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| In Omne Tempus - Out Of The Dark by Holly (1 Review) | | abc + + + |  | | | Chapter Fourteen
Out Of The Dark
Buffy was quite certain that she had never experienced a feeling quite like this before. She awoke in the protective embrace of a vampire that she had allowed into her bed, listening to him purr against her back, his arm draped over her waist and his erection pressing into her backside. Her room was strangely chilly, and she had the blankets pulled snugly over both of them. For the first time in her short life, she awoke with a man in her bed.
It was wonderful.
She released a deep sigh and stretched against Spike, her mind awash with everything that had transpired between them the night before. In the light of morning, harsh truths often looked more approachable, and Buffy found the confusion she had felt so strongly only a few hours ago; move aside for the more palatable sense of joy.
For this moment, she wasn’t the Slayer. She wasn’t the Chosen One. She was just Buffy; the girl waiting beneath the title. The Slayer would come out later when night fell; when it was time to patrol again. Right now, she was a girl enjoying the morning with her boyfriend.
Boyfriend.
She had a boyfriend. A real boyfriend. A boyfriend she wanted, and didn’t feel she needed to be with out of societal obligations for girls her age. Despite her fears, waking in Spike’s arms felt right. God, it felt so right. And while her nerves did little to calm at the slow-coming reservations, she didn’t want to think about the larger implications now.
Spike murmured something incoherent and tightened his arm around her middle.
He belonged to her. Through all the haze, all the confusion, that much was abundantly clear. And truly, Buffy didn’t know what frightened her more: the fact that she had no choice in the matter, or the fact that her lack of a choice didn’t bother her as much as she thought it would.
Granted, dating a vampire hadn’t exactly been her life’s ambition. And this was so much more than dating; this was something fated. Something prophesized. Something she couldn’t change, couldn’t fight, couldn’t do anything about, except sit back and accept.
The feelings bubbling inside felt real, but that wasn’t good enough for her. Call her old fashioned, but Buffy wanted love out of life. If the one she was destined to be with couldn’t love her, or was only with her because of some stupid flash of gold that she couldn’t help, she didn’t know what she would do. Her ignorance in the matter aside, she rather doubted that there was an appendix of ‘what to do in the event of’ section in her Slayers, Vampires, and Their Mates handbook.
There might not have been a choice in the matter, but she didn’t want to get too close. Not unless there was going to be something more between them than sex and a strong need to protect each other. She needed there to be something more. It was important to her; important in ways that she feared he would mock if she bared her soul.
“Buffy,” Spike murmured into her hair, thrusting his hard cock against her ass. The sensation was foreign, but made her press her thighs together to suppress her arousal. Like when she watched dirty parts of movies, only intensified to nearly insufferable levels. She had never felt like this; not until the night before, when he knelt before her and buried his face between her legs. Before he inspired her body to an opus of euphoric wonder. Before he made her feel things she’d felt certain she was doomed to never, ever feel.
Buffy drew in a sharp breath, her heart thundering.
She wanted to feel him, too. Feel him the way he’d felt her. Feel him as intimately as he’d felt her.
She knew the mechanics of sex: the basic instructions of insert, withdraw, repeat. That much her mother had spent a particularly uncomfortable afternoon explaining when she was eleven. Naturally, her mom had taken the diplomatic THIS IS FOR BABY-MAKING ONLY approach, leaving Buffy confused as to why it was, then, that she was sent out of the room when people in the movies began taking each other’s clothes off. Later, in school, she’d learned that the baby-making aspect was the initial design for sex, but not always the reason people did it. There were a couple one-day sex-ed courses that fifth and sixth graders were required to take, but the subject matter centered on the female reproductive system and had little to do with the layout of the male body, or what it took to engage in the dirty sex that she was never supposed to know about.
However much Joyce tried, Buffy went to public school, and she wasn’t as sheltered by her peers as she was by her mother and her teachers. Her former best friend, Kimberly, lost her virginity at age thirteen, and wasted no time in telling her inner circle every detail, making it sound horribly romantic when it was, in fact, just slutty. Until the end of her freshman year, Buffy lived vicariously through Kimberly’s sexual excursions, grimacing and looking away when she described the taste of semen and blushing furiously every time she thought of her friend ‘in the throes of passion.’
Sex remained ambiguous to her. An abstract notion that was just out there, and didn’t feel like the next logical step with any of the boys she dated, despite how they attempted to convince her otherwise.
Spike had been in her life for just over two full days, and she felt, impossibly, that she could happily get naked and groiny with him in a heartbeat.
