do,"
she countered, and this time her voice was hard. "This hasn't been love for
me, Spike. Something different. Something strange and wild and even
something a little good. But not love."
He cocked his head to the side, wonder filling his features as he stared at
her. She shifted restlessly under his gaze but didn't get up and leave like
she wanted to. After a long moment, he smiled and the smile was blissful and
almost childlike, full of joy and pleasure.
"You love me back," he said simply, and there was no smugness in his tone
like he would have thought if he had ever really thought this moment would
come to pass.
She exhaled her annoyance. "Can it get worse than this? You're evil *and* a
moron."
"But really good in the sack," he grinned.
"I'm leaving."
He caught her by her injured wrist as she started to stand, and she stared at
him. "No, you're not. You're not leaving because I'm not letting you go.
If you don't want, don't say you love me. I don't care. Because I know you
do, or a part of you does. You want this, you want me, even if you don't
know it yet."
"Let go of me," she said between clenched teeth.
"No." He shot her a wink.
"Let go of me," she repeated, her eyes closing into angry slits.
"Make me."
Kicking her leg out, she caught him in the thigh and they sprawled on the
floor together. She swung her fist and hit him in the jaw, hearing a
satisfying crack, but he only grunted once and returned her punch, landing
his fist against her mouth. She made another small noise of fury as her lip
split, blood oozing sullenly from the wound.
Before she could react again, he pulled her close, kissing her, the smell of
that blood tantalizing him. She returned the kiss, fire overwhelming her
insides < I touch the fire, and it freezes me... > as she clawed desperately at
his bare back. He reached down and removed her skirt, slipping it off
quickly, and then kicked off his shoes and shimmied out of his jeans so that
he wouldn't have to stop kissing her for a second.
She knew what he was doing, as he sucked on her lips and made little sounds
of pleasure, but she didn't push away from him like she would have thought
she would. She let him kiss her, nibble at her, lick the blood seeping from
her mouth because... < because why? Because he gives me fire? > Because he
looked so happy.
At that thought, she pushed him away he dipped his head with wry
understanding before pushing her back and sliding over her.
And they began again.
* * * * *
Buffy was in his arms, asleep.
Buffy.
Was in his arms, asleep.
Buffy.
Asleep.
In his arms.
As hard as he tried, Spike couldn't wrap his mind around that concept, though
it was far more than a concept at that point. She was really there, smooth
and nude and pressed so closely against him that he could feel her ribs
expand with every steady breath she took.
He licked his lips and smiled slightly at the taste still there. < Why didn't
I feed off the other Slayers? ...Because they weren't her... > He tried to
figure out why he felt sad in that moment, when everything he could ever want
was not only in the room with him, but cuddled close in his embrace.
He'd never touched her. Hadn't hunted after her; hadn't forced his love onto
her when she was so unwilling. He'd simply been there, and she finally
decided to take advantage of that fact, for which he would always be
grateful.
But still, sadness.
He sighed heavily, wishing he had a cigarette. It was because she hadn't
admitted to his suspicions about how she loved him; how she would never admit
to them. He knew there was something, saw something there, but was pained to
realize that it might not be as deep as he'd hoped. At least, not for her.
But she was still there, and so was he, and he wouldn't turn her way. Not
ever. Even though he should, and they both knew it, he couldn't turn his
back on her because he was hers now. He didn't like being claimed, but he
understood that he was and that he belonged to her.
He thought back to every insult spoken, every angry word, every punch and
kick that landed earlier that night that had led them to this place, and he
wasn't sorry. He hadn't been lying. He'd wanted to hurt her, like she
continued to hurt him, over and over, callously. So he did, he hurt her, but
he felt every blow he'd thrown against her inside of him, and it hurt.
She didn't want his love; had already attested to that much. She didn't want
his care, because she hadn't yet realized that she couldn't fully take care
of herself. She didn't want his proclamations because they were just words
and even he knew how badly words could sting.
< Say it's true. Say I do want to. It wouldn't be you, Spike. It would
*never* be you. ...You're beneath me. >
But she wanted this. She wanted to go to a place where her fury was matched,
a place where she could hit back and feel the satisfaction of the fight, the
exhilaration of winning because he'd as much as told her that she always
would. She wanted something desperate that she couldn't describe, something
foreign and so wrong that it was right.
She wanted something wild.
He looked down at her; her eyelids twitched a little in her dream-state. Her
hair was soft, caressing his arm, falling over his chest. She was warm, so
warm, so perfect, so strong and still vulnerable, still feminine, still...
Buffy. And in that moment, he loved her more than he ever had before.
Something wild.
If she wouldn't take anything else from him, he decided, he would at least
give her that.
The End
Feedback