So yeah. Reservations aside, she was pretty well terrified.
Though, despite all, she was still possessed with the impossible desire to explore him.
Buffy drew in a breath and twisted slowly in his arms. Spike’s sleeping face was nearly angelic; an adjective she was sure would be a subject of serious offense if she gathered the nerve to tell him. His hair was no longer slicked back—sleep had turned his blonde locks into blonde curls, giving him the look of boyish innocence that did nothing to downplay the level of his appeal. He took a couple breaths in his sleep, which surprised her but, for whatever reason, provided some form of comfort.
So strange. He seems alive.
A pause. But he’s not.
Buffy licked her lips. But that doesn’t matter. He’s mine.
That thought sent a deeply possessive vibe through her bones.
He’s mine.
A deep shudder rattled her body and she gathered her nerve. She wanted to feel him, and something told her that Spike wouldn’t mind being felt. But she didn’t want to leap in without testing the waters; didn’t want to approach him as though she was thoroughly experienced and had not only explored but pleasured numerous men. Spike was her first, and she knew that he knew he was her first.
As for now, she didn’t want anything else but to feel the hard length of him in her hand.
Buffy attempted to sit up, but the vampire quickly tugged her back to him, moaning petulantly at the subconscious notion that she wanted to untangle herself from his embrace. She wet her lips again and sighed.
Okay. Blanket stays up.
That thought actually comforted her. If the blanket stayed up, she wouldn’t have to see what she was doing. She wouldn’t have to see her own hand in the alien pose of an intimate caress. For whatever reason, she felt she would lose her nerve if she actually saw his penis. After all, beyond statues and various medical books and the like—the ones that depicted all the nasty STDs one could catch nowadays—she had never seen one up close.
Later, she told herself, slithering a hand between them. Her trembling fingers danced over denim, tracing small, artless patterns into his thigh, stealing time as her mind engaged in a campaign to talk her out of this. When reason failed to set in, Buffy drew in a breath, then slid her touch to cup his hardness.
Shivers spread across her skin.
Oh God.
She sighed and caressed him gently, watching his face for any signs of reaction. Spike’s murmurs became more prominent, but he otherwise remained asleep, settling closer to her as though silently encouraging her explorations to continue.
The feel of his erection with fabric between them was enticing, but not enough.
She wanted more.
Come on. You’ve gone this far.
Buffy bit her lip, then slid her fingers to the clasp of his jeans and undid the top button. She paused, glanced to his face again, then slowly lowered the zipper.
You’re so asking for it.
His cock sprang into her waiting hand, and she shivered with the feel of him. He felt large, but then again, she didn’t exactly have an idea of what was big and what wasn’t. A single finger traced him from base to tip and back again, her mind trying to catalogue him inch by inch. Really, she was more taken with the sensation of cradling him intimately than taking his measurements. Big was good enough for her—though any result would have been, as she didn’t understand the male obsession with size—and she settled for that as her itching fingers continued to explore him.
When it seemed that her tentative caresses weren’t going to jolt him awake, her confidence strengthened, and she encircling him completely. Her hand pumped him twice, her thumb exploring the tip of him; familiarizing herself with his anatomy. With his size, with the feel of his skin beneath her fingertips. After a few seconds, her hand developed a curiosity for his balls and delved deeper into his jeans, cupping the weight of him.
“Oh,” she breathed, barely hearing herself.
This is wrong. Stop what you’re doing now.
Her conscience was kicking in a bit late if it wanted to talk her out of this. Instead, her defiant hand thought it highly appropriate to squeeze him softly, her thumbnail gently scraping against his flesh.
“Fucking hell.”
Spike’s eyes were suddenly wide open, and he stared down into her with a look of mixed astonishment, awe, horror, and barely contained lust on his face.
She froze completely, her hand quite literally in the cookie jar.
Oh God.
“Buffy,” he gasped after a still minute, thrusting his cock against her with need. “Jesus Christ, what are you doin’ to me?”
“I…I…”
A low growl rumbled through his throat and he wheedled a hand between them, grasping her wrist. “You’re playin’ with fire, li’l girl.”
“H-h-how long have you been awake?”
“Long enough to know you’re playin’ with fire.” He growled ardently and directed her hand back to his cock, enclosing her fingers around him. “Like this, pet,” he said, guiding her movements as she went back to pumping his hard length. “Oh fuck yeah. Jus’ like that.”
“Spike?”
“Feels so good, baby. Oh, god.”
She was terrified and mesmerized—the wave of pure bliss that crashed over his face wearing down her hesitation, strengthening the need to give him back just a sliver of the pleasure he had given her. She released a trembling breath and tightened her grip on his cock, coaxing a long moan through his lips as his hips thrust forward.
“Ohhh, Buffy.” He grasped her arm, screwing his eyes shut. “You don’ know what you do to me.”
“I was just—”
“Drivin’ me outta my mind, is what you’re doin’.” Spike looked at her again, his gaze fogged with passion. “Squeeze me tighter.”
“Tighter?”
He nodded, thrusting forward.
“I won’t break you?”
A warm smile crossed his face, and he brushed a kiss across her lips. “No, luv, you won’ break me.”
Buffy dropped her mouth to his shoulder, her fingers constricting just slightly around his length. “Like that?”
“Oh yeah.”
“This is good?”
“Bleeding wonderful.”
There was such raw feeling in his voice, causing her blush to deepen as she continued to pump him, pressing kisses into his skin. Her hand developed a rhythm for it; she evened her squeezes, running her thumb over the head of his cock with every lap. Her heart was pounding wildly now and Spike was panting. His eyes were wide with need, his shoulders were wrought with tension, and he was looking at her like she was a gift from the heavens.
With whatever else, Buffy hadn’t expected bringing him pleasure would make her as hot as it did. Touching him intimately stirred her more than she had thought possible, knowing that she was the source of those impassioned stares, the reason he’d forgotten that oxygen was a luxury for the undead. She was the reason; she had done that. She, Buffy Summers, had the power to turn men into putty.
Well, one man. She didn’t want anyone else. Still, the knowledge was empowering.
“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come.”
Heat rushed her blood. “Okay.”
Spike groaned and closed his eyes again, tugging her close to him and sinking his blunt teeth into her shoulder as his body spasmed beneath her touch.
She felt sparks fire across her skin.
“Oh God.”
Humility had a way of returning at the most inopportune times. The minute the haze around them lifted and Buffy realized—full blown—where her hand was and what she had just done, she released him quickly, barely registering his whimper of complaint, and turned her eyes to the sheets.
“Buffy…fuck.” Spike released another unneeded breath and tilted her chin upward so that she was looking at him. “That was amazing.”
She fidgeted self-consciously. “Was not.”
“Was so.”
His lips were over hers before she could protest—not that Spike kissage was the sort of thing she would ever dream of protesting. Her body was trembling, her mind racing with the weighty consequences of what she had just done. His tongue warred with hers as his hands coaxed her to roll back onto the mattress. Then he was on top of her, cradled between her thighs, and she felt the warning bells go off.
Great. Mixed signals, much?
She reluctantly broke her lips from his. “Spike…I can’t.”
“I know,” he whispered into her, claiming her mouth again. “But your scent’s drivin’ me wild. Let me touch you, pet. Please.”
“Touch?”
“Or taste. Like last night?” He drew his head back suddenly, a wicked grin spread across his lips. “You liked feelin’ me lick your juicy li’l quim, din’t you?”
Gah.
“No mouth,” she said, even as her body protested.
Spike pouted. “Why not?”
Because if you do that, I’m gonna have to do something else, and I’m nowhere near ready for that.
There wasn’t any good way to convey that accurately, she decided. Things were spiraling out of control much too fast for her. Three days ago, she would never have dreamed of having a man in her bed. She wouldn’t have thought it possible that she would ever find someone that she wanted the way she wanted Spike. That she could touch anyone the way she touched him, or be on the receiving end of his caresses. His melt-worthy kisses.
If he did to her now what he did to her the night before, she would lose it. The image of his head between her legs…
She felt drenched. Her body was on fire, and yet she was unspeakably wet. Spike lapping her up would crumble the last of her resolve, she knew it.
That she wasn’t ready for. She wanted it, but she wasn’t ready.
Her twisted logic worked for her. She didn’t know why she felt so strongly about it, but she did. It seemed that the world around her was slowly burning away, and the vampire at her side was doing nothing but encouraging the flames.
“Spike…”
The tease and the mock-insolence vacated his expression, and he pressed a kiss to her brow. A sigh coursed through her body. He understood. “’S okay, sweetling,” he promised. “I won’ do anythin’ you don’ want me to.”
“Ohhh…”
“But you have to let me touch you.” His hand was already tugging at her sweats, her hot skin rejoiced when the added layer was whipped away. “Your scent’s drivin’ me insane. I have to feel you, baby.”
A shrill gasp tore through her throat as his fingers invaded her body. Buffy’s eyes went wide and she lifted her hips off the mattress, urging herself into his touch.
Okay, this might’ve been a bad choice.
“Christ, you’re so wet.” Spike shifted over her, stroking her ardently as his thumb found her clit and began a steady, torturous massage. “Gonna drown in you. Bloody know it.”
“Ohh…”
His other hand slid her camisole over her abdomen until her breasts were bared to his hungry gaze. “Fuck, but you’re pretty.”
Another gasp ripped past her lips. “Spiiike…”
“That feel good?”
She nodded desperately, thrusting her hips into his hand. “Oh my god!”
“Such a hot, sweet li’l pussy.” His eyes flickered and he lowered his head to her breasts, suckling her flesh between his teeth. “You’re so warm.”
“Spike!”
“You liked jerkin’ me off, yeah? This is what it did to you?” He nibbled at her skin, tonguing her dusty nipples as his fingers plunged deeper within her. “Liked feelin’ my cock in your hand. Liked bein’ the one to make me come. Mmm, yeah. Made you nice an’ wet. Made you sodden for me.”
The crudeness behind his words only added fuel to the fire burning her insides. Buffy released a long, pleasured sob and nodded desperately. “Spike, please.”
“Shhh.”
“Spike!”
“You’re so close. I can taste it.” He licked a wet path from her breasts to her throat, tongue playing over her jugular as a growl rumbled through his body. “Want your blood so bad.”
His thumb was stroking her clit speedily now, his thrusting digits surging deep inside her. God, his fingers felt so large. As though they had expanded within her, and were far further in her body than was possible.
She had never thought anything could feel so good. Everything he did to her thoroughly shook her foundation.
“Oh!”
“Wanna make you mine.”
Buffy bit her lip hard as she tumbled over, pure euphoria washing over her trembling skin. She cried out, her eyes sealed shut, and that was it. She let go of everything for a blink of an instant. Spike’s arms came around her and he murmured soothingly into her hair, peppering her face with kisses, and holding her sweetly as she came down.
“You’re amazing,” he told her softly. “So bloody amazing.”
“Oh my God.”
He grinned, sucking his fingers into his mouth, slowly licking his skin clean of her spendings. “Mmm…I do love your taste.”
“Spike…”
God, she wanted him fiercely. And that knowledge cast a shadow over her, and she fell back again to the cool confusion that had plagued her throughout the night. The answer seemed thoroughly simple, and she knew that once she sorted through the tangled mess that was her mind, she would berate herself for having been so lost in the first place. However, at the same time, it felt that time, at least, was not too much to ask in return for what she was giving him.
She just needed to get past the part where it changed her life.
Her thoughts must have been easily read. A sigh rumbled through his body and he looked away. “This mornin’…we can have this mornin’, can’t we? I know I shouldn’t…but God, Buffy, you let me sleep in your bed.”
“I know.”
“An’ then wakin’ up with you…”
“Spike, I…I just need time.” She forced a smile when he glanced back to her. “I know what the answer is. I just haven’t sorted through the process of getting there yet. And in the meantime, I want you so much and it’s kinda terrifying. And then I do things like this that seem like a good idea at the time but really…I’m sorry. I’m just—”
He sat up at that, and brought her with him. “Don’ be sorry,” he told her. “This…I haven’t felt anythin’ like that in…God, it’s been so long. An’ it felt…” His eyes hazed over. “I’ve never felt anythin’ like that.”
That was laughable. Mr. I’ve-Got-A-Century-Of-Experience-Under-My-Belt hadn’t felt anything like a virginal handjob before? Right.
Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Buffy, I’m serious. Never. You’re amazing. You’re so amazing…I jus’…”
He glanced down, and silence stretched between them.
Buffy sighed. I’m playing Jeopardy meets the Game of Life.
She had the answer. It was the question that was ambiguous, as was the path it took to reach the answer.
She wanted him so much. And spending this time with him wasn’t helping in the road to recovery. Yet that much was her fault. She’d made her bed, laid in it, then invited him to join her. She was worsening the situation for herself, and she knew it. Only now he was confused as well. All due to irrational teenage hormonal mixed signals.
Spike was with her now. He had stayed because she asked him to.
He had stayed. He had held her through the night.
Perhaps if he loved her, if she had that much, that much beyond the claim and her destiny, the rest wouldn’t be so hard.
Just perhaps.
To be continued in Chapter Fifteen: Wait For Stormy Skies…
